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Howdy and happy Friday everybody! Hope you’re facing a great weekend before you have to slug back into work on Monday with a hangover. There won’t be much in the way of weekend fun around the compound with the Downward Facing Dog Yoga and Meditation Festival (DFDYMF) rapidly approaching. Too much job to do around here.
It doesn’t help anything that the wife and Cousin Fred are really starting to get on one another’s nerves. I’ve done my best to keep Cousin Fred out of her sight, but it’s hard to do here at the compound. Yesterday, I had him out on the porch making his calls and keeping an eye on the PayPal account where the “gate” for the DFDYMF keeps rolling in. Once the wife saw that the money is starting to flow she disappeared out back where she’s working on a new metal sculpture of a fried chicken in a basket. I knew those welding lessons would come in handy for something. Even our latest compound guest, Hellkat One, has taken an interest in the fried chicken sculpture and is helping the wife position the wings just so in the basket. Cousin Fred’s big job yesterday was to seek the release on bail of Banjo Boy up in Washington State. CCB’s own disbarred and disgraced attorney (it’s all we can afford) pointed out that even if we are able to secure the release of BB by the end of the weekend, he will most likely be prohibited from venturing outside his home state as a condition of bail. We’ll see how that goes. I have a plan. Cousin Fred pointed out that a few thousand admissions were bought before we (okay, before I) changed the direction of the festival from Thrash Metal Jam Festival to the now much more tranquil (hopefully) yoga event. It’s his recommendation that we make it a co-event with the head bangers on one side of a wide center aisle and the meditative bunch on the other. Despite the CCB’s attorney’s counsel that we’re setting a course for disaster, I agreed with Cousin Fred’s recommendation. I figured we would need to step up the security though to keep the two groups apart. Originally, the brother-in-law offered to head up security when it looked as though the only participants would be a bunch of cosmically-sedate people sounding Om in unison while twisting themselves into impossible shapes. Now with the addition of a few thousand offspring of decades of touring-burnt-out-deaf rockers…the brother-in-law is having second thoughts. Cousin Fred, ever the idea man, began telling me about an article he read on the Huffington Post web site, wherein some dude in Arizona invaded the home of a guy that he said was responsible for a friend being sent to prison. Our invader proceeded to beat the invadee (sic) with a board until said board broke. At that point the invader (henceforth called Snake Man – wait for it) threatened him with a live rattlesnake. Snake Man was holding the rattlesnake and thrusting it at the poor invadee, but the snake was having none of it and refused to bite. I know, right? You can never get a rattlesnake to cooperate when you need it to. Who knows, maybe the snake felt sorry for the guy with the lumpy, bloody head. So, Snake Man loses the snake…or perhaps I should say, looses the snake…and takes up a gun he brought along as a back-up plan. Snake Man makes the now (I’m sure) terrified invadee drop to his knees before firing off a round into a speaker near invadee’s foot. The gun fire along with the likely panicked screams (I know I would be screaming at that point) of the invadee finally spurs someone to call the cops. When the cops show up, Snake Man tried to hide the gun under a sofa in the kitchen (I’m not even going to comment), which the altogether clever law enforcement immediately found. Hell, they even captured the snake and released it outside. That’s some law enforcement they got there in Arizona! So Snake Man is now sitting in jail in lieu of a $50,000 bond. An interview with one of Snake Man’s acquaintances turned up that this isn’t the first time he’s used wildlife pests to menace humans. Apparently, he’s been arrested before for chasing someone with a hornet nest and then trying to throw it inside their home. Sheesh. After telling me all this, I’m looking at Cousin Fred like he’s grown a third eyeball. He tells me that what we need is something to keep the two sides of the festival apart. His recommendation was to put leashes and collars on badgers and use them to patrol the “Gaza Strip” between the two sides. I was about to ask what manner of idiot would want to be holding a badger on a leash, but decided to let it go. Cousin Fred’s point is well taken…we need something. Maybe I’ll try to find some security with something much more docile…like angry Rottweilers. For purposes of keeping that rabid pack of deranged lemming droppings known as the Oklahoma Media away from the compound, I will now speak in code.
Ahem…Hellkat One has landed. Repeat, Hellkat One has landed. The Honey Wagon is secure. Repeat, the Honey Wagon is secure. Sorry to have digressed there, but I wanted to make certain HRH back at the palace got the word. Any of you faithful readers (and the few haters) will likely know of what I speak. There was some fanfare yesterday upon her arrival. The Fargo Volunteer Fire Department offered to provide the travel trailer with a half-mile escort from the highway to the gates of the compound. Well, it tried to provide an escort…the rig broke down at about the quarter-mile point, but they meant well. So far, so good. She seems amenable to serving as emcee for the upcoming Downward Facing Dog Yoga and Meditation Festival (our new official name for it) here at the compound. In the 24-hours or so since we changed this into something other than a strictly Thrash Metal Jam Festival and added a semi-celebrity as emcee, the response has been incredible. Several bands have accepted the invitation to play a set including: My Bloody Popstar; Morbidly Obtuse; Texas Grapefruit Lies (personal favorite); Legion of the Rammed; and, the inevitable Wiley Piemore and the Prairie Dawgs (adds a local flavor to the festivities)…oh…and of course Hellkat One’s band Pink Pony. Most importantly, Cousin Fred tells me that the cash is starting to roll in. I put him in charge of the PayPal account where people can purchase their admission tickets. Cousin Fred is in charge of the cash account…what could go wrong? Hmmmm…time for an audit, me thinks. At any rate, just penciling in the sets with stage set-up and tear-down in between (it’s murder being a festival promoter), I figure I have room for one more act. And, I think I found him. I came across an article on the Huffington Post web site about a young dummy (we’ll call him Banjo Boy – you’ll see why in a second) in Vancouver, Washington (sits smack on the Oregon border). He seemed a reasonable sort of guy. He’s a 26 year old software engineer (makes decent dough I’m sure). Seems Banjo Boy and his father got into an argument on Sunday afternoon, the end result being a naked BB chasing his father (who by most reports was clothed) down the street with a knife in hand. After the chase, he retreated back to the house where he barricaded himself when the cops showed up. After the SWAT team and hostage negotiators arrived on scene he came out on the porch with banjo and proceeded to play for the police. This went on for two hours. TWO HOURS? Without a break? Hell, that’s more than I get the bands to do for the DFDYMF! I want this guy! Only problem is, he’s locked up on a variety of charges on $30,000 bail and he’s ordered not to have contact with the father. Hey, I can help out with that…he’ll be in Oklahoma. I’ve got Cousin Fred working to secure the bail so we can get Banjo Boy out of jail and to the festival. Nothing says fun, fun, fun like a naked banjo player playing banjo for a bunch of people on yoga mats! Hmmmm…wonder if he knows any Carpenters’ tunes? It’s only 8:30 and I’m wondering where the Wife has hidden my bottle of Jack Daniels. STOP WHATEVER YOU’RE DOING and run out to buy today’s edition of the Woodward News!!!!!!! I’m serious! I’ll wait patiently until you come back.
<Elevator music playing in the background.> There is secret coding for secret messages in today’s paper! I’M NOT MAKING THIS UP! Okay…everybody back now? Turn to page 3A. Near the bottom. See it? The AP article about Her Royal Highness Mary of Fallin announcing that she is exiling her daughter Christina from the grounds of the palace and ordering the removal of said exiled daughter’s “nice” travel trailer forthwith. I’ll bet HRH is now reading Cosmic City Blog and saw my post yesterday offering to host the exiled daughter here at the compound. We uncovered evidence last week that the Oklahoma Attorney General is reading this blog…maybe he tipped her off. HRH moved quickly to call a press conference to announce that she was banishing the daughter and her “nice” gypsy caravan from the palace grounds, saying that it does violate an “obscure” state regulation…though she didn’t realize it at the time that she allowed now-exiled daughter across the moat with her trailer and its accompanying tents and assorted nomads. I, of course, as a trained professional was able to read between the lines of HRH’s statement to the press and deciphered the following message, “She’s headed to a remote compound on the western edge of Woodward County.” I do love it when a plan comes together. Fortunately, Cousin Fred left behind one of the coin-operated solar-powered electrical hookups from the Memorable Memorial Day Weekend festivities. He did that just in case he had to bring Mr. Kim’s bootlegger RV back over this way. So Christina will have an electrical hook-up to her now-banished-from-the-Kingdom travel trailer. Yes, sir…this is great. She can park here next to the mud hole that is left of what was Lake Mountebank following all that rain earlier this summer. She can sit out there during the evening gazing at the brother-in-law’s two fishing boats still submerged in mud and plot her next move (after the Thrash Metal Jam Festival in August). My plan is that she’ll serve as emcee for the festival and I’ll even let her band, Pink Pony, perform a set or two. Everyone wins! And, speaking of the Thrash Metal Jam Festival…I’m thinking I need to change the general tone of the festival. CCB as you may recall in late June posted about the results of a study done in Australia that found loud, heavy metal music actually puts the brain in a calm and relaxed state. This past week, there was an article published on Time magazine’s web site that discussed how people working with sharks in the water have found a similar result. When the researchers blast AC/DC music through underwater speakers it not only attracts great white sharks, but they appeared very calm and less aggressive toward the diver in the shark cage beneath the water. In fact, the sharks reportedly come past the speakers with the music blaring and rub their faces against them. How’s that for f-ing creepy? Let’s review shall we? Obviously, heavy metal music has a calming effect on the brain (of humans and sharks, at least), but no one seems to understand why. Who cares? I’m thinking that since I’m not getting a lot in the way of ticket sales to this point (likely to change now that we have a semi-celebrity emcee), why not turn this into a three-day yoga and meditation gathering? I know right? GENIUS! Imagine a field full of yoga mats with people in tight yoga clothing doing downward facing dog poses to strains of the metal version of The Carpenters’ classic “Close to You” as done by Wiley Piemore and the Prairie Dawgs. I’m on to something here, I think. As Cousin Fred pointed out, “Them yoga people have a lot of disposal (sic) income to dispose of…you might should hike the price of tickets by 20%!” Excellent thought, Cousin Fred. Okay we’re off to mow the area around Christina’s trailer site. Expect her to arrive before noon. Ahhh…another glorious day at the compound. Or, is it? There’s likely a fight brewing between the wife and Cousin Fred.
Cousin Fred is still here. And, it’s a self-inflicted wound. I asked him to stay here until we get past the August Thrash Metal Jam Festival here at the compound. Of course, I didn’t tell the wife that he would be staying here until then (one self-inflicted wound a week is enough). She came back from the bean curd potluck feast in southeastern Colorado late yesterday, expecting, I’m sure, Cousin Fred to be gone. She didn’t say anything when she came in the door and found him lounging on the sofa watching an episode of “Trailer Park Boys” (Cousin Fred seems to identify with Julius) on Netflix. When the wife saw Cousin Fred on the sofa (he didn’t acknowledge her arrival – never even attempted to move so much as a hand to wave hello), she gave me that WTF look that she saves for when she’s really pissed. I was sitting at the table working on a dilemma and acted as though I didn’t know what was wrong. Hey, I was busy! My dilemma lies in the fact that interest in the Thrash Metal Jam Festival here at the compound next month is ummmmm…nonexistent. We aren’t selling tickets. I can’t get the press (such that it is out here) to even do a drive-by. I kept thinking about how I got myself into such a mess and how I was going to find my way back out. The wife, sensing that bringing up Cousin Fred’s presence at this particular moment in time would be akin to debating a boiled onion, went back to the bedroom and slammed the door. Since I had asked Cousin Fred to stay and consult with me on pulling off the festival, I decided that it was time to consult. He listened to my dilemma for some time and asked a few pointed questions such as whether any bands have agreed to perform. I indicated that I had positive responses from at least five bands with more expressing a solid interest. As I believe I mentioned in a previous post, I had reached out to AC-DC to stop in for a set since they’re touring North America this summer anyway. Of course, that met with a stern letter from their attorney telling me to cease and desist (I seem to hear that a lot lately). I had reached out to Phil Rudd the former drummer for the band who got himself into legal trouble back in New Zealand and missed the start of the tour. I thought if I could get Phil Rudd to show up here – likely badmouthing Angus and the boys for leaving him behind – it would be a good draw. Turns out, he is already under house arrest and is due back in court on August 3rd for violating his house arrest. I am still contemplating having him appear via satellite feed…well, that is only if I can sneak the wife’s American Express out of her purse. Cousin Fred listened to everything I had been doing up to that point and then offered what may turn out to be a brilliant avenue of escape. He told me to go to the KFOR web site where we watched a video about how someone discovered that Christina Fallin, the 28 year old daughter of HRH Mary of Fallin, has been living in a travel trailer parked next to the Governor’s Mansion since April. Uh huh…I’ll bet it was one of the palace servants who’s likely tired of carrying Christina’s breakfast out to the trailer every morning. Now normally that wouldn’t be a big deal for most people. My daughter, Veronica, is welcome to come live here at the compound any time she wants (or needs to as the Feds slowly sneak up on us). I think most parents would welcome their grown kids back, be it in a trailer or not. What appears to make this a big deal is that there is concern that she’s burning up taxpayer dollars (electricity and presumably water and who knows what else) living the life of an Okie Nomad next to HRH’s Public Supported Palace. Oh…the other issue? Hahahahaha…apparently Oklahoma City has an ordinance that prohibits individuals living inside a travel trailer next to a home for more than 14 days in a given calendar year. Oklahoma City officials were quick to respond that technically the Governor’s Mansion is exempt from OKC ordinances. Really? Bet they’re just afraid HRH will send an army of Oklahoma Highway Patrol troopers to storm city offices and declare martial law. So we’re back to whether or not Daughter Christina is running up mondo bills on the backs of poorer Oklahomans who don’t have rich relatives with whom they can mooch. It was an interesting report, but what did I care? I looked at Cousin Fred with my best, “so what” look. He rolled his eyes, slapped the back of my head and called me a dumb ass. The head slap finally brought to the fore what he was thinking…cause, now I thinking it too! I began emailing every freaking email address I could find for someone in the state government. I am offering Christina Fallin the opportunity to take some heat off HRH and park her travel trailer here at the compound. Further, she will serve as emcee for the festival. Think about it…she’s the perfect storm for what I need. She’s something of a minor celebrity…kind of in the way Kim Kardashian is (still can’t figure out what she did to be so famous except marry Kanye). She does have her own band…the Stone Poneys (no, wait that was Linda Ronstadt)…the Painted Ponys (no, that was a creepy kid’s cartoon)…oh wait, found it…Pink Pony. Yeah, that’s the name of her band. They don’t do Thrash Metal, but at this point who cares? I’m counting on lurid side of humanity that will drive out here and pay an admission just to see what stunt Christina will pull while on stage. It’s perfect! Ahhhh…things are looking up. It will be grand day…grand, I’m tellin’ ya! Happy Monday everybody! Hope you are well and survived a decidedly hot and humid weekend in one piece. On Friday, we heard that Cousin Fred was planning to visit from western Arkansas (he called inbound from Bouse Junction to let us know). Upon hearing the news, the wife packed a bag and hastily cooked some rather foul smelling dish. She then promptly took off for an old hippie commune in southeastern Colorado for yet another campfire bean curd pot-luck.
It made for a more peaceful weekend for me with her gone. She and Cousin Fred do nothing but fight when he’s here. Been that way since the Woodward Elks Rodeo debacle, which we no longer discuss. Well, I say they “fight”…Cousin Fred terms it a “spirited debate.” Whatever…I’m hard at work on the screenplay I’m writing on spec to enter in the Twister Alley Film Festival next spring and was looking forward to making some real progress this weekend. My best intentions at progress failed to include the Cousin Fred Factor. Cousin Fred, upon arrival Friday afternoon, seemed antsier than usual. He kept looking over my shoulder at the screenplay as I was working on it. He made a lot of helpful comments, such as: “So…is that line supposed to be funny?” And… “Is this screenplay supposed to be ‘polite haha’ funny or ‘blowing beer out the nose har har har’ funny? Cause, if it’s the latter you need to make some changes. Oh, you left out a danged comma there.” And the ever-endearing… “You know you should let me help you with that. People tell me I’m a funny guy and that I have a flair for words. Is there any beer in the fridge?” Finally, I gave him a pack of targets, a box of 9mm ammo, one of my Glocks and told him to go punch holes in the sand hill behind the compound. Of course it took him all of about 20 minutes to blow through a 100-round box of ammo. I cringed when I saw him practicing quick-draw stunts, figuring I’d be the one to drive him to the hospital after he shot himself in the foot. After he came back into the house, I managed to get rid of him for another half hour by sending him back out to recover the brass. When he returned, I was doing research for today’s blog posting, the subject of which is how Oklahoma Supreme Court justices are chosen. After reading some of the “research” I dug up, Cousin Fred cut right to the heart of the matter with the question, “So it’s really just a beauty pageant?” I was about to counter that, but then realized he is probably dead on. My interest in how vacancies on the state Supreme Court are filled came about after I read an Op-Ed piece on the NewsOK.com web site. The piece was written by that nutty state representative from Oklahoma City with the Captain Kangaroo haircut, Kevin Calvey. You may remember him from the CCB posting where we mentioned his public statement that he was so angry with recent Oklahoma Supreme Court rulings that he threatened to cross the street to the Supreme Court building (in and of itself a dangerous undertaking what with the traffic on North Lincoln Blvd at rush hour and the potential for chunkage from the capitol dome to come loose and clobber him in the cabeza). Once inside, he planned to douse himself in gasoline and set himself afire. According to his public comments, the only thing holding him back is that he is a Christian…that still doesn’t make any sense, but what do I know? CCB’s response was “douse away dummy.” Legislator Calvey’s “article” (NewsOK’s term for it) was a whole lot of convenient truths, mondo subjectivity, and let’s see…oh, rhetorical questions (all of which fits the definition of an Op-Ed piece, I suppose). So, here’s how vacancies are filled on the Oklahoma Supreme Court in plain and simple language. First, you got this vacancy, see. The Judicial Nominating Commission, which by Calvey’s explanation is loaded up with Oklahoma Bar Association types, scours letters of qualifications from practicing attorneys around the state who express an interest in serving as a justice on the court. After the nominating commission vets (cough, cough) each individual, they forward their best three candidates to the Governor who makes a selection. Once you’re in, you’re in…well, for six years anyway. After that you have to be re-elected, but it seems to me that Oklahoma Supreme Court justice “re-elections” are a little too pro forma (one blogger’s opinion). The average Oklahoma voter is rushing through the ballot because he/she realizes they don’t know squat about any of the referendums or other candidates on the ballot. They promise that next time they’ll be better informed. Finally, they get to the Supreme Court justice question, which probably reads something like “Should Justice Jones serve another six years on the Oklahoma Supreme Court?” At that point, they’re like, “Whatever!” and mark the ballot with a yes. Calvey’s biggest issue with the Oklahoma Supreme Court is that for a very conservative state, the justices tend to lean to the left. His Op-Ed rails against the Oklahoma Bar Association having such a big part in picking the candidates to be presented to the Governor. He believes that the entire nomination process should be taken out of the hands of the Bar and follow something more akin to how it works in the Federal government. Hmmmm…not so sure about that. He provides “statistics” that purport to show most attorneys are left leaning liberals and he blames the candidate list forwarded to the Governor on that left leaning philosophy. Ummmm, yeah maybe, though I’m not so sure. First of all, of the nine Supreme Court justices currently serving, EIGHT were initially appointed by Democratic Governors. Seems to me that if I was Governor of Oklahoma (no, thank you!) and was a Dem…I would try to seat a judge who liked the same things I do (long walks on the beach, fluffy puppies, fabulous sunsets…well, you get the idea). Okay, I get it…it’s probably not that simple, but to my simple lay deranged mind that’s how things look. So maybe what Calvey was really trying to do (woe unto me for getting inside his head) is spark outrage in the Oklahoma electorate to rise up against the evil Oklahoma Bar Association and change the manner in which justices picked based on what the morons in the State Legislature want them to do…or, something like that. That’s not likely to happen…it’s just another one of those, “well, it’s always been done that way” kind of things that is Oklahoma. Me…I have no easy answer. Cousin Fred suggested turning it into a reality show where Supreme Court candidates would compete on live television. He went on to point out that for reality show to pull in an audience nowadays, the realityers (sic) should either be naked or drunk or both. Perhaps that would work for the audience too! Good morning everyone! It’s Thursday! You know, the day when you’re supposed to meet your friends at the local bar and get hammered so you can go to work Friday with the worst hangover of your life only to get off work late that afternoon as you’re catching your second wind and back out with friends at yet another bar...on and on, Saturday morning with White Russians, by noon Saturday you’re hitting the rum drinks, back out Saturday night, up Sunday morning with the Gin and Tonic, wine Sunday afternoon and then…sigh…back to work Monday morning. That isn’t your life? Oops, never mind then. Guess I was whatta-ya-call-it, projecting (actual new age psych term).
Apparently, the Oklahoma Attorney General has been reading the Cosmic City Blog…thank you, Mr. Attorney General…er, General Pruitt, sir…eh, whatever. CCB has for some time now been pointing out ethics issues that could potentially open the door to potential corrupt practices in the state government (and possibly even county government), particularly with regard to the Oklahoma Corporation Commission where commissioners regularly accept sacks o’ cash from the people they’re supposedly regulating. I wrote it off as just another “well, it’s always been done that way” kind of Oklahoma thing. Of couse, I’ve taken a swing at the OAG himself for “accepting” funds from the huge Tobacco Settlements that the state receives to fluff up his “evidence fund” which no one seems to want to talk about. But, receiving money for his slush…er, evidence fund…didn’t stop him from taking on potential ethics issues among the state regulators regulating state stuff. Apparently, the OAG, according to an article posted on the NewsOK.com website, wrote a letter to Her Royal Highness Mary of Fallin. He told HRH that the Federal anti-trust lawsuits were likely to start flowing unless she took immediate action. The OAG, sly devil that he is, gave HRH two recommended options: 1) Restructure the boards and commissions so that the majority of the membership would have no ties to the industry they’re regulating (seems a reasonable course of action). He proposed filling the open positions with state officials (a REALLY bad idea given that those officials would come from the world’s most dysfunctional state government); or, 2) Establish an office or agency to regulate the regulators…haha...and I thought the Republicans were all about smaller government. HRH took all of about 20 minutes before issuing forth a decree (I think HRH called it an Executive Order) that hence forth the Oklahoma Attorney General will have supervisory authority over all state regulated regulators. Sheesh. The OAG was only too happy to accept his increased power which allows him to banish from the fiefdom those regulators who really piss him off. With his new responsibilities comes a title of his choosing. His choice was Knight of Nichols Hills (all his neighbors are so envious). Hey, it was that or Count of Classen Curve. Word has it that he is being fitted for a suit of armor as we speak. Far be it from me to second guess HRH, but frankly the language of the Decree…er, Executive Order…was a bit too specific and legally jargonized for it not to have been written by the OAG himself. Me thinks, HRH is grooming Sir Scott as heir apparent to the throne when her term is FINALLY up. It also sets the stage for HRH to avoid prosecution for any wrongdoing that may secretly be going on in OKC. Just sayin’… HRH: Sir Scott, I would remind thee that I placed great power in thy hands during my reign…you owe me, you rat bastard. Get the Special Grand Jury off my royal buttocks. Sir Scott: Of course, Majesty! It shall be done as you ask! Eh, may I measure the royal square footage of the Executive Bed Chamber? I’m thinking of ordering a California Deluxe Waterbed and want to make certain there’s room for that plus my Bowflex Extreme Home Gym. Ahhhh…just another day on North Lincoln Blvd. Eh, Sir Scott...as long as you're in a mood to grant requests...can you fix tickets? Friends, have you ever had something happen that annoyed you so much that you actually lost sleep over it? I’m sure you have. We all have, I suppose.
I was all set to tell you about some of the third-party candidates for president in 2016, having spent the last two days highlighting the more unusual declared candidates in the usual parties of idiots (i.e., Republicans and Democrats). But I’ve decided to let that go…frankly, the third-party candidates seem pretty normal compared to the supposedly “conventional” candidates. You can read about them here. I’m on to bigger and better game following my encounter yesterday afternoon with the Customer Care (sic) people at Pioneer Telephone. It’s our misfortune I guess that we live out in the country and are at the mercy of the evil rural monopoly that is Pioneer Telephone. I’ve been putting off getting a broadband connection here at the compound for some time now. We’ve been using a hotspot to connect for email, Facebook, and these all-important blog postings. But, my consulting work is starting to pick up so I figured I would just make it easier and (likely) cheaper on myself and order up some broadband. The house here at the compound has been serviced by Pioneer Telephone for years…decades…there was even broadband into the house as recently as early spring of this year. So, I’m thinking, okay…this will be easy enough. I’ll call them up, they’ll make an appointment for someone to come out and connect us…bada bing! The first thing I do is go to the Pioneer Telephone web site where you’ll likely never find a phone number to call Pioneer Telephone. I’m thinking they haven’t gotten around to installing a phone there yet. There is a web form that pops up when you enter the “Contact Us” tab. I filled out the web form and clicked “send” thinking that would be the end of it. It was…I waited the better part of the day to hear from someone. Language on the web form promised me that someone would call me very soon. Uh huh. Finally, in the late afternoon, I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I began digging around on the web site and finally found a phone number for “Customer Care” in the section about what to do if you can’t get your internet gateway to work properly. I dialed the number and wait and wait and wait. Finally, I get a human on the line who did her best to make it sound as though she was doing me a favor by talking to me. Here is, I think, an accurate rundown of how that conversation went… PT: What can I do for you? Me: I’m calling to get Pioneer High Speed Internet installed at my house. PT: What’s your name? Me: Robin Hohweiler. The address out here is… PT: (she cuts me off before I can finish) Where do you live? Me: Western edge of Woodward County. The house has had Pioneer DSL before… PT: (cutting me off before I finish) What town are you in? Me: I’m not. This is a rural residence. PT: (sighs…she’s getting irritated.) You mean you’re in the country? What town is closest to you? Me: Fargo. PT: (sighs again) How far from Fargo? Me: Oh, maybe a mile and a half. PT: That’s too far. We don’t service that area. Me: Ummmm…yeah, you do. Pioneer has provided phone service to this house since my grandparents built it in the ‘60’s. And, as I mentioned before this place has had Pioneer broadband in it within the past year. PT: So what is it you want? Me: Well, looking over your product offerings on the web site, I was thinking your stand-alone high speed internet. PT: You can’t have that. You live too far from the switching station. Me: Uh, okay… PT: (cuts me off) You’ll have to install a landline. Me: I don’t want a landline. PT: No landline, no internet. Me: Okay…I guess I’ll get a landline. PT: Hold on. I’ll have to call the Mooreland office (30 miles away) and see if they have someone that come put up phone lines out there. I’ll be right back. Me: But... After a full ten minute wait, the line disconnects. I call back and get a different woman on the phone. I started to explain to her that I was trying to order broadband and got cut off. A whole new conversation ensues: PT2: What’s your name? Me: Robin Hohweiler PT2: What’s your phone number? I give her my phone number. PT2: Let me figure out who you were talking to and I’ll have her give you a call. Me: Well, we never got very far along with the order can't I just start over? CLICK…she hung up. No one has called me back and frankly I’m scared that I’ll be put on some Enemy of Pioneer Telephone list if I do. It occurred to me that Obama just this past week was making speeches about closing the digital divide by ensuring that broadband access would be available to everyone, everywhere in the United States. It seems to me that Pioneer’s Customer Care is a roadblock from that ever happening. Thanks for reading. Welcome to Tuesday’s edition of the Cosmic City Blog. Hope everyone’s week is off to a great start. The response yesterday to the news about the Pathetic Order of the Jackrabbit – Original Charter was rather surprising. There were a number of people locally who inquired about joining the P.O.J.O.C. Even Cousin Fred called and wanted to know if he could establish a chapter in western Arkansas. I did my best to discourage that. There’s no telling what would happen if I let that idiot have his own chapter. Still, according to the official charter of P.O.J.O.C. any matters regarding the establishment of a new chapter anywhere require the consideration and vote of the membership of the original charter chapter.
There are five of us plank owners (Navy term) or original members. Most of these guys I’ve known since grade school though one came into our ranks through the back door (hahahahahaha – see below…I crack myself up!). I previously introduced each in a posting back in May, I think it’s worthwhile to run down the rogues’ gallery once again. First, there’s Terry Two-Fingers. We went to school together. Terry makes his living over near Freedom working as a rattlesnake handler and “charmer” during the warmer months. He has a small place east of town. He had to locate out there when the city refused him a permit for a snake farm inside the city limits. Terry offered to let us use his garage for chapter meetings, but I’m having none of that…I refuse to set foot on the place unless it’s the dead of winter and I have a pack of mongooses with me. Jake the Snake and I have known one another since kindergarten. He runs a successful Roto-Rooter business here in Woodward. His business really stepped up when he landed a contract to provide drain cleaning services for the City of Woodward. He’s made a ton of dough on that contract…seems the city is constantly in need of a plumber to open a drain somewhere. There is speculation that Jake is doing something to cause those drains to clog, but no will ever be able to prove that. Crisco Carl is another old friend. Following graduation from high school, most of us moved away from Cosmic City for college, or in my case the military. Carl stayed, working a variety of jobs around town. About 20 years ago, he landed in one of the furniture stores over on the east side. Started in the warehouse moving and delivering furniture before working his way up to inventory specialist. These days he works the floor as a sales person. It’s Carl’s genetic misfortune to have been cursed with Irish eyebrows. They’re completely unruly and refuse to be tamed without a dab of Crisco shortening that Carl applies every morning before heading out the door. Carl has a lot of experience with the Crisco. When we were kids, his mother used to clean his ears every morning and then dab Crisco around the outside folds of his ears. He had the shiniest ears of any kid I ever knew. K-Y Kelly isn’t from around these parts. He is a physician…proctology being his specialty. He moved to Northwest Oklahoma years ago after receiving a medical discharge from the Air Force after it was discovered he was blind in one eye. There was a big fuss in the papers about the one-eyed Air Force proctologist practicing medicine at Tinker AFB. Following his discharge, he was hired by the hospital over in Shattuck where he has enjoyed a steady, if not crappy (nyuk, nyuk) practice. With the hospital in Shattuck shutting down everything but basic services, he’s back on the streets. We put Kelly in charge of the orphans and widows fund. His one good eye is great for counting. So I’ll be putting it to the plank owners this evening as to whether or not we allow Cousin Fred to start his own chapter in Arkansas. I think my vote will be a “no”, but the others don’t know Cousin Fred as well as me so it could go either way. And speaking of upcoming votes… Yesterday, I touched on some of the lesser known Republican candidates who have declared for the 2016 presidential race. After citing a few of the odder GOP candidates, I thought I would check to see what the Dems were offering…oh my. I will say this for the field of declared Democratic presidential candidates, it’s about half the size of the Republican field, but no less weird. As you may recall, there are no less than 33 declared Republican candidates. The Democratic bunch is 17 as described on the 2016 Democratic Presidential Candidates web site…still a surprisingly large number (I’m betting there will be more jumping on the wagon soon). I keep asking myself, “Who the hell would want the job?” But, I digress… If the P.O.J.O.C. plank owners are a rogues’ gallery…the herd of Democrats running for president is more of an after-midnight-law-enforcement-BOLO-list. Allow me to explain… First up, please let me introduce you to Jeff Boss. Jeff’s day job is listed as “whistle blower”…hopefully you’re sitting down for this one. Jeff’s claim to fame is that he is what the conspiracy community refers to as a “Truther.” He believes (and says he can prove) that the U.S. Government was directly responsible for 9/11. Specifically, he blames the NSA for the events that unfolded on September 11th. He also says that the NSA is out to get him (hmmmm…hey, that’s my line!). Specifically, he says that the agency has bugged his home and altered his plumbing so as to introduce poison in his water supply (wow, now that’s a new level of paranoia). He says that the seven people (presumably neighbors) living closest to him are NSA operatives who are monitoring his every move. He believes that the NSA is intercepting his phone calls and using someone who sounds just like him to have conversations with friends and family thinking it’s actually Jeff. JUDAS PRIEST…and I thought I was paranoid. My best advice to Jeff would be to move to Uzbekistan (where reportedly the NSA’s prying surveillance can’t reach) and take up weaving potholders. Let’s see…next in the barrel is Doug Shreffler whose occupation is listed as “CIA and U.S. Envoy to G4 Classification”…huh? The CIA thing I get…maybe. But U.S. Envoy to G4 Classification? I’ve been around this stuff for a number of years and that’s the first time I’m hearing that phrase. To claim that he’s a U.S. Envoy would seem to imply that he represented the United States to the G4 Classification? What the hell is the G4 Classification? My advice to Dems…run and hide from this guy. Next up is another presidential candidate who chose to wear a ball cap for his official portrait (Jeff Boss is the other, bet the inside of his ball cap is lined with foil)…after all, nothing says presidential like a “Cathouse Strip Club and Snooker Parlor” ball cap. His name is Brad Winslow. Brad’s claim to fame is that he wants to push forward a “Public House” (please note Woodward News, that’s P-U-B-L-I-C House) Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. Essentially, the Public House would be a new branch of Government charged with the oversight of elected public officials. Public House would set goals and judge their attainment…blah, blah, blah. It’ll never work. The U.S. Congress can’t even agree on a budget, let alone put something like this in place. Those three are just a hint of what Dems are offering this time around. The remainder of this year in terms of presidential politics should be an interesting one…okay, actually it’s just going to be insane. Maybe I should move to Uzbek with Jeff Boss. I can be his quality control manager for the handwoven pot holders. Happy Monday everyone. Hope it was a good weekend for you. Now that the Woodward Elks Rodeo is behind us, I’ve turned my attention to the Thrash Metal Jam Festival near the compound next month.
At the urging of my fellow membership of the Pathetic Order of the Jackrabbit - Original Charter (P.O.J.O.C.), I am considering bringing next month’s event under the auspices of our organization. The membership includes a couple of attorneys who should be able to handle the inevitable lawsuits that result anytime you pack hot sweaty flesh into a venue where music is being played at ear-splitting, migraine-inducing sound levels. What’s that? You’ve not heard of the P.O.J.O.C.? Not surprising really. The first worldwide charter was issued only last month here in Cosmic City (attention Woodward Convention and Visitors Bureau…be sure to add that to your literature about Woodward firsts). Although we’re barely a month old, P.O.J.O.C. already has everything a pathetic order of anything needs to succeed. We have an official secret handshake. We have an official secret greeting. We have an official Latin motto, “Sic Semper Jack” – gotta have an official motto in Latin to be official, you know. We have official meeting headgear…a fur covered cap with two oversized black-tipped ears adorning the top. We have an official widows and orphans fund, which we consistently raid every week to maintain the necessary level of official meeting refreshments. We’re forming official committees with requisite official sub-committees. I’m telling you, P.O.J.O.C. has it all…except an official meeting hall to officially meet in and then rent out for other stuff when we aren’t officially meeting. But, we’re working on getting an official permanent home. We formed the official find a permanent home for P.O.J.O.C. committee just last week. The wife isn’t likely to put up with many more official meetings here at the compound. The mountain of beer cans is growing every week and is getting difficult to hide. So, if you’re interested in joining the Pathetic Order of the Jackrabbit - Original Charter, drop me a line. We aren’t too picky about membership at this point. We aren’t even currently charging dues at this point, though each official member is asked to contribute $10 to the widows and orphans fund. The model we’re using for adding new official membership is to add one member each week who brings enough beer to provide official current members with 3.2 servings each. That’s it…seriously…you show up with 3.2 servings of beer per official member and you’ll receive your Jackrabbit ear cap and official P.O.J.O.C. membership card suitable for laminating. Beyond the 3.2 servings…well…that’s where the widows and orphans fund comes in handy. But, I digress… Speaking of non-exclusive membership… So, over the weekend I saw that Republican front-runner Donald “Moptop” Trump was back in the news for refusing to apologize for comments he made about John McCain’s military service. Even the more radical factions of the GOP seem to be stepping back from his special brand of conservatism (á la Attila the Hun). I keep asking myself how it is that this guy could possibly be leading the pack (the last poll I saw had him in front of the rest of the candidates by a couple of points). I suppose he is striking some chord with an increasingly frustrated American electorate desperate for something other than status quo. As I was planning this posting, I decided to do a little research (always want at least one or two actual real facts in my posts) when I discovered something I did not know. I thought the field of declared Republican presidential candidates was a mere 15 or 16…oh, no, brothers and sisters…it’s actually 33! With another three or four UNDECLARED candidates waiting in the wings to jump out and say, “Here I am! Vote for me!” Well, just as soon as their polltakers tell them it’s okay to do so without looking like a complete jackass. I found a list of the declared Republican presidential candidates on a web site called, 2016 Republican Candidates (an apt name if ever there was one). I won’t waste your valuable time discussing all 33 of the declared candidates…I prefer promoting P.O.J.O.C. membership drives for that. So I thought I would hit on a few of the lesser known candidates…kind of like a lesser prairie chicken if you think about it. We’ll start with Skip Andrews. According to the web site, Candidate Andrews is an “Army child and business owner.” Huh? Army child? Guess he grew up in a military family? Guess that’s supposed to appeal to Veterans? The site also indicates that he tries to please everyone. He is for the legalization of marijuana, but remains a staunch pro-lifer. Wow. Next up is Michael Bickelmeyer, whom the web site lists as a “Creative Dreamer.” Isn’t that special? What the hell does that have to do with anything, I asked myself? But then, I read on…says he has particular disdain for terrorist and drug traffickers (uh huh, okay, don’t we all?) and in fact (I SWEAR I’M NOT MAKING THIS UP) “wants to deploy weapons to fry them from orbit.” QUOTE/UNQUOTE. What the hell does that mean? Moving on… There’s Jack Fellure. This poor guy gets my vote for most persistent candidate. He’s been running as a Republican presidential candidate without fail since 1988. Wonder why you’ve never heard of him? He wants to bring back Prohibition. NEXT! Let’s see who’s next? Ah, Chris Hill, whom the site describes as “a former combat pilot and current airline pilot.” He’s a fellow Gulf War veteran…okay points for that. Oh…here it is. Me thinks Candidate Hill did a few too many high-G maneuvers in his fighter plane…he’s confused about his party affiliation. This guy is for a “living wage”, he’s a big supporter of labor unions, and he also supports gay marriages…none of which is mainstream Republican dogma. Oh, wait, there’s more…he is a big Second Amendment gun rights supporter and does not hesitate to tell anyone who will listen that he went to war to protect those rights! Huh? Really? And I thought we were there to chase Saddam out of Kuwait and keep the (altogether now) OIL flowing. Stupid me. Okay, enough of this nonsense for today. I guess I need to look at how many declared Democrats there are…I’m sure there’s some general buffoonery in the works there too. Eh, maybe tomorrow. Okay, so back in April of this year, I left a couple of posts on this blog about the Oklahoma GOP. First, I urged people not to sell off their Franklin Mint Commemorative Elvis Plates only to hand the money over to the Oklahoma Republican Party. The brand spanking new Chairman of the Oklahoma GOP was, at the time, sending around letters to the party faithful informing them that the party was broke…nothing left…zilch in the bank account…the Democrats are about to foreclose. That “fundraising” letter was leaked to the Oklahoma media who ran with the story like a dog with a frozen dead squirrel in its mouth (hey, my dog runs like a fiend with booty like that).
Suddenly the former Chair of the Republican Party was being quoted in the media as saying he had no idea what the new Chair was talking about. There was money remaining when he left. There were even quotes by Democratic leaders in the state pointing out that Republicans in Oklahoma have an unprecedented lock on the state government and that it was inconceivable to think that the party could possibly be broke. But, still the New Chair insisted he needed cash or dire things would happen. After we at CCB reported that information and had polished off an entire bottle of wine thinking about it. The very next day we came back with some suggestions for ways Republicans in Oklahoma could raise some needed cash. I suggested in very broad terms that if the Republican Party appeared a bit more friendly toward concepts such marijuana legalization and/or less bombastic with regard to illegal aliens in the state, they might improve their future political outlook not to mention their cigar-box slush fund cash. Hey! They were just ideas! But now…just in the past few days, Mr. New Chairman of the Oklahoma GOP has once again inflamed the masses by spouting stupid rhetoric without thinking before he or someone else pressed “post”. Let me just say right now that social media will likely be the downfall of civilization as we know it. But, I digress… I mean, I get it. Being the head of the Oklahoma Republican Party must be a pretty boring job. You have a lock on the state government that isn’t likely to change anytime soon unless there’s a sudden influx of Democrats into the state. Democrats like cold high point beer and being able to purchase wine in a grocery store at a reasonable price. Why the hell would they move here? So, let’s put ourselves in his shoes (as well as boxer shorts with little red elephants) and imagine YOU’RE the Chair of the Oklahoma Republican Party. It’s been months since your last controversy. The fire is out. No longer is anyone calling for your head on a platter. You’re tired of flipping a deck of cards into a hat on the floor. You’re burned out on playing solitaire on the computer day-in and day-out. Playing mumbley-peg against the summer intern has lost its charm. It’s time…oh, yes, it’s time…time to do something really stupid. You call together your select group of hip young social media types. You call your little cabal the HERD (Hip Educated Republican Devotees). You inform them that you graduated from the Les Aspin School of Media Manipulation. After you patiently explain who Les Aspin was and why he was the master of getting the media to carry the water for him (despite being a danged Democrat), you launch into your plan. You tell the HERD to come up with something…anything…that will stir the pot of the Republican majority faithful and hopefully really piss off the Democratic minority of the state. You point out that’s it’s been a couple of months since your photo was on the front page of The Oklahoman and that “time is a tickin’…we’re burnin’ daylight, boys and girls…let’s drop the fat into the fire!” It’s about that time that Charles (don’t ever call him Charlie or Chuck!) mentions that he saw something go past him the other day on the web site, Uber-Radical-Conservatism.com. It was a photo of a sign in a U.S. National Park telling people not to feed the animals as it makes them dependent on handouts and makes it hard for them to live on their own. Your brow furrows. You aren’t sure you understand where he’s headed with this. But then, the odd-looking blonde at the end of the table whose name you can never recall (Bethany, Tiffany, Hilda…something like that) brings-it-home and ties it all together. Why not equate the U.S. Government’s signage with providing Food Stamp benefits to those in need. The young George Harrison look-a-like in a brown suit with a red bowtie next to you (with the congenital unibrow) pipes up with, “I know, we’ll turn it into a lesson in irony.” You slam your hand down onto the conference room table and proclaim, “Excellent! Excellent indeed! Let’s run with it.” Before the sun sets on the great state of Oklahoma, your team posts its carefully crafted message to Facebook. You tuck yourself into bed that night dreaming of your ascension to the position of Chair of the Republican National Committee. You sleepily toss around ideas in your head for your acceptance speech. You think of the things you’ll do when you are in charge as you drift toward REM sleep. You are master of your universe. Eh, not so much…you awaken the next morning to find every media outlet in Oklahoma and several nationwide asking the same question, “WTF were you thinking?” Even Republican pols are turning on you. You hastily draft an “apology” that makes it seem everyone who isn’t on board with your philosophy is a dumbass who simply misinterpreted what you really meant to say. Once that goes over like a lead balloon, you don’t know what to do. You can’t issue an apology for the apology so you just decide to let it sit. In another few months, you’ll do something stupid again. Back to playing mumbley-peg. So it is, this past week with the Head Oklahoma Republican. Between his ill-conceived missteps and those of his Republican colleagues in the state legislature, it’s a miracle Republicans are still in charge in Oklahoma. Maybe they should hire me as a consultant. Oh, sure, I’m a disgruntled Dem, but I’m betting I have the brains to steer them clear of the rocks ahead. Just sayin’… |
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