 It’s Thursday, people…time to begin stocking up for whatever is coming your way this weekend. May I suggest alcohol, in large quantities? Yep, that’s my advice, drink heavily. It cushions the fall.
I’m back at The Compound. Life continues around here. Cousin Fred is a mess. Upon return from NYC, I found him in a disheveled state. He is refusing to do the physical therapy. That combined with the pain from removing the cast too soon is really getting to him. He’s been self-medicating with Mezcal which, I soon discovered, is making for some “great” decision making. First, I found he had chopped Gigi’s Lexus – the top has been completely removed. He also somehow jacked the thing up and put oversized tires on it. The hood is gone too…as of yesterday he was starting engine modifications. I asked if he could please focus on getting us ready to go to Colorado for shooting the new episodes of “Bigfoot: Naked and Untamed” for the Vice Channel, but he just looked at me like I was insane. He informed me that he is getting us ready. He is creating a vehicle we can use there. I thought about pointing out that the average day-time temp where we’re headed at that time of year will likely be in the 30’s, but what’s the point? Hmmm…Lexus to swamp buggy. This will turn out well. You’ll see. But then, the biggest surprise came. The door to Hellkat One’s trailer opened and out stepped the Francesca! I was happy to see she wasn’t in county jail orange or wearing the remains of shackles. I looked at Cousin Fred, who informed me that the veterinarian in New York State had dropped the charges and consequently, the extradition. Seems he was just happy to get his Mobile Mutt Rescue Unit back in one piece. Cousin Fred gave me that look I’ve known since we were kids. The look that says don’t say another word about it. He must have read my mind because I was thinking of several things I could say – pointing out that he disappeared for a time while driving the Lexus around the country trying to catch up to the Trump’s entourage to woo Gigi back…his turning his back on the Francesca while she was in jail…the threatening calls I received from the Francesca while she was locked up. And, now, here she is…all smiles and I’m-so-happy-to-be-free looks. He did point out to me that there were local charges brought against her for the contraband phone (the one she was using to call me) the jailers found. But, Cousin Fred informed me that he was able to bond her out. Bond her out? I’m wondering what he used to bond her out? He doesn’t have any money or property to put up as collateral for the bond. Ask a question, get an answer…unfortunately. He informed me he used Hellkat One’s trailer and the Lexus. Oh great...he used property for which he holds no clear title to post her bond. Oh, and one piece of that property for which he holds no clear title has now been chopped to a point that it is probably worthless. This gets better all the time. But wait, there’s more. Then he informed me that she wants to be part of the show. I casually asked if she wants to be part of the cast of talent. That got me a glare and Cousin Fred responded that she wants a show credit as Creative Director. I pointed out that it will likely violate the terms of her bond if she leaves the state. He told me not to worry. According to him the court docket in this county is so backed up it will be late spring before anything happens and her defense lawyer is certain he can stall things until the case just disappears completely. Besides, he said, unless she does something stupid in Colorado, no one will have a clue that she’s out of state. This has disaster written all over it. It occurred to me then that given the current state of television entertainment in this country, our new employers, the Vice Channel, would probably welcome the drama that goes along with having a technical fugitive on the payroll. I'm feeling much better now.  Well, it’s a happy Tuesday for some of us, I suppose. It’s not even 4AM here in New York and I’m certain most of you are still tucked into your beds. You’re likely subliminally congratulating your candidate for their brilliant performance in that messy debate last night.
Me, I’ve been up all night. Mostly, because someone or something is still blocking me from opening the door to my bedroom here in the Southern Living suite at the Grand Hyatt. Eh well, I was able to finish my piece for Southern Living. No parties in the suite last night, though I swear I could hear Uncle Bill outside the door whimpering and scratching to come in. Actually, I’ve been watching all the post-debate analysis initially thinking I’m the only one who didn’t get it. Turns out, no one gets it. There may have been a clear winner, depending on whose analysis and/or polls you choose to believe, but no else seems to be able to agree. I learned a long time ago that polls are like handicapping a horse race. If you go to the races during the work week, when the only people there are the guys who’ve been there every afternoon for the past thirty years wearing the same “lucky” luau shirt even though it’s the middle of January, you can count on the posted odds to help you figure out which horse to back in the race. However, if you go to the track on a weekend you had better not even look at posted odds because every Budweiser-guzzling moronic boob is skewing those odds using their can’t-miss method for picking the horses. That’s my roundabout analogy of explaining why pre-election polls are a lot like pre-race odds – they don’t tell you a damned thing…they’re skewed. Maybe it’s the way the questions were asked, there are a lot of shenanigans such as pollsters simply calling homes they know lean one way or the other. I can guarantee you that CNN did not call any homes in rural America, much the same as someone like FOX News wouldn’t dial any numbers where someone in a seemingly-random questionnaire had previously stated a preference for tighter government control over environmental issues or possessed education beyond high school. It’s important to keep in mind that these polls are NOT from random or particularly large groups. As I mentioned above you can bend your survey to meet your editorial needs. The results are from what are referred to as snap polls, that is, a person’s visceral reaction to a particular debater’s performance during or immediately following the debate (no time for sitting and pondering). Here are a few: Drudge Report: Trump 81.5%, Clinton 18.5%; TIME: Trump 58%, Clinton 42%; CNBC: Trump 51%, Clinton 49%; NBC New/Wall St. Journal: Trump 37%, Clinton 43%; NBC News/Survey Monkey: Trump 40%, Clinton 45%; The Washington Times: Trump 71%, Clinton 22%; CNN: Trump 11%, Clinton 62%. The thing that struck me were the polls from local stations and papers in large markets…Cleveland, New York, Las Vegas, Nashville, San Diego…all overwhelmingly indicating the Trump won. There were some low blows during the two-hour session – Queen of the Unindicted calling out the Trump for being racist and sexist. The Trump responding to criticism that he doesn’t pay anything in Federal income tax with “that makes me smart.” (hmmmmm) And saying that he’ll release his taxes when Her Majesty releases her emails. That brought criticism of the poor schmuck who was moderating the debate, Lester Holt, for not bringing up Her Majesty’s email mess or Benghazi. Who cares, you ask? Well, perhaps you should. Despite being cleared of any purposeful wrongdoing on both counts (mistakes were made, feelings were hurt, let’s get past it…thpppppt), it will continue to dog her like an old nasty tire hanging around her neck. Eventually, it will come up in one of these so-called debates and her response in that forum may be very telling. I also noticed that Mister Lester was very hands off on the Trump’s own legal issues – a docket of lawsuits that could run for the next 20 years. If he becomes president, those get put off. Apparently, you can’t sue a sitting president. Who knew? As for my own analysis of who “won”…you’ll have to read the forthcoming piece that I finished at 2AM for Southern Living. I no sooner printed the damned thing and the virginal vegan Hodensack came running out of her bedroom, grabbed the pages and ran back in. She’s been reading and editing it in there over the phone with her editor. I suppose I’ll have some recommended changes to make before I send it off to the magazine. In the meantime, I have to get back to The Compound. There’s much to do in preparation for producing the additional episodes for Bigfoot: Naked and Untamed. Cousin Fred is still not answering his phone. I half-expected to see him here in New York, but he never showed. The Trump was very nicely coifed, so I know Gigi is hard at work. So, it’s back to reality or at least, Reality Show.  Happy Monday, everybody! I’m here in New York City, on-scene (well, actually less than 20 miles away) for the debate tonight between the two most known presidential candidates. It’s going to be fabulous…you’ll see!
Arrived here Friday afternoon. There’s not been a sign of Cousin Fred, so far. I couldn’t seem to get him off The Compound to come to NYC with me. He told me he was going to try to get inside the county jail to see the Francesca. So I guess I’m on my own here in the Big Apple. Truthfully, I don’t miss him too much. I’ve not had a moment alone here in the Southern Living Magazine suite at the Grand Hyatt in Manhattan. It’s been non-stop partying…er, working. Friday night things were pretty low key. I had dinner with the virginal vegan Brooklynn Hodensack, my handler, sent by the magazine to ensure I don’t bankrupt the publication with late-night parties and the like. True to her descriptor, Brooklynn picked out an Iranian vegan restaurant for dinner. The weird part was, the owner is an Iranian Catholic named Gladys (only in NYC). I had a vegan chili (very flavorful) served over a bed of organic brown rice. The restaurant served no alcohol, so I was glad to get back to the suite where I discovered the place stocked as I previously requested. Saturday afternoon, I headed over to the debate site on Long Island. There, I received my press credentials, although the people from the Trump’s campaign were eyeing me suspiciously. The Queen of the Unindicted’s people informed me it would be a cold day in hell before she would agree to a one-on-one interview. They did tell me, half-jokingly, that Clinton the First would make himself available. Ooooh, am I happy I agreed to that! What with the Trump’s threat on Saturday afternoon to put Gennifer Flowers in the front row of the debate tonight, I knew it would make for an interesting interview. Of course, he’s only inviting Flowers to attend the debate because the Clinton side announced they’re inviting Mark Cuban to sit front and center. Cuban has apparently hinted that he will make faces at the Trump during the debate. This is going to be great television people! Must see TV! Right here! Hell, this could push the idea of holding presidential debates back into the dark recesses of television archives. Saturday night found the suite filled with students and faculty from New York University, Columbia University, and Hofstra University (where the debate will be held). There was even a cadre of faculty from the John F. Kennedy School of Government at Harvard. It was a delightful evening of meaningful intelligent conversation against a backdrop of esoteric jazz music. This was truly the cream of what I used to refer to as East Coast Intellectual A**holes (a term of endearment, for me anyway). Interestingly, there wasn’t a Trump supporter among any of them. That disturbed me greatly. After all, you need all sides of a political set-up in order to leave the best taste in your mouth. So, I had the virginal vegan Hodensack start dialing for rabid right wingers and prepared to start blasting Ted Nugent tunes. To her credit, and my delight, she found a flock (her term) of about 50 members of the Rockaway Beach Molto Conservative and Social Club at the Rockaway Beach Surf Club having their weekly meeting. The promise of free booze and barbecued cocktail wieners with toothpicks sticking in them had the herd…er, flock…moving our way. By 10PM, the suite was rocking with everything from “Wang Dang Sweet Poontang” (actual Ted Nugent tune) to “Kind of Blue” (actual Miles Davis tune)…interspersed with spirited (more like, spirit-induced) discussions of whether the Trump is harboring a plan to build a wall to keep those pesky Canadians from crossing the border and/or whether the Queen of the Unindicted has been purposely building tunnels beneath the border with Mexico to bring in more voters. The highlight of the night was Rudy Giuliani showing up around midnight in a ball gown and red slippers. He kept asking people who they thought was the fairest belle of the ball. That was followed by Clinton the First at 1AM, who kept working through the crowd telling all the young women to call him Uncle Bill. I had the chance to ask Uncle Bill if he was there for his interview. He chuckled and said, no. That’s it, nothing else. He spent the rest of the night avoiding me and having his one-man security team do its best to block my every advance. It’s now 4AM Monday morning and the party is finally beginning to thin out after more than 36 hours. I need sleep in the worst way, but for some reason the door to my bedroom in the suite is blocked by something. No telling who’s in there. The virginal vegan Hodensack’s door is also blocked, but by a brutish looking bodyguard Southern Living sent over to protect her. The remaining intellectuals are lined up on one side of the suite reading from the 17th century work by John Milton, “Areopagitica” and then discussing his relevance in a 21st century world (it is zilch, zero, nada, by the way – trust me, I have a degree in Literature). That was only after an early Sunday evening’s stirring round of conjugating verbs in dead languages. The team on the right from Rockaway Beach is watching old Ronald Reagan speeches on YouTube and weeping inconsolably as they guzzle Brown Derby Beer (they sent out for it). By the by, as we promised last week, we are herein today, fulfilling a semi-promise to reveal signs of the coming apocalypse. Oh, it’s coming! First, we revealed a dent in the nation’s supply of fast-food. Now comes the second sign, namely, the rise of the rule-benders. They’re everywhere. It seems that two women in the township of Mehoopany in Wyoming County, Pennsylvania (I couldn’t possibly make any of that up) got into a confrontation at the Mehoopany Dandy Mart (MDM). It seems that Kimberly (mugshot above) was smoking a cigarette while pumping gas at the MDM. Poor innocent Tami (who has likely never broken a rule, let alone bent a rule), began yelling at Kimberly to put out the cig while they were both pumping gas. An argument ensued – O’ how I wish I had video of that – and poor innocent Tami threw water at the cigarette. Tami then got into her car and started to drive away when Kimberly leveled the gas nozzle and sprayed Tami inside her car with gas. Eh, gas is cheap right now, you can participate in such shenanigans and not feel like you’re wasting money. Tami, drenched in gasoline, stops her car, gets out, but before she could beat Kimberly senseless with the gas nozzle, she slipped in the spilled gas, fell down and broke her arm. Kimberly is in jail now facing assault and other charges – hopefully one of which is smoking while fueling. We are currently hard at work on our new CCB-associated web site, www.countdown2armageddon.com. Get ready, people…to be shocked, amazed, and bewildered all in one sitting. That is all! The Trump declared demon-free...no, Hillary is still running...oh, and Cousin Fred is back!9/23/2016
 Good morning, everybody! Another Friday upon us! I was up most of the night packing for my trip to Long Island, NY for the debate on Monday. My plane doesn’t leave until late this afternoon so hopefully I can get some sleep beforehand. I solidified my deal with Southern Living magazine yesterday. They’ve booked a suite at the Grand Hyatt in Manhattan for me and the virginal vegan Brooklynn Hodensack. I wasn’t too happy about the location since the hotel is 20 miles away from the debate will be held, but they said it was the best they could do. Everything on Long Island is locked up. They’re giving me a car service to run me back and forth and anywhere else I want to go. When the virginal vegan checked in with me yesterday evening, I told her about Cousin Fred. She said she will use a resource she has in NYPD to try to locate him in the city. She also asked me to email her the list of items I’ll require for the debate. Normally, I have Cousin Fred take care of that detail, but I hadn’t seen him so I put a list together that included: six cases of Jack Daniel’s (large bottles); four cases of Mezcal (with worm); 21 cases of Modelo Especial beer (breakfast of champion writers); two HP laptops with wide screens; 14 portable hard drives; eight 78” SUHD 4K Curved LED Smart HDTVs (there are a lot of channels to watch in NYC); four dedicated broadband circuits; 15 boxes of pens; 100 legal pads; and, 55 cases of Frito’s Corn Chips. That should hold me for the four days I’ll be there. I also have the virginal vegan trying to run down exclusive interviews with the Trump and the Queen of the Unindicted. Not sure it will happen though. The Trump is coming out of an exorcism (more on that later) and likely won’t be interested in dealing one on one with a demonic media type wannabe like me. But, who knows…maybe he can exorcise some of my demons in the process. It’s really unlikely that the Queen of the Unindicted will meet with me after we let her husband, Clinton the First into a few of our parties back in the pre-convention days. So, anyway…this is all my long way of telling you that Cousin Fred has returned to The Compound! After packing late into the evening last night, I fell into bed only to awaken at 2:30 to a grinding sound. The Compound Mutts were barking and carrying on, so I grabbed a weapon and two magazines of ammo and opened the front door. There, to my surprise, was Cousin Fred sitting on a stool in front of Hellkat One’s trailer. He had a smallish handheld tool in his hand and was attempting to saw through the plaster of his cast. As the last piece fell away, I half expected to see him collapse on the ground in pain, but he just picked up a hose and rinsed himself off. He barely looked at me before going inside the trailer and I’m sure crashing into bed. I walked down to turn out the headlights of Gigi’s Lexus. It looked like hell. The windshield is covered in cracks from rock hits. The entire vehicle is so covered in bug splats, road tar, and grime that it was only barely recognizable. Somehow, I don’t think he’ll be in any shape to come to NYC with me. Maybe he can join me later in the weekend. Once he figures out I know where Gigi definitely is (within roughly 20 miles), he’ll be on the first flight out of OKC. Oh, speaking of the Trump and where he is at the moment. Did you hear that some Evangelical preacher declared that the Trump is possessed by Satan himself? All of this took place in Cleveland (Cleveland rocks?) at an event that the Trump attended. The Evangelical declared that the Trump is currently undergoing a “concentrated satanic attack” (no mention of Hillary) and offered to perform an exorcism. So with a whole herd of holy people surrounding him and laying on hands (I bet the Secret Service guys loved that) the Trump was declared demon-free. Hmmm…so we’ll see how the demon-free Trump acts during the debates. Who knows? Maybe he’s cured? Nahhhh. On to New York!  Good morning everybody! Welcome to the First Day of Fall edition of CCB. According to the Hands (thank you again, DISH), it officially arrives at 9:21AM. In keeping with a long-established tradition at KFOR, the Hands and perennial weather-hottie Emily Sutton will perform the semi-annual equinox dance around the ol’ weather pole starting at 9:21 and dance for no more than 3 minutes. Stay tuned for that action!
Friends, if there’s something of a desperate tone in my writing this morning, it’s because…well, I’m desperate. I’m beginning to learn firsthand the old adage that when it rains it pours until the cows come home to roost with them chickens. Why are you desperate Mr. Robin, you ask? I’ll tell you why. There’s still no sign of Cousin Fred anywhere. We have a tentative self-imposed shooting schedule for our reality show, “Bigfoot: Naked and Untamed” that starts in mid-October. There are logistical, technical, and talent issues to be worked out before we ever press record on the camera. In the meantime, I’ve got two major publications blowing up my phone to go back out on the campaign trail starting with the first real presidential debate on Monday, which means I have to get to Hempstead, New York by Sunday. The two major publications are (as you die-hard fans of CCB – all two of you, it’s still early - have likely already figured out), MAD Magazine and Southern Living. Both keep calling and raising their offers for me to drop everything and chase the Trump and the Queen of the Unindicted around the country until…huh, well it would be November 8th. That means, I’m only pushing back my production schedule by three weeks, really. Of course, the only way I can get all that done is by having Cousin Fred on hand to lay a lot of the groundwork for me. And, maybe I’m expecting too much from Cousin Fred. After all, he’s still in a half-body cast with one of his arms cocked up at a weird angle. Still, that leaves him with one good hand to dial a phone. But, then again, I don’t know where he is. I received a call the other night that claimed the caller saw Cousin Fred on television at a NY Mets game. They said that the camera closed in on “the typical NYC freak” at which the game announcers chuckled and the camera moved on. Guess that means Cousin Fred is still in the purple nylon shorts with no underwear and contrasting lime green Crocs. The caller told me that he was wearing a sleeve on his left arm that kind of matched the color of the plaster. In the hand on the cocked-up arm, he was holding a NY Mets pennant on a stick. After hearing all of this, I have reached a decision with regard to covering the presidential election and getting production underway on the reality show. Although MAD Magazine was offering a lot more dough working for them, I’ve decided to go with Southern Living. Sure the money is less, but they never failed to put on a good party. The added bonus, of course, is that I’ll once again have the services of the virginal vegan Brooklyn Hodensack. I’ll insist on it. She’s not only responsive to our needs (“More alcohol, Ms. Hodensack! More alcohol!”), but I’ll put her on the case of finding Cousin Fred in NYC. Of course, the downside to that is having to listen to her start her rants when I fall behind in producing copy for the magazine (“Are you writing? You should be writing until dawn! You can sleep when you’re dead!”), but it’s a fair exchange I think. And, speaking of fair exchanges…they’re baaaaack! You devoted fans of CCB (all three of you – another just got up) may recall our examination and careful and well considered analysis of that bunch of nomadic pagans who call themselves The Satanic Temple. They tried their best to unload their giant-sized statue of Baphomet, the nearly naked man with a goat’s head seated on a throne, on the grounds of the Oklahoma State Capitol when our keenly laser-focused state legislature (morons) were threatening to put up a larger than life ten commandments tablet on the lawn there. The legislature blinked and backed down (pussies). The Satanic Temple soon took their statue and went up into Minnesota or some damn place hoping to drop it off. Well, by golly, they’ve found a new home. Salem, Mass! The organization is in the process of buying an old house there that they will turn into their world headquarters…just down the street from where alleged witches met their ends. And, here’s the thing…the town is welcoming them! Guess the townsfolk, who have traded on their alleged witch persecution for years, figure it’s just one more thing to trade on. It would be fun to attend the chamber of commerce lunches there! “Members, members, your attention please. Our lunch today of goats head stew and Sangria is being provided by our newest member organization, The Satanic Temple. Following lunch, we’ll have a brief presentation by the Uber Grand Wizard of the Temple, Dr. B. L. Zebub, who will channel Baphomet himself for us. Won’t that be exciting?” I love America…seriously!  It’s Tuesday, people. Get up, get up. Get out there. Go to Walmart today…cash in whatever life savings you have…take it with you to the store.
Begin stockpiling peanut butter, bottled water, and crackers…lots of crackers. What? You’re allergic to peanut butter? Okay, then buy cases of Vegemite…Kraft is now making it in the U.S. Has the same nutritive value of peanut btter, the consistency of peanut butter, but tastes like crap. It’s all about surviving from this point on. Foodies be damned! You can always shake some Turmeric across the Vegemite to help with the taste and apparently cure whatever ails ye. More on that later. But, first… Today begins CCB revealing signs of the coming apocalypse. Oh, it’s coming, people. But, more on that in a moment. First… I wish to address Cousin Fred here because I have reason to believe he is viewing these posts while driving pell-mell across the U.S. in pursuit of the Trump’s entourage. Dear Cousin Fred… WE GOT A DEAL! GET YOUR PLASTER-ENCASED SELF BACK HERE TO THE COMPOUND! I was called yesterday by none other than Chick Farris of Mountebank Studios in Hollywood. We have a deal with the Vice Channel to air, starting in January, the eight episodes of our TV reality show, “Bigfoot: Naked and Untamed” that we completed last spring. AND, they’re ordering another twenty episodes! We got to get ourselves together here. We need to bring together the film and sound crew we used before (they worked for cheap). There’s also trying to get our reality “actors” back together. And, then, there’s the big question…do we go back to Montezuma, Colorado to film? It is, after all, America’s Meanest Town. Maybe it’s time we graduate to a higher level…the Pacific Northwest, where there seem to be Bigfoot sightings on a daily basis. Decisions, decisions…in the meantime, Cousin Fred, please come home. Of course, the Wife wants nothing to do with any of this. She told me that the lunacy associated with production of the show combined with my signs of the coming apocalypse (more on that later) is weighing heavily on her. She says she’ll ride it out in a fabulous location on another of her fabulous vacations. Chick informs me that he had a heck of time trying to get the show sold to the likes of the History Channel and the Discovery Channel, oh and, CBS. It seems they’ve all reached their limit with reality shows involving nakedity and were looking for something new. I pointed out that the naked participants is what makes this Bigfoot reality show so special. I mean there’s the one with the hillbillies running through hillbilly country in the middle of the night armed to the teeth, determined to shoot a Bigfoot. Truth be told the only thing that ever seems to get shot is a lot of video footage of hillbillies tramping through the night with a lot of guns. There are a couple of other Bigfoot reality shows out there with teams of scientists and/or rednecks (a close DNA match to a hillbilly) in the same pursuit. Occasionally, they’ll capture sound (no video) of a twig snapping or a leaf rustling, but that’s it. As far as I’m concerned, there is nothing more compelling than the sight (real video moving pictures) of naked people who just had the beejeezus scared out of them running down the face of the mountain to get away from something. Now, that’s great TV, people! We’re slipping through September now. I’ve created a self-imposed harsh schedule for shooting the new episodes. We’ll have to start no later than mid-October and should be able to call it quits and move into post-production by the end of January. And, that’s the other thing…why couldn’t we have gotten a deal that would have put us up in the mountains during the summer? I suppose shooting naked people in the summer comes with its own unique challenges. For instance, there are the gawking tourists, though Montezuma’s reputation for being America’s Meanest Town would have kept that to a minimum. Then there are the big honking mosquitos to deal with. Wouldn’t want to turn this into “Zika Mosquito: Naked and Unsprayed”. No, no…the winter will do nicely. Sure, the reality actors have to wear big ugly Uggs on their feets to ward off the frostbite, but it’ll be worth it. Now, as promised, we here at CCB will begin (today) laying out our case for a coming apocalypse. It’s coming, it’s definitely coming. In fact, I suppose some critics will say that our TV reality show, “Bigfoot: Naked and Untamed” is a sign in and of itself. In the coming weeks, months, and years (if necessary), we’ll be offering insights into that which is coming. In fact, we may start a new web site…something like www.countdown2armageddon.com (don’t bother, I already own it)…as a means for spreading the fear and anxiety (kind of like Fox News, but without the vapid blondes). Friends, there is probably no better sign of the coming apocalypse than a great big dent in our food supply. And, here in America there is no bigger, rustier dent in our food supply than when something goes wrong in our supply of fast food. Over the past several decades, we’ve grown weak and lazy, relying on fast food for our nutrition to the point that we’ve created a bloated belly for ourselves and a multi-billion-dollar industry for the people who serve this crap. While we sit in a posh McDonalds eating tree-pulp-laden beef and grow weaker, Charlie (our neighbor) squats in his backyard eating BBQed rattlesnake that he caught himself and grows stronger. But, I digress… Take for example, a woman in New York who was treating her daughter, niece, and her sister to a chicken dinner at Popeyes Louisiana Kitchen (…love that chicken from Popeyes…sing along people), when she noticed a fried rat’s head in her tray of crispy, fried chicken. The victimized woman was quoted as saying, “This is clearly a rat and they have the nerve to have a 5 rating by the Department of Health.” Nerve, indeed. Popeyes, of course, denies that it’s a rat head, but won’t say exactly what it is. Their suppliers also deny it. So who is responsible? Obama? Not likely, he’s a lame-ass duck. The Trump? Nah, he’s not that smart. The Queen of the Unindicted? Maybe…she could have figured it a way to keep the Bill out of the fried chicken (“We don’t have health insurance, you moron. No more by-pass surgeries for you!”)…nah, that doesn’t make sense. Ah…Putin’s all-stars? That’s the most likely scenario. Very possible. We aren’t saying for certain (mostly because we haven’t a clue), but it’s just one sign of the coming apocalypse. Prepare now! We’ll keep you informed. Cousin Fred, please come home…and don’t eat the fried chicken. Abusive English teachers and Cousin Fred still missing. It's gonna be a fabulous week...you'll see!9/19/2016
 Good morning everyone! It’s Monday! Time to drag your hungover, pathetic selves outta bed and make your way into the Cosmic City to make money for the Man! Whomever or whatever, that Man may be.
There, my job is done. I’ve pretty much handed English classes all over the region a paragraph they can spend all week dissecting and then send me hate emails asking where the heck I learned to write. Next! Haha, just kidding. Truth be told, it was a good weekend here at The Compound. Well, unless you count football. There wasn’t one team I was pulling for that actually won their game. Well, except one…Sam Bradford came through for the Vikings in their win against Green Bay. Sir Adrian was all but carried off the field though sources say that it was a minor injury and he’ll be back. The Swooners got creamed by Ohio State. I listened to too much post-game analysis following the debacle in Norman on Saturday night. The camps are divided: blame Stoops for everything vs. it’s not Stoops fault. I think everyone knew it would be a tough year given the talent they gave up last year. It’s gonna be a long season. The Pokes managed to pull out a win against Pitt, though Pittsburgh gave them a run for the money. And, then the Redskins gave it their all, but fell flat against Dallas. Closer to home, there’s still no word from Cousin Fred. I did see that the Trump was in Norman yesterday to beg for more cash. Her Royal Highness Mary of Fallin was up front warming up the crowd. Before and after the event, I’m sure she was bugging him about a cabinet position, “So have you made a decision? No? When will that happen? You gotta get me the hell out of here!” and later the same day, “How about now? Have you made any decisions? I’d be real good at Homeland Security.” So somewhere out there in the vast wasteland, Cousin Fred is driving a semi-hot Lexus, crisscrossing the U.S. in pursuit of the Trump’s entourage, hoping to catch up to Gigi, the hairdressing hydrologist. In the meantime, the Francesca languishes in the county jail. Apparently, her extradition hearing was postponed on Friday when the deputies ran out of shackles to move her to the courtroom. The good news for me is that they apparently found her contraband cell phone, so I stopped getting texts every 10 minutes. While it was peaceful enough around here this weekend, I’m starting to miss having Cousin Fred around. I even went out to weed eat around Hellkat One’s trailer. Figure I’ll keep things nice for when he returns. The Wife is busy planning her next fabulous vacation. She stays locked in her bedroom all day though she does take in the tray of food that I leave at the door twice daily. Said she wants to stay safe and out of sight for when the Francesca busts out of jail. I told her that, as far as I know, no one has ever broken out of the new county jail. Unlike the William S. Keyless Country Club, where escape (sorry, walk-off) activity has dropped dramatically since someone in the ODOC got the idea to put up a real fence around the place. Brilliant! Course, they still leave the front gate open (sigh). I keep hoping to hear something from Cousin Fred. He’s out there somewhere…driving another 2000 miles overnight because there’s a rumor that the Trump is in Idaho or something. Friends, have you noticed how there is barely a day that goes by where a teacher in Oklahoma is arrested on a charge of having sexual relations with a student? I mean, when I was a student in Cosmic City High, there were rumors, but I don’t recall anyone being led away in handcuffs. Do you think this is some new phenomenon? I don’t mean to make light of abhorrent criminal activity…although I generally do precisely that on a daily basis in this stupid blog. But, seriously…what the hell is going on? And, beyond the Lothario gym teachers and Seductress English teachers, there seems to be a spate of abusive educators beginning to emerge. Take, for instance, a high school English teacher in Canada (pictured), who was recently suspended without pay for allegedly telling a student to lick her where she farts. Subsequent investigation by the board that licenses teachers in Canada is turning up an array of insults and abusive language by this red-headed, foul-mouthed educator since she began teaching in 2011. Among the jewels, in 2015 she slapped a male student on the back of the head and told him he needed to grow some balls. She ridiculed one female student in front of a class, telling her she looked like a frumpy old lady. Let’s see, she called out to one student who was carrying another student on his back, asking if he liked it from behind. Before showing a film to students that contained nudity, she commented that it was impossible to see the actor’s penis without a microscope. She isn’t helping her case any…during an interview in connection with the investigation, she readily admitted to being verbally, physically, psychologically, and emotionally abusive to the little f*#kers. Maybe if they dump her after the suspension, she can apply to teach in Oklahoma. Why not? We’re desperate.  Hey, hey…it’s Friday! You’ve made it through another week of dealing with the slugs of humanity, well almost, you still have to get through today.
For myself, the past week has had its ups and downs. The new Mr. Coffee and HP laptop I had to buy following last Friday morning’s disasters are still working. That’s not a bad thing. It looks as though the insurance company of the woman who rammed me in the ass as I was leaving Walmart is going to come through. So what are the downs? Well, Cousin Fred is still missing. How is it possible that a guy in a painted half-body cast with an arm cocked up at a weird angle, purple nylon shorts without underwear, and contrasting lime green Crocs hasn’t come into law enforcement’s view? Are they blind? Not to mention that he’s driving around in what is technically a stolen car, chasing after the Trump’s entourage in pursuit of the hairdressing hydrologist Gigi. Surely the Secret Service has a BOLO out on him. And, did you see the Jimmy Fallon show last night? The Trump actually let Fallon mess up his hair. And, I mean REALLY mess up his hair. No dead animals fell out. What does this mean? That’s no natural hair style the Trump is wearing. Strange, strange, strange. But, it also locks in Gigi’s location. She almost certainly is in New York and was probably working through the night to restore the Trump’s head to its “natural” state. If Cousin Fred got wind of what happened on the Tonight Show, he is undoubtedly headed to New York. But, who knows where the Trump is now? I believe they tape those shows earlier in the evening. He’s probably in California by now. It’s kind of like playing Whack-a-Mole trying to keep up with the Trump. In the meantime, I keep getting texts from the Francesca in the County Jail. She apparently has a contraband phone and has been desperately trying to get hold of Cousin Fred. He’s not taking her calls or responding to her texts. So, now she’s turned her attention to me. “Why won’t Freddy talk to me?” “Are you hiding him from me?” “I’m getting very concerned in here!” “This is really beginning to piss me off!” “I’m going to stake both of you out in a pasture, slather your genitals with the frosting that comes in those packs of fresh cinnamon roll dough and let the fire ants and pack rats have their way with you. You pig! I hate you both!” Those were actual texts received from the Francesca using her contraband phone while sitting around in the County Jail dreaming up new ways to severely injure Cousin Freddy and me. As you can clearly tell, they are escalating in their tone and level of lunacy. Dear Sheriff’s Office, time to do another contraband sweep through the jail…just sayin’. There is an extradition hearing scheduled for today in Cosmic City to send her back to New York for stealing the Mobile Mutt Rescue Unit. I considered going, but she’s working herself into a real rage, so maybe that’s not such a great idea. She might flip out if she sees me in the courtroom. Hell, I don’t know why she’s so pissed at me in the first place. Cousin Fred isn’t answering me either! I’m worried, but not insanely worried. I mean if he’s dead alongside the road surely someone would have found his fetid corpse by now. Eh well, I’ll save worrying about Cousin Fred for later. We have a newer, bigger threat we’re facing America! And, it’s coming to us from that overly bloated Federal agency, the CDC, in Atlanta, GA. The same CDC that sends me multiple text alerts on a daily basis notifying me that a particular street corner in San Salvador is now a hotbed of activity for Zika-carrying mosquitos. I don’t know about you folks, but that’s just not something that is an everyday threat in my life! I’ve haven’t been to El Salvador in…well, oh so long…and don’t plan on going back! So, the CDC, whose motto translated from obscure ancient Latvian, is “Send Mo Money!” has issued guidance that solves an age-old question, “does a chicken have lips?” Indeed, they do, America, indeed, they do! It seems there has been an uptick in the number of cases of salmonella across America. Why, you ask? The CDC has informed us that people are kissing chickens…that’s why! Now, you’re probably thinking, “…gee, Mr. Robin, I don’t think I’ve ever kissed a chicken in my life. Oh sure, there was the oily skinned girl, Esther something or another, who worked at KFC…” According to the CDC (they wouldn’t lie to us). With the new hip trend of backyard chicken raising, people are starting their flocks with little chicks and kissing on the fuzzy little flightless, but no less tasty, fowl. They’re just so cute. Who knew they could kill you, or at a minimum make you really, really sick to the point you wish you were dead? The CDC also warns against people turning their chickens into house pets. People are sleeping with chickens in their bedrooms and letting them wander through the bathroom. WTF is wrong with you people?!?! What have we learned today? 1. The CDC needs to focus on really important stuff and let the morons who sleep with the chickens suffer the consequences. 2. Wash your hands after handling chickens, dead or alive. 3. DO NOT KISS A CHICKEN…yech! Idiots. 4. Stay away from the courthouse today. 5. Mr. Coffee is still working (thank God). 6. The Trump uses really strong glue to keep the dead cat atop his skull. That is all. Mr. Robin is in a weird mood and you know what that means! It's time for Criminal Enterprise 101a.9/14/2016
 It’s Wednesday. Come on, people! We can do this! We’re halfway through the work week. Just another couple of couple of days and you can once again strip to your underwear and sit around on your altogether worn out couch sucking down warm low-point beer from a can and wondering how it is that your life has gone so wrong!
Oh sure, you’ll pretend to be contented for a time. You’ll consider giving it all up to go off and live in the mountains of Colorado, spending your days working as a fishing guide and smoking legal grass and thinking how great life really is and wondering why you didn’t do it sooner. Sooner? Then it hits you…you’re still stuck in Oklahoma…a state with cruel, antiquated and nonsensical alcohol laws working in a job where, on the owner’s whim, you run out and change the price of no-ethanol unleaded to some new random number. You work toward the weekend, when the vicious cycle starts all over again. See, that’s why you people read this blog. To gain insights and positivity in your otherwise miserable lives. Spread the news, you cretins…Mr. Robin has all the answers! Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m in a weird mood and in something of a funk. Cousin Fred is still missing. We hit this Friday and it will have been a week that he went charging out of here in Gigi’s Lexus in search of her special self in OKC where the Trump was supposedly holding a “top secret” fundraiser wherein people were allegedly lavishing him with their alleged cash and plotting the political demise of his opponent, the Queen of the Unindicted…(“I know, we’ll give her pneumonia and then have her hug children…that’ll do it!”). I keep watching the evening news…yes, people my age and older still watch evening network news. I really enjoy the ads for erectile dysfunction pills and overactive bladder solutions and the arthritis pain formulas, all of which apparently can kill you or cause worse physical impairments than whatever the hell was wrong with you in the first place… But, I digress… So, I watch the news every evening, fully expecting to hear something of Cousin Fred. I mean, a guy in a half-body cast wearing purple nylon shorts with no underwear and contrasting lime green Crocs is bound to turn up somewhere! So unless Obama and his ruthless gang of White House thugs have spirited Cousin Fred away to Guantanamo Bay or something, he’s still out there somewhere. Maybe they shipped him to the Philippines where hopefully the president there would greet him without playing, “Yo’ Mama!” In the meantime, though, there are bigger fish to fry in this here blog. Friends, as you know, I’m a big fan of criminal enterprise. No, seriously. This is America, the land of free enterprise and expensive damned coffee. In fact, I’ve offered lessons in Criminal Enterprise 101 right here in this blog! Which probably has a lot to do with why the dude in the crap brown sedan is always parked down the road. On KFOR news last night (thank you thuggish rat bastards at DISH for giving us Ogle1 and the Cav back), there was a story that made me think it was time again for Criminal Enterprise 101a. Strap in, all you budding punks out there! But first, to set the mood, let’s play the theme from Dragnet, shall we? It was last Thursday, Edmond, Oklahoma. A school zone filled with children trying to make a future for themselves in an underfunded institution with angry, woefully underpaid teachers and deranged cafeteria workers. Suddenly, a woman comes speeding through the school zone. She’s doing 37mph in a 25mph zone. In Edmond, Oklahoma, that’s felony reckless. That’s where I come in. More Dragnet. Edmond PD pulls over the wannabe (albeit much less beauteous) Danica Patrick. The fresh odor of marijuana virtually wafting from the inside. They release the K-9 (who is obviously not as stupid as my dog). Fido immediately hits on the woman (no, not in that way, you pervs). In her bra they find a pill bottle with grass. Strapped to her body with ACE bandages, they find still more marijuana. They find marijuana stuffed down her pants. They also find cash, lots of cash, strapped to her body with ACE bandages. I don’t know about where you live, but in Edmond, Oklahoma that makes her a hot date! Okay, let’s stop here for the moment. Everyone take a deep breath. Now, then, breathe out…feel better? It seems Bonnie Parker here is part of some bigger crime ring based out of California wherein the ringsters use fake ID’s and credit cards to get cash from banks and then strap it to their bodies for no particular reason. Seriously, this whole scenario sounds like an amateurish plot in a Vice Channel drama series. Did our haggard-looking Danica mistake Edmond, Oklahoma for the border of Colombia? WTF? AND, if you’re so concerned about what you’re carrying that you actually strap it all over your body, why then are you smoking weed and speeding through school zones? Maybe you can get away with that sort of fun in California, but this is Oklahoma dammit! The only criminals who get away with anything here are state legislators…oh, and the occasional corporation commissioner. Cue the Dragnet theme. Okay, kids, what did we learn here today? 1. Oklahoma is an oppressive police state bent on holding us peasants down. 2. Cousin Fred, he still missing! 3. If you’re going to commit a crime, be cool about it. 4. Stop binge watching reruns of Miami Vice (the 80’s version). 5. Stay the hell out of Edmond, Oklahoma. That is all!  Good morning everybody. It’s Monday, the start of another stinking work week filled with hopes for a quiet, quick week, but ending in crushed dreams and general mayhem. Thus speaketh the Robin, prognosticator of gloom!
Hey! The signs are all there, people…read ‘em and weep! After my mostly horrific Friday morning last week, I got rear ended Friday afternoon by a woman as I was trying to escape the Walmart parking lot in Cosmic City. Initially, I didn’t think there was much damage, but over the weekend I got a closer look. It’s pretty significant. I guess last Friday was just not my day. And, isn’t that the way it always goes? You’re looking off to the future, figuring your worst times are behind you. All you want to do is get home, get inside to commence drinking to excess and then WHAM someone rams you in the ass! If today’s post sounds like the downward spiral of a millionaire TV evangelist caught using offering money to purchase purloined holy water on the black market to make iced tea while shacking up with his assistant bookkeeper at a local no-tell motel…okay, maybe it’s not that bad. Or is it? Cousin Fred is missing. Haven’t heard a peep from him since he left here late last week on the way to OKC to the location of the top secret location of the Trump’s latest fundraiser. As far as we know that event was kept a top secret (unless Linda Cavanaugh was wrong – the divine Ms. L.C. wouldn’t do that to us). Not another peep about it anywhere. I kept a close eye on the media all weekend, looking for reports of someone in a half-body cast being shot down by Secret Service, other law enforcement, or the random thugs who seem to roam the streets of Oklahoma City at night nowadays. Nothing, nada, zilch…no can find. I kind of thought maybe he would give up the hunt by Saturday afternoon and head back to The Compound, but that wasn’t the case. He missed a great event on Saturday night honoring the Brother-in-Law’s father who had a landmark birthday. I figured Cousin Fred would never miss an opportunity to spend time around the Brother-in-Law trying to convince him of the merits of some new scheme without the Sister getting wind that something was going on. But then, maybe it’s just as well that Cousin Fred wasn’t there. The Brother-in-Law was as busy as I think I’ve ever seen one human being, cooking burgers for 100+ guests. I thought I’d grilled/BBQed for a lot of people in the past, but never that many. Still, it was one of the better private events that I’ve attended since I’ve been here. At the top of the list was that they were offering refreshing adult beverages. Oh, and they had a band…a real band…and they were good! Go figure!? So, Saturday night was a good, though altogether short, respite for me from worrying about what Cousin Fred may have gotten himself into. Eh, well, it’s all just another brick in the wall of this seemingly endless cycle of weirdness and…well…uber-weirdness that’s going on. Take, for instance, two separate events in the news that caught my eye over the weekend as I was searching for word of Cousin Fred being taken down in a hail of gunfire and splintered plaster. First up, we have an eight-year-old child who was served with a restraining order at his elementary school that essentially makes him a prisoner in his own home. He is prohibited from having contact with the children of a family who live on his block. Because those same children go to the same school, he is now banished from school as well. The restraining order was taken out by a parent of the children who claims the 8-year-old threatened his kids. Really? If my parents had taken out restraining orders against every kid that ever threatened me, I would have had the entire school to myself. Seriously, does the kid go around packing heat or something? He’s 8 years old! What the hell is going on here? Maybe it’s the times we’re living in. I mean, there have been many instances over the past several years wherein first graders went to school with loaded weapons and/or drugs in their backpacks. And, what do I know? The article had scant details frankly. Maybe there was a valid threat that caused the parent enough concern to pursue legal recourse. Still, I think the gene pool has become an irretrievably polluted cesspool. Humanity appears to be devolving into something unrecognizable…or maybe it’s just the new norm. But wait, there’s more. So, with a dateline of Shawnee, Kansas (it’s cheaper in Kansas, you know), there was a woman in the parking lot of a Walmart (the apparent center of the Universe for weirdness) who was putting her baby in its seat in preparation to leave, when she was assaulted and conked over the head. A passerby saw what happened and promptly tried to intervene. For his trouble, he was fatally shot by one of the bad guys. This brought a second, armed good guy who fatally shot the bad guy who shot the dude who tried to intervene. With me, so far? Oh, the other bad guy got away. Okay, now you’re probably sitting there thinking, yeah so what, Robin? Sounds like a typical Friday night in (fill in your city here)! Okay, so the so-what is that a woman who had been shopping inside and sees all of this happening directly in front of her parked car, begins streaming over Facebook Live a running commentary of the events unfolding and the its aftermath. And, rather than looking concerned for the lives lost or the little infant, she’s all toothy smiles as she giddily runs down her shopping list (some light bulbs and a tire for her son’s bike). I’m telling you, FOX News should hire this woman to replace any of the vapid queens-of-subjective-news that are running out the door there. Eh, well, I guess she got her 15 minutes that Andy Warhol promised all of us. Is what she did particularly troublesome? Probably not to most. For some reason, I found it really disturbing, but when you consider my previous statement about the polluted state of the human gene pool, I suppose it’s another layer of evidence. If you see a man in a half-body cast wearing purple nylon shorts with no underwear and contrasting lime green crocs, please send him back to The Compound. And, PLEASE don’t broadcast the image on Facebook Live. Thank you. |
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