 Friends, I do hope you’re enjoying your Wednesday and all that Hump Day might offer in the way of humping or at least looking forward to another stinking weekend. Me? I’m back down inside my hidey hole here at The Compound expecting Fearless Leader to do something really stupid this week. Why would I say that, you ask? Because, friends, I spend far too much time watching the 24-hour news cycle across the board (really need to learn to shut off the televisions here in the office). I’m convinced that Fearless Leader’s low-attention-whore light is blinking red and something has got to give. Think about it. For the past two or more months he’s been zipping around the country attending rallies trying to get out the GOP vote during the mid-term elections. What did that get him? Well, the adulation of the people who attend that sort of thing for one thing. Oh, and then there was the Dems taking back the house for another. He flies to France for Armistice Day ceremonies but doesn’t visit Aisne-Marne American Cemetery where nearly 3,900 Americans are laid to rest. Some reports have him holed up in the ambassador’s residence in Paris watching news reports of political maneuvers back home. Maybe, maybe not. His endless tweets would seem to bear that out though. Oh, and he’s blaming everyone from the Secret Service to his own Chief of Staff for not attending. Good strategy there…blame everyone to deflect blame on you. Hmmm. He reportedly screamed at the British Prime Minister over the phone while flying to France after she called to offer congratulations on at least holding onto the Senate in the mid-terms. Of course, the media trolled him endlessly for not making the trip to the American Cemetery. The White House swore that it was because the weather was too bad. Hmmm…maybe, maybe not. I did note that Chief of Staff John Kelly and General Dunford made it there. The only time we saw Fearless Leader smile during the entire trip was when the vulture Putin showed up. Weird goings on, I’m telling you. But wait, it doesn’t end there. So, upon his return from Europe the rumors of more shake-ups in the White House begin to spew forth. Particularly worrisome are the pending terminations of John Kelly and Homeland secretary Kirstjen Nielsen. Although we predicted the demise of Nielsen in September 2017, to her credit she’s hung in there mostly becoming the administration’s cheerleader for the Great Wall of America to keep out those pesky terroristic refugees. So, what do tyrants do when things start to go south or in the case of Fearless Leader people stop talking about you so much or begin badmouthing you to the extreme? You start lopping off heads, of course, usually followed by making everyone eat cake. Blaming everyone else for your woes is a great strategy when you’re a narcissistic egomaniac. It’s your only strategy. The problem with Kelly and Nielsen punching out (actual Naval Aviation term I did NOT make up), is that they are the last of the remaining adult supervision in that place. BUT, the MOST puzzling of all things was the White House announcing on Monday a lid on the President’s schedule. A lid is when the WH cancels any public events for Fearless Leader. What makes that puzzling is that it came Monday morning meaning that Fearless Leader would not honor America’s veterans by attending ceremonies two miles away at Arlington National Cemetery as every president since probably Woodrow Wilson has done. Why the hell would you do that? I mean, you’re using the military as your personal police auxiliary on the Mexican border – a mission they are neither trained, funded, nor intended to accomplish. BUT, in all fairness, Fearless Leader is not completely to blame. Using the U.S. military as the world’s f#*king police force began in the Clinton administration, but still…don’t you feel that you owe the military something? Anything? No, Fearless Leader, you probably don’t. So, he didn’t go Arlington Cemetery on Monday…that is astounding to me. It tells me that he’s up to something. Maybe he and his pal Putin are planning something big. Or, he’s wringing his hands over whatever hand Mueller is about to deal. Who knows? Me…I’m down in the hidey hole and not coming out until the all clear. That is all!  Friends…oh, yeah, Happy Tuesday, whatever…friends, those of you who have been reading this nonsense for awhile (all three or four of you) know that I have been plagued in the past by a bunch of pesky Israelis who steal content from the site and repost it elsewhere in the world. For whatever reason, it always bothered me, but I never did anything about it except publicly ask that they at least credit the source. Well, now there’s someone in Lahore Pakistan who asked permission to use some of my content to add to his blog. He says he will give me credit and post a link to CCB for others to follow. Interestingly, he sent me his request on a day when I reposted an old post about Her Royal Highness Mary of Fallin (lame duck governor in Oklahoma) and one of her state of the state speeches. I thought it was curious that someone in Pakistan could care at all about HRH, but then something occurred to me. Maybe Mary Fallin is headed to Pakistan after she’s done being governor (they’re welcome to her). Why not? She could probably get a high paying job catering (read as, selling her soul) to their oil industry giants…oh wait, there’s no oil in Pakistan. Oh, oh…maybe they’ll make her their tourism czar because everyone wants to vacation in Pakistan! Oh sure, I nearly died there in 1988 and plan never to return, but, hey, that’s just me. I mean she did such a bang-up job with Oklahoma Tourism, what with making us all buy new license plates that look suspiciously like the Twitter logo (after all, she is the darling of Fearless Leader) so that we could advertise the Oklahoma Tourism Bureau as we drive around on hazardous pothole-filled roads. Eh, I guess I shouldn’t pick on her or bad mouth her in front of her potential new employers…Pakistan, you’ll love her as only we the people of Oklahoma have loved her (after all, we reelected her by some weird abhorrent fluke)! And, now, we have (at least) four years of Kevin “Bull” Stitt (America’s shadiest mortgage lender and Oklahoma governor elect) to hang our hats on! Yea, Oklahoma! You did it again. But I digress… So, Mr. or Ms. Lahore Pakistan, borrow away, just be sure I get credit! Make me famous. Okay, now on to another, more important matter before us. Friends, have you ever thought to yourself, “…if only I knew then what I know now…” or “…oh, if only I were 20 years younger…”? Of course, you have. We’ve all done that at one point or another. Usually when we’re alone and thinking about our mortality. Well, it turns out there’s a dude in the Netherlands who is suing the government to declare his 69-year-old butt a 49-year-old butt. Why would he want to do that, you ask? Good question, fair reader, good question. Apparently, his being 69 is interfering with his ability to find a hot date on Tinder when his potential responders see his age is 69. Hmmmm. He points out in his lawsuit that people can change their name and even change their gender, so why not be able to change your age? Good point, Dutch Dude, good point! He was quoted in the media as saying (and I swear I’m not making this up), “I feel much younger than my age, I am a young god, I can have all the girls I want but not after I tell them that I am 69.” Well, that pretty well sums things up, me thinks. A preliminary peek at the lawsuit by the courts has raised some interesting legal questions like how do you (essentially) erase 20 years of someone’s life? Didn’t Arnold Schwarzenegger do a movie that followed that stupid script line? We should ask his advice on this matter! Fascinating stuff really. I contacted a friend of mine who is an associate district judge here in Oklahoma to get his opinion, but he still refuses to take my calls. Late yesterday a no-contact order was delivered by an Oklahoma State Trooper who made it abundantly clear that I should stay out of the good judge’s county for at least the remainder of his decade. Harrumph. Try to seek a legitimate legal opinion and you see what it gets me. Anyway, I found Dutch Dude’s story inspiring. Henceforth, I am declaring myself 39 forever. Oh sure, none of my “official” paperwork will match, but screw ‘em. “I’m 39 I tell you…I had a hard life…I earned these wrinkles and grey hairs! I’ll be back!” That is all!  Happy Monday everybody…welcome to the frozen tundra of Northwest Oklahoma. As Tornado Payne-in-My-Ass (supreme TV weather wizard here) keeps repeating (over and over), the snow is “blowing and going”…whatever the hell that means. I get antsy when I’m weathered inside the house. It won’t be long before I head out on the roads though I have ZERO business out there this morning. I should become one of Payne’s weather chasers though I tend to get kind of lazy and would most likely decide to sit up on this hill where The Compound is located and call in reports. Why not? We can see weather coming from Texas and/or Kansas from here. Or, I suppose I could send Cousin Fred out to drive around in the rotten dogsh*t weather (actual Naval Aviation term) while I call in to the News 9 station and tell them what I’m “experiencing.” Now that’s weather guessing at its best! Oh, in case you haven’t noticed we’re back “live” here at CCB. This medical stuff keeps dragging on and the busier I can keep myself, the less I’m sweating the small stuff, you know? So, I’ll keep punching the nonsense out until they drag me off to OR…hahaha. You lucky devils! Not a lot of distractions here today. The medical marijuana enterprise, fried hedgeapple (aka, Osage oranges) slices enterprise, and self-help guru enterprise are currently on hold. Cousin Fred and Friend Lamont have spent the past couple of days trying to get us a sandhill crane for Thanksgiving. I know, right? I’d never given the cranes much thought. They are a constant in the skies over The Compound this time of year as they wing south to get out from under the weather. A friend of mine in OKC refers to them as the ribeyes of the sky…I thought he was kidding. He’s not. Look it up on Google images people…that looks darned tasty! Here’s how you too can spot the flocks of migrating sandhill cranes: 1) they’re heading south; 2) they make a noise that doesn’t sound like a goose; and, 3) they fly in no discernible formation whatsoever (my kind of birds). Because they come over The Compound at altitude (probably a few hundred feet, out of shotgun range) and don’t stop here (would you?), Cousin Fred and his “hunting” partner have taken to firing their AK-47s into the flocks overhead. So far, they haven’t hit crap, but he’s determined to get one or two for us to eat at Thanksgiving. I pointed out to those two fools that neither has a state hunting license, but they aren’t worried. They (re)pointed out that the game ranger around here seldom pulls off the highway to investigate anything – unless of course it’s to urinate in the north pasture in full sight of women and children here at The Compound (pervert). Cousin Fred makes a good point, though I’m beginning to worry about the remnants of their anti-aircraft barrage falling back to earth and punching holes in my roof. But then again, they’re using Russian ammo that seems to disintegrate easily, so no big deal (stupid Russians). But, hey, it’ll be a great Thanksgiving (if they ever hit anything) and we have a lot of people coming who are bringing their binoculars to observe Game Ranger Peesalot (pervert) do his business in the north pasture. Okay, that’s enough for now. More to come! That is all!  Here is a post that followed the post I reposted yesterday (about Chuck E. Cheese's). Again from October 2016, I was en route Colorado to St. Louis to cover the presidential debate for Southern Living magazine. Was even planning to meet George Harrison's sister Louise (didn't happen). By the way, the suspense is killing me (among other things)...I've decided I've had enough of the reposts for a while. I'm planning to go back to live postings starting on Monday. Hope you'll join us (all four of you). There's just too much crap going on to be merely reposting. I need to get back to the live stuff and save the reposts for when I really need them (early December). More to follow. In the meantime, enjoy!
Here we are, folks…Thursday. Sliding toward the weekend, but not quite there yet. At least 157 obstacles between you and sitting around the house in your underwear, gulping beer, and screaming obscenities at the TV as your favorite college team falls flat on its face. Oops, there I go again with the negativity. That’s the way it is here on The Compound. We needed to get a scouting trip to Montezuma, Colorado (America’s Meanest Town) done before the start of shooting episodes of our reality show, “Bigfoot: Naked and Untamed” for the Vice Channel. In the meantime, I’m supposed to be in St. Louis no later than Friday night ahead of Sunday evening’s presidential debate to provide coverage for Southern Living magazine. I assured them that I could do that remotely…just watching the debate on TV, but they want me there. In the thick of things. So reluctantly, we decided to split our forces. After all, it worked out so well for Napoleon in 1815 and Germany in 1942. Cousin Fred and the Francesca are headed off to colorful Colorado, she in violation of her bond. Me, I’m headed to St. Louis to meet up with the virginal vegan Brooklynn Hodensack. Anticipating the request, I’ve already sent off my list of “requests” for doing the work in St. Louis to the virginal vegan Hodensack. This time I’m shaking things up a bit. Unlike the debacle in Manhattan a few weeks ago, with several members of faculty and students from every prestigious university on the East Coast on one side of the room and a rabid bunch of Reagan-channeling people on the other side, St. Louis will be different. St. Louis is still a hub for a couple of major airlines. So we’ll invite all the flight crews to show up. They’re always a wild bunch. I have the virginal vegan Hodensack spreading flyers around to the hotels that cater to flight crews. We’ll get people. So my list this time includes 60 cases of Champagne (flight crews love Champagne – especially right before they fly); 57 cases of Cold Duck (for the flight crew that don’t drink Champagne); Oh, and I’ll throw in 10 cases of Campari for any international flight crews (on ice, that’s nice); we’re in the heart of Anheuser-Busch country so no imported beer, 200 cases of Bud for the locals who show up – they can mix the Campari with the Bud if we don’t get any international flight crews; a new laptop (yes, just one this time, no sense getting greedy); oh, not to forget, six cases of Jack Daniel’s (for me); eight of the 78” SUHD 4K Curved LED Smart HDTVs (because it worked so well in Manhattan); six dedicated broadband circuits (spread over three providers); 15 boxes of pens; 200 legal pads; 50 cases of Cheetos (they don’t smell as bad as the Fritos). Yeah, that should just about do it. OH…and as long as we’re in St. Louis, I’m going to invite George Harrison’s 85 year old sister Louise over. Since George’s death in 2000, the estate ignores her. Well, I won’t! Southern Living is crawling up my ass about getting an exclusive interview this go around. Not sure how I’ll pull that off since neither candidate wants anything to do with me (I’m a known quantity). Maybe I can get whatever Ogle shows up to put in the good word for me. I tell you, what I really need to do is find a new line of work. Seriously, I’m serious, damn it! You think it’s easy partying with flight crews in the Midwest and then chasing naked people up and down the side of a mountain? NO! The thing I’m still trying to figure out is how there are people making money off YouTube. I really need to do that. Just yesterday, I heard of someone who has made a million bucks with their YouTube channel, posting original material on there. I’m creative. I’ve always been something of an attention whore. I could do this! Take for instance some guy I just read about this morning on Huffington Post. His name is Ted Barrus. He has his own YouTube channel called Ted Barrus the Fire Breathing Idiot, wherein he samples extremely hot peppers and/or sauces on camera and makes weird faces while he chokes and sputters. He also does some marijuana reviews on his channel. Well, in his most recent stunt he combined the two. He decided to bong rip a slice of the world’s most potent red pepper, the dreaded Carolina Reaper, which comes in on the Scoville Heat-Measuring Scale at a rating of 1,569,300. There’s video of him taking a deep bong hit of the smoking pepper and immediately gagging, trying to stop the pain with water (doesn’t work), and finally puking. And this guy is making $$$$ from his YouTube channel and getting national press coverage for being a self-described idiot. Oh, and he now has blistered lungs. Why can’t I? Note to self…get a YouTube channel.  This post originally appeared in October 2016 as we were having to live through presidential debates. The debates and politics in general were taking a toll apparently. I was in a particularly grumpy mood that seemed to translate into the posts. The post that I had published the day before the one below got me some rather heated responses. For this post I tried my best to take on a voice of positive vibes. Of course, I also took on what I was calling the third sign of the Apocalypse...namely, Chuck E. Cheese's restaurants. If you've ever had the misfortune of accompanying kids into one of these places you know only too well of what I speak. If not, read on. Enjoy!
A very pleasant Tuesday to you all. No seriously, I have nothing but positive affirmations and love and respect for all of you. From now on, CCB will only spew forth positivity and encouragement to all ya’ll. We shall henceforth seek to encourage our fellow travelers on this plane of indifference and angst to find their way to a different concourse and a different flight of positivity (see what I did there?). In other words, Mr. Robin took some heat over yesterday’s post and is hoping to beat back the flames. First, there was the person who left me a comment thanking me for my praise of the late great Rev. --- (we won’t mention the name again so as to keep it out of people’s Facebook news feeds), but then pointing out that I have a very negative outlook on life and that I need to exchange that for a more positive outlook. Uh huh. And then, there were the emails. Most of which I dare not repeat in this blog space. Surprisingly, the majority of emails were directed at my comments regarding Dale Carnegie. Apparently, there are rabid disciples of Dale Carnegie still out there. Who knew? I am happy to report that I’ve finally gotten Cousin Fred back in the game. He’s feeling much better physically and seems to be finding his center emotionally with the Francesca. We’ve decided to do a pre-shoot scouting trip this week. There was discussion last night whether we would continue to Montezuma, Colorado (America’s Meanest Town) where we shot our original episodes of “Bigfoot: Naked and Untamed”, or go toward a more local location – namely Talihina, Oklahoma where they have a Bigfoot festival and offer Bigfoot scholarships to local students looking to get the hell out of southeast Oklahoma. Cousin Fred was the one pushing me on making it Talihina. I think, more than anything, he was concerned about the Francesca violating the terms of her bond by leaving Oklahoma. I asked him who invited the Francesca along and pointed out that we actually encountered (or at least think we encountered) a Bigfoot when we were last in Montezuma. He pointed out that the Francesca is our production’s Creative Director and that we’ll need her creativity and direction wherever we wind up. He also pointed out that as a veterinary tech, she is suited for and equipped to deploy an elephant tranquilizer to bring down a rampaging Bigfoot. I had to admit, Cousin Fred had me there. We compromised. The Francesca is coming along on the road trip, but we’re headed to Montezuma. At least she won’t be nearly the distraction that Lassie the Barking Goat was. Stupid goat. You see, there I go again, slipping backward into my old negative outlook ways. So, let’s find a way to lift me above the morass of endless chaos and vacuous ineptitude of you mere mortals. I know…it’s Tuesday! Time to reveal the third sign of the coming apocalypse. Oh, it’s coming. Friends, there was something in the news that I read on a daily basis that was just so deplorable, so despicable, so horrendous that it must be taken as a sign. And, no, I’m not talking about the recent Paris robbery (not going to mention any names), though I suspect (just one blogger’s opinion) that it was an inside job. Hey, maybe the Saudi princess’ thuggish bodyguards were responsible. They were after all just around the corner. But, I digress… Friends, if you are currently, or have been over the past thirty years or so, a parent or grandparent then you have likely been inside the dark, evil hellhole that is Chuck E. Cheese’s. You know what I’m talking about…marginal pizza…screaming kids running wild…paper tickets from skittle ball winnings…angry adults who have had one too many Buds…not enough marginal pizza…and too many screaming kids. If you’ve not been to a Chuck E. Cheese’s you haven’t yet experienced hell on Earth. Seriously. Kids love the place. Any adults with a reasonable amount of intelligence loath the place. It got to a point that when I was driving my daughter around Northern Virginia when she was young and we passed a Chuck E. Cheese’s…I would think of something to get to her to look the opposite way so I didn’t have to listen to the chorus of “can’t we stop?” and “you never stop.” I will tell you, with much shame, of the time I told her that Chuck E. Cheese croaked and that they were closing all of his stores. I’m telling you, Chuck E. Cheese’s, is the third sign of the coming apocalypse. This past weekend, down in the sweaty state of Florida, a fight…no, let’s call it a brawl, broke out among adults. It began with two women swinging at one another. In the background two men started punching one another. Soon the whole damned place resembled a middle class cage match. Thank heavens, someone caught it all on their iPhone. All of this in the midst of a child’s birthday party. Did some parent fail to bring a proper present to lay at the altar of greed and marginal pizza? Did the Chuck E. Cheese’s run out of Bud? No one seems to know what started the melee. The restaurant chain has come under scrutiny recently for fights among adults breaking out. Some cities are threatening to shut the place down, causing CEC execs to fly to the location and assure everyone that changes are coming. Some suggested changes include better lighting and relocating certain games. Huh? Maybe they should stop selling beer. Nah…no one come if they did that. They’d all be like me…”No, honey. Didn’t you hear? Chuck E. Cheese died in a giant pizza oven mishap. Mr. Cheese…he dead!” Chuck E. Cheese’s…a modern day cesspool of rampant violence and insanity and CCB’s third sign of the coming apocalypse. How’s that for a positive f#@$ing outlook!?  Happy Thursday people! We're now a couple of days past the mid-term elections and the bodies from Fearless Leader's inner circle are beginning to hit the floor. We here at CCB, who spend far too much time watching news feeds, came across something yesterday that really jumped out at us. We earlier reported (July 2018) that there was a contentious Congressional race in Virginia wherein the Dem challenger asserted that her GOP opponent was a fan of Bigfoot porn. Yes, you read that correctly. Well, guess what? Mr. Bigfoot Porn (his name is Riggleman) was re-elected. And, why not? America has become a very weird place anyway so it fits in a cosmic sort of way. Enjoy!
Welcome to Tuesday everybody. Hope it’s a good one for you. Me, not so much. As you may recall from yesterday’s post, Cousin Fred was talking about rebuilding the Cabinet Saloon replication out on the north lawn. As of yesterday morning, at 0430 when I posted about it, that’s all it was - TALK. Then yesterday afternoon an absolute sh*tload of lumber was delivered here and unceremoniously dumped on the north lawn. As the little guy on the forklift was running back and forth from the truck to the “drop zone” my illustrious cousin was signing his (read as “our”) lives away for a load of termite bait and a lifetime of indebtedness to the local lumber guys. Cousin Fred assured me that it will all work out. He’s going to get the members of our fraternal Protective Order of the Jackrabbit, Original Charter (P.O.J.O.C.) to do all the work. Great…so instead of going broke paying builders, I’ll go even broker BBQing ribs and providing free drinks to a bunch of has-been drunks (remember, alcoholics go to meetings) with little or no building experience. Ain’t life grand? Friends, do you believe America is great? Of course, it is. But you know what sucks about democracy? No, it’s not a free press, despite whatever The Trump will tell you. Okay, maybe it is a free press, but that’s not what this post is about. Nope, the thing that genuinely sucks about American democracy is the one thing that makes American democracy a…ummm, democracy. Politics, that’s what. Well, that and Bob Evans Mac & Cheese, but I’ll save that for another post. This year is likely to be a lively one given that the Dems are all bent on getting rid of (GOP) incumbents and moving toward control of…well, the world…sort of. You have Dem candidates out there trying to dig up the most heinous stuff on their opponents that can sink said opponent’s chances for a trip to Washington. In fact, sometimes there’s not even an incumbent, it’s just disgruntled Dems bent on taking control of Congress. Take for instance, a race in Virginia as reported by Huffington Post. On the left you have a nice, well-meaning Dem candidate, named Cockburn (we aren’t making that up) who has uncovered and is slinging mud at her opposition on the right, a guy named Riggleman. According to Cockburn, opponent Riggleman is a white supremacist and (loud gasp of air now) a purveyor of Bigfoot porn. No, I’m not making this up! Now, let’s stop there for one second, please. As you long time readers of this blog know (all four, maybe five on a good day, of you) Mr. Robin has made some mileage with Bigfoot lore. There was a huge chunk of this blog dedicated to Cousin Fred and I putting together a reality show for TV in which amateur naked Bigfoot hunters went into the field in Colorado to track the legendary beast. I, personally, leveraged all those posts into a screenplay for a feature film entitled, “Bigfoot: Naked & Untamed” which I’m happy to report has garnered some praise, but so far, no checks. So, I consider myself something of a Bigfoot expert. I can tell you that I have certainly never heard of Bigfoot porn. I was shocked. I was astounded. I was…ummm…stupefied. Yeah, that’s it, stupefied. Apparently Brother Riggleman has been associating with known white supremacists, even allowing himself to be videoed campaigning with them. He also wrote a book…again, I’m not making this up (I couldn’t possibly), entitled, “Mating Habits of Bigfoot and Why Women Want Him!” The book is set to be released in the fall. Until recently, he has been promoting his self-published book online, “Mating Habits of Bigfoot” on Facebook. Hmmmm. On the one hand, I’m pleased to find a fellow Bigfoot devotee. On the other, it’s a little creepy. Or is it? Yeah, it is. Cockburn (again, I can’t make that name up) re-posted Instagram posts that Riggleman had previously posted showing a drawing of Bigfoot with its genitals blacked out (see above). Riggleman has now switched his Instagram account to private. Okay, maybe Riggleman isn’t the weirdest candidate for Congress ever…okay, yeah, he is. Besides his rather creepy fascination with Bigfoot’s mating habits (and why women want him – Bigfoot that is), there’s the whole white supremacist thing. American is decadent and depraved enough without Virginia Nazis popping up. Just sayin… That is all!  Happy election day, my loyal, dedicated followers (all four of you including the guy in Pakistan who wants to repost my reposted posts! Oh sure, I could have posted something election-related, but you would expect that and I'm all about keeping you off-guard. So instead I'm posting (from June 2015 - when America was great!) about a woman in Los Angeles who decided to off her man with a can of succotash...no, really. Get out and vote today for whatever moronic crook strikes your fancy (they're all pretty much the same anyway). Enjoy!
Friends, have you ever had one of those moments, when, out of the blue, something your mother said when you were a kid pops into your brain like the bridge from a really bad 1970’s pop song (hint, we’re all brainwashed)? I refer to that as déjà mom. In my particular case, it was the mid-60’s and the TV show “Batman” was on. I know, the TV Batman was kind of campy, but it still had its cool elements…no uber-cool, brooding, mysterious Dark Knight here…it was a paunchy, chicken-armed Adam West in a Lycra body suit and blue cape. But, I digress… Back to the déjà mom, the Penguin likely was lowering the Caped Crusader (at an excruciatingly slow pace) into a vat of boiling purple acid filled with purple-acid-loving, man-eating guppies, when Mom pipes up with, “Why don’t they just shoot him?” That moment came back to me over the weekend as I was alerted by the CCB command center about a breaking AP story pushed out by the Huffington Post web site. It seems that a woman in Los Angeles attacked her live-in partner with canned goods (peas, carrots, and broth). Unfortunately, the poor fellow died as a result of this canned carnage. CCB has twice reported diabolically bizarre female violence perpetrated against men. No guns used here…only weapons that would make any comic book villain proud. First, there was the woman in Ohio who stabbed her boyfriend/lover/partner in the groin with a pen because he ate all of the salsa in the house. We at CCB issued a warning to all men to never, ever eat all the salsa in the house and to stay the hell out of Ohio. Not two weeks later, we reported on a woman in Japan who attacked her boyfriend/lover/partner with a knife after said partner made a doody that stunk to high heaven. We urged all men then to start using the bathroom down at the corner gas station and hide all the knives. Following the second incident we put our team of crack investigators from the CCB Institute for the Study of Female Histrionics (CCBIFTSOFH) onto the research trail of just what is happening. Okay, they’ve not accomplished much of anything. As is often the case when you put noted scholars onto the trail of anything, they have to hold a lot of meetings and symposia regarding the direction of the investigation, the color of the paper that will be used for the final report, and even which font to use. (sigh) Perhaps it’s a good thing that the investigation remains in its infancy. They can now include this latest episode from Los Angeles in their data compilation. KNBC-TV (Los Angeles) reported that murder charges were filed against the woman last week and bail was set at more than $1 million. No motive has been disclosed. So, we have no idea what prompted this alleged woman to allegedly launch a one-woman barrage. Maybe, just maybe, the poor fellow ate all of the lima beans (an important ingredient in any succotash recipe) and she was at the end of her rope. Now I’m not saying that all of the above women weren’t without good reasons for perpetrating their alleged assaults on their respective alleged men. Yeah, okay…eating all the salsa in the house and creating horrific bathroom odors do seem a bit low on the scale of frenzied attack reasoning. This why we’re hoping that CCBIFTSOFH will get to the bottom of things soon. How many more men must suffer Joker/King Tut/Penguin-style attacks? Here is our best CCB advice for avoiding similar situations: Start sleeping in your vehicle with the doors locked and one eye open; Keep a secret stash of salsa hidden so you can keep it stocked in the house; Install commercial grade exhaust in your bathroom; Put deadbolts on the pantry door; and, Stay the hell out of Japan, Ohio, and Los Angeles. Hope everyone had a great Father’s Day. See you tomorrow…same Bat time, same Bat channel! Post Redux - Fighting off mountain lions, bears, and wolves...you suppose there's an app for that?11/5/2018
 Tell me, have you ever considered just how connected we all are…digitally speaking? I’m sure you have pondered this at some point. Here at the compound we have at last count: two laptops; two…nope, three kindles; one aging desktop; three tablets; three smartphones; two smart DVD players; and, an Xbox…for two people. It’s a miracle we have any bandwidth left after running all of those devices simultaneously.
Plus, the computers, tablets, and smartphones all need anti-virus/anti-spyware software to ensure they keep running. Lest the Chinese, Russians, or FBI (pick your poison) attack my network and shut me down. Oh…I forgot…there’s the two-path alarm system here at the compound. One path over a landline and one over IP (haha…am I paranoid, or what?). Oh, oh, oh and how could I forget the surveillance cameras that broadcast to my smartphone over a static IP (okay…I really am paranoid), which I check constantly at night. Even if you aren’t anywhere near my level of paranoia (took me years to get here), I’m certain that at some point you’ve looked around at the increasing pile of “totally necessary” technology in your home and said, “Hmmmm…maybe living in a sod-covered dugout near Slapout wouldn’t be so bad.” Okay, you’ve probably never even thought that. It’s really getting kind of ridiculous. I have friends on the east coast who live in smarthomes. They can open an app on their iPhone to lock/unlock doors, turn on sprinklers, and turn lights on and off. Their thermostat is in constant contact with someone (or something) over the internet. I even have a friend whose refrigerator is connected to the internet 24/7. The refrigerator? Seriously? He claimed that it kept track of food and notified him via text if he needed to stop at the store on the way home. Judas priest. I think the internet-connected fridge is where I would draw the line. With my luck, my refrigerator would be downloading appliance porn all night and I would run over on my data plan. Admittedly, there are times when I think…okay, I’ll disconnect the wireless router, shut everything down and enjoy an electronics-free existence. But then I find a marathon of one of my favorite shows like, “Mountain Men” is on and I crank up the DVR (oops, also attached to the internet) to record what I miss after I fall asleep trying to watch. See what I mean? There’s no end to this madness! Speaking of “Mountain Men”, have you ever watched it? It follows the day-to-day lives of five (sometimes six or seven or eight) dudes who have set out to live a simpler life. Uh huh. There was a time in my life (I was young and stupid) back in the ‘70’s when I thought it would be cool to go live in the mountains, hunt and fish for my food, build my own shelter…you know the drill. I was a little too steeped in the movie “Jeremiah Johnson” and the weekly TV show “Grizzly Adams” (like I said, young and stupid). I even went out and bought a Hawken .50 Cal mountain rifle kit (never finished putting that together…didn’t want to shoot the rifle that Robin built) and a coonskin cap. Wish I still had the coonskin cap…I could wear it now and feel like I still have hair (“Did you notice my ponytail?”). I realized after reading about people like Claude Dallas and others, that the modern world (okay, actually the late ‘70’s were still pretty primitive…no cell phones yet) didn’t have a lot of tolerance for guys who fancied themselves as mountain men. But I digress… If you’ve not watched “Mountain Men”…it can be kind of entertaining in small doses. Here’s all you need to know to start watching and not feel you’ve missed a darned thing: There’s a guy (his name is Eustace) who lives in the mountains of North Carolina. He has it the toughest from what I’ve seen. Nothing goes right for this poor slob. He ekes out a living chopping wood for people, but then there’s always a lot of drama surrounding delivery of the wood because he doesn’t own a vehicle with a combustion engine. So he has a few old draft horses that he hooks to a wagon and they run firewood up and down the mountain worrying about whether or not the wheels will stay on the axle or the road is passable. He has a friend named, Preston, who always seems to be around to help out with Eustace’s newest crisis. Now keep in mind that Friend Preston has a nice pickup…hmmm. Honestly, every time I see that guy’s newest plight, I want to send him money. Please dude, go rent yourself a damned condo in Florida and get off the side of that mountain. Next up is one of two guys who live up in Montana. This guy (Tom) lives in the Yaak Valley and is a former rodeo star who apparently sustained a lot of injuries during his career. He has a tough time getting around, particularly in the deep snow of Montana. Every week, he’s having to fight off wolves, bears, and/or mountain lions. Yeesh, too much job. The other guy in Montana (lives in the Ruby Valley) bears a striking resemblance to my friend, Mick. They even have some of the same mannerisms. This guy, he’s named Rich, hates mountain lions. Seriously hates mountain lions. He has a pack of beagles that he uses to chase the mountain lions presumably out of the Ruby Valley and into the Yaak Valley where they become Tom’s problem. Then there’s the guy in Alaska named Marty. He owns a plane that he flies up to the North Slope to trap and hunt to bring in enough food and money to keep his family going in whatever village they live in up there. There’s always a lot of drama surrounding his flying in and out of whatever frigging valley he is “working” up there. Interestingly, the camera crew always seems to make it out okay (probably on a luxuriously equipped helo). Oh, there’s more, but I’ll spare you the rest. I remind myself that this is a “reality” show of sorts. I’m sure these guys are being paid something for their appearance (Eustace…brother…take some of the money they give you for that danged show and move to Florida. I’ll sleep better at night.). I’m also certain that some of the scenarios are staged: “Okay, Tom, we’re coming into sweeps week. We really need something spectacular this week. Any chance you could wrestle a grizzly bear to the ground for us?” “Huh? Eh…” “You know, take the bear down, force its jaw open with your hands and put your face into the bear’s mouth. Whaddya think?” After too many hours of watching that crap I come out of my stupor and declare to the wife that I could have been a mountain man. At which point she will always remind me, “Dumbass (it’s her term of endearment for me), there’s no broadband in the mountains. You wouldn’t last three nights.” She’s probably right, of course…stupid technology. Post Redux - Just when you think the world can't possibly get any weirder...The Joy of Ghost Sex!11/2/2018
 Today's post from the past isn't from that long ago...August 2018 to be exact (ah, what heady times!). We recently came across a story update to a post we ran on August 21st about a British woman named Amethyst Realm who is noted for having sex with ghosts. Lots of ghosts. So the update informs us that she is now engaged to be married to an Australian ghost that she met while visiting down under. We can't make this crap up! Enjoy!
A very good Tuesday to everyone! Hope you’re all doing well. When it rains it pours here at The Compound. It’s been an incredibly busy couple of weeks around here and there’s no sign of things letting up any time soon. Let’s see, here’s the rundown: 1) First and foremost, there’s the re-replication of the Cabinet Saloon out on the north lawn. That’s been kind of on autopilot since the start of construction with members of the POJOC handling everything. By the looks of things, we’re at about 80% done. It’s certainly been a blessing not to have to deal with any of that, though there are the all-night parties as the boys celebrate each day’s progress well into the night. 2) The Hairdressing Hydrologist Gigi has decided (who knows why) that Cousin Fred needs to become a self-help guru. Really? The guy can barely help himself let alone anyone else. Of course, Cousin Fred as a self-help guru is helping himself…I think. I’ve always encouraged people here at The Compound to reach for the stars and be whatever they’ve always wanted to be or at least try to be. Stupid me. As our loyal readers may recall, I commented last week that no one had seen Gigi for quite some time and I was beginning to think she was stuffed under a couch in Das Boot. Turns out she’s been working night and day on a philosophy of life for Cousin Fred to “gurate.” The plan is to push videos out on YouTube. Bet you can’t wait for that action, eh? 3) There’s the upcoming trip to the Burning Man Festival in Nevada. That starts this coming Sunday. Friend Lamont will arrive here from western Arkansas tomorrow and we’ll likely leave Friday. The Hairdressing Hydrologist Gigi is making noise that she likely won’t be able to go with us since she’s working on Cousin Fred’s self-help philosophy of life. That is a shame since we’ve already bought her ticket. I asked the Wife if she wanted to go with us, but she informed me she would sooner have major surgery sans anesthesia than spend two weeks in a cramped RV with me, Cousin Fred, and Friend Lamont. Besides, she’s supposedly headed to Tahiti for the period. At least having Gigi here at The Compound solves my compound mutt care problem. If anyone is interested in a free ticket and ride to Burning Man, let me know. And, finally, 4) Cousin Fred is determined to turn The Compound into a medical marijuana farm. This despite nearly everyone who knows anything about the process telling him to wait at least two years until the dust settles and a firm market is established. Eh, not Cousin Fred, he’s pushing ahead full steam. The licensing process online begins this coming Saturday morning, so I’m not sure how he’ll pull it off being that we’ll be traveling to Black Rock. So anyway, that’s a rundown of the news as it stands right now. I’m certain even more implausibly ridiculous non-events will pop up, but it keeps things interesting around here. Cousin Fred has been receiving threatening emails from GoDaddy that his domain name and website, www.lovesick-leftovers.com, is about to expire and be pulled from the web. He told me that he plans to let it go – says there’s too much other stuff he’s focused on right now. Probably just as well, though it occurs to me that there are a lot of lonely people out there who could use a boost. Others seem to find their own path, if you will. Take for instance, the British woman, Amethyst Realm, a “spiritual guidance counselor” (now there’s an occupation) who claims to have had 20 sexual affairs with (hopefully you’re sitting down) ghosts over the past 11 years. No, seriously. But, she believes she has finally found her one true love while on a trip to Australia. Yeah, he’s a ghost too. I’m sure her parents are so proud, but then again, they named their daughter Amethyst Realm so they probably are proud! But wait, there’s more! She wants to have a baby with Mr. Wonderful. In an interview with a publication (wonder if they used a ghost writer to do the interview), she said that while the idea seems a bit crazy (no sh*t, you think?) she believes it can happen. She went on to say that her theory is that phantom pregnancies (aka, pseudocyesis, or false pregnancy) is nothing more than a ghost baby trapped inside a human body. Hmm. During a recent interview on ITV’s This Morning show in Britain, Amethyst revealed that she no longer has interest in a relationship with a human. One of the This Morning hosts commented during the interview that, “once you go ghost you never go back.” ‘Nuff said. That is all! |
Archives
March 2019
Categories |
RSS Feed