Category Archives: in the news

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I’m “The One”: The Motherload Of All Conspiracy Theories

Well it was inevitable, I suppose. There are certain things that naturally occur. If you have a keg party somebody is going to pass out on your bed and if there is a mass tragedy somebody is going to come up with a conspiracy theory. And then you will read about it on your Facebook page in between pictures of somebody’s dinner and a cute meme.

So it seems that there is a small but vocal community that believes that the bombing was staged.  Apparently, the wounded people on the ground were not acting as freshly bombed as one would expect and there was insufficient arterial blood spray. In a tragedy you want as much arterial blood spray as possible, you see. Duh. I saw enough Friday the 13th movies to know that. Without it you’re just making another Leprechaun.

Insufficient arterial blood spray, but she made up for it with Friends and a lot of tabloid material.

This picture and caption would have also worked as a promo for the Mr. and Mrs. Smith movie.

Anyway, the conspiracy theorists were kind enough to put up a sequence of post bombing pictures and walk me through “the staging” so that I could see for myself how it actually went. It was impressively narrated by someone with professed EMT credentials. I took them at their word about their credentials because people on the internet never lie. At least that is what I was told by the West African man who requested emergency funds and nude pictures from me.  The conspiracy theorists didn’t state how many bombings and staged bombings they’d been to but I’m sure it is extensive.

Anyway I was totally with them through their conspiracy lesson right up until they added the Newtown shootings and 9/11 as additional staged tragedies. That gave me pause because, wow, what a talented group of tragedy stagers that would take! I mean, as anyone who has ever seen an Ed Wood movie can tell you, it’s really hard to make fake planes look real. Or maybe the planes were real and the buildings were fake? Or maybe the whole scene was claymation? Okay, I’ll admit I’m fuzzy on the details of that particular conspiracy, because I tend to tune out and start thinking of possible paint colors for my living room when people talk about it.

"I want to be a terrorist!"

“I want to be a terrorist!”

But here is what I do know based on my history as an occasionally employed actress and frequent movie goer:

You never go smaller with the sequel.

You don’t pull off a mega blockbuster and then follow it up with a quietly heartbreaking independent film. George Lucas didn’t make Star Wars and follow it up with The Empire Suffers Quietly In A Coffee Shop.  It’s not the Hollywood way.  If you have successfully staged the attack and annihilation of a section of New York by foreign terrorists then you have to go even bigger for your next staging. Like the annihilation of the entire Midwest by aliens. Am I right? Tom Cruise, back me up on this.

"It's no staging. The mother ship is coming."

“It’s no staging. The mother ship is coming.”

So I was totally ready to write this whole conspiracy thing off, but then I got to thinking. I’ve had a lot of birthdays–what if those were all staged by the government? What if I’m not 43? Which would make a lot of sense given my maturity level, fashion sense and fondness for Dubstep.

And once I’d made that leap the next logical question was…

What if nothing bad has ever happened: the holocaust, Hiroshima, that weird dude I slept with in my 20s because I felt sorry for him. What if none of that had happened? What if I’m really 21 and sitting in a pod somewhere with a plug in my head? What if I’m Neo or that really hot chick in the black latex suit who can do flips in slow-mo? What if I’m the chosen one sent to free all of you from your pods?

"Whoa."

“Whoa.”

You said it, Keanu.

That is a massive responsibility and some mornings I can’t even find my car keys. But I’m not going to shirk my duty. I will not leave you plugged in like last year’s iPad. You’re getting upgraded! Or downgraded. Actually I’m confused by my metaphor, but the point is that all of the hours I spent watching X-Files episodes and last week’s Mud Run has prepared me for this moment. I will not let you down!

 

PS. Does anyone have any Baby Powder I can borrow? I’m having a hard time getting into my latex suit. You know what, I’m just going to wear some black yoga pants instead. Don’t take the blue pill!

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Picture Credits:

doyouremember.com

Boston.com

Academic.depauw.edu

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Ode To A Masshole

Bostonskyline

Sometimes the world is a giant sh!t storm, isn’t it? I don’t usually write about tragedies such as the Boston Marathon bombing. There are people far more eloquent in their sincerity so I usually leave it to them.

Then I saw Stephen Colbert’s opening monologue regarding the bombing and I thought that he got it exactly right. Check out his brilliance.

I lived 28 miles outside of Boston for three years. I married a man who grew up there. I have friends and a gigantic Irish and Italian family there. And let me tell you something:

Those are the toughest people I’ve ever met.

They are called Massholes by neighboring New England states for a reason. You don’t mess with a Masshole. You don’t mess with a Masshole’s friends and you damn sure don’t mess with a Masshole’s family (and given the popularity of the Catholic church and the procreative prowess of the populace there you can just assume that everyone is family.)

If you’ve ever driven the roads there and been cut off by a guy driving a pickup with a cracked windshield and rusted undercarriage, laying on his horn as he drove in a lane of his own creation after you assumed that you had the right of way simply because that’s what it told you in the driver’s booklet that you got from the registry, you have an inkling of just how tough they are.

whydomassholeshonk

Massholes view driving laws as mere suggestions devised for people who don’t have the balls to make their own rules. They subscribe to a Darwinian driving theory. The right of way goes to whoever has the stones to take it. That person will usually celebrate his/her victory with a festive, “Fahck you!” and a friendly one finger wave.

There is a reason that most of Hubs’s fondest memories involve stunts resulting in some kind of injury and/or fights. Maybe it’s years of chipping ice off of their cars in April, eating cream-filled, starchy foods, getting their @sses chewed for doing something they shouldn’t by the neighbor down the street who then sent them home to get their @sses kicked by their parents, getting all their molars pulled. Maybe those things gave them stones the size of glaciers. That’s just a guess. I don’t know where that toughness originates exactly. I just know that it’s there.

If you doubt me, just walk into a bar in Southie and say, “your mother’s a whore” to no one in particular. Of course you’ll want to make sure that your will is in order first.

southierules

“My mothah is a saint and a virgin.”

These people take the “R”s out of words with an “R” in their spelling and randomly put those “R”s at the end of other words like “Brenda” because they can. These people are not PC. They are not careful. They are not shy with their opinions. They are fiercely loyal. They are always ready to tell you a joke or kick your @ss…depending on the situation and whether or not you are wearing a Yankees hat.

They eat broken glass and road salt for breakfast (topped with a generous helping of Marshmallow Fluff.) You don’t pick on people like that. You can’t break their spirit. The weather has been trying for generations and it can’t be done.

frozenjack

But then again, the type of coward who would leave explosives in an area crowded with families and children and then run to safety before the carnage was unleashed wouldn’t understand that kind of spirit. They wouldn’t understand the Masshole propensity to love and fight and endure. To run toward danger to help those in need. So on behalf of my Masshole friends and family let me just say to those bomb-dropping cowards

fahckyou

FAHCK YOU!

*My thoughts and prayers are with the victims and their families and my most sincere gratitude goes out to the people who ran to help.

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Photo Credits

bostinno.com

metro.us

memegenerator.net

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Fugitives And Scandinavian Furniture

Did you read the story about Christopher Dorner, the man who had a beef with LAPD so he wrote a manifesto and then ultimately killed his lawyer’s daughter, her fiance and two sheriffs who had nothing at all to do with his problem, because he was trying to prove that he wasn’t a liar by becoming a killer, as if he was in some sort of Quentin Tarantino movie?  Djorner Unchained (the J is silent.)

"Do you know what they call a Quarter Pounder with cheese in Paris?"

“Do you know what they call a Quarter Pounder with cheese in Paris?” “No I don’t. McDonalds hasn’t even been invented yet.” “Oops, my bad.”

I’m not going to go into my opinions and feelings about that situation here. I have some strong ones but they aren’t especially funny. However, I will say that it made for some tense times around the Fathead household. It was almost as much fun as the time Hubs was green lit when I was pregnant with my daughter.

greenlight

Hubs’s Green Light announcement. Gangsters don’t use Evite.

Hubs insisted I wear an automatic assault rifle strapped to my thigh under my clothes when I dropped the kids off to school and everything. Let me tell you, those things chafe. And have you ever tried pulling one out of skinny jeans in a timely manner without ripping your fancy underwear and shooting the PTA president? It’s not as sexy as you might think.

Okay the part about the assault rifle wasn’t exactly true, but what I’m about to tell you did actually happen…outside of my mind…in real life.

I’m typically very calm in a crisis. However I do obsessively redecorate and reorganize to manage the stress. For instance in the past few weeks I’ve redone three rooms in our house. Hubs can’t find the remotes, the kids can’t find their toothbrushes, but they know better than to stop me.

So it really comes as no surprise that in the middle of the whole manhunt I ran into Christopher Dorner in the Returns section of my local Ikea while returning a cabinet that I’d been planning on turning into a fantastic faux-denza/media cabinet.

Okay, in retrospect it wasn’t actually Christopher Dorner — just some dude sitting with Tisha Campbell-Martin (the actress from that Damon Wayans show, My Wife and Kids) who really looked like Christopher Dorner, but considering that I had already parked next to a gray Nissan Titan, the exact same truck that Christopher Dorner had been driving, and my head had been on a swivel looking for Dorner because, as I mentioned, it isn’t uncommon for people to want to kill Hubs and I’m just narcissistic enough to think that everything revolves around me, it took me a moment before I realized that it wasn’t him. My first thought was, “Sh!t, he found me,” followed by, “Maybe he just wants to furnish his hide-out with some inexpensive Scandinavian furniture,” and finally, “Is that the chick from Martin and My Wife and Kids??? I love her!”

Doesn't she look like someone who would want to hang out with me?

Doesn’t she look like someone who would want to hang out with me?

It was a tense minute or two. I had to go deep undercover and sit right across from them on one of the pleather couches, casually humming Public Enemy’s Fight the Power as if to say, “Yeah, the Man always brings this sistah down too,” before I figured out that it was just some random dude.

Frankly I was a little disappointed when I figured out that I hadn’t single-handedly located Christopher Dorner, after I’d spent so much time meticulously planning the conversation I would have with him to make him realize the error of his ways and turn himself in. I actually spend a lot of time imagining conversations like that. Almost as much time as I spend mentally choreographing my kick-ass fight moves, which is embarrassing to admit, but I feel like we’re close and I can pretty much tell you anything.

Anyway, the dude was reading Dorner’s manifesto and Tisha leaned over, looked at Dorner’s picture, then looked at her friend and said, “Don’t smile.” See? Because the pictures of Dorner were all photos of him smiling and even a sitcom star could see that the dude was totally Dorner’s doppelgänger.

And you all thought I was overreacting. Tisha totally gets me…or she would if we hung out. Call me, Tisha.

Me and Tisha hunting fugitives and returning furniture. Don't mess with us.

Me and Tisha hunting fugitives and returning furniture. Don’t mess with us.

Then it struck me that the police had already shot two Asian ladies delivering papers (yep, that’s embarrassing), so maybe sitting across from a dude who looked waaaaay more like Christopher Dorner than any Asian lady was actually pretty dangerous. I could get caught in the middle of a messy take down. I wanted to give the dude a respectful fist bump and say, “Hey man, stay safe out there,” but Tisha’s number was called and they went up to return their shelving unit and I chickened out.

Then it started to hail as if God was saying, “you blew your chance, Sucka!”

And that is the story of how I almost cornered Christopher Dorner and became Tisha Campbell-Martin’s best friend in Ikea. I swear it is all true, including the biblical hail. In fact, I haven’t been back to Ikea since the incident because I know it will just be a let down.

Me and Tisha with our own Graphic Novel. The possibilities are endless!

Me and Tisha with our own Graphic Novel. The possibilities are endless!

Post Note: All kidding aside, my most sincere condolences go out to the families of those who lost their lives during this senseless tragedy. You have been in my prayers. And to those police officers who continue to risk their lives to protect and serve, thank you (respectful fist bump).

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Photo Credits:

Sony Pictures

Hubs and the Los Angeles Association of Gangs (or LAAG)

Mylifetime.com (and some low tech photo editing)

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Animal Magnetism

 

 

Warren Michael III: animal lover (image via firstcoastnews)

Warren Michael III was pulled over in Clay County Florida after a sheriff witnessed Warren’s car cross a grass shoulder and nearly hit another car head on. Warren blamed his erratic driving on a pet squirrel in his shirt that was “eating him.” If I had a nickel for every time I heard the “squirrel in my shirt” excuse, am I right?

However, further investigation revealed that there was indeed a squirrel in Warren’s shirt. One might automatically assume that this would’ve given Warren a pass. I mean once you’ve been gnawed on by a rodent, aren’t you pretty much excused from any resulting erratic behavior? Apparently not. The sheriff gave Warren a field sobriety test despite the squirrel attack because Warren reeked of alcohol, had glassy, bloodshot eyes, was very talkative and using a lot of profanity.

Just so you know, that description implicates most of the people I worked with while living in New England and the entire town of Lowell Massachusetts. Shoot, I’d swear like a trucker if a rodent had mistaken me for a McRib sandwich.

However, in this instance, the sheriff made a good call when he asked Warren to secure the squirrel and exit the vehicle because Warren performed the sobriety test about as well as Amanda Bynes in a Home Depot parking lot.

“I don’t drink, I just get really disoriented in Home Depot.”

The report states that Warren appeared unsteady, leaning and swaying during the walk and grabbing the side of the truck to keep from falling over. He placed his foot down twice while trying to stand on one leg. He also forgot the directions, neglecting to count out loud while he performed each exercise.

Warren was charged with a DUI and not wearing a seat belt.

Hello! You can’t wear a seat belt when you have a squirrel in your shirt. You’d squish the squirrel! Duh. People don’t understand the complexities of inter-attire rodent transportation.

The squirrel was not charged with malicious nibbling or eating to endanger, which might demonstrate favoritism on the part of the sheriff, but I don’t like to cast stones at law enforcement. Casting stones can get you tazed.

I don’t think I have to tell you how disastrous this could have been. Thank God Warren didn’t stick the squirrel in his pants. I don’t know a man alive who wouldn’t have driven through a crowded playground to save his tree nuts.

In addition to dressing like Punky Brewster, this man clearly has a squirrel in his pants.

Warren and his girlfriend named the squirrel DUI (Dewie) in honor of Warren’s arrest, which sounds sweet until you realize that if the squirrel didn’t already have a name, it wasn’t actually a pet. Did Warren just pick up a random squirrel and shove it in his shirt? That hardly seems wise. What if the squirrel was claustrophobic or hypoglycemic or allergic to stupid humans? You’ve got to get to know a squirrel before you wear it.

You should also feed the thing before dropping it into your clothes and going for a drive. Or at least share your drinks. Then you’d have a really relaxed squirrel that would enjoy the drive a lot more.

Everyone knows that squirrels love to party. (image via dailypicksandflicks)

But then again, maybe you shouldn’t get your pets from your front yard. We’ve got some really cute raccoons that like to hang out in our yard but I’m not going to shove one in my shirt. I’ve seen what they can do to a garbage bag.

So Warren, if you’re reading this, please don’t take any more neighborhood wild animals for joy rides in your shirt. I’d hate for you to end up with a pet named Vehicular Homicide.

 

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A Coalition For The Criminally Inclined And Intellectually Challenged

I’ve been working on a theory. You see I hear a lot of stupid criminal stories, as a cop’s wife and occasional web surfer. They’re often amusing. However, being an empathetic and logical (don’t laugh) individual, I’ve also noticed a common tragic thread in these stories which has led me to a hypothesis.

Perhaps if some of these less than intelligent, criminally inclined, but relatively harmless individuals kept each other company, they wouldn’t be out on the street making bad decisions and executing the kinds of half-baked ideas that lead them to end up with extremely unflattering mug shots.

Alone they are unfortunate, but together they might be more than the sum of their parts. I’ll use three recent stories as an example.

First let’s take Chad William Forber.

Officially the only tweaker I’ve ever seen with a double chin. (image via sflchronicle.com)

Chad was arrested while running around naked. He was carrying his shorts and a can of Crisco cooking spray with which he’d thoroughly greased himself. Chad told police that he was just looking for a place to party.

Just looking for a place to party.

It breaks your heart a little bit, doesn’t it? There he was feeling restless and alone with just a can of cooking spray for company. Aside from being naked and unattractive, Chad has done nothing wrong…if you don’t count the meth in his shorts and his resistance to being arrested. In Chad’s defense, the police rarely seem ready to party. If I were all greased up and ready to go, I might want to take my party elsewhere too.

Like to a firehouse. Now those guys know how to party and cook a pot of chili. And Chad looks like a man who can appreciate a pot of chili.

Next we have James Crittendon.

James isn’t good with math but a genius with constitutional law and theology. (image via wave3)

James had a small mathematical problem at a local supermarket when he opened $23.90 worth of Reddi Whip, but only had $7 in his pants. It doesn’t take a math genius to figure out that Mr. Crittendon was a little light in his whipped cream funds. He was also huffing the Reddi Whip in the store, which they frown upon. However, he informed the authorities that he was huffing the cans to wake up, which the US Constitution gave him the authority to do.

I applaud his knowledge of the Constitution.

Later, James was arrested for lighting a toilet on fire at a convenience store. I would have assumed that he lit the toilet on fire because it’s the only way to adequately sanitize a convenience store bathroom, but James stated that it was actually due to religious reasons. My bad.

Unfortunately attendance is in the sh!tter and services at the Church of the Flaming Toilet have been suspended.

Now I wish I’d gotten around to taking theological studies in college. Is it the Jehovah’s Witnesses that believe in hell fire and brimstone in a commode or is that a Seventh Day Adventist thing?

Finally I present Andrew Toothman.

Nearly six feet of Reese’s peanut butter cup. (image via thesmokinggun.com)

Police found Andrew face down and completely covered in chocolate and peanut butter in a supermarket. He had apparently smashed through the glass door wearing nothing but boots. He then emptied all of the fire extinguishers and wrote “sorry” on the floor in NyQuil, which was thoughtful. And while breaking windows should generally be avoided, there is nothing wrong with covering yourself in chocolate and peanut butter…well unless you’re at my son’s preschool and that’s only because there are nut allergies and you should be considerate of other people’s food restrictions. But you could totally cover yourself in chocolate and be okay.

So I read these stories and it’s glaringly apparent to me that these men need each other.

Together these items promise better times and friendship. The same is true for unfortunate people.

For instance, if Andrew Toothman and his appropriated fire extinguishers had been present at the convenience store bathroom at the time of Mr. Crittendon’s religious service, he would have been extremely useful. Perhaps Mr. Crittendon could have even absolved Mr. Toothman of whatever he was feeling “sorry” about before the toilet service was extinguished.

Now add Chad Forber to the mix. You give Chad two friends who also carry food, one of whom understands the draw of traveling in the buff, add in Mr. Crittendon’s bonfire-building capabilities and you have yourself a cookout. In the event that they get into trouble again or catch a cold, they could all benefit from Mr. Crittendon’s knowledge of constitutional law and Mr. Toothman’s NyQuil.

All they need is each other. And a couple of items from the local supermarket.

But isn’t that what we all need? Like-minded individuals who understand us? Maybe that’s all that stands between us and an unflattering mug shot.

We’re so lucky we found each other.

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Underpriviledged Teenage Cougars Vying For A Place In Society

Once again the news has caught my attention, Reno news to be exact. Reno isn’t just Las Vegas’s ugly cousin. Many interesting things happen there. It’s a hub of excitement. And also a hub of martinis and video poker.

And juvenile delinquent mountain lions.

Evidently an underage mountain lion was caught trying to slip into the Harrah’s casino in downtown Reno before the breakfast rush last Friday morning. Scandalous. Especially since Harrah’s doesn’t have a breakfast buffet and Peg’s is really where you want to go for a quality breakfast. It’s a Reno institution. Duh. Somebody needs to tell that cougar about Yelp.

A cougar’s eye view of the downtown Peg’s. (image via Yelp & Zack M.)

Then again maybe the mountain lion went to Harrah’s for the Beer Pong Tournament and a show. Master hypnotist Tyzen was appearing in a “suggestive adult revue,” which is a subtle way of saying that he was surrounded by girls with naked ta-tas. That seems like the type of thing an underage mountain lion would appreciate. Naked ta-tas look just like a breakfast buffet.

This guy Tyzen wears as much eyeliner as Criss Angel, has a cool Justin Beiber comb-over and does improv comedy to loud rock music. He also makes people bark like a dog which has got to be pretty hilarious for a wild cat fresh from the Beer Pong Tournament.

Is he trying to grab my naked ta-tas? It worries me. Someone should tell him I’m married and my husband is armed. (image via Tyzen.com)

Alas, the approximately two-years old, 100 pound cat will never know Tyzen’s genius, because when it tried to walk into the casino it couldn’t negotiate the revolving door, which may be a sign that it was already drinking and would also explain why it didn’t understand the absence of a buffet.

Someone needs to track down who’s been serving underage mountain lions. That’s how Drew Barrymore got into trouble and aside from making Poison Ivy, she was relatively harmless. A mountain lion is not. Ask any chihuahua.

After failing to enter the revolving door, the cougar hid under an outdoor stage in a nearby plaza. I would guess that he was trying to drunk-dial an old girlfriend or eat Paris Hilton’s dog, Tinkerbell, which, though technically a mercy killing, is still disturbing.

“Help me. I taste like chicken and designer fabric.” (image via veanimals.com)

Authorities tranquilized the mountain lion and released it into the wild after tagging it for participation in a University of Nevada, Reno study. They didn’t mention the nature of the study. Maybe they’re checking on the effects of revolving doors on mountain lion self-esteem. Not that they need a whole study on that. The answer is obvious. Would you feel good about yourself if you couldn’t make it through a revolving door and then ended up passed out on the local news? Me neither.

Teenage mountain lions suffer from low self-esteem. (image via RPD)

Nevada Department of Wildlife Spokesman, Chris Healy, called the young male cat’s behavior “almost the equivalent of being a stupid teenager,” which I think is a little harsh. Let’s be honest here, if this cat were really a stupid teenager, he would have hot-wired a car and took it for a joy ride or peed off a tall building. At the very least he would have tried to play a game of craps with a fake ID and score free drinks from a roving cocktail waitress. Mr. Healy has evidently never seen a Hollywood teenager in action. When that cougar has a sex tape and has rolled its car on Mulholland Drive, give me a call.

Seriously though, this story brings up some pertinent issues, especially because this is an election year and the state of America’s youth is at the forefront of our candidates’ campaigns, right behind the economy and foreign policy and oil and religion and gay marriage and hurricanes and female reproductive organs…well it’s in there somewhere. Perhaps the importance is more implied than actually discussed.

Regardless, instead of pointing fingers and slinging insults we should be focused on creating constructive activities for these animals, so that they don’t waste their time hanging out in casinos. Or maybe we need more revolving doors in the wild. Or more job opportunities. Or better education. Or lower taxes for felines. Or smaller government for bigger cats…

I’m just brain storming here.

I certainly don’t claim to have all of the answers. But this mountain lion is an American and it deserves a future. An American future. For Americans. Who are cats.

(image via dreamstime)

 

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Second Hand Candy And Ethanol Byproducts: The New Superfoods

 

 

I think I have a nose for investigative journalism. Some stories just jump right off the page and demand that I do some research. For instance, this morning I saw a story titled Cows Eating Candy During The Drought. I had visions of cows buying Snickers bars and Big Gulps down at the local 7-Eleven and cows trick or treating while dressed up as princesses and ninjas. The investigative journalist in me had to check it out.

See, trick or treating cows are adorable. By the way, she’s holding a fake severed finger.

I was somewhat disappointed to find no mention of trick or treating cows in the article. However, the story was still interesting.

Apparently the drought is sending corn prices off the charts, which is making it very expensive for ranchers to feed their livestock because cows are notoriously big eaters. That’s why they’re called “cows”. For the record, I’m not judging them for their appetite nor would I advocate making them buy two tickets on an airplane. Not every animal can be built like a cheetah, so let’s be a little more tolerant here, people. Besides, who wants to sit next to a cheetah on an airplane? It would eat your head. We need to be logical about this.

Anyway, according to the article, Joseph Watson over at Mayfield’s United Livestock Commodities couldn’t afford to feed his cattle corn anymore, so earlier this year, he started feeding them second-hand candy.

(Enrollment in animal dentistry is probably skyrocketing as I type.)

The packaged candy comes from various companies at a discounted rate because it is not fit for store shelves. I didn’t know that candy went bad and judging from the Halloween candy I got when I was younger, neither did any of the people in my neighborhood. I wish some thoughtful rancher had been around back then to take the stale chocolate and petrified Dum Dums off the hands of my neighbors, even if it meant that I would eat it later covered in A1 Steak Sauce at our local Sizzler.

“Old Lady Simmons gave me some junky lollipops again.” “Me too. I say we egg her house later.” (image via flickr & Martin Lindstrom)

Watson mixes the candy with an ethanol byproduct and a mineral nutrient. He says the cows have not shown any health problems from eating the candy, and are gaining weight as they should, which makes sense. I gain weight when I eat a steady supply of candy. I also find myself a little irritable. I wonder if Watson is having problems with grumpy cows. I wonder if his ranch looks like a school playground the day after Halloween.

I was a little concerned that if the cows are completely sedentary, eating candy and drinking Big Gulp’s full of ethanol byproducts, they aren’t living a healthy lifestyle. That’s no way to live. Unless you’re a computer programmer.

This angle of the story demanded further investigation.

I contacted my confidential source, Lindsay Lohan (and by “confidential” I mean completely fabricated), who seems to exist just fine on candy and ethanol. She suggested that the ranchers take the cows clubbing for exercise. I told her that the idea was ridiculous. Obviously the cows don’t have anything cute to wear. They’d never get into any quality Los Angeles nightclubs. Then Lindsay and I got in a fist fight and her parole officer had to break it up.

Don’t worry, I gave her some candy and ethanol and we’re solid again. (image via dreamstime)

To be honest, I didn’t completely understand what an ethanol byproduct was. It sounded like something I might have produced after a night of collegiate drinking, but surely no one would feed that to cows.

In order to speak intelligently about it I did what any knowledgeable journalist would do and googled “ethanol byproduct”. There I discovered an article filled with somebody else’s investigative journalism that talked about how recent research at Kansas State University has found that cattle fed distiller’s grain have an increased prevalence of E. coli in their hindgut or, as I like to put it, poisonous junk in their trunk. In fact, the prevalence of E. coli was about twice as high in cattle fed distiller’s grain compared with those cattle that were on a diet lacking the ethanol byproduct.

They don’t know exactly why this is but they’re looking to find out why and then prevent it from happening because the relationship between cattle ranchers and ethanol producers is mutually beneficial. Distiller’s grain is a cheap food source and ethanol producers need an added source of income in case the world suddenly stops drinking heavily or Kentucky sinks into the ocean.

Don’t panic. We’re not getting rid of any state that gave us Johnny Depp. (image via dreamstime)

I think I’ve asked the important questions here.

Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to go perfect my new cocktail. I’m mixing whiskey, old Halloween candy and a Flintstone’s chewable and calling it a Cattle Feed Martini. I’m on my second one and I’m about ready to throw myself on a grill right now.

 

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How Hippies Make Fine Wine

I just read about the Summerhill Pyramid Winery in British Columbia, the first organic and bio-dynamic certified winery in BC.

Bio-dynamic. That’s an impressive word. I was captivated by it, as I often am by words I don’t really understand and want to toss around in conversations. However, as I’ve been known to use words incorrectly, I looked it up first.

According to Wikipedia, bio-dynamics is a method of organic farming that emphasizes the holistic development and interrelationships of the soil, plants and animals as a self-sustaining system. This means that I’d sound ignorant if I walked out of my yoga class and declared that I felt bio-dynamic, unless I was also coated in dirt and chicken poop.

But here’s the part of the article that really got my attention. Evidently one bio-dynamic technique this winery uses involves using rainwater mixed with the manure of a lactating cow that was harvested during a full moon, stuffed inside a cow horn and buried under the ground for around a year. Then it was dug up during certain astrological conditions. I’m fuzzy on the details, but I’m pretty sure that Uranus was in opposition to something.

“I smell something bio-dynamic.” (image via dreamstime)

I am not making this up. In fact, if you want to see cutting edge wine technology in action, click this link: dude digging up poo-stuffed cow horns.

This process produces a biologically-active fertilizer, which is then sprayed on the vines in order to suppress and resist mildew and fungal diseases, as well as enhance nutrients flowing to the roots. The fact that the cow is lactating makes all the difference. The manure of single cows who’ve decided to adopt is not desirable here. We’re not making a judgment on their lifestyle choices, just their manure.

“I’m really focused on my career right now.” (image via dreamstime)

I’m kicking myself because when I was lactating I flushed biologically-active fertilizer down our commode on a daily basis. I could have had my own vineyard and supplied myself with bottles of bio-dynamic stress reliever, plus made a boat load of cash! Then again, considering that I didn’t even brush my hair or apply body lotion the whole first year of my daughter’s life, maybe running a vineyard would have been aiming a little high.

They’re still calling this wine vegan-friendly because the animal byproducts never actually touch the wine. Though they do ferment herbs in stag bladders and cow intestines, but these things only touch the soil, which is a shame because if I’d gone to the trouble of fermenting some herbs in a stag’s bladder, I’d want to sprinkle it over some pasta or something. They do not use any fish bladders, gelatin, egg whites, milk, or milk byproducts in their winemaking, which is (attention my drunk, vegan friends) evidently a common practice among winemakers.

If you’d like to see the winemakers dig up some stag’s bladders, animal skulls stuffed with what looks like supernatural ectoplasm and other nifty items not found at your local butcher, click on this link dude digging up weird animal parts. You’re going to want a big old glass of grappa when you’re done watching it. Nothing goes with ectoplasm like a Riesling.

But wait, there’s more!

Did I mention that this winery has a genuine pyramid? Yessiree. But don’t expect a bunch of slot machines inside.  According to the proprietor, Stephen Cipes, “the knowingness of eternity awaits us in this sacred chamber.” You can’t get knowingness at the Luxor.

I bet Bartles & James never had a pyramid

As I understand it, the theory is that humans are mostly liquid, especially when they’re pumped full of wine, so when they enter the sacred chamber, it’s an opportunity to “clarify their own inner selves”. Like butter. The chamber helps them get to the “knowingness of who they are,” which may be just a bunch of cow turd-loving winos, but y’all know I don’t judge.

The chamber “enhances our receptiveness, opening the left and right sides of our brains, much like the dolphins, whales, and elephants” which are apparently all new age animals and “in touch with the all-one ‘soul of the world,'” even though you almost never see a dolphin getting a palm reading.

“I’m more of a numerology mammal.” (image via dreamstime)

Awe. Some. I love hippies. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m ready to climb into that pyramid with a bottle of bio-dynamic wine and some elephants and just get wrecked on clarity.

Tell me you wouldn’t go drinking with this cutie. (image via dreamstime)

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What To Do On A Thursday Night In Nebraska

Every once in a while as I’m reading the news I stumble across a story that really grabs me. I identify with the subject–sort of a “there but for the grace of God go I” type of thing. Take, for instance, this man, Jason Dornhoff, out of Kearney Nebraska.

Mr. Dornhoff was smoking methamphetamine one recent Thursday night when, according to court documents and the Huffington post, he decided that he needed to acquire a job and fulfill some sexual fantasies. (We’ve all been there, am I right?) He then drove over to a local restaurant and filled out an application, but, perhaps fearing that he wouldn’t stand out in this job market, decided to write a little note on the back of his application.

Allegedly.

According to the Kearney Hub, he wrote: “I have no money, a huge bomb in my truck, and a syringe of bleach that will kill you instantly. If you be quiet and help me, you won’t die.”

Now if that doesn’t put you at the top of the application pile, I don’t know what will.

The article didn’t mention exactly which restaurant Dornhoff had used to commit this crime, but I immediately pictured a TGI Friday’s, because I’ve worked at a couple of TGI Friday’s and he matches the description of some of my former customers. Maybe his sexual fantasies involved a waitress covered in fajita grease and “flair.” All of those buttons make a girl look mad sexy.

Admit it, you’re picturing me in those buttons right now. (image via flickr & Ray Yu)

He was probably hoping to run into a waitress with a hostage fantasy, which is not unreasonable. Toward the end of my shifts I often wished to be dragged out of the restaurant and stuck with a syringe full of bleach. Bleach is, after all, one of the few things that will remove the smell of fajitas from your hair while simultaneously whitening your teeth and giving you highlights.

I identify with this man on so many different levels. First of all, what is there to do on a Thursday night? I was just asking myself that very question. I was all like, “should I smoke some meth and then go down to Applebee’s with a bomb threat or should I just watch season four of True Blood?” The truth is that they both seem kind of pointless, so I might just fold some laundry.

And what about all of your pent up sexual energy? Where does a lonely horndog go for satisfaction? PeeWee Herman and Fred Willard could tell you that an adult theater is not the way to go. Lord knows a park bathroom is also a bad choice. Thank you, George Michael. The options start to dwindle until finally you find yourself at the local watering hole with a job application and a misunderstood, grammatically incorrect love note.

To be fair, crystal meth messes with your grammar. And your teeth. So let’s not be judgmental.

Also, have you been to central Nebraska? My dad was raised there and I bet if he were alive today he would tell us that he might have done the exact same thing…if it wasn’t the Depression and he hadn’t been living in a tent and the local restaurant wasn’t simply a soup line. I drove through Nebraska a couple of years back and if I hadn’t been trying to outrun what I thought was a funnel cloud, I might have made a similar choice.

Nothing saves you from a bad choice like a natural disaster. (image via flickr & Thomas-birdpics)

I think we all have a purpose in life. Maybe this guy was simply fulfilling his destiny. Just this morning I was having a discussion with my daughter about the perils of drug use (because nothing goes better with oatmeal than cautionary tales) and I told her that if she did drugs she could find herself down at Chuck E Cheeses telling them that she’d detonate the bomb on her scooter if they didn’t give her a job or some game tokens. Maybe his life purpose was to scare my daughter straight. I wonder if he can get her to go to college.

(Okay maybe that conversation didn’t actually happen, but if could have…if Hubs read the story. He loves “teaching moments” that confuse and horrify the children. It’s one of his more endearing qualities and why we make such a good team.)

At the very least, people like Jason Dornhoff give Hubs job security and me a smile. And for that I am grateful. Thank you, Jason Dornhoff. Your next order of fajitas is on me.

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The Edit Button

You might not know this about me, but I can sometimes be funny. You’re shocked, I know, but it’s true.

One of the reasons for this phenomenon is that I have a twisted point of view. I see comedy in just about everything. Sometimes that comedy might be considered inappropriate and best kept to one’s self.

The other reason is that my internal edit button, the one that is responsible for filtering out potentially offensive or off-color thoughts before they enter into conversation, doesn’t work very well. So whatever inappropriate comedy is born out of my twisted cerebral cortex often rolls right out of my mouth. Sometimes it’s funny to other people as well. Sometimes not.

This has obvious drawbacks. I run the risk of offending people and sometimes misrepresenting myself as an insensitive, drunk, white trash whore. I try to remember to edit myself when in mixed company or when trying to make a good impression, but sometimes my edit button shuts off on its own. Often at unfortunate times. The larger the audience, the deeper I will insert my foot. In graduate school I became semi-famous for it (meaning I was well-known within a half mile radius of the conservatory front doors.)

Usually I have better luck with this when I’m writing, because it takes longer to type offensive thoughts than it does to say them, which gives my edit button time to engage and say, “what the feck did you just write? You were raised better than that, Missy. Go ahead and tap that delete button. In fact, just lean on it for a solid minute.”

But sometimes my edit button doesn’t engage and things slip by.

For instance, yesterday I was tweeting (as I do from time to time in an effort to reconnect with the 14-year-old girl inside me) and I wrote:

On its own, not at all offensive. Unless you are offended by bad grammar and punctuation. Unfortunately I felt the need to add this little tag:

Remorse immediately set in. I was appalled by my own lack of tact. And the fact that I misrepresented myself as some sort of morally bankrupt cannibal (as opposed to the ethical cannibals, who only eat Fair Trade people and mentor young cannibals in their spare time.)

I’m pro-homeless. Which is not to say that I’m for people being without homes. I simply support their right to exist without being made an appetizer. Love thy neighbor. Don’t eat thy neighbor. Even if your neighbor is passed out on the sidewalk. (That last part might not technically be in the Bible, but I’m fairly confident that it’s implied.)

I tried to right my wrong with a follow-up Tweet.

But really, how do you bounce back once you’ve advocated cannibalizing the disenfranchised? I really ought to fix that edit button.

**Note: If you happen to be familiar with the news story that inspired my tasteless Tweet about the nude gentleman who was shot and killed by police while snacking on the face of a homeless man, you should know that his girlfriend has gone on record as saying that he was a sweet man who often carried around a Bible and did not do hard drugs.

He sounds nice. Perhaps he was also having trouble with his edit button.

“My edit button tells me not to eat brains.” (image via dreamstime)