Glibertarians.com 2018 Archive

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  • CPRM’s [REDACTED] Salad Recipe

    State's Witness in the Russian investigation.
    Your ingredients.

    So, my [REDACTED] BBQ recipe seems to have struck a nerve with some folks here, while others seemed to like the idea.  So, as the asshole that I am I only listened to the positive comments and I decided to give you my [REDACTED] salad recipe.

     

    This recipe comes north to Wisconsin from my Grandma from the the southern state of [REDACTED].  I made it over the Memorial Day weekend, and as always it was big hit.

     

    First of all, you need to get your ingredients, and as some people noted in the comments to my [REDACTED] BBQ recipe, this recipe is made to feed a whole lot of people, and I don’t really know how to scale it down, given the measurements we use.

    Ingredients:

    10 pounds of [REDACTED]

    1 jar of [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED]

    1 jar of [REDACTED] [REDACTED]

    1 dozen [REDACTED]

    1 Onion

    Seasoned Salt

     

    Take the 10 pounds of [REDACTED] and boil them until firm, yet soft.

    While boiling the [REDACTED] begin to boil the 1 dozen [REDACTED].

    While the [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] are boiling cut 1 jar of [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] into small pieces and put in The Large Green Tupperware Bowl. Save the juice in the [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] jar.

    Also, dice 1 onion and place in the Large Green Tupperware Bowl.

    When the [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] have boiled long enough, peel and dice to edible size, place into The Large Green Tupperware Bowl.

    Empty one Jar of [REDACTED] [REDACTED] into the bowl.  Then use the juice from the [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] jar to clean out the jar of [REDACTED] [REDACTED], pour that into The Large Green Tupperware Bowl.

    Season with seasoned salt to taste and stir. It is great when eaten warm, and even better when chilled.  This is a family classic that everyone will love for generations.

  • Monday Afternoon Links – The World, The Flesh and The Devil

    Hundreds of Sex Workers Rally for International Whores Day

    OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA—“STIGMA KILLS,” “MY BODY, NOT YOUR CHOICE,” “SEX WORK ≠ TRAFFICKING”—those were just a few of the signs pumped in the air as over 300 sex workers and allies gathered Saturday in downtown Oakland for International Whores Day, a global celebration of sex workers’ rights. This long-standing annual event was injected with renewed intensity this year thanks to outrage over FOSTA, the country’s new “anti-trafficking” law. Several marchers with years of activist experience said the turnout was unprecedented for a sex worker rally.

    “This is more sex workers than I’ve ever seen in one place ever,” said Pele, a 42-year-old dominatrix who has been a sex worker for more than 20 years. “We’re out in the street and loud and proud—I’ve never seen this.”

    The Fight for 15 is about a maximum number of orifices filled at once. Surgical techniques advance every year. Imagine a sex worker crossed with a Dyson crossed with a Swiss Army knife. Imagine a bluetooth-capable Flesh-scooter that bleeds and screams and poops strawberry ice cream. Imagine a hooker with a supercharger and 4k eyes. I cannot wait. The future will be more erotic and terrifying than any of us can imagine.

    Zoom in for an intimate exploration of his sores.

    President Bill Clinton on Monica Lewinsky, #MeToo and whether his apology was enough

    While some Democratic leaders, including Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand of New York, have suggested that Clinton should have resigned at the time, the former president defended his decision to instead fight impeachment charges. He said he wouldn’t have changed his approach, in light of #MeToo.

    “Well, I don’t think it would be an issue. Because people would be using the facts instead of the imagined facts. If the facts were the same today, I wouldn’t,” he said.

    …

    Clinton said his critics are now pouncing on that affair because of their frustration with President Trump, who has been accused by numerous women of inappropriate sexual behavior, all of which Trump has denied.

    “A lot of the facts have been conveniently omitted to make the story work, I think partly because they were frustrated that they got all these serious allegations against the current occupant of the Oval Office. And his voters don’t seem to care,” Clinton said. “I think I did the right thing. I defended the Constitution.”

    The only good thing about Billy-Jeff being in the news so much is watching his scrofulous march to the grave. And wondering if Hillary took the cure for every dose of syphilis he gave Her–I mean, the physical and mental decline from tertiary syphilis would explain the last couple of years, right?

    The First Time I Saw Lesbian Sex Was Black Swan. Now I’m Out, and a Little Horrified by It.

    When I was a sophomore in high school, I went to see Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan with my best friend. It was the first time I ever saw a lesbian sex scene, and it’s fair to say it had a profound effect on me. I came out as gay a year later.

    Black Swan was one of the first films I’d ever seen where female pleasure was depicted whatsoever—and the first movie I saw that took lesbianism seriously. At least I thought it did. Eight years later, I’ve realized that the romance that helped me understand my own lesbianism is not just deeply unromantic, it’s also founded on homophobic tropes. Watch more in the video.

    Now, I understand that you won’t watch the video, so I’ll tell you the highlight: When the narrator talks about coming out as a lesbian she flashes a before and after photo of herself.

    Apparently, coming out as a lesbian isn’t about admitting a same-sex attraction to women, but rather getting the cast of Les Eye For The Straight Girl to turn you into a stylish Mexican twink.

    This video is from Slate’s unintentional hilarious series Pre-Woke Watching, a running struggle session with the guilt of enjoying TV and movies before you were taught that they were double-plus ungood wrongthink.

    Apparently, even Slate is sort of embarrassed about it since they don’t seem to have a handy link the series as a whole. Look to the bottom of the article above to find past episodes.

  • My New Religion, Sort Of

    I’m working hard to put aside my ingrained Southern Baptist upbringing to embrace a new faith, a new belief system and way of looking at the world.

    I’m talking, of course, about embracing the Force… you know, like from Star Wars.

    Now, hold on, hear me out. In the Star Wars films, which I started enjoying at the prime age of 10 with the first one released, we are told that the Force is kind of an energy field that permeates the entire universe; it flows within us and between us, binding all living and nonliving matter together into a cohesive whole.

    Now, if we were to put a more human face on this concept, it would resemble nothing so much as… gee, Davey… well, our traditional notion of God.

    We are told that God, whatever He or It is, is manifest in all things: that nothing within the material or ethereal multiverse exists outside His influence. Nevertheless, we tend to cast God in our own image, more or less. He resembles a human – usually an elderly man, full of gravitas, who’s still fairly handsome in his later years, like that World’s Most Interesting Man from the beer commercials. In other words, we tend to personify God, to think of Him as a conscious being, much as we ourselves are.

    Therein lies a conundrum. On the one hand, we think of God as all-knowing, all-seeing, a thousand times more wise than ourselves, and a million times more knowledgeable. We’re told that He has a plan, and for our small part, we somehow fit into that plan. But oftentimes His plan may seem a bit cruel to us: a natural disaster, war, the death of a loved one or child, can shake our faith in His intentions. How could a God, the God who so loves us (we are constantly told), allow such horrible things to happen? If the death of a child is part of His plan, then shouldn’t we say to Hell with that plan, as we would that of any mortal leader?

    Perhaps, then, our problem lies in thinking of God as a conscious being like ourselves in the first place. Now, this goes against hundreds, perhaps thousands of years of worldwide traditional religious thinking, although to be fair humanity’s gods have already taken innumerable shapes and visages. But maybe that belief isn’t quite accurate – after all, we don’t know the true nature of God and are only surmising as best as our human intellects can reckon.

    What if we think of God a different way – not as a sentient being with thoughts and consciousness, but more as a free-floating aspect of the universe itself, an energy field (the Zero Point Energy? Quantum weirdness?) that permeates everything, even the supposed vacuum separating worlds? Maybe it has some sort of Will or vast Cosmic Consciousness, but not in the traditional way we usually think of.

    Whenever something bad happens, traditional Christians will tend to shrug and proclaim it as ‘God’s Will,’ which means they don’t understand or necessarily approve of it, but reckon that God has a bigger purpose in mind and this current calamity is simply part of His plan – we just don’t have his grand view of the larger scheme.

    With the Force, such a concept becomes more rational. We can see unfortunate events as happening not because of some Supreme Being’s whim, but instead as the result of a vast number of forces, many of them unseen or even immeasurable, ebbing and flowing to produce the chaos that is our reality. If that’s the case, then we can more dispassionately observe calamitous events: Could you lose faith in gravity? Would you swear vengeance against magnetism? If the universe is run not by conscious control but by inevitable forces eternally mixing and playing against one another, such questions become meaningless.

    Of course, such a belief system opens up innumerable cans of worms. In such a system, do we truly have Free Will? Can the Force bend somewhat to our will, as the Jedi Knights of the films are able to cause? Is the Force a thing to be worshipped, or is it basically just window dressing for atheism? Is there room for such a thing as morality?

    As to that last question, much is made in the films of the so-called Dark Side of the Force, which bad guys use to become very powerful. It’s fed by hate, lust, desire for power, all of the notions that are traditionally seen as being negative. If the Force truly exists, would such a negative aspect exist also – the Force soured, perhaps coagulated or stagnant, which seeps into human activities just as much as its counterpart? After all, it’s difficult to think of such a concept without also embracing its polar opposite: One can hardly have Yin without Yang, a cat without a fine rat, protons without electrons, etc. In our grasp for meaning, such a duality strikes us as being ‘fair,’ an explanation for why so much misery and corruption tend to exist in our perceived reality.

    I’ll be the first to admit, I don’t have answers to any of these questions. I might be barking up the wrong Yggdrasil and committing the worst sort of heresy. But personally, I think it makes as much sense as any other belief system. After all, none of us knows for certain, and we’ve precious little evidence one way or another.

    How does this tie into libertarianism? Well, for me, it has to do with traditional religion and faith. I’ve always had a problem with the idea of ‘worshipping’ someone, or something. To prostrate oneself before a person, or a concept, to declare “I’m nothing and you’re everything,” strikes me as particularly unhealthy. Maybe I’m a heretic for even pondering this, but I think such a surrendering of the will is one of the worst practices mankind has ever performed and a huge part of why the world is the way it is.

    Maybe it’s my youthful reading of Heinlein coming out, but I believe the value of human beings lies primarily in our ferociousness, our tenacity, our will to survive and to thrive: not to bow to those who would demand our fealty, but to spit in their eye. There’s a reason why humans have conquered this world and molded it to suit us, and it’s not just because of our intelligence: it’s because that’s the way we wanted it, and we weren’t going to stop until either reality folded, or we did.

    Belief in the Force, then, is a religion which suits my nonconformist self to a T. I don’t have to pay a tithe, I don’t have to give deference to a priestly caste. Heck, I can sleep in as late as I want on Sunday morning. I can make up my own goofy rituals if I want to.

    I’m not here to try to make any converts; I just wanted to put the concept out there and see what varieties of tomatoes you mugs can throw at it. Maybe I’m just a loon for coming up with the idea in the first place.

    But in any case… hey, you knew this was coming: may the Force be with you all.

    Or not.

    Whatevs.

    P.S. – Midichlorians are a bunch of hooey.

  • Morning Links: For The Love of Fruit Edition

    [et_pb_section bb_built=”1″][et_pb_row][et_pb_column type=”2_3″][et_pb_text admin_label=”Welcome” _builder_version=”3.3.1″]

    Eat your fruit, kids.

    [/et_pb_text][/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_3″][et_pb_image _builder_version=”3.3.1″ src=”https://glibertarians.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/durian-myths-alcohol-cholesterol.jpg” force_fullwidth=”on” animation_style=”fade” /][/et_pb_column][/et_pb_row][et_pb_row][et_pb_column type=”1_3″][et_pb_text admin_label=”Births” _builder_version=”3.3.1″]

    Today’s birthdays include:

    • George III, King of Great Britain, 1738
    • Christopher Cockerell, inventor of the hovorcraft, 1910
    • Angelina Jolie, 1975

    [/et_pb_text][/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_3″][et_pb_text admin_label=”Deaths” _builder_version=”3.3.1″]

    Notable deaths:

    • Giacomo Casanova, “librarian and womanizer,” 1798
    • Ferdinand I, King of Sicily/Naples, 1825
    • Donald Eligon, cricketer, dies of blood poisoning from a nail in his boot, 1937

    [/et_pb_text][/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_3″][et_pb_text admin_label=”Events” _builder_version=”3.3.1″]

    Notable events:

    • It’s claimed Roquefort cheese created in a cave near Roquefort, France, today in 1070. Not sure if this is true, but it sounds good, and yay cheese.
    • June 4th seems to be a good day for ballooning. In 1783 Joseph and Jacques Montgolfier make 1st public hot-air balloon flight (unmanned), with an estimated altitude of 1,600-2,000m. One year later in 1784 Madame Elizabeth Thible becomes the first female balloonist.

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    And links for your amusement..

    Volcano erupts in Guatemala

    The history of the pineapple

    Fajita thief sentenced to 50 years in jail

    More than you might care to know about apricots

    Human blood is worth more than silver

    Durian in space, which is exactly where some might say it belongs

    Apparently cheese chasing is a thing

    As is tight rope racing in high heels

    How to grow thornless blackberry plants

    Two bobcat kittens die after woman mistook them for domesticated cats

    Durian definitely doesn’t belong on a pizza

    Intermitent fasting is good for more than just your waistline

    A WWI soldier’s chocolate stash has been discovered

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  • ZARDOZ SUNDAY EVENING LINKS

    FINE ART

    ZARDOZ SPEAKS TO YOU, HIS CHOSEN ONES. ZARDOZ FINALLY HAS A DAY OFF FROM GRAIN HAULING…AND HE CAN THINK OF NOTHING BETTER THAN SHARING LINKS WITH THE CHOSEN ONES. FOR ZARDOZ HAS LIFTED YOU FROM BRUTALITY, AND WOULD KEEP YOU SNARKING AT THE BRUTALS WHO PLAGUE THE EARTH AS IN DAYS OF OLD.

    ZED COULD BEAT JAMES BOND

    FIRST, HOWEVER, ZARDOZ MUST ANSWER THIS BIT OF BRUTAL FOOLISHNESS. SOMEONE HAS OVERTHOUGHT THINGS A BIT. WHAT IS WRONG WITH SIMPLY ENJOYING A CINEMATIC MASTERPIECE? FOOLISH BRUTAL.

    BUT YOU ARE NOT HERE FOR THAT…YOU ARE HERE FOR LINKS. THEREFOR, RECEIVE THE GIFT OF THE LINK! GO FORTH AND COMMENT!

    1. ZARDOZ HOPES THE IDIOCY OF THE BRUTAL WITH MOOBS IS LISTENED TO…ANYTHING TO HASTEN THE COLLAPSE OF BRUTAL SOCIETY! BESIDES, ZARDOZ DOESN’T NEED GASOLINE OR DIESEL FUEL!
    2. THE PENIS IS EVIL! … AND QUITE PRICEY, MATE.
    3. ZARDOZ WAS PLEASED BY THE RESULTS HERE. THAT IS, UNTIL HE REALIZED THERE WAS A DISTINCT LACK OF CLEANSING PROMISED. BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME.
    4. ANOTHER FAILED CANDIDATE FOR THE BRUTAL EXTERMINATORS. GOOD HELP IS SO HARD TO FIND THESE DAYS.

    ZARDOZ HAS SPOKEN.

  • Spontaneous Cooking for…Two! Date Night Dinner

    So far, I have mostly talked about cooking for one without recipes. I think everyone should have a more involved dinner they can make for date night. But, even a date night dinner doesn’t need a recipe.

    Let’s think about what a good date night dinner should be. First, I think it should be something special, something that shows you like your date and want to impress them. By this I mean that it should be a little unexpected and, although it is something that takes more work than normal, it should look effortless. Second, you want to spend time with your date, not cooking. That means it should be something that allows you to do the work ahead of time. I’m going to show you how to make a chicken kiev type dish.

    It is much easier than it sounds, it looks impressive and you can do almost all the work and clean up before your guest arrives. A chicken kiev type dish is a pounded chicken breast wrapped around a filling, usually a flavored butter, and then breaded.

    First, make the filling. Traditional chicken kiev is filled with butter, garlic and parsley. Chicken cordon bleu uses ham and cheese. You could do sauteed onions and mushrooms. This is yet another canvas for experimentation; you are limited only by your imagination. I’m going to make a pesto type filling.

    Pesto is basil, garlic, pine nuts, parmesan, salt and olive oil. When I make pesto, I usually make a lot and freeze some. I put basil, chopped garlic, salt, toasted pine nuts, and parmesan in my food processor (a blender works too) and pulse it until it becomes a paste. At this point, I would normally add olive oil, but today I am going to scoop some out and mix it into softened butter.

    Pesto Butter Prep
    Pesto Butter Prep

     

    Then, I put down some plastic wrap and spread the pesto butter on it, roll it up and put it in the freezer.

    Pesto Butter Prep 2
    Pesto Butter Prep 2

     

    I am making a lot of the butter because I will use it in other recipes later.

    Final Pesto Butter Prep - Ready to Freeze
    Final Pesto Butter Prep – Ready to Freeze

    You could do just enough for this dinner.

    Minimal Butter Prep
    Minimal Butter Prep

     

    Basically, this is a compound butter. You can do this with all kinds of herbs. A pat of butter mixed with red wine and herbs is sometimes used as a topping for steak. I put the butter mix in the freezer because we need it to be frozen when we cook the chicken. That helps prevent it running out of the breast, making a mess, and leaving dry chicken behind.

    Next, pound out the chicken breasts. I put two small chicken breasts between sheets of plastic wrap and pound them thin.

    Small Chicken Breasts
    Small Chicken Breasts

     

    I have a meat mallet, but you could also use a small frying pan or sauce pan or even a rolling pin.

    Alternate Pounding Tools
    Alternate Pounding Tools

     

    You want to make the chicken thin with a uniform thickness.

    Pounded Chicken Breasts
    Pounded Chicken Breasts

     

    Get the frozen butter from the freezer, unwrap, and cut a piece for each breast. Then roll the chicken around it and secure with toothpicks. Use plenty of toothpicks – you don’t want to leave it loose and have all your filling disappear when it cooks. Don’t stick the toothpicks through the filling. That just creates holes for the filling to leak out of. At least one or two toothpicks should be pushed through as if it were a pin in a piece of cloth – or, as if you were making a stitch.

    Now we are ready to bread it.

    Wrapped Breasts and Breading Prep
    Wrapped Breasts and Breading Prep

    I add salt and pepper to each pan and paprika to the bread crumbs. I roll the breast in flour and shake off the excess. Dip it in a beaten egg, shake off the excess, then roll it in bread crumbs. I used panko, but you could use corn flakes, regular bread crumbs, cracker crumbs, dried potatoes, whatever. This will get messy, which is why I don’t have pictures of this process or wrapping the breasts. I didn’t want to get my phone all icky. When each one is done, I put it in a pan prepared with cooking spray.

    Breaded
    Breaded

    The breasts should rest to let the coating set. No matter what cooking method you choose – deep fried, pan fried, or baked – you need to let the breaded food rest for a while. Otherwise the breading will fall off. Maybe everyone else knew this, but when I learned this, it made a huge difference in my results.

    The breasts should bake at 375F for 30-40 minutes. I usually turn them about half way through. When done, the breading should be brown and crispy.

    Finished
    Finished

    As always, use a meat thermometer. Make sure you stick it into meat (the ends) and not the filling. Food poisoning isn’t sexy. I chose to bake this because I am making it for a date night. You could deep fry or pan fry it instead, but that would require you to monitor it while it is cooking, taking time away from your date.

    You can do everything but bake the breasts a few hours ahead of your date, leaving you time to clean up the kitchen. It won’t hurt the breasts to spend time in the refrigerator. You could have the oven heated and put the breasts in when your date arrives, leaving time for a glass of wine.

    A dinner needs a side dish. You could serve a pretty salad or boiled potatoes. It is a date night, so keep it light. I am making roasted cauliflower because I can bake it in the same pan as the breasts. Then I only have one messy dish. I just chopped it into florets, tossed them with olive oil, salt, and pepper and put it in the same pan as the chicken. The side dish you choose should pair well with the filling. In the final picture, you can see the filling, which can be used to help season the cauliflower.

    Finished and Sliced
    Finished and Sliced

    Fancy!

    A date night dinner needs one more thing, a dessert. I’ll talk about that another time.

  • I Fucking Love Astrology: the Horoscope for the Week of June 3rd

    This another of those really active weeks, celestial-behavior wise.  The kind of week where you need to lay out the charts on a card table with some pushpins, string, and a protractor.  Let’s see what’s there, shall we.

    Remember when you were in the back seat of your Chevy Caprice with Charlotte, and her pants were about to come off for the first time, and this asshole knocked on the window? Asshole.

    Alignment the first:  Venus-Earth-Luna-Saturn (retrograde); Jupiter (retrograde) in opposition.  Good luck in getting laid this week.  More receptive partners include:  civil servants, leaders, submissives, and depressed people.  Cock-block attempts by government officials.  It could also be interpreted as unfortunate HR repercussions.  The stars only say that you will be successful, it doesn’t say that you won’t come to regret your success.

    Alignment the second:  Mercury-Sol-Jupiter (retrograde); Venus in opposition.  Bad tidings from the government.  Since it shares two of the lights with the previous alignment, it strongly suggests an interrelation, and with Venus being the opposition planet, I don’t think I need to spell out the subject matter.  honestly, if I didn’t know UnCiv was OoO on his roadtrip, I would shout at him not to dip his pen in the Taxpayer’s ink.

    Actually, since these signs are both so clear and so complex, they must mean something big, or at least immediately applicable.  Hmmmm.  Bad news from the government…  sex…  censure…  will the Hooker Pee Videotape finally be released?  Huma/Hillary’s erotic skype logs?  Carlos Danger rubs one out in the Rotunda?  A sex worker sues the Clinton Foundation for non-payment?  I don’t know what, but something big is going to happen.

    Alignment the third:  A BARCO of Mars-Terra-Saturn (retrograde) indicating the outbreak of military hostilities.  Whether the BARCO nature indicates only a minor skirmish, or because such news is trivial is uncertain.

    same sand, different day

    So that’s it from the Heliocentric view.  As for observations you can make with your own eyeballs,  Mars in Aquarius means that Rufus is going to get into a fight.  Jupiter (retrograde) in Scorpio means wankery will continue.  Saturn (retrograde) in Capricorn means buttheads will continue to be buttheads.  Basically, if you expected your problems to go away this week, you are in for a disappointment.  On the upside, with Mercury conjoined with Sol in Gemini, you will not be overwhelmed —  you will be able to deal with multiple problems.  Venus in Cancer continues to amplify “feminine” virtues of peace, nurturing, and romance… enjoy it while it lasts, it’s halfway through its transit.

    While pondering the signs, here is some music (and fashion) to expand your mind:

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4rw1_FNdy-Y

    There are a couple of decades that I’m really glad a) existed, and b) are gone.

  • Sunday Morning Links of Rage

    One of the reasons I prefer doing morning links is that I’ve just taken my daily blood pressure pills so the effect is still fresh. Otherwise I’d pop a few blood vessels with sheer rage. But let me ease into the rage inducements slowly, and start with Today’s Birthdays. (“I mean in history, Patty. Before they changed the water.”). They include unperson and southern sleazebag Jefferson Davis, chief Bowery Boy Leo Gorcey, Bernie Schwartz (“Yonda lies da castle of my faddah, who is da king!”), Raul Castro (may he burn in hell), Steve Dalkowski (the most interesting pitcher of all time), and Suzi Quatro, who is one of the few challengers to Diana Rigg in the “who looks best in tight leather pants” contest.

     

    OK, now it’s rage time, but I’ll try to temper it with some amusement. Let’s get the nutpunch out of the way first. Surprise, surprise, if we let government thugs steal with impunity, they… steal with impunity. In a world that was even 1% just, every elected official who supports asset forfeiture would be impeached and imprisoned, and every lower level grunt who used that process would be fed feet-first into a woodchipper. Hanging from a lampost would do, but the woodchipper would be more entertaining. Rule of thumb: any policy enthusiastically embraced by Trump, Obama, Bush, and Clinton is 99.999% sure to be totally evil.

     

    Well, at least this cop got fired, but I note that unlike us little people, he didn’t get charged with attempted murder. In a just world… wait, who am I kidding? Coming up next- the cop and union’s lawsuit to get his pension back and a nice hefty taxpayer-funded settlement for his emotional distress.

     

    Qu’est-ce que c’est?

     

    This is, of course, impossible because there’s more guns in Chicago now. FAKE NEWS. After all, it’s not like it’s a pattern…

     

    It is hard being a Muslim. Even harder if you’re a female. And harder yet during Ramadan. This story had so much snark opportunity, I didn’t know where to start, but hey, maybe with the photo of the Muslim “beauty blogger” with the canonical Groucho eyebrows, selfie head-tilt, and obligatory duck lips. The Jews had a better idea- make ’em stay outside the city walls until the bleeding stops.

     

    Buffalo Wild Wings gets a bit too wild. Pro tip: don’t use Password1234 as your twitter password.

     

    Black unemployment hits a record low. And of course, the credit really ought to go to Obama, right? The hacks at Vox are delightfully consistent.

     

    Old Guy Music. I confess to being an unabashed fan of Okkervil River, and I present here one of their lesser-known songs with maybe the oddest theme of any song I know of.

     

  • In Search of STEVE SMITH

    The twin suns were setting, leaving a darkening red mist over the sprawling city.  From my window in the hyper skyscraper I could see the floating car traffic hurtling above the bustling sidewalks.  The glass of the nearby buildings glittered like gems, dazzling my eye stalks as if I was in a dream.  I felt worn out like a used Kyrilomine wrapper.  I thought of going home but the sensor at the door beeped, indicating a client had come into the office anteroom.  I ambled back to the desk, sat on the chair, and hit the button to allow the connecting portal to open.

    A strange creature strode in.  She or he or it was a sad specimen with only four appendages, one pair used for mobilization, the other for grasping.  The hyper-chip in my cortex connected to the Encyclopedia Universal and fed the information directly into my memory glands.  Even before she spoke, I knew she was a female hominid from the Sol system.  With that detail in place I could look past her alien features and see a cascading wave of blonde hair, two brown visualization orbs, an opening smeared with a red, waxy substance, and hips that were wide enough for my nesting table.  Her dress, all shimmering silver, fitted the contours of her body well.  Of course I really wasn’t the sort of fellow who was into cross-species mating, but still the old copulating sac did give a minute twitch.

    “Are you Detective Balanxorp?”she asked.  Her voice was higher than the female of my species.  She spoke the Galactic Trade language stiffly as if she had learned it from a primitive memory impression chip.

    “Yes I am,” I said with an easy cosmopolitan drawl that I used for off-world creatures.  “What can I help you with?”

    “I am looking for my father.  He has gone missing.”

    With a free tentacle, I motioned for her to take a seat in front of my desk.  When she found a comfortable perch on the arch of relaxation, I reached into the desk and pulled out a sapphire bottle of off-world Muuze, the finest alcohol that a poor detective such as myself could afford.

    “Would you care for a snort?” I asked.

    She shook her head, giving me a look that I took to mean distaste.  It’s been my experience that some species want to get straight to business before relaxing with a suitable beverage.  It’s a damn shame, since communications when slightly intoxicated can lead to pleasant results.

    After pouring myself a drink, I carefully put the bottle away.  I took a small sip  and said, “Talk to me.”

    “My name is Elizabeth.  My father and I are originally from Earth.  He and I were taken off the planet years ago, back when I was just a child.” She made a small gesture with her grasping-appendage, which I couldn’t fathom.

    “Abduction?” I asked, already knowing the answer.  Some citizens of this galaxy had a thing for exploring alien anal cavities, supposedly in the name of science.  It was a practice that thankfully was dying out, thanks to the work of ARSE, the Alien Rectal Safety Enquiry.

    “Yes,” she replied smoothly.

    “And your father’s name?”

    “Dr. Edward Tinsdale.”

    In a microsecond, the Encyclopedia Universal returned the biographical data I requested.  It took me another moment to digest the information, quickly sorting through the man’s education, age, and background.

    “The famous cryptid researcher?” I finally asked even though I already knew the answer.

    “The very same,” Elizabeth said with obvious pride.  “My father has been all over the galaxy researching legendary monsters.  He’s had some success, like proving the Slithering Eels of Sexylvania were just a hoax.  But he did prove that Tulpa, the Internet Troll, was real.  I’m afraid the fame went to his head.  He returned to our home planet Earth to find the most dangerous cryptid of all, STEVE SMITH.  He wanted to prove to everyone that the Rapesquatch was real.”

    I knew already that she was from the Sol system, but I directed my network connection to look up some information on Earth.  A top-level warning flashed painfully across my neurons.  It turned out that this planet was under active quarantine, always guarded by a Trade Federation battleship against anyone from exiting the solar system.  Earth was apparently home to three Galactic outlaws: SugarFree, Warty, and STEVE SMITH.

    Expanding the search, I downloaded the thumbnail sketches of these criminals:

    SugarFree: the nom de plume of a writer who was convicted in absentia in the Federation Galactic Court, for his non-fiction musings of popular politicians.  He was also guilty by association for being the official Chronicler of Warty.

    Warty: Powerlifter, eternal enemy of the galactic state, and owner of most efficient “workout” dungeon on the planet.  Considered by many to be the most dangerous creature in the 7th Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy.  Warty is the only known survivor of being attached to the infamous Doomcock of Doom; and doing the Deathsquat of Death, which caused the rings of Saturn, a huge gas planet in the Sol system, to form.  His illegal Timesuit allowed movement in all four dimensions, which, in this case, made the Federation battleship useless.

    Pausing momentarily before downloading the next entry, I wondered why the Federation would go through all the expense of leaving a warship in orbit around a third-rate backwater of a planetary system.  The answer was readily ap-parent once my neurons, which revolted in horror, processed the next entry.

    STEVE SMITH: An ancient, immortal Rapesquatch of unknown origin.  Said to have been sent back in time and trapped on the planet Earth during its early formation, this cryptid has sexually conquered most of the species there.  The only safe creatures are the ones that can fly or live in seas.  STEVE SMITH only lives to rape and rapes to live.  One galactic physicist, though considered a crank, thought the very formation of the universe, the Big Bang, was actually the result of this Rapesquatch penetrating a white hole making it explode.  Though only mythical, the secret, ancient transcripts from the Federation archives show the council had taken the threat of this Rapesquatch seriously enough to post a Level-A Star Battleship in the Sol System.

    I inwardly shuddered, trying with difficulty to hide my disgust.  If STEVE SMITH escaped, then my very own rectal cavity could be in peril, not to mention my other orifices.  The very tightness of the Universe was at stake.

    With an expression that I took as expectation, she asked, “Well, Mr. Balanxorp, will you help me find my father?”

    My tentacles quivered in agitation.  I took another sip of my drink in a failed attempt to quiet my nerves. I blurted out,  “If your father has been taken by STEVE SMITH, then nothing can save him.  There is nothing I can do!”

    Her eyes were misting with some liquid substance.  “Please!”

    “This meeting is at an end.”  I slammed the desk to punctuate my point.  “You will have to leave as I have some pressing business to attend elsewhere.”

    The creature named Elizabeth ran out the room, making some untranslatable noises.  I hoped I had seen the last of her.  Little did I know this was the very beginning…

    The End. Or is it?

  • Jumping Off a Bridge with the Rest of You — Part 2

    Swiss floated this idea one evening following the daydrinking midday Saturday timeslot.  I was playing mini golf with my children at the time, because they happen to like mini golf. At first I was hesitant about the idea.  Then I remembered how much fun I had researching out an article on malt liquor titled, It Works, Every Time. I was intoxicated with the idea that only in a market based  system can something so terrible be marketable.  People actually want to drink this stuff.  Can you imagine the rancid grog they drink in Venezuela?

    Oh, right.

    I made a mental note of the bum drinks Swiss picked and noted his deadline.  Officers…he required a draft ready for Wednesday, so that it can be reviewed Thursday, scheduled Friday for Saturday at the usual time.  Which means by the time I’m ready to send it on Tuesday my team of monkeys with typewriters have to have it ready by Monday afternoon. They’ll be sitting around smoking Lucky Strikes until Thursday wondering if it got approved….

    First up, is a classic around a game of bones or at the frat house:  Mickey’s Fine Malt Liquor.

    Also a Miller product first produced in 1962, Mickey’s is best known for its yellow hornet, and the distinctive wide mouth, waffle patterned bottle.  Typically, two of these are consumed in a single sitting, at the same time.  Many fraternity initiations have insisted pledges complete an ordeal known as the “Edward Forty Hands.” Here a pledge is required to have two of these duct taped to his hands and ordered to drink both over the course of an evening.  Meet a girl? Too bad. Can’t unbutton your fly? Sorry, you’re just going to have to piss yourself.

    The first time I had this I had an unknown quantity of Bacardi Silver and puked up a sink full of foam during W’s first term.  It wasn’t my proudest moment but evidently it allowed for more gut space for the remainder of the 40. It’s still as bad and as hyper carbonated as I remember.

    This one gets 2 out of five dumpsters.

    The second one I also had issues finding initially, as my first choice was Natty Light.  I made due and decided this one was as good as any….

     

    I cracked it open, and then I saw the picture on my refrigerator.

    “Who is STEVE SMITH???  My wife asked. “Is he the guy that played for the Carolina Panthers?”

    “No, worse.”  I replied.

    “The guy on ESPN?”  Again with the endless questions.  Think! How did he get into the house?  “Hello? I’m talking to you.” She said.  “My eyes are up here!”

    Her hand struck my occiput and brought my wits back.  “Maybe not as bad as the guy on ESPN.” I had to call Swiss. I had to come up with a solution first, because Officers don’t like hearing about problems.  They like solutions…..

    ____

    “Thank you for calling Swiss Corpse International Industries, Legal Department.”  Swiss’ receptionist answered.

    “It’s pronounced ‘Core’ you stupid twit.  The last one that failed to learn that was discovered by a team of engineers testing dive watches at the bottom of Lake Geneva.”  I replied back indignantly.

    “Password accepted, I’ll patch you through.” She replied sweetly.

    I was confused.  “Password?”

    “mex, I told you never to call me at this number.”  Swiss said. Something was eating at him. Another inane project?  “You have three minutes…” No. They must have run out of Gruyére in the breakroom again. “…three minutes before I throw another receptionist into Lake Geneva.”

    Damn.  The wrong cheese AND an inane project.

    “Swiss, I have a problem.  STEVE SMITH took my dog.” I decided to be upfront.

    “And by took your dog you mean—?”

    “It’s a Chihuahua, ‘mean’ is physically impossible.  At least I don’t think it is.” I interrupted him. He hates being interrupted.  I can feel the icy, narrowed gaze through the phone.  He was intentionally burning through my three minutes with a look that could ravenously tear open lesser men like a fat kid tearing open the foil on a Toblerone.

    “Look, I don’t like hearing about problems.  Tell me about solutions here.” Judas Priest.  Right on cue.

    “The last time he was seen was in Elephant Butte, New Mexico.  I need somebody to write up the beer review this week so I can track him down and get that little dog back.” I replied. That wasn’t really a solution. He’s going to call me out in that.

    “Heh.  Elephant Butt.”

    “No. Butte.  Elephant Butte.”

    “That’s what I said, Elephant Butt.”

    “Stop that, you’re trying to waste my three minutes!”

    “Yup.”

    “Look can somebody cover my time slot this week?”

    “The way I see it, I’m down two posters this week.  You’ll need to take Sugarfree.”

    “What?  Why?”

    “Nobody knows how to track STEVE SMITH better than him.  You’ll need his help if you want to find that little ass dog.”

    “Have you ever gone hiking in the woods with that guy!?”

    “Pfft. No…Sucker.”

    “That’s not funny.”

    “For me it is.”

    “Can somebody cover me or not?”

    “Yeeeesh, I got it.  I drank an Old English the other day before a board meeting.  The vice-chairman is lucky I didn’t break his wee head off and used it to play rugby.”

    “Umm.”

    “Just meet Sugarfree in Silver City.”

    “Truth or Consequences is closer, and they have an airport.”

    “Tell me about it.  I’m stopping you here.”

    “That wasn’t three minutes.”

    “I know.  I’m wearing a Swiss made, COSC Certified, Omega Speedmaster Man on the motherfucking Moon.  I stopped the chronograph at precisely 2:37 as certified by the Swiss government, because you didn’t come to me with a solution.  This call is over.”

    _____

    “New Mexico.  Its like regular Mexico just with more hippies, sensually fellating carne asada across their thin, pale lips…”  Sugarfree was trying to make conversation.

    “You know, you don’t have to do that.  In fact by making so much noise we’re never going to find STEVE SMITH.”  I interrupted him. Turns out, Sugarfree doesn’t like when people interrupt his stream of consciousness.

    The forest was like any other.  Dry. Green. Patches of dead pine needles strewn across the trail with the occasional dog turd.

    “I lost it.  Who are you? I don’t know where I am.”  He began questioning his existence again.

    “I’m mexican sharpshooter, and Swiss sent you here to help me track STEVE SMITH so I can find my tiny ass dog.”  I explained—for the third time that day.

    “Wait, you called Swiss?”

    “Yes.”

    “At work?”  Sugarfree stared at me, in wide eyed terror.

    “Yes.”

    “Last time I called him at work he sent me his receptionist’s finger.”  He explained.

    “What?”

    “Wanna know where I put it?”

    “Judas Priest, NO!”

    “No need to yell.  The note said, ‘That’s the last time you point fingers at me.’”

    “Wait, he mailed you a pun?”

    “Right?”  He twiddled his fingers in the air.  “Narrowed gaze….” Sugarfree giggled while he pulled a large vial hanging around his neck, popped open the top and gingerly pulled out a tiny spoon.  He then snorted the contents of the spoon. “It keeps me focused…where were we?”

    “Finding STEVE SMITH.”

    “Is that why you have an assault pew pew thingy?”  He said with wide, bloodshot eyes.

    “Yes.  I’m anticipating that I will have to shoot him.”

    “You’ll need a bigger gun.  We should’ve brought Warty.”  Sugarfree stared at the back of his hand.  He then began fumbling the feather boa I purposefully pretended not to notice, around his neck.

    “What are you doing?”

    Sugarfree grasped the boa firmly and pulled it tight around his neck.  His other hand reached into his chinos and rubbed furiously.

    “You need a few minutes?  I can be over there, where this is slightly less awkward.”  I offered.

    Sugarfree kept rubbing.  He stared, unblinking with a small drop of blood running down his nose, into his mouth.

    “It helps me if you say something dirty.”  Sugarfree whispered.

    I raised my AR and flipped off the safety.

    “Relax, I’m just fucking with you.”  Sugarfree pulled his hand out of his chinos to reveal a Beanie Baby.  He tied some fishing wire around its neck and hung it on a nearby tree branch.  “STEVE SMITH needs to be lured by the smell of taint. We’ll set up camp over there.”

    _____

    “Aye-ya-yie!”  Sugarfree shouted in the middle of the night, I woke up, startled.  I grabbed my rifle. “Oooh.  Oooh.  Oooh. Oooh.”

    “Aye-ya-yie!”  He just kept on yelling. “Oooh.  Oooh.  Oooh. Oooh.”

    “What are you doing?”  I asked.

    “I’m communicating with STEVE SMITH.”  Sugarfree replied. “Aye-ya-yie!  Oooh.  Oooh.  Oooh. Oooh.”

    “What, is he here?”  I flipped off the safety on my AR.

    “Yes.  He wants to skeet in your hair.   Aye-ya-yie!”

    Then I turned around and saw him.

    STEVE SMITH AYE-YA-YIE ON BROWN MAN

    OOOH OOOH OOOH OOOH

    _____

    At that point I came to with this little ass dog licking my face.  I was about halfway through the can of Hurricane when I woke up from the lucid nightmare.  I am never drinking this shit again.

    1 dumpster out of 5.