The Purple Water

If you've ever had the pleasure of using the public restroom at Wal-Mart you might not know that sometimes the bathrooms are cleaned. They are, and when they are cleaned the water in the toilet is purple. Not a little purple like someone didn't like their grape colored Gatorade, but really purple, like someone didn't like their six cans of grape juice concentrate. It's always a good feeling to know that of all the white trash buttocks that have graced the porcelain throne at the Wal-Mart, mine was able to remain free of the residue of the many previous visitors.
But no visit to the Wal-Mart restroom would be complete without incident. There was the slight disturbance as the kids fought for control of the fold down toddler seat. Mild disturbance as Morty Jr. played with the lock and opened the door wide. But those pale in comparison to the shock of looking at the footwear of the person in the next stall. Most footwear in the men's room can go without notice. Boots, sports shoes, loafers, all demand no special level of attention. But pink flip-flops are uncommon enough to merit a second glance. Pink painted toenails require a third look, and the half cell phone conversation overheard in a distinctly feminine voice caused one to double check the presence of urinals to ensure that I was not in the wrong. The surprised look of the young lady emerging from the stall and seeing four laughing men was worth the wait. I hope she appreciated her chance at using the purple water as much as I did.

Monster Trucks

I took Morty Jr to a Monster Truck show this weekend. True to it's advertisements is was the loudest, car-crushingest, motorcycle jumpiest, redneckeriest, gas powered fun that's still legal in this state.
Setting aside all the redneck jokes and trailer court references (stereotypes truly were confirmed Saturday night) I found myself in admiration of the talented drivers. What kind of answers do you have to provide on the career placement tests in high school (possibly sixth grade) for the guidance counselor to steer you in the direction of professional monster truck driving? Was there a suggestion from your driver's ed instructor, possibly about your ability to parallel park while up on two wheels, that got you started in your career path? Either way, you always have to admire the decisions made by people to do professionally what other people consider trying after carefully reading the requisite waiver.
If you are ever tempted to attend such a fun filled (guaranteed at least 1/3 full) rally I'd suggest seeking out significantly discounted tickets, and sneaking food inside the plastic lined pockets you had added to the interior of your pants.

Temporary Measures

A full seventy-five percent of the sporting life consists of temporary measures - give or take sixty percent. Extreme cases on either end of the scale have been eliminated from the study. There was one angler, for example, who believed that if you can't do a thing right you shouldn't do it at all. A strict adherent to this philosophy, he hadn't been fishing once in the past thirty-seven years. I chastised the man for holding such a stupid belief - that there is a right way to fish - and told him I had a good mind to divest him of his title of angler. He told me he had a good mind to punch me in the nose. I replied that I'd like to see him try, but since I was three blocks away by then, he didn't hear me, and it's a darn good thing for him that he didn't. (From "Temporary Measures" in the book "Never Sniff a Gift Fish" by Patrick F. McManus)

I have several temporary measures in my everyday life. I'd like to get a good camping vehicle, a four wheel drive with enough seating for a family or Scout troop, and enough clearance to pass over minor waterways without getting my feet wet. Until then my Mercury Sable will get me by, despite bottoming out every time I go over a curb if the trunk is loaded out with camping gear.
I have a lamp next to my bed, temporarily standing in a temporary nightstand. The nightstand is actually a piece of one of those stackable plastic shelving units with the PVC pipe supports. The base of the lamp won't screw in anymore, so I just ran the wiring up through the leg of the shelf and let it be the support for the lamp. Eventually they will both be replaced, but until then they provide light and a place for my alarm clock to sit.
I have an electric lawnmower, requiring that I drag an extension cord around with me while I mow. Actually two extension cords to reach the side yard. The second time mowing I ran over the cord and cut it neatly in half. Had the severed section been close to one end or the other I would have removed the end of the plug and correctly spliced it into place. Not wanting to give up twenty feet of cord in either direction I applied the temporary measure of splicing it in the middle. I didn't have any electrical tape that day, so I used clean garage rags as insulation and duct tape to keep the whole thing together, just for that day. Later I would remove the unsightly duct tape and re-splice the cord correctly, and it's highly possible that I still will, later...
I'd like to install movable shelving in my garage to store all my tools and things, but I haven't had the time to do that yet. Until then the unused wheelbarrow and garbage can can store all my gardening tools, while the power tools sit dustily on the rest of the plastic shelving unit that my nightstand came from. Someday I will get around to taking care of all these things, but, as Pat McManus says "it is surprising how many better things there are to do than..." saving money for a new car, fixing a lamp, building a nightstand, re-splicing an extension cord, installing shelving...

Snowed In, Just Barely

My flight has just been canceled, again. There was a run on the Wal-mart before the storm hit leaving aught but the name brand skim milk. The absolutely the same except for the sticker on the outside generic brand of milk was gone. As were all the non-specialty breads. People were stockpiling sports drinks; but judging by their outward appearances, they had never participated in a sport in their lives.
Needless to say, people are in a state of panic. We are just waiting for the power to go out (although it hasn't yet), and for the pipes to freeze (still working fine). Our stockpiles of food are in serious danger of running out (if I let the kids open the bag of beef jerky) and we are fearing for our social lives. Nobody wants to drive on the roads to visit people, leaving us stranded in our gas heated, TV watching, internet surfing, X-Box and board game playing home.
The temperature outside: prepare yourselves, 25 degrees, Fahrenheit. That's below freezing. 7 or 8 degrees below freezing, depending on my math. And there's snow outside. Nearly half an inch of the terrible stuff. Just walking out to the get the mail I nearly slipped and fell (but didn't), and thought to myself that I should probably put on a jacket.
I don't think that there is anywhere in the world more afflicted by the weather than we are now in Oklahoma.
And if anyone is reading this from far off places such as Minot North Dakota, and want to come complaining about their way below zero temperatures, I don't want to hear it. Besides, yours is more of a "dry cold" and therefore way more bearable.

Grishnakh's Story

You've seen Lord of the Rings and been enthralled by the plight of Frodo, the innocent Hobbit from the Shire. But what of the other side? What about poor Grishnakh, captain of the Orc soldiers in the Dark Tower? We know nothing of his upbringing or his past. Where is his movie?
We can imagine young Grishna being picked last for spiked-dodge ball. Later we see his father beating him about the head for failing to pass his Black Speech midterm. Tears stream down our faces as we see Grishna, with the help of his best friend Napoleonkh, baking cakes to ask out the ugliest (and therefore most desirable) girls in school, only to be rejected in favor of the captain of the spiked-dodgeball team.
In college, Grishnakh comes into his own. He is befriended by some UhOTC (Uruk-hai Officer Training Corps) cadets who invite him to train with them. Grishnakh excels through the bureaucracy of the Mordor military, fueled by his hatred for, and the timely deaths of his superiors. At the climax of the voyage we see a battle weary Grishnakh putting down a rebellion led by the "white-hands" from the Isengard Academy, only to be finally beaten down by his own men as they flee from the insurgent Hobbit terrorist Samwise Gamgee.
Unfortunately, history, and thus movies, are written and produced by the victors. It is a travesty of the modern edutainment system that Grishnakh's story has not been told.

The Law of the Harvest

It's important for men to learn how to do domestic chores. This is not necessarily so that they can do more work around the house, but merely so that they can get by when left alone. Simple tasks such as how to warm something up in the oven, how to do a load of laundry, and how to clean nacho cheese out of plush carpeting can go a long way in assuring a man's survival. Don't go overboard now, more complex tasks like preparing a meal, sorting laundry, and making shopping lists are best left to the professionals.
There is also a certain level of pride that comes from taking care of one's own problems. For instance, I had a nice pair of pants that wore out at the knees. I was able to apply a patch to the affected area and come away with once again functional pants. Granted, the pants were blue jeans, and the patches were camouflaged gortex, but that did not distract at all from the quality stitching (done with yellow thread).
Unfortunately, the pants tore again a few days later, rendering them nonfunctional once again. I guess that's the Law of the Harvest, you rip what you sew.

Obsessive Compulsions

I'm quite comfortable with my compulsions. I wouldn't call them obsessive. I mean, I could quit any time I felt like it. I just don't feel like it right now. Get off my back. Stop yelling at me. The voices made me do it.
For example, I have an obsession with multiples of five. I like things to end either in a 0 or a 5. It makes it easier to remember. Society already reinforces this issue with time. When was the last time you had a meeting start at 11:17? Well granted, it started then, but it was probably scheduled for 11:00, or possibly 11:15 if people you work with are only a little late. But I like everything to be multiples of five.
If I'm supposed to cook the pizza at 475 for 21-24 minutes I just put it in a little early before the oven has completely heated and cook for 25 minutes. My clock radio/alarm is set five minutes fast and the alarm is almost always set at a multiple of five. I must qualify the almost. Sometimes, if I know I can sleep in a little longer than what the alarm is set for, I'll set the alarm for 5:21. That way, when I hit the nine minute snooze button, I actually get up at 5:30. If I had a five or ten minute option on the snooze my life would be perfect.
The clearest expression of my compulsion is with the TV volume. It must always be set to a multiple of five. Ten is the volume of choice at night when everyone else is sleeping. 15 is optimal in a quite house during the day. 20 allows for excellent listening with moderate noise. 25 is perfect for drowning out background conversation. 30 is ideal for overpowering rambunctious children. 35 is the absolute max, and is only used temporarily to let others know that they are being too loud and that I would like to move the volume back to the more respectable levels of 20 or 25.
At least the compulsion is not debilitating. I'm not crazy enough to wash my hands hundreds of times a day (15 is enough) or turn on every light in the house. I just wish the clerks at the grocery store would do a better job of lining everything up straight. Sometimes it takes hours to get through the canned food aisle making sure all the labels face forwards.

The Comb Over

It pains me to admit it. My pride and my manhood are both called into serious question because of it. But the first step to recovery is to identify the problem. Here it goes...
I have a bald spot. It's in the back so most people don't notice it. Those who do see it always do a double take to see if it is what they thought is was. Then they grimace and shake their heads a little. They never say anything to me of course, that would be rude, but I can feel the shame. They are almost embarrassed to see this great flaw in the otherwise perfect facade that I present. But it's true.
Last year I noticed a little bit of thinning. A little in the front. Some in the sides. But mostly in the back. It's undeniable now. It's bare, and it's patterned. I've tried to hide it by covering it up, but that is only temporary. I tried cutting it short to disguise the fact that it's all but gone in the back, but that just opened it up for more burning from the relentless summer sun.
I know it happens to other guys. But that knowledge does nothing to console the fact that it has happened to me. Some might say that it was inevitable, but I could have done more to prevent it. It may have been the stress, there has been a lot of stress in the last year. But now that stress is gone, and it's time to do something about it.
I can only hope that it grows back and fills in. But that process is slow. I need something to fix it now. I've resolved to try the comb over. Let it grow long around the edges of the spot, then pull it over to cover as much as possible. I know it looks goofy at first, but once it gets thick enough I think it will really look good.
The next option is transplants. I've done them before. From the front to the back. Even from the front to the sides. But now I don't know where I have enough to really fill in in the back. Maybe I'll have to ask one of my friends who I gave transplants to earlier this year. Had I know I would have needed all of it I would have been more hesitant to give it away. I gave away some of my best growth. Long and thick with good root structure.
But transplanting is my last option. I've done too much to risk it now. I'll wait till spring when the growth starts again. For now, I'll just have to be carefull when mowing in the back yard to let the grass around that bare patch grow long enough to comb over.
Please, be nice to the men with bald spots. Not all lawns are created equal.

Signs of the Times

This morning the last few remaining Corn Bursts in my cereal bowl formed themselves into a distinct image. It was not just the random shapes formed by the surface tension of milk, but a truly significant image that held a powerful message for me and all those would see it. Of course I was the only one who did see it, no one else in the house being awake at the hour that I eat breakfast. What that image would foretell about my day could not have been imagined until all the great accomplishments were finished and I had time to reflect back on the true meaning of what I had seen and done.
The image was that of a llama. Or possibly an alpaca. But it was obviously a woolly Andean pack animal. And it was walking along the perimeter of my cereal bowl. Not walking upright mind you, but walking as if the bowl were a large hamster wheel, or llama wheel, turned on its side in the normal manner of cereal bowls so as to not dump milk and cereal onto my pants or the floor.
The great events that occurred as predicted by the llama are too many to list here, but they included being randomly selected for drug screening and having to pee while someone watched, and someone buying me an orange soda for showing him how to use Power Point to animate objects.
So there you have it. Feel free to start up your own religion based on the sighting of the walking llama. I only ask that you send a meager 8% of all profits and royalties to the political campaign of Bog Marti.
Bog Marti, Republicrat for Office. - Supported by millions of woolly Andean pack animals and you.

On Super Heroes

I saw an episode of Stan Lee's "Who wants to be a super hero?" on the Sci-Fi channel. As far as reality television goes, this is one of the better ones. Better is a relative term because I can also say that as far as poisons go, arsenic is one of the better ones. Or, as far as forms of torture go, being repeatedly punched in the face by a woman who looks like a silver back gorilla is one of the better ones. That said I think everyone should understand that reality television, by definition, is poorly written, poorlier acted, and poorliest produced; with the added benefit of being as addicting as cocaine to the self feeding frenzy of entertainment television.
What I do like, however, is the idea of dressing up as a super hero (or super dork depending on your costume and/or powers) and running around in public places. There is nothing less attractive than an overweight woman in brightly colored latex, except, of course, a man, regardless of physical conditioning, in brightly colored latex.
Truly the costume is one of the secrets of a super hero's apparent invulnerability. An evil doer cannot keep them in the sights of their weapon while constantly averting their eyes, or falling to the ground in fits of dry heaves. Changing into costume in an unobtrusive yet public place is also part of their psychological bag of tricks. Much like the disgusting homeless person we all pretend we don't see, we just pretend that we don't see Bob from accounting slipping behind the office shrubbery and putting children's underoos on his head.
We all know that the true heroes in the world are not those in the brightly colored latex. They are the men and women who work behind the scenes. Going to work everyday and making the world safer one memo at a time. Secretly talking about Bob behind his back and asking someone in Human Resources to please talk to him about his insistence on calling everyone "citizen."
Big Morty salutes those who keep lesser super heroes in check. After all, if there were too many of us around my yellow spandex body suit would just look faddish.

Goodbye to Our Little Friend

Rest in Peace Russell the Jack Russell Terrier.
You tore up my lawn and crapped all over the place. You barked at nothing and smelled bad. But you were our friend.

At the Family Bowl

Try hard enough and
You can roll a gutter ball
With the bumpers up

Little yellow ball
Weighing only seven pounds
Stops dead in the lane

The bowling alley
May have a cleaning schedule
That no one follows

A sad day in sports
Means letting your kids beat you
While trying your best

On Father's Day

Why is it so often assumed we outdoorsmen are totally lacking in sophistication and good taste? Every Christmas, Father's Day, and birthday we become the recipients of such gifts as ties decorated with leaping bass, gigantic belt buckles engraved with moose heads, table-lamp bases in the form of huge shotgun shells, toilet seats of clear resin embedded with assorted game sign, and so on. Sure, we get plenty of neat gifts like these, but also a lot of tasteless stuff, too. (From "Mean Gifts" in the book "The Good Samaritan Strikes Again" by Patrick F. McManus)

The hardest, and greatest, thing about buying gifts for dad is that the things they want, and the things they need, are completely unrelated to each other. If we need it, then we obviously don't want it, because it will probably create more work for us. If we want it, then we are clearly racking our brains to come up with some logical use for the thing. That's why they're called gadgets, and that's why we love them.
For me, you can rest assured that after this Father's Day both my lawn and my nose hairs will be expertly trimmed (not by the same gadget).

Natural Instincts

Wild animals seem to be attracted to my house lately. While traveling a female duck found my flower beds near the front walk to be an irresistible locale for her brood. A shallow nest with eight eggs in now sits tucked away behind my twisted cherry tree. Recipes for 100 year old duck eggs keep popping up on my internet browser at the same rate as the amount of duck poo accumulates on my sidewalk. I'm forced to debate within myself which will create the larger mess, a mother duck and her eight babies walking around and pooping in my grass, or the mess of feathers that tend to get everywhere when skinning water fowl.
There are also at least two frogs taking up residence among the flowers. One of them seems to hop at an angle, possibly the result of being in the wrong place (my garden) at the wrong time (while I was digging) or a naturally occurring genetic defect. Unfortunately their legs are not big enough to be worth looking up recipes, the kids have taken a liking to the frogs, and my dog won't eat them.
I have also found snakes, turtles, and rabbits in my yard, as well as seen the occasional coyote strolling along the gutters late at night or early in the morning. Granted, with urban sprawl and the encroachment of man on wildlife habitats there is expected to be some interaction between animal and man. However, there is no standing water in or near my hard to attract the usually wet loving animals. There are no large trees or natural sources of protection that would appeal to an animal as a place to make a home. The only thing I can think of is that they must be attracted to my natural aura. I developed this natural aura as a survival technique to lure animals to my location in order to murder and eat them.
Watch out little bunny rabbit, if you get into my vegetables I'll turn them into a side dish and you into the main course. I really do prefer the taste of rabbit to duck.

Not A Red Headed Child

Check out Red Headed Children for pictures of the latest Little Morty to enter this crazy world.

The Land of the Freaks

Having recently spent upwards of fifty non-consecutive hours traveling America's highways I am amazed at how non-visually stimulating some parts of this country are. I've heard that it was scientifically proven that Kansas is, in fact, flatter than a pancake. I now believe that to be true. I've heard of the long lonely strips of highway passing through the Utah desert. Now, I can say that I've been there myself.
What astounds me are the number of solitary homes one encounters hundreds of miles from the last signs of civilization. A beautiful mansion tucked up neatly into a high mountain canyon. A sweeping ranch house with a 360 degree view of perfectly flat horizon. What's with these people? Did they find some loophole in the "love thy neighbor" commandment? What jobs do they work, and what's the commute like?
These are not your average red-necked American, who given the opportunity will join with several of his siblings and cousins to buy some real estate and place on it their assortment of slightly used mobile homes. It's obvious that these people share a sense of adventure. Why else would you name your community "Tornado Bait" or "100 Year Flood Acres?" These are the remnants of the brave pioneers who forged the settlement of the west. Their mark is still visible in the form of trailer courts on the outskirts of towns like Vail and Aspen. These hardy individuals who resist the offers of their rich neighbors to buy out their land just to get rid of all those rusted out cars and lawn furniture that used to be living room furniture.
Let us all stand up and salute those brave individuals who give country music fans something to make fun of. Let us thank those whose example has led to many a housing community ordinance. Finally, let us honor those who exercise their right to bear arms, possibly the last line of defense against foreign invaders or the land buying tactics of those freaks with money who want to live where only the rednecks can.

Multiple Guesses

With "No Dumb Kids Left Behind" policies being enforced in schools we see more and more evidence that kids are being fully prepared for life. Learning for the test is the way life lessons present themselves, and it's good that our educational system is beginning to match.
How often have we seen one of our favorite fictional characters learn something new, a new skill or a new appreciation for people who are different, only to be able to apply that lesson in the next 30 minutes to two hours. The next week, however, they are back to their same old lovable selves, be they dumb and trusting, or smart and bigoted.
And how do we measure the lessons learned by the youth of today? The time tested multiple guess test. The solutions to all life's problems are easier when you face them equipped with the knowledge multiple guess tests teach. When in doubt pick "B." Unless of course the test was designed by left-handed individuals, in which case "C" is the better than random answer. In true and false, it's much easier to satisfy false, because 99% true is still false. Whenever two solutions look equally plausible, check for an all of the above. Or, if a solution does not present itself right away, none of the above is always viable.
Last week I was presented with a typical life situation. The man with the black and white disco car told me I could either "pay the fine," or go with him "down to the station." Neither of the alternatives seemed overly appealing so I quickly responded with trusty old none of the above. I was soon rewarded with a pair of matching bracelets and ride in a semi-luxurious automobile.
Later, while waiting at a railroad crossing, another multiple guess dilemma arose. Should I A) Stay in the car like a good prisoner B) Continue kicking at the glass dividing the front and back seats hoping that it eventually gives in, or C) Fake a medical emergency and make a run for it once the door was opened?
I never knew that paramedics still had to use the defibrilator paddles even if you insist that you were only faking. Why wasn't that on your test, huh Mr Iowa Test of Basic Skills? Education is leaving people seriously unprepared for life.

Pooping in America

Now I know that this is a tough subject for some people out there. Some people would have others believe that they do not go at all, or that the side effects are in some way different. We all go. Even famous people like the Queen of England and Darth Vader have to go. Granted, you and I have never gone on a solid gold throne, nor had our effects whisked away into the vacuum of space, but the process is more or less the same.
Training for this event, however, is a whole separate event from the previously covered topic of Making Pee-Pees in the Potty. The locale is the same. The processes are similar. But much like the shot put and the hundred meter high hurdles both take place at track meets, different types of training are required.
In the case of my daughter, Little Girl Morty, the training also involves stories. Not like bed time stories which generally are told to a youngster who is in the process of going to bed, but background stories, with personalities assigned, by her.
Some are mommies. Some are daddies. There are several smaller children. Some are scared to go under water. Some run and hide. Some of them, the type I like the least, don't want to leave home and just sort of hang around the exit.
Like a good movie, whose characters we've come to know and care about, there is always the sad farewell. We all have to say good-bye sometimes. Little Girl Morty has to say good-bye every time. The real silver lining is that eventually I will no longer have to hear these stories nor say good-bye to these precious little souls. Until then, I will sit at the ready, just glad that we made it in time because the only worse than saying good-bye is cleaning up after.

Saving Daylight

Shortest of the year
Today we lost an hour
Except in AZ

Granted, the idea of Daylight Savings Time was ingenious when it was first developed. But does it have relevancy today? No longer do most Americans wake to the sound of a rooster crowing. I, in fact, generally wake up well before dawn cracks to begin my daily grind (apparently I work in a mill of some kind that has grinding that needs doing.) I am often awake after dusk as well, which necessitates my burning of the scented candle at both ends. (Break the glass, then light the bottom.) Occasionally I will even burn the midnight oil while cooking the midnight bacon.
But with all this new fangled electric lighting things they got these days I hardly see the need to wind the hands on grandpa's clock just to realign with someone's idea of when the day begins. I do find it annoying to have to unplug the VCR and plug it in again at noon so that it blinks the correct time again.
But why am I so tired on the shortest day of the year?

A Load of Bull

I purchased 120 pounds of manure today. It was my first time. I walked past the manure display several times before adding the bags to my cart. To the bottom of my cart. I had to make sure no one was watching me buy the waste product of a lesser mammal. If I ran into anyone I knew I would have claimed that the manure was not mine, but happened to be on the cart when I picked it up. The manure was surprisingly less expensive than I had imagined. If I collected the stuff and put it in bags I would charge an arm and a leg for it, but the stuff is cheap. I guess it has to do with supply and demand. Lots of supply. Less than an overwhelming amount of demand.
I quickly returned home with my waste product and buried it in the ground before the neighbors saw. What would people think if they saw Big Morty carrying in manure for his own personal use? Especially if they knew that I had paid for the stuff.
I can only dream of the day when an honorable man can walk through a store with his head held high and his cart full of manure. No more sideways glances from the guys in the dirty magazine aisle. No more shaking heads from the obese folks in the candy section. No more muffled giggles from the old ladies trying on spandex. No more. That will be the day... the day before... I buy manure openly again. Till then, I'll go on buying it secretly, and denying it to any one who asks.

Scheduled Maintenance

Let me start by saying the whole car industry is evil. Well, maybe not entirely evil, but at least corrupt, greedy, dishonest, disgustingly obese, and possessed of poor personal hygiene. There's the whole issue of being in bed with the oil industry, destroying the environment, and keeping prices artificially high while suppressing emergent technology, but no one cares about that. I'm talking about the lies they tell you regarding scheduled maintenance.
The biggest money getter is the oil change. Apparently oil is some magical fluid that makes your car run, and here I thought gas made it run. Whole countries have gone to war, reportedly over that very substance, oil. It seems that it has to be imported from some crazy desert place in order to pour it into my car. The high cost of oil seems to be ruining the whole economy, even the price of gas is affected by oil costs. I don't see how one is related to the other, one being clear and the other being brownish black. But why do I have to change the oil. I don't change the gas when it gets used up. I just add more whenever the light comes on. I save money and stick it to the oil companies and the car dealerships by adding my own oil. It's the same as the gas, just add more when the light comes on. You know it's full when you see excess oil coming out around the edges of the dipstick thing.
The next big kicker is rotating tires. Supposedly tires need to be rotated every 5,000 miles to make sure they wear evenly. I'm no dummy, but I think I know what my tires need. Rotation is what they do every time I drive. You see, tires are circles, and as they spin they rotate themselves, and the wear is distributed evenly around the circumference of the tire. Right now the tires on my car are getting good and worn down, just like the tires the Nascar guys use. For a while the right side of the tires was wearing a little faster, but I fixed that problem by taking more left turns, and by driving backwards on alternating days of the week. Now they are getting extra traction from the steel belts that really grip well on muddy roads and in ice. That's one of the benefits you won't get if you keep shelling out money to the man and pay to have your tires rotated for you.
The worst thing that I do have to pay for, however, is the battery. You'd think that with all the new technology in electronics that they would figure out how to make a rechargeable battery. I hate having to change the battery every time my car dies. It's a good thing I have a lot of trunk space, I like to keep five or six batteries on hand so I only have to buy new ones once a week.

Rewards

It's been said that you shouldn't bribe children with candy, ice cream, or treats. However, the use of rewards for good behavior is perfectly acceptable. The same is true in many other aspects of life as well. Often times I "reward" police officers for doing such a fine job of pulling me over. Later, I'll often have the opportunity to "reward" a judge for running such an efficient court room. Your guard and cell mates will also enjoy "rewards" for their behavior. The trickiest part is convincing the warden to let you bring a freezer full of ice cream cones into jail with you.

Weekend Haikus

Unseasonalby
Summer like weather today
So I washed my car

Fire up the bar-b
Something about a burn ban
Watch my house burn down

Cheap burgers from Sam
Grilled to a hockey puck state
Ummm, extra greasy

Soggy hot dog buns
Condiments splash on the wall
To the tub with you

Who Wants to be a Billionaire?

So I saw that the Forbes list of billionaires came out recently. It's pleasing that so many hard working people are able to work and make something for themselves in our capitalistic world economy. It's been commented that these folks should be giving more to the poor to close the gap between the haves and the have nots. What I see with most of them is their large business empires that employ millions, and turn them into haves. Granted, some of them made their money by less than ethical means (internet gambling) but they all get their just rewards (not being able to return to the United States.)
My personal favorite new billionaire is Mr Dyson, the vacuum guy. If you invent a vacuum that sucks no matter what, you deserve to be a billionaire. Talking with people who claim to know a thing or two about physics, it appears that Mr Dyson has managed to enclose a black hole into every one of his vacuum cleaner machines. Now, instead of being sucked into little bags full of lint and pet hair, our household floor waste will be transported to another galaxy, possibly forming the super dense core of matter needed for another big boom creation event. An entire galaxy created from lint and pet hair, that's a billion dollar idea.

Fancy Restaurants

The fancier the restaurant you go to, the longer the wait will be. They may have plenty of open tables available, but you can't use them until you've waited long enough to appreciate how nice the restaurant is. Even dressing nice like the rest of the patrons will not accelerate your time to the seat.
Just the other day I went to a nice restaurant for lunch with some friends. You could tell it was nice because the sign in the front said "Shoes and Shirts required" and the smoking section was screened off from the civil folk by some chicken wire and wagon wheels. The decorations in the place were just another of the niceties that added to the ambiance.
I was sure we were in for some good fixin's based on the chalkboard sign listing the specials o' the day. Blackened fish and mystery meat. I asked if it was blackened catfish, but couldn't get a straight answer, just like in any swanky French place.
When our waitress came around she introduced herself using her real name. We could tell because her overalls had the same name stitched across the pocket. She brought us out some salads and cold drinks while they fixed our lunches.
We never made it to the main course. You come to expect a certain level of quality in a fine eating establishment, but when they brought out my salad I bit into, and the bread was all stale and hard.

Spring is in the Air

As I was working in my yard the other day (removing dog poo from it) something caught my eye. In the sea of brown was splash of color. It wasn't the yellow-brown of my grass, the red-brown of the dirt on my car, or any other type of brown the dog may have deposited. It was green. The green of the first buds of the cherry tree, and the first brave shoots of the tulips exploding forth in all their majesty. As I sat pondering the beauty of spring I contemplated the renewal of life, the precarious balance of nature, and the passing of the seasons.
I was beginning to contemplate world peace and was a few seconds from realizing a truly simple yet flawless plan for implementing it, when I was assaulted with another of the sounds of spring. The tornado siren. Thoughts of the Wizard of Oz pushed out all the constructive ideas that had been building, and I was forced to begin assessing my chances of survival and looking for cover. When I was safely tucked away inside the hall closet with a box of cereal and can of warm sprite my mind began working again. It was a bright and clear spring day. Tornado season hasn't started yet. It was exactly 12:00 on a Saturday. Standard time for the tornado siren tests. What a relief.
Now I knew all along that there really wasn't a tornado, ha ha. I just like to test myself to check my response time. Once again, I performed superbly, not being burdened by having to shove the children inside the closet because they were safely vacationing in a tornado free part of the country. But for now, I can only have my stop watch at the ready for the next time the siren sounds, and I get to cram the kids into the smallest room in the house for an undetermined amount of time. At least until I realize that it was only a test.

Leave of Absence

You may have noticed a gap in postings on Big Morty Say. You, my loyal readers, have a right to ask the cause of my negligence. Go ahead and ask...
Alright, don't twist my arm.
I have been lazy this week. I've mostly sat around watching movies and playing video games. My diet has consisted of ready to heat meat products and cold cereal. I've barely seen the sun and have been verbally abusive to my dog.
There you go.
What? You don't buy that? You thinking I'm making something up to cover some sort of top secret mission that I've been sent on?
Givin Big Morty's reputation as a world wide adventurer and action hero I'd have to agree with you. However, I can neither confirm nor deny my whereabouts during the last week. All I can say is that the world is still safe, thanks to... somebody... whose name... I can't tell you.
The End.

The Smackdown

All right, I admit it. I watch professional wrestling. Now, now. Before you start to mock me for enjoying a "fake" sport I must defend myself. I know the matches are choreographed, and the winners ultimately decided by someone outside the ring, but it's fun to watch. The so called drama as one wrestler challenges another. The suspense as one competitor hovers on the edge of death, only to come back suddenly and lift a three hundred pound man over his head for an amazing body slam and the victory. You just don't get that with real sports.
Now, here's the kicker. Professional wrestling is not really a sport. It's a comedy/drama with a sports like theme. Just like Scrubs is a comedy with a hospital theme. Could you take the same writers out of the hospital into another situation and get comedy? Yes. Could you take the superstars of professional wrestling, put them in goofy situations and get the same effect? Yes. But these muscle bound barbarians are more comfortable in an environment where they can release the built up roid rage and entertain at the same time.
To you snooty comedy elite who only enjoy a good British comedy I say look at Monty Python. You call that high class comedy?

For Old Times' Sake

I saw some skating
While watching the olympics
And I fell asleep

Where was my dinner
When I walked through the front door?
Still in the freezer

Look in your attic
And if you smell something bad
Don't open the box

On Winter Safety 2

Pursuant to Monday's article on winter safety, I've been asked to provide more of my unique insights on the topic. When the governor of Oklahoma approached me to provide an all encompassing winter driving course for the residents of his state I was honored, but not at all surprised. When I drive I always do so the safest manner possible. Everyday is a training day, and I always seek out opportunities to test myself and my skills. This is what I taught to my fellow Okies, and I now present a few techniques for you who may be afflicted with the occasional snow that you must drive in.
People say that if you end up in a skid you have to turn into the skid. What does that mean? Most people don't know because they aren't in a skidding situation often enough to be prepared. I say provide those opportunities for yourself. Most people think that a vacant parking lot or a deserted road is the best place to practice new driving techniques. This is not the case. How often do new driving situations present themselves in a vacant parking lot or on a deserted road? That's right, never. Practice driving where you drive. Rush hour traffic after a bad snow storm is the absolute best place to drive fast and erratically, putting you in situations where skidding can occur. Bald tires covered in oil can also be used for out of season skid recovery training. Remember practice makes perfect.
Safety tip: When being transported from the accident site in an ambulance or police car do not attempt to take control of the vehicle in order to demonstrate your proficiency to the supposedly "highly trained" emergency vehicle operators.

On the Inventive Spirit

I had the rare opportunity to judge an invention fair. Oklahoma kids in 1st through 9th grades presented their new ideas for products that will change the world. I cannot invent things because I'm old and have been told that some things are impossible. Were I still young and creative I would be out inventing things everyday.
There were many great inventions that I cannot describe because I have great respect for the intellectual property of those children, and some of them I couldn't describe even if the product were in front of me with a detailed diagram. There were some inventions that worked, and some that didn't. The vast majority were a simple deviation on an already existent product. I don't know why the kids thought making readily available products more expensive and less functional was a good idea, but they're kids, and not polluted by old age and pessimism.
The real secret revealed in this invention fair was the existence of magic and enchanted little elves. You might think a shoe box with sticks glued to it would be incapable of doing anything worthwhile, at least not worth the $100 price tag attatched to it. You would be wrong though, that little box contained enchanted little elves that, after purchasing, become your personal slaves, and will do all your bidding. Or at least some light cleaning and plumbing repair.
When you first see a ruler glued to a measuring cup you probably think to yourself that maybe the kid didn't put a whole lot of thought into his project, and you'd be right. When you can harness the power of magic you don't have to put a lot of thought into these sort of things. You'll be wandering around using multiple tools to measure everyday things, while millions of grade schoolers will be using their magical measuring tools to... measure... things... whatever grade schoolers need to measure these days.
Doubt not, but be believing. We haven't lost our inventive edge to the Asian upstarts. They don't even believe in elves.

On Winter Safety

When my rain gutters filled with water from yesterday's slight warming trend they failed to drain due to the ice buildup in the down spout. A filled rain gutter is a worthless rain gutter and fails to fulfill the ends of its existence. As a proud homeowner I could not allow this situation tarnish my neighborhood reputation as a home repair expert. My reputation is still nursing a few blemishes from the garage door incident two weeks ago (see On Being Big Morty).
But how to resolve the situation. Heat. Heat is the natural enemy to all things cold, such as ice, snow, slush, and frozen water. My 500,000 BTU laser heater has not worked properly since loaning it to my rich neighbor who actually pays people to come do work on his house, so I had to resort to more primitive means. I saw my World War II surplus flame thrower gathering dust in the corner of the garage. Does wet soffit burn? Unfortunately the flame thrower was out of gas. Where was my acetylene torch? That option seemed much safer than the widespread amount of heat offered by the flame thrower. But would it be enough to do the job efficiently? Yes, concentrated amounts of heat applied to a heat conducting metal is an efficient way of melting whatever is in your rain gutters. You also get the benefit of creating several new exit points for the water, thus eliminating the problems caused by a plugged downspout.
Safety tip: If you are standing on the roof melting away the frozen edge of snow that seems to be holding the rest of the snow on the roof--be sure to point torch away from body when riding the avalanche to the ground below.

rain gutters
rain-gutters
ranters
ranter's
nutters
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rain gutter
rain-gutter
ranter
rainwater
Rainier
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rain gutter
rain-gutter
ranter
rainwater
Rainier
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gathering
gating
bathing
gashing
lathing
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soffit
soft
softer
Soviet
soviet
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Unfortunately
Unfortunate
Unfortunates
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thrower
tower
shower
rower
Thor
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acetylene
Aztlan
acetone
acidly
castling
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On Computing Power

mention that when shopping for a new computer the 3.5in floppy-drive is optional, not standard. The 5.25in floppy drive is t-shirts. I should note that the new video card will have more RAM than second computer could have dreamed of, and could single handedly beat the binary out of first computer. I mightI've recently been shopping for a new computer. The one I've decided on will cost about the same as the computer I received when I graduated from high school 8000 years ago (in technology years) but will have slightly different technical specs. I don't know what technical specs do for the average computer users, but I was told that if I want to play my Lord of the Rings computer game I would need better technical specs. To illustrate a few of the differences in technical specs I will compare first computer to new computer. First computer had 32mb of RAM (we upgraded from 16), a 1.7G hard drive, a 28.8bps modem, and a 16X CD-ROM drive. I was the envy of all the tech-geeks at school. Second computer was substantially better, and could be called in its time "totally awesome" (Utah residents will remember the annoying commercials). New computer (when it finally arrives) will have a sufficiently high amount of RAM that adding an additional 32mb would not be enough to notice, and would in fact be rounded out of existence when reporting the total speed. The total memory will be the equivalent of 150 first computers, and the modem is only there as an after thought in case of emergencies requiring "dial-up" technology. CD-ROM drives are so antiquated that CD-ROM owners are often harassed by gang members wearing "DVD +/-/rw/hi-fi/magic/8track" only available at your finer archeological suppliers.
Are we being forced to pay an "upgrade tax" to an evil shadow government who secretly runs all of technology? Why aren't software companies making 3.1 compatible programs anymore? Are we being mocked as we look out our windows by Linux users who maintain an air of superiority despite their lack of easy to find compatible peripherals? What do all these technical specs mean?
You just can't conquer the world on 8000 year old technical specs. The refresh rate is just too slow.