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It has been said the second most frightening words in the English language are, “Hi. I’m from the government.” When this is followed by, “…and I’m here to help you,” you should run. Run as fast as you can with that load in your pants. In that vain, the IRS has decided it knows best how you should spend their…er…your money.
The IRS wants to make sure those “economic stimulus” checks do their intended job of being dumped back into the economy. To prevent high-risk citizens from just paying off their credit cards instead of buying washing machine, the IRS has started sending goods instead of money. Who is “high-risk” will be determined solely by the IRS.
I heard this story on the drive home from work on Market Place. I admit, I’m a NPR junkie. It’s great programming and just a little naughty. I don’t donate to NPR, but still sneak a listen as often as possible. Just a little danger to spice up my life. It’s like ordering the Club Sandwich. I’m not a member of the club, but the waiter never asks for ID and I put one over on him every time.
Here is a direct link to the audio version of the story. Much more interesting if you have the bandwidth. Be sure to listen all the way to the end for information on how you can help stop this silliness.
Huntsville police arrived at a robbery scene early Friday to arrest a suspect but ended up arresting the victim and a witness, too. >> Read Full Story >>
Around 6:40AM on March 15, 2008, 43-year-old Walter McLin flagged down a patrol car and told the cops he had been robbed at gun point. After speaking to a witness, the police arrested 31-year-old Stepheon White at a near-by motel and charged him with first-degree robbery.
Upon further questioning, McLin was charged second-degree theft for the $900 forged check in his possession. Police then became suspicious of the witness’ identity and charged him with filing a false statement because he lied about his name. It turned out the witness had good reason to lie because he had multiple, outstanding warrants.
All three men are currently enjoying the hospitality of the Madison County metro jail.
This story only supports the old adage, “There is no honor among thieves.” It also highlights the fact that if you are going to be a criminal, try not to hang out with other criminals. One thief may be stupid, but the power of stupidity rises exponentially with each additional criminal brain.
Mississippi House Bill 282, currently before the state legislature, would prevent restaurants with more than five seats from serving obese people as determined by the state’s health department. Repeat offenders would be subject to fines or closure. Even the bills sponsor, W.T. Mayhall, Jr. says he knows the bill has less of a chance at survival than a bucket of KFC at a Weight Watchers meeting. He just wants the large, good people of Mississippi to consider their health and thinks this will get the conversation started. After all, Mississippi was just granted the title “fattest state in the nation,” with 62% of its population defined as obese.
My first thought when hearing this story was, “Why would restaurants want to keep out the fatties? They’re your best customers. This is like banning athletes from gyms.” Then there’s the whole problem of determining who is huge enough to face discrimination. Will Mississippi restaurants have to narrow their doors? Will they install the human-size version of the airport carry-on luggage measuring box? I imagine it will have a sign over it which reads, “If your ass is bigger than this, you are not welcome.” I wonder if signs like, “No shirt. No shoes. No Fatties.” are already being printed in the Magnolia state.
As bizarre as all that sounds, the really funny thing I learned while investigating this story is there is a real organization called The Coalition of Fat Rights Activists (COFRA). A group actually proud of their flab…er…glandular problem, who feel fat people face enough discrimination, they need an activist group. I’m no spring chicken, but I’ll stick with, “I could stand to lose a few pounds,” before I swing over the fence to “Fat is beautiful. RascalTM scooters for everyone!”
Here in Alabama, we have an expression for when people make fun of our state, “Thank God there’s Mississippi.” Having Mississippi as our neighbor really lowers the bar and takes all the pressure off.
Every time it rains, which thank gawd hasn’t been recently, the snails come out. I assume they live in the bushes that lead to my front door. The least little rain sends them into a sexual frenzy. They pour out on to my walkway creating a mine field of crunchy lust.
I love all living creatures, except my mother-in-law, and it pains my to accidentally crush one of these little critters, but if you could see what they are doing. It’s just a bisexual lust fest on my porch. They stumble around, seeking another of there kind and spend the afternoon entwined in hot, bisexual snail sex. It’s a shame when they’re interrupted by my boot.
I can imagine that having your house and body simultaneously crushed while in the throws of passion would be traumatic for anyone. It pains me. I don’t do it on purpose. I tried to tip-toe through the orgy of slime love, but invariably one gets it. Then it’s like a mine field. One goes off, I jump left. Another blows, I jump right. Kapow! Crunch!
Obliteration of love. My bad. Sorry about the stomping on your love thing. You little pesky appetizers.
Save us all from my wife. My wife has always been a little different, but now it’s just getting scary.
My wife has always had certain gifts, one of which borders on the slightly psychotic or psychic. I always get the two confused. My wife has the uncanny ability to call my cell phone at three precise moments during the day.
She calls in the middle of business meetings just as I’m about to speak
Her radar tells her that I’m with some very important people and it is my turn to give the presentation that will earn that big promotion. What could calling now hurt? What better time than a crucial moment in my career is better to remind me that we need dog food?
“And this slide, ladies and gentlemen, is my revolutionary cost-saving proposal. It is guaranteed to reduce over-head by 12% while increasing revenue”…buzz…buzz…buzz. (I had the good sense to put the phone on vibrate.)
Naturally I have to take this call. It could be an emergency. If it’s not and I don’t answer, rest assured that by 6pm, it will have become an emergency that won’t let me get to sleep before 3am.
“Yes, dear? Uh huh. Uh huh. I’m in a meeting. Uh huh. Yes, your niece is the cutest thing since toast. Uh huh. I really have to go. Uh huh. No I really have to go! Uh huh. The dog did what? Uh huh. In the living room floor? Uh huh. Looks just like the Virgin Mary? Uh huh. Please dear, my boss needs to fire me now. Yes, I really have to go. Uh huh. Uh huh. No, I can’t stop and pick that up on the way home. Because we don’t have any money now that I lost my job. Uh huh. Uh huh.”
At a specific intersection, 2 miles from our house
“Hello.”
“When are you going to be home?”
“In about 2 minutes, just like yesterday when you called at 5:20.”
“Could you pick up some dinner?”
“Well, no. Just like yesterday, I’ve already passed 400 restaurants and there isn’t another one between here and home.”
“Even if it’s just McDonalds?”
“I guess I could U-turn over the median and get a ticket so you could have a Big Mac. Would that do?”
“OK. Just come home. You can fix dinner then.”
“Thanks. I’m actually in the driveway right now. Can I hang up or do we need to continue this conversation via technology?”
“Did you check the mail?”
“For God’s sake woman, open the front door and look outside. You’ll see me checking the mail in person. Better yet, go look at the satellite view on Google maps, zoom in close and see if I’m waving.”
“You can do that on Google?”
“I’m hanging up now.”
If there is a God, there will be a deadly snake in the mail box put there by some pissed off neighbor. Please Jesus, give me sweet release.
On the toilet
This I just refuse to do. I don’t care who is calling. They have to wait for a call back. I’m not going to be the stall-talker guy. I’m not discussing anything with anyone while on the john. Crap time is my own special alone time and I’d like to keep it that way.
My prophetic utterances have proven true. I knew there was more to this taking your shoes off at the airport thing. One person screws it up for everyone. Now that CNN reports this guy is an idiot, we will all be treated like bigger idiots.
I told you the truth months ago and you said I was a lunatic. Who’s laughing now? Well, probably all of us because it’s just that stupid.
I’m tired of these M*****F***** snakes on my M*****F***** plane!
May Day has past us yet again. What is May Day? International Worker’s Day. A day that every good socialist loves to celebrate not with a May pole, but with a megaphone. Were we were celebrating the spring flowers or the guy who planted them? >> read the rest. it’s the best.
One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small
And the ones that mother gives you, don’t do anything at all;
Go ask Alice, when she’s ten feet tall. — “White Rabbit” Jefferson Airplane (c) 1967 Icebag Music Corp
This papa’s got a whole big brand new bag of pills to take. Not many are the happy-fun kind. Most are the you’re-getting-old kind. I was waiting for some prescriptions to be filled and knew that they had one already waiting for me. I asked the pharm tech if I could have the literature on the one that was filled. What kills wait time in the pharmacy better than reading up on the new old-guy pills you have to take?
If you hadn’t heard, I got a touch of the pancreatitis. As with any digestive disorder you may experience symptoms like bloating, gas, constipation or diarrhea. As I peruse the pharmacological literature of the enzyme replacement I’ll be taking for a while, I note the side effects may include “bloating, gas, constipation or diarrhea.”
Now I’m completely confused. I asked young pharm tech, Shelly, “How will I know if the disease is getting worse or the pills are working if the symptoms and the side effects are the same?” I fear I’ve put poor Shelly through too much during her few months on the job. I’ve never seen anyone stare in disbelief and start laughing simultaneously, but she did it. No easy feat.
It says in the prescription information, “Call your doctor if you experience any of these side effects.” Now I’m in a real pickle. Previously when I farted, I just blamed it on the dog and lit a match. Now every time I fart, I have to call my doctor to report the medication’s side effects.
My wife reminded me that according to an Oprah show she saw (so you know I’ve got my facts straight), the average person farts 14 times per day. So of course I panicked at number 15 which came by 9:30am. The doctor’s office stopped taking my calls after 27 the first day.
My doctor’s not talking to me. My dog won’t play with me. The whole Dutch Oven game was short lived and I’m sleeping on the couch. The only good news is, they moved me to a private office at work. Not a after a promotion, but after a protest lodged by my cube mates. What a fellow to do?
My lovely wife, who knows way more than I do, had the TV up way too loud. I didn’t complain because the TV I was watching was on mute. I looked up from the computer long enough to see if we were watching the same channel.
My TV was muted on the Cartoon Network. Her TV was blaring out MSNBC and some story about American Idol. Something about the underdog, underwear, uber-idol that nine year olds find compelling. I honestly don’t know the details.
Oddly the cartoon characters on my screen were in perfect sync with the talking heads on her screen. Animated mouths, hinged at the neck were spewing out the same tele-prompter text as MSNBC.
I love the universe when it tells me I’m right about “reality” TV. I have to go watch South Park now.
