The song The Twelve Days of Christmas is in the news today. PNC Financial Services Group has calculated how much it would cost to send your true love the gifts described in the song. It would cost $66 thousand and some change, up $1070 from last year, or 1.6%. And the government says there is no inflation.
That is my first problem with this. My second problem is how PNC has time to figure up what all this stuff would cost. Shouldn't they be spending their time doing stock research? This is not a really simple calculation; it would take some time to figure it all out. Remember, the first day the guy in the song gives his girlfriend a partridge in a pear tree. There I go making assumptions again. It could be a same-sex relationship. But for the sake of arguement, I am going to make the leap of faith that we are talking about a guy giving this stuff to a woman. The second day he gives her two turtle-doves and another partridge in a pear tree. So we have to figure twelve partridges and pear trees, twenty-two doves, thirty French hens, etc. Back when I was working, we had to keep humping just to get the required work done in an eighty hour week. We didn't have time to waste on trivial crap like this unless our boss pulled us off of what we were supposed to be doing to do some hare-brained time-wasting project that was going to keep us from getting the real work done and that would keep us there after working hours. Oh, wait. This is starting to crystalize in my mind, now. Never mind. I understand. My hat is off to the poor drudge who did all these calculations and missed spending quality time with his or her spouse and children.
The third problem I have is that these gifts, given with love and good intention, are going to start piling up, unwanted, pretty quickly. I know my own true love, although she likes small animals, after being inundated with fowl the first three days, will lose her sense of humor. She would say to me, "Jimbo, I appreciate the thought, but what I am going to do with ten frigging birds and three damned trees?"
She might appreciate the five gold rings on the fifth day, but after receiving another ten birds (four calling birds, et. al) and another tree on the fourth day, she would probably not allow me the opportunity of coming across with the rings. I'd be out on my ass by the fourth day, if not before.
Perhaps when the original song was written the gifts it described were something someone would want, but in the twenty-first century we have too much going on to find time to tend birds and an orchard. Most of us don't have cows, so we would have trouble keeping the maids a-milking occupied. And, although music hath charm to soothe the savage breast, most of us would prefer a musical group with maybe a guitar, a bass, keyboard and drums, rather than a bunch of pipers piping.
The whole point is that you should buy something reasonably priced for your true love and give it to her on Christmas rather than shelling out sixty-six large and spreading it over almost two weeks. But the most important thing is, if you have a true love, to tell her that she's special and to tell her that you enjoy being with her, and most of all make sure you spend plenty of time with her this holliday season. Don't be like the guy who spent his evenings and weekends pulling all the numbers together so we'd all be able to know what the twelve days of Christmas would cost.
Someone please pass me the wassel and mistletoe.
Make sure your best girl knows she's the best and spend as much time with her and your family during the hollidays. That's the way we do it in Jimbo's world.
Monday, November 29, 2004
Saturday, November 27, 2004
jimbo's omelet: a bon vivant's guide
Today's cooking lesson is primarily directed to all the men in the audience. The women who are reading (and we love all of you) probably already have a multiplicity of recipes. Those in same sex relationships are probably already sophisticated enough that they don't need Jimbo's helpful hints.
Guys, when you wake up in the morning after a good night's sleep that was proceeded by several hours of intense lovemaking, do you ever think the microwave popcorn you make for your favorite gal makes you a one-trick pony. Do you feel that the one thing you can cook for her doesn't show enough imagination? Plus that, what self-respecting woman wants to wake up to a breakfast of microwave popcorn? You need to make your woman Jimbo's special omelet. Here's the list of ingredients and assembly instructions.
two eggs
two ounces of milk
two peppers (your choice of one each, green, red, yellow or orange)
ten small mushrooms
a yellow onion
5 pieces of canadian bacon (bacon or ham may substitute)
a bag of shreaded cheddar cheese
Wash your mushrooms and peppers, then get a cutting board and a sharp knife. Be careful when you do the cutting not to cut yourself. If you play basketball like Jimbo does, hold the knife in your shooting hand so if you do cut yourself, it will be your non-shooting hand. Slice the mushrooms into pieces 1/16" thick and put the pieces in a bowl. Cut the top and bottom off the peppers and core the peppers making sure all of the seeds are removed and discarded. Cut out the stems and discard. Now, slice the peppers into 1/4" sections and then cut the sections into 1/4" X 1/2" pieces. Put the pepper pieces into the container with the mushrooms. If you are only making two omelets, consider only cutting up only half of your two peppers and saving the remaining halves for another time or to put in salads. Peel all the brown crap off the onion and slice it in half. Then slice half of it into several discs about a quarter of an inch thick. I usually put the remaining half of the onion back into the refrigerator, but you might as well throw it away, because I always do, eventually. Take your discs of onion and cut them into 1/4" pieces by slicing them every quarter inch along one axis and then rotating them 90 degrees and slicing them again every quarter inch. Put your onion pieces in the container with the peppers and mushrooms.
Now take your canadian bacon and put it in a 12" skillet at medium heat until crispy. After it is crispy, put it on a plate and put your container of mushrooms, peppers and onion into the skillet and cook for about five minutes, stirring frequently. As the veggies cook, crumble the canadian bacon into small 1/4" square pieces. You can substitite bacon or ham for the canadian bacon to your personal tastes. Take the veggies off the stove and pour them back into the container you had them in to begin with and get another skillet about 8" in diameter and spray some cooking oil in it. Put it on the stove at medium-low temperature. Crack two eggs into a bowl and puncture the yokes with a wire whisk. Add one ounce of milk. Stir them briskly with the whisk until mixed well. Pour this mixture into the 8" pan. Cook until the eggs are no longer runny and sprinkle your canadian bacon on the right hand side of the eggs in the pan. Add a half cup of your mushroom/pepper/onion mixture on top of the bacon. Then sprinkle some cheese on top of that, to your personal taste. Put a spatula under the left hand side of the egg in the skillet and fold it over the top of the ingredients you just added. At this point your egg should be in a half-moon shape with all of the added ingredients inside of it. Cook it for an additional thirty seconds and put it on a plate and sprinkle some additional cheese on top of it.
At this point you are probably thinking to yourself, "that was easy enough, but I have a bunch of veggies, canadian bacon and cheese left over. Jimbo, you dork, why did you have me make all this extra stuff?"
The answer, of course, is that you're going to make at least one more omelet. The first one was for your woman and so you'll want one or more for yourself. Hence, the extra stuff. You start again at the point where you crack two eggs into a bowl and add milk and repeat the process. There is probably enough stuff for four omelets.
Fellas, your woman will appreciate this. She'll realize you're not the boob she thought you were. Good luck and good eating. And for those of you who don't think you are ready to try this yet, I'll give you the recipe for the microwave popcorn in tomorrow's edition.
Because we are sophisticated here in Jimbo's world.
Guys, when you wake up in the morning after a good night's sleep that was proceeded by several hours of intense lovemaking, do you ever think the microwave popcorn you make for your favorite gal makes you a one-trick pony. Do you feel that the one thing you can cook for her doesn't show enough imagination? Plus that, what self-respecting woman wants to wake up to a breakfast of microwave popcorn? You need to make your woman Jimbo's special omelet. Here's the list of ingredients and assembly instructions.
two eggs
two ounces of milk
two peppers (your choice of one each, green, red, yellow or orange)
ten small mushrooms
a yellow onion
5 pieces of canadian bacon (bacon or ham may substitute)
a bag of shreaded cheddar cheese
Wash your mushrooms and peppers, then get a cutting board and a sharp knife. Be careful when you do the cutting not to cut yourself. If you play basketball like Jimbo does, hold the knife in your shooting hand so if you do cut yourself, it will be your non-shooting hand. Slice the mushrooms into pieces 1/16" thick and put the pieces in a bowl. Cut the top and bottom off the peppers and core the peppers making sure all of the seeds are removed and discarded. Cut out the stems and discard. Now, slice the peppers into 1/4" sections and then cut the sections into 1/4" X 1/2" pieces. Put the pepper pieces into the container with the mushrooms. If you are only making two omelets, consider only cutting up only half of your two peppers and saving the remaining halves for another time or to put in salads. Peel all the brown crap off the onion and slice it in half. Then slice half of it into several discs about a quarter of an inch thick. I usually put the remaining half of the onion back into the refrigerator, but you might as well throw it away, because I always do, eventually. Take your discs of onion and cut them into 1/4" pieces by slicing them every quarter inch along one axis and then rotating them 90 degrees and slicing them again every quarter inch. Put your onion pieces in the container with the peppers and mushrooms.
Now take your canadian bacon and put it in a 12" skillet at medium heat until crispy. After it is crispy, put it on a plate and put your container of mushrooms, peppers and onion into the skillet and cook for about five minutes, stirring frequently. As the veggies cook, crumble the canadian bacon into small 1/4" square pieces. You can substitite bacon or ham for the canadian bacon to your personal tastes. Take the veggies off the stove and pour them back into the container you had them in to begin with and get another skillet about 8" in diameter and spray some cooking oil in it. Put it on the stove at medium-low temperature. Crack two eggs into a bowl and puncture the yokes with a wire whisk. Add one ounce of milk. Stir them briskly with the whisk until mixed well. Pour this mixture into the 8" pan. Cook until the eggs are no longer runny and sprinkle your canadian bacon on the right hand side of the eggs in the pan. Add a half cup of your mushroom/pepper/onion mixture on top of the bacon. Then sprinkle some cheese on top of that, to your personal taste. Put a spatula under the left hand side of the egg in the skillet and fold it over the top of the ingredients you just added. At this point your egg should be in a half-moon shape with all of the added ingredients inside of it. Cook it for an additional thirty seconds and put it on a plate and sprinkle some additional cheese on top of it.
At this point you are probably thinking to yourself, "that was easy enough, but I have a bunch of veggies, canadian bacon and cheese left over. Jimbo, you dork, why did you have me make all this extra stuff?"
The answer, of course, is that you're going to make at least one more omelet. The first one was for your woman and so you'll want one or more for yourself. Hence, the extra stuff. You start again at the point where you crack two eggs into a bowl and add milk and repeat the process. There is probably enough stuff for four omelets.
Fellas, your woman will appreciate this. She'll realize you're not the boob she thought you were. Good luck and good eating. And for those of you who don't think you are ready to try this yet, I'll give you the recipe for the microwave popcorn in tomorrow's edition.
Because we are sophisticated here in Jimbo's world.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
thanksgiving greetings from the big house
It's the time of year to reflect on our lives and be thankful for what we have. First of all, I'm thankful I'm not in prison like Martha Stewart. Martha sent an open letter from prison yesterday saying she was well. I know I would be even more thankful if I never had to hear Martha being referred to as the domestic diva or the homemaking maven or a lifestyle guru.
The problem as I see it is that Martha is in stir at just the time we need her most. I read a frightening story on Yahoo! yesterday about a number of missteps made by people preparing their Thanksgiving meals. One lady lost her turkey in a snow drift; another guy tried to carve his turkey with a chain saw. Someone else put their turkey in a dry cleaning bag to cook it. There is nothing that makes me hungrier than the thought of eating plasticized turkey. Yum!
The last thing I want to do is lose my appetite for turkey day. It is the one day of the year when it is alright to eat ones self into a food-induced stupor. At least, I thought it was alright. Now, I read a story on Yahoo! that says a proper sized portion of turkey should be the size of a deck of cards.
A deck of cards? Yeah, right.
And a cup each of mashed potatoes and stuffing with gravy, two rolls, a veggie and dessert. That's not enough. Oh, wait. It says you can also have cranberry sauce. I don't like cranberry sauce. Does that mean I can substitute something else for the cranberry sauce? How about a second helping of everything. And since I will skip the cranberry sauce in the second helping I will then be able to have a third helping, without, of course, that cranberry sauce. You know, I think I will be able to adhere to these guidelines. When it comes time for dessert, I won't have any cranberry sauce with it, so I can have an extra dessert (without any cranberry sauce), and then another and another.
I'm figuring that these guidelines are just a suggestion and not manditory for good healthy eating. I guess I should have read it with that in mind. I'll be eating my turkey tomorrow one deck at at time, over and over, until I draw to the strait flush.
Because that's the way we do it in Jimbo's world.
The problem as I see it is that Martha is in stir at just the time we need her most. I read a frightening story on Yahoo! yesterday about a number of missteps made by people preparing their Thanksgiving meals. One lady lost her turkey in a snow drift; another guy tried to carve his turkey with a chain saw. Someone else put their turkey in a dry cleaning bag to cook it. There is nothing that makes me hungrier than the thought of eating plasticized turkey. Yum!
The last thing I want to do is lose my appetite for turkey day. It is the one day of the year when it is alright to eat ones self into a food-induced stupor. At least, I thought it was alright. Now, I read a story on Yahoo! that says a proper sized portion of turkey should be the size of a deck of cards.
A deck of cards? Yeah, right.
And a cup each of mashed potatoes and stuffing with gravy, two rolls, a veggie and dessert. That's not enough. Oh, wait. It says you can also have cranberry sauce. I don't like cranberry sauce. Does that mean I can substitute something else for the cranberry sauce? How about a second helping of everything. And since I will skip the cranberry sauce in the second helping I will then be able to have a third helping, without, of course, that cranberry sauce. You know, I think I will be able to adhere to these guidelines. When it comes time for dessert, I won't have any cranberry sauce with it, so I can have an extra dessert (without any cranberry sauce), and then another and another.
I'm figuring that these guidelines are just a suggestion and not manditory for good healthy eating. I guess I should have read it with that in mind. I'll be eating my turkey tomorrow one deck at at time, over and over, until I draw to the strait flush.
Because that's the way we do it in Jimbo's world.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
the cure for all ills
I woke up with a cough this morning, so when I saw a story on Yahoo about a cure for coughs, I read it with some interest. According to the story, some researchers from Imperial College London have found an ingredient in chocolate that appears to be more effective than codeine in stopping coughs.
Chocolate! Is there anything it can't do? Maybe it can cure baldness or possibly some ingredient in chocolate could be used to cure erectile disfuncion.
I saw an advertisement for a chocolate candy bar once that said if you ate chocolate between meals it would curb your appitite. I tried it and it works.
And it can get you girls, too. I remember reading that in World War II the GIs who liberated France offered chocolate bars to the French women and they picked up chicks that way. Chocolate bars can also finance education. In my neighborhood, the school kids come around a couple of times a year selling candy bars for school. I'm all for education; so I buy a few.
But there is the dark side, too. I remember being behind a woman in the checkout lane of a supermarket once. As the clerk was totalling her purchases, the woman looked around the store as if to make sure she wasn't overheard, then handed the clerk a candy bar wrapper crushed and barely recognizible.
"I need to pay for this. I ate it while I was shopping."
Then she looked around again, with the hollow eyes of an addict, focusing on no one, simply trying to make sure she hadn't been identified as a user. I thought, "she couldn't freaking wait until she got home?"
But who am I trying to fool. We've all been there. It's like when you find one lone chocolate bar in the kitchen cabinet and, at first, you say, no, I won't eat that. Then you look around inside the cabinet a little more; then hesitate and cast a quick glance around the room, even though you know you are alone. And finally, unable to resist, you eat that last chocolate bar and throw the wrapper in the trash, and you tell yourself you didn't need that chocolate, but down deep inside you know there was no way you were going to leave that kitchen without that chocolate in your stomach. You tell yourself that you'll stop buying chocolate bars so they won't be around the house to tempt you. But you know that next time you're at the supermarket you'll be pushing your cart down the candy aisle, even though there's nothing in that aisle you need, and you'll get too close to the shelf and you'll bump the shelf and a package of chocolate bars will fall into your cart. You know you should pick them up and put them back in the rack, but they will sing a Siren's song and you'll feel that animal lust and you'll continue down the aisle, go through the checkout lane, pay for your groceries and leave. When you get home, and put your purchases away, you'll eat one of those chocolate bars. You know you will.
And later, there will be a knock at the door, and the sweet little kid at the door will have a box of chocolate bars and as you buy three of them and look into his innocent face and make eye contact you realize you are looking down into the black unforgiving soul of Beelzebub himself. And you will eat those candy bars and wish you had more.
And, maybe that nasty cough will be gone.
I might also suggest a tall glass of milk to go with those chocolate bars. Another favorite of mine is a cup of black coffee whose steaming flavorful darkness adds the perfect touch to a good chocolate high.
I'm Jimbo and that's the way we do it here in Jimbo's world.
Chocolate! Is there anything it can't do? Maybe it can cure baldness or possibly some ingredient in chocolate could be used to cure erectile disfuncion.
I saw an advertisement for a chocolate candy bar once that said if you ate chocolate between meals it would curb your appitite. I tried it and it works.
And it can get you girls, too. I remember reading that in World War II the GIs who liberated France offered chocolate bars to the French women and they picked up chicks that way. Chocolate bars can also finance education. In my neighborhood, the school kids come around a couple of times a year selling candy bars for school. I'm all for education; so I buy a few.
But there is the dark side, too. I remember being behind a woman in the checkout lane of a supermarket once. As the clerk was totalling her purchases, the woman looked around the store as if to make sure she wasn't overheard, then handed the clerk a candy bar wrapper crushed and barely recognizible.
"I need to pay for this. I ate it while I was shopping."
Then she looked around again, with the hollow eyes of an addict, focusing on no one, simply trying to make sure she hadn't been identified as a user. I thought, "she couldn't freaking wait until she got home?"
But who am I trying to fool. We've all been there. It's like when you find one lone chocolate bar in the kitchen cabinet and, at first, you say, no, I won't eat that. Then you look around inside the cabinet a little more; then hesitate and cast a quick glance around the room, even though you know you are alone. And finally, unable to resist, you eat that last chocolate bar and throw the wrapper in the trash, and you tell yourself you didn't need that chocolate, but down deep inside you know there was no way you were going to leave that kitchen without that chocolate in your stomach. You tell yourself that you'll stop buying chocolate bars so they won't be around the house to tempt you. But you know that next time you're at the supermarket you'll be pushing your cart down the candy aisle, even though there's nothing in that aisle you need, and you'll get too close to the shelf and you'll bump the shelf and a package of chocolate bars will fall into your cart. You know you should pick them up and put them back in the rack, but they will sing a Siren's song and you'll feel that animal lust and you'll continue down the aisle, go through the checkout lane, pay for your groceries and leave. When you get home, and put your purchases away, you'll eat one of those chocolate bars. You know you will.
And later, there will be a knock at the door, and the sweet little kid at the door will have a box of chocolate bars and as you buy three of them and look into his innocent face and make eye contact you realize you are looking down into the black unforgiving soul of Beelzebub himself. And you will eat those candy bars and wish you had more.
And, maybe that nasty cough will be gone.
I might also suggest a tall glass of milk to go with those chocolate bars. Another favorite of mine is a cup of black coffee whose steaming flavorful darkness adds the perfect touch to a good chocolate high.
I'm Jimbo and that's the way we do it here in Jimbo's world.
Monday, November 22, 2004
stay a little bit longer
On Sunday, the Kansas City Star editorialized on the front page about Robert Redford threatening to move to Ireland if Bush were re-elected and then changing his mind and not moving. My sister suggested I blog about the story, but as the clown prince of blogging, I couldn't see how I could do a blog about this with a sufficient number of guffaws to meet my own editorial standards. Then, I saw a picture of President Bush this morning on Yahoo wearing a Chilean poncho and I knew I would not do, say or write anything funnier than that during the rest of my natural life, so I figured, what the hell. I'll do it.
The President looked like a real dork. I hope you saw the photo. I would have made a link, but I'm as capable of doing these link things as Bush is as being President. He looked much more humorous than my hair looked back in 1974.
I'm a little surprised that the Kansas City Star put this story on the front page rather than the Op/Ed page, or maybe in the features somewhere. After all, this is a respected publication that once paid Ernest Hemmingway and me to write for them. I figure no one else is going to mention Ernest Hemingway and me in the same sentence, so I had better do it.
The Star article mentioned the popular phrase of the 1960s and 1970s, "if you don't love it, leave it." I wonder if the person who wrote the article remembers that the phrase was popularized by an ex-con and articulated in support of a presidential administration that would be removed from office for criminal acts. We didn't leave then; I don't see us leaving, now. My message to Robert Redford is this:
Remember in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid your character left the country because the government was oppressing him? It didn't do one iota of good. Remember how the government was after your ass in Day of the Condor? You stood up to them. You fought the good fight. Remember how the government tried to suppress you as Bob Woodward in All The President's Men? Remember who came out on top? Remember what a bad-ass you were in Jeremiah Johnson? Could you imagine Bush and Cheney putting some whup ass on that dude? I didn't think so.
Let's face it, we have four more years of Bush and Cheney, and there's nothing we can do about it, except you can be sure that I will be reminding them whenever they do something wrong. I think I can take them on by myself. After all, they will enter the battle of wits unarmed. But I will feel a lot better if all the people who are threatening to leave the country, rather than live under another four years of a Bush administration, would stay here with me. Especially you, Bobby baby. I'll fight the good fight, but I'd be more confident if you had my back.
As a fiscal conservative, I will continue to expose the tax and spend policies of this administration until someone pays attention.
Of course, if I do that, no one will point at me and laugh. Oh well, I guess we'll just have to point at Bush and that silly-assed poncho to get our laughs today. I can be funny tomorrow.
There is another thing that is on my mind today. I would like to thank Trevor, my new buddy from the UK for telling me Friday about my blog being quoted across the pond. Thank you very much, Trevor.
This is Jimbo's world, and I'm Jimbo.
The President looked like a real dork. I hope you saw the photo. I would have made a link, but I'm as capable of doing these link things as Bush is as being President. He looked much more humorous than my hair looked back in 1974.
I'm a little surprised that the Kansas City Star put this story on the front page rather than the Op/Ed page, or maybe in the features somewhere. After all, this is a respected publication that once paid Ernest Hemmingway and me to write for them. I figure no one else is going to mention Ernest Hemingway and me in the same sentence, so I had better do it.
The Star article mentioned the popular phrase of the 1960s and 1970s, "if you don't love it, leave it." I wonder if the person who wrote the article remembers that the phrase was popularized by an ex-con and articulated in support of a presidential administration that would be removed from office for criminal acts. We didn't leave then; I don't see us leaving, now. My message to Robert Redford is this:
Remember in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid your character left the country because the government was oppressing him? It didn't do one iota of good. Remember how the government was after your ass in Day of the Condor? You stood up to them. You fought the good fight. Remember how the government tried to suppress you as Bob Woodward in All The President's Men? Remember who came out on top? Remember what a bad-ass you were in Jeremiah Johnson? Could you imagine Bush and Cheney putting some whup ass on that dude? I didn't think so.
Let's face it, we have four more years of Bush and Cheney, and there's nothing we can do about it, except you can be sure that I will be reminding them whenever they do something wrong. I think I can take them on by myself. After all, they will enter the battle of wits unarmed. But I will feel a lot better if all the people who are threatening to leave the country, rather than live under another four years of a Bush administration, would stay here with me. Especially you, Bobby baby. I'll fight the good fight, but I'd be more confident if you had my back.
As a fiscal conservative, I will continue to expose the tax and spend policies of this administration until someone pays attention.
Of course, if I do that, no one will point at me and laugh. Oh well, I guess we'll just have to point at Bush and that silly-assed poncho to get our laughs today. I can be funny tomorrow.
There is another thing that is on my mind today. I would like to thank Trevor, my new buddy from the UK for telling me Friday about my blog being quoted across the pond. Thank you very much, Trevor.
This is Jimbo's world, and I'm Jimbo.
Friday, November 19, 2004
i'm just trying to get a message to you
I read that Bill Gates gets four million e-mails a day, most of them spam. Welcome to the club, Billy boy. It seems this operating system for computers you and your friends came up with has had a more positive impact on the world than the labors of hundreds of millions of people that came before you, but you too must suffer the outrageous fortune of spam.
It seems that Bill and I have a lot in common. Total strangers are telling us our penises are too small, they can cure our baldness or save on our prescription medicines. I get "approved" for second mortgages at the rate of hundreds of millions of dollars a month; I guess Bill probably is in the billions. And you know he doesn't need the money.
Just trying to get a message to you.
Message in a bottle.
Fan mail from some flounder.
Steve Balmer, Microsoft's CEO says Gates has a staff that filters his e-mail for him, so he is probably not even aware that so many people think his penile size is inadequate. Balmer also says that Microsoft has technology that filters out the spam so it won't get to Gates. I hope it works better than my spam blocker, which the spammers have found a way to get around and now it only catches about 75% of the spam. That's good, but it still allows so much crap to get through that sometimes as I delete it I wonder if I am adequate, man-wise.
It's like I get a hundred junk e-mails for every one legitimate one. I don't like those odds. I guess that is progress. Whenever someone comes up with a better idea, someone else finds a way to use it to exploit people. It's like when God invented women, it may have been his best idea, but every once in a while one of them will break your heart.
Speaking of women, had you mortgaged your house and sold all your assets and bought Sirius Satellite Radio (NASDAQ:SIRI) earlier this week when I mentioned it in my story about the beavers who mismanaged their money, you could afford the company of a much higher class of woman this morning. The stock is up $.90 in the pre-market. I wish I had bought more than the thousand shares I purchased yesterday.
But, I digress. My message to you this morning is, "Is there anybody out there?"
Sometimes I wonder who, if anyone, is reading my posts. If you read this and you have any reaction to what I have been writing, even if it is just that anyone who doesn't like Bush must not like America, please send me a message. Go to my profile and click the e-mail icon and say, "hi," or "hello, you Bush-hating communist-loving piece of crap athiest unamerican bastard." Or, say anything you want to. That is one e-mail I would like to read.
I'd like to blame this e-mail spam problem on Bush, but I think that would be stretching it a little.
Other than that, it's going pretty well.
This is Jimbo's world and I'm Jimbo.
It seems that Bill and I have a lot in common. Total strangers are telling us our penises are too small, they can cure our baldness or save on our prescription medicines. I get "approved" for second mortgages at the rate of hundreds of millions of dollars a month; I guess Bill probably is in the billions. And you know he doesn't need the money.
Just trying to get a message to you.
Message in a bottle.
Fan mail from some flounder.
Steve Balmer, Microsoft's CEO says Gates has a staff that filters his e-mail for him, so he is probably not even aware that so many people think his penile size is inadequate. Balmer also says that Microsoft has technology that filters out the spam so it won't get to Gates. I hope it works better than my spam blocker, which the spammers have found a way to get around and now it only catches about 75% of the spam. That's good, but it still allows so much crap to get through that sometimes as I delete it I wonder if I am adequate, man-wise.
It's like I get a hundred junk e-mails for every one legitimate one. I don't like those odds. I guess that is progress. Whenever someone comes up with a better idea, someone else finds a way to use it to exploit people. It's like when God invented women, it may have been his best idea, but every once in a while one of them will break your heart.
Speaking of women, had you mortgaged your house and sold all your assets and bought Sirius Satellite Radio (NASDAQ:SIRI) earlier this week when I mentioned it in my story about the beavers who mismanaged their money, you could afford the company of a much higher class of woman this morning. The stock is up $.90 in the pre-market. I wish I had bought more than the thousand shares I purchased yesterday.
But, I digress. My message to you this morning is, "Is there anybody out there?"
Sometimes I wonder who, if anyone, is reading my posts. If you read this and you have any reaction to what I have been writing, even if it is just that anyone who doesn't like Bush must not like America, please send me a message. Go to my profile and click the e-mail icon and say, "hi," or "hello, you Bush-hating communist-loving piece of crap athiest unamerican bastard." Or, say anything you want to. That is one e-mail I would like to read.
I'd like to blame this e-mail spam problem on Bush, but I think that would be stretching it a little.
Other than that, it's going pretty well.
This is Jimbo's world and I'm Jimbo.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
dead man walking
When I heard last week that O.D.B. had died, it didn't mean anything to me. Then my son asked me if I had heard about Old Dirty Bastard dying and I made the connection. I am not a big fan of the Wu-Tang Clan or any other Klan, but I thought that Old Dirty Bastard had made a name for himself: a name I would have been happy to have. However, since I know who my father was, I guess I will have to continue to use the name I have been given, Dirty Old Man.
Another dead man in the news this morning has me concerned.
Dave Thomas, founder of Wendy's, is going to start appearing in their advertisements again. I thought that Dave Thomas was a credible spokesman for Wendy's when he did their ads for twelve years. He seemed really down to earth and I believed him. The only problem I have with Wendy's using him as a spokesman is that he is dead.
Would you buy a cheeseburger from a dead man? I have to admit that Wendy's cheeseburgers are my favorite fast food, just a notch ahead of Taco Bell, and I doubt if I will stop eating them, but as a man who is seeking meaningful employment, I have an objection to Wendy's unearthing a corpse and putting him to work.
If one were in the business of being a television spokesman for products (a field of endevour in which I do not particate or seek employment), I believe one would have to feel some resentment. After all, Wendy's is hiring a dead man rather than employing the living. Whenever I am in the running for a job and someone else is preferred over me and I don't get the job, I can understand because they may have been more qualified than me or they might have worked for less money, or they might have "known someone." But, I think it would be a blow to my ego to have someone hired ahead of me who was deceased.
It's tough enough to find a job in the Bush economy, when competing with able-bodied job seekers, but when companies start bringing in the dead to fill positions, then the Republican revolution has come to fruition.
Now, don't get me wrong. I don't hate the dead. It's just that I think the living should get preference when filling available jobs. And my message to Wendy's is this: if you hire the dead, then someday only the dead will have jobs. When that happens, who will have money to buy your burgers. Just something to think about.
That's about all I have on my mind right now.
This is Jimbo's world and I'm Jimbo.
Another dead man in the news this morning has me concerned.
Dave Thomas, founder of Wendy's, is going to start appearing in their advertisements again. I thought that Dave Thomas was a credible spokesman for Wendy's when he did their ads for twelve years. He seemed really down to earth and I believed him. The only problem I have with Wendy's using him as a spokesman is that he is dead.
Would you buy a cheeseburger from a dead man? I have to admit that Wendy's cheeseburgers are my favorite fast food, just a notch ahead of Taco Bell, and I doubt if I will stop eating them, but as a man who is seeking meaningful employment, I have an objection to Wendy's unearthing a corpse and putting him to work.
If one were in the business of being a television spokesman for products (a field of endevour in which I do not particate or seek employment), I believe one would have to feel some resentment. After all, Wendy's is hiring a dead man rather than employing the living. Whenever I am in the running for a job and someone else is preferred over me and I don't get the job, I can understand because they may have been more qualified than me or they might have worked for less money, or they might have "known someone." But, I think it would be a blow to my ego to have someone hired ahead of me who was deceased.
It's tough enough to find a job in the Bush economy, when competing with able-bodied job seekers, but when companies start bringing in the dead to fill positions, then the Republican revolution has come to fruition.
Now, don't get me wrong. I don't hate the dead. It's just that I think the living should get preference when filling available jobs. And my message to Wendy's is this: if you hire the dead, then someday only the dead will have jobs. When that happens, who will have money to buy your burgers. Just something to think about.
That's about all I have on my mind right now.
This is Jimbo's world and I'm Jimbo.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
god is dead
This year has been really great because I have met a very special woman. I tell people she can give me something that no other woman ever has. Then I deliver the punchline: TiVo and DSL. The truth is that I would be with her no matter what, but the TiVo and DSL are nice.
Then, I read on Yahoo this morning that TiVo is going to start imbedding commercials into their system so you will see them when you fast forward through the ones with which the TV networks torture us. It appears that TiVo has learned some marketing lessons from dope dealers: get us hooked; then take it away. I wonder if they will offer a premium service that blocks the advertisements (at a premium price, of course). You figure someone will probably come up with software that you could use to block the advertisements, but they will probably charge for it, too.
The Yahoo article quotes FCC Chairman Michael Powell as having referred to TiVo as "God's machine." He was a little harsh in his treatment of Howard Stern, but he was right in his description of TiVo. Because we have so many responsibilities that rob us of our free time, removing the advertisements that take up 30% of network programs is devine. I'll bet the inventor of TiVo said to his assistant, "What hath God wrought."
Now, it is gone, or soon will be. If one needed evidence that God existed, TiVo was proof. Now the proof is gone. This is like opening your bible only to find pictures of naked skanks.
God is dead.
The bible predicted the end of days and with the changes in TiVo can the rest of the destruction of civilization be far behind.
I'm sorry if I seem melodramatic, but it's that lyin' Bush. Hang your head in shame, Mr. President. Hang your head in shame. This is happening on your watch.
Other than that, I guess everything is going OK.
This is Jimbo's world and I'm Jimbo.
Then, I read on Yahoo this morning that TiVo is going to start imbedding commercials into their system so you will see them when you fast forward through the ones with which the TV networks torture us. It appears that TiVo has learned some marketing lessons from dope dealers: get us hooked; then take it away. I wonder if they will offer a premium service that blocks the advertisements (at a premium price, of course). You figure someone will probably come up with software that you could use to block the advertisements, but they will probably charge for it, too.
The Yahoo article quotes FCC Chairman Michael Powell as having referred to TiVo as "God's machine." He was a little harsh in his treatment of Howard Stern, but he was right in his description of TiVo. Because we have so many responsibilities that rob us of our free time, removing the advertisements that take up 30% of network programs is devine. I'll bet the inventor of TiVo said to his assistant, "What hath God wrought."
Now, it is gone, or soon will be. If one needed evidence that God existed, TiVo was proof. Now the proof is gone. This is like opening your bible only to find pictures of naked skanks.
God is dead.
The bible predicted the end of days and with the changes in TiVo can the rest of the destruction of civilization be far behind.
I'm sorry if I seem melodramatic, but it's that lyin' Bush. Hang your head in shame, Mr. President. Hang your head in shame. This is happening on your watch.
Other than that, I guess everything is going OK.
This is Jimbo's world and I'm Jimbo.
Monday, November 15, 2004
more money than brains
I dreamed I turned into a dog last night. It was pretty frightening, but as usual, the real world was able to surpass my nightmare this morning.
I read on Yahoo that in Louisiana, a casino was robbed and the money was thrown into a stream. One of the bags of money came open and beavers retrieved the money and used it in construction of their dam. They say that beavers are the best engineers in the animal kingdom, and I think I can confirm that is true. I worked for Engineering companies for twenty years during my professional career and I found that Engineers can figure out how to do anything, but they go through a lot of theory and trial and error before achieving a solution. It seems that Engineers are very innovative, but they have no common sense. It appears the Engineers of the animal kingdom have no common sense, either.
If you or I were to find a bag of money we would have the sense to use it for something useful, like bills, a new car or at least a big party. These senseless beavers used the money as construction materials. I ask you, is this not a waste of good resources?
These beavers could have hired a contractor to build a cement dam that would last much longer than one made of sticks and paper, or at least they could have bought a big screen TV for the beaver houses in their dams. Some might say that beavers are too practical to buy something as expensive as a big screen, but they could have invested the money in the market, as the S&P hit a three year high last week. There are lots of compelling stories in the stock market. I particularly like Sirius Satellite Radio (NASDAQ: SIRI). It is at a 52 week high as I write this. Unfortunately I sold my entire position on Friday figuring it would fall back this week, but I sold too early.
But back to these silly-assed beavers. The thought of misusing all this money really bothers me. I could have used some extra money myself. Letting these beavers have it is like casting pearls before swine. I blame the Bush administration. With their tax and spend policies, and running up deficits, I guess the beavers figured there would be an endless supply of money coming from the government, and since they don't smoke cigars, and therefore couldn't light cigars with money, they might as well paper their homes with it. Hang your head in shame, Mr. President. Hang your head in shame. The next thing you know, these beavers will be wiping their asses with money; the President will be lighting his cigars with it and the rest of us will be pounding the pavement trying to get some for ourselves.
This is Jimbo's world today and I'm Jimbo.
I read on Yahoo that in Louisiana, a casino was robbed and the money was thrown into a stream. One of the bags of money came open and beavers retrieved the money and used it in construction of their dam. They say that beavers are the best engineers in the animal kingdom, and I think I can confirm that is true. I worked for Engineering companies for twenty years during my professional career and I found that Engineers can figure out how to do anything, but they go through a lot of theory and trial and error before achieving a solution. It seems that Engineers are very innovative, but they have no common sense. It appears the Engineers of the animal kingdom have no common sense, either.
If you or I were to find a bag of money we would have the sense to use it for something useful, like bills, a new car or at least a big party. These senseless beavers used the money as construction materials. I ask you, is this not a waste of good resources?
These beavers could have hired a contractor to build a cement dam that would last much longer than one made of sticks and paper, or at least they could have bought a big screen TV for the beaver houses in their dams. Some might say that beavers are too practical to buy something as expensive as a big screen, but they could have invested the money in the market, as the S&P hit a three year high last week. There are lots of compelling stories in the stock market. I particularly like Sirius Satellite Radio (NASDAQ: SIRI). It is at a 52 week high as I write this. Unfortunately I sold my entire position on Friday figuring it would fall back this week, but I sold too early.
But back to these silly-assed beavers. The thought of misusing all this money really bothers me. I could have used some extra money myself. Letting these beavers have it is like casting pearls before swine. I blame the Bush administration. With their tax and spend policies, and running up deficits, I guess the beavers figured there would be an endless supply of money coming from the government, and since they don't smoke cigars, and therefore couldn't light cigars with money, they might as well paper their homes with it. Hang your head in shame, Mr. President. Hang your head in shame. The next thing you know, these beavers will be wiping their asses with money; the President will be lighting his cigars with it and the rest of us will be pounding the pavement trying to get some for ourselves.
This is Jimbo's world today and I'm Jimbo.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
perfect poison
Today is the 29th anniversary of the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, according to what they said on the weather channel this morning. It is also the first blog I have ever posted, so it has to be special. So, I'm not going to say anything bad about the Bush administration. I'm going to be upbeat.
I downloaded the lyrics to Gordon Lightfoot's song, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald and I sang it while playing guitar. It was a beautiful thing. I am only sorry that you couldn't hear it, because I don't know how to post my singing on this site. But since I couldn't entertain you with my singing, I am going to entertain you with a murder mystery I wrote. It is a gritty piece of pulp fiction. If it were a movie, it would be called film noir. But you can read it in the time you could listen to a song. See if you can find out who dunnit. It is called Perfect Poison, and it goes like this:
Perfect Poison
“I could never kill a woman as well put together as she was, “ said private investigator Sanford Jones, “Unless I had a perfect reason.”
The police detective standing on the other side of the body nudged the corpse with the toe of his shoe, as if to confirm she was well put together. Seemingly satisfied he looked questioningly at Jones.
“Well, Sandy,” he asked, “Did you have a good reason?”
“Yeah, Copper. I had a good reason.”
“So, did you do it?”
Jones paused and gave a present tense glance at the past tense woman on the pavement.
“No.”
“You expect me to believe you? You practically admitted you did it. You said you had a good reason.”
“I said I had a good reason, but I said I couldn’t kill her without a perfect reason. The key word is perfect. Can you say perfect. I thought you could.”
“You know what the penalty is in this state for being a smart ass?”
“No. Tell me.”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll show you next time you get smart with me.”
“So, Detective Davis, what killed her?”
“Looks like poison. We don’t know what kind, yet, but the lab’ll let us know.”
There was a moment of silence that drifted between Sanford Jones and the officer like the fog that infiltrated the cool night air before Davis again spoke.
“Say. They tell me you know this lady pretty well. They say you two used to see each other kinda regular-- a pair, you two were. Tell me, do you have any idea who would do something like this?”
“No.”
“I also hear she dumped you. Threw you over for some other guy.”
“Maybe.”
“I also know you’ve told people you’re still kinda sweet on her.”
About that time Davis’ partner, Rahim, walked into the conversation.
“Good lovin’ done gone bad,” said Rahim, pinching the knot on his necktie with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand and tightening the knot by pulling on the narrow end of the tie with his left hand.
“I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, Detective, but you’ve got it all wrong.”
“Listen,” said Davis. “I know your type. You’re gonna go out there and try to find out who did this, and you’re gonna take matters into your own hands. I just want you to know this is a police matter, and I want you to stay out of it. We’ll find whoever it was and they’ll get a needle for it.”
“The hypodermic to hell,” said Rahim. “The final screamin’ breakman.”
“Sure, gentlemen, don’t worry about me. I’ll stay out of it.”
“See that you do.”
“But the only way you two are gonna find out who did this is if you run into them on the way to the Donut Hut. Fat chance of that.”
“I’ll let that last remark pass, due to your grief, and all, said Rahim. “We’ll fine ‘em. And they’ll confess everything.”
“Nobody is going to tell you anything.”
Rahim opened his jacket with this left hand and exposed the Glock he carried in a leather holster under his left arm. He stroked the handle of the Glock in an almost autoerotic fashion.
“They’ll change their mine when they see dis.”
Sanford Jones turned and walked away from the officers and the body.
“Remember what I told you,” Davis called behind him.
“Yeah, yeah. See ya’ detective. Rahim.”
“Later.”
Jones walked a couple of blocks into the cold night air. He lit a cigarette as he paused in the light coming through the door of an all-night restaurant. Then he proceeded to a bridge that crossed the river and stood for a moment before taking one last drag on his Camel, dropping it onto the pavement and crushing it with his foot. He watched a barge as it slowly moved across the black water. He removed a small bottle from his pocket, held it in the palm of his hand for a moment, then threw the bottle into the water.
“Perfect,” he said.
Well, did you solve the mystery. Until next time.
This is jimbo's world and, well, I'm jimbo.
Bye.
I downloaded the lyrics to Gordon Lightfoot's song, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald and I sang it while playing guitar. It was a beautiful thing. I am only sorry that you couldn't hear it, because I don't know how to post my singing on this site. But since I couldn't entertain you with my singing, I am going to entertain you with a murder mystery I wrote. It is a gritty piece of pulp fiction. If it were a movie, it would be called film noir. But you can read it in the time you could listen to a song. See if you can find out who dunnit. It is called Perfect Poison, and it goes like this:
Perfect Poison
“I could never kill a woman as well put together as she was, “ said private investigator Sanford Jones, “Unless I had a perfect reason.”
The police detective standing on the other side of the body nudged the corpse with the toe of his shoe, as if to confirm she was well put together. Seemingly satisfied he looked questioningly at Jones.
“Well, Sandy,” he asked, “Did you have a good reason?”
“Yeah, Copper. I had a good reason.”
“So, did you do it?”
Jones paused and gave a present tense glance at the past tense woman on the pavement.
“No.”
“You expect me to believe you? You practically admitted you did it. You said you had a good reason.”
“I said I had a good reason, but I said I couldn’t kill her without a perfect reason. The key word is perfect. Can you say perfect. I thought you could.”
“You know what the penalty is in this state for being a smart ass?”
“No. Tell me.”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll show you next time you get smart with me.”
“So, Detective Davis, what killed her?”
“Looks like poison. We don’t know what kind, yet, but the lab’ll let us know.”
There was a moment of silence that drifted between Sanford Jones and the officer like the fog that infiltrated the cool night air before Davis again spoke.
“Say. They tell me you know this lady pretty well. They say you two used to see each other kinda regular-- a pair, you two were. Tell me, do you have any idea who would do something like this?”
“No.”
“I also hear she dumped you. Threw you over for some other guy.”
“Maybe.”
“I also know you’ve told people you’re still kinda sweet on her.”
About that time Davis’ partner, Rahim, walked into the conversation.
“Good lovin’ done gone bad,” said Rahim, pinching the knot on his necktie with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand and tightening the knot by pulling on the narrow end of the tie with his left hand.
“I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, Detective, but you’ve got it all wrong.”
“Listen,” said Davis. “I know your type. You’re gonna go out there and try to find out who did this, and you’re gonna take matters into your own hands. I just want you to know this is a police matter, and I want you to stay out of it. We’ll find whoever it was and they’ll get a needle for it.”
“The hypodermic to hell,” said Rahim. “The final screamin’ breakman.”
“Sure, gentlemen, don’t worry about me. I’ll stay out of it.”
“See that you do.”
“But the only way you two are gonna find out who did this is if you run into them on the way to the Donut Hut. Fat chance of that.”
“I’ll let that last remark pass, due to your grief, and all, said Rahim. “We’ll fine ‘em. And they’ll confess everything.”
“Nobody is going to tell you anything.”
Rahim opened his jacket with this left hand and exposed the Glock he carried in a leather holster under his left arm. He stroked the handle of the Glock in an almost autoerotic fashion.
“They’ll change their mine when they see dis.”
Sanford Jones turned and walked away from the officers and the body.
“Remember what I told you,” Davis called behind him.
“Yeah, yeah. See ya’ detective. Rahim.”
“Later.”
Jones walked a couple of blocks into the cold night air. He lit a cigarette as he paused in the light coming through the door of an all-night restaurant. Then he proceeded to a bridge that crossed the river and stood for a moment before taking one last drag on his Camel, dropping it onto the pavement and crushing it with his foot. He watched a barge as it slowly moved across the black water. He removed a small bottle from his pocket, held it in the palm of his hand for a moment, then threw the bottle into the water.
“Perfect,” he said.
Well, did you solve the mystery. Until next time.
This is jimbo's world and, well, I'm jimbo.
Bye.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)