Showing posts with label Keith's Cogitations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Keith's Cogitations. Show all posts

Saturday, February 24, 2018

Whatever The Traffic Will Allow

By Keith

Hello, World O’Crappers and let us count the ways Republicans heart Juvenile Road Kill, huh?

  • Sweet, fresh kidneys (there are two per kid)
  • Ripe, accurate retinas (two-per)
  • Sharp precision corneas (two-per)
  • Lovely liver, relatively free of chemicals. Plug & Play. Ready to Roll.
  • Cartilage for orthopedic surgeries: (advanced ACL, other procedures)

The list is by no means complete, but even these few spare parts are enough to keep the average billionaire from having to pay the Death Tax for a few more years; at least long enough to contribute to his 2020 campaign.


Okay, it's a bit like the plot of The Island (2005), but unlike that movie's pen-raised, captive clones, our current NRA-approved system allows for the breeding of free range donors, with harvesting taking place at semi-regular intervals by volunteers, so capital costs remain low.

Thanks for your attention, and please pick up a free copy of our prospectus on your way out.

Monday, December 25, 2017

Happy Solstice and Beyond

By Keith

Hello everyone. Busy year.

Typing difficult.

My Christmas Present Registry specifically listed "Cha-Cha" heels as preferred. I did not receive the cha-cha shoes for Christmas.

Instead, something much better. Really. It's amazing how much the cost/unit of obsolete tech stuff is marked-down. Can't wait to mount it rooftop for Christmas Eve fireworks.


Thursday, June 15, 2017

Megyn Kelly Interviews Public Nuisance on Tee-Vee, Maybe?

By Keith

Broadcast under cloud of controversy, J.P. Morgan pulls adverts, Comcast/Universal stokes publicity, and an unwelcome Father's Day present for Sandy Hook Massacre families


Megyn Kelly's new gig with NBC returns Sunday with new episode featuring "The Jones."

No, it's not the "Jones" behind the nation's current opioid crisis. And it's not that "Jones" from "Me & Mrs. Jones" either.

Having cleared a hurdle with global A-lister Vladimir Putin in her premiere excursion, Megyn dumpster-dives the D-List for an interview with the sorrowful, morbidly-derelict and preternaturally-nauseating niche podcaster Alex Jones, that guy who keeps on keeping the lovely city of Austin, TX "weird" but perhaps not in the way residents might prefer.

Your correspondent is not questioning Ms. Kelly's judgment, nor her ability to conduct television journalism.

However, I must point out Mr. Jones' earlier encounter with a somewhat legitimate news organization from a few years ago and it's a hoot an' a half. It begs to wonder whether something similar will obtain Sunday night. (Gut feeling is "Yes, of course.")

Gander fellow Crappers (pearl-clutching allowed):

(Total meltdown occurs at approximately 4:38)
Jones said the Kelly interview marks a rare example of his agreeing to a sit-down with a mainstream media figure. He said he has turned down many other recent offers but realized that Kelly will likely have a big platform with “Sunday Night with Megyn Kelly.” 
“I’d be dumb if I didn’t do some of these interviews,” Jones said.
Scott adds: And we'd be dumb if we watched, so let's all avoid dumbness together, yet each in our own way.

Under normal circumstances, accepting Megyn's invitation would itself be legal grounds for dumbness, since Jones' usual method is to rely upon his mouth's high cyclic rate for bullshit and riddle his interlocutor with 900 to 1,200 Lies Per Minute, But this isn't a live television broadcast that he can dominate through sustained shamelessness and pure shouty aggression. This is going to be taped, then edited by the lesser demons who toil in the sulfur-scented pits of the MSM.

Now I don't for a second doubt Jones' uncanny, flatworm-like survival skills. I am convinced that if you cleaved him in half, an equally repulsive Jones would grow from the severed stump and begin shouting lies the instant it formed a mouth . So Alex might be obliged to bob, weave, and dodge Megyn's more pointed queries, assuming she asks any, which is assuming a lot. He might, as they tool around in his SUV, abruptly bellow like a 19th Century circus strong man rupturing himself on the midway, or tear off his shirt in the Hardee's drive-thru in an effort to distract. But even though he can't filibuster the segment because there's no producer in the booth eyeing the clock and begging the on-air talent to end this tour of Bedlam so they can cut to a Boston Market commercial, Jones is more than a match for a woman who's spent her formative years reciting the produce of a propaganda mill, and -- as we saw with Putin -- hasn't the skills for a truly adversarial interview. Hell, Putin's a dictator who murders his detractors with impunity, he invades and occupies neighboring countries, he launched a cyberwar against the United States in an attempt to put a Manchurian stooge in the White House, and barely cares if you catch him at any of it, and during their encounter Megyn still came off like she was asking Miss South Carolina her opinion of world peace.

So here's my prediction: Megyn will get off one or two mildly skeptical -- perhaps even daringly wry -- comments about Jones in her wrap-up, thus burnishing her brand as the Reasonable Conservative, but during the interview segments, Jones will dance circles around Megyn like she was a maypole and he was a pigtailed girl in a frilly white pinafore.

Saturday, December 17, 2016

A Splash of Color for Drab Winter Days

By Keith

Hello W-O'-Crappers. 

Post-election, Keith is in entrenched writer's block mode, the kind where tangible ideas are reduced to a Jello-O salad that refuses to firm up under refrigeration. Like the screenplay for Ridley Scott's "Prometheus." 

As a holiday shout-out, let me share some photos from 2016. The brain may not work quite well, but can still snap a shutter.




To quote Steve Colbert: "May your winter feast be an orgy of delight to everyone!"

xo

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Keith Presents: Putin On Airs


Vladimir Putin and Donald J. Trump experience a tiff over early tee-off times at The Donald's Aberdeenshire golf course.

"Mr. Trump, this confusion is obviously the fault of my advance people. Just so we're friends, would you please join me for dinner in London in a few days? I promise there will be no press or paparazzi."

Two days later The Donald arrives as scheduled and is met by President Putin.

The waiter arrives. "What will President Putin be having this evening?"

"I'll have the Cornish mackerel tartar, please."

"And sir, the vegetable?"

"He'll have the same."

Monday, May 9, 2016

Special Monday Beast Blogging Featuring Guest Cat: Sydney!

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

By Keith

Starring Sydney, the Cat.

Wherever she might nap, surprise is all but certain and not necessarily welcome.

Sid, that tub hasn't been cleaned in weeks. It has soap-scum ... and mildew! And I have to take a shower STAT, cat.

I just brought those towels in from the dryer. Don't suppose you want to pass one over,'eh?

"Would you like that towel hot or lightly steamed?"


Sidney, how the hell am I supposed to shave? OK, I give up, it's Norelco today.

"Not likely to help, Buster. You don't look so hot this morning."

Oh Sydney. We could never stay angry at you!

Thursday, January 21, 2016

A Tale of The Foo As Well The Woo

By Keith

Hi W-O'-Crackers, Happy New Year? Are you laughing? I've been laughing since about 10 pm. EST on Jan 19th. And continue to laugh spontaneously throughout day and evening. At the dry cleaner. At the bank. At the overpriced grocery. Even on the “E” train or while tracking commodities and equities on reuters.com.

You are no doubt asking why and I know you are expecting an answer so here it is: It's been very cold here in NYC. Not as chilly as Chicago or Cleveland but it was a warm winter here so far … Last night I crawled into bed with cat Sydney (aka “Midnight”) and we listened to the boring old Worldservice from BBC. Sydney likes it for the same reasons I do, it's simultaneously informative and soporific.

Behold the first hourly news bulletin. We both heard a blood-curdling shriek and poor Sydney was spooked. I was roused but conscious enough to hear that Sarah Palin officially endorsed Donald Trump for the Iowa Caucus.

After the bulletin was a lengthier newscast whereby we could hear more shrieking, some intelligible and some not so. As a much better scribe commented earlier today …
If I were a Democrat or a comedy-show writer, I would be on the floor right now flopping and hallelujah-ing like a holy roller at an Alabama tent revival.
Henceforth the gaiety: “Tundra Trash” meets “God's Little Cancre.” They become soul-mates. It's a match made if not in heaven at least somewheres between Atlas and D.D. Bean manufacturing. World famous former reality TV host joins force with another world-famous reality TV host and a hush from their Lord's blessings stills the known cosmos.

I've concluded that Mrs. Palin might have been intoxicated when presenting her endorsement, which makes it even more lovely. Well, we're being too kind here, she was flat-out drunk. If she were at Rudy's in Hell's Kitchen in the same state she'd be '86-ed. Thank you, “New York Values.”

Somewhere in the amorphous regions of the unconscious, between “Tastes Great, Less Filling” and perhaps even “Truth or Consequences” lies the essence of this liaison.
(No offense intended to New Mexico residents of “ToC”.)

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

Autolieography

By Keith

Poor Dr. Carson. He's written an autobiography that doesn't pass the muster of fact-checking from the bean-counters in corporate media.

I, Keith, haven't written an autobiography, partly because Mary advised Scott not to ghostwrite at the rate that I offered to pay. But there are many instances in my history on the planet where I have demonstrated outrageous or courageous behavior. And no one believes me either. Let's enumerate the good times.

Keith Originated The “War on Christmas”

The “War” began Dec. 2, 2006, at a Barnes & Noble near you. I'm not sure why but most likely James Taylor's shitty “holiday-themed” CD being in constant rotation throughout the store was the trigger event.

After listening to the awful cover of Baby, It's Cold Outside for 40 or so times I snapped. I took the CD out of the machine, wrote “Death to Baby Jesus” on the play side with a sharpie then threw it into the return bin on top of John Legend.

A pregnant silence descended over the store to be followed by cheers of relief and gratitude from shoppers on all floors. It really happened, honest. I got a quarter raise as a result.

Keith Destroyed Chris Rock's Crummy Career

Yes, it's true. I never liked that A-Hole. This occurred at the same Barnes & Noble store near you. He came in late one night and tried to be funny. You know, “funny.” I said “Hey, bro, aren't you my man Chappelle?” End of story.

Keith Killed Pier Paolo Pasolini

This one is very hard to live up to. I was looking forward to Salo: 120 Days of Sodom but after viewing thought it was his worst film ever. It wasn't up to the artistic or even the technical standards he showed us in Teorema or Mama Rosa. After we had sex on the beach, I ran over him with the Fiat he had rented. There was some damage to the car and some sand between the seats, so I had to pay extra on return but it was worth it, I'll tell you. Don't believe it? I kept his American Express card as a trophy!

Keith Owns Gram Parson's Remains

Don't believe the hype about the cremation in the desert. He's in my basement freezer. He looks great after wiping off the frost accumulation. I check him out about twice a year.

You see, even ordinary folk like myself are capable of doing things that leave one open to scrutiny in later life. And here's a presidential candidate trying to convey some sense of himself and yet is treated to obvious disdain and ridicule. I'm stopping here because no one will believe I murdered Laura Palmer. It was so long ago …

Monday, August 17, 2015

Me and Mr. Jones

By Keith

I'm grateful to Scott C. for allowing me to announce an exciting new feature exclusively for World O' Crappers. Dropping in early September.

From here, to there, to hospital and perhaps beyond, your correspondent will cover exquisitely-constructed and recursively-linked bat-shit and bait-click conspiracy theories promoted by the One and Only Alex Jones, native of Austin, TX.

If you've not previously encountered Mr. Jones, he has a website titled Infowars and a daily podcast you can sample here. But why bother when I'll do the grunt work? You and your loved ones shall never trouble yourselves in the least.

August is never the best time for a product debut, but just to give a teaser, behold the "Alex Jones Conspiracy Convolution Matrix." It's based on a Chinese restaurant menu technique used by 60's print pornographers (also the editors at Fox Cable News). Mix and match ... it's easy. Create your own scenarios ... we'll merge them into a user database on github.



Wednesday, April 22, 2015

The Tragedy Of Ferguson

By Keith


Craig, we knew you when we passed -- like half-masted schooners in the dark of night -- staggering in different directions on Avenue A back in the 1980s. And we liked your gig with CBS Late Late Show. The puppets, the flirtations with gay culture and sexual preference, your robot friend Geoff as well as the many entertaining if not insightful interviews.

In a way your career trajectory seems 180 degrees opposite of Johnny Carson. Carson began at NBC as the host of a daytime game show Who Do You Trust before replacing Jack Parr on the Tonight Show. You've gone from late night to daytime game show host.

(Well, had to throw that in. Now on to more serious deliberations.)

Municipal Government or Gansta' Cartel? You Decide.

I've been sampling the Investigation of the Ferguson Police Department conducted by the US Department of Justice, Civil Rights Division published March 4, 2015.

Most revealing are the DOJ interviews with Ferguson residents. Each random encounter with FPD is an exercise in tragedy yet somehow no two are exactly alike.

There's variety and plenty of it.
Even relatively routine misconduct by Ferguson police officers can have significant consequences for the people whose rights are violated. For example, in the summer of 2012, a 32-year-old African-American man sat in his car cooling off after playing basketball in a Ferguson public park. An officer pulled up behind the man’s car, blocking him in, and demanded the man’s Social Security number and identification. Without any cause, the officer accused the man of being a pedophile, referring to the presence of children in the park, and ordered the man out of his car for a pat-down, although the officer had no reason to believe the man was armed. The officer also asked to search the man’s car.
Why yes, because pedophile ISIS operatives are always prowling around pickup basketball locations, with vials of Ebola virus stashed in the Igloo wheelie (back seat).
The man objected, citing his constitutional rights. In response, the officer arrested the man, reportedly at gunpoint, charging him with eight violations of Ferguson’s municipal code. One charge, Making a False Declaration, was for initially providing the short form of his first name (e.g., “Mike” instead of “Michael”), and an address which, although legitimate, was different from the one on his driver’s license. Another charge was for not wearing a seat belt, even though he was seated in a parked car. The officer also charged the man both with having an expired operator’s license, and with having no operator’s license in his possession. The man told us that, because of these charges, he lost his job as a contractor with the federal government that he had held for years.
Quantum effects are not unusual in Ferguson, MO. Citizens may possess a drivers license listing previous address, a drivers license that is expired, and no drivers license whatsoever, an example of spooky entanglement of simultaneous states.

Let's check the Ferguson "Grift-O'-Meter for a tabulation of known fines incurred for this encounter.


Loss of job as government contractor: Priceless.

Please note the above estimate, as others to follow, omits any additional court costs associated with arrest.

Here's another example of a perfect day in another Ferguson Public Park.
 In June 2014, an African-American couple who had taken their children to play at the park allowed their small children to urinate in the bushes next to their parked car. An officer stopped them, threatened to cite them for allowing the children to “expose themselves,” and checked the father for warrants. When the mother asked if the officer had to detain the father in front of the children, the officer turned to the father and said, “you’re going to jail because your wife keeps running her mouth.” The mother then began recording the officer on her cell phone. 
The officer became irate, declaring, “you don’t videotape me!” As the officer drove away with the father in custody for “parental neglect,” the mother drove after them, continuing to record. The officer then pulled over and arrested her for traffic violations. When the father asked the officer to show mercy, he responded, “no more mercy, since she wanted to videotape,” and declared “nobody videotapes me.” The officer then took the phone, which the couple’s daughter was holding. After posting bond, the couple found that the video had been deleted.
In all fairness perhaps the attending officer was uncomfortable with not being "camera-ready" on this occasion. Bad hair day, no neutral-density foundation to wick up the shiny nose, etc. These are all legitimate considerations when appearing on HD portable video. Everyone wants to look their best on the job.

It's not revealed by DOJ whether or not this case was dismissed and no information on the amount of bond posted. Fines for parental neglect and public exposure were unavailable at press time.

Despite the lack of qualified personnel assigned for "last looks," FPD seem eternally vigilant to respond to random household disputes.
We spoke with one African-American man who, in August 2014, had an argument in his apartment to which FPD officers responded, and was immediately pulled out of the apartment by force. After telling the officer, “you don’t have a reason to lock me up,” he claims the officer responded: “N*****, I can find something to lock you up on.” When the man responded, “good luck with that,” the officer slammed his face into the wall, and after the man fell to the floor, the officer said, “don’t pass out motherf****r because I’m not carrying you to my car.”
The Justice Dept. doesn't elaborate on what happened to this resident after suffering a contusion that left him unconscious. Perhaps he had to crawl on all fours to the car, or perhaps the attending officer called Uber for the pick-up.

Using "reasonable and customary charges" it's fair to conclude that an ER visit (including CT scan) is upward of $1200. Then there is the issue of car-fare, since Deputy Dan wasn't feeling it. Cost of ambulance: $350-600.

Next we move on to one of the more creative civil ordinances enforced by the FPD: Manner of Walking. DOJ doesn't actually define the term perhaps because there is no clear definition other than jaywalking or creating a public nuisance.
Officers in Ferguson also use their arrest power to retaliate against individuals for using language that, while disrespectful, is protected by the Constitution. For example, one afternoon in September 2012, an officer stopped a 20-year-old African-American man for dancing in the middle of a residential street. The officer obtained the man’s identification and ran his name for warrants. Finding none, he told the man he was free to go. The man responded with profanities. When the officer told him to watch his language and reminded him that he was not being arrested, the man continued using profanity and was arrested for Manner of Walking in Roadway.
"Moon-walking", no doubt.

In February 2014, officers responded to a group of African-American teenage girls “play fighting” (in the words of the officer) in an intersection after school. When one of the schoolgirls gave the middle finger to a white witness who had called the police, an officer ordered her over to him. One of the girl’s friends accompanied her. Though the friend had the right to be present and observe the situation—indeed, the offense reports include no facts suggesting a safety concern posed by her presence—the officers ordered her to leave and then attempted to arrest her when she refused. Officers used force to arrest the friend as she pulled away. When the first girl grabbed an officer’s shoulder, they used force to arrest her, as well. 
Officers charged the two teenagers with a variety of offenses, including: Disorderly Conduct for giving the middle finger and using obscenities; Manner of Walking for being in the street; Failure to Comply for staying to observe; Interference with Officer; Assault on a Law Enforcement Officer; and Endangering the Welfare of a Child (themselves and their schoolmates) by resisting arrest and being involved in disorderly conduct.
Fodor's Guide expressly cautions against flipping the bird at white Ferguson residents. These young women didn't get the memo. As a result they engaged in child endangerment, a no-no in FPD's philosophy of community policing.

On February 9, 2015, several individuals were protesting outside the Ferguson police station on the six-month anniversary of Michael Brown’s death. According to protesters, and consistent with several video recordings from that evening, the protesters stood peacefully in the police department’s parking lot, on the sidewalks in front of it, and across the street. Video footage shows that two FPD vehicles abruptly accelerated from the police parking lot into the street. An officer announced, “everybody here’s going to jail,” causing the protesters to run. Video shows that as one man recorded the police arresting others, he was arrested for interfering with police action. Officers pushed him to the ground, began handcuffing him, and announced, “stop resisting or you’re going to get tased.” It appears from the video, however, that the man was neither interfering nor resisting. A protester in a wheelchair who was live streaming the protest was also arrested. Another officer moved several people with cameras away from the scene of the arrests, warning them against interfering and urging them to back up or else be arrested for Failure to Obey. The sergeant shouted at those filming that they would be arrested for Manner of Walking if they did not back away out of the street, even though it appears from the video recordings that the protesters and those recording were on the sidewalk at most, if not all, times. Six people were arrested during this incident.

Remember, multiply by six and you have the equivalent of a wild night out in Branson.

Duly noting our wheelchair-bound friend from the last encounter, we have arrived at the ad-hoc definition of Manner of Walking: Ambulatory While Black.

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Top 10 Tricks For Enjoying Your Stay In NYC!

By Keith

10. Bring all of your money. The registers never stop ringing in New Amsterdam.

9.  Practice holding both hands above head for extended periods.

8.  Your immigrant cab driver holds two Ph.D. degrees. Please be respectful.

7.  Use best judgment when peeing in public spaces.

6.  Rats, pigeons, squirrels and racoons may be aggressive. No citations issued for kicking critters off-leash. Relax and enjoy.

5.  When in Manhattan, do not visit the “Holland Bar” located south of Port Authority Bus Terminal without escort.

4.  Only Boston has worse drivers behind the wheel.

3.  New York City is built upon a granite foundation that has higher mass per sq/in than, say, Kansas. Gravity is much more powerful. Bring comfortable footwear.

2.  Ray didn't invent pizza, after all.

1. If you say something, see something.

Sunday, January 4, 2015

Notes From a Hackee

Wo'C Contributor Keith works in the entertainment industry, and while his job is not as glamorous, nor his emails as racist, as Sony Chairperson Amy Pascal's, he wrote to tell me that he has also been caught up in our cyberwar with North Korea -- or so Sony tells him in the email reproduced below... Take it away, Keith!
December 23, 2014 
Dear Sir or Madam: 
Sony Pictures Entertainment (“SPE”) is writing to provide you with information about a significant system disruption SPE experienced on Monday, November 24, 2014. 
SPE has determined that the cause of the disruption was a brazen cyber attack, engaged recognized security consultants and contacted law enforcement.
Memo to Sony: If you're desperately trolling for adjectives, wouldn't spectacular work? How about bad-assed?
SPE learned on December 1, 2014, that the security of personally identifiable information that SPE received about you during the course of your work with SPE may potentially have been compromised as a result of such brazen cyber attack.
Memo to hackers: Good luck doing anything with this information. Your correspondent has a lower credit rating than N. Korea.
Although SPE is in the process of investigating the scope of the cyber attack, SPE believes that the following types of personally identifiable information that you provided to SPE may have been obtained by unauthorized individuals:
I'm quivering with an-ti-ci-pation.
(i) name,
(ii) address,
(iii) social security number, driver's license number passport number, and/or other government identifier,
(iv) Bank account information,
(v) credit card information for corporate travel and expense,
(vi) username and passwords,
(vii) compensation,
(viii) other employment related information, and
(ix) health/medical information that you may have provided to SPE.
SPE thanks so much for your Christmas Eve boiler-plate. It really made my holiday so much more special.

Readers, this article would be much more interesting if the author could share some of the material relating to the “corporate restructure” of 2014, resulting in the lay-off of 50% IT staff. We're guessing the pink-slips were delivered by SPE email.

Unfortunately readers will have to search for this information themselves as links to leaked material are the target of an aggressive DCMA take-down campaign by SPE.

However, there is one moment that gave pause: The absolute disdain and disrespect shown to Adam Sandler by Sony execs.

Sure his most recent movies have tanked. But Sandler's pictures tank in a predictable and bankable way. After DVD, VOD, foreign market and  special venues an investor will make his/her money back on a Sandler picture. It's a low risk, low yield investment.

And the Sandler A-list projects? A lot of coin was dropped at the box office.

Not a fan of Adam but geez, is there no decency?

Happy New Year,
Keith

Monday, November 10, 2014

Good News, Followed by Dubious Advice

Hey guys, just wanted to let everyone know that Mary is home, which means her recovery is excellent or her insurance is lousy.  Anyway, we have Oreo-flavored pudding and Oxycontin, plus a marmalade cat who has been plucked from the gibbering mouth of madness, so all things considered, it's a good day.

I haven't been near the computer much, so there's been no time to go wingnut scouting, but our old friend "Wally" has kindly offered to step in while we are indisposed and offer up a third helping of his unique, Miss Manners meets Nathaniel West-style advice column.  And not just your garden variety home truths traded over the back fence, but the kind of bitter, hard-won wisdom that only comes from growing up on television with Wolverine hair.  (For those who may not remember, Wally made his first appearance here, in a column which attempted to reconcile the ways of Ted Nugent, to Man, then launched his Miss Lonelyhearts franchise here, followed by a second installment here.)

Take it away, Wally...

Dear Wally,

I'm 19 and a Rutgers freshman – and now finally out of the closet.

During orientation week I met a really cool guy, Sam, who lives off-campus and we hang out a lot besides sharing the same major (engineering).

This weekend Sam invited me over to his crib but I met his older brother Todd there instead.

In a nutshell, Todd lured me into helping with bathroom renovation, then compromised me. All afternoon. I still have rope burns around wrists and ankles and other stuff.

I don't know how to tell Sam about this but feel I should if we want to continue our relationship.

Any advice?

Nervous in Newark.

Dear Nervous,

Send more photos.

Your rope-a-dope pal,
Cleaver-Meat

Dear Wally,

I'm discouraged by recent news of terrorist activities, emerging viruses and the general sense that the geo-political situation is way outta control.

I'm under-employed and have a family. Should we just be quiet and build a fortified underground bunker in the back yard or do we acquire enough narcotics and drink the Kool-Aid while watching reruns of LITB?

Cowering in Cincinnati

Dear Cowering,

If you go the bunker route for heaven's sake don't spend all day watching reruns of Beaver. Recent research has proven its potential to induce tardive dyskinesia after about a dozen episodes. Or mount your TV hanging from the ceiling facing down. Either way.

Bon Voyage,
La Wally

Dear Wally,

Took my '98 Acura sedan down to Maaco (Bronx) and waited two weeks for a simple repair and paint job. I picked up the car this morning. It's not my car. Its a '81 Honda Civic hatchback. Pizza car. Refused to take delivery.

Piqued in Poughkeepsie

Dear Piqued,

The odds of you getting your original Acura back are about as low as getting a good blow job from Jay North, aka Little Miss Blue Balls.

Normally our readers ask if Wally might assist them somehow in the day-to-day.

You haven't.

Wally has a fleeting suspicion that as an Acura owner you are nothing more than a white man enjoying white privilege in your every endeavor, whether waiting in line at Whole Foods or perhaps just picking your nose whilst navigating from point A to B.

In other words, Piqued, Wally is telling you as politely as Wally can that you are a significant, if not complete, douche-bag.

Contemptibly yours,
Wall-Mouth

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

News Flash! Elderly Man Confused by News Flash!

By Keith:

Learning English language is a bit like learning the piano. It isn't that difficult to negotiate in a strictly mechanical sense. Years of further instruction and scholarship are required to prevent undesired noise.

Dear readers, today's subject destroys the piano as to be unrepairable. Almost as if the composer (and 1970's art star) George Crumb had placed a vibrating sex toy to the soundboard for special effects.

Speaking of George, is anyone old enough to remember Pat Boone? Welcome to today's WO'C feature.
Like you, I’m sure, I watch a lot of the TV talk shows. Things seems to be changing so fast, and there are constantly “breaking news” announcements interrupting the shows themselves. It’s hard to keep up, but I want to know who did what, and why.
Pat, it's always cool to know who did what to whom. You're a curious fellow still. And it's refreshing your sharing with us that you watch talk shows to which you aren't invited as guest. You were on Carson a few times.
How did we get into this mess with our precious healthcare? And does anybody know a way out? A way back to what we had?
The way out is impossible.  If you need a way-back machine call Mr. Peabody.
Are there answers? Real, substantive, effective answers?
The answer, Pat, is "42", although admittedly it's a pat answer.
Yes…but first, we’ve got to ask the right questions. 
I’ve mentioned this famous fable before in one of my columns, but I mention it here again, because most everybody is familiar with it. It’s the story of the “emperor’s new clothes” the pompous ruler who was so vain he paraded around naked, convinced he was wearing the world’s most expensive and elegant diaphanous garments, intimidating his subjects into professing they too saw and marveled at his grandeur.
I wish you hadn't mentioned. It makes my job more difficult. This is not a proper forum for your blatant bare-butt nakedness. As for your own diaphanous garments would you please wear them again? You might be invited as a guest on Ellen.
But it’s mainly the story of the naïve little boy who, looking honestly at the ridiculous ruler, exclaimed loudly, “The emperor has no clothes on! Look, he’s naked! Mommy, why doesn’t he have any clothes on?”
Because son, he is truly naked. You did it yourself – for a gig in the motion pictures State Fair, and Journey to the Center of the Earth, and -- as we'll see far, far below -- Life magazine. [ed: btw thanks to Newsmax for that diaeresis in the word naive. Someone reads the New Yorker.
"Uhhh, listen, can you take a step back? I can feel your dirty pillows on my man-nipples.  Maybe two steps...Really not a hugger...Is the camera still on...?"
It was the right question.
So, I’m asking the two vital questions all the blathering “news people” and “reporters” haven’t had the courage, or the common sense, to ask on two of the most pressing issues of the day.
Pat, I kind of understand the first point of your rant. What, on earth, is the second?
One: why was a Canadian company, with no previous experience, given $687,000,000 to create the monstrosity called the Obamacare website and operational rat’s nest?
Sorry Pat. It was Oracle's debacle. You are not speaking truth to readers. Canada has socialised medical insurance.
Two: why isn’t anybody defending the right of any business or property owner to serve anybody he wants to or decline to produce products that offend his own religious beliefs?
Why “him”? Is health care restricted to men only? (Men are more costly to insure as a result of negligence in seeking advice from a physician.) There's always the nasty problem of public accommodation even in the health insurance industry.
When these questions are honestly and objectively asked, there are answers ... and the American people deserve to know them. And we absolutely must insist that our elected representatives get to the bottom of these things and make the facts known to all of us. 
First, this governmental takeover of the healthcare system is a giant, virulent cancer eating away at us, economically and politically.
OK Pat, done with you. If I had some spare change I would forward a copy of the fascinating extended essay Illness As Metaphor by Susan Sontag. She knew English language rather well. She died of cancer.

As for “getting to the bottom of these things” I'll leave that for you to explore on your way to “Mr. Liquor” on a late night on the town.

So much for English language. As prophesied in the “Space Cadet Handbook” we are all truly doomed.

Good afternoon,

– Keith

Sunday, May 4, 2014

Dear Wally (Part Two)

Hi! Scott here, popping in to let you know that I've just received another advice column from teen heartthrob and proto-Wolverine, Wally (whom you may remember from his previous appearances on World O' Crap, here and here).  Enjoy!

Hello everyone,

Sorry for delays in the column. I've been involved in ball-breaking litigation with my scum-bag landlord. And since Lumpy passed away I've been doing the “talk-therapy” circuit here. It's expensive and you may be surprised to guess those royalty checks are not that great ever since “Antenna TV” obtained the syndication rights to LITB

Enough about me. Let's get jiggy with the latest dope:
Dear Wally, 
I'm a sixteen-year old who has apparently gotten my girlfriend knocked-up despite practicing “safe sex.” 
She called last night and the home testing kit revealed a positive result. 
Should I talk to her family about this? Her mom and dad seem nice enough and like me. 
Regards,
Sweating like hell in San Diego

Dear Sweatface,

This is a difficult question and you are asking me perhaps because I portrayed a sensible-enough fellow on a popular television show which for some reason has entered the pantheon of post-war Eisenhower American culture.

Our television “family” were nothing more than a facade for products produced by the Ford Motor Company and encapsulated the innocent nuisances that might arise from the day-to-day. The topic of teen sex was never there for us to explore mostly thanks to our sponsor, who preferred not to remind viewers just how many American girls were impregnated in the spacious backseats of 1957 Ford Fairlanes just like Dad drove in the opening credits.

You can read more critical views of this era from Guy DeBord, author of Society of the Spectacle and one of the founders of the “Situationalist” movement in 60's Europe. However, you may want to read it on the bus. 

Wally suggests that you get out of town as quickly as possible. You are still young, son, and have a life ahead of you. Now, this may seem like unchristian advice coming from someone who grew up in the late 50s and early 60s, but remember, I'm the offspring of a Detroit automobile manufacturer and a media conglomerate, and as the Supreme Court will shortly attest, corporations have their own unique religious beliefs and traditions, so I was raised with the moral compass of a piranha. 

The “Real W” Abides, and best of luck,
Wally
Dear Wally, 
I'm sick of working for $8.75 an hour and trying to provide my family with enough shelter and food to make a difference. My husband has a similar job and between the two of us we can't even cut it without SNAP. Now our benefits have been reduced.  
Crying in Cleveland
Dear Crying,

Stop crying immediately. You need to visit the nearest Barnes & Noble and ask the kindly customer service agent for this title. Although priced at $10 and change, there's no need to purchase. B&N is too poor to afford proper security -- just slip it into your purse after removing the clumsily-hidden security tag that sets off the poorly-maintained alarm systems. (Actually, if you take another book the two security tags will cancel themselves out so you can just exit without question.) You may want to buy a cup of coffee or a snack to look absolutely legit but that's totally optional. Wally is a reader and has honed the method to perfection.

Once home, read this book carefully with your husband. Neither of you want to miss the excitement in the chapter on “surplus value.” Once you “get it," you, your spouse and children will be in the streets picketing your current employers as part of a work action. And get your co-workers involved as well. 

Once-Proud member of AFTRA,
Wally
Dear Wally,
This is a silly question but can't resist asking:  
We're you ever involved in any kind of sexual relationship with members of the cast of your show? 
I'm a gay-curious teen and I have something of a crush on you. You really had a great buff bod back then. I'm just learning about the show through re-runs.  
Horny in Hicksville
Dear Horny,

If you mean Hicksville, NY, Wally feels your pain. But I'm flattered that you are still thrilled by my expensive physique.

There was one episode I remember where I had to teach “the Beave” how to dance ballroom style. He had some sort of erection but I just put it down to multiple takes. Nothing serious between us really.

I did have something of a man-crush on Mr. Beaumont, but my psychiatrist at the time recommended reading Jacques Lacan and to become familiar with his theory of “the lack.” This explained my attraction to older men in a satisfying way. Other than that, I can't give you much info in the gossip files. I'm currently negotiating a contract with Random House and you'll have to wait until I'm on the circuit with the finished product.

Keep it lubed, dude...
Wally

Saturday, February 8, 2014

TCB PDQ For Your TTB. QED!

By Keith

Time for “Ticking Time Bomb” (aka “TTB”)

Dear readers, gentle as you are, twenty-some years ago your correspondent began the “Cliche of the Month Club” betwixt friends, simply for shits and giggles.

“Cliche of the Month” focused on the tired, worn and shabby such as “Recipe for Disaster”, “Straw that Broke Camel's Back”, “Ticking Time Bomb” etc. But only if used by reputable news sites containing original reporting.

Some turns of speech became unbearable to pursue. Curiously “Ticking Time Bomb” remained durable and useful to interested readers and so I'm sharing this, perhaps my first attempt at blogging back in the day, with WO'C.

It's now early evening, February 7, 2014 and planet Mercury is steadfast in retrograde motion. Do not fear. This is not an indication of imminent doom. (If you have electronic appliances that need repair wait another week or two, 'tho.)


Here's a respectable example of a “TTB”.

Story originates from WZZM – the local ABC news affiliate in Grand Rapids, MI. Residents are very concerned with the amount of accumulated snow in their hood. And it's not just the snow but the amount of water contained in snow available for run-off in the spring time. These folk are sitting atop a “TTB.” They surely won't be singing “It Might As Well Be Spring” this year. This is acceptable usage of “TTB.”


Next up: Ken Krapf of Tuscon, AZ. Upon inspection, readers or viewers might reasonably assume this article is about heart disease in women and, possibly, negligence of women's heart health in clinical studies.

But there's a hidden agenda.

Mr. Krapf's heart was a, well, “TTB.” This report and video content originate from the local NBC affiliate KVOA of Tucson, AZ. This example is one of the worst offenders of “Da Bomb.”


Did you know that the African nation of Kenya contains a Ticking Time Bomb? I didn't until I read this report from Al Jazeera concerning unemployment amongst youth. We're getting to the good stuff here as this news organization has money from Allah. “TTB” certainly not appropriate. Where, oh where, are the headline editors? (They're in Northern Iraq, getting laid and drinking wine and spirits, heh-heh.)

But there's even more. And it's from the creme de la crème of news reporting. Why Gov. Christie of New Jersey—a state renown for sleazy, sketchy individuals elected to public service—would warrant the “TTB” badge is beyond my comprehension, except for the fact that he's in fact probably the best next thing to an unexploded hydrogen bomb at two miles altitude and ready to fuse.

But still, the Guardian? Wasn't expecting this one.

In conclusion one never knows where the next ticking time bomb might lurk. It will most likely be in an advice column from “about.com” or “answers.yahoo.com” but quite possibly Le Monde (as bombe à retardement). If you see one—stay away. Or forward on to Scott.

Thursday, January 2, 2014

Guest Column: Mondo Blini

By Keith, Wo'C's Fin-de-siècle Correspondent

Waltz Time (1945)
Directed by Paul L. Stein
Written by Henry C. James, Karl Rossier, Montgomery Tully, Jack Whittingham

If you've never been to Vienna, you may want to reconsider your itinerary after encountering this bizarre reworking of "Die Fledermaus," under the plodding but workman-like direction of Austrian veteran Paul Ludwig Stein.

Vienna has fallen into the doldrums. The city doesn't have the cutting edge it once had, sort of like the East Village, NYC nowadays. The Emperor (Brefni O'Rorke) has expired, leaving his daughter and only child (Carol Raye) to take over the show. Empress Carol quickly discovers that there's more to Empire than witty repartee, meticulous costuming and elegant entrances. In fact, the poor thing has to bury her beloved father, assume the throne, and get hitched to her louche, homosexual boyfriend (Peter Graves). Sadly no, he's not the same Peter Graves from The Night of the Hunter, or Mission Impossible. He's another actor with the same name, but not the gumption necessary to do the hard work that name implies, such as sharing the screen with Peter Lupus or badly-composited giant grasshoppers.

Empress Carol makes the mistake of honoring her father's wish that she trust the judgment of the Vienna Council of Ministers. The Council is composed of old and decrepit SOBs. Because they can't hear or see very well, they don't have very much to do. They might just as well be the Maytag Board of Directors. Still, she believes these guys are adept at greasing the wheels of central European government, so we'll forgive her this time. The Ministers advise her to have lots of babies. They also advise her to stay away from the "Mondo Blini" saloon, where people hang out and, you know, do the "Waltz." In three-quarter time, even. It's so much fun that everyone is doing it, so there must be something to it. There isn't.

After collaborating with boyfriend Peter in a forgettable duet in the first reel, with heart obviously a-flutter and with babies on the brain, Empress Carol introduces him to the Maytag mavens. After being presented with Councils' rather reasonable conditions regarding his future Official State Stud-Daddy status, boyfriend Peter cancels the engagement, then walks out in a flaming hissy fit! Poor Empress Carol, exposed as a 'fag hag,' sheds a few cubic millimeters of glycerin, then goes looking for ... Trouble! 
In addition to the Waltz, Imperial Vienna also invented the "Moose Knuckle."

Anyone familiar with The Third Man knows that Vienna isn't the kind of town where one goes looking for trouble; even if everyone's laundry is spotless, starched and ironed to perfection (the Viennese being fond of high-quality household durables). During the second wash cycle we're taken to the Mondo Blini beer garden. Unfortunately there's no beer being served and no waltz dancing, because the proprietor insists that everyone pay attention to hack production numbers featuring gypsies and people in silly horse costumes.

And this is where the plot becomes somewhat twisted. The clientele of the beer garden are "Quality People," of the social register, who frequent the dive incognito for nothing more than shits and giggles. One fateful evening the Maytag mullahs, in a fit of faux-Calvinist morality, raid the joint and everyone is arrested--including Empress Carol. The horror! Adding insult to injury, Maytag tries to shake down the detained patrons for bail, until Empress Carol reveals her true identity. All of the red quarters collected from those arrested are returned to the State Treasuries.

I must mention that Vienna is also a town of bad matte process. Regardless, rest assured that everyone arrives home safe and sound. It's worth hanging out for the first rinse cycle, if only for the dulcet tones of Richard Tauber, renowned alcoholic tenor of the day. Yes, it is rather late in the picture to introduce a new character, but everyone else is hung-over or making babies. Tauber is a breath of something, though, like the beer at Mondo Blini, he's flat most of the time. He wanders aimlessly amongst geese and gander, looking for that beer garden he's heard about, but can't locate because of the bad matte process.

After final rinse comes a highly-accelerated state of spin dry, where Empress Carol and her homo boyfriend Peter finally tie the knot. Guess who's invited to sing -- Richard Tauber! He performs his number in the cathedral choir, hands resting comfortably on the shoulders of two angelic-looking young boys---most likely for stabilization. The Maytag mafia is retired and the Waltz becomes the official court dance of Vienna! Afterwards everyone moves on to more interesting topics, such as atonal music theory, psychoanalysis, relativistic physics, the assassination of the Archduke Ferdinand, the historical closure of the Hapsburg Empire and the concept of global conflict, not to mention the invention of refrigerators and dishwashers. The beer garden, for all I know, may still be there. Long live Vienna!

Monday, December 16, 2013

Darkness at Noonan*

Lesser Accepted Modalities of Incoherence, by Keith.

Previously, on Peggy Noonan's Lost Weekend...

Readers, I hope there is mutual understanding for not dropping the entire Noonan blog in one post. As difficult as it was to parse “High Noonan” there are still more paragraphs to cover. I believe there are twelve. But I'm counting anything with a double space as a paragraph. 
The president is interested in Ronald Reagan, and in the past has seemed mildly preoccupied with him, but he misunderstands him. Mr. Obama shows every sign of thinking Reagan led only through words.
From what is understood, he led through horoscopes provided by Nancy's astrologer.  Mercury was in perpetual retrograde.
But Reagan led through actions, as every leader must. The words explained, argued for and advanced those actions; they gave people a sense of who it was who was acting.
He was, after all, president of the Screen Actors Guild! 
Although, judging by the wistful, expressive eyes, I get a sense it was the chimp who was acting.
But Obama’s generation of the left could never see or come to terms with the fact that it was, say, the decision to fire the air traffic controllers, or the decision to take the hit and bleed out inflation, that made Reagan’s presidency successful and meaningful.
Not to mention dicier odds for air travelers. Plus lay-offs right and left ... 
With an effective presidency, everything is in the doing.
For instance, looking at the way wage stagnation and income inequality spiked after 1981, you might say that Reagan was "doing" the Middle Class (sans lube), in a kind of conjugal conjugation.

But wait -- Reagan was the Great Communicator, and it seems counterintuitive to claim that everything is in the doing, when his whole claim to fame rested on the assumption that lots of things were in the saying.
 The words are part of the doing and at some points can be crucial to it; at some interesting points they even are the doing...
For our readers who may be too young to remember mid-90s AOL chatrooms, "doing with words" is also known as "cybersex."
...such as looking at the Soviets and declaring that we knew what their system was and wouldn’t accept any but an honest interpretation of it, and yes, that constituted a change of attitude and approach.
“Ivan, we know what your doing, and it's just–like–really grody. Uck! Disgusting! Oh my gaaaawddddd.....”

I'm not sure what an “honest” interpretation of the Soviet Union might entail. How does one paranoid superpower, based on a consumer-oriented, free-market economy interpret another paranoid superpower with a state-controlled planned economy, particularly if they're not interested in speaking to one another and whose security interests are conducted through proxy wars in the developing world. 
That took words. But it’s never all words, it can’t be. It’s making the right decision and carrying it through—executing it.
If words could kill, we could really streamline this whole process.
Mr. Obama learned only half of Reagan’s lesson.
That's the half of not accepting counsel from Psychic Friends Network.
And here’s something odd.
An untouched bottle of Tanqueray in my liquor cabinet!
 The first President Bush, George H.W., learned half the lesson too, but the other half. Bush managed, executed and decided his way through the peaceful fall of the Soviet Empire and the reunification of Germany. But he couldn’t, for reasons characterological [sic] and having to do with his own highly refined sense of the demands of diplomacy, explain to people exactly what he was doing, why he was doing it and how. And so a feat of great historical weight and magnitude, deserving of a Nobel Prize for peace and utterly ignored by that silly committee, is half forgotten.
No Peggy, it is completely forgotten. The collapse of the USSR was decided long before G.H.W. Bush even paid notice. It was accomplished by reformists within the Communist Party. By the way, former President Mikhail Gorbachev won the Nobel Peace Prize for this particular achievement. He was there, after all.
Whereas Mr. Obama won that prize—for words.
He won it because the Nobel committee wanted to flip the bird to “W”. War criminals rarely achieve the Peace Prize. 
But let’s go back to the first paragraph, and the original point of this piece.
Do we really have to? 
Mr. Obama’s problem now is that people think he is smart.
We haven't forgotten, although by now it's becoming annoying.
They think, as they look at his health-care vows, that either he didn’t know how bad his program was, what dislocations it would cause, what a disturbance it would be to the vast middle class of America . . .
Peggy, to be honest, the entire piece of legislation is flawed. It is, as one wag put it, akin to applying duct-tape to a manifold when it's obvious a rod is going to blow. 

I'm surprised you are so negative on PPACA since the legislation was written entirely by lobbyists from the health insurance and pharma industries, building on bullet-points provided by the American Enterprise Institute.

The entire notion of health insurance as a commodity exists only in the USA, where hacks like yourself eke out a living justifying the entire commoditization of society from top to bottom, including the poorest amongst us. 
Or he knew, and deliberately misled everyone.
Well, you could have just said “Liar, liar … pants on fire” in the first place and let it go at that. But no.
If they thought he wasn’t very bright, they might give him some leeway on that question. But they think he’s really smart.
So you're saying that ignorance of the law is an excuse? Well, that explains why George W. Bush isn't currently occupying the Slobodan MiloÅ¡ević Suite at The Hague.  But as long as we're on the topic of Presidential intelligence, Peggy, perhaps you can clear something up.  Nixon thought Reagan was an amiable nitwit, a man whose brains were "negligible," and whose sole skill lay in persuasively delivering the words someone else wrote for him. Now, you spent years putting those words in Reagan's mouth, and you -- judging by your column -- have actual contempt for words, so I guess the real question is: were you the cynical one and he the stupid one, or was it the other way around?  (I know Paul was the cute one and Ringo the funny one, but I'm fuzzy on the rest.)
So they think he knew. 
And deliberately misled.
They think he knowingly quelled people’s fears when he knew they had every reason to be afraid. 
Which makes him just another dishonest pol, just another guy hiding in the deliberately obscure paragraph on page 1,037 of the omnibus comprehensive reform bill.
My copy of the legislation comes in at a mere 906 pages. Where is page 1,037? 
He has taken himself down, lowered his own stature. 
Commentators like to decry low-information voters—the stupid are picking our leaders. I think the real problem is low-information leaders. They have so little experience of life and have so much faith in magic—in media, in words—that they don’t understand people will get angry at you when you mislead them, and never see you the same way again.
We here at WO'C like to decry low-information pundits and you, Ms. Noonan, are the perfect example of Dictaphone on auto-pilot. Your thoughts are transcribed by unpaid interns and published by editors who have no patience to review your work. 

I took on this assignment as a challenge from the editor of this blog, since neither Scott nor Sheri were ever able to wrap their heads around the Swiss-cheese you parlay as serious political commentary. Now that I have, I'll join you at the bar. But only if it's on your tab. I need something completely nauseating to erase the memory of this exercise.

*Thanks to Fearguth for the title.

Monday, November 11, 2013

Dear Wally

You may remember World O' Crap Mystery Correspondent "Wally" from this post on alleged lifeform Ted Nugent.  Well, he's back (Wally, that is, not Ted), this time with an advice column, which we're hoping will become a regular feature around here because frankly, the Washington Post's Carolyn Hax just ain't cutting it.
Dear Wally,

I'm having a heck of a time personalizing and organizing the personal organization apps on my smartphone.

I'm also having problems with “butt-dialing” people with whom I'm not acquainted.

What would you suggest?

TIA,
Gobsmaked in Galveston

Dear Gobsmaked,

I suggest you check the yellow pages for assisted living facilities near you specializing in focused care for the technically spare. You'll be doing yourself and your friends (not to mention wrong numbers) a big favor.

Tough it out son,
“The Wall”

Dear Wally,

My doctor prescribed a new antidepressant a month ago and I've been feeling terrific. 

My problem – I feel so enlightened that at times feel guilty at work or at home. Everyone, including my wife and kids seems to act like they are sedated.

What do you think?
Elevated in Elk Grove

Dear Elevated,

You most likely grew up in an environment that instilled guilt for feeling good about feeling good about yourself. 

Wally suggests you travel to the nearest red-light district in a metropolitan area nearby. Seek out a scummy dive bar, belly up and get stinking pissed. After you are rolled by prostitutes and wake up in a ditch with no money, no watch and an Anacin anvil pounding your head you will feel quintessentially horrible. As a result you will fit in more at home with your family and also with co-workers.

Don't forget to double-up on the dose of your antidepressant before venturing out as it will provide a more energizing motif to your adventure.

Adios,
Wally-O

Dear Wally,

I've had a microchip installed in my brain by Darrel F. Zanuck since the mid-seventies. Since then I've been living on people's door-stoops and begging for food. 

I'm getting tired of being homeless. That's why I'm writing to you, Wally. I know you can help. 

Yours Truly,
Fubar in Flemington

Dear Fubar,

Is your microchip equipped with TC/ICP and internet access? There are plenty of public spaces equipped with wi-fi in Flemington and surely you could take advantage of technology to get you pointed to a comeback situation. 

Just stay on the bus until you hit the sweet spots. The microchip ought to vibrate somewhat if you hit a resonant frequency. Wally knows, my chip was installed back in the late 50s.

Cognitively yours,
Cleaver's first born

Wally wants to help. Send your questions to “WallyRollsOnShabbos@gmail.com” and clearly state your question in the subject line.

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Ted Nugent Proves Love Not Necessary Ingredient For Love Child

Note From World O' Crap Headquarters:  The following article was submitted anonymously.  The author is known to the Wo'C Editorial Staff, but wishes to be identified to you, the blabber-mouthed public, only as "Wally."

Loving Parents — and Armed Patrols — Make Safe Neighborhoods. By Ted Nugent
Loving, caring parents who want to know what our kids are up to need to constantly probe, engage, examine and scrutinize not only our own children but also their friends.

“Ward, why is Lumpy tied to the dining room table with his boxers down? I have the girls from Chamber of Commerce over for lunch and canasta this afternoon!”

“June, please see if we don't have better flashlight batteries. I'm probing, engaging and examining this young man.” 

“Don't worry Lumpy. Come see me after Ward is finished with his scrutinizing. I have fresh chocolate chip cookies for you.”
Only a pathetically disconnected parent zombied [sic] to the television would fail to do so.
[N.B.] “Zombied” is Texas jive-speak for those who watch nothing on TV but their own “Fox News' Greatest Hits” on YouTube. (Will Norma Desmond pick up the white courtesy phone, please?)
Same holds true with neighbors and neighborhoods. Safe neighborhoods are those neighborhoods where caring neighbors have their radars finely tuned to identify things that don’t appear right. This should be especially true in neighborhoods that have a disproportionate occurrence of burglaries and other crime.
Neighborhood watch programs are a good and welcome start, but I prefer neighborhood patrols. Patrolling is different than merely “watching” for problems in that patrolling is a proven crime prevention pro-active defense posture. In business terms, neighborhood patrols are “management by walking around and observing."
Let's pause a moment and consider the author's authority or credentials for opinions expressed in this sincere and goofy “neighborly” advice column from Ted. 

Although the “Nuge” originally hails from the Motor City for some years he's been ranching on 640 acres in Crawford, Texas. He would perhaps be Crawford's celebrity citizen --- except that down the road a ways are George W. and Laura. Dollars to donuts, the Social Registry of Crawford, TX remains a closed book.
An active defense posture sends a message to various creeps, thugs, malcontents, parolees and dangerous delinquents that a neighborhood will not tolerate any type of degeneracy or crime. The presence of neighborhood patrols will ultimately cause subhuman scum to slither off to other less secure neighborhoods.
Come to Lebensraum Estates!  Secure, Covenant-restricted single family homes starting in the mid-300s.
In the best of circumstances, a neighborhood patrol should be comprised of two armed good guys who are also equipped with cell phones, cameras and powerful flashlights.
And perhaps in Ted's circumstances satellite phones, night-vision goggles, a portable crystal meth laboratory and a full detail of bodyguards vis a vis Blackwater (or whatever they call themselves these days). Don't forget to call Mrs. Cleaver for extra flashlight batteries, hon!

It's safe to conclude at this point that Mr. Nugent doesn't live in a “community” in the way community is commonly interpreted by civic-minded people. He is a wilderness-type, likes guns, likes to play with guns, fantasizes about killing people he doesn't like, etc. In addition, this ranch may be nothing more than a cottage industry for Ted, since “Sunrize Safaris” is nothing more than a high roller's day camp for those who would like to enjoy the social prestige of legitimate sport hunting but don't know or care how-to. Ted releases tame, domesticated & helpless critters into the wild to be blasted away by assault rifles and heavy artillery. It's sometimes referred to as a “canned hunt.” 

Here's Ted's concluding paragraph. But before signing off I believe it is important to pull sharp focus on my personal irritation with Mr. Nugent. On first inspection he seems to be a douche-bag deluxe. On second inspection he seems a threat to the social contract. But upon third inspection we find troubling and nightmarish examples of a socio-pathological personality with enough spit left to fellate the always-on erection of low-rent, low-maintenance right-wing opinion.
When I patrol my property, I’m constantly looking for things that don’t appear right such as gates that are open that should be closed, breached fences, and even the occasional trespasser. I don’t miss anything.
We are happy to nominate Ted Nugent as a candidate for “Miss Wingnut 2013.”

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