"Klotz" As In "Blood"

A Testament to the Insidious Impact of Florida Sunshine on Brain Matter

Thursday, August 31, 2006

The Pervert Wore Prada?

Filed under: Playing With Balls — Steve @ 12:39 am

barefeet.jpgAuthorities in Volusia County are searching for a naked man who breaks into the homes of women and tickles their feet as they sleep, according to a Local 6 News report. Investigators said a woman sleeping in her home in New Smyrna Beach on Saturday awoke at about 3 a.m. to discover a man wearing only a baseball cap tickling her foot.

Police said when she screamed, the man dashed across the room with his hands covering his crotch. — News Report

The woman managed to identify the stylized upper-case “B” on the baseball cap, suggesting, to nobody’s surprise, that the pervert is a Red Sox fan. “It’s the sort of gutless, kinky thing that type does,” explained Sherry Lock, the detective assigned to the case. “This time of year, the Red Sox season in tatters as always, their fans get desperate for thrills.  Complete losers, they can’t help but identify themselves with that shit-can franchise. We’ll keep an eye on the local sports bars. The asshole’ll turn up again.”

Detective Lock also speculated that man was covering his crotch not to hide his equipment, but to conceal the fact that he has none. “On that team, Ramirez and Ortiz have the big bats,” she remarked. “Their fans are all little salamis.”

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

‘Tween Darknesses

Filed under: News from the Nation's Dicktip — Steve @ 9:58 am

An adventure to determine how much can be posted between power outages!

crystal ball.jpgMoving more weakly and spraying less moisture than a confident meat fart, Tropical Storm Ernesto (“Che”) meandered through south Florida overnight, confounding (as usual) the experts who anticipated its strengthening and potential for damage. Gypsy hags with tea leaves and crystal balls have better records than these white-coated wizards.

Contrast their performance with dependable Florida Plunder and Loot (FPL), a company whose exemplary consistency is an industry benchmark of reliability. FPL never fails to deliver on its promise of poor service and lame excuses. Che’s wobbly winds and gentle drizzle were more than sufficient to cause widespread power outages, mostly through Miami-Dade County, just as company spokesmen predicted. At its peak, 6,800 angry customers reported languishing in the dark.

“We’re a little disappointed we couldn’t do better,” reported Boob at FPL, my contact, whom I reached this morning. “But compared to last year, when we almost achieved 100% outage (3.2 million people) in two densely populated Florida counties — during a Category 1 Storm, no less! — anything is certain to be a letdown.

“Incidentally, please pass along our expression of gratitude for the rate increase the legislature passed. Without the support of voters who send the same lickspittles to Tallahassee each election, there’s no telling where we’d be today!”

Update at 5 PM: FPL said that Ernesto had left 17,862 customers without electricity as of noon Wednesday, most of them in the tri-county area.  The storm damaged power lines, transformers and substations, but the company did not provide a county-by-county breakdown on outages.

“That’s a better number,” noted Boob of FPL.  “One we can be proud of!”

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

And That’s The Way It Is

Filed under: We Put the "Me" in "Media",What A Wonderful World — Steve @ 12:08 am

liar.jpgWhile wild-eyed, foaming Floridians scrambled through the streets buying gasoline, bottled water, Hawaiian Punch cans on a stick, chocolate condoms, and other household staples in front of the hurricane that isn’t going to happen, two Fox News journalists who had been kidnapped in Gaza were finally released, unharmed. The story.

The poor bastards had been held in an abandoned Gaza Strip garage by a previously unknown group that called themselves the “Holy Jihad Brigades” four days a week, and “The Raccoon Club” the other three. And while it’s unknown what the hell they wanted, or why they kidnapped a New Zealand cameraman and an American journalist, it seems the key to their captives’ release was consenting to state on video camera their conversion to Islam. At gunpoint.

Religious scholars note the role of ritual in religious conversion. Baptists are big on dunking in water, for example, and Catholics stress the need to confess sins. Jews snip foreskins and Buddhists burn incense and chant. Evidently this particular species of Muslim deploys kidnapping and automatic weaponry. Hey, whatever turns your crank. Even Mapquest offers alternative routes to salvation.

After all, in the southern United States, shotgun marriages have been around since the shotgun. So what’s the big deal about AK47 religious conversion?

“Look, mate. We didn’t really convert,” noted Olaf Wiig, the cameraman. “We just said what we had to to get sprung. You know what it’s like going 2 weeks in the bloody desert without a cold beer? Ida converted to an Anabaptist Mennonite if I had to, and I don’t even know what that is!”

Asked if it bothered him to appear sincere and solemn while stating a complete fabrication for the record, on camera no less, correspondent Steve Centanni merely laughed. “Hey, I work for Fox News,” he said. “We do that all the time!”

Monday, August 28, 2006

Hurricane-Free Hurricane Watch

Filed under: News from the Nation's Dicktip — Steve @ 12:00 pm

dunce.jpgGetting on noon, now, and the region is panicking nicely.

At this point, as near as I can tell, nobody knows whether or not Ernesto (“Che”) will be upgraded to a hurricane. Nevertheless we’re on hurricane watch. I understand that for the same reason, we’re also on “earthquake watch.” And “plague of frogs watch.” However, we’re not on “sane interstate highway driver watch,” and no immediate plans are in the works for that.

Saturday’s “irresponsible media hype” watch has been upgraded to “warning.”

A telegenic spokesman in shirtsleeves and a necktie (“I’m not a meteorologist, just a full head of hair over vapid set of eyeballs and a polished-tooth smile”) noted that at this moment, “We don’t know if Ernesto (Che) will become a hurricane, let alone what level; we don’t know if it will head west over the Caribbean or North to Florida (or both!); if it heads north we don’t know which coast will take the bigger hit or when.”

Asked if we knew all that last week, he looked confused.”We didn’t know anything at all last week,” he replied. “Now we know what we don’t know, and next week we’ll know if what we didn’t know now was right!”

One thing for certain: no matter what happens regarding Ernesto (Che), FPL customers will lose power. When I called my contact (Boob at FPL) at 6 this morning, he was upbeat and positive. “Oh, I guarantee that!” he boomed, happily. “You can always count on your power company to cut out early whenever so much as a threat of even a little storm is in the area! FPL is 100% dependable in that regard. Never fear!”

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Bottoms Up

Filed under: Sense & Sensuality — Steve @ 12:39 am

America’s Drunkest Cities, courtesy of Forbes Magazine. Don’t bother looking for #10: whoever compiled the list skipped it! (Alcohol is suspected.)

Friday, August 25, 2006

With This Wring

Filed under: Sense & Sensuality — Steve @ 12:34 am

caketop_ball_large.jpgAlways fun when things work out, yes? So the news that friends and former colleagues, after departing the Banana Republic of South Florida (BRSF) for Midwest Ohio to set up house and a life besides, will make it official with an honest to god wedding, is delightful indeed.

Here’s the congratulatory email I dashed off today:


Joe mentioned at a staff meeting that you and Kellie are now officially “engaged.”

“In what?” I asked.

Anyway, congratulations.

I’d tell Kellie, too, but for some reason I can’t find her email address here at the office, and I can’t see far enough to my screen back at home so it’ll hafta wait.

The distinction between living together and married is not inconsequential (he lectured, deploying a double-negative for effect). I know couples who cohabited for years, finally making it official, then discovering they’d made a mistake. The mistake wasn’t the marriage, of course, it was the living-together part for so long.

“Had I known what a shit you are,” she said, “I’d have broken up with you BEFORE we got married!”

Well, duh.

Another couple I know lived together for a while, then got married, and were ecstatic beyond their wildest expectations. Turns out they didn’t marry each other.

Hey, whatever works.

Frog_cake_top_ccu.jpgThen there’s the twosome (yeah, most of these are from my world famous stage act, “The Chronicles of Squathole,” soon to be an HBO Special!) who tied the knot after 5 years of living together, when all of a sudden she starts farting. Day and night. She never did before then, now it was constant.

“What’s the deal here?” complains hubby. “How come you never farted before?”

“I didn’t have an asshole until we got married,” she explains.

After residing under the same roof for 3 years, Guido and I made it official and have been happily married for 12 years. We figure 12 out of 18 ain’t so bad.

Other than plant your corn early this year, that’s all the tips I can offer.

And remember, “tips” is “spit” backwards. As in, against the wind.

You’ll find out soon enough.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

No Class, and Plenty of It

Filed under: News from the Nation's Dicktip — Steve @ 9:40 am

“When I think back on all the crap I learned in high school,
It’s a wonder I can think at all.” –Paul Simon, Kodachrome

D’accord. But it’s no wonder why high school is such crapspray, and I’m not even talking about Miami-Dade’s rectal/cranial inversion over Vamos a Cuba. Just look who runs the schools and make decisions about what’s taught, and how, and by whom.

Voters in Broward County, who will select candidates for school board in the impending primary, found the following extra-large post card ad in their mailboxes this week:


Nothing like deploying the charm and moral authority of toothless, wizened, ancient, dried-up white folks to grip your attention, gain your sympathy, and cement your argument, right? I mean, if THESE fine specimens of modern Broward County citizen aren’t on your side, there’s something amiss with you, right?

It gets better. Here’s the flip side:


Even assuming the accuracy of all these allegations (hard to read, but they’re all DUI’s and other arrests), what does this approach tell you about the candidate who points them out regarding her opponent? Why would she focus on character assassination to the exclusion of any discussion regarding her (or her opponent’s) credentials? What kind of lowlife classless gossip resorts to diversionary maneuvers like this?

Furthermore, without downplaying the seriousness of a docket full of convictions, the number of people I know personally who have had problems with police, particularly in Hollywood, and the experiences they’ve reported at the hands of that rudderless authority, suggests to me that maybe the candidate’s problem isn’t as bad as it sounds. My own experiences with Hollywood police are overwhelmingly bad, a topic I’ll get back to some time, and in south Florida generally, documented incidents of cops out of control, sanctioned by high authority, are legion (and don’t forget that fine FTAA incident with “the lady in red“). Seems like anybody with an enemy somewhere can find himself in trouble with somebody’s hired cop. Maybe this candidate is one of them.

Or maybe he’s a stumbling drunken piece of shit. Hard to tell, but why bother? Whatever he is, the candidate who sent this around reveals herself to be something much lower. BTW — it’s Carole Andrews, the incumbent, although her name appears only once, in tiny print, on the mailing. And she spells her opponent’s name wrong, too: It’s “D’Emilia” with an apostrophe.

Neither Democrat nor Republican, I don’t get to vote in primaries like this one. If I did, be sure I’d wash my hands on the way out of the voting booth.

Update:  more on Broward police here.  Thanks CM.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Don’t Know Much About History

Filed under: Across the Fruited Plain — Steve @ 12:18 am

….the Continuing Adventures of Monkey Boy

You want politics, blogs and websites exist by the mega-plethora to entertain you. Leave me out. Mostly. But every now and then somebody more or less sends me a subpoena commanding me to piss bile in public. This time it’s President Monkey Boy.

“I may be the only person, the only presidential candidate who never carried the state in which he was born,” President Bush said Monday. — New York Times

Duh-hyuk! Read a book, willya?

He was dodging the question about backing Jew Lieberman, who failed in his attempt to win the nomination of his own Connecticut Democrats, largely on his support of the war in Iraq and the Bush administration generally. (He also advocated Federal intervention in the Terri Schiavo affair, and his comments on religion have made many First Amendment advocates uneasy, to say the least.) Lieberman is now running as an Independent, and Republicans nationwide have expressed sympathy for him while turning their backs on his Republican opponent, a nameless non-entity whose own polls give him a record-breaking 4% of the vote.

President Monkey Boy noted that despite the fact that he had been born in New Haven (CT), he failed to carry the state in both presidential campaigns. So he was steering clear of the electorate, the state, and the controversy.

Interesting that Monkey Boy finally mentions in public that he’s not a genuine born and bred Texan, as he likes to portray himself, but actually of Gnu Wingland vintage like Killer Ted Kennedy, Milquetoast Dukakis, and FlipFlop Kerry. He attended Yale (CT) and Harvard (MA), certainly on pure merit (a regular bootstrapper, himself) and didn’t buy the famous Crawford TX ranch until 1999.

But back to Go. As the Times points out, among the many presidential candidates who failed to carry their own home states are George McGovern, Adlai Stevenson, and Hubert Humphrey. (In some cases, e.g., Humphrey, these candidates’ home states are not the ones in which they attained their status. Humphrey was big in Minnesota, but his home state was South Dakota). Also Adlai Stevenson, Al Smith, James Cox, James K. Polk, George McClellan, and both John Kerry and his lookalike, Abraham Lincoln. Heard of Lincoln, Mr. President? He was a President just like you.

But best of all, there was George Herbert Walker Bush, Monkey Boy’s regular real-time father, who was born in Massachusetts, a state he never carried. W just musta forgot.

In the great scheme of things, his howler is but a minor stumble, a very insignificant statement of utter stupidity that amounts to little or nothing. Which about sums up the entire last 6 years, unless you count among your family and friends those dead American soldiers whose coffins we’re not allowed to see.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Chocolate In The News

Filed under: Across the Fruited Plain — Steve @ 12:31 am


Kesnosha, WS – Darmin Garcia, an employee of a company that supplies chocolate ingredients, was pushing the chocolate down into the vat at Debelis Corp. because it was stuck. But it became loose and he slid into the hopper, waist deep.

The chocolate was 110 degrees, hotter than a hot tub. Co-workers, police, and firefighters tried to free the man but couldn’t get him loose until the chocolate was thinned out with cocoa butter. (Yahoo News)

When he discovered he couldn’t free himself unassisted, Garcia began hollering, “Fire! Fire!” which brought co-workers running to the scene. Asked later why, Garcia replied “Who would have helped if I yelled ‘Chocolate! Chocolate!’?”


Fountain Valley, CA – At Bodega Chocolates, workers claim a 2-inch-tall column of chocolate drippings bears a striking resemblance to the Virgin Mary.

Chocolate drippings usually harden in thin, flat strips on wax paper, but this confection has a wide base and tapers gently toward a rounded top, giving the appearance of a female figure with her head tilted slightly to the right. The dark brown melting chocolate hardened into subtle layers that resemble the folds of a gown and a flowing veil. A tiny white circle, about the size of a pencil eraser, sits in the upper center of the creation. A worker said the white speck is the head of the Baby Jesus as he is held in Mary’s folded arms. — South Florida.com news

Not everybody is convinced. “This happens about once a month,” pointed out an employee who would only give his name as “Jesus” (no, not that one). “It usually means the machine needs to be flushed out. If anything, that chunk looks like the Mexican cleaning women that come here at night.”

Monday, August 21, 2006

PO’ed at the Post Office

Filed under: Etherea — Steve @ 8:56 am

In case you missed it, yesterday (Aug 20) was the 20th anniversary of the deadliest case of “Going Postal” on record.

On Aug. 20, 1986, Patrick Henry Sherrill tucked two .45-caliber pistols into his postal satchel, locked the doors of a post office in this Oklahoma City suburb and systematically killed 14 people, then committed suicide.

”The screams hurt me emotionally more than the bullet did when it hit my back,” said Bigler, one of six people wounded in the attack. “They screamed in terror when they screamed their last breath. He wanted to slaughter us all.”

In the two decades since Sherrill’s rampage, the U.S. Postal Service has tried to prevent worker violence, but there have been other attacks. Nearly 50 people have died in post office violence since the 1980s, including six postal workers who were shot in January at a mail-processing center in Santa Barbara, Calif., by a former postal worker who killed herself. — Miami Hurled, 8/20/06

This morning I reach “Cap” Stickum, whose kicked off a career with the Post Office as a letter carrier in 1970, and went on to serve as an officer in the union, retiring last December.

“That was a bad one,” he confirms. “That’s the one that got people wondering what it is about the Post Office that brings about these things.”

Sore feet? Crabby customers? Boredom? Psychopathic personalities?

“Well, no more than anywhere else. You can’t tell me that normal people wanna be cops, firemen, or sewer workers. Or teachers, fer chrissake. Who’s more twisted than teachers?”


“But here’s the thing. Twenty-five years in the union and I meet thousands of postal workers. I ask ‘em what they like about their jobs, and they say, Good benefits, Regular paycheck, I like working outdoors most of the time, like that. Once in a while somebody says they like working with people or they like their colleagues, but not often. But nobody ever says they like the work they do. Nobody becomes a postal service employee because they like delivering mail, or licking stamps, or serving the public.”

No Philatelists need apply, eh?

“Even teachers, you find people who say they like education, they like teaching, they find the job rewarding. In 25 years, no postal employee ever told me they found the job ‘rewarding’. So you got a bunch of bored careerists watching the clock and waiting to retire for 35 years. That’s tough. People snap.”

So what’s on tap for the 20th anniversary?

“Nothing. Nada. Typically, we ‘re pretending it never happened. Why draw attention to the fact that there’s a gigantic uniformed labor force packed with armed psychotic maniacs visiting every residence and building in America on a daily basis?”

I was hoping for a commemorative stamp, at least.

“Sure you were. And I guess you’re hoping somebody breaks the record of 14 dead and 6 wounded in a single attack, too.”

Not while I’m on the premises, no.

“Well, it could always happen. But I’m outta there. And I’m outa here, too.” He hangs up.

The post office is one of the many institutions I avoid at all costs, along with banks, municipal services offices, and (recently) FEMA. It’s just too infuriating to conduct business with the army of paper-pushing morons who staff these industries. It’s enough to send a man postal. Patrick Henry Sherrill, I can relate.

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