The totaly pointless ramblings of a Jeep owner.

Saturday, March 20, 2004

This is great! 

I just wish I knew how to post pictures here, but I just love this cartoon.

Courtesy of John of Castle Arggghhh.

Fithly Lie Roundup 

Don't forget to go read the St. Patrick's Day Filthy Lie Roundup over at Alliance HQ.

A Pointless Rambling 

Went to the Shriner's Circus this morning. Man, some of the things the acrobats and other stuntmen do is just insane. I'm not even sure I would want to be a roustabout. One of those guys makes a mistake and all of a sudden you've got a 20' pole landing on your head.

On the other hand, it was all very entertaining. The stunts were spectacular to watch, and they had a magic act that was astounding. It gave a new meaning to the term 'quick change'.

The animal acts were really good too. In order of descending size, they had elephants, a lion and tiger show, a large group of trained dogs, and (can you believe it) trained house cats. That's right, HOUSE CATS. The same animals that most people can't keep off of the counter are entertaining people in a circus.

Even the clowns weren't too bad.

If you have the Shrine Circus come to your town, I urge you to go see it. It's lots of fun and the money is going to a very good cause.

My blogless (but not webless) brother took a lot of pictures, and if he puts them online, I may link to them in the future.

Friday, March 19, 2004

A Filthy Lie 

The blinking light of the answering machine was visible through the window shades as I approached my house. Maybe, I thought, hooking that up to a strobe light wasn’t such a good idea. However bright it seemed at the time. Squinting against the skull splitting flashes of light, I hit the play button.


‘Agent GEBIV, your mission, weather or not you choose to accept it, is to find out what Evil Glenn is doing for St. Patrick’s Day. We cannot send you any aid. We cannot admit to your existence. If you are discovered, we will disavow all knowledge of your activities. In fact, we have already forgotten why we called you in the first place... Well anyways, good luck.’

Well at least…

‘Oh, by the way, this message will self destruct in 5 seconds.’

Hey, wasn’t Harvey talking about a new self destruct device…


As I crawled out from behind the wreckage of what used to be my couch, I knew that once again, it was time for another…

Mission Implausible
(Cue theme music)
(Thanks for the sound link Harv)

As I am not a drinker, which obviously means I am not Irish either, I was not completely sure how a typical St. Patrick’s Day would be spent. The only thing that I was sure of was that it would probably involve a lot of drinking. And I could vaguely remember some sort of parade being involved too.

I was going to need my blogless brother’s help again on this one. I knew that this mission was going to require a lot of undercover work, and I would need someone to watch my back.

I called him up as soon as I found a pay phone (since Harvey had so courteously remodeled most of my living room.) ‘ Hey blogless brother, you want to go bar hopping?’ (What can I say, I owed him for the last few times he had helped me.) We agreed to meet at his place, since the fumes from the smoldering furniture at mine would probably not be good for his recovery.

We headed straight for the most Irish place that I could think of, Sully McMurphy’s. Strangely, the parking lot was almost empty as we pulled in. I was certain that it was the right day, but I had a nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right. When walked in, we couldn’t help but notice the smoky atmosphere. Something a bit confusing considering the cities new draconian anti-smoking laws. As we walked through the nearly deserted business we were forced to thread our way around overturned tables and upset chairs. We finally found the bartender huddled behind the bar weeping.

Unfortunately, he was so incoherent that we couldn’t get any answers from him. Finaly, after a great deal of medical reinforcement (a shot or two from Dr Jack Daniels) he was able to point a shaky finger towards the back of the bar.

As we crossed the room once more, we could vaguely make out a pair of white socked and sandaled feet. Conflicting emotions warred inside me. We had found him, but that meant that we would now have to face his awful presence. And Evil Glenn is not someone you want to face sober. Or ever, for that matter.

I still couldn’t make out all of his features, a blessing I was thankful for, but I did notice a large green beverage sitting on the table at his elbow. ‘What, did you give up puppy shakes for St. Patrick’s Day?’ I asked.

‘Nope, it’s an Irish Setter shake.’ He replied with sadistic glee.

‘But why isn’t it red like all your other shakes?’

‘Oh, this one is special. It’s a real Irish setter from Ireland.’

‘And that makes it green?’ I was more confused than before.

‘Naw, blending it last March and leaving it in the garage to ferment for a year does that.’

The sudden retching I heard made me turn to look at my blogless brother. The explanation of Evil Glenn’s shake was more than he could take. I could barely face him myself. It looked like I was on my own from here on out. ‘OK Evil Glenn, what have you been doing? And why is that bartender crying?’

‘Well,’ he began, ‘I’m sure that you know I like to amuse myself by messing with people’s minds. So I came in here and started telling some really awful Irish jokes. That got everyone here so mad that three separate fights spontaneously broke out. Most of the tables and chairs were broken around then.

‘And is that why the bartender is crying? Because you wrecked his bar?’

‘Nope, that didn’t really bother him too much. That happens every St Patrick’s Day at some time sooner or later.’

‘Then why is he crying?’

‘Oh that. Well, once you realize how important, financially, St Patrick’s Day is to bars, it is quite simple. As soon as the fight started to come to close to my august person, I made the announcement that there was free beer at Madfish Willies Cyber Saloon. They were out of here so fast that one or two of them actually caught fire from the air friction.’

‘You mean…’

‘Yup, this bar is now financially ruined. St Patrick’s Day to them is like Christmas to a toy store. They do over 80% of their business on this day alone. Without these sales, they cannot survive.’

‘So you just put them out of business on a whim?’

‘ No. First I give them an ultimatum. Join the Axis of Naughty or else. This is the else. Sully didn’t believe me. Now he’ll have to sell out to me for a song. Ha. Next year I’ll go after Paddy O’Tools’s. And the year after that…’

My blogless brother’s continued upchucking interrupted him. I took the opportunity to jump in.

‘That’s insane.’ I said. ‘What could you possibly hope to accomplish by taking over all of the bars in the city?’

‘Once I have them all in my grasp, I’ll unleash my new line of puppy shake malt beverages. I’ll rule this town of drunks. Mwa ha ha ha ha.’

'You heartless, soul sucking monster'


I could do nothing at that point but flee in terror dragging my still spewing brother with me. (Fortunately, we drove his car.) I couldn’t do anything to stop him this time, but maybe, just maybe we can stop him before it’s too late.


Thursday, March 18, 2004

PGH Roundup 

The roundup for the last Precision Guided Humor Assignment is up at Alliance HQ. Go and check out all of the entries.

Tuesday, March 16, 2004

Precision Guided Humor Assignment 

As I closed the door to my apartment, I noticed the light on my answering machine flashing. Hmm, I thought to myself, I shouldn’t be able to see that through two walls and a door. This must be and extra-special message.

*BEEP* ‘Agent GEBIV, your mission, if you choose to accept it is to determine why the French, after voting for Resolution 1441, were against the use of force in Iraq. If you are discovered, we will disavow all knowledge of your actions, while laughing our heads off at your ineptitude. Due to budget cuts, this recording will not self destruct. Please destroy your copy with any means possible.’

Looks like another…

Mission Implausible
(Cue theme music)


As I set down the hammer, I realized that I could have just hit the delete button. ‘Nuts, there goes another digital answering machine.’ OK, now down to business. Better call in blogless brother on this one. I’ll probably have to break into some pretty powerful computers on this one.


‘Well,’ I asked as I walked into his computer den, ‘do you think you’ll be able to hack into various government computers for me?’

His only response was a little twitch of his eyebrow. A twitch which seemed a subconscious response to past torments. I could almost see terror in that twitch. (Fortunately for me, my blogless brother’s short-term memory hadn’t quite recovered from the last two hack jobs he did for me.) Ignoring his subconscious and his new tic, he quickly got to work.

First step, hack into the French government computers. Hmm. Nothing there except for a recipe for quiche. Looks like somebody did a little house cleaning. And then I remembered something. Real men don’t eat quiche. Or do house cleaning. There was probably something important here. If I could only put my finger on it.

Next, we hacked into the French Ambassador to the U.N.’s computer. Again, nothing there except for the same recipe for quiche. Curiouser and curiouser. On a hunch, I had my brother break into the Secretary General’s personal files. Another recipe for quiche. But this time with a side dish of snails. I was starting to see a pattern.

We did a quick search, and found that Iraq was one of the world leaders in imported quiche. Using much of the ‘Oil for Food’ money, Saddam Hussein was able to amass one of the largest stockpiles of quiche in history.

Then it hit me. It’s a well-known fact that Saddam was only able to maintain his brutal tyranny through his callous use of quiche. The one food that people fear more than Muslims fear pork. The files were showing that there was a connection between the French, the U.N. and Saddam.

Now we had a paper… er, quiche trail to follow. I knew we now had to hack into the Iraqi U.N. Ambassador’s computer to see if there was any record of why the French opposed the use of force. Blogless brother worked his computer magic and…


It seems the Iraqis keep meticulous records. (link to …) Plus, due to strict Iraqi regulations, (and the need for so many extra Arabic letters) there was no delete button on any of their computers. All of the records were still intact. Now we would be able to get the bottom of this mystery.

The first thing we dug up was the receipts for the last twelve years of quiche purchases. The in-depth records on the Iraqi computers showed that the companies that sold all of the illegal pastries to Saddam were owned, through at least three layers of dummy corporations, jointly by Jacque Chirac and Koffi Annan. All of the ‘Oil for Food’ money that wasn’t used to build Saddam’s palaces was used to, ironically, buy the tyranny imposing quiche. The records also showed the kickback that the French Ambassador was receiving. (Three danishes per barrel of oil) The Iraqi politicians were secure in the knowledge that if they were found out, they could actually say they were buying food with the oil profits. Of course the un-initiated wouldn’t know the nefarious uses the quiche was being put to.

But then we found files that showed that the quiche was just the tip of the iceberg. As good as the profits were from the sales of the illegal quiche were, they were not quite enough to get the French to completely abandon the poor masses of Iraqis to the not-so-tender mercies of Saddam’s henchmen. It seems that the French were starting to actually grow a backbone as they voted for Resolution 1441. This was something that the Iraqi government couldn’t disregard. They quickly launched into, in the French’s eyes, the vilest form of blackmail.

We were able to retrieve some of the phone transcripts of the blackmail in progress.

Jacque: Hello, who is it?

Iraqi voice: It is just a concerned person calling on behalf of the No War In Iraq charities.

Jacque: Oh, hello Saddam.

Saddam: Hi Jacque. So, are you going to try to stop those pesky Americans for me?

Jacque: I don’t know. We’ve been getting some disturbing reports on what you’ve been doing with all of that quiche you bought from us. I don’t know if I can in good conscience continue to support you. I mean quiche is thicker than water… but it’s only so thick.

Saddam: Let me guess, you want more money?

Jacque: Hey, you got that right on one try.

Saddam: I don’t think so Jacqui-poo.

Jacque: What do you mean? You need me, which means I have every Frenchman’s right to extort more out of you.

Saddam: Did you get the package I sent you?

J: Yes, it just came in a few moments ago. I have not yet had the opportunity to open it.

S: I think that when you do, you will find some very interesting photos of yourself and a particular woman.

J: Pfft. Here in France my prestige would only go up if you put pictures of me with a mistress in the news. You forget yourself Saddam.

S: I don’t think you quite understand me. Open the package.

J: Well, all right. Hmm. OK, it’s a picture of me and…(a gasp) my wife! In bed! Sacre-bleu. This could ruin me.

S: Just think what will happen if your supporters find out that you are actually faithful to your wife. You would be laughed right out of Europe.

J: Yes I know. I would be a laughingstock and no one would ever take me seriously. Please, I beg of you, forgive me. I’ll do anything you ask.

S: Anything…?

The next record showed Jacque phoning his ambassador with instructions on blocking the U.S. proposal. And an interesting order for 24 llamas and a barrel of cream cheese to be sent to Baghdad. The mind shudders.

Well, there you have it. The real reason the French turned their backs on humanity and supported Saddam’s regime. Quiche kickbacks, and blackmail based on allegations of marital fidelity. Who would have thought that a Frenchman having morals would cause so much trouble?

Addendum: Unfortunately, my blogless brother’s memory lapses came back to haunt him again. Not remembering the last time he was hacking into computers for me, he unthinkingly opened the file with the blackmail pictures. (Ahhhhhhhh my eyes. They burn….) Luckily, I was just knocking back a cold one (Diet Mountain Dew) when he clicked on it, so I was spared the horrifying reality of the image. And the resultant shrapnel from the monitor blowing was mostly stopped by my blogless brother.

The doctors say that when the bandages come off, he should be as good as new. I just hope he doesn’t figure out what keeps happening to his computers.
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