Monday, December 29, 2014

2014's Cookie Crumbles into Bits and Pieces

If people find anything particularly annoying or depressing about the end of another year, it's The Media, in all forms, peculiarly finding it almost obligatory to review 12 months of everything everybody already knows about in detail and cares little about revisiting.  Maybe if we could re-stage annual history instead, so it could be changed to our liking, well, then we'd have something.  But until we can catch up with the speed of light, when perhaps we can intercept what was and somehow convert occurrences into preferences, we're condemned to endure the -- to put life's unfoldings in our pipes and smoke it, as they might say out in California's weed fields. 

I would rather end a year by throwing out a few 2014 stories yet unmentioned in the blog.  Maybe I'll do a "clearing house" write-up sometime soon.

First, however, here are my 10 new year's wishes:

Wow, sorry, I really don't have time to list them all, so let's just skip to number one and two.  First would be the arrest, trial, conviction and imprisonment of the current White House bunch.  But spare the dog, because I like and respect dogs. 

Second, may Jeb Bush and Hillary Clinton find some other hobby, maybe collecting stamps or cereal box tops, anything but thoughts of assuming the presidency.  In a country as dynamic as ours, wealthy or influential manipulators entertaining or encouraging an oligarchy via a surname tsunami is just wrong. 

Since last time, yet another police officer has been gunned down, this time while answering a domestic violence call in Arizona.  Increasingly, because DV calls are the most dangerous situations for officers, I'm coming to a conclusion that the police should just ignore the calls and let the events work themselves out, for better or probably worse.  Why?  Because in this life we choose our partners, whether of the married or live-in variety, and if one selects unwisely and interprets "the person of my dreams" as a miracle instead of the scum usually apparent to everybody else, it should be their problem.  Frankly, as out of control as things have become, I'll always choose a live police officer over desperate people who willingly entered into a relationship which, more times than not, was destined for calamity and crossfire from the start.  When children get caught in the middle, however, I don't know of a solution.   There probably is none, at least not while some segments of society continue to fan their own ubiquitous flames.  Seems as though an order of protection these days ends up as an arbitrary license for some moron or crazy to threaten or kill cops who just want to help.  Meanwhile, just what steps has the Obama administration taken to support law enforcement and condemn those who threaten its foundations?  We listen and hear only the sounds of crickets and the rant of anarchist roaches on city streets.

I'm no X-Box, Play Station or video game addict, and remain grateful that I don't need that "fix,"  unlike some folks who seem a tad too old to be playing out an eternal childhood, but to each their own.  I  was  intrigued by a news report warning that fully computerized cars of the future -- the future which lurks right around the corner, ready to grab you by the throat -- will likely be hazardous to the passengers' existence because the damned things can be hacked in numerous ways and the hacker can send any vehicle and its occupants off a cliff, should the hacker desire to provide a little mayhem or murder.  Oh yeah, sign me up for that one-way trip to Mars with Hal the computer from  2001:  A Space Odyssey.   Can't I simply make  that  journey in a balloon without digital components, please? 

Yippee!  New Year, new Congress, new power grabs, new ways for government and private  institutions to control everybody equally, except for occasions when some everybodies are more equal than other everybodies!   The book,  1984  is already  soooooooo  yesterday, and even George Orwell would have had a stroke in contemplation of all the trouble ones and zeroes fostered around the world.  The hell of it is, young folks who have become millionaires and billionaires by way of digital ones and zeroes use their clout and lack of common sense and life experiences to make perhaps foolish and dangerous decisions affecting all of us.  Power not only corrupts -- it corrupts at any age.

Monday, December 22, 2014

The Lost Kim-Jong-un Christmas Interview

It was a year-old copy of a magazine entitled, The International Celebrity Dong,  and the title didn't seem unusual, since "dong" is a familiar word thereabouts.  Anyway, the December, 2013 issue was written in some Asian language which I couldn't understand, aside from the English title included at the top.

Thumbing through its pages while walking down the street, I became particularly frustrated because I couldn't read a word of an article apparently concerning North Korea's Supreme Leader Kim Jong-un -- truly the man of the day here in the USA.

However, good luck lurked just ahead!  Rounding a corner, to my delight, I saw local dumpster-diver,  Dusty,  sitting on the curb behind a Korean restaurant, finishing off the meat on a leg bone of what probably used to be somebody's pet dog. 

"Hey Dusty, " I shouted, waving  The International Celebrity Dong  high in the air, "you know a lot about Korean food -- can you possibly interpret this article for me?"  Dusty stood and eagerly grabbed the publication out of my hands with his dog dressing-slathered meat hooks.  Ugh,  now I hoped he wouldn't give it back.

"Oh yeah, heck yeah," he responded.  "It looks like some reporter interviewed Kim Jong-un, or at least somebody who claims to be the turd.  Not totally sure about that, though the picture looks a lot like him.  You can never trust these celebrity rags," Dusty warned.  "Tell you what, give me a couple days and I'll put it into English for you."


True to his word, two days later Dusty gave me a handwritten version of his interpretation of the magazine's year-old alleged interview with the North Korean dictator, and it reads as follows, as recorded originally by a reporter also named Kim something or another:


Thank you so much for allowing this meeting today, sir.  Let me ask you right away, what is a typical day for you?

There is much to be done. I begin with a breakfast of non-peasant food, high in nutrition and often containing drops of blood from volunteers among my people.  You might call that my daily iron supplement.  It gives me energy to meet the challenges.

The international impression, particularly in the West, that North Korea is an isolated entity, disconnected from the modern world, surely can't serve you well.

On the contrary, by avoiding the trappings and moral degeneracy of the West, our people conduct an existence of bliss and self-sufficiency, creating a society so cohesive that I've witnessed with my own eyes citizens who allow themselves to be killed and stuffed in order to become furniture for my palace.  What other nation on Earth can look upon its people with such pride for this kind of sacrifice?

But are reports of your people starving in the fields purely imagination?

I am not aware of legitimate documentation about this.  Many of our workers are more than happy to return excessive food to our military and government personnel.  As you can see, I myself am hardly starving, and this is because my people who love me so much are pleased to honor me with extra provisions of which they have no need.

Then you are not concerned in any way about, say, the way the Americans consider you dangerous and off course?

I will tell you here and now, the day will come when the Americans will understand exactly what I am about and who I am, and they will release a movie about me, all about me and their love for me and my country.  I concede, though, that it may take time for them to fully appreciate my sacrifice.  You must realize, there are many people from the international community who wish very much to take me out.

Excuse me?  Take you out?

Yes, they wish to take me to the finest restaurants in their own nations.  Unfortunately, their choice of cuisine does not appeal to me, as my food requirements differ significantly from theirs.

In what way?

In my palace, dog and rat are preferable, cooked and prepared in various pleasing combinations.  We employ special chefs of the people for this important function.

Please excuse me, sir, but I'm rather shaken by this information.  I cannot imagine a diet of such things.

In my country, we are extremely industrious about such matters.  Consider my late and departed father and supreme leader.  He subsisted most of his life on a strict diet of uncooked rat intestines, dog vomit, snake heads, tapeworms and special elixir juices consisting of chicken urine and sheep brains.  Some prefer to believe these substances made my father insane, but he was not insane, just very, very bright, and certainly logical enough to lead the whole world.

Do you partake of such things yourself?

Not strictly, no.  I generally prefer to eat dogs, cooked very thoroughly.  In fact, when I instructed that my bad uncle be killed because he was immoral, promiscuous, consistently smelled like a filthy swamp and could not even dance well enough to avoid embarrassing me in public, I performed his execution with a pack of wild dogs in the name of my people.  The dog pack tore him from limb to limb, consumed much of his flesh and then, after a couple of days, I instructed the beasts themselves to be killed, and then my wife and I ate the very dogs which performed this act of social justice.   Our subsequent feast was merely an act of compassion.

Truly, I cannot conceive of eating a dog.

Oh, but you must try it one day.  For my wife and I, the effect of swallowing chunks of dog meat rivals any good aphrodisiac.  Doing this, in fact, provides every bit as much enjoyment as those days when I wear women's undergarments while strolling through the palace or throughout the grounds where my people happily labor.  Not one of them harbors even a hint that I'm wearing female attire, many sizes too small.

Do you and your wife often go away on vacation?

We go away several times a year, usually preferring to wallow with domestic swine in troughs of pig slop in some distant town.  It is within such an environment where we feel the most comfortable and welcome.

You have a special relationship with an American basketball athlete?

Yes.  Dennis is a friend and he advises me that someday American theaters will show a movie about me.  I am so excited and look forward to seeing it.  I hope to arrange things so every person in my country can watch it, too, because the experience of seeing me on giant movie screens all over the globe will impress the world and cause my people to embrace their supreme leader all the more. 

Should such a motion picture ever be made, could you suggest a title?

Perhaps.  My not-insane father and me, we much enjoyed the  James Bond  films, so maybe they could call it  Kimfinger.   That is not only a good movie title, it is also what I lovingly give my people every day.  I must go now.  Thank you for the interview.  Would you care for a little dog before you leave?

Thank you, but my plane leaves soon.  Thank you for your time and hospitality.

You are welcome.  Be watching for the great movie about my life.  I know it will be everything I deserve as supreme leader.


The Age-Old Communication Barrier:  What a dilemma. One hardly anticipates conflict between North Korean communists and Hollywood socialists.  Can't everybody just get along?  Apparently not.  Feathered birds ain't flocking together here,

North Koreans now claim they had nothing to do with hacking SONY  and, like O.J. Simpson, they offer to help find the real "killer."  Personally, I think the twin culprit here might be the Chinese, who have the money, the means and the will to cyber-smack the USA.

Prediction:  As you read this, no matter the fate of "The Interview," folks are likely out there stealing and grabbing movie posters and other promotional material as future collectors' items worth far more than any such material might have been before the SONY incident. 

Fear and loathing in NY City:   Strange how two cops are assassinated -- the official words -- in the Big Apple, and New York's socialist-rooted mayor can't seem to be first on the podium with words of regret.  No wonder.  His recent race-baiting speeches seem to center basically around some nebulous fear that his son's afro haircut and race provide an instant magnet for police brutality..  Beware the police, New Yorkers have to do something about the cops.  Now look, just look.  Suddenly, community organizers by the pint are coming forward and making their rant about cop semi-love instead of  hands up, don't shoot.   Is all of that semi-love honest, or is there concern that law enforcement will crack down even more to assure survival in the streets?  The mayor's policies?  Preserve, protect and die for your trouble?  It's no wonder policemen and firemen turned their backs on a mayor whose words helped to bring this very day of tragedy to pass.  Who wants to be a cop, when the president, his attorney general and a gaggle of leftists playing hope-and-change in America fail either to adequately support or downright condemn their efforts?  As for NY City's mayor, his attitude might be more than a little complicit in the city's cop murders, and probably not something which should play well for his re-election platform.  Nor did it take a genius to realize, or a psychic to predict, that this disaster was inevitable.  This is what happens when communists feel justified and comfortable in destroying America, after a population of morons elects them and useful idiots hit the streets.

Monday, December 15, 2014

Dear Diary, Dear DEAR Diary. . .

Okay, so I'm a girl 13 years of age.

No, not really, but today I'll be a teenage girl to make a point.  For this blog, I'm willing to  gender-bend, though I assure you  there are people out there already who use colorful language to describe me as less than a man and more than a dog.  But not to digress. . .

So, I'm 13 and I just returned from the mall after spending the day with several teenage female friends.  The BFF kind, you know.  It was Saturday and we passed the hours exploring the latest teen fashions and engaging in deep discussions about our favorite music and which teen idols we'd like to date and, in graphic detail, the things we might do to make their love ours "forever."  Oh, don't think for a moment that teenage girls can't carry on raunchy conversations about boys -- we can be more explicit than any boy in school (and, unlike boys with only one thing on their minds, we can actually spell explicit)!

Mom's chatting with somebody on her cell in the kitchen, but gives me a quick wave, and as I pass by my father, melted into the living room sofa in a familiar sitting position, I find him really into some football game on TV.  My arrival goes unnoticed by him, hypnotized as he is, but that's okay because I have important things to do.

I race upstairs to my room, where my faithful cat, Mr. Trichobezoar already sleeps near my pillow, his favorite spot in the house, aside from his litter box.

Reaching deeply under the mattress, I retrieve my prized possession -- the locked robin's egg-blue diary containing my deepest secrets and confessions, shocking admissions recorded in block-style writings which I'd never want my parents to see.  Never!  That's why I keep the key close to me at all times. 

Cuddling up next to Mr. Trichobezoar, who purrs with approval (though probably patiently longing for the day when his front claws return, so he can kill my parents and the vet in the dark of night for mutilating and humiliating him), I unlock my diary and turn to the next blank page, where I begin to chronicle the day's events, my words filled with teenage thoughts, fears and romantic dreams.  Once my entry is complete, I carefully lock the diary and place it back where prying eyes will be useless without the key. 

Now very sleepy, I recline on the bed next to my loving feline. I'm so glad that all my thoughts stay hidden in a $2.90 diary, rather than in the pads and computers so popular with all my BFFs, and, like they say, the pen is mightier than the. . .the. . .

THE SONY PICTURES COMPUTERS, YOU TINSELTOWN MORONS!   Hey, I ain't no 13 year old girl now!  It's me, Robert, and I want to ask you Hollywood folks a little question:  In 2014, how is it that a girl of 13 with a $2.90 diary can expect infinite worlds of more privacy than your multi-million dollar digital watchdog communities?  Worse, now that a multiplicity of Tinseltown egos have been splashed all over the world via hacked e-mails, Hollywood's "finest" anybodies who are anybodies scramble to lower themselves by "apologizing" for comments they made with no expectation of ever sincerely apologizing for.  If you folks are going to call some movie star a "whore," at least be real enough to scrap the phony sorrow and respond, "Yep, that guy, he's a real whore all right, you betcha!  I stand by my words!"  Instead, devious Hollywood movers and shakers wiggle out of their troubles like worms evading fishermen.  Maybe it's the way they were raised.

Incredibly, there's that one producer, can't think of her name, but Lady Dracula might work, and this idiot somehow believes she can retract her offensive statements about black people by offering apologies to street  brats Sharpton and Jackson?  Lady D, the only apologies these rascals understand is the color of green, 'cept choo wouldn't be likely to know that, being that the lofty space you and your husband, Lord Dracula occupy on the social scale precludes common sense. 

Yes, the core of this problem may indeed involve digital mayhem administered by and for North Korea, whose supreme dictator may not fancy the thought of being ridiculed and targeted in a movie which reality implies could be handled in no other way than to portray him as a buffoon and deservedly dispensable.  Yet, hey SONY -- you've got the money, why didn't you just use it to put out a contract to "take out" North Korea's current dangerously supreme mental defective leader for real? THAT would make a really cool movie later on, ala bin Laden's final pajama party!

One gets the impression, nevertheless, that there are winners here -- alleged Hollywood pedophiles, grateful that the entertainment media has at last found something else upon which to focus its cameras and linger, albeit momentarily.  Um, until e-mails about pedophilia favorites begin to emerge.  Maybe around Christmas? Oopsie.

Meanwhile, the SONY hacking goes on, and apparently -- for now -- not all the money in the world can repair the cocktail parties, shattered egos and phony Hollywood royalty which, until now, thought it ruled everything, including corrupt politicians and the decisions those folks mold in turn for the rest of us.  I say, suffer with it,  a'holes de Tinseltown,  ya gets what ya deserves.  Got that spyware updated yet?

Speaking of the entertainment world,  you think maybe the next time somebody works hard on a production of  Peter Pan,  they might use an actual no-gender-confusion boy for the main role?  Why a performance in drag?  During my childhood encounters with the story, nowhere was Peter P. in need of being portrayed by a female character, because he is a boy, not a transsexual..  Oh yeah, I remember Mary Martin and all the other actresses, but -- why?  Why then shouldn't all stage plays of  The Sound of Music feature young men as Maria?   No need to fly there, either.

Jeb vs. Hillary in 2016?  Again, a conjured product courtesy of and kept flaming by the cursed mainstream media.  A nightmare "choice" from hell in every way.

The budget just passed by Congress  enhances enough bad things, but it pains me to offer a word of appreciation to Sen. Elizabeth Warren, who stood on the floor to condemn bankers, senators and other government officials aplenty for basically being bought and paid for by the banking monster.  The dinosaur,  Hillary Clintosaurus  may have real problems before 2016 comes around for a second look at potentials because Warren clearly impressed an enraged public.  Warren is a (sigh. . .) Democrat, with few other political attractions to rope me in.

As usual, "everybody" hates Ted Cruz, so this man absolutely must be elected president in 2016.

The CIA and torture, plus torture of the CIA by Democrats with an agenda:  Far bigger issues than my pea-brain can fathom occur, but I'm troubled by a persistent undercurrent of apparent high-level encouragement to chip away at law enforcement -- the people who keep us protected -- at all levels.  The cops on the street, the military, the CIA.  The CIA?  Wasn't there a woman who said torture for her was seeing her husband jump to his death from the World Trade Center?  Releasing the one-sided "report" was nothing less than a partisan  get even  event, and one wonders what harm awaits dedicated CIA personnel around the world.  Now, other nations want CIA operatives prosecuted for their actions, and I think our proper response is to go to the U.N. and find and waterboard delegates from these offended nations.  Yes, what a fine diplomat I would make. . .

The Sunday morning TV news shows grind along  and everybody complains about the relaxation of political campaign financing.  But nobody wants to discuss the role and immense power that TV Networks project toward viewers who, sadly, depend upon TV screens for instructions on how to conduct almost all activities of daily living.  Putting "proper" candidates before the cameras to encourage "choice" among the perpetually misinformed is a definite advantage in TV land when votes are required for a political agenda.

Have a nice Christmas to those who celebrate it,and make 2015 memorable for you.   There may be an additional blog entry or two in the meantime, or not, depending upon either the weather or my mainstream media tolerance level.