End of the World Prophecies End, The World Survives; A Possible Solution to the Age-old Conundrum

Perhaps you’ve heard the most recent Doomsday report that claims the world will end Saturday. If you haven’t, the end of the world has been predicted for Saturday, September 23, 2017. Get ready.

Or don’t bother. We all know that it won’t happen (not all of us, I guess. Most of us). The Mayans were wrong. Perhaps more fairly put, the people who “interpreted” an ancient calendar with no surviving users were wrong. Nostradamus was wrong, (I’m no expert on Nostradamus but surely he’s prophesied on this) web bots were wrong. Biblical scholars, Jewish scholars and crack-pot prognosticators have all been wrong. It isn’t because they are stupid or uneducated. Perhaps it is simply because the world has already ended and we are already in some sort of after-life.

It’s very simple to throw out theories like this. Rest assured, I have substantial evidence to back my claim.

Let’s consider technology. High-end tech labs continue to churn out products at a pace that is nearly as unbelievable as the products themselves. I heard on the radio the other day about a phone security app that gives access to you only after scanning your face to be sure you are an authorized user. Apparently this even adjusts itself over time so that it continues to recognize you even as your face droops with age. Amazing! Slightly scary. Fraught with bugs? We should know the answer to that in about ten or twenty years. I also heard about a pair of pants that will vibrate one leg or the other to notify you that you need make a turn as you progress toward your destination. That’ll be off the market as soon as someone allows their pants to lead them into the path on an oncoming train. Maybe the pants are smart enough to detect trains. At the very least you could call someone smarty pants and literally be correct. It’s about time. Thank you, techno geeks. But I digress.

The unbelievable nature of these products and the speedy  jumps of technological history could be attributed to the fact that the world has already ended. This would go a long way to explaining why these unrealities are realities. They could simply be mass hallucinations inspired by something in the atmosphere we believe we are breathing in.

If we were already in an after-life setting this would also explain Bigfoot, UFOS, ghosts, ESP and every other new-age idea and supernatural experience. People don’t die, they just leave behind their “body” and become invisible.( Or maybe there’s some after- life after the after-life. I hadn’t considered that until just now.) Some people have really seen Bigfoot. Some people have actually been abducted by aliens. People can really read minds and make the Statue of Liberty disappear and keep their teeth white and do any other unbelievable thing because the science we profess to understand doesn’t apply here like it did before the world ended.

Anyway, just food for thought.

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…think about it.

A don’t…overthink it.


A Few Film Ideas; Actors and Film Equipment Needed…A Cry For Help

I have a few ideas for parody videos. I had planned to produce them and post them to youtube but I suffer from a lack of cameras, camera operators, actors, props and the ability to do any post-production fine tuning. So I’ll live vicariously through verbal explanations.

My first is a parody of The Terminator. In my version Terminator comes back, in nude style as always, feeling bad for all the damage and death he has contributed to. He has a one track mind and, without even stopping to steal any clothes, approaches the first house he finds and knocks on the door. A man answers and shows surprise at being visited by a naked muscle man.

“What do you want?” He asks, quizzically and a bit alarmed.

The Terminator, hoping to avoid any confusion, states “I am the Ex-Terminator.”

“I didn’t call any exterminator.” The homeowner says, annoyed.

“Not the exterminator the Ex-Terminator.” Ex-Terminator says, again trying to convey that he means no harm.

“But I don’t need an exterminator. I don’t have any bugs!” the homeowner asserts.

“Neither do I, my programming is perfect.” The Terminator says in a proud dead-pan.

Fade to black.

Imagine a foreign visitor passing a nice suburban home with a small fence around the front yard. As he passes he waves at one of the home’s occupants who is sitting on the porch. The person on the porch utters some slur against foreigners. The foreigner, just familiar enough with our language and customs, realizes he’s been insulted. He screams “I take of fence!” And then pulls out some wire cutters, snips off a small section of fence and runs away with it. On his face is a look suggesting he feels he’s followed proper protocols. Cut to the person on the porch, zoom in on their confused expression, fade to black.

A fireworks stand stands in a parking lot. Above the stand is a sign that says used fireworks. We take a tour through the stand from a customer’s viewpoint. This provides opportunities for sign gags such as a sign stating “only used once” on a box of already exploded firecrackers or “nearly new” on the sticks that bottle rockets come on. We’ll see boxes of parachute men and already spun spinners and whistled whistlers, charred at the ends and sad looking. By the register is a box of charred nubs that used to be punks. All through the video we will hear the proprietor making poor sales pitches in the background. I haven’t written those jokes yet. The customer exits and we fade to black.

It’s quite likely I’ll never be able to produce these. If you’d like I give you permission to make them as long as I get writing credit and the opportunity to place an ad for my books in the video. As long as we’re on the subject of my book you’ll forgive me for saying that you might as well buy one for your children, future children, grand children, friend’s children (any children, really) or yourself. “How Sir Donkey Legs Became a Knight” is available at amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com or xlibris.com. Remember that a portion of all royalties I receive will go to programs that enrich and strengthen families.

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…feel free to contact me if you’d like to produce youtube videos with me.

A don’t…forget to imagine whenever possible.


Restaurants and Religion; A Few Thoughts

Thought #1: On Christians and chickens and, if we stretch our imaginations, perhaps even Christian chickens.

Everyone is probably aware of the chicken franchise that is pro Christian. I ate there this morning and experienced a few revelations. No pun intended, truthfully, but now that it’s out there feel free to enjoy it. The first thing I realized was that, in a way, when the chicken is prepared it experiences several of the basics of Christianity. Allow me to digress for a moment, though, before I prophesy further on that. A chicken can be considered a “born again” creature if one considers the laying of the egg the first birth and the hatching the second. Following this logic, it only makes sense that a Christian business would choose to sacrifice chickens, although in the truest sense the chickens aren’t sacrificing themselves to give eternal life. They are sacrificed, against their will I assume, merely to prolong human life. Despite this flaw in my theology, the chicken has fulfilled a major requirement before even reaching the restaurant.

After realizing the chicken’s status as a prime candidate I started to think of other parallels that could be drawn between fried chicken and Christianity. After being sacrificed (and a few other steps that I find unrelated to my line of thinking) the birds are baptized in hot oil. Shortly thereafter, someone accepts the sacrifice, which is another key component. They then pay for it. This act could be equated to tithing. The bird is then anointed in condiments and the flesh is consumed ala communion.

The steps are out of order, I realize this, but I think my argument is still rather valid. The only thing missing is the chicken’s crucifixion, but I think we all agree it should never ever come to that.

Thought #2: Don’t eat at Panera Bread and go to Heaven

First I’ll assure everyone that this is by no means a slam to Panera Bread. I eat there fairly often and I love their French Onion soup. That stuff is amazing in a bread bowl. Now, the explanations. Many religions advocate being charitable to other people. The rewards for such are varied. For the Christian it is eternal life in Heaven. Those who believe in Karma and carnal reincarnation are rewarded with their good deeds being revisited upon them in this life and the next. I’m sure there are some I haven’t mentioned, but I am not a student of comparative religions. I don’t wish to slight anyone.

My assertion that not eating at Panera Bread will garner you your religious rewards comes from the fact that Panera Bread advertises that their unsold bread is donated to homeless shelters at the end of the day. Now, there has to be some balance here. By not eating there more bread is available for the homeless. However, if no one eats there they’ll go out of business. We could possibly solve this by simply not ordering bread. But, if the demand for bread dies off considerably they’ll make less and we’ve again defeated ourselves.

I’m neither intelligent enough nor inclined to bother figuring out the statistics. If you are and will, feel free to take up the cause in my stead. I’ll gladly follow.

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…take what I’ve written for what it is. The ramblings of a lunatic. If I’ve offended your sensibilities that wasn’t my intent. My intent was to share some things I found interesting and perhaps morbidly humorous.

A don’t…stop eating at Panera Bread. Get the soup and be rewarded with happiness.

Human Cheese?

I at first thought that the vague wonderment that crossed my mind a few months ago was simply a silly idea that happened to pop into my head for unknown reasons. It crossed my mind that human milk, being no more or less biological and nutritious than the liquid sustenance produced by other forms of mammalian life for their young, could be manipulated in similar ways to manufacture other products. Most specifically I pondered whether or not human milk could be used to make cheese.

Don’t judge me. I had no intentions of acting on my ruminations and was actually a little disturbed that I had ruminated about it in the first place. Still, I happened to mention it to some co-workers. I enjoy the looks on their faces when I spout off randomly about the “bizarre” things I think about. On this particular occasion the ploy backfired and a co-worker, in an attempt to bewilder me as she had been bewildered, alleged to have found online a restaurant that served cheese made from human milk. It seemed perhaps the strange thought I’d had may be more than just the wonderings of a mind bored with the mundane.

I began to look into it a little further and found a few accounts of cheese and even ice cream having been produced from human milk. I didn’t research it enough to be able to confirm that any of these were true accounts. I didn’t read any reviews on taste or texture or any such things as that. All I did was confirm that the thought didn’t originate with me. Afterwards I began to develop some serious concerns.

Let’s assume that there exists a restaurant that serves human cheese. The first concern of such an establishment is to locate a lactating woman willing to sell her milk. Such a request must be extremely meticulously worded, especially in our country’s prevalent politically correct environment. Once such a request is satisfactorily devised and successfully deployed, many more concerns come into play. Chief among these being how do you compensate someone for such an odd and certainly uncomfortable endeavor. When the issue of pay is settled, many strictly culinary concerns come into play. How many years must be devoted to discovering how the diet of the woman providing the milk affects the taste of the cheese? What wine pairs well with it? How much makes up a serving? Is it a small dab on the side of a main course or is it in itself a dish? How much time and money are you willing to spend to answer these questions?

Then we get to the human aspect of it. Many people like knowing where their food comes from. Many restaurants use locally produced meat and vegetables and this goes a long way in building trust between eating establishments and eaters concerned about the quality of food they’re served. Would this not be much more the case when their food is made from a human by-product? How is this accomplished? Would the woman providing the milk be required to include her medical records with the menu? Would she personally greet those that had ordered her dish and inquire as to whether or not they are enjoying her cheese? And what diner wouldn’t experience some discomfort when confronted with such an inquiry?

I suppose an easier way to go about it would be to get a research grant and then develop some sort of human cheese in a spray canister. All personal aspects are thereby removed from the end recipient making it more likely that a higher number of people will try the product. Milk would also be easier to come by, I assume. It seems to me a woman might be more willing to donate some milk for science than to make a career of milking herself for a restaurant.

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…be adventurous when you eat…to an extent you are comfortable with.

A don’t…get a research grant. Please. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was my way of ridiculing the idea of using human milk for anything other than it’s intended purpose of nourishing babies.

Living Jack-O-Lanterns; In Answer to Why I Say Why Not.

The picture above is of a budding pumpkin. It is the first to have appeared in my garden and is of a variety that boasts the ability to grow to upwards of half a ton if properly cultivated. I don’t hold any misconceptions about my first attempt being successful at growing it to maximum size, but my research shows that this variety of pumpkin consistently produces fruits that weigh a few hundred pounds. If I can successfully grow just an average pumpkin of this variety, which I now realize I haven’t mentioned is called Dill’s Atlantic Giant, it should be sufficient to satisfy my goals.

Goal one is to make a living Jack-O-Lantern. I’ll hollow it, carve it, coat the inside with something to control the slime factor, then place my kids inside with flashlights. Not only will I have the first ever (as far as I’m aware, anyway) living Jack-O-Lantern with the potential for responsive lighting, I’ll also have the first Jack-O-Lantern that I know of with intuitive sound effects. I think that the kids will enjoy this greatly. They can pop out and scare people and just have a generally entertaining Halloween experience.

Goal two is to figure out what to do with the pumpkin shell after the holiday. I need an idea that doesn’t involve carrying it anywhere. So far I’ve entertained a few ideas for using it as a planter. I could either coat it with some sort of resin and attempt to make a permanent pot or just fill it with dirt and let it serve as a planter that will also provide some food to the plant I plant in it as it rots away.

Perhaps, if my neighbors don’t begin to complain, I can turn it into some sort of time lapse art project. Or it could serve as a combination bird bath/street side urinal for the homeless. This is the least desirable of all, so I hope one of the other ideas will work.

I likely wont have to worry about any of this at all because my green thumb is more brown with a greenish tinge.

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…try new things even if you expect only very limited success.

A don’t…pee in my pumpkin if I am somehow successful.

Cast Iron, Why and Why Not.

It goes without saying that children shouldn’t be left in hot cars unattended.  Since I don’t need to say that, let me instead say that despite being my favorite cooking utensil, cast iron confuses me.  I used to read a lot of Louis L’amour western novels. Perhaps I should instead say that westerns confuse me.  Louis wrote a lot about his characters’ carrying bacon across the desert.  Perhaps antique bacon was more well preserved than today’s bacon.  Or maybe it was some sort of bacon jerky or pre-cooked bacon.  But….he also wrote about how his characters were cooking the bacon over a fire in the morning.  Usually as a peace offering to a traveler they’d met in the desert.  Scenes usually went something like this:

Drifter: “Hello, the fire!”

Cowpoke: “Come on in if you’re friendly.  If you ain’t, don’t bother.”

Drifter: “I am!  I’ve got coffee!”

Cowpoke: “And I’ve got bacon!”

And then they’d have bacon and coffee and talk about where the gold was or what tribe they’d come across and how hostile they were or some such.  For some reason I always pictured them cooking their bacon in cast iron.  I suppose this is because I don’t think the technology existed to make inferior quality products yet.  It had to be cast iron.  And carrying cast iron through the desert makes about as much sense as carrying bacon through it.  Bacon spoils and cast iron is so heavy that it’s impractical even if it’s all you have.  Sometimes I have heat stroke just moving my cast iron skillet from the cabinet to the stove top.  But I still do because it makes me feel like a cowboy.  The heat stroke and the cast iron both invoke that sensation.  I don’t know why I like feeling like a cowboy. Neither do I know why I like bacon or cast iron.  All I do know is if I’m ever stuck in the desert I’ll hope to have a heavy antique skillet with me.  Even though it’ll slow me down and contribute to my dehydration and eventual death, It’s dual purposeness will come in handy.  I can use it to set a deadfall trap and then cook my prey in it as well.  Forget that I’ll have to lug it around the desert.  Cowboys are tough.

I bid you Adieu…and A don’t.

Adieu…cook with cast iron.  The powerful feeling it imparts is quite nice.

A don’t…actually take cast iron on a camping trip.  Cowboys only did it because it was all they had.  Invest instead in inferior, lightweight aluminum.  Not only can you not club an animal to death with it, it won’t last nearly as long.

About Pants; For No Good Reason.

I’ve heard people mention the fact that it is odd to call one item a pair of something.  More than just pants are included in this. Pliers, scissors…perhaps other things.  Anyway, since I’ve heard it mentioned before, I hereby disclaim that this isn’t an idea that originated with me, it is rather an exploration of an idea I’ve heard.  And here it goes:

Logically, if we are going to call one pants a pair the indication is that pants have more than one of whatever it is from which the name is derived.  Therefore, since pants have only one zipper and more than two belt loops (fancy pants excluded, I refer only to simple, frill-free pants) the only truth we may deduce is that each leg of a pants is a pant.  That being apparently true, I wonder why they chose to name them by the pants.  Why not a simpler name such as below-midriff-concealing-device?  Or a maybe there was a more complicated name which has been shortened to “pants”.  Something like a-left-pant-and-a-right-pant-attached-to-a-gluteus-cover-with-built-in-loin-cloth-suspended-by-a-waist-band-with-included-loops-to-aid-in-retention-by-belt.

I think I just seriously digressed.

Have you ever noticed that every name ever applied to pants is plural?  Trousers.  Britches.  Drawers.  All plural.  So pant legs have also been known as a trouse, a britch and a draw.  Its a very bizarre thought to think. I wish I knew who it was that determined that pants are plural.  Some bureaucrat I suppose.  A stone age predecessor of the modern day, well, whoever decides the plurality of things.  Or maybe there is no such person.  Maybe it has already all been decided.

I bid you Adieu and A don’t.

Adieu…take the time to consider things not worthy of consideration. Sometimes it’s fun.

A don’t…judge me.  I’m not as strange as I sound.