Meals on Wheels For Everyone!

My neighbor dug up most of his basement floor to redo the plumbing under his house. Several guys in the neighborhood pitched in to help. I wasn't among them because they all have some kind of job in a relevant industry or trade that makes them an asset to such a task, while I do not. They also have far greater quantities of youth and strength than I.

So there they were, deep in a cavern of noise and cement dust, when there came the sound of The Chicken Dance being played on mechanical bells. It was the Gold Star Chilimobile coming down the street. All the boys dropped their tools and ran outside to stop the truck and get an afternoon treat.

My neighbor hung back, looking forlorn. “Don’t worry,” I said, “they’ll be back after they finish off their three ways.”

“It’s not that,” he muttered, head down, “I don’t have any money.”

“Come on,” I urged, pulling him toward the street, “I’m buying today.” Turns out some of the other boys were standing by the truck, digging in their pockets for coins that might be hiding among the cell phones, iPods and yoyos stuffed in there, hoping to find enough for at least a coney.

Bob was on his phone, pleading with his wife. “I used the last five you gave me on cigarettes. Can I please have an advance on my allowance? Please, please, please, please, pretty pleeeeaaassseee?”

The chilimobile is a real thing, though it won’t actually be rolling down my street. But I don’t know why not. The article says “The Gold Star Chili Chilimobile is bringing three-ways and coneys to the hungry lunch crowd downtown and other places with minimal food options.” I’m sorry, I work downtown and there are far more food options, in easy walking distance, than there are in my neighborhood at home. Why aren’t they driving down my street?

When I was very young, our neighborhood in L.A. still had milk deliveries. The Helms trucks still delivered bread and doughnuts and other baked goods up until I was a teenager. All the services that had fleets of delivery trucks have disappeared except for the ice cream truck (which is not as good as when I was a kid – you can’t get a double buddy Popsicle to break on the edge of the curb and share with your older sister).

Why not have the chilimobile come down my street, followed by the Christian Morelein beermobile? Think of all the possibilities: Starbucks coffee and muffins in the morning, the Steak and Shake (or In ‘n’ Out or Fatburger – consult local listings) for lunch and a big brick oven on wheels delivering pizza for dinner. I know you are imagining your own favorite things coming down YOUR street and outside YOUR door right now.

Sure, this would put a few gas-guzzling trucks on the road. But think of the millions of cars NOT idling in long drive-thru lines. This would be convenience AND energy savings at the same time.

I am going to look into buying my own …. wait … I think I hear the chicken dance bells …

He Should Have Had a Strap-On

"Shoppers recall silence, fear in Lynnwood Lowe's store when man shot himself in testicles."

Good headline.

"For a few seconds, there was total silence at Lowe's Home Improvement in Lynnwood just after the gunshot went off at 12:30 on Sunday afternoon. 'It was dead quiet,' remembers Jim Fischer, who happened to be at the checkout line with his wife, Kim. They're doing a bathroom remodel." Essential information to set the scene.

"Kim Fischer will remember that after deciding there wasn't a random shooter in the store, 'nobody got panicky.'

"What Michael McDougall, of Snohomish ... will remember also is that initial moment of fear. 'Initially I thought it was maybe gang-related. I was afraid for my wife and daughter, and I thought, 'I think we should be leaving.' ' he says.

"And he remembers the initial scream, 'Oh, my God, I shot myself in the groin!'

So, how long was this period of fear and thoughts of possibly leaving ("hmmm, could be a gunfight, but I just drove all the way here and paint is on sale just today, so ...") before that guy screamed and everyone knew it was just a another funny epic FAIL story?

But that's not what really bothers me. Why do people carry around guns in the waistband of sweatpants? Especially after Plaxico Burress made it abundantly clear how stupid that is.

If only they made some kind of pouch thing, like you put your cell phone in, to strap the gun into.

Now it makes sense to me why guys wear their pants with the waisteband down below their butts. Keeps the jewels safer.

And if guns are kept in the waistband, you sure can't blame this cop for his mistake.

It's Not Easy Finding Green

I’m Chiquita Banana, and I’ve come to say
If you want a green banana, you’re SOL today
Artificially ripened to a golden hue
Already they are mush before they get to you

This s#!t is bananas
B A N A N A S

I don’t want to eat green bananas but I also don’t want to eat the sickeningly sweet, overripe ones that make me gag like that girl in Fast Times at Ridgemont High practicing her technique.

Bananas are a convenient food to take to work for a mid-morning snack. They are easy to eat and healthier than toaster strudel, even though that has 100% real fruit.

What we would do is buy a couple green ones and a couple almost yellow ones. They ripen on their own quite nicely and you can have one just at the peak of ripeness every day.


Now I go to Kroger and all the bananas are fully yellow, starting to turn brown, which, contrary to Ms. Banana’s lyrics, is way past acceptable firmness. They must have determined that more people buy them that way, though, so they artificially bring them to that level before stocking the shelves.

It’s just not natural. I don’t want my banana artificially ripened and I wouldn’t like it if Chiquita had artificially ripened melons either. I like it the way nature intended it.

I guess I will have to go back to enjoying Pop Tarts, which, by the way, I enjoy raw.

Battle for the Bananas - Round One

In case you are not a Facebook friend of mine and want to see what's been occupying my free time lately, there's this:



Round two in in July.

Can We At Least Still Be Friends?

I used to belong to Toastmasters International, an organization developed to increase members’ communication skills and self-confidence.

About 6 months ago I decided I’d achieved the level of personal growth I was looking for from the club and I did not renew my member ship.

Today I got an email from Toastmasters which had a header saying:

From: Toastmasters International To: John Bunyan
Please respond to donotreply

And it started out like this:

"Dear Toastmasters Member,
Please disregard the e-mail below as it was sent in error."

The message below reported that they had noticed I had not renewed my membership. They thought this was perhaps an oversight and

"We thank you for your membership and hope you continue to enjoy and benefit from your Toastmasters experience!"

Apparently, right before they hit “send” they realized who I was.

"Oh, THAT guy? Never mind. Just tell him we sent this by mistake."

So much for communication skills.

The message reminded me of all the confusing social interactions I had with girls in high school. I was always responding to donotreply.

So much for self-confidence.

They did add this to their message:

"We apologize for the confusion."

At least that was considerate. Those girls in high school never did that.

Blame for Breakfast - My Morning With Rand Paul

Rand Paul met me for breakfast at Mom's Country Cholesterol and Vegan Home Style Diner in Rabbit Hash, Kentucky. He ordered the “Extremely Conservative Breakfast”: red and blue berries in a plain, white yogurt and some tea. I had the “German Sampler”: eggs, goetta, potato pancakes, bratwurst, baked apples and toasted salt-rising bread with some black coffee.

Rand eyed my foreign dishes suspiciously as he explained to me how unfair President Obama is being to BP Oil, blackening their reputation and tarring them with responsibility for the explosion and spill. I was inspired to take another swig of the rich, thick coffee in front of me.

“It’s un-American,” insisted the Libertarian/Republican/Tea Partier Senatorial candidate. "And I think it's part of this sort of blame-game society in the sense that it's always got to be somebody's fault instead of the fact that maybe sometimes accidents happen," Paul said. “Just because BP may have been aware of safety problems doesn’t make then responsible.”

Paul was interrupted when Dewayne Ortiz, the owner of Mom’s, came over to our table. “You’re Rand Paul, aren’t you?”

Paul stood and extended his hand. “Yes, sir, I am. Thank you for a wonderful breakfast. I’d love to have your vote this November.”

“And I’d love for you to get out of my restaurant.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yes you are, Mr. Paul. And I reserve the right to not serve sorry-ass racists in my establishment.”

“I am not a racist, sir. But I respect your right to refuse service to anyone who offends your personal sensibilities.” And to me he said. “Come on, I’m getting used to this. People want to blame me for the words that accidentally spilled out of my mouth.I can’t be held responsible for my loose grasp on the concept of fairness and equality.”

Dewayne saw me sadly eyeing my island of foodstuffs surrounded by a quickly cooling and coagulating puddle of grease still on my plate. He swiftly packaged it to go and sent us out the door. Rand turned to wave to him and didn’t notice the car weaving down the street, pursued by police with sirens blaring.

I dove out of the way, shielding my to-go carton, when the car suddenly jumped the curb and struck Paul, who was knocked against the wall and fell on the sidewalk. The driver looked aghast as he stumbled out of the car and knelt next to the fallen politician. Officers scrambled from their cruiser and threw the driver to the ground. “Sir,” they advised him, “you are under arrest for driving under the influence, reckless endangerment, failure to control your vehicle, and, possibly, manslaughter.”

Rand, endeavored to raise his head. “Oh, I’m fine,” he insisted, “and I request that you cease this unfair treatment of a free, white, citizen of America. Don’t blame him, don’t blame the bartender who over-served him, don’t blame the liquor companies. Accidents happen. It’s nobody’s fault. We live in this blame-game society, because of all the liberal, big-government bleeding hearts. It’s their fau … responsibility for this mess we’re in.”

Mr. Paul was rushed off to the hospital and I went home to finish my breakfast, with thoughts about civil rights and responsibility spilling out of my brain the rest of the day.

The Vatican Shag

First you get down on your knees,
Fiddle with boys, as you please,
Bow your head to sin unchecked,
but, stand erect, stand erect, stand erect!

Do whatever crimes you want; if
Caught you’ll be cleared by the Pontiff.
Everybody have his own
Prurient liaison,
Doin' the Vatican Shag.

Pervert priest with sex obsession’ll,
Be absolved in the confessional,
Though the guy does things that we revile
And the Church knows he’s a pedophile,
There’s nowhere that he’d be safer,
There’s no crime he’s put away for,
Jail’s not his fate
All he does is relocate!

So get down upon your knees,
Fiddle with boys, as you please,
Bow your head to sin unchecked,
but, stand erect, stand erect, stand erect!

The Pope attests he didn’t know men,
Touched those boys with hands a roamin’
Oy, you’re naïve, ya
Think that we’ll believe ya
Still you ejaculate,
”I am immaculate”
Doin' the Vatican Shag!

All They Will Call Them Will Be Deportees

Arizona’s Legislature passed a Bill making it illegal to look like an illegal immigrant. The Governor proudly signed the bill into law, confidently declaring, “I have no idea what an illegal immigrant looks like”, but I’m safe, so who gives a crap?

One man alleges that he is an innocent victim of profiling under this new law. He claims he was arrested for having only a valid driver’s license and social security number and not carrying his birth certificate, white skin and English-sounding name with him.

President Barack Obama traveled to Arizona this morning to see what the commotion was all about. Upon landing at John Birch National-Socialist Airport, Obama was detained by authorities who demanded that he prove his citizenship. Obama happened to be carrying his birth certificate and stated, “I thought everyone in America had ordered one of these from Hawaii by now.” Arizona officials averted their eyes and stuffed their hands in their pockets, refusing to touch or even look at Obama’s birth certificate, saying there was no proof it was real.

When news of the legal struggle brewing over President’s arrest and imminent deportation got out, Arizona citizens was outraged. “We can’t have this much time spent on each and every obvious case of an illegal immigrant infiltrating our country,” one demonstrator shouted to the crowd. “Our police force, under funded because of the Liberal Communists who ruined the economy, can’t be expected to find every one of those bastards. We have our guns; let’s go out ourselves and find those people in their homes and places of work and round ‘em up. Some of them might be legal, but we’ll sort that out later.”

Governor Brewer vowed to step in at that point and have the state build camps to house the suspected Mexicans and A-rabs. She immediately hopped into her pickup truck and started cruising the streets of Phoenix, picking up men willing to work cheap to get the camps built.

Who Knew That Iceland Would Be a Hot Spot?

Hot Freak Style News
updated 8:02 a.m. ET, Sun., Apr. 18, 2010

NEW YORK - An urgent special session of the United Nations Security Council was called today to address fallout from Iceland’s unprovoked volcanic ash attack on Europe.

The session was just as quickly called off when U.N. event planners realized that most of the participants were unable to travel to the meeting due to grounded flights. “We’ve got caterers delivering every kind of ethnic food New York has to offer and nobody here to eat it except the U.S. delegation,” said Rosario Iglesias, Chief of U.N. Concierge Services. “Those guys are just wandering around, playing with their Blackberries and breaking into the booze supplies.”

That scenario is symbolic of the crippling effect the Icelandic volcanic attack has had on the entire world. Cancelled commercial airline flights threaten international trade, business operations and the vacation industry. Travelers stranded in European airports can only wait along with the rest of the world to hear what Iceland wants in return for ending the airborne ash assault.

It is rumored that Iceland’s government just wants to be known for something other than a source of cod fish. However, heads of state of leading nations have been reluctant to call Prime Minister Geir H. Haarde of Iceland about the crisis because they are still working on pronouncing his name. “Is that first ‘H’ a middle initial or part of his last name?” asked Russian President Dmitriy Medvedev. “This is a ridiculous thing to try and say.” “Ha ha. You should talk,” responded Vladimir Putin, according to sources.

President Obama felt confident that he would not embarrass himself talking to Iceland’s Prime Minister, reportedly saying, “I have a golden tongue and I can pronounce anything, such as ‘supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, even though the sound of it is something quite precocious.” However, White House operators were unable to find Iceland in the rolodex. It turns out that the address had been refiled under the island’s Icelandic name, Forsætisráðherra Íslands, by Presdient George W. Bush. “I ain’t as dumb as you all thunk I were. Heh heh.” Bush reportedly laughed when the current President’s staff contacted him to locate the address. “I can’t pronunsciate that shit, but Laura read me a book about that place and I made an executive order to have it reaphlabaptized.” Ironically, the former President is capable of pronouncing Icelandic words perfectly.

Presdient Obama is thought to be preparing to call Prime Minister Haarde as soon as he can assemble his Security Council and develop a strategy. It is rumored that the U.S. has been in contact with England about a plan to parachute Special Forces Chimney Sweeps from Great Britain onto the Eyjafjallajökull volcano in Reykjavík and have them snuff it out while also forming a spectacular large group musical dance production on the irregular and dangerous edges of the volcano crater. The plan is stalled, however by the aircraft flight restrictions in Europe. “It’s a bit of a sticky ‘Catch 22’,” commented a British Prime Minister who wished to remain anonymous.

Republicans in Congress are blaming President Obama for the entire crisis, saying he should have acted to prevent Iceland from obtaining volcanic capabilities instead of concentrating on meaningless healthcare legislation. A White House spokesperson shot back, saying, “It’s Forsætisráðherra Íslands, not Iceland, stupid.”
Glenn Beck, on his popular TV show on Fox News Network drew extensive doodles on his chalk board showing the link between volcanos on Obama’s Island home of Hawaii and the Forsætisráðherra Íslands volcano and socialism. “'Volcanic ash and socialism'. It contains the words 'Sasha' and 'Melia', Obama’s daughters. Also the word 'Volvos' – the car of the elite liberals. Am I the only one who sees this?” Beck asked no one in particular.

President obama responded to critics saying that pressure was building in the volcano during the term of the prior administration but that they ignored it in favor of attacking Middle eastern countries who really posed no lasting threat to the rest of the world. “If you’ve ever played Risk,” the Presdient stated in a deep, authoritative and condescending manner, “you know that Iceland is a critical link between North America and Europe.”

In Which Pooh Gets Contact Lenses and Then Goes Out On a Blustery Day

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Bees and cheeses! This damned wind is blowing dust in my eyes. I’m blind, Piglet!”
WHOMP! WHOMP! WHOMP!
“Ouch! Jesus H. Christopher Robin, Piglet, what just hit me in the head?”
“Ooh, Pooh, the wind is blowing dead branches out of the trees. We will have loads of lovely Pooh sticks to play with on the bridge.”
“Blast the bridge games, you pygmy pork product! I beg you, take one of those Pooh sticks and gouge my eyes out.”
WHOOMP!
“Holy crap, what just happened to me?”
“You fell in our heffalump trap, Pooh. I’ll get Christopher Robin.”
“No, just leave me here a while, Piglet. The wind can’t get me down here. And there’s still some honey in the pots. It’s so much nicer in here, I have composed a hum:

The more it blows
Tiddly ₤#@&
The more it goes
Tiddly ₤#@&
The more it goes
Tiddly ₤#@&
On gusting

And so I cry
Tiddly ₤#@&
And gouge my eye
Tiddly ₤#@&
And think I’ll die
Tiddly ₤#@&
From dusting.”

"Piglet?"
"Yes, Pooh?"
"I apologize for the 'pygmy pork product' remark."
"it's okay, Pooh."

THE END

Today I mowed the lawn for the first time this season.
Last fall, we had all our huge trees serviced – pest preventative applied, roots fertilized and dead branches thinned out. It seemed reasonable to me that I shouldn’t need a hard hat to protect me from the flying timber as I pushed the mower around blindly because the intense gusts of wind were throwing gravel up under my contacts.

But I did.

I told my wife about it and she had a totally uncalled for response.
“So, did you wear your hard hat?”
“No. My hard hat is in my office at work where it is more convenient when I need to not wear it on the job site tours I don’t go on.”
“Did you at least wear those big sun glasses you got to protect your eyes when you’re whacking weeds?”
“Do you remember Bill Cosby’s routine about the giant chicken heart that ate Manhattan?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“What happened at the end of it.”
**SPOILER ALERT**
“The radio narrator says, ‘The chicken heart is out side your door!’.”
“Right, going ‘BOOMP, BOOMP. BOOMP, BOOMP’.”
“Yeah, and young Bill smears Jello on the floor and lights the sofa on fire.”
“Because monsters won’t come near smoking fire and Jello.”
“And Bills father comes in and says, ‘What’s going on?”
“And Bill says, ‘Gotta stop the BOOMP, BOOMP. BOOMP, BOOMP.’”
“So Bill’s dad turns off the radio.”
“And young Bill says …?” I prompt
“He says ‘I never thought of that.’”
“Exactly.”