Before our main feature, a few of Scribe’s featurettes…. (Is that what they call the munchkins who greet the John and warm him up for the ladies in an Oz-based house of ill-repute?)
This JUST In!
“Highly suspect and unscientific studies that still ring true.”
Anecdotal evidence indicates that the current, up and coming generation suffers from imbecile-icitis: a sometimes terminal disease passed on by cell phones. Honest to God, TRUE, anecdotal evidence includes…
1. Young driver, so focused on conversation, she trips and almost falls as she gets out of her car, runs into door instead of opening it, trips over doorsill and then knocks over goods at the counter with her purse as she prepares to prepay for her gas. The phone never left her ear. The conversation never stopped. Hopefully her girlfriend finally advised her what color shoes to buy or she’s probably driving down the road, still talking, and pointing her car right at YOU.
2. Young driver yaks it up, while speeding through a parking lot, and then slams into driver who had just put his transmission in forward after backing out of his parking spot. She jumps out of car and screams, “What did you hit me for?”
3. 20 cars behind young motorcyclist going down road, slowly, and then turning at the speed of a snail into a Honda dealer. YUP… on a cell phone.
4. Young thing talks her way into a Hess station after her boyfriend pumps gas while he too is on the phone. Acts angry when the cashier says, “That will be $23.50, Ma’am.” Apologizes to her fellow conversationalist about the “rude intrusion.”
These are only four anecdotal cases. There are an infinite number of them. Please feel free to share yours with Scribe. If your son or daughter has a cell phone and has been struck by this disease, you have both Scribe’s sympathy and ire. Take the damn thing away before it’s too late. Spanking at that age is probably useless, but that might give you a good idea where to shove their phone, right?
Wonder What They’re Saying Now?
“Musing about not so amusing Nazis are saying.”
John Edward’s wife, Elizabeth, has just been diagnosed with cancer… again. It cannot be cured. What a DAMN shame. Wonder what filthy, cruel, insensitive comments Lush Dimbulb will have, as always? He certainly is filled to the brim with them most of the time. If he were an outhouse he’d be so full he’d be worse than useless. Of course… he’s always been that anyway.
Now, finally, the main attraction…
Uncle Sam stared at the trap. He clearly had his own idea about how to escape. But for seven years he had been taking his orders from King Junior…
He said to Junior, “Um, Sir, I really don’t think…”
Ma Barb Barker, Junior’s birthing wench said, “How dare you question my boy’s beautiful mind. He has the nation’s best interest at heart.”
“But I’m just not sure…”
Torture Boy Gonzo said, “Yeah, support the troops, Sam. Don’t enable the enemy by suggesting withdrawal. If you do I might have to go all Patriot Act on your ass. Think you’d like to wear a hood and live wires?”
Uncle Sam glanced towards the pile of shredded limbs, blown apart torsos and residue left from evaporated corpses steadily rising on Junior’s watch ever since he stole his crown…
We will continue with our story in a minute, but first a pause for commentary. The past few years have been a little too much like The Blair Witch Project. When Scribe rented it a few years ago, after plugging it into his aging VCR, he kept screaming at the screen…
“Why don’t they just follow the stream out of the woods?”
“Ya know, the sun DOES set in the west. Think that might provide a clue on how to get the HELL out of there?”
“Didja think of making marks on the trees?”
Then, when the camera laden “crew:” two people, ran upstairs holding a mike at the end…
“Who is taking this footage? Did you think of asking for THEIR help?”
Of course that was bad fiction, posing as reality. Today, and for the past seven years, we have bad reality that would make even shittier fiction. Any publisher who would buy into this, as fiction, would deserve an economic thrashing… just like our nation will get as the bills come due.
We also know whose taking the picture: S&M media master Rabid Rove. Scribe wonders when the MSM and Rabid find all that secret hip boot/whip time.
Give it to me again Karl. MAKE me misbehave. Please, please, PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
One can just see Hannity or O’Reilly fuming because it was THEIR turn, not NBC, ABC or CBS.
Back to Sam…
“Pull harder! Shock n Awe, Sam, shock n’ awe, nuk, nuk, snort, he, he,” Junior yells excitedly.
“Uh, SIR, why don’t you try it? Or your daughters?”
“No retreat, Sam! Not on my watch,” Junior says, as his Goofy watch laughs that Goofy laugh to announce another hour has passed.
Uncle Sam sighed and thought to himself, “Where’s that gaggle of Keystone Cop Democrats who said they’d come to the rescue?”
Biggus Dickus, his lips as flat lined as his heart, says…
“Sam, keep pulling for our troops. The dead enders can’t last much longer. You’ll be out in a few weeks: I can’t imagine much more than 6 weeks. Pull harder. HARDER.”
Sam sighs AGAIN, and looks down at…
…the Chinese finger trap.