After three music filled days at Lollapalooza, I come back to this:
Homework.
My mind and body were lost in crowds enjoying the Flaming Lips, rev. Horton Heat, Ween, Manu Chao, Raconteurs, Ryan Adams, Femmes, Nickle Creek, Be Your Own Pet, Mates of State, and many others my cohort in blasphemy feels the need to give me a job. BLASPHEMOUS! My review of Lolla later now to the task at hand.
[1] The statute of limitations has run out on that one. Buster Keaton originally used that phrase in the 40's film "Don't Shiite Where You Eat, My Friend." I don't know why you would use it, however, Ruhollah Khomeini has been dead since June of 1989.
[2] Bush calls him "Wiki-wiki" in reference to al-Maliki being a spring creak away from him in each leaders respective polls. The Iraqis refer to him as "Bush's little squirt" but something might be lost in the translation.
[3] Dane Cook says it's a "Country, you're being kind of a bitch" policy but you can use what you want.
[4] So sit back and relax. You'll laugh till you collapse. We're . . . I'm sorry, what?
[5] Just for fun we run around the Warner movie lot. They lock us in the tower whenever we get caught. But we break loose and then vamoose and now you know the plot! Whoa! Sorry again, what?
[6] I think his slogan says it all. "Juice the vote in '08" The real question is what would be a funny 40/40 joke here? I am stumped and must move on.
[7] You mean there are six more of these!
[8] No, he has just been busy on the Lieberman campaign. Something about "de-hacking" the internets.
[9] Howard says no. He also just announced that we were the most read blog on these here internet tubes.
[10] The kind filled with whiskey.
[11] Neither. He will irrelevant to both of you by December.
[12] They had a choice. German or French. They figured at least the Germans fight. And they love Beethoven in the Middle East.
[13] Who?
Impious since 2006
Aug 9, 2006
Aug 7, 2006
An Open Letter To One-F
My darling little Doodlebug,
Greetings, oh great and grand wizard of the cult Blaspheme. I come seeking council. Advice. A ruling or two, if you will. I have a few questions rattling around in this slow-witted, rancid piece of meat that I call a brain...
[1] Would I be in the clear, copyright-wise, if I were to call Iran's Ayatollah Khamenei "The Holy Shiite," or does somebody like Steve Colbert already have dibs on that?
[2] Tell me, which do you think is a better nickname for Iraqi Prime Minister al-Maliki: "The Mayor of the Green Zone," or "the Large Kurd Cottage Cheese"?
[3] What do you think is the best way to describe our foreign policy? Should I call it the "How Dare You Believe Your Own Superstitions Instead of Ours Now You Must Die" Doctrine? Or should I simply characterize it thus: "Look, you're either going to learn to love having western ideology shoved down your throat, dammit, or you're going to choke on it. Frankly, I don't care which one it is..."?
[4] If I were to give Georgia Congresswoman Cynthia McKinney the nickname "It's Time For Animaniacs and We're Zany To the Max," do you think our readers --victims of media conditioning that they are-- would stop reading right then and there and just start singing to themselves (all the while noting which lyrics apply best)?
[5] Umm... Do you, uh, do you think it would be okay if I called our readers "victims of media conditioning"?
[6] How long do you think it'll be before Jose "The Mad Hatter" Canseco decides to run for governor of Florida?
[7] How many people do you suppose have already skipped down to #13?
[8] A few weeks ago, I asked Howard what the Iraqi prime minister's name was, and he gave me the wrong answer. I know I'm really going out on a limb, here, but do you think it's possible that Howard is a double agent?
[9] Our government wouldn't engage in disinformation like that, would it?
[10] Is life really like a box of chocolates?
[11] Does the fact that I didn't already know the Iraqi prime minister's name say more about me... or him?
[12] Well, well. I hear that the United Nations is trying to call "time out" in the Israel-Hezbollah game. Moving with their usual lightening speed, they are seriously considering thinking about mulling over the possibility of cogitating upon (*yawn*) yet another resolution. This one would call for the deployment of a German-led peace-keeping force. Um, excuse me, but isn't this scenario already listed in the Israeli dictionary, under the entry "worst nightmare"-- thousands of uniformed Germans with guns, telling the Israelis that they can't use their guns?
[13] Why do you suppose it is that Bud "Must Go" Selig has to read the Hall of Fame inscriptions directly from the plaques themselves... when everybody else has a separate, printed copy of the texts that they carry around with them?
Do I smell a metaphor?
Greetings, oh great and grand wizard of the cult Blaspheme. I come seeking council. Advice. A ruling or two, if you will. I have a few questions rattling around in this slow-witted, rancid piece of meat that I call a brain...
[1] Would I be in the clear, copyright-wise, if I were to call Iran's Ayatollah Khamenei "The Holy Shiite," or does somebody like Steve Colbert already have dibs on that?
[2] Tell me, which do you think is a better nickname for Iraqi Prime Minister al-Maliki: "The Mayor of the Green Zone," or "the Large Kurd Cottage Cheese"?
[3] What do you think is the best way to describe our foreign policy? Should I call it the "How Dare You Believe Your Own Superstitions Instead of Ours Now You Must Die" Doctrine? Or should I simply characterize it thus: "Look, you're either going to learn to love having western ideology shoved down your throat, dammit, or you're going to choke on it. Frankly, I don't care which one it is..."?
[4] If I were to give Georgia Congresswoman Cynthia McKinney the nickname "It's Time For Animaniacs and We're Zany To the Max," do you think our readers --victims of media conditioning that they are-- would stop reading right then and there and just start singing to themselves (all the while noting which lyrics apply best)?
[5] Umm... Do you, uh, do you think it would be okay if I called our readers "victims of media conditioning"?
[6] How long do you think it'll be before Jose "The Mad Hatter" Canseco decides to run for governor of Florida?
[7] How many people do you suppose have already skipped down to #13?
[8] A few weeks ago, I asked Howard what the Iraqi prime minister's name was, and he gave me the wrong answer. I know I'm really going out on a limb, here, but do you think it's possible that Howard is a double agent?
[9] Our government wouldn't engage in disinformation like that, would it?
[10] Is life really like a box of chocolates?
[11] Does the fact that I didn't already know the Iraqi prime minister's name say more about me... or him?
[12] Well, well. I hear that the United Nations is trying to call "time out" in the Israel-Hezbollah game. Moving with their usual lightening speed, they are seriously considering thinking about mulling over the possibility of cogitating upon (*yawn*) yet another resolution. This one would call for the deployment of a German-led peace-keeping force. Um, excuse me, but isn't this scenario already listed in the Israeli dictionary, under the entry "worst nightmare"-- thousands of uniformed Germans with guns, telling the Israelis that they can't use their guns?
[13] Why do you suppose it is that Bud "Must Go" Selig has to read the Hall of Fame inscriptions directly from the plaques themselves... when everybody else has a separate, printed copy of the texts that they carry around with them?
Do I smell a metaphor?
Aug 3, 2006
Three Days of Lollapalooza
Here are some of the bands I am looking forward to. Couldn't find a Pepper video or there would be one of them too.
Ween:
Manu Chaou:
Flaming Lips:
Ween:
Manu Chaou:
Flaming Lips:
Aug 2, 2006
FREEEEEEDOOOOOOM!!!!
In March of 2003 Rob Ney (R-OH) spearheaded a move to show all countries that were not among the "coalition of willing" the seriousness in which he took their lack of cooperation on the War in Iraq (currently known as the "oops-a-daisy"). In a "small, but symbolic effort to show the strong displeasure of many on Capitol Hill with the actions of our so-called ally, France" he changed the name of cafeteria food. French fries* were to be known as "freedom fries." The tasty treat french toast would therefore be called "Freedom Toast."
The idea originally stemmed from Walter Jones (R-NC) who circulated a letter around Congress. After the deed was done, the Tarheel spoke to a Washington Post reporter in diplomatic tones that have made the war such a success, "This isn't a political or publicity stunt. We feel sincere as to what we've done. This isn't going to change the debate or course of the world. It's a gesture just to say to the French, 'Up yours!'"
Well, after three years the Congress can once again eat french fries and french toast. The name has been switched back by the new chair of the House Administration Committee Vernon Ehlers (R-MI) who proudly stated, "Officially the committee has no comment on the matter. I really don't see how this is a story." Well, OK, not quite the same fanfare but we may be able to keep the Statue of Liberty after all.
With the change came a plethora of quotes. The first a snarky, yet accurate, rebuke from Nancy Pelosi's (D-CA) camp, "Now that they've changed the name of the french fries back, maybe they will admit their other foreign policy mistakes were wrong, too." And my favorite which will get it's own paragraph in honor:
"Our relations are definitely much more important than potatoes," Agnes Vondermuhll, French embassy spokeswoman said. "French fries are back in the Capitol, back on the presidential dinner menu and our relations are back on track."
Well, that was easy. We are all friends again. Can I get an amen?
*French Fries are actually a culinary invention of Belgium
The idea originally stemmed from Walter Jones (R-NC) who circulated a letter around Congress. After the deed was done, the Tarheel spoke to a Washington Post reporter in diplomatic tones that have made the war such a success, "This isn't a political or publicity stunt. We feel sincere as to what we've done. This isn't going to change the debate or course of the world. It's a gesture just to say to the French, 'Up yours!'"
Well, after three years the Congress can once again eat french fries and french toast. The name has been switched back by the new chair of the House Administration Committee Vernon Ehlers (R-MI) who proudly stated, "Officially the committee has no comment on the matter. I really don't see how this is a story." Well, OK, not quite the same fanfare but we may be able to keep the Statue of Liberty after all.
With the change came a plethora of quotes. The first a snarky, yet accurate, rebuke from Nancy Pelosi's (D-CA) camp, "Now that they've changed the name of the french fries back, maybe they will admit their other foreign policy mistakes were wrong, too." And my favorite which will get it's own paragraph in honor:
"Our relations are definitely much more important than potatoes," Agnes Vondermuhll, French embassy spokeswoman said. "French fries are back in the Capitol, back on the presidential dinner menu and our relations are back on track."
Well, that was easy. We are all friends again. Can I get an amen?
*French Fries are actually a culinary invention of Belgium
Aug 1, 2006
Hell's a-Poppin'
The phone rang.
I frowned at it, because I wasn't expecting a call. Besides, I was very, very busy: I was sitting on the couch, watching television and drinking a bourbon & Coke.
It rang again. Persistent little cuss.
I'm not sure why I answered it the way I did-- maybe it was the bourbon. I picked up the receiver, touched the appropriate button and slapped it lightly to my ear. I inhaled a little more deeply than usual and made an indefinable number of subtle, almost unthinking changes to the shape of my throat. What came out was sort of a cross between Shadoe Stevens and Rod Roddy: "KLLR, All Bluegrass Weekend!"
*CLICK.*
Then I did that thing that everybody does when their phone connection is unexpectedly broken: I held the receiver out away from me --about fifteen inches, I'd guess-- and stared at it, with a mixture of confusion and frustration, for approximately three heartbeats. Why do we do that, anyway? Oh, sure, sure, I know... Most phones these days have a little LED display that actually tells you that the line really is dead, but I don't think that's why we do it. Phone manufacturers have put that little display there because they know that everybody, everywhere, for decades on end, has stared at precisely that spot every time one of their calls gets cut short.
I think it's a deep-seated, almost instinctive bit of body language. It may very well go all the way back to Alexander Graham Bell himself, staring intently and frowning at a primitive earpiece. What do you suppose his thoughts were at that moment? Was it, "Oh, now what the hell is wrong with this damned thing?" Or was it something more along these lines: "Watson, you little prig, how dare you hang up on me!" Probably, it was a little bit of both.
Of course, the gesture could be just another innocuous product of a media-intensive culture. We may just be acting out. I think it's entirely possible that we have all been trained and conditioned by countless characters in countless movies and TV shows who gaze quizzically at countless prop receivers. In this way, we have all become psychologically unable to put the phone down without giving it a strange look.
I gave the phone a strange look, then I put it down.
It rang again. I picked it up. This time, I used my normal voice. Well, almost normal: I infused it with a healthy hint of solicitation: "Uh, yeah... Is, uh, is Suzy there?"
Wouldn't you know, the person on the other end was actually named Susan. She was calling "on behalf of (my) credit card account." Whomever had written her script had a very shaky sense of grammar.
"What's wrong?" I asked, stopping just short of "What's wrong, now?"
"Oh, nothing!" she gushed. "I just called to tell you about our Payment Protection Program."
"I-already-know-about-it-thank-you-good-bye."
"Oh, good! Then you already know..." and she launched into Phase One of the Main Script.
Yes, Susan, I already know about it. It only cost $9.99 a month, and it is marketed as 'Less than ten dollars!' It doesn't seem too unreasonable until you remember that the basic cost gets compounded by an interest rate so mathematically aberrant that post-grads at MIT are still trying to come up with a Greek symbol for it. It appears on your bill in small print and you hardly ever notice it until, one day, you discover that you owe somebody a kidney.
"Uh, listen," I said, "do we have to do this right now? You kinda caught me at a bad time... I mean, do you realize what's going on? Listen to this!" Then I held the phone out in front of me, toward the television, which was tuned to CNN. I waited. Five seconds... ten... twenty. I sipped my drink. The ice was melting too fast. God, it's been hot, lately, hasn't it? Would-be bourbon connoisseurs take note: The best bang for your buck is Jim Beam, black label. It is (a) pretty good stuff, (b) relatively inexpensive and (c) not too hard to find. Of course, you don't mix something that good with Coke. Any ol' cheap, run-of-the-mill bourbon will do, if you're just going to mix it. Don't fall into the Jack Daniel's trap, though. First of all, Jack isn't a bourbon --it's a Tennessee Whiskey-- but that isn't my point. Jack Daniel's costs way too much and, besides, any subtlety it might have is buried under twenty feet of charcoal flavor.
And just in case you want charcoal flavor: Buy Evan Williams.
Now, then... where was I? Oh, right, I was on the phone. I put the receiver to my ear again and asked, "Did you hear that?"
"Actually," she said, "all I heard was that kind of 'wah-wah, wah-wah-huh, wah-wah' voice from the Charlie Brown cartoons. You know-- whenever the teacher talks."
"Really?" I asked. "Huh. You know, there's probably a metaphor in that, but I don't have time to look for it, right now. I'm watching CNN. They're covering the Big Game."
"Oh, really? Which game?" she asked brightly-- much more brightly than anything she'd said so far. Much too brightly, for my tastes.
"I'm watching the first few innings of World War Three," I said. "The scrappy, underdog Hezbollah squad pushed across a run on a suicide squeeze and then turned a nifty little double play to get out of the first; but those big, Israeli 'roid freaks have the bases loaded again in their half of the second and they have the top of the order coming up."
There was a pause. Then she said, "Well, I'd really like to send you some literature about our Payment Protection Program..."
"That'd-be-great-why-don't-you-drop-it-in-the-mail-thank-you-good-bye."
"Oh, wait!" she said quickly. "I need to verify your address."
She needn't have bothered. I had checked my address that very morning and, sure enough, it was still there. But I didn't say that. Instead I said, "You guys send me a bill every month. I think you already have my address."
"It's just something we need to do," she said in one of those 'you know how it is' tones.
I sighed. In fact, I made a point of it: I sighed loudly; I sighed heavily; I practically sighed the words out as I said, "Okay... shoot." I'm not exactly sure why I used the word "shoot." Maybe it was TV. Or maybe it was the bourbon.
I heard a staccato series of keystrokes over the phone line. Then she told me my address. I said, "Yep, that's me. Bingo! Why-don't-you-drop-it-in-the-mail-thank-you-good-bye."
"Oh, wait!" she said. "First-I-need-to-make-sure-you-understand..." and she began to recite Phase Two of the Script. It was at this point that she dropped any last, remaining veneer of salesmanship. The words came fast and slurred and jammed together and totally lacking even a hint of sincerity.
Carefully, quietly, I laid the phone on the couch beside me. I took a sip of my drink. I picked up the TV remote and switched over to the Fox News Channel. You know-- for the home team call. They almost managed to hide their smirks as they intoned their slogan, "Fair and balanced," then spent several minutes openly rooting for Israel to blow the game wide open.
I flipped over to MSNBC. They were interviewing some American Idol also-ran from two years ago. Go figure.
I picked up the phone again. She was still talking. I cleared my throat and said, "I know where you live, Susan."
Pause. Then she said, "I beg your pardon?"
"Sorry. I just said that to get your attention. I don't actually know where you live, personally, but I do know where [the credit card company's] western collection center is, and I don't mean the anonymous P.O. box they have in Salt Lake City, either. They're actually housed in a big, low, white building with a kind of an off-brown trim, just off of [a particular street] in [a suburb of Salt Lake City]. You see, I'm in Utah all the time, and I know where their building is. In fact, I mail my check to them, every month, from the mailbox out by the street... about a hundred yards from their south entrance. I've been hoping somebody in the mail room or somewhere would notice some obscure code imbedded in the postmark and put two and two together. I like knowing that they know that I know that they know that I know exactly where they're at."
Another pause. Then she stammered, "I... uh... I'm-I'm not sure..."
I said: "Listen. Suzy. If you want to send me a brochure or a pamphlet or something about the Payment Protection Program, that's fine. Go ahead and drop it in the mail. You have my address. Frankly, I think it's a waste of paper and time and postage, because as soon as I get it, I'm going to take a heavy-duty pair of scissors and cut it up into little pieces. Then I'm going to put those into a little baggie and take them out on the road with me and scatter them on some lonely stretch of interstate where no one will ever find them. But, hey, if it makes you feel better, then you go right ahead and drop it in the mail, anyway. Okay?" I paused. Then I said, "Oh, and Susan? Just one more thing..."
"Y-yes?"
"Bud-Selig-must-go-thank-you-good-bye."
I frowned at it, because I wasn't expecting a call. Besides, I was very, very busy: I was sitting on the couch, watching television and drinking a bourbon & Coke.
It rang again. Persistent little cuss.
I'm not sure why I answered it the way I did-- maybe it was the bourbon. I picked up the receiver, touched the appropriate button and slapped it lightly to my ear. I inhaled a little more deeply than usual and made an indefinable number of subtle, almost unthinking changes to the shape of my throat. What came out was sort of a cross between Shadoe Stevens and Rod Roddy: "KLLR, All Bluegrass Weekend!"
*CLICK.*
Then I did that thing that everybody does when their phone connection is unexpectedly broken: I held the receiver out away from me --about fifteen inches, I'd guess-- and stared at it, with a mixture of confusion and frustration, for approximately three heartbeats. Why do we do that, anyway? Oh, sure, sure, I know... Most phones these days have a little LED display that actually tells you that the line really is dead, but I don't think that's why we do it. Phone manufacturers have put that little display there because they know that everybody, everywhere, for decades on end, has stared at precisely that spot every time one of their calls gets cut short.
I think it's a deep-seated, almost instinctive bit of body language. It may very well go all the way back to Alexander Graham Bell himself, staring intently and frowning at a primitive earpiece. What do you suppose his thoughts were at that moment? Was it, "Oh, now what the hell is wrong with this damned thing?" Or was it something more along these lines: "Watson, you little prig, how dare you hang up on me!" Probably, it was a little bit of both.
Of course, the gesture could be just another innocuous product of a media-intensive culture. We may just be acting out. I think it's entirely possible that we have all been trained and conditioned by countless characters in countless movies and TV shows who gaze quizzically at countless prop receivers. In this way, we have all become psychologically unable to put the phone down without giving it a strange look.
I gave the phone a strange look, then I put it down.
It rang again. I picked it up. This time, I used my normal voice. Well, almost normal: I infused it with a healthy hint of solicitation: "Uh, yeah... Is, uh, is Suzy there?"
Wouldn't you know, the person on the other end was actually named Susan. She was calling "on behalf of (my) credit card account." Whomever had written her script had a very shaky sense of grammar.
"What's wrong?" I asked, stopping just short of "What's wrong, now?"
"Oh, nothing!" she gushed. "I just called to tell you about our Payment Protection Program."
"I-already-know-about-it-thank-you-good-bye."
"Oh, good! Then you already know..." and she launched into Phase One of the Main Script.
Yes, Susan, I already know about it. It only cost $9.99 a month, and it is marketed as 'Less than ten dollars!' It doesn't seem too unreasonable until you remember that the basic cost gets compounded by an interest rate so mathematically aberrant that post-grads at MIT are still trying to come up with a Greek symbol for it. It appears on your bill in small print and you hardly ever notice it until, one day, you discover that you owe somebody a kidney.
"Uh, listen," I said, "do we have to do this right now? You kinda caught me at a bad time... I mean, do you realize what's going on? Listen to this!" Then I held the phone out in front of me, toward the television, which was tuned to CNN. I waited. Five seconds... ten... twenty. I sipped my drink. The ice was melting too fast. God, it's been hot, lately, hasn't it? Would-be bourbon connoisseurs take note: The best bang for your buck is Jim Beam, black label. It is (a) pretty good stuff, (b) relatively inexpensive and (c) not too hard to find. Of course, you don't mix something that good with Coke. Any ol' cheap, run-of-the-mill bourbon will do, if you're just going to mix it. Don't fall into the Jack Daniel's trap, though. First of all, Jack isn't a bourbon --it's a Tennessee Whiskey-- but that isn't my point. Jack Daniel's costs way too much and, besides, any subtlety it might have is buried under twenty feet of charcoal flavor.
And just in case you want charcoal flavor: Buy Evan Williams.
Now, then... where was I? Oh, right, I was on the phone. I put the receiver to my ear again and asked, "Did you hear that?"
"Actually," she said, "all I heard was that kind of 'wah-wah, wah-wah-huh, wah-wah' voice from the Charlie Brown cartoons. You know-- whenever the teacher talks."
"Really?" I asked. "Huh. You know, there's probably a metaphor in that, but I don't have time to look for it, right now. I'm watching CNN. They're covering the Big Game."
"Oh, really? Which game?" she asked brightly-- much more brightly than anything she'd said so far. Much too brightly, for my tastes.
"I'm watching the first few innings of World War Three," I said. "The scrappy, underdog Hezbollah squad pushed across a run on a suicide squeeze and then turned a nifty little double play to get out of the first; but those big, Israeli 'roid freaks have the bases loaded again in their half of the second and they have the top of the order coming up."
There was a pause. Then she said, "Well, I'd really like to send you some literature about our Payment Protection Program..."
"That'd-be-great-why-don't-you-drop-it-in-the-mail-thank-you-good-bye."
"Oh, wait!" she said quickly. "I need to verify your address."
She needn't have bothered. I had checked my address that very morning and, sure enough, it was still there. But I didn't say that. Instead I said, "You guys send me a bill every month. I think you already have my address."
"It's just something we need to do," she said in one of those 'you know how it is' tones.
I sighed. In fact, I made a point of it: I sighed loudly; I sighed heavily; I practically sighed the words out as I said, "Okay... shoot." I'm not exactly sure why I used the word "shoot." Maybe it was TV. Or maybe it was the bourbon.
I heard a staccato series of keystrokes over the phone line. Then she told me my address. I said, "Yep, that's me. Bingo! Why-don't-you-drop-it-in-the-mail-thank-you-good-bye."
"Oh, wait!" she said. "First-I-need-to-make-sure-you-understand..." and she began to recite Phase Two of the Script. It was at this point that she dropped any last, remaining veneer of salesmanship. The words came fast and slurred and jammed together and totally lacking even a hint of sincerity.
Carefully, quietly, I laid the phone on the couch beside me. I took a sip of my drink. I picked up the TV remote and switched over to the Fox News Channel. You know-- for the home team call. They almost managed to hide their smirks as they intoned their slogan, "Fair and balanced," then spent several minutes openly rooting for Israel to blow the game wide open.
I flipped over to MSNBC. They were interviewing some American Idol also-ran from two years ago. Go figure.
I picked up the phone again. She was still talking. I cleared my throat and said, "I know where you live, Susan."
Pause. Then she said, "I beg your pardon?"
"Sorry. I just said that to get your attention. I don't actually know where you live, personally, but I do know where [the credit card company's] western collection center is, and I don't mean the anonymous P.O. box they have in Salt Lake City, either. They're actually housed in a big, low, white building with a kind of an off-brown trim, just off of [a particular street] in [a suburb of Salt Lake City]. You see, I'm in Utah all the time, and I know where their building is. In fact, I mail my check to them, every month, from the mailbox out by the street... about a hundred yards from their south entrance. I've been hoping somebody in the mail room or somewhere would notice some obscure code imbedded in the postmark and put two and two together. I like knowing that they know that I know that they know that I know exactly where they're at."
Another pause. Then she stammered, "I... uh... I'm-I'm not sure..."
I said: "Listen. Suzy. If you want to send me a brochure or a pamphlet or something about the Payment Protection Program, that's fine. Go ahead and drop it in the mail. You have my address. Frankly, I think it's a waste of paper and time and postage, because as soon as I get it, I'm going to take a heavy-duty pair of scissors and cut it up into little pieces. Then I'm going to put those into a little baggie and take them out on the road with me and scatter them on some lonely stretch of interstate where no one will ever find them. But, hey, if it makes you feel better, then you go right ahead and drop it in the mail, anyway. Okay?" I paused. Then I said, "Oh, and Susan? Just one more thing..."
"Y-yes?"
"Bud-Selig-must-go-thank-you-good-bye."
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