OUR LOVE IS HERE TO STAY.

One can't put a value on love. It’s an emotion and feeling that every human being needs desperately. All of us – with the exception of anti-social vampires – seek to find our soul mate. It’s what makes the world go round. Despite Monroe and Jane Russell shaking their ample tushes and singing, “Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend,” they’re not. The loving fellow giving that diamond is.

More songs, poems, plays, movies and books have been written about the quest for love than anything other than the right bait to catch flounder with. We all want to be and feel in love. We all want to be loved by someone else. In my case many someone elses. But whathehey……

The greatest mystery about what it is that causes each of us to fall in love is bewildering and never the same. “Whoever floats your boat?” “Love is in the eye of the beholder.” “Love at first sight.” And, of course, the old standby, “You want how much….?”

My uncle Herbie loved my aunt Ida until the day he died. She looked like something you’d find in a fish tank but it didn’t matter to Herbie or his seeing-eye dog. There have been legendary love affairs throughout history. Romeo & Juliet; Napoleon and Josephine, Ronnie Reagan and Nancy; and Dagwood and Blondie. Seeing two people in love gives me the same warm feeling as a hot foot.

How do you measure love? Is it by buying a huge diamond ring, writing love poems or…offering 40 goats for her hand in marriage. Remember, Chelsea Clinton? Everyone made fun of her looks when Bill Clinton lived in The White House. They were cruel but somewhat accurate. Well, friends, Chelsea has cleaned up real well. She’s now 25-years old and quite a looker. More importantly she has a serious wooer who wants to marry her and is willing to spend a fortune in order to get her to say, “Yes.”

Godwin Kipkemoi Chepkurgor, 36, is a Kenyan city councilman who has fallen in love with Ms. Clinton. He has written to Bill and Hillary asking for their daughter’s hand in marriage. Godwin is very serious about his romantic feelings toward Chelsea. Five years ago, he wrote Bill Clinton and offered 40 goats and 20 cows if Chelsea would only agree to become Mrs. Chepkurgor. He’s still waiting for an answer.

Godwin vowed to remain single until he gets an answer to his proposal. Chepkurgor, a city councilor in Nakuru, told Clinton of plans for a grand wedding presided over by South African Nobel Peace Prize winner Archbishop Desmond Tuto. If Tuto is unavailable he’d substitute Stepinfetchit. “Had I succeeded in wooing Chelsea, I would have had a grand wedding,” he told the Standard in an interview published during Clinton’s recent visit to Kenya.

The electrical engineering graduate said he promised to pay 40 goats and 20 cows in dowry for Clinton’s only daughter in accordance with African tradition. Sadly, Godwin’s letter never made it to the office because authorities thought Chepkurgor “just took the joke too far.” What joke? Do the Clinton’s know how much 40 goats and 20 cows are worth? At least as much as Paris Hilton’s engagement ring and Chelsea didn’t have to make a porno flick to get it.

In this cold, sick, impersonal world it’s nice to know that a suitor is still willing to put his fortune where his heart takes him. 40 goats and 20 cows are nothing to be sneezed at, my friend, unless you happened to be allergic to bovines. I just hope Chelsea reconsiders the offer. She and Godwin have much in common. They can sit around the old thatched hut and discuss politics with tom-toms playing softly in the back ground.

Ain’t love grand?

STICK YOUR LEFT FOOT OUT AND........

Many people believe that the Patriot Act shouldn’t be renewed. They feel that law enforcement has too much power now and are abusing that power. Police are intruding on our lives in ways that threaten our freedom. Law enforcement officials protest that they need as much information as they can get against possible terrorists, law breakers…and readers of Harry Potter. Find someone reading the new Harry Potter and you might be looking at an Al Qaeda operative…or a 9-year old kid with pimples.

Police abuse is a problem in many cities around the country. But, no where have the police over-stepped their authority than in Lawrence, Kansas. Yes, these uniformed “Evil-Witches of the West” – have gone too far. Just the facts Ranting Old Geezer. Okay. Ezekiel Rubottom – a name that should qualify for the Terrible Names Hall of Fame - finally had to put his foot down and demand that the Lawrence police department apologize to him for over-stepping their authority. Remember the clever “putting foot down” and “over-stepping” references.

Ezekiel now has his left foot back exactly where he wants it – in a bucket on his front porch. Embarrassed police have returned the amputated foot to him after seizing it during a weekend raid at his house. Everyone knows the cops have to get a search warrant before they can seize evidence from someone’s home. Did the Lawrence police get a warrant from some Kansas judge who was watching a re-run of Mayberry? Hell, no. They just called out the local SWAT team – consisting of a guy named, Orville, and grabbed Rubottom’s left foot which was soaking in a pail – not bothering anyone.

The 21-year old man’s foot was amputated three weeks ago after a series of medical problems, and he started keeping it in a five-gallon bucket filled with formaldehyde. Hey, it’s his right as an American – a little strange but no more so than hog calling. Things came to a head after the police got a call from a parent whose child reported seeing the severed foot. Officers who went to the home found the foot, and some of Ezekiel’s friends, but no sign of Rubottom himself.
Unsure of what to make of the unusual discovery, the police confiscated the severed foot and put it into evidence storage. “We had to make sure that no crime had been committed,” Sgt. Dan Ward said. How would you like to have your left foot dumped into some dusty evidence locker?

Ezekiel, an artist, recovering methamphetamine addict and occasional hip-hop master of ceremonies had some medical problems so severe that doctors decided it should be amputated. Ezekiel asked the docs to have his severed foot and he got it. After many discussions they decided that they didn’t need another left foot so happily gave it to Rubottom. One podiatrist wanted to mount it on his wall but he was voted down.

The hospital pointed out that people can keep parts removed from their bodies if they want them. Sounds reasonable and civilized. They’ve had people leave with their uterus, tonsils, appendixes and ear wax. “I think it’s unusual that someone would want a foot, but it’s within their rights because it’s theirs.” I wish I had known that when I was circumcised.

After a friend picked up the bucket at a hardware store, Ezekiel added several objects as well as the severed foot – including a porcelain horse and continued to make what he called “a collage of myself.” He also cut off two of his toes, saying he was considering giving them to friends about to be married. The police return to foot to him after taking him to the hospital, where he signed a release allowing the cops to see his medical records. Aha! See the police illegally checked his private medical records. Did they think cutting off ones left foot was a new Osama Bin Laden plan to destroy the United States? If that isn’t abuse of the Patriot Act…you don’t like chicken on Sunday.

May Ezekiel enjoy his one legged life until he’s committed to a mental home and given a frontal lobotomy. But, then he can keep the lobe in his bucket along with his foot.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY, TOM.......

One of the great, joyous events in any woman’s life, besides the death of her husband, is the birth of a baby. Women are maternal. They were born to give life. Just watch any Oprah show and you’ll hear healthy women talk about how their bodies are made for child-bearing. “Look at these hips. They’re made for twins.” Actually, she looked like an airplane hanger and they’re made for a 747. When a woman gets pregnant her friends celebrate with a baby shower. It’s not fair. The man who donated his sperm is lucky if his male friends don’t throw up all over his new hush puppies.

Women are constantly talking about their biological clock and the need to have children before it’s too late. If women could accomplish that feat without a man involved – there wouldn’t be a male left on earth. Let’s face it guys, we are pretty useless when it comes to the birth of a child – except for handing out cheap, smelly cigars. When it comes to helping raise an off-spring we are even more useless.
“Wait until your father comes home and finds out you put your sister in the washing machine on ‘spin cycle.’ Just wait.” So, the innocent, poor schmuck opens the front door to face the long suffering wife and kids who hate and fear him. What a deal.

Most women are great at raising children. But sometimes they can take this maternal thing too far. Here’s a good example: With a 3 1/2-month-old baby, Kathy Diekman doesn’t get a lot of sleep at night. Every mother can relate to that. Niko has been with her every night since his birth. Her husband, Tom, has moved to another room to sleep. Sound familiar, guys? “He’s afraid he’ll roll over on him,” Diekman said.

When he was born Niko weighed a little more than a pound and was given only a slim chance of survival. His doctors say Diekman’s nurturing has helped overcome those odds. Niko is a very special baby. I know, everyone thinks that their baby is special, “Look, isn’t that eye in the middle of his forehead adorable?” Niko is a spider monkey, and attaches himself to Kathy’s hair. If she was a bald dame it’d be ‘Katie, bar the door,’ for Niko. He’d have nothing to attach himself to except maybe a mop.

Niko was abandoned at birth by his mother. She decided to run off with a Bulgarian weight lifter. To save the baby’s life, Diekman, the director of Wahpeton, Chahinkapa Zoo in North Dakota…try saying that 3 times fast -- became Niko’s surrogate parent. There were health problems to worry about, including finding the right infant formula for the young monkey. Dr. Tim Matz, the zoo veterinarian, and his staff have handled several late night calls, Diekman said. Why is she bothering Dr. Matz, take Niko to an Urgent Care facility like the rest of us? “There’s a what outside to see me?”

Spider monkeys attach to their mother’s hair for the first year of their lives. “Niko sleeps attached to my head. This fact alone doesn’t bode well for a happy marriage. “Tom, we never make love anymore. Dya expect me to be turned on when there’s a damn monkey hanging from your head?” Zookeepers have to be careful with Niko, as with any human toddler. Coins and other small objects can’t be left lying around. “He does reach out and grab things. We don’t want him putting things in his mouth.”

All this maternal care is well and good but what about Kathy’s husband Tom? Has anyone considered his position in this thing? He’s already been banished to sleep in another room. What about his normal paternal instincts?

Maybe Tom was hoping for a son one day? A kid to share experiences with like playing ball, fishing, hiking, camping, like any normal dad: A son that he could share Father/Son Days with. Instead he winds up with a big eyed monkey? How the hell can he proudly introduce his new son to the other guys? “Hey, fellas, say hello to Niko. Niko get the fuck off that chandelier. Whatdya mean he looks just like me!?”

I feel for Tom Schmaltz. His wife has abandoned him for a spider monkey. If that’s not grounds for divorce I don’t know what is. He should name Cheetah as correspondent. There’s a lesson to be learned here: “spare the banana, spoil the monkey.”

GOING, GOING, GONE....

The United States is a rudderless country. We’re sailing in circles faster and faster and are bound to crash into ourselves. We have lost our moral compass. Let’s have a big hand for The Ranting Old Geezer for three lousy sailing metaphors.

Have you ever heard of “www.murderauction.com”? Probably not, right? Well, pull up a chair – an electric chair if you’d like. www.murderauction.com is an auction website for murder memorabilia. Yes, friends there is an actual web site devoted to selling personal items owned by murderers. The site is the brainchild of Tod Bohannon. One must speculate that Bohannon might have been hit by lightening as a child while licking an envelope and “just isn’t right.” Why would anyone try to make money by selling killers’ possessions? It’s the American way, Bubba.

This whole thing is eBay’s fault. Earlier this year they banned the sale of murder-related items amid protests from victims’ rights groups. What was eBay’s loss became Tod’s piggybank. This all came to a head (fill in your own sick joke) when a federal appeals court ordered the government to sell thousands of pages of Unabomber Theodore Kaczynski’s papers and other personal property to the highest bidder, it created an immediate stir in the shadowy collectibles world of “murderabilia.” So, while people wring their hands about Row v. Wade – and what crazy things the Supreme Court might do – another equally bonkers court decided it was important to offer the Unabomber’s shoes, dishes, typewriter, rambling letters – and even his copy of Strunk & White’s “Elements of Style,” to anxious buyers.

One has to ask why any rational person would need to buy one of Kaczynski’s loafers? For the same reason people eat Brussels sprouts or travel to Morocco wearing a cowboy suit hoping to tongue kiss a transmission salesman. People are sicko’s.

A Federal Appeals Court disagreed with the lower court, ruling that the property should be sold to help pay the $15 million in restitution that Ted was ordered to pay his victims. Let the chase begin. Crazies start your engines. Not only will thousands of pages of his rantings be up for auction but – get your checkbook out – an empty peanut butter jar, oatmeal containers, a rock, a plastic container with white clumpy powder and an empty brown envelope marked “autobiography.” I don’t know about you, but I’m going after the white clumpy powder. I already have an empty peanut butter jar that once belonged to Jimmy Swaggert.

Normally, dealers obtain memorabilia from the killers themselves. Wouldn’t you love to sit in on that negotiation? “Come on Pretty-Boy, get real. Some schmuck isn’t gonna pay that much for a lousy machine gun that doesn’t have a hair trigger. I can probably get you more dough for your blood stained spats.”

Some of the items being auctioned off at: www.murderauction.com. are: John Wayne Gacy’s framed Illinois license plate; letters written by Dennis Rader, the BTK killer from Wichita, Kan.; serial killer Ted Bundy’s 1988 Christmas card sold for $1.200, a birthday card sent by Jeffrey Dahlmer for $1,700. (“with original mailing envelope”), and a $99 “blurry photograph” of Charles Manson and his followers at the Spahn Movie Ranch in Santa Susanna Pass. (A nail from the ranch is selling separately for $20 as a “Manson Family Relic.”), letters written by Scott Peterson are selling for up to $500 each; and a few years ago, dirt from Gacy’s crawlspace, where he buried his victims, went for $30 a scoopful. Legend has it that after John Dillinger’s autopsy a fan spent thousands on what was left of him: his eyebrows, a blonde mustache, a lower lip and two cups of armpit hair.

Robert Thompson, a professor of pop culture at Syracuse University, said murder memorabilia has become more popular with the advent of the Internet, which allows freaks to anonymously bid on items around the world. Something else we can blame on the Internet. So it seems that Tod Bohannon is at the forefront of a growing industry. If he ever goes public….BUY! BUY! BUY!

I FEEL PRETTY......

Politicians are by nature very strange, unusual people. They thrive on publicity, talking too much, glad handing people they wouldn’t be caught dead with, pandering to special interests and being in the limelight. There are no shy politicians…boring yes, shy no.

It also seems to go with the territory that many politicos get into trouble doing stupid things: Bill Clinton and Monica, Nixon and Watergate, Gerald Ford driving the golf ball – “Look out! Four! Shit, he hit another old lady.” Etc., etc. The thing is politicians don’t think they’re going to be caught doing embarrassing things. Duh! As far as you can go back there have been political scandals that ruined careers and reputations. George Washington tried to hide the fact that he had wooden teeth but when a “Larry’s Pest Control” truck pulled up to Mount Vernon to deal with an infestation of termites in George’s mouth – he was found out. Things got soooooo bad that when Washington ground his teeth while sleeping he set fire to Martha.

Teddy Roosevelt was blind as a bat. When he said, “Carry a big stick,” he was holding a snake which bit him on his ass. Margaret Thatcher thought no one would know when she went in for her penile enlargement. Wrong. Gary Hart, who had a good chance to be President sacrificed his chances by going on a two day sailing orgy because he found out sex was more fun than having a White House dinner for Robert Novak. Jimmy Carter thought admitting that he once lusted after an albino dwarf would let him off the hook. Schmuck! Ronnie Reagan tried to fool people into thinking he had an I.Q. but when you realized he was married to Nancy that fairy tale crashed and burned. Abe Lincoln was convinced that pictures from his bar-mitzvah would never surface. They did along with his mother’s recipe for kishka.

You can’t hide anything from the media anymore. Never could. There were always snoops and tattlers who would give the politician up. Some did it for money and others just wanted to see themselves on the cover of “Shit Head Magazine.”

The British government just had to admit in a written answer to Parliament that Prime Minister Tony Blair has spent more than $3,130 of taxpayers’ money on make-up and cosmetic artists over the past six years. Is nothing sacred? Are we talking lipstick, rouge, plucked eyebrows and beauty marks? The Queen, on the other hand, spent $0.00 on make up and cosmetic artists in the same period…and she looks it. If you look “dowdy” up in the dictionary – there she’ll be waving. Why would the Brits get upset about this? One of their 14th Century Kings used to dress in a mouse suit and no one cared.

Downing Street revealed that Blair has spent $1,826.66 on cosmetics for the prime minister’s media appearances since 1999. In the past two years, a further $1,376.14 had been spent on make-up artists. Hell, for $500 he could have hired Grandma Moses. How do we know it was for official appearances? Maybe Tony is a cross-dresser and likes to throw drag parties at Downing Street? Is there any thing wrong with a prime minister wanting to look beautiful for visitors? Verily, would the Conservative opposition party expect him to look like some homeless bum while greeting the winning horse in the Steeplechase? A politician has every right to look the best he can, that’ll take people’s eyes off his record.

$3,130.00 is chump change in the scheme of political things. George W. Bush spends more than that on sneering lessons and brush ups on how cowboy’s talk. I happen to think Tony Blair is a handsome man – perhaps a touch too much of eye-liner and blush but no one is perfect. Leave him alone to buy and wear as much make-up as he wants. It never hurt Prince or Little Richard.

WHAT'S WRONG WITH KIDS TODAY?

Paul Lynde, in Bye-Bye-Birdie sang, “What’s The Matter With Kids Today,” which was a lament about how nuts kids are. Experts claim that children drive their parents crazy. It’s not a drive, it’s a putt.

Many teenagers have become adrenaline junkies seeking ways to top each other by doing outrageous, dangerous things. Dangerous activities aren’t new, but experts say today’s youth are more likely to try them – and take more risks than previous generations. To my generation, actually getting up to change the channel on our TV was considered quite a feat. That was before remote controls were available. We had to actually stand on our feet and walk to the television set. I’m exhausted just thinking about it. And, if that wasn’t dangerous enough how about eating TV dinners?

“Taking a chance is certainly part of the teenage psyche – but we’re seeing an enormous amount of it of late,” says Frank Farley, a psychologist at Temple University who’s been studying risk-takers since the 1960s. Two young people have recently died in Idaho – no, not from boredom – from trying to get a buzz by cutting off the blood supply to their brains. The trend toward dangerous stunts clearly cross the line of common sense – such as “the choking game” and more calculated risk-taking, such as extreme sports with trick-heavy competitions involving skateboards, snowboards, BMX bikes and sitting on top of an air hose. Stop! Whoever claimed that kids had common sense? Or, even brains?

“My generation is looking to be different; they’re looking for ways to be individuals,” says Christopher Sorichetti from his San Diego hospital bed. Chris has been doing high-flying bicycle stunts since he was 12. “My sport is almost like a rebel sport. For the guys, it’s kind of like a bad boy image. You’re popular, pretty much, because you’re known as a bad boy.” He has ruptured a kidney, punctured a lung and broken more bones than a collector for a shylock. No one has mentioned that young Chris probably also scrambled his brains.

Among the other fun things teens are doing, is: surfing atop moving vehicles, choking each other, pepper-spraying a friend or jumping off a building. Let’s all join Paul Lynde singing the second chorus at the top of our lungs.

Technology has given young people the ability to share their stunts with one another by way of the Internet. Just click on: “I’m an Idiot.com. “In this wired world, you can link with other people doing these things instantly. And it develops a kind of camaraderie – almost a license to do it,” says Dr. Farley. “In earlier time, we didn’t have such instant access to peer validation.” So, it’s clear that many teens are doing these stupid, dangerous stunts for peers and because most are retarded or when growing up didn’t eat enough lima beans.

If you think your child or grandchild has potential to become one of these risk-takers there are two things you can do. First, see how long he or she can smile with their head under molten lava or talk them into trying to suffocate by hiding in a large crepe. These “Type T” personality kids (T for thrill-seeking) have certain traits to look for before they grow up and become a danger to themselves.

* As a baby did he insist on wearing his diaper over his face?
* Instead of playing with rattles or teething rings, did the baby
prefer to play with live hand grenades?
* When being fed did they only eat with their hands, especially
soup and gravy?
* As a toddler did he or she show aggressive tendencies, arguing
with Big Bird or Barney at the drop of a diphthong?
* Did your 3-year old call Mr. Rogers a faggot?
* Was the child highly creative, with high-energy and found all
classes boring except for “Bomb Making #101” and “Sniper
#203”?

Parents should be aware of what their children are doing at all times so they can talk to them about it….hopefully by long distance phone. Make sure you have enough health coverage to cover your teen’s hobbies. Making advanced funeral arrangements for your offspring is also a good idea for today’s mom and dad.

R.I.P.

Are you a Law & Order freak? How about American Justice or Cold Case Files? If you answered in the affirmative you’re a crime junkie. You believe that criminals should be treated harshly…like an in-law. No mercy showed.

We’re all sick of some wisecracking nogoodnick, with gun moll in tow, breaking the law and living off the fat of the land. We want them caught and punished. The third degree, good cop/bad cop, the old yellow pages swung upside their heads till they beg for mercy….that’s the ticket.

Legendary lawmen are true heroes. It doesn’t matter if they’re real life cops or fictional ones. The list is endless: Wyatt Earp, Charlie Chan, Miss Marple, Philip Marlowe, Sam Spade, Sherlock Holmes, Dick Tracy, Poirot and my personal favorite, the incomparable Inspector Clouseau. Brings a tear to your eye, doesn’t it?

Joining the list of these Hall of Fame heroes is a new one – Arnold. No last name…kind of like Liberace, Judy, Frank and Liza with a Z. Arnold was an unlikely hero. He didn’t ask to become involved in bringing some stinking criminal to justice. He was in the right place at the right time. The really amazing thing is that Arnold joined the ranks of the “greats” at the young age of 6-years.

His exploits will probably appear on Court TV or an HBO movie. Rumor has it that Tom Cruise is interested in playing the lead. Sadly, Arnold won’t be around to bask in hero worship. He’s R.I.P. The good die too young. Arnold’s south Minneapolis neighborhood is mourning his death. Yellow ribbons hang from every tree and flowers grace his front door. He won’t be forgotten.

A bit of his history: Arnold the Crime-Fighting Pig died from apparent heart failure. It had nothing to do with his heroic feat. It happened while Arnold was watching an episode of Dangerous Housewives. He became a legend when he foiled a burglary in his home. Arnold earned his prominence after sinking his teeth into one of the two intruders who tried to rob his owner, Becky Moyer, at gunpoint. Did you know pigs have teeth? I just thought chickens did. She had just returned home when the two men confronted her in her garage. When they moved inside, Arnold was sitting patiently by the refrigerator waiting for his dinner.

Becky screamed, and Arnold sprang into action. When he clamped down on the burglar’s leg, the intruders bolted and left behind a puddle of blood. They ran like the cowards they are. “I never dreamed, never dreamed that a pig could be a protector,” Becky Moyer sniffed. “Never.” This brave little porker stepped up to the plate when needed and hit a round tripper.

Moyer received the part-Yorkshire, part-Vietnamese potbellied pig as a birthday present. “I was like, I don’t need this pig,” Moyer said. “I just wanted a night out on the town or a pair of sexy slippers.” She thanks her lucky stars that she kept the great bellied guy.

Keep your guard dogs: Dobermans, German Shepherds, killer poodles – those furry pussies probably would have rolled on their back and wagged their tails at the intruders. Not Arnold, no sireee. He came out fighting and saved the day. I hope he’s in porker heaven and boasting to the other pigs about his exploit.

Let’s all hold our spare rib at half mast and observe a moment of silence for Arnold the Crime-Fighting pig.

FORGET TURN SIGNALS JUST START SINGING

If you are thinking about taking a long car trip in the near future take notes.

Some of the biggest drags about long auto trips are: “Are we there yet?” roadside pit stops that make pig sty’s look downright clean, lousy food, and overpriced, sterile motel rooms. I have one question. What the hell ever happened to magic finger beds in motel rooms? They were a gas and motel owners decided to replace them with lumpy, swayback beds and pop-up bibles. Wrong. Oh, for the good old days……..

Restaurants on the road offer greasy, unappetizing grub served by someone with a cigarette dangling from their mouth, a stained costume and their hair in curlers…the waitresses don’t look any better. The food can barely be gagged down.

Road maps are also a problem. Most are unreadable and confusing. I especially hate the distance legends that are in inches and not miles. “Don’t worry, honey, we only have one and a half inches more to go.” Come on Auto Club get simple, easy to understand maps that even an idiot like me can comprehend.

Another serious problem with long distance driving is keeping your concentration and not falling asleep behind the wheel. Tens of thousands of accidents each year are attributed to drivers dozing off. If you tried to get a good night’s sleep on a lumpy, swayback mattress – good luck, pilgrim.

There are, of course, different methods to help the driver stay awake. One is to open the driver’s side window and stick your head out. This solution is not recommended when passing a train in a narrow tunnel. The surest way to prevent a driver from dozing off is to have a wife or mother-in-law constantly and loudly kvetch in his ear. That will prevent nodding off but not justifiable murder.

A survey of 1,780 people carried out by the Privilege Insurance Company found 63% of safe drivers – those who had not been in an accident for four years or more – said they listened to music while driving and the music made them feel calmer. Just under a quarter said music aided concentration. I guess if you hire a Dixieland band for the trip you’ll never get drowsy.

Drivers who enjoy sing-along while driving tend to concentrate more and fall asleep less than their silent counterparts. You are warned, however, not to attempt to sing-along any old Perry Como hits. You’ll find yourself snoozing away before you even clear your throat. So, sing-along is the way to go if you find your eyes closing while speeding down some highway. However, this study warns that drivers should avoid overly rousing tunes or complex rhythms which can divert attention away from the road. Forget Puff Daddy tunes.

“Singing while driving stimulates not only the mind but also the body which in turn produces heightened alertness and reduced fatigue,” said Dr. Nicola Dibben, a music psychologist. She claims that music was more effective than silence, conversation or talk radio in achieving an optimal state of alertness. “Singing may be less distracting than conversation because drivers recall words of songs they already know, or because it is fairly easy to learn words to music where it uses repeated lyrics. That, of course, means all modern songs which are usually written by some imbecile who hasn’t learned how to tie his shoes yet. “Motherfucker, Motherfucker, Motherfucker, Motherfucker” obviously is easy to remember but not recommended to be sung to someone you like.

There are problems with the findings in this study. What if the driver can’t carry a tune and can only sing off-key? This could be dangerous especially if there’s someone else in the car. One’s ability to sing off-key is directly related a driver’s chance of being strangled. What if the driver suffers from Alzheimer’s and can’t remember any lyric?…in frustration he might serve off the road and kill an innocent albino dwarf hugging his loafer.

The simplest solution to long distance auto trips is to throw your car keys away and cuddle up on your magic finger bed and forget about it.

DEARLY BELOVED........

Funeral parlors have an image problem. They’re a tad depressing and not a place you’d pick to visit given a choice. For years movies and television have portrayed funeral directors and employees as pale, dejected, timid, uncomfortable people in black suits who give the rest of us the heebie-jeebies. I guess it goes with the territory. It would be a little bizarre if grieving family members were met by folks in clown outfits with squirt guns and pig bladders.

However, most of us have to admit to chuckling at the thought of a funeral procession running out of gas on the way to the cemetery. Or, seeing a coffin come flying out of the back of a hearse and bouncing down the highway. If, that happened, it would be called, Black Comedy and bring a laugh or two. Wailing, crying and emotional scenes are to be expected but there’s something very reassuring in the old Irish wake concept. Why not celebrate the deceased’s life and remember him or her with laughter and fond memories?

To this end, the Humenik Funeral Chapel in Ohio is trying to change the image of funeral homes. Bless their little heart they’ve taken the concept of resting in peace, seriously. You won’t find coffins at Humenik’s. Owner Joe Humenik opened his own funeral parlor in suburban Cleveland five years ago after spending 10 years in the business. He decided to shake things up. To merchandise funerals the same way he’d promote a motel or amusement park. Make the people want to come and use Humenik’s services. What a guy.

The chapel offers a bedroom-like setting – a bed and two end tables – instead of where the casket would usually be laid out. We’re talking genius here. Joe first tried out the “reposing bed” for someone very close to him – his mother. He had observed at countless funerals how mourners awkwardly approach the casket, said their goodbyes and then ran like a bat out of hell to the seating area. No one likes to approach and look into a casket. Imagine you looked into a coffin and some sick asshole placed a mirror in it for laughs. You’d be looking at yourself and probably have a heart attack. Old fashioned funerals are depressing, unpleasant and barbaric.

When Humenik’s mom was laid out in a reposing bed, people felt more comfortable and stood nearby throughout the visitation. “It was a real phenomenon. People took chairs and were sitting around the bed like they were visiting. It was just amazing,” he said. One mourner commented, “It was like walking into her bedroom. It was just lovely. That’s the way I want to go.” Joe didn’t just fall off a hearse…he realized that he had a winner on his hands.

There is no limit to what this concept portends for the funeral business. Grieving families can be offered choices of professionally decorated “reposing rooms.” You could have your basic Danish modern; early American; French provincial; etc. People could be laid out in a favorite chair or recliner. Plasma TVs, expensive stereo equipment playing Sinatra singing, “So long it’s been good to know you,” pool tables, fish tanks and for the golfer, a little putting green.

Backdrops could be placed outside French doors to depict the deceased’s favorite nature scene: Snow capped mountains, ski slopes, beachfront views of white sand and rolling surf, desert horizons, or a penthouse view of Central Park. Once the stiff...ur…I mean…ur…deceased is removed a new backdrop can be added for the next customer. I can imagine an authentic Gold’s Gym set for a weightlifter who bought the farm. He could be laid out on an incline bench with his favorite dumbbells around him. There are no ends to the possibilities.

We all owe Joe Humenik a debt of gratitude and may his reposing bed never need new sheets. Personally, I’d opt for my favorite “reposing bed” – a massage table with a big smile on my face.

I AM WHO I AM BUT IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS.

Identity theft has become an epidemic in America. It costs hundreds of millions of dollars every year as innocent individuals, corporations, retailers and government agency’s fall victim to this insidious crime. Statistics show identity theft has passed carjacking, shoplifting and drive-by slapping as law enforcement problems.

Citizens are warned to be very cautious about giving out personal information to anyone. When filling out applications for credit cards, loans and the like we are warned not to list social security, driver’s license, Medicare numbers and any other information that might help criminals in their quest to steal our identity.

Ordinary people are told they run the risk of incurring debts run up under their name by unscrupulous con men. This is making many men and women paranoid about being forthcoming; about answering simple questions. Its soooo bad that I know a few people when asked “How are you feeling?” Answer, “None of your business,” and run away. There is a case of a witness at a trial when asked if he’d swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth?…answered he’d have to get back to the judge. When meeting someone in a cocktail lounge men and women are refusing to give their names when asked. They prefer to be called scotch on the rocks or vodka with a lime. A few have even refused to sign marriage certificates with their right name. You may not know the real name of your mate until the divorce. This is not only sick, it’s frightening. Just to be on the safe side if someone rings your doorbell, dressed like Elvis, and sings, “Happy Birthday,” you have every right to shoot them between the eyes.

There is nothing unusual about the crises in identity theft police say. “We get complaints by the thousands,” said Karl Niblick, a deputy chief with the Fort Wayne Police Department. Utility companies are a particularly popular way to use someone else’s identity. People get someone else’s name, birth date and Social Security number and turn on telephones, electricity or cable service and then never pay the bills. When the power or service is turned off, they get a new name and number and get new service, often in a new home, Niblick said. Social Security numbers have become a form of currency, sometimes every bit as good as a fistful of money to buy drugs. The drug dealer can sell the name and number or use it himself for anything from utility service to credit cards.

The hell with utility bills sent to innocent people. How about credit card charges that can bankrupt the victim? A sharp, industrious thief can use your identity when buying an expensive automobile…like a 1975 Yugo convertible. Actually, Yugo never made convertibles, the tops would just fall off. You could be sent a bill for a two week cruise to Love Canal or the Bermuda Triangle. How about a non-stop flight to beautiful Fallujah? Or, all expense shopping spree at a chic emporium in downtown Guam. Without any warning your credit could be ruined by identity theft.

Possibly the most bizarre case of identity theft occurred to Jabriona Terry from Fort Wayne, Ind. Her identity was stolen twice in less than a year. The interesting thing is that Jabriona is only 22 months old and her credit is already in the dumper. Even though she’s a little young to have her own phone, her mother discovered Jabriona’s name listed in the phone book and realized an acquaintance had used the little girl’s Social Security number to set up the phone service.

Someone else using her name and Social Security number listed Jabriona on his tax return, listing her as a dependent to get a larger tax refund. As you can imagine Jabriona’s mother is furious at these identity thefts. The only reason she hasn’t appeared on Judge Joe Brown’s TV Show is that 22-month-old Jabriona is also receiving monthly Social Security checks which seems only right.

BEING A DORK ISN'T DORKY ANYMORE.

“Times they are a changing.” Bob Dylan’s lyric was never more right. One of the biggest social phenomenons this year is “Dork Pride.” It’s suddenly cool to be uncool. Social awkwardness is now an empowered American trend. In the words of Yogi Berra, “Oy Vey.”

Maybe it’s because young computer geeks are now enjoying the millionaire life. Whatever the reason, being a nerd, a geek, a dork – whatever you want to call the tragically unhip – is becoming a source of pride. It’d be enough to make “Duke” Wayne swallow his spurs and become a commie.

For generation’s skinny kids, with acne, who wore bow ties, braces on their teeth, pens in their shirt pockets, untied shoelaces were the source of scorn and ridicule. It was a given that if one of these doofus’ was given a football helmet for his birthday, he’d turn it into a planter…or keep his stamp collection in it. Dorky girls were usually dumpy, giggly and smelled like hard boiled eggs. Dorks were a great source of socially unacceptable jokes and embarrassment for their parents.

Kids considered to be dorks were stuffed in their school lockers, mice placed in their back packs, forced to eat worms (which in many cases tasted better than the real school food), and beaten up by visiting Quakers. Most geeks played musical instruments like the violin or flute. Never drums like most masculine kids like….Karen Carpenter. They usually had great grades – another reason to kick their asses – had hobbies like stamp collections, astronomy and etiquette. Any of those were cause for serious goofing.

But today being smart and sensitive, even socially awkward, is often considered cool. The signs are everywhere. “The O.C.,” a TV show popular with teens, has Seth, a comic-book loving nerd as a hero. Bands such as Weezer also feed off the dork image, complete with horn-rimmed glasses and ill-fitting clothes. (Of course, backstage they do drugs and bang every teenybopper who stops by. Guess some things are always cool.)

Increasingly kids are parading around in shirts that say, “Dork Pride!” Such items have gotten so popular that CafePress.com, an online merchandiser, has created a special category for shirts and other items celebrating geeks, dorks and nerds. You can see bumper stickers on lots of motorcycles that say, “Talk Nerdy To Me.” Some real geeks are feeling a little territorial about their status. Nick Ross, a 26-year old, free-lance artist and animator, who wrote The True Geek Test, a set of online questions aimed at weeding out the “posers.” He says people often want to play the part but, know little about the world of computers and gaming – something Ross says is a must to truly be a geek.

Let’s recap. It’s no longer cool to be the football hero or cheerleading blonde. Crew cuts are out and long, stringy hair is in. Acne and blackheads is a sign of pride….also, perhaps lack of hygiene. Among young people, liking something cool is uncool, and vice versa. There is no logic behind it. One definition of a real dork, geek or nerd is, “An eccentric or smart person with a passion for something that may not be popular at the moment, like maybe tap dancing, yodeling or physics.” Wow. I feel relieved; when I was growing up I was made fun of because of my passion for coat racks. I was a hip dork without knowing it.

Many dorks worry that this popularity will be short-lived, returning them to a life of ridicule which they so richly deserve.

FAT MAN WALKING......

More Americans diet than pay taxes, get married, divorced or tattooed. There seems to be a new diet created every ten seconds. The reason is simple: they make the creators lots of quick money and more importantly don’t work. That allows the next diet maven to come out with another “guaranteed” diet that will fail.

The only sure way to lose weight is by dying. You don’t have to give up sugars, carbs. proteins or fats – just breaths.

The South Beach, French Woman Don’t Get Fat, Atkins, Weight Watchers, Low Carbs., High Protein, Sugar Busters, Jenny Craig are just some of the reduction plans that Americans spend billions on every year. The only sure thing is that none of them are sure to keep weight off you. But, men, women and kids are so desperate to look good in that new bikini that they will endure any “facockta” diet that will turn them into runway models. Everyone wants six-pack abs. I’d be happy with six pack beers.

To show how crazy this diet craze is and to what extremes a person will go to in order to lose some pounds – meet Steve Vaught. You’ve heard of dead man walking? Well, meet Fat Man Walking. Steve, 39, weighs 400 pounds. He left Oceanside, Calif., on April 10th on his trek to New York. Vaught is walking across the United States to lose weight. The blisters he’s sure to get will weigh more than he does.

Steve is in for an uphill climb. Severely obese men digest carbs poorly and have less endurance than women, making it difficult to lose weight. But studies show that a slow walking routine may help the heavyset burn more calories. At 400 pounds, Stevie might have to walk to Pluto….and back. At least this pudgy guy is trying something to help himself.

He’s planning on averaging 15 miles per day along Route 66. The self-titled “Fat Man Walking” has traveled 300 miles on foot so far and has lost 50 pounds. Besides losing poundage he’s hoping to make many new friends. If you happen to live in New Mexico and find the sun suddenly blocked it’s probably just Vaught walking your way.

Steve admits to liking food. That’s like Michael Jackson saying he likes sleepovers. Brad Pitt saying he likes Angelica’s lips. They’re all a given.

Steve Vaught didn’t wake up one morning to find himself portly. Steve never met a calorie he didn’t like. He could down an entire wildebeest before brushing his teeth in the morning. He tried weight reduction pills and hormones, bribing his scale to lie and every diet imaginable. His favorite was the garlic diet. He ate nothing but cloves of garlic….didn’t lose any weight but lost all his friends. That’s an old joke and I apologize for it.

Nothing worked. Medically he was at great risk: Heart attack, stroke, diabetes, high blood pressure and even the heartbreak of psoriases. Vaught was thinking of having his stomach stapled but they couldn’t find his stomach and didn’t have enough staples. He decided that something drastic had to be done. Steve was tired of casting a shadow that covered an entire county; tired of having to shop in the Stout Man’s Tent store. He couldn’t pull himself up by his bootstraps – that would have killed him and caused a hernia the size of Cleveland.

So, Fat Man Walking was born. Let’s all wish him luck and hope that he reaches New York safe and slimmer. On the way he’d better not get tangled up with some 18-wheeler….Steve could really damage that truck.

YOU CAN NEVER BE TOO RICH OR TOO RICH.........

For eons people have asked the question, “Can money bring you happiness?” That’s like asking some lonely bachelor if he’d mind terribly if Pamela Anderson gave him a sponge bath every day and licked off the whipped cream she applied every two hours? Or, the sharecropped family living in Louisiana if they’d mind awfully if Publisher’s Clearing House rang their doorbell?

Most men and women, who don’t have much money, believe it does. Those that do have lots of money are too busy enjoying themselves to answer such a dumb question. Who was it that said, “You can never be too rich or too thin?” Probably some fat bum living in a dumpster with a one-eyed cat named, “Murray.”

A new study just published has a different slant on the “money can bring you happiness” theory. It was written by a team of gaunt, emaciated eggheads living on a 269 foot yacht and eating anchovies on toast while drinking expensive champagne. Their conclusion besides that the anchovies were a tad salty and the toast too damp…was that the connection between money and happiness depends on “your means, your attitude and who you’re hanging with.” In other words, a person’s desire for more money and their conviction that their life would be so much better if they had it isn’t necessarily true.

What’s true is those with more money registered higher levels of satisfaction with life than those with less. Duh! They got paid actual money, while getting sun-burned, to draw a conclusion that anyone with an I.Q. the same as their neck size would know without leaving port? They added, however, that the satisfaction was not nearly as much as you’d think. For example, if you make twice what you used to make, your level of satisfaction likely would be somewhat higher, but not twice as high. Who cares? Tough titty. Sorry, Pamela, I didn’t mean to bring you up again. If your making twice as much keeps you from borrowing money from some huge guy who can bench press a Mercedes, named, Vinnie “Bats” Labomba – the “Bats” is not because he once played baseball – but it’s his favorite collection tool along with his brass knuckles….than most people would be very satisfied with their new life.

An article in Psychological Science – everyone who has a subscription raise your hand – called “Zeroing in on the Dark Side of the American Dream” looked at results from a study done on more than 12,000 people from their freshman year in college through their late 30s. With the exception of adults making over $290,000, those who said financial success was important were less happy than those in their income groups who thought it wasn’t important. The only conclusion is to stop singing, “The Impossible Dream,” and start crooning, “Brother Can You Spare A Dime.”

“If you’re not making money, its much better to be convinced it’s not important,” said Norbert Schwarz, a professor of psychology who coauthored the study and can’t look an anchovy in the face anymore. Does that mean if you’re about to be evicted and thrown into the street you should concentrate on how exciting it is to be moving? If you’re starving to death convince yourself that food is hazardous to your health? If you’re diagnosed with a life-ending disease you won’t have to worry about income tax anymore? In other words think positively and drink yourself into a stupor as much as you can.

There’s also a school of thought that says how much money you have in absolute terms isn’t as important for happiness as how much you have compared to everyone else. So getting more money may make you a little happier, but getting more money than others will make you a lot happier. It’s the old “Keeping up with the Joneses” times two. To show you how sick this philosophy is, when a group of MBAs were asked whether they’d rather make $100,000 when everyone around them made $120,000, or make $90,000 when everyone around them made $70,000, a majority opted for the lesser salary if everyone at the company knew about the discrepancy.

Conclusion: it’s all about image. If you think you’re rich or, richer than others you’ll be happy. If not, Dr. Phil should expect a call from you. Poor people have it easy. Hell, if they can pay the rent, have an occasional plate of mashed potatoes and sneak into the next Adam Sandler film they got it made in the shade.

HOW MUCH IS THAT DOGGY IN THE........

For you boomers that happen to have a few hundred grand stuffed under your designer mattresses and are tired of going out to lunch and drinking lattes with Peaches Goldstein and Orville “Buck” Harrington why not put your money to work for you? Instead of cutting coupons for exercise get involved in something exciting and dynamic.

Why not get into the franchise business? People who own franchises are making money hand over hoof. They are the hottest and most profitable businesses next to owning a Korean massage parlor. At last count there are over 200,000 Korean massage parlors – a cash only business – no food stamps accepted – on one block in West Hollywood alone. Some suspect that some of the girls might have been smuggled into the U.S. and aren’t native born. At last count there are only 12 native born Koreans in all 50 states.

Some of the really successful franchises that are money making machines, are” Subway, Curves, 7-Eleven, Dunkin’ Donuts and one I never heard of before – the Jackson Hewitt Tax Service franchises. Like many of you, I thought H&R Block was the biggie when it came to tax services. Not even close. Jackson Hewitt was started by…….? Come on guess. Wrong. By a little gentleman named, One Hung Low….who begin by owning a chain of Korean massage parlors. When the price of baby oil became higher than OPEC oil…he began this new franchise.

You don’t have to know anything about tax laws or accounting to own a Jackson Hewitt Tax Service. All that it takes is $250,000 and instantly you’re a tax expert. You even get a lovely diploma signed by Sally Struthers and Regis Philbin which you can hang on the wall or wear around your neck. This is a class operation. They even throw in an abacus which is sure to impress potential customers.

My favorite new franchise on the market is Camp Bow Wow. Doggie day care is the business plan for Camp Bow Wow. Pet-owners drop off Bowser for a day of play or overnight stays. The dogs get to romp outdoors and in climate controlled indoor facilities. Camp Bow Wow targets two growing demographics, “dink” (double income no kids-dog owners. They also cater to affluent seniors who like to travel and want to leave their dogs behind with people they trust. Another growing demographic welcomed as valued customers by Camp Bow Wow is the gay and lesbian population market. To this end, Judy Garland CDs are played all day long and DVDs of Ellen Degeneres beating up marines are screened for the pooches.

Everyone knows how much dog owners like to spoil their animals. Some men and women would rather go hungry than deny their dogs bowls of designer- kibble. Rumor has it that’s what happened to Karen Carpenter. Many Camp Bow Wow franchises offer 5-star accommodations for your poodle. They are met at the curb by a uniformed doorman, handed a gourmet treat and escorted into Camp Bow Wow. They are offered a kennel with a lake or golf course view. Among the services offered are: manicure, pedicure, hair styling, sun bins, massage, water sports, pilates, yoga, canasta, and golf lessons. The pooches dine on prime scraps and are encouraged to go back for seconds and bottled Alpine water.. The motto of all Camp Bow Wows is, “Spoil the Pets and Accept American Express Gold.”

When the pet owner arrives to pick up their dog they are presented with a bill that could give an Ox a heart attack but will also be greeted by a happy, joyous pooch that will probably pee or shit on their shoe. Can you ask better than that?

Bet all your money on a Camp Bow Wow franchise. They only cost $200,000 to get. Owning one is a lot more economical than sending a pet to one.

COULD BE IMPORTANT.....

Archaeologists and antiquity experts are kicking up their heels and dancing the hullabaloo with excitement. They are standing on street corners and shouting “hosanna” to annoyed Japanese tourists just trying to take pictures of each other sticking their tongues out. These scholars are throwing hors d’oeuvres at one another and screaming, “I’m not it.”

A secret encounter with a Bedouin ex-hockey player in a desert valley led to the discovery of two fragments from a nearly 2,000-year-old-parachment scroll that he happened to be selling out of the back of his camel. This is the first such finding in decades an Israeli archaeologist claimed. The excited archaeologist then popped a pig-in-the-blanket into his mouth and started doing pinwheels.

The finding has given rise to hope that the Judean Desert may yield even more treasures than last year’s discovery that Irving Berlin was a Jewish section of Germany. The two small pieces of brown animal skin, inscribed in Hebrew with verses from the Book of Leviticus, are from “refugee” caves in Nachal Arugot, a canyon near the Dead Sea where Jews hid from the Romans and their aunt Ida in the second century. The pieces of brown animal’s skin also had a “Kosher for Purim” stamp signed by a defrocked Rabbi.

The scrolls are being tested by Israel’s Antiquities Authority. Recently, several relics bearing inscriptions, including a burial box purporting to belong to Jesus’ brother James and Jesus’ own skate key, were revealed as modern forgeries. “No scrolls have been found in the Judean Desert” in decades. “The common belief has been that there’s nothing left to find there.” Biblical scholar Steven Pfann said, “What’s interesting and exciting is that this is a new discovery and is the first time we’ve seen anything from the south since the 1960s. Besides, a boxed-set of Hee-Haw reruns.”

The finding constitutes the 15th scroll fragments found in the area from the same period of the Jewish “Bar Kochba” revolt against the Romans, and the first to be discovered with verses from Leviticus. The Dead Sea Scrolls were written by the Esseness and punched up by Neil Simon. The Esseness, were a monastic sect seen by some as a direct line between Judaism and early Christianity. The scrolls comprise more than 1,000 ancient tracts found a half century ago in the caves above Qumran in the West Bank, one of the most significant discoveries in the Holy Land.

There are some archaeologist skeptics who doubt the authenticity of the new find. They point out that attached to the two fragments was an Ice Capades ticket. Let’s all hold our breaths.

BUYERS BEWARE

Have you ever bought anything on eBay? There is almost nothing you can think of that’s not for sale on it. Much of its junk like the original recipe for Jeffrey Dahlmer’s victim tartare. The tadpole found in Momma Cass’s throat. But, if you’re looking for a deal on golf balls or classic Mustangs…eBay is the place to shop. People offer things for sale and schmucks, like us, bid on them. The highest bidder gets the item.

The owners of the web site have no shame. They’ll put anything for sale on eBay. There are no guarantees that the object offered is in good shape or not. Buyers beware. It’s kind of the Las Vegas of flea markets and garage sales combined. eBay is the Gucci of crap, the Neiman Marcus of shit, the Polo of garbage.

Soon after hurricane Dennis hit the Gulf Coast, the popular auction site had hundreds of items of flotsam and leftovers being peddled. It just proves that people will buy anything. Useless or not. A bottle of Hurricane Dennis wind with and inch of rain was offered as a gift to the highest bidder. Someone with a sense of humor or a recent frontal lobotomy patient actually bought the bottle. What annoys me is that she outbid me for it.

Other Dennis souvenirs are: A piece of the mangled metal sign from the Ramada Inn Bayview – the one that nearly sliced through CNN reporter Anderson Cooper who was on the air when the wind finally brought the sign down. Bill O’Reilly of Fox bought it. “We have many little pieces of that sign, and also a large piece of the entire A’s from the Ramada sign…hurry, these pieces from a one-of-a-kind trademark of Dennis will be gone soon,” wrote the seller. The starting bid was 99 cents and by afternoon was $28. The seller could not be reached for comment…he was too busy giggling to talk. I guess someone whose first or last name begins with A is a likely buyer or, more likely, someone who never got an A at school in their life. “I don’t think that’s very nice unless their going to give the money to charity, “said the hotel manager, who can’t believe the hotel’s damaged sign has become so famous. The hotel manager obviously hasn’t lived in America very long.

A dark piece of toast with untoasted words, “Dennis 7-10-05 the Menace!” on it – a play of words on the decade old toasted cheese sandwich with the Virgin Mary’s image that fetched $28,000 on eBay last year. The Virgin Mary toast made headlines because the sandwich never grew mold. I’ve never met a virgin who grew mold, have you?

How about a shingle from one of the houses destroyed by Dennis? Need another slightly damaged tree branch? Start your computer. My favorite is a woman’s right slipper, with one of those ugly, fuzzy balls on it, that was found on top of a police cruiser which was blasted off the road.

One sick, unscrupulous fellow is offering a urethra bag blown off an elderly sick person who was watching the Playboy Channel when Dennis struck. What does anybody do with a used urethra bag? Probably try to sell it on eBay.

BOOK IT, DANO.........

Hawaii is a paradise for millions of people. The Island is beautiful enough to take your breath away: Lush green hills, white sandy beaches, clear tropical waters, deserted lagoons, lava rocks bordered by the most beautiful flowers and vegetation. The weather is nearly perfect all year long. However, Hawaii is facing its biggest crises since December 7, 1941.

Its very survival depends on solving the crises. This problem is so serious that it’s even worse than if Don Ho finally announced his long overdue retirement. He still will bore visitors by singing, “Tiny Bubbles”, off-key. Just like death and taxes, Don Ho will not go away. What else could be causing this disaster in the making? Poi? Close but no cigar. That white, tasteless paste will still be served to tourists too dumb to object. Will the Island’s government declare topless Hula lap-dancing legal? Will authentic, Hawaiian flowered leis be manufactured in Taiwan? Is it possible that macadamia nuts will cause bowlegged-ness and people to dress as hens? Come on, folks, this is a huge disaster in the making….think!

Okay, you obviously have no imagination. Hawaii is facing a menace that can bring the State to its knees. A tiny, 2-inch frog, the coqui frog, has infestated all of the islands. It suddenly appeared in the 1990s. With no natural predators, such as snakes, to keep their numbers under control, the frogs and their loud “KO-KEE” mating calls has caused serious damage to Hawaii’s economy. The noise the coqui frogs emit is loud enough to cause a pot of kasha to go deaf.

Experts believe the first frog – or frogs – hitched a ride to Hawaii from its native Puerto Rico – in a plant shipped aboard The Love Boat. Some even speculate that the frog hid in Gavin MacLeod’s toupee. Once on the Island the coqui frogs multiplied faster than a family of Mormons. Many worried officials believe the noisy amphibians could cause serious damage to Hawaii’s economy if they drag down housing prices. Who wants to live next to a noisy bunch of frogs that are louder than the Rolling Stones?

Some parts of the Big Island have infestations so large authorities have been forced into containment mode, abandoning plans to eradicate the frogs. “I would rather live next to a highway than live next to an area that has coqui frogs. The coqui sound is a shrill shriek and then silence”, said one disgusted islander as he stepped into the Pacific to swim back to Alaska.

Sixty-two percent of Big Island real estate agents said they were involved in deals affected in some way by the presence of the coqui. “Potential home owners are backing out of contracts because the frogs were too loud.” Another problem seems to be a few potential buyers tried to pay for the houses with raisins. If the real estate boom crashes because of the annoying “KO-KEE” mating call Hawaii’s future is in doubt. “Nobody thought a frog could be a problem…unless, of course, it got stuck in your cummerbund.”

So, pray for Hawaii. Book it, Dano.

STOP KVETCHING AND DO SOMETHING....

Is there anything more boring than people who constantly complain about their jobs?

Well, actually there are a few things equally as boring: People who bring there own wine bottles to McDonald’s; middle aged men who have pony tails and insist on wearing baseball caps backwards; fat women who insist on wearing dresses so short they can catch the croup and, my favorite: people with no sense of humor who try to tell you a joke and forget the punch line.

But, people who kvetch about work are right up there. “I’m bored. I’m not appreciated. No one cares about my feelings. I’m not asked for my advice. It’s a living hell.” Hey, the same thing can be said about most marriages but at least you’re being paid. Yeah, yeah, not enough but you are being paid. I’ve got news for those poor miserable souls who hate their jobs….leave, get out, change it – no one is holding a gun to your head…unless, of course you work for the Mafia…and in that case bow a lot and kiss the ring of fellas named, Cheech

It’s true that after awhile many jobs can become dull, doing the same boring things every day, feeling like a mouse on a wheel in a cage; constantly moving but getting no where. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist (talk about dull work…always sitting in some control room, counting down and never firing off a missile as some glitch pops up with two seconds to go.) to figure out that for your own sanity you should look elsewhere for a career. There are many interesting careers that most folks never even consider. Open your eyes widen your horizons……

Here are a few creative careers that you might consider:

Etiquette Instructor: the lack of manners is really a problem today. Like a young mother with a child and a bag trying to pass through a door and nobody helps her. Of course if you tried she might panic and spray you with mace and kick you in the nuts. Teaching people to stand up if you’re taking public transportation when an older person needs a seat. Or, grabbing them and pulling them down on your lap. Teaching school children not to talk back to their teachers…shooting them is okay but talking back is a no-no. Etiquette and manners are the mark of a gentle society. Be one of the leaders.

Golf Ball Diver: could anything be more fun than diving five times a week in some smelly, algae filled, polluted golf course lake and getting paid 9 cents a ball? You probably can collect an average of 3,300 golf balls a day. Imagine the interesting stories you can tell at home after a days work? There are a few risks. Regular tetanus shots are advised; water moccasins and gators can get a tad upset with you invading their territory. Some veteran golf ball divers say, “I do it all by feel. If its round, I bag it; if it moves, I let it go in a hurry.” Sounds simple to me. The average golf ball diver can make about $60,000 a year.

Sushi Broker: Imagine yourself living in Hawaii, waking up and 3:30 a.m. going to your office and taking from 10 to 20 orders placed on your answering machine. Your customers are hotels and sushi bars from all over the country. Then heading to the Honolulu Fish Auction, which starts at 5:30. Watching 3 to 5 fishing boats unload which can mean between 15,000 and 70,000 pounds of fish. Oh, sure, you can slip on fish gills and break both legs and the smell isn’t exactly perfume but think of the excitement. A Sushi Broker isn’t allowed to taste the fish but you can touch them. Talk about fun!? The auctioneer cuts the tail of each fish so that you can see how fresh it is. Color is the key. Red flesh means it’s fresh; if it’s brown or black, it’s older and probably on social security. Seer-sucker is not recommended eating unless fed to in-laws. Creative, fun and gets you up early……

Elephant Pedicurist: Now we’re talking creative work. An elephant pedicurist lives on the Ringling Bros. circus train along with 250 others. Human others. It’s the world’s longest privately owned train – over a mile long. Never a dull day on the circus train, you betcha. Your clients are 12 elephants. Their nails need to be trimmed regularly. Hey, elephants are people, too. The first thing an elephant pedicurist learns is to dispense with small talk. “Rosy, isn’t interested.” You have to shape and file the nails but under no circumstances put the hoof in your lap. Why? Because, you won’t have a lap anymore. Some elephants like their cuticles done but that’s extra money plus a big tip. You’d spend 14 to 16 hours a day with your pachyderms – they’d become like your family. Pretty darn sweet.

No more bitching about work. If you’re unhappy get the hell out. Just think about the fantastic opportunities that are out there. I didn’t even mention the Spanish Instructor for penguins.

THIS IS UPLIFTING...

What’s wrong with the class of armed robbers we have today? They have no dignity or sense of purpose. Robin Hood was an armed robber but instead of running around Sherwood Forest willy-nilly he robbed only the rich and gave the money to the poor. The opposite of Ken Lay and Bernie Ebbers.

Other world class armed robbers that come to mind, are: Willie Sutton who made bank robbery into an art form. When asked he said he robbed banks because, “that’s where the money is.” There were no Krispy Kreame stores in his day or he’d of spent all his time demanding they fill up his case with fattening, gooey donuts…with or without sprinkles. Dillinger was also a famous robber. His downfall came because of a Sabu double feature. Bonnie & Clyde never got the concept right. They robbed from the poor and gave to the rich.

The Brink’s robbery and Britain’s Great Train Robbery, of course, are the benchmarks for the armed robbery hall of fame.

Brazil should be ashamed of their current crop of bandits. You’d think a country that can put on a fabulous Mardi Gras would have robbers with imagination and pizzazz. Instead of the dolts and dunderheads that make up their underworld. Just the other day in Rio De Janeiro a group of armed bandits robbed a vehicle carrying more than 400 breast implants. It obviously wasn’t a convertible or one of those small, sporty two-seaters. The car had to be big enough to hold 400 breasts. I wonder how the bandits spotted the vehicle? Maybe it had nipples instead of headlights?

Their timing couldn’t have been better. “July is the hottest period of the year in terms of implant sales,” said Margaret Figueiredo, director of silicone implant manufacturer Silimed. She went on to explain demand is the highest in July, during the southern hemisphere winter, as women schedule surgery during the winter school holidays, which precede the beach season. Makes sense. I guess the same must go for penile extension operations.

The popularity of Brazil’s plastic surgery pioneer and trendsetter Ivo Pitanguy, whose clients include celebrities like Sophia Loren (tell the truth, you thought they were real, right?), has made the tropical country one of the leading international nip and tuck venues. Sophia might have been a patient but Twiggy sure as hell wasn’t.

A spokesman for the state Postal Service confirmed that assailants, apparently men robbed the postal van loaded with the implants. I guess they ruled out women robbers because they figured that the women would have been trying the implants on when the police arrived. Each Silimed implants costs nearly $400.

Obviously this was an inside job. Police are looking for some very flat chested woman who works for the Postal Service and is known as “Boobless.” The question that comes to mind is why the robbery? What are the bandits going to do with their loot? Are they going to drive around Rio and try selling the implants out of the back of cars? Garage sales? Flea markets? They probably won’t get much dough if they try to pawn them. Each individual implant bears an individual number so can only be sold for clandestine surgeries. Why don't they just turn themselves in and get the robbery off their chests? Chests, get it?

The quickest way for the police to track down these implants is to check every female Brazilian’s breasts for the incriminating number. Sounds like it might be a fun day job. Any volunteers?

GIVE 'EM A NEW DECK......

Gambling is a billion dollar industry. Everyone knows about Vegas and Atlantic City whose economy is based on gambling. For those who thought it was based on Siegfried & Roy – Not!

Indian Casinos have been popping up around the country faster than acne on a teenager. Tell the truth, haven’t you ever said to someone, “I’ll bet you ten bucks that……” Everyone gambles. For most people getting married is the biggest gamble they’ll ever take. And, that’s knowing how lousy the odds are that you’ll win.

Television has certainly helped the growth of gambling with its World Poker Tour and the popularity of Texas Hold-Em competitions. Where else can you see old guys in dusty cowboy hats taking on Orientals in silk shirts open to their pupicks and with enough gold chains around their necks to make Sammy Davis, Jr., smile? See young women with eyes that would make a Mafia killer cringe competing against some math genius who wrote a book, “How to Win at Poker Without Counting Out Loud”? There are several popular Internet websites that exist just to allow ordinary people to play poker while dinner burns on the stove. Americans love to gamble.

Of course, there is a danger that some people take their love of gambling to the extreme. It can become an addiction. As serious as drugs and alcohol. Thousands of gambling degenerates lose their homes, families and reputations every year as they gamble away their lives. It’s a major problem with some. Gambling Anonymous meetings are held 24-7 all over the country.

Gamblers and gambling has taken a bad rap throughout history. Musicals like Guys & Dolls help foster the image of a loudly, dressed Nathan Detroit hustling innocent civilians. Movies like, The Hustler do the same. If controlled, gambling is no worse than throwing your mother-in-law off a cliff. Gambling might not feel as good but whatthehey…..Professional gamblers defend themselves by pointing out that what they do for a living is no worse than some store-owner who has a “Going Out Of Business Sale”, all year.

If the gambling industry didn’t have enough public relations problems with certain conservative elements they’re now in deep doo-doo. A new report from the Mayo Clinic claims uncontrollable gambling habits can occur in patients taking drugs widely prescribed to control the tremors and stiffness of Parkinson’s disease. Some patients who had never gambled before lost more than $200,000 at casinos while taking drugs like Mirapex.

Joe Neglia, 54, a retired government intelligence worker says Mirapex “hijacked my brain.” He lost thousands of dollars playing slot machines several times daily for nearly two years while taking the drug. He stopped immediately after finding an Internet report linking the drug and compulsive gambling. “Within three days all desire to gamble went away completely although I did have this uncontrollable feeling that I was being followed by Rumanians, named Julius.”

The Mayo Clinic study described 11 other Parkinson’s patients who developed the unusual problem while taking Mirapex or similar drugs between 2002 and 2004. California attorney Daniel Kodman, who filed a lawsuit last year, said he’s spoken to more than 200 Mirapex patients who developed compulsive behaviors, including excessive sexual activity – doesn’t sound like a negative to me.
Mirapex reduces tremors and the slow stiff movements that are a hallmark of Parkinson’s. Mayo doctors now ask patients using the drugs if they have suddenly taken up gambling. If they have the doctors give them even money that a switch to another drug will cure them.

I’ll bet you didn’t know any of this?

TAKE YOUR PICK.....PLEASE.

If you thought the Hatfield’s and McCoy’s kept a grudge a long time, forget about it. If you dreamed that IRA and Protestant extremists would sign a peace treaty and go dancing hand in hand to visit the head leprechaun…dream no more. If you hoped that warring ethnic peoples all over the globe would lay down their arms and allow their neighbors to live in peace – grow up. None of those things are going to happen.

Anna Alicia Salas and Esteban Volkov make Ted Kennedy and Karl Rove look like lovers. They are locked in a battle to the death. The reason? Ownership of one of history’s most infamous murder weapons. The ice pick police believe was used to kill Russian revolutionary Leon Trotsky, has reared its ugly head just weeks before the 65th anniversary of his assassination.

Trotsky helped lead the 1917 Russian Revolution but split (no pun intended) with Josef Stalin and fled to Mexico in 1937, accusing Stalin of betraying the revolution. Josef, who did a wild Lindy and loved to wear a fake nose and glasses to parties, was not a man who took criticism well. As proof there are tens of millions of bodies buried in Russia of people he considered enemies. He saw enemies behind every stuffed cabbage roll. Stalin arranged Trotsky’s Aug. 20, 1940 murder by having one of his men sneak up behind Trotsky and sink the ice pick into his skull.

Tests to authenticate the weapon have been delayed by a dispute between the current owner and Trotsky’s grandson. The ice pick is in the hands of Ana Alicia, whose father removed it from an evidence room while serving as a secret police commander in the 1940s. Why Mr. Salas stole the foot long ice pick is anybody’s guess? Maybe he had run out of toothpicks and thought he could save a few pesos. Perhaps he wanted to surprise his daughter with the bloody ice pick because she had expressed the hope that Santa would bring her a backscratcher on Xmas.

Ms. Salas wants to sell the weapon but hasn’t decided on a price. She was hoping for the best offer on eBay. Trotsky’s grandson, Volkov, who keeps the revolutionary flame alive by maintaining Trotsky’s home in Mexico City as a museum, wants the ice pick for his display. As you can imagine, Esteban who believes in the ongoing struggle between socialist ideals and capitalism is not known for his sense of humor. Although, he loves to watch people’s reaction when he pulls a large, frozen halibut from his frock coat. The Trotsky museum isn’t attracting too many visitors – at last count 7 people visited in the past 30-years. Esteban hopes that if he can get his commie-hands on the ice pick, bus tours will line up in front of the house. The amount of visitors will surpass those wanting to see a Ricardo Montalban film festival..

The only way Ana Alicia Salas can prove that her ice pick is the authentic murder weapon is if Volkov contributes his DNA for testing. He will do so only if Salas donates the artifact to his museum. Since he charges a $1 entrance fee to the house, Esteban’s looking to make a killing. (pun intended) Alicia, on the other hand, won’t even be able to take the ice pick to The Antique Road Show to find out what the damn thing’s worth. So, there they are. A potential fortune at their beck and call and these two warring parties won’t budge an inch.

Maybe the IRA and Protestant militants should start skipping down the yellow brick road. “We’re off to see the Leprechaun….”

THROW THE BOOK AT THE BUM.....

The terrorist’s attack on 9-11 has been blamed for many things. It brought the possibility of the country’s vulnerability against attack by terrorists; killed over 3,000 innocents; made us reexamine our security at airports, ports, mass transit and borders; All, were found to be terribly lacking. It woke the country up to the fact that we had determined enemies who hated and wanted to defeat us. Possibly the worst thing that happened as a result of 9-11 was it allowed George W. Bush to win a second term easily. Bin Laden you should burn in hell for that alone!

Thousands upon thousands of citizen’s lives changed in an instant. Families grieved, orphans were created, people were just plain frightened out of their wits. Some will never recover and new psychologically damaged victims are found each day.

Case in point – or not. A convicted bank robber in Connecticut is citing stress from the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attack in a bid for less prison time. This is actually the second time that crazy defense has been used. Who needs Twinkies when we have Osama.

Jason Battista, 28, is expected to be sentenced next month for robbing 15 banks in Connecticut, New York and New Jersey. He faces nearly seven years in jail. That’s a helluva lot of stress isn’t it? I’m surprised sensitive, stressed – out Jason didn’t become a child molester or fife player with the Budapest all nude symphony orchestra?.

The former college baseball, who wore white medical tape on his face during the robberies, was “impacted deeply” by the terror attacks, said his attorney. “He was unable to function properly because of what he saw. His drug use seemed to spiral out of control after 9-11. He wasn’t the same individual.” Battista, who was watching a re-run of Gilligan’s Island, when they broke in to show the devastation, was so shocked that he ran out, bought a gun and decided he had this uncontrollable urge to rob banks. If he was watching The Iron Chef, Lord, knows what would have happened? Bottom line: this druggie, bank robber is hoping that some idiot Judge will excuse his crimes because of The World Trade Center.

Could happen. Last year, another convicted bank robber, Pamela Kaichen, won a reduced sentence after arguing she had a mental condition that developed from volunteering at ground zero in New York following the attack. Kaichen, was dubbed the “Blonde Bandit” because she wore a long blond wig during her two-day robbery spree. She could have faced more than seven years in prison under federal sentencing guidelines but was given four years instead. U.S. District Judge Ellen Bree Burns was responsible for the reduction in sentence and should be strangled with one of Judge Judy’s panty hose.

White medical taped, Jason Battista was not dubbed the “Johnson & Johnson Bandit” during his long crime spree. He needed a better PR man.

Defendants have long cited traumatic events, often in their childhood, in bids for leniency, but making the connection to crime is a tough argument. I hope the judge throws the book at Jason. 9-11 had nothing to do with his crimes...he just got pissed off at Bob Denver.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SLURPEE

Happy Birthday To You…Happy Birthday To You….Happy Birthday, Dear Friend….Happy Birthday To You.

Yes, it’s an old friend’s 40th birthday. Do you remember your 40th birthday? It’s one of those important ones – when you realize that middle age is approaching faster than a Florida hurricane in July. I remember my 40th – I was still in grade school. It was embarrassing. Not that I was still in grade school but that my two kids were in higher grades.

Long before smoothies and Frappuccinos there was the Slurpee. That slushy, colorful 7-Eleven brand – and American icon – turned 40-years old. It’s still popular for the same reason it caught on back then: fun, variety, “brain freeze” and colorful tongues. Every time you gulped down a Slurpee the immediate pain that occurred in your forehead and brain was like someone slammed a bayonet into your eye socket. It was a feeling you never forgot and weirdly looked forward to every time you ordered the drink.

Slurpee was born in Kansas at a Dairy Queen where owner Omar Knedlik served semi-frozen bottled soft drinks. When you live in Kansas there aren’t many exciting things to do besides throwing road-kill like Frisbees…or counting colonels of corn that look like Jesus. When Omar’s drinks were a hit, he worked with a Dallas company to develop the “Icee” machine that replicated that consistency in slushy drinks served at 28 degrees. When a 7-Eleven manager happened upon an Icee machine in a rival’s store, he saw potential and got them into three 7-Eleven stores in 1965. Within two years they were in almost every 7-Eleven.

Poor, old Omar Knedlik, didn’t even have the pleasure of having the drink named after him. Is the “Omar”or the “Knedlik” not as magical as Slurpee? He didn’t even get a royalty for inventing the drink. The name Slurpee got its name for the noise it makes through the straw when you get a hernia sipping the drink.

“It hasn’t changed a lot in 40 years”, says 7-Eleven. “You can’t say that about lots of brands.” Some interesting facts: According to 7-Eleven, since 1965, more than 6 billion Slurpees have been sold. They are now sold in 17 countries. Most Islamic countries deserve the pain they get from the drink. U.S. annual sales alone are $170 million. Building the brand, in 1970, Slurpee marketing included Slurp Magazine and a dance step and song called The Slurp.

Slurp Magazine is almost as popular as “Egg Futures and You.” And, The Slurp is a favorite dance with epileptics all over the world. Happy Birthday Slurpee – many more to come.

As another public service The Ranting Old Geezer has done an exhaustive study on how “boomers” can retire wealthy. He has talked to many experts about the subject, including: “Paul, Herman, Sheila and Buck.”

Sheila is the author of the best seller, “Unmotivated Giggling in Caribou.” With the enormous success of that book and the movie that was made from it starring the late Sir John Gielgud and Carmen Miranda, she was able to retire and join the ranks of The Rich and Idle.

Herman, now living on a Caribbean island with his bevy of handmaidens, made his millions by cheating the IRS and thousands of innocent senior citizens out of their life’s savings. He posed as Jesse Jackson.

Paul, retired to his Chalet in Austria where he is currently writing his biography, “It was probably the veal-parmigian incident. But, what was it doing in my wallet?”

Buck, as everyone knows, retired with 40 million dollars. Of course he started out with 56 billion dollars. His downfall was when he took his chain of Tallis Shops public. When not making speeches to Wall Street investors, Buck tends to his yolk of oxen.

Do you dream about retiring rich and happy? Are you the type who believes that you can never have too much money or earmuffs? According to my experts the solution is right in front of you. Retiring filthy rich is a simple as passing a chicken without tipping your hat. Here are the few simple rules to follow:

* Come from a wealthy family.
* Marry a very, very rich husband or wife.
* Never buy stocks from a man who wears spats named, “Frenchy.”
* When robbing a bank make sure you have a large machine gun and
don’t wear pajamas.
*Cheating on your taxes is a tried and true method. However, if you
do cheat don’t send in your return signed, “Guess Who?”
*Become a televangelist and you will be rolling in tax free dough and
bad, ill-fitting clothes.

As you can see retiring with mucho moola isn’t that tough. It requires stealth, luck, sticktoitness, and a crooked immoral soul. A few Hos working for you on the street couldn’t hurt, either.

REPORT CARDS MUST BE SIGNED....

The State of California is considering instituting a medical rating system which will allow potential patients to check into a doctor’s background. If put into effect this report card will rate doctors based on previous patients’ experiences, complaints, malpractice history, etc. In other words if a surgeon doing an appendix operation inadvertently leaves his loafer inside the patient before sewing him up – it will be reported on the system. It could be the doc wasn’t aware of the mistake even though he limped out of the OR.

The medical profession is fighting this idea harder than Mike Tyson punched in his last loss. They think it’s unfair that patients have the ability to find out any negative reports on a physician. They much prefer a “don’t ask/don’t tell” system. If a patient didn’t realize that their proctologist needed his nails clipped it’s nobody’s business…even though the poor patient now walks on his tip-toes.

This report card is an interesting idea. Will the doctor’s parents have to sign each report card before it’s handed in? Will there be a “plays well with others” or “can do better” box that can be checked off? Will some offending doctors be left back and have to attend summer school?

What if other professions adapt this grading system? Could be very interesting. Potential clients would be forewarned that an accountant can only add by using his fingers and toes. Pilots who are afraid of heights would be a target. A Policeman who moonlights by singing with The Village People would be listed. Dentists who wear boxing gloves while doing extractions would be on file. Shoe salesman, who insists on sucking a customer’s toes before letting them try on a hushpuppy, would go to the head of the line. Post office employees who don’t pack an Uzi would be in big trouble. Any psychiatrist who wears an aluminum cocked hat and rubber chicken feet will be reported.

This grading system sounds like a winner.

CHEW ON THIS......

A new study has come out which I love. It contains no scientific data or proof and was funded by the Gum Industry. For years people who chewed gum in public were thought to be “poor white trash”, slobs, and ignorant. You know the type I mean – the people who looked like a cow chewing its cud.

Well, according to this industry sponsored ‘study’ people who chew gun should be admired. It might look dumb to some but in fact it helps improve intelligence. How? The study doesn’t say. Maybe it’s the way a gum chewer has to concentrate to prevent biting their tongue off? Everyone knows that concentration is a sign of intelligence. 3 billion people chew gum. That’s almost as many people as play those idiotic hand held computer games. Can you imagine what would happen to their intelligence if they stopped playing and started chewing them?

Wrigley Gum was the main sponsor of this so-called study. It claims other benefits of gum chewing are: it helps whiten your teeth – guess that’s for the folks who chew Crest gum -, it’s relaxing – not if you happen to step or sit on any -, it contributes to weight loss – I guess that idea must be for those who choke on their gum and go into a vegetative state. Perhaps that’s what happened to poor Terri Schaivo?

In order to get a bigger share of the billions of chewers, gum companies are coming out with new products faster than golf club makers put out new drivers. Can you imagine what would happen if they combined know-how? You could buy a stick of gum that would go 300-yards and land on a dime. Wow.

Expect chocolate gum on the shelves soon. Sounds pretty awful doesn’t it? I wonder if the chocolate comes off on your teeth and causes acne? Will they also have chocolate with almond gum? Rocky Road gum? Some gum maker in Israel is going to market a halva gum. Why not a tzimmis gum?

The most exciting news is that Wrigley is seriously thinking of putting out a Viagra gum. What a great idea. Millions of dysfunctional men can now be helped. One question: How does it work? Do you put the gum on your penis? The gum might get hard but what about your “Johnson”? If you’re just supposed to chew the Viagra gum will your tongue get an erection? Either way, I can’t wait.

It’s refreshing that an industry is willing to spend millions on a study that proves nothing, is useless and is of no benefit to mankind. Kind of what Congress does every day.

NASA IS A BIG BULLY....

NASA’s in big trouble. Its problem is not as simple as losing a space probe or having rockets fizzle on the launching pad…like bad Tijuana firecrackers. This time the Space Agency’s got their hands full.

NASA’s is being sued by a Russian astrologer for sending a space probe smashing into a comet and raising cosmic dust all over the place. Perhaps the astrologer is allergic to cosmic dust and wants compensation for a new supply of hankies.

Marina Bai has sued claiming the Deep Impact probe that punched a crater into comet Tempel 1 “ruins the natural balance of the universe.” If the case ever makes it to court I can’t wait to see who she calls as expert witnesses. Not many people have real experience in the universe…except maybe Shirley MacLaine. Marina Bai – sounds like a south sea yacht basin or one of those tropical drinks with tiny umbrellas in them – is really serious about her law suit. A Moscow court has postponed hearings on the merits of the case until late July.

Scientists say the crash did not significantly alter the comet’s orbit around the sun and said the experiment does not pose any danger to earth. But, how do they really know? Scientists can’t even agree if tiny amounts of aspirin are good for hypertension or cleaning the living room rug. What they will admit is the crash sent up a cloud of debris that they hope to examine to learn how the solar system was formed. Instead of bombing some innocent comet why don’t they just ask the aliens circling around is Flying Saucers?

Bai is seeking damages totally 300 million – the approximate cost of the mission – for her “moral suffering”, claimed her lawyer Alexander Molokhov. Marina also claimed that the experiment would “deform her horoscope.” Who wants to walk around Moscow with a deformed horoscope? Think of the jokes that will be made at her expense. Both Bai and her lawyer are hoping that the case goes before Judge Judy.

Doesn’t it seem strange that America would attack an unarmed comet? Blow a hole in it wider than two Shea Stadiums? Why? Was the comet making too much noise at night? Playing loud hip-hop music and causing noise pollution in the universe? Wait. Is it possible that George W. and the Pentagon heard that Tempel 1 had weapons of mass destruction? That it was an ally of Bin Laden? That the comet was somehow connected with 9-11?

That puts an entirely new prospective on the comet probe. Screw Marina Bai and her deformed horoscope. NASA was just trying to protect us against another axis-of-evil enemy.

BE ALL YOU CAN EAT........

As if the U.S. military doesn’t have enough problems with Iraq and Afghanistan something new has reared its ugly head. No, I don’t mean – Anne Coulter or Karrie Webb - this is even uglier.

Besides terrorists, germ warfare and nuclear weapons, military officials increasingly worry about a different kind of threat – troops too fat to fight. You heard right. Even though the military is not even close to meeting their recruitment quotas – many of the men and women who are showing up are way to overweight or obese. Many can barely make through the door. I guess the fatsos heard about the great chow in the military. Good unhealthy, high cholesterol, fatty, grub that would make a hyena throw up. And they can go back for seconds, thirds and fourths.

Weight issues plague all branches of the military. The Pentagon is serious about this new “ Slim Fast “ approach to its fighting men and women. Tens of thousands of troops are struggling to lose weight and thousands have been booted out of service in recent years because they couldn’t lose poundage. Those doing the booting suffered broken feet in trying to penetrate the fat asses of those let go.

One of the biggest worries concerns those not in uniform yet: Nearly 2 out of 10 men and 4 out of 10 women of recruiting age weigh too much to even qualify for service. Today’s soldiers are super sized, averaging 37 pounds heavier than former recruits. Commanders are considering abandoning typical uniforms. You know, camouflaged uniforms, boots, etc., for loose fitting muumuus and sandals? Our troops will look like they were recruited from Haight Ashbury. What enemy is going to be frightened by a division of fat, bearded hippies?

Hell, if they allow some of these blubber types to join the paratroops…they won’t even need parachutes…they can jump out of a plane and their tent uniforms will allow them to land softly as a butterfly. What’s going to happen to our tank corps? None of the new soldiers will be able to fit in the hatch. If one is able to slide through after being lathered with butter they probably will never be able to leave the tank for the rest of their lives. They’ll die just like sardines on a can. How about our submarine service? If two of these fat sailors get to standing in the aft portion the sub will tip over and look like a gray cigar sticking out of the water. Forget airplanes. None will be able to take off with obese flight crews. I guess they will have to just taxi to their bombing target.

Weight problems add stress to already stressful jobs, costing many soldiers promotions and leading some to try desperate measures like rubber suits and risky pills to shed pounds. In 2003 alone, more than 3,000 people were kicked out of all branches of the military for failing weight standards. If this trend continues instead of “Be All You Can Be” the new motto of our services will be “Be All You Can EAT!”

Osama is probably munching on flies with a chaser of dust and quaking in his cave.