Can We All Agree That Global Warming is Behind Us?

No one talks about this anymore, so I'm declaring victory, quietly.

Look out! They've got us surrounded!

I knew it was all baloney from day one, and I'm not ashamed to say it.
It wasn't always this way though. I used to have to "toe the line" like
everyone else. In fact here's an old email from work where I had to prove
my Green credentials to avoid being pointed at and pooh-poohed:

******
My loyalty to the company is beyond dispute and a matter of record. I have
already spearheaded an initiative to reduce carbon emissions not only at my
desk, but at every desk in the company. Here are the highlights:

1) Friction is a form of heat energy. If 1000 employees eat at their desks
the friction created by their chewing would be enough to power the
International Space Station indefinitely, and would be the equivalent of
cutting down an area of the rainforest equal to size of France every 22
minutes. Therefore employees may only chew twice during their meals- once
for the main course, once for dessert.

2) Every time an employee using a single Post-It an area of the Serengeti
Plain equivalent to the size of North America is burned to support it.
Therefore Post-Its are banned, and Tattoo machines will be set up in each
department so that notes can be inked directly onto employees skin, which
is a renewable resource.

3) The following items/foodstuffs will be banned as either causing an area
of the Ukrainian Steppe the size of Mars to disappear every 8 seconds OR as
being exploitative of insects and other critters:
Coffee
Bread
Honey
Chocolate
Salami
Gravy, Beef
Gravy, Pork
Gravy, Sawmill (Sausage)
Eyebrows
Polo shirts
Paper
Computers
Human Souls

Thank you for your cooperation.

-Mandrake

Does Texting Have A Future? Where Does That Leave ME?!?!?

Just call them, d*mn it!!!!!

Someone needs to make a distopic sci-future film built around the phenomenon of runaway texting, the thought of which will soon lead me to volunteer for Submarine duty in the Russian Navy.

The story would go something like this:
Avi Virgo (James Franco) is a registered 'Text Maniac' who is monitored by the evil 'Grandfathers Against Distracted Goings Everywhere Texting' (GADGET), a quasi-governement contract thought-police outfit what wants to abolish the new i-phone 87 (this is five years from now). Virgo tries to
gather all the Text Maniacs in Government Square to overthrow everything, but of course, being a product of the device, is incapable of setting a specific time or place to meet, figuring he'll just text everyone on the way 17 or 18 times and massage the deal until they bump into each other while texting. Tragically, his battery runs low after the 11th text and the Maniacs are helpless to assemble, leaving the governement and GADGET the simple task of rounding them up and taking their phones away.

Cut! Print it!

-Mandrake

Nah, it could never happen. They have to put down the i-phones to learn the instruments

I'm OK, You're JFK

"We choose to go to the moon. We choose to go to the moon in this decade
and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they
are hard.."

Like you, I have spent thousands of hours trying to figure out what Kennedy meant by "do the other things". I have come to the conclusion that Kennedey just couldn't remember what other things he was thinking of. A little known fact I came across is that Kennedy wrote his own speech notes on the lid of a pack of smokes (Lucky Strikes) that was discovered in his suit the day NASA fired his body into the sun.

This is what he had written: (for full effect, picture him saying these in his speech)

Things to do in the next decade:
-Develop a stately US equivalent to "tea time" in Britain. Possible name/theme: "The Popeye Cigarette Hour"

-Carve Gregory Peck's face on the side of Mount Logan. Rename the mountain "Old Smokey".

-Destroy the coming "British Invasion" at the water's edge; promote Elvis to Major-General, and The "Commodores" to "The Admirals".

-Somehow discover the fate of the Robinson family, and Dr. Smith.

I had a thing for the wife, way back when

-Change all atlases and other references that have the name "Cuba" to read "Pee-Pee Land"

-Develop the pictures Francis Gary Powers took of Khrushchev sunbathing in the backyard of his villa near the Black Sea. Then invent the internet and post the pictures.

Shocking!

-Mandrake

When Emoticons Just Aren't Enough

The internet age is one marked by misunderstandings in the realm of communication. Indeed, though man has split the atom, gone to the moon and made Anime available to every human on the face of the planet,  it has also become easier for simple comments like "Nice work" to lead to the personal equivalent of World War Three (did Ham radio users ever suffer from this? There's a thesis paper in there somewhere) . To avert relational Armageddon, clever people came up with "emoticons". Initially simple ascii text symbols such as the 'smiley face' shown here, : ) and the enigmatic nerd in the toupee who thinks he's cool but is actually clueless ?8^), these eventually developed into graphic symbols such as these:

I'm sorry, but this doesn't tell me anything

We are anything but a static society, and things that may have worked in the past have become obsolete, the way toaster ovens were replaced by things like i-phones (I guess- I'm not very tech savvy). It should also be kept in mind that we are as a society getting "stupider" by the minute, and less capable of interpreting the subtleties of emoticons. I therefore propose switching to Imagicons™, a new and more expressive form of communications where tiny images at the ends of sentences are replaced with large pictures at the end of paragraphs.

This one says, 'I KNEW I should have shot that guy'

I have included an extended example below. I heard today that someone named Dionne Brand won $75k for some poems at a competition. Being a fan of old skool poetry I took a look at some of her work. See if you can guess how I felt about her 'work' by looking at my Imagicons™:

'Thirsty'
This city is beauty
unbreakable and amorous as eyelids,
in the streets, pressed with fierce departures,
submerged landings,
I am innocent as thresholds
and smashed night birds, lovesick,
as empty elevators

let me declare doorways,
corners, pursuit, let me say
standing here in eyelashes, in
invisible breasts, in the shrinking lake
in the tiny shops of untrue recollections,
the brittle, gnawed life we live,
I am held, and held

why, the touch of everything blushes me,
pigeons and wrecked boys,
half dead hours, blind musicians,
inconclusive women in bruised dresses
even the habitual gray-suited men with terrible
briefcases, how come, how come
I anticipate nothing as intimate as history

would I have had a different life
failing this embrace with broken things,
iridescent veins, ecstatic bullets, small cracks
in the brain, would I know these particular facts,
how a phrase scars a cheek, how water
dries love out, this, a thought as casual
as any second eviscerates a breath

and this, we meet in careless intervals,
in coffee bars, gas stations, in prosthetic
conversations, lotteries, untranslatable
mouths, in versions of what we may be,
a tremor of the hand in the realization
of endings, a glancing blow of tears
on skin, the keen dismissal in speed

 See? It works great!

-Mandrake

Auf Wiedersehen Machos!

From SPIEGEL ONLINE

A new manifesto from the German Green Party aims to banish macho men for good. It has stirred debate among men, even if a number of female Green politicians remain unconvinced.... The signatories include several Green politicians from the European parliament, the German Bundestag as well as local Green leaders. "We no longer want to be macho," it declares, "we want to be people. You are not born a man, you are turned into one."

* * * * *

I don't think even Dieter saw this coming.

I didn't have time to read the whole article, because I was too busy wrestling bears and alligators. "Who won, Mandrake"? I'm glad you asked me that! I beat the Alligator best two-out-of-three falls, but the bear was really giving me a hard time up until I shot him.

The German Green Party: Never have so few done so little for so many.

Will they manage to turn REAL men into Non-Macho men on a global scale? Maybe. They've already got to Harrison Ford and Ryan Reynolds, though I doubt they'll get the likes of Nicolas Sarkozy or Baron Meinster, unless they turn out to be the same guy. I guess I'll have to retreat to my Bunker I dug in the backyard sooner than expected.

The contents:

-DVD box-set of Rachel Welch films
-Fridge
-No.1 Hatchet
-No.2 Hatchet
-Combination Hatchet/Philips Screwdriver
-Swiss Army Hatchet
-10 Beef carcasses
-600 pounds salt
-2 tons of Harmless Tobacco
-Pipe
-Emergency Pipe
-Copy of Robinson Crusoe
-Tricorne Hat
-Omega Bomb from 'Beneath the Planet of the Apes'

Mandrake

* * * * *

Additional- Know Your Enemy

The New German Male™
   Size: Moderate to Swabian
   Weapons: Whining, followed by angry Haiku-Storm on Twitter
   Fear Factor: Unbelievably Low
   Likely Outcome of Hand-to-Hand Struggle: Unconscious non-Macho man sprawled on the floor. 
   Likeliness of Attack: Surprisingly high. Just fail to put enough cinnamon in his Latte and stand back.
   Defense: Taking away their hand lotion and lip balm will render them helpless.
   Bad Move: Hiding out in a woman's lingerie section of a department store.

Major Matt Mason vs Bullet-Man (for the over-40's)

Major Matt showing off his impressive Aikido Skills

Why aren't we all driving one of these NOW?!?!

Remember these Toys from the Old-Daze? Major Matt Mason had a squared-away haircut to differentiate him from deviated preverts and Hippies like Al Gore and Susan Sarandon. The figure was made of rubber with metal wires in the arms and legs for posability. Sometimes they would break and poke through his skin like green-stick fractures, and even with such unbearably painful wounds his facial expression remained a determined "America First". The Walker was cool with an automatic cable-retractor. The jerky walking-motion is probably what eventually drove the Major crazy- that and two tours in Central America.

Do you remember that squeeky sound his limbs made when you bent them? I think all the internal wires snapped after 3 days, leaving him permanently rubber-legged, like he was on a eternal Jovian malt liquor-fueled bender. But that walker was certainly the coolest toy of the 20th century- way better than BulletMan and his shiny bullet helmet and velour undies. And the string he rode in on.

Snappy outfit, shiny metal arms- what's not to like?

Insert thought image of your choosing

Bullet-Man's arms squeaked too. And remember the hooks on his backs, that allowed him to slide on a string, and ram headfirst into his target? Now in retirement, he can't remember who was president after Woodrow Wilson. He had shiny metallic-looking plastic arms and legs (Bullet-Man, not Wilson). Also the joints on the wrists and ankles were useless, to the extend that he couldn't stand up under his own power. You had to prop him up between two books or put him into some kind of balsa-wood wheelchair you made for him. No wonder he wore that fruity helmet- he was too ashamed to be seen in public.

Take a look at Bullet-Man's head. It immediately answers the question "What was George Lazenby doing in the late 70's?". He was modeling for this plastic toy, or was perhaps himself the real Bullet-Man.

The name is Man ...... Bullet-Man.

It's all true- I was there. What was my point? I can't remember- it was a long time ago.

Mandrake

The Taming of the Shrimp: 'Be Prepared' to Avoid Mirrors!

From Cool to Fool; from Oh Wow! to Chairman Mao

Looks like the Scouts have got a new look... a wrong look, but one that matches the general slide into the boring, grey universe we call the 21st century, where Indian-Fighting Cardinals and Dynamite are not welcome (even Godzilla needs a special visa to get in). See, Scouts is not supposed to be about making sugar-free Jello out of mulberry leaves or writing your congressman about saving wetlands.

It's supposed to be like when I was in Scouts- half-starved kids jumping out of trees onto ferocious jaguars armed with pen-knives (the Scouts, not the jaguars), battling for their meat and skins for our lives, or making campfires so huge you could see them from the latest Apollo mission in space. OK, maybe we didn't do that kind of stuff, BUT WE DREAMED ABOUT IT. Our heroes were Chuck "Chunk" Yaeger and maybe Zorro- men of action. Some of us liked Abe Lincoln, because he freed the slaves AND invented Graeco-Roman wrestling, or so we thought at the time.

Listen, Scouting was started out as a way to turn boys into men, get them to be self-sufficient and active-minded, and maybe backup the Cops, at least in the schoolyards. Also they were meant to be custodians of the various knots you can make with rope.

"See Billy? Use the sheet-bend to tie up Vampires, and the clove-hitch for Werewolves"

See, the old uniform says 'hand me a broken broomstick and I'll start ferreting out commies and their jaguar allies when the balloon goes up'. Just what does the new uniform say to you? Be honest! It says something like 'We're collecting cardboard to make a shanty-town for retired Manatees', or 'Hurray, just I got my badge in software installation!". They've already taken away their knives for pity sake (see previous posts), now the cool uniform that made you look like some kind of explorer in the Amazon, the stuff dreams are made of. Next they'll come for the snappy salute.

Baden Powell once said "A Scout is never taken by surprise; he knows exactly what to do when anything unexpected happens." I'm pretty sure he never saw this coming.

Suffice it to say Baden-Powell is spinning in his grave. In fact he's so upset he totally missed having tea with Gordon of Khartoum this afternoon.


Mandrake

Fixing Hollywood, Part III: Ask Not What Hollywood Can Do For You

One of the biggest problems with Hollywood is the gigantic egos of the Stars. Some famous examples are Christian Bale's freakout on the set of Terminator IV. Mind you, the realization that the film was laughably bad might have unhinged him during the shoot. Then there was that time William Shatner ran over Justin Timberlake with his SUV, and then had the audacity to claim the subsequent car-wash as a tax write off. Now I might have dreamed that last one, but so did you, so we're even.

Me? Pay for a Car-Wash?!!? Do you know who I am? 

Remember the Oscars a few years back when some of the Stars complained that their gift baskets were not up to snuff? The nerve! It's a gift, you Baked-Alaskans! They don't owe it to you! Here's a little sample of the kind of stuff they got:

-Gourmet artisan chocolate creations from Chocolatines by Sweet Endeavours that will sweeten the bitter Oscar loss with a 16-piece Contempo Collection, Chocolate-dipped Bacon, Matcha Sesame Bark, Mini Lux Turtles and Diamond Collection Champagne Ganache

-Fancy Feast's "Celebrate the Moment" gift package including a FlipCam Mino, Tiffany crystal-studded cat collar and an assortment of Fancy Feast Appetizers for Cats

-$4,000 limited edition (only 125 made) luxury Leather Travel Bag from Victorinox, makers of the Original Swiss Army Knife

-Private island vacation at the Turks & Caicos Sporting Club at Ambergris Clay

-La Peau Couture Organic Wrinkle Diminishing Serum (priced at $499 per jar)

Now I like Diminishing Serum as much as the next guy, but you won't see me whining like Annakin Skywalker to the Jedi Council if I don't get any for free. What about the crazy stuff they demand in their contracts, like a bowl of M&Ms in their dressing room, with all the red ones removed, placed in a rocket and fired into space? Someone needs to set an example for these people so we can get on with the business of quality movie making. If I ever make it to Hollywood, my demands would be more practical and sensible:

-A Dominoes Pizza kiosk in my dressing room

-Spiderman as my personal assistance/houseboy

-Portal to another dimension (dimension to be specified later)

Thank you for your time.

Mandrake

The Good Old Daze

I come from the Good Old Days™, a time when folks took things easy, except for Communism and maybe the Alien threat. Other than those two things we were swimming in butter, and sometimes in gravy, and when they came out with "Gravy Butter", well, let me tell you brother, we swam in it. There were also contests where dolls showed off their legs and guys would stare at them for hours. We called them "staring contests", and unlike these days, it didn't carry the death sentence, because we were all taking it easy.

It wasn't a crime back then

To be honest, it wasn't all Lollipops and Moon-Pies. In fact when I was little, gravity wasn't free. If you didn't put a nickel in the meter in front of your house, your dog would float all the way to Pluto (that's how Mickey's dog got his name). Since knives hadn't been invented yet, you had to cut loaves of bread and salami with skates (incidentally, Speed-Carving was a Winter Olympic event until 1968). There was no "baseball" or even "stickball" since wood was $1000/lbs. We had to play soccer in the middle of a lake because fields and shores were owned by wealthy fatcats who never shared. Brothers and sisters weren't invented until 1977, so we had to talk to life-like puppets when we needed the advice of older siblings.

Those were the good old days.

Mandrake

Mandrake's Mystical Mailbag

I don't USUALLY answer people's mail, although sometimes I answer mail addressed to me. So anyway, here goes:
 
* * *
Dear Mandrake,

I ride the bus to work every day, and I don't think I can stand it anymore. People are just too damned ugly! Should I buy a car?

Sincerely,

Zira
* * *

Hey Zira, walk the walk!

Sounds like the world's got you down, Zira. See, if you would consent to drive an earth-rescuing car instead of bus, your perspective would change entirely. When you drive,

-People become nothing more than insects/targets that you can avoid or destroy at your leisure. Hipsters, Hare Krishnas, Botanists, Nazis and Civil servants all sort of blend into a middle aged man of middle height wearing a gray coat.

-On a bus, your odds of sitting beside deposed Haitian Dictator Francois "Papa Doc" Duvalier are about 1 in 175,000,000, maybe even less, 'cause he's dead. BUT your chance of sitting beside Cher, a much more frightening prospect, are only 1 in 27,455,309. If you want to play the odds, be my guest, Mrs. Daredevil. As for me I'd rather not risk it.

-People become less revolting because you have no time to focus on their facial imperfections or greasy Mongol mustache/beards, or sweat that looks like some kind of bear grease. In fact, the refraction of your windshield has been scientifically proven to make people look 15% more palatable.

-As (effectively) your own rocket ship Captain, you come and go as you please; if you decide on a little side-trip to pick up a snow-cone or some ammunition, it's nobody's business but yours and possibly the police's.

-There's always a seat for you, unless you arrive at your car and find the Ghost Czar™ pretending he was allowed/capable of operating a car. This would be a rare occurrence, however.

Keep'em flying!

Mandrake

The Bogeyman Revisited

The other day at around 5:30am I was having breakfast with my wife at the kitchen table. Being late winter, it was still dark out. I was chatting away about how Boris Karloff would have made a great President when she suddenly looked past me down the corridor, with a look like she was having a 'journey into fear' on her face.

Not having heard a sound, I looked her square in the eye without turning and said

"Is it the bogeyman? Don't sugar-coat it".

True story.

If this is not the Bogeyman, I'd hate to meet the Bogeyman

I have a feeling that taunting the bogeyman in previous posts MAY have been a mistake. Clearly the bogeyman can destroy you anytime he wants, and he knows you know it. That's why he toys with people, such that they get spooked at shadows and sounds at night which ARE IN FACT the Bogeyman, and he gets a big laugh when people say "it was probably nothing". While you're lulling yourself into a false sense of security, he's in your bathroom practicing ambushing you while you brush your teeth. He probably works on the "crush-your-intestines-with-one-hand" move, aka "The Claw" in the full-length mirror. Then most likely he stuffs your toothbrush up his nose, putting it back exactly where it was so you're none the wiser.

WAY too late, buddy.

Mandrake

Second-String Monsters, Part I

When Shelley wrote Frankenstein, I'm sure the possibility of her writing "Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein" seemed remote indeed. Same deal with Bram Stoker and Dracula; "Billy The Kid vs Dracula" may have been idly scribbled on a napkin as he took his third hit of opium that afternoon, but if he did, he probably used the napkin to wipe the drool/sweat off his face a few minutes later. Where am I going with this? I think the following picture says it all:

That's right baby... I'm DRACULA!

Only it's not Dracula. It's the usually suave and effete Baron "Meinster" of Transylvania. "Did you say 'Baron Monster', herr Mandrake"? Nein!! I said Meinster, because that's the dude's name. Very catchy, huh? Just in case you saw him at the beginning of the film and didn't figure out he was a vampire, the writer thought he'd give you a subtle hint, about as subtle as the guy on the pizza box with the chef's hat giving you the "OK" signal. So it turns out that even though the film is called "Brides of Dracula", Dracula's not in it, at all. What gives, Count? It's not like you're getting a tan in Bermuda. Can it be that the audience had 'Dracula Fatigue™' (a very real condition)? Not likely, because that didn't really take hold until the 1990's. We all know that Dracula finally called it a day and staked himself in the heart when the vacuous, voguing vampires of 'Twilight' showed up, what with the sensitivity and the no killing humans policy that makes me boo them loudly even as I write this. But that was all in the future 40-50 years ago.

I think it just came down to Dracula being really busy during the 60's and 70's. Add to that the fact that he usually dies at the end of every film. Take a look at this small sampling of his works:

Dracula, Prince of Darkness – 1966
Dracula Has Risen From the Grave* – 1968
  *(Isn't that the whole point?)
Blood of Dracula’s Castle – 1969
Taste the Blood of Dracula** – 1970
  **(Isn't that the exact opposite of the whole point?)
Scars of Dracula – 1970
Countess Dracula – 1970
Dracula VS Frankenstein – 1971
Dracula’s Great Love – 1972
The Satanic Rites of Dracula – 1973
The 7 Brothers Meet Dracula*** – 1973
  ***(Original title was "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers Meet Dracula and his Girlfriend, Carla")

That should explain why the second stringers like Meinster and The Bride of Frankenstein and even Blacula had to occasionally stand in for the principals. So next time you see a mob rush by with pitchforks and torches, stop, and shed a tear for the hard working third-rate bandage-wrapped zombie in "Abbott and Costello Meet the Mummy", a project the real Mummy wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.


Mandrake

Six-Shooters are a HOOT!

Ever since the dawn of time, man has wanted to handle western six-shooters. You know, spin them, slide them into holsters, cock and shoot them etc. When I was a kid we all had cap-guns and used up enough friendly gunpowder to power a small sun. And we got to talk stupid, too, saying words like "side-winder" and "varmint" in sentences like "reach for the sky, you side-winding varmint" and similar hilarity. We would try it on local stray dogs occasionally and often had to run for our lives from them, and from bullies who didn't share our sense of adventure. I should also mention that *none* of us turned out "weird" or anything, except maybe my friend Steve who tried to blow up a Ken doll using 60 pounds of cap-gun ammo with a box of safety matches. I should mention that he was 31 years old at the time.

Well anyway, at last man has advanced to the point of making six-guns available for the common man (no thanks to the Monoliths).  Well, a bunch of my brothers and nephews broke their piggy-banks and ponied up the money to buy a whole passel of replica six-guns. These suckers have the same weight and mechanisms of the real things, only they can't actually shoot real bullets. I know what you're thinking- "That's dumb". Sorry, but the truth is YOU'RE DUMB.

See what I mean? Everybody wins with six-shooters! Look at him smile!

Let me tell you something before you pass judgment. What makes more sense: people getting together to drink Martinis and talk about taxes and lawns, or sitting around the den, spinning and waving six-shooters, pointing them at each other while laughing like madmen? Yes, maybe in your buttoned-down world of fine wines and dinner parties with Oso Bucco on the table you don't spin revolvers backwards and forwards, occasionally dropping them on the kitchen tiles, chipping them and getting shouted at. Where else am I supposed to practice? The kitchen is the best-lit room in the house!

There are many fringe benefits to sitting around watching Westerns when everyone in the room is armed. First, you try and get the drop on somebody who's not paying attention, and disarm him. Then there's the cliche phrases you get to use as you draw and cock your Navy Colt and point it at your neighbour, such as "Smile when you say that" or "When you call me Shorty, say 'Mister' my friend- maybe you'd rather be dead?!?". Pretty soon everyone's practicing their quick draws, border-rolls and spins. Guns are crashing into vases, through windows, people are spraining wrists and your mother is stomping downstairs to give you a lecture on growing up. Did I mention my mother is 85 and the average age of our "posse" is about 40? Maybe I shouldn't.

So listen here pardner, don't be some boring dope who plays squash and doesn't own broken or chipped furniture. Get yourself a six-gun today. It was good enough for Tonto. It's good enough for you.

Offered by my wife after the kitchen tile incident

Mandrake the Low-Down Bushwhacking-Sidewinder

PS-
I almost forgot. Having a gunslinger party is a great way to get/give a cool Western nickname. So far we've got "Kansas City", "Mississippi" and the "Pea-Green Rebel" (Me).

Poseurs Beware Part II

You know, if B.O.B. can wear a monocle to the Grammy's (see "Poseurs Beware") and ruin my life, I figure I can return the favour. I have therefore decided to join the ranks of the Rapper community under the name of 'Legal Tender', or 'Legal TenDAH'. A possible variation would most likely be 'L. Eagle Tender'. I guess I could claim that my real name is "Lee Goaltender" (instead of Mandrake, which is my real name) which would give me amazing cred with the influential Hockey community. Lessee, what else do I need aside from a rap name? I would of course need a monocle (got that already).

DJ Commandant Klink: O, Oh-Oh, the Hu-Hu-Humanity-FOOL

I would also need a discography. Here are some song titles I came up with that will make B.O.B. live in mortal fear of me, career-wise:

-Slap My Ostrich Up
-Alcatraz Is My 'Hood
-Sass' My Dictator
-Economic Action Plan (Featuring 'Stolin Kurrency')
-Golfing On the Titanic
-Put a Little Lead In Your Heart (featuring 'Am'bitious Colt 45')

Finally, to make people forget B.O.B., I need to come up with a catch phrase that becomes SO BIG that people forget anything that ever happened before it became popular, like Calvin Coolidge or even Atomic energy.

How about "That's PLOW™"! As in 'that's bad', or 'that's terrible', or maybe to replace the word 'bogus'.

plow also plough  (plou)

n.

1. A farm implement consisting of a heavy blade at the end of a beam, usually hitched to a draft team or motor vehicle and used for breaking up soil and cutting furrows in preparation for sowing.

2. An implement of similar function, such as a snowplow.

3. A statement expressing disapproval of an object, person or event, as in: "Did you see B.O.B. wearing a monocle at the Grammys? Yeah, that was PLOW™, man". 

Don't worry, I'll remember all the little people when I'm famous.

Mandrake

Poseurs Beware!

Last night during the Grammy Award presentation, B.O.B, some rapper I never heard of before, sported a MONOCLE as he gave his crappy and contrived acceptance speech!!!!! Let me tell you something you may not know about me- last year I started to wear a monocle around to annoy people at work! I HAVE DOZENS OF WITNESSES!!!! Have you any idea how many times I pulled an "I Say", or after someone insulted me, I would put the monocle to my eye, look them over from head to foot, and then roll my eyes in disgust! Oh, I couldn't be more angry.

PUBLIC ENEMY NO. 1

Now poseurs will come pouring out of the woodwork wearing monocles! Not classic ones, mind you, but with pink frames, racing stripes, i-Phone jacks....I.....I'm going MAD! MAD! Now I'm nauseous! Everything is spinning! My shtick is totally ruined! Is Hollywood bugging my house? How can I know? Wait... I have other shtick that will be the canary-in-the-coal-mine for me. I've always wanted a steel hand to replace my boring ol' left hand, an eyepatch with a cool scar running across and underneath it, and a wooden leg (either will do). If you see a guy like that accept a Grammy next year, you'll know the balloon is up and I've declared war on the West Coast. My last, best, 'thing' is my dream of owning a sport coat made of grass (actual grass- like your lawn. Beat it, you pot-heads!) with a tiny lawnmower that fits in your pocket to keep it looking even. If some guy shows up wearing that, I'm moving to the moon with that cat from the cartoon.

AAAAAAGGHHHHH! I say again, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHH!!!

Sincerely,

Mandrake

Journal of a Shipwrecked man, Part Three

Work is boring. Oh gosh, its boring. SO BORING. I am in fear of
being bored to death.... I hope death is not as boring as work,
because where do you go from there? It's not like you can say "I'm
bored to life", because life is so boring sometimes you are in
danger of being bored to death. I guess this is how Buddhism got
started. I hope they're wrong, because Nirvana strikes me as being
particularly boring. I don't know about you, but I'm hoping in the
afterlife you get to drive tanks over chicken-coops at 60 miles/hour
while being pursued by Hillbillies waving shotguns and shaking their
fists at you. Damn Hillbillies! Did I mention that the roads are
made of pancakes?Also there are robots running amok.

Say it ain't so, 1-A !!!!

Where was I? Oh yes, loneliness. Until they invent low-cost robots
who tell you interesting stories about running amok or how they are
impervious to things, I guess I shall remain lonely. Either that or
I'll break the monotony by calling 411 and telling them there's an
emergency. Here's how you do it, exactly:

Me: There's an emergency!
411: Sir, this is information.
Me: Yes, it is! I'm being over-run! You need this information!
411: No, I mean this is telephone information- you want '911'.
Me: 911? What, that lousy Michael Moore movie??!?!?
411: I mean 911 emergency!!!!
Me: Hold on (putting phone down, walking away, then back). Never
mind, they've gone.
411: Who is gone?
Me: Hah! I KNEW you were more interested in emergencies than
in giving out "Horace H. Whatsisname's" number to some boring guy.
411: *click*

Mandrake

Journal of a Shipwrecked man, Part Two

Some days on this island Earth I feel carefree and consequently
without a care. Other days I feel as if every human being on the
planet is pointing a gun at me, and when I look to God, He's holding
a stick of dynamite. This is why feelings must be put aside when you
are a castaway, because feelings can deceive you and are often
stupid. Like that time last week that I felt secure lying in my
hammock in the jungle, when in actual fact I was I was floating on
some seaweed two miles off shore. As I frantically swam back to the
beach, surrounded by sharks wearing bibs with an image of a swimmer
on them, I again felt secure as I noticed the image was of a man
dog-paddling, while I was doing the backstroke.

"Hi Mom, We're number FOUR!!!!!"

Sitting on the beach I scanned the horizon. No ships. I was still
alone. I spied my favorite coconut hat about 200 yards off shore, my
lucky one, the one that I had carved "Rosebud" across the front of.
Now a shark was wearing it (at a jaunty tilt), while another held a
mirror for him. Or it might have been a wave. Can't trust your eyes
either, it seems.

Mandrake

Flying Car? My EYE!

Looks like the Flying Car is finally upon us. No fooling, here's the website. I know what you're thinking- "Where's the cup-holders"? That's the first thing I thought of too. Anyway, they need a $10,000 airframe deposit, then you get to wait in line until they finally roll off the production line. You might as well wait in FantasyIllusionLand (not to be confused with the Aleutian Islands) because you're as likely to marry Cinderella as you are to lay hands on your Flying Car. It's never going to happen.

Grocery shopping: So it's Brie, Caviar, wait... White or Black Sea? Better call home

While cool, this device is in fact useless except to escape a sort of "Zombie Dawn" scenario, or to get away from visiting In-Laws (and your Priest-Hole is having renovations done). You can't really just drive it around- your insurance cost would be $50,000/month, considering a fender-bender would ground you. Picture a traffic jam, where all the enthusiasts are getting out of their vehicles and setting up the wings, using the shoulder of the road for a runway. It'll make Pearl Harbor look like some minor misunderstanding, or an average swim meet.

OOPS! Forgot the milk and aspirin- back in a sec

Getting back to that whole "Zombie Dawn" idea. Oh how the neighbors will just die with envy as the zombies are killing them to the sound of your engines *whooshing* you out of trouble. "That's right suckers! You laughed when my house was foreclosed on after buying my Flying Car, or how my wife joined that convent and my kids became Communists, BUT WHO'S LAUGHING NOW?" 

Anyway, my final assessment: put a rear-firing flamerthrower and two extra cupholders on it, and you've got something.

Mandrake

People of Earth

Alien: 'You of Earth are unstable'          Earthers: 'I know you are but what am I?'

There's lots of talk on this planet lately of life-on other planets and habitable planets blah-blah-blah-lets-cut-to-the-chase: are aliens going to visit us or not? But have you considered this- if there were aliens, and they landed in Washington in a highly publicized event, what would be the worst-case scenario of what came out of the saucer door? Some suggestions:

1) Really Angry 15 foot tall Squids

2) Moderate-sized Blobs that ooze poo and pee

3) Space Indians here to trade us Techno-Beads for gold and furs

4) Michael Rennie, pictured above, but 30% more preachy than in the movie

5) Keanu Reeves under any circumstances

6) An alien that looked like Bert from Sesame Street, but had a potty-mouth and smoked cigars indoors

7) 150-foot tall humanoids like us in every other way. Then we'd have to build over-sized chairs for them and put on really expensive BBQs.

8) Crap-Midases. Like King Midas, but instead of gold everything they touch turns to crap

9) Soup Aliens that look and smell like tantalizing bowls of soup...mmmmm wait! We need them alive!


It could be worse, but I'm not sure how.

Mandrake

This TIME it's Personal!

Top 10 Greatest Clashes at Sea
TIME looks at  clashes at sea that sent ripples far and near

Okay, I'm not saying that TIME magazine's editorial staff are drunken frat boys, or anything like that. I'm also not going to say that they have clearly NEVER READ A HISTORY BOOK. Just because they left the battles of Lepanto and Salamis out while including the RMS Titanic vs an Over Sized Ice-Cube™, I'm not going to say 'Fellows, what gives?'. Here's their brilliant list (remember, these are THE GREATEST clashes):

• Freedom Flotilla vs. Israeli Defense Forces
• Defeat of the Spanish Armada
• Ship v. Iceberg: The RMS Titanic
• Sinking of the ROKS Cheonan
• The Battle of Trafalgar
• US Navy vs. Somali Pirates
• Destruction of the Athenian Navy
• Battle of Midway
• Sea Shepherd Vs. Japan
• Gulf of Tonkin Incident

I bet the mediums and editors at TIME are kicking themselves that they didn't back-check this list they got from the ghost of Timothy Leary. Usually they go straight to Bazooka Joe, or in a pinch, Gottfried Von Schnitzel, the thirteen year old who fetches doughnuts for the staff.

'His name just seems so d*mned convincing!'

West-Atlantic Turf war, or duel long-delayed?

Yes, that whole Iceberg vs the Titanic was some battle. It was of course a grudge-match, the Titanic looking to square off with pieces of the Polar Ice Cap all season, while the Iceberg planned to ambush the ship as it was taking a shower or looking up wistfully at the Aurora Borealis. Later, the case of "The People Vs The North Pole" was thrown out of court when the frozen wasteland pleaded insanity.

Mandrake