Aretha Franklin and Ray Charles are not brothers

Looking at the results of my last poll ("Which Blues Brother is the fattest?"), two thoughts are in my mind:

First, that it was a wonderful April Fools Day Year joke to play on all my readers, because the joke is to be on you: Jake Belushi and Elwood Aykroyd are not really brothers! They are actors who pretend to be brothers (unlike myself and my own brother Sanjay). That, and Aretha Franklin has ceased living, and therefore losing weight. This tricky poll was impregnated with irony! Ha! Ha! Ha!

Secondly, that turnout at my polling place was overwhelmingly astounding, with a record TEN voters casting ballots in a closely-watched race. I am not knowing who you anonymous voters are, but I wish you all a very hearty thank you for taking of time to click on a button under a photo of creamed spinach. May the voting turnout for all my polls continue to be as voluminous as the last was, and may Lakshmi bestow blessings upon you!

And here are the results: 4 voters thought Jake Belushi was fattest, 1 voter thought Elwood Aykroyd was fattest, and in the majority were 5 voters who thought Aretha Franklin was fattest. Ray Charles received zero votes, which is strange, since he couldn't even stand up to shake his tailfeather.

Jobs available on the Hindenburg

According to my last poll ("If you were on the crew of the Hindenburg, which job would you like?"), many readers implied they are lazy and not to be willing of doing any work on the deck of the Hindenburg.

Out of six votes cast, one voter would be liking to swabbing the decks, two voters would be liking to vacuuming the decks, and zero voters would be liking to mopping the decks.

Three voters got out of doing any work at all when they cast their vote for "Some other job."

It's people like this—who aren't willing to take risks, who pass the bucks, who shrug their shoulders and say "No way Jose, you've got the wrong guy"—these are the people who turned their backs on this great ship of ours and allowed the Hindenburg to drown in a sea of fire! May they be condemned to salting the french fries in the hot greasy kitchen of the next Hindenburg, so help me Rama!

Thank you, and remember to be voting in my current poll.

Ayn Rand-McNally: World Atlas Shrugged

My brother Sanjay bought this book from a street vendor. I do not understand the title, but this volume has great pictures of locomotives and copper mines, as well as some interesting maps of a place called Galt's Gulch. It's a heavy book, and over 1,000 pages, but it's mostly gibberish and impenetrable at that.

George (delete surname or risk libel suit) Still Sucks Dick (Whatever That Means…)

(Author's note: I am to feeling enlightened and more at peace in this American New Year 2009, and felt it was right to remove the surname of the accused from the title of this entry.)

When I began this blog (January 1st of the American New Year), my initial entry was to sarcastically decry the shameful experience of my kitchen remodeling with contractor George (deleted surname).

I'll be to admitting this blog is not a popular one; however, the blog entry which has recieved the most comments is that first one. Although only three commentators left messages, two have the opinion that George (don't forget to delete surname here, too) sucks dick. I do not know what they mean, but I suppose it is not very nice (which, if they experienced what I did, is completely appropriate).

Climbers who terrorize The New York City Times building

So today, another person has terrorized The New York City Times building, climbing up the side of the tower and apparently posting a holy war-baiting message (or perhaps, attaching a target for the terrorists' airplanes to aim towards).

I am not knowing why so many people climb this one building and post their messages on it, unless prices for advertising in the paper's classifieds section have become too expensive. Now the discussion turns towards how to keep others from climbing the tower and hanging their messages of "Sublet to share - $600/month - call Jeff."

My brother Sanjay and I have devised these possible architectural solutions to repel climbers:

• A giant tapered collar around the whole building, like the kind used to keep dogs from scratching at their ear infections
• A spring-loaded, weight-sensitive cage which sheathes the exterior and descends when climbers engage the building, like the kind used on bird feeders to protect against squirrels
• Genetically-mutated jumbo peregrine falcons trained to snatch and eat humans who climb the buildings’ walls
• Electrified livestock fencing, sheets of fly paper, you name it…

Perhaps this only needs the passage of time: after a few years, there is to be a smelly calcified crust of pigeon droppings on the building, and who would want to put their hands in that??

The aerodynamics of meat

The cyclonic avalanche of votes for mettwurst reveals that people have a good understanding of the aerodynamics of meat.

In the last poll ("Which meat would not make good kite-flying material?") the three votes for mettwurst crushed the one vote each for thin-sliced salami, beef tenderloin, and honey-baked ham. Mettwurst is simply too bulbous and has a poor surface area for any lift; besides, it typically has water added and cereal fillers which are dead weight.

Thin-sliced salami is ideal for stitching together to make the body of the kite, and held with a frame of bamboo and launched with butcher's twine, provides suitable aerodynamic lift. Plus, the grease provides a wonderful built-in water repellant, and when flying overhead in rays of sunlight, a kite of thin-sliced salami is as beautiful as a stained glass window.

I would say the same for beef tenderloin, but I am repulsed at the notion of doing anything sacrilegious with cows. My brother Sanjay must have been the one who voted for this one, as he knew it was a trick question for Hindus!

Honey-baked ham would also be decent for kites, but it has a tendency to be attacked by birds who try to peck at its sugary crust. Otherwise, in theory, it is a satisfying flier.

Thank you for voting, and remember: if you do not pass on the Indian tradition of making kites with meat, your children will grow up in the most detestable, impoverished, worthless way possible —times ten!— so help me Rama!

"AMY/DC : Back In To Black"

My brother Sanjay bought for me a recorded CD of music from collaborative mashup artists Amy Winehouse and AC/DC, whose big hit albums have been merged into the lecherous boozefest titled "AMY/DC : Back In To Black" and here are the songs:

1 - Rehab's Bells
2 - You Know I Thrill At Shooting
3 - What Do You Do For Mr. Jones
4 - Just Givin' Friends A Bone
5 - Putting My Love Into You Is A Losing Game
6 - Back In To Black
7 - You Shook My Tears Dry
8 - Have A Drink And Wake Up Alone
9 - Shake Some Unholy Leg
10 - Rock And Roll Can Only Hold Her Noise Pollution

13th posting is to be re-numbered 14th

I have not posted to this blog page in a long while because I am deathly afraid that unlucky things will befall me, as it is my 13th posting. My wariness has nothing to do with the fact that I have little to say, but if it's all the same to you, could you please to be referring to this as my 14th posting, and never to mention that it is really the thirteenthAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Beatles Impersonators in concert

Tonight I went to see The Beatles Impersonators in concert at a local auditorium, and it was good.

There was one old hippie with a Bic lighter next to me, and lots of elderly white women with plasticized makeup covering their botox injection sites, and quite a few more children listening to the simulcast audio presentation on their iPods.

But one thing I wondered as I watched The Beatles Impersonators play all this fabulous music: where was the bloody sitar? George Harrison looked mighty silly in his tricorne Cap'n Pepper hat without a sitar in his hands. Other than that, it pleased me greatly.

Things people would rather have than money

British taxidermist and sometimes artist Damien Hirst created this platinum-cast, diamond-encrusted skull to be shown at a London jewelry museum. Hirst claims that the piece was sold for £50 million (US $100m) to an anonymous customer.

What the bloody hell do you want to have a diamond skull instead of ONE HUNDRED MILLION DOLLARS??!! Wouldn't you rather have:

• A new garage door opener?
• A pair of snow boots?
• A frying pan with built-in AM/FM radio?
• A hot tub on the roof filled with champagne and goldfish and buxom concubines holding clean linens for you??

There are things that some people would rather have than money, and I just do not understand…

Never buy electronics from kebab carts

My brother Sanjay bought this 512 MB iPod Shuffle from a street vendor, and it doesn't even work!

We took the cap off the top to access the headphone port and the whole thing broke apart. So then we tried to poke in its bottom but that port is missing, it must be a manufacturing defect, that is why he got it so cheap.

I told him never to buy electronics from kebab carts, but does he listen to me? No!

"Steak-dar" is the stupidest marketing idea ever

A recent television advertisement for a local cow-slaughtering steakhouse restaurant has a line cook boasting about his radar-like ability to understand when a slab of beef has been cooked to unholy perfection. He calls it "steak-dar" and I call it bloody stupid!

What self-respecting chef would call a vague intuition ANYTHING-dar?? Does he really have friends who make up embarrassing catch-phrases about his ability to brown meat? "Steak radar?" THAT will entice customers? (Besides, cows are sacred; eating them is forbidden. Did his friends tell him that?)

Watch ME steam a basket of rice: when I know it's done, I say it's "rice-dar." And after I have tossed the salad, I will know when I have tossed it enough thanks to my gift of "salad-dar." (Bloody stupid marketing idea…)

A love letter from Mrs. Agnes Jonas Savimbi?

Here is a strange love letter I recieved. (Or is this the famous African email scam that my brother Sanjay has been working on?)
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From: Mrs. Agnes Jonas Savimbi
Email: rsavimbifamily2@hotmail.com
Sub: This is top secret, keep confidential please my dear.

Beloved,

This letter may come to you as a surprise but I really prayed to God to help me choose somebody that will be my true partner, a person who has a fear of God that cannot betray my remaining family and me as I don’t even know whom to trust so I allowed the spirit of God to lead me.

I am Mrs. Agnes Jonas Savimbi, wife of the late leader of the National Union of the Total Liberation of Angola (UNITA) After surviving more than a dozen assassination attempts, my husband, Savimbi was killed four years later, in February 2002, in a battle with Angolan government troops.

Two weeks before he died, he called me and reveals the existence of US$25,765.000.00 (Twenty five Million, seven Hundred and sixty fiveThousand United States Dollars) being deposited in a suspence account with the bank in South Africa. This money was income accrue from the sale of Gold & Diamond.

When I heard the bad news of my husband's death, his trusted aid moved me and members of our family out on hiding, but unfortunately my elder son and myself were caught and place under house arrest. Luckily to us, my second son being sharp and clever has escaped through Zambia to South Africa where he reside as a political refugee. Now the problem he is facing their is that the labour of South Africa does not permit an asylum seeker (Refugee) the right to financial transaction. This was the basic reason why I decide to contact you, so that you will stand as the beneficiary of the funds, we are prepared to transfer the ownership of the funds to your name.

30% of the total money goes to you, as a commission for your services, while 70% goes to my family, which we intend to invest, immediately we are being released from house arrest. I am assuring you that this transaction is risk free as we have put all the logistics in place to make it successful, all we need from you is your co-operation and sincerity of purpose.

You will be contacting my son on his details below for more details on how you are going to assist us conclude this transaction. I will wait for your response through my son, thank you and God bless.

Name: Robert Kamara Savimbi
Tel No: + 27-73-933 5582
Email: rsavimbifamily2@hotmail.com

In your email to my son Robert Savimbi, kindly forward to him the following:
1 Your Full Name 2.Your Contact (Home) Address 3.Your Telephone and Fax number

Thanks and may the almighty father guide us through.
Thank you.
Mrs. Agnes Jonas Savimbi.
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An excess of salt has built up in the traffic arteries

There is controversy within the local governing body that oversees the distribution of orange barrels and the shoveling of asphalt for roadway patching. The Engineering and Roadway Department employees are mad at their boss, because budget cuts did not allow them to have raises, but the state saw fit to give the boss a raise. And so all the cunning foxes are crying "Sour grapes! Sour grapes! My God, why have you forsaken me?!"

There is no money in the budget to give these people raises because it's all been spent on new metal signs that say ROAD CLOSED, as well as DETOUR and GONE FISHIN'. Perhaps there would be more money in the budget if they would stop spending it on road salt. Engineering and Roadway Department employees have been spreading salt on the same streets over and over again, regardless of whether we get any snowfall. Just this week, I saw four different trucks spread road salt four times in a 24-hour period (before a snowfall predicted to be only a dusting!) I know, because I watch everything that happens outside.

And I know it's wasteful: here on my street, we've got salt spread on top of salt on top of more salt, and it's a level grade cul-de-sac! We've got so much salt, the deer herds are coming to lick the gutters, and I think I saw Daniel Boone curing some ham hocks.

So to all the county employees who did not get a raise, I say: divide up the excess road salt among yourselves and take home a few barrels. That should be worth something.

I was just thinking about the Chinans

A question on Jeopardy --about Saint Columbus and his discovery of the so-called New World Indians-- made me begin to think about etymology, which is the study of tadpoles and frogs. But then one thought led to another, and I began to think about the origin of words.

And so, in India, you have my people, the Indians. In America, you have yourself, the Americans. In Africa, the Africans; in Australia, the Australians; and in Asia, the Asians; and so on.

So why (since the rules clearly state that if your country or continent ends with letter "a" the people are "—ans") why I ask, are those from China not the Chinans?

Hillary Clinton won't iron your shirt, but I will

Today, the former White House Prime Minister Hillary Clinton was heckled at a rally by misogynists who told her to do the laundry and iron the shirts.

Of course, it was a sexist comment, but what were they thinking? She does not iron shirts! She does not even TOUCH the laundry, much less her wardrobe. She has a personal concierge who dresses her, just as every American Prime Minister has.

But I am letting it be known that I can iron shirts, launder them, add starch, you name it. You have never had a finer article of clothing than the one I personally washed in the river and beat on a rock, I am telling you.

An awful time today at depressing retail slum Wal-Mart

I have not shopped at a Wal-Mart in over five years, and not because I disagree over the wages they pay to employees or how they manufacture their goods overseas (in fact no-one in my family complains about Wal-Mart and many of them are still working in the sweatshops of Uttar Pradesh). No, I do not shop at Wal-Mart because it is a depressing retail slum!

Mind you, I am no high caste bourgeoisie, but even for me, the appeal of Wal-Mart is a few notches lower than the crowded Mumbai Trivandrum Express train. Today, I went as part of my Sunday errands, just to return a holiday toy and hopefully get a little money. Into the poorly-lit bleak front entrance I went, where piles of damaged and probably useless merchandise were overflowing past the returns desk and into the store (in fact, it was hard to tell where the discard pile ended and the salable merchandise began). An old woman tagged my package and pointed me to wait my place in the queue, which was fifteen people deep and reeked of french-fry oil and thrift store mothballs.

In front of me was a short fat woman with sideburns and her short fat daughter who had taken colored markers and drawn over the bruises up and down her arms. Each of them had a shopping cart with a microwave in it, presumably to tell the returns clerk that the microwave was no good and they'd like to exchange it for an identical microwave which was also no good. Behind me, a restless, heavy-breathing woman who approached the line and asked if I was waiting in line, as if perhaps I was accidentally in line for an Icee or maybe I was just politely holding the next available place for someone like her. And as the line was not moving very quickly —due to the fact that at any one time only one of the four return cash registers was occupied— I had time to myself to ponder the masses of great unwashed entering and exiting this depressing retail slum.

When it was turn for the fat woman to exchange her microwave, I expected a delay. This item of complicated electronics looked like it had fallen off the roof of an apartment building: the box was ripped away from the side, had crushed corners, and no effort was made to mend it. When the returns clerk asked if anything was wrong with it, the fat woman said there was some paint chipped off the side and she wanted to exchange it. She had no receipt, but the tired-looking clerk approved and that was it, done! So I thought it should be easy to return my unopened rubber toy with licenced character face.

As I approached the counter, I offered a hello, but got no reply, and then meekly said I recieved this as a gift and would like to return it, and I do not have a reciept. That's when she looked at me like I was a fool, and asked what was wrong with it. Nothing I say, it is brand new, unused, it is just a toy made of molded polypropelene plastic and an accompanying bottle of bubble bath solution, no moving parts or batteries, nothing is wrong with it, in fact you should be more concerned about that beat-up microwave oven that was just returned than this bathtub spout cover with the face of a cartoon character on it, nothing is wrong with it...

And slowly she opened the register drawer and began fishing for change, as she pushed a receipt across the counter that required my signature, phone number, and address be filled out. Just as I was about to scribble illegibly, I saw that the refund was only $1.47! This must be a mistake, only $1.47 for this brand-new toy? "It's the price when y'all don't have a reciept." Incredulously, I asked "And so what is the price when I DO have a reciept?" But I didn't get an answer, and I wouldn't have waited for one, because I was so holy-rolling mad at wasting twenty-five minutes standing in that returns line —breathing stale air and looking at the backs of heads with greasy dermatological conditions— that I wasnt going to give depressing retail slum Wal-Mart the pleasure of keeping this stupid bathtub toy that they can re-stock then re-sell for full price! I won't be anyones' chump for $1.47!! (Though now I suppose I was a chump anyway, and got nothing for it).

So I told the clerk she can forget it, and stormed away, muttering aloud to myself how much I dislike Wal-Mart for being such a depressing retail slum, damn you Wal-Mart, etc., and an overly-sensitive customer walking into the store stopped and barked at me demanding to know what the hell did I just call him? I got away from there and vowed to never be a patron of depressing retail slum Wal-Mart again.

And because my righteous pride wouldn't let Wal-Mart take advantage of THIS old man, I now have a cartoon face garden hose cover and bubble solution for washing out the garage in the spring…
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Koogle Peanut Butter

Raise your hand if you remember Koogle Peanut Butter.

If you are older than 30, but a week younger than 50, you may recall childhood memories of your mother stocking the pantry shelf with those squat little jars of artificially-flavored peanut butter. It came in enticing flavors like Banana, Cinnamon, Chocolate, and there was one other flavor and I cannot recall what it was but I seem to think my grandmother stirred it into her curry recipes and we ate it on naan…

The mascot was a hairy blob with eyes, and he had a voice like the Kool-Aid Man. His catchphrase was "Koogle: With the Koo-Goo-Googly Eyes." Is your hand going up now?

Eraserhead: The Movie AND the Dream

I had a dream wherein an embalmed cow fetus was living in my bedroom, crying all night, and then I went to church where a dumpy white woman with buttered scones pasted to her cheeks (or was it mashed potatoes?) was singing "I'm In Heaven When You Smile" by Van Morrison, and a tree was bleeding maple syrup all over the floor, and the woman hugged me and I woke up next to David Lynch.

Weird, uh-huh.

And I really only wanted to see this movie ever since Alex Lifeson sported a huge Eraserhead button on his lapel during the Permanent Waves 1980 World Tour. And so now, I must live with the knowledge that human brain matter can be made into suitable rubber eraser tips in the pencil manufacturing industry…

Want to be treated badly? Hire Alpine Home Solutions, LLC for YOUR next kitchen remodeling!

Indeed, you too can be mistreated while being separated from your money (and you may or may not get a beautiful new kitchen in the bargain).

Hire Alpine Home Solutions LLC to remodel your kitchen, and owner George Stratigeas will gladly put out his hand to accept your 50% deposit check.

Don't expect project oversight, OR experienced subcontractor labor, OR prompt and courteous service, OR any sort of timely dispute resolution, nor ANY sort of professionalism whatsoever.

What you CAN expect are frustration, anger, deceit, miscommunication, domestic strife, and two months'-worth of your precious weekends spent on DIY labor. Other drawbacks include loss of sleep, dry mouth, and an all-over malaise that makes your entire body feel crummy for the duration of the remodel process, due to the fact that you'll still be washing dishes in the bathroom sink for six weeks after your promised completion date.

So, if you live in the metropolitan Cincinnati OH or Knoxville TN areas, consider Alpine Home Solutions, LLC for YOUR next home improvement nightmare! George Stratigeas will take your money and run!