Yesterday, the chance of storms was 100 percent at this location- according to the local weather service.  But, it didn’t rain.  Or as Blind Melon might put it, “No ra-aa-aaaainnn.”  I figured this would be my first and probably only chance to allude to Blind Melon.  So I took it.   Fortune favors the bold.

I guess it did rain all around us.  Maybe the meterologists can be content with the fact that it did rain somewhere.  It is good to not to be too hard on yourself.  But it makes me wonder.  Do weathermen and weatherwomen secretly pray for storms after they have made a prediction?

I can see the weather guy now, in his underwear and wearing a foil hat, chanting in his backyard in an effort to conjure up a good cumulonimbus.

“Hahahahahaha,” he shrieks.  “Tornado at the trailer park.  I told you!  I told all of youuuuuuuu!!!!”

If this sounds unlikely- or even a bit immature- consider that people continually say (or write or send) nasty things to weather people if they get the prediction wrong.  Imagine how it feels to be looking over the squash in the grocery store when up rolls some red-faced old lady.  She points a pale, bony finger in your face.

“You said it would be nice on Sunday.  We planned the church picnic.  And then it rained and it was all ruined.  I lost my potato salad in the flood!”

“Hey, I said there was a 30 percent chance.  Plus, nobody really likes your potato salad.  At least as much as they like Hazel’s.”

I’m kidding, of course.  Weathermen just take the abuse.  They do not administer it.  It is one of the downsides to serving the unreasonable public.  No matter what you predict, even if you are right, at least some of the people will be disappointed in the results.  My solution?  Mind control.  The next day, just pretend that it didn’t rain on Sunday.

“What a beautiful day we had on Sunday.  A great day for a family outing or to go fishing or for a church picnic down at St. Luke’s on Third and Main.  I don’t think it gets better than that.”

I guarantee at least some of the people will be fooled.  Old people, especially.  They either have memory problems or are seriously worried that they do.  What is the harm?  At least this way you can get your shopping done in peace.

If you are right about the forecast, make sure that no one forgets about your accurate prediction.  Ever.

“Remember last week, folks.  I predicted two to three inches of sloppy snow.  And what did we get?  Two point seven inches here at the station.  It doesn’t get any better than that.  I will bet you wish you had a stock analyst as good as I am.  Speaking of that, if you want to send a few bucks I can help you out with that, too.  After all, once you have predicted one volatile phenomenon with dozens of not very well known variables, you have predicted them all.”

Flash to commercial for financial services company.

Diversification.  That is the key.

In the meantime, the weatherman can practice.

“Well, it looks like there will be storms.  In fact, every weather station is saying that there is a one hundred percent chance of a violent outbreak, including possible tornadoes.  Now, I’m not telling you not to prepare for a tornado, I am just saying that it could be a nice day.  You never know.  If it was me, I would just schedule that church picnic for a longer time frame- say 1 to 6.  That why, if it does rain, which it may or may not, you will still have time for horseshoes.”

“Also, I wouldn’t worry about that stock.  It looks like it will go down.  On the other hand, what goes down has to go up.  Generally speaking.”

Listen up.  I get a little tired of your short, little attention spans.  What would you have done in the Victorian Era?  Besides lie back and think of England.  One wonders if that advice applied to the Poofs as well as the rest?  Likely not.  The English Bulldog does not condone sodomy of any kind.  Doggy style, presumably, is still okay.  Good show, old chap.

Are you still paying attention?  Doubtful.  It is probably the time for WAGS or the Real Housewives of Atlanta.  Just record the show.  After all, the theme for every episode is the same.  In the land of fake boobies, nothing is sacred.  Honestly, they could save themselves some money and shoot the show in the trailer park.  Call it The Real Baby’s Mommas of MountainGlen (trailer park).  Spring for some breast augmentation and some bling and nobody would know the difference.  Plus, it would distribute the wealth a little, thus appealing to the socialist demographic.  Then again, who cares about those dirty, pinko, flag-hatin’ bastards?  I sure don’t.

If you are a government agent, please take special note of the above.  The MO does not care, explicitly or implicitly, about any socialist entities, either living or dead and he burned his Che Guevara t-shirt long ago when he realized just how far from reality he had really strayed. 

Just making sure that I don’t get caught up in any Purges.

Speaking of purging, you don’t hear as much about bulimia as you used to.  Is that not a thing anymore?  In my day, young women were sticking their fingers down their throats on a pretty consistent basis.  At least they weren’t fat.  You don’t see a lot of bulemics with diabetes.  Or muffin tops.

I have never really liked muffins (I’m speaking literally).  I also don’t care for the group Alice in Chains much.  Cool band name, very few good songs.  Other than Man in the Box and Rooster.  Those are good.  Apparently, sometimes the blind squirrel finds two nuts.  But that is how he made himself blind in the first place.  Hahahahahaha.  Masturbation jokes never grow old.  But masturbators do.  Such is the cycle of living.

On that note, I hear that scientists are still trying to figure out how to make us live longer.  Much longer.  Like hundreds of years longer.  That is a terrible idea.  Can you imagine teaching six grade English for three hundred and seventy-seven years?  How about working in the produce section of the grocery store for four centuries?  I shiver to think about it.  And the thing is, somebody would have to keep doing those jobs.  Additionally, if nobody is dying then there has to be a moratorium on having babies.  That means everybody stays where they are.  Indefinitely.

The very concept of extremely long life is obviously the product of people who are not familiar with drudgery.

“Can I get a price check on asparagus, please?” Mina says, for the sixteenth million time.  Her customer nods and grumbles under his breath.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know where my manager is.  Price check on Twelve, please.”  Five minutes pass.

Bang!  Bang!  Mina shoots herself twice to make sure.

“Cleanup on Twelve, please,” Alice says.  “Sir, you can come over here if you like.  That aisle is closed for now.”

The customer looks down and shakes his head.  One day, he figures, scientists will find a way to bring back people from the dead.  Maybe then he could get back home on time for the Real Housewives of Central Asia.  Those Mongolian women have some truly substantial whammers.

Whammers.  The man laughs.  He can remember when back to when everyone just called them Titties.  Those were the days.

He looks at his watch/phone/tv/ ATM.  He hates his wife for making him get asparagus.  He wishes she would die.

But that is going to be awhile.

“And the world would be beset on all sides by Reality TV and Baby Daddy’s and there would be Fake News and Rumors of Fake News.  And an Orange Man would start a great war between the West and the East.  And it would be a huge war.  And also very sad.  But still the best war, the very beautiful, best war.  Loweth the bar and the bar loweth ever further until pestilence and Maury Povich lay heavy over the land.”

As told to by the FSM to the prophet MO in a dream after eating spicier than usual tacos

Guess what?  Scientists think that we are currently in the middle of the sixth great extinction.  Pow!  Pow Pow Pow!!!!  No more Australian pupfishes left.  Whatever the hell they were in the first place.  Some bats also have left the building recently.  Exterminated for good.  Most people don’t really like bats, anyway.

Despite this seemingly gloomy bit of news from some killjoy scientists (Don’t they every have anything positive to say?  Lighten up, Poindexters.  Scientists are entirely the reason that I don’t want to read anything.  Too depressing.), there is hope.  The Rapture is coming soon.  God means it this time.  Did you ever see how many homosexuals are running around?  A clear indicator of Armageddon if ever I have seen one.  I suppose I have probably seen many indicators of Armageddon, but I just didn’t know what I was looking at.

Anyway, with the approach of the Rapture, it might be nice to take stock and list all of the accomplishments of mankind.  Imagine one of those graduation montages from high school.  The music in the background is The Way We Were.  On a loop because this might take a while.

Look there, our most distant terrestrial ancestor is climbing out of the ooze to breed.  And then he gets eaten by a frightening dinosaur.  But not before spreading his all-important seed.  Pow!  The line of mankind is assured.  In your face, dinosaurs.  Actually, there is an asteroid coming that truly will be in your face.   At least the ash thrown into the atmosphere will be in your face.  It was your own fault, really.  You had millions of years to figure out some sort of underground bunker system and you failed miserably.  No opposable thumbs.  Gee, you were dumbs.

Moving forward in our video, we see the first mammal worth noting.  It is a small shrew/squirrel/monkey thing.  Not much to look at.  Kind of like Chris Kattan.  But funnier.  Much funnier.  Look out, grandpa!  He was taken away by a giant flying eagle thing.  Now, he is being fed to the young of that giant flying eagle thing.  Luckily, his female was in heat the previous week.  Lucky for us, not him.  He is being disemboweled while still alive by screeching adolescent birds.  The joke is on them, though.  Our ancestor was infected with a virus.  All of those birds will be dead within a fortnight.  Score one for the mammals!

Fire.  Wahoo!  Botulism deaths take a tumble.  We also learn to burn large swaths of forest.  This is a valuable lesson that ultimately leads to ethanol.  Which is clogging up the carburetors in every small engine that I own.  Thanks, Iowa.  Another reason to hate your state.  That and it is flat and conservative and smells like pig shit.  Why would anyone even live there?  I wouldn’t.  My wife also says Iowans are terrible drivers.  Probably because they are distracted by the despair of living in Iowa.  It is just a theory.

What’s going on now?  How come the screen is black?  Where is the AV kid at?

I don’t know.  I can never figure out why in the hell this thing stops working.  It shouldn’t for what we paid for it.  We were just getting to the good parts.  I have that video where Bruce Jenner wins the Decathlon.  That was awesome.

Can somebody please shut off that idiot song?  I don’t know.  I didn’t pick it.  Probably somebody from the 70’s.  Nice decade, by the way.  Nixon, the Vietnam War, and bell bottoms.  Way to contribute.

Yeah.  At least the 80’s had Hair bands.  And the rise of the 49ers.  You ever heard of Joe Montana?  Idiot.  Ok.  I’ll give you the beer commercial thing.  But that’s it.

I would have done a dry run of this slideshow.  But I thought the world would be over by now.  My bad.  You know, I was just trying to do something nice.  It’s not the end of the world.

Hahahahaha.  Not the end of the world.  And then the horns start blaring.

I am just kidding.

I find life a lot more palatable if we can joke about things once in a while.

I do admit, however, that the whole Bruce Jenner thing disturbs me a bit.  I even asked my mom to buy Wheaties.  But she bought Rice Krispies instead.

Snap, Crackle, Pop.

 

 

 

So, there was a picture of Amelia Earhart supposedly showing that she had been captured by the Japanese in 1937.  It was quickly debunked.  However, despite this debunking, the interest in Amelia Earhart disappearance theories remains high.  Did I mention that the last time anybody say or heard from Amelia was 80 years ago?  No matter.  Apparently everybody is very worried about her.  Assuming she is alive, she would be 120 years old.  This means that she wouldn’t be even know where she is.  Anyway, I digress.  She’s dead as a stone.

As mentioned, there are multiple theories concerning Amelia’s disappearance.  The first is called “Crash and Splash.”  Even conspiracy theorists try to be literary once in a while.  They fail miserably, but it is the thought that counts.  This theory, as you might have assumed, says that Amelia and her navigator went down someplace in the Pacific Ocean never to be seen again.  To me, this is the most plausible explanation.  Occam’s razor and all that.  But, the universe abhors plausible explanations.  At least the human beings inhabiting the universe do.  I’m talking about the human  beings on this planet, not the ones on the seed planets who dropped off their progeny thousands of years ago.  Who knows what those people think?  And who cares?  Deadbeat parents to be sure.

Are they even coming back for us?  It doesn’t look good.

Another theory is that Amelia landed on a small spit of land named Gardner Island.  There, she and her navigator lived an idyllic island life (think middle-aged Blue Lagoon).  At least until they starved to death.  Or died of their injuries from a brutal crash landing.  Either way, they lived briefly on the island before expiring.

I admit to making up the part about the idyllic island life.  Artistic license.

As already mentioned, a third group of theorists subscribe to the Japanese abduction idea.  The dirty Japs found Amelia and, for reasons unknown, kept her.  I am not entirely sure why they would do this.  However, there is another theory that says that Amelia was actually a spy.  If this is to be believed, then the Japanese may have put Amelia before a firing squad (after torturing her relentlessly) and buried her in a shallow, island grave.  Perhaps beneath a shady palm tree.

Or they just fed her to the turtles, which sounds brutal.  Unless you are a turtle.  Then it sounds like breakfast.

According to some, all of these theories are complete baloney.  Amelia actually survived her world flight and moved to New Jersey (to punish herself for some heretofore unknown sin).  Once in Jersey, she changed her name to Irene Bolam and remarried.  A guy actually wrote a book claiming this was true.  This book was pulled off the market when Irene Bolam threatened to sue.  Or should I say Amelia?  Anyway, Irene is also dead as a stone, thus returning us to our starting point.

Of course, all of these theories are beyond asinine and I am shocked that so much time and energy has been spent on a woman who has been most likely dead for 80 years.  What actually happened is that Amelia never even left the United States.  The entire plane trip was a hoax, initiated by the Masons in concert with aliens of an unknown planetary origin.  Their reasons for perpetrating this hoax are not entirely clear.  However, you can read more about it in my book, Amelia, the Masons, and their Alien Masters.

Available soon at a bookstore near you.