During a recent work meeting I was told that young people no longer used email. In fact, the speaker said, email is now “obsolete.” This came as shocking news. For, as far as I knew, everyone was still using email at their workplace. Why hadn’t anyone informed me of this startling development? Because not having to use email would really free up some of my time. And no more Zoom meetings, either, as all of them are sent via email. I wouldn’t have to worry about Cyber threat training any longer. Phuck Phishing and so forth.

Alas, despite the surety of the speaker, email is still in use. I knew that it was too good to be true. It was like when I had a dream that only people under 65 were allowed to run for President. Or when mosquitoes were eradicated from the Earth. What an almost day that was. Anyway, this isn’t about mosquitoes or ancient egotists racing to ruin the society they will soon leave behind. This is about being sure. I’m positive.

The thing about saying you are sure is that you better be sure. It just can’t be likely or probable. For example, take the weatherman. You know that he is sure that it will rain. But he always leaves a little bit of wiggle room for himself. There is a 97 percent chance that it will rain. Because he can’t really say for sure and he’s a scientist.

Regular people aren’t scientists. Rather, they just like to say they are sure to try and convince other people of something they know isn’t exactly true, but they want it to be. Imagine this conversation from Columbus to his men.

“I believe we have landed in China boys,” says Columbus. “Get out the chopsticks.”

“I don’t know,” says Clem. Clem Bottozinni. Of the Venetian Bottonzini’s? Well, they were fairly famous at the time. “This doesn’t seem to look like China.”

“Are you sure?” asks Columbus, condescendingly. “What else could it be?”

Clem isn’t sure. But he still doesn’t think it is China. “I don’t know,” he replies.

“Well, there you go,” says Columbus. “I’m sure that it has to be China.”

At that moment, Thad Pippelinni pipes in. “How about we just ask those guys over there?”

“What guys?”

“The guys lurking in the jungle. They probably know where they are.”

Columbus thinks this over for a good long time. “Maybe so.”

“I’ll go ask,” says Thad before Columbus can think of an excuse to stop him. “Goddamn Pippelinis,” he grumbles under his breath.

Thad goes over and talks to the jungle lurkers and then comes back. “They say they are Taino.”

“Taino? Are you sure?”

“That’s what it sounded like,” says Thad. He’s pretty sure.

Columbus shakes his head. “I never heard of any Chinese called Taino. They must be Indians. I’m sure of it!”

And that is the story of how the Tomahawk Chop came to be. It was Columbus’s fault. Because he wasn’t politically correct. Or so the left-wing media would have us believe.

When I was a young man, I would occasionally sit on a bar

stool next to other people on bar

stools. After a while, these other people would try to be my friend. Not because I seemed likable, but because they were drinking. As they worked on our friendship they would often share their opinions on a variety of subjects: the law, the Constitution, aliens, baseball players, the state of morality in an industrial state- stuff like that. Usually, they spoke as if they were sure of what they were saying and, if I had also drunk enough, I would point out that they were full of shit. Rather than take this constructive criticism to heart, my newfound friends would resort to anger, shouting loudly and making terrible threats upon my person. And, with the exception of violence, there was no way to resolve these arguments. That is until the wonderful Internet came into being.

When someone made an outrageous claim there was now an all-knowing being (Google) who could reveal the truth. Bullshitting was now obsolete, much like email is today, and the world was good. Alas, the good times could not last. A serpent lay in the heart of the garden.

This serpent was called Fox News. And this “news” station was the all time purveyor of bullshit. It was every bar stool big mouth melded together into a sprawling cyborg of lies, half truths, and exaggeration. Worse, this Bullshit Cyborg spawned an entire industry of bullshitters, smugly telling everyone they were sure of everything. The world had returned to 1992 at 1:07 am. There was no proving anything anymore. And it ended with a weird fellow named Mike Johnson as Speaker of the House. His wife is a Christian counselor who practices a form of Christian counseling that classifies people into ‘choleric’, ‘phlegmatic,’ and other ancient personality types purportedly ordained by God. Of course, these classifications come from the teachings of Hippocrates who died about 2300 years ago.

When asked if these classifications are relevant in modern times, Kelly Johnson replied, “I’m sure.” And you can be damn certain she means it.

Desperate for something to write about, I looked at the Fox News website. In the interest of full disclosure, I have never done this before. I was a Fox virgin. What a mistake. You talk about a treasure trove of crazy shit. Wooowheeee!!! I’ll never run out of ideas again. Thank you, Fox News Jesus. (Fox News Jesus wears camo, has a MAGA hat, some chaw in his cheek and an AR-15 in his hands- as is his Him-given right).

Speaking of Jesus it appears that he works in mysterious ways. One way, according to Fox News, is through cardinals. No, not the guys who cover up child molestation. Though that would certainly qualify has some mysterious behavior on the part of Jesus. No, I am talking about the red bird who also doubles as the mascot for innumerable sports teams across this great, bird-loving nation. According to Fox, the cardinal is a bird of god.

To whit: “When European settlers arrived in North America, they noticed these birds’ bright red hue and how closely it resembled the red vestments of Roman Catholic leading bishops,” the Farmer’s Almanac reported. “And the bird’s jaunty crest is similar in shape to the church officials’ headgear, especially the tall, pointed mitre.” I mean, who can argue with that. I know every time I have seen a cardinal I thought, hmmm, that bird reminds of someone. And now I know.

Even more interesting, some Christians believe that the bird’s red color represents the blood of Jesus. “It is because of this religious correlation that many believe a visit from a cardinal serves as a sign or heavenly message from a departed loved one.” Cardinals, you see, are holy conduits to the dead. And, when one shits on your windshield, it is a message from Aunt Trish that you should have never sold her house to that yuppie couple from Minneapolis. The first thing those people did is to dig up and replace her azaleas. That white, runny goo is merely just desserts for failing to remove and replant those prized flowers. You azalea ignoring bastard.

Fox goes on to say that “this common occurrence (of cardinal funeral going) can mean a loved one is close by — and that you will always be loved by that person.” Unless, of course, you have not given those azaleas any attention. Then its plop plop plop.

If you are not convinced, Fox provides even more hard evidence. “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows,” the passage from Scripture reads. If that doesn’t seal the deal, I don’t know what I can say to you to prove that all of this about cardinals are real. Because another word for cardinals is sparrows. Or at least it is in ancient Hebrew. Even though there are aren’t any cardinals in Israel. Except when Noah had those two on the Ark.

Additionally, it appears that sometimes the cardinal is not one of your loved ones coming back to haunt you for your transgressions, but rather the physical manifestation of the Lord’s presence. Hence the phrase “goddamn cardinal.” I use this phrase often when the cardinals bully the other birds from the bird feeder. But I mean it in the most reverent way. Who am I to question the bullying of the Lord? Besides, it is highly likely that woodpeckers are witches. They have black on them and make weird noises. And you hardly ever see them at a cemetery. Unless there are dead trees in the cemetery. Of course, the fact that these trees are dead is only more evidence of the black intentions of the woodpeckers. Not to mention the sexual aspect of their name- which I will not mention.

If you are a cynical heathen, you might wonder where the female cardinal fits into all of this. After all, they aren’t red. Fox News even says they are brown. But they are more like yellowish-green, unless they are in the Catholic church. Then they are brown. Regardless, the good news is that females aren’t important. Well, they are for creating eggs and taking care of the fledgling males. So, sometimes they are important. Though no self-respecting spirit would ever be caught dead in one.

The takeaway from all of this is if you ever see a female cardinal at a burial, shoot it from the sky immediately. It’s most likely the spirit of a lib who can’t decide what gender it should be.

For those of you familiar with Burning Man, this was not the year to take part. It rained. In the desert. And then the celebrities had to be air lifted out of there. Perishing with the little people, or even bearing witness to the perishing of little people, is optional. The literal unwashed masses watched helplessly as their social betters choppered off to greener pastures. Thukkathukkathukka goes the sound of class stratification. Off with their riffraff heads should they venture too close.

Time to get high and to pray to your pagan gods for a dry, south wind.

According to the website (and written originally by the father of Burning Man, Burning Old Man), Burning Man is guided by Ten Principles. They are as follows:

1- Radical Inclusion. Everyone is welcomed and respected. So long as they have the cash for a ticket.

2- Gifting. I’m translating this as free beer or weed. But maybe I’m way off.

3- Decommodification. My uncle went to Burning Man and all I got was this lousy t-shirt. And Ten Principles mug.

4- Radical self-reliance. In other words, quit whining about the fucking rain. You won’t melt. Especially if you buy this dry t-shirt.

5-Radical self-expression. Hmmmm. At the very least this sounds like a good pick-up line. “Hey, you know what the fifth principle is?”

6- Communal effort. Unless you can pay for a helicopter. Then, fuck you.

7- Civic responsibility. I’m pretty sure this one was written tongue in cheek.

8- Leaving no trace. Just like everybody does on Earth Day. Heh heh. Cue the crying Indian.

9- Participation. Just apply number five to a group.

10-Immediacy. Hilarious. Unless Insta is considered immediate.

After reading this list, I should tell you that I have my own burning event. It’s not a once a year thing, however. I just have to wait until it rains. In this way, my Burning of the Boxes is far superior to Burning Man. What is a hardship in the desert is an opportunity in rolling farmland. Like a lonely, wayward sheep. Well, not quite like that.

Anyway, I digress. The point is that every time it rains I burn all the boxes that have accumulated in my garage. What a mighty fire I sometimes make. And then I dance around my mighty conflagration chanting, “I am the fire starter. I am the fire starter.” Like Charlie McGee without the famous grandpa.

Thus, in accordance with burning events everywhere, I have created my own list of principles. There are only six because six is a sacred number. Plus, I couldn’t think of any more off hand. Regardless, here are the Six Principles of Box Burning.

1- Decommodification. I stole this one. It applies to the destruction of Amazon boxes. It’s metaphorical. Like burning Bezos at the stake. A stake delivered by Amazon! Irony.

2- Irony. Like when you leave no trace of boxes by sending clouds of smoke into the sky, aiding Climate Change just a little bit each time. I’ve given up. And I will probably be dead before it gets really bad.

3- Aesthetic Endeavor. Whenever one burns plastic the flame turns beautiful colors. It’s like magic. Poof! The plastic is eliminated.

4- Weather awareness. It is crucial to understand wind direction, particularly when burning plastic. Magic can backfire on you.

5- Obnoxiousness. Yelling at the top of one’s lungs in front of a giant blaze is good for the soul. It also annoys the neighbor who is always dinking around on his four-wheeler at 6am for reasons known only to him.

6- Expediency. Why wait for the garbage man to take recyclables? Give the guy a break. Burn, baby, burn.

If you scroll down on the Burning Man website you’ll read a lot of comments from pissed-off participants. Apparently, no one from the organization checked on them when things went to shit. They did not read the Fourth Principle. Or the organizers were engaged in Principles 5 and 9.

I have a Seventh Principle. No website needed. I don’t need Jeff Bezos suing me for joking about burning him at the stake. Warlocks hate burning at the stake jokes. No sense of humor. Though I could make a Jeff Bezos out of boxes. Burn Box Bezos high into the night sky.

8- Class warfare. Each box burning must include a representation of some annoying billionaire.

9-Stakes Mandatory.

10- Urination as fire suppression.

I guess I could make it to ten after all. I’m on fire!

11-Never catch on fire while burning effigies of rich people at the stake. Actually, Principle 2 already covered this one. Consider us back to Ten Principles. Or maybe I should call them Commandments. The Ten Commandments of Box Burning. Then add some flowery bible language to them.

10. Thou shall urinateth on the boxes ablaze until the Bezos smoldereth beneath you.

Admittedly, it’s a work in progress. At least you didn’t have to pay for a ticket.