Hello From a Cornfield Co-Writer

Guest blogger #2 here, coming to you from rural Nebraska. My initial thought when Bill asked me to fill some space while he was gone was to have my sports-fanatic-husband blog in my stead. Both Bart and I know how much Bill, and Mrs. Bill LOVE the Cornhuskers, and Bart would have done a much better job at explaining the differences between Missouri, Kansas, and Nebraska sports endeavors...with a slight leaning towards the Huskerian part of the country of course. Why guest blog if you can't trash talk a little?

However, before agreeing to blog, I sort of forgot that we're leaving for a worship conference tomorrow (later today actually), and Bart chose to pack, run errands for his wife, and sleep rather than be a guest blogger.

So, I'll just share my thoughts about Bill.

He uses big words. I open dictionary.com in a new tab when reading Bill's blog. He refers to WalMart as a: "well know purveyor of fine international cuisine." People from Nebraska don't use words like "purveyor," and "cuisine." We don't know about purveying, or those who purvey. We don't know about cuisine, and cuisiners. I know about queasy though, which is what usually happens when I eat Thai items from Wal-Mart. (refer to July 23 Blah entry)

Which leads to my second point. Bill is really really funny. Hysterical even. I know. Hysterical is a big word. I used it in honor of Bill. While I had to stop and really think about what "vile" means, and what it might be like to actually "puke myself inverted," once I grasped his lofty way of saying something is disgusting, I died laughing.

The third point is this: I don't get the political entries. That's no fault of Bill's. It's more my current state of mind regarding politics that makes me almost want to go eat Thai food from Wal-Mart rather than think about what's going on with the politics in our country.

So, thank you Bill, for making me think. And for making me laugh. I hope your holiday is filled with merriment and free from strife, agitation, and you don't back your recreational vehicle into anything that doesn't deserve it.

Signing off from the side of a square,

Lisa

The Profound Post

As your guest blogger, I felt compelled to give you some words of wisdom to ponder while Bill is out cavorting.


There comes a point in your life when you realize the following:

1. Who matters.
2. Who never did.
3. Who won't anymore.
4. Who always will.

Life is short, gang. Make good choices.

-b

www.7throw.spaces.live.com

On The Road Again...

OK, look it…I’m gone the next eight days.

Because I have short term memory issues, I’ve agreed to take the camper out again. This time we’re headed west to Colorado. Few days in Rocky Mountain paradise and then back home via Wyoming, South Dakota, and then Nebraska.

Trace it on the map starting in Kansas City. It’s like an oddly shaped circle, much like the camper will make when I try to back it into my spot at the RV park. Good times.

I’ve lined up some guest bloggers I think. Who knows, they may actually fill the pages with something of worth, a first for this space.

Behave yourselves, gentle readers. Peace.

Ole Fitz Fume in the House of Thai

I’m all about trying new things. So when Wal-Mart, certainly a well know purveyor of fine international cuisine, was having a little sale on a noodle box from House of Thai, I thought why not.

“Why not” turns out to be because the crap is so vile as to make you want to puke yourself inverted. Never in my life have I smelled something so nasty, and I survived living in a frat house for three years. Reminds me, we had a guy in the house from St. Louis. His last name was Fitzhume. We called him Fitz-Fume because the guy’s feet reeked. My lunch made ole Fitz-Fume smell like an odiferous amateur.

I’m guessing a marketing whiz in Bentonville Arkansas looked on-line for noodle shops in Asia. He found one that sort of spoke English and just so happened to be sitting on a huge stockpile of dirt cheap noodles. A bargain was struck and a deal was made. Marketing Whiz was trying to decide what to call the stuff. He noticed some writing in Thai on the invoice he received and broke out his pocket Thai to English translator.

I envision this conversation taking place between the parties:

“So, based on what I’m reading here, this product is called House of Thai?”

(Stifled laughs) “…Ah, yeah sure. Let’s go with that.”

If Skippy could actually read Thai, he would have discovered that the product was known locally as doughy tasteless noodles spiced with goat butt and yak armpit.

He wasn’t reading an invoice. It was a cease and desist order from the Thai Minister of Health...

The entire office rallied against me and my cup-o-crap. I was forced to dump it out, outside, far from the building. It stunk that bad. I’ve been placed on office microwave probation for three weeks. Everything I bring in has to be approved.

The smell is trapped in my nose people. I’ve been traumatized by instant noodles.

Shush, They're Everywhere!!!

In my garage working on the camper, arm deep in grease, sweating like an iron worker, and obviously occupied with things, my next door neighbor pops in and starts gabbing. Not just idle chit chat mind you, he came with a purpose.

Did you know that my child’s ability to live in a free country rests in my hands? Did you know that several patriots, people in the know, are just now finding it safe enough to talk about what really happened on September 11, 2001? Did you know that the current regime has been systematically and purposefully eroding our civil liberties under the guise of protection from terrorists?

He handed me a flyer, 4 color printing, front and back filled with the stuff sure to make any militia-loving freedom fighter proud. Wanted me to visit the web site and check it out. After all, it’s up to us…Bill, this web site is full of expert witness-types, mechanical engineers, who swear it couldn’t have happened like the reports say, like the “man” wants us to believe.

“Bro, unless those engineers are the jack legs that snapped the covers to these grease zerks so tight that I may have to resort to ATF banned explosives to remove, I’m a little tied up at the moment. But hey, thanks for the vitriol and paranoia. Good times. Maybe later, after I get the axles lubed and you’re done shaving your head, we could sit on the porch and discuss these serious issues while we clean our assault rifles. Before bed, I’ll look outside for black helicopters and give you a call with the count. OK, bye-bye now, be sure to take your meds. Oops, almost forget your AK and machete. By the way, your pit bull is slobbering on my shoes again. Good doggie.”

Gracious. This stuff just keeps coming back around. Freak.

Caffeine Crisis

Starbucks is closing some stores

Certainly there is much moaning, weeping, and gnashing of teeth among writers everywhere in country. How, pray tell, can you expect anything to get done? Just having the Mac laptop, whimsical clothes, and work hours that would make a banker cry isn’t enough. There has to be Starbucks.

High gas prices mean we can’t drive across town, more likely to the next block, to find one either. Alas, we may have to resort to off-brand coffee houses without the snazzy cups and hot-grip things boasting of high post-consumer content. Worse, we may have to fill our travel mugs at home with, dare I put it in writing, store bought coffee. No, not Folgers…..Oh the humanity!

What'd you say?

They asked me to lead the prayer at the end of the worship team practice Sunday morning. We know of some folks in church having issues with finances, employment, and in their marriage. I was asked to touch on those topics in the prayer. Easy enough, right?

Meant to say: Lord, there will be people here today having marriage relationship issues.

Actually said: Lord, there will be marital relations here today.

Not even kidding. I’m so never praying out loud again in my church…

Fun with Faces: Politics Addition

This look says:

I can do anything I want.

I shot a guy in the face and he apologized to me!

Do you have any idea how rich I am, I mean honestly...





This look says:


Mr. President, can you tell us if the troops in Iraq will have to extend their tours of duty?

Heh-heh, he said "doody"




This look says:

Somebody get me my Metamucil and bran muffin.

Cindy, no more Tacoritos, dang-it!

No reporters until after my nap.

Czech Republic, Smeck-Republic, like I care anyway.







This look says:


For the last time, you red-neck cracker, I said my name was Obama, not Osama.


We live in the greatest nation in the world. I hope you will join me in changing it.

Obama-You want my nuts
Jackson-I think I'm entitled to them
Obama-You want my nuts
Jackson-I want your nuts
Obama-You can’t handle my nuts! See, Rev. Jackson, we live in a world of nuts. Those nuts have to be guarded. And my nuts, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, give life. You use 'em as a punchline. I have neither the time nor inclination to explain my nuts to anyone. I don't give a darn what you think you're entitled to!

In a Word

Everyone is capable of exercising bad judgment. Present company most definitely included. In fact, I liked the product so well, I bought the company.

Some lapses in judgment cost you a deductible and heartache

Some cost you a day of pain and suffering afterwards

Some leave you with permanent reminders for the world to see

Then there are some that, frankly, make everyone around you realize that there is smoke to the fire. That make you well aware of the existence of glaring double standards. Some that in one succinct word perfectly define rhetoric and politics.

If we can’t get the word of out of the good Reverend’s vocabulary, a so-called champion of the cause, tell me how, gentle readers, can they expect to remove it from society’s

Cartoons

"You know what your response should've been? It's very easy here, let me put the statement out for you: Barack Obama is in no way upset about the cartoon that depicts him as a Muslim extremist. Because you know who gets upset about cartoons? Muslim extremists!

-Jon Stewart, The Daily Show

The Clothes Know

Purveyor of happy, ambassador of Kwan, perennially of good cheer-all ways in which I like to think of myself. Who wants to be in a bad mood, or worse, make those around you are in bad moods? There’s enough of that going around, right?

Nothing gets me in a good mood like a Hawaiian shirt. My mantra: Life is better in a Hawaiian shirt. I have blogged upon this topic at length, but yeah verily, it deserves mention again. No kidding. Try it. The louder, the brighter, the shirt, the better. Instant Kwan.

In my world there is very little need for anything so confining or constricting as structure. But with respect to the afore mentioned Hawaiian shirt, there are considerations.

I met a fellow brother in training, a new bearer of Kwan, in the toilet paper aisle at Wal-Mart. Recognizing the signs of an apprentice, I felt called upon to gently instruct and guide my brother, in a most tender manner, regarding the missteps being made public. Indeed, as they say, it was a clean up on aisle nine.

To begin with, dear brother, whose name sadly I know not, although I give you points for attempting to generate Kwan, it is imperative to note that at no time should a Hawaiian shirt be tucked into your pants. This is an affront to Hawaiian shirts everywhere. You don’t mash the accelerator of a Formula One race car to the floor, yet insist it drag a Brinks truck behind. It’s meant to be worn on the outside, brother, sleek, fast, and happy. The outside. It’s a living, breathing thing man. Let it loose. Beyond impeding the flow of Kwan, dude, that’s just plain dorky.

The physical aspects of the Hawaiian shirt not withstanding, there’s more. The tucked Hawaiian shirt indicates that you are caught my friend. Caught in the hinterlands of indecision, not sure you’re ready to release the beast, yet aware of a need to change, you are trapped. Your occluded state has led to, in essence, a desecration of a national symbol of Kwan lovers everywhere. Brother, you’ve got to call the ball. Either embrace it, or take it off. There can be no in between. It is either-or, pass-fail, do or die. Be ye not afraid my friend, for there are others who have gone this way before you. It’s better on this side.

I stand ready to embrace you as a brother, a convert, someone who believes in the power of good. But first, you really need to un-tuck the shirt. And the whole green pants thing, see there’s not many rules, but thankfully, we do have a dress code…..wow!

A Bard Bawling Out!

These last few days have been challenging. Little bitty things, the preverbal pebble in the shoe type stuff, which just grind on you, wearing you down little by little.

The cherry on the pooh-pooh sunday occurred last night around dinner time. Junior’s in the truck with me and we’re heading home. A couple of kids, I hope new to driving, decide not to stop at a stop sign. Never even slowed. I locked everything up and managed to miss hitting them in the rear of their now speeding car.

Embarrassingly, I have blogged before about my verbal filter breaking down and allowing some things to come out that just shouldn’t. Well, out of pure weakness and frustration, the keys to the “sentence enhancer” store house opened up again at that movement. Let’s just say crusty old sailors everywhere removed their hats and had a moment of silence in my honor right then and there. I didn’t realize my jaws could unhinge like that.

Little guy took it in stride. When I looked back to check on him, he just breathed a little sigh of relief and said, “Don’t worry dad. I won’t tell mom.” Even though I had that going for me, I still felt bad. I can’t have junior regaling his first grade class with that type of colorful repartee. There’s got to be a better way to seek the release and catharsis that a good verbal tirade provides.

Well, kids, I’ve found it. Gone are the ugly, hateful words. No more gutter mouth. I can now vent my spleen in an intelligent, literary way. Better yet, I can do it in a manner guaranteed to leave nothing for the little one to try out on his buddies during recess.

http://www.mainstrike.com/mstservices/handy/insult.html

For you two gentlemen in the late model Corolla, thou roguish rude-growing skainsmates, I find you to be a couple of puking dizzy-eyed louts!

Whew! There. That’s better.

Joke O' The Day

It's hot in New York. So hot, in fact, that former Governor Elliott Spitzer hit on his wife just for the cold shoulder!
-C.Michaels

Crime Prevention-Key of G

Neighbor lady, a young woman in her early 20’s, came up our driveway yesterday toting her baby girl. She was upset, scared because some freaky looking guy in an old beater car pulled into her drive, sat there for a while, then drove around the house a few times really slowly. When he caught sight of her looking out the window at him, he turned his head real quick and sped off. Her husband wasn’t going to be back for a while. The friends she called when she got scared were still several minutes away. She asked if we could hang out a little while until her friends arrived.

Gentle readers, could be innocent thing, but still creepy. Makes my skin crawl when you stop and think about the sheer number of freaks out there intent on doing you or your property harm. So, we waited with her until her gaggle of friends pulled up. Got me thinking about personal security while we were chatting with her. What exactly would I be able to do to protect my family? No alarm system, no handgun, not exactly a 12th degree black belt, and no little something that I picked up in Nam or anything.

I’d have to use my outside voice: Stop it or else! Ahh, well stop anyway….There’s some mystery stuff in the fridge I could throw on an intruder. Maybe whack him with a throw rug. I could pick up the guitar and break off a little Gordon Lightfoot. If that don’t kill him nothing will.

“Sundown you better take care, If I find you been creepin’ round my back stair." Oh yeah, that’ll stop anything.

It's About Real Change...

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,380143,00.html

I’m white. I’m protestant. I’m male. I’m born and raised in Unites Sates. Consequently it’s a heavy mantle to shoulder, a burden I can’t overcome, me being the root cause of all ills perpetrated on this planet. Bigotry, my fault. Sexism, mine. Religious intolerance, yep. Mine too. Famine, war, genocide, civil unrest the globe over, all my stinking fault.

It’s to the point that I can’t take it. Just the mere mention of my color catapults me into a depression like tailspin that renders me useless. Debilitating doesn’t begin to describe this condition. Paranoia doesn’t evoke the emotion that I feel every day. Everyday. It’s unbearable. In fact, this condition of mine has reached a stage where I believe I now qualify for the protection of the Federal Government. I believe it is a clear case of, dare I say it, discrimination. Moreover, a violation of my civil rights.

Unless the world wants to enter into a protracted and expensive legal battle, provide me with the requisite medical and psychological assistance needed to be made whole again, and to remunerate me for all the pain and suffering, the following changes need to be implemented immediately:

White House: Change to Personal abode of the Commander-in-Chief, who, if white, will no doubt be another perpetrator of evil against everyone else in the world.

White Out: Change to lightly pigmented corrective substance

White Stripes: Change to freakish looking duo that no one really knows-is it brother and sister or husband and wife-weird either way.

White Chocolate: Clearly this is so racists as to offend everyone. I say we call it albino product made from extracts of the cacao plant.

White Hot: Don’t actually know what this really means. Nothing’s ever white with heat. I don’t care if it makes sense or not. Get rid of it. I’m offended.

The very word White: In all fairness, shouldn’t this word removed from the English language? Let’s call it the “un-black”, or maybe “Evil”. Evil’s good, but not quite right. I got it. How about “I’m freaking sorry for the love of all things holy?” That’s it!

You could paint your wood trim an Eggshell I’m Freaking Sorry For The Love Of All Things Holy. A lovely gloss Ivory I’m Freaking Sorry For The Love Of All Things Holy could really brighten up a room. A light yellow (please- no offense intended to my Asian brethren) tinged Cream I’m Freaking Sorry For The Love Of All Things Holy would be a very soothing office color for a harried work place, don’t you think?

Whatever…

Tap..Tap..Tap..Is this Thing On?

This is maybe going back ten years. I’m sitting with my brother and his wife at what is now called GMA Seminar in the Rockies (I think it was a Christian Artists things back then). Pretty close to the end of the seminar. Really been learning a lot from Tom Jackson, a performance coach, and was looking forward to another good session. We took our seat a few minutes before things got started.

All of a sudden, we hear this strangely familiar nose, like water pouring into a bathtub. Within seconds everyone in the auditorium is quiet. Maybe another second or two before laughter breaks out all over. It wasn’t water into a bath tub. No-no. Tom had forgotten to mute, or turn off, his lapel mic before going to the bathroom. After he’s done (he did wash by the way) he pops out on stage and the whole place explodes. The “What?” look on his face, and the roaring laughter from the crowd, is as vivid and comedic today as it was ten years ago. Totally classic.

I was reminded of that story, and the importance of maintaining situational awareness, when I listened to the “Good” Reverend Jackson's low-breathed whisper regarding anatomical alterations he’d like to perform on the Democratic Presidential nominee.

Tom’s was funny. The “Good” Reverend, well not so much.

Plane Wrong

OK, my wife just called. Her flight has been delayed by approximately two hours.

She relayed the money quote of the day: “There are some minor issues with the fuselage near the cargo hold. As soon as the epoxy dries we’ll be on our way.”

As soon as the epoxy dries…..My wife is, shall we say, concerned.

Listen babe, I know you don’t drink. I applaud you for your discipline. However, now may be a good time to have, oh I don’t know, one or four before boarding.

Seriously.

Hello Momma!

Throw away empty McDonalds and Sonic sacks: Check
Pick up all underwear lying around the house: Check
Remove football from bay window, repair glass: Check
Re-upholster couch in living room: Check
Shovel toys back into toy chest: Check
Dig up tiny superhero figures buried in plants: Check
Paint over marker and sharpie writing in office: Check
Superglue decorative plate that used to hang over oven: Check
Conceal cracks in newly super-glued plate as best as possible: Check
Create plausible cover story for when concealment efforts fail: Check

My spousal unit gets back home today. There will surely be an inspection upon her return to the house. She’ll walk the house with a stern look, her hands locked together behind her back, stopping to wipe her white gloved finger over the coffee table or book case every now and then.

The real intense moments will come when she examines the little guy. She'll look for signs of malnutrition and bodily injury of course. Personally I think the full body MRI is a bit much. Frankly, the chemical reagent test she performs checking for trace evidence of antibacterial soap is ridiculous.

But...glad she’s back. There will be veggies for dinner and she can tell me where my stinking pants are at.

Worth A Listen

OK, This one made me laugh outloud several times.

http://www.theonion.com/content/video/volatile_india_pakistan_standoff

He-He.

In the Pen, Almost Literally...

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/25576560/&GT1=43001

The goat had priors. Did a stretch on a minimum security farm near Huntsville last year. Probably a meth addict. Seriously, who can eat that much and stay so skinny and manic. Course, he’s big into grass.

Dog’s a vagrant, jumps into police cars all the time. Just looking for free medical care and three squares a day. Hooked up with the goat because he had a beard, looked tough, and called himself “the Kidd”.

I know we’re focusing on the animals here, but let’s not forget the “victim” shall we. Who drives a Benz in northern Alabama? Think about it. That girl was up to no good and the goat knew it.

The goat was going to grab the stash that was no doubt hidden in a secret compartment somewhere in the car, use the unsuspecting dog as a mule to carry it to a pig the goat met on the inside. Between the three of them, they would then have the seed product to start distributing.

The goat would then have enough money to diversify his operations. He knows a rooster over in Athens who runs a few hens. Now, that’s where the real scratch is at…

More

The picture is just too good for one entry.

Possible captions for the photo:

Repeat juvenile offenders, under Missouri’s new “Get Tough” policy, are forced to look at 24 hours of photos and videos of Brittney Spears from last years VMAs.

Tom learned the hard way what Moo Goo Gai Pan really is.

And today’s winner…

A representative from Brentwood-Benson Publishing reacts to a new submission from the Filer Brothers.

Doggone My Stomach Hurts

What? Americans are fat and getting fatter you say? Well that’s just an unfair stereotype….

Doesn’t this picture say a thousand words?

On average a normal size hotdog on a bun contains approximately 170 calories. He consumed 59 hotdogs in a contest that had to go to a sudden death eat-off in order to be decided. For those of you who went to KU, don’t hurt yourself with the math. That’s 10,030 calories.

Judging from the look on his face, my guess is that he immediately, and unceremoniously I might add, gave back about 52 of the dogs, leaving him to metabolize a mere 1100 calories.

Still, that’s just nasty.

I Get It, I Get It...Jeez!

I’m no movie critic, beyond just the normal liked it or didn’t like variety that is. Don’t want to be. I go to movies to be entertained, not to marvel at the filmmaker’s use of lighting and cinematography.

So it was a bit surprising that about 25 minutes into Walle, Disney-Pixar’s new film, I began focusing less on the cute little robot romance, and more on the overt political messages that somebody took great care to cultivate. For me to notice, gentle readers, it had to be heavy handed

For those of you without kids, or who may not plan to see the movie, let me give you the Bill Filer attention span challenged crib notes:

#1) Having a big heart (even a robotic one) trumps big problems every time.
#2) We’re trashing the planet
#3) People (presumably Americans) are allowing themselves to become fat and lazy
#4) Big corporations are evil

My little guy liked the movie. It was cute and very well done as you would expect from Disney, don’t get me wrong. But it was preachy. Very preachy, indeed.

Independence Day

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for a distracted dieter to dissolve the political correctness bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the culinary and dietary powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a complete and total lack of respect to the opinions of mankind,the American Medical Association and personal trainers everywhere, requires that he should declare the causes which impel him to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of the all you can eat breakfast buffet…

(When this is ratified by the hastily assembled congress, you can bet that my signature will be first and the largest on the page.)

Little guy left for the zoo early this morning with his aunt and uncle. The Mrs. took advantage of our childless status to make a daybreak assault on the local shopping mall. Fear her.

This left me with nothing but the paper and the local greasy spoon less than three blocks away. On this auspicious day, I declare my independence from the recommended daily allowance of anything.

On this day, eat ye of the egg, the greasy meat products, the fat laden caloric sweets, and drink ye the products of fermented grains and grapes. Because after all…. http://sounds.wavcentral.com/movies/braveheart/take_freed.mp3

May The 4th Be With You

Gentle readers, I’m out. Taking a long weekend.

May your barbeques be hot, your drinks be cold, and your sun block at SPF 50 or better. Peace.

You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism.Erma Bombeck

My Bizzle

Haven’t been in the studio for a few days. Haven’t seen my brother for longer. The entry way light by the studio’s front door is out. Had to fumble with the key in the dark for a long while. Finally got the stupid door open. The high quality front door we have swells when it gets humid, so I had to lean into it a little (a lot) to get it opened.

So its pitch black, I’ve just bulldozed my way through the door, and I’m trying to get my bearings in the darkened room. I turned to my left and something hit me in the face. At that point I did what every other rational adult male would do: I screamed like a small child flailing my arms around like I’m fighting bees. I hear a couple of crashes and then things settle down. I fumble and stumble to the wall patting it down until I find the light switch.

Turns out it wasn’t deadly demons, scores of the undead, rabid dogs, or man-eating crocodiles that were out to get me in the dark. My brother had been doing some vocal work apparently and had set up the boom stand with the Neumann mic. The Neumann. RRRRight.

I’ll be looking for a second job over the holiday weekend. Hope Chris has an easy payment plan.

From the Pentagon Today...

OK ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll take your seats we’ll begin the briefing. There will be just a few minutes following my prepared remarks for Q&A.

Today, after an exhaustive study by a joint commission comprised of elements form all branches of the military, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Defense Department, and the Central Intelligence Agency, we are pleased to introduce a new weapon in the war against terror. We feel implementing this new weapons platform will be a huge step forward in eliminating deeply embedded insurgent cells, rendering them combat ineffective.

Totally Horrific Random Enraging Asinine Discoloration, code named THREAD, will be deployed in all forward areas of operations in both Iraq and Afghanistan by the end of the year. The results will be devastating. All those who continue to pursue an agenda of violence and hate against America should stand as warned. Thank you. I’ll be happy to answer your questions now.

Yes, Deputy Jones, thank you for the briefing. Tom Sullivan here, Washington Post. Can you tell us how THREAD works?

Well Tom, THREAD, through a combination of classified technologies and methods, harnesses the dark brown, blue, and black deposits that come off of a seemingly clean iron or out of a perfectly clean washing machine. You know they type. It renders a garment, both new and old, completely useless and happens only at a time when you are in a hurry, late for an appointment, or in need of wearing that particular garment for a company photo, trade show, or important client meeting, or in this case, a so-called “Holy War”.

Susan McCloud, LA Times, Forgive me, but that sounds totally lame, useless in fact, and plainly, not very macho. How is this going to stop the war on terror?

Ms. McCloud, I assure you this bane of every home laundry room is not “lame” or “useless”. We’ve been able to amplify the effects and predict the randomness of when it occurs. When deployed it will systematically seek out common fabrics used in the making of keffiyeh and burkas, common everyday clothing worn by Arabs in the area troops are stationed. The scope and pervasiveness of these stains will lead Arabs world wide to declare a Jihad on all irons and washing machines, distracting the enemy, effectively diverting men and materials away from the current battlefields.

That reminds me. On a related note, we’re asking all civilian contractors and ex-pats stationed in Iraq, who happen to work for Maytag, Whirlpool, and Kenmore, to begin an orderly evacuation of conflict areas as soon as possible for obvious reasons.

Ms. McCloud, to put a fine point on this, what suicide bomber wants to meet his reward of 40 virgins wearing a stained keffiyeh? Ingenious really.

Ah, Deputy Jones, Clarnce Williams, Ohama Free Dealer, with the nature of the weapon, don’t you see collateral damage as an issue?

Yes. It is inevitable. There will be no distinction between Combatants and non-combatants. In fact, when the full scope of the deployment is made clear, I suspect massive casualties in homes all across Asia Minor and the Arabian Peninsula.

That’s all the time I have. Thank you and good afternoon.

(I freaking hate my iron. Hate it.)