The Shockuation Room

All of us here at the Shockuation Room demand you use this company!!!!

http://www.facebook.com/avci.nettechteam?ref=ts

GO THERE NOW

Yes, yes, I know. It’s Coyote Rush. Now let me calm you down, take a seat and hush. I don’t care what time it is go ahead and let yourself be a lush. Slush it goes when it rains down into your brain, you’ll need a cane to get home after the seventh long island in a smokey haze.

OK, that was my instantaneous rap song. Sorry. It was bad. Once, I start doing something it’s hard to stop.

Like my dear colleague and friend James Dust said, yes, I have been playing minesweeper quite a bit. It’s a fun time, expert is so annoyingly hard though. I had never tried it before I was 16, my ex-girlfriend taught me how to play. Isn’t that sweet?

“I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.'”

Kurt Vonnegut said that. Actually his ‘good’ uncle said it.

I believe it to be extremely wise.

We are a society of instant gratification. Needing things now. NOW. NOW!!!!!!!!!! What’s next? What are we doing now? What, you’re just going to sit and watch a documentary? Wow, you’re a loser. I got to go do something. I want to have a buzz now! I need to get a girl NOW! Oh, she has a bf, that’s cool. Oh well. Oh, she has a VD that’s fine I’ll wear two condoms.

“The condom is the glass slipper of our generation.”
-Marla Singer: Fight Club

No, you don’t. Pick up a book and read it. Lay on the floor and coo with a baby. Rub a dog’s belly. Sit next to a piano and pound out awkwardly pronounced chords.

Slow down.

Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans. I heard that from John Lennon, I’m fairly certain someone said that or something similar in the past. It doesn’t matter that’s where I heard it.

It’s true.

That old saying, take time to smell the roses. Also true.

Slow down.

Anyway, the story is what I mentioned above. Now let me tell you a little story of what I saw yesterday or maybe the day before, or maybe it never happened.

Somewhere someone, let’s call him Rick, sat about all day. Jobless, girl-less, friends dwindling like water slowing swirling down a drain, and not having much to do.

He sat around. He thought a lot. He hadn’t seen a person in three weeks. He lived in Wyoming. One of the most god forsaken places in the world.

No one had called him. No one had texted him, no one had stopped by his house. He hadn’t ate in six days. Drinking water in copious amounts. Enough that if someone did care about him, they would warn and remind him of water poisoning in which he would reply, “Yeah, that’s pretty much impossible, but thanks for reminding me.”

He suddenly had a thought. “Why don’t I go outside?” He hadn’t been outside in ten days. He looked out the window and it was gray and raining. His mood slipped farther down the slippery slope.

The Shockuation Room’s antenna had picked up this man’s sadness. I I knew how he felt because of my funk. Only wanting to play minesweeper and smoking pall malls when I don’t even smoke. I had found myself asleep on top of my computer’s keyboard more than once very recently: drooling like some type of swamp beast.

I knew that by pulling him out of his funk I could do the same for myself. So I hopped into a 1994 Buick and drove out there. Isn’t it funny how we’ve never said where the Shockuation’s location is? AHH HAAHAHAHA. That’s how funny.

I drove and drove. I knew that Rick would be freaky deeky dutch when I got to his double wide. It took me two days, I slept in the car, drank water and ate beef jerky.

I pulled into his driveway, even his driveway and trees seemed to be depressed.I knew I had my work cut out for me because of the way I had been feeling, he had been feeling even worse.

Feeling sorry for myself that I had let vagrants into my office and sleep in the basement in exchange for helping around the office. Food, sleep, housing, a place to clean up and social interaction. Plus, plenty of coffee and smoke breaks. I knew that was what they needed, but it only made me happy for a couple days.

Before I walked to his doorway, I got out of my car and looked at the sky. It was beautiful blue, it was partly cloudy and the clouds looked like cotton balls or misshaped marshmallows, not good enough to make it off the assembly line’s wheel. It didn’t matter, it cheered me up almost instantly.

Slow down.

The human race is not actually a race. It’s not a competition. I know, I am competitive about everything: silly arguments, why it is ok to drink pop, how isolating yourself can be a good thing, tennis, basketball, information about sports, what team needs to draft who or what position, seeing potential and talent, trying to understand people, being liked the most, being the funniest, being the wittiest, being the best looking, being the best at taking care of people, being the best at showing my empathy, being the best at blending in with people like a chameleon, being the best at having fun and making people happy, being the best at giving advice, being the best at listening and gaining knowledge or wisdom and finally the worst one of all, being the most listless, helpless, depressed, mellon collie individual you can see, then suddenly snapping out of it and being the most extroverted person happy to the point of slapstick in the world and no one understanding me. Far off topic, but thanks for hanging in there.

SLOW DOWN.

Ricky ticky had seen my white old beat up Buick. I am amazed that it works as well as it does, but that’s another jaunt off topic.

I saw him peeking around his blinds trying to figure out to be scared or happy to have someone show up at his house, even if it was an uninvited stranger. I gave him the Vulcan sign, Spock’s I come in peace sign. I knew Rick would get it.

He rushed to the door in excitement yet, a tinge of apprehension was visible. He greeted me.

“Hello stranger!”

“Hey Rick.”

“How do you know my name-”
I interjected quickly: “Just don’t go there, I know. And know how you’re feeling, that’s why I am here.”

“Oh” he said more sheepishly than a sheep could ever dream to be. “yeah, I’ve been kind of down lately, not myself.”

“I know,” I said with a humble face.

“I think we need to do something together. Forget about the last few weeks and just go have a grand shindig.”

“YEAH! That’s exactly what I need to do, wait, would you like something to drink? I have all sorts of booze, in the fridge I have milk, orange juice and Pepsi?”

“You know Rick, I haven’t had a glass of milk in a long time. What is the expiration date?”

“It still has three days left.”

“Yup, pour me a drink of milk. Thank you.”

“No problem at all, what should we do today?”

“We are how many miles from Cheyenne?”

“About eight miles, I believe.”

“Let’s get into my car and go there right now.”

“But, I haven’t showered in days.”

“That’s ok, put on some deodorant and spray yourself with air freshener. Then hair spray the heck out of your hair.”

He followed the directions. He smelled like ‘Soft Rain.’ And hairspray. Which was fine. I knew he needed this. I sprayed him with my special pheromone spray that I don’t break out only on special occasions.

As we arrived into Cheyenne, I heard wonderful strings and harps playing. I asked my co-pilot if he heard it too. He had. Something magical was going to happen, I knew it. It was going to defunct our funk.

For whatever reason there was a parade. But: there was no other floats or tractors or cowboys, or little children throwing candy. It was all for us. I looked over at Ricky Ticky and he had the biggest smile on his face. Women were lined up all along the street with signs that said Ricky Ticky. It was memorizing. I swelled with happiness.

There was a police officer waving us into our destination parking spot. I put the car that didn’t live up to all this excitment, but it didn’t matter anymore. We leaped out of the car and the crowd roared! Cowbells rang and fireworks exploded every where. Beautiful women rushed to us and carried us in their arms to the best drinking location in Wyoming. We were crowd surfing.

Rick was so happy he had to rush to the men’s room.

All his drinks were on the house. He asked why and the beautiful babies say we missed you Rick. All we want is for you to stop being a shut in. Don’t you remember all the awards you won in high school, don’t you remember being the all time leading scorer in basketball?

Rick said he remembered, but thought that he was hated for it.

I shook Rick’s hand and told him he would have no problem getting home tonight. He said thank you and I said, thanks for the beer. I need to go home. I needed to beat minesweeper, on easy. Then sleep for three days. I did. I thanked God that I was alive and happier. I only hoped that it would continue tomorrow and the next day. We will see.

Stay Tuned-

Coyote Rush

Somewhere in the WORLD-

The Shockuation Room’s antenna was finding news like crazy after a mild slump in spring and the beginning of the summer.

Every time the antenna finds news it plays the beginning music for a new level of Mario. Don’t ask me why, we didn’t even program it. It’s comical yet we realize we need to rush to action. We assign people different jobs.

I.E. “Pat, you stay here and drink copious amounts of coffee, then clean the bathroom, Ashley, do not look up pornography again, I am aware you haven’t had a girl interested in you in a while, but come on man, do that on your own time. Coyote? Coyote?”

“What?”

“Would you like to come?”

“No, I need to beat Minesweeper set on its hardest setting.”

I understand, without Coyote we would have nothing so when he wants to stay in he can.

Anyway! News!

I just remembered I promised all of you a detailed analysis of serial killers and mass murders, but that is far too serious for the time being, it will happen. You just will have to wait my friends.

And so on.

Let’s try this again.

Wait, how do we have the money to actually afford employees to sit in our office and do things? I don’t understand. We are basically broke, we have to send counterfeit papers, monies to anyone traveling across to Europe or Africa or even up the street for some soup and sandwiches.

I thought about this more before I jumped into complete action. I suddenly thought about how Coyote had a brand new beautiful finished bathroom in the basement, I remembered full sized beds being moved in by sweaty over weight movers. How could this be related?

My mind swirled. My body got bumps of geese. I heard that swirling noise, the sound that comes in waves, almost like turning on a industrial fan and the motor starts slowly. I passed out.

When I awoke, I was on my back. I had been given a pillow and blanket. Again I don’t know where they came from. I saw faces that again, I’ve never seen before. They all had name tags with our logo on it. I thought, is this real life or have I made my life into a dream. If it’s a dream does that make life a dream? Or is life a pause in between dreaming and reality? These are things that I think about on lonely nights when I feel the only person I can talk to is myself.

Sorry this story isn’t about me.

Anyway, I got up quickly, straightened my clothing, walked into Coyote’s room and asked, “Where the hell are all these people coming from?”

“I thought you would be able to figure all this out on your own. But, I am afraid you are not. All of these people are single individuals that are broke and have had their house foreclosed on. I have offered them a place to sleep, eat, shower and socially converse with people close to their brain levels. I did this in exchange for the work they do. Some clean, some make counterfeit bills, some pose for magazines just to make us extra money. Sometimes I send them to your house and have them whisper news into your ears all night.”

“You send them to my house?!”

“No, that was a joke, you think about news too much anyway, when is the last time you have played minesweeper?”

“Eerily, I couldn’t remember, had I lost touch of what was fun and what was work? Was I coming home so wound up about news I forgot how to have fun?

It’s been a while Coyote.”

“Take the day off from news, play hearts and minesweeper, maybe solitaire, checkers, chess, hell play go fish.”

So I did, sorry news.

-James Dust

Climax MI-

I picked up the news with the: Shockuation Room’s Antenna which is: hyper-sensitive, super advanced and finally ran by super computers bigger than those from WWII. Giant rooms are necessary to hold these behemoth machines, we had to start squatting on the office next to us that had been abandoned for a long time. We knew, because of our great knowledge in real estate, but also the law. Anyway we knew after a while it would become ours. We moved epically large computers in there. It took 23 of us, ropes, ramps, Arnold Schwarzenegger and so on. I was sitting back sipping on lemonade: shouting encouraging words, whist lounging in most comfortable chair in CLIMAX, maybe the world. And as they were moving the monstrosities, I broke in to song, almost on accident, but it made so much sense. “It’s gonna take a lot to take me away from you/there’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do. God Bless the Rains Down in Africa.” Fitting song to people moving 4,780 pounds super computer, which for whatever reason were shaped like parallelogram, see quite the fitting song as they get those damn super computers moved.

Whoa! Sorry! Side tracked.

The story was not about super computers with their parallelogram shapes.

It was about a man, a man that had been giving an ultimatum. The man’s name was Spruce, yes like the tree. Spruce Morning Due. I held back the laughter and kept my sunglasses on as I met him on his front porch. He had a wonderful house. Spruce told me he had so much money that it didn’t matter what he did anymore. That sounds depressing, but he was saying this cheerfully.

He had three children, two females one male: Moon Star Due, Love Me Due, William Passed Due, they all called him Bill. This was starting to become too much for me. The puns I could make, the laughter I could have all by myself was freaking me out. I said I forgot something in my car, excused myself, walking briskly to my car I opened the door got in, shut the door and blew up in a fit of laughter bordering on mania. I said to myself, “Whew, whew, I’m ok, ok, no,” FIT OF LAUGHTER!

Anyway, after a couple minutes I came back in with my favorite pen. “Ah, please forgive me, I am a little superstitious about having this pen,” I said. (It was a complete lie. I found this pen on the floor at the Jewel in Chicago. The Jewel is a grocery store!)

“Ok, let’s get down to business. You’re wife, Julia Ibid-Duh Due, has given you an ultimatum, is this correct?” I said to Spruce.

“Yes, I don’t understand what the issue is, she keeps telling me to grow up. I see no reason how I am not grown up I am 34 years old, and we have an amazing house, pool, tennis and basketball courts. What’s wrong here?”

I couldn’t quite agree or argue with him because well, his house wasn’t exactly like it appeared. It was a hologram of a beautiful house. Sometimes you don’t know when Science Fiction turns into real life.

It looked great, but strangely everything wasn’t truly real. I went to set on the couch and he quickly grabbed my arm and said, “Oh, no not there.”

“Why?” I asked.

Because you will end up on your ass.

OK. I said. Why?

Hologram. He said.

Slightly confused I followed the marriage that was held together by a piece of chicken wire to the back room of the house and it was nice. I could actually sit down there.

So, again, Mrs. Julia Ibid-Duh Due, what is the problem?

“Spruce won’t stop playing video games.”

I said, “Does that mean he plays like twenty four hours a day or like just likes to play video games?”

Julia Ibid-Duh Due: “Well, he goes to work, plays with the pets, spends time with the kids, keeps me satisfied, in, well, I don’t know what kind of a website this is so we will keep it at that.”

I thought to myself. What is wrong here. I couldn’t figure anything out.

I asked her again. “So, Ms.Ibid-Duh Due, what is the Ultimatum?”

“Either he stops playing video games or I am asking for a divorce. Me or the games!”

At this point Spruce leaned back in his office chair with a massive glass that I assumed from smelling across the room was Cherry 7-UP and vodka he took a long gulp of it and began, “So, you want me to give up video games? While you go buy new shoes and shirts and dresses and go out to eat with your friends just to keep up appearances? Also, why do you love Monster Energy drinks so much? You have a tattoo on your butt of the logo. You want me to grow up? That hardly seems to be balanced. If that is your ultimatum then I will take it.”

Go back to your old name, from this one, Julia I bid you a due: to Julia Poopydoopy.

Go for it.”

She hunkered in her chair. Realizing that video games are something that someone should never be forced to get rid of. They do not rot your mind. You do not miss important events because you need to do one more thing one you XBOX 360. You do not shoot people because you played a game in which you shoot people.

People that shoot people do so because…….. This post is long enough. I will get into Serial Killers in my next post. That is a promise. It won’t be funny. I apologize. This probably wasn’t funny. However, it is a warning. Girls, do not take away guys games. Don’t say it’s part of growing up.

Think of all the growing up you need to do before you point fingers, as I point a finger back at myself realizing and knowing all along that I have a great deal of growing up to do. I will continue to grow up until I die. Remember that. Because that’s the truth.

I heard her saying that he could play video games and she would play too as long as they didn’t get a divorce as I was walking out the door.

-James Dust

Tortoise, MI-

I stumbled onto this news because I was there. I was getting gas:……. for my car, not farting, silly.

I saw a sheriff whiz by me going at an incredible speed for seemingly no reason. She blocked of all of M-53. I was thinking to myself that there must have been a car accident that needed to be blocked off. That made me slightly sad.

Then I heard the real reason. Hundreds, seriously hundreds of motorcycles were coming down all three lanes in the mighty town of Tortoise.

I don’t mind motorcycles, I really don’t mind people that ride motorcycles because most of them are actually good people instead of the stereotype is associated and follows them wherever they ride.

However, I do mind something.

How about not REVVING YOUR DAMN ENGINE WHEN THERE IS A MILLION BIKES COMING DOWN THE ROAD! We see you!! There are a hundred billion of your driving. They shut down the whole main street because of you vroom vroom bikes. I actually stopped and watched after gassing up. I didn’t see a single smile all I heard was VROOM, VROOM, VROOOOOOOOOOOOM.

I leaned against my car for what seemed an infinite amount of time.I thought to myself, there is no way that these machines could be coming down the road continuously. It seemed like the vroom vroom, ROOM! VAROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! would cease, be no more, not exist, however the longer I watched the more I just heard bzzzz, rumble, rumble and VROOM VROOM! This lasted for a I don’t know, but it could have been forever. Then my face turned to this, but I had a trick up my sleeve.

Luckily for me, I didn’t need to get on main street for where I needed to go next. I had to do an Austin Powers 40 point turn to get my car from being locked at the gas station by automobiles parked as close as possible to me. But I made it. I went down Chard St. to Wilson St. to Tortoise rd. And I had escaped the rumbles, bzzzes and vroom vrooms.

Stay Tuned-

James Dust

Tortoise MI-

I’m in Tortoise to remind you if it is raining and about 50 degrees, do not have your window open and three fans blaring at your face. Now you might be asking yourself “Why would Dr. Grumpay be suggesting that?” And I would respond there is a good chance you will feel sickly the next day.

If you do feel sickly you will decide to put a fleece on with sweatpants, in early August. You will be confused and depressed as to why you are dressing this way and it’s early August, you will question yourself “is this correct? Should I really be wearing this?” And I will say, sadly yes, you feel sickly, you put more clothes on.

Ways to avoid feeling sickly, turn your fans away from you and shut your window, or do one of the other, windows wide and fans off. For me personally I need the fans on. Maybe I’m writing this because I feel sickly. Maybe I know someone that feels sickly. Maybe you’re wearing a fleece with sweatpants. Maybe you just had Mac and Cheese for lunch? Maybe you skipped lunch because you have had no appetite for two weeks and last night you had about eight pieces of garlic bread. I really don’t know.

So, for more helpful tips stayed glued to the Shockuation Room.

Dr. Sanskrit Grumpay is one of the foremost intellectual leaders on everything.

-James Dust

No Name, Colorado-

I drove to Colorado because Oliver Pepper and his cocaine fueled expediation into Somalia is costing us a fortune. Actually it isn’t because we gave him fake credit cards, passports and all else he’ll need. Surprisingly no one has caught on. Lucky for Oliver.

Anyway, I drove to No Name, Colorado. Trust me it is a real place. It’s super. :/

His name was Roger Wright. He was not pleased. He believed that his cell phone was broken. He had taken the phone to different cell phone stores to attempt to find out what was wrong with it, all of them told him nothing was wrong with it. This did not please or was not good enough of an answer for Roger.

He drove on: Denver, Colorado Springs, Boise, Idaho. It was getting a tad ridiculous. I caught wind of this through the Shockuation Room’s antenna for news! It works like a charm, how else do you think we would be able to come up with the stories that keep you abreast of not only the United States, but of the World.

CNN is a joke, they wish they had our antenna. But, we tell them to go take a flying fuck at the mooooooooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.

So, there I was, face to face with Roger Wright, completely dead set that his cell phone, though on and appearing to look like any normal cell phone did not function any longer. He had came up with a sticker that said RIP, he had placed it on the back of the phone, that was tragic in itself.

I asked him when was the last time he tried to call someone, not like a girl that he was into, because there are only 123 people that live in No Name, that is no joke, the name of the town is quite comical though, don’t you think?

Sorry, off topic.

Have you ever wondered why buildings are called buildings when they are finished, why wouldn’t they be called builts? Building is the process of acheiving something that is built. Right? Oh, well, more of topic.

Have you ever wondered what way the toilet paper should roll off? Like over the top of the roll or underneath the roll? There is no correct answer for this, just make sure to wipe your butt or NO ONE WILL WANT TO HANG WITH YOU.

Anyway, Roger has been into a girl that lives about 30 miles from No Name. He has been waiting for her to text him back for two weeks, she hasn’t. I asked if anyone else has called him and he said no. I asked if he had tried to call anyone else besides Zoey. He said “Dude, you think I am going to call and text her everyday, I’m not that psycho.” I thought to myself, yes you are, you haven’t received a text from a girl who is obviously blowing you off and you’ve drove like a thousand miles trying to figure out if your friggen cell phone is broken.

I walked around the apartment. I looked in his refrigerator, things did not appear normal in there. He had three cans of Pepsi and that was it. I opened the cupboards- they contained only instant potatoes. I walked around the apartment some more, he didn’t seem to give a shit. So, I walked to the window and threw the curtains wide and the dust and light blinded me momentarily, as I looked back at Roger he had hid himself behind the couch. I asked him when was the last time he had been outside. “The last time I went outside was two weeks ago when I drove to Boise, for my cell phone.”

“Alright,” I said, “Give me the godforsaken phone.” He handed it to me. It was normal. The battery was full, the reception was not well. I didn’t care. I called Zoey, this made Roger scream in agony. He begged me not to do it, I told him to shut the hell up dude.

She answered happily, “ROGER??!”

“No, actually this is James Dust, I am here to help Roger, he has thought his cell phone has been broken for weeks. He’s driven all over the west to find someone to tell him what was wrong with the phone. I called you, he was afraid to seem like a pyscho, so he hadn’t called, planning on you texting or calling him so he wouldn’t feel like a stalker.”

“Oh, my cell has been broken for a few weeks and I hadn’t had the money to get a new one until now.” Zoey said. “I was going to call him to see if he wanted to do something tonight.”

I looked at Roger covered the phone, dude she wants you to take her out on a date. Roger turned completely pale, near death or about to pass out. “What the hell is the problem now?”

“I don’t have a thing to wear!”

“Oh my GOD Roger, what are you some sort of sociopath?”

“What’s that?”

YOU’RE THAT!!!

I asked Zoey where she lived, she said Glendale.

I asked her what her favorite place to eat was, “She said, oh I don’t care anywhere that Roger wants to eat.”

I said, “For the love of God, do not do this. Pick a restaurant, I have a lot of work here to help Roger out, uhh his car won’t start and stuff.” (Worst sounding lie ever.)

“Ok, I want to eat at Freshly Hooked Seafood.”

“Deal, what time do you want him to pick you up?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Zoey, pick a damn time or I am going to lose my mind!”

“Mmmhhh, 7:30?”

“I mumbled mmmm 7:30.”

“What?”

“Nothing, give me your address.”

She did, I wrote it down.

I walked over to Roger and smacked him up side the head with a rolled newspaper. “Do you understand how stupid you are? I’m not getting into it.”

She wants you there at 7:30. She wants to go to some stupidly named restaurant.

(I felt bad because I came up with the eatery myself, I MEAN I WAS THERE. It happened!)

I walked to his closet. I picked out a green button up shirt and a pair of khakis, “you can’t go wrong with this, shower and shave. You cell phone is and has never been broken!”

“You’re a miracle man.”

“No, currently I am a pissed off reporter that drove way the hell out her, got you a damn date that you’re probably going to mess up. Trim your nails, I don’t want you looking like the end days of Howard Hughes.”

He agreed. I said good bye. I picked up his cell phone as he stepped into the shower. I called his mother. I said, “What’s your son’s problem. Oh, it’s because he cell phone is broken.”

GOOD BYE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I wrote down my number for him in case he becomes stumped during the date.

He called me thirty two times during the date.

Yes, order water.
Yes, tell her she looks great.
Yes, order the Salmon.
Yes, don’t talk with your mouth full.
No, do not flirt with the waitress.
And so on.

I drove out of No Name feeling like I had accomplished something and nothing all at once.

Why is the world chemically unbalanced?

-James Dust

BOUVET ISLAND, NORWAY — Living on Bouvet Island, my interaction with other humans is limited at best. I sit at home, alone, and eat the Island’s specialty treat, Crack Popsicles. They come in many flavors. Here is a picture of some:

They’re really good. There’s just something about them. I think my popsicle dealer adds a “special” ingredient, though what it would be I’m not really sure.

But anyway, within my igloo I do have a small TV which receives the most important channels. I am able to watch programs such as The Jersey Shore, which I can safely assume to be an accurate representation of life for everyone else in the world. The genre of that show, after all, is Reality. I believe I probably live outside of Reality, since the depictions of life in shows such as this one do not resemble my life at all.

But this is all rather beside the point.

I have come here to discuss unicorns and how they are represented inaccurately in myth.

Unicorns are thought of as gentle, beautiful creatures of magic who each have a single, apparently useless, rainbow-colored horn protruding from their forehead. Generally, if a use is ever attributed to their horns, it is said that the horns are some kind of magical thing that does magical stuff like shoot glittery rays of sunlight across people to make them feel happy, or something.

But this is the gravest mistake for  people who encounter unicorns in real life.

Because their horns are not as innocent, nor as magical, as they are made out to be. Not at all.

Think about this for a moment. What do rhinos use their horns for? And bison? Mountain goats? Gaur? Yaks?

Not pretty, magical, rainbow-light emissions, that’s for sure. Touching the horn of a gnu does not invoke mental images of cherubs tumbling in clouds, or of smiling fluffball Corgi puppies. Encountering a triceratops is not a beautiful experience that makes you realize the glory of the world and grants you a magical connection to the earth.

All of these animals, given the chance, would gut you and eat you alive.

Now think about unicorns again. Their horns are pretty pointy. That pinkish fur on their faces is not just pinkish fur, it is white fur stained with the blood of innocent people. The silky braids of their long tails are whips or, in some unicorn species, ropes that act in much the same way as the body of a boa constrictor.

Just saying.

Marlette, MI

I was searching for news, I was on the prowl, screaming and standing and crouching. I knew it could be anywhere. My knees began to hurt as I had been doing this across an entire golf course in a tiny town called Marlette. It’s puny, there is no other explanation for the town.

So, I breathed heavily and smelled smell-a-lee, and caught wind of, a little news. Not world news about banks and people being mean to each other on purpose. Not trying to help people that have tried and the jobs are gone.

Not the news about how wonderful or terrible our pals, Mitt and Barack are. Empathy from these two would not be a problem, being able to relate is the least of their worries. We know, that obviously they know how the average American citizen feels. It’s easy for both of them to relate.

They both can understand how it feels to be a normal citizen in the United States. They have worked their butts off until someone said here is some more $. Have fun. They get it! Us, with our whining. Our tuna fish sandwiches and bag of chips. I can’t wait until they hang out with me and just watch a movie. Hey how did you like that ending? I can really imagine having a real discussion with both of our candidates.
Mitt and Obama are just a couple of ole pals you would call over for the game on a 17 inch tv/vcr/dvd player, and you could rely on them being there no matter what!

By this time we have so may problems to fix you feel like you’re at Chuck E. Cheese’s bopping those things that pop up with your club. Smack smack. Or the person standing at a dam putting pieces of chewed bubble gum on cracks holding it together.

It makes me sad to see how far the people that are supposed to be representing us have become a Hollywood version caricature of a normal person. Nah, it makes me happy. Go Hollywood Washington. Who cares right?

What a shame… I can’t say anything about how politics are a joke. The people that get in there are a joke. They talk and talk and they hear themselves talk, they get recorded talking they watch themselves talking. They talk so much that they forget that they are there to do something. What is it? They don’t know anymore. Yeah, that dude needs to shut up, it was hard to find a picture with his mouth closed.

Take money from lobbyists and put that in the secret pocket of your suit. Apples rot, and so has the District of Columbia.

Anyway……..

Sorry………

This has been the whole point of the story.

I was tip toeing across lush grass with my antenna set on high- set for news. This was the real news. There was a simple Caucasian, highly forgettable guy teaching tennis lessons to two Indian children. They were getting a pretty good work out in. Their instructor had been really seeing an improvement in their foot work and hitting. I knew this because of my antenna.

This is the news… A woman. A child. Walked. Slowly. Lazily. Passed the tennis court. I heard the child ask the mother, “What sport is that?” The mother responded, “That’s baseball, honey.”

News can be so real.

I saw the instructor who had obviously heard that dialogue reach toward his heart and brain simultaneously, I knew how he felt because he had gone into a fetal position to protect himself from the danger of stupidity. It hadn’t helped. He got back up and hit an easy forehand for the female child.

Stupidity had won today.

We have tomorrow, world please make an effort..

Coyote Rush

You forget so easy.