Rusty Enterprises Co. Inc. Ltd., a very, very limited liability company (RUE), announced yesterday that it needs a mere $1Billion US to meet its current financial obligations. RUE Chief Chief Chief OneEar urged law-makers to put partisanship aside in order to stabilize RUE's shaky financial situation.
"This is shaping up to be MOAB, the Mother of All Bank Runs," noted Ear. "Unless the people want a severe melt-down, the Congress needs to get off its Duff and send me $1Billion."
Ear resisted providing details on how he would spend the $1Billion. "Treasury Czar Paulson is seeking $700Billion. Why don't you worry about him and leave us alone?" queried Ear. "All we need is 1 little billion dollars."
Ear left open the possibility that he may be back in the future asking Congress for additional funds. "This crisis has traveled from Wall Street to Main Street. I just want to make sure that it travels down My Street."
The only official site of The First Unification Church of Kooking (fka the First Unification Church of Knowledge)(aka 1st Unichurck) and its house band, the Clown Squad (Affiliated with the community service organization The Underminers' Society of America). --THIS BLOG IS FOR RELIGIOUS, SCIENTIFIC AND EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY--(Not tested on animals)
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Penny for Your Thoughts
Penny for Your Thoughts
By OneEar/Cocoa_no_gogo
VERSE 1
Baby, your love can’t be bought,
My love doesn’t grow on trees.
So don’t you see that we belong together
We’ll be makin’ love, hand over fist
Let’s plug the slots if you’ll please
Say you’ll put your hand over mine forever.
VERSE 2
I asked for your hand,
I reached for my coin
Shiny, round and hard with which to part.
Pulled it out of my pocket,
Warm from my loin,
Heads you’re mine, tails you’ve got my heart
CHORUS
A penny for your thoughts,
A penny for your hand,
If you ever doubt me look at the back,
You’ll know where I stand.
A house divided is a house that cannot stand,
It’s a penny for your thoughts
And a penny
For your hand.
BRIDGE
You can take a penny if you leave a penny
It’s not funny money, honey
It’s for real
INST VERSE
VERSE 3
Put your penny where your mouth is,
Put your penny on the line.
I don’t mean to be an imposition
A penny saved is a penny earned
A penny found is fine.
Won’t you say yes to my proposition.
CHORUS (repeat twice)
By OneEar/Cocoa_no_gogo
VERSE 1
Baby, your love can’t be bought,
My love doesn’t grow on trees.
So don’t you see that we belong together
We’ll be makin’ love, hand over fist
Let’s plug the slots if you’ll please
Say you’ll put your hand over mine forever.
VERSE 2
I asked for your hand,
I reached for my coin
Shiny, round and hard with which to part.
Pulled it out of my pocket,
Warm from my loin,
Heads you’re mine, tails you’ve got my heart
CHORUS
A penny for your thoughts,
A penny for your hand,
If you ever doubt me look at the back,
You’ll know where I stand.
A house divided is a house that cannot stand,
It’s a penny for your thoughts
And a penny
For your hand.
BRIDGE
You can take a penny if you leave a penny
It’s not funny money, honey
It’s for real
INST VERSE
VERSE 3
Put your penny where your mouth is,
Put your penny on the line.
I don’t mean to be an imposition
A penny saved is a penny earned
A penny found is fine.
Won’t you say yes to my proposition.
CHORUS (repeat twice)
Saturday, September 27, 2008
??
We sure owe China a lot of money. Have you ever tried dealing with a Chinese bookie? I can't recommend it. As a sign of respect for the recent passing of an American icon, I quote his most famous line, "What... we... have here, is... (WHACK!!) failure to communicate."
Monday, September 22, 2008
& The Plot Continues
After careful analysis, and multiple reviews of 'der Rustige' with a crack team of crack whores, I think I have discovered the whereabouts of Cocoa's camera. More to follow shortly.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Chapter 2 - The Saga Thickens
Exactly one week later, the guy decided to continue typing. First, he had to look up his name again, so he scrolled to Chapter 1. There it is, thought Russell.
Russell also jogged his own memory about the naked lady with the shells. He had forgotten about her but was glad to be reminded. He ran the search and “voila.” What did we ever do before the internet? We had to rely on our friends for pornography for one thing.
What product should Russell manufacture in the Far East? Russell started thinking about the recent spike in automobile fuel prices. Surely there was some way to cash in on that hysteria. How much could it possibly cost to have an electric vehicle built in China. But, then again, Russell wouldn’t want to let the cat out of the bag in his novel, now would he?
So, Russell decided to solve a murder mystery. When he entered the room, there was a body lying dead on the floor with a large Bowie knife in his back. This looks like a murder mystery all right, thought Russell. I’d better solve it.
“What it is, Chief Detective Russell?,” asked the rookie policeman.” Russell wouldn’t dignify the greenhorn’s stupid question with a response. He looked around the room for clues.
There was an open book on the table. Russell’s examination of the page revealed an opinicus, part eagle, part lion and part camel standing in front of a cross and the star of Bethlehem. In one of its paws, it held a pole with a ribbon on which was written De Praescientia Dei.
This is probably not significant, thought Russell. He was correct.
Russell also jogged his own memory about the naked lady with the shells. He had forgotten about her but was glad to be reminded. He ran the search and “voila.” What did we ever do before the internet? We had to rely on our friends for pornography for one thing.
What product should Russell manufacture in the Far East? Russell started thinking about the recent spike in automobile fuel prices. Surely there was some way to cash in on that hysteria. How much could it possibly cost to have an electric vehicle built in China. But, then again, Russell wouldn’t want to let the cat out of the bag in his novel, now would he?
So, Russell decided to solve a murder mystery. When he entered the room, there was a body lying dead on the floor with a large Bowie knife in his back. This looks like a murder mystery all right, thought Russell. I’d better solve it.
“What it is, Chief Detective Russell?,” asked the rookie policeman.” Russell wouldn’t dignify the greenhorn’s stupid question with a response. He looked around the room for clues.
There was an open book on the table. Russell’s examination of the page revealed an opinicus, part eagle, part lion and part camel standing in front of a cross and the star of Bethlehem. In one of its paws, it held a pole with a ribbon on which was written De Praescientia Dei.
This is probably not significant, thought Russell. He was correct.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Why I Don't Answer Your Calls
1. If I wanted to talk to you, I would have called YOU.
2. I don't have caller ID because then I would be tempted to stop what I am doing to check on who is calling. If I did, and if I saw it was you, I wouldn't answer anyway.
3. You want me to give you my money. If I wanted to give you my money, I would have sent it already.
4. You want me to vote for you. I think you are an idiot, and I don't want to vote for you regardless. Are we really going to resolve this difference of opinion through a telephone conference?
5. Your machine keeps calling me. I let it talk to my machine. Maybe they'll get together and have little machines of their own. Just leave me out of it. If you have something worth saying, leave a message.
6. I spend all day talking on the phone. Why should I waste my evenings and weekends talking to you.
7. I generally get paid to talk to people. If you send me $200, then you can call me and I will talk to you.
8. If you want to argue with me, that costs double. Send me $400 and then call me and I'll explain why. Hint: It is because you are an idiot. Also, I fear that my life force is being sucked out whenever I converse with you.
9. I am not interested in limited time offers. I like my time good and eternal.
2. I don't have caller ID because then I would be tempted to stop what I am doing to check on who is calling. If I did, and if I saw it was you, I wouldn't answer anyway.
3. You want me to give you my money. If I wanted to give you my money, I would have sent it already.
4. You want me to vote for you. I think you are an idiot, and I don't want to vote for you regardless. Are we really going to resolve this difference of opinion through a telephone conference?
5. Your machine keeps calling me. I let it talk to my machine. Maybe they'll get together and have little machines of their own. Just leave me out of it. If you have something worth saying, leave a message.
6. I spend all day talking on the phone. Why should I waste my evenings and weekends talking to you.
7. I generally get paid to talk to people. If you send me $200, then you can call me and I will talk to you.
8. If you want to argue with me, that costs double. Send me $400 and then call me and I'll explain why. Hint: It is because you are an idiot. Also, I fear that my life force is being sucked out whenever I converse with you.
9. I am not interested in limited time offers. I like my time good and eternal.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Working on My Latest Novel
CHAPTER 1
A guy was sitting in his office typing away at his keyboard. It was a cool day, but not too cool. His foot itched. He scratched it.
Suddenly, something happened that was very exciting!
Then, the guy decided to go get a cup of coffee and to figure out what his name would be. Let’s call him Russell, he thought to himself.
When Russell got back to his desk, he was disappointed to learn that no elves had completed his project. Damned elves. Russell never had liked elves. They were short and seemed untrustworthy.
Pretty soon, Russell fell in love with a girl. She had a nice rack. What would her name be?
Then Russell and Anastasia decided to go on an exciting adventure. It would be a road trip. They would drive Russell’s super-fast dune buggy which could also fly. If bad-guys got in Russell’s way, he would shoot them with the built-in rocket-launchers.
After they landed on a tropical beach, Russell decided to dump Anastasia. She had gotten pretty bitchy about flying too high and all of the shrapnel from the rockets. Russell told her that they could still be friends.
Just then, a native girl came out of the jungle wearing only a belt made of shells. She would do anything for a ride in Russell’s flying dune-buggy! Russell decided to surf the net for some porn using the search term “naked native girl wearing belt of shells.”
None of the hits on page 1 seemed appropriate, so Russell decided to refine his search. He would search for ”naked girls” and then refine the search with the term “shells.” Now he was getting somewhere.
After spending quite some time looking at images of naked women, Russell began to wonder about having something manufactured in the Far East. That seemed to be the way to do it. But what would he have made?
The concubines in Thailand must be ripe with STDs. Maybe they could institute some type of quality control system. The government could require weekly examinations and could provide a governmental certification of lack of disease. Russell suspected that such a certification would be very valuable, so any cost for the project should be easy to pass through to the consumers.
A guy was sitting in his office typing away at his keyboard. It was a cool day, but not too cool. His foot itched. He scratched it.
Suddenly, something happened that was very exciting!
Then, the guy decided to go get a cup of coffee and to figure out what his name would be. Let’s call him Russell, he thought to himself.
When Russell got back to his desk, he was disappointed to learn that no elves had completed his project. Damned elves. Russell never had liked elves. They were short and seemed untrustworthy.
Pretty soon, Russell fell in love with a girl. She had a nice rack. What would her name be?
Then Russell and Anastasia decided to go on an exciting adventure. It would be a road trip. They would drive Russell’s super-fast dune buggy which could also fly. If bad-guys got in Russell’s way, he would shoot them with the built-in rocket-launchers.
After they landed on a tropical beach, Russell decided to dump Anastasia. She had gotten pretty bitchy about flying too high and all of the shrapnel from the rockets. Russell told her that they could still be friends.
Just then, a native girl came out of the jungle wearing only a belt made of shells. She would do anything for a ride in Russell’s flying dune-buggy! Russell decided to surf the net for some porn using the search term “naked native girl wearing belt of shells.”
None of the hits on page 1 seemed appropriate, so Russell decided to refine his search. He would search for ”naked girls” and then refine the search with the term “shells.” Now he was getting somewhere.
After spending quite some time looking at images of naked women, Russell began to wonder about having something manufactured in the Far East. That seemed to be the way to do it. But what would he have made?
The concubines in Thailand must be ripe with STDs. Maybe they could institute some type of quality control system. The government could require weekly examinations and could provide a governmental certification of lack of disease. Russell suspected that such a certification would be very valuable, so any cost for the project should be easy to pass through to the consumers.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
upon entering the fifth decade
"Kentucky Woman" is one of my favorite songs. Listening to it now for the first time in a very long time made me realize how fucking old I have become. Beats the alternative, I guess.
I used to listen to this song and play volleyball in the pit, drink beer, come back, occasionally assume my station ("stations everyone! stations!") and listen to "Solitary Man". We would all joke and sing "Solid, hairy man" instead, in reference to a short, swarthy and hirsute roommate we once knew. I would cut my comrades' hair on the patio. I was an amateur barber before a surgeon, upholding the tradition of the medieval barber-surgeons. (Really?)
At Christmas, most people had a "Yule Log". It was a Colonial institute, with heartfelt traditions. We sported a "Mule Log" instead, and I carried it on my strong, young back, as I used to be able to carry a keg of beer on my back when the occasion called for it. Now, I am shorter, fatter and substantially less strong. Back then, I would've looked at the current me, and assumed without reservation that I was a homosexual. There is not a chance in Hell I could put a keg on my back and lift it as I once did without having a substantial scrotal blowout.
I have lived long enough to see many of the songs/popular culture that I enjoyed when I was younger get remade, synthesized and incorporated into the current non-stop stream of crap we all wallow in now. "Girl, you'll be a woman soon" is only a splinter of an example.
My platoon (Monkey Platoon, Clown Squad) have all taken the mundane and predictable path of reproduction and are mere shadows of the men they once were. Much like the shadow of a strong man-boy with a keg of beer on his shoulder, as if in defiance of gravity itself. Bare-chested queer-bait. Aside from waning health and the also predictable breakdown of the body over the next decade or two, what does the next phase hold for these once healthy, vibrant, fun-loving lads who held the world by the throat twenty years ago?
I used to listen to this song and play volleyball in the pit, drink beer, come back, occasionally assume my station ("stations everyone! stations!") and listen to "Solitary Man". We would all joke and sing "Solid, hairy man" instead, in reference to a short, swarthy and hirsute roommate we once knew. I would cut my comrades' hair on the patio. I was an amateur barber before a surgeon, upholding the tradition of the medieval barber-surgeons. (Really?)
At Christmas, most people had a "Yule Log". It was a Colonial institute, with heartfelt traditions. We sported a "Mule Log" instead, and I carried it on my strong, young back, as I used to be able to carry a keg of beer on my back when the occasion called for it. Now, I am shorter, fatter and substantially less strong. Back then, I would've looked at the current me, and assumed without reservation that I was a homosexual. There is not a chance in Hell I could put a keg on my back and lift it as I once did without having a substantial scrotal blowout.
I have lived long enough to see many of the songs/popular culture that I enjoyed when I was younger get remade, synthesized and incorporated into the current non-stop stream of crap we all wallow in now. "Girl, you'll be a woman soon" is only a splinter of an example.
My platoon (Monkey Platoon, Clown Squad) have all taken the mundane and predictable path of reproduction and are mere shadows of the men they once were. Much like the shadow of a strong man-boy with a keg of beer on his shoulder, as if in defiance of gravity itself. Bare-chested queer-bait. Aside from waning health and the also predictable breakdown of the body over the next decade or two, what does the next phase hold for these once healthy, vibrant, fun-loving lads who held the world by the throat twenty years ago?
Monday, September 08, 2008
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Off the Palings into the fire
I've just discovered that I am in favor of:
- Teaching creationism in schools,
- Drilling off the coast of Florida, and
- Mixing evangelism with government policy-making.
Of course, I've always been on the fence with these issues; but it took a sassy, spunky librarian with a slightly sexy twang and a fun party-girl demeanor to show me the right place to be.
Drill baby drill, indeed!
Monday, September 01, 2008
Girly man
There are those times in my life when I have acted more like a girl than a boy. I'm not even sure that it is bad thing. I like it when I'm girlish sometimes; but it is always those times that result in eventual trouble.
I'm clueless now, but hanging in there.
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