Right back atcha...

don't like government bailouts? How about healthcare? How'd you like that bumbling idiot lady and the dumber lady giving her whispered advice that she did not appear to be taking to be making all of your personal life or death decisions? I think that lady does an excellent job illustrating the efficiency and efficacy we can expect from our federal government when it comes to managing our citizens' healthcare. Thanks God for Harry Reid.

I know this is Wrong. But I...can't..stop...looking...

I recently returned from the Johnson Space Center in Houston, Texas, where I did some work with NASA. The picture is my view from the pilot's seat in the Space Shuttle. Those are my feet, though I am wearing shoes and pants different from what the astronauts typically wear on missions. It was a very cool experience.

While looking on the Internet, I came across this, and though I pick up on a lot of irrational negativity, I was actually able to get to the end of the article, I have to admit. I would use the train-wreck analogy to explain my inability to look away, but I'm not sure it's totally apt. I giggled guiltily once or twice, covering my mouth.

Am I the only one worried about this?

Another BIG SUCCESS for BIG GOVERNMENT!!

We definitely need to expand government in this country. For our own good, and the good of our kids. Don't worry; Uncle Sammy Stalin will take care of you. If you're good, he'll take care of your health care needs just as well.

What do I think about Healthcare, you mightn't ask?

OPINION
SEPTEMBER 3, 2009, 10:55 P.M. ET

A Doctor's Plan for Legal Industry Reform
My modest proposal to rearrange how lawyers do business.

By RICHARD B. RAFAL
Since we are moving toward socialism with ObamaCare, the time has come to do the same with other professions—especially lawyers. Physician committees can decide whether lawyers are necessary in any given situation.

At a town-hall meeting in Portsmouth, N.H., last month, our uninformed lawyer in chief suggested that we physicians would rather chop off a foot than manage diabetes since we would make more money doing surgery. Then President Obama compounded his attack by claiming a doctor's reimbursement is between "$30,000" and "$50,000" for such amputations! (Actually, such surgery costs only about $1,500.)

Physicians have never been so insulted. Because of these affronts, I will gladly volunteer for the important duty of controlling and regulating lawyers. Since most of what lawyers do is repetitive boilerplate or pushing paper, physicians would have no problem dictating what is appropriate for attorneys. We physicians know much more about legal practice than lawyers do about medicine.

Following are highlights of a proposed bill authorizing the dismantling of the current framework of law practice and instituting socialized legal care:

• Contingency fees will be discouraged, and eventually outlawed, over a five-year period. This will put legal rewards back into the pockets of the deserving—the public and the aggrieved parties. Slick lawyers taking their "cut" smacks of a bookie operation. Attorneys will be permitted to keep up to 3% in contingency cases, the remainder going into a pool for poor people.

• Legal "DRGs." Each potential legal situation will be assigned a relative value, and charges limited to this amount. Program participation and acceptance of this amount is mandatory, regardless of the number of hours spent on the matter. Government schedules of flat fees for each service, analogous to medicine's Diagnosis Related Groups (DRGs), will be issued. For example, any divorce will have a set fee of, say, $1,000, regardless of its simplicity or complexity. This will eliminate shady hourly billing. Niggling fees such as $2 per page photocopied or faxed would disappear. Who else nickels-and-dimes you while at the same time charging hundreds of dollars per hour? I'm surprised lawyers don't tack shipping and handling onto their bills.

• Legal "death panels." Over 75? You will not be entitled to legal care for any matter. Why waste money on those who are only going to die soon? We can decrease utilization, save money and unclog the courts simultaneously. Grandma, you're on your own.

• Ration legal care. One may need to wait months to consult an attorney. Despite a perceived legal need, physician review panels or government bureaucrats may deem advice unnecessary. Possibly one may not get representation before court dates or deadlines. But that' s tough: What do you want for "free"?

• Physician controlled legal review. This is potentially the most exciting reform, with doctors leading committees for determining the necessity of all legal procedures and the fairness of attorney fees. What a wonderful way for doctors to get even with the sharks attempting to eviscerate the practice of medicine.

• Discourage/eliminate specialization. Legal specialists with extra training and experience charge more money, contributing to increased costs of legal care, making it unaffordable for many. This reform will guarantee a selection of mediocre, unmotivated attorneys but should help slow rising legal costs. Big shot under indictment? Classified National Archives documents down your pants? Sitting president defending against impeachment? Have FBI agents found $90,000 in your freezer? Too bad. Under reform you too may have to go to the government legal shop for advice.

• Electronic legal records. We should enter the digital age and computerize and centralize legal records nationwide. All files must be in a standard, preferably inconvenient, format and must be available to government agencies. A single database of judgments, court records, client files, etc. will decrease legal expenses. Anyone with Internet access will be able to search the database, eliminating unjustifiable fees charged by law firms for supposedly proprietary information, while fostering transparency. It will enable consumers to dump their clunker attorneys and transfer records easily.

• Ban legal advertisements. Catchy phone numbers such as 1-800-LAWYERS would be seized by the government and repurposed for reporting unscrupulous attorneys.

• New government oversight. Government overhead to manage the legal system will include a cabinet secretary, commissioners, ombudsmen, auditors, assistants, czars and departments.

• Collect data about the supply of and demand for attorneys.Create a commission to study the diversity and geographic distribution of attorneys, with power to stipulate and enforce corrective actions to right imbalances. The more bureaucracy the better. One can never have too many eyes watching these sleazy sneaks.

• Lawyer Reduction Act (H.R. -3200). A self-explanatory bill that not only decreases the number of law students, but also arbitrarily removes 3,200 attorneys from practice each year. Textbook addition by subtraction.

Enthusiastically embracing the above legal changes can serve as a "teachable moment" and will go a long way toward giving the lawyers who run Congress a taste of their own medicine.
Dr. Rafal is a radiologist in New York City.

One Note Solo Babysits

Goat-man Goes to the Game. In a Red Hat.

Cocoa Missing? No. He has been found. And his Binders.

Financial Bailout? well, at least we did "something".

To Whom it May Concern:

Earlier this evening, I canceled my credit card account with Chase secondary to outrageous disregard for customer satisfaction. When I contacted your customer service department, both the representative I spoke with, Richard Blazer, and his manager, paid no attention at all to my concerns of basic unprovoked abuse on the part of Chase (no wonder our country is in such miserable shape when the entire banking industry, with Chase out in front, is a conglomeration of professional thieves and liars who suck the life-blood out of the very hands that feed them--customers). Each of them was happy to cancel an account that I have had for years, though initially through Washington Mutual, rather than answer why my credit line was arbitrarily reduced--which hurts my overall credit score--despite the fact that I have never missed a payment or paid late, AND I actually have a credit balance of $464 THAT CHASE OWES ME. This sort of conduct will soon be illegal, as you know, because it is outrageously unethical. I guess you have so much of my fucking tax-dollar bailout money that you don't need my business anymore.

You disgust me. I have written to my Congressman about this incident, and I have reported Chase to the Better Business Bureau. You probably don't care, again, because you have so much of my tax money that you probably couldn't care less about your customers. I thought financial times were tight--but I guess not for Chase; you have money to burn. Thanks to people like me. You are welcome.

I am really not sure how the people working at your company are able to sleep at night, knowing what the company policies are. Just think: On your deathbed, after a career at a company like Chase, what will you have left behind? Teachers, doctors, judges change other lives for the better--whereas you will have nothing to show for your life's work but an accumulated bunch of fellow human beings who are absolutely irate and disgusted by you and your company.

Bravo. Way to steal, and get away with it legally. You must all be so proud of your work. I'm sure your parents are proud of you, and all the good you have brought in to the world, too.

Sincerely,

Half Goat-man, Half PMSing Little Bitch, Half Jack-ass, Half big, fat, time-waster. Half total dumb-ass for thinking anyone actually cares.

Raaaaar

Bunderwear Discovered in Underwear

Finally, The Sessions 2009: The Chosen One in Sin City

L.A. Hates Bryans Adam

2009 City of Angels: Round 2

Rusty Sessions 2009: The City of Angels, Let the Games Begin

Forgot One...

Bar Up Above Update

We obtained our alcohol licenses last night, so the bar is a go. The bar Up Above will open for business in the very near future - probably this afternoon. We must open a few times before the end of June in order to preserve the legal nonconforming status of the building and the business.

The building is located entirely within the highway setback, it is zoned wrong for a bar, it is falling down, and it is a dump. I call this the "quadruple negative." As everyone knows, a double negative is a positive, so I figure that a quadruple negative cannot fail.

However, to be safe, I'm going into business with a 23 year old kid who has no business experience. I figure he hasn't been corrupted by corporate culture. Plus, he is a giant.

Coco, can you develop a logo for us?

Yes, Happy Mother's Day

Alceste, I hope you are enjoying this lovely holiday as much as I am, and do, every year. I have a full-blown double-whammy to celebrate. Hallmark, words cannot adequately express my gratitude. Don't you have some sort of greeting card to help me express my feelings?

Wait a minute, if you please

Stop posting that I ruin bars. The record will show, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it is, in fact, BARS that ruin ME.

The Bar That DBok Ruined - Update

As I mentioned, I am in the process of buying the Yellow House bar (the one that DokBok smart-assed right out of business). We will decide whether to pull the trigger in the next few days. Jack the Giant will run the place and I will supervise.

So, I've been checking out Craigslist for some of the items we would need including:

Bar Stool Go Cart, Honda Power, Very Fast - $1100

How many times have you said to yourself, "I wish this bar stool would do 90 mph."

Me too.

Alternatively, we could try this:

It's only a two and a half hour van ride south...


Reservoir Dogs, anyone?

Here's what we're doing for the next Rusty...

Bring your bathing suits, BB guns and bad attitudes, boys. Loud, awful music won't hurt, either.

This should keep us all busy.

I dreamed a dream of Rusty

All the major players were there. Except Litzi, since my dream-generator has only written files on her. OneEar was intoxicated and physically mischievous to the other patrons of the large, fancy hotel/spa/convention center where I was doing something work-related and the clowns had showed up for a simultaneous Session. Alceste had somehow managed to become covered in mud, and was grouchily looking for a quiet back room in which to sleep. He shoved some fax machines and desktop computers aside and settled in like a grizzly in his cave preparing to sleep through the winter, getting mud everywhere on the nice furniture. He laughed a little, grunted something foul, and shut his eyes behind his unremoved glasses.

OnO was talking with the hotel manager, trying to avoid some sort of punishment, or at least inquiring as to what sort of punishment could be expected if there were, say, a bunch of clowns running around drunk, having permanently stained the spa and its towel-clad patrons. He was also putting himself in the position to question the amount of the bill, with no intention to actually barter, only to agree completely with whatever the manager said.

Cocoa was ridiculing us, unimpressed with anything. He evidently did not approve of the circumstance and was letting all of us, and hords of otherwise innocent bystanders (no one is really innocent, he thinks, but that is another point altogether) know. He was sober and seemed sulky. More so than usual.

Then, the dream came to conclusion with me encountering my high-school girlfriend at the hospital-business part of the convention. She was working for industry, and like the majority of the convention paid participants, was wearing maroon hospital scrubs. As the convention was coming to an end and people (not the clowns, of course) were disbanding and checking out of the hotel (it was a very big hotel, and nice, and the clowns weren't going anywhere until forced), I accompanied her down some big, marble stairs that led down to the parking lot outside in the snowbanks. She was chatting with some passing colleagues as we descended; right before we started down the stairs, at the top where there was a nice overlook to the snow-covered scenery around us, I encountered an old teammate from my wrestling team in college. He seemed successful with nice clothes and a fancy haircut, being a bit stand-offish to people trying to catch up with him and engage him in small-talk. We saw each other and gave an uncomfortable man-hug--you know, more than a handshake because much time had passed since we had seen each other, and we were comrades once. Back to the near-bottom of the staircase: suddenly, my former girlfriend clacked her teeth together as she was laughing with her colleague, and her front teeth broke in half in the middle. As her broken tooth shards fell from her mouth, I instinctively tried to follow the broken chicklet onto its resting place on the stairs, as I felt a repair would then be possible.

It was all pure instinct; I've had no formal training in dental triage or disaster management. Just sort of a 'oop--there it goes, oh and it's tumbling, bouncing over that way and under the edge of the carpet' that goes through the mind of a housecat as it watches a red dot from a laser pointer wiggle over the floor, confusing the mental apparatus that had evolved over millions of years to successfully inhale its prey.

My more recent girlfriend had figured prominently earlier in the dream, as I was trying as hard as possible to protect her from the wiley and predictable ways of the monkey platoon. When Alceste began forming his muddy nest, she was delighted that there seemed to be permission to act as a homeless person, and she, too, found a spot on the floor to bed down, fully clothed with a backpack.

Getting back to the tumbling tooth, as I watched it in motion, trying to make a mental note of its final resting place, I was watching the face and form of my former companion--her face turned white, and then blue as her knees buckled and she fainted, falling flat on her back on the stairs, presumedly from the pain of a fractured tooth and the psychological distress of a front tooth wrecking her appearance. It's cute when you're six, but even hockey players can't fashionably support a toothless grin.

As you can imagine, my attention was split between the final locus of the tooth, and the dropping body in front of me. Years of formal medical training finally allowed my squirrel-in-the-street-with-an-oncoming-car brain to look after the patient and place the patient's wild tooth on a lower level of priority. I propped her knees up, and the color began to return to her face, and some people came to either help or accuse me of some form of wrong-doing. They asked me what to do, but then I returned instantly back to the search for the tooth in the immediate area, lest it sprout legs and run away, never to be seeen again. I muttered something like, 'call an ambulance; I think she's ok' or something to that effect, and then found, to my surprise, the remnants of several of her teeth lying on the dirty stairwell. I collected them all, looked back to ensure she continued to live, and got out my cellphone to do what the others had not.

And I awoke.

What does this tell us about the whereabouts of the next recording session?

Nacho Toof

On a walk back in the park, my son discovered the jawbone from a deer. The rest of the skeleton was (thankfully) not around, so I assume that a coyote had carried the jaw to its resting place, but who knows? OneJr picked up the jawbone and carried it around for the remainder of the day.

Yesterday, he asked me for the pliers. "Why do you need pliers?" I inquired, having forgotten about the deer jaw.

"I just need them," he replied. We eyed each other, and he realized that I was not going to give him pliers without having the opportunity to supervise his activity.

"I need them to pull a tooth," he finally revealed. That doesn't sound good, I thought. Where is his sister? Then, I remembered the deer jaw.

"Do you mean a deer tooth?" I asked. He nodded. I gave him the pliers.

Each night, when Mrs.Ear goes to kiss him goodnight, OneJr. asks her to lie down with him for a few minutes. Not last night. "Not tonight Mom," he said.

She came into our bedroom and described what had occurred. Piecing together the puzzle, we both realized the scheme. It was the tooth.

Sure enough, after he was sleeping, we checked and discovered the deer tooth under his pillow. He was trying to defraud the tooth fairy.

The tooth fairy left him a note but no cash. Nice try son.

"Life is a state of mind"

Do you remember the classic existential movie Being There? Peter Sellers plays a simpleton named Chauncy Gardner who fails to recognize any difference between television broadcasts and reality. Recall his dispute with the muggers who mistake him for a mob kingpin due to his lack of fear. Chauncy patiently tries to use his television remote in order to make the robbers go away as though they were just a bad TV show. Recall also the "I like to watch" episode.

Eventually, Chauncy becomes a powerful and famous political and economic advisor with his comments about gardening work. His gardening advice is taken as metaphoric genius about the state of the economy.

Yesterday, I was reading plans to pile more horseshit onto our national situation, and I thought of old Chauncy. Sure, fertilizer is necessary. A little added fertilizer may be fine at times. However, when the problem is too much fertilizer, you don't pile more horseshit on top of the horseshit you just finished dumping. All that will grow is fungus and flies.

I'm sure this garden will recover eventually, but why not clean it up now and start over. It would be better and healthier sooner. Why are we trying to resuscitate plants which have rotten roots and dead flowers? How long could it possibly take the Wall Street geniuses to create a new banking system if the existing banks were liquidated?

Chauncy was dumb, but he was honest and frank, and he could tend a garden.

Snuff Stress

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To give you just a taste of the Kool-aid you'll be drinking, here are the first 3 recommendations:

1) Subscribe to the "Stress Killers" newsletter. Two times a month, you will receive a personalized eZine with helpful tips and techniques including the patented "Stress Strangler" and the very popular "Dwelling On Shit and The Inverse."
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3) Watch your inbox! When you subscribe to "Stress Killers," you will also receive periodic email tips on living your life to the livingest. You will feel supported in your effort to build a life which is fresh and authentic and which can only be achieved by truly assassinating stress, in 3 easy payments of $29.99. Remember, "stressed" is just "desserts" spelled backwards. And vice-versa. Don't wait, subscribe today!

Rusta-netics is a division of Rusty Enterprises Ltd Co Inc LLC. All rights are reversed.

Introducing

US Gubmint Espending

Homeless Leprechauns

Yesterday, my family and I went for a hike back in the park near our house. Part of the walk involved climbing up a rock outcropping. Many of you will remember it as the place where I threw up at the last Rusty. It is also where Bunderwear lost his sunglasses 10 years ago. Anyway, it is a fairly steep climb up about 200 feet of elevation. To my 5 year old daughter and 7 year old son, it seemed so remote that at first they suspected that few other people had been up there.

However, on the hike up, they noticed signs of life - odd pieces of trash mainly. "Maybe somebody lives up here," hypothesized EarJr.

My son was the first one to reach the top of the rock, and while we were still climbing up, he peered over the edge and shouted to my daughter excitedly, "Someone does live up here! Come look!" We scrambled up and sure enough, under a rock shelf there was some newspaper and signs of a fire.

My daughter carefully surveyed the clues and then pronounced, "Well, it is either leprechauns or homeless people."

"How can you tell," I wondered aloud.

"Homeless people don't have a home, and leprechauns always create mischief," she explained.

Hard to argue with that logic.

We the People, in order to form a more perfect Nation..

The idea of any of this really makes me feel lazy. Is that what he's talking about? I guess I need to buy a gun? Will someone please explain this to me?

Moraler Dilemma; formerly, TRI-lemma

As some of you may be aware, I have recently changed my abode from the slave quarters beneath the coliseum (behind the lion/tiger litter box, and under the elephant piss-pad--leakage was a constant issue), to a more respectable location. Unfortunately, the neighbor across the alley (a young, attractive--though totally insane--fitness buff) never closes the blinds on her cathedral windows, and never wears a stitch of clothing when she's home. Left, and right, bare boobs, baby chute in graphic view, everything. She stands in the window. On the other side of my place, is a young couple who also have no blinds and have sex regularly on their window sill. And she is stacked--no silicon, which is weird here. Behind me, my neighbor bangs his girlfriend (whom I have met several times) all day long--but, thankfully, she just moved to Atlanta. Sounds like paradise for a Quagmirian pervert such as myself? One might think so, but I haven't left my place for days, and work is starting to call me over and over again to wonder where I am. What do you think I should tell them?

The Definitive History of The Rusty Sessions

OK, help me fill in the blanks:

2008 - Mount Vernon, Wisconsin. OneEar turns 40, DocBok closes the Yellow Bar forever. Amps don't work, fire won't light, Bundespanties leaves early.
2007- Baton Rouge/New Orleans
2006 - Lake Zurich, IL - Dogtrack Rusty
2005- Baton Rouge/New Orleans
2004 - Cape Cod
2003 - Baton Rouge/New Orleans
Boston
Nags Head, North Carolina
Williamsburg VA
Different Cabin in Ohio
Cabin in Ohio
Mount Vernon, Wisconsin
....
Washington DC
1992- Chicago, Illinois. The First Rusty Session.
1991 - Chicago, Illinois. The Pre-Rusty Rusty.

Bunder-clarification Wear, or, 'the effects of alcohol on cerebral function over time'

From the commentary:
"He" responds to nothing. I've never seen "his" genitals, and I'm sticking to that story.


Yeah, just like you don't know how the bear poop and torn fur got in that hotel room, either. Sure.

I think I am forced to aid your historians' addled memory, since that seems to be what you are relying upon. You seem to be mixing your metaphors between the First Rusty, and the Second Rusty. It’s called confabulation, and your kind are known for it. The virgin voyage of the Rusty sessions did not contain Alceste, nor any readily identifiable females of the species. Alceste and Colyp still lived in Spain. Cocoa NoGogo was a pining wad of Irish rejection. When you say "late fall" of 1992, it is somewhat an understatement--it was so "late" in fall, that it was actually the beginning of winter, 1991. I was in my first year of medical school, you were in your first year of law school, and Bundy was trying desperately to be like you. And you were trying desperately to be like me, because I had already finished my first set of exams for the semester and had about 2 weeks to kill over the winter break. You, however, had yet to take your exams, and kept winging about wanting to "do well" on them. Bundy had driven down for the weekend to see me in the world's largest natural seaport, since he needed a break from the law school application process, continued defeat with such, and his grueling life as the page/piss boy at Crowlen, Heffeweisen, Mooring, and Rubenstein (“Wait!” he says. “No RUBENSTEIN”, he says. “Not in THAT firm!”). Don’t you recall the famous call he made—the first and last, as you pointed out—on Monday, saying he was sick and wouldn’t be in? He was completely distraught at having pulled a fast one, and we cheered him on, ignoring his career concerns. It was early a.m. due to the one-hour time difference, and I believe we started drinking sangria as soon as he hung up the phone. He moped for hours and through the entire 15-hour drive back home, and has never completed a Rusty session in satisfactory fashion since.

It was a cheery, yet dark time. We were all a bit disenfranchised with little self-esteem due to our ages and positions in life. The winter solstice was upon us, and I cannot remember seeing the sun at any point after departing. I recall no evidence of daylight during any part of the trip, except as we departed sunny Norfolk, VA. It was about 70 degrees without a cloud in the sky there. Bundy and I had been out drinking the night before with some of my school-mates, and were faced the next morning with no plans for activity and a three-day weekend in front of us. We sat staring at each other in my apartment there, and I said, “Let’s go and see Cocoa. Why don’t we just jump in the car and drive to Chicago? I’ll drive my car.” He laughed and said yeah, right, and we were the right age and percent bored, with no plan, to jump in my starship and head for the sky. Did I mention that the environmental controls on the starship Enterprise were faulty? We had no heat driving to one of the coldest place on Earth, the windy city of Chicago. We had on hats and gloves, and our breath was forming an ice sheet on the inside of the windshield as we journeyed ever farther into the cold, dark night toward Chicago. Jeers from the toll-booth operators bounced off our frozen hides, and we responded deceitfully “nope” when they would ask our blue little faces if our heater was broken. “Nope. Why?”
“Because you can’t open your hand to release the quarter.”
“nope.”
We skirted the bottom of the glacial remains we call the Great (or at least Pretty Good) Lakes, too cold to become drowsy, and anticipating arrival at our friend Cocoa’s house. There weren’t really any cell phones or GPS devices then. Though we were flying in a very sophisticated space vehicle, I have no idea how we found his house. I think I used a map, and I think Bundy lost his navigation privileges after sending us in the wrong direction several times. We arrived about midnight or 1 am, to discover YOU had been contacted and were on your way. The sun did not rise in the morning, as far as I can remember, but I do remember the session as totally acoustic, consisting of two acoustic guitars, a harmonica, and the infamous shark’s teeth. A box of wine was our beverage of choice, in honor of Spain, though as is typical of America, this box was many times bigger than the Spanish boxes, and contained wine many times worse than its foreign counterpart. We were in the front room of the NoGogo palace. There was darkness all around us as we played, broken only by street lights shining through the NoGogo residence windows, and speckled red Xmas lights within the residence. We recorded on cassettes with a fourth-grade cassette deck, with our new-found one-eared recording producer/sheep perched on top, and we were very, very raw. Much like U2 before they became fat, rich, and lazy.

That, my senile old friend, was the First Rusty. We were fantastic, and those interesting young men with enthusiasm and spirit have long since died. Just look at Bundy and his yearly Rusty faux pas, if you don’t believe me.

The year that you described, with Sitnay and the minivan and Dina and the brand new NoGogo apartment with the “landlord” and the sisters arriving for the party (reception of some sort?) and BoBonna and the horse hormones and her ‘rag’-inspired headache and the snow and the rented cabin and YOU as a human sled with your spiffy big army jacket on the winterized golf course, that, my senile older-than-Brett-Favre friend, that was the Second Rusty. For the record.

Bundes-boxers or Bundes-briefs?

Where were we? Ah yes, I was relaying the life history of Clown Squad member and one note guitar soloist Bratwurstundsauerkraut aka Bundeskraut aka Bunderwear aka OneNoteSolo aka Ono.


Upon graduation from a prestigious East Coast school, Bunderwear did something. I can't remember what or why, but I do recall that he did not join Alceste, Coco, DokBok, Colyp and myself during the year(s) 1990-91 which the rest of us spent in Spain. Someone remind me of his excuse. Did he have a girlfriend?

Anyway, that brings us up to 1992. That is when the Clown Squad truly began to gel (like a reduction of animal renderings). The first true Rusty Session was held in the late fall of 1992. Exactly what happened has been lost to historians. There are video archives, but historians are too lazy to try to find them right now, soo historians will just rely upon their memory.

Back to 1992. It is believed that Bunderwear was living in Washington DC at the time. He was either attending or trying to attend law school. Alceste too was living in DC and was either running or trying to run the branch office of a national car rental company. Dok Bok was attending or trying to attend medical school. I believe he was living at the world's largest natural seaport. Coco had returned home to Chicago, and he was either marrying or trying to marry. Your hero and mine was attending his first year of law school in Wisconsin. I was either studying or trying to study for my first semester of law school exams when I received word that The Gang was getting together at Coco's house in Chicago.

In the anals of history, ranking among the all-time bad ideas is the decision of an alcoholic law student to go visit his alcoholic college buddies for a few days of alcoholic drinking and alcoholic music playing during the student's first semester law school exams. To this day, there are still heated discussions about whether this was the dumbest decision of all time. "Napoleon miscalculated by invading Russia," they'll say, "but this law student was really an idiot!" You see, in law school, there are no quizzes or papers or mid-terms. There is one 4 hour exam for each class, and these exams all fall within one 7 or 10 day period. It was during this critical period that I was invited to go galavanting off to Chicago for a few days of debauchery. How could I turn down such an invitation?

Bunderwear, Alceste and DokBok all drove to Chicago from DC. I think they drove one of Alceste's company vans, and I believe they brought with them our friend Sitnay. Sitnay is, how shall we say, the black puma. She doesn't play any musical instruments, so she fit right into the band.

Coco hosted the grand event along with his bride (I think). I may have brought my then-girlfriend along as well, but that doesn't seem right. That would add up to at least 3 women between the 5 of us, and I don't think our ratio has ever been that good. I doubt whether there were any babysitters there either, since none of us yet had any babies.

One noteworthy thing about the first Rusty Session was that, unlike most if not all of the 16 Rusty Sessions since, Bunderwear could not leave early.


More to follow

Old One-Eye

One-eyed filmmaker conceals camera in prosthetic

BRUSSELS - A one-eyed documentary filmmaker is preparing to work with a
video camera concealed inside a prosthetic eye, hoping to secretly record people for a project commenting on the global spread of surveillance cameras.
...

"As a documentary maker, you're trying to make a connection with a person," he says, "and the best way to make a connection is through eye contact."

...
"The closer I get to putting this camera eye in, the more freaked out people are about me," he said, adding people aren't sure they want to hang around someone who might be filming them at any time."

I can sympathize completely. People are often freaked out about me as well.

It occurred to me that an interesting documentary with plenty of eye contact could be made by installing a camera in the prosthetic breast of a stripper. I imagine the nip-cam footage would proceed thusly: Backstage primping in mirror, briefly covered by star shaped object which is then ripped away to reveal 2 or 3 groups of men and a few singles, college boys hooting and holding up dollar bills, footage of the pole, the ceiling, the floor, the college boys, business men nudging one another, violent camera shaking side to side showing angled footage of the businessman's face, the pole, the ceiling, the floor, guy wearing sweat pants and holding out $100 bill, extreme close-up of his face, side to side, up and down, side to side, up and down, the tip of his finger, the palm of his hand, pull away, the pole, the ceiling, the floor, guy reaching for wallet, pulling out $15 for glass of Pepsi, disgruntled look guy's face...

Happy Late Mardi Gras, Welcome to Lent

Here you can see your hero and mine in his standard action-pose, and a man with two in-tact ankles whose future is about to change thanks to a bladder-control problem. And a very, very grumpy "car lover" who was FANATICAL about some piece of crap vehicle he happened to either "own" or "drive" or "both". That guy needed to chill out. Curses, curses.

I gave up Catholicism this year for lent for the second year in a row. Thanks God for Saint Patrick this month. And if you don't find this post entertaining enough, perhaps we can talk the Chancellor into giving us another riveting account of his penny-pinching escapades in the arena of modern technology. I 'regret' delaying my morning bowel movement long enough to read his post and try to figure out what I was missing.

Fetish-Call Autodialer - The Prankocranko 3000X

RE-DO-OVER - ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED 3/16/2006
.......

Tired of staying up all night making those late night crank telephone calls? Do wish you could enjoy the satisfaction of knowing that you are disturbing innocent people without all of the tedium and effort? Well now you can with the Prankocranko 3000x.

The Prankocranko 3000x uses space age technology to play a cassette tape loop of prerecorded messages to an endless number of recipients. Choose from "the heavy breather," "the cackler," "the foot to the phoner," and, of course, "the Bill O'Reilly."

Your calling list will be compiled from the latest phone records that our researchers have uncovered at local dumpsters and landfills. You will be able to sleep soundly while the Prankocranko 3000X dials through the night, subjecting people who have never caused you any harm to needless harassment.

Don't take our word for it - listen to some testimonials:

"This thing is really creeping me out!"
"Shut that f~ck!ng thang off, I gots ta get up at 4:30."
"Me, I'm wearing white socks with pink tassles. You?"

Order the Spanko attachment, and the Prankocranko 3000x not only makes the obscene phone calls for you, but also it pleasures itself while doing so. Order today, and as an EXTRA BONUS, FREE OF CHARGE, you'll get The Bread-a-pult buttered toast delivery system. No more walking back and forth between the toaster and the breakfast table thousands of times to serve up toast. Just load the Bread-a-pult, set the counter weight, turn the winding crank, lube the pivot, and pull the triggering cord, and there you have it, buttered toast all over the wall.

This Train

What the world needs now is a little Rusty.

Blow, Blow Again

Colyp School of Financial Money - Shoved Farther UPDATE

Colyp's re-emergence from the ethersphere caused me to reflect upon his contributions to the fields of economics and money-stuff. As you all know, Colyp is famous for his intricate system of credit card cash advances whereby a person takes a cash advance from one credit company in order to make his monthly payment to another. I believe he may have won a Noble Prize for his ground-breaking work in this respect. Initially discounted as foolhardy, the Colyp school of financial money has now earned general acceptance as the proper way to finance a society. News reports often lament that the US credit card debt is approx. $1T ($1x10(12th)). With 2.7 x 10(8th) people, this only amounts to less than $4k per person. By contrast, the current national debt is $9.3T and is almost $60T if one includes unfunded Medicaid and Social Security obligations. This would seem unmanageable unless one were to buy into the Colyp school of financial money. Then, it all makes sense.
-------------------------
UPDATE -9/25/2008
The US national debt was around $4Trillion when GeoW took office. Our national debt is now approaching $10Trillion. You personally currently owe about $40,000 in debt plus another $200,000 for Medicaid and Social Security. So does your spouse. So does each of your children. Now the government is asking for and likely to give itself another $3,000 from each of us to buy bonds that nobody else wants to buy. Oh yeah, and they'll need another $4,000 from each of us (oh, what the hell let's make it an even $10,000) to "finish the job" in Iraq.

Any American, such as each of my children, whose net worth is less than $250,000 is insolvent. So, if you're bankrupt, you might as well spend all available funds on a huge party. You're going to default anyway, so why not live it up in the short term.

Colyp, you are a genius.

-----------
Shoved Farther UPDATE 2/16/2009

Congress approves printing $789Billion (who are we kidding, let's just call it $1Trillion) to invest in activities that are, by definition, otherwise unworthy of funding. This is in addition to the $700Billion of TARP from November 2008 and $168Billion in rebates from 2008. The Fed, Treasury, and the FDIC spent $3Trillion and pledged $5.7Trillion more. For those of you keeping score at home, this is about $10Trillion that the government has blown through in the past year and a half!?! For comparison purposes, the total value of all good and services produced for an entire year in the US (GDP) is about $14Trillion.

The purpose of this increase in government expenditures is to "stimulate" someone. How will the US ever repay this debt (on top of the Medicaid and Social Security obligations)? A team of Ivy-league trained unicorns will sprinkle productivity dust on the treasury bonds to transform them into butterflies and they will fly to China and die.

Is anyone else finding it increasingly difficult to send in quarterly estimated income tax payments?

Waste of Time - m4w

Wasting Time - m4w
Date: 2009-02-13, 9:59AM EST
To you who called me "pathetic," I really don't need that kind of sh!t.
To you who left a bar, you are correct, it wasn't in Denver. You and I were the only ones who would have known that. Are your initials TM?
To MEG--ISS, I am the guy who does not shop at Whole Foods. Who are you?
---

Wasting time - w4m (RI)
Date: 2009-02-13, 9:49AM EST
I thought you were talking to me cuz I left a bar once. But I've never been to Denver. --------

who are u
this message was remailed to you via craigslist.org

---

Time Waster - w4m - 33
2009-02-12, 5:43PM EST
You passed some drunk bimbo in a bar in Denver and now
you hope to meet her in Providence. Pretty pathetic doncha think? What is your
deal with Whole Foods?

RE: Waste of Time - w4m -21 m4w

Thank you for your kind-hearted encouragement. I can tell you are truly a warm, caring humanitarian.

I may have passed you when you were leaving the bar. You seem so familiar. Have you ever been to Denver? I'll call you by the initials TM if that makes you feel better. Also, let's just get this out of the way - I don't shop at Whole Foods.

RE: Waste of Time - w4m - 21 Date: 2009-02-11, 7:38PM EST

Just go up and talk to girls you find attractive, Jesus!
You know how many times I've walked out of a store or bar just as a hot guy was
walking in? You could have been that guy, get some sauce in you, and hit the
street, maybe some fine lady will find your assertive attitude attractive.

Waste of Time - m4w
Date: 2009-02-11, 9:38AM EST

I can state unequivocally that this does not work. I posted numerous times and I am still unappreciated and underutilized! Fine. Now you have one less connection to miss. I hope you are satisfied. Good day.

RE: Siren calling me to your cloaca - 28 (RI) - m4w

RE: Siren calling me to your cloaca - 28 (RI)
Date: 2009-01-31, 12:42AM EST

Uhm.... Can we have some initials??

I reached out to you, and I bared my soul. Now, I am done. I have no regrets, except that I regret that I ever mentioned Whole Foods. I don’t shop there, so get over it already.
Is that why you have rejected me? I know you are reading this. Time to crawl back into the slime. I can't grow a new heart like an amphibian grows a new appendage. I can't even grow a new appendage, I don't think, though I've never really tried. Just like you haven't tried. Have you?

OE

Post-retirement Plan

If heaven ain't a lot like Dixie
I don't wanna go
If heaven ain't a lot like Dixie
I'd just as soon stay home
If they don't have a Grand Ole Opry
Like they do in Tennessee
Just send me to hell or New York City
It would be about the same to me

Siren calling me to your cloaca - m4w

Siren calling me to your cloaca,
Lungs and gills in the same slender body
Breathing and sucking.
I lied about shopping at Whole Foods.
I don't shop there,
But I wanted to impress you.
In reality, I’ve only been there once.
We can shop there if you'd like,
But I'll need it explained.
You do drive a silver/gray Jeep,
You little hellbender.
Don’t leave me in the mud.

Colonel Ebirt

I did not know that:

Colonel Ebirt was the unofficial school mascot for The College of William & Mary from 2001—2005. An asexual amorphous green blob that donned a tri-corner hat,
Colonel Ebirt was originally used as a promotional tool for Colonial Williamsburg. It became involved with the College athletics program when someone from the William & Mary gymnastics program volunteered to wear the costume.‘’Ebirt’’ is "Tribe" spelled backwards, and Colonel comes from the school’s historical and geographical ties to Williamsburg, Virginia, specifically that of Colonial Williamsburg.

The athletic department decided to "retire" Ebirt upon the conclusion of the 2005-06 school year. There is current deliberation about what or who, if any, mascot is to replace Ebirt.

RE: Let's Try This Again

I saw your post, but I didn't want to reply. Now I do. (I wrote a poem about a salamander). If your still interested, let me know. Otherwise, no big deal. I don't shop at Whole Foods.

Fate - I was hungry, you were hungry

Fate is an animal – you were at the Whole Foods yesterday. First you went to produce. You got bananas but I couldn’t see what else because my phone rang and the reception is not good in produce. Dreams of a time when we are free to truly love. I saw you again in canned goods. You like tuna (or have a cat). I was intently reading the beets can when you passed by. I didn’t dare look at you, but I kind of blocked your way for a second hoping you would introduce yourself. You didn’t, but that is ok. The fluorescent lighting seemed strangely romantic. Is it always like that or was it my heart gazing through my eyes? You got toilet paper and some other products that I won’t mention from the feminine hygiene aisle. We’ll just keep that between us as our little secret. You got the single serving frozen pizzas. That is when I knew that I was right - this was magic. You drive a newer silver/gray Jeep with an Obama bumper sticker and child car seats. Perhaps you own a daycare. That is alright, I am sure you have a wild side too. Like a wild kitten. I’ll be your dragon-slayer.

I'll let you know what response I get.

Missed Connections

People post "Missed Connections" notes to random other people on Craigslist. eg. Looking for girl I met in Chicago, August 2008 - m4w - 30 (Pasadena) or Beautiful TALL African-American Queen at Trader Joe's 2nite - m4w (Manchester & Sepulveda) In the unlikely event that the other person happens to find the post amongst the millions or perhaps billions of possible webpages, the hope is that the other will be inspired to contact an unknown idiot who just might be the man/woman/transgender of his/her/transgender's dreams.

I know this seems ridiculously futile, but it must be working or else why would so many people be doing it? So, I thought I'd begin my own little "Missed Connections" here at FU. I realize that a person is slightly less likely to find my post here than at Craigslist, but when you are talking about such miniscule odds anyway, what does it matter? This is the same rationale by which, instead of playing the lottery, I spend my money on bottles of beer in hopes that one will contain an accidentally captured mouse.

Tall guy in elevator at Courthouse - Yesterday at Courthouse, elevator going up, you farted. Then, elevator stopped, you exited and others entered and thought it was me. You should post a Missed Connections confession letting them know that it was you and not me who smelled so foul. Also, cut down on the boiled cabbage in your diet.

Diabolos likes Sand. And long, straight pavement.

After a couple of weeks of pure evil and intimidation, dark whispers and booming deep voices, I decided to take the BatMobile to the desert.

It is there that the BatMobile and I have come to a new understanding and level of mutual tolerance.

Change Your Bunderwear

Bratwurstundsauerkraut (fka OneNotesolO) has been complaining in private correspondence about the quality of the posts here at Rusty Never Sleeps - Official Site of the First Unichurck. Recall that he was invited to be a contributor, but, to the best of my recollection, he has failed to post even one item. When we had an election last year for a new FU Chancellor, DorkBok went so far as to rig the voting in B.'s favor. The sword of leadership passed to Bunderwear, but he has yet to take his rightful place seated upon it.


Who is this fellow with such contradictory impulses relating to the success of our mission? Thank you for asking. Thus, we recall the story of Bratwurstundsauerkraut as remembered, inferred, and downright imagined by your hero and mine, me.


Bratwurstundsauerkraut, or Bratty as he was then known, was born a small child and remained that way for several years. He then enrolled at the College of William and Mary in Williamsburg, Virginia in the year of our lord, 1986.


The admissions bureaucrats at William and Mary are not very adept at choosing students of high, or even moderate, moral character or intelligence. Witness the fact that I was admitted, sight unseen, despite the fact that I wore a mullet hairstyle and listened to 80's hard rock and hadn't read a single book assigned to me during my Senior high school year (unless you count Cliff's Notes). Compared to me, B. was Euro-fabulous, and I don't mean that in a good way.


Although admissions personnel obviously lacked the ability to recognize quality students, they were outstanding at recognizing freaks and in quarantining them together at an outpost dormitory on the edge of campus. It was here that I first met Bunderwear where he, DorkBok, and I all lived on the second floor of Hunt Hall. Alceste and Coco were below us.


Hunt Hall was a three floor dorm situated on the edge of campus in unique proximity, we would come to learn, to the Campus Police Station. The first two floor's residents were all males whereas the third floor was all ladies. This situation was contrived to force the first two floors to fight against each other for the affections of the third floor. Since this was in the days prior to situational "reality" shows which manufacture conflict and embarrassment for purposes of mass entertainment, I'm not sure why this little experiment was undertaken. Nonetheless, quite naturally, Bunderwear, DorkBok and I and about 15 others on the "Upper Tier" became natural allies against Alceste, Coco and the "Ground-levelers."


Bunderwear lived in a triple with two other guys - Melonhead and Rice&2BBs Someone Else. Melonhead was called Melonhead because his enormous head had the approximate volume of a large melon. Rice&2BBs was called rice and 2 bee bees for obvious reasons. Someone Else was someone else who I don't remember and don't feel like researching because, presumably, one of the other Clowns will fill in the gaps. These three roommates were the moderates on our floor - relatively athletic but not "athletes;" relatively drunk but not "alcoholics;" relatively studious but not "students." They did entirely cover the walls in their room with stacked empty cans of Busch beer. This was a bold move because we were all under-aged and not permitted by either the law or the College to possess alcohol. Of course, their cans were empty. Theirs being one of the larger rooms, and because they had constructed a sleeping loft, they had a large seating area which was useful to all of us for playing drinking games including quarters, chandeliers, bizz-buzz, asshole, war, name game, shotgun, thumper, and up the river, down the river to name a few (this was before the advent of beer pong). They also had a beer bong that Melonhead constructed and which was freely and unhygienically shared.


Sophomore year, Bunderwear moved with Alceste, Colyp, DorkBok and a couple of other guys out to an off-campus apartment complex together. There were two different apartments, but I can't recall who officially lived with whom because there was a lot of overlap. This was a typical college sophomore guys year filled with pizza boxes, drunken escapades, and the occasional girlfriend.

At some point in time, either freshman or sophomore year, we all began playing the guitar(s). We all wanted to become white kids who could strum 3 or perhaps even 4 chords on an acoustic guitar so that we could WOW chicks with our sensitive yet dangerous nature(s). I had acquired an old acoustic guitar freshman year from my girlfriend. B., as well as one of my roommates, we'll call him WeirdEar, soon followed suit by actually buying or having gifted to them acoustic guitars. We would jam out for hours playing Knockin On Heaven's Door and many other songs that sounded surprisingly similar to Knockin on Heaven's Door.

Recall the trip during Spring Break to Naples, Florida. One of our hallmates, we'll call him AppleBWood, had a family friend who owned a condo in the quiet little town of Naples, Florida. Somehow, AppleB made the mistake of inviting about 10 of us to vacation there with him. WeirdEar, myself, and I'm pretty sure Bunderwear was there, insisted on serenading our group using our newly-acquired guitar skills and our not-acquired singing skills. The first night in Naples, one of the neighbors introduced himself by saying, "Y'all need to knock off that racket. It wouldn't be so bad if you didn't keep playing the same damn song." That "same damn song" would later become a hit for none other than Bob Dylan who had recorded it 20 years earlier. And now you know the rest of the story.

I don't recall where Bunderwear lived Junior year, but it may have been at the same place.

(Details fuzzy)

Senior year, however, they got a "Lodge." The Lodges were, and probably still are, the most valuable campus dorm facilities at William and Mary. Somehow, one of the guys befriended someone who had a high lottery number and DorkBok, Alceste, and Bunderwear landed spots at Lodge 5 (now demolished). I can't recall how many people officially lived there, but Coco and I spent at least as much time there as any of them. Coco officially lived in an off-campus shack and I lived at a fraternity house for a fraternity in which I was not a member. However, we often found it more convenient to simply stay where we had passed out which often turned out to be the couch or floor of Lodge 5.


Bunderwear was an unremarkable student. I think he "studied" German and/or history, but don't quote me on that. He did have several books in his room. From my vantage point, I would say he remained steadily moderate in his alcohol and drug use, studies, fornication and other habits. Of course, that is all relative.
....

To be continued

(Don't worry Bunderwear, I'm not going to go into the time that you and that one person did that one thing or the time that you and that other person did not "technically" do that thing but did do that other thing. Some things are better left un-blogged).

Missed Calling

You've probably already seen this montage of Winnebago promotional video out-takes discovered by the Found Footage project, but I ran across it again yesterday, and it always reminds me of Alceste. Please enjoy the Angriest RV Salesman in the World



Vote for your favorite moment:

A) :30 - (can't speak, arms waving)
B) 1:16 - "No more bullshit... if anybody is yelling then the shit is gonna hit the fan."
C) 2:35 - "Get out of here you god damned jack-ass (fly)."

Daddy's Got a New Ride

New Beginnings

I'm taking this blog in a new direction. We need something of more substance - more gravitas - more ingravesco.

So, from now on, we only explore the heavier subjects. No more expositions on heaven, hell, the end of days, or camel toes. No reminders about the amount of spending and borrowing or the concept of indentured servitude.

Now, we get serious.

It is on!

Happy New Year, Clowny Clowns