Mark Hoback: FGAQ: Big Universe

Fri, 13 Feb 2004 22:57:24 GMT

Stupid Kid Captured

Welcome partiot99. It will take a few moments for your chat room session to begin….

partiot99 has entered the chat room

partiot99>hello?

Sadir>welcome partiot99

mohammed007>hey

partiot99>is it safe to talk?

Sadir>safe to talk? You mean what?

partiot99>talk stuff. INFO!!!

mohammed007>oh sure, it’s safe. We’ve got a firewall

partiot99>cool. U guys are cool? U the real guys? U Moslems?

mohammed007>You bet we’re legit. I was born Moslem. I’ve never even been outside of Iraq. Praise Allah. Ask me where I am right now.

partiot99>where r u at?

mohammed007>Iraq

partiot99>wow!

Sadir>what can we do for you partiot?

partiot99>I have secret info

mohammed007>Really? You sound like you are the man… what does your name mean?

partiot99>u no, a patriot, like a hero. I want 2 help all of my Moslem brothers escape from the yokes of…

Sadir>you spelled it wrong

partiot99>???

Sadir>you spelled patriot wrong. Your screen name.

mohammed007>he doesn’t have any intelligence

Sadir>yeah, I don’t think so either

partiot99>Do too!!!!!!!

partiot99>how do I change my name?

Sadir>you have to log out and log back in again

mohammed007>what you got intelligence on kid?

partiot99>im not a kid, im a soldier

Sadir>LOL

mohammed007>what you got intelligence on soldier?

partiot99>tanks

Sadir>your welcome

mohammed007>ROTFLMAO

partiot99>???

mohammed007>Ah, I think we know just about everything there is to know about tanks

partiot99>but this is all secret. im a crewman for the 81^st… hold on, im gonna go change my name.

partiot99 has left the chat room

Welcome patriot99. It will take a few moments for your chat room session to begin….

patriot99 has entered the chat room

Patriot99> hello?

Jones>welcome patriot99

smith007>hey

Patriot99> who r u guys?

Jones>It’s us. We’ve gone deep undercover.

smith007>yeah. We turned the firewall all the way up.

Jones>cause we’re pretty sure that we can’t trust you..

smith007>yeah. I don’t think we can trust you with the People’s Secrets. You’re just a kid. Praise Allah.

Patriot99> im not a kid. Ive got documents!!! Whats ur email? Ill send them

Jones>I think it’s a waste of time, smith007

smith007>I know Jones, but lets give him a shot. Okay kid. It’s alqaeda@msn.com

Patriot99> no way!!!!!!

Jones>Way. Last thing the Feds would ever suspect…

Jones> Got it.

Patriot99> its good isn’t it? its good

Smith007> looks darn good kid. No, make that soldier. Looks great soldier.

Jones> that’s darn good intelligence

Smith007> How’d you like to meet our boss, soldier? I’m sure you’ve heard of Mister X. He makes great baklava.

Patriot99> that’d be cool

Jones> Okay Anderson, I mean patriot99… Let’s see… we have you located in Tacoma, Washington… that’s Elicott Street?

Patriot99>yeah. 1240 Elicott

Smith007> Cool. Mister X should be there before you can say ‘Praise Allah’

Jones>Pleasure working with you sir.

Patriot99> thanks

Thu, 12 Feb 2004 17:52:24 GMT

He was the bravest of them all...

How many roads must a man walk down, before they can call him a man? Lord, Lord. And how many times must a cannonball fly, before they are forever banned? (I'm thinkin maybe we can get you an answer on that cannonball question.)

You know, a man only has so many heartaches that he can bear, and so many teardrops that he can cry. There are only a finite number of rants that a bloggin man can type, Lord, Lord, but there are an infinite number of song parodies that he can write, and I'm gonna write me up one right now.

This is a story bout a car drivin man. A mans got to work cause a mans got to eat, and it is the lot in life of some men that they got to drive a vehicle for the sake of feedin up their family. But sometimes a man may pick up the wrong passenger along the way, Lord, Lord, and when that happens, then a mans gotta pay the price. Such is the story of Salim Ahmed Hamdan, who chose to transport a bad man from place to place.

Now in the spirit of that brave yet anonymous fellow who put a hole in Liberty Valance, it's time for me to play you a little song. Hellfire! I hardly had to change the lyrics at all! One two three...

When Old Osama rode to town the womenfolk would hide, they'd hide
When Old Osama walked around the men would step aside, aside

Cause the point of a gun was the only law Osama understood
When it came to usin' rocket mortars - he was mighty good.

From out of the East a stranger came with car keys in his hand, his hand
The kind of a man the West would need to drive a Chevy van, a van
Cause a ride in the front was the only ride Osama understood
When it came to settin FM stations - he was mighty good.

The man who drove Osama bin Laden
He drove Osama bin Laden
He was the...

<ring... ring...>

Scuze me.

Hello? Heh, heh. No, you're not... Shit... Oh. Well, howdy there, Johnny boy... Uh... Okay... I'm dropping the accent... Right now, okay. Sorry, Mister Ashcroft. Your call was unexpected. Yeah, I mean yes sir, I did think it was kind of funny. No, no, that's just the name of my blog... Weblog. No sir, it's not a treatise. No sir, I'm not glorifying anything. Well... Well... Not intentionally sir. No... No, you're right, I don't have any personal knowledge of Salim Ahmed Hamdan... No, never heard of him until yesterday, and I just thought it was kind of funny that bin Laden's chauffer was in Guantanamo Bay... No... No... It was in the newspapers... No, all of them. Hell, I just read it in the News in Brief section of the Chicago Sun Times. I wish to God I'd written about the Garfunkel pot fine now... Yes sir. Parsley, sage, rosemary, and pot, very funny. Can I use that? Okay... Okay... You know, I haven't even posted the Hamdan piece yet, and I was wondering how you... Yes sir... Yes sir... You're right. It is none of my business.... Yes... Okay... I will. My nose is clean... Yes sir... Will be clean.... Okay... Okay. Bye bye.

Sorry folks. Where was I? Okay, one two three...

When Art Garfunkel came to town all the drug dealers smiled, they smiled,
And when Garfunkel hit the deli his sub would be high piled, high piled
Cause the bowl of a bong was the only law that Garfunkel understood
When it came to scorin high grade reefer - he was mighty good.

From out of the east...

Sun, 08 Feb 2004 15:38:24 GMT

Growing Old with the Band

I spent Tuesday night at the State Theater in the fine company of the most enigmatic band of all time, the fabulous Residents. It was not my first time.

Way back in the mid-to-late seventies, commercial radio had reached its nadir. This was a time when – comparatively speaking – the Eagle’s were the bomb. The only good stations were the black ones, where P-Funk was kicking ass and taking names. The major record labels had cut back to a trickling of new releases, the theory being that no record should be released that didn’t have the potential to go double-platinum.

This had a marvelous consequence. Small market and college radio stations rebelled and began playing obscure and low budget product. Idiosyncratic Zines popped up everywhere, just like web sites did in the late nineties. Everybody started making their own records, including relatively untalented individuals like yours truly. Suddenly, I found myself on playlists around the country, right along side legends like Pere Ubu, The Cramps, and The Slickee Boys. And of course, the Residents.

It didn’t last long. The major labels, smelling a new market, promptly stepped in. Whoops, there go the Talking Heads. Whoops, there goes Richard Hell. Suddenly, the game – once again – was to get signed. By 1982, I knew it wasn’t going to happen for me. I had recently made my best single, but by now, no station was interested in giving it a spin. After all, the majors now paid the bills.

I hung it up and got a ‘responsible’ job, but the Residents never did, issuing one fascinating disk after another on their own Ralph label.

And here we are, twenty years later, with the Residents having just released the best work of their career, the haunting ‘Demons Dance Alone’. No one cares. No station will play it. No one will review it. Very few people will ever hear it. The Residents have no powerhouse backing. And they are old.

The stage at the State Theater is wide and open access. I stand by the lip of the stage and look up at the lead singer. He is anonymous, but his voice is not, strong and eccentric as thirty years ago. He is only wearing a partial mask tonight, and from my vantage point I can see much of his face. The eyeholes let me peer in, and I can see that that his eyes have sunk deeply into wrinkled skin. He looks ancient, but he can’t possibly be. I remember when…

For thirty years, the Residents have held onto their mystery, but tonight they at least open a peephole into the fourth wall. During their third rendition of ‘Mister Wonderful’, the old man sits and tells a story. It is a college story from 1965, and he has met one of his idols, the Godfather of Soul, at a gas station. After providing directions, James Brown reaches out and shakes his hand. “That,” he says, “was the best day of my life.” And then the music rises back up, with the melancholy phrase “That would be wonderful” greeting each new couplet. He sings from a sad reality. “If I had a major label / and a way to pay my bills” (that would be wonderful)… “If my old friend Snakefinger / hadn’t had a heart attack” (that would be wonderful). It was wonderful.

The show continues for another twenty minutes. The old man is right in front of me, near exhaustion. He is close enough for me to touch. I watch the sweat literally pour out from underneath his mask, and know that he has given more of himself tonight then he really has left to give.

The Residents are nearly dead. Long live the Residents. They are old but they have persevered. By not giving up, they have succeeded, much more than they will ever know.

Fri, 30 Jan 2004 00:33:09 GMT

At the Mall
[under the influence of Iraq & too much Monty Python]

Man: Pardon me, Miss. I’d like to buy a good scaring.

Clerk: Aww, you’re looking for the Fear Factory, aren’t you? They’re all the way down at the other end of the mall.

Man: This is the House of Emotion, is it not?

Clerk: Yes it is. Good day, what can I do for you sir?

Man: Well, as I was just saying, I’m interested in a good frightening. I was wondering if you could scare my socks off.

Clerk: Fraid we can’t do that sir. Not in our inventory.

Man: Oh, I understand. Listen, price is no object to me. Look here my good woman, here’s a twenty for you if you’ll just double check… I’m sure you have something frightening.

Clerk: Well, I’ll just take a look under the counter then, maybe there’s a little something you’d fancy back here…. Doo dee doo doh, doo dee doo doh…

[The shop door is suddenly flung open, and three Cardinals rush in with swords above their heads]

Cardinals: ROOOOO!

Man: My goodness. I didn’t expect this.

Lead Cardinal: NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our chief weapon is suprise...surprise and fear...fear and surprise.... Our two weapons are fear and surprise...and ruthless efficiency.... Our *three* weapons are fear, surprise, and ruthless efficiency...and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope....

Man: Stop it, stop it right now. You’re turning this whole thing into a farce.

Clerk: You didn’t like that?

Man: It’s not a question of liking it or not, is it? They certainly did surprise me, I’ll grant you that. [Cardinals turn and skulk away] But I’m not here for a surprise, am I? I distinctly told you I wanted a good frightening, and at this point I am not the slightest bit afraid,

Clerk: Not the slightest bit?

Man: Not the slightest bit. My predominant emotion at the moment seems to be one of impatience. Now listen, I’m a bit rushed for time, and I would appreciate it very much if you would hurry up and throw the fear of God into me.

Clerk: I see. You’d like a little something in a nice religious awe, then.

Man: I want you to frighten me. I want to be jolted, panicked. Terrify me, woman. Frighten the bejesus out of me. Horrified is the word I’m looking for, I want to be petrified with fear.

Clerk: I’m sorry. You want the Fear Factory. Other end of the mall, take a right beside the Orange Julius, you’ll see it.

Man: This is the House of Emotion and you can’t frighten me?

Clerk: Well, that’s not really an emotion is it? Fear, I mean. More of a response, I’d say. You know, fight or flight, all that. It’s an anticipation or awareness of danger, like if I were to try and kill you. Here, now, take this card. This is for the Fear Factory, it’s at the…

Man: Other end of the mall.

Clerk: Right beside the Orange Julius. Ask for Saddam.

Man: Will he try to kill me?

Clerk: He might.

Man: He might? Now see here, I want a good scare. What good is ‘He might’?

Clerk: It doesn’t matter as long as you believe he will.

Man: This is a mall! In the middle of town! Full of people. Just how am I supposed to believe he will?

Clerk: Now that I can help you with.

2/14/03

Fri, 30 Jan 2004 00:30:56 GMT

DARKPROFITS

Many people are searching for info on Dark Profits today, and at first I was not sure why. I couldn’t log into their scary website at www.darkprofits.com either, and I’m guessing their traffic and their bandwidth are miles apart. They apparently sent out another mass mailing today which has people trying to hunt them down and insert a funky boot up their posteriors.

I wrote about Dark Profits a few months ago, but those notes have since been swallowed up… Here is the part that I know. Dark Profits is a closed organization that I am thinking is related to marketing, and it’s a good guess that they may be primarily involved in the seedier side of web commerce. At any rate, if you visit their site, you will find a lot of private forums, a notice which states that they are no longer accepting new members, and practically no other information. They are well positioned to become an urban legend, and have been unsatisfactorily noted in debunker site Snopes.

Snopes doesn’t really have much information about Dark Profits itself. It's all third person. Their information consists primarily of a couple of 'well-known' ‘Joe Jobs’ directed at DarkProfits. (A joe job is defined as ‘an attempt to pin blame on an uninvolved third party by forging messages in their name’.) In other words, an attempt to get people pissed at Dark Profits. But why? Why would you get pissed at a faceless, nameless organization? Possibly if you got an email that outraged you.

Take a look at this piece, which if memory serves me well was sent out about a year and a half ago. Now to me, this piece seems ridiculous, what with it’s offer of liquid heroin and gay slaves (plus free, a pack of 2 CDs, with best selection of child pornography.) But to the right sort of person, your Bill O’Reilly type who sees the internet as the most unfortunate and lowly of necessary evils, this letter could cause serious mind blowage.

Much more effective, I think, is this mailing, which rouses fear of credit card theft and trouble at the office. This is a classic beauty of a credit card scam, and it’s a fair bet that whoever was behind it scored at least a few good numbers.

Now, here is an interesting piece of info. Snopes is not the only one buying into the ‘Joe Job’ line of thinking. Either I’m missing a few marbles, or the rest of the world is. (What are my odds?)

People poke around, investigate, google, and they come up with more link from darkprofits.com which says, in effect, ‘it wasn’t us’, about as satisfactory a response as you would get from asking Dick Cheney if he was in cahoots with Big Energy.

Check this from The Rantmaster’s Weblog.

Googling 'darkprofits' got me an interesting link. According to this, this spam was not sent out by Darkprofits.com at all but by a disgruntled member trying to get them in trouble… A second link turned up that this issue has already been investigated, both by the ISP that hosts Darkprofits.com, and by the FBI. Apparently, they've been up to this for even longer than I was aware of.

Well, okay, it looks like Darkprofits.com is in the clear.

Mmmkay. But who and what are Dark Profits? AHROOOO!

Wed, 28 Jan 2004 18:12:08 GMT

Paradise Very Lost

The older we become, the harder it gets to make our daily lives seem even remotely hip. But listen, as dedicated baby boomers who are never gonna die, we’ve got to keep on trying. It is a dreary reality that the poor souls we see on the seven o’ clock network news are our peers. I’m not talking about the news items themselves. No, I’m talking about the hell portrayed during the commercials, the hell of heartburn and high blood pressure, incontinence and impotence. This is the hell that we have aged into.

And so it’s come to this: A diarrhea commercial for the baby boomers. Imodium A-D, helping boomers get laid since 2003.

This commercial is such a masterpiece. Paradise Lost in sixty seconds. A chap about my age is at a resort. It looks very nice. It looks perfect. We see him as he climbs into an enormous hot tub, settling himself across from two very attractive younger women. All he wants or expects is his fantasy. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he says, offering a modest wave.

And then, it happens. It was always a possibility, he had never really lost it. He never had. “Would you like to join us?” Those words, the sweetest words. I don’t know what his reply is. It doesn’t matter. It amounts to yes, regardless of the particular verbiage. Yes, oh yes, yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will yes…

He is there, between them, seemingly without moving. They are beautiful. They will be his. They make small talk, but it is just cooing, they don’t really want to know what he does for a living, they want him. It is perfect. And then. Then that look is wiped right off of his loser face. He is having a nightmare.

God mocks him, asking from off screen, “Where will you be when your diarrhea comes back?”, and he must run, run from Eden, run in search of porcelain relief, humiliated, and no it is not God who has mocked him, for there is no God.

There is no God, and when he returns, there will be no girls in bikinis. It will be as though it were a dream.

Tue, 27 Jan 2004 16:07:51 GMT

Hail Yeah!

A reader asks: Are there any lyrics to 'Hail to the Chief'? You know, the jaunty little number that announces the arrival of the president. I figure if there are any lyrics, they must be bloody awful, because, like, nobody ever sings them.

Good news for you, reader! I found them. The music was written by James Sanderson back in 1812, and the lyrics (such as they are) were added by Albert Gamse in 1815. The first president to ever be greeted by this delightful ditty was John Quincy Adams.

President Chester Arthur was the first president to really hate the song - he had John Philip Sousa write him a new ditty by the name of 'Presidential Polonaise'. (I had to look that word up. From Webster's New Riverside University: polonaise: 3. A dress of the 18^th cent., with a fitted bodice and draped cutaway skirt worn over an elaborate underskirt.)

Well, let me tell you, as soon as Grover Cleveland got into office, he threw that song the hell out, and went back to the beloved 'Hail to the Chief' which has gone on to become the second most famous intro tune in history, trailing only Johnny Carson's Tonight Show Theme. Here's the lyrics:

Hail to the Chief we have chosen for the nation,
Hail to the Chief! We salute him, one and all.
Hail to the Chief, as we pledge cooperation
In proud fulfillment of a great, noble call.

Yours is the aim to make this grand country grander,
This you will do, That's our strong, firm belief.
Hail to the one we selected as commander,
Hail to the President! Hail to the Chief!

Mon, 26 Jan 2004 18:25:56 GMT

From today's Washington Post, re: international assistance in Iraq.

The recruitment of multinational forces, a Defense Department official said, is also proving problematic. The Hungarians, for example, have offered to send a truck company to Iraq but have no trucks, the official said. "They contribute 133 drivers, but no trucks, or mechanics, or anything else," he added.

In related news, Mexico has volunteered to provide the assistance of the 23^rd Backhoe Brigade, complete with Backhoes. "The 23^rd Backhoe Brigade is the finest backhoe brigade in all of Mexico," said President Vicente Fox. "This is a magnanimous gesture of good will to our wonderful friends in the United States of America."

"Well that's just great," said new CentCom commander Gen. John P. Abizaid. "As if we didn't have enough backhoes in the country already. Frankly, we're up to our ass in backhoes around here. What are we going to do with 500 more backhoe operators who can't even speak English? Ahh, fuck me... I've only had this job for a week and I'm already sick of it."
7/17/03

Mon, 26 Jan 2004 18:09:18 GMT

The Home Team

Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty!
God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!

- 19^th century Christian hymn

The always provocative Steve Raker showed up in the mail last night with this:

I can understand the sharp divide between those who believe in zero gods and those who believe in one god. But after the tremendous philosophical vault to get from zero to one, it seems but a bunny hop to go to two gods or many gods. Why do so many hold at one? ...Underlying my thinking on this issue is a general memory of being taught a religious prejudice cutting both ways. "We good Christians" disdainful in both directions, but with a decided intellectual pity and underlying fear for those who chose the "pagan" route. It feels odd now that I think of it. Perhaps this prejudice, that has been implanted in me simply by virtue of participating in this society, is a remnant of the ancient wars between monotheism and polytheism. Why did Christianity need to crush the Pagans? Was it something more than a grab for market share?

As a long-term Agnostic (def. 'someone who doesn't have a clue'), I found Steve's questions profoundly interesting. Like any good Agnostic, I have pondered the existence of God, but I have never pondered the existence of multiple Gods, Why not?

Even when we imagine ourselves as free thinkers, we are still bound in innumerable ways by the culture we were raised in. The rules, quite simply, have been in play far before we understood the concept of rules. Of course we are more familiar with our own Gods and Legends. It is the home team syndrome.

Case in point: I believe in Football. I believe in the entire institution of Football, but in particular, I believe in the Washington Redskins. I believe in the Redskins because I have lived in the Washington area for twenty-five years. They are part of my culture. I see them on television: not just their games, but in interviews and commentary on the local media, and in references made by local personalities. And more. Commercials for auto dealerships. Ad campaigns for charities (the great Darrell Green being particularly merciful). At the mall, perchance, signing autographs, or on the street. I have eaten at the restaurants (temples) of Joe Theisman and Ritchie Pettibone. They are far more real to me than the Saints or the Giants.

So it is with other Gods. How, I ask myself, could someone believe in the Seahawks or the hapless Cardinals. And yet they do.

For me, the single greatest argument for the existence of God is the fact that God is a flower that blooms in every garden. From the jungles to the tundra, on the most remote regions of the globe there is God. Every religion is the one true religion for it's followers. Why is there the urge to dismiss all but the home team coach? When the Redskins forsake me, I turn to the Eagles, and should I find no solace there, I look to the Steelers. Why, as Steve asks, do so many hold at one?

Sun, 25 Jan 2004 18:48:22 GMT

Cooking up Something Good!

from 'The Youth Online Club' - Kitchen Safety

Find out if you have permission to use the toaster, oven, stove and microwave. If not, don't use them.

Keep emergency numbers by the phone.

Don't cook when wearing shirts with long, baggy sleeves or with your hair hanging down in your face. You could catch on fire.

Steam burns. Be careful of escaping steam with lifting casserole or saucepan lids.

Be very careful of boiling water and other boiling liquids. They can cause very serious burns. Get help from an adult with boiling things.

Never heat a pan full of oil. Use very little oil at a time.

Smother a pan fire by covering it with the pan lid. Do not lift a burning pan to try to move it, and DO NOT pour water over it.

Always use the proper size knife. Usually a paring knife or a small slicing knife will fill most needs. Never use a knife that is too big for the job you want to do.

Pay attention to what you are doing. Look at what you are doing at all time.

Never use a dull knife. Using a dull knife is more dangerous than using a sharp one.

Keep knives away from counter edges where they may fall and stab you in the leg or foot.

Sat, 24 Jan 2004 15:20:47 GMT

Wolverton Mountain

This is a sad song, aye... A really sad song. We learned it for our set tonight... Ya know, we give and we give. This is historic... There's a tip bowl by the door.

Can somebody give me an E? Okay, thank you Elroy, hold just a sec, my G strings gone out again... okay then, here we go. Oh wait, run down and get your dobro out of the minivan Chester...

This is gonna take a lot of you back. Heh, heh, some of you younger uns, it's goona take you back before you was even a gleam in your daddy's eye. This goes all the way back to 1992. Shucks man, that's a joke, we're talkin 1962. It was the very first hit for a gentleman by the name of Clyde King, and I think it could well've been his only hit. By the name of Wolverton Mountain. And it's a real sad tune, and we're proud to be playing it for you here tonight. Uh-one, two, three, four...

They say don't go on Wolverton Mountain,
If you're looking for a wife.
'Cause Clifton Clowers has a pretty young daughter,
he's mighty handy with a gun and a knife.
[vamp behind me boys]

Now that was a pretty serious warning back in 1962. I mean the Ruskies had the A-bomb, but most of us... most of us was more afraid of a man who was pretty good with a gun and a knife. You might be thinking that Clifton Clowers is a pretty darn funny name, but I'll just bet you would never say that sorta thing to his face. He was a proud man, a man who protected his sweet daughter.

Her tender lips are sweeter than honey
And Wolverton Mountain protects her there.
The bears and birds tell Clifton Clowers
If a stranger should wander there.
[vamp behind me boys]

Now it's right about here that this song starts weirding me out just a little bit. I mean, this ain't some fictional place we're talking about, no sir, this is right in Conway County, Arkansas. This Clowers joker apparently had his pretty little thing locked up on top of a mountain and the bears and the birds were helping him out. Birds, that I can believe a little, but the bears would sooner take a bite out of your ass than to help ya out.

All of my dreams are on Wolverton Mountain.
I want his daughter for my wife.
I'll take my chances and climb that mountain
Though Clilfton Clowers, he may take my life
[vamp behind me boys]

Now wait a second here. Old Clifton might have been pretty good with a gun and a knife, but I think that Clyde is just a little bit on the paranoid side with the kind of observations he's making here. Clifton was a World War I veteran and a member of the Mountain View Baptist Church where he was a deacon for several years. I'll tell you this: something tells me that this Clyde King was a little lightweight it the balls department. Nancy boy, ya know what I mean? I'm thinking what with Clifton being born in 1891 for Christ sakes, just how young was that pretty young daughter, anyhow?

Ah, these old songs they really make you think. Allright, let's take it home, boys...

I'm going up on Wolverton Mountain,
It's too lonely down here below.
It's just not right to hide his daughter
From the one who loves her so.
Her tender lips are sweeter than honey
And Wolverton Mountain protects her there.
The bears and birds tell Clifton Clowers
If a stranger should wander there.
But I don't care about Clifton Clowers,
I'm gonna climb up on his mountain,
I'm gonna take the girl I love.
I don't care about Clifton Clowers,
I'm gonna climb up on his mountain,
I'm gonna take the girl I love.

Thank you. God dangit, I just learned the chords, that did come out good. Thank you. Whoo, boy, that's one weird song there.... I think that one's out of the repertoire, that's what I'm leaning toward. Whole thing just gives me the shudders...

Wed, 21 Jan 2004 17:10:24 GMT

What a day for politics it's been! And I'm ignoring it all in order to present you with news about the marketing impact that the Mars mission is having here on the Earth. Earth is a planet, boys and girls. See! We're learning at the same time that we follow our inner need to explore new frontiers.

It's too frigging bad that it's not Christmas again, because I bet that Santa would be as excited as a monkey in a banana factory if he saw the new Mars toys making the rounds! They're licensed by NASA, in the hopes that if they sell enough copies of the 'Rough and Ready Spirit Rover' over the next few years, they'll have a man halfway to Mars before you can say "Danger, danger, Will Robinson."

Danish toy maker Lego is the first to market with the Build Your Own Rover kit. This marvelous toy costs only $89.99 and is recommended for ages ten and up. And with 858 separate pieces to lose you can look forward to buying it over and over.

"It's on the high end of challenging to put together," said Jeff James of Lego, adding that NASA is offering to pay triple the full retail for any toys successfully assembled.

Hey sailor! Have you been to a Hardee's lately? To get one of their delicious Hardee 'Eatin' Good' sandwiches? Because you won't just be eatin' good, you'll be playin' educationally, with one of four great astro toys inspired by heroic exploits (the Brave Little Spacecraft) pulled from today's headlines, including the Mars rover vehicle, Cassini Meets Saturn, a pullback Cassini spacecraft that orbits a model of Saturn, and a Cool Comet Mission flywheel spinner. It's not just a meal, it's an adventure.

And finally, in a story that has plenty of Mars but is a little short in the plaything department, Long John Silvers has announced Oceanquest on Mars. If the Rover discovers evidence of a past or present ocean on Mars, the popular seafood-like restaurant will offer each and every American a jumbo shrimp.

Says Chief Marketing Officer Mike Baker: "As Americans, we're proud of NASA's exploration of space; as the world's most popular quick-service seafood chain, we get excited about ocean water, wherever it is. If there's ocean water on Mars, that would be giant news. And giant news calls for Giant Shrimp!"

Not to be outdone, Long John's President offered the following. "We have closely followed NASA's recent exploration of Mars and all of us are rooting you on to find ocean water on the Red Planet," says Davis. "The 'Free Giant Shrimp' offer is our way of saying NASA's exploration of Mars and the discovery of ocean water would be 'one small step for man, one giant leap for seafood.'"