tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133546102024-03-13T22:20:07.949-10:00My MuleFor People Who Really Read And Write Good.josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.comBlogger368125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-79274864417316656932011-08-27T16:03:00.004-10:002011-08-27T16:09:54.678-10:0010 Hours Before Implosion<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq4BgUnR9fwQt9Am7e6fEaanJBZ-DJ365Zrv8pTrAADyjiMx3qO5ExHTDSKj5E63KVr8ZPVZ_5NM8pUse474_uD16KEjT9l0HJ0r5uttbFWPUsAObjGSfNFz_AlXdpZsfMnNVw7Q/s1600/KeyStone+Tower+2011.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq4BgUnR9fwQt9Am7e6fEaanJBZ-DJ365Zrv8pTrAADyjiMx3qO5ExHTDSKj5E63KVr8ZPVZ_5NM8pUse474_uD16KEjT9l0HJ0r5uttbFWPUsAObjGSfNFz_AlXdpZsfMnNVw7Q/s320/KeyStone+Tower+2011.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645722374360363570" /></a>
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<br /> Demo guru studying the Implosion soon to take place, very soon. In fact it is done.josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-6995179769651509212011-08-27T15:24:00.003-10:002011-08-27T15:36:41.836-10:00Color Infra Red Photo Taken 1986<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFBa6vI_OnsJ3eB543fFnmuE9K9SxJsNnfHqCP7t-R1AVbVnjaX_0_5mp6HS-suAVArxhgHX3-F8HJNPeD-GcDhvQC0SGDFZCy1kNqzh6y4TWUgSxvAHhkf4nbSBbWU_kL-PL8Q/s1600/Honda.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFBa6vI_OnsJ3eB543fFnmuE9K9SxJsNnfHqCP7t-R1AVbVnjaX_0_5mp6HS-suAVArxhgHX3-F8HJNPeD-GcDhvQC0SGDFZCy1kNqzh6y4TWUgSxvAHhkf4nbSBbWU_kL-PL8Q/s320/Honda.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645713105231389506" /></a>
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<br /> Photo taken on North Meridian street across the street from what was Shortridge High school.Deep red filter and color infra red film, before I thought digital was in the near future...Kinda lost interest in special effects, just to easy.
<br />josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-75211994194074917972010-02-01T16:58:00.005-10:002010-02-01T17:18:07.936-10:00Dang those phoenix'ses...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk3AVstdq18MBdB3h-QJ6uRRFDc9QzAGiC-i1eEyZiVT0I4SU1FIA5T-yM8d4G0RFu1DGzt3qMeFEy57bKdC_9sNOJDwNH6s6fvKvSwOGQMGMSZ5SIweDgu6eRYZ0GD6gdW-HYAQ/s1600-h/burton2.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 174px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk3AVstdq18MBdB3h-QJ6uRRFDc9QzAGiC-i1eEyZiVT0I4SU1FIA5T-yM8d4G0RFu1DGzt3qMeFEy57bKdC_9sNOJDwNH6s6fvKvSwOGQMGMSZ5SIweDgu6eRYZ0GD6gdW-HYAQ/s320/burton2.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433476925880942098" /></a><br /><br /><br /> I have not blogged in a while so I am posting this just as a test.Flaws be it grammar, spellin', facts and if you recognize a tendency towards racing thoughts...You know its good ol' me. I am back, me being Josh often mistaken for Sir Richard Burton. (Not the actor but the many language knowing, adventure guy".) Peace and beer be wid ya JWjosh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-83975514202703675302009-11-24T17:27:00.005-10:002009-11-24T17:53:43.001-10:00Sleeping behind the wheel and other tall tales<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizhpDE5tkRTRnI71KR7rD-FDh5-6ilg85fu3rd7f5gQPRwW-gLtiNS2zjpWtPJIUjdE4ayO8LBjil-ym0znfvje1JmRAzdIQ-TPEFqR7__qY5eSrlW3Q6nx3RFE4LjVsLD1_p6Dw/s1600/DSCN0651.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizhpDE5tkRTRnI71KR7rD-FDh5-6ilg85fu3rd7f5gQPRwW-gLtiNS2zjpWtPJIUjdE4ayO8LBjil-ym0znfvje1JmRAzdIQ-TPEFqR7__qY5eSrlW3Q6nx3RFE4LjVsLD1_p6Dw/s320/DSCN0651.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407878916990418962" /></a><br /><br /><br />I have been absent from blogger for awhile now.I spent about a year editing the blog, loosing interest because of a serial nuisance who felt compelled to comment negatively and with gusto about any post or comment.I copied and pasted long posts to bore the poor fool...I then realized I could have been copying and pasting my own posts, and so it goes. The lunatic is on the grass. I move on, shaking off the dust,throwing dog treats to the rabid few, and always with comment moderator to keep me company. Peace Trails JWjosh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-74995464110808962082009-05-08T17:58:00.001-10:002009-05-08T17:58:38.777-10:00I got nuthin' Its all Roscoe...Location: Arkansas<br /><br />Stood still on a highway. I saw a woman by the side of the road with a face that I knew like my own, reflected in my window. Well she walked up to my quarter light and she bent down real slow. A fearful pressure paralyzed me in my shadow. She said, "Son, what are you doing here... My fear for you has turned me in my grave." I said "Mama I come to the valley of the rich... Myself to sell." She said, "Son, this is the road to Hell. " - Chris Rea<br /><br />The road with a chimpanzee and a 300-pound carnival ride operator, conversation of an intellectual nature expired 400 miles earlier. Tater shakes the TV Guide and points to Larry King who will interview Janet Reno. Freak Show's response is enthusiastically oppositional. The Man Show will host a Wet T-shirt contest. When we bivouac for the night and align the satellite dish, I'll cast the deciding vote. Prey we spy Janet Reno in a wet T-shirt contest.<br /><br />Strange and amazing places like Bald Knob, Beaver, Dogpatch and Toad Suck are called home in Arkansas and thrill my traveling companions. The two-story out house at the Booger Hollow Trading Post, along Scenic 7 Byway, in Dover creates quite a splash. (Rivaled by Bell Plaine, Minnesota; Gays, Illinois; and Phelps, NY all home to the world's one and only.) At Fouke/ Texarkana, you hear the tail of the Boggy Creek Monster. My pilgrimage follows Robert Johnson, master of the blues. Written in song and legend, we make for the junction of 49 & 61 near Helena. "It is the Crossroads to Eternity." accounts Willie Coffee, Johnson's life long friend.<br /><br />Night fell and time to eat. To make up for the TV show commotion, Freak Show wanted to treat us to dinner. He knew of a great truck stop. We topped a hill in the full moon light to come upon the Moldy Dumpster Slop & Fuel. On a good day it could be described as a roach house - a shack with a half operational neon sign buzzing and popping away in the parking lot. Freak Show rubbed his hands together and assured us that it would be great. As we entered the fly covered screen door, Freak was welcomed with hardy handshakes and pats on the back. "Come on in, we're monkey friendly!." Show commented on how the area had changed. They replied, "When they closed down the slaughterhouse, the neighborhood turned to crap."<br /><br />After a nice visit and a Chili Bucket with Mushrooms, it was time to hit the road. Show offered to take over my driving duties.<br /><br />It might have been 20 minutes later. Who knows? An odor wretched from the belly of Hell enveloped the camper in a green/yellow mist. My vision blurred as the caravan shook violently. I yelled to our pilot, "Be careful! You're going off the road!" He responded, "Which side!" Within the cyclone, I felt like I would purge my gut. We stopped and as I extricated myself from under the dashboard, I looked at Freak Show. His eyes blazed ruby red. His beard moved, entwined by reptiles. In a voice unheard before he growled, "Your soul to become the best rider of all."<br /><br />I'll pass. I'll shoot for mediocrity and take my chances. Besides that, the chili was lousy. Quit screwing around!" The demon looked past me to the chimp. "How about you?" Tater convulsed.A horrific screech burst forth, the wind swirled. . . silence.<br /><br />posted by Roscoe @ 8:26 PM 14 comments<br />Sunday, January 15, 2006<br />Its time to go.<br /><br />At 8:10 PM EST US, January 15, 2006 I determined that my blog name, Roscoe, was used to comment maliciously on other blog sites. In recent weeks I’ve seen many bloggers attacked unfairly or maligned for apparent sport; a chance one takes when you present yourself to the public. I extend my apologies to anyone harmed.<br /><br />My intent with Roscoe Stuff was, for fun, to re-post stories of a character’s adventures, originally written for a website which in part promoted motorcycle safety to kids. Anonymous posters then inferred that this blog was part of the My Mule blog. It is not. Josh is a long time friend who encouraged me to start writing again.<br /><br />For now, to all who were encouraging, Thank you.<br /><br />posted by Roscoe @ 10:17 PM 12 comments<br />Sunday, January 01, 2006<br />Location: Observation<br /><br />The wheels of justice roll slowly and the alignment is off. Freak Show's plea-bargaining abilities did not rise to my expectations. The jailhouse shrink report carried more weight than I anticipated. One condition to my release was to participate in a court-ordered observation period of 72 hours. Afterwards, I would spend a minimum of two weeks in group therapy at the city's finest Nut-bin. I would find my inner feelings looking at inkblots and answering questions like "Aren't you afraid to touch doorknobs?" I'd seen it before. In my family, interventions happen at Christmas when everybody gathers to tell you how you’re screwing up . . . Good times.<br /><br />It is uncomfortable learning your "doctor" is straight out of school. Doc tripped over his feet fumbling with a clipboard. He described the battery of tests I would take in the next three days and quipped, "I hope you stick around. We hate to tell the court that you were not cooperative." I replied that I was not Harvey Mushman and this was not "The Great Escape ". The young fellow scribbled notes and asked, "Who is Harvey Mushman?" Sensing this was test number one I told Doc that racing motorcycles was more than a gimmick to Steve McQueen. He was a serious motorcycle racer who often registered as Mushman because he did not want to draw attention to himself. With a bewildered look and a shoulder shrug, my newly graduated, smart as a whip, wet behind the ears Doctor asked, "Who is Steve McQueen?" . . . I was in trouble.<br /><br />Things were not going well. The staff would congregate at my door and whisper. Internal resentment festered - that monkey put me here. One nurse understood my frustration and extended an understanding hand. Her advice . . ."Don't fight the medication." Then I remembered a quote by William Jefferson Clinton . . . "If you find yourself in a big hole, stop digging." I had to agree with the hippie. I kept my stories quiet, took their tests, and told them what they wanted to hear. I had fun the next couple of days finger painting but I kind of missed Tater, Leelee and our adventures. Visiting day arrived. Freak and Tater showed, bringing gifts. Doc saw the bonafied monkey and released me to Gen-Pop, a whole new world and a whole bunch of new friends. With a bare-assed hospital gown and a restored sense of freedom, I was ready for Gen-Pop.<br /><br />The journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step. . . In my case, twelve steps and a pair of pants. Twelve step programmers are natural moochers. Most anonymous support groups take the alcoholic steps, remove the word alcohol, and insert the habit necessary. Alcoholics, Sexaholics, Gamblers, Food Addicts, and Cocaine users jump in. There is a support group for you. In Gen-Pop, the first thing you do is sign up for the Substance Abusers Softball League. It is supposed to introduce you to the rest of the gang and their problems. No bats or ball, just a bunch of crazies standing in the yard screaming "Hey Batter, Swing!" Al Unser said Robert Downey was last year's MVP. Not THE Al Unser, this Al was a 6 ft. Jamaican and his racecar was, in fact, an old office chair. Man, could he hot lap the bases.<br /><br />Time flies when you are on behavioral modifiers. During my stay I wondered how to make twelve steps work. "1.We admitted we were powerless over alcohol-that our lives had become unmanageable." Okay, I admit I am powerless over monkeys -that our lives had become unmanageable. "10.Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.". I have three motorcycles and a monkey. I was wrong about the monkey. The rest of the steps rely on God for help. While God might have made both man and monkey, history shows you don't mix monkeys with religion. It didn't work for Darwin.josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-46323487660225814162009-03-25T12:34:00.002-10:002009-03-25T12:42:02.804-10:00The Salton Sea<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYsRiWaUk35GAV6llU62fB0SoPAK8Cv4NdW8q8drTCfJhGLMek2jlLE8SqF4zkqkUI2HX4AdPooh1W_tDbsWRxcMFrYMB8Oj87ChJG-IU9Dt9uJJChdhpfrNyjFOXQhNZFlGZkSg/s1600-h/DSCN2489.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYsRiWaUk35GAV6llU62fB0SoPAK8Cv4NdW8q8drTCfJhGLMek2jlLE8SqF4zkqkUI2HX4AdPooh1W_tDbsWRxcMFrYMB8Oj87ChJG-IU9Dt9uJJChdhpfrNyjFOXQhNZFlGZkSg/s320/DSCN2489.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317258695340098562" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS-XF73wGy2jsoDYwwNoyQ7nadT7f_Ee2Y1OPGTJNIAGGsnNTrpjvgCxkvNEj-qNWHZDLgKPIt-8YHaOPYEo7bEUUc_BLiaJCeN_egPigVdgPUicfAervPjc-t2XOXzm83xn9xEw/s1600-h/DSCN2466.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS-XF73wGy2jsoDYwwNoyQ7nadT7f_Ee2Y1OPGTJNIAGGsnNTrpjvgCxkvNEj-qNWHZDLgKPIt-8YHaOPYEo7bEUUc_BLiaJCeN_egPigVdgPUicfAervPjc-t2XOXzm83xn9xEw/s320/DSCN2466.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317258687596662770" /></a><br />The Salton Sea is a saline lake, occupying the lowest elevations of the Salton Sink, part of the larger Colorado Desert in Southern California, USA, north of the Imperial Valley. The salinity of the lake is about 44,000 mg/L, greater than ocean water but less than the Great Salt Lake; the salinity is increasing by about 1% annually.[1] The lake covers a surface area of approximately 376 square miles (974 km²), the largest in California. While it varies in dimensions and area with changes in agricultural runoff and rain, it averages 15 by 35 miles (24 by 56 km), with a maximum depth of 51 feet (15.5 m), giving a total volume of about 7.5 million acre-feet (9.3 km³). Sea inflow averages 1.36 million acre-feet per year (53.2 m³/s).<br /><br />The Salton Sea falls within both Riverside County and Imperial County. Like Death Valley, it is located below sea level, with the current surface of the Salton Sea at about 220 ft (65 m) below sea level. The deepest area of the sea is 5 feet (1.5m) higher than the lowest point of Death Valley. The sea is fed by the New, Whitewater, and Alamo rivers, as well as a number of minor agricultural drainage systems and creeks.josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-71564583188780300262009-01-11T16:39:00.004-10:002009-01-11T16:52:51.299-10:00Dakar in South America and The Breakfast of Champions!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-TN1hx0coPX9sdGz307clnruAtJaQkrk02iXaGx50lX7hI4vBhHO1Le8w1NculJTNLnEyhvM_jii3RLicmw-17Tz3VVoZspV8DgzyZ87n1vNGHBlbNrszhPYtdPjOyNiUOhQpRw/s1600-h/n693434717_870634_6136.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-TN1hx0coPX9sdGz307clnruAtJaQkrk02iXaGx50lX7hI4vBhHO1Le8w1NculJTNLnEyhvM_jii3RLicmw-17Tz3VVoZspV8DgzyZ87n1vNGHBlbNrszhPYtdPjOyNiUOhQpRw/s320/n693434717_870634_6136.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" /></a><br /><a href="http://http://www.sharetrails.org/breakfast-of-champions-2009/">Visit the <a href="http://www.sharetrails.org">Blue Ribbon Breakfast of Champions ISDE AUCTION!</a><br /></a><a href="http://www.dakar.com"><br />2009 Dakar Click for official site.</a><br /><br />Follow the race: The following was borrowed from the Official Dakar Website<br /><br />The Dakar spirit is found at the crossroads of several passions. Beyond being an impossible to avoid and unique event in the motor racing world, it is also a unique human experience. The rally’s history, the performance of some and the struggles of others, remind each of us that the Dakar is above all else a sentimental and emotional affair. The competitors are most attached to this dimension. This is what explains, for example, the survival of the idea of mutual aid within the caravan.<br /><br />A world class sporting competition<br /><br />More than a simple motor race, the Dakar requires off-road navigation capabilities and rock-solid consistency. In rally-raid, endurance is primordial; the least mistake can be costly. This mix of physical rigour and technical performance has been an attraction for champions from diverse horizons for nearly 30 years, all of whom desire to measure themselves and learn about this original event. Former WRC world champion, Ari Vatananen found the winning formula; Stéphane Peterhansel, who tried his hand at all sorts of exceptional challenges early in his career, became the uncontested expert of the event; world enduro champion, Cyril Despres has stepped onto the top step of the podium; world ski champion, Luc Alphand was a fast learner of the desert; American NASCAR stand out, Robby Gordon, the king of ice racing in another life, Yvan Muller, Carlos Sainz and now Carole Montillet or Guerlain Chicherit have also turned towards the ultimate goal: win the Dakar.<br /><br />A human experience apart<br /><br />Like the mountains or the oceans, wide-open spaces inspire “adventurers”. Entering the Dakar is in some ways like climbing your own Everest, complete your sailing or rowing around the world trip. The finish podium represents an extraordinary challenge; sometimes it’s a life’s challenge.<br /><br />Beyond the standings, all the competitors are motivated by this tenacious desire, this nearly insane dream. Whether they are motorcycle riders or drivers in cars or trucks, they share this ambition, a feeling that nears. The tradition of mutual-aid, the buzz word that is a pillar of the “Dakar spirit”, born from this shared passion. No matter their origins, they all speak the same language.<br /><br />An international nomad event<br /><br />Born in Africa where its legend was created, the Dakar is by nature attracted towards the unknown. The discovery of territories, one of the event’s reasons to be, now pushes the Dakar to head in new directions. The Sahara fascinated the competitors for nearly 30 years and in the future will, once again, become a regular meeting point. For now, it is the conquest of other continents that the Dakar seeks with the desire to surprise intact. The Dakar has always been an international nomad event. It is based on the need for exchange and on its competitors’ capacity of openness. They all have the desire to explore the deserts of the world.josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-50070153420508248072009-01-10T16:56:00.002-10:002009-01-10T17:00:16.163-10:00Problem Solved all that is Missing is the Mission.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4pLzBCHtrVAgFjECMBAa5Z8S4HNxG8nYe8d4y5mNqe3DL7OmvkNMR2fQBAwapGwfLo5IxlDema7M2Nj5EIxVxpQVLWiy4Jp4crDaMkZ5exEdaatR9qdDV2Dad0MpxDL2szEwAsA/s1600-h/page41.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4pLzBCHtrVAgFjECMBAa5Z8S4HNxG8nYe8d4y5mNqe3DL7OmvkNMR2fQBAwapGwfLo5IxlDema7M2Nj5EIxVxpQVLWiy4Jp4crDaMkZ5exEdaatR9qdDV2Dad0MpxDL2szEwAsA/s320/page41.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289865402480742194" /></a><br /> As a wee lad I knew they had us by the short hairs. However we the people allowed them to control the market and the environment. We do need to become independent from this madness, we created the madness, all we have to do is create alternatives. We had the Manhattan project, we beat the man to the moon, what we need is to pool our minds together and solve this political problem with a solution not an agenda.<br /><br />The 1973 oil crisis started on October 15, 1973, when the members of Organization of Arab Petroleum Exporting Countries or the OAPEC (consisting of the Arab members of OPEC plus Egypt and Syria) proclaimed an oil embargo "in response to the U.S. decision to re-supply the Israeli military during the Yom Kippur war."[1] OAPEC declared it would no longer ship oil to the United States and other countries if they supported Israel in the conflict. Independently, OPEC members agreed to use their leverage over the world price-setting mechanism for oil in order to stabilize their real incomes by raising world oil prices. This action followed several years of steep income declines after the end of Bretton Woods, as well as the recent failure of negotiations with the "Seven Sisters" earlier in the month.<br /><br />For the most part, industrialized economies relied on crude oil and OPEC was their predominant supplier. Because of the dramatic inflation experienced during this period, a popular economic theory has been that these price increases were to blame, as being suppressive of economic activity. However, the causality stated by this theory is often questioned.[2] The targeted countries responded with a wide variety of new, and mostly permanent, initiatives to contain their further dependency. The 1973 "oil price shock", along with the 1973–1974 stock market crash, have been regarded as the first event since the Great Depression to have a persistent economic effect.[3]josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-34478543545662130022009-01-07T19:29:00.000-10:002009-01-07T19:30:38.735-10:00Nick BostromThe Fable of the Dragon-Tyrant<br /><br />Nick Bostrom<br />Homepage: www.nickbostrom.com<br />Journal of Medical Ethics, 2005, Vol. 31, No. 5, pp 273-277<br /> <br /><br /> Once upon a time, the planet was tyrannized by a giant dragon. The dragon stood taller than the largest cathedral, and it was covered with thick black scales. Its red eyes glowed with hate, and from its terrible jaws flowed an incessant stream of evil-smelling yellowish-green slime. It demanded from humankind a blood-curdling tribute: to satisfy its enormous appetite, ten thousand men and women had to be delivered every evening at the onset of dark to the foot of the mountain where the dragon-tyrant lived. Sometimes the dragon would devour these unfortunate souls upon arrival; sometimes again it would lock them up in the mountain where they would wither away for months or years before eventually being consumed.<br /><br /> The misery inflicted by the dragon-tyrant was incalculable. In addition to the ten thousand who were gruesomely slaughtered each day, there were the mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, children, and friends that were left behind to grieve the loss of their departed loved ones.<br /><br /> Some people tried to fight the dragon, but whether they were brave or foolish was difficult to say. Priests and magicians called down curses, to no avail. Warriors, armed with roaring courage and the best weapons the smiths could produce, attacked it, but were incinerated by its fire before coming close enough to strike. Chemists concocted toxic brews and tricked the dragon into swallowing them, but the only apparent effect was to further stimulate its appetite. The dragon’s claws, jaws, and fire were so effective, its scaly armor so impregnable, and its whole nature so robust, as to make it invincible to any human assault.<br /><br /> Seeing that defeating the tyrant was impossible, humans had no choice but to obey its commands and pay the grisly tribute. The fatalities selected were always elders. Although senior people were as vigorous and healthy as the young, and sometimes wiser, the thinking was that they had at least already enjoyed a few decades of life. The wealthy might gain a brief reprieve by bribing the press gangs that came to fetch them; but, by constitutional law, nobody, not even the king himself, could put off their turn indefinitely.<br /><br /> Spiritual men sought to comfort those who were afraid of being eaten by the dragon (which included almost everyone, although many denied it in public) by promising another life after death, a life that would be free from the dragon-scourge. Other orators argued that the dragon has its place in the natural order and a moral right to be fed. They said that it was part of the very meaning of being human to end up in the dragon’s stomach. Others still maintained that the dragon was good for the human species because it kept the population size down. To what extent these arguments convinced the worried souls is not known. Most people tried to cope by not thinking about the grim end that awaited them.<br /><br /> For many centuries this desperate state of affairs continued. Nobody kept count any longer of the cumulative death toll, nor of the number of tears shed by the bereft. Expectations had gradually adjusted and the dragon-tyrant had become a fact of life. In view of the evident futility of resistance, attempts to kill the dragon had ceased. Instead, efforts now focused on placating it. While the dragon would occasionally raid the cities, it was found that the punctual delivery to the mountain of its quota of life reduced the frequency of these incursions.<br /><br /> Knowing that their turn to become dragon-fodder was always impending, people began having children earlier and more often. It was not uncommon for a girl to be pregnant by her sixteenth birthday. Couples often spawned a dozen children. The human population was thus kept from shrinking, and the dragon was kept from going hungry.<br /><br /> Over the course of these centuries, the dragon, being well fed, slowly but steadily grew bigger. It had become almost as large as the mountain on which it lived. And its appetite had increased proportionately. Ten thousand human bodies were no longer enough to fill its belly. It now demanded eighty thousand, to be delivered to the foot of the mountain every evening at the onset of dark.<br /><br /> What occupied the king’s mind more than the deaths and the dragon itself was the logistics of collecting and transporting so many people to the mountain every day. This was not an easy task.<br /><br /> To facilitate the process, the king had a railway track constructed: two straight lines of glistening steel leading up to the dragon’s abode. Every twenty minutes, a train would arrive at the mountain terminal crammed with people, and would return empty. On moonlit nights, the passengers traveling on this train, if there had been windows for them to stick their heads out of, would have been able to see in front of them the double silhouette of the dragon and the mountain, and two glowing red eyes, like the beams from a pair of giant lighthouses, pointing the way to annihilation.<br /><br /> Servants were employed by the king in large numbers to administer the tribute. There were registrars who kept track of whose turn it was to be sent. There were people-collectors who would be dispatched in special carts to fetch the designated people. Often traveling at breakneck speed, they would rush their cargo either to a railway station or directly to the mountain. There were clerks who administered the pensions paid to the decimated families who were no longer able to support themselves. There were comforters who would travel with the doomed on their way to the dragon, trying to ease their anguish with spirits and drugs.<br /><br /> There was, moreover, a cadre of dragonologists who studied how these logistic processes could be made more efficient. Some dragonologists also conducted studies of the dragon’s physiology and behavior, and collected samples – its shed scales, the slime that drooled from its jaws, its lost teeth, and its excrements, which were specked with fragments of human bone. All these items were painstakingly annotated and archived. The more the beast was understood, the more the general perception of its invincibility was confirmed. Its black scales, in particular, were harder than any material known to man, and there seemed no way to make as much as a scratch in its armor.<br /><br /> To finance all these activities, the king levied heavy taxes on his people. Dragon-related expenditures, already accounting for one seventh of the economy, were growing even faster than the dragon itself.<br /><br /> Humanity is a curious species. Every once in a while, somebody gets a good idea. Others copy the idea, adding to it their own improvements. Over time, many wondrous tools and systems are developed. Some of these devices – calculators, thermometers, microscopes, and the glass vials that the chemists use to boil and distil liquids – serve to make it easier to generate and try out new ideas, including ideas that expedite the process of idea-generation.<br /><br /> Thus the great wheel of invention, which had turned at an almost imperceptibly slow pace in the older ages, gradually began to accelerate.<br /><br /> Sages predicted that a day would come when technology would enable humans to fly and do many other astonishing things. One of the sages, who was held in high esteem by some of the other sages but whose eccentric manners had made him a social outcast and recluse, went so far as to predict that technology would eventually make it possible to build a contraption that could kill the dragon-tyrant.<br /><br /> The king’s scholars, however, dismissed these ideas. They said that humans were far too heavy to fly and in any case lacked feathers. And as for the impossible notion that the dragon-tyrant could be killed, history books recounted hundreds of attempts to do just that, not one of which had been successful. “We all know that this man had some irresponsible ideas,” a scholar of letters later wrote in his obituary of the reclusive sage who had by then been sent off to be devoured by the beast whose demise he had foretold, “but his writings were quite entertaining and perhaps we should be grateful to the dragon for making possible the interesting genre of dragon-bashing literature which reveals so much about the culture of angst!”<br /><br /> Meanwhile, the wheel of invention kept turning. Mere decades later, humans did fly and accomplished many other astonishing things.<br /><br /> A few iconoclastic dragonologists began arguing for a new attack on the dragon-tyrant. Killing the dragon would not be easy, they said, but if some material could be invented that was harder than the dragon’s armor, and if this material could be fashioned into some kind of projectile, then maybe the feat would be possible. At first, the iconoclasts’ ideas were rejected by their dragonologist peers on grounds that no known material was harder than dragon scales. But after working on the problem for many years, one of the iconoclasts succeeded in demonstrating that a dragon scale could be pierced by an object made of a certain composite material. Many dragonologists who had previously been skeptical now joined the iconoclasts. Engineers calculated that a huge projectile could be made of this material and launched with sufficient force to penetrate the dragon’s armor. However, the manufacture of the needed quantity of the composite material would be expensive.<br /><br /> A group of several eminent engineers and dragonologists sent a petition to the king asking for funding to build the anti-dragon projectile. At time when the petition was sent, the king was preoccupied with leading his army into war against a tiger. The tiger had killed a farmer and subsequently disappeared into the jungle. There was widespread fear in the countryside that the tiger might come out and strike again. The king had the jungle surrounded and ordered his troops to begin slashing their way through it. At the conclusion of the campaign, the king could announce that all 163 tigers in the jungle, including presumably the murderous one, had been hunted down and killed. During the tumult of the war, however, the petition had been lost or forgotten.<br /><br /> The petitioners therefore sent another appeal. This time they received a reply from one of the king’s secretaries saying that the king would consider their request after he was done reviewing the annual dragon-administration budget. This year’s budget was the largest to date and included funding for a new railway track to the mountain. A second track was deemed necessary, as the original track could no longer support the increasing traffic. (The tribute demanded by the dragon-tyrant had increased to one hundred thousand human beings, to be delivered to the foot of the mountain every evening at the onset of dark.) When the budget was finally approved, however, reports were coming from a remote part of the country that a village was suffering from a rattlesnake infestation. The king had to leave urgently to mobilize his army and ride off to defeat this new threat. The anti-dragonists’ appeal was filed away in a dusty cabinet in the castle basement.<br /><br /> The anti-dragonists met again to decide what was to be done. The debate was animated and continued long into the night. It was almost daybreak when they finally resolved to take the matter to the people. Over the following weeks, they traveled around the country, gave public lectures, and explained their proposal to anyone who would listen. At first, people were skeptical. They had been taught in school that the dragon-tyrant was invincible and that the sacrifices it demanded had to be accepted as a fact of life. Yet when they learnt about the new composite material and about the designs for the projectile, many became intrigued. In increasing numbers, citizens flocked to the anti-dragonist lectures. Activists started organizing public rallies in support of the proposal.<br /><br /> When the king read about these meetings in the newspaper, he summoned his advisors and asked them what they thought about it. They informed him about the petitions that had been sent but told him that the anti-dragonists were troublemakers whose teachings were causing public unrest. It was much better for the social order, they said, that the people accepted the inevitability of the dragon-tyrant tribute. The dragon-administration provided many jobs that would be lost if the dragon was slaughtered. There was no known social good coming from the conquest of the dragon. In any case, the king’s coffers were currently nearly empty after the two military campaigns and the funding set aside for the second railway line. The king, who was at the time enjoying great popularity for having vanquished the rattlesnake infestation, listened to his advisors’ arguments but worried that he might lose some of his popular support if was seen to ignore the anti-dragonist petition. He therefore decided to hold an open hearing. Leading dragonologists, ministers of the state, and interested members of the public were invited to attend.<br /><br /> The meeting took place on the darkest day of the year, just before the Christmas holidays, in the largest hall of the royal castle. The hall was packed to the last seat and people were crowding in the aisles. The mood was charged with an earnest intensity normally reserved for pivotal wartime sessions.<br /><br /> After the king had welcomed everyone, he gave the floor to the leading scientist behind the anti-dragonist proposal, a woman with a serious, almost stern expression on her face. She proceeded to explain in clear language how the proposed device would work and how the requisite amount of the composite material could be manufactured. Given the requested amount of funding, it should be possible to complete the work in fifteen to twenty years. With an even greater amount of funding, it might be possible to do it in as little as twelve years. However, there could be no absolute guarantee that it would work. The crowd followed her presentation intently.<br /><br /> Next to speak was the king’s chief advisor for morality, a man with a booming voice that easily filled the auditorium:<br /><br /> “Let us grant that this woman is correct about the science and that the project is technologically possible, although I don’t think that has actually been proven. Now she desires that we get rid of the dragon. Presumably, she thinks she’s got the right not to be chewed up by the dragon. How willful and presumptuous. The finitude of human life is a blessing for every individual, whether he knows it or not. Getting rid of the dragon, which might seem like such a convenient thing to do, would undermine our human dignity. The preoccupation with killing the dragon will deflect us from realizing more fully the aspirations to which our lives naturally point, from living well rather than merely staying alive. It is debasing, yes debasing, for a person to want to continue his or her mediocre life for as long as possible without worrying about some of the higher questions about what life is to be used for. But I tell you, the nature of the dragon is to eat humans, and our own species-specified nature is truly and nobly fulfilled only by getting eaten by it...”<br /><br /> The audience listened respectfully to this highly decorated speaker. The phrases were so eloquent that it was hard to resist the feeling that some deep thoughts must lurk behind them, although nobody could quite grasp what they were. Surely, words coming from such a distinguished appointee of the king must have profound substance.<br /><br /> The speaker next in line was a spiritual sage who was widely respected for his kindness and gentleness as well as for his devotion. As he strode to the podium, a small boy yelled out from the audience: “The dragon is bad!”<br /><br /> The boy’s parents turned bright red and began hushing and scolding the child. But the sage said, “Let the boy speak. He is probably wiser than an old fool like me.”<br /><br /> At first, the boy was too scared and confused to move. But when he saw the genuinely friendly smile on the sage’s face and the outreached hand, he obediently took it and followed the sage up to the podium. “Now, there’s a brave little man,” said the sage. “Are you afraid of the dragon?“<br /><br /> “I want my granny back,” said the boy.<br /><br /> “Did the dragon take your granny away?”<br /><br /> “Yes,” the boy said, tears welling up in his large frightened eyes. “Granny promised that she would teach me how to bake gingerbread cookies for Christmas. She said that we would make a little house out of gingerbread and little gingerbread men that would live in it. Then those people in white clothes came and took Granny away to the dragon... The dragon is bad and it eats people… I want my Granny back!”<br /><br /> At this point the child was crying so hard that the sage had to return him to his parents.<br /><br /> There were several other speakers that evening, but the child’s simple testimony had punctured the rhetorical balloon that the king’s ministers had tried to inflate. The people were backing the anti-dragonists, and by the end of the evening even the king had come to recognize the reason and the humanity of their cause. In his closing statement, he simply said: “Let’s do it!”<br /><br /> As the news spread, celebrations erupted in the streets. Those who had been campaigning for the anti-dragonists toasted each other and drank to the future of humanity.<br /><br /> The next morning, a billion people woke up and realized that their turn to be sent to the dragon would come before the projectile would be completed. A tipping point was reached. Whereas before, active support for the anti-dragonist cause had been limited to a small group of visionaries, it now became the number one priority and concern on everybody’s mind. The abstract notion of “the general will” took on an almost tangible intensity and concreteness. Mass rallies raised money for the projectile project and urged the king to increase the level of state support. The king responded to these appeals. In his New Year address, he announced that he would pass an extra appropriations bill to support the project at a high level of funding; additionally, he would sell off his summer castle and some of his land and make a large personal donation. “I believe that this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of freeing the world from the ancient scourge of the dragon-tyrant.”<br /><br /> Thus started a great technological race against time. The concept of an anti-dragon projectile was simple, but to make it a reality required solutions to a thousand smaller technical problems, each of which required dozens of time-consuming steps and missteps. Test-missiles were fired but fell dead to the ground or flew off in the wrong direction. In one tragic accident, a wayward missile landed on a hospital and killed several hundred patients and staff. But there was now a real seriousness of purpose, and the tests continued even as the corpses were being dug out from the debris.<br /><br /> Despite almost unlimited funding and round-the-clock work by the technicians, the king’s deadline could not be met. The decade concluded and the dragon was still alive and well. But the effort was getting closer. A prototype missile had been successfully test fired. Production of the core, made of the expensive composite material, was on schedule for its completion to coincide with the finishing of the fully tested and debugged missile shell into which it was to be loaded. The launch date was set to the following year’s New Year’s Eve, exactly twelve years after the project’s official inauguration. The best-selling Christmas gift that year was a calendar that counted down the days to time zero, the proceeds going to the projectile project.<br /><br /> The king had undergone a personal transformation from his earlier frivolous and thoughtless self. He now spent as much time as he could in the laboratories and the manufacturing plants, encouraging the workers and praising their toil. Sometimes he would bring a sleeping bag and spend the night on a noisy machine floor. He even studied and tried to understand the technical aspects of their work. Yet he confined himself to giving moral support and refrained from meddling in technical and managerial matters.<br /><br /> Seven days before New Year, the woman who had made the case for the project almost twelve years earlier, and was now its chief executive, came to the royal castle and requested an urgent audience with the king. When the king got her note, he excused himself to the foreign dignitaries whom he was reluctantly entertaining at the annual Christmas dinner and hurried off to the private room where the scientist was waiting. As always of late, she looked pale and worn from her long working hours. This evening, however, the king also thought he could detect a ray of relief and satisfaction in her eyes.<br /><br /> She told him that the missile had been deployed, the core had been loaded, everything had been triple-checked, they were ready to launch, and would the king give his final go-ahead. The king sank down in an armchair and closed his eyes. He was thinking hard. By launching the projectile tonight, one week early, seven hundred thousand people would be saved. Yet if something went wrong, if it missed its target and hit the mountain instead, it would be a disaster. A new core would have to be constructed from scratch and the project would be set back by some four years. He sat there, silently, for almost an hour. Just as the scientist had become convinced that he had fallen asleep, he opened his eyes and said in a firm voice: “No. I want you to go right back to the lab. I want you to check and then re-check everything again.” The scientist could not help a sigh escaping her; but she nodded and left.<br /><br /> The last day of the year was cold and overcast, but there was no wind, which meant good launch conditions. The sun was setting. Technicians were scuttling around making the final adjustments and giving everything one last check. The king and his closest advisors were observing from a platform close to the launch pad. Further away, behind a fence, large numbers of the public had assembled to witness the great event. A large clock was showing the countdown: fifty minutes to go.<br /><br /> An advisor tapped the king on the shoulder and drew his attention to the fence. There was some tumult. Somebody had apparently jumped the fence and was running towards the platform where the king sat. Security quickly caught up with him. He was handcuffed and taken away. The king turned his attention back to the launch pad, and to the mountain in the background. In front of it, he could see the dark slumped profile of the dragon. It was eating.<br /><br /> Some twenty minutes later, the king was surprised to see the handcuffed man reappearing a short distance from the platform. His nose was bleeding and he was accompanied by two security guards. The man appeared to be in frenzied state. When he spotted the king, he began shouting at the top of his lungs: “The last train! The last train! Stop the last train!”<br /><br /> “Who is this young man?” said the king. “His face seems familiar, but I cannot quite place him. What does he want? Let him come up.”<br /><br /> The young man was a junior clerk in the ministry of transportation, and the reason for his frenzy was that he had discovered that his father was on the last train to the mountain. The king had ordered the train traffic to continue, fearing that any disruption might cause the dragon to stir and leave the open field in front of the mountain where it now spent most of its time. The young man begged the king to issue a recall-order for the last train, which was due to arrive at the mountain terminal five minutes before time zero.<br /><br /> “I cannot do it,” said the king, “I cannot take the risk.”<br /><br /> “But the trains frequently run five minutes late. The dragon won’t notice! Please!”<br /><br /> The young man was kneeling before the king, imploring him to save his father’s life and the lives of the other thousand passengers onboard that last train.<br /><br /> The king looked down at the pleading, bloodied face of the young man. But he bit his lip, and shook his head. The young man continued to wail even as the guards carried him off the platform: “Please! Stop the last train! Please!”<br /><br /> The king stood silent and motionless, until, after while, the wailing suddenly ceased. The king looked up and glanced over at the countdown clock: five minutes remaining.<br /><br /> Four minutes. Three minutes. Two minutes.<br /><br /> The last technician left the launch pad.<br /><br /> 30 seconds. 20 seconds. Ten, nine, eight…<br /><br /> As a ball of fire enveloped the launch pad and the missile shot out, the spectators instinctively rose to the tips of their toes, and all eyes fixated at the front end of the white flame from the rocket’s afterburners heading towards the distant mountain. The masses, the king, the low and the high, the young and the old, it was as if at this moment they shared a single awareness, a single conscious experience: that white flame, shooting into the dark, embodying the human spirit, its fear and its hope… striking at the heart of evil. The silhouette on the horizon tumbled, and fell. Thousand voices of pure joy rose from the assembled masses, joined seconds later by a deafening drawn-out thud from the collapsing monster as if the Earth itself was drawing a sigh of relief. After centuries of oppression, humanity at last was free from the cruel tyranny of the dragon.<br /><br /> The joy cry resolved into a jubilating chant: “Long live the king! Long live us all!” The king’s advisors, like everybody that night, were as happy as children; they embraced each other and congratulated the king: “We did it! We did it!”<br /><br /> But the king answered in a broken voice: “Yes, we did it, we killed the dragon today. But damn, why did we start so late? This could have been done five, maybe ten years ago! Millions of people wouldn’t have had to die.”<br /><br /> The king stepped off the platform and walked up to the young man in handcuffs, who was sitting on the ground. There he fell down on his knees. “Forgive me! Oh my God, please forgive me!”<br /><br /> The rain started falling, in large, heavy drops, turning the ground into mud, drenching the king’s purple robes, and dissolving the blood on the young man’s face. “I am so very sorry about your father,” said the king.<br /><br /> “It’s not your fault,” replied the young man. “Do you remember twelve years ago in the castle? That crying little boy who wanted you to bring back his grandmother – that was me. I didn’t realize then that you couldn’t possibly do what I asked for. Today I wanted you to save my father. Yet it was impossible to do that now, without jeopardizing the launch. But you have saved my life, and my mother and my sister. How can we ever thank you enough for that?”<br /><br /> “Listen to them,” said the king, gesturing towards the crowds. “They are cheering me for what happened tonight. But the hero is you. You cried out. You rallied us against evil.” The king signaled a guard to come and unlock the handcuffs. “Now, go to your mother and sister. You and your family shall always be welcome at the court, and anything you wish for – if it be within my power – shall be granted.”<br /><br /> The young man left, and the royal entourage, huddling in the downpour, accumulated around their monarch who was still kneeling in the mud. Amongst the fancy couture, which was being increasingly ruined by the rain, a bunch of powdered faces expressed a superposition of joy, relief, and discombobulation. So much had changed in the last hour: the right to an open future had been regained, a primordial fear had been abolished, and many a long-held assumption had been overturned. Unsure now about what was required of them in this unfamiliar situation, they stood there tentatively, as if probing whether the ground would still hold, exchanging glances, and waiting for some kind of indication.<br /><br /> Finally, the king rose, wiping his hands on the sides of his pants.<br /><br /> “Your majesty, what do we do now?” ventured the most senior courtier.<br /><br /> “My dear friends,” said the king, “we have come a long way… yet our journey has only just begun. Our species is young on this planet. Today we are like children again. The future lies open before us. We shall go into this future and try to do better than we have done in the past. We have time now – time to get things right, time to grow up, time to learn from our mistakes, time for the slow process of building a better world, and time to get settled in it. Tonight, let all the bells in the kingdom ring until midnight, in remembrance of our dead forbears, and then after midnight let us celebrate till the sun comes up. And in the coming days… I believe we have some reorganization to do!”<br /><br /> <br /><br /> * * *<br /><br /> <br /> MORAL<br /><br /> Stories about aging have traditionally focused on the need for graceful accommodation. The recommended solution to diminishing vigor and impending death was resignation coupled with an effort to achieve closure in practical affairs and personal relationships. Given that nothing could be done to prevent or retard aging, this focus made sense. Rather than fretting about the inevitable, one could aim for peace of mind.<br /><br /> Today we face a different situation. While we still lack effective and acceptable means for slowing the aging process[1], we can identify research directions that might lead to the development of such means in the foreseeable future. “Deathist” stories and ideologies, which counsel passive acceptance, are no longer harmless sources of consolation. They are fatal barriers to urgently needed action.<br /><br /> Many distinguished technologists and scientists tell us that it will become possible to retard, and eventually to halt and reverse, human senescence.[2] At present, there is little agreement about the time-scale or the specific means, nor is there a consensus that the goal is even achievable in principle. In relation to the fable (where aging is, of course, represented by the dragon), we are therefore at a stage somewhere between that at which the lone sage predicted the dragon’s eventual demise and that at which the iconoclast dragonologists convinced their peers by demonstrating a composite material that was harder than dragon scales.<br /><br /> The ethical argument that the fable presents is simple: There are obvious and compelling moral reasons for the people in the fable to get rid of the dragon. Our situation with regard to human senescence is closely analogous and ethically isomorphic to the situation of the people in the fable with regard to the dragon. Therefore, we have compelling moral reasons to get rid of human senescence.<br /><br /> The argument is not in favor or life-span extension per se. Adding extra years of sickness and debility at the end of life would be pointless. The argument is in favor of extending, as far as possible, the human health-span. By slowing or halting the aging process, the healthy human life span would be extended. Individuals would be able to remain healthy, vigorous, and productive at ages at which they would otherwise be dead.<br /><br /> In addition to this general moral, there are a number of more specific lessons:<br /><br /> (1) A recurrent tragedy became a fact of life, a statistic. In the fable, people’s expectations adapted to the existence of the dragon, to the extent that many became unable to perceive its badness. Aging, too, has become a mere “fact of life” – despite being the principal cause of an unfathomable amount of human suffering and death.<br /><br /> (2) A static view of technology. People reasoned that it would never become possible to kill the dragon because all attempts had failed in the past. They failed to take into account accelerated technological progress. Is a similar mistake leading us to underestimate the chances of a cure for aging?<br /><br /> (3) Administration became its own purpose. One seventh of the economy went to dragon-administration (which is also the fraction of its GDP that the U.S. spends on healthcare). Damage-limitation became such an exclusive focus that it made people neglect the underlying cause. Instead of a massive publicly-funded research program to halt aging, we spend almost our entire health budget on health-care and on researching individual diseases.<br /><br /> (4) The social good became detached from the good for people. The king’s advisors worried about the possible social problems that could be caused by the anti-dragonists. They said that no known social good would come from the demise of the dragon. Ultimately, however, social orders exist for the benefit of people, and it is generally good for people if their lives are saved.<br /><br /> (5) The lack of a sense of proportion. A tiger killed a farmer. A rhumba of rattlesnakes plagued a village. The king got rid of the tiger and the rattlesnakes, and thereby did his people a service. Yet he was at fault, because he got his priorities wrong.<br /><br /> (6) Fine phrases and hollow rhetoric. The king’s morality advisor spoke eloquently about human dignity and our species-specified nature, in phrases lifted, mostly verbatim, from the advisor’s contemporary equivalents.[3] Yet the rhetoric was a smoke screen that hid rather than revealed moral reality. The boy’s inarticulate but honest testimony, by contrast, points to the central fact of the case: the dragon is bad; it destroys people. This is also the basic truth about human senescence.<br /><br /> (7) Failure to appreciate the urgency. Until very late in the story, nobody fully realized what was at stake. Only as the king was staring into the bloodied face of the young pleading man does the extent of the tragedy sink in. Searching for a cure for aging is not just a nice thing that we should perhaps one day get around to. It is an urgent, screaming moral imperative. The sooner we start a focused research program, the sooner we will get results. It matters if we get the cure in 25 years rather than in 24 years: a population greater than that of Canada would die as a result. In this matter, time equals life, at a rate of approximately 70 lives per minute. With the meter ticking at such a furious rate, we should stop faffing about.<br /><br /> (8) “And in the coming days… I believe we have some reorganization to do!” The king and his people will face some major challenges when they recover from their celebration. Their society has been so conditioned and deformed by the presence of the dragon that a frightening void now exists. They will have to work creatively, on both an individual and a societal level, to develop conditions that will keep lives flourishingly dynamic and meaningful beyond the accustomed three-score-years-and-ten. Luckily, the human spirit is good at adapting. Another issue that they may eventually confront is overpopulation. Maybe people will have to learn to have children later and less frequently. Maybe they can find ways to sustain a larger population by using more efficient technology. Maybe they will one day develop spaceships and begin to colonize the cosmos. We can leave, for now, the long-lived fable people to grapple with these new challenges, while we try to make some progress in our own adventure.[4]<br /><br /> <br /><br /> How You can help<br /><br /> 1. Spread the word. If you have a website or a blog, please consider linking to this page. Share your thoughts with friends and colleagues. Write letters to editors to comment on newspaper coverage of prolongevity. Challenge snide and shortsighted remarks about aging when appropriate. Make some noise.<br /><br /> 2. Organize. If you are active in some organization (e.g. a political party, a religious community, a professional society), consider if there is any way that you could build support within that organization for extended healthy lifespan and the research needed to achieve it.<br /><br /> 3. Give. Consider donating to the Methuselah Mouse Prize. This is a prize for extending the remaining lifespan of middle-aged mice. Science prizes have a strong track record of stimulating achievement. A clear success in mouse would pave the way for a larger program to translate the methods for human use.<br /><br /> 4. Take responsibility. If you are a major philanthropist, you have the opportunity to make a big difference. Likewise, if you are e.g. a journalist, an opinion leader, a government official, a scientific authority, or on the board of a major research foundation, you have special opportunities to exert influence, and, consequently, a special responsibility to show some initiative.<br /><br /> 5. Think creatively. Use your own your own brain to think about what would be the best way for you to contribute.<br /><br /><br /> [1] Calorie restriction (a diet low in calories but high in nutrients) extends maximal lifespan and delays the onset of age-related illnesses in all species that have been tested. Preliminary results from an ongoing study on rhesus and squirrel monkeys show similar effects. It seems quite likely that calorie restriction would work for our species too. Few humans, however, would be willing to put themselves through a lifelong hunger-diet. Some researchers are searching for calorie-restriction mimetics – compounds that elicit the desirable effects of lowered caloric intake without us having to go hungry. (See e.g. Lane, M. et al. (1999) “Nutritional modulation of aging in nonhuman primates,” J. Nutr. Health & Aging, 3(2): 69-76.)<br /><br /> [2] A recent straw poll at the 10th Congress of the International Association of Biomedical Gerontology revealed that the majority of the participants thought it either probable or “not improbable” that comprehensive functional rejuvenation of middle-aged mice would be possible within 10-20 years (de Grey, A. (2004), “Report of open discussion on the future of life extension research,” (Annals NY Acad. Sci., 1019, in press)). See also e.g. de Grey, A., B. Ames, et al. (2002) “Time to talk SENS: critiquing the immutability of human aging,” Increasing Healthy Life Span: Conventional Measures and Slowing the Innate Aging Process: Ninth Congress of the International Association of Biomedical Gerontology, ed. D. Harman (Annals NY Acad. Sci. 959: 452-462); and Freitas Jr., R. A., Nanomedicine, Vol. 1 (Landes Bioscience: Georgetown, TX, 1999).<br /><br /> [3] See, e.g. Kass, L. (2003) “Ageless Bodies, Happy Souls: Biotechnology and the Pursuit of Perfection,” The New Atlantis, 1.<br /> [4] I’m grateful to many people for comments on earlier drafts, including especially Heather Bradshaw, Roger Crisp, Aubrey de Grey, Katrien Devolder, Joel Garreau, John Harris, Andrea Landfried, Toby Ord, Susan Rogers, Julian Savulescu, Ian Watson, and Kip Werking. I am also very grateful to Adi Berman, Pierino Forno, Didier Coeurnelle, and others who have translated the fable into other languages, and everybody who has helped spread the word or who have given encouragement. Thank you!josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-44377389869667483432009-01-04T17:20:00.005-10:002009-01-04T17:31:09.032-10:00Samuel Johnson and Big Olde Words<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiENDzU52RZI8hfJ-MWH42RGLTdsXVDqzr2WIPZjZsvjiwWf9f0ACutzsUtso91jwP2CQ_kEV4yb5feByfmPQzzRe56b7U62s0auBq8__XhpjJUM4had42xi0aNIx9mb_rswNhMCA/s1600-h/DSCN1743.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiENDzU52RZI8hfJ-MWH42RGLTdsXVDqzr2WIPZjZsvjiwWf9f0ACutzsUtso91jwP2CQ_kEV4yb5feByfmPQzzRe56b7U62s0auBq8__XhpjJUM4had42xi0aNIx9mb_rswNhMCA/s320/DSCN1743.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287644699769577922" /></a><br />Fardel: A bundle; a little pack.<br /><br />Let us to the king: there is that in this fardel will make him scratch his beard.<br /> From Shakespeare's Winters Tale<br /><br /> When visiting family and friends and family for a party I bring a fardel, just enough to skate.<br />JW<br /><br />Back in the day they really used colons and semi-colons I have noticed. But today we are so afraid of proper grammar that we are required after a certain age to undergo colostomy's to prevent the condition of over punctuating. So I propose, what may seem to some a radical theory but hard to contest. Over punctuating will lead to what some would phrase as "eventual death." Perhaps this is a breakthrough in the language arts, not to mention hard core science, maybe I am onto something...I feel it prudent to wear all my moto gear for the next few days because I suspect all sorts of grants (my money is on the MacArthur) will be falling out of the sky when this word of the day is published.<br /> Trust me I will share, you all helped me reach this level of excellence. JWjosh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-42026133399836403732008-12-30T17:21:00.007-10:002009-01-02T10:32:44.335-10:00Rarefied Words for the Well-Rounded Reader<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguxXysUKbf0zzEcqohd3HSu5q5j-Apu4EQxZ9ACOStacxGeIgz7lF04_eBy2uhQ_4NBxqjRgwzrWOTmy4CwJQ_kv39n_C4pykAhDdj82bZRrroTqltLNiQkLXpCH2y_3vQ_tcMcw/s1600-h/DSCN0342.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguxXysUKbf0zzEcqohd3HSu5q5j-Apu4EQxZ9ACOStacxGeIgz7lF04_eBy2uhQ_4NBxqjRgwzrWOTmy4CwJQ_kv39n_C4pykAhDdj82bZRrroTqltLNiQkLXpCH2y_3vQ_tcMcw/s320/DSCN0342.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285791537776471746" /></a><br />Part of my goal to bringing down the house on google is with the support of a strong group of people, dead and not dead and some almost dead and others,the jury is still out on their status of animation. I call up Dr. Samuel Johnson's dictionary first published in 1755...These are rare words, little used or the meaning has changed but I suspect will throw google ads into fits and then the house of cards will fall and the world can say, good ole Josh he fought the good fight and he saved humanity...See my previous post if you are confused, this should make everything crystal clear and soon you will be on board with me, we will clink mugs and make toasts to the wee people retaking their province. <br /><br />Post Script: Suggestions are always welcome, please!<br /><br />To hebetate...To dull;to blunt;to stupify.<br /><br />Example; The eye,especially if hebetated, might cause the same perception.<br /><br />Example duo: Beef may confer a robustness on the limbs of my son, but will hebetate and clog his intellectuals.<br /><br />The good Dr. Johnson is going to help us all communicate on a entirely new level.<br /><br /><br />This should help thanks fool:Muktuk monkeys, slug erogenous zones, fashionable caryatids, deveined gerbils, infrangible loganberries, periphrastic dribble, trebuchets for tots, anemic vampires, wayward nuns, trapezist worms, Freudian slippers, vegetable wars...<br />More from the fool:Deliquescent dingos, Grimy grimalkin grimoires, spurious logia, compressed perimetry, saponaceous delicacies, trahison des clercs of Blogworld, exsanguination for fun and profit, brumal insanity, Hollywood apotheoses...josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-30712927397298045562008-12-25T12:03:00.010-10:002008-12-27T23:34:37.168-10:00seductive billy-goats, nauseating presidents, artificial virginity,sneezing in bikinis<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNid_tFHlI81W9ch9XlhNBdwKxYj1J2_TbqFfLT_LzKsxMMmWHQZr8AmbI73hbNMmH054kWyBD-yRoTJTQPmh5pCeKcgSkk3HMEAc2V7Y_AflbP2-gouQ8hnFNXEHVNLryOMfqqw/s1600-h/DSCN0274.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNid_tFHlI81W9ch9XlhNBdwKxYj1J2_TbqFfLT_LzKsxMMmWHQZr8AmbI73hbNMmH054kWyBD-yRoTJTQPmh5pCeKcgSkk3HMEAc2V7Y_AflbP2-gouQ8hnFNXEHVNLryOMfqqw/s320/DSCN0274.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" /></a><br />Well the time has come I am almost through with my new blog. I am satisfied that I have done my work with My Mule , a site that helped bring Amazon to its knees. Now I have a site that is active but floating that will assist in the same with my ongoing fight with Google and all the other corporate behemoths. Not that I am giving up on My Mule but in the interim I will be posting guest posts or just key words to see what the Google ad bar above this post will adapt to with each post. Self-Composting toilets ought to show up again with this post, as it was a popular item when I first mentioned it in a previous post.<br /> So if you have any keywords that might be fun to see what the Google ad bar interprets. Let me know, if you wish to remain anonymous I will just copy and paste since I have comment moderator you will be safe from the powers that be, yet you can remain part of a part of a grand experiment. This will be entertaining at least for me, and provide me with some time do some finishing touch’s on my new wonder blog…Soon to be announced.<br />Spindleshanked<br />Classified ads Free<br />Remote control Toilets<br />Household Fembots <br />Pigsney<br />Merrythought<br />Nescience<br />Small cups of coffee with monkeys hanging on your lapels.<br />Virgin Nipples<br />Just the beginning of a grand experiment.! Keep the cards and letters coming. JWjosh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-29067211923097919082008-12-14T16:03:00.002-10:002008-12-14T16:06:01.390-10:00Flannery O'Connor and the Dummy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguX45k0mqW05d1HdjVHsOnViLyIsTgoxNweUx6OTcW3NpL4frpKOnzL7zuzQc4xcc6v9pWwmpTFj27SR65crmCYpPOqj0xm9e6nuQIt22VKrzc-6GjOIeaINjdZi-pAhHf8DJsUA/s1600-h/newendlesst.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguX45k0mqW05d1HdjVHsOnViLyIsTgoxNweUx6OTcW3NpL4frpKOnzL7zuzQc4xcc6v9pWwmpTFj27SR65crmCYpPOqj0xm9e6nuQIt22VKrzc-6GjOIeaINjdZi-pAhHf8DJsUA/s320/newendlesst.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279832156476854226" /></a><br /> Book Review Flannery O'Connor<br /><br />This review was first published Jan. 19 2005 and met with good reviews, it aint easy reviewing but I continue pushing that boulder up the hill, the hill grows steeper and the boulder larger but I just keep growing stronger...kinda...or maybe just more deluded. JW July 25 2005<br /> <br />A Good Man Is Hard to Find and Other Stories by Flannery O'Connor<br />Edition: Paperback<br />Price: $9.60<br />Availability: Usually ships in 24 hours<br /> <br /> <br /><br />107 used from $1.15<br /><br />13 of 15 people found the following review helpful:<br />I seen the dummy!, January 19, 2005<br /> <br />I recommend reading Linda Linguvic's review, she is dead right. Reading Ms. O'Connor stories is time well invested, and I agree one at a time is about all you can to digest, its like Harper Lee meets Edger Allan Poe. I always find myself in surreal situations that remind me of a Flannery O'Conner story...STOP READING AT THIS POINT AND GO TO LINDAS REVIEW...You see I am in a witness protection program and the only way I can communicate with my family is through Amazon...sad but false.Which reminds me of when I was a kid visiting my grand parents and favorite uncle in North Carolina (we stayed with them every summer until they told my folks to stop). My mom, grandparents,uncle and brother went a visitin' some obscure relatives in a town that seemed to make my grandfather grumpy, reckon that would have been any town USA. However this particular town was near another particular town that held something of interest, the spaghetti man, or as my grandfather called him the dummy. They called him the spaghetti man because he was Italian, he had worked for a circus and happened to die in the nearby town I mentioned, back in the early 20th century is my guess. The manager of the circus only gave the local funeral director a deposit for the burial with the promise of returning with final payment, which never came. So the Spaghetti man/mummy/dummy remained in his freezer for years. The son inherited the business as well as the dummy as I will refer to him from this sentence on until the end of my review. Well back in the 60's my brother, uncle and to a lesser degree myself badgered my grandfather enough that he agreed to leave the family gathering to go find the dummy. He found the town just fine it being on the map and all, but had to ask directions to find the dummy "where's the dummy"? after several blind alleys we found the funeral home and in the garage the owner took us for a small fee to the garage, he opened the freezer and there in the flesh was a shrunken up freezer burnt dummy! One of those moments you never forget, a certain smell might take you back or a foreign accent, but you dont forget those memory's by god! cause that's what life's made of, memories and things like that, eating too. Years later in the year 2000 I visited my folks in NC and in honor of the dummy I went to Target and purchased a white T shirt a couple of sizes to big and a black marker. I laid the T-shirt on my kitchen table and scrawled "I seen the dummy" across the front and into the armpit. The next day I showered,shaved and put on my new shirt, drove to the airport early , requested exit row (I'm above average in height you know) and flew to Charlotte. I then boarded a commuter plane to New Bern and the flight attendant asked me what my shirt said and I told her "I seen the dummy" ...Even though I was in the front row and she had to sit in the jump seat in front of me she was sort of cool and impersonal the rest of the flight, people you figure them out? If you like reading, buy Flannery O'Conner its not a walk in the park but you aint no dummy now are you?josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-26374357775546254802008-12-12T17:49:00.004-10:002008-12-26T19:13:04.432-10:00Last Exit to Brooklyn Book Review Revisited<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMCqYNtZ2OlSVGkMLYw1TjdaQ3f59_O9G7fc3zeh844_o19IvTqbBnpNq0jD5C2_11jcCTrDv1O_VMNn1lWiTD04yp3zbhIWPHMbpFRNzxNoz6kzqwT7C1CRIdeLuuiMo7kPDRoQ/s1600-h/DSCN1619.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMCqYNtZ2OlSVGkMLYw1TjdaQ3f59_O9G7fc3zeh844_o19IvTqbBnpNq0jD5C2_11jcCTrDv1O_VMNn1lWiTD04yp3zbhIWPHMbpFRNzxNoz6kzqwT7C1CRIdeLuuiMo7kPDRoQ/s320/DSCN1619.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" /></a><br /><br /> I used to write book reviews for a not for profit company. <br /> OK, how long did Amazon.com not make money? They were not making money for awhile but when I helped them create their house of cards they where still safe and sound in the start up .com business. I did not profit so I soon lost interest however somewhere in the archives of Amazon is this review...I suppose the intent was to be as raw as Hubert himself might have been...I did not and will not read or edit this review, it is pure and simple. Kinda like me with out the pure part. <br />Kind Regards JW 12/12/08<br /><br /><br />Mr. Selby does not understand the concept of built in obsolescence. It reminds me of the time when I lived in Lizton Indiana and my brother Charles Chadwick and our buddy big John and Roscoe and Joe, all gathered to watch Charles pogo stick over the creek behind our house.We had taken some scaffolding left over from our new home construction and laid it across the creek, it was about twelve inches wide and reinforced with 2 x 4's on each edge. 5/8" plywood and 2x 4 's...Charles as I recall had the most confused look on his face when he made it about two hops across the bridge and then fell about five feet into a gravel creek bed, a great look, I think he said "Wha happen"? He laid in the gravel, pogo stick still in position and at that moment I think he realized that not everything works out as planned.He lost interest in this stunt real fast, unlike you will in Huberts great Novel.<br /> About this time we were reaching an age when my folks felt we were old enough to be left alone for short periods of time while they went to Air-Way and such, these opportunities we seized carpe diem style! Empty the two car garage and stage indoor short track races on our dirt bikes, sure we would leave tire tracks on the concrete, sure the nobby tire marks on the walls were tell tale signs of mischief but my folks where young and inexperienced and did not suspect that we would race motorcycles in a two car garage. We would put the garage back together and other than the lingering two stroke haze, and the above mentioned clues, none was the wiser. Best I can remember I always won these races because I was the superior rider. How we managed not to hit the water heater and tear it from the wall proves there is a divine being watching over us. Which also reminds me of how my da showed me the hot water release valve on the water heater for what reason I dont know, but I retained this knowledge. Unfortunately for Elmo and Myrtle our beagles I had just enough knowledge to cause them great pain. You see Elmo was a walk up dog who adopted us as was myrtle, the two quickly became lovers and engaged in Hubert Selby style liaisons as often as myrtle was in heat.They often became stuck and we all know the best way to separate two beast who are stuck is to throw cold or is it hot water on them? At the time I thought it was hot so one evening while my folks were at Air-Way our two beagles became stuck and were in obvious pain, one faced north the other south and like a compass in a tempest they changed directions in a passionate union. I went to the water heater and filled up a glass with water directly from the unit just like me da showed me and threw it on the two lovers, and contrary to my expectations the two just yelped like scalded wild animals. Eventually they separated on their own.They were fine no burns and such but shortly there after Mrytle took up with the neighbors German Shepherd and Elmo hit the road, never to be seen again. Kinda like a Hubert Selby character. I miss my dogs and I miss dominating the two door garage indoor short track circuit.<br /><br />trimmer<br />Vitiousjosh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-53708506061548548072008-11-30T06:06:00.003-10:002008-12-26T19:19:54.643-10:00Easy Pizza Omelet No Kidding<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJZxoM2lOx5qsQuaSsQDiDW___7XFSQK7YhIjY-7s7PHsb6xXiFlQr9VoO-XUE01Onoz4FP8HZgyBm7ZBR91YPtFlJJCycH1lUG8Av4L3wHxsjyN51NtZ0JwxduPapJh2svjpBw/s1600-h/the-worlds-largest-omelet.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJZxoM2lOx5qsQuaSsQDiDW___7XFSQK7YhIjY-7s7PHsb6xXiFlQr9VoO-XUE01Onoz4FP8HZgyBm7ZBR91YPtFlJJCycH1lUG8Av4L3wHxsjyN51NtZ0JwxduPapJh2svjpBw/s320/the-worlds-largest-omelet.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Moz4ScR7fx7qkj0J82MF_SeXMPCNPq9Zx7C6G1H_vHpH3Ck3AnHd7aJBo678zRf0YtdI4SZQa3xHU8wFuqP3msRW9Q3GSVHytTgIqEq5oqVU5u1Ddcd_XJaZeCrEounbBTN0RQ/s1600-h/pizza_01.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Moz4ScR7fx7qkj0J82MF_SeXMPCNPq9Zx7C6G1H_vHpH3Ck3AnHd7aJBo678zRf0YtdI4SZQa3xHU8wFuqP3msRW9Q3GSVHytTgIqEq5oqVU5u1Ddcd_XJaZeCrEounbBTN0RQ/s320/pizza_01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOgeMRhlVE0w646gE7_-kpC_OKQQFXYmXqOL3J-3biPikslWsnMt3BXSDy8AX_fDpLuq2twVPRxLB_pePBy4DK_m2HIdXwhDuE1kBsrYJpY7Slss5vkZXQA6-sixKB_a_VgFsww/s1600-h/pizza_02.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOgeMRhlVE0w646gE7_-kpC_OKQQFXYmXqOL3J-3biPikslWsnMt3BXSDy8AX_fDpLuq2twVPRxLB_pePBy4DK_m2HIdXwhDuE1kBsrYJpY7Slss5vkZXQA6-sixKB_a_VgFsww/s320/pizza_02.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" /></a><br /><br /><br /> First of all to make an over size pizza really is not that tricky you just tilt the oven. Then you eat what you can and then refrigerate the rest. Be sure to eat enough so you do not have to tilt your fridge to accommodate the leftover za.<br /> In the morning crack some eggs in a bowl, scrape of the toppings of your pizza and you know what you have the makings of a great omelet.You cook it and stuff, or is that a scrambled egg pizza? So you maybe you fold over the eggs onto the pizza scrapings, at any rate its pretty darn good.josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-48970721632749679492008-11-28T17:58:00.003-10:002008-11-28T18:07:55.725-10:00Big Brother is here and he is P--- err Angry!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Dc6YdttddR-k8mzfeWt4CU6EAGFWEwKKkrnkkAL2GUTiIs0kQkFACtPxE3y2dRfI3X1v5bgkwkZuwaTM3xJTToTaoIfJPL9virCZrhkW2NPZe0jbrYu-jTp-Z78xAwrN_QROrQ/s1600-h/Poop+Target+Instrusctions.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 192px; height: 288px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Dc6YdttddR-k8mzfeWt4CU6EAGFWEwKKkrnkkAL2GUTiIs0kQkFACtPxE3y2dRfI3X1v5bgkwkZuwaTM3xJTToTaoIfJPL9virCZrhkW2NPZe0jbrYu-jTp-Z78xAwrN_QROrQ/s320/Poop+Target+Instrusctions.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273926332854258242" /></a><br /><br /> Even in passing most people I knew, thought ARM's were not a good idea. So why?<br /> I watched Pirates of the Caribbean "At the Worlds End" the other night, and thought well this is better than an ARM...I did not think it was a great film, I did like Keith Richards Cameo etc. I always loved pirate adventure films but I just did not realize since I was a wee lad that pirates come in all shapes and forms. The legendary Kracken, is the lesser of the evils when it comes to financial advisers. <br /> I suppose the entire mythology in films are just grooming us for the reality of the avarice and greed of the average investment banker.<br /> I suppose good ole show biz is just preparing us for the real storm. <br /> The big three? "Never have so few done so much to so many." Kinda like Winston Churchill but without the noble backing.This line won't work with all the spin masters available.<br /> However I rise tomorrow I will work and will remain a reasonable cognizant being. I pledge I will not create another Wal-Mart. I do not care to be part of the Brave New World. So whadaya do?josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-29471693590704034592008-11-25T13:43:00.004-10:002008-11-25T13:47:39.967-10:00Roscoe the Prologue<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibkw2kuvI2RCgbdf-dRXU_ceHKRzPYxbUuxi0ceH5DHEQzhSv7QHPx1k5ka74QwB43rit7i2ngYpRwGRuqR0LGaOvejE1PYtuhTTQLImeZWrqu_9welj6iyPS0NH-s344j1c9m6w/s1600-h/Shower%2520WF1.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibkw2kuvI2RCgbdf-dRXU_ceHKRzPYxbUuxi0ceH5DHEQzhSv7QHPx1k5ka74QwB43rit7i2ngYpRwGRuqR0LGaOvejE1PYtuhTTQLImeZWrqu_9welj6iyPS0NH-s344j1c9m6w/s320/Shower%2520WF1.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272746004617557314" /></a><br /> I found this while reseaching the Roscoe archives. I was one of those unmentionalbes and proud of it, ah those were the days, nothing on the tube just our bikes and the imagination to create our own moto history.<br /><br />The blogs titled “dog house - A Roscoe History” parts one and two are long. You will find them below or tucked away in the June 2005 archive. Tedious , I know. Get comfortable, I’ll tell you why.<br /><br />In my formative years, my circle of friends and I grew up on the slightly rolling, glacial plains of Indiana, USA – farmland. The neighborhood kids lived two miles away. Because all of our parents tired of driving us to each other’s houses, they allowed us to buy mini-bikes and small off-road motorcycles. The bikes enabled us to visit and when we crossed the fuzzy line of acceptable behavior, mothers sent us home.<br /><br />The enlightenment of cable or satellite television had not reached us in the outback. We tuned in six fuzzy channels; three network, one religion, an independent and the Public Broadcasting. We entertained ourselves inventing practical jokes, building moto-cross tracks, throwing dirt clods and sharpening our senses of humor watching cartoons and BBC imports of “Benny Hill”’ and “Monty Python”. Fine literature encompassed fishing, hunting and off-road motorcycle magazines. We made do creating our own fun. Jump ahead a few years and the ol’ bunch, now states apart, continue to laugh and joke around on bulletin boards and blog sties.<br /><br />One friend and I shared a secret from the others . . . His Ma turned us on to J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings”. Had the gang known that we read books, let alone books about Elves and Wizards, they would have kicked our Asses.<br /><br />Later, Tolkien wrote “The Silmarillion”. A precursor to “The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings”, it provided historical backgrounds for characters in the first / next book and trilogy. “The Silmarillion” confused me so that I read the book on how to read “The Silmarillion”. Similarly, George Lucas introduced the “Star Wars” trilogy, episodes 4, 5 and 6, before prefacing them with 1, 2 and 3.<br /><br />But, what has “dog house” to do with Tolkien and Lucas? “dog house” has nothing to do with Tolkien and Lucas except for a few feeble comparisons.<br /><br />Unlike Tolkien and Lucas, “dog house” is not as action packed. Peter Jackson will not bang on the camper door begging for the movie rights. Like Tolkien and Lucas, “dog house” precedes the rest of the story. It’s a history to the adventure of why “traveling in this great country, especially with a good woman and a chimpanzee, is the American dream”. It’s a tedious read but it helps explain stuff that comes later.<br /><br />Take 10 or 15 minutes to read it and join in if you like. If you don’t like, remember you’re reading a drivel filled blog site for entertainment.josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-63108548251007385732008-11-20T18:59:00.003-10:002008-11-20T19:04:27.861-10:00This is Lada Niva<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsOygsML5dbQ8_k_LQK-_eqGQFSpX3Lhmqd68tzUBK6tkQ_DJae5YiaXa-l74dQmUphmSasl0xVWKzWiX2XyH-0hDh28tRsykGSlIjegtYAU7G75B4bpzN5dv3LaawVQzt2qApig/s1600-h/1f813214c3k03p53lb8bkc3967d60369b17ed.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsOygsML5dbQ8_k_LQK-_eqGQFSpX3Lhmqd68tzUBK6tkQ_DJae5YiaXa-l74dQmUphmSasl0xVWKzWiX2XyH-0hDh28tRsykGSlIjegtYAU7G75B4bpzN5dv3LaawVQzt2qApig/s320/1f813214c3k03p53lb8bkc3967d60369b17ed.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270971224605163330" /></a><br />1980 Lada Niva THE car! Priced to sell! - $1000 (UCF)<br />Reply to: sale-927165771@craigslist.org [?]<br />Date: 2008-11-20, 2:02PM EST<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Craigs list does have some bargains, not PC is part of the deal on some occasions.</span></span><br />This is Lada Niva. This is The Car. It has four wheels, engine, body and boot. It doesn't have electric windows or climate control or side airbags or automatic gearbox or any other pussy-whipped shit they put into cars nowodays. You know what you get instead when you buy it? A fucking 21 piece toolkit. Do you have a toolkit for your shitty car? Fuck no, because you're a faggot who doesn't even know how his car works. And even if you do, you couldn't fix shit since ninety percent of it is electronics.<br />Lada Niva is a real fucking car, car which you can repair yourself, for real drivers who know their shit. It's being made by Russians so you know this is so robust it will work after a goddamn nuclear war, and it's been road-tested on fucking syberia, while your worthless japshit has been tested in a country which doesn't know what fucking snow is. You know what temperatures there are in winter in Russia? So low that people have to drink a liter of vodka daily or they freeze to fucking death.<br />Oh sure, it's not as pretty as your overpriced piece of shit, and it's a good fucking thing. You probably wash your eurotrash every goddamn week. I could punch a side window and fix it with cardboard and duct tape and you'd barely notice any fucking difference. And the more mud I get on it, the sexier it fucking looks.<br /><br />And if you'll try to overtake me, I'll just push you into the ditch, bitch. Then I'll fix my car for a price of two chickens while you spend half a year worth of salary to replace a fucking door.<br /><br />This car is so bad ass it was imported by pirates (I'm actually dead serious about that, got it at a government seized property auction).<br /><br />$1000 firm.josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-69009164426976464522008-11-19T17:09:00.003-10:002008-11-19T17:34:58.361-10:00Bail Out?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-kNLDvWX_-rdBG4r8qUrMvwNmOQrIkkgzudQ5zz16sCTzPf8z8Pc6zK3sZQMqAEVSKYnF6fq-_VDPd5ayighUqT7Gh1trPQylL7LLdUDRDRbDAl9rso1CHk7mNjLT78lK3YYeA/s1600-h/DSCN2337.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-kNLDvWX_-rdBG4r8qUrMvwNmOQrIkkgzudQ5zz16sCTzPf8z8Pc6zK3sZQMqAEVSKYnF6fq-_VDPd5ayighUqT7Gh1trPQylL7LLdUDRDRbDAl9rso1CHk7mNjLT78lK3YYeA/s320/DSCN2337.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270578043539722050" /></a><br /> I understand that "we the people" chose gas guzzling vehicles over the fuel efficient vehicle. Our government if we choose to call them intelligent/honest and aware of the future...Major cooperation's generally have a plan within a century in advance...In defense (sarcasm) of our dominant parties is that both ignored and profited from the gas guzzlers.Our leaders knew ( if I did, they had to have some sort of clue) that OPEC had us by the chin hairs. <br /> Bail out for the auto industry is all part of Oil and Industry that the tax payer is paying for, despite their apparent ignorance of the feelings of the US voting public. What I suspect is that they did not realize that the new generation (under 30) is not charmed by state of affairs. I am over 30 and mystified why our country allowed OPEC to control our government and environmental policy...Now don't get me wrong I do not trust the not for profit environmental groups, Club Sierra for example. We the people need to read,and make our own decisions. Why? Because our beloved environmental not for profits have become something akin to Club Sierra.<br /> Bail out for the auto industry? Let them claim Chapter 11 with the government paying the people in the US they owe for parts and services. After this bail out, the big 3 will be forced to work and not fly to Washington on private jets begging for money. <br /> This message was approved by my campaign for the private business bailout party.josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-25594415126029443062008-11-16T16:34:00.002-10:002008-11-16T16:40:19.696-10:00Roscoe the Early Days<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK7Pd3lIgEwnhS4JDG1o6UFv0PlPbTq8DAa7QV-ZL1pd1EFcfDE7L8HX6EAFB1y9Ii5Qfl_co-612vlIDlCItIM-BfSxxV0vTsP3PDrBziYBal0EXtlmW3T52HOx-oFtcUHGJyvw/s1600-h/RoscoeHaus011.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK7Pd3lIgEwnhS4JDG1o6UFv0PlPbTq8DAa7QV-ZL1pd1EFcfDE7L8HX6EAFB1y9Ii5Qfl_co-612vlIDlCItIM-BfSxxV0vTsP3PDrBziYBal0EXtlmW3T52HOx-oFtcUHGJyvw/s320/RoscoeHaus011.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269450723017265650" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI8N3vjQ70MjlkIjTkuD7-Ow_L9RVi_xW0ojYcIYiHM24EfhkIBHFjuR6O_rJ3LuQo2t3SVr0JYLZ7fqr3HmnzAYRbDHmAdRjhqU3VQIWlFiHY4bMQSWiPE4oSSuhr3wWedTdalw/s1600-h/RoscoeHaus04.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI8N3vjQ70MjlkIjTkuD7-Ow_L9RVi_xW0ojYcIYiHM24EfhkIBHFjuR6O_rJ3LuQo2t3SVr0JYLZ7fqr3HmnzAYRbDHmAdRjhqU3VQIWlFiHY4bMQSWiPE4oSSuhr3wWedTdalw/s320/RoscoeHaus04.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269450724097089730" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3YXlrDh0Th6ZkG3J6yT_tsNsWYKOSEvl-YzjJHUQXM2L8T3uZJxNljXtK4nNXJC1ZHtGJ_1pVPyEjfTWdaT_MLAhBBMrVECoU9f-nyfowIcF6j0MEy2i-VSNJt8IPubLRoHQpNA/s1600-h/newendlesst.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3YXlrDh0Th6ZkG3J6yT_tsNsWYKOSEvl-YzjJHUQXM2L8T3uZJxNljXtK4nNXJC1ZHtGJ_1pVPyEjfTWdaT_MLAhBBMrVECoU9f-nyfowIcF6j0MEy2i-VSNJt8IPubLRoHQpNA/s320/newendlesst.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269450371363947266" /></a><br />Roscoe was born a few years ago, he is older now and wiser some would say. His story was cleverly divulged when we first tricked him to post on a message board from a long time ago.<br /><br />What may appear as nonsense to the casual reader is the first actual research done on one of the most important writers of the 21st century.<br />dog house - A Roscoe History Part One<br /><br /><br /><br />Long ago, on a distant bulletin board<br /><br />Most read story in TeamMooch!:<br />Comments are owned by the poster. We aren’t responsible for their content.<br /><br />Posted by: wyatt on Apr 16, 2001 - 08:13 PM<br />[TeamMooch!] I have an old refrigerator I hope to convert into a dog house. Does anyone have some old motorcycle parts I can use for the conversion?<br /><br />by roscoe on Apr 17, 2001 - 04:48 PM<br />You don’t really want to convert an old refrigerator into a dog house . First, if that dog bites into the feon coil he’s gonna get a real bad headache. If your dog gets a real bad headache, it’s gonna be grumpy. B, a refrigerator can be top-heavy. One good gust of wind can squish Old Faithful flat (flat dog = crying kids). Third, purchase a washing machine converted into a dog house. You will enjoy a lower center of gravity and without freon , it is environmentally friendly. I have an old Maytag modified with some Hodaka Super Rat components that works just fine. It’s a classic. And my Rott, 3-Foot just loves it. He is a lot smarter than old 2-Foot.<br /><br />by Anonymous on Apr 17, 2001 - 07:21 PM<br />1. How much for the Maytag and do you offer financing? My old dog four foot has one foot in the grave after he ate the freon coil, you were a little late on the advice but thanks anyway.<br /><br />by roscoe on Apr 19, 2001 - 04:00 PM<br />That Super Rat Maytag is not for sale. It is just a demonstrator. Now, I do have an avocado KawaMana I could put four foot into in just 41 or 42 easy payments . Sorry to hear the old pup is under the weather. He may come around in a few days. Maybe he can use a little Pepto & 7up, that always makes a rumblegut feel better.<br /><br />by Anonymous on Apr 19, 2001 - 07:19 PM<br />My neighbor has a nice motorhome that I might trade you for the house. Do you barter?<br /><br />by wyatt (wyatt@teammooch.com) on Apr 25, 2001 - 04:57 PM<br />I’d like to make mention of the fact that I bought one of Roscoes Washing MAchine dog houses and my dog aint one damn bit cleaner than when I first put him in the contraption. The Rinse cycle is broken and spin dry just made my dog throw up. So what gives? I want my neighbors motor home I traded you for it back!<br /><br />by roscoe on Apr 26, 2001 - 03:41 PM<br />I’m sorry, there will be no refund on the motorhome. I traded it to my neighbor Freak Show Roy for a chimpanzee named Diablo. Freak Show was going on the road and needed a tour bus. He said that monkey was a prime ape so I figured he was pretty smart and I could teach him to strip out washing machines. Since I don’t speak Spanish I named him Tater (Tater Chimp, get it?). Well, things just got worse after that. It took an hour-and-a-half to wrestle Tater into his coveralls . He wouldn’t keep his tools organized and all he wanted to do was pick bugs off the dogs.<br /><br />The other day at lunch, Tater went nuts . He jumped up on the table, stripped himself naked, and started playing with his fish stick and hush puppies. He screamed and threw food everywhere. Old Two Foot sat there howling and confused. He’s got a cataract in one eye , a sty on the other and his good ear was full of coleslaw . I thought that I would never get things to calm down.<br /><br />So , if you have problems with your new dog palace, you can bring it back. But, your taken the monkey !<br /><br />by wyatt (wyatt@teammooch.com) on Apr 26, 2001 - 05:01 PM<br />I’ll take the Chimp and put him to work detailing cars. Monkey Shines Detailing will be the name of my company.Does he eat people food?<br /><br />by roscoe on Apr 28, 2001 - 08:03 PM<br />Freak Show told me Feed that ape what you eat. One thing is certain, he doesn’t like seafood. Otherwise, he eats almost anything. Be careful. If you set him to work detail on cars, he is liable to start eaten turtle wax like chip dip. I don’t know if he likes the wax or if he likes the turtle, but he can sure power that stuff down. Burritos and bananas!!! Do not feed him burritos and bananas! WHEW!!!<br /><br />If you want this monkey for your car business, let’s figure out a deal. Maybe we can trade some detailing on my new dog house palace line. A good buff and wax on household appliances can make them look like new .<br /><br />by Anonymous on Apr 28, 2001 - 11:56 PM<br />No deal! Your Monkey is mine, and if you want to start trouble then you ask the little fool monkey who he wants to live with? ME IS the correct answer you monkey hogging fool!<br /><br />by Anonymous on May 01, 2001 - 11:02 PM<br />Roscoe, looks like weve got a real crack pot on the Forum. Monkey Hogging fool?<br /><br />by roscoe on May 02, 2001 - 05:26 PM<br />OK Mister , it’s a done deal. Spit and a handshake that monkey is yours . No more questions, arguments, promises, warranties or refunds… He is your monkey. May he bring to you all the joy and happiness that he gave me. In some ways I hate to see him go but, in most ways I say good luck and don’t let him into the tequilas. He can be a mean drunk.<br /><br /><br /><br />by Anonymous on May 02, 2001 - 07:02 PM<br />Not so fast there slicky! Keep away him away from the Tequila? I never trust a monkey that cant hold its liqour, find some other sucker! Now I recognise you for being one of those slick, fast talkin sophistimiticated con-men, I aint biten, fish is dumber waters slicky.Deals off!<br /><br />by roscoe on May 02, 2001 - 07:49 PM<br />It’s the darnest thing, just as I thought I was stuck with that monkey I fell into a gold mine. After dinner Tater got mad because I would not let him watch Adam 12 on the telvision set. Well, he got up and ripped the air-conditioner right out of the window! As he threw a fit around the garage, the insides fell out of that air-conditioner. With a little more work and some plexi-glass , it’s going to make a great hamster or Guinea pig habitat. It needs a little more research and development because right now that motor driven exercise wheel really tuckers the little guys out. I’ll grab the sprockets and chain from an old YZ and change the gearing. Thanks to that chimpanzee, I have a new product line . I’m gonna make millions!!<br /><br />by baker (google.com) on May 02, 2001 - 08:51 PM<br />Tread lightly my friend, I hold the Patent to the habitat cooler. My brain thought it up not your monkey.<br /><br />by charlie on May 04, 2001 - 09:59 AM<br />Well I’m glad to see our web site is doing good service to those who need some safe place to hide. Roscoe, do you have any thing for my cat? 22 pound simese and meaner than hell. She killed 11 men in 9 minutes, she is hungry and must be fed daily, I just don’t have it in me any more, old age and being banned from Osco dosen’t help. Osco and Roscoe, they rhyme, they both treat cyapedigo, but one wears a diaper and one sells a diaper. A canoe tips and the pricks on the out side of a porcupine. Gotta go lick my wounds, thank dog I’m not injured where I can’t lick. Waiting to cage a kitty in Cadiz. The moral to this story is if you can’t remember the joke just blurt out the punch line, chances are we’ve all heard the joke before.<br />Help my cat.<br />Charlie<br /><br />by wyatt (wyatt@teammooch.com) on May 04, 2001 - 10:18 AM<br />I have an old dryer, could that be converted to a exercise wheel for a gerbil who has a bad case of giganticism? I live near a nuculer plant.<br /><br />by roscoe on May 04, 2001 - 08:21 PM<br />Charlie, HUH ? What did Wyatt’s radioactive gerbil say to Charlie when he was hungry? Here kitty kitty! Now, that is a punch line. Has George W. Bush been writing your material? I have a monkey who’s a tree climbing, p@@p flinging brain trust compared to that babble . What do you do for a 22 lb. cat? Well, I’m not really a cat type person so I’ll just say buy nice big tupper-ware with a good seal. Otherwise, come on down to the monkey house . . .err, uh… design department. We’ll hang an old Yokohama knobby tire for a swing and put Tater to work on your new cat house.<br /><br />Wyatt, you could be on to something here. If there were some way to plug this glow in the dark Super rat in to that dryer, it might be the purest form of potential energy. A rodent dynamo! Hook that beast up to a turbine and power California!<br /><br />by Anonymous on May 05, 2001 - 01:47 AM<br />Power California? We only need just enough to shift the fault line just a tinsey bit, then my Nevada properties will finally be a smart investment.<br /><br />by charlie on May 05, 2001 - 10:24 AM<br />Does California have a delete button? I know my cat does, you tickel that one spot and she is gone. Roscoe’s monkey found out the hard way when we visited the design department. ( Boy was that a suprise, design slum is a better description ) Washing machines stacked up with wrecked cycles every where in the mud. Dogs and monkeys peeking out of every appliance, I must say Roscoe sure tests his product before offering them up for sale. Feral hogs protected the compound and Roscoe just sat there on his porch with a shot gun across his lap. Yea, I bought one of his machines but I don’t think I will go back to pick it up, I’ll just kiss the $290 good bye and thank dog I excaped with my life. He can have the cat too!<br /><br />by wyatt (wyatt@teammooch.com) on May 05, 2001 - 11:57 AM<br />You know what they say:<br />Pigs get fat,<br />Hogs get slaughtered.<br /><br />by roscoe on May 07, 2001 - 08:23 PM<br />That Charlie fellow called the other day and said he wanted to see the showroom. He said he wanted a dog house for his cat. I figure a sale is a sale so, I gave him directions. He sure asked a lot of questions on the telephone and when he finally got here he sure seemed nervous… Real jumpy. Kept turning around and checking his back pocket like he forgot his wallet. My guess was that he’s a cat person and the dogs must have made him skittish. He finally decided on a harvest gold Kenmorazuki . He helped cart it out to the end of the drive , paid for it, and said that he would be back to pick it up later. I haven’t seen him since. I thought, maybe he didn’t like the place but then he wrote that letter to this bulletin board thing.<br /><br />I can only tell you that his eloquent word picture could only begin to capture its true majasty . To see the place at sunset, an amber cascade twinkles off motorcycle chrome and reflects from those home appliances like a fiery waterfall. It will leave you choked up on natures splinder. My true love Griselda called it “God’s Little Acre” until she run off .<br /><br />by Anonymous on May 07, 2001 - 10:57 PM<br />Bravo!<br /><br />by wyatt (wyatt@teammooch.com) on May 08, 2001 - 02:44 PM<br />If there is one thing I knows and thats womens and Roscoe Griselda aint comin home to “Gods little Acre”. Take her things and feed em to your hogs. Maybe you should get yourself a Sheep and a pair of velcro Chaps.Sheep houses could be the next big thing. Call some old dry cleaners maybe industrial king size warshers can house a sheep suitably.<br /><br />by roscoe on May 13, 2001 - 07:54 PM<br />That Wyatt fellow just showed an ugly side. Sheep? NO!!! I’ve been thinking. If I’m going to win Griselda back , I’m going to have to win her emotions by writing stuff and sending stuff to her. Here goes…<br /><br />Ode to Griselda<br /><br />She Won’t Come Back. No Matter How I Beg Her.<br />She Hates Me So Bad<br />She Burned Down The Trailer.<br />Those New Tires For The House Won’t Fit Nothing Else.<br /><br />They Were Round, Just The Thing.<br />Fitting Like Her Wedding Ring.<br />They Were Shiney And Nice But,<br />Now They’re As Flat As My Hart.<br /><br />She left me for some jerk. A swapmeet Picasso.<br />Who tattooed on her thigh, a picture<br />Our boozing Lhasa-Apso.<br />She took it with her but I’m glad,<br />that dog’s a mean drunk anyway.<br /><br />Now I Feel Lower Than My Junk Yard Wiener Dog.<br />Because My Sweehart’s Run Away, With A Biker Gal Called Hog.<br />I’m So Sad And I’m So Blue<br />I Don’t Know What To Do.<br />I Feel Lower Than a Junk Yard Wiener Dog.<br /><br />by Anonymous on May 13, 2001 - 10:46 PM<br />Son, its hard to compete with swap meet Picasso types. Save your writings for a real woman who will love and respect you for the Warsher/ dawg haus acceptspurt that you is. Maybe the next used warsher trade show you can find your self a woman worthy of a man with your unique talents…Sorry about the sheep joke. I know a woman who might be just right for you, she is the famous Jesco Whites (The Dancing Outlaw) sister and although she is missing,maybe, just maybe you are the one who will find this charming woman. Best of luck and more inormation on her can be found on Jescoe (Jesse or Elvis) Whites “The Dancing Outlaw” website. Good luck and keep writing your poems and convertin your warshers. Wyatt<br /><br />by Anonymous on Jun 06, 2001 - 04:13 AM<br />I just stripped my dish washer of its little slotted racks and discovered that it was ideal for staging miniture clamation plays that had story lines based around tropical rain storms and hot humid winds. My first production will be based upon the life of “Hurricane Gussy”! Could you lend me some clay,a dishwasher,a generator,a garden hose, a spigot,a handfull of sulfur and some very small coconuts?<br /><br />by roscoe on Jun 07, 2001 - 02:58 AM<br />Staging play productions are you? Say Mister, are you that Mathew Broderic fellow who’s married to Sara Jessica Parker? They’ve been talking about you on another part of this web site. Boy, she’s a sweetie. She sure seems busy with that hit TV show. You must have a lot of time on your hands. I don’t know about clay animation or the tools you’ll need to get started. I do have an old front load whirlpool that I will let you have cheap. I don’t have generators though I do have an old Ossa that I found crashed into a chicken coop once. . . I have no clue how it got there. I figure maybe we can hook the magnito to one of those cigarette lighter, plug-in and verters and see if we get enough juice to turn it over. As far as that other stuff, you’ll have to round it up yourself. I’m not much for those Broadway productions. I find they’re run by a bunch of hippies. I’ll tell you one thing, if I find out you are a hippie, I’ll put the dogs after you. Oh yeh Mister, its cash upfront no lending!<br /><br />by roscoe on Jun 27, 2001 - 03:15 PM<br />The bozos running my small-cap mutual fund decided to stick with those Dot Com ventures even though they were bleeding like they had been through the slaughterhouse. They somehow didn’t understand that if the president of the United States was an oil man, they should consider investing in petroleum. It doesn’t matter the president wants to suck all the oil out from under Alaska and oil companies are gonna get fat. More power to them, I say. If the next generation X expects us to conserve and leave all the oil to them, they should wake up and smell the transmission fluid. They should get off their lazy backsides and invent a new energy source. If we conserve energy, they will just sit back and figure that there is plenty to spare. If they panic now, they will see it is necessary to be smarter and they will study harder in school.<br /><br />To make along story short, the old retirement egg tanked . To try and catch up on the money situation, I’ve been out in the yard slashing prices on everything that I could see including all of the stuff that the landfill would not take. EVERYTHING MUST GO! I HACKED PRICES TO THE BARE WALLS! Even Two-Foot as a price tag. (keep in mind that he doesn’t get around quick because he only has feet on the keddy-corners. That’s why the neighborhood kids sometimes call him Wiggles or Roll-o. )<br /><br />by Anonymous on Jun 29, 2001 - 12:32 AM<br />Dotcom kinda rhymes with Dotgone dont it?<br /><br />by wyatt (wyatt@teammooch.com) on Jul 10, 2001 - 11:09 PM<br />New energy source ideas:1. Old Politicians<br />2.Young Politicians<br />3.Dead Politicians<br />4.Jerry Springers Guests<br />5.Lawyers<br />6.Myopic enviromentilists<br />7.Stock brokers<br />8.Financial Advisors<br />9.Old Growth Redwoods<br />10.Manatees<br />11.Old Cigarette packs from behind the couch<br />12.Firestone Tyres<br />13.Outdated Maps of Russia<br />14. Any and all instruction manuals<br />15. Your neighbors limbs which hang over your yard which by the way is your property!<br />16. Small stuff you dont need.<br />17. Small stuff your neighbor does not need.<br />18.Worthless refrigerators that have been converted into<br />dog houses that rats wouldn’t even go into let alone mans best friend.<br />19. All loosing lottery tickets<br />20. Convert friction energy from scratch of lottery tickets into heat for the freezing Eskimos.<br /><br />by charlie on Jul 11, 2001 - 09:22 AM<br />21 Joshies brain22 Mark fell down<br />23 Abe’s girl friend<br />24 self tanning lotion<br />25 empty beer vessels<br /><br />by wyatt (wyatt@teammooch.com) on Jul 11, 2001 - 07:09 PM<br />26,27,28 & 29. Charlies outsie belly button.<br /><br />by roscoe on Jul 31, 2001 - 09:08 PM<br />My uncle always said “On starless nights , tires won’t smoke when you burn them”. I guess photosynthesis must have something to do with them smoking in the daylight. We’ve got plenty of them lying around now that all the SUVs have new ones. Now There is an energy source!<br /><br />by roscoe on Jul 31, 2001 - 09:10 PM<br />My uncle always said “On starless nights , tires won’t smoke when you burn them”. I guess photosynthesis must have something to do with them smoking in the daylight. We’ve got plenty of them lying around now that all the SUVs have new ones. Now There is an energy source!<br /><br />by roscoe on Jul 31, 2001 - 09:16 PM<br />Well the big inventory reduction sale is over and anything left has been pushed into the ravine. A bit of good luck though… I had an old Nordge prototype that I suspected was worth something. I kept a tarp over it special, to keep water out and the bird stuff off of it. Rather than letting it go to somebody real cheap, I decided to sell it on the Internet . Well , the bidding went nuts. I ended up selling to some computer fellow from Seattle, Washington (the state). You wouldn’t believe by looking at it , but that washing machine was worth a bundle ! That’s it folks , it’s early retirement for me .<br /><br />I’ve been sitting here for a few days wondering; what do I do with that G O B of money? I’ve always liked racing. It didn’t matter, anything that had wheels would do. Big wheels, bicycles, motorcycles were all fun. Now, I get a bunch of cash and I want to go fast! My first incline… NASCAR!! Load your checkbook and buddies in a truck and go racing. Second, I figure do that gumball rally, just like the great actor Gary Busey. Then I figure, settle down and take it easy. I tell myself “Don’t spend that money to fast “. There’s a lot of this world I haven’t seen yet and it’s time I did. So I bought back that motorhome from Freak Show and turned to the horizon. I’m hitting the road. Tater, Lorileelee and I are off to find waves of amber grain, mountains majestic, and seas shining. Here we come, Michigan !<br /><br />by wyatt (wyatt@teammooch.com) on Aug 01, 2001 - 12:04 AM<br />Worlds largest cherry pie was made in Michigan near that big lake in a<br />town who’s name I cant recall, but dont miss it its the real deal!josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-29173160407981862552008-11-15T17:00:00.002-10:002008-11-15T17:04:24.666-10:00Guest Post from William Douglas Little<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidEorzIeYJJ4l-GVPNF4sujEFOZlqcUUEfhyYpP6-A96ySbNVM2CPQr0n3yMURWIVHzSVTg8uduF6DKBsqfHJMe7v9vhrP0AXCsz8ejOWV4EfFrsOJs45utpIziBCle5tS568a4Q/s1600-h/DSCN1809.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidEorzIeYJJ4l-GVPNF4sujEFOZlqcUUEfhyYpP6-A96ySbNVM2CPQr0n3yMURWIVHzSVTg8uduF6DKBsqfHJMe7v9vhrP0AXCsz8ejOWV4EfFrsOJs45utpIziBCle5tS568a4Q/s320/DSCN1809.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269085761608528658" /></a><br /><br /> With permission I post this from <a href="http://wdlittle.blogspot.com/">WDL</a> Kind Regards JW<br /><br />A Rare Political Posting -<br /><br />Several years ago, I received an e-mail that quoted a Scottish Professor from 1787. In this e-mail, he spoke of the, (in his opinion), wrong choice made by our founding fathers in choosing democracy as our form of government. Since that time I have quoted Mr. Tyler's words many times, but had long since deleted the e-mail. Yesterday, a good friend of mine forwarded the e-mail to me and unknowingly gave me the opportunity to share my solution to the decline of democracy here in the U.S.<br /><br />You may agree with my thoughts, or perhaps you don't. Either way is just fine by me as we each are entitled to our own opinions. Either way, I hope that your reading this helps to encourage thought toward our political system, which most of us agree needs some form of change.<br /><br />First, the e-mail as I received it. I do not know the origin of this e-mail, by the way, but I believe that I first read it around 2001 or 2002. The second part - regarding Professor Olson's findings - will seem a decidedly Republican slant. I've not verified the information on that part, but you're welcome to do so if you wish. My main interest was Tyler's statement, however I did find the second section to be interesting.<br /><br />How Long Do We Have?<br /><br />About the time our original thirteen states adopted their new constitution in 1787, Alexander Tyler, a Scottish history professor at the University of Edinburgh , had this to say about the fall of the Athenian Republic some 2,000 years earlier:<br /><br /><br />'A democracy is always temporary in nature; it simply cannot exist as a permanent form of government.'<br /><br />'A democracy will continue to exist up until the time that voters discover they can vote themselves generous gifts from the public treasury.'<br /><br />'From that moment on, the majority always vote for the candidates who promise the most benefits from the public treasury, with the result that every democracy will finally collapse due to loose fiscal policy, which is always followed by a dictatorship.'<br /><br />'The average age of the world's greatest civilizations from the beginning of history, has been about 200 years'<br /><br />'During those 200 years, those nations always progressed through the following sequence:<br /><br />1. from bondage to spiritual faith;<br /><br />2. from spiritual faith to great courage;<br /><br />3. from courage to liberty;<br /><br />4. from liberty to abundance;<br /><br />5. from abundance to complacency;<br /><br />6. from complacency to apathy;<br /><br />7. from apathy to dependence;<br /><br />8. from dependence back into bondage'<br /><br /><br />Professor Joseph Olson of Hemline University School of Law, St. Paul , Minnesota , points out some interesting facts concerning the 2000 Presidential election:<br /><br />Number of States won by: Democrats: 19 Republicans: 29<br /><br />Square miles of land won by: Democrats: 580,000 Republicans: 2,427,000<br /><br />Population of counties won by: Democrats: 127 million Republicans: 143 million<br /><br />Murder rate per 100,000 residents in counties won by: Democrats: 13.2 Republicans: 2.1<br /><br />Professor Olson adds: 'In aggregate, the map of the territory Republican won was mostly the land owned by the taxpaying citizens of this great country. Democrat territory mostly encompassed those citizens living in government-owned tenements and living off various forms of government welfare...' Olson believes the United States is now somewhere between the 'complacency and apathy' phase of Professor Tyler's definition of democracy, with some forty percent of the nation's population already having reached the 'governmental dependency' phase.<br /><br />So ... many people will read this and perhaps think that it represents a non-issue. Perhaps some will say that democracy and a capitalistic society are no longer the best way for America. Perhaps you'll believe that "moving on" to a hybrid democratic/socialistic or even a full-blown socialistic society would be better for America. If that's your thought, then that's your right. So be it. You can probably stop reading here and we'll retain our friendships. Personally though, I couldn't disagree more.<br /><br />Those who are concerned about reforming our democracy and rebuilding our government may read this and consider the bridge to be impassable. If we are to believe that Mr. Olsen is correct in his estimation that 40% of Americans have now reached the point of "governmental dependence" and historically democracies are proved destined to fail after 200-years, then what can be done? How do we reverse the trend?<br /><br />Well, it just so happens that I do have a plan. Over the years we've heard many politicians on the stump screaming for "Welfare Reform", but to date, nobody has done anything of substance to tackle this elephant. Sure, bills may have been presented and votes may have been cast, (within our government - not often by you and I), but ultimately the programs of public assistance have only grown and multiplied to the point that we now have fourth and even fifth generation welfare recipients. Is this what was intended with the introduction of the first "welfare program"? (From what I can find, the first full-blown Federal program was introduced as a temporary measure to provide assistance to families out of work following the Great Depression). The answer is no.<br /><br />The long-term recipients - those "working the system", if you will - have simply learned that it is easier to get by through government dependence than by actually working. They don't think in terms of contributing to society, but are following - in many cases - a learned behavior taught them by their parents or peers. Why not? It's there ... might as well take it. Of course, this drain on our tax dollars is a snowball effect, lending only to larger government to support more programs and a constant increase in the number of recipients. Currently, more than 40% of Americans do not pay taxes and that number is growing. That means that nearly half of the country is attempting to support, (in one way or another - if they don't receive assistance, they certainly use the roads and other things paid for by tax dollars), not only their share but also the share of the other half. What happens when it's 30% paying taxes? 20%? 10 and so on?<br /><br />A baby-step reform of the public assistance program is not going to help. Though the problem of forcing through a drastic change remains a challenge, here is a plan that I feel may work, if implemented.<br /><br />Welfare Reform -<br /><br />CLASS ONE: Temporary Displaced Worker Assistance - A worker who loses his/her job still needs to feed their family until finding new employment. We can agree that this is a basic need, (though not a "right"). Therefore, a displaced worker program could be provided in which the worker can receive assistance in the form of hourly wages for each day that they "work" to contribute to society. Non-skilled laborers would be employed through government agencies working on infrastructure, maintaining or building national parks/forests, or in conjunction with private non-profit organizations such as Habitat for Humanity or public shelters. The requirement would be to appear on time and provide four-hours of work and then have the other four-hours to search for a new job. Likewise, skilled- workers would be temporarily "employed" caring for and providing assistance to severely disabled citizens, (as mentioned in Class Three), working within schools, (if so qualified), or with a myriad of other organizations or agencies in need of temporary assistance. In addition, private sector companies needing temporary help, (either skilled or non-skilled), could hire the services of assistance program citizens through existing private sector agencies, who would be paid the base minimum wage rate by the hiring company and collect a standard 15% commission from the government. (This further saves tax dollars invested by allowing private sector payment for the bulk of the wages). This is a temporary assistance program, but rather than mandate a distinct cut off time, (whereby a worker who truly could not find employment in a downturned market would be cast out), workers will be "encouraged" to find other employment due to the nature of the program. The worker would be paid the base minimum wage for 8-hours on each day that they showed up at the assigned time and worked a full four-hours, followed by a logged four-hours of job searching. (This would need to be tracked and verified, but with the huge savings in public assistance payout, a small percentage could be used to fund any additional training and staffing for the current "welfare offices"). In addition, the work performed will be low level and the want to move up to better employment would be strong. The benefit? All recipients would be working to earn their assistance money and performing jobs that would either benefit the greater good of the populous, or providing low-cost employment within the private sector and drastically minimizing the size of the government contribution to the program as it now exists. Plus - and perhaps of most importance - it promotes a habit of work rather than collecting freebie giveaways. If you're going to have to tow the line anyway, you might as well find a job that you like.<br /><br />CLASS TWO: Partially Disabled - we can all agree that none of us want to be disabled in any way. In a society based on equality and fellowship, we want to help those who are. Likewise, most all of the disabled individuals I have had the pleasure of knowing are good people who don't want hand-outs or empathy for their disability. They strive to overcome whatever disadvantages they might have and many are quite successful. However, there are those who are unable to find employment and require help from others to get by. For those who are partially disabled, the Class Two program would provide for them a form of worker assistance in which they can contribute to government needs, (providing data entry from their home, for example), or private sector companies in need of part-time or temporary services that fall within their capability range. Again, the private sector could be supplied through agencies for commission, greatly reducing the burden on tax dollar contribution. Depending upon the situation, this class may be considered temporary or permanent assistance.<br /><br />CLASS THREE: Severely Disabled - There are those among us who simply cannot be expected to contribute and many of those also require special care. These individuals would fall into the third class of assistance, through which they would be provided with income and/or care assistance that would be either temporary or permanent depending upon their individual situation. Obviously there are situations in which insurance is providing for all or some of the needed care. This program would work in conjunction with insurance in cases where additional assistance is required but not covered. In no way would this reduce the burden on insurance companies with an obligation to provide to these citizens. In the event that government care or physical assistance is required, (either skilled care or non-skilled labor in maintenance or upkeep of the citizen's home), Class One workers could be used to supply the needed aid, thereby further reducing the tax dollar burden for assistance.<br /><br />Obviously this is only the "basics" of the plan and there are a number of issues not covered here. However, it's a start to a solution. The problem, as I mentioned before, would lie within getting such a drastic reform put in place. I do believe, though, if this problem and solution were widely enough publicized together, the critics would either have to present very good reasons as to why assistance should be given without being earned, or they will only be seen as contributing to a "freebie" society and the further decline of the greatest Nation on Earth.<br /><br />No offense, that's just the way I see it.<br /><br />All the best,<br /><br />WDLjosh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-1301185311210715382008-11-14T18:33:00.002-10:002008-11-14T18:38:36.883-10:00Spam from the New York Times<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_mA2Y4TdOTv7_EMOWdBzucUfZNAkClWc3K8SKyxs67wH2FrvAqpDEYe8opbJJ0DOFvBMBxLPr6eL6ot1XUM9J9kiqGqdC06PhnbsxyuCtIov9_I3km0CU0u0Qs9G8DwMfBU6pA/s1600-h/15spam.600.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_mA2Y4TdOTv7_EMOWdBzucUfZNAkClWc3K8SKyxs67wH2FrvAqpDEYe8opbJJ0DOFvBMBxLPr6eL6ot1XUM9J9kiqGqdC06PhnbsxyuCtIov9_I3km0CU0u0Qs9G8DwMfBU6pA/s320/15spam.600.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268738212878313426" /></a><br /> I have never eaten spam in my life, I have however at one point in my life remebered all the lyrics to Monty Pythons Spam song. A great article on Spam from the New York Times.<br /><br /> “There are all kinds of people who have an emotional connection to Spam,” said Gil Gutknecht Jr., the former Minnesota congressman, who was in the gift shop at the Spam Museum buying a Spam tie, sweatshirt and earrings. Mr. Gutknecht recalled that he once served as a judge in a Spam recipe contest.<br />Skip to next paragraph<br />Multimedia<br />Winners and LosersGraphic<br />Winners and Losers<br />Add to Portfolio<br /><br /> * Hormel Foods Corporation<br /><br />Go to your Portfolio »<br /><br />“The best thing was Spam brownies,” he said, with more or less a straight face.<br /><br />No independent data provider compiles sales figures that include all the outlets where Spam is sold, including foreign stores, so it is not clear exactly how much sales are up. Hormel’s chief executive, Jeffrey M. Ettinger, said in September that they were growing by double digits.<br /><br />The company would not discuss more recent sales of the product or permit a tour of the Spam factory, citing rules that Hormel said prevented it from speaking ahead of a forthcoming earnings report.<br /><br />However, Hormel executives appear to be banking on the theory that Spam fits nicely into recession budgets. Workers on the Spam line in Austin — more than 40 of them work two shifts —see no signs that their work schedule will let up.<br /><br />“We are scheduled to work every day except Thanksgiving and Christmas,” said Darwin Sellers, 56, a Spam “formulator” who adds salt, sugar and nitrates to batches of Spam. “Mr. Ettinger is negotiating with the man upstairs to get us to work eight days a week.”<br /><br />Mr. Sellers said he had not seen much of his family in recent months, but the grueling schedule had been good for his checkbook. He bought a new television and planned to replace a 20-year-old refrigerator.<br /><br />Unlike his colleagues though, he has no plans to stock up on Spam. “It’s not something I’ve ever developed a taste for,” he said.<br /><br />A rising segment of the public, it seems, does have a taste for Spam, which is available in several varieties, including Spam Low Sodium, Spam with Cheese and Spam Hot & Spicy.<br /><br />James Bate, a 48-year-old sausage maker, was buying it at Wal-Mart in Cleveland recently. Not only was it cheap, but he said it brought back fond memories of his grandfather’s making him Spam sandwiches.<br /><br />“You can mix it with tomatoes and onions and make a good meal out of it,” he said. “A little bit of this stuff goes a long way.”josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-65732222270924016502008-10-30T17:12:00.004-10:002008-10-30T17:29:38.364-10:00Vote and I will Tell you Why!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4W0uqh1lGKLL43_J2bvTkDDI-77ZCQUofF3NXyvZ6gagDXEe1CWRH8pdit-Mjx40Cyi6CWW2300Wf2ZQWNIAaEHe2jkQBfroNccVEm8rZ8iAeYIym8c3OERvhqleDhmOOOh6HtA/s1600-h/Polotical+Promises.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4W0uqh1lGKLL43_J2bvTkDDI-77ZCQUofF3NXyvZ6gagDXEe1CWRH8pdit-Mjx40Cyi6CWW2300Wf2ZQWNIAaEHe2jkQBfroNccVEm8rZ8iAeYIym8c3OERvhqleDhmOOOh6HtA/s320/Polotical+Promises.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263154995507093826" /></a><br /> Of course this has nothing to do with politics but does contain some pretty damn good science. <br /> Three weeks ago I was eating a banana and drinking coffee in my home office. The fact that my home office is on the upper level I did not feel like walking down the stairs to throw away a soft quick to rot banana peel, so I thought "hell just flush it down the crapper" which I did and well you know this was just bad science.<br /> First of all we all know Thomas Crapper invented the flush toilet, Mr Crapper would probably be rolling in is grave if he discovered that someone from an advanced society would dare try to flush a banana peel down a toilet.<br /> In my own defense I have to say, if you lay a banana on say, a bed stand, within three weeks it has withered into nothing but dead fruit flies and a waning bad odor.<br />However the waters of the crapper are like those of the sea, always willing to teach you a new lesson.<br /> Lesson learned, now Poseidon of the Crapper will you grant me a pardon, I knew bananas where supposed to be bad luck on a boat, but I was not trying to sail anything in my half bath. Forgive me and I will promise never to try to flush a banana peel down the crapper again.Unless forced at gunpoint of course and...well all bets are off at this point, I have to go through the motions stall wait for the moment and disarm the bandits. Thanks in advance Poseidon, your buddy JWjosh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-80369168548781665142008-10-18T06:31:00.002-10:002008-10-18T11:17:02.935-10:00Free Food With Purchase of Car<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhto_T2z2jC89bpo_Ter_D_Msljn1seICpzFyxYQVoT4ktw2j2vpDCrWASrnoqaFjK2k_w5ksP7BQQl3e6A9L8lsfiRmKA8W0dm76Yu_Mh_o4aQFrtuqml1IGx_Nsmkj8vqtom8hg/s1600-h/Monkey%2520shocked.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhto_T2z2jC89bpo_Ter_D_Msljn1seICpzFyxYQVoT4ktw2j2vpDCrWASrnoqaFjK2k_w5ksP7BQQl3e6A9L8lsfiRmKA8W0dm76Yu_Mh_o4aQFrtuqml1IGx_Nsmkj8vqtom8hg/s320/Monkey%2520shocked.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258532714135792130" /></a><br />The budget should be balanced, the Treasury should be refilled, public debt should<br /><br />be reduced, the arrogance of officialdom should be tempered and controlled, and the<br /><br />assistance to foreign lands should be curtailed lest Rome become bankrupt.<br /><br /> <br /><br />People must again learn to work, instead of living on public assistance.<br /><br /> <br /><br />-- Cicero , 55 BC<br />For lovers of good writing, these are the 10 winners of this year's Bulwer-Lytton contest -- AKA, Dark and Stormy Night Contest -- run by the English Dept. of San Jose State University, wherein one writes only the first line of a bad novel:<br /><br /> 10) "As a scientist, Throckmorton knew that if he were ever to break wind in the echo chamber, he would never hear the end of it."<br /><br /> 9) "Just beyond the Narrows , the river widens."<br /> <br /> 8) "With a curvaceous figure that Venus would have envied, a tanned, unblemished oval face framed with lustrous thick brown hair, deep azure-blue eyes fringed with long black lashes, perfect teeth that vied for competition, and a small straight nose, Marilee had a beauty that defied description."<br /><br /> 7) "Andre, a simple peasant, had only one thing on his mind as he crept along the East wall: 'Andre creep...Andre creep... Andre creep.'"<br /> <br /> 6) "Stanislaus Smedley, a man always on the cutting edge of narcissism, was about to give his body and soul to a back alley sex-change surgeon to become the woman he loved."<br /> <br /> 5) "Although Sarah had an abnormal fear of mice, it did not keep her from eeking out a living at a local pet store."<br /> <br /> 4) " Stanley looked quite bored and somewhat detached, but then penguins often do."<br /><br /> 3) "Like an over-ripe beefsteak tomato rimmed with cottage cheese, the corpulent remains of Santa Claus lay dead on the hotel floor."<br /><br /> 2) "Mike Hardware was the kind of private eye who didn't know the meaning of the word 'fear'; a man who could laugh in the face of danger and spit in the eye of death -- in short, a moron with suicidal tendencies."<br /> <br /> AND THE WINNER IS.....<br /><br /> 1) "The sun oozed over the horizon, shoved aside darkness, crept along the greensward, and, with sickly fingers, pushed through the castle window revealing the pillaged princess, hand at throat, crown asunder, gasping in frenzied horror at the sated, sodden amphibian lying beside her, disbelieving the magnitude of the frog's deception, screaming madly, 'You lied!'"josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13354610.post-41531439281384878702008-10-15T17:30:00.005-10:002008-10-15T17:51:15.364-10:00Roscoe in Central Florida Tax Free<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4C7_YGaxifTQdLp-CgHabhU-NZQJCT7RUhETOSD7F5tDL9cBt_XxB6clzx0fHBzD9nZ-p13uXTlfdu7BfgXq2MqpHmRGlWkY_-nxk86oh7GoTVolblM7TXjQssu_wk11xoFxwaw/s1600-h/TaterHelmet.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4C7_YGaxifTQdLp-CgHabhU-NZQJCT7RUhETOSD7F5tDL9cBt_XxB6clzx0fHBzD9nZ-p13uXTlfdu7BfgXq2MqpHmRGlWkY_-nxk86oh7GoTVolblM7TXjQssu_wk11xoFxwaw/s320/TaterHelmet.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257590489133192370" /></a><br />Soon to become a serial monthly installment in Trail Rider Magazine. Travels with Roscoe which is in the movie mill, the Coen brothers have the edge so far...Read and be a part of history! Yes George Clooney is still trying to buy the script direct and star. However I think the gent forgot where he came from. The Coen brothers gave him a huge career boost. Never forget where you came from, unless you are the progeny of Charles Manson of course. Kind Regards JW<br /><br /> Location: Central Florida<br /><br />Earnhardt pulled a stuffed monkey from his driving uniform and slammed it down. "I'm here, and I've got that damned monkey off my back!" he proclaimed." That was part of Dale Earnhardt's victory speech after winning the 1998 Daytona 500. When Indiana native Andy Hillenburg substituted for Ricky Rudd at the 2002 Daytona test session, Yates said. "It's not like a place where you need great driver feedback, (even though) Andy can do that and do a great job for us. I'm not saying he's just a monkey or a steering wheel holder, by any means." Tim Flock, the son of a daredevil, sometimes drove with a monkey as his co-pilot.... Flock raced eight times with his pet monkey, "Jocko Flocko," in the co-pilot seat. But the monkey broke free during a 1953 race at Raleigh, North Carolina, and grabbed Tim by the neck, holding on for dear life. Flock had to make an extra pit stop to de-monkey his car, which ended up costing him the race. (NASCAR.com) NASCAR roots reach deep in monkey tradition. With tradition in mind, I was certain that a trip to Daytona was necessary.<br /><br />A few logistical problems had to be figured in order to make the whole thing work. Leelee dropped us at Joe Foss Field in Sioux Falls. She would drive the camper south through Indiana to pick up Freak Show Roy and proceed to the holy land of stock car racing. Freak Show knew a couple of guys who had a hot car and needed a driver. My first obstacle would be flying with Tater. With the unfortunate global situation we find ourselves in, I counted on security being tight. I checked my bags and proceeded through the metal detector. Upon exit, I was thrown against the wall and surrounded by three heavily armed military types. "What the hell you carryin' in that bag!" I turned and realized what started the commotion. My soft sider screamed and tumbled off the conveyor as wide-eyed security workers viewed the x-ray monitor revealing an ape-ish skeleton. It was then I figured we were in trouble. I unzipped the bag and Tater exited holding my KTM jacket as a security blanket. "You a bike rider?... We are too!" ... After a few minutes of negotiation it was decided that we could fly to Florida but I would have to keep the monkey under control and buy him a ticket.<br /><br />Six hours later, they said to look for a Cuban guy holding a sign for us. I figured that we would be riding in style but an un-muffled Town-car, needing shocks, bounced us to our destination. I remember my dad telling me that if you opened the suicide doors on a 64 at speed, you'd get sucked out and run over by a concrete truck. Ricardo chattered with Tater while I enjoyed the sun and orange groves of eastern Florida, the smell of oil leaky valve covers filled the air. Aided by three semesters of high-school Spanish, I surmised he spoke of President Kennedy and the Bay of Pigs and that he was shot in a car just like this one. We arrived, in short order, at the garage complex of Frankie "Firebug" Roberts, a long time friend of Freak Show. Show would spend his winters in Florida and higher Frankie to repair carnie rides. I wanted to see the racecar. I envisioned myself speeding down the front stretch as Tater waived to the delight of the crowd. We rounded a deteriorated Tilt-A-Whirl and I stopped dead in my tracks. Before us sat a 97 T-bird covered with wood grained contact paper that you might buy to cover a kitchen cabinet. Some group called Gator Alley Pulp Mill & Stump Grinding sponsored it. Apparently the guys cashed in their alligator circus business.<br /><br />When Freak Show gets here, we're gonna talk. I still think Tater and I would make a great team, one meant for the history books. I caught a story on TV where several drivers were asked a Barbara Walters type question. "If you were in animal what kind of animal would you be?" Answers varied from the speedy Cheetah, Leopard and Gazelle to Tony Stewart's reply of "a tiger of course". With the wisdom of an old timer Jimmie Johnson proclaimed, "I'd be a monkey!". Be proud, be fast, Be Monkey.josh williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03442585673603814615noreply@blogger.com2