Lice To Meet You
So, Mr. Hussein, the rat hole wasn’t to your liking? That’s a terrible pity.
How about a shave?
Maybe a nice, comfy cell at an undisclosed location? Sound better?
That’s what I thought.
Good job guys.
– bob
We’re All Winners
The Great Question Submission Event was an underwhelming success. Most of the submissions came from only a couple people, and I’m reproducing them all here for your dining and dancing pleasure.
The submissions here are edited to fit our format, but otherwise left as they were sent to us and presented in the reverse order of receipt here at Question Central. Enjoy (if you can).
Would you rather…
sell bat guano Christmas ornaments,
or
be the gift wrapper at WalMart?
a) and in the spring, just tuck one under your tulip bulbs..
b) no sir, I will not wrap it in that…
Would you rather…
have your biography published on The Smoking Gun,
or
have your biography ghost-written by 8-year-olds?
Would you rather…
dine with cannibals,
or
have Christmas dinner where a food fight could end in fatalities?
Would you rather…
de-marginalize the unmarginalizable,
or
disenfranchise the enfranchised?
a) huh?
b) wha?
Would you rather…
stick it where the light don’t shine,
or
hide your light under a bushel?
Would you rather…
wake-up and smell the coffee,
or
wake-up and pee cuz the world’s on fire?
Would you rather…
eat a peach,
or
squeeze your lemon till the juice runs down your leg?
Would you rather…
defend Dubya for crimes against stupidity,
or
discover that John Ashcroft was head of your fraternity?
Would you rather…
hold the exclusive franchise for Hooters in Iraq,
or
breed cute & fuzzy missile delivery pets?
Would you rather…
super-size your Humvee,
or
hum your way across the alps?
And here’s the tough section. These are the requests (in italics) followed by our stab at writing a Question to fit. I’ve re-assembled the Question Team to work on these, and I WON’T TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER!
Oh, uh… I was kinda thinkin the biggie vs. tupac rift – other than
that, I don’t have a lot of info re: the big thang between eastside vs
westside gangstas. I just wanted to hear your dizzle sizzle…
Would you rather…
haunt the studio exec that produced your posthumous biopic,
or
hire an upstart ad agency to create a friendly gansta image for you?
a) Ridiculous Thug: Resurrection
b) Focus groupizzle
only be able to listen to Christmas music for 365 day a year
Would you rather…
work in a Hallmark store that played nothing 365 days a year but Christmas carols sung by William Shatner,
or
convince Rage Against the Machine to produce a 78 that you can play at your Grandma’s house?
a) Hark!……….theheraldangels…….sing!
b) Trimming In The Name Of!
Gee, this thing practically writes itself!
bob
Just Make Sure It’s Funny, Slappy
Would you rather…
we take your idea and make it into a Question,
or
we use your Question as-is?
a) Something about kittens, I like kittens.
b) Would you rather be big or tall…get it?
It’s not that hard to do,
bob
That’s right, we’re soliciting your Question ideas. Send mail with your idea or fully baked Question by 4:00 PM Pacific Time today, and we’ll run all of your Question ideas tomorrow. Sounds like fun, no?
UPDATE: Time! Time everyone!
My Ways And Means Committee Collector Plates Are Ruined!
Would you rather…
be able to tell Al Sharpton he can really be president without laughing,
or
overreact to a minor earthquake in Washington D.C?
a) I think you’ll do well in Iowa.
b) We escaped with no major damage or injuries!
It should be a cakewalk,
bob
Smashing Good Smashing Fellows!
Would you rather…
only use hipster slang from 1943,
or
be a polite rugby fan?
a) You sling a mean jive!
b) Yes, they scored, but I’m sure we’re due.
And you send me solid,
bob
The Beginning Of My Diplomacy Career
The folks from the Third World have suckered the U.N. into a conference in Geneva to suggest that the international body should run the Internet. My initial thought on the subject is; “We built the fucking thing, and now you want to run it? Bite me bastards!” but that’s so mean. I’m sure people in Brussels and Karachi and Bogota would love to run the Internet. As a public service, I’ve formulated a response to their request that captures the spirit of my previous rebuttal:
“As persons of questionable parentage, I’m sure that you will agree, there can be no agreement on overarching international oversight of the global information infrastructure without a fundamental understanding that members must masticate over the principles of free trade embodied in its primary structure. That being, the infrastructure investment by the West, as well as private entrepeneurs who would seek compensation in the event of this occurrence.”
I’m not exactly asking them to bite me in particular, I just wish for them to chew on the possibility that a U.N. takeover of the Internet, a gizmo conceived and constructed by the United States, could be impossibly expensive for them. I don’t suppose we’ll give up our Innernut without a fight, do you?
Besides, it would make the Nigerian spammers cranky, and who wants that?
Your pal,
bob
File Under: Technology Used For Evil
Would you rather…
lose the big chili cook-off in a category you had all to yourself,
or
sing your resignation through a portable Karaoke machine?
a) Best Vegetarian Chili That’s Altogether Too Hot And Far Too Thick
b) “It’s so hard to say goodbye”
Have you tried the smoky eel head chili yet?
bob
The Mighty Jeep Commando!
Once again back to its mighty, intimidating self, the Commando is prowling the streets of Mid-City San Diego. Young mothers cringe, young children cry and hide.
Ahhh. All is well and right with the world once again.
So what of the tiresome job scene? The jobless recovery is promising to be accurate, but somebody is going to need some help at some point, so I’m still encouraged. I’ve met with a couple people and have spoke on the phone with others about jobs in town that I can do with both lobes tied behind my back. Certainly they wouldn’t want to hear that, and I’m not promising to arrive at their offices with lumpy gray bits lashed to my posterior. I’m just saying that all of the jobs I’ve pursued seem pretty easy once I get over an initial learning curve. Easy enough that I might have time left over to devote more to each position than they had initially proposed.
At this point though, a phone call would be nice. From either of them. I’m ready to get to work.
The other reason I want to get going, besides the whole hilarious money/bills conundrum, is that I’m avoiding house chores like crawling under the house. The crawlspace is much too short for my comfort. It’s strictly an on-your-belly affair down there. The floor joists under the kitchen need bolstering once again (the supports from the last effort have already packed down leaving the floor with a disconcerting spring), so it’s time to bring the floor back up to its proper level.
You may recall that I’ve constructed a robot to inspect the crawlspace out of a radio-controlled car with a flashlight lashed to the front and a wireless X-10 camera. It’s too bad that it can’t pick up the house and install new supports remotely.
That’ll be the next, next, next, next project.
Your best pal,
bob
Yeah! Like Worker’s Rights And Junk!
Would you rather…
test the company’s new phone system by making prank international phone calls,
or
go on strike to preserve your company’s body piercing benefits?
a) “Good morning, Buckingham Palace…”
b) “…and the copay for tattoos is heinous, man…”
Is your refrigerator running?
bob
The Oversize Charges Are Piling Up
Would you rather…
sort letters to Santa at the post office,
or
be the official toboggan packager?
a) To: Santa And His Old Lady
b) From: Candy Apple Red Sleds ‘R Us
I’ve been nice,
bob
Electronic Gaming Is Just A Fad
Would you rather…
be the model for an Accountancy Action Figure,
or
unable to keep a toy store out of bankruptcy at Christmas?
a) Eyeshade! Check! Spreadsheet Runner! Check! The Eraser! Check!
b) T.K.O. Schwarz
I collected the set twice,
bob
It’s Time
I’ve had plenty of time to moderate my views, and for the memory to fade a little. Get ready…
It’s time for the Thanksgiving Post-Mortem!
Where to begin? Wednesday seems like a logical place to start. That’s when my mother-in-law and step-father-in-law arrived with the dog-in-law. Our own hell hounds immediately offered their comment by barking and nipping at the little dog-in-law. That isn’t how the entire weekend went, but it seems to have set the tone. The hair on the back of my neck spent a lot of time standing at attention. Actually, I found new energy to work on the elderly Frankenmac in the garage (modem’s still not working, but thanks for asking).
My kid’s table plan was vetoed, so a square table from outside was added to the end of the dining room table, creating a brand new shape and an interesting elevation change at the joint. It also served to deprive us of four or so seats, so it was still an elbow to elbow affair—even with the added room.
Thankfully though, there were plenty of non-meat options for me, so I ate like a king. I would’ve eaten even more, appropriately stuffing myself, but there were other things to do. Like stoke the fire again…
I was growing weary of this. I’d brought in more than enough lumber, there were people lounging in the living room, but they couldn’t be bothered to get up and throw in a log. As a result, they found me, wherever I was, so that I could “fix it.” You know, while performing mundane activities like washing dishes, chatting with guests outside, keeping the dogs out of trouble. I’d had enough of the interruptions, so I went in and built a huge inferno. “That’ll hold ’em,” I thought. Five minutes pass, followed by another knock on my noggin. “There’s a funny smell coming from the fireplace.”
Sure enough, the fire was so big and so hot that something was going very wrong in the flue. Or the walls. Or the built-in bookcases. It was an old furnace smell and one I’d never experienced coming from the fireplace before. I took a guest’s advice and sprayed a trickle of water on the blaze to try to bring it down to manageable levels. No effect. It may have actually made it worse. I scrambled for the watering can and simply put the whole damn thing out.
“That’s it. No more fire tonight. Nothing to see here. Move along people.”
Yep, I’d become the jerk by letting my emotions rule the moment. The result was that I’d made everybody unhappy and uncomfortable all in one fell swoop. I’m still afraid to clean the fireplace out and take a look at the damage I’d done. Not to mention calling everybody to ask them to forgive my brusque tone and bad manners.
Thanksgiving is going to be held in L.A. next year (tentatively), so I guess the verdict is in. “We love your house, adore your Beautiful and Talented Bride™’s cooking, we just don’t like the host very much.”
Or maybe I’m overreacting.
How unusual,
bob
P.S. This was the first year that my folks have ventured from the desert to spend Thanksgiving since the passing of my maternal Grandmother. A big step for them to be sure. My Dad was pretty quiet the whole evening. I think the moment was hitting him hard, although he’d be unwilling to admit it. We’re stoics, you know.
P.P.S. I have cleaned out the charred remains in the fireplace and discovered something interesting (to me). The fire was so hot that it popped the mortar off of the fireplace’s foundation. Some river rock (the filler commonly used in foundations around here at the turn of the century) had actually popped out. I think I can safely say that this isn’t good. More mortar will no doubt be required before we fire the thing up again (pardon the pun).
P.P.P.S. I finally fixed the Commando. The problem wasn’t the fuel tank after all, but the fuel line from the tank to the mechanical pump mounted to the engine. Here’s a short story:
I went to the auto parts place down the street to order new lines. “Ten feet please,” I said. Everyone behind the counter stared at me. “Ten feet? That’s a lot.” “Okay,” I said, “how about six feet. Yes, six feet will be plenty.”
Yep. I was four feet short.
Alright Everybody, Coffee Break’s Over
Would you rather…
the repo man comes to redeem the soul that you sold,
or
be condemned to eternal tarnation?
a) What, no installment plan?
b) You know, Tarn-X might fix that…
Back on your heads,
bob
Advice For Couples; By Michael Moore
Would you rather…
resume shopping at the hospital gift store after shopping ’til you dropped,
or
select books from Amazon for your entire list by searching for “remainders”?
a) A toe splint and a Get Well bear, how thoughtful!
b) People who bought this book also bought…
What a proud warrior,
bob
Another Editor’s Note: The Thanksgiving post-mortem is coming. Be patient my pretties.
Aaarrghh!
The Jeepster now won’t start. But first, an aside, kinda…
My step-father-in-law (if that is appropriate usage. Other-father-in-law seems strained, doesn’t it?) and I were surveying my 1973 Jeep Commando sitting in the backyard under the carport the day before yesterday. He suggested that it might be thought of as a classic. I regaled him with legal technicalia like “in California, any car older than 25 is considered a classic” and “I guess so, they made less than 2,000 of them that year…” He replied with a stunning offer, asking what it might take to restore the thing and offering to bankroll the project.
Meep.
Of course, I have to overthink this. By “restore” what does he mean? Bring it back to original? Bring it back to the state that the first owner—the old prospector—took delivery of it by fixing the dual battery setup, repairing the winch, rebuilding the overdrive unit, repairing the oversized gas tank…
…that’s where my problems are today.
The old prospector used the Jeep to crawl around old mining sites looking for things the original prospectors left behind. Coins, lanterns, photos, anything that would be of interest and potentially worth some cash. He made a decent living of it, I’m told, and outfitted the Commando with the latest and greatest heavy duty kit in 1973. CB? All 24 channels of it. Underdrive? The thing can climb up a wall in first gear in four-low thanks to the gears he installed. Range? He replaced the stock 15 gallon tank with one double the size. Not too custom, just an off-the-shelf item that you might find in the pickup bed of a contractor who regularly needs to refuel a tractor or skiploader.
These big boxes of petrol were never designed to be primary gas tanks for passenger vehicles, but the old prospector managed to make it work for years and years. In fact, it worked until a week ago. That’s thirty years, if you’re counting, but now it has failed.
The tube that collects the gasoline has broken off inside the tank, its float now bobs on a sea of bluish-pink petrol. The mighty Jeep now starved, sadly sits idle.
In the meanwhile, before I realized this, I threw all of twenty five dollars at the problem. New filters, new fuel pump, much gasoline spewed in my face as I tried to blow out the lines (thinking they were blocked).
No joy in Commando Land. Now I have to think of a workaround. Suppose my step-father-in-law might consider that part of the restoration project?
I don’t either.
Your best pal in this physical space,
bob