Guess What Nobody Noticed While Everyone Was Flaking Out

Last Friday a bunch of people from Team A got permits, traveled to a location, and marched around. They were met by a bunch of people from Team B, who did not get a permit, but traveled to the same location and marched around too. Some of the guys on Team A were kinda’ sketchy while others were not. Team B also has some folks who are sketchy and others who are not. Team A had a bunch of Tiki torches while Team B sported an improvised flamethrower. Thus, proving both groups have successfully mastered the technology of fire. Folks on both sides also used sticks and shields. There was a lot of screaming but there is no photographic evidence of feces flinging.

Eventually someone wound up dead and the press rolled in it like a dog in roadkill. They’ve been bored since they dropped the “Russia, Russia, Russia” narrative and were happy to jump on the “racist, racist, racist” bandwagon. As required by tradition and sentiment, they explain this is caused by deplorable assholes who should obey their betters. Also it’s the fault of an evil orange pretender to Hillary’s throne. Apparently he’s from New Jersey and therefore icky.

I ignored it, because “duh“.

Meanwhile, people who studied STEM in college continued being awesome. Monday they did this:

Time for a Curmudgeonly Gem of Insight:

“Nitwits in face masks are hitting each other with sticks at the base of a statue. Meanwhile smart people are flying to space. Just as it has ever been.”

Have a great day y’all!


P.S. Hat tip to Sondrakistan.

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People Will Die

Won’t someone think of the children!

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Google Memes

I’m a sucker for a good visual joke:

The one above gets a hat tip to Moonbattery. The rest are just sorta’ floating randomly (if you have a source please tell me and I’ll attribute it).

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Squirrel Hiatus

I’m sipping coffee after working on my PAWIRNEATT (Project About Which I’d Rather Not Elaborate At This Time). My thickness planer is heavenly, I have sawdust in my nose, and I didn’t cut off a finger in the bandsaw. It’s a good time to be alive.

Then I think “I must get back to the squirrel story. I haven’t written the explosion yet. Nor the cosplayers. And there’s the part about the fish!” But the coffee was good so I sought an excuse. “I’ll check the news. Maybe there’s been an outbreak of sanity and I can put fiction on the back burner a while.”

How to detect an outbreak of sanity:

Did people start acting like adults? It could happen. Look for reports of nitwits with power they didn’t earn, don’t need, and can’t handle. If I they’re missing then the pendulum has swung towards a reality based universe and it’s time to cool the fiction writing.

  • Did a big organization forget its purpose and act like a raving jackass?

You can’t go long without some large organization completely forgetting it’s reason to exist and behaving like a toddler with a hatchet. The usual winners in this reverse-lottery are the airlines and the vast field of Orwellian incompetence we used to call journalism. United did it’s share when they beat a paying customer and dragged him off a plane. Then, CNN stepped into the breech and went full retard over a silly joke. If companies like United focused on flying airplanes and CNN tried the novel idea of reporting news(!) they wouldn’t fall prey to serial face-plants.

Who picked up where United and CNN faded out? It was Google!

A Google employee posited a well reasoned discussion of the pros and cons of favoring biological diversity (race, sex, etc…) over ideological diversity (different opinions and approaches etc…). He also suggested that men and women might have different preferences in terms of careers in computer programming. The monster! I read his whole text. It wasn’t particularly overboard. You don’t have to agree with him if you don’t want to. There’s room in the world for all kinds of ideas and… Bwa ha ha ha that’s adult language. Instead a loud majority got high on groupthink and charged off the cliff.

Given the chance to react like sane adults who’ve lived a few years and possibly have met and spoken to both men and women… on earth… Google shit its pants. They fired his ass toot sweet. Meanwhile the press twisted it into some kind of female bashing manifesto of doom. It turns out men and women are exactly 100% alike except we need more female computer programmers because they’re 100% the same in a better diverse way. A million articles and not one mentioned the technology of search engines. Funny thing that.

Thus, Google fulfilled this month’s “nitwit of the moment” checkbox. Also, just to make it funnier, many female Google employees took the day off ’cause they had the vapors. Awesome!

Google forgot it’s a for profit search engine and targeted marketing company. They fired the shit out of some fellow for “perpetuating gender stereotypes” as if “gender role analysts” make computers run. A computer search company, shouldn’t give a flying fuck about anyone’s opinions about anything.

“Fred, how’s it going?”

“I was busy all weekend. I set fire to my left nipple, built a race car out of three dishwashers and a jet engine, planted heirloom tomatoes, wrote a poem, adopted a lizard, got a tattoo of Barbra Streisand on my nutsack, and shoved a beer can up my ass on stage in Tijuana. This morning, on company time, I wrote a new algorithm that shaves 0.000001% off a search routine.”

“0.000001%? Awesome! Keep up the good work.”

Firing people for “sucking a computer programming” is the only thing Google should be doing… and this is because they’re not allowed to execute shitty programmers. Google is legally obligated to stockholders to stay focused on getting rich and nothing else. That’s what “for profit company” means.

Also, Google pays real American dollars for a Vice President of Diversity, Integrity and Governance. That’s California-speak for “Soviet apparatchik”. Aside from the janitor (who they might contract out) why have anyone on staff who isn’t writing code every goddamn day?

Time for a Curmudgeonly Gem of Insight:

“Once a company has the scratch to hire a Vice President of Diversity, Integrity and Governance it’s time to put some kid from Tatooine into an X-wing and make a run at their exhaust ports.”

  • Did something super, extra, mega gay happen and were we ordered to be impressed by such bravery?

A few years ago it was a former track and field star, turned reality TV show um… actor(?), who turned into a female shaped object for the cover of Vanity Fair. Then it was a few years of “bake me a cake you homophobic peon” and “who gets to shit where while shopping at Target?” It calmed down for a while. Now it’s Vogue with a pardoned formerly court-marshaled quasi-female thing wearing a swimsuit on their cover.

Predictably, we’re told this is brave and awesome. Because in modern America, women are exactly equal to men in programming and male-based humans are exactly perfect for filling out a swimsuit.

  • Is Trump going to be impeached by next Wednesday due to Russia, Russia, Russia…?

I’m not sure what happened here. There’s less news coming out of this six month nothingburger. I’ve been enjoying the sillyness. I chuckle at the “62,984,825 people voted for Trump but they were all Russian spies” theory. You gotta’ roll up a copy of The New York Times and smoke it to get high enough for that one to seem more plausible than “Hillary lost because she didn’t win”.

“I’ll take ‘What’s got less hard evidence than Bigfoot’ for $200 Alex.”

It’s a portent of sanity as it seems to be fading. Like herpes there will probably be periodic painful inflammations (likely emanating from CNN) but I guess the party is over? Score one for everyone calming down?

  • Is a socialist/totalitarian shithole threatening to attack somewhere most Americans can’t find on a map? Are we being told this is a big fat hairy deal?

Bill Clinton gave North Korea Danegeld in 1994 to lay off making nukes. This has been tried before:

“But we’ve proved it again and again,
That if once you have paid him the Dane-geld
You never get rid of the Dane.”

Twenty-three years later North Korea has nukes, they spent the money, and they’re still an oppressive shithole. They were given stern warning about rockets so no way that… Whoops now they finally have rockets. Funny how that works.

Perusing news articles after the fact it seems like folks tried to get upset that an ICBM would hit Alaska. It didn’t seem to take. Then they postulated that maybe Korea could hit Hawaii or California. For whatever reason nobody freaked over Hawaii and probably half of us cheered over the California thing. Then they started talking about Guam.

This one took root. Why we care about Guam more than Honolulu is beyond me? Maybe if I worked at Google and had a subscription to Vanity Fair it would all make sense.

At any rate I have no commentary about North Korea. They’ve been fucking with us over for 23 years and like an abusive co-dependent nimrod we keep “engaging”. I’m not sure what’ll happen. I hope nobody gets hurt. Probably it’ll all blow over.


People are fuckin’ nuts! None of the stuff I mentioned was even remotely sane (aside from the odd radio silence about why Trump is “super definitely toast this time”).

It’ll be forgotten as soon as something more weird happens. Presumably a shark will attack Britney Spears who’s just come out as a male transgendered freight hauler from New Jersey, CNN will blame Russia, Google will censor it, United will drop a plane on it, and Lil’Kim will be sad and lonely ’cause nobody cares about him.

My survey of the news is complete. Time to write more tales of Lesbian Activist Squirrels. Look for the next installment by next week.

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Billy Deploys An Attitude Adjustment: Part 12: These Are Not The K-cups You Are Looking For

Twitch clutched Billy’s box of K-cups like a drowning man might grasp a life preserver. His eyes were wide and he was stringing together irrelevant movie quotes. Billy was maneuvering slowly and confidently; a prizefighter preparing for a one punch win.

“If you strike me down I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.” Twitch bluffed.

“Good. Bad. I’m the one with the gun.” Billy responded, not bluffing.

“For God’s sake, BUY the K-cup!” Doogie pleaded. “Can’t you see he’s got a thing about theft?”

“Hanging’s too good for him.” Billy agreed.

Twitch reached into his pocket and retrieved six credit cards; two were maxed out, one belonged to his grandmother, one was only activated in Lithuania, but the other two had a few hundred each.

“Cash only!” Billy rumbled “Never debt.”

Twitch hadn’t used or possessed actual dollars since… Actually never. Twitch was of the generation that saw greenbacks as quaint and silly; like cassette tapes, manual transmission cars, and physical labor. Desperate and unwilling to give in, he did his best Jedi mind control voice; “You will not attack me.”

Billy stopped his menacing approach, stood up from his fighting stance, and let his arms fall loose to his sides. “OK” Billy said meekly, “I will not attack you.” Doogie and Achmed looked at each other. Did the Jedi mind trick really work? Twitch was amazed. All he had to do was THAT? If the “these are not droids you are looking for” method worked, he was gonna’ get so laid at the next Comic Con.

“However,” Billy shrugged, “the bear will do it me.” He smiled to himself, situational awareness is like magic in front of muggles. He’d seen the bear coming because he was paying attention.

Twitch, confused by Billy’s sudden pacifism, turned around just as a charging bear hurled itself through the door. He let out a high-pitched shriek that sounded like kittens being electrocuted. This startled Bart who let out a low menacing roar suitable for constipated bulldozers.

What ensued was truly epic. Whomever coined the term “bull in a china shop” had never seen a bear in a convenience store.

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Billy Deploys An Attitude Adjustment: Part 11: K-Cup Showdown

Billy and Doogie had just started mopping the floor when ECTO1 nearly plowed into the store. Achmed blinked in confusion. Doogie looked pensive. Billy beamed. Nothing says America like a private freelance ghost extermination team.

“Who ya’ gonna’ call?” Billy asked aloud.

“DON’T SAY IT!” Twitch erupted through the door, arms flailing.

“You drive a 1959 Cadillac hearse with a movie franchise logo on the side and you don’t want to hear the catch phrase?” Billy sneered.

“GHOSTBUSTERS!” Doogie shouted, grinning.

Twitch grabbed a bag from a nearby display and threatened to assault Doogie with a Super-sized Funyuns Pack.

“What on earth is a Ghostbuster?” Achmed interrupted.

Everyone paused, they all turned to Achmed.

“Really?” Billy growled.

Achmed suddenly felt very far from home. “Don’t throw coffee at me, I beg of you.”

All eyes turned to Billy’s three remaining cups, still steaming hot. Twitch focused on them like a laser. “COFFEE! NOW!!” Twitch reached for Billy’s coffee. “Nope.” Billy swatted Twitch like a gorilla might brush away a Chihuahua. Twitch fled to the coffee aisle and found it empty.


“Do you always speak in all caps?” Doogie teased.

“I got some coffee right here.” Billy warmed to the pitch.

“NEED IT!” Twitch staggered over Billy’s mop bucket and began pleading which, as is common these days, was a combination of whining and angry demands.

“One dime!” Billy cackled “Junk silver, two and a half grams melt value ought to do it.” He held out his hand as if everyone is carrying bullion. Incensed, Twitch grabbed one of Billy’s boxes of K-cups and waved it in front of the register’s UPC reader.

In an undisclosed location monitoring software which had been silent for weeks went apeshit. A logic statement had changed state! The NSA analyst leaned forward in his chair. He clicked a few keys. Monitors lit up with real-time video feeds. He grinned with malevolent satisfaction as he picked up one of his “special” phones. He loved using those phones!

“Get a chopper in the air. Now! I’ll brief you en route.”

Back in the store Achmed was wondering why the register had suddenly stopped working. Apparently, trying to sell more K-cups than the store actually had (by scanning one of Billy’s boxes a second time) had crashed the system.

Meanwhile Twitch was backing away from Billy while still clutching the box. Billy started stretching his neck in anticipation of some light aerobic exercise.

“You,” Doogie scolded “make bad decisions.”

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Billy Deploys An Attitude Adjustment: Part 10: Bear Launch

Twitch’s arrival, like all of Twitch’s arrivals, was a whirlwind of chaos presaging the greater tragedy to come. If Twitch had been a skilled driver, his screeching, sliding, sirens-wailing near crash would be a manly ode to Dukes of Hazard Americana. Alas with Twitch, it was just another near miss on the road to inevitable disaster.

To the squirrels, who knew human nature sufficiently to wreak havoc on individuals but lacked the slightest understanding of culture, it was a shock.

“Holy Shit! Billy called the Ghostbusters!” chittered Mary.

“No, Doogie warned us.” Terry moaned, “They’ve been sent by the NSA!”

“The NSA can deploy the Ghostbusters?” What a terrifying power their unseen enemy wielded!

The squirrels were frantic. It was time for drastic measures. “Bart, get in there and retrieve Doogie!” Terry ordered. Doogie was a valuable asset in what might become a desperate battle.

The squirrel’s head games had never been entirely effective with Bart. Apparently racist bears were unmoved by sweet disco harmonies. “Screw that! I ain’t going out there to get my ass shot off by three guys with unlicensed nuclear accelerators on their backs.”

Twitch erupted from the vehicle, leaving the lights on, door open, and engine idling. He stumbled on the curb, bounced off a trash can, and, with the grace and dignity of a pinball, entered the store.

Bart and the squirrels looked at each other. There was only one Ghostbuster, and he wasn’t even carrying his Proton Pack! He looked like the sort of pasty weakling that would get beaten up by the roving packs of twelve year old fans of fantasy role playing games. This is apt because Twitch, who often sought work at Comic-Cons, had recently opined “Orcs are what happens when eighth graders don’t do their homework” and had wound up beaten into submission by a group of twelve-year olds taking a break from their favorite adventure; “Orc Wars.”

“He’s white…” Terry hinted,

“Racist bastard!” Bart slipped out of the car and trotted toward the glass door.

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Billy Deploys An Attitude Adjustment: Part 09: Who Ya’ Gonna’ Call

Twitch MacGuffin made bad choices. The evidence of this was… everything. Twitch had, of his own volition, chosen comic book colorist as his career. He’d inexplicably expected this to lead to money, respect, and women; in that order. So certain was he of this decision that he’d amassed a mountain of student loans in pursuit of this skill. Then he publicly announced he would, for the purity of his art, eschew electronic media; which rendered him unemployable. Finally, he pushed himself off the cliff when he bought ECTO1. ECTO1 was a 1959 Cadillac hearse, rebuilt and outfitted (at outlandish expense) to look like the famous vehicle from Ghostbusters. Twitch had felt ECTO1 would be a handy marketing tool; which it wasn’t. He also thought it would impress women; which it didn’t.

Twitch, who was immensely broke, lived in ECTO1; which is to say he slept nightly in a monument to bad decisions. It didn’t help that Twitch, who tended toward depression, was sure that sleeping in a hearse was tempting fate.

As the aggregation of unwise ideas bore down on him, Twitch escaped into pathos. Always straying into the strange, he decided he was addicted to coffee. He embraced caffeine in the manner most people associate with heroin. He drank unnatural amounts of the stuff with the earnest resolve of a man whose problems will all vanish if only his chest explodes while already ensconced in a hearse.

He saw the convenience store ahead, calculated that he hadn’t had coffee for 43 minutes and decided to stop. Any lesser man would arrive quietly, park discreetly, and make an uneventful purchase. Twitch floored it, turned on the custom installed Ghostbusters lights and siren, and careened into a wild skid which narrowly missed the pumps. He came to a halt with a screeching of tires and groaning of aged suspension components.

He was directly in front of the glass doors with one tire on the raised curb. Twitch had, as always, arrived with the subtlety of a plane crash.

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Billy Deploys An Attitude Adjustment: Part 08: Attitude Adjustment

For years, Billy had chafed under the blatant misdirection of Federal Reserve Notes. “Here’s some green paper. Before you were born it was backed by gold but now there’s no gold in the vault and inflation chews your ass while you run on the hamster wheel. We’re neither a bank nor the government and there’s nothing you can do about it. Kings claim divine right, dictators win by war, politicians sleaze their way through elections, but we offer nothing. Not a damn thing! Suck it up; you abrasive little shit, you’re gonna’ scratch and claw and work and grovel to get what we offer… which is just a green slip of paper. Bend over and trust us like the peon you are!” Billy hated it. He’d experimented with various alternatives; bitcoin, silver bullion, cell phone minutes, ammunition, canned goods, pot, Krugerrands, handshakes, barter, and hope, but nothing worked. Now he’d finally seen the one true path of the K-cup. He was delivered from oppression. Peace settled upon him. Everything was going to be all right.

Doogie wandered in and joined him. This was unusual. He didn’t expect Doogie to expose himself to the cameras that were surely watching. Since he’d met the squirrels, Doogie had become increasingly withdrawn and paranoid. Considering that Billy was a full-fledged isolationist loner that lived and breathed in freedom like a fish breathes water, the fact that he thought Doogie seemed “off” was really saying something. But Billy was feeling magnanimous and started to share his newfound epiphany.

“Check it out!” Billy waved toward the pile of K-cups in front of the register. “They’re easily recognizable, unitized, durable, and denominated. I’ve found the friggin’ alternative to Federal Reserve Notes!”

Achmed craned his neck to hear. He was curious why the lunatic wanted so much coffee.

“What’s wrong with Federal Reserve Notes?” Doogie shrugged.

“But! For the love of…” Billy stammered.

“The greenback is backed by the full faith of the Federal Government.”


Billy, with lightening like reflexes, flung a cup full of steaming hot coffee at Doogie. It hit him full in the face in a painful torrent! Doogie sputtered and waved his arms about.

Steadying his emotions into a complex combination of pain at the coffee and fear that he’d disobey the squirrels (and thus be deprived of Abba), he pivoted to the mission.  “I can haul all this stuff to the car. Hand me your keys so I can open the trunk.”

Billy was still upset about the ‘greenbacks’ event. You think you know someone… Mind the size of a planet and then this? What. The. Fuck?

Billy pointed at the flatscreen. “Hey what do you think about that?” It was scrolling an announcement that Republican budget cuts would adversely affect the safety of kittens in city parks. Doogie followed Billy’s arm and saw the screen. He was entranced. The colors, the scrolling bar, the pretty girl reading words while bracketed by photos of adorable kittens. It all made sense. Yes! This was definitely a true thing. He was suddenly concerned with those kittens and very angry at those nasty corporate fat cats who caused it all! It was important to say this very true fact and make Billy agree with it. “I think she has a cogent argument. If someone would think about the kittens…”


A second cup hit already scalded skin and Doogie stumbled back.

Achmed froze, there had been too much weird and he couldn’t process it all. Working nights at a convenience store, he was jaded to the depravity of most of humanity. But K-cup man had brewed eleven cups of coffee just for the purpose of burning the face off another customer?

Doogie was in too much pain to do anything but Billy had a plan. He roughly grabbed him and shoved his face in freezer. Doogie dimly registered a desire for a Dove bar. Then he sighed as the soothing cold calmed his skin. Alas the respite was brief. In less than a second Billy hauled him up by the belt and shoved his face toward the clerk.

“This guy!” Billy demanded. “Is he racist?”

Doogie blinked. The words came out of his mouth unbidden. “Yes. He’s white so….”


When the third cup of coffee hit him, facts started reconnecting in Doogie’s mind. How could tax policy get a cat out of a tree? Since when was the cat/tree interface a Federal issue? How can you denounce a man you’ve never met as racist?

Billy was shouting at him again. “If I put on a dress and self-identify as the queen of England, what am I?”

Two thoughts fought for primacy in Doogie’s mind. Self-identity is always followed by assent. But if he agreed that Billy could be the queen of England he’d get a face full of coffee. He tried to sort it out…


“You’re thinking too long. The answer is ‘I’d be fuckin’ nuts’. What’s wrong with you? Have you been drinking? Are you high? What the fuck is going on!?!”

Doogie’s mind was whirling. “It’s all crazy! Kittens! Racists! Russian collusion!”


Doogie desperately tried to think of anything to make it stop. His face was on fire, coffee had splashed down his neck and his eyes were watering. Billy kept shouting questions inches from his ear.

“If I say two plus two is five what’s the fucking answer?”

Blinking back the pain Doogie tried to answer correctly. “Everyone is entitled to their interpretation…”


“The answer’s four. It’s four. It’s four even if I’ve got a goddamn army. It’s four even if I drive a Rolls Royce. It’s four even if you’re told otherwise by a chick with enormous…

Something clicked in the middle of Billy’s exposition. Moving quickly, he grabbed “Genetically Improbable Sluts”, riffled through it and held up page 43. He positioned it inches from Doogie’s nose.

Doogie, sputtering with pain and confusion from the hot coffee assault blinked. He focused. There was something in front of his eyes. Kittens? Squirrels. Oh my….

“Hello? Are you in there?” Billy was shouting.

Doogie was slowly processing the scene from page 43. There was a lot to process… though all of it was nude.

“Um. Er.” Doogie was entirely out of thoughts. That’s the power of sex… well at least it was the power of page 43.

Billy was still working Doogie’s mind over with a figurative tire iron. “Are you concerned about that woman’s carbon footprint?”

“Polar bears and…”


Doogie reeled back and for the first time, registered a new emotion… anger. “Hey, what the hell do you think you’re…”

Billy shoved the page in front of Doogie’s eyes again. The page drilled through Doogie’s psyche and he suddenly could think of nothing but tits. Just like that, 63 hours of concentrated mind-altering programming faded into nothingness.

“What are you thinking about?” Billy demanded. He was about to cuff Doogie hard.

“They’re real and they’re spectacular.” Doogie beamed.

Doogie grabbed the magazine and held it before the clerk. “Yes, spectacular.” Agreed the clerk. It was a self-evident truth. Also, he was afraid the K-cup man would start hurling coffee at him.

Billy cocked his head to the side.

“Are you sure? Are you thinking about her carbon footprint?” Billy held another cup of coffee in his hand, swirling it menacingly.

“Um, who cares about carbon.” Doogie was flipping to page 44. He was not thinking about carbon.

“Kittens? Russian collusion? What’s a dollar worth?” Billy hissed.

“A dollar is worth anything you’ll give for it. I’m not sure where the kitten thing came from.” Doogie was wiping coffee from his face. The clerk handed him a bag of frozen daiquiri mix which Doogie gratefully accepted and pressed to his burned forehead. He tossed the magazine on the counter alongside the pyramid of K-cups and tentatively probed his lightly burned nose.

“You sure? I can do this all day.” Billy sipped coffee and leered.

Doogie looked at the remaining coffee. A cup in Billy’s hand, 3 steaming hot cups of coffee waiting on the counter, and the scattered remains of 7 cups around his feet. “Did you brew eleven cups of coffee in anticipation of throwing them in my face?”

Achmed blanched. That’s exactly what he did! K-cup man was a not merely a random lunatic but a coldly calculating menace! They oughta’ lock him up!

“Are you pissed off at corporate shitheads?” Billy prompted.

“Which ones?” Doogie asked. It was the most lucid voice he’d used in the entire encounter.

“The ones who won’t pay their fair share.” Billy swished his coffee, exuding menace.

“That’s bullshit. Whom defines fair share? What’s wrong with accumulating wealth?” Doggie was genuinely confused at the question.

“Welcome back.” Billy was satisfied. His friend was sane again.

“What’s all this about?” The clerk asked dubiously. Mostly he was wondering if he’d have to mop the floor after the menace had thrown coffee all over everything.

“Abba.” Doogie shuddered. “It’s all about Abba.”

If you think it makes perfect sense to brew eleven cups of coffee and hurl them in the face of someone who’s been exposed to excessive and unhealthy bullshit, you might want to click below:


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Billy Deploys An Attitude Adjustment: Part 07: The Eulogy Of The Ronin

The music returned. Doogie pleasurably nodded his head with the sweet melody. In the nearby convenience store Billy glanced over, saw Doogie smiling, and went back to whatever he was doing.

What was left of Doogie’s intellect knew the squirrel’s plan would never work. Nobody knows what they don’t know and the squirrels had no idea what a man could do. Doogie was male, intelligent, thoughtful, brilliant, kind, and inquisitive. But he wasn’t particularly manly. The squirrels, with the huge blind spot inherent in being gynocentric, didn’t recognize the gulf between male and man.

Doogie was male. Billy was a man. Doogie might, with luck, acquire the Subaru; use Billy’s trust to betray him. But that would be his undoing. Whether it was apparent on the outside, or even logically congruent with the modern world, Billy saw himself internally as a romantic hero. Billy’s soul was equal parts cowboy, warrior, and Norse god. He ached for the climactic showdown that would turn a mundane life’s story into a grand saga. Doogie or anyone else, who lit that fuse would rue the day. You do not “rustle” a cowboy’s horse. You do not steal a warrior’s sword. You don’t fuck with Thor!

If Doogie managed to steal the Subaru, he would have done all three; which would be the end. Billy would react, without hesitation, without mercy, without uncertainty, and without handwringing. Fish swim, birds fly, and Billy defends his stuff. Today, Billy’s sky was blue, take his car and his sky would be revenge. He was among the last dwindling portion of males who were still men.

Ironically, getting shot at by cops (the squirrel’s carefully designed and woefully inadequate double cross) wouldn’t faze Billy. He’d assumed all his life that someday someone would try to gun him down; whether it was cops, Russkies, or tentacled aliens would make no difference to him. Should a couple overconfident Barney Fife clones cross Billy’s Rubicon he’d bob and weave and come up firing himself; not something the average security officer expects. After a body count somewhere between Rambo and Terminator he’d unass the scene and disappear to one of his countless pre-planned bug out points. There he would bind his wounds and enjoy a dramatic moment where he’d swear to the Gods of the Free Market and vow on the grave of Adam Smith that revenge would ensue. Then he’d begin the hunt. Doogie shivered.

Perhaps that was fate? Billy never fit in at the University, it’s not a place where men feel comfortable (as opposed to males, who go there to hide from the burdens of men). Would Billy find personal fulfilment in a story of betrayal and ensuing retribution. The words sounded right for Billy’s world. He might enjoy the adventure. He’d love the chase, excel at the killing, and possibly make a very poetic warrior/monk eulogy for his slain adversary. It would be delivered silently and directly to Billy’s complex internal pantheon. Billy would stand reverently at the shallow grave where he’d put Doogie (or whatever was left of him) and solemnly recite something deep and soulful. He’d offer this to the competing influences of Odin, Ayn Rand, and the free market. Then he’d wax his Subaru like a Ronin Samurai tending to his katana and drive away; substituting fifth gear on the freeway for a saddled horse riding into the sunset. Maybe that was the true nature of things. Doogie could have been born specifically to give Billy a reason to think pensive thoughts while roaming the earth seeking vengeance, then solace, then enlightenment… in that order. Doogie couldn’t be sure. Billy was a bit “off” and a genuine romantic so it seemed right. Then again, Doogie was under the influence of disco. Disco makes odd ideas seem clever.

The music was interrupted, “Implement the plan now.”

Doogie sighed, it had been a good run. Now he was going to betray his friend and likely die at his hand.

Doogie stepped out of the car and breathed the night air. The scent of nearby pine trees mingled with hints of spilled unleaded. It was his last few moments on earth. Best to savor them.

Billy venerated a car worth eight grand, solely because it was his. Doogie knew this was a force multiplier in Billy’s favor. Even when the car wasn’t in play he was no slouch. He’d faced melee with a crazed transvestite MMA fighter simply because he wanted to protect Doogie (who he, with apparent justification, felt was helpless). Anyone who’d stand up to Janice’s epic fury based on a strange version of Chivalry is six shades of fearless. Turn the dial to eleven by involving the Subaru and Billy might win a bare-knuckle brawl against Godzilla.

Meanwhile Billy could be seen within the store. He was cackling with glee, prancing back and forth stacking piles of K-cups in front of a dumbfounded clerk. Doogie chuckled. This was Billy’s Church of Freedom. He was probably lecturing the clerk about fractional reserve banking and the Smoot–Hawley Tariff Act of 1930. The clerk was surely baffled. Doogie smiled. If he was going to get beaten to death for car theft there couldn’t be better man for the job than his friend; the happy freedom warrior who’s obsessed over fiat currency. It was going to be a righteous death.

If you think plots involving a romantic, free market, libertarian, cowboy, samurai, Norse God, college dropout with an unhealthy attachment to vengeance and his Subaru is less of a cliché than yet another fucking superhero movie, you might want to click below:


[Edna would like to point out that run-on sentences are the hobgoblin of the unevolved mind.]

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