Traveling With The Curmudgeon: The Owls Are Not What They Seem

I’ve been (mostly) off grid for a while. The blog is continuing on autopilot (didja’ miss me?) and occasional shitty wifi connections. The shitty wifi is associated with even shittier coffee. (For God’s sake, who decided to let Tim Horton’s south of the 49th parallel? Don’t we have enough problems of our own?)

Anyway I thought I’d share with you one of the risks an intrepid traveler faces. I recently stayed at a small delightful hotel (which I will not name because the owners are absolutely awesome and I don’t want to “dis” them). The rooms are fine but mine came with a nine foot owl. It was scary huge and there’s no way I should look at something like that before my morning coffee.*

Yes folks, that’s a nine foot owl with snowshoe arms. I kinda’ fell in love with the creation. Don’t screw with super owl!

Luggage added for scale.

All hail super owl, lord and master of the skies.

A.C.

*For those of you not familiar with David Lynch, you don’t wanna’ know about his deal with owls. Thankfully I made peace with Super Owl and it didn’t get weird before I got my coffee and woke up.

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Rx Glasses And Pondering A Universal Theory On Technology

[This post is not just about glasses. It’s about an optimistic future.]

Curmudgeonly Gem Of Insight:

“You can’t stop the signal. But folks can royally fuck up the first few attempts attempting to delay the inevitable.”

The good news is the signal. You can’t stop it. The bad news is they’re trying. Even if you don’t notice it, they’re losing.

A pet future vision of mine involves prescription glasses. Yeah, I know. It’s boring. Yet it interests me as hard fought bloody dividing line between horrifically expensive and largely government managed / socialized medical services and mundane consumer goods. Wikipedia tells me eyeglasses were first made in Italy in about 1286. Why are they not $6 and available from a vending machine? I think we can do better than an expensive storefront with a dude in a lab coat who charges a week’s pay. I’ll admit I love the high quality of glasses (in America) but if you live in a mud hut in Namibia you’re screwed.


For this product, change is coming. All my life (and yours) prescription glasses have been an expensive PITA. Don’t get me wrong, the optics and glass, and build are superb. And for that matter, vision’s exclusion from most health insurance helps. (As I wrote in 2010: “opticians and dentists. They’re not covered by many insurance plans and therefore markets exist…. I have a range of providers, there’s always room for an appointment, and ‘glasses in an hour’ is not a punchline.“)

But it could be better. About a decade ago I saw this picture:

This image could be a big a deal as polio vaccines.

This is not a hipster. It’s a Zulu fellow wearing what was called at the time “adaptive glasses”. These are cheap glasses that a person with no help from an optometrist whatsoever can adjust to his or her own vision. Keep in mind that about half the population planet wide could benefit from corrected vision.

It’s fucking brilliant!

I’m not generally an optimist but I was starry eyed with two ideas:

  1. I wanted them (whoever “they” are) to drop these clever little gadgets by the crate-load on every impoverished shithole on earth. Every mud hut, every nomadic sheepherder, every peasant everywhere. Do to bad vision what we did to smallpox!
  2. I wanted a few of these scattered about my world too. One in my glove box when I’m traveling, one in my first aid kit when I’m in the wilderness, a few stashed in the pantry for when I break a pair of glasses on a holiday weekend. I like backups to my backups.

All that was necessary to accomplish most of #1 and all of #2 was damn near nothing. Just sell ’em cheap. Churn them out en masse. Fire up a factory in Bangladesh or Mexico or Alabama or wherever and make ’em so plentiful they’re everywhere. This ‘aint rocket science; use the same factory that makes Disney branded lunchboxes, crates of bendy soda straws, toys, novelty rubber chickens, whatever. The global economy is primed to bury us in cheap plastic shit so the table is set for a product like this!

Alas I saw the writing on the wall. The inventor made an inspiring TED talk. Whenever there’s a TED talk you can be assured that an idea is now in the hands of Utopians who will screw it into the ground.

Repeat that because it matters:

“Whenever there’s a TED talk you can be assured that an idea is now in the hands of Utopians who will screw it into the ground.”

Around 2008 there was a flurry of articles about this very cool idea. Everyone was positive. They loved the inventor’s 2020 vision: to help 1 billion of the world’s poorest see better. Did I mention the inventor is a professor? A professor who made a TED talk? If you want a cheap widget distributed to every mud hut, who’s the least likely to accomplish it?

In his TED talk (from 2009) he mentioned he’d already gotten 30,000 glasses out to the world. I liked that. Spot on man! Now turn it over to the market and let the purveyors of cheap plastic shit do their thing. Collect a penny or two on each pair and retire to a solid gold house in Tahiti… you earned it dude! If there ever was a man deserving of a Nobel it’s a man who fixed vision for a billion peasants.

So what went wrong?

He didn’t just go to market. Did I mention he’s a professor with a TED talk?


In 2011 I tired to buy a pair myself. (Partly out of curiosity.) I found it somewhere between impossible and very damn hard. I coined the term Crusader Product Inhibition and bitched that the social justice crowd was killing a very cool idea. I write stories about a dog ordering a Frisbee on Amazon and the glasses thing was the opposite; languishing exactly like every idea in the hands of starry eyed doogooders. (Note: there are similar object on Amazon now, very slow to market and oddly expensive but they do exist… guardedly.)

You can’t stop the signal. Since Hippie McSaveTheWorld wasn’t flooding the market, prescription glasses on the internet became a thing.


In 2012 I ordered pair of Rx glasses from the internet. “Which brings me to today’s victory. My glasses ‘wore out’…. As an ‘experiment’ I ordered prescription glasses on-line. … Here’s the punchline; they cost 1/3 what I usually pay.

Full disclosure, I break glasses a lot. That pair were OK for a few years until I nuked them. I ordered another set and they weren’t so good. I wound up buying expensive “glasses in an hour” from a storefront place. The combined cost of both “internet” glasses was less than the cost of five minutes breathing the air in a regular glasses storefront so I call it a win. Also I occasionally wear contacts and I always get contacts on-line. Another win.


In 2013, I bitched again that “Adaptive Eyewear” was not getting to market in a big way. For me it’s just an amusing interest but those poor bastards in mud huts were missing out!


Now it’s 2017. How well has Utopian Professor Magnanimous done getting his incredibly cool idea to the masses?

Well a website exists… it’s inspiring and won’t sell you glasses. There’s another website that’s equally inspiring and won’t sell glasses. There are a smattering of vaguely similar products on Amazon and another place that has some mechanically adjusting glasses. (Both look like they’re not liquid filled, possibly due to licensing/patents?).

What about the masses? The TED talk promised good things for the goddamn masses! How is Utopian Professor Magnanimous doing on his audacious (and laudable) goal of helping a billion poor people?

As far as I can tell he’s done almost nothing. His 2009 TED talk claimed he’d shipped 30,000 pairs and the best I can find is now the count is 40,000 pairs. (I can’t find a solid number. If you see it, notify me.)

The point is that a smart man came up with a brilliant idea and he (along with what looks like dozens of participating NGO’s) are totally fucking up the delivery. Dudes in mud huts are getting nothing. That sucks!


But wait, it’s 2017 and I’m trying to be a ray of sunshine this year. So here’s more of that unstoppable signal:

…aggressive lobbying campaign being waged by the American Optometric Association (AOA) against innovations that now make it possible for Americans to get accurate eye exams and lens prescriptions over the Internet.

Holy cow! I had no idea that you could get an eye exam from a smartphone. Apparently you can (*I haven’t tested this). If you’re interested, check it out here. (Hat tip to Maggie’s Farm.)

Holy shitsnacks! You can’t stop the signal! No matter how long Professor SaveTheWorld sits on liquid filled glasses it didn’t stop the bespoke Rx glasses I ordered. Now another front in the war has opened up with smartphones. The signal is going right around every speedbump it meets.

It may not help the dude in the mud hut but then again it won’t hurt. Even people in mud huts sometimes have smartphones. A $40 exam and $50 glasses aren’t the $6 vending machine solution I imagined, but it’s a step on that path. It’s far closer than the guy in the lab coat who ‘aint available in Botswana.


I also promised a Universal Theory of Technology. This is it:

“Prescription glasses are one of many precursors to the automation/robot revolution nerds have been talking about. It’s here. It’s here right now. And I’m impressed!”

Rx glasses are shifting. I was born in a world where we drove an hour to see a dude in a lab coat who needed esoteric specialized equipment. He ordered up very expensive glasses that took 2 weeks for delivery and my parents grumbled at the cost. (I would promptly break them because I was a kid and the glasses went wherever my face went. I wasn’t alone in this continuing disaster. Which happened to many kids.) The world improved and soon we had “glasses in an hour” at most malls. Then came glasses much cheaper from the internet. Now the dude in a lab coat is a smart phone app.

There are pros and cons to everything. When people fret over automation “taking white collar jobs” this is exactly it. (I notice they weren’t quite so worried when it was blue collar jobs in the 1970’s.) Optometrists thought they were irreplaceable (I thought so too) but now they’re probably shitting their pants. Then again when I dreamed of having my every need delivered cheap and easy from the internet this is exactly it. I for one like automation so it’s OK with me.

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Telephone’s Stockholm Syndrome Business Model

My good friend Dr. Mingo recently called:

“Hello, this is the Curmudgeon, if you’re a telemarketer prepare to die.”

“Just call me Patty.”

“Mingo? Is that you?”

“Yes, I just signed a new cell phone agreement. You’re right. We’re all victims of Stockholm Syndrome.”

How times have changed. Mingo used to tell me all about how bitchin’ his new phone was and laugh at the pathos of my archaic assemblage of flip phones and calling cards. Alas, the phone companies have worn him down. The thrill is gone.

To help Mingo regain the joy of being screwed, I present OzzyMan’s review of the iPhone 7 (NSFW):

P.S. You might want to hear my ruminations on the subject at The Unbelievable Lightness Of Kicking Jackasses To The Curb and The Best ISP / Cable Ad Ever.

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Boo Saves The World: Part 04: The Moron Whisperer

Boo’s life improved immeasurably with the arrival of the TV remote. Not because it controlled a TV so much as it controlled a human. Boo decided what he wanted Kandi to do and issued instructions through electronics tied to the flatscreen. Kandi, like most people, did whatever the voices on the television told her to do. It was a good system.

Boo started Kandi’s training with simple commands. Like “sit” and “stay”. These were easy. Kandi was an old hand at passive viewing so she’d “sit” and “stay” the instant the LCD flickered on. She’s patiently “stay” so long as the pictures on the box didn’t invoke thoughts of scary ideas such as hard work or science (like Dirty Jobs or old episodes of Cosmos). She’d sit there contentedly, a drooling semi-evolved ape without a care in the world, until Boo changed the channel or powered down. (Boo took care to never repeat the Cosmos mistake. He’d tried it on a whim and regretted the outcome. Kandi was allergic to math and nearly passed when a young Carl Sagan emoted about “billions and billions”.)

Presumably “play dead” was just “stay” taken to extremes. Boo didn’t push this one because the nearly inert Kandi seemed too suggestible. What if he put her in a coma?

“Speak” was the opposite; flip the channel to anything that provoked cognitive dissonance and Kandi would howl and leap about. This got boring pretty quickly so Boo moved on to “fetch”.

“Fetch” came easily too. Kandi’s mental pump was well primed by a lifetime of consumer ads. For his first experiment, Boo chose a frisbee. He waited until she was gone, logged on to Amazon, and surfed many fine frisbee choices. Then he went to her Facebook feed, and joined a few groups about Ultimate Frisbee. (Kandi had 28,384 “friends” and was a member of 273 “groups”.) Boo waited, Amazon’s algorithms did as expected, and three days later Kandi clicked “buy”. Thus, the frisbee was fetched from a Chinese factory to Boo’s living room. Boo was a little disappointed she inadvertently ordered a 175-gram model instead of the heavier 200-gram one he’d specified. But he made allowances, you can only train so much and Kandi never was good with numbers.

“Walk” was Boo’s favorite. He arranged for a Fitbit to be delivered. Kandi, believing this was “free with the Frisbee” and far too lazy to check her credit card statement, simply slipped the device on her wrist and grinned. She loved her new collar! Whenever Boo wanted a walk he activated the Fitbit and Kandi, in Pavlovian trance, headed for the door. Boo would be waiting by the leash and Kandi invariably “suddenly decided” to take Boo with her. Often, she’d remember to take the Frisbee. Boo loved this! So did Kandi.

In fact, under Boo’s tutelage, Kandi’s health was improving. In addition to far more exercise from walking, Boo was gradually weaning her off rum and onto solid foods. He’d already coaxed her into buying yogurt and she’d tried a few servings. Eventually he’d introduce her to foreign objects called vegetables. But that would take time, you can’t move too fast when training.

In addition to training, Boo worked behind the scenes in ways Kandi would barely recognize. He was gradually shoring up her stretched finances. (Kandi was unclear on the topic of “minimum payment” and had been absorbing appallingly large late fees each month.) He was also looking for a tutor to get her though finals this year and he programmed the cell phone to “accidentally” call Kandi’s mother once a week. (Which did wonders for all involved.)

All in all, the period after the arrival of Boo’s TV was a time when Kandi thrived.

There were risks though. All sentient beings know the Orwellian cautionary tale of telescreens is fait accompli.  Boo understood the device was a window through which he could view anything but also a snitch machine through which someone (whoever that might be) could monitor him. Boo wisely disabled the voice activation and “webcam” feature before Kandi’s antics wound up on an NSA archive somewhere. Even so he operated the remote out of view of the monitor’s all-seeing eye. (Boo could not verify but suspected a file had been opened on Kandi’s accounts due to Boo’s influence. He was right. Nobody who buys a case of Captain Morgan monthly also likes to watch old black and white cinema classics and the NSA duly noted this contradiction. When the device reported that a single individual liked “The View” and huge quantities of free college lectures about Medieval history the NSA recalculated a “possible” to “confirmed”. Lucky for Boo the algorithms weren’t a fine sieve and nobody was in immediate danger. The NSA was well aware of the 0.01% of American pets which are smarter than their owners and wasn’t about to go off the rails fighting against what appeared a normal statistical anomaly that held no particular risk.)

Tragically, the good times were about to end.


If you think I’m trying to manipulate you into buying a Frisbee, feel free to click below instead.

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Boo Saves The World: Part 03: The Birth Of Man

Kandi and four friends were jumping up and down screeching at the screen. They made high pitched whines, lower grunts, and mid-range shouts. Their sounds didn’t resolve into words or sentences. They jumped a lot.

Boo watched from his vantage point in the kitchen. This kept him well away from the shrill demonstrations of the primates before him. It was an interesting show. They were already stomping kale chips into the carpet. Perhaps they’d eventually fling feces?

What started it was when guests arrived (uninvited as usual, there was no need for invitation among the sisterhood). Boo noted that the one who had missed her GRE’s this morning was nowhere to be found. The guests found Kandi snoring on the couch and a gleaming new flat screen along the opposite wall. They were entranced! It was a monstrous device. Boo noted it’s dimensions seemed roughly 1:4:9. Kandi, after they woke her, admitted she’d ordered the device during a blackout about 20 hours earlier. She had no idea what it cost. She’d probably just cover it with some student loan money. The others nodded indulgently, who hadn’t blown a little excess money during blackouts?

The ladies couldn’t find the remote. This was to be expected since Boo had stolen it. He intended to keep it for himself. The ladies blamed the delivery man but diligently searched for 45 minutes. They all agreed that it would be a fine thing to watch this new device but they couldn’t activate it. After about an hour, one of them realized there were physical buttons on the device. She cautiously approached it, as if it might leap forth and bite her. Then, with all eyes on her, she pressed the red “power” button.

It was Fox News.

They went apeshit!

One leapt over the couch and bounced into the wall. Another burst into tears. A third flung her iPhone in rage and immediately regretted it when the phone shattered. Kandi started jumping up and down shouting. The remaining guest joined her aerobic complaints.

As if fascinated by a zoo exhibit, Boo paid close attention. The man on the television was reciting some boring statistics about capital gains tax rates and the ladies were apoplectic. Boo was pretty sure none of them paid any taxes. Certainly they weren’t in a position to ponder capital gains from an investment strategy. The three women who weren’t jumping and shrieking realized they were out of phase with the zeitgeist and joined the shrieking two. Now all five where leaping and rolling about as one. They covered their ears and spilled more kale chips and cursed the Gods for bringing this horrible blight into their universe. Boo glanced back at the screen, it was an advertisement for antacid; a smiling man swung a golf club on a field of green. For some reason, the solution to stomach misery infuriated the women even more than taxes on investment returns.

Boo was fascinated by his subjects. There were buttons on the base of the device. One of them said “Channel +” and another said “Channel – “. He waited for them to change the channel. They didn’t. Instead they started hurling things; red plastic Solo cups, a pair of socks, another cell phone, the lamp got knocked over. Boo began to fear they’d damage the device he’d worked so hard to acquire. He stuck his nose under the refrigerator and fished out the remote.

As he turned around, careful to hide the remote from view, he noticed a change in the tone of the shrieking. It was just as high pitched and angry but now it was resolving into words. This was interesting. Boo waited to see what would happen.

The teary group had assembled into a line. They had locked arms and were shouting at the television. On the screen, a man with nice hair and a failed acting career was reading words from a teleprompter. He was talking about the recent events in Venezuela. The ladies couldn’t find Venezuela on a map if Juan Valdez personally stapled directions to their forehead. Even so the story enraged them.  Meanwhile their shouts were evolving into a chant. One of many repetitious sayings of Kandi’s people.

“Ohhhhhmmmmmm….”

Except it wasn’t that. “Hey hey, ho ho, we’re in control!” That’s what they were shouting.

Boo looked at the screen again. It was a video of a large boat, possibly traversing the Panama Canal. Whatever these women controlled, a Panamax cargo ship was not among them. One of the ladies, incapable of differentiating between a tanker ship and a container ship, slipped into “No blood for oil!” The other four held firm and soon the fifth was back on track. “Hey hey, ho ho, we’re in control!”

Once they settled on a chant they stuck to it. Boo waited. Five minutes later it was a commercial for a minivan and they were still arm in arm “holding the line” against the unmoving television. They were no closer to finding the “Channel” buttons.

Boo pressed a button on the remote. The image flickered and now it was a video of violent men blocking streets and setting fire to cars. They had their heads covered, some were shouting in Arabic. The ladies collapsed on the couch. Having “won” in their protest of the deadly news channel, they were unconcerned with the terrorists dancing around the streets of some foreign city.

Oddly, none of them wondered why the channel had changed. In their world, the television had agency and would change its channel if they protested long enough. That the event happened merely proved they were right.

Boo decided to experiment. He pressed another button on the remote. Back to Fox. The five leapt to their feet, locked arms and started screaming. “Hey hey, ho ho, we’re in control!”

Boo clicked to the alternate channel, now an advertisement for women’s hygiene products. The five relaxed and went silent.

Boo pressed the button again. It was an ad for AARP membership. The five looked on, agitated but confused. Then a logo appeared on the lower left of the screen. Fox. They leaped up, locked arms, and began shouting.

Boo did this six times in the next half hour. He had to admit that the people trainers (whoever they were) did impressive work. Pavlov himself couldn’t have initiated such a precisely controlled response. Finally, Boo decided they’d had enough. He turned off the power.

The screen went blank.

“Power outage.” Kandi announced. (Despite the overhead light remaining lit.)

They all nodded. After milling about a bit, they left to go clubbing. Boo was glad to see them go. In a few minutes, the 1930’s movie “M” was going to be on channel 185b. Boo loved the works of Fritz Lang.


If you think a Fritz Lang movie is a damn good way to spend an evening, feel free to click below. If you think black and white movies are for pretentious nitwits who talk to trees, you’re also welcome to click below.

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Boo Saves The World: Part 02: A Lifeline Is Acquired

Kandi wasn’t looking great when morning came. She’d been drunk long before she dropped the bottle and Boo initiated his plan. Thus, she’d gone further into Planet Alcohol than usual.

She was wandering around in dirty pink fuzzy slippers. Her shirt had a picture of a fish riding a bicycle but you couldn’t see it because it was inside out. Her eyes were bloodshot and her head was topped with a rat’s nest of knotted hair, a failed home dye experiment, and kale chips from the pile she’d used as a pillow last night. Boo wasn’t concerned, she looked like that most mornings.

Kandi, who hadn’t properly rehydrated or eaten, continued suffering. Boo (who’d imbibed a bit of the rum himself) wisely drank water and munched a few bits of dog kibble. A few hours later he was right as rain. He had things to manage this afternoon and he wanted to be ready. Meanwhile, Kandi laid on the couch; slowly turning to mulch.

The doorbell rang, interrupting Kandi’s moaning. It was the delivery! Boo had been waiting for it ever since he started dominoes falling last night. He paced to the door eagerly. He wasn’t sure how the next few minutes would play out. Kandi looked at the door and did nothing; it was too far.

The bell rang again. Boo was frantic. This had to happen. He needed it to happen! Every day he was miserable and he needed options! He barked. Kandi covered her head with a stuffed animal to block the sound. She muttered something about getting a cat and burrowed deeper into the dirty laundry on the couch. With her view blocked, Boo took action. He jumped up and, with paws frantically scratching at the door (oh what he wouldn’t do for opposable thumbs!), managed to unlock the door. Then, with immense concentration, he clamped his jaws around the doorknob and twisted. It wasn’t easy but it had to be done.

The door swung open and Boo grinned a happy doggy smile. The delivery guy, standing there with a clipboard in hand, grinned too. Men and dogs, they belong together. Boo looked at his owner, rumpled and whimpering, on the couch. If only he could leave this place and go with the delivery guy! Boo looked out on the street. The man had a truck! Boo had never ridden in a truck. It seemed like Boo belonged in a truck.

The delivery guy stepped forward. He noticed Kandi’s foot emerging from a pile of stuffed animals, dirty laundry, and crushed kale chips. He addressed the foot.

“Ma’am? I’m here to deliver your television.”

“I’m no ma’am. I’m a goddamn womyn. You misogynist ape!” The foot retorted.

He sighed. This workday he’d delivered video game systems to nerds in basements, a computer to a poet who talked backwards like Yoda, a 3D printer for a lunatic who was experimenting with making penis shaped bongs, and he’d had to step over a snoring drunk woman on the front walk to get here. Now this… a huge TV to a bitchy feminist’s foot. Absent mindedly, he scratched Boo’s ear.

Boo was in ecstasy. The delivery man was awesome. He knew just where to scratch. The man smelled like workboots; a mixture of leather and responsibility. He probably ate steak and could read! Boo wondered how he’d wound up with such an unsuitable owner.

“Just sign here.” The man held the electronic clipboard toward a stuffed unicorn in roughly the right location for a head.

“I didn’t order anything.” Said the unicorn.

The delivery man was used to this too. Stoners always try to back out of purchases that they made when they were high. He glanced at the dog. It was a good dog. How did this freak have such a good dog? “Of course,” he smiled, “I’m sure nobody at this address used your e-mail account and your credit card to place the order. Luckily, we have all the information on file. I’m sure we can work it all out… in court perhaps?”

“Didn’t order anything…” The unicorn whined.

“And you remember last night completely?”

A hand emerged from the pile somewhere south of the unicorn and north of the foot. “Where do I sign?”

The hand scribbled on the touchscreen. It was nothing like a signature but that didn’t matter. The delivery man noticed the dog looked guilty and patted it reassuringly. What he didn’t know is that Boo had caused this. He’d managed to login to Kandi’s laptop and place the order; all by tapping keys with a pencil clamped in his jaws. (Hint: Kandi’s password was “grrrlpower”.)

“It says I’m supposed to set it up.” The delivery man explained. Kandi didn’t respond. In 15 minutes the device was installed, plugged in, and hooked to various gadgets which had been ordered at the same time. He noticed the dog watching him intently. It was a little unnerving.

The delivery man turned on the TV to test it, switched it to mute when the unicorn groaned, and then, as his sole protest against a world gone mad, set the channel to Fox News before shutting it off. He set the remote on the section of the coffee table with the least gooey spilled rum, gathered the packaging and took it with him. He gave Boo one last friendly pat on the head before he walked out the door, closing it behind him. Boo never saw him again.

Unseen by the snoring shamble on the couch, Boo picked up the remote and hid it. Having negotiated his first step in a life of crime, Boo was content.


If you’ve ever blacked out while a Labrador retriever ordered home electronics with your e-mail account, feel free to click below.

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Boo Saves The World: Part 01: Boo Crosses The Rubicon

At 12:06 am, Kandi, an unemployable anthropology major with little brain and less desire to use it, dropped a nearly finished plastic bottle of Captain Morgan. Boo, her dog, bucking generations of genetic conditioning for loyalty, surreptitiously made off with it and substituted a full one. Kandi and her friends, eyes riveted to their phones, didn’t notice. Thus, “a few drinks to kill the bottle” went into overtime. Things got messy. Specifically, Boo’s plan caused the following:

  • Kandi, never particularly an observant being, was completely unaware when Boo made his second move of the night.
  • One of Kandi’s friends made it as far as the lawn before passing out and subsequently missing the 9:00 am start of her graduate record examinations. Her absence raised the median score of the nearby university just enough to land it on the US News and World Report’s coveted list of “100 Least Appallingly Useless Colleges”. Several million dollars of Federal funding was soon re-allocated based on this change.

While the latter event was widely discussed by countless professors and administrators (who never deduced the true cause of their celebrations), it is the former that really mattered.


If you think I should have posted the next Squirrels story about a month ago, feel free to click below.

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2001 A Space Odyssey: Dawn Of Man

This video was captured in a living room in Portland. Squirrels were involved. All will be explained in due time.

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I Have Not Forgotten The Squirrels

Springtime is a busy time for me so I haven’t squirreled lately. (Also I can’t believe I posted a cat video… let’s just assume I was drunk.)

Don’t give up hope. The fount of stupidity is not yet fully tapped. I shall post something in the near term.

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Even I Am Not Immune To Cat Videos


My apologies to Alfred Hitchcock and a hat tip to the League Of Outlaw Bloggers (which may be on hiatus at the moment).

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