Cousin Skeeter had to come to the city because he had an appointment with the tax man in the revenue building downtown, so he asked me to ride along with him. Since his meeting was at eight o'clock in the morning, Skeeter wanted to drive down there the night before and he got us a room in one of them fancy hotels they have down there, one of them fancy high-rises where you can see seven counties out your window.I spent my 50th birthday on the trail at Vesuvius, somewhere in SE Ohio ....
But on the day I was born, this was breaking news:
At a road construction site in Bluff Creek, California, Gerald Crew finds big tracks in August and then again on October 1 and 2, 1958. He is told by his fellow workers, some of whom are Hoopa Indians, the maker is a hairy forest giant. Crew, using plaster of Paris, thanks to instructions from taxidermist Bob Titmus, makes a replica of the large print at the site on October 3, 1958.
The publication of that photograph of Crew holding an enormous foot-shaped plaster cast becomes a turning point in the pursuit of hairy wild hominoids in North America, and soon the world. Everybody wants to see whatever was making such imprints, and the public becomes interested in learning more about “Bigfoot.”
Thanks to: Cryptomundo
And this:
Elmer Clarence "Mox" Meukel told his story to a couple of hobos in a shack on Scott Island in the Truckee River near Reno.
Most people wrote him off as a crackpot dreamer. After all, he was a sometime songwriter and self-taught inventor, but these men listened to his story.
Mox said he and some co-workers at Bendix Corp. had been designing a motion detector that would sound an alarm when a child got near a swimming pool.
On Feb. 1, 1958, the day he was laid off at Bendix, two military planes collided over Norwalk, killing 48 people. Mox said he realized that his motion detector could be turned into a device that would prevent such midair crashes.
Without a job, he began working on the device in the garage of the home at 7716 Bonner Ave., Sun Valley, that he shared with his wife, Jean, and three children.
I sense a pattern developing here.
Click on image for larger view
To order the t-shirt: despair.com
Not a paid ad... meaning they should give me a free t-shirt for this post...
![]() |
![]() |
You can see it, can't you? I'm not just imagining it.
If you could feel it, and you're welcome to anytime if you want, it would feel like a frozen pea attached to my spine just under the skin.
It started out bigger. When it was first discovered, it felt like a frozen grape attached to my spine just under my skin. Or so I've been told. The truth is that it's been strategerically* placed in a spot where I can't reach it no matter how I contort myself. At least Dick Cheney was clever enough to know that I would surely remove it if I could reach it, even though his attempts and mind manipulation have failed miserably. |
|
I'm onto you, Dick Cheney. You can't control my mind, you Czar of Darkness.
At first I thought it was an Alien Implant. For all I know it could be an Alien Implant. It may very well be that Dick Cheney is in league not only with the Forces of Evil in the United States of America and the rest of the Planet Earth, but he could be in League with the Forces of Evil of the Entire Universe. Or it may be that it's really an Alien Implant pretending to be a Dick Cheney Implant, but that doesn't ring true to me. I have no evidence, but I figure that if it's an Alien Implant, then it would be of an Intelligence far greater than that on the Planet Earth and would therefore know that to assume the voice of a Dick Cheney Implant would be counter-productive.
I mean, anyone who knows me would know that the first time the Dick Cheney Implant told me to run a redlight for the sanctity of the Republic or to tell the cashier how much I enjoyed her cleavage because it would be good for the economy, that I would tell the Dick Cheney Implant to Kiss My Progressive Ass. I'm not unfamiliar with voices in my head, and I can separate the real ones from the imaginary ones. So anything the Dick Cheney Implant tells me to do, I do the opposite. An Alien with an Intelligence far greater than our own would know that and would present itself to me as a, say, Salma Hayek Implant, or a Jodie Foster Implant. Or even a Teri Hatcher implant because, you know, I'm easy that way. Or it could have said that it was a Jack Bauer Implant and then I sure as hell would have done everything it said because Jack Bauer is a bad-ass and I don't want to be at the wrong end of his prodigious head-butt. Or spine-butt as the case may be. I digress. It's hard to concentrate with Dick Cheney yelling into your spine, and he's really pissed that I'm going public with this. In fact, this is my third attempt to blog this because "somehow" my Internet Tubes are being clogged with dangerous materials like yellowcake uranium and germanchocolatecake plutonium and belgiumwaffle indigium, so every once in a while I have to turn my computer upside down and shake it really hard, and sometimes the words I've written get all jumbled up and I have to start over. |
I'm not unfamiliar with voices in my head, and I can separate the real ones from the imaginary ones. |
|
So even with Dick Cheney riding shotgun, I'm not dangerous, just ineffective. |
But I digress. I was saying that I know it really is a Bona Fide Dick Cheney Implant is because only Dick Cheney would have the ego to want to take the credit for being clever enough to get an implant on my spine without my knowing it. That's Dick Cheney for you.
But you don't have to worry about me. He's tried the reverse psychology thing. He tried to get me to stand up in the middle of the Tuesday staff meeting and try and get everyone to sing along with "You Are My Sunshine" by telling me NOT to do it. So in that case, I did exactly what he said. So now everytime the Dick Cheney implant tells me to do something, I think to myself "What Would Walt Whitman Do?" and so I usually get too confused to do anything at all. So even with Dick Cheney riding shotgun, I'm not dangerous, just ineffective. And I was ineffective in just about everything I do before the Dick Cheney Implant, so nothing's really different except for the constant nagging and occasional screaming. I don't mind that so much, but when he turns on the Civil Defense Sirens, I get a headache and have to lay down for a while. And I did that a lot before the Dick Cheney Implant, too.
But I'm not here to complain, but just to share my story in case someone else out there has an implant that tries to manipulate his or her thought processes, for whom I offer this advice: "Ignore the Voices in Your Head." Chances are, they're up to no good. And if you do have an implant, please e-mail me at dickcheneyimplant@richardojones.com. I'd love to hear your story.
But if you have voices yelling at you but no implant, you're just crazy and should leave me the hell alone.
* Irony. |
Just for the record:
I've been using the phrase "I've got you pixelled in" instead of "I've got you pencilled in" for over a year now when I confirm that I've put something on my calendar. Feel free to use it yourself, but when everyone starts using the phrase, when it becomes part of our digital-age idiom, just know that I wrote the phrase.
This guy is screwed. I mean, not because of the sister-in-law thing, but... read the last paragraph....
Just cleaning up from my Santa gig and thought I'd share some of the favorite drawings given to me on the throne*.
I like this one because it seems to be a cut-away view of a chimney with Santa in it. Kinda dark, kinda scientific.

What is that up in the sky? Looks like a fire-breathing penis to me:

This one has blue snowflakes, yellow and black snowmen with flowers on their hats. I think. What's the secret coded message under Gracie's name?

*I know it's just dress-up, but I like the idea of being on a throne.
| HowManyOfMe.com | ||
|
But there are 49,000 John Smiths.
Here are some additional factoids about my name:
A brilliant variation on the "Who's on First" routine with a contemporary flair and political edge:
Can anyone explain this to me?
It's $12.99 a can at Amazon.com. No shit (so to speak).
I don't know anything about The Duggar Family, but I thought this was pretty funny.

Isn't an X the international comic symbol for a dead character?
I dug up this column from Oct. 25, 2002 to show a friend, so thought I'd go ahead and post it here.
Sometimes it seems that we’re doing little more than running in place - always on the move, always involved, but apparently accomplishing little, waiting for something to happen.
This just in:
CHICAGO (AFP) - Fried Coke has become the latest artery-clogging hit at US state fairs, local media reports.
I guess Americans will eat anything as long as it's deep fried.

Make your own sign at http://www.ronaldmchummer.com/index.php