ROBERTO CLEMENTE

THE GREAT ONE

People today are different from those of the past. Take for instance the ancient Romans. For pleasure they drank wine, ate fruit, and watched slaves and gladiators mutilate, dilapidate, and kill each other.

We’re a kinder gentler society. We drink beer, eat hot dogs, and watch baseball...a much nicer sport...a nice gentle, quiet game...nobody gets killed.

Yeah, nobody gets killed. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with it? It wasn’t always like that you know.

Allow me to take you on a magical mystical trip back in time to those thrilling days of yesteryear when foundations rocked and the very walls of the stadium rumbled like a Roman Coliseum. When bolts of lightning shot across the spectrum and crashes of thunder reverberated through the stands almost drowned out by the cheers of bloodthirsty fans screaming for cadavers.

You’ve no need for modern-day reality special effects for this trip, just close your eyes and let your imagination take you away.

We’re at Forbes Field, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The year doesn’t matter but it’s sometime during the mid-sixties and the stands are rocking!

It’s the top of the ninth inning and the Pirates are leading by a single run. The opposition has the bases loaded with one out...Good right-handed hitter at bat...

Stop thinking today baseball! Sure the situation looks bleak, but we’re in the sixties, remember? In those days the situation was just what the fans wanted.

The stands are rumbling like thunder as everyone stomps their feet on the floor. Shouts are heard, “Pitch him outside,” “Make him hit it to right.” You can feel the electricity!

Suddenly a long fly ball blast’s toward the outfield. The fans leave their seats and watch in awe as the right fielder routinely runs back and catches the ball with his back to the wall for the second out.

The runner on third base tags up and sprints for home. The fielder leans back and unleashes a throw to the plate. Eyes pop wide open and smiles beam across the faces of every fan as they watch a controlled bolt of lightning shoot in from the far depths of the stadium’s ivy covered bastion.

Nobody watches the runner...nobody cares.

All eyes are on the magnificent throw that roars in with no bounces and slams into the catcher’s mitt about a foot off the ground, so much ahead of the runner the catcher has to wait for him...label him Dead On Arrival!

The stadium erupts as delirious fans react to the play that won another game for the Pirates in a manner such as even imperial Rome never experienced.

I’m from those days so I know who the fielder is, but you are not. You look around for a person subdued but the fervor of the moment has infested them all. Finally you find someone catching his breath.

“Who is that guy?” you ask.

“Are you kidding, Stranger? That’s Roberto Clemente! We call him “The Great One!”

I slap you across the back of the head and you’re trip is over. You’re back in modern times where they have to shoot t-shirts to the fans and bring in clowns for excitement. You want to go back but it’s one trip to a customer. You ask for other good days incase you ever do get to return and I tell you any day is a good one. When Clemente played those things happened.

When The Great One went to work people died. There were those who tried to score from second base...Dead on Arrival at home plate. Those going from first to third...D.O.E...And the best, the very best were those tagging from third on a fly ball...Deader than a doornail! He knocked off more guys than Rome’s greatest gladiator.

Cincinnati had the swiftest runners. Vada Pinson was probably the fastest. In one game Roberto threw out three Reds who tried to score from third base on balls hit to the wall.

TWO OF THEM WERE VADA PINSON.

After the game Pinson remarked that the first ball was hit so deep he really didn’t run hard because he thought there was no way he was going to be thrown out. But on the second he said he ran as fast as he could and Clemente still had the ball waiting for him.

Very seldom did a throw by Clemente ever touch the ground. I guess he didn’t want to get the ball dirty.

I was at a game at Forbes Field sitting in my favorite spot, the Right Field Stands behind Clemente. These were great seats! Those stands were always full. Clemente was having a bit of a problem. Because of his reputation he wasn’t getting many assists for throwing runners out. Everyone was literally running to the next base and stopping right on the bag without taking a turn, (When was the last time you saw that in the big leagues?) On this particular day a hotshot rookie, who obviously didn’t know any better, hit a single to right and took a big turn around first base. Well, Clemente scooped it up, (Right in front of me) and leaned back lining up his throw to second base. As he came over his head with the throw he held on a little longer and flung a bullet to first.

The first baseman, Don Clendenon, was standing on the bag with his hands on his hips blowing a bubble with his gum as he often did. Before he knew what happened he almost swallowed the gum and instinctively covered his stomach with his hands in self-defense. The ball hit off the heal of his glove and sailed into the first base dugout. The runner was a good six feet from the bag. He ended up at second base and they gave an error to Clemente for throwing behind the runner even though he was a dead duck. We looked for that scorekeeper after the game but he must have snuck out through a tunnel or something?

When you see an event happening over and over you tend to expect it and maybe even take it for granted. Like for instance when a runner is on first base and tries to take third on a hit through the infield, only to be gunned down by a ball that comes in no higher than six feet with no bounces. I have visions etched in my mind of third baseman Richie Hebner holding out the ball in his glove waiting for the runner, time after time after time.

He was an outfielder like no other. He ran into the gaps and caught balls others just looked at. Willie Mays perfected the basket catch. He would hold his glove level and catch fly balls at his waist. Clemente had his own style. He held his arms fully extended and caught the ball down by his knees, then flicked it underhanded to second base. It was comical. Both of them always caught with two hands.

A fly ball is hit down the right field line, the umpire is signaling “Foul Ball!” Suddenly here comes Roberto running at full speed. He’s running straight for the stands. He’ll crash into the seats. All at once he falls to the ground, catches the ball while flat on his back, and slides ten feet afterwards. Another comical feat.

I’m sorry kids today missed the Roberto that we all knew and loved. He was the perfect player to idolize and mimic in the outfield – but I would never tell a youngster to try to bat a ball like him. He had the most unorthodox way of hitting I ever saw.

In his younger days I used to smile a lot when he came to bat for the first time. He would pretend the batter’s box was rough and rocky. He would call timeout and hold his bat in the air while scrapping the outside line with his foot pretending to level it out. His spikes would chew up the chalk line and dust would fly. He did this for a good five minutes. When he was done the entire outside line was gone from the batter’s box. Then he took his stance – Outside the box! That’s right, he stood so far away from the plate that he would have been called out if the line had been there.

Opposing pitchers viewed this as a good thing and pitched him outside figuring he was too far away to ever hit the ball. Boy were they wrong! He attacked the ball! He drove line drives to all parts of the field, particularly right center. He had more triples than anyone else in the league.

Clemente was not a big slugging homerun hitter. He hit a few but chose to hit line drives for average, which is a good batting philosophy, however he did have power.

Prior to every game at Forbes Field batting practice took place under a big batting cage. Before the game started the ground crew pushed the cage way out to the wall in centerfield. It remained there for the entire game and hardly ever got in the way. The wall at that point was 457 feet from home plate. I was at a game where Roberto hit two rising line drives over that cage and out of the park.

Everytime he came to the plate the potential was there for something big to happen and usually did. Folks would plan their snack trips and restroom stops so they wouldn’t miss him. Guys waiting in line for a beer would actually leave the line when he came to bat.

I was at a game where he swung and missed at a third strike. He swung so hard he fell down backwards and caught himself with his left hand. The ball bounced out in front of the catcher a few feet. Roberto sprang to his feet and sprinted toward first base. The ball was not far from the catcher and the attempt was futile, but he made a close play out of it because he hustled. That was two years before he died. He was already a Super Star. He didn’t need to hustle. But he did...that’s the way he played!

I’ve seen him try to score from second base on a wild pitch. I’ve never seen him make it but you can be sure the catcher never lolly-gagged after the ball.

Those days are gone! The game lives on...but it doesn’t sizzle anymore, there’s no spark, no electricity, no Roberto Clemente. He was complete, he did it all. He played the game because he loved it!

More than anything else Roberto Clemente never forgot where he came from. He never talked without speaking of his family and his people in Puerto Rico. That little island gave us the biggest man...The Great One!

By George

Editor’s note:
It is not far fetched to say that during his entire career Clemente was responsible for an average of at least one run in every game he played. Either by driving one in, or stopping one from being scored. Realistically that is probably a low number.

HUMANITY WILL NEVER DIE!

They say a person never dies completely until all evidence of them is gone and those who/whom remember them are gone as well. That statement must also be true of entire civilizations. As long as something remains as evidence of their existence they will at least in memory live on. Others will know they existed.

I used to think that, unless we are able to expand our horizons to other planets and galaxies, humanity will someday be gone from the universe. All of our accomplishments, technologies, discoveries, and hints of our lives will be erased as though we never were here?

Now I realize I was wrong…Humanity will never vanish!

We are told that ultimately, our Sun will explode, in a violent term referred to as a Super Nova, and eliminate all evidence of our existence as well as Earth itself. According to experts of Space this will someday happen.

But it will not erase our existence.

On the contrary...That Super Nova event will unleash our hidden artifacts and send evidence of our lives throughout the universe in a manner we with our humble radio waves and laser beams could never do!

From the moment The Sun explodes our Endless Sea of Landfills will “Give Up Their Dead” and launch their contents in all directions in a violent eruption that will clutter the universe forever. The term “space debris” will take on a new meaning as those indestructible, remnants of us, hurl through space.

Imagine the expression on the face of an intergalactic explorer as one of our ejected bodies crashes through the front window of his Interplanetary Spacecraft. Perhaps he has time to utter a warning to his home planet by screaming out the last words he will ever see…The words written on the incoming projectile of doom…“Maytag!”

By George

THE INVISIBLE MAN

For as long as I can remember, I’ve fantasized about being invisible. To be able to walk around undetected, unseen, invading everyone’s privacy, seeing “things”. Oh...the possibilities.

As a boy, I tried many potions and incantations with hopes of transparitizing myself. Once while on a chemical hunt throughout my house I was ecstatic at finding a jar of vanishing cream on my mother’s nightstand. The results were heartbreaking and I cursed the culprits who put such a title on an item that did nothing of the sort. Actually, on one occasion my arm partially vanished, but only for an instant. It’s not clear if I was hallucinating. After further review, I resigned myself to the realization that invisibility was unachievable. As I grew older I found many of my boyhood beliefs to be untrue, including the unattainable aspects of invisibility.

I don't know how, but apparently I’ve done it! At the ripe old age of, whatever I am, I’ve stumbled onto a way to become invisible, unseen, as though I wasn’t there.
It seems to happen when I get into something motorized.

I don’t know how to explain it. There must be some sort of chemical reaction, a strange metamorphosis perhap?. Even more amazing, the entire vehicle becomes invisible. Individually we are easily seen as three-dimensional objects but combined, we disappear.

There is documented proof...I’ve taken videos. A camera mounted on my dashboard, recorded events as I casually drove around town. On numerous occasions pedestrians stepped off of the sidewalk into my path. Jaywalkers attempted to dash across the street right before my eyes. When I sounded the horn they stopped abruptly, looked at me strangely and said, “Oh, I didn’t see you!”

Proof Positive that I was INVISIBLE!

Further reviews of the tape show drivers who pulled-out in front of me, cut me off, stopped in front of me, drifted into my lane, turned in front of me, slowed down in front of me, and countless other maneuvers...as though I was not there. Each time when I sounded the horn they either displayed an obscene gesture, or confessed they had not seen me.

I was there, the day was clear, good visibility, no pollution, no obstructions, nothing to hinder their views. Yet nobody saw me. That is a scientifical unequivocal indisputable reality fact! An educated mind would have to conclude the presence of that fact was only possible if I were invisible.

I GOT NEWS FOR YA! I am NOT invisible! I have never been invisible, and I will never be invisible! I’m here, I’m there, I’m everywhere! And, I’m operating a motorized mechanism capable of crushing everything it comes in contact with. It can shatter your bones and turn you into a paralyzed vegetable. It can pulverize your body and squash you like a bug. It can take away your future. Make no mistake about it, I am deadly.

Furthermore, I am not alone. I am but a grain of sand in a sea of others such as I. We’re called Drivers, we’re everywhere! We’re all around you and we’re not all normal. Some of us are unbalanced. Some of us are stressed. Some of us are Crazy!

We are not invisible, yet we suddenly materialize out of nowhere like a decloaking Klingon Bird of Pray. Buy the time we are seen it is too late. Warp speed could possibly save a collision but we are trapped in reality. We become part of a violent crash that leaves our vehicles crushed and unwary citizens dead or dismembered. We stumble around dazed and confused as we hear a voice say, ”I didn’t see them coming”.

Nothing is invisible. We are not seen for one reason and one reason only. Nobody looks in our direction. Nobody pays attention. Everybody is in a hurry. They all have other things on their minds. For a variety of reasons they’re all looking the other way.

Look around people! Pay attention! This is not a game, this is your Life! Don’t take anything for granted. Be ready for us. We pop out of everywhere. Never assume the right-of-way…We own the streets! The only way to see us, is to see us.

“I had the green light. He came out of nowhere. We didn’t see him!”

NEWS FLASH!…We run red lights!

Nobody comes out of nowhere. The driver assumed the green light made it safe to go through the intersection. He assumed too much. He didn’t scan for us.

This is a dangerous world we live in. Seat belts, air bags, ejection seats, padded dashes, and reconstructive surgery, are Absolutely No Defense Against an Accident! They all function after a crash.

The only defense against an accident is driving defensively. Be alert. Pay attention. Concentrate on what you’re doing. Look around, see what’s there.

I am not invisible. You are not invisible…nobody is. Don’t make others invisible by not looking at them.

By George

THE SECRET TO ETERNAL YOUTH

Philosophy is a wonderful thing. My simple edition of Webster’s Dictionary defines it as; pursuit of wisdom; study of realities and general principles; system of theories on the nature of things. I look at it as a way of thinking and concluding reasonable answers to problems and ideas. The key word is thinking.

In my travels throughout our country I’ve done quite a bit of philosophizing while driving along the highways and byways. My mind will occasionally drift into a philosophical state and things start popping into it. I don’t consider this a particularly good thing to do, as I’ve often wound up in strange places, however it is not voluntary. I suppose the boredom of the road has something to do with it.

Quite often it proves beneficial as I come up with extraordinary ideas. My Xwife bought me a small recorder so I can save these for later use. Previously I had to pull off the road to jot them down. On one occasion I made a remarkable discovery.

Answers to age-old questions can be satisfied with reasonable logic. For example, the quest for eternal youth, made famous by such people as Ponce de Leon, and Peter Pan. Nearly all intelligent minds consider it a myth, but what if it does exist?

I met a man once who flatly stated he had seen the Fountain of Youth. I immediately recognized the delightful elderly gentleman as a student of previous distinction and listened eagerly, as anyone would, to his words about the youthful spring. He informed me he had actually been there. Unfortunately, he was too old to get in. He offered me a drink from his bag then rambled on about being a sovereign of some sort, which I found intriguing yet unrelated to nonfiction. I left him strung out and pleading for a war hero donation. I thought that was the end of it, however the aspect of eternal youth apparently lodged itself into my subconscious mind for I soon found myself searching for answers to the point of obsession.

I’ve seen people who seem to never age. When asked how they accomplish such a defying feat they unanimously pretend to know nothing about it. Medical research continues to find no answers to the subject matter. Libraries, archives, chronicles, even age-old scriptures reveal an absence of knowledge in regards to youth everlasting. I resolved myself to the realization that I would have to find the answer myself.

With complete devotion I searched for many years throughout the country as well as abroad. I sailed the seven seas and scoured the realm on a search that virtually took me to the Four Corners of the Earth, which I found disturbing as I’d always been taught the Earth was round. The answer seemed to allude me…so I forgot about it.

That is, I thought I forgot. But apparently I forgot to remember...my subconscious. Suddenly on the day previously mentioned the answer popped into my head. From out of nowhere it just emanated from my medulla oblongata.

The secret to eternal youth can be reached through philosophy. Here it is in a nutshell. In order to retain our youth we must slow down the aging process, which is in direct proportion to the progression of time. If we are able to hold back time we can slow the process. Therefore we must answer the question, “What does time wait for?”

A show of hands reveals many philosophical want-to-bes eager to divulge their cultivated answers, but I will go with the nerdly fellow in the heavy sweater, with the “coke bottle” glasses, and the penchant for picking his nose. The “boogieman” correctly informs us that, “Time waits for NO MAN!”

“Outstanding!” I reply without hesitation. The men are taken aback, shocked at the alarming news, as all the women slyly smile. I quickly point out, in that instance, “no man” is a representation of mankind in general regardless of gender, and not just about men. The women’s smiles turn upside down as they join the men in a pitiful rendition of “Why ME?” The pessimists squint into mirrors and see their skins wrinkling before their eyes, and the optimists suggest, “There is always hope!” I, being neither, view the scene with pretentious indifference and calmly wait for a lull in the activities.

I think of “the glass”…is it half-full or half-empty? A monumental standoff for those who dabble in beliefs of this sort. If one is to appraise their devotion from such an example, they must also consider other aspects. To the optimist who sees the glass as half-full…does he become a pessimist when the glass fills to the brim and has no other way to go but down?

The wailing continues and the thought occurs for me to leave. After all, this is not a classroom. I’m in a bar for Pete’s sake! The first roadside tavern I came upon after my theory revealed itself. I stopped for a beer. The crowd seemed enthusiastic so I thought I might try my idea on them and see how it would be excepted. When I announced I had the answer to eternal life they flocked to me like pigeons in a park to an old lady with loves of bread. Now they cried as though their very lives were over. Fortunately for them, I knew better. I thought again about the controversial glass. I looked at my glass…it was empty. In the style of a true optimist, I bought another round of Old Trevanions and regained control of the flock.

I admitted I was surprised that the answer to my first question had come so readily. I expected to have a lot of explaining to do. I suggested the fellow must be highly educated and not part of the norm for such an establishment. They ventured it was a lucky guess and acknowledged him as the village idiot. I obviously looked confused…they had some explaining to do. They stated theirs was a small town and being the village idiot did not necessarily require someone “really dumb”. I shook my head pretending to understand as I thought to myself how glad I was I didn’t live there.

They remarked that I seemed to be daydreaming. Several implied I drifted between past and present tense. I told them it was not surprising because of the nature of the two. In literature present tense can be as long as the writer wishes. It can drag out and cover long spans of time. Once the words are read they become part of the past, but they can be read again, and again, and again. In reality present tense is but a fraction of a second. It is what is happening now, at this moment. As soon as the moment is over, it becomes history. I deal only in reality, therefore I can never speak, nor write, in present tense because it is over.

I told them that on the surface it looks as though we are all doomed, as the answer to my question suggests. Why then would I have asked it? Obviously I have more to offer. Philosophy can go in many directions. The wise man chooses the path that suits him best. They had answered the first question. There remained another.

We now know Time Waits for No Man. That is a philosophical certainty. Therefore we must ask…What is No Man? The crowd stares into their beers and curls their eyebrows in a unified search, for an individual answer. I can see none of these to be a disciple of poetry or prose. Even the village idiot is without a guess. They plead for me to give them a hint. One shouts, “Ah, come on…just tell us what it is!” I refuse…they offer me a beer. I find myself captivated by their “way with words”. I agree to their terms. They listen intently as I give them, and you, the answer.

Time waits for no man…what is no man? No man is an island. Therefore, if you want to stay young, go live on an island.

ALOHA!…By George

COVERT OPERATION

Recently I had an opportunity to go on a most unusual travel excursion. An acquaintance of mine connected me with a fellow of somewhat shady character who dabbled in high-priced eccentric tours. My editor agreed to absorb the bill so I was soon off with a small band of inquisitive minds to a mysterious unknown destination.

We were immediately crammed into two tiny jeep type vehicles and rushed through the back streets of town in a zigzagging pattern consisting of many high-speed turns that tossed us considerably.

Near the edge of the city we were blindfolded and assured it was merely a precautionary measure. The air of intrigue was exciting! As we traveled on, I tried to identify sounds without much success. At one point I heard a voice that appeared to be coming from a distant mechanical speaker ask, “Do you want fries with that?” I was unable to distinguish further due to our entry onto a bumpy dirt road. We were tossed like rag dolls as our vehicles sped over rocks, bumps, and occasional splashes of mud. Tree limbs brushed on either side and I was able to presume we were in a forest of some kind. Soon the road smoothed out and I felt the sun on my face.

A man who identified himself as our tour guide welcomed us and apologized for the inconveniences. He stated the precautions were necessary because we were visiting a Boneless Chicken Ranch.

I had never heard of anything so outrageous and was taken aback as were my fellow travelers who uttered several mumbling sounds.

The tour guide filled us in on a lot of background information for the facility. Most impressive was the news that the owner, through many years of breeding, had developed a string of functioning boneless chickens. Needless to say this method of reproduction was worth millions and needed to be guarded against corporate hijackers and various animal rights groups.

Our vehicles soon came to a stop and our blindfolds were removed. We found ourselves within the confines of the ranch. We were not prepared for the sight before our eyes.

Boneless chickens were all around us. They were pathetic! They literally rolled around trying to grasp morsels of food. They couldn’t even raise their little heads above the ground. They stumbled about in an awkward state as though intoxicated. We were truly startled by this inhumane theatre of cruelty.

Our critiques were quickly overturned however. The owner of the establishment greeted us fondly and gave us a walking guided tour. We learned that unlike conventional chicken farms, these boneless chickens lived exceptional lives. Cages were unnecessary so they were free to roam about. A constant supply of food allowed them to eat as often as they chose. Some of the larger birds were pointed out as exceptionally plump due to the lack of confining bone structures. They could literally expand like a balloon to abundant sizes making them highly sought by the finest restaurants.

The owner assured us they lived comfortable pleasant lives that even included piped in classical music. They were free to eat to their hearts content and plump up until they passed away due to natural causes. No boneless chicken was ever slaughtered. The shock of head loss was never experienced which allows for a more content entree.

The hen area was impressive. Some were laying eggs and some were nesting. All were supported by gentle mechanical hands. We were told their eggs were never taken from them, but allowed to hatch and be raised by their mothers, which obviously added to their contentment.

The last stop was the packaging area. When a chicken reached its maxim degree of plumpness it peacefully passed away during its sleep. All plucking and carving was done posthumously. The chicken was then gently placed on a comfortable cardboard tray, sealed in cellophane, and rushed to clients, never frozen.

We were impressed! Our initial shocks and distaste for the Boneless Chicken Ranch was a result of our ignorance. Once we realized what was happening we truly agreed this was a delightfully humane way to raise chickens.
By George

WHEN PIGS FLY!

I read a little article in the back pages of the newspaper that told of a pig flying on a commercial aircraft.

I want to tell you something, I was on that flight and it was anything but relaxing.

It all started in the ticket line as I watched two women wearing black trenchcoats standing before me. One of them appeared to be concealing a rather large object under her garments. I noticed a protruding squiggly tail.

When they reached the ticket agent, they calmly stated, “Two adults and one child.”

The agent asked, “How much does the child weigh?”

They replied, “Thirteen pounds.”

Thirteen pounds my foot! That kid sat on someone’s suitcase and flattened it. It must weigh a ton!

My curiosity was aroused so I followed them. My knees went numb as they arrived at my boarding area and I realized we would be flying together. Once again I stood in line behind them.

This time the agent asked to see the child. The woman opened her coat slightly. The agent looked in and appeared dumbfounded.

“Madame,” he softly whispered, “That is a pig!”

Suddenly the other woman pretended to be blind.

The first woman motioned to her and said, “It’s a seeing-eye pig.”

“Very well,” said the agent, “Follow me.”

A seeing-eye pig! He bought that? I hope the pilot has more sense.

I watched as he led them down a walkway to the plane.

My anxiety was running high. As I boarded I saw the two women in first-class. Their faces were buried in magazines. Beside them sat a lump wearing a trenchcoat, black hat, and dark glasses. He looked like Truman Capote but I knew it was...“The Pig.”

“Now ain’t this something!” I thought to myself as I found my seat, “A hog is flying first-class and I’m stuck way back here beside a wing, a wall, and the latrine!”

We took off with a quick dash down the runway and soon reached cruising altitude. I asked a flight attendant, “During take-off I heard a squealing sound. Could you tell me what it was?”

“No cause for alarm, Sir,” she replied, “Probably just a rusty worn-out landing gear or something.”

I shook my head and pretended to buy her story.

What do you know, they were covering it up. They would rather I believe there was a major mechanical malfunction than admit to the pig passenger.

They started to serve dinner. I put down my tray and the attendant tossed a little tiny bag with three peanuts on it.

“What kind of slop are you serving in first-class?” I asked.

“What do you mean. Sir?”

“I’ll bet that pig is eating better than we are?”

She called Security.

The guard came over and whipped out his revolver.

“Don’t shoot me! I’m allergic to bullets,” I said.

“You need to calm down Sir, or we will have to remove you from the aircraft.”

We soon ran into bad weather. Everytime we hit an air pocket the plane dropped ten feet and that Capote fellow up front let out a blood-curdling squeal. When I told the folks around me it was a pig a few of them asked why they couldn’t bring their chickens.

“What if it goes to the bathroom?” asked an elderly woman, “We’re in a confined area.”

For the remainder of the trip we sat motionless waiting for the pig to drop a bomb.

The flight was uneventful until we landed. As we hit the ground the plane bounced and the three hundred-pound porker came flying down the aisle. It slammed into the wall beside me. I tried to grab it but it appeared to have gone berserk and was running everywhere. People screamed, the pig squealed, and the attendants welcomed us to Oklahoma City.

As we deplaned I shoved my way to the front, but by the time I reached first-class the pig was gone. I searched for telltale signs, but all prints and DNA were wiped clean. As I went through the portable walkway I noticed a side door ajar. I looked through it and down a set of stairs to the flightline below.

Lurking in the shadows I saw silhouettes of the two women standing beside a grotesque hideous squatting creature.

I swiftly shut the door and departed the airport.

From now on If someone asks me to do the impossible, you can bet I’m never going to say, “When pigs fly!”

THE VOICES

Oh, Mister Rabbit?

“He wasn’t going to allude me this time. I had set a trap so intricate, clever, and diabolical that even a creature smaller than he would not filter through.

However I apparently failed to consider the rabbits “size when wet” and as the torrential rain continued to pelt my cold damp aching bones I sat waiting to spring a trap that had already sprung.

Those words were presented to me by “The Voices”

“The Voices” awoke me in the middle of a sound sleep and spoke those words for whatever reason I had no idea?

“That’s an answer for Writer’s Block” they said.

What does a rabbit have to do with Writer’s Block?

“It illustrates that you have no Writer’s Block. We give you information.”

Oh, Really?

“That’s right!”

Fine, thank you, it’s a cute idea, I’m going back to sleep.

“You need to get up and write it down.”

I’ll write it in the morning.

“You’ll forget.”

No I won’t…I’ll write it first thing when I get up.

“If you go back to sleep you’ll forget like you always do.”

Leave me alone!

I tried to ignore “The Voices” and go back to sleep but they would not let me. They filled my mind with thoughts that kept pouring in. They extended the article with other information and went off on tangents in all directions. At that point I sympathized with those who hear voices and do evil things.

Not all voices are bad -- my voices are good. They just aggravate me at times.

OK! I’ll get up and write it down.

A few days earlier while walking “The Voices” spoke to me a classic phrase where Stanley tells Ollie the grandest of all adages,

“You can lead a horse to water, but a pencil must be lead.”

When I arrived home I wrote a scene in which one of my main characters attempts to make his horse drink water which fit splendidly into my screenplay.

On another occasion “The Voices” spoke to me while watching re-runs of Frasier.

A scene depicted a great author throwing his recently completed manuscript from the balcony of Frasier’s apartment. As he watched it falling as so much confetti he remarked, “Thank you for pointing out my flaws. If I’d have published that manuscript my reputation would have been ruined.”

Fraiser and his brother stood petrified in silence.

I was tapped on the shoulder by “The Voices” who spied a major lack of a good line by the producers.

According to them, Fraiser should have remarked after “my reputation would have been ruined”

“Ah, yes! And now, because of what you’ve just done, you will be remembered by the literary world as – a litterer!”

What does all this mean? I have no idea? All I know is I am now compelled by “The Voices” to send this to you. Please understand.

Cheers,
By George

THE CHERRY TREE

History Gone Awry

“Yes, father I chopped down your cherry tree!”

Professor Penwose has put those infamous historical words under the microscope and found it not so much a lesson in honesty as diplomacy.

History failed to record how young George Washington avoided
a beating with the use of finesse. The well-known admission of guilt was followed by these words, “I want to build you the finest two-seater outhouse in Virginia, made with the woods from our own trees!”

Naturally his father was delighted and quickly chilled. He bestowed the lad with praises and proclaimed his honesty throughout the colonies.

As it turned out Young George would have done better to just take his punishment, as the consequential hardships of his self-imposed task were far greater. By the time he finished the outhouse it was time to join the Redcoat Army and fight the French. The rest is history.

We see this as one of America’s first lessons in diplomacy and dignitaries even today still realize that discretion, either honest or devious, is better off left to those who are able to insure that ramifications are absorbed by someone else.

Professor Penwose prefers to examine from all angles and says that if George would have just confessed he probably would have gotten a beating or possibly put on restriction or an early form of “time out”. In either case history would have still been pretty much the same.

If he lied however, things would have been quite different.

His father would have been left searching for the culprit. It could not have been an Indian, for the hatchet leaves different marks than a tomahawk. It could not have been the French for they did nothing themselves.

The only others left were The British. Undoubtedly he would have rushed to town and accused them. Naturally they would have denied it. Words would have been exchanged. Tempers would have flared. One thing would have led to another and consequently The Revolution would have started earlier than it did and we probably would have lost.

Washington would have still been a young lad, inexperienced and left out of the war and history. The best he could have hoped for possibly might have been a lowly position in the War of 1812 which would have been fought around 1802, and then again, only if we would have won the Revolution and that is doubtful.

People today would be left wondering why so many things are named Washington?

So it is best to be honest, avoid diplomacy, and history will take care of itself.

Penwose Out!
By George

A MATTER OF TIME

Which would you prefer a watch/clock that runs slow or one that is completely stopped?

The popular educated “thinking-man’s” reply is that a watch/clock that is completely stopped is preferred over one that runs slow because it will be accurate twice a day. I’ll assume that you agree.

That is true, it will give the exact time twice a day -- whereas the one running slow will never be accurate.

Does that make it a better timepiece?

Of course not! Not even close! Think about it!

The sole purpose of a timepiece is to provide an indication of time. The educated answer given says that they prefer an instrument that is 100% correct far less than 1% of the time, over one that is say 90% correct 100% of the time.

That is what they SAY they prefer, but what do they choose in reality?

If you ask three people the time you will get three different answers, all of which are probably wrong.

TIME is not an accurate science. All clocks are different. Some run fast, some slow. There is virtually no way to tell which is displaying the correct time. Actually, Correct Time is a myth.

Time is dependent upon what we choose to be the indicator. Usually that is the sun. But did time start when we made our first calendar?
The Chinese say we don’t even know what year it is. The truth is we have no idea what time it is. All we know is the time that passed since we started recording it.

The Chinese year is different than ours. We say it is 2010. That is way off. What happened to those BC years?

The point being nobody knows the real time. Therefore, a clock that runs slow -- is just another clock that runs slow. However we are getting an IDEA of the time, near enough to run our lives, 24 hours of every day.

Can we make use of it? Sure! If the clock is five minutes slow we leave five minutes early. If it’s fast, just the opposite, leave late. We can set a schedule using the lapse we’re aware of.

The other timepiece is USELESS!

You will NEVER have the slightest idea of what time it is – Not a Clue!
Sure twice a day it will be completely accurate, BUT YOU WON’T KNOW when that happens.

Let us test my theory. You take the watch completely stopped and I’ll take the one that runs slow. We’ll do lunch! You name the time and place. Try to be punctual using only your watch. I’ll be a little late.

Let’s go another way. I’m willing to wager my weekly paycheck, (which is well into double figures,) that you yourself do not believe your own answer.

High pathetical situation...You’re showing off your fancy watch as you walk down the street. You drop the watch and it stops running. You take it to a jeweler - it can’t be fixed. Do you keep wearing it because it will show the “exactly time” two fractions of a second a day?

If you answered “Yes”, you probably can’t read this anyway so the entire matter is futile.

By George

IT CAME FROM SPACE

Hinkly Dinkly Reporting

MYSTERIOUS OBJECT CRASHES THROUGH ROOF

FREEHOLD TOWNSHIP, NJ - Authorities were trying to identify a mysterious metallic object that crashed through the roof of a house in eastern New Jersey.

Nobody was injured when the golf-ball-sized object, weighing nearly as much as a can of soup, struck the home and embedded itself in a cellar wall.

Federal officials at hand said it was not from an aircraft…”But it could be from a spaceship.”

That statement was later recanted and the government disavowed any knowledge of it, after instructing citizens to disregard it.

The object is said to have fallen from Deep Space and probably traveled thousands of light-years to reach New Jersey. Police have dusted it for fingerprints.

Approximately 20 to 50 rock-like objects fall every day over the entire planet, said a professor of astronomy at Rutgers University.

He said laboratory tests would have to be conducted to determine if the object was a meteorite, however he was reasonably sure it was not a piece of a planet.

Professor Penwose arrived on hand and I asked his opinion of the origin of a golf ball sized metallic object weighing as much as a can of soup.

“That is a difficult question. As you know, no two cans of soup have identical weights, so that comparison may have been placed to confuse our experts, by an alien sleeper living amongst us, who obviously is not sleeping.”

He went on to say, “I will be anxious to see what the fingerprint powder turns up. Most people are unaware that aliens have only four fingers.
Therefore, if the prints show no fifth digit, we will know in all certainty they came from an alien, or someone caught picking their nose in an Arabian country.

If the object turns out to be some type of Alien lifeform, we need show no fear, as it is obviously of low intelligence. I mean who would travel all those light-years just to get to New Jersey?”

Before authorities absconded with the mysterious object, The Professor convinced them to allow the crowd to pass it around amongst themselves and remarked, “That strange tingling sensation you’re feeling is probably due to radioactivity. I suggest you wash your hands when you get home.”

The finger print results are coming in. Oh! This is interesting.

FIREPLACE CONFABULATIONS

We all know there is a season for holidays. Yet this BLOG runs 24/7 five days a week. The following is a holiday message, which you are free to read during “regular” days if you so choose.

Professor Penwose with another of his annual Holiday Fireplace Confabulations.

Good evening,

Gift giving has always been one of my most favorable times of the year. Under the guise of Christmas it is a bustling time of haberdashery dashering and mall merriment.

I love to see all the smiling little faces as they open their gifts and try to act like it was just what they wanted while all the time thinking, “What the heck is this?”

I would like to comment on giving money as a gift.

Without a doubt the worst thing you can possibly do! Surveys indicate it is the gift most frequently exchanged/returned…A whopping 91%, and 25% “Regifted”.

It’s never the right size. They may look at it and say, “You shouldn’t have,” while all the time thinking, you shouldn’t have been so cheap.
I once gave fifty dollars to a girlfriend and she said, “What do I look like, a cheap whore?”
You just can’t please people with money.

Money is dirty. It’s the filthiest thing on Earth. You never know where it’s been or whose hands were on it? You could be spreading germs to your loved ones.

They say it is “The Root of All Evil.” I should think such a dreadful thing should not be a gift.

The Wino once told me, “Give a man a dollar and he will toast to your health. Give that man a case of Muscatel and he’ll drink to you for a month!”

I say, “Money can’t buy poverty...Never give it as a gift.”

There are many who disagree saying, “You can’t put a price on money.”

Maybe they are right?

Penwose out!
By George

HEART ATTACKS

Here’s an example of how HUMOR can “Get the word out” and camouflage an advertisement. Please pass it along to your friends, as it is a VERY important message and a good reminder!

Heart Attacks

According to a recent document, I should be dead! Apparently I had HUNDREDS of Heart Attacks and didn’t even know it!

During the days I like to refer to as, “The Dark Ages”, (when I was married,) my wives would find ways to trick me into having sex on days other than their birthdays, which I like to refer to as, “The Black Days.” I was able to counter their offers and demands with a simple announcement that I HAD A HEADACHE. This usually worked for about five minutes until they popped up with a bottle of Bayer Aspirin.

I countered with pretending to be asleep. They countered with, “Other things.”

The ordeals that followed I now find were more hazardous than previously realized.

Symptoms of a heart attack appear to be – Pain in the left arm, nausea, sweating, and intense pain on the chin.

To explain things...
Pain in the left arm...Well that’s the side they slept on.
Nausea...I assumed to be an intrical part of the activity.
Sweating...If I need to describe that, you’re not doing it right.
Intense pain on the chin...I tried...Lord knows I tried...but they took FOREVER!...and I was never good at ducking punches.

By George

SCIENTISTS SEEK ALIEN LIFE ON EARTH

Forget outer space — extraterrestrial life may be "right under our noses," a top physicist says. (I did not write that.)

This is BIG! Right up my alley so to speak. I know you think I make this stuff up, (Justifiably so...usually), BUT THIS IS REAL! High Diddle Diddle the Cow Jumped Over the Moon! And what did she bring back?

There is so much written here I’m going to have a tough time breaking it down. Just remember it comes from experts.

LONDON – For decades, scientists have scanned the heavens in search of extraterrestrial life. Perhaps they should have looked closer to home. Variant life forms — most likely tiny microbes — could still be hanging around "right under or noses — or even in our noses," an award winning Arizona State University physicist, told a group of scientists.

"How do we know all life on earth descended from a single origin?" he said, speaking at London's Royal Society, which serves as Britain's academy of sciences. "We've just scratched the surface of the microbial world."

The idea that alien micro-organisms could be hiding on Earth has been discussed for a while, according to The Director of Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence, a U.S. project that listens for signals from civilizations based around distant stars.

Is that outrageous or what? Not only do we eavesdrop on our own citizens but we listen in on deep dark space critters. I suppose if they have some form of marriage ritual we may be able to hear them arguing? I wonder what they, (The listeners) would do if they heard, “Tomorrow we attack the Earth.” Anybody know a way we could feed that into their feed?

The Director said several of the scientists involved in the project were interested in pursuing the notion, "Are Aliens Among Us?"

So far, there's no answer.

No answer - means, No “No!” The door is wide open. What if they came down as Mexicans? We couldn’t even do anything to them without jeopardizing double jeopardy. They could pick fruits and vegetables and inject all sorts of microorganisms. I shirk to think what they could do working in fast food restaurants.

The Director suggested that the only way to prove an organism wasn't "life, as we know it" was if it were built using exotic elements which no other form of life had. Such organisms have yet to be found. However less than 1 percent of all the world's bacteria had been comprehensively studied

Now here’s a Real brain...an astrobiologist at the University of Colorado at Boulder, said the notion of alien life on Earth was "an interesting theoretical idea" but one that would be impossible to put odds on because "we have no idea what we're looking for."

He added that, if such life forms existed, humans would have little to fear, as their different biochemistry would tend to mitigate against infection or disease.

DUH! He says humans would have nothing to fear, right after admitting, “We have no idea what we’re looking for.”

The call for alien-hunting scientists to look to their own backyards came as a pioneer in the search for extraterrestrial life in outer space told the conference the job appears to be more difficult than previously thought.

A group from AAAA who conducted the first organized search for alien radio signals in 1960, said that the Earth — which used to pump out a loud tangle of radio waves, television signals, and other radiation — has been steadily getting quieter as its communications technology improves. They cited the switch from analogue to digital television — which uses a far weaker signal — and the fact that much more communications traffic is now relayed by satellites and fiber optic cables, limiting its leakage into outer space.

Scientists at SETI, (Whatever that is?), were excited by the possibility of using lasers to send super-bright flashes of light into space for a tiny fraction of a second. The flashes could theoretically be seen by an advanced civilization up to 1,000 light years away and beyond.

Professor Penwose presumed that, “Knowing what we know, and eliminating what we don’t know, which in reality is automatically eliminated, we must conclude that tiny organisms previously mentioned as neither here nor not, would be incapable of constructing a capable craft for travel through space. Therefore they would be limited to hitching a ride from an existing vessel.

One cold hard fact is we have been roundtrip to nowhere but The Moon. Therefore, THAT is an elementary judgment of the origin of any microbes here on Earth.

Shooting laser beams blindly throughout the cosmos might seem like a good idea but would we not also foster the possibility of burning out entire civilizations and even cutting planets in half?
In any event I believe they would appear much brighter if we sent them at night.

In regards to the matter of the weaker signals being shot into space -- The entire issue is of little or no significance due to another elementary deduction -- Unless the aliens spoke our language they would not have understood the television programs anyway.

On the other hand, in the event of alien civilizations more advanced than ours, we must assume they already have HD Digital.”

Penwose Out
By George

2000 BRICK

I remember the sovereign currency I found at the start of The Millennium.

It was January 1st 2000. I was in Pomona California standing along Colorado Boulevard one row back from the curb watching The Rose Bowl Parade go by. I don’t know why but something made me look down? And there it was, old, dirty, wrinkly, and it was on the ground so obviously full of germs. Anything else on the planet and I wouldn’t get within ten feet of it. But it was money! Beautiful money! A hefty twenty dollar bill.

I never saw a twenty dollar bill like that. It was free! Unhanded, out in the open, unrestrained, blowing in the wind, free as a bird.

I stepped on it!

Nonchalantly I looked around. The throng of parade watchers never noticed. Their eyes were fixed on the passing floats of roses. I looked down again. Two corners of the bill were sticking out beyond my boot. There was no time to spare. I bent down, snatched the bill, and stuck it in my pocket as I stood up.

A big smile beamed across my face and I said to myself, “This is going to be MY MILLENNIUM!

That was ten years ago. I’m still waiting for something else to happen.

I almost had a fantastic job, and I should have! I was really cool at the interview. I remember he asked if I had any previous experience?

I avoided the question smartly by stating, “That is a trick question, Sir! I happen to know that ALL experience is previous.”

I’m still waiting for their call. They said they would.

What was I to do? I had no previous experience, but the thought made me think. Maybe I had experience in a previous life? I heard tell, of people who tell, of such things.

I decided to use the twenty-dollar bill to find out about my past lives, even though I realized most of them were probably dead.

As luck would have it several carnivals were in town. Back streets and alleys were filled with high-class reputable low-key fortunetellers. I rang the bell of the first that caught my eye.

I realize the profession is reeking with charlatans and fancy myself quite the spotter of these parasites who prey on pitiful wretches less worldly than myself. When I heard the familiar greeting, “Who’s there?” I knew she was not for me.

Similar responses soon left me standing before the last wagon on the left. I decide to just walk in. She was seated at a table and beckoned me to sit down, “I knew you were coming!” she said.

“This is the one!” said I to myself.

I was marveled by her manner. She had a coo-coo clock that ran backwards and said “coo coo” instead of “coo coo.”

I felt very comfortable, however as I looked around I began to have doubts. A crystal ball on the table was full of fish. Her Ouija Board was being used by a bearded fellow on the phone betting on a horse, and several men in another room were playing poker with her Tarot cards.

She quickly grabbed my hand and said, ”Do not worry, I can read your palm.”

I looked at her as she smiled and saw food where her teeth should have been. I wanted to leave but she had my hand, what could I do?

She spoke broken English with a German accent and Spanish overtones that complemented her Polish background as Marinara sauce and bits of pasta dribbled from her lips.

“I’m sorry I interrupted your dinner,” said I.

“How did you know dat?” she asked with bits of garlic shooting from her mouth, “You could be good Gypsie!”

“OK! Here we go...Counta your fingers and toes from left to right and then from right to left, and do it all over again in reverse order, then alternate between fingers and toes and count backwards intermittently. Then turn upside down and do it all again. If you come upa with the same answer each time you will not have lived previously.”

I was amazed at how she even knew why I was there?

“If you come upa with different answers, you havea different previous lives.”

I started to count my toes but she said to do it later. She looked at my palm and made a magic sign, she said what I need was, “To get a life!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Imma notta joking! Your Life Line isa too short – you shoulda be dead already!”

I flexed my hand a little creating a wrinkle that extended my life thirty years.

She smiled and said, “Your Love Line isa even worser – you love somebody who don’t love you – and that’sa nota gonna change with a cheap wrinkle trick.”

She was wise!

I went home and counted my toes and fingers like she said. The answer is always different so I know I’ve lived multiple lives.

I tried several types of hypnosis to search the inner sanctums of my mind and reveal the many lives I may have lived, however each time I start to recant my tales they wake me looking terrified and say they’re going to need a lot more money before they continue.

I don’t know where all of this is leading me but I do know that this is My Millennium!

By George

ASTRONUT KIDNAPPER

Hinkly Dinkly Reporting
With a word from AAAA

ASTRONAUT CHARGED WITH KIDNAP ATTEMPT

If I may quote Peter Sellers, "In a Fit of Realous Gage," A NASA astronaut drove 900 miles wearing a diaper and donned a disguise to confront a woman in a bizarre love triangle.

The 43-year-old robotics specialist faces charges including Attempted kidnapping, Attempted vehicle burglary with battery, Impersonating a chicken, and Destruction of evidence,

I must say, I am confused over the charges. Why should it be more severe to burglarize a vehicle with a battery, as opposed to one without? Must be something related to "risk of flight" I would imagine?

Police said the alleged suspect was armed with a BB gun and a can of pepper when she confronted a woman she believed was a competitor for the affections of a fellow astronaut whom she is rumored to be linked to in the Five Hundred Mile High Club.

She allegedly raced from Houston to Orlando wearing diapers in the car so she wouldn't have to stop to go to the bathroom, authorities said.
Probably more information than we need to know.

Dressed in a wig and a trench coat, she waited for her rival’s plane to land and then boarded the same airport shuttle bus she took to get to her car. The victim told police she noticed someone following her, hurried inside the car and locked the doors.

The astronaut, allegedly then changed into a chicken suit, rapped on the car window, tried to open the door, and finally asked for a ride. The victim saw through the disguise and knew that chickens can't talk,(except for in some parts of Las Vegas,) and refused, but rolled down the window a few inches after the chicken started to cry. The chicken then sprinkled something into her car, apparently thinking it to be pepper spray, which she said smelled bad, but later suggested it may have been from the diaper she was wearing?

Does this sound like appropriate behavior for an astronaut – An officer and a gentleman?

The devoted fellows of AAAA – Alien Abductees & Alcoholics Anonymous say “OF course not!”

This is typical of an abducted individual under the influence of extraterrestrials probably due to an implant or some form of hypnosis. They stated that astronauts are ideal for abductions, as they are already half way there. They suggested she be watched closely.

A judge allowed the astronaut to go free on bail on the condition that she not leave the planet.

Hinkly Out!
By George

THE SECRET TO ETERNAL YOUTH

Philosophy is a wonderful thing. My simple edition of Webster’s Dictionary defines it as; pursuit of wisdom; study of realities and general principles; system of theories on the nature of things. I look at it as a way of thinking and concluding reasonable answers to problems and ideas. The key word is thinking.

In my travels throughout our country I’ve done quite a bit of philosophizing while driving along the highways and byways. My mind will occasionally drift into a philosophical state and things start popping into it. I don’t consider this a particularly good thing to do, as I’ve often wound up in strange places, however it is not voluntary. I suppose the boredom of the road has something to do with it.

Quite often it proves beneficial as I come up with extraordinary ideas. My wife bought me a small recorder so I can save these for later use. Previously I had to pull off the road to jot them down. On one occasion I made a remarkable discovery.

Answers to age-old questions can be satisfied with reasonable logic. For example, the quest for eternal youth, made famous by such people as Ponce de Leon, and Peter Pan. Nearly all intelligent minds consider it a myth, but what if it does exist?

I met a man once who flatly stated he had seen the Fountain of Youth. I immediately recognized the delightful elderly gentleman as a student of previous distinction and listened eagerly, as anyone would, to his words about the youthful spring. He informed me he had actually been there. Unfortunately, he was too old to get in. He offered me a drink from his bag then rambled on about being a sovereign of some sort, which I found intriguing yet unrelated to nonfiction. I left him strung out and pleading for a war hero donation. I thought that was the end of it, however the aspect of eternal youth apparently lodged itself into my subconscious mind for I soon found myself searching for answers to the point of obsession.

I’ve seen people who seem to never age. When asked how they accomplish such a defying feat they unanimously pretend to know nothing about it. Medical research continues to find no answers to the subject matter. Libraries, archives, chronicles, even age-old scriptures reveal an absence of knowledge in regards to youth everlasting. I resolved myself to the realization that I would have to find the answer myself.

With complete devotion I searched for many years throughout the country as well as abroad. I sailed the seven seas and scoured the realm on a search that virtually took me to the Four Corners of the Earth, which I found disturbing as I’d always been taught the Earth was round. The answer seemed to allude me…so I forgot about it.

That is, I thought I forgot. But apparently I forgot to remember...my subconscious. Suddenly on the day previously mentioned the answer popped into my head. From out of nowhere it just emanated from my medulla oblongata.

The secret to eternal youth can be reached through philosophy. Here it is in a nutshell. In order to retain our youth we must slow down the aging process, which is in direct proportion to the progression of time. If we are able to hold back time we can slow the process. Therefore we must answer the question, “What does time wait for?”

A show of hands reveals many philosophical want-to-bes eager to divulge their cultivated answers, but I will go with the nerdly fellow in the heavy sweater, with the “coke bottle” glasses, and the penchant for picking his nose. The “boogieman” correctly informs us that, “Time waits for NO MAN!”

“Outstanding!” I reply without hesitation. The men are taken aback, shocked at the alarming news, as all the women slyly smile. I quickly point out, in that instance, “no man” is a representation of mankind in general regardless of gender, and not just about men. The women’s smiles turn upside down as they join the men in a pitiful rendition of “Why ME?” The pessimists squint into mirrors and see their skins wrinkling before their eyes, and the optimists suggest, “There is always hope!” I, being neither, view the scene with pretentious indifference and calmly wait for a lull in the activities.

I think of “the glass”…is it half-full or half-empty? A monumental standoff for those who dabble in beliefs of this sort. If one is to appraise their devotion from such an example, they must also consider other aspects. To the optimist who sees the glass as half-full…does he become a pessimist when the glass fills to the brim and has no other way to go but down?

The wailing continues and the thought occurs for me to leave. After all, this is not a classroom. I’m in a bar for Pete’s sake! The first roadside tavern I came upon after my theory revealed itself. I stopped for a beer. The crowd seemed enthusiastic so I thought I might try my idea on them and see how it would be excepted. When I announced I had the answer to eternal life they flocked to me like pigeons in a park to an old lady with loves of bread. Now they cried as though their very lives were over. Fortunately for them, I knew better. I thought again about the controversial glass. I looked at my glass…it was empty. In the style of a true optimist, I bought another round of Old Trevanions and regained control of the flock.

I admitted I was surprised that the answer to my first question had come so readily. I expected to have a lot of explaining to do. I suggested the fellow must be highly educated and not part of the norm for such an establishment. They ventured it was a lucky guess and acknowledged him as the village idiot. I obviously looked confused…they had some explaining to do. They stated theirs was a small town and being the village idiot did not necessarily require someone “really dumb”. I shook my head pretending to understand as I thought to myself how glad I was I didn’t live there.

They remarked that I seemed to be daydreaming. Several implied I drifted between past and present tense. I told them it was not surprising because of the nature of the two. In literature present tense can be as long as the writer wishes. It can drag out and cover long spans of time. Once the words are read they become part of the past, but they can be read again, and again, and again. In reality present tense is but a fraction of a second. It is what is happening now, at this moment. As soon as the moment is over, it becomes history. I deal only in reality, therefore I can never speak, nor write, in present tense because it is over.

I told them that on the surface it looks as though we are all doomed, as the answer to my question suggests. Why then would I have asked it? Obviously I have more to offer. Philosophy can go in many directions. The wise man chooses the path that suits him best. They had answered the first question. There remained another.

We now know Time Waits for No Man. That is a philosophical certainty. Therefore we must ask…What is No Man? The crowd stares into their beers and curls their eyebrows in a unified search, for an individual answer. I can see none of these to be a disciple of poetry or prose. Even the village idiot is without a guess. They plead for me to give them a hint. One shouts, “Ah, come on…just tell us what it is!” I refuse…they offer me a beer. I find myself captivated by their “way with words”. I agree to their terms. They listen intently as I give them, and you, the answer.

Time waits for no man…what is no man? No man is an island. Therefore, if you want to stay young, go live on an island.

ALOHA!…By George

THE INVISIBLE MAN?

For as long as I can remember, I’ve fantasized about being invisible. To be able to walk around undetected, unseen, invading everyone’s privacy, seeing “things”. Oh...the possibilities.

As a boy, I tried many potions and incantations with hopes of transparitizing myself. Once while on a chemical hunt throughout my house I was ecstatic at finding a jar of vanishing cream on my mother’s nightstand. The results were heartbreaking and I cursed the culprits who put such a title on an item that did nothing of the sort. Actually, on one occasion my arm partially vanished, but only for an instant. It’s not clear if I was hallucinating? After further review, I resigned myself to the realization that invisibility was unachievable. As I grew older I found many of my boyhood beliefs to be untrue, including the unattainable aspects of invisibility.

Believe it or not, I’ve done it! At the ripe old age of, whatever I am, I’ve discovered the way to become invisible, unseen, as though I wasn’t there.

It’s quite simple, really. The secret to becoming invisible is to get into something larger than oneself...apparently something motorized.

I don’t know how to explain it. There must be some sort of chemical reaction, a strange metamorphosis perhaps? The fact is, whenever I get into a motor vehicle...I become invisible. Even more amazing, the entire vehicle becomes invisible. Individually we are easily seen as three-dimensional objects but combined, we disappear.

There is documented proof...I’ve taken videos. A camera mounted on my dashboard, recorded events as I casually drove around town. On numerous occasions pedestrians stepped off of the sidewalk into my path. Jaywalkers attempted to dash across the street right before my eyes. When I sounded the horn they stopped abruptly, looked at me strangely and said, “Oh, I didn’t see you!”

To me, that proves that I am invisible!

Further reviews of the tape show drivers who pulled-out in front of me, cut me off, stopped in front of me, drifted into my lane, turned in front of me, slowed down in front of me, and countless other maneuvers...as though I was not there. Each time when I sounded the horn they either displayed an obscene gesture, or confessed they had not seen me.

I was there, the day was clear, good visibility, no pollution, no obstructions, nothing to hinder their views. Yet nobody saw me. That is a scientifical unequivocal indisputable reality fact! An educated mind would have to conclude the presence of that fact was only possible if I were invisible.

I GOT NEWS FOR YA! I am NOT invisible! I have never been invisible, and I will never be invisible! I’m here, I’m there, I’m everywhere! And, I’m operating a motorized mechanism capable of crushing everything it comes in contact with. It can shatter your bones and turn you into a paralyzed vegetable. It can pulverize your body and squash you like a bug. It can take away your future. Make no mistake about it, I am deadly.

Furthermore, I am not alone. I am but a grain of sand in a sea of others such as I. We’re called Drivers, we’re all over the place! We’re all around you and we’re not all normal. Some of us are unbalanced. Some of us are stressed. Some of us are Crazy!

We are not invisible, yet we suddenly materialize out of nowhere like a decloaking Klingon Bird of Prey. Buy the time we are seen it is too late. We become part of a violent crash that leaves our vehicles crushed and unwary citizens dead or dismembered. We stumble around dazed and confused as we hear a voice say, ”I didn’t see them coming”.

Nothing is invisible. We are not seen for one reason and one reason only. Others are not looking in our direction. They are not paying attention. Everybody is in a hurry. They all have other things on their minds. For a variety of reasons they’re all looking the other way.
This is not a game people, this is your Life! Don’t take anything for granted. Be ready for us. We pop out of everywhere. Never assume the right-of-way…We own the streets! The only way to see us, is to see us.

This is a dangerous world we live in. Seat belts, air bags, padded dashes, and reconstructive surgery, are Absolutely No Defense Against an Accident! They all function AFTER a crash.

The only defense against an accident is driving defensively. Be alert. Pay attention. Always see what’s there. Don’t make others invisible by not looking at them.

By George

FROGS

Hinkly Dinkly Reporting

With mind bogging gender news.

Today’s headline
POLLUTANTS CHANGE 'HE' FROGS INTO 'SHE' FROGS

PARIS (AFP) - Frogs that started life as males were changed into females by estrogen-like pollutants similar to those found in the environment, according to a new study.

In a laboratory at Uppsala University in Sweden, two species of male frogs were exposed to levels of estrogen similar to those detected in natural bodies of water in Europe, The United States, and Canada.

The population of the two groups receiving the heaviest dose of estrogen became 95 percent female in one case, and 100 percent in the other.

"If all the frogs become female it could have a detrimental effect on the population," she the leader of the experiment with a penchant for pinning down the obvious, said.

As expected Professor Penwose was alarmed by the news and instantly leaped ahead with frog experiments of his own.

“I placed several frogs together in a beaker environment and immediately realized I could not identify males from females. They looked the same to me. My Big Book of Frogs informed me that male frogs “Croak” and females do not.

I found this absolutely astonishing!

I knew what it meant to "croak" due to my early days in Slangdom, however I would go no further until addressing Webster. As expected, the definition was as I expected..."buy the farm, cash in one's chips, choke, conk, drop dead!"

Utterly Remarkable! Male frogs would "Drop dead" while females apparently live forever. I had neither the time nor desire to sit around waiting for the events to happen, so I decided to distinguish their sexes by other determining factors. Being a scientist I decided to do it scientifically.

I had them partake in a game of Leapfrog. Not unlike the human species, the frolicking that resulted made the two sexes easily distinguishable.

After dousing them with water, I separated the males from the females and dropped two of them into the polluted swamp behind my home. When I returned them to their former piers they immediately began to “nag” them.

Not fully convinced, I dropped the remaining males into the swamp and realized an astonishing fact upon their retrieval.

Before going into the putrid water they drank Budweiser. After pulling them out they preferred Chardonnay.”

Hinkly Out!
By George

SPACE EXPLOSION

The communiqué you are about to read is not science fiction but an actual headline from today's news with possible End of World implications.

SPECIAL EDITION…URGENT!

Hinkly Dinkly Reporting!

Headlines, previously seen only as fictionalized “Hooks” by rag grocery tabloids and hypothesized by idiots, now thrust a violent dagger at our very existence.
Take a look at TODAY’S NEWS…

“NASA DETECTS 'TOTALLY NEW' MYSTERY EXPLOSION NEARBY”

“Astronomers have detected a new type of cosmic outburst that they can't yet explain. The event was very close to our galaxy, they said.”

You MUST be able to read between the lines. Allow me to illustrate…
NASA…validates validity of the article.
TOTALLY NEW…indicates it has been hidden “all these years”.
MYSTERY EXPLOSION…Any explosion in SPACE is bad! The mystery indicates an unfamiliarity with the explosive. It may be something as simple as a really big stick of dynamite, or possibly some alien culture has tested an Atom Bomb of some sort?
NEARBY…suggests that if my above hypothesis proves genuine…we could be in trouble?

“It was spotted by NASA's Swift telescope and is being monitored by other telescopes around the world as scientists wait to see what will happen.”

“The event looks something like a gamma-ray burst (GRB)", scientists said. "But it is much closer—about 440 million light-years away—than others. And it lasted about 33 minutes. Most GRBs are billions of light-years away and last less than a second or just a few seconds.”

Gamma Ray Burst? They have Gamma Rays?
This is worse than I thought! How do we defend ourselves from Gamma Rays?
If this leaks out our stores will be running out of aluminum foil.

“Astronomers don't fully understand gamma-ray bursts (GRBs). But they theorize that when one is pointed our way, it appears brighter than when the beams it produces shoot off in other directions.”

Now who is the Rogue Scholar that figured that out? Do you suppose he tested his theory with a flashlight? Now we know why they’re not giving their names.

“Italian researchers using the European Southern Observatory's Very Large Telescope in Chile found signs in the event's optical afterglow that it may become a supernova.

Very Large Telescope? Can’t the Italians think of a name? How about The Linguine…or The Noodle?

IT MAY BECOME A SUPERNOVA…No need to read between the lines here. A Super Nova confirms their weapons are far superior to ours and a confrontation would be similar to the annihilation portrayed in “Independence Day”…only this one we would lose.

I phoned Professor Penwose with the news and he suggested the explosion may be due to their clumsiness and offered an alternative scenario that they may have blown themselves up?

I say, “Why take a chance? Get off the planet as quickly as possible!"

Hinkly Out!

Update:
Time is running out! THAT WAS OLD NEWS!
The above message was previously released on February 15 2006…(for the mathematically challenged that was several years ago), a fleeting moment in Space Time but an eternity to those fleeing annihilation by an alien civilization with diabolical weaponry.

There have been no new explosions since, which could only mean they have developed stealth characteristics capable of cloaking themselves as though invisible. They may be on our very doorstep.

Hinkly Out!
By George

LUNAR OVERSIGHT

As we continue to view astronomy on an irregular basis we are quick to notice the clever names given to moons of various planets. Recently Titan the largest moon of Saturn was spoken of as an alternative fuel source. Virtually all the other planets have named moons, usually given by their discoverers. Even Pluto a planet recently caste out from our glorious nine-planet solar system has a moon named Charon.

For some strange reason OUR moon has NO NAME?
Is this an example of extreme prognostication…or lackadation?

Why has virtually every other moon of significance been given a name and the one nearest and dearest to us merely called The Moon?

Some say it is because it is the only moon we have and “THE” Moon designates its importance. If that were true every parent with one offspring would simple name it “THE Child”. The reasoning has no merit.

To add insult to injury we have actually named craters on the very moon we fail to designate. That is like naming a pimple on “THE Child”

I propose we honor our very own moon with a proper name so it can hold its head up with any others as a first class upstanding moon of distinction.

Since I am the discoverer of this oversight and publisher of any and all paperwork pertaining to such things I claim the right of sole namership of said moon and hereby utilize this forum to initiate my choice in an official and timely manner.

At this time I would like to humbly, and with extreme pride, name our moon “MARCIA” after my wonderful son Daniel’s mother who lights up my life and controls the tides of my heart in such a way she deserves a heavenly body named in her honor.

All those opposed may signify with a show of hands.
Long pause.
After seeing no hands the name stands!

From this day forward our moon will officially be known as MARCIA!

Cheers,
By George

George Loses Robert Benchley Society Award for Humor

NEWS RELEASE

George Elkin Albitz Loses Robert Benchley Society Award for Humor.

In a previously unprecedented total lack of adoration George E. Albitz has lost the prestigious Robert Benchley Award for the fourth time.

The winners are usually notified in the summer months when judges can fly off to topless beaches and bask in the sun with mint juleps, however George’s entry was chosen as a loser even before being received. Actually it wasn't even written yet, possibly due to the bad economy which provided very little humor material, which George stated, was not his fault.

The judging staff which will probably be composed of Dave Barry, Horace Digby, and others, say they wanted to give George a head start on all the other losers and set him as a shining example of what a writer with a fifth grade education can do. They know it can be very nerve racking waiting for the results and hoped to relieve him of the anxiety, apprehension, and distress which causes most losers to be fidgety.

In all honesty the judges shall miss his lively entries which they used to crinkle up and "Shoot" from across the room to their circular floor file. I suppose this year others will have to provide the amusement.

George was unavailable for comment but did say he was honored to be chosen as “First Loser” and looks forward to losing again next year. He pointed out that, like himself, Robert Benchley had never won the award.

WHERE'S THE MOON?

Ever since I named The Moon after Marcia, I’ve yet to see either of them? Marcia herself is no surprise as I usually don't see her very often, but Marcia The Moon, is an entirely different matter.

I often look to The Moon, aka Marcia, at night in hopes of making wishes, etc and thinking, “Gee, this would really be a romantic moment if I was with somebody,” but ever since the name was published it has been so overcast The Moon, aka Marcia, has virtually disappeared.

Just the other night at the height of my despair as I looked for Marcia in all directions a wino emerged from a nearby box and asked what I was doing. I didn’t want to get into a long conversation so I just told him I was looking for the moon and asked if he’d seen it?

He replied “Yeah! Here it is!”

When I looked in his direction he was bending over with his pants down.

I really need to move to a better neighborhood.

I know there are always moonless nights when for a variety of reasons the Moon, aka Marcia, is hidden from view. But I think a week is rather extensive. I’m starting to feel as though I may have upset the Cosmos or something. We probably shouldn’t trifle with the delicate balance of planets. Maybe I violated some ancient law of the universe?

Have any of you seen Marcia? If so would you please let me know to ease my mind. I’m sure it’s nothing more than an overextended eclipse of some kind but it would be nice to know that The Moon, aka Marcia, is still around.

As you are well aware all of my writings involve many moments of unextensive research. When delving for Moon info I came across an amazing fact. We all know that Pluto was previously the furthest planet from the Sun. Now it is not. Neptune has acquired that distinction by reason of default. Neptune now serves as the outer boundary of the solar system. Which is in itself an interesting fact because even when Pluto retained its rightful claim its orbit was so erratic it often caused it to be closer to the Sun than Neptune for extended periods of time.

Here's another interesting tidbit. Neptune’s solar orbit is 164.88 Earth years. The planet was discovered in 1846. Since then Neptune has yet to make a single trip around the Sun. This is the year! Neptune, as we know it, will complete it's first orbit sometime this year. We should celebrate!

By George

Hillary’s New Space Bill

Vast seas of liquid recently discovered on Saturn’s largest moon, Titan, have actually shown glimpses of excitement on the face of Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton.

Sources close to the Secretary say she plans to approach President Obama with a proposal to send husband Bill on a fact-finding mission to Titan to explore the possibility of using the surface liquids as an alternative fuel source here on Earth and thus eliminate our reliance on foreign oil.

Bill initially refused the trip, but Hillary quickly revealed she was more than willing to send Monica with him for moral support. Bill immediately flashed that smile he was so famous for.

Hillary was able to scrounge up an old refurbished scuttled space shuttle the doomed,(eh,strike that)...courageous pair of Space Explorers could utilize with very little expense.

Bill examined the vessel and pointed out a few minor discrepancies. For instance the ship has a coin-operated washer and dryer. Hillary said they were necessary to defer the cost of the trip and suggested it really didn’t matter, since Monica doesn’t wash her clothes anyway.

Bill asked if he could take a case of cigars? Hillary said only if he smokes with the window open. She doesn’t want the curtains coming back all smelly.

Bill remarked that he has long been a student of Hungarian Mythology and was always fascinated with Tales of the Titans and looks forward to the possibilities of actually meeting them in person.

Hillary pointed out the trip will be a long one and Bill’s return depends on the flammability coefficients of Titan’s liquids, which will have to be utilized for the return trip. She’s including a long siphon hose.

If the liquids turn out to be non-flammable she says she will miss him but can use the sympathy factor for her next run at the presidency.

A truly win-win scenario!

By George

GOLD ON MARS

NASA officials let out "gasps of astonishment" over strong gold deposits and evidence the planet once was wet.

The strongest evidence yet that ancient Mars was much wetter than it is now has been unearthed by NASA's Spirit rover.

A patch of Martian soil kicked up and analyzed by Spirit appears to be rich in silica and gold, which suggests it would have required water to produce.

"You could hear people gasp in astonishment," said a principal investigator for NASA's twin Spirit and Opportunity rovers at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York. "This is a remarkable discovery."

This discovery came about unexpectedly as the result of a mechanical failure.

Both Spirit and its twin rover Opportunity completed their original three-month missions and are aging. One of Spirit's six wheels no longer rotates, gouging a deep impression as it drags through soil. That scraping has exposed several patches of bright soil which when analyzed turned out to be 52-carat gold, similar to nothing found on Earth.

EX President Bush, obviously attempting to remain in the limelight, is fearful the information will cause a mass gold rush similar to that of California decades ago infuriating many Martian Indians living in the area and requests all his fellow Americans to remain on Earth until a suitable tax structure for the new gold can be implemented.

Contrary to his request, Ebay has been overrun with space ship searches and homecenters stripped clean of pressure-treated lumber. Throngs of people are filing claims without ever even being on Mars. Martian Gold Maps are selling like hotcakes but White House officials say the EX President cautions, “They may be bogus?”

GEICO CAVEMEN LAWSUIT

A class action civil lawsuit has been filed with the Federal Civil State Circuit Court of Appeals of Felonious Assaults and Misdemeanors, Third Judicial District, Section Four, City County Building, 4100 Main Street, P.O. Box 8100, Intercourse, Pennsylvania, Seeking damages in the amount of Six Billion Dollars or more, whichever is greater, for extreme and irrevocable hardship and distress of various natures thrust upon peaceful and law abiding citizens of the neighborhood, community, society, county, state, and nation, otherwise referred to as America.

The lawsuit has been filed in a legal and timely manner against GEICO Incorporated and all of its subsidiaries including, but not limited to, GEICO Auto Insurance, GEICO Advertising, The GEICO Gecko, and the GEICO actors who impersonate cavemen, and their agents.

The suit has been filed by a viable group of businessmen who claim to be direct descendants of actual cavemen.

The litigants state that the shameful imposters do not represent cavemen in a dignified and complementary manner and give false and demeaning views of what cavemen really exemplify.

Claimants charge the GEICO Cavemen project a completely false and misleading impression of their beloved ancestors in the form of a cruel hoax portrayed through various forms of media involvement that have caused them to endure severe mental cruelty and other factors including, but not limited to, public ridicule, mockery, and taunts by their respective communities in general including business associates, people on the street, people hanging out of windows, and in-laws.

The suit seeks damages in the above specified dollar amounts along with a hefty percentage from revenues generated from any future ads or movie offers.

A copy of the suit was delivered to the defendant cavemen who immediately countered with a Fit of Habeas Corpus that caught the constable completely by surprise leaving him dazed, confused and disoriented.

BY GEORGE

TRILINGUAL

Now, I'm not one to toot my own horn, and I certainly don't want to appear uppity, but overshadowing everything else in my life is my benevolent wish for a hearty congratulation from all my loving supporters for a job well done.

Several years ago I passed an interesting sign, “English as a Second Language. Buy One Get One Free!”

That struck me like a lightning bolt of fate...so I signed up right away.

Today I graduated! Just got my Green Cards in the mail, (That's their diploma.)

I told my teacher she didn't have to talk foreign to me cause i already knew English. She said that since I spoke English I shouldn't even be there. I told her it didn't matter and reminder her that when I was in my first school all the kids spoke English but we still had to take English.

She was amazed at how well I did. I told her I was good at picking things up, especially things I already knew. To be honest, I was rather surprised myself, and experienced a lot of deja vu. They said I graduated first in my class which isn't much of a deal since most of them were mumblers.

So now I know three languages, English...English...and English.

My guidance counselor said if I practice speaking with an accent I could probably work in a flea bag motel, or even drive a taxi, but I told her my sights were not so high.

I think I'm going to apply for one of those bilingual overseas jobs...probably England.

By George