It was in the early 70’s when I disengaged, when I realized religion is the creation of men who seek to rule over others. Given to the masses as an IOU for having been made slaves for the enrichment of the elite. It says in effect, though all your toils have given the elite their stature, you will be rewarded in heaven. Truly the opium of the masses. Die for your country, die for your God so some portly pink rulers can live like kings.
The plan was to shoot Dennis in the head, during the Columbus Day Parade. The Cleveland Cosa Nostra brought in a professional hit man from Maryland to do the hit. The hit man bought an untraceable rifle, and came to Cleveland.
Why didn’t the hit man kill Dennis? Because on Columbus Day, an ulcer in Dennis’s stomach burst. Dennis spent that day in the hospital, not in the parade. Or the morgue.
Fidel Castro on the Republican race for the presidential nomination
"The selection of a Republican candidate for the presidency of this globalized and expansive empire is — and I mean this seriously — the greatest competition of idiocy and ignorance that has ever been," said the retired Cuban leader….
In ancient Israel , it came to pass that a trader by the name of Abraham Com did take unto himself a young wife by the name of Dot. And Dot Com was a comely woman, broad of shoulder and long of leg. Indeed, she was often called Amazon Dot Com. And she said unto Abraham, her husband, “Why dost thou travel so far from town to town with thy goods when thou canst trade without ever leaving thy tent? And Abraham did look at her as though she were several saddle bags short of a camel load, but simply said, “How, dear?”
And Dot replied, “I will place drums in all the towns and drums in between to send messages saying what you have for sale, and they will reply telling you who hath the best price. And the sale can be made on the drums and delivery made by Uriah’s Pony Stable (UPS).” Abraham thought long and decided he would let Dot have her way with the drums. And the drums rang out and were an immediate success. Abraham sold all the goods he had at the top price, without ever having to move from his tent.
To prevent neighboring countries from overhearing what the drums were saying, Dot devised a system that only she and the drummers knew. It was known as Must Send Drum Over Sound (MSDOS), and she also developed a language to transmit ideas and pictures - Hebrew To The People (HTTP). And the young men did take to Dot Com’s trading as doth the greedy horsefly take to camel dung. They were called Nomadic Ecclesiastical Rich Dominican Sybarites, or NERDS. And lo, the land was so feverish with joy at the new riches and the deafening sound of drums that no one noticed that the real riches were going to that enterprising drum dealer, Brother William of Gates, who bought off every drum maker in the land. And indeed did insist on drums to be made that would work only with Brother Gates’ drum heads and drumsticks. And Dot did say, “Oh, Abraham, what we have started is being taken over by others.” And Abraham looked out over the Bay of Ezekiel , or eBay as it came to be known. He said, “We need a name that reflects what we are.” And Dot replied, “Young Ambitious Hebrew Owner Operators.” “YAHOO,” said Abraham. And because it was Dot’s idea, they named it YAHOO Dot Com. Abraham’s cousin, Joshua, being the young Gregarious Energetic Educated Kid (GEEK) that he was, soon started using Dot’s drums to locate things around the countryside. It soon became known as God’s Own Official Guide to Locating Everything (GOOGLE). That is how it all began. And that’s the truth
….something is being lost in our rush toward the digital age. Something intangible, perhaps never to be found again. Perhaps transforming into something new and unknown. Perhaps we will look back on the places where we collected books and think they were as quaint and useless as the monasteries that kept vaults of scrolls before the advent of the printing press and movable type. But even then, much as the art of calligraphy and the divine beauty of illuminated writing were lost in the march of democratic printed book, I feel we are losing things as we say goodbye to the printed word.
Lo, in the twilight days of the second year of the second decade of the third millennium did a great darkness descend over the wireless internet connectivity of the people of 276 Ferndale Street in the North-Central lands of Iowa. For many years, the gentlefolk of these lands basked in a wireless network overflowing with speed and ample internet, flowing like a river into their Compaq Presario. Many happy days did the people spend checking Hotmail and reading USAToday.com.
But then one gray morning did Internet Explorer 6 no longer load The Google. Refresh was clicked, again and again, but still did Internet Explorer 6 not load The Google. Perhaps The Google was broken, the people thought, but then The Yahoo too did not load. Nor did Hotmail. Nor USAToday.com. The land was thrown into panic. Internet Explorer 6 was minimized then maximized. The Compaq Presario was unplugged then plugged back in. The old mouse was brought out and plugged in beside the new mouse. Still, The Google did not load.
Some in the kingdom thought the cause of the darkness must be the Router. Little was known of the Router, legend told it had been installed behind the recliner long ago by a shadowy organization known as Comcast. Others in the kingdom believed it was brought by a distant cousin many feasts ago. Concluding the trouble must lie deep within the microchips, the people of 276 Fernadale Street did despair and resign themselves to defeat.
But with the dawn of the feast of Christmas did a beacon of hope manifest itself upon the inky horizon. Riding in upon a teal Ford Focus came a great warrior, a suitor of the gentlefolks’ granddaughter. Word had spread through the kingdom that this warrior worked with computers and perhaps even knew the true nature of the Router.
The people did beseech the warrior to aid them. They were a simple people, capable only of rewarding him with gratitude and a larger-than-normal serving of Jell-O salad. The warrior considered the possible battles before him. While others may have shirked the duties, forcing the good people of Ferndale Street to prostrate themselves before the tyrants of Comcast, Linksys, and Geek Squad, the warrior could not chill his heart to these depths. He accepted the quest and strode bravely across the beige shag carpet of the living room.
Deep, deep behind the recliner did the warrior crawl, over great mountains of National Geographic magazines and deep chasms of TV Guides. At last he reached a gnarled thicket of cords, a terrifying knot of gray and white and black and blue threatening to ensnare all who ventured further. The warrior charged ahead. Weaker men would have lost their minds in the madness: telephone cords plugged into Ethernet jacks, AC adapters plugged into phone jacks, a lone VGA cable wrapped in a firm knot around an Ethernet cord. But the warrior bested the thicket, ripping away the vestigial cords and swiftly untangling the deadly trap.
And at last the warrior arrived at the Router. It was a dusty black box with an array of shimmering green lights, blinking on and off, as if to taunt him to come any further. The warrior swiftly maneuvered to the rear of the router and verified what he had feared, what he had heard whispered in his ear from spirits beyond: all the cords were securely in place.
The warrior closed his eyes, summoning the power of his ancestors, long departed but watchful still. And then with the echoing beep of his digital watch, he moved with deadly speed, wrapping his battle-hardened hands around the power cord at the back of the Router.
Gripping it tightly, he pulled with all his force, dislodging the cord from the Router. The heavens roared. The earth wailed. The green lights turned off. Silently the warrior counted. One. Two. Three. And just as swiftly, the warrior plugged the cord back into the router. Great crashes of blood-red lightning boomed overhead. Murders of crows blackened the skies. The Power light came on solid green. The seas rolled. The WLAN light blinked on. The forests ignited. A dark fog rolled over the land and suddenly all was silent. The warrior stared at the Internet light, waiting, waiting. And then, as the world around him seemed all but dead, the Internet light began to blink.
The warrior darted out back over the mountains of National Geographic magazines and made haste to the Compaq Presario. He woke up Windows XP from sleep mode and deftly defeated twelve notifications to update Norton AntiVirus. With a resounding click he opened Internet Explorer 6 and gazed deep into its depths, past the Yahoo toolbar, the MSN toolbar, the Ask.com toolbar, and the AOL toolbar. And then did he see, at long last, that The Google did load.
And so the good people of the kingdom were delighted and did heap laurels and Jell-O salad at the warrior’s feet, for now again they could have their Hotmail as the wireless internet did flow freely to their Compaq Presario. The warrior ate his Jell-O salad, thanked the gentlefolk, and then went to the basement because the TiVo was doing something weird with the VCR.
I went to the North American Auto Show tonight. It was awesome. It had all of those concepts and hot “previews” that you always see featured on CNN. Plus, checking out the displays and the “show quality” was equally as fun — touch-screens and immersive presentations and modern furniture and hands-on simulators. It was kid-in-a-candy-shop stuff for design and technology, even for someone like me who’s only minimally into cars and probably only because I’m a heterosexual male and it’s in my DNA.
Guess what I learned? People in the auto industry are not dummies, in spite of their recent problems — they know that it’s primarily dudes who like cars and they know that dudes who like cars tend to like women, too.
Listen, I’m about to get a little sexist, but please trust that it’s in the spirit of the show. Nobody’s mistaking me for Sylvester Stallone or even Russell Brand. But I do have a penis and testicles, and they do get tingly when I see a pretty woman standing next to a shiny car with, ahem, sexy curves.
I’ve been to plenty of trade shows. I get it. Men are dumb, weak creatures. But what happens in Detroit every January is not crass. It is art. Truly, the idea is not just to envision yourself in the car, but to envision yourself ejaculating into a beautiful woman in the car.
Every company had their own carefully crafted “message” in their choice of spokesmodels, but they each ultimately said that same thing: If you like this car behind me, I will have sex with you.
Now that we’re clear, here’s how each of them would have sex with you:
Ford - My break’s in 45 minutes. Meet me behind the Pepsi machines.
Chevy - OK, but a video of it better not end up online.
Chrysler/Dodge - Honey, you can’t handle this goodness.
Hyundai - My roommate will be home soon so you can’t spend the night.
VW - Let’s take some pills and dance and twirl and let the music lead us where we need to go.
Volvo - You’ve got protection, right?
Honda - OK, just don’t tell my husband.
Subaru - Just say that you love me. Even if you don’t mean it.
Cadillac - A pair of Tiffany earrings in my champagne flute? You shouldn’t have!
Fiat - You’re not going to call me, are you?
Maserati - I will be the best, most passionate lover you’ve ever had — worth every penny you will lose in the paternity suit.
Kia and Scion - OMG we’re gonna do it LOL!
Tesla - Yeah I’m a dude. So what? Don’t knock until you try it!
Coda - Let’s take a blanket and a joint down under the pier.