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Imponderable#122: The Driveways of Harris County

18 May

May 18, 2014

This is a story of one man’s dedication. It is a testament to determination and the human spirit. It is also, as one woman is quoted in the article, a tale of a creep-crapper and revenge poop.

serial

Harris County has an interesting definition of “terrorizing.” If only Al-Qaeda had stuck to pooping on lawns, this world would be a very different place.

This should be a slam dunk for the police. This guy is leaving tons of DNA evidence at the scene of every crime.

Meanwhile, based on the description of an older, balding Mexican with a mustache, I think the police should haul the Frito Bandito in for questioning ASAP.

frito bandito

After all, if he’s eating all those Fritos, I’m not surprised he’s been pooping on driveways. Heck, he’s probably pooping all over town with all those salty corn chips in his system.

How could a human being do this? (Unless he’s drunk. Then I totally get it.)
The question is Imponderable.

 

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The Truth Is No Laughing Matter (Classic Paranoid Repost)

19 Sep

September 19, 2012.

Wow, this is nearly five years old. And what lunacy! Paranoia abounds but don’t worry, I’m all better now, that’s what they keep telling me, I’m all better now, all better now…

from October 8, 2007

So I’m working on the yearbook and we have a Hollywood theme, and it seems to have carried over to my blog-slinging (and damn if I’m not sticking with that word ’til it hurts.) As I type this I am wearing cool shades, sitting in a director’s chair, and I refuse to talk directly to anyone, preferring to let my assistant do all that.

OK, you caught me in a lie. (Read any blog at random and you’ll catch me in anywhere from three to infinity lies.) I am not wearing shades, nor am I sitting in a director’s chair, nor do I have an assistant, though I do prefer communicating through emails rather than actually talking to people, so I guess there is a modicum of truth there.

And a modicum is enough nowadays. Who wants the truth? As a wise man once said; “You can’t handle the truth!” And no, we can’t.

Would you like to know the truth about such dangerous topics as “grave robbers from outer space”? While I won’t spill any secrets of NATIONAL SECURITY, I will merely point out that in 1959 a courageous young documentary filmmaker named Edward D. Wood Junior attempted to inform the public of an immediate crisis that endangered not just the citizens of Hollywood but the entire world. He had discovered, through long weeks of research in hidden national archives and secret military installations worldwide, that aliens were about to attempt a conquest of Earth, with our own dead as their invading army. Try as he might, Mr. Wood was thwarted at every attempt to rally the public into action, and for his efforts, the government poisoned his image in the eyes of the public. This once promising Harvard graduate with a PhD in Psychology and an MBA in Business Management from the Wharton School of Business, was ruined and became a laughingstock in an angora sweater.

Would you like to know the truth about atomic testing in the South Pacific?  For decades, the government has suppressed knowledge of the radiation-induced abnormal hyper-growth of certain reptiles, both prehistoric and contemporary, to gargantuan size. Similarly, the abnormal growth to epic proportions of common ants in the American mid-west due to atomic testing has been suppressed. Newsreel footage of fire-breathing dinosaurs have been leaked to the public from time to time by intrepid truth-seekers, but the government’s black-ops division has managed to convince the public that these actual films of dangerous creatures are really just Japanese movies with men in rubber suits, not monsters.

Would you like to know the truth about asbestos? It is a well-known fact that asbestos is NOT a carcinogen. It is totally harmless and may in fact cure acne. Asbestos was first used as a government cover-up in 1941 when the Air Force claimed that the area around Roswell New Mexico was contaminated to keep the public far away from what was really going on- a flying saucer crash. After the debris was moved to Area 51, the government continued to use the asbestos story for any operation they wanted to keep classified. To this day, CIA incursions into Hanoi during the Vietnam War are blamed on asbestos. Famously, when the Soviets captured Francis Gary Powers after his Blackbird spy plane crashed in the USSR, the US government claimed that he was not spying, and that his plane entered Soviet airspace because of asbestos in the cockpit.

Would you like to know the truth about the Yeti? The Yeti is not a hoax, nor is it a sort of prehistoric “ape-man” as the press (well-known as the propaganda arm of the government) would have you believe. The Yeti are in fact a well-organized and well-hidden militia created for the sole purpose of protecting the nation from a Soviet invasion in 1978. In the late 1970’s the Soviet Union prepared a full-scale invasion of The United States using mercenary Indian Monkey-Man soldiers. These soldiers had, among other futuristic technologies, invisibility-rendering pants. Facing a “primate-soldier gap,” the President authorized the creation of “an elite Yeti squadron,” capable of repelling the Soviet mercenary Indian Monkey-Men. These proved more than capable, and all knowledge of the Yeti had been suppressed, often violently. The Yeti remain America’s ever-vigilant first line of national defense.

Would you like to know the truth about the moon landing? The popular conspiracy theory states that we never landed men on the moon, and that the 1969 moon landing was filmed on a soundstage. That is just not true. We did land on the moon. In 1952. During world War Two, Germany was creating advanced V-2 rockets capable of reaching England. They also created, just as the war was ending, the first jet aircraft. Using German scientists and technology smuggled out of Germany after the war, America created the first lunar rocket in 1952 on a small hidden base in New Mexico. When we reached the moon, astronauts discovered a lunar base constructed on the dark side by aliens from Alpha Centauri. Soon after reaching an agreement, we received advanced alien technology (Did you really think we created Velcro?) in return for turning a blind eye to the mass abductions of humans.

I have been very careful, in the writing of this blog, not to name actual names or reveal too many specific details. It is not safe to do so. In fact, I was very careful to couch it in vague terms and even to write it as if I was being silly with all the “Hollywood” nonsense in the first paragraphs, in case this was being monitored. But it is all real and the truth must get out.

It’s funny. I’m sure I’m all alone. I know I locked the door. But I can swear I just heard footsteps and saw a shadow creeping along the wall. It is funny how the mind can play tri

A Brooklyn Love Story (Classic Romantic Repost)

7 Aug

August 7, 2012
from August 5, 2007

Ah, August! Love is in the air! Or is that the humidity? At any rate, I feel nauseous. Inspired by the impending nuptials of Marc and Emily, my tale of my semi-near-sort of-brush with marriage:

This happened about five or six years ago. My building has always had a certain percentage of apartments rented by Russians who stay a few months and then leave. This seems to be their first stop in America. (“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, send them to Bensonhurst,” you know the poem.) I rarely get to know them for a variety of reasons.

A- They don’t stick around long enough.

B- Many speak only a few words of English.

C- I am an antisocial tool. (But you love me when you get to know me!)

But occasionally I get into a conversation with one or another of them. Usually it begins like this: “Excuse me, you are teacher?” I can’t explain it. For some reason it gets around that I am a teacher. I’ve been asked that by four or five immigrant Russian parents over the years, people whom I could not pick out of a police lineup. I’ve been offered tutoring jobs, once even as a math tutor, but never accepted one.

Well, this story is about a proposition of a different kind. I was in my lobby on a Saturday getting the mail when someone whom I knew on sight only, and just barely, asked me if I knew his daughter. I said “No.” He said “wait a minute” and ran up the stairs.

I took my mail and got in the elevator, back up to my apartment.

A couple of days later I was coming home from work and the guy and his daughter were in the hallway. I had seen the daughter around. She was about 20 or 21 at most, very nice looking but not quite attractive. He jogged over and laughed “I missed you the other day!” Or at least that’s why I think he said. He had a very thick accent. It may have been “I pissed you the other day,” but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. I said “sorry” and pressed the elevator button. He said “you know my daughter?” And now I really became curious, but mostly suspicious. I said that I’d seen her around. (I’ll try to get the conversation as close as I can remember.)

GUY- You like her?

ME- I don’t even know her.

GUY- She like you. Why don’t you go out?

The elevator came but I was sticking around for this one.

ME- She’s too young.

GUY- You work hard. Why don’t you two go away for weekend? (And some Russian words to his daughter.)

His daughter was standing about fifteen feet away, somehow managing to look both embarrassed and coquettish at the same time.

ME- I really don’t think so.

Now I was ready to get in the elevator but it had left.

GUY- You go away, go to beach, I pay. Food, room, I give money. (With that he took a huge roll of cash from his pocket and waved it at me, then put it away.)

ME- OK, look, forget it, I’m really not interested.

He put his arm around me. Not only did he not lower his voice as you’d expect, he raised it.

GUY- Don’t worry, she cook, she clean, and how about the sex? (Here I felt so sorry for her.) She’ll do anything! She’s good!(And he looked at her, and she smiled!)

I asked him point blank what the hell he was doing. Very seriously, and now with a lowered voice, he told me that his daughter had to go back to Russia and he wanted to marry her off to an American so she could stay in the country. He’d heard I was a teacher and, because I had a steady city job, thought I could be the one. He told me that he’d pay for everything, rent, food, etc. He again told me that she’d do whatever I wanted when it came to “the sex.” The guy was pimping out his daughter for a green card!

I told him, firmly, that I wasn’t interested. I went upstairs when the elevator mercifully came and eventually they left the building and I never saw them again.

But I’d often wondered what it would be like to have married her. Would I have a dacha in Brighton Beach? Would I come home to fresh meals of borsht and vodka? And what about all the “the sex” the father had promised? I figure that by not marrying her, I saved myself from getting in severe trouble with the Russian mob, with whom this guy was undoubtedly involved. So I may be missing out on vacations on the Volga, but I still have two good strong legs.

Could have been my in-laws…

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