NUMBNUTS IN THE NEWS...

(Morgantown, West Virginia...)
Well, you knew it had to happen sooner or later. A young man from Morgantown is suing the McDonald's corporation for trying to kill him with one of their Quarter Pounders.
It seems that Jeromy (It's so hard to spell it the right way.) Jackson ordered a couple those hard to resist Golden Arches gut bombs and the cheese in them nearly killed him. Here is how it apparently transpired: Jeromy ordered two McDee's Quarter Pounders without cheese because he is allergic to the lip smacking good bovine slice of yellow heaven. What he got was the usual Quarter Pounder with cheese. Now, maybe I'm being overly critical, but wouldn't most of us notice a slice or two of cheesy goodness sticking out of the hamburger bun? And, as long as I am breaking Jeromy's man marbles, wouldn't a person lift up the bun to check for cheese if he knew it might...uh...KILL HIM???
His mother, Trela Jackson, and friend Andrew Ellifritz are also suing McDonald's because they "risked their lives" rushing this idiot to the hospital. The lawsuit seeks damages on two counts of negligence, one count of emotional distress, and one count of punitive damages.
Numbnuts news will keep you updated on this story as it develops. I'm sure we're all interested in knowing if the court system in the state of West Virginia is as inbred as we suspect.

Another story we are following is the saga of a Seattle woman who attacked a karaoke singer who was belting out some pap made popular by the group Coldplay. It seems that the woman began screaming "You suck" as the man sang last Thursday night. Later she punched the offending balladeer to get him to stop singing.
"It took three or four of us to hold her down," said bartender Robert Willmette. The woman was eventually booked into King County jail for investigation of assault.

Frankly, I believe this great American deserves to be awarded the Medal of Honor. She has struck a blow to eradicate one of the worst cultural phenomenas ever inflicted on this country by Japan.

NO KARAOKE should have been one of the conditions of surrender when we settled up with Japan after waxing their ass in The Big One.



These guys? I know I speak for all right thinking Americans when I say to them: SHUT UP!!

FOR GODSAKE JUST SHUT UP!!

A+++ For Everybody!!

A small story in the San Diego Union-Tribune caught my eye a couple of days ago.
I have been thinking about it ever since.

It seems that the San Marcos Unified School District, located in northern San Diego county, has decided to do away with letter grades for fourth and fifth graders this coming school year. I'm not sure, but I imagine, that it is all part of this "no child's self esteem left behind" idiocy that has taken hold in this country. No hurt feelings; no losers. Everybody gets a blue ribbon for showing up.

How like the real world this is. NOT!
Just ask your boss for a "do over" the next time you screw-up. Or, how about an award for coming to work?

I spent my grade school years in the small town of Leslie, Michigan. It was, and probably still is, a community of roughly 1800 souls located about 30 miles south of Lansing. I was a typical lad of those days dreaming of playing second base for my beloved Detroit Tigers. In my mind I was Frank Bolling, the Tiger's journeyman second sacker. (Talk about setting the bar low!) But, it took me about two weeks of my first Little League season to notice that I suffered from a severe lack of baseball talent. The coach plopped me in right field where my glove was safe from all but a few challenging hits. Also, after a few games I began to notice that catcher Lou Klinger would commence donning the tools of ignorance every time we were at bat with two outs and I was up.
Maybe I wasn't meant to be a baseball player! No blue ribbon, no "atta boy" and no false hopes to delude me.
Idiot kid that I was, I also thought that I was one hell of a singer. I would hide behind our big Philco radio and sing along with Perry Como, my mom's favorite, and she would tell me that she couldn't tell the difference when Ol' Perry and I were harmonizing. Hot damn! I would be a famous singer.




I began to pay attention to kids like Eddie Hodges, (Does anybody remember Eddie Hodges?), who seemed to have a few hit records and was a big movie star.



Eddie Hodges (Who starred with Frank Sinatra in "A Hole in the Head")




The singing star pipe dream sustained me for about a year. I was absolutely certain that it was only a matter of time until a Hollywood talent scout drove into Leslie; heard me sing and signed me up for the whole "Big Star" deal.
Then, in fifth grade, the school system hired an new music teacher named Mrs. Adams. Mrs. Adams would come into our classroom once a week and lead us in singing those "heavy hits" from the public domain. You know..."Row Row Row Your Boat", "Fifteen Miles on the Erie Canal" and other toe-tappers that we all know and love.
Well, one day Mrs. Adams announced that while we were all singing she would walk by each of our desks and, while we sang, would grade us on our singing ability. Like a bolt of lightning I knew that this was it! Mrs. Adams would hear me and be amazed that such a monumental talent was right here in Leslie, Michigan! She would discover me! I was on my way!

Mrs. Adams stood by my desk; listened to me sing and left a piece of paper in front of me.
On the piece of paper was my grade.
C-. C-??? I was crushed. How could it be? The answer was simple. She was a moron.

But, I didn't waste my life dreaming of what might have been. I moved on to other things.

Me, scuba diving





Me, in mud puddle belly flop contest




You won't find me embarrassing myself on that idiotic American Idol because some teacher didn't have the guts to tell me that I stunk up the joint!
Rejection is what made America great. "No grades" gives us idiot kids with great self esteem and dumb ass shows like American Idol.

BOAR TAINT! It ain't just for Iowa anymore

You would think that a product of rural and small town America, such as your correspondent, would be more attentive to the farm desk here at the Out of My Mind blog. It has been months since I checked the futures wire to see how many happy heifers and piggies were marching off to the slaughter houses in Omaha, Chicago and Kansas City. (Is anyone else ready for some bacon?)

Anyway...where was I?

Oh yes...There is a very big story breaking in Pig World.
It seems that Norway's Parliament has decided to ban the castration of piglets starting in 2009. Though farmers have been castrating piglets for thousands of years, studies by a European food safety agency has found that castrated piggies suckle less and spend more time apart from their siblings. They are more docile. In short, they are depressed.


Now, nobody wants to spend time with depressed pigs; so your immediate reaction is probably to agree with the animal rights freaks who want to ban castration. The problem with this is that this could cause farmers to lose millions of dollars because of something called: Boar Taint.
Boar taint is an objectionable taste that is characteristic of the meat from uncastrated male pigs.

DAMN! This is bad news. On one hand I want my pig brothers to remain happily intact, yet I want absolutely NO change in my bacon and other delicious pork products. I really need to think about this...

Go Ahead. SNIP 'EM!! Oscar Meyer bacon for everyone!!

I give this the go ahead knowing that women who read this blog, (all four of you), might be thinking that this whole concept is worth considering for spouses and boyfriends. That whole not depressed and docile thing might be sounding pretty good to all females about now. But, be honest, would you really want to see us start asking for directions? Stop belching? Leaving the lid up?

Don't answer that. I believe I speak for all guys when I say, "Leave our "man brains" in our conveniently attached "man purse" for the foreseeable future please!"

EDITOR'S NOTE: This report is being filed a day later than usual due to the fact that I went to the track yesterday. In fact, I WON!
Perhaps the fact that I bought a Daily Racing Form for the first time may have been important.


"PantsOnFire" bringing it home for your correspondent.




Perhaps I'm on to a new career.


Perhaps it's that old "Boar Taint" talking.

Eats American Style...

I like food. I'm a charter member of the Big Eaters' Club.
I'm not fussy either. Even as a kid I was never one to say, "I want that without Lima beans." I liked it ALL. The weirder the better as far as I'm concerned.
There is a sushi bar I frequent where the chefs hail my arrival because they know they can try anything new on old Ken San and it will probably get a rave. (Monk fish liver anyone?)


mmm...SUSHI!

Keep it coming, and don't spare the wasabi.



There are, however, some foods I can do without. I don't hate them, but I'm not going to tip over the refrigerator to seek them out.

Jell-o, for example, can go straight to hell.

And, I care exactly ass point two percent for anything resembling SOUP. Soup is merely a concoction of salt water and a bunch of other stuff that couldn't work the "big room" on its own. Besides, soup is hot. I hate hot; it slows you down.
No, give me odd sustenance and don't spare the interesting spices!

Rocky Mountain Oysters?? Bring 'em on!!
Lobster guts? Yummy!!
Dazzle me!

Limburger cheese? LOVE IT!


(The oysters that dare not speak their name.)

Something I have noticed lately that I find disturbing is the great disparity in the size of portions proffered in restaurants. Maybe you have picked-up on this too.
It seems as if some eateries bring you enough food to feed a family of four for most of the week while others specialize in that "less is more" philosophy associated with "nouvel cuisine". (You can always spot nouvel cuisine. It boasts an enormous plate featuring food the size of an agent's heart.)


"Nouvel cuisine"



Most of the joints offering Fatso portions are either American, Italian or Mexican while the stingy ones are French.
Once again I blame the cheese eating surrender monkeys of France for screwing up a good thing we had going here in the good old U. S. of A.

That's why I am going back to calling these wonderful little tidbits FREEDOM FRIES.




"SUPER SIZE THESE FOR ME PIERRE!"

CONGRATULATIONS! Now, stick 'em up....

Good news Americans!

On the campaign trail last year, Democratic leaders said that it would be wrong to accept a pay raise for themselves until they raised the minimum wage to $5.85 per hour.

I am happy...no, delirious, to report that having accomplished that monumental feat they now feel as if the time has come to bump their salaries to nearly $170,000 per year. This, of course, is chump change for our duly elected representatives who spend a grueling six months or so on the job. (Not to mention the fact that we let them slide on those pesky social security taxes.)
Yes, the Dems and their Republican co-conspirators have fixed it so that they will receive their well deserved pay raise, estimated at 2.5%, in January. In a show of bi-partisan love and goodwill the House voted last month to kill a proposal that would have forced them to have a straight up-or-down vote on the issue. No...They knew that you would want them to have it because they have done such a great job of taking our money and spending it on things we are way too dumb to comprehend.

THANKS CONGRESS!!

YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST!

The U.S. Congress has the distinction of running the only money losing whorehouse in the UNIVERSE!

SAUCED IN SPACE!

So what's the big deal?

Supposedly, after drinking heavily, maybe one or two of our astronauts flew a spacecraft. At least that is what an independent panel of experts is alleging to NASA and the American public.

Am I missing something? I have always assumed that anyone willing to sit their ass down on several thousand pounds of rocket fuel in order to be hurled into space would either have to be a full-tilt bozo or irreparably gassed to the gills.

Have we all forgotten the words of this country's very first astronaut, Jose Jimenez, when he said, "I always take a blast before I take off."?
And the rest, as they say, is Jistory.

Jose Jimenez




"Jouston was a great town for jitting on chicks and joisting a few."




So, now I'm guessing that they are going to forget all of the advice that pioneers like Jose have given the program and will insist on a breathalyzer test for all astronauts before lighting the fuse on one of NASA's Roman candles. This, of course, will also mean an all female crew of astronauts from now on.
OH YEAH! It was long ago established that men harbor the gene that tells them: "Two drinks are good, but fifty will make you President of the World."

Women, on the other hand, are in possession of the gene that requires them to whine: "Dear, haven't you had enough?"
Sad... This will set the space program back years. Recently I was told that some of our female astronaut cadre have been just a little too busy driving non-stop between Houston and Orlando while wearing a diaper. Hmmmm.




Astro-nut Lisa Nowak (Now piloting her own driving academy)





Drinks anyone?

Puddy Tat killer deals death in Providence!

Ted Bundy rode "Old Sparky" straight to hell.
David Berkowitz casts his goofy peepers on the walls of stony lonesome for the rest of his miserable life.
But, Oscar the cat continues to deal his lethal cat breath to the grandpas and grandmas in the Steere House geezer garage in Providence, Rhode Island.

So far, the media have portrayed this feline serial killer as an affable furry little kitty who somehow senses when one of the residents of Steere House is about to catch the "Big Bus" to the great beyond. A "sixth sense", they say, allows him to curl up on the bed of the patient who is near death and in need of comfort.

Comfort my ass!! This damn cat is a psychopath! A snuff artist of the first degree...


Look at him. Is this the face of anything other than a stone killer?
Charles Manson has eyes like this for God's sake!
And...It isn't like this hasn't been going on for what could be one of history's longest killing sprees. No, Oscar has "presided over" the deaths of more than 25 residents of the advanced dementia unit at the Steere House. In fact, Dr. David M. Dosa submitted an essay about Oscar to the New England Journal of Medicine. (For my money, that makes the "doc" a co-conspirator.)
According to Dr. Dosa, Oscar typically arrives at a dying patient's bedside a few hours before they expire.
Uh....HELLO! EARTH TO DR. DOSA! Doc, the pussy cat is snuffing your patients! It's time to TAKE OUT TUNA BREATH!

We haven't a moment to lose. I suggest arming all of the remaining residents of the nursing home with squirt guns and catnip. Anything that will keep old Oscar from jumping up on the bed.



Oscar, waiting for the perfect moment to fulfill his contract.





Just a minute.
I have the solution!
My nephew Walt's dog, Dash!

He is the out of town talent we can bring to Providence to solve the "Oscar problem".

He hates cats and is willing to travel.
I'm almost certain that he once again pooped on that throw rug in the hallway at my brother's house and might need a little time away from my sister-in-law.

DASH AND OSCAR...... A steel cage death match!
(I've got dibs on this one for pay per view on ESPN)


"Hate cats...Will travel"