The Average Aspiring College Graduate's (AACG) Guide to Chalk

I noticed there has been a plethora of items in the news about college students being frightened by chalk. Since the best disinfectant for fear is the bright light of knowledge, I thought it was about time that someone perform a public service and provide a guide for these frightened youngsters about chalk. After all, they are the generation that grew up with white boards and expo markers. Erasers cleaning and clouds of white residue that you don't want up your nose is a strange thing to them. As a well known expert on nothing, I thought “Hey! With the help of Google and the power of Gaia, Goddess of the Earth, I can do that!” So here we go.

According to Google and Wikipedia, the chalk that the average aspiring college graduate (AACG) is most likely to encounter is something like this:

From Amazon

Just a little scary no? I can imagine that when encountered in the wild, it can be quite frightening. So let's break it down a little. The average chalk that you get from Amazon or your street corner dealer is mostly Calcium Carbonate. What exactly is calcium carbonate? The dorks over in the chemistry department actually call it Carbonic Acid Calcium Salt (CCaO3). Its molecule (very tiny piece of it) looks like this:

Courtesy of NIH

Now most of the AACGs reading that will think, “cool! Acid and a Bath Salt.. I bet we can get a good buzz off of that”. <Sigh> No, it really will won't do anything for you. In fact here's another image if CCaO3 you might be more familiar with, given your perchance for late night debauchery:

Amazon Again!

Now I realize all this hard science might be scaring the AACGs right now. After all, there is a reason they went for an Ivy League PhD in Interpretive Dance. So let's talk a little about where chalk comes from. Like most natural occurring compounds, it mostly is dug out of the ground in big holes :

UK Geo-Hazards

By burly man like this:

Sugar Bear from Here Comes Honey Boo Boo - yes - he works in a chalk mine - Google It!

That's no reason to be scared of it. Beyond big mining raping mother earth to give color sticks to small children who write horrible things on the sidewalk just outside your dorm! And scary redneck uneducated white men!

Ok, ok. Let's move on the what Chalk isn't.

First of all it is not this:

Yep! Amazon Again!

While you found those tasty in your “AUD4 – Regressive Toddler Experiences” course, they are not crayons. If you do decide to eat chalk, it will not leave you wanting more, nor will it satisfy that empty place inside you because your mommy loved your daddy more than you. No, chalk is definitely not a consumable.

That's not to say that there are not edible things that look like chalk. Take these for instance:

Amazon! Who Knew!

Unlike e-cigs all your friends are smoking, you can be really scary (and ironic) and pretend to smoke those. They look like evil tobacco, yet when examined up close, resemble the terrifying chalk. That's as bad-assed as a nipple pierce.

It also is not sentient. Unlike guns, chalk will not jump out of the box on it's own and maim and kill bystanders who are unwise enough to glance in it's direction in a death dealing spray of of pure evil. Now how do I know this? I conducted an experiment. I took a piece of chalk and laid it out on my porch. Here's a picture:

I left it there until the next day. Here's a picture of it the next day:

Yep! It's still lying there. Unmoved. Like a rock. No – that is not the same picture just reversed. I am a lauded self-certified blog writer. How dare you question my integrity! So what did we learn from this experiment? First off, I should have gotten a government grant before doing this. If the government is willing to pay half a million dollars to study shrimp on a treadmill:

who am I to turn down a few bucks to determine if big rocks, that are ground down, colored, and smushed into sticks turn into intelligent entities.

Secondly, we see that chalk when left alone will lie around and do nothing. That's something that the average ACG can get behind! So see, you have more in common with chalk than you realized. As you learned from that 'ABN3 – Staring at my <nether regions>' course you took to fulfill your Empathy requirement, “togetherness starts with being you”.

On that note, I will wrap this up. After all, I am not getting paid to write this and most of the AACGs stopped reading up there where I mentioned 'bath salts'. For those still reading, I hope this will help you be just a little less frightened of chalk next time you encounter it in the wild. With a little understanding, and a lot love, we all can coexist! Peace On! No.. Peace Out!

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/

I got nothin today

Let's see.. today in history - wait.. scratch that, today in present history we have folks rioting in Chicago over a knife wielding 17 year old kid on PCP being shot by police last year. Not a whole lot new there..

A Russian jet being shot down in or near Turkey and the various saber rattling that ensued from that.. Nope.. nothing there either..

<sigh> I guess I really just don't have much inspiration this morning.. here's some shopping storm troopers:

Just because..

I see that, I though of this..

(Via Instapundit) I saw this story about a study of the microbes of in the New York subway system. It notes:

"Almost half of the DNA found on the system’s surfaces did not match any known organism and just 0.2 percent matched the human genome.”

 My thoughts immediately went to Jeff of MIB:

Drone what?

Drone crash story here, Chucky Shummer (and Obama's) pronouncement here - beer summit gone horribly wrong?

Just saying...

thanks memgenerator.net!

For a fairly honest assessment, I think Forbes has a pretty good discussion of this. The Dems are going nuts about it - all the mainstream media and social networks are blowing up. The truth is the social security disability program is freaking nuts. I personally know of people who are on it that really should not be, and people who can't get on it that should. Unfortunately, the establishment Republicans are sure to back down and do nothing about it... same old same old..

What's really stupid? That as a party the Republicans made this a thing. I mean, if you are going to go after insane Dem positions, really go after them. Don't make a bold stand by doing some arcane rule change that ultimately means nothing. Be Bold! Announce on DAY ONE that you are going starting impeachment hearings, Abolishing ATF and the Department of Ed! 

Nope - not going to happen. Ever. The next few years will be interesting.

Meanwhile The Bamster announces a proposal for another give away - free college for all. Something that really means nothing and went nowhere even when the Dems were in control of congress. Meaningless governance all around. I guess we should be glad they are all actually doing nothing. That's a good thing.

A Small Case of Identity Theft

<Ring, Ring>

“Federal Bureau of Investigation, how may I direct your call?”

“I need to turn myself in. It seems I have used my credit to rack up huge debt”

“Hold please”

<elevator music for 10 minutes, then>

<ring, ring>

“Consumer Crime Division, Agent Skulduggery speaking. How can I help you?”

“Well, I was calling to turn myself in.”

“What crime do you think you have committed, sir?”

“Well, you see.. I was minding my own business, doing my own thing, paying the mortgage, electric bills, that sort of thing. Right?”

“Yes sir, go on..”

“Well I never really used my credit cards much, you know. Fortunately I have managed to keep my job, even in this lousy economy. We always pay off our credit cards, and somehow have avoided debt.”

“Good for you sir. I am not seeing any crime here, though. So if you have nothing else..”

“No, Wait! I’m not finished.”

“Ok sir, go ahead.”

“Well, things are going ok right? I mean, we are being responsible. I even put off getting some dental work done because we knew we couldn’t afford any additional medical expenses with the Obamacare thing kicking in.”

“That sounds very responsible sir.”

“Right! Anyway, I read this article about how the national debt has been going up and up since Obama took office. I mean it now up something like 7.5 million, million! My share of that is like $84,000! I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to make all that debt. Hell, I didn’t even know it was happening. There is no way I can pay all that back, like ever!”

“Sir, did you personally incur this debt, or was it a result of someone using your identity incurring these charges?”

“Well, I would like to say this is a case of identity theft, but I just don’t think so. I mean, the politicians that kept spending and spending were elected by me right? Does their action make me a criminal?”

“Well sir, while under the constitution, you are assumed innocent until proven guilty, in this case by continuing to elect idiots to positions of trust you are indeed culpable. Unfortunately, since every individual in the country is similarly guilty, we do not have the jail space to put all the guilty parties away for their crimes.

Because of that, we have instituted the Guilty Voter Act. While normally such acts come from Congress, with our new mandate to get things done without a functional legislative branch, we have taken these matters into our own hands. All callers who self-identify as the electorate will be placed on immediate house arrest without the bother and expense of a messy trial. In this way we can avoid adding additional cost to your already absurd financial debt. There will momentarily be agents outside your domicile to place monitoring bracelets on yourself, your spouse, children, and pets. Once we are satisfied that you are being properly monitored, a HHS representative will follow up with you to make sure you are enrolled to receive EBT and other necessary public assistance.”

“But wait a minute. I have a job! I don’t need assistance!”

“I’m sorry sir, but given your new status, you must resign your job and go immediately on public assistance. The more people on public assistance the better the economy will be. With a better economy, your debt will decrease”

“What? That doesn't make any sense! The more money the government gives away, the less I will owe? Are you crazy?”

“No sir. We are the government, and we are here to help.”

New Year - but you knew that...

Happy New Year! Or as one friend put it, "Goodbye 2014, and good riddance!" It was a rough year for a lot of people, me included. However, here it is the new year and I am employed, stronger and lighter than I was this time last year, and just a little smarter. I've made some good new friends and somehow managed to hold onto some old ones. So, 2015, let's see how good we can be, eh?

Hero of the Week (12/27/14)

Duh! It's this guy!

More giggles later - Hope you all had a great Christmas and got lots of neat stuff!

And now you know..

(H/T Weasel Zippers)

There, I fixed it!

A friend posted this on facebook..

I was like - 'that's not quite right..

What if..

Obama's offer to give body mounted cameras was turned around and instead all congress critters, cabinet level executive branch officials, and of course Obama and VP Biden had to wear cameras 24/7 and stream the content to the internet for all to see?

I am a jelly doughnut

I had resolved to stay out of the Redskins controversy assuming that at some point it would die on its own accord, but alas, it hasn't so I will. The latest thing I heard this morning was an referee decided that he was ‘uncomfortable’ officiating at a Redskins game, so the league allowed he to avoid the games. Allow me to postulate a different theory. As any reader of this blog is aware, my feeling is that Dan Snyder and his ilk have run the team into the ground ever since little John let it get out of the Cooke family hands. What if this official hated the idea of officiating a game of sloppy play by a bunch of overpaid divas? Given an out, I don’t blame him for avoiding that mess.

That being said, I only have one thing to say to the poor PC brainiacs that consider the term ‘Redskins’ to be offensive

“I am a jelly doughnut” 

For those thinking of a certain yellow headed cartoon character right now let me explain. In 1968, JFK took a little trip to Germany and gave a speech in support of the West German city of Berlin which was standing against the abyss of the communist expansion. In that speech, he said “Ich bin ein Berliner”, which means “I am a Berliner”. Not long after that the ‘talking heads’ began to dispute exactly what the translation of that was. The use of the ‘ein’ somehow translated that statement to mean that he was calling himself a ‘pancake’ or jelly doughnut. Of course they were wrong, the use of ‘ein’ in that case was entirely proper and meant exactly what it was supposed to say. This of course did not stop the pseudo intellectuals from laughing at him behind their hands.

A similar misinterpretation exists for the team name ‘redskins’. So where did the name come from? Well the team was originally called the Boston Braves. When the team moved to begin to play at Fenway Park, the owner changed the name to the Boston Redskins, then in 1939 became the Washington Redskins when the team was sold and moved to Washington D.C. Various polls have found that the name, which can be offensive when used in other context, is viewed favorably by most Indians when used in the context of the team name. You see, much like saying ‘jelly doughnut’ in German, context matters. Only simple minded pseudo-intellectuals seemed confused by this.

On the other hand, consider the context of this picture:

  

taken a scant few hours after an American journalist is beheaded by some Mideast savages.. I think someone is a jelly doughnut here, and it's not a yellow headed cartoon character or a former president.

Just for fun..

Last Sunday's ride at Lorton - BONUS!!! me falling on my butt 2:20 - 2:25...

Let me help you with that...

I saw this morning on Drudge that the TSA was now letting illegals fly with only a "Notice to Appear" as an ID. Then occurred to me... Our Fearless leader also probably entered the US as an 'unoccupied minor'. So I took some time this morning making up a 'Notice To Appear' for BO in case he ever needs to fly commercial or something...

Even on my worst days…

It’s kind of funny how a day can start out bad. Take this morning for example. First off, you have to understand that I commute in at a ridiculously early hour. I do this to avoid the crazy rush hour traffic that personifies the hubris of the Washington DC area. For those of you that do not live in the area, imagine thousands of people all attempting to arrive at the same time at one of the populous work centers that make up the DC area. Not so different from most metropolitan areas right? Now throw in a sizeable percentage of those commuters with over inflated egos and a sense of entitlement enjoined by officious titles and the money that flows this close to the seat of control of the (still) most powerful country in the world. Now you see my problem.

So this morning I arose late. This was planned to some degree. I say ‘planned’ when I really mean that I realized too late last night that if I was to get my required minimum hours sleep, I would have to move my alarm clock forward, pushing my whole day back this morning. This, in turn, would cause me to possibly miss my scheduled outside exercise entertainment this afternoon, throwing off my weekend plans, and RUINING MY WHOLE SUMMER! OMG! Thus, it was imperative that I move out this morning with the greatest acuity.

After groggily silencing my alarm, tripping over the dog, assembling my snacks, and gathering my wits, I still managed to exit the house roughly on schedule to hit office door at the regular time. As I started up the jeep, I sensed that something was amiss that would cause me to be late. Call it a dark cloud, an evil presence, or a sinister omen: something was nagging me. As I hit the main road out of Camelot, I centered on what it was: I needed to stop for gas! Arrrgh!

This was not the disaster that it seemed. I was planning on stopping at the Borg (Seven of Eleven) Shop anyway to pick up some coffee. My day was still manageable. Arriving at the Borg Shop, I went through the usual mechanization at the pump to get it to deliver the magic go juice. Push a button (or not), insert card, wait for screen to flash unintelligible gibberish, then remind me to get coffee, more gibberish, enter my pin, more gibberish then an ad for doughnuts, finally down to business – lift handle, select grade of magic juice. Needless to say, this particular pump has no handle to lift, just the phallic (and frankly somewhat intimidating) nozzle. I’m sure nine out of ten psychologists could milk something about me seeing a gas nozzle as an intimidating phallic symbol, but let’s move one, shall we?

The dance at the pump continues. The gas cap is removed and placed where I will see it in my rear view mirror in case I should forget to replace it after fueling. This could entirely happen should I be fleeing masked desperados who chose this Borg Shop at this particular moment in time to stage a shootout with their equally well armed rivals. In that case, I would thoughtfully return the gas nozzle to it proper place, leap into the driver’s seat, start and gun the engine in preparation for leaving the whizzing bullets behind. I would glance in the rear view mirror noting the gas cap in it woeful perch on the spare tire. Slapping my head I would be able to return to the back of the jeep and place the gas cap where it belongs – whizzing bullets be damned! The only thing worse than having to (re)face an early morning fusillade is having to sheepishly tell the auto parts guy that you forgot to put your gas cap on and drove off without it, then pleading “please, please, may have another if I promise not to be so stupid again?” He will of course respond with a wise and forgiving nod, almost exactly like a priest in a confessional does after hearing, once again, that your sorry you took the Lord’s name in vain while trying to drive to your very important job; knowing that your promise to not do it again is so much bunk, but bunk that you mean right here and now so it counts. But I digress…

After inserting the nozzle carefully to avoid sparks that would surely engulf me, the jeep, nigh the whole neighborhood in a conflagration of flames I squeeze the handle. This is the ultimate decision point for the veritable gas pump. Will it find me worthy of the magic go juice, or will it emit a sinister laugh, empty my bank account anyway, and leave me penniless, begging strangers for a crust of bread for me and my starving children? After a moment, the pump deems me worthy, deciding (today) not to ruin my life, and the magic go juice begins to flow. I am elated!

Now I am a pump-stander. There are people that are standers and those that are not. I have no truck with the non-standers. The instructions on the pump clearly state that it is your sacred duty to stand by the pump in case gremlins cause the nozzle to buck out, spewing gas all over the concrete, running across the pavement to where a bloodied Bruce Willis waits with a lit lighter, ready to cry “Yippi-Ki-Ya Mother F’er”, dropping the lighter and engulfing you, your vehicle, the Borg Shop, and neighborhood in a conflagration of flames. It’s just not worth it! What is so important in your car that you can’t stand drooling by the pump for the five minutes or so it takes? Stand there using your fancy smart phone – it’s ok. I saw where Mythbusters proved that a cell phone can’t cause the fumes from a gas pump to ignite. Don’t even get me started on the people that smoke or won’t turn off their engines. They are just evil, probably from eating too much watermelon (the devil’s fruit!).

Once the pumping is done, I move my jeep to parking and enter the Borg Shop to get my coffee. As I shut my door, I hear a disquieting extra ‘clink’. This sound continues to disturb be throughout the coffee prep and pay process. Upon returning to the jeep I go to open the door and nothing happens. Crap! For about a month the door has only been able to be opened from the outside, and now that is not working. I go in from the passenger side, trying (unsuccessfully) to not look like the dweeb I am. I make the decision to return home to jimmy the door open and make some field expedient repairs rather than deal with the humiliation of strange people be-smirking my misfortune there in the Borg Shop parking lot. Also I am pretty sure the curses I will be required to use might enjoin some gas pump conflagration danger. At home only the dog is up to look out the window and bark-laugh at me (which he does).

With all this returning home, cursing the door, cursing my scraped fingers covered in old door grease, then sighing with relief when I get the door to open (and close, then open and close several more times to ensure it’s working), I and hopelessly late for work, and it’s not even 4:45am! So, that was my bad morning. I know, it seems trivial, and it is. I am old and wise enough to know that even my worst morning is heaven when compared to what a great many people are facing, especially those in harm’s way serving our country. Those guys and girls are the ones that can have truly bad mornings. Or someone in a nursing home or hospital, unable to get out and enjoy all this glorious summer has to offer. No, I try to be grateful for my bad mornings. Some days I even succeed at it.

The Corporate Fridge

As a careful reader of this blog might surmise, I changed jobs a few months back. I went from “Tiny Company Overly Dependent On One Contract” to “Colossal Government Contractor”. The whys and mechanics of that move are the subject for another blog entry which, given enough time and wherewithal I might write. On to the important focus of today’s epic tome, The Corporate Fridge.

The transition has been an enlightening experience. On one hand, the anonymity of being another mere cubicle dweller in this vast enterprise has its advantages. I rarely see my boss and my work is mostly misunderstood by my peers, so there is little chance for conflict. In fact, I suspect that I can go days without having to speak to anyone directly. That makes for a very low pressure work environment.

That being said, there are certainly disadvantages to my new haunts. Let me set the stage for my latest encounter. First, since I labor in relatively anonymity, I can determine my own hours. Being a guy that actually enjoys taking full advantage of a lovely (and sometimes not so lovely) day, I have chosen to work very early hours, leaving my afternoons free for outdoor fun. What goes hand in hand with that kind of lifestyle is eating some disgustingly healthy (but tasty) food. I of course have documented my paleo obsession elsewhere on this blog, so I will leave it up to you to explore the tags and find out more about that.

Suffice it to say I had (as I try to do most days) brought my lunch. I know what you are thinking. “But Mike, since you work for a Colossal Government Contractor surely they have a cafeteria where you can buy a healthy meal?” I must admit that they do, and they have a lovely salad bar where I can assemble a very paleo friendly salad. The down side of that is Colossal Government Contractor has done the smart thing and contracted out their cafeteria to Small Company Leeching Off Of Colossal Government Contractor. This was a very good deal for Colossal Government Contractor and Small Company Leeching Off Of Colossal Government Contractor. The fact that a reasonable salad, self-assembled, containing perhaps two dollars of rough ingredients (if that) cost a mere $9 dollars makes it a win-win for all concerned… as long as you’re not the one paying for it.

So yes, I packed my lunch. What was for lunch today? Here’s the list..

First we have Asian Chopped Salad. The whole chopped salad thing is one I am trying to decide if I like. I have had the Southwest Chopped Salad, and I like the crunch, even though the size of the green stuff in the salad is more reminiscent of coleslaw than a real salad. In fact, I think most of the stuff in the salad is cabbage, giving the ‘chopped salad’ a close kinship to coleslaw, but significantly different from what I, as a southerner, recognize as such.

Let me explain. Back in the days of my misspent youth I worked in a restaurant that specialized in fried fish. I say specialize as if there were no other restaurants in the mid-south that made fried fish dinners. To the contrary, I would wager at the time there were not any restaurants in the tri-state area that served unfried fish, sushi not yet being a thing in the south at that time. The coleslaw there was made in the southern way. What did that mean? We threw cabbage and carrots into a big chopping mixer, and then poured in salad dressing and two heaping cans of sugar. In the south, man does not live by fried stuff and sweet tea alone. It’s amazing the whole southern US did not tip over with the massively obese people this kind of food produced. It’s probably because the massively obese people of the north eating their fried cod and pizza provided balanced. Thank God we all eat better now or the US would be facing a scary heath care crisis. What? Oh… never mind…

Next I had my snacks. I eat pretty much all day, so it is important that I am oversupplied with snacks. These consist mostly of fruits of various types. I had apples left in my desk from yesterday, so today’s haul consisted only of a small bag of strawberries and a smallish armored plastic container of rough cut pineapple. I note armored as there is really no other way to describe it. It looks deceptively simple to open. There is a plastic strip running along the top edge, with tiny words I can only assume say “tear me off to eat the delicious stuff inside. It’s so easy any idiot could do it. What are you, an idiot?” I imagine it says this as I do not have a scanning electron microscope to verify what is written there. Somewhere in China there is probably a sweatshop of tiny people with tiny little magic plastic writing pens scripting curses to fat Americans in a language they don’t understand. This is my limited worldview.

The clever manufacturer has also applied a strip of ‘never-open’ glue to the rim of the lid of the container. This is in case the pineapple contents decided to rebel against their incarceration, remove the plastic strip using their Jedi pineapple mind powers, and burst forth on the world as berserk blood hungry chucks of pineapple goodness. The alternative to breaching the armored top is to pull out my wicked pocket knife and start hacking away. I have found that when I do this in the break room the sight of a stabbing wicked pocket knife seems to make my coworkers nervous. It probably doesn’t help that I am grunting (screaming really) “Die you bastard pineapple!” under my breath (at the top of my lungs). Thus, I confine my armored pineapple container hacking to the relative privacy of my cubicle. While the container ensure the pineapple can’t escape, is does nothing to ensure that the fruit inside will not quickly rot if left at room temperature. For it and my fancy chopped salad, refrigeration is required.

You may recall that I noted at the top of this post that I work flex hours, arriving at my cubicle before the crack of dawn. At that hour, my entire floor is like a scene from a video game where everyone has turned into Nazi zombies and the vast caverns of hauntingly empty offices are inhabited by gibbering brain matter eating horrors. You can literally hear the stainless steel rats not moving. Being a logical person, you would assume that since I am literally the first (living) person on the floor in the morning I would have a completely empty fridge at my disposal. After all, these fridges are not for families, but for solitary workers who bring their lunch, consume it at the appropriate time, and then no longer require refrigerant services. Also consider that due to the size of my cubicle wonderland, there are two very large fridges in our break room. You would of course be wrong. Here’s what I found:

I can only assume that the containers and bags there have left over brain matter from the gibbering Nazi zombies. It is amazingly precognizant of them to store their goods in this matter. In the future, I believe I will have to be on guard and have my wicked pocket knife at the ready when I enter their domain. At least as long as I continue to have an edible brain.

I Went To Hell Thursday

(Because we all are childlike when it comes to Christmas)

So I took a little trip to hell Thursday. I knew it was going to be hell. Hell, I had been putting it off for over a year. Every time I drove past the place, i'd see the parking lot was full and think "Oh Well, Alas! The time for this is not now." With new obligations coming I could no longer put it off. Like every good citizen I had a responsibility to do my duty, enter Hell, and get a replacement social security card.

I can not provide you any pictures of the inside of Hell since there are some rather prominent warnings at the entrance about no photography being permitted in the premise according to Title Umpty-Squat of the Uniform Code of Pointy Headed Bureaucrats. I can only imagine the disappoint of the local arts majors when they discovered that they could not shoot their next "Lavoro Nudo d'arte" in those luxurious environs. Be that as it may, there is nothing to keep me from showing you an aerial picture snapped from Google Earth of my local Hell Office:

My Local Hell Office - Google Maps

Note the size of the building. There is obviously room for lots of Minions of Hell to work there. This is especially true because if you look at the red circle that I have drawn, that is the public area of Hell (half of which is the entrance foyer) where the unwashed hordes of citizens may wait for an audience with a Minion. Since times are hard, there were apparently only about 4 Minions on duty. I was informed by the Rent a Cop for Hell that this was normal. What that meant was that getting into Hell was immediately preceded by an hour long wait standing in line in the un-airconditioned foyer to Hell with the unwashed citizenry. If Harry Reid thought tourist were smelly, he should spend some time in Hell's foyer with the SSA supplicants. Note that I really don't blame the Minions. Due to the cozy nature of Hell's Waiting Room, the minions told us that they had to limit to number of supplicants in order to not run afoul of the Fire Marshal restrictions. I know - funny... what if there were a fire in Hell? That was appropriate, as they would be sure to be caught with a Fire House literally right next door. Here's a map for some perspective:

So once I reached the front of the line, either by waiting for the old people with canes to keel over, or for the Minions to actually administer an initial beating, I was summoned to approach the Screening Minion. I groveled appropriately and presented my pre-filled out form. My form must have been good, since, after looking over my form, the Minion handed be a oracle stone in the form of a paper slip. I noted a large sign indicating that:

DO NOT GIVE YOUR PAPER SLIP TO ANYONE ELSE AS IT IS NOW AND FOREVER ASSOCIATED WITH YOUR SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER AND THEY WILL HAVE THE RIGHT TO EAT YOUR FIRST BORN CHILDREN

Which in retrospect might be a great deal if you have a real cad for a first born child. Since my first born is rather intelligent I immediately surveyed the area for child eating thieves. Not seeing any I joined all the other healthy folks standing around waiting for some old person's incontinence to kick in, forcing them to give up their seats and head for the bathrooms; of which there was only one. I did note this was Hell, right?

So I know you are wondering what is the seating arrangement in Hell's Waiting Room? Well wonder no more. There are a few rows of the most uncomfortable plastic chairs imaginable, facing a large welfare queen sized flat screen TV, with framed pictures of these scary guys off to the right:

Gay USA The Movie

whitehouse.gov

I think the flat screen was flashing some kind of hypnotic message about either Affordable Health Care or Global Warming. I can't remember which beyond having strange urges to buy health insurance for my non-existent Chevy Volt hours after my visit to Hell.

Anyway, I watched with much amusement a lady with a Greek passport fill out her forms, then help a guy next to her who spoke broken English and claimed to be a Nigerian Prince. Did you know non-citizens can get social security numbers of their very own? Me neither. I can't imagine why they would want to, but I am told I have a very limited imagination.

Then the lady with 20 kids arrived and really livened up the place adding ear drum splitting crying babies to the general hubbub of old people yelling at Minions about their social security checks disappearing into darkest recesses of Africa.

Finally it was my turn to see the Minion. Here's how it went:

<Minion>: "So your here to get a replace card"

<Me>:"Yep"

<Minion>:"Form and driver's license"

<Me>: "Here" (handing them over)

<Minion>:<click><glance at DL><click, click>

<Minion>:"We'll mail it to you - Next"

3.5 hours waiting, 30 seconds to transact the business I came to do! Not bad for a visit to Hell. I can't wait to renew my diver's license!

Equality

A few days ago I was trolling the White House Photo Gallery and came upon this picture:

Why that was wonderful! The Presi took a little drive up the the Maryland suburbs for a meet and greet and a talk about equal opportunity. Bladensburg MD is a kinda depressed area. It wraps around NE and SE DC, the toughest neighborhoods in DC. However, the group behind the president gave me pause.

If they are representative of the area, I see they are mostly women and girls, with a lone row of guys on the back row. They are predominately of color, and the only white like guy clearly distinguishable is in the center of the picture just over the Bamster's left middle finger, but he appears to be of Asian descent. No symbolism there. Nope. None at all.

I went to Wikopedia to get a look at it's demographics. That notes that the makeup of the town is 70% African American, and 30% other. A close examination of the picture shows about 60 people (adults and kids) visible, and on close examination about seven non-black people. That's 11%. Not exactly equal to the demographic, but ok. What about the female to male ratio? According to Wikopedia, that should be about equal, with 47% male and 53% female. Looking this picture over, I can count about 10 males. That's like 16% male participation here. Methinks the deck was just a little bit stacked.

It does leave me thinking what happened to the missing guys and white people. Did the administrators just tell them "Sorry. The Presi doesn't want your type behind him when he talks about equality. Better luck next time". I wonder what kind of message that sent with you know, some animals being more equal than others. Do they even teach Orwell in schools anymore?

Dreaming

Here's a funny that I figured out from the White House Daily Photo today. This is a picture of the Bamster touring the fake Oval Office in the LBJ Library:

Looking at his eyes, there is almost a tear in there. It is unusual for the Presi to show so much real emotion. It's a kind of hungry look. So I got to wondering, what could have moved him so much? What was he looking at?

I poked around the LBJ Library web site looking for an answer. Since the fake Oval Office is modeled on the real one, I knew the fireplace was opposite of the desk. So he was looking toward the fireplace, and over it. What was there in the fake  Oval Office that so captivated him. Well, this picture is hanging over the fireplace:

LBJ Oval Office Fireplace Pic

An old white guy? Was that what he was looking at with hunger in his eyes? An Old White Guy? Well, it's not just any old white guy, that's FDR up there. What about FDR would make the Bamster green with envy? That he was a real war time president? That his "New Deal" that damn near drove the country into the ground is the model for the Bamster's own administration?

Nope! I went to Wikopedia to read up in FDR to find out why he was such a point of envy for the Bamster. There it was in the second sentence:

Serving from March 1933 to his death in April 1945, he was elected for four consecutive terms, and remains the only president ever to serve more than eight years.

I am thinking someone might need a little NyQuil with their cookies to get to sleep tonight after a busy afternoon spent day dreaming...