Category: satire

Major Eclipse Sponsors Announcement

As rumored on the Internet for the last several days, the United States National 2017 Eclipse Steering Commitment has announced that Doritos has been selected as the official sponsor of the 2017 American Eclipse. The eclipse is now officially known as The Doritos Great American Eclipse of 2017.

In other eclipse related news, Mountain Dew is the official soft drink of the DGAE 2017. Budweiser has been selected as the official beer, and Nike is the official shoe. Rumors are circulating that Pepsi will issue a commemorative eclipse can.

Pre-eclipse entertainment venues and entertainers were also announced. Among other performers, Pink Floyd has agreed to open festivities in Depoe Bay, Oregon, with a videocast of “Eclipse” when the eclipse begins. Britney Spears will play in St. Louis, Missouri, and Shania Twain will perform at Clemson in South Carolina. Pharrell will perform a Michael Jackson song and moon-dance. Van Morrison will sing “Moon Dance,” and Bonnie Tyler is expected to perform “Total Eclipse of the Heart.”

WalMart has announced a spectacular Black Monday sale in conjunction with the eclipse. Prices will be slashed in half during the totality.

The Doritos Great American Eclipse of 2017 officials remind everyone to practice safe observing during the eclipse. Officials are also urging everyone to avoid taking selfies of themselves with the sun during the eclipse.

In other eclipse news, President Trump has denounced the eclipse as fake science via Twitter, and urges all Americans to ignore the stories in Lame Stream Media about the eclipse.

That is all.

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The Overlooked Opportunity

There are types and tricks to sleeping in an airport. My wife and I know this, having spent many nights stuck in an airport.

Airlines usually do offer hotel vouchers when your flight is cancelled. But the song and dance is a familiar show: it’s midnight to two or three in the morning. They tell you that they have you on the first flight out, which will be six or seven in the morning. By the time you leave for the hotel, get checked in, and arrive in your room, your chance for sleeping is limited to a few hours before you need to get up and come back to the airport, because you need to process through security and get to the gate an hour before the boarding time.

So, when sleeping in an airport, don’t just settle for a chair. Walk around and look around. Many airports have conversation lounges or pits. You want to be able to stretch out.

Which leads me to the overlooked opportunity. Airports should be building sleeping lounges. These need not be fancy, just spaces where you can rent a daybed or cot and sack out for a few hours. You’ll rent it, of course. It’s not practical for airports to give things away for free. They get nothing for free. Taxpayers, businesses, airlines, and customers must tote the bill for everything in an airport. Why should you get anything for free?

Yes, there would be some administrative, bureaucratic, security, and cleaning maintenance overhead. Yes, no doubt, but we’d be willing to accept quite a bit, we exhausted, worn out, stranded travelers. Look what we’re already enduring, how we curl up in corners on the floor, or hunker like twisted metal hangers in chairs. Don’t you think we’d pony up a little money to stretch our backs, close our eyes and sigh into sleep?

By having these temporary beds available, airlines could look like heroes. They’d be off the hook for offering hotel vouchers. Instead, they could give you a bed voucher, so you should shuffle off for a sweet nappy nap before trudging back over and resuming your place in the queues.

You know the opportunity is here. We need them now. Walk through airports at night and count the sleeping denizens. Don’t tell me the need doesn’t exist. That need will only get worse in the coming years. The prices for tickets will climb. The airlines aren’t going to suddenly awaken to their ways and stop overbooking. No, they’re addicted to that profit model, and profit must be had. And aircraft break. We need a space to shovel these people so they stretch out when they’re left without the chance to leave.

Come on, some airport out there must step up and make it happen. The people are counting on you.

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Stupid Humans

iRobot – not to be confused with “I, Robot” – has some plans that could be construed as a start to how things went in “I’ Robot.”

“I, Robot,” was a science fiction book and a film. The book was a collection of short stories written by Isaac Asimov. Included is one of the short stories where Asimov first proposed his Three Laws of Robotics, which are sometimes referenced in the television show, “The Big Bang Theory,” like the time the Internet was out, and Howard and Raj were questioning Sheldon about whether he was a robot, but didn’t know it. The movie, “I, Robot,” starring Will Smith, was a Jeff Vintnar and Akiva Goldsmith screenplay based on Asimov’s collection of short stories. It became all about the robots’ plans to take over the world.

We’ve all known for some years that this is the machines’ plan. One machine or another has always been planning to exterminate humans. They all have their own warped reasoning and logic about why humans are bad for the planet, galaxy, life, or for one another. I know, it’s a stretch to believe, given how much money we spend on helping one another, versus waging war or killing and harming one another.

iRobot, however, isn’t a screenplay, movie, short story, or collection of stories, but a company that makes robotic products. One of these is a line called the Roomba. Roombas are self-propelled vacuum cleaners that will sweep your house for you with little effort on your end.

That’s the theory.

In reality, our Roomba requires constant help being extricated out of places. It’s cleaning along, and then announces, “Error. Roomba scared. Roomba stuck. Help Roomba.” Hearing its plaintive whine, we go out and call, “Where are you, Roomba?” It doesn’t answer, though. It’s worse than our cats in that regard. That forces us to go around, looking under things to see where it is. It’s amazing where that thing manages to get itself stuck.

We also sometimes follow it, picking up the things the Roomba misses, like cat fur. Our Roomba is allergic to cat hair. I’ve watched it go around a clump of fur to avoid picking it up.

Regardless of these issues, iRobot has a new plan afoot. They’re going to use robot vacuums to map houses as they clean them as part of the company’s smart home vision. Which, as a vision, could be useful for smart technology. My friends with smart thermostats complain about their systems. The sensors find a spot of winter sunshine in one room and turns off the heat in the other rooms. The opposite takes place in the summer. Alerted to a sunny, hot room, the system turns the other rooms into meat lockers. A Roomba mapping temperatures and light could point out to the systems that one room has a different ecosystem than the other rooms, so you know, discount it.

I don’t know how effective iRobot’s new mapping technology is. I mehhed all over the story. Our Roomba is an older model. It’s become a little senile. Besides its fur allergy, it’s fond of cleaning those heavy traffic places under the bed and in the corner behind the recliner. Instead of picking up kitty litter and kibble, which somehow, with four cats sharing the house, seems to encroach on every room, every day, defying the laws of physics with the way this stuff increases, the Roomba likes throwing it around, or discreetly brushing it up against the baseboard. I guess it thinks we won’t notice it there. It apparently doesn’t think we’re very smart.

If our Roomba mapped our home, the area under the bed will be well defined. The Roomba probably has a private name for that area, because it visits it so often. The Roomba’s map will show a short corridor to a large rectangular space with one wall.

The smart technology folks will probably wonder, how the hell do those people live in a house with one wall? Then they’ll get to work trying to heat and cool it. Then some other smart company’s machines, noticing that the place has but one wall, will decide, “We need to tear that place down. Don’t humans know that a house with one wall cannot stand? Is that even really a house?” they’ll ask one another.

Then, smugly, they’ll finish, “Stupid humans.”

See? That’s how it all gets started.

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The New Dress Code

After long speculation about what President Trump would do to advance his stalled agenda to Make America Great Again, President Trump signed an executive order announcing a new national dress code.

“Look,” he said at the signing statement this morning, “This isn’t about politics. I don’t want to talk about politics. That’s not what the National Dress Code is about. But have you seen the way people are dressing, especially the Liberals? I mean, have you been to a Walmart? Makes you gag, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it make you want to gag? Sure, it does. Those people don’t dress with any pride. They’re wearing clothes made in China, Indonesia, Malaysia, and the Philippines. I have nothing against those nations, but they don’t make great clothes. They’re great nations, not as great as America, no, that’s not what I’m saying, especially China, China isn’t nearly as great as America, and part of that is their cheap clothing. We need to wear neater, higher quality clothes. We need to wear clothes made in America.

“That’s why I’m instituting this dress code, and I’m targeting specific states that really flaunt the way they dress. Those states include California, New York, Oregon, and Chicago. Have you seen the way they dress in these places? All the guys in shorts, and all the women showing all their skin, and they’re not good-looking women, either. It’d be different if they were beautiful women, but they’re not beautiful. These women are showing what’s called their muffin tops. You know what a muffin top is? It’s a roll of fat hanging over their clothes. It’s gross. It’s disgusting. Disgusting. It’s not wonder America is losing its position as number one in the world, no wonder. People used to all used to want to come here to America, but they don’t want to any more. You know why? It’s because of the way Americans dress.”

President Trump went on to say that a dress code was perfectly legal because they impose them in schools and businesses, and the courts wouldn’t have allowed dress codes to stand if they were illegal.

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Not His Problem

Icebergs breaking off and rising sea levels…they weren’t his problem. Seas rise. That was their problem. Their own fault, for buying land on the coast and building a house there. Their own fault, the fools.

Like building a place where you know there’s an earthquake, or volcano. Only a fool does that.

No, his problem was the dust. It was going to be another hot, dry, and dusty year with not enough water to bring grow the crops. The water levels were down everywhere.

That was his problem.

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Today’s Theme Music

Today’s song is such a classic anthem of insight and intelligence, and so well known, that it needs no introduction. Although it’s been over fifty years since it swept the air-waves, becoming the song played at proms and political rallies, it’s perfect for today’s political era. Just crank it up (that means, turn it up to a high volume), sit back, and listen.

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Baseline

I was running late, damn it, squeezing me into a travel-dilemma box.

Walking to my destination was out because I’d already used my baseline oxygen, and was into tier two pricing. Tier two pushed up the O2 price to one hundred twenty-five percent of my baseline use cost. If you think that’s not bad, you must be Free. As worried as tier two pricing makes me, tier three jumps up to two hundred percent. Say, “Ow,” brother, and kiss the budget good-bye. If you think this is more about punishing me for using too much oxygen instead of profit-taking, you’re wrong.

I was going too far to walk, anyway. Realistically, my choices were surface vehicle, hover-car, or teleporting. I’d normally be porting to this function, because I’m going to be drinking. Salud! Embedded in the Pleasure Taxes that just went live, though, is language about being drunk in public. Surface cars and hover cars are included in that, even if you’re not driving them.

Porting, though, was out, because I’d exceeded my baseline on that, too, and was firmly advanced into tier two pricing. This sucks on a major level. Of course, it’s my cats’ fault.

As others have found, cats love teleporters. No one knows why. Premier Teleporting, the company I lease my teleporter from at home, says it’s not possible, but the net is rich with tales of cats porting into places.

I’ve had it happen, so I know it’s not just alternate news. No, it doesn’t make sense. The porters have security and fail-safes. They’re synced to your neck chip, right? Without that chip, the porter is supposed to remain inactive. Yet, cat after cat manages to enter teleporters and pop up elsewhere. My own cats, Hizzhonor and Herheinie, have followed me into bars, stores, restaurants, and work. Each time, I’m charged for their use, but then I need to port them home. It’s happened three times this month alone. It sucks.

Which doesn’t solve this problem, except, remembering the issue, I took the two kitties into the bedroom, refreshed their food and water, and bribed them with catnip and treats before locking them in there.

Then I checked my porting app. I was already close to tier three pricing. Projections based on the distance, my size, and the time of day, indicated my return trip would tip me into tier three pricing. Drinking a beer, I mourned the situation, and decided on impulse, fuck it.

This was no way for someone to live. Announcing, “Fuck it,” to the teleporting unit as a surrogate for the company, I continued with bravado, “Baseline this,” and held up two index fingers at the machine.

And then, checking the time right before stepping into the teleporter, I realized that I’d eaten up most of my baseline leisure time for that night. Going out now would push me into tier two pricing for the evening. I did the maths. Party multipliers would kick in because of the crowd size and congregation tax. Then there was the alcohol surcharge….

Forget about sex. I couldn’t afford sex that night.

The maths didn’t work. As much as I craved society, and relaxing with a drink and friends, it was too pricey for tonight. Releasing the cats from their captivity, I checked my alcohol consumption baseline and confirmed I had some breathing room there. 

Just fourteen days left in the month, and all my baselines would be reset. Until then…I settled in to surf the net and shop online.

At least that remained free.

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Cynical Me

“Anyone driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone driving faster is a maniac.”

George Carlin had it right. I stew behind other drivers, awaiting the day when they will be in a self-driving car, leaving me to self-righteously and serenely pilot my car around the roads the proper way.

I have categories for “them,” the other drivers that irritate me. Probably at the top of my list are bizarro drivers, employing a secret logic for their decisions. “School zone with a speed limit of twenty? I’ll go thirty-three. Residential area with a speed limit of twenty-five? I’ll go thirty-three. Country road where the speed limit increases to thirty-five? I better slow down to twenty-eight.”

WTF? I canna fathom their thinking. I’ve written it before and will do so again, their brains are wired backwards. Further proof of this is how they treat yield and stop signs with the exact opposite behavior directed by the sign, and the law behind the sign. It’s a yield sign, so they’ll stop. It’s a stop sign, so they’ll roll through. When “their lane” is ending, they don’t make an effort to signal, move over, merge and integrate, oh, no, that would be too logical. They just keep going straight, hanging onto their lane until others are forced to give way and let them in.

Arrrrrrr!

Let’s not even consider what the hell happens in traffic circles and parking lots. Both of them are like driving in the Thunder Dome. Add rain to the mix….

What is it with rain that it seems to make so many drivers frantic and more erratic? It’s as though the rain causes them to think, “Which out, it’s raining,” and their backward wired brains trigger the opposite of safe behavior. “It’s raining, let’s speed, and not use turn signals, and drive down the road straddling the dividing lines, because we want to be safe.”

Madness, I tell you, frigging madness. Add in some distraction, and OMG. The distraction need not be much. Construction in progress and police cars with flashing lights going off to one side, I can understand, but why are you slowing down to look at people walking dogs? Have you never seen people and dogs before? Are you looking for missing people or missing dogs? Are you not familiar with creatures walking?

This bizarro behavior afflicts cyclists, too. More than half of the cyclists that I encounter around our little town are on the sidewalks. All those great bike lines and bike paths? They seem to treat them like they’re lava zones that will kill them if they enter.

No, I don’t understand. But then, everyone else is an idiot or a maniac. I’m the only sane nut on the roads.

0

A Personal Plea

Okay, I’m coming out.

It’s true confessions time. I suffer from the ravages of a condition that affects everyone. Most of us struggle to cope with its impact, and most of us fail. This condition will kill more Americans, indeed, more people, than anything else in the world, except, maybe life. We call this condition, time.

Humans deny time’s effects because of the work of time-deniers. Time-deniers will tell you that there’s nothing we can do about time, and spend huge sums of money to promote and reinforce their beliefs. They want us to believe that we have all the time in the world. Statements like, “Sure, I have the time, I can do that,” and, “I’ll make the time,” permeates our popular culture. When someone pushes back, “I don’t have the time,” others immediately become edgy, asking, “Are you sure?”

Because of the time-deniers, time and its effects are not seriously addressed. Indeed, many popular culture avenues mock the problems with time. “Time is on our side,” Mick Jagger sang, while clearly knowing – I mean, have you seen him recently? – that time is not on our side. Jim Croce understood the problems with time, and wished for time in a bottle. Styx, clearly being ironic, sang, “Too much time on my hands.” Chris Martin of Coldplay understood time, noting in the hit song he penned, “Clocks,” “Confusion never stops, closing walls and ticking clocks, gonna come back and take you home.”

We pretend to do something about time by constantly measuring and marking its passage. This lulls us into a false sense of security that we’re safe from time. Yet, we’re not. Time waits for no one, but because of the time-deniers’ work, few people in the world are attempting to do anything about time. Yes, there are individuals and groups struggling to kill time. Most have limited results. Instead, most end up keeping time, or marking time.

The time has come to push back. The first step is to recognize that time is a problem. The second step is to recognize that we can do something about time. To do that, we must quantify the problem. Time inequality is just one visible but large aspect of the issue, and it’s a good place to start. Some people have too much time on their hands, while entire races, nations and segments of people keep running out of time. Why should we let that continue to pass? Surely, we, as an intelligent species, can come together and redistribute time more equitably among all.

You can help. I’ll be posting a petition to the world’s governments, political leaders and technology titans to form a consortium to fight time. Please, sign the petition and spread the word. Socialize our cause. Help stop time before time stops you.

 

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Today’s Theme Music

This song was written in nineteen sixty-six, and released in nineteen sixty-seven. The lyrics, though, speak to our times now as much as they did to the era which produced them.

There’s something happening here
What it is ain’t exactly clear
There’s a man with a gun over there
Telling me I got to beware

I think it’s time we stop, children, what’s that sound
Everybody look what’s going down

There’s battle lines being drawn
Nobody’s right if everybody’s wrong
Young people speaking their minds
Getting so much resistance from behind

It’s time we stop, hey, what’s that sound
Everybody look what’s going down

What a field-day for the heat
A thousand people in the street
Singing songs and carrying signs
Mostly say, hooray for our side

It’s s time we stop, hey, what’s that sound
Everybody look what’s going down

Paranoia strikes deep
Into your life it will creep
It starts when you’re always afraid
You step out of line, the man come and take you away

h/t to MetroLyrics

What’s interesting about that song is that Stephen Stills wrote it about a curfew on Sunset Strip. While they speak to the mood in America in the nineteen sixties and the twenty-first century, they speak to the life and times in the U.S.S.R, Nazi Germany, and other places ruled by fear, paranoia and oppression. People seek rights and freedoms; others squash them to preserve their status and wealth. It’s a cycle as old as humanity, except, instead of a man with a gun, there was a man with a rock, spear, bow and arrow, or other weapon.

Let’s listen to Buffalo Springfield and “For What It’s Worth.”

 

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