The Box Is Full

Someone I know in Denver, sent out a controversial Email over the weekend last week, and evidently spread my address all over the southwestern part of the United States, and possibly some parts of Idaho.

Anyway, I got up in a pretty good mood, was doing alright, and then I opened this thing with MY NAME ON IT and it immediately had me hitting about 5.5 on the Richter Scale. I didn’t write it, I didn’t like it, and I didn’t forward it to more than two people when I first go it, and I BCC’ed: them.

So like a dummy, instead of letting it go, forwarding it to the trash where it belonged. I answer this latest version of electronic-website-smack down, as I like to tell my wife, I do my level best to “open their eyes a little … enlighten them to some things.”

And the majority of you know what the results were, dont’cha? You can try and teach a pig to sing, but it won’t work, and it just irritates the pig!

The next thing I know, my mailbox is overflowing with poorly written missives evidently written by some knuckle-draggers over there hanging out on AOL. (That shows your right there how smart they are) … I don’t know anyone who is on AOL.

It was one of those “Pass This On” to all your friends and known acquaintances things that are floating around on the Internet. Something about what a rotten deal the Mexican Race in this country is currently getting. Another bleeding heart, poorly written invective, another irritating comment on how bad these “immigrants” have it here.

So what they hey, slow day, my word count was down. I gave it a shot.

Bad move. First off, the problem is not the Mexican’s, it is the Government. People like Pelosi, John McCranky, Hillary, those knot-heads in Congress that don’t know their butt from a hole in the ground. Then came the obligatory English lesson. And the go for the jugular conclusion, did it all in a little less than 5,000 words, for all you people familiar with “my style of rapid fire, no-nonsense journalism.”

So I re-read the piece, maybe I had it wrong. Which did not help my attitude, I got mad as all get out. So like the sucker I am, I go and throw some more gasoline on the fire. I again toss in my two cents and a little change to boot.

The Monkey Never Learns. Each time he goes for a peanut, they shock him, but still, he goes for one more peanut.

I fire up the old email spammer and I give them a little taste of it back. Sometime in the near future, you will purchase a Rand & McNally at the store, and inside you will find the New America’s. On top with be Mexico El Grande (Big Mexico) and Little Mexico (old Mexico) directly underneath what used to be the USA.

Immigrant and Illegal, are two distinctly different words, and someone who crosses into this country illegally certainly is NOT considered an immigrant in the vaguest sense of the word. It has, believe me, gone way past immigration status at this point of the game. We are now talking Colonization, not immigration. 

Evidently in Denver, they have a totally different meaning for the words.

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A New Job

I want to go to a place where you order lunch from a menu. I want to find a job where you go out and meet interesting people. I want a job like Tom Sellick on Las Vegas, I want to live on NBC. Give me briefcase #23 …..Howl-Wieeeeee. I want to walk in the sun and live! I want that girl’s job on Wheel of Fortune (Vanna White?). What a breeze.

You sleep in late, go to the studio, get into makeup, and then for thirty minutes or so, you flip over vowels and consonants. No pressure. Not a lot of walking. Why couldn’t I have fell into something like that? I could most likely even hold my own with Regis, does he remind you of your favorite cranky uncle ….. Or is it just me?

Remember that guy, Charles Kuralt? He had a show, “On the Road” now that wouldn’t be bad. Ride along in a plush, air conditioned RV, you see some guy sitting on the side of the road whittling Presidents Heads out of peanut shells. You stop and interview him. 20 minutes of shooting the breeze with this guy, call it a day, zip off to the next shoot or a different subject. How about The Cruiser, show up, jump up and down on Oprah’s couch a couple of times, collect the check, move on.

Sometimes after a bad day, I fantasize about how wonderful it would be to be photo editor of The Readers Digest. You make a couple of decisions per month, and it is all over. You can sit back and relax until the next issue comes out. Sitting around waiting on the next Tim LaHaye/Jenkins book comes out and they need something graphic to illustrate it.

Don’t tell me there isn’t anyone in this world that hasn’t lusted after the job of hairdresser for Paula Abdul, Grace Jones, or Cyndi Lauper, Jay Lo. You have the glitz of a show-biz groupie standing in the wings every night waiting to be summoned. And maybe every six months or so you would have to reach deep into your bag for a can of spray shellac and you job would be done for the next six months. Plus, you can show off your new skin!

How about the job of a Coca-Cola scientist. Now that would be THE job, once every 99 years or so, you would be called upon to come up with something distinctively different. A totally new taste! The rest of the time you could be sitting on some sandy beach, somewhere in the Caribbean.

Of course, the ultimate job would be that of African, I am on a totally paid for trip, scientific observer. Someone like the late Jane Goodall. You go off to Africa, sit on a hillside and monitor the behavior of huge smelly monkeys or gorillas. You never have to fight traffic, dress for success, or defrost frozen hamburger in the thaw cycle of the microwave.

You just sit there all day watching these furry animals pick lice off each other, and then consume them. Yuck! Yeah, I know, gross. But sometimes after a day like I have had, that sounds like a day at the beach.

Have a great day and/or whatever. Whatever you do today, do it for the greater glory of the Lord.

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