Centaur Escapes from Government Raptor Facility

Image result for images of centaurs

Word has just come in that a male centaur has escaped from a Velociraptor breeding facility operated by the Internal Revenue Service in Ongs Hat, New Jersey. NJ State Police are on the hunt for the monster, which broke down a high-security picket fence and disappeared into the Pine Barrens.

Government emails dealing with the centaur, and with the day-to-day maintenance of the bloodthirsty dinosaurs, cannot be found.

Why was the IRS breeding raptors? “Don’t even ask!” says our confidential source. And why was an adult centaur being held captive at the raptor farm? “He didn’t pay his taxes,” says our source, “and they were going to make an example of him.”

The raptor farm is part of the IRS’s “Smart Growth” program, established for the purpose of finding new and unexpected ways to extract money from the American people. The facility at Ongs Hat costs $22 billion a year to operate.

“They’re going to have to get that centaur before he has a chance to talk about all the things he’s seen at the raptor facility,” said our source. “You know, they always underrate centaurs. Just because you have a horse’s a** doesn’t mean you are a horse’s ass! Let this one get hold of a Fox News reporter, and a lot of major figures in this government are not going to be around tomorrow.”

Are Centaurs Really Real?

I am sorry I ever got involved in the controversy about centaurs being real or not. Feelings on both sides are running high, and it’s not much fun getting caught in the crossfire.

Among famous, well-respected, highly reputable persons who have actually seen centaurs, at least supposedly, are Theseus, Davy Crockett, Pliny the Elder, and H.P. Lovecraft. None of these witnesses is available for further questioning. It is also said that Jimmy Carter saw a centaur once.

For the time being, here are the facts.

*The best time to see a centaur is when you are intoxicated or asleep.

*California is the state with the most centaur sightings.

*Centaurs constitute a small but important voting bloc for the Democrat Party, especially in swing states.

*No centaur has ever been seen riding a bicycle or driving an SUV.

*The world’s greatest living expert on centaurs, Professor Jeremy Coldsore, has been hired by NASA to provide definitive proof of their existence–the centaurs’, not NASA’s.

To those who continue to email me with passionate arguments for one side or another, I can only repeat that it’s not up to me to make a ruling on this issue. Please direct your questions to a higher authority.

Remember King Whatsisname

I have re-entered the Book of Judges in my Bible-reading, and yesterday the name Chushanrishathaim (in Judges 3:8-9) jumped out at me. He is mentioned as a “king of Mesopotamia” who oppressed Israel and was overthrown by Israel’s first judge, Othniel, the nephew of Caleb.

It isn’t every day you run across a name like this. It consists of two elements: a proper name, “Chushan,” which can also be rendered “Cush,” and relates either to a region north of Babylon or south of Egypt; and a kind of title, “Rishathaim,” which, in ancient times, meant “double wickedness,” and also could mean “governor of two presidencies,” or both at once. So the name belongs to a powerful bad guy named “Chushan” or “Cush” who came into Israel from, probably, somewhere to the north of Babylon.

If we could pin the man down more precisely, we might have a shot at getting a firm date for the beginning of the period of the Judges. But no such luck. The Book of Judges harks back to a very unsettled era from which little hard information has come down to us from non-Biblical sources–kind of like the 5th and 6th centuries in Britain. The Bible is not concerned with events in Egypt and Babylon; and they had troubles aplenty of their own.

As I pursued my research, I came upon a website called “Names of Cute Baby’s [sic]” ( http://namesof.com/name-Chushanrishathaim ). If you want to name your baby “Chushanrishathaim,” they’ll teach you where the name comes from, what it means, and how to pronounce it.

“What should we name our baby, dear?”

“Oh, I dunno. How about Chushanrishathaim?”

“Oh, I like that! It has a certain ring to it! Wasn’t he on Dancing With the Stars?”

Why in the world would you want to name your baby Chushanrishathaim? It was bad enough when every other baby boy was being named Zack, and baby girls got stuck with names like Cadence and Destiny. But Chushanrishathaim is going a bit too far.

What ever happened to names like Tommy and Susan?

 

Do Centaurs Dwell Among Us?

See that guy over there–the one who seems to be always leaning his rump against some object completely covered by a drop-cloth? From the waist up he’s normal, even handsome. But from the waist down he doesn’t look quite right, although he wears very baggy pants to disguise whatever’s wrong about him. It would be bad manners to go up and ask him what he’s got under the drop-cloth, or what’s funny about his hips and legs.

Chances are he’s a centaur. The back half, the horse half, he hides under the drop-cloth. He wears baggy pants to hide the horse’s forelegs. Female centaurs wear long, loose dresses.

You’ve been seeing them lately, haven’t you? Just sort of hanging out in front of the Seven-Eleven, or outside the laundromat: any old place. Where have they come from? According to the Liberal Bible, Book of Kerry, 6:66, “The centaurs are here to protect the Hispanic world from Global Warming.” But you can’t get a centaur to confirm this or deny it. In fact, it can be dangerous trying to get a centaur to say anything at all.

It has been suggested that centaurs are the product of genetic engineering by the mysterious beings known as Slim Jims, who come from inside the Big Dipper. This remains to be proved.

Why are they here? What are they getting set to do?

Blamed if I know.

A Silly Baseball Statistic for Really Silly People

War! What is it good for? Absolutely nothin’!  –Edward Starr, 1969

Let’s face it: baseball just ain’t the national pastime anymore. What with player strikes, steroids, expansion, league-shuffling, stratospheric ticket prices ($272 a pop for seats in Yankee Stadium that we used to get for $15), and no more games on free TV, it’s become just another thing not to care about.

And so baseball’s answer to public indifference is… war.

No, not the real kind, like in the Edwin Starr oldie. This is a new statistic, WAR, short for “Wins Above Replacement Player.” It’s supposed to be a formula showing how many wins a player is worth to his team by comparing him to a “replacement player”–to wit, a bum.

You’ve gotta see the formula for calculating WAR (see http://wikipedia.org/wiki/Wins_above_replacement ). It looks like the mess Sam Jaffee had on his blackboard in The Day the Earth Stood Still. But, heck, you have to expect some complications when you’re wondering how much better the Yankees do with Derek Jeter at shortstop than Perez Hilton.

But the WAR statistic enables us, or so we’re told, to compare players from all eras. So you can find all-time rankings of players according to their WAR. And what do these rankings tell us?

That Rickey Henderson (#19) was a little better than Mickey Mantle (#21) and a whole lot better than Joe DiMaggio (#67).

Presto! A completely useless statistic! A quintessential product of our current age! What could possibly be more representative of today’s state of civilization than this? Not only blatantly wrong–but arrived at only after tremendous trouble and toil.

Remember, way back, when you’d get a word problem in arithmetic that went like this? Johnny came to bat 10 times and got 3 hits. What is his batting average? So now you can’t appreciate baseball unless you’ve got a Ph.D. in statistics and a hand-held computer? If Willie Mays is replaced in center field by Michael Moore and the Giants never, ever win another game forever, calculate Willie Mays’ WAR?

Lemme outta here!

The $10 Million Catnap

One of the news stories that surfaced while my computer was out of the saga was this gem.

At a July 4 game at Yankee Stadium, a fan fell asleep in the stands. As is the custom in baseball telecasts, ESPN’s cameras sometimes did sweeps of the fans. So they found this guy snoozing away, and the announcers had some gentle fun at his expense.

A few days later, the gavone sued ESPN, the Yankees, and Major League Baseball for $10 million dollars. He claimed he was the target of an “unrelenting verbal crusade” and an “avalanche of disparaging words.” The announcers called him names, he claimed, and ruined his reputation, etc. (See http://finance.yahoo.com/news/snoozing-yankees-fan-sues-espn-050856813.html )

The actual video of the broadcast is easily viewed on the internet (especially if the link I gave you works!), and anyone can see that this lawsuit has no merit whatsoever.

What was this guy thinking? Didn’t he know the whole thing would be on tape? Obviously the announcers never said any of the things he claims they said.

I couldn’t help thinking of Judge Wapner on the old The People’s Court TV show, patiently explaining to one idiot after another that the court system was not set up as a get-rich-quick apparatus for simpletons. You don’t get $100,000 because a guy sold you a couple of bad spark plugs.

Gee, what would I do if I were a judge and some clown came into my courtroom seeking a $10 million payday in a lawsuit based on easily exposed lies? Would I be sorely tempted to jail both him and his shyster lawyer for flagrant contempt of court?

Yeah, I think I would.

The Centaurs Strike Back

I have been getting a lot of flak from centaurs lately, email from all over the country.

“You are completely wrong about us centaurs,” writes Tomble Gezunt from Montana. “The centaur community is mad at you for depicting us as animals and savages. You seem to have got us mixed up with taurcents, which are backwards centaurs–horse up front, human behind. We don’t appreciate it!”

What about the objection that, even with genetic engineering, a centaur is impossible because the horse half would grow so much faster than the human half? Mrs. Haffa Horsy, from right here in New Jersey, answered that one.

“What do you know about it, buster? So the horse half grows faster. So what? Eventually the human half catches up. My horse-body was full grown while my lady-piece was still a baby. Don’t you think my parents knew how to deal with that? To us centaurs, that’s no big deal at all! In fact, it’s normal.”

From Washington, D.C., came this angry comment from a centaur named Roy Patterson.

“You make out like we are just a bunch of drunks, as bad as satyrs. But you don’t know ****. In my neighborhood we got centaurs who are lawyers, public servants, and even one who is a veterinarian. It’s them satyrs who run around drunk all the time. Centaurs are too busy earning an honest living!”

Well, who would’ve thought it? Apparently there are a lot more centaurs out there than I imagined. I wonder why it’s so unusual to see one.

A Gruesome Discovery

Wouldn’t you know it? As we discuss allowing kids to be kids, and play outside, on their own, along comes this little cautionary tale from Dayton, Ohio ( http://wtvr.com/2014/06/17/mummified-corpse-hanging/ ).

Yup–a boy decided to explore the abandoned house on his block, and what do you think he found? He opened a likely-looking closet, and there, gently swinging back and forth, he found the mummified body of a man. Authorities said the poor sod had been hanging there for five years, having apparently committed suicide. Gee whiz, you off yourself and no one even notices? “Yo, have you seen so-and-so around lately? Nah, he must of moved or somethin’…”

Yipes. My friends and I loved going into abandoned houses! Our imaginations generated plenty of excitement.

But if we had ever actually found some poor guy hanging in the closet, turned into a mummy…! Yeah, that would’ve given me the heeby-jeebies for a while.

On the plus side, though, this kid from Dayton is going to be the star of stars among the other kids. “That’s Danny–the kid who found the mummy! Wow!” They’ll all be jealous. He’ll be able to tell this story for the rest of his life, and probably will. “Grandpa, tell me again about the time you found the mummy hanging in the closet!”

Of course, you can always keep your kid tightly under wraps–kind of like a mummy, come to think of it–and never let him do anything at all on his own. That way he won’t have any experiences you haven’t planned for.

I have discovered that there are a few nuts out there who think that’s a good idea. It must be more than a few, or people wouldn’t be raising their kids like bee larvae.

God help us.

A Bone to Pick with the Mummy

Not that this is a burning issue; but then I’d rather not get involved with burning issues on the Lord’s Day.

No–this concerns mummy movies. Not the newfangled ones with computer-generated cheesy effects, body builders, and whatnot. I love the old mummy movies, in black and white, from the 1940s. The original, starring Boris Karloff as The Mummy, from 1932, is a classic work of cinematic art. The sequels are, well, mummy movies. I make no apology for liking them. The ones with Lon Chaney Jr.,  The Mummy’s Hand, The Mummy’s Tomb, The Mummy’s Ghost (even though there’s no ghost in it)–a wonderful addition to our culture.

Nevertheless, there is one thing about all these mummy movies (except the first one) that kind of bugs me.

How do people ever manage to get themselves caught by the Mummy?

I mean, the Mummy’s not exactly Carl Lewis, is he? He shuffles, wobbles a bit, and is so, so sloooooow. If you sent him to the corner store for groceries, you’d starve before he ever got back.

In addition to being slow, he is also clumsy and awkward. He never has full use of his left arm, so he shuffles toward you with his right arm extended so as to strangle you with one hand. And no one ever gets away! You’d think someone would eventually get the idea to take a sword or something and chop off the one arm the Mummy can use. What could an armless mummy do to you?

But no–a mummy victim never has a chance. Most of the victims just raise their hands, even though the Mummy has not said “Stick ’em up,” and back up into the wall, or fall down, and just get strangled. Like, why not, uh, run away? Even Chris Christie could ran away from the Mummy. The few victims who do try to run away, always make a beeline for the nearest blind alley, from which there is no escape.

Again, it’s not a burning issue. It’s just a little thing that bothers me, as Columbo would say.

Ah! For the day when I can settle back and watch Columbo vs. the Mummy

 

The Best Movie You’ll Never See

Yesterday it rained all day and all night, and it’s raining now, and my brain is tired. Besides, I’d rather not do battle on the Sabbath day.

So I thought I might review a movie, instead.

Here is a forgotten gem from 1970, produced by the one-time-only team of Leonard Bernstein, Ingmar Bergman, and Elston Howard–My Brother, My Soul, My Granola. You can buy a copy from that guy over there in the raincoat.

Arnold Stang plays a Swedish politician who gets wise counsel from rutabaga farmer Charles Bronson. But Stang is no sooner named secretary general of the United Nations when he discovers a plot by bad-guy professional wrestlers (masterminded by real-life wrestler, Mr. Fuji) to take over the world.

In desperation, he calls on retired Intercontinental Heavyweight Champion Farnsworth Chillingham Smythe–played to a T by real-life wrestler Sgt. Slaughter–now a professor of philosophy at Harvard. Smythe has to set aside his cap and gown and go out and beat down the bad guys, one after another.

The action tends to get a bit confusing, so the screenplay (rumored to have been written by Tom Wolfe and Spiro Agnew) intersperses it with talking-head scenes of discussions between John Houseman and Gloria Steinem. In their chats, they explain what’s going on in the rest of the movie. This was shortly before Houseman shot his agent. (Remember that trial? He was acquitted.)

The soundtrack is a continuous loop of John Lennon singing “Imagine.” If you can stand that, you can stand anything.

I recommend you see this movie. After you’ve seen it, everything else you see will seem so much nicer.

[Note: Back in 1975, my very first column for the now-defunct Bayshore Independent was a review of a non-existent movie, under the headline that I’ve used today. Permit me this bit of nostalgia. I’ll get back down to business tomorrow. Meanwhile, I hope you had a chuckle or two.]