Happy New Year

2010 Year in Review-Even Google likes us

As the final post for our year in review, I offer this as  the one that still seems to generate interest. 

I asked the nerds in the idiot FTI IT dept (the most reviled department here at FTI) to determine which of our posts had any type of long-term "traction".   I was trying to see which post generated the most internet traffic.    One particular post stood out and constantly came up in searches by the various search engines on the internet.  In asking how this result occurred, I was told that "a key metric of measuring visits and readership are utilized in embedded code  in the language that produces this page by the Blogger People whom host our site."  TRANSLATION:   There's some cool stuff that tracks all of this shit. 

My journey to the Coachella valley this past spring and this ensuing episode seems to repeatedly come up in search engine results.  But don't take my word for it.  Google the phrase "women attracted to authority figures"  and see who pops up in the number 2 position out of 302,000 results.  That's right. This one!  Oh yeah.  Uh-huh. We got it. 

Ending the year on a high note, I thank both of our 2 faithful readers for your support in this past year, best wishes for the New Year and the constant encouragement to continue on working on the 12 steps to attain  idiocy independence.     Take it from an authority figure:  We developed the program.

2010 Year in Review- the saga continues

Continuing the recitation of meaningless thoughts and observations that would be of significance to most people, I submit these 2 points of light as examples best not to mimic from this past year.  The reader should be admonished, though, that these actually look easy, we here at FTI are trained professionals with only the rudimentary of understanding.  The fact that these even accidentally occurred is still being studied. 

1)   Having the utmost confidence that we have the right people in the places, I am still concerned that Mrs. Kfred refuses to be a willing member of the FTI Executive team. Without prior knowledge, she was appointed Chief Safety Officer here at the Institute, but, occasionally refuses to embrace the importance of it all.  I view this incident as perhaps a wake-up call for her to take her duties seriously.

2)   The constant quest to be relevant, eye-catching, and yes, fun to visit, were the main ingredients when our page change of identity was undertaken.  Actually quite pleased with the results, this switch was not taken lightly and without debate. A faction of the page change committee openly pouted for 3 days after having lost in their bid to have the page consist of nothing but an image of a knotted shoelace.  Something about the ability to neatly convey thoughts and ideas without tripping over own own logic.  Losers.   

And tomorrow, we will revisit the incident that continues to generate the most amazement and doubt of all: my journey to the Coachella Valley and the Giant Carrot Festival, therein. 

2010 Year in review - Pt. 1

Like most other information sources, we here at FTI choose to use this end of the year calendar period  as a time to reflect upon some memorable events during that time.  As opposed to having our 2 faithful readers vote on anything, I, as Executive Director have determined a formula on which stories to highlight:  Knowing that even our 2 faithful readers only check in here about twice a month, I felt a more subjective method of determining some memorable stories would be to judge the stories based on the comments they generated at the time.  Obviously, the comment process is used more often than not as a forum by a couple of our own staff members (one, a  particular, disgruntled, small minded, fiscally "conservative" individual; the other, a known idiot with multiple personalities)  to take "potshots' at me to satisfy their small intellects.  Regardless,   I choose to remain above the fray and post 'em like I see 'em. 

Without any further adieu, I offer these 2 related subject stories with my own views: 

1)  Isn't it amazing how people are so drawn to the subject of internal health and view it as a joke or obvious sign of aging?  "Oh, yeah, I had that done 2 years ago and I came out  'pffffffft............clean as whistle.'  Doc even gave me some pictures  too.   Just wait.   Yep, you know you are getting old when you schedule that appointment".    I'm sorry.  I consider this milestone as nothing more than getting your eyes checked.  Granted, it is a little more invasive in a more private area of your body, but,  I don't see anyone walking around with eyeglasses on their butt,  either.  Each part of the body has a job to do; this one just happened to be last in line when God handed out the assignments.

2) Thinking that relaying this tidbit would put some reader's minds to ease, I get the feeling that the full appreciation for the danger I expose myself to on a daily basis is not always fully recognized.  I can't worry about that perception, however,  My job is to do the best I can with the tools at my disposal.  And believe me, most of our staff are tools.

I have a few more to list as the week progresses.  In the meantime, I am working on planning for 2011.  Hopefully, these times can be viewed as  our all time low water marks.   

 

May the rhythm of the season dance through your soul

Following my post 10 days or so ago about the lack of meaningful Christmas cards arriving here at FTI, I was speaking to Gummo, the Balloon Boy whom asked if I had received his holiday greeting.  Gummo informed me that Christmas was a special time to him and that he had taken the time to create a personalized greeting specifically for me  that best reflected his personality, hobbies, dress, and demeanor in such a manner that would accurately reflect  his true being.

Sure enough, right on cue, the next day, I open the mailbox and find the card pictured here with a "Merry Christmas, Gummo" signature.   Immediately submitted to the  crack staff of the FTI Psychological  Profile unit, our team of experts were initially baffled by this card and it's meaning until a late night, "We're out of vodka.  How about mouthwash?  Do you have any of that?" breakthrough occurred that explained Gummo perfectly.  The untrained lay person would assume that Gummo is attempting a cheap ripoff of the Saturday Night Fever franchise.  Deeper analysis, however, reveals the true meaning of this person and his personality:  Gummo is a well dressed, elf-like adventurer/4th place finisher in a 3rd grade spelling bee fleeing the impending giant disco ball  about to crush him ala Indiana Jones while playing hopscotch.  And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, explains everything perfectly. 

It's Christmas Sunday

Hey c'mon, it's Christmas Sunday and tough enough to get this group to think during the week. The Misfits are still enthralled with the pieces of string and couple of paperclips they received for Christmas. I can't seem to gain their attention.

In the meantime, take a look here and see if any of these days old items are to your liking.  Like most places, our admonishments are the same:  "Take as much as you want, read all that you take".

Our giant after-Christmas clearance postings begins tomorrow (you know, the one's no one wanted to read in the first place). See you then.

Merry Christmas

'Twas the Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all ‘round the ‘tute
The dimwits were sleeping, the sight is not cute.
The restraints were hung by the chimney with care,
It’s for their own safety and general welfare;

The misfits were locked in their dormitory with beds,
They’re really no more than slow-thinking pinheads;
And Mrs Kfred in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
He’d be the one to visit our mentally sick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called the dimwits by name;
"Now, Freako! now, Gummo! and Dickie the Peap!
Wake up you slow whacko’s; you need no more sleep!

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
He knew of these idiots I suffer each day,
He couldn’t believe I had chosen to stay.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
Some brand new straightjackets he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Replacing old tethers with an all knowing smirk,
He knew the great burden I constantly bear,
Sometimes I think, "I’m in a giant daycare,"

"Now Kfred," he boomed, “Don’t Worry, Don’t fuss,
All people have seen them aboard the short bus,
Most readers know they are all mental midgets,
Their collective IQ is but one single digit”,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,
“I’m glad I’m not you:  None of those idiots seem right!”

(with profuse apologies to Clement Clarke Moore)

Maybe they will call her Slate-arina

Certainly not quite as meaningful as the birth of the baby Jesus, but, every bit as much to be considered  a "miracle" considering the participant, it is with great joy we announce the birth of Slateface's new daughter. Slateface sent me a text message/photo yesterday that had been taken in the early morning hours before with his new daughter.  Both Mother and child are doing fine.

I have mixed feelings about this event. Certainly, the young child is an innocent being that will have every chance and opportunity to become whatever she chooses to do in life raised in a loving and stable home. She will, however, be saddled with the burden of having lineage traced directly back to a known idiot who has some strange ideas about  fun and playing outside. God help the little Princess.

"And I held his penis!"

I had Christmas lunch with Dickey the Peap last week.  We have conducted this meeting  for the past 4 years or so as a method to both celebrate the Christmas Season and a chance to get lit up on a weekday afternoon (which neither of us do on a regular basis).   As I had duties pending back at Dilbertland on the day in question, I was not able to celebrate quite as hardily as I had hoped .  Additionally,  the little miser was under close orders to control himself as a similar outing earlier this fall resulted in both parties experiencing some faint memory lapses in regard to particular incidents on the afternoon in question, so, restraint was evident on both sides of the table.  (Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury:  I submit this key fact will be instrumental in your determination of authenticity at the conclusion of this posting).    For the record:  Dickey DID buy lunch.  There. It's official and a matter of public record.  I don't want to hear any whining or face any smarmy comments.  The short-armed one paid.  Reluctantly.  Slowly.  Hesitatingly.  Something about having extra funds after a relative/close friend hired Dickey to do some home remodel work.  And as everyone knows:  Friends and family pay double.    

As we were trading stories and insults, we reminisced about earlier experiences in our lifetimes.  Dickey was describing an earlier camping trip he took as a teenager with another friend of his.  Backpacking deep into the woods with nothing but a few staples, a backpack, and their wits, survival would be a test.   During the course of their adventure and returning to camp from a successful fishing trip,  young Dickey  happened upon a  young, male deer that had wandered into their camp. Our boy now decides that some venison stew sounds mighty appealing and that in order to have a tasty stew of this type, you need one particular key ingredient:  venison.  Armed with only a .22 rifle and without any hesitation, ol' Dickey Crockett drew the weapon, drops his pouch of $20 gold pieces to the ground as their sheer weight would affect his aim, flipped the tail on his 'coonskincap to the back of his head, draws a bead on poor defenseless Bambi, and blasts away.   (At this point in the recitation, I ask you, the reluctant reader, to pause for one moment and envision a deer in your mind in a geometric fashion.  A deer is basically a rectangle supported by four spindly sticks.   You would be hard pressed to hit anything but the big rectangle if you were to aim and fire at this shape.)    The resultant outcome is that old Deadeye shot the deer squarely--in the leg.  Bambi is now hopping around, bewildered, disoriented, and pissed off.  Young Fudd eventually stalks the wounded beast and finishes off the animal.  At this point, he  realizes that he has a quandary:  What do you do now?   Fortunately, Dickey's camping partner has some experience with field dressing an animal killed under such circumstances.  The intestines of the animal can be easily stripped by exiting  through the anal area of the beast. Great care must be made not to puncture the intestine so as not to ruin the meat.  With that in mind, the hunting companion began to expertly make the cuts necessary to avoid any contamination.  Logistics, however, required an extra set of hands in order to complete the task.  Based on the information you, the gentle reader, have surmised to this point I will leave to you to determine the level of participation and area of the animal that involved the assistance of  the Frugal One.

In the end (pun unintended), it seems to me that any future re-telling of this story would emphasize the appreciation for the freshness of the meat, the thrill of the sighting, or the luck in encountering an animal under these circumstances.  Instead, I have a feeling that this milestone serves only as the foundation for the name from which  Dickey was previously known:  Groper.

r u kidn?

I received an email notification yesterday from the good folks over at Twitter. The message informed me that "Cheru Jackson wants to keep up with you on Twitter". I don't use Twitter and I don't know any Cheru Jackson. I'm not sure if Cheru is male or female. Obviously, Cheru has not read the information in the "About FTI" tab located at the top of this page.  For either of our 2 loyal readers and the accidental reader whom may stumble our direction, here is some info from Twitters own page:  Twitter is a real-time information network that connects you to the latest information about what you find interesting.  At the heart of Twitter are small bursts of information called Tweets. Each Tweet is 140 characters in length.   Simply find the public streams you find most compelling and follow the conversations.  You can actually follow someone in real time as they announce to the world that they are standing in the toilet paper aisle at their local grocery store dithering whether to buy the normal 1 ply brand  or step up for an extra 60 cents and buy 2 ply.  It's that easy.  Okay, I made that last part up. 

I don't know quite what to think. Is this another ploy similar to the one that Jemma Clark was trying to pull earlier this year?  Is this someone I know who recently changed their legal name and forgot to inform me of their new identity?  I have a deep suspicion that Cheru is, in fact, an agent at a competitive Institute attempting to attain some type of inside information on us here at FTI. Honestly, as we attempt to toil in the utmost anonymity in order to avoid ridicule, I don't think we have to announce to the world our every move. And who would want to follow it anyway? Upon reflection, though, I realize there may be some folks whom simply don't have a life. (I, as Executive Director here at FTI, seem to be in charge of a bunch of them.) They have no need to better themselves.  They actually want to see someone else fail. I get it. So let me attempt to make a "tweet":

Gummo, tBB & DtP r lame.  both wanna pony 4 xmas.   we can't have any more animals.  R  rules limit # of equine.  we  alrdy have asses. 

 

Jukebox Bonus: A Small gift to you

it's Sunday Brunch

Hey c'mon, it's Sunday and tough enough to get this group to think during the week. We get a day off too, you know. I'm taking the staff out to Brunch. Every time one of the Misfits say, do, or think something stupid, they have to put a dollar in the jar. We call it our Brunch fund. And as far as I can forecast, there's going to be a lot of Sunday meals.

Just like Sunday Brunch, most of the stuff here is overvalued, pre-cooked, and have already been sneezed on  by some snotty 6 year old kid.  But, go ahead:  take a look here and see if any of these days old items are to your liking.  Like most places, our admonishments are the same:  "Take as much as you want, read all that you take".

Not a Creature Was Stirring

As we increasingly  receive fewer and fewer Christmas cards from friends, acquaintances, and state regulatory agencies each year, I have chalked it up to the fact that times have changed. Technology in the form of email, video chat, almost free cellular time, Twitter, and the like have allowed people to become in constant communication with each other across the globe. 

As this is only our second year in existence here at the Institute, I thought perhaps we should reach out and attempt to send a meaningful message to our constituents via a classy, thoughtful type of greeting and assigned my normally reliable and dependable Trusty/Asst. Executive Director, Giacommo, to fulfill the task.  I left it up to him to find the appropriate artwork and suggested that the message we wished to convey was that even though times are tough, the  Christmas Spirit was certainly not dead and we wished all of our recipients Happy Holidays. Somewhere in our communication of my intent, a short circuit occurred and my here-to-fore Golden Boy thought I said that the Christmas Spirit was dead and to wish everyone Happy Holidays.  Imagine my shock and surprise when I found a couple of leftover unaddressed cards pictured above in the FTI Mail Center.  Inside, the verse of  "No Matter how hard times get,  the freezer is full of venison; Wishing You the Warmest of Christmas Wishes, Your Friends at FTI."

Giacommo is currently on loan to the people  over at Hallmark.

Jukebox: Actual footage from our Christmas Party

Edukation at it's finest

I note that spell check is now going to be allowed for public school students in the state of Oregon in order to complete the mandated writing tests as required by the state. Obviously, there is controversy on both sides of the issue as one side is saying that spelling shouldn’t be used as the measuring stick to determine a student’s ability to write. The other side is saying that allowing this tool will not increase the competiveness of the student as they get older and start to compete for jobs in the adult world and have to submit written reports, logs, or other bits of information in relation to their employment.

Fortunately our cheap-assed Board of Directors recognized this threat early on and provided me with a tool to combat this prevalent problem: a dictionary. I just need them now to get me some type of tool to detect and eliminate the possibility of having too many Misfits associated with us at any one time. I’m thinking an oversized butterfly net.

The Wheels of Justice Turn, Oh, So Slowly

Two continuing legal obligations have taken up much of my time as Executive Director here at FTI, and as a result, I have been remiss in reciting the daily points of idiocy that I am in charge of to this point. At the end of yesterday, a new page has been turned in the chapter of the continuing FTI novel and we can now move on. The FTI legal defense team has done an outstanding job in parrying with our legal opponents and I commend them for a job well done. One of the cases involved actual direct testimony from me on the behalf of one of our team members, so, I was actually involved with determining the victorious outcome. I will relay that experience here today and discuss the other case in an upcoming posting.

I accompanied our resident thrift-miser, Dickey the Peap, to court yesterday to act as a character witness in his defense over a small traffic infraction. Dickey's personal vehicle had been involved in a red light running incident which resulted in a photo ticket mailed to his house as the owner of the vehicle caught on camera. The law in our jurisdiction assumes that since it's your car, it must be you driving it. Of all of the Peap-ed one's various character traits (frugal, cheap, closefisted, miserly, parsimonious, penny-pinching, penurious, pinching, spare, stinting, tight, tightfisted, etc), he is not dishonest.   Dickey had not driven the car in question and was, in fact, not the person responsible.  He requested his day in court to present his case.  In formulating his defense earlier, the scrimping one had planned to plead an ignorance defense.  (EDITORS NOTE:  This type of defense was actually written for our membership and has been apparently exploited for a number of years based on the action of these nitwits in the past.) With the assistance of the results that had been independently confirmed by the Factorcrap Truthometer Deluxe, (which were accepted by the court) and my expert witness credibility, the charge was overturned and the penalty vacated. 

The Perry Mason moment of the whole incident:   The prosecution's entire case revolved around the alleged infraction occurring at an intersection of a downtown corner where the bank is located with limited parking.  The judge rightly realized after my testimony that the Peap-ed one could not have possible been driving the vehicle in question to the bank.  The bank won't validate for free parking.     

It's Sunday Brunch

Hey c'mon, it's Sunday and tough enough to get this group to think during the week. We get a day off too, you know. I'm taking the staff out to Brunch. Every time one of the Misfits say, do, or think something stupid, they have to put a dollar in the jar. We call it our Brunch fund. And as far as I can forecast, there's going to be a lot of Sunday meals.

Just like Sunday Brunch, most of the stuff here is overvalued, pre-cooked, and have already been sneezed on  by some snotty 6 year old kid.  But, go ahead:  take a look here and see if any of these days old items are to your liking.  Like most places, our admonishments are the same:  "Take as much as you want, read all that you take".

A Little Holiday Humor

A full-on acknowledgment to the Green Comic for this one. His act is so erratic as most of the time his stuff is moronic and then, every once in a while, he hits it out of the park. Anyways, it's a pretty good gag:

Three men died on Christmas Eve and were met by Saint Peter at the pearly gates.

'In honor of this holy season' Saint Peter said, 'You must each
possess something that symbolizes Christmas to get into heaven.'

The man from England fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a
lighter. He flicked it on. 'It represents a candle', he said.

'You may pass through the pearly gates' Saint Peter said.

The man from Scotland reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of
keys. He shook them and said, 'They're bells.'

Saint Peter said 'You may pass through the pearly gates'.

The Irishman started searching desperately through his pockets and
finally pulled out a pair of women's panties.

St. Peter looked at the man with a raised eyebrow and asked, 'And just
what do those symbolize?'

The Irishman replied, 'These are Carols.'

Jukebox: I don't quite Remember It this way

You' ll Leave Today Feeling Empowered to Succeed!

In order to sharpen my skills, leadership abilities, and over all effectiveness here at FTI, I periodically engage in refresher courses of various subject to increase my worth and value as an Executive Director.  I am currently engaged  in a 2 day seminar entitled, "Racing for Mediocrity: the Quest for Survival in a Cruel World", and  subtitled, "How to Make the Most with the Idiots That Surround You".    

If I do say so myself, I seem to be a leader in the class at this time.  I have repeatedly had the right answers, relayed the most helpful experiences, and throughly impressed the  facilitator of the course.  After yesterday's first session, he pulled me aside to congratulate me and compliment me on how impressed he was with my participation.  We started talking about my actual experience and background.  After explaining my circumstances and describing how the Misfits  think and act, I have been granted a waiver of the enrollment fee and have actually been asked to conduct a seminar on his behalf in the future.   The reason for asking me to do so?  I obviously have greater expertise in this area than the moderator when attempting to  "Making the Most with the Idiots That Surround You. "

You guys sound just like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir

As mentioned last week, I have begun to assemble the FTI Doofus Squad in the hopes of creating some type of choir that could entertain people over the holidays.  Knowing that most groups can sing the simple standard Christmas songs,  I thought it might be a good idea to tackle some of the more complex Christmas hymns as a display of our progress in developing our advanced behavioral programs.    Apparently, that idea was not exactly original as some other competitive group of deep thinkers has beaten us to it and posted their highly impressive results on Youtube. 

It's not easy to perform before a large group in a spontaneous setting.  It's also not easy to  to have memorable results when the majority of your choir's singing ability is equal to that of Peter Boyle's speaking parts in  the Young Frankenstein movie, either.    After listening to our attempts to be like the above featured group, I  realize that perhaps we need to try something less challenging.  We're working on     "Up On the Housetop" currently, but, are having some difficulties with it as well.  The Misfits have mastered the "Ho, Ho, Ho" part.  It's the rest of it that's hard.   

It's Sunday Brunch

Hey c'mon, it's Sunday and tough enough to get this group to think during the week. We get a day off too, you know. I'm taking the staff out to Brunch. Every time one of the Misfits say, do, or think something stupid, they have to put a dollar in the jar. We call it our Brunch fund. And as far as I can forecast, there's going to be a lot of Sunday meals.

Just like Sunday Brunch, most of the stuff here is overvalued, pre-cooked, and have already been sneezed on  by some snotty 6 year old kid.  But, go ahead:  take a look here and see if any of these days old items are to your liking.  Like most places, our admonishments are the same:  "Take as much as you want, read all that you take".

The weekly struggle begins again tomorrow.  See you then.

I got your weather for ya right here

Is there any other possible comment for winter conditions than this?

Jukebox: Well, its half original

Hey, that's Odd

Some uncharacteristic events have been affecting us here at FTI. 2 events of noteworthiness include: 

• the repeated false alarm/failure signal coming from  the FTI wastewater treatment facility.   Normally transformed into our holiday wonderland and short track speed skating course during the wintertime, the wastewater treatment facility has recently been plagued by the damn alarm that keeps intermittently emitting a shrieking sound to signal a failed pump. I trundle  my ass out there, check to make sure that all is OK with the water levels (they're fine), reset the float, and think all is well.  6 hours later it starts all over again.  It really is nothing serious, but I am going to have to do something as the sound is definitely irritating, especially for fans of Gummo the Balloon Boy, as he races for the finish line coming out of the turn over in corner 3. 

• the breakdown of the 42" FTI plasma TV/entertainment system.  I don't watch a whole lot of TV.  The unit itself is barely 4 years old.  Suddenly last night, Mrs. Kfred attempts to turn the unit on to monitor the questions on Are You Smarter than a 5th Grader?  in hopes that perhaps the Misfits might have met a competitive level for us to be proud about (to this point, they haven't), and the damn TV doesn't work.  Mustering my deep electronic knowledge, I stand in front of the TV and turn the power switch on and off a couple of times.  Nothing.  I then search  the FTI resource library to find every owners manual of anything we have ever bought:  Electric pencil sharpener, 17 year old clock radio, 2 models ago  toaster, current refrigerator, hair curling iron (really, Dear?  The owners manual for a hair curling iron.  What the hell are we keeping this for!?) Finally finding the manual for the TV, I find the troubleshooting index and do everything I am supposed to.  Same result.  My fear is that the repair will be equal to the cost of a new TV.  Of course, the fact that what I paid over $2000 4 years ago can now be had for $699 brings me about the same amount of pain as I experience when I hear the initial practice sessions of the FTI Holiday Choir (we'll be discussing that in an upcoming post as well).     So, a call to the repairman today is in order. 

I will post updates to the results of these and some other troubling aspects as they occur.  I'm sure it's nothing that a few bucks can't fix.  I will be consulting with Dickie the Peap to see if we should repair or just revert to reading books by candlelight ala Abe Lincoln in the 1850's for entertainment.   After all, it's cheaper. 

The Season of Joy begins

In anticipation of the upcoming holidays and taking advantage of a break in the weather yesterday, I was able to get outdoors and start the preparation of decorating the Institute with outdoor Christmas lights yesterday.   Not wanting to repeat the fiasco we experienced last year when I instructed Gummo the Balloon Boy to decorate, I took it upon myself to plan the layout and put everything together. And, if I do say so myself, it came out pretty well. I have to do some upper second story work next weekend as the light faded before I finished, but, that's OK.  I'm not ready to turn them on this early anyway.  Regardless, it is a scene reminiscent of any holiday postcard. 

Now, if I can just get the Misfits to start behaving, we should be able to capture that special Kodak moment and not have something like this.      

It's Sunday Brunch

Hey c'mon, it's Sunday and tough enough to get this group to think during the week. We get a day off too, you know. I'm taking the staff out to Brunch. Every time one of the Misfits say, do, or think something stupid, they have to put a dollar in the jar. We call it our Brunch fund. And as far as I can forecast, there's going to be a lot of Sunday meals.

Just like Sunday Brunch, most of the stuff here is overvalued, pre-cooked, and have already been sneezed on  by some snotty 6 year old kid.  But, go ahead:  take a look here and see if any of these days old items are to your liking.  Like most places, our admonishments are the same:  "Take as much as you want, read all that you take".

The weekly struggle begins again tomorrow.  See you then.

Let's get out there and shop

Well, Thanksgiving is over. Now let the real sport begin.

I am off today to begin my Christmas shopping. Mrs.Kfred is out with a friend to go to the various holiday bazaar's for those "special and unique Christmas items.*" While she is determining the next got-to-have- Christmas decoration to be displayed here at the Institute, I am on my own for the personal gifts to find for the family and friends. This is always a struggle as I never quite know what to get for those people on my shopping list; they are such a hard bunch to shop for. Some suggestions: A Kindle reading device, a digital picture frame, a new office chair?   All of these are on my research list today.

I shouldn't complain, however.  Part of my holiday tasks are quite easy.  For instance, shopping for the Misfits is not too difficult.  The Green Comic will be  satisfied with the signed, yellowing copy of a script of a 1971 episode of the old TV show Hee-Haw; Gummo the Balloon Boy has lately taken an interest in modern art; I found a book on how to make figurines from earwax which should keep him enthralled for days.  Of course, following the spirit of giving a gift from the heart and rather than supporting crass commercialism, I made a gift for Dickie the Peap that I know he certainly will treasure:   a simple handmade chart detailing profit levels  based on a 200% labor rate mark-up for any jobs  he does for Friends and Family.  After all, if you can't charge friends exorbitant rates, how would you make any money?

In the end, though, it's the thought that counts.  Thankfully, I only have to exert a few thoughts for half of my shopping list.  I'll let you determine which half. 

*gaudy, useless candle holders in the shape of reindeer, etc.

Jukebox: There will be a lot of this, Today

A pause for thanks 2010

Once again,  today is Thanksgiving; my favorite holiday. I have never thought Thanksgiving has received the proper respect; it's more than a bump in the road on the calendar toward Christmas. Everyone is in a hurry on the highway of life, but, Thanksgiving is the "Reduced Speed Ahead" sign that safely brings our life priorities back into focus.  Mrs. Kfred and I are having dinner with Marv the Neighbor and his wife as we are childless on this family day.  Kfred Jr 1 and his wife, Goldilocks, are going to join us for dinner tomorrow instead as they are returning from visiting her family out of town.   Kfred Jr 2, again has too short of a turnaround time to be with us now, but, will be home later at Christmas. 

With those ground rules established, let me briefly recite some of the things I am thankful for:  First and foremost,  I am thankful for my wonderful life partner, best friend, lover, and thought compass for 29 years, Mrs. Kfred. I love you dear.  I am thankful for the above mentioned 2 offspring and our newest addition, Goldilocks,  She is a wonderful girl.  I am thankful for my job within Dilbertland.  Like any job, there are things you don't like, but they have been fair to me and have treated me well  (I know people whom are suffering with unemployment right now and one truly should be grateful).   I am grateful for my siblings: Brother Eddie, Gertie, and Ace.  Though separated by many miles, I actually think we are closer than when we were kids living under the same roof. Of course,  I am thankful for my friendship with  the  dimwits that serve as inspirational fodder for subjects posted here on a daily basis: the more than 30 year affiliation with the  "Trinity of Idiocy" consisting of Gummo the Balloon Boy, the Green Comic, and Rat Bastard G; that golfing hack, Dickie the Peap; my Assistant Executive Director/Resident Trustee, Giacommo; and the rest. With the antics and ideas that involve you, this is really easy to do on a daily basis.  Please, don't stop. And finally, the readers, I thank you.  Our 2 faithful readers continue to get in the act and are actually close to becoming part of the story.   To the rest of those whom are mistakenly directed to this site when they are searching for something actually meaningful to read, I apologize.  You have to admit, though, it is kind of like seeing an accident on the roadside.  Admit it:  you want to see a body, don't you?   Wherever you are, I wish you a great holiday and thank you for your support. I'll be back tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that.

My life is truly blessed.

An image makeover

I got off of the phone with  the Rat Bastard G yesterday whom informed me that he is tiring of his 5 week old goatee and is considering shaving it off.  I asked him why he wants to get rid of it so soon after growing it and he informed me he just wants to go another direction with his appearance. 

Initially, I thought the idea was kind of loopey in the first place as it does not quite match his persona as a fat, old, white rapper.  Oddly, his act as  an opener for the Green Comic, has been met with positive feedback.  G is kind of like a bad boy Barry Manilow:  crisp around the edges and kind of doughy in the middle.    Anyway, he doesn't seem to care about what his audience may think.  He is thinking of jettisoning it all. 

This conversation got me thinking.  Instead of ditching the goatee and re-embracing  his personna as the middle aged answer to the 90's rapper Vanilla Ice,  I think he ought to attempt to shift his direction entirely and become more like  Emperor Wang the Perverted character in the 1970's science fiction/porno parody  Flesh Gordon.  Obviously, there is risk in trading out your fanbase. And yes, you are going to need to come up with a new tagline.   In the meantime, you can always use the one that brought laughs for Emperor Wang:  "Up yours, Gordon". 

Your weather forecast with our slant

Under the terms of our original charter, our purpose here at  FTI is to engage in  alternative interpretation and observations of everyday life.  While striving to do so and to present the side of a subject that others may not have considered, we always feel that in doing so, the result will be an easy to understand and comprehensive analysis.  We take pride in that and think we do it better than anyone else.  We now, however,  may have met our match.

The Institute is located in a fairly temperate region where we receive occasional, scant snowfall totals during the winter season.  Many years, there is no measurable snowfall totals at all.  One of the reasons  Mrs. Kfred and I moved to this area was to leave a more vigorous winter area behind.  I don't mind snow, but quite honestly, if I don't see it again ever in my life, it wouldn't bother me a bit.      Over the last few days a developing cold front and approaching wet system have been forecast to collide over our area.  Of course, all of the television stations and local papers have led with these stories to stir people up and warn them to be prepared for the coming "arctic blast" (lows forecast to be 20-25 F).  The hard hitting reporting by the local media finally exploded with this earth-shattering quote from a meteorologist from the National Weather Service:  "cold air and moisture are the ingredients for snow".

A major hurdle for us here at FTI is to constantly find sites where our "affiliates" can be transitioned back to society with a minimum amount of disruption of their habits and thinking processes while housed with us.  I am pleased to announce we have entered into a working agreement with the National Weather Service  whom have allocated the next 2 vacancies within their department to be filled by former FTI personnel.  It should be a good match for both sides.

It's Sunday Brunch

Hey c'mon, it's Sunday and tough enough to get this group to think during the week. We get a day off too, you know. I'm taking the staff out to Brunch. Every time one of the Misfits say, do, or think something stupid, they have to put a dollar in the jar. We call it our Brunch fund. And as far as I can forecast, there's going to be a lot of Sunday meals.

Just like Sunday Brunch, most of the stuff here is overvalued, pre-cooked, and have already been sneezed on  by some snotty 6 year old kid.  But, go ahead:  take a look here and see if any of these days old items are to your liking.  Like most places, our admonishments are the same:  "Take as much as you want, read all that you take".

The weekly struggle begins again tomorrow.  See you then.

I know it's out here somewhere

This individual actually  was our top candidate to head the FTI Valet Services until this unfortunate incident came to light and was ultimately passed over.   He is, however, still in consideration to be our answer to Kreskin during the midnight floorshow. 

Portland, Oregon-- Who among us has driven 2,000 miles, reported our wheels stolen and dropped $1,400 on billboards offering a reward – only to discover that we were looking on the wrong street?

Mark Walther of Oklahoma City says he's "mighty embarrassed."
On Nov. 9, after two days of driving, the 58-year-old retired municipal employee and U.S. Navy Reservist pulled into Portland to deal with his deceased sister's estate.

He stretched his legs, grabbed a burger, and returned to where he thought he had parked his trusty 1992 Toyota pickup.  It wasn't there.

Sure, he looked around. No sign. So he reported the old King Cab truck stolen.

But he wasn't ready to say goodbye to the truck, the mountain bike in the back, the Neil Young and John Prine CDs on the front seat, or the miles of memories.

After flying home, he put down $1,400 for two billboards with a photo of the green truck and a $5,000-reward offer (no questions asked).  He also placed a classified ad in The Oregonian: "2 time Iraq War veteran desperate for return of vehicle!"

Then, on Wednesday, a woman called Walther. She asked him to come move his truck so that she could rake the leaves piled up under it.   The woman, who spotted Walther's phone number on a piece of paper on the dashboard, lived about five blocks away from where he thought he parked.

Walther explained that it didn't help that he arrived in Portland after dark. "I got turned around in an awful way," he said.

"I'm usually pretty good at directions," Walther says. "I guess the Lord's not done teaching me lessons, so he's shoving a big one down my throat."

Jukebox: Where we get off

Waiter, there are some hairs on my plate

Citing this news story, an anonymous inquiry into any vacancies here at FTI has prompted a complete review of our admission policies.  We certainly have admitted less qualified candidates, but, I have a feeling the admission bar would be raised to an unsustainable level if these two guys made it.   


LAWRENCEBURG, Ky. — Two central Kentucky men were sentenced to probation in connection with a bizarre case in which a third man said he was forced to eat his beard after an argument. The Lexington Herald-Leader reported 47-year-old Troy Holt and 51-year-old James Hill were sentenced Tuesday in Anderson Circuit Court.

Harvey Westmoreland of Lawrenceburg had said Holt cut off his beard and forced him to eat it while Hill allegedly held a sickle blade to Westmoreland and his brother during the May incident.

Holt could not say why he made Westmoreland eat his beard other than that things "got out of control" after some heavy drinking.

He added, "I ain't got no excuses about what I done."

Hill had no comment after sentencing.

It's now starting to go full circle

The good folks in Dilbertland are now beginning to get in the act and I am becoming a bit concerned. A recent mandate came down that I must purchase a  phone in order to comply with some new information reporting software being introduced. My current 6 month old Droid phone apparently is not supported under the platform being used, so, it's either an iPhone or a Blackberry. The catch is that I have to pay for it out of my pocket. No reimbursement, no compensation. $200 out the door, just like that. In Dickie the Peap terms, that's approximately equivalent to 6 months of whining and claiming to be broke.

As much as I have tried, I have always isolated the type of thinking that emanates from our Institute in order to have most polluted thinking isolated within a secure area.  Obviously, there is a leak somewhere on the perimeter and we could have a full blown crisis on our hands shortly if something is not corrected soon.  Or, alternatively, we may be looking at adding one more individual to our group.  Neither scenario is promising.     

Jukebox: What are we waiting for?

Should I stay or should I go?

A non-FTI affiliated observation for today:

I think I would like to open an advanced techniques traffic school.  This would be for experienced drivers whom wanted to further their abilities in normal traffic.  Not to make money.  Simply to educate people on proper technique.  Priority No 1:  left turns into oncoming traffic at an intersection. 

Yesterday, I spent 4 rotations of a green light cycle waiting in a left hand turn lane while the motorist at the front of the line couldn't/ wouldn't/didn't have the proper ability to advance any further.  It's damn frustrating as it is, sitting in line, while traffic  is so heavy that you can't advance.  It is quite another thing when you begin to realize that the reason you are waiting is that the driver at the head of the line is too timid to get into the intersection, wait for traffic to clear, and make the damn turn!  I was third in line at an intersection behind a wide, dual axled, 3/4 ton pick up truck whom (it later was determined) was behind a mini van at the front of the line.  When I arrived, the green light had just turned yellow with a constant stream of oncoming traffic advancing the other way.  My thought was at least I would be in second position on the next  green arrow.  Too my surprise, the light turned red and no one advanced.  I figured the guy in the truck was a  bit shy, but, hey I can wait.   Next green arrow, he doesn't move but there are a ton of cars coming at us, so I figure he will just get out there at the last minute before the light turns.  Red arrow again and now I am starting to get a bit concerned.  The third cycle begins and now I hear a constant horn beginning to blow.  I then hear another 2 horns start honking (honking horns is contagious, isn't it?).  Not wanting to miss out on the fun, I start honking my horn as well.  Three guys from the machine shop on the corner come out of their shop to check out the source of commotion and and start pointing at the front of the line.  The guy in front of  me rolls down his window, gets his  face in the mirror, and gives me the 2 palms up sign.  This is when I stick my head out the window and realize that a middle aged woman is driving a minivan and not getting her ass in gear and getting out of the way.  Finally, at the end of this cycle, she s-l-o-w-l-y eases around the corner and ends the frustration.  Total time elapsed :  4 minutes.

Now my life is not so busy that I can't wait four minutes for anything.   I certainly do not advocate anyone taking unwise chances in traffic in order to make a turn.  There is a mindset, however, that in order to be pleasing to everyone, you need to accommodate anyone.  I don't buy that thinking.  When the light turns green, pull into the intersection, and wait until there is room to make the left.  If no room appears and you are still in the intersection when the light turns red, the cross-traffic will be inconvenienced for about a second as you complete the turn and go on you way.  That's it.

Lesson Over.  We accept Visa and Mastercard.           

Yeah. I will take a combo.

The recent decision by the San Francisco Board of Supervisors to ban the practice of giving away free toys with meals has been a lively topic of discussion among the Misfits here at FTI.  Though we are located nowhere near San Francisico and are not subject to this ruling, the Misfits have been very anxious about the ramifications that may result if this type of thinking spreads elsewhere among politicians.  

Personallly, I am relieved.  There  already is enough squabbling among our group while going through the drive-thru.  It is normally a painful experience.  Gummo always has to get a balloon, Dickie the Peap starts whining if there isn't some play money, and The Rat Bastard G is an idiot.  It doesn't matter what he gets.  It has nothing to do with free toys.  He is still an idiot.

I just hope that in the future, the option of small portions of alcohol for the person in charge of the vehicle (Not the driver!) becomes an option.    My meal would be so much happier.   

The Queen is not amused

As noted previously here, our decision to exit from Facebook was an easy decision. I haven't looked back and no one seems to have really cared. That's fine. I like the anonymity.

Now, it turns out that the Queen of England has decided to join Facebook and, within hours, more than 50,000 people rushed to "like" the Queen. Of course, you can't "friend" her or "poke"(?) her, (EDITOR'S NOTE TO GREEN COMIC: enter someone else's cheap joke here) but, you can "like" her. I am quite certain that among those 50,000 people are those whom are intrigued with the monarchy itself, but, have never actually met the Queen. So, why would you waste your time to "friend" someone you don't even know?

I relay all of this as the subject of reinstating our Facebook page is on the agenda of today's weekly staff meeting.  A hardcore contingent  advocates a return to the social setting scene while I am holding out to not bother.  My reasoning?  Slateface, Rat Bastard G, Crazy, Freako Deako, etc.  Nobody actually knows this group.  Why would they want to follow them or "friend" them? 

I can only envision one scenario of actually reinstating our status:  I wonder if the Queen wouldn't mind being classified as a Misfit.

It's all about self-awareness

Among my numerous responsibilities here at FTI are to oversee the direct health and welfare of the Misfits.  After all, the sound thinking and observations exhibited here are the direct result of  proper nutrition, plenty of sleep, and healthy eating habits.  We do engage in a daily exercise routine and calisthenics and dietary analysis , but, for a long time, I have been trying to find some alternative types of help as well.  I recently read an article of the positive benefits of yoga and thought I might introduce a routine  to the Misfits.  Unfortunately, the results were not what I had intended. 

The recent attempts by 2 of our members  posted here are not a display of failure; rather a reinforcement of the caveat that Yoga is not for everyone.  Especially those with limited mental capacity.   I think we may seek some alternative methods of mind awareness.

Jukebox: The stories are in my head

A case of mistaken identity

I am currently traveling out of town on official non-institute business on behalf of the good folks of Dilbertland.  It goes with the territory; I actually like to travel a bit.  It gets me away from the Misfits.   While starting my personal  grooming routine this morning, I noted that my extra razor was nowhere to be found in my travel kit.  I use a manual razor and for some reason it was now not in my travel shaving kit.  I don't know why, but, no big deal.  I will go down to the gift shop in the hotel and buy another. 

Arriving in the gift shop, I  peruse all of the useless souvenirs, sweatshirts, coffee mugs, and key chains and find the personal care shelf.  On the shelf is a blisterpack package of a small 2 oz can of shaving creme and a cheap disposable razor.  I grab it and take it to the counter for purchase.  The clerk greets me with a smile and asks me if there will be anything else.  While doing this, I note she is looking at me in a funny way.  I assume it is simply because I am not clean shaven and think nothing of it, but, she persists.  Now, I am beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable over this attention and ask if she is OK.  She said "You look kind of familiar.  Are you that guy that deals with those weirdo's?  What is it? Fathead Thinking?"  Now, I think to myself, "Fathead Thinking!?  Are you kidding me!?  Is this what we have become?"    The better than one year's effort of my carefully cultivated image building, the tireless pursuit of excellence, the dogged dedication to rooting out the truth, and the unswerving goal of dealing with society's losers in a central location in order to spare others the misery and burden of having to do so.  And she describes it as "Fathead Thinking"?

I am growing a beard.  It should minimize the appearance of my large skull.

Oh well, there's always next year

Trick-or-Treaters   8
Misfits                        0  (F)



In the second matchup in their short existence, the FTI Misfits once again came up with a valiant effort, but, all for naught in a losing effort to the visiting Trick or Treaters, losing 8-0. 

The Misfits were befuddled all night by the swarming attack of the Trick or Treaters led by 5 year old "Fairy Princess" and the 11 year old, "Koltar, He-Man of the Universe".   Relentless pressure from outside and the continuing cowering of key Misifts including the Rat Bastard G and  The Green Comic contributed to the poor overall effort by the FTI Misfits.  Said FTI player/coach Dickie the Peap, "I take the blame for our lack of aggressive play this week.  I have been busy counting and recounting my money and I just didn't have time to properly prepare our squad.   I guess I should have diagrammed better greetings than thinking of new ways to avoid paying for any  meals."  An unidentified FTI source seconded the Peap's analysis with a terse,  "No truer words were ever spoken", comment.

The Misfits will be in action again next year and hopefully respond with a better effort. 

It's Sunday Brunch

Hey c'mon, it's Sunday and tough enough to get this group to think during the week. We get a day off too, you know. I'm taking the staff out to Brunch. Every time one of the Misfits say, do, or think something stupid, they have to put a dollar in the jar. We call it our Brunch fund. And as far as I can forecast, there's going to be a lot of Sunday meals.

Just like Sunday Brunch, most of the stuff here is overvalued, pre-cooked, and have already been sneezed on  by some snotty 6 year old kid.  But, go ahead:  take a look here and see if any of these days old items are to your liking.  Like most places, our admonishments are the same:  "Take as much as you want, read all that you take".

The weekly struggle begins again tomorrow.  See you then.The weekly struggle begins again tomorrow.  See you then.

I know there's a hydrant around here somewhere

Probably the fault of the new guy.   

Think of it this way:  Now they can teach the kids there is an extra exit point out of the house when a real fire occurs. 

Jukebox: You have a choice this coming Tuesday

I'm Kfred and I approved this message

EDITORS NOTE:  THE FOLLOWING IS AN UNPAID COMMENTARY.  NO ACTUAL MONEY, GOODS, OR SERVICES WERE EXCHANGED IN RETURN FOR THIS CONTRIBUTION.

I have returned my 2010 election ballot to my county elections officer and am done with the whole process.  Good riddance. 

As oft stated here, the official FTI party line is that we trust no politicians.   Regardless of party affiliation or stated goals, these individuals have extremely short memories and suddenly forget their promises once they gain office.  The old saying that "I hate all of the Representatives except mine" is not  valid around here.  If they currently hold office, as far as I am concerned,  the count on them  is currently 0-2 with the next pitch called to be an unhittable fastball coming down the middle.  Honestly, I'm looking for the guy (or gal)  on deck to rescue us.    

With that being said, however, I do reserve the right to support any representative willing to go out on a limb and support the services we so desperately need here at FTI:  Fully subsidized adult daycare, drool bibs for the asking, and continuing monies to study the causes of idiocy as housed here.    Now, those are some causes I believe in.    

OK. Now put that thing away.

Mrs. Kfred and I are invited to a Halloween party this coming Friday night.  I am always amazed how adults have hijacked this innocent night of kid's celebration  into something for themselves.  I don't remember all of the adult centered events when I was a kid.  It just seems like the adults have stolen this day as an excuse to party in drag.  Kind of like the Green Comic's audience when he starts singing karaoke.  Anyways, my task was to develop a costume.

Now, most Halloween parties have the obligatory couples with the his and her theme:  Superman and Lois Lane, Adam and Eve, Bill and Hillary, Ziegfried and Roy, etc.  Mrs. Kfred was about to have no part in a couples themed get-up, so, I was on my own.   Trying to think what men wear to these type of parties,  I realized  there are the standard men wearing womens clothes, Surgical scrubs, soldier fatigues and the like.  I wanted to do something edgy, something different.  I have been told that my ceremonial Executive Director's regalia is splendid and very costume-like and that I should wear it.  Of course, the solemnity and reverence of that garb is nearly spiritual-like and that  wearing it to a common Halloween party would be tantamount to blasphemy.  Besides, I wouldn't want to get it dirty before I compete at our yearly FTI  BBQ Ribfest and Catfish Fry  Smackdown.   No, I needed something a bit different. 

After a few days of quiet meditation, careful consideration, and considerable planning, it came to me: I would be the Genie in the Bottle!    Unable to locate my 90's era MC Hammer pants, nor, my Mr. Clean Bald Skullcap, I realized some quick improvisation was in order.   Patterning specifically after Disney's Aladdin character, I was able to throw the garb pictured below together in short order. 

I feel confident about the costume.  I'm just not sure how I am going to be able to steer the car. 

I don't think Peter will be classified as a faithful reader

Preparing to describe and recount the events concerning the selection of my costume for an upcoming Halloween bash, I was surprised when I sat down at the computer this morning. 

I purposely take the staff out on Sunday for Sunday Brunch as a means to rebuild team spirit and to give us a day off.  It's the least I can do for the Misfits.  I also note this fact in our normal Sunday posting.  Imagine my surprise, then, when I received a comment from Peter in Sweden whom posted a poem plus links to some of his other works in yesterday's Sunday comments.  Not only does he want to post his poems, but, he also bribes me with a promotion link offering to  "advertise you indefinitely" while stating he "will follow you in return" if I promote his website as a blog I follow.  A cursory review shows that Peter follows approximately 435 different blogs.  I have a feeling he probably can't keep up with all of them.  I have a small embedded measuring device that tracks the time spent here at Flatline Thinking.  Peter spent a total of 21 seconds cutting, pasting, and posting his comments to our site.  Our background and charter amendments specifically state that we offer no bribes to follow this site or write insightful poetry/haiku pieces.  Apparently Peter didn't use his 21 seconds wisely to review these key tenets. 

Like many a wine gone bad, our site looks fine on the outside.  It's when you sample it that you realize even the fruit flies stay away from the shit.   Holding our near daily recitations in a much higher regard, however, I do  understand that it is definitely an acquired taste.  (Our two faithful readers were obviously imbibing when they stumbled upon us in the first place and continued to over indulge and now not only follow us, but, also have the neighbors whisper behind their backs about "their problem".)    Regardless, Peter you seem to be a great poet.  It's just that our readers aren't going to know it. 

Tomorrow:  My Halloween costume

It's Sunday Brunch

Hey c'mon, it's Sunday and tough enough to get this group to think during the week. We get a day off too, you know. I'm taking the staff out to Brunch. Every time one of the Misfits say, do, or think something stupid, they have to put a dollar in the jar. We call it our Brunch fund. And as far as I can forecast, there's going to be a lot of Sunday meals.

Just like Sunday Brunch, most of the stuff here is overvalued, pre-cooked, and have already been sneezed on  by some snotty 6 year old kid.  But, go ahead:  take a look here and see if any of these days old items are to your liking.  Like most places, our admonishments are the same:  "Take as much as you want, read all that you take".

The weekly struggle begins again tomorrow.  See you then.

The Delights of Autumn

Mrs. Kfred and I are headed out today with Marv, the Neighbor and his wife on a little fall excursion.  To date, it has been a great fall with above normal temperatures and some glorious sun.  I do think, though, that extended  bad weather is lurking around the corner, so, now is the time to get out a bit. 

We are going to take an approximate 60 mile journey to enjoy the local harvest in the vicinity near the compound.  The Fruit Loop run is a tour of local farms and wineries to sample and buy various seasonal produce, wines, textiles, crafts, and baked goods.  When this idea was initially floated last weekend, Marv and I thought it was splendid idea as we were both highly confident the community where we are headed would have plenty of bars where we could drink beer, watch college football, and ogle the wives and girlfriends of other men  forced  also agreeing to participate in this exercise while the women shopped.  That concept was immediately vetoed without any discussion (which is actually a violation of Roberts Rules of Order, so technically, this trip should not occur at all, but I don't think the appeals board will allow this objection) so, off to shopping for handmade earrings made from peach pits we will go. 

Hopefully, we may find some apple cider moonshine along the way.

Jukebox: Why Wait Until Then?

We'll see you in 6 months

I am scheduled today for a session with a guilty pleasure I indulge myself every 6  months.  As this is an anonymous blog, I am not afraid to discuss it.

You see, every 6 months my fear breaks down, my primitive urges take over, and  I visit my dominatrix.   She is an attractive little vixen;  approximately 30 years of age, long blonde hair, and an outwardly friendly demeanor.  Well spoken and well groomed, she is always glad to see me and always greets me with a knowing smile.  10 minutes later after our session begins, however, things take an ominous turn.  There is considerable questioning by her, blank responses from me, and then another dose of pain administered in response.   I am 6' 1" tall and weigh 200 lbs.  She is approximately 5' 4" tall and MAYBE weighs 110 lbs, and yet, she can bring me to my knees in seconds.  And I gladly pay for this treatment.  Sometimes she even brings in a partner to help or on occasion, another man.

I have had this on my calendar for 6 months.  The people in Dilbertland know I will be showing up late this morning.   Most all my friends know of this predilection of mine.  After I am through with her, I am sore, upset with myself, and have feelings of guilt.    And yet, I look forward to my visit again in 6 months.  To Colleen.  My dental hygienist. 

 

.   

Wait till we start tree trimming



Unidentified FTI staff member "riding the wave"



Alternative thinking and solution finding is, of course, our stock and trade here at FTI.  I am proud to share an example of our latest example of groupthink pictured above.  It truly is a crowning achievement. 

Having finished all of the basic fall clean up and beautification processes here at FTI , over the weekend  the last remaining task for the FTI Physical Plant/Landscaping dream team was to trim the hedges that surround the compound.    Deferred yearly maintenance trimming had resulted in a hedge that was taller than our staff could safely access via a ladder.  A number of alternative ideas were proposed and judged to be unsound including Gummo, the Balloon Boy balancing the Green Comic on his shoulders with an electric trimmer in an attempt to mimic an act from a 2nd rate traveling circus featuring a couple of Eastern European Brothers with a chain saw.   Dickie the Peap thought perhaps whacking the bush with a golf club might be appropriate as it would give him additional practice with his golf swing  in order to attempt to rescue his pathetic golf game.   Ultimately, Slateface came up with the idea of the day:  Why not mow it with a tractor?   Logistics were an obvious hurdle, so, the Misfits had a major brainstorming session dedicated to surmising a solution.  A total of 3-1/2 hours later, a plan was hatched.   

Under the watchful eye of our Safety Director, Mrs. Kfred, a plan was devised and executed to sheer perfection.  Fearing that any one of the Misfits might actually attempt to put the tractor into gear, I had a member of the landscaping team ride the tractor as it mowed the 16  foot hedge to a pristine, even cut.  Our work was so impressive that members of the local Japanese Gardening Society came  by, took pictures, and asked if we were available for consultation in regard to some of their bonsai plants.  I guess enthusiasts even recognize sheer brilliance when they see it.   

I know I am saving money, but I don't need 6 of them.

I was standing in line waiting to pay for my purchases at Costco the other day when one of their employees came up  to me  and greeted me by name.  Knowing that I did not have my official FTI identification card around my neck, nor, wearing the brightly decorated,  ceremonial Executive Director's toque (which is worn during only the most solemn of FTI events), I was a bit surprised how this guy knew me.  After all, we strive to work in total anonymity here at FTI as  a cover story in explaining the low readership traffic we experience here on a daily basis.  Regardless, I digress;  this individual noted that I had spent x amount of dollars in the last year and that I could earn cash back on all of my purchases if I chose to get a Costco/American Express card.   Now, I already have an American Express card and was not interested in the Costco brand card and politely declined his offer.  I was surprised, however, how he knew my name.  He replied that the small scanner in his hand was used to  "shoot" my card while it was on top of my purchases as it ran up the conveyor belt at checkout.  Instantly, he had my name, address, purchase history, etc.  I inquired which aisle this device was located, but was met with a puzzled reply of "They are not for sale" and to "Have a nice Day".  The guy walked off. 

My thinking is simple.  (* Rim-shot.*   Cue all of the wise assed commenter's:  Your comments are welcome, but, please do not write "How many times have you heard that before?"  Our sophistication level at this blog is a bit higher than that.)  If I had such a device that I could point at the Misfits and immediately document their stupid actions, comments, and deeds, my life would be exponentially more efficient and leave me more time to do the things I really want to do.  Like waiting in line behind a bunch of kids and oblivious shoppers for a sample of tasty, restaurant quality, lasagna bites on sale today for $7.99.   

It's Sunday Brunch

Hey c'mon, it's Sunday and tough enough to get this group to think during the week. We get a day off too, you know. I'm taking the staff out to Brunch.

And just like Sunday Brunch, most of the stuff here is overvalued, pre-cooked, and have already been sneezed on  by some snotty 6 year old kid.  But, go ahead:  take a look here and see if any of these days old items are to your liking.  Like most places, our admonishments are the same:  "Take as much as you want, read all that you take".

The weekly struggle begins again tomorrow.  See you then.

Jukebox: But you can't make him drink

Excelente, Chile

I have nothing to add to this.  Simply look at these pictures.  (It may take some time to load, but is well worth it.)

Is that organic?

It seems than in today's "green" society (which we here at FTI are are huge supporters of with our regularly scheduled and observed Green Sunday feature), one of the newest ideas gaining traction is an age old one.  Developers and landowners wishing to clear lots, hillsides, and any other coveted areas for use are forgoing the use of herbicides or gas powered weed whackers and are returning to nature.  That's right: they are renting the services of  goats to clear large areas of ground of unwanted vegetation.   Goats have a very strong digestive system which allows them to eat most weeds that other foraging animals wouldn't eat.  In addition, the digestive system of the goat actually causes the seeds of the weeds they eat to be sterile, so, in following years, there are not as many weeds in that same area. 

The hillside surrounding the FTI compound is comparable to the ground that is described above.  Thistles, weeds, and deep underbrush seem to be the norm in this area.  The FTI Physical Plant/Landscaping department  suggested this method to our rotating Executive committee during a recent meeting to clear the vegetation in preparation for the construction of our brand new  bocci ball court.   Everyone seemed fine with this idea and a motion to  go ahead and contract with the owner of some local goats for this same type of service failed, however, to generate a second one  to be carried.

I guess the FTI commissary staff doesn't want to lose their garden to a bocci ball court.

Time for a new Lawyer

In a slam-dunk, short agenda,  you have got to be kidding me,  meeting conducted by the cheap-assed Board of Directors over the weekend, I have been easily reinstated and my Executive Director powers restored  here at FTI.  Honestly, I expected nothing less. 

As a recap to our potential lone, drop-in reader, I review:  My duties and responsibilities were stripped last week after describing our  same  aforementioned cheap-assed Board of Directors as "idiots".   Shifty, my legal representative, correctly pointed out that my use of the  word "idiot" was protected under my First Amendment rights and, though not tastefully used,  was used  a substitute for the more hurtful words of:

airhead, birdbrain, blockhead, bonehead, bubblehead, chowderhead, chucklehead,  cluck, clunk, cretin,  deadhead, dim bulb  dimwit, dip, dodo,  doofus [slang], dope, dork [slang], dullard, dumbbell, dumbhead, , dummkopf, dummy, dunce, dunderhead, fathead, gander, golem, goof, goon, half-wit, hammerhead, hardhead, ignoramus, imbecile, jackass, know-nothing, knucklehead, lamebrain,  loon, lump, lunkhead, meathead, moron, nimrod [slang], nincompoop, ninny, ninnyhammer, nit [chiefly British], nitwit, noddy, noodle, numskull  oaf, pinhead, prat [British], ratbag [chiefly Australian], saphead,  schnook [slang], simpleton, stock, stupe, stupid, thickhead, woodenhead, yahoo, yo-yo.

Our negotiated settlement allows me for the continuing use of the word "idiot" when signaling my displeasure with the Board.  In return, the Board gets to continue to refer to me as the sole Executive Director here at FTI. 

I thought the lawyer was supposed to be looking out for my best interests.   

It's Sunday Brunch

Hey c'mon, it's Sunday and tough enough to get this group to think during the week. We get a day off too, you know. I'm taking the staff out to Brunch.

And just like Sunday Brunch, most of the stuff here is overvalued, pre-cooked, and have already been sneezed on  by some snotty 6 year old kid.  But, go ahead:  take a look here and see if any of these days old items are to your liking.  Like most places, our admonishments are the same:  "Take as much as you want, read all that you take".

The weekly struggle begins again tomorrow.  See you then.

10 Quick bulletpoints

Fully expecting to be reinstated and to have my Executive Director duties restored before the end of the  weekend, I have spent the last 48 hours in deep thought.  Some Random observations I wish to share: 

1. I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.

2. Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.

3. I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.

4. There is great need for a sarcasm font.

5. Was learning cursive really necessary?

6. Map Quest really needs to start their directions on # 5. I'm pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.

7. Bad decisions make good stories.

8. You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you know that you just aren't going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.

9. I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.

10. How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear or understand a word they said?

And here's a freebee:  Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever.