Pssst. Hey Buddie. Wanna stock tip?

I received a phone call last night from ...well, let's see, this is kind of delicate.....um, he's a little bashful.......well, lets just say that to protect his identity that he is an individual whom we have discussed

about earlier concerning his involvement with an eerily similar sounding venture to our organization.   Let's  just call him call him, "Mr. X".  

Now "X" is a decent kind of fellow; fairly intelligent, definitely more than a bit quirky, but overall a guy that you can count on for sound advice and information on most topics, except one: Finances, specifically, stock picking.  At that point, "Mr. X" falls off the rail and you might as well invest everything you have regardless of loss, cost, or value in any company that exclusively manufactures VCR's, horsewhips, or wall crank telephones. I can assure you that your financial position in any companies in these types of industries  would return more than what X has done with his analytical picks.

"Mr. X" originally hired a second cousin of one of the Misfits on an interim basis to act as an intern of his organization. The resultant failure of this experience made me realize that though X is still one of my confidants, he certainly will not be my financial adviser. Anyways, X was bemoaning the fact that he had a particular investment that he had been holding for a period of time and decided to take a small profit from it and immediately put an order to his broker to sell it all the next morning. Sure enough, the next morning, the investment opened to the downside, further shrinking Mr. X's profit, but, hey, a profit is a profit. Then just as quickly, it reversed course and went up a full $1.25 a share before settling higher for the entire day. As a result, Mr. X watched $6,000 float by his greedy, grubby, overcharging, whining, little meathooks without snagging any part of it.

I feel sorry for X.  Instead of the Midas touch, he has something else.  I think it resembles the short-armed touch. 

From barbells to dumbells

I have begun to take advantage of a new Christmas gift that showed up here at the Institute during the past holiday season. It is designed to help improve my health, balance, and weight and I am having fun doing it.

Santa brought Mrs.Kfred a Nintendo Wii Fit Board and game for Christmas, and I must say, I am impressed. Having requested one last year, at the time I thought Mrs.Kfred might have had made another an unauthorized entry into the FTI infirmary and gotten into a bit extra of the healing spirits we keep here for medicinal purposes only (and when Marv the Neighbor comes over to socialize).  Instead, the Wii Fit has turned into a fun way to exercise without realizing it.  You are doing physical activity and balance exercises without the boring repetitive counting while burning calories along the way.  Make no mistake, the weight training part is not a game and is no picnic, but, since you choose your own level of difficulty, you can certainly control the level of intensity. 

So impressed with the Wii board, that I sent of an e-mail to Nintendo praising them for their fine work and explaining my duties here at the Institute.  I described our population in great detail and offered to collaborate on a new instrument they may be interested for developing, measuring, and recording the numerical equivalent of  the degree of thought process and intelligence quotient in individuals similar to our population here at FTI.  I was subsequently informed that the thimble has evolved to also serve this purpose. 
   

It's New Year's Sunday Brunch

Hey c'mon, it's the first Sunday of the year and tough enough to get this group to think during the entire last year let alone start eliciting anything meaningful from them now. 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.

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.