Monday, August 31, 2009
Anyway, down to business: I got my first fan mail the other day from someone I don't even know. They will remain unnamed as some might find their letter a bit, well, downright funny. I don't because it uncovers the lies behind the truth. All I will tell you is that it's from a fan in Missouri. Here's their letter, verbatim; it came to me handwritten. Every sentence needs a (sic) after it but I thought that would take away from the wonderful flow that the letter has. My response follows.
Thought you might like this info on 2 books.
"INTO THE LIGHT" BY WM. CAMPBELL DOUGLAS II; a 4th generation Dr. and his son is a 5th generation doctor-- see enclosed order form. We developed "ultra violet light" in the US in the 20's as a medical treatment. 7,000 cases have been treated-- no side effects. IN AERICA ONE HAD AIDS SO BAD HE COULDNT GO TO WORK-- 20 TREATMENTS LATER HE WENT TO WORK!!
IN THE USA ONE WAS GIVEN 70 TREATMENTS and he is free of aids.
Usually one treatment is enough. IT TURNS YOUR BODY ON SO IT HEALS ITSELF.
Used widely in Russia-- no money for pills.
AMA, FDA AND AMERICAN CANCER ASSOC. + BIG PHARMACIEL WILL FIGHT THIS.
ALSO "THE CHINA STUDY" 30 YEAR STUDY OF NUTRITION BY CORNELL UNIVERSITY.
Think you will enjoy this immensley!
PS: INTO THE LIGHT WILL BLOW YOUR MIND!
I am glad to hear that you are enjoying the blog. I think it's really funny and you should too. I appreciate your interest in holistic medicine; this Dr. Douglass sounds like a real treat! I am not sure how they bypassed his literature in medical school. It is probably because I went to a state-funded medical school and they don't want "insubordinate" medical topics taught, but that's because our medical schools are funded by the CIA and big pharma. If it's good enough for Russia, it must be good enough for me!
I do have one question, how can he be a fourth generation doctor when his name says he is "William Campbell Douglass II"? Isn't that an oxymoron? And one other question, if UV light usually only requires one treatment, why did one guy require seventy just to get rid of the AIDS? There are medicine men in Africa that can cure it just with some herbs and stuff.
But seriously, this guy seems to be on to something. I have always thought that AIDS was developed by the American government or some other shadowy organization. His book "AIDS and Biological Warfare: What They Are Not Telling You!" could have saved millions if they had just shipped the book to Africa in the mid-80's and told everyone to read it while they were bottle-feeding their starving children. I mean, that is, if HIV does in fact even cause AIDS! Haha!
There are a couple other books of his I find interesting. "Eat Your Cholesterol! How to Live off the Fat of the Land and Feel Great" is really relieving for me, since I am currently eating three slices of bacon, four ounces of chorizo sausage, two eggs friend in chorizo and bacon grease, and two grease-fried tortillas with eight slices of cheddar on top. I am going to lick the grease off the plate to celebrate the health benefits of this tasty and healthful meal!
But my personal favorite book on his reading list is: "The Smoker's Paradox: Health Benefits of Tobacco." YES. Finally I can start smoking those wonderful cigarettes and not worry about rare but troublesome issues like small cell lung cancer and emphysema. Is chewing tobacco as good for you as smoking cigarettes? Cause I could do both if Dr. Douglass thinks it would have health benefits. I have always thought that the so-called "smoker's cough" was actually a GOOD thing, because when babies are born and they cough that is a good sign; why would it be any different in middle-aged or elderly people? And I had always thought that a slight reduction in pancreatic cancer was about the ONLY benefit of smoking, how silly! You can get all the benefits of smoking for only $200 a month, and we prescribe prescription pills that can poison you and cost the same! I am just going to write scripts for cigarettes from now on. The government has clearly been demonizing tobacco just to divert money to big pharma and make money from their conspiracy-driven lawsuits against the tobacco companies.
Anyway faithful blog reader, fight on. I am ready to have my mind BLOWN by "Into the Light" and other hidden classics by Dr. Douglass. I can't find that much information on the web about him though, and alot of it is filed under the topics "quack". What does this mean? It must be a title of respect like "chief" or "hallowed physician/genius". I can't wait to read his rebuttal of global warming theories as well!
PS-- Can I borrow your UV light? Cure for AIDS.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
I was sitting on a bar stool at William' Tavern in uptown Denver. The place is kind of a dive, I would post a picture but I can't figure out how to download pictures on a Macintosh. There is no right mouse button and it infuriates me!!! I was sitting on the left end of the bar with a very attractive woman sitting to my right. To her right was a fairly suspicious looking, goateed and lonely guy with a beer and a shot in front of him. Here's a security camera video of the lineup (this is actual footage from Williams Tavern):
I was talking to the attractive girl when a woman on my left interrupted us and commented that we were a very cute couple. I flatly denied this accusation and asked for a more manly title on our relationship. She laughed and asked if she could buy us drinks. At that point my resistance faded and I realized that being a cute couple could be really lucrative. I turned to the other half of the couple:
RetiredJK: "I didn't really think we were that cute."
Woman: "We're not."
RJK: "We should try to be cute more often."
And the night wore on. I played my favorite combo on the jukebox, a combo of Phil Collins' "In The Air Tonight" and Lady Gaga's "Poker Face." There was quite a bit of dancing.
Anyway, we ended up sitting at the same seats at the bar, and the same guy I mentioned earlier was still seated next to her. At one point he interjected something into our conversation but nothing memorable, and my knowledge of him is currently limited to that comment (which I have since forgotten).
When it came time to leave the bar, everyone in our clique was saying goodbyes, hugging, and eating Cheetos. The aforementioned guy at the bar got up and approached me. I like to seem approachable so I didn't think much of it. But all of a sudden the guy said, "It was great getting to know you." I was so taken aback by the comment (since, of course, I hadn't really met him) that I didn't notice his left arm wrapping around me and landing somewhere in the region of my ass. At first, I thought he was going for my wallet, which would have been disastrous since I had all my $1's and$5's for the club later in there. I still didn't really understand what was going on for a few seconds, when I said something like: "Why's your hand still there?"
And then he smiled kind of like Samwell does in the "What What" video and I realized that I was in the process of being assaulted, sexually. I demanded $20 for the cheap feel and my emotional trauma but he just offered to buy me a drink. I really, really wish we could have gotten a picture of the offender and turned this guy in, because I'm pretty sure he is a serial toucher of guys at bars. They need a mascot for anti-grabbing laws at bars, like Smokey the Bear reps for forest fire prevention. I am the poster boy for fighting against unwanted male-on-male grabbing especially if there is no cash transfer involved.
The motto is "No Molestation without Compensation."
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
I don't know what that means. If it's a metaphor, it's lost on me. The only thing I can think of is that he can rearrange his fingers into an anagram that spells "We won dip" (the extra W comes from the thumbs put together), "Indee Wop", or simply use his left hand and say "peon" (the irony is amazing). I also am pretty sure he borrowed that suit-tie-hemp bracelet combo.
So we traveled to the Ice House, hoping that tickets would be plentiful. At $20 apiece, I could have fed myself at McDonald's for days. But Ice promised more nutrition, lyrically, than all the double cheeseburgers (now McDoubles) in the world could provide. The only exception is when they play those "I'm Lovin' It" commercials because some of those actually have better lyrics than his new stuff.
The show started in the parking lot of a sports bar, which was bad sign number one: they wouldn't even let the performer and his fans into the bar. Jagermeister sponsored his tour and it took place on the back of a semi trailer. Lighting? Forgot about that. Backups dancers? Must have had the night off. Dozens of random black dudes standing on the trailer and doing nothing during the concert? CHECK. They seemed to function as some type of security/legitimacy-lending firm, and I don't know if you had to sign up ahead of time or if you could just jump on the trailer.
Also watching were about a hundred eager fans, more prescient than I, who realized that a) the concert would not be worth $20 b) they could stand across the street and watch the concert just as well as paying guests and c) they could drink for free if they used opaque cups. Damn them! The only price they had to pay was when Vanilla chided them for being cheap, although I don't think his exhortation to buy tickets really had any effect except to get fans to ask for their money back.
The concert started as we hoped it would: Ice Ice Baby. In fact, the song was played three times in whole or part. We also got a sample of Ninja Rap from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II soundtrack, one of his lesser-known classics. But he also slogged through some of his newer, heavy-metal stuff, which frustrated people who really just wanted him to play Ice Ice Baby for an hour. One drunken female fan even heaved her drink at him, cup and all. That's how close we were able to get to the legend. It was so empty you could hear every catcall.
One of the things I remember most about the concert was the waste of bottled water. Despite it not being particularly hot outside, he felt the need to shower the crowd with water every couple minutes, between most songs, during the instrumental breaks, and whenever he got booed. I think he went through about twenty bottles during the show.
Toward the end, he handed the mic off to his "homeboy", local rapper Shorty Spice. I'm pretty sure they had never met before, but Vanilla took this opportunity to invite all the "b*itches" in the crowd onstage. They had to pass the seven test, which means that they had to be about a seven a scale of one to ten to get onstage. The aforementioned black dudes seemed to be responsible for selecting them and funneling the hotter ones toward the star and I think they got to keep his cast-offs. Alot of phone numbers were exchanged, probably some kisses, and certainly some drunken vulgarities.
But now we get to the climax of the night. Remembering that he was indeed sponsored by a certain drink company, he had to do something to promote Jager. What better than to give out free alcohol and shout the name it? Now, I've been to plenty of places where alcohol is given away as a promotion, but not quite in this format. He actually started POURING JAGER DIRECTLY INTO FANS' MOUFS. Clearly I had to get in on this, and I used my size to push past several lesser fans so that I could experience this once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon.
I yelled his name (not Rupert Van Winkle, but his stage name). He looked at me. The look seemed to last forever. That dirty haircut. Those wild, coked-out-of-his-skull, I-couldn't-care-less-if-I-never-visited-whatever-this-city-is-again eyes. It seemed to last a lifetime. I shouted again, although I don't know what.
(Key dream sequence)
And then it happened. The Jager bottle moved toward me as if an invisible hand were in control, except the invisible hand became visible and was attached to Vanilla Ice's wrist. The Jager poured like a caramel-colored waterfall toward my shirt. Care not I did. I got some in my mouth finally. But really, I should have just let it rain down like notes from a mandolin on my shirt, my shorts, my socks, and my shoes. I could have sold them on EBay for a fortune, but my fortune was in my mouth, my friends, and I hold on to the thought that, like Caesar's last breath, a few molecules of that icy Jagermeister remain somewhere in my body.
On a final, unrelated note, I also am at the library, and I love that when people approach a strange dog and talk to it in a baby voice, they ask questions to the owner by addressing the dog: "What's your name? What kind of dog are you?" I have yet to see a dog respond to these questions truthfully. It's like the owner is interpreting what the dog might say, if it could think.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
RetiredJK: "What can I do for you, officer? Donut, perhaps?" (Snickering)
Officer Harris: "Hello, I'm officer Harris. I'm looking for the mad blogger known as RetiredJK."
RJK: "You have found him."
OH: "I'm responding to a complaint from a neighbor that you may have trespassed on her property. Do you know a redacted------ down the road? Did you remove some rocks from the road in front of her yard?"
RJK: "I did indeed, they were a hazard to everyone."
OH: "Well, yes, this lady is a bit-- off-- and I spoke with the Homeowner's Association President and he says you were indeed righteous to do this." (I had never thought of myself as righteous before, so now I can add another positive attribute to my already inflated self-image.)
OH: "But she did accuse you of trespassing on her land, and said you were quite threatening when you removed the rocks from the road. She also said that you introduced yourself as Mohammed Abdul."
RJK: "That is true, but never was I threatening. I think this woman is simply accusing me of threats because she is a racist."
OH: "I'm going to warn you for trespassing, just to get this over with, I'm not even going to write it up. Can I have your full name and birthdate?"
RJK: "I wasn't trespassing on her property, though."
OH: "OK, I'll just let her know that I spoke with you. She's a bit mad." (I assume he meant "mad" in a mad hatter sort of way.)
I'm hoping to get an official copy of the incident report, I will post this online if I am able to. I couldn't get a picture with the sheriff, though, to celebrate this proud moment of homeowner civil disobedience.
On I ventured to Denver for the weekend, meeting a couple friends from high school for dinner and drinks. One of my friends' friends showed up, and they were named "Parker" and "Collins," tying them for whitest-named people along with "Dax," "Logan," and "Colby"....
I took a cab to Flamingo Court in Denver to meet with my other friends, and there we engaged in several "round"-style songs: first, "What What" by Samwell, best known for Butters' rendition of the song on South Park: "I said what what, in the butt... you wanna do me in the butt? OK." I can't remember what the second song was, but needless to say, our round-singing skills are a bit rough since we finished third grade almost twenty years ago.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
OK, that's actually Tom Osborne, best football coach ever. He's pretty good too. Look at how excited he is! Here's a real picture of my dad (it's been a few years; check the shades on the guy on the left! He was part of the band Winger once upon a time.) This was back when the Chicago Bulls were good, the first time Jordan played for them.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
We live in a subdivision outside a small, unincorporated village 30 miles outside Laramie, Wyoming. There is a small gravel road that traverses the subdivision. The road is owned, in places, by the adjacent property's homeowner, while in other places it is owned by the original developer, who still lives in the subdivision. In front of one woman's property, she has placed rocks (some quite large) by the side of the road to "defend" her property-line from the grading machine, which goes around about four times a year to level the gravel. When the road is graded, she parks her cars in front of her property to prevent the grader from impinging on her property and, over time, eroding into her claim.
While I respect her right to prevent dimunition of her property, the rocks in the road could damage cars or the grading machine itself if they were not seen. This is especially a concern in the winter. Furthermore, a car that strayed too far toward the rocks could see its tires or wheel covers damaged.
The local neighbors and neighborhood association have spent hours upon hours debating strategies to prevent this woman from making our subdivision less beautiful. It often seems they are being as passive-aggressive as possible in these strategies, so I took matters into my own hands.
Driving home today, I parked my car in the grass across from her home, exited my car, and proceeded to pick up the rocks in the road and toss them into her yard. I have done this several times over the past few weeks, and she replaces the rocks faithfully. This time she witnessed me moving the rocks, and the following conflict ensued (my smartass rating was an eleven):
Lady: "Hey! Hey! What are you doing?"
RetiredJK: "I'm moving these rocks out of the road, I can't figure out how they got here."
Lady: "I put them in the road!"
RJK: "They must be removed. It's simply unsafe to have large rocks in the road, and it disturbs the natural habitat."
Lady: "I will call the sheriff if you keep moving the rocks."
RJK: "I pledge to keep moving the rocks."
Lady: "What is your name sir?"
Lady: "What is your last name?"
RJK: "Mohammed." (again, I kind of look like an Arab with my big bushy black beard.) ( I think she went for it.)
Lady: "Hello.... Mohammed."
(I try to shake her hand unsuccessfully)
Lady: "Do you live here?"
RJK: "No, I trek out here from Laramie just to move the rocks out of the road."
Lady: "I'm calling the sheriff."
RJK: "Please do, again my name is Mohammed Abdul Mohammed, and my phone number is 307-777-7777. Praise be to Allah."
Lady: "I am calling the sheriff."
RJK: "You're nuts."
I am driving back to my home now and I plan on removing the other half of the rocks.
Also, I am sitting at the public library listening to Centennial Book Club, and I have realized that book clubs are simply excuses for married women to get together, drink wine, and gossip.
I took over the machine after he failed to identify Sofia as the capital of Bulgaria. His knowledge of eastern European and Soviet bloc republic capitals was clearly not up to snuff! I failed my first attempt, as I did not know that Americans have not only the highest divorce rate in the world but also the highest marriage rate. America, F yeah! My second round started easily as I identified Enya as the Welsh new age artist of Only Time fame (although my personal favorite Enya tune is Flora's Secret). I went on to identify 25% of the world's population as communist and Kiev as the captial of Ukraine; as said earlier, capitals figure heavily into the game. Ten questions later, it was me vs. machine with only two questions left.
The fourteenth and toughest question was to identify Stephen King's thriller horror book about a posessed automobile; after eliminating "Posessed Car" (that was really a choice) and "Carrie," I luckily guessed "Christine" and was rewarded with 23 million points, putting me at 45 million and in position to wipe out Craig's two-month-old record. The final question? A gimme: "What game did Charles Darrow invent?" As if I hadn't taken enough people for their money in my youth to know the answer was Monopoly. I answered quickly for 46 million points, putting my total score in the stratospheric 91 million range. (Darrow later sold the game to Parker Bros. after many failed attempts to sell it to other game makers failed-- ed.)
I celebrated with a glass of champagne and some peanuts, the remains of which I tossed on the floor as per custom. The former record holder cried into his beer over a game of cribbage with a hippie. I could hardly sleep last night as I strained to contain my excitement; it also did not help that I had napped for four hours during the day. The life of a trivia player is thus fraught with danger and excitement.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Sorry about the second picture, I found it on the web and it was only available in very small photos. It is, as you may have surmised from the sign above, The Centennial Trading Post. It includes a bar, restaurant, package liquor store (a.k.a. off-sale), dinner theatre, and art gallery. Note that theatre is spelled the British way. It's that damn good.
Anyway, let me tell you about my first day at work. The first cocktail I ever served was a Budweiser, neat. My first tip was a quarter even though I got pretty excited when I thought it was a dollar coin. The gentleman who stopped in really just wanted to use the restroom, but seeing that I hadn't had a customer in two hours, I told him that only paying customers could use the restroom, which earned me a quarter.
Throughout the evening, business remained slow. My total take: $54 in hourly wages (paid biweekly) and $13 in tips over 7 hours. So if you figure out the hourly wage, I'm right on par with my prior career as an internal medicine resident. I'm waiting for some wealthy out-of-towners to stop in and stay all night so I can make some bank on tips.
Anyway, I must go now, as my second day of work calls. The volunteer librarian seems to have sleep apnea, and is falling asleep at the desk and hitting his head every minute or so while ABC news radio plays in the background. More details tomorrow.