Wheel of Fortune

A funny thing happened while on route to my pole dancing class today, I found myself in my local bank making a quick cash deposit, a rare occurrence I have to say when I noticed something different.

First of all the noise, along the walls stood rows and rows of EGM’s (electronic gaming machines) and carpeting had replaced the linoleum, although it could not dull the sound, it felt reassuring under my feet.

The Citibank logo had been changed to Casino Bank® with bright flashing lights. A roulette wheel sped by in a whippet frenzy manned by the former security guard. The blackjack tables sat where once the deposit slips stood - local depositors hugged the edges with rapt attention. 

The ATM’s lined up in a cynical row beckoning you to withdraw. Keisha my usual counter Associated had slipped out of her corporate slacks and was bursting out of her ‘barely there’ cocktail dress wearing a wicked smile. 

“We have free drinks for any checking account over 1,000.00 dollars”. I didn’t, but sampled them anyway.

There was the Bank of America cocktail called the Dirty Mortgage Martini laced with vodka, crushed Greek olives, and grenadine.

Not bad, although not a fan of olives, Greek or otherwise. Next was the “Citibank” a concoction of Baileys, gasoline and peach schnapps with a red umbrella. This aptly was called the “Baileys Bailout” and I had three thanks to being a local branch member.

Keisha knows exactly how much money I have in my accounts but continues to let me drink regardless. She handed me a “Captain Morgan Chase” I was mildly surprised by the Dark rum, bitters and self regulatory jalapenos.

By now my head was spinning in tandem with the roulette table but I was on a roll. Next, the Barclay’s Rig, a lovely blend of Bacardi, Blue Curacao and Bollinger, every Trader recommends them I hear.

There were two more left and I was in great peril of missing my class, time was of no importance seeing all clocks on the walls had been removed.

Keisha said this was her favorite the HSBC, Hire Shady Bankers Committee; this was punitively prison worthy, Grappa, Saké, Tequila and lighter fuel. Ghastly, but like most bankers ‘It puts you in the red’.

Lastly and in need of the ‘All you can eat buffet’ I spotted in what used to be the manager’s office the RBS (Royal Bank of Scotland) this fittingly was called the Robber Barons Scotch comprising of Laphroaig, Lagavulin, Talisker and Haggis - Need I comment?

In this ‘Winner - takes - all - World it is heartening to know that whatever money you deposit will be matched with a thriving 0.0100 % interest rate just about the same odds as winning in Las Vegas.

It’s hard to see the difference anymore, the house always wins.

Burpppp!!!  Now’s where’s my pole?

Downward Yob

When did applying for a marriage license become so hot? ; Apparently when Alec Baldwin obtained one. 

The much published engagement to a young hot yoga teacher Hilaria Thomas (Hot in the looks department not in the Bikram style) has sparked off a flash of excitement among the salacious press. 

Our very own hothead Alec ‘Downward Yob’ Baldwin has done it again tackling the media on all fronts, beginning with the ejection from American Airlines for not shutting off his phone, to Tweeting a bile ridden defense of his girlfriend at her yoga studio and the left savage phone message concerning his daughters tardiness in replying to his calls (who could be blame her)

Clearly the calming effect of his future wife vocation is doing wonders, or is it the thought of marriage Ouch! That was hot. Or perhaps his brother (Stephen) loss to Kevin Costner in some court room oil dispute. 

Whatever it is Ms Thomas might wonder what pose to adopt when dealing with the cantankerous future hubby. Perhaps she might have retreated to the summer solstice in Times Square where hundreds of yogis are calming the notorious loud intersection with meditative vibes.

And maybe I can permit myself once more to use the word ‘Hot’ to describe the day’s event.

Got Crate ?

I would like to pause for a moment and consider a much underrated device – the milk crate.

Is device a too fancier word? 

In a world where gadgetry and technology gets lauded attention this sturdy almost indestructible workhorse of design needs to have its worth saluted.

After the I phone, the shipping container is the most ubiquitous object on the planet. It has the dubious task of ferrying our useless crap around the world. But spare a thought for the “mini me milk crate” a versatile square of plastic that never fails in its utilitarian endeavors.

Statistics of milk crates stolen each day are a clear rival to smart phones, so when you hear about another I Phone robbery think milk crate…not far behind.

First of all it carries milk – excellent, cows have never been happier.

But wait there’s more: 

The vinyl record collection you can’t part with.

The bicycle rack that can house a small child and groceries. 

Illicit potted plant storage. 

More lasting than IKEA furniture.

Durable enough for Oprah’s ass.

Build a wall between Mexico and USA

A Birdcage

Chicken coup.

The Freedom Tower.

Stacked $100 bills for Afghanistan.

Sex toy apparatus (not sure about that one) although one could melt the plastic and…oh never mind.

Heavens you could build a tree house…now there’s an idea.

Birth of a Nation

The Technocratic State of AppleLand has made a land grab for Hawaii, all its inhabitants will be relocated to Detroit as a retribution for years of basking in paradise. It is a strategic move to keep an eye on Asia and rub sea salt in the wounds of Sony. AppleLand’s motto will be “My Way or The Hawaii Way” and every visitor to the island will be greeted with a free headset so that they can look trendy walking down the street.

A constitution has been somewhat drawn up with the following preamble: 

We the People of the AppleLand, in Order to form a more perfect domination, establish Justice, International tranquility, insure, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the Technocratic State of AppleLand.

…the rest we’ll make up as more iPads are sold.

There will be no leader; just a secret committee of faceless geeks wearing corduroy, its citizens will be called Apple Lets however they will not receive any dividends. On Independence Day one share will be given to each Apple Lets as way of saying thanks for surrendering your life to a life of gadgetry. 

There will be no religion, just a morning text sent by each Apple Let to our creator “Jobs” to say we‘re logged on.

State stereotypical attire will not comprise of Bowler Hat, Beret or Turbans but a black polo sweater size 6 and ill fitting jeans.

With a State Gross Domestic Product bigger than Poland, Belgium, Sweden, Saudi Arabia, and Taiwan, Appleland GNP well exceeds 100 billion and is in the process of procuring F 15 fighter jets from the USA, Royal Navy frigates from UK and Tangerines from Morocco.

With the birth of a nation, obligations of security and welfare of its Apple Let’s must be considered. Bribery and corruption is the world’s oldest game and Appleland will fend off hostility with discounted refurbished iPods. The jets and ships are just for show, Jobs was a hippy, and the Technocratic ecosystem AppleLand has created will allow market forces to kill its enemy click by click.

The inclusion of AppleLand in the London 2012 Olympics will be a first for the State regardless of slim expectations of medals; however they will drastically improve the Games logo.

AppleLand does for a moment shed a byte for the rest of world in recession - but only a nano bite. 

Black & Tan – The Art of the Apology

Well St Paddy’s day is approaching and the smarts at Nike have caused a ruckus with their new sneaker called Black & Tan. There is Stout outrage from the Irish who claim insensitivity when treading upon a loathsome period in their history.

The Black & Tans were a paramilitary unit employed by the Royal Ulster Constabulary as tempory thugs in the 1920’s to suppress any thoughts of revolution from its indigenous population. They were comprised from British First World War veterans, who were out of work and handy in the art of brutality. A nick name soon followed, Black & Tans due to their uniform of Khaki trousers and blue or green tunics. This was due to the acceleration in its numbers resulting in a deficit of proper attire.

In short, the presence of these hired louts was to keep an eye on the IRA but as a spot of moonlight will afford, civilians were terrorized and dealt with in an unsympathetic manner.

Naturally this grim legacy does not reside well in Irish hearts, but as marketing and drinking goes, there soon became a drink called the Black & Tan which combines Stout and Ale poured in a pint glass.

Not surprisingly in the UK you can order a pint in most pubs without any issue. In America where the Irish American sense of history is as misty as the Cliffs of Moher it can be ordered without the historical baggage aforementioned. If one were in Ireland,’Feck off yer Fecker’ would be more likely a response.

But who really cares to some ancient squabbling over lands rights and clips around the ear in the name of branding? On the surface Nike doesn’t in their recent promotional. It is hard to imagine out of all people they employ (Irish included) that one doesn’t know about the association with the term. Ben and Jerry’s anyone?

Clearly Nike know what they are doing, it is the classic strategy of Aw Shucks! Really? Didn’t know that, but we have an apology all typed up ready to air.

The product is out; controversy works everyone included Sir Harry is talking about it - job done. Fallout? Look at the sales? And no mentioned of child labor!

Time and time again this tacit has worked to some benefit and most recently in the case of Rush Limbaugh calling Susan Fluke a slut. He knew there would be outcry (rightly so) he had a tepid retort all ready to go – what does he care? 15 million morons still listen to him daily and the ratings are up.

The Art of the Apology, that's the way you do it...

American Candidate

Good Evening Suckers my name is Ryan Seacrest and welcome to the eternal American Candidate show.

On our panel of righteous indignation tonight is Bill Clinton, Spike Lee, Lindsey Lohan and Charlie Sheen.

We are down to the last four contestants and here they are;

In the Ken doll corner we have Shitts Wrongly.

In the sanctimonious corner Prick Cantstandhim.

In the revisionist corner Puke Gingrich and the marginalized corner Thong Paul.

Bill you have a question for Puke.

Bill Clinton: Why to you want to be President of the United States of America?
Puke Gingrich:

Because I am better than everyone else.Because my head has the same circumference as Jack Nicholson.
Because I know history and no one in the USA does.
Because I bullshit with remarkable ease.
Because I’m a serial hypocrite.
Because my ego is the size of the nation debt.
And because I ‘m cuddly and America needs cuddly in times such as these.

Bill Clinton: Thank you Puke I believe we have much in common.

Spike Lee: A question for Shitts.

Spike Lee: What’s the first thing you would do once President.

Shitts Wrongly: Because I am a Mormon I would baptize all the dead presidents that have gone before,

Hell I would even baptize everyone !! However not Scientologists they’re just plain weird.

But in addition I would fire everyone on the set of Big Love particularly that Margene… the little minx.

Spike Lee: Tru dat…

Hi my name’s Lindsey Lohan and I‘ll do anything for publicity.

My question to you Prick is, your views on abortion even for a Neo Fascist appear extreme.
You stated that you oppose abortion even in a case of rape. I thought I was the
Bat shit crazy one?

Prick Cantstandhim: Well I believe one should make the best out of a bad situation.”, because it was still a gift from God. Rapists are people too.

Lindsey Lohan: What if a man impregnated your daughter then came out as gay.

Prick Cantstandhim: Ah…that’s different then I would allow for an abortion to take
place.

Lindsey Lohan: Thought so…

…And finally a question for Thong Paul from Charlie Sheen.

Yo Thong how’s it hangin?

You have said and I quote “The prevailing attitude of the American
people is that everyone has a right to medical care,” “This is an intellectual
error that will lead us down a path toward destroying what is good in the
current system.”

Charlie Sheen: The current system is not working and is divisive it makes no sense to run a country on such division.

Thong Paul: You’re right Charlie, I ‘m from Texas. We have a historyof knowing absolutely nothing.

Well there you have it Americans, apparently this is the best America can provide in choosing its
leader.

Tune in next week for more diversion and razzmatazz.

1/2 A Century

Arriving at ½ a Century has an odd feeling too it; A midway spot on the dial for reflection and a gaze into the crystal ball.

In an age where we are racing feverishly to turn back the clock; it is here where we can take stock, and possibly pull over to the side of the road.

Earthlings have been busy; doctors keep us around little longer, cosmeticians get a constant green light to preserve vanity, gym bunnies whip us into sex dynamos, Feces Book keeps us updated with gossip and advertisers deliver us motivational slogans - “50 is the new 40” and “70 is the new 60” and so on.

There’s something a bit dramatic about half a century, it looks impressive in Roman numerals. But from another view it is unlikely that one will reach a century regardless of an optimistic “100 is the new 80”.

With this in mind a sense a panic comes by way of being tasered – not quite extinguished but put on notice. The “to do list” becomes a charged sensation of urgency. Ok I have got this far fairly unscathed, but look at all the shit I still have left to do or want to do.

Perhaps having a “to do list” is ridiculous. At point of arrival one should note all the positives so far; a loving partner, a wealth of (real) friends, somewhat – normal family, my own set of teeth and good health. It could be vastly different -particularly if you pegged it before the anointed day.

For some 50 means a mid life crisis; however not for Colin Firth who won an Oscar at 50, thus putting off the obligatory purchase of a Harley-Davidson. Lucky for him (if winning an Oscar is all it’s cracked up to be) but perhaps that’s too whimsical an example.

Interestingly “50” in Latin is marked by the letter L. In modern vernacular depending on accomplishments or lack thereof or state of mind, this could mean loser; Or more positively lasting, laughter, love and life.

I was spared the early morning Face Book notification concerning my age this due to the now slim options Mark Suckerberg has afforded us. Have it his way, it would read “No friends but your 50! “

Thanks to him and others, data farms all across the world harbor millions of birthdays 50 or otherwise. Wouldn’t we like to know what’s in his Inbox?

But I was not spared a card from my old boarding school which happens to be the third oldest in the world. The irony wasn’t lost on me, nor the receiving of my AARP credentials in the morning mail, and who said big brother wasn’t looking after U?

So here I am at base camp with no oxygen leaving footprints in the snow, and reaching for new ones up ahead.