The Army Corp of Engineers Having Issues Fixing Breach

Writen by Lance Winslow

The Army Corp of engineers is having a tough time filling in the breaches in the levees. They have tried to use giant sand bags to drop into the hole. Three-Thousand pound bags have been dropped into the breach but to no avail. Lake Pontchartrain has a lot of weight behind it and fixing the breach and pumping out the water could take months.

I therefore have an idea. Now before you say my idea is crazy, remember the President to think on this and that no idea is too far out, we need to put on our thinking caps. Good, I have an idea. Most of the lawyers in New Orleans and the Gulf Coast have lost their offices in Hurricane Katrina. They can no longer practice law, since no courts are open for them to file lawsuits and lawyers will just hamper rebuilding efforts anyway. I therefore propose that we use Lawyers to fill the New Orleans broken Levees. We help expire as many lawyers as it takes to fill up the breach-gap left by the Hurricane with dead lawyers.

Unfortunately they are so full of shit they do not sink very well. Normally human feces floats and a perfect example of that density proof in physics is the stuff already floating in the New Orleans Soup Bowl. I propose to harden them in a fast heavy plaster mixture with sand bags attached to the abdomen, because it you leave the rope attached which you used to coax them into their civic duty, then eventually the head will depart once submerged for several weeks and we do not want a re-breach if their bodies float away. So we need to leave them secured with straps.

Finally a way for the lawyers to pay back society and do some good in the world; Think on this, as there has to be a way to make this happen.

Lance Winslow

Family Circus Cartoon Provokes Mass Rioting, Violence

Writen by Mark Reiley

(UNASSOCIATED PRESS) Widespread rage over recent Family Circus cartoons erupted violently into the streets of America yesterday, when angry protestors violently displayed their disapproval of the patronizing comic strip by looting and firebombing local stores.

Beyond the United States border, equally livid international protestors demonstrated their violent discontent as several U.S. Embassies on European soil were stormed and those inside were dragged into the street and beaten to death.

Over 17 fatalities have been reported as of printing, and the violence has shown no signs of dissipating.

An estimated 50,000 strong crowd gathered on the Washington National Mall in the early afternoon, ballooning earlier estimates of no more than 3,000. At least 3 protestors were trampled to death during the proceedings.

The restless crowd threw bottles and debris at police guards in riot gear while chanting “Death to Keane, Death to King!” for over an hour. It was is a reference to Bil Keane, Family Circus cartoonist since 1960, and King Features, the company that syndicates the comic strip to over 1500 newspapers worldwide.

“I just don’t understand,” said Keane. “I’m sorry if I offended anybody. I just want to express my views.”

National leaders have expressed shock and dismay at the recent violence. White House spokesman Scott McClellan reiterated the president’s stance on the cartoon and the riots.

“Although the president understands how many might consider the mindless inanity of Billy, Dolly and Grandpa to be beyond reproach. But that is no excuse for torching your city’s newspaper headquarters or publicly hanging their editors.

“President Bush reaffirms his dedication to upholding the first amendment which specifically allows such denigrating images to be produced and viewed.”

Critics claim the cartoon has a mind-numbing affect on the millions that read it every morning, and it is demeaning to anyone with half a brain. Jeremy Higgins, president of Americans for a Strong Society, spoke at the Washington protests-

“Nobody talks or acts like Jeffy or any other character. A family like that is a myth, and every strip is an insult to real human beings like us. Look at this one. Jeffy says to the other kids, ‘I heard that out of the corner of my ear.’ What the fuck? The cartoon’s patent cuteness is beyond nauseating. We declare a jihad on Family Circus and anyone who supports such insipid filth!.”

Violence against cartoonists unrelated to the publishing of Family Circus has officials up in arms. Dik Browne, cartoonist responsible for Hagar the Horrible, was found bound and gagged in an abandoned warehouse. Marcus Hamilton and Ron Ferdinand, both the present caretakers of the Dennis the Menace strip are reportedly missing. Dean Young, cartoonist hired to continue the Blondie comics was beaten senseless with a tire iron before being run over repeatedly with a Hummer.

Experts like Harvard English professor Charles Thomasen believe the controversy is not settled.

“Cartoonists who perpetuate idiotic comic strips well beyond their prime just to make a buck will continue to be hunted down and killed. There will be riots, and more innocent people will die. It’s really the fault of the artist. Keane should have retired Family Circus years ago; instead he insists on demeaning the American public daily.”

Sources say Keane is considering going into hiding due to the Fatwa put on his head, similar to the one put on Salman Rushdie in 1989. “We’re hot on his trail, the bastard,” said a protestor. “We’ll just follow that dotted trail he leaves wherever he goes!”

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Foot In The Door

Writen by John Dir

One of the most daunting tasks ever invented is the concept of selling anything by going door to door through a neighborhood. If anyone wishes to discover their potential as a salesman, or the lack of it, pushing products by ringing doorbells will quickly determine how thick a skin you are wearing. Many people get their first taste of how intimidating this form of sales can be at a very young age. Often, the test comes in the form of trying to sell candy or magazines for some form of school function.

During his high school years, Gary decided to make an attempt to sell some candy bars to support his school, but he did not want to use a conventional approach, as he had already tried and failed to rouse interest. He figured he needed an angle to boost his potential for success, so he applied his powers of observation to the task. Gary had discovered that most people found it difficult to resist the persuasive power of small children, and that many would find a dollar somewhere to help a youngster, particularly if the child was innocent and cute. To this end, Gary decided his five year old brother would fit the bill.

Executing his plan, Gary took his brother Jim around the neighborhood to see how many sales he could get. The approach was simple. At each house, Gary would hand Jim a candy bar from the box, and send him to the front door to ring the doorbell. When the resident came to the door, Jim held the candy bar up over his head with a smile and said in a loud voice, “Candy, one dollar please.” The reaction was almost invariably the same, as each person smiled back at the little guy, fetched a dollar, patted him on the head, took their candy bar, thanked Jim for stopping by, and closed the door. Seeing how well his plan worked, Gary figured that selling his three dozen candy bars was going to be a cinch.

At one particular house, Jim reached up high to ring the doorbell, but no one answered the door. Shifting the candy bar around in his hands, Jim tried the doorbell a second time, but still no answer. Gary called out from the sidewalk for Jim to open the screen door and knock on the door, as this was the first house where no one had answered the door. Jim followed Gary’s instructions, knocking on the door with his little hand. When nobody came to the door, Jim grew impatient and slipped the candy bar into the mail slot as Gary looked on in horror. When Jim ran back to Gary, he said, “I guess they aren’t home.”

Gary corrected Jim’s action, “You don’t just give them the candy bar; you have to get the money first.”

Before Gary could think, Jim went bounding back to the door, opened the screen, then opened the front door to the house and went inside, as Gary called out to him from the sidewalk. Once inside the house, Jim looked on the floor behind the door to retrieve his lost goods. As the startled resident rounded a corner to see who was coming into their home, they spotted Jim and asked, “Hey! What are you doing there?”

Jim stood up and looked back at the man, then said in a matter of fact tone, “I had to come back and get my damn candy bar.” Jim then opened the door and left the house. No sale. I could use a salesman like Jim.

What? An Iranian With A Good Thought In His Cranium?

Writen by Tom Attea

What do you know? There’s at least one Iranian who still has a good thought in his cranium? It appears that Mohmmad Khatami, the mullahland’s former Pres is just such a resilient and commendable gentleman.

During his two-week trip to the USA - interestingly, the mullahs behind the rascally current President allowed his visit and, not only that, our security personnel let him in - he wisely acknowledged, “In the crime of 9/11, two crimes were committed. One was killing innocent people. The second crime was masking this crime in the name of Islam.”

He spoke, with security provided by the State Department, at a venue in suburban Washington, titled “The Dialogue of Civilizations: Five Years After 9/11.” The event was sponsored by the Council on American-Islamic Relations.

The good turban-topped man who, unfortunately, failed to win reelection, is the most senior Iranian official to drop in on Washington in the last 25 years.

Encouragingly, he spoke in front of American and Iranian flags that were draped in their mutual folds. He himself was graced by his more likable credentials. For instance, he was, to the extent one can be in Iran, a reformist leader and, two, he was one of the first foreign leaders to condemn the 9/11 monstrosities.

He went on to tell the audience, “Demonstrate to others that whatever is said about Islam in the media is not correct” and combat the “wave of Islamophobia and hatred of Islam that we unfortunately are experiencing today.”

He presented three goals for Muslims that are actually welcome. “Your responsibility and our responsibility is to be first a good citizen in whatever country you live; to try for yourself and your children to move up the ladder of social achievement and education; and third is to fight the vague Islamophobia that has been created by those who don’t have the best interests of Islam at heart.”

Most commendably, he stated that “killers who go among others and kill others in acts of terror, if they identify themselves with Islam, they are lying. You Muslims who live in the United States should be representatives of enlightenment and don’t allow those who create this Islamophobia to speak for the religion.”

Laudable speechifying, and we especially note the inclusion of the Iranian word for “enlightenment,” which, in its capital “E” meaning, is the very remedy Islam’s misrepresentatives require.

Yet, given his successor’s recent effort to crackdown on liberal and secular profs at Iran’s universities, one wonders how he managed to represent his liberal agenda here.

One also wonders what the monomaniacal Ahmadinejad is cogitating in his behind-the-curtain Iago moments. What, a defeated rival feted in Washington, while I, a pariah, scheme unloved?

Could Khatami’s trip be part of the obvious efforts by the crafty mullahs at home to obfuscate whether Iran is a nation of nuclear malefactors who need the West to apply the remedial lessons of sanctions?

Unavoidable suspicion aside, let’s toss a congratulatory turban high in Khatami’s honor.

Then we shall wait to see what the future brings, which, inevitably, is hung with question marks, trembling in time’s uncertain winds.

Peace-Loving Muslim Located; Expresses Normal Human Concerns

Writen by Tom Attea

Noting the way violent and irrational Muslims have dominated the news, while the Muslim masses and, most inexcusably, Muslim clerics have in general remained reticent about the scandalously murderous terrorist talk and the mayhem the lunatics advocate, we decided there must be, among the world’s billion or so Muslims, any number of normal, peace-loving and, on a wild bet, perhaps even modern-minded, acolytes. So we began our tireless search to see if we might find such a rare and wonderful countercurrent to the tide that is sweeping the Muslim religion ever more beyond the shoreline of what sane and civilized people consider blessed.

We’re delighted to tell you that, after an extensive search, we were, in fact, able to locate at least one such exceptional and distinguished soul. Obviously, there may be others out there, but they’re just not being visibly vocal, unless, of course, a cartoon shows up that they decide is offensive.

Where, you may ask, did we find our prize Muslim? Why, in the most appropriate of places - at Ground Zero, where he is employed as an engineer, working on rebuilding the area after the murderous and damnable crimes of 911. He invited us to meet him on the job, just so we could confirm with our own eyes that a Muslim would be involved in such a noble and redemptive construction process.

The following recounts our entirely delightful and encouraging interview with him, which, we hope, inspirits all to think the better of Muslims in general and, most especially, to persuade many another Muslim to follow in his savingly enlightened footsteps.

NewsLaugh: According to the questionnaire you were kind enough complete, you’re a peace-loving Muslim?

Peace-Loving Muslim: Yes, I am.

NewsLaugh: Good for you. We also understand you’re modern-minded.

Peace-Loving Muslim: I am, indeed.

NewsLaugh: Glad you meet you.

Peace-Loving Muslim: Glad to meet you, too.

NewsLaugh: Are you the only peace-loving and modern-minded Muslim or do you think there might be others?

Peace-Loving Muslim: Oh, there are millions of them, I assure you.

NewsLaugh: Really? Why don’t we ever hear from them?

Peace-Loving Muslim: Because peace-loving people usually don’t make news. They wake up and do things like go to work and feed the kids.

NewsLaugh: Yes, of course. We’re familiar with such activities ourselves. But why do Muslim clerics so seldom speak out about all the violent activities perpetrated in the name of Islam?

Peace-Loving Muslim: Some do, but I agree, they should be more out there. But you must understand that, since they are peace-loving, they might never shout as loud as Muslims - and I I even hesitate to call the most violent ones by the term Muslims - who aren’t. If you’ll notice, crazy people generally scream, while peaceful people are more like to carry on a conversation, like this one.

NewsLaugh: Yes, of course. But do you think some of them quietly suspect that the monsters perpetrating these crimes are on the side of Allah?

Peace-Loving Muslim: I hope not. I can’t imagine a truly religious person seeing Allah as being on the side of murder. But, of course, you have to allow for all possibilities. My own Muslim cleric is a very peaceful fellow who thinks that Osama and his cronies are madmen who are damaging our religion inexcusably.

NewsLaugh: Bless his insightful butt.

Peace-Loving Muslim: I’ll let him know you said that.

NewsLaugh: Where were you born?

Peace-Loving Muslim: Pakistan.

NewsLaugh: Oh, where Osama Bin Laden is supposedly hiding out.

Peace-Loving Muslim: I prefer to think of it as the country where President Mushararf is doing everything he can to help the US catch him.

NewsLaugh: Good point. You’re an engineer?

Peace-Loving Muslim: Yes, I am.

NewsLaugh: I suppose that means you’ve read a number of books besides the Koran. How did you manage to pull that splendid achievement off?

Peace-Loving Muslim: Well, I felt Allah gave me a brain, so He wanted me to use it. I was always good at math. There’s not a lot of math in the Koran. So I guess it didn’t interest Mohammad much. But even an elemental look at nature reveals that Allah works with math in ways that are so sophisticated everything happens in perfectly natural ways. The math never gets in the way; it accommodates all events, like the perfectly natural movement of waves. We should only know as much about math as Allah.

NewsLaugh: Well, to tell you the truth, there’s not that much math in any religious book I can think of. But that’s another interview. How did you become peace-loving? Reading the papers and watching the news, one gets the idea that Muslims, in general, are all a pretty violent and backward lot.

Peace-Loving Muslim: A lot are, I admit it. But that’s because a lot of them have erroneous ideas. I can’t say they have erroneous knowledge, because I don’t believe there is such a thing as erroneous knowledge. I also don’t believe a lot of knowledge is necessary to be peace loving. My parents, who have very little education, are very peaceful people. So it’s not a matter of education. It’s a matter of outlook. Either you think you serve Allah by killing other people or by loving them. I prefer the latter, and I think Allah prefers my conduct for that and, if He has prepared a paradise for us, peace-loving behavior is the most likely way to get there.

NewsLaugh: Well, it seems like a more logical approach, expecially since Allah or God by any other name made us all. How did you become modern minded.

Peace-Loving Muslim: Well, it was pretty easy. I grew up with my eyes and ears open. While the world around me was often backward, I knew about the world outside. I decided if it’s modern, that’s part of the potential Allah put in it, so I ought to adjust to it and, in fact, do my own best to help move it along. I think the modern world has blessed life with such inarguable enhancements as antibiotics and air conditioning.

NewsLaugh: What do you think the chances are that other Muslims will start to think like you?

Peace-Loving Muslim: Well, it depends on what they hear the loudest; the outside world, ranting at each other, or their inner voice telling them that they’re part of the whole, and, if they want to find a welcome place in the whole, they have to become a peaceful part of it. I think they also have to understand that Muslims running around blowing other people up are acting as if Muslims don’t have lives or property that can also be blown up. This is one reason why their actions are harmful. Every time a Muslim blows something or somebody up, we wonder how long it will be before non-Muslims decide to teach us that such behavior is not a one-way street.

NewsLaugh: Yes, we wonder about that, too, It seems to us that the world has been pretty tolerant so far.

Peace-Loving Muslim: To paraphrase you, bless their butts. Yet I can’t tell you how much fear peace-loving Muslims live in that the behavior of violent Muslims will result in damage to the nonviolent ones and their property.

NewsLaugh: Well, it’s certainly a pleasure to meet you. We’re glad to know that there is at least one peace-loving and modern-minded Muslim in the world. It gives us hope. May your way of thinking spread.

Peace-Loving Muslim: If it doesn’t, I may decide to become a Buddhist. I’ve been reading about their beliefs, and, if you have to believe in an ancient religion to make peace with life, it seems like a pretty good option.

Newslaugh: Well, it certainly is a more peaceful choice. We’d don’t hear of many Buddhists blowing up non-Buddhists. Whatever you decide, we wish you luck.

Peace-Loving Muslim: Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to rebuilding Ground Zero, It’s one of the ways I hope to make up for what Muslims who have shamed other Muslims have done.

Tom Attea, humorist and creator of NewsLaugh.com, has had six shows produced Off-Broadway and has written comedy for TV. Critics have called his writing “delightfully funny” and “witty” with “good, genuine laughs.”

Skidmarks - Everybody Gets ‘Em

Writen by Mike Rich

Face it, potty humor and bathroom jokes make us all laugh because they poke fun at embarrassing experiences that all can appreciate.

Everybody has glanced down with dismay into their undies at one point or another, only to be confronted with “the mark”. As disgusting as it is, there’s not a person on the planet who doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

Case in point, all through history, the greatest literary minds have woven this concept into their works:

“God Save the Mark!” – William Shakespeare, King Henry IV

Apparently, the great Bard was such a skin-flint that he refused to throw away a tainted pair of skivvies…..

“Mark where the piercing wind shoots javelin-like…” – George Meredith, Modern Love

Seriously, need I say more about that one? Meredith must have had some significant tushie-busting gas to have elaborated in such a way. Who hasn’t been confronted with “piercing wind” that “shoots javelin-like” on one occassion or another?

“The mark of the man of the world is absence of pretension.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

I like this one. Emerson understands that the skidmark is a common thread of the human experience, and he promotes that the man of the world doesn’t carry any pretenses about it.

“Look ma….I finally made my mark!” – your idiot brother-in-law

OK. That last one is my own creation.

I think that a pair of novelty undies with a fake skidmark on them would make a funny gag gift. Like for a retirement party to show the old codger what old age has in store for him. Or perhaps for a bachelorette party to show the lady-of-the-hour what the bliss of matrimony holds in store for her now that the courtship is over…

http://www.skiddz.com

Growing Old In A Red Miata

Writen by Tim Knox

I just had a birthday. Let me correct that: I just had ANOTHER birthday. Before you start congratulating me on making it through yet another year with most of my hair and a fair number of my own teeth intact, let me say that I was not particularly thrilled about the occasion. In fact, I would’ve been happy to have just slept through it. Then again, I feel that way about most days.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those men so afraid of growing old that I’ll wring the neck of the sweet bird of youth until its eyes pop out. You know who I’m talking about, that doofus at the stoplight in the red Miata with the top down and the Grecian Formula trickling down the side of his face. He’s got a cellular phone stuck in his ear, probably talking to his plastic surgeon about his impending facelift or his personal trainer about working off those love handles that flop over the sides of his Calvins. Oops, gotta go, twenty year old girlfriend on the other line. Thank God for call waiting and vitamin E.

Why go to so much trouble to stay young when growing old requires so little effort? I’ve had youth and, if my aging memory doesn’t fail me, it seems I spent most of my time sitting around wishing I was older.

Birthday or not, I’m not going to dye my hair. I’m not going to join a healthclub. And the only plastic surgery I’ll ever undergo will likely involve a pair of scissors and a maxed out Home Depot card. I wouldn’t mind having a red Miata and a cell phone, though. Every man needs a toy or two.

My apathy for birthdays has nothing to do with aging. I just don’t see the point in celebrating the anniversary of what was undoubtedly the most traumatic day of my life.

Thankfully, God blocks the memory of our births from our minds because He knows it would be too much for us mere mortals to handle. We blame our mothers for enough already. Why saddle them with the blame for our eviction in this biological landlord/tenant dispute.

We can only imagine how it must have been. There you are, minding your own business, dog paddling around in the dark. It’s nice and warm, safe, cozy. Then - BAM! Somebody pulls the plug on your parental wave pool and all hell breaks loose!

You’re thrust head-first into an incredibly bright place where some hysterical woman is yelling at some poor man who’s passed out on the floor, calling him awful names, accusing his parents of never having been married. Suddenly, you’re being dangled upside down and someone claiming to be a licensed member of the medical profession is slapping you on the behind! What kind of voodoo medicine is this, you wonder? If anybody should be getting slapped it’s that hysterical, screaming woman, certainly not you.

I guess we should just be thankful that being hung upside-down while naked and spanked on the behind never became a widely practiced tradition. I understand there are places in larger cities where you can get such treatment if you like, though I have no personal knowledge of this myself.

This birthday was my 37th, which means that I have another three years before hitting that age commonly known as “The Big Four-O.” The “O” stands for “Ominous.” It’s all down hill from here, bubba.

In the grand scheme of things, forty is the hump day of life.

Forty is the age when your friends and coworkers come up to you and say such wonderfully warm things as, “Your life’s half over!” and “You really look great for someone your age!”

Thanks, dear friends. Thanks a lot.

They decorate your office with black streamers and black balloons and present you with black flowers and a black coffee mug that says “Older Than Dirt” on one side and “Excuse Me While I Decompose” on the other. They strap a black birthday hat on your head (the rubber band fits nicely under your double chins) and shove a black noisemaker in your mouth and expect you to smile and act gracious as they mock your mortality.

That’s when you realize that attending your own fortieth birthday party is a lot like attending your own funeral. The only difference is that funeral food is usually better.

As you struggle to blow out the forty black candles that are quickly achieving bonfire status atop your black cake, you hope that there’s not a seventy-year-old stripper waiting in the wings.

Then it’s time for the obligatory singing of “Happy Birthday To You,” done in the style of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” by a group of well meaning idiots that couldn’t carry a tune in a paper bag.

And all the while you’re thinking, “Where did I leave my AK47?”

It’s a documented fact that most disgruntled postal workers become disgruntled soon after their fortieth birthday. Not hard to figure out why.

As always, I tried to keep this birthday under wraps. I didn’t want anyone congratulating me on my “big day,” not my coworkers, not my close friends, and certainly not those damnable singing waiters at TGIFridays. I embarrass myself enough during the course of a normal day. I don’t need help.

There was a party waiting for me when I got home (I have no control over what goes on there). It was a quiet affair, just my wife and my kids and my dog (the cat had a prior commitment). There were streamers and balloons hanging about the dining room and the table was perfectly set with paper plates and plastic forks, courtesy of my nine-year-old who fancies herself the Martha Stewart of the middle school set.

My youngest insisted that we all wear Barney and Baby Bop birthday hats as we ate our bucket of birthday chicken. Luckily, my wife forgot to buy film for the camera. A thirty-seven year old man wearing a Barney birthday hat with chicken grease running down his chin, does not exactly qualify as a Kodak moment.

Unless, of course, he’s sitting in a red Miata.

A Dog’s Guide To… Getting Your Dog to Stop Barking

Writen by Amber McNaught

I like to bark. I mean, I like to bark A LOT. So, whattya gonna do about it? Well, if you’re Amber and Terry, you’re going to do NOTHING about it. Ain’t nobody going to silence the Rubinman, you know what I’m sayin’? If you’re NOT Amber and Terry, though (i.e. you’re smart) and you want to know how to get your dog to just freakin’ shut up once in a while, here’s what you need to know

Why is your dog barking?

I’ll be honest here: I bark because I like it. And because it gets me some attention. I’m all about the attention. Now, you coulda probably guessed about the attention thing, but the fact that we actually ENJOY it? Who knew?

It’s true, though. Sometimes I just get a kick out of it. It’s like, I start barking because I’m excited, and then after a while I’m all, “hey! This totally rocks!” So I bark some more. And then some more after that. Then I finish up with a quick round of barking. Sometimes I come back for an encore. The truth is, by this time, like Justin Timberlake, I’m lovin’ it. So, how’re you gonna stop me? (Clue: you’re not. You’ll NEVER stop the Rubinman. But you know what I mean.)

Well, if you want to stop a dog that’s barking just for the hell of it, you’re gonna hafta get clever. Cleverer than Amber and Terry. Whatever you do, DON’T shout at me. You want to know what I think when you shout at me while I’m barking? I think, “Coooool! They’re totally barking with me! This SO rocks!” Ha! Amateurs!

No, what you need to do is, you need to distract me. You could play with me. You could feed me. (Actually, you should totally feed me. That’s the best thing to do. End of article.) But it’s better if you TRAIN me. Uh-huh. TRAIN ME.

Now, I know what y’all are thinking. You’re all, “But the Rubinman is cleverer than me! I’d NEVER train him!” Well, you’re right. You totally wouldn’t. But if you have a NORMAL dog, you can train it. Mebbe.

I am what’s called “clicker trained.” Clicker training is when you, like, get this CLICKY thing and get your dog to believe that if the thing clicks, something good happens. Could be a goodboy. Could be a big cuddle. (Note: the Rubinman is NOT a sissy. But a cuddle can be nice). Could be playing with your toys. Whatever it is, it’s GOOD. The clicker is power, and once ya got power over the dog, you’re the boss of it.* If you’re REALLY clever, you can teach your mutt to bark on command, and then stop barking on command too, using the clicker. That’s probably too advanced for you lot, though, so

Understand why YOUR dog is barking

So, yeah, now you know why the Rubinman barks. It’s important to know why YOUR dog barks, though. Here are some possible reasons:

Addictions Aren’t Pretty

Writen by Leigh Anne Jasheway-Bryant

We’ve all had addicts in our lives and we know it’s not pretty. Addicts can’t think clearly because their brain is so focused on whatever brings them the most pleasure, whether it’s painkillers, coffee, sex, shopping, chocolate, vanilla wafers, or oxygen. And those are just my addictions.

Recently I’ve discovered that my dog Maddy Lou is addict. Like mother like dog, I guess. Her substance of choice? Algae. That’s right, algae. And until you’ve seen an algae addict with the long stringy stuff hanging from her mouth, not even moving from her spot when you yell “Cookie,” you haven’t really seen them all.

There’s a fish pond in my backyard. Waterfalls, streambed, koi, the whole thing. I blew $3500 on this pond, but the upside is I had less money for chocolate and vanilla wafers for almost a year. Now I just need to find another place to funnel my mad money.

Where there’s a fish pond, there’s going to be algae. Don’t let the Pond People (doesn’t that sound like a great title for a really bad sci fi movie?) sell you $500 worth of chemicals and scrubbing devices that promise to keep your pond algae free. Unless you turn it it to a chlorinated swimming hole — which, by the way, will greatly disturb the fish’s addiction to living — there will be algae by the bucketful.

My husband and I both remove algae from the pond in our spare time, between fighting over how spicy to make the chili and watching how they built the pyramids on Discovery. I put the algae in a bucket and then dump the bucket in the compost pile. Hubby tosses the algae willy-nilly about the yard, despite my having asked him a thousand times NOT TO THROW THE ALGAE IN THE YARD BECAUSE MADDY LOU WILL EAT IT! I’ve even approached the conversation like you’re supposed to do with a two-year old who supposed can’t hear the word “Don’t.” I say “PUT THE ALGAE IN THE BUCKET,” but again, he hears, BLAH BLAH BLAH. I know, because he gets that same look on his face I get when he starts describing how to rebuild an engine.

So there’s algae on the lawn and a dog with an algae addiction in the house. Needless to say, she spends all day pacing back and forth between wherever I am and the back door, begging to be let out. She tries everything. The look that says “I really DO need to pee this time.” “Squirrel! I swear I saw a squirrel!” “Whoa! Was that a burglar stealing our koi?” It’s pitiful really.

She’s in detox now. I’ve cleaned all the algae I can from the back yard and I only let her out on supervised visits. I know my neighbors think I’m nuts as I follow my dog around the back yard like the Secret Service follows Dick Cheney every time he picks up a shotgun. I play a meditation videotape for her during the day to help her manage her Post Algae Stress Syndrome. I’ve even encouraged her brother to hump her to take her mind off her problems.

I’m hoping the onset of the rainy season will reduce the algae production and the likelihood of my husband leaving the warm, dry house for the backyard. But I’m not foolish enough to think breaking Maddy Lou’s addiction will be that easy. Next year, I plan to tell hubby DO NOT TOSS THE ALGAE IN THE NEIGHBOR’S YARD.

Cranelegs Top Ten Reasons Why We Are Doomed

Writen by Robert Crane

I’ve listen to hours of Air America, News Talk, and NPR. I have watched enough CSPAN, CNN, Reality TV and Food Channel to make my eyeballs pop out of their sockets and dance contently about the coffee table top. I have conversed with many, closely listening to their thoughts, many a time drifting off to think how death could not come to me soon enough. I have explored the far reaches of the ‘Blogoshere’ and ventured into the nooks and crannies of the ‘Internets’. And I can honestly tell you, I can’t take much more. We are doomed and here are the top ten reasons why.

10. Drama!

We have become a hodgepodge of tiny, insignificant little dramatic plays. It’s as if we never left the High School cafeteria. I overheard this elderly lady standing in the grocery check-out line behind me bark at her friend, “Iraq? Who cares! I’ve got my opwn problems. My sister-in-law just called my Gucci bag ‘TJ Max cheese’.”

9. End of Days, The Rapture, Apocalypse, Armageddon, Revelations!

Call it what you will, it’s always happening now. How many different ways can the bible prophesies be interpreted to unequivocally prove this is really, Really, REALLY the end? As far as I can tell, the only thing that comes and goes more frequently than the second coming of Christ, is the time wasted by those sitting around waiting for him.

8. Kevin Trudeau and his likes!

Someone please explain to me why this guy is still allowed to roam freely upon the Earth among humans. Trudeau could sell tuxedos to the Yanonamo. How many more ’secrets they don’t want you to know about’ can he reveal (for the reduced price of $29.99) without providing any information? From memory expert, to natural cures authority, to lotion alternatives for facial cosmetic surgery, Kevin is the King of the Gullible. You know what would be the perfect penalty for him? Lock down in a Guantanamo cell with that ‘tiny ads’ guy. They’d kill each other within nineteen hours.

7. Free Credit Report, Free Ipod, Free dinner at Red Lobster, Free anything!

Occasionally for the fun of it, I peruse my Yahoo ‘bulk email’ file to see what goodies I have won or have qualified to win or have been randomly selected to receive. Of course, it’s always ‘free*’. Ah, the all powerful ‘*’; the I-can-promise-you-anything-I-want-because-I’m-going-to-disclaim-it-somewhere-obscure-on-this-two-mile-long-scrolling-page-in-a-tiny-font-that-only-ants-can-read ‘*’. Come on, we’ve all done it. We’ve all bypassed searching for the ‘*’ disclaimer and fervently clicked through a hundred idiotic offers in a gallant, if not foolhardy attempt to reach the promised land of free merchandize, only to discover the “*” explained in the most vague terms imaginable that one must buy one or more offerings before one ‘qualifies’ for the ‘free’ gift. The only people more naive than those rifling endlessly through these emails are the folks who paid a slightly smarter huckster to learn how to write these stupid ads to begin with, in the futile hope that money might be made easily and that cool tropical drinks on white sandy beaches rested a mere 1.2 million sucker clicks away.

6. Imus and Stern!

They are old men with trophy females for their frail egos who seem to have forgotten what made them popular and wealthy. And somewhere along the way, they’ve traded in wit for self-importance. Let’s see where the trophies are when the bedsores need tending to. Good riddance!

5. Emails from Nigeria!

Why me? Why am I the guy they select? Who is handing over my email address to all these poor wealthy people in Nigeria? Why do they burden me as the blessed chosen honest soul with whom they can trust their money transfers, or inheritance, or business funds? Oh well, at last count, I have gladly turned over my bank account and social security number to ninety two sad individuals, hoping to assist them in their moment of hardship and make a few bucks along the way of which I plan to give 50% to charity. I’m still waiting for the first check to arrive into my account which appears to be dwindling for some odd reason. Must be negative interest rates or something.

4. Donald Trump, Paula Abdul, Tom Cruise, Larry King!

One lost the little integrity he had, one lost her groove, one lost his marbles, and one is just plain lost. They have all lost my interest. And what is this fascination we have with the offspring of celebrities and how they are taking to parenthoodas if hiring a nursery full of around-the-clock surrogate mothers (a.k.a., nannies) is somehow analogous to what most folks experience: diapers filled with toxic waste, octave piercing crying, spit-up that burns holes through inch steel plates and eight hours of sleep a week. But for some reason, we clamor to hear Donald say he really likes feeding his baby. I guess that’s a big deal for one who knows the art of the deal.

3. News obsession with personal tragedy stories!

What is CNN’s, FOX’s, MSNBC’s, Network News’ preoccupation with personal tragedy? Some poor kid has a leg bitten off by a shark and four hundred camera crews manned with five hundred reporters descend on the victim’s neighbors, school teachers, church leaders, little league coaches and cousins twice-removed of little league coaches to get an exclusive inside story on the personal agony of the family. And if that isn’t enough, they hunt down local pet store owners to get expert testimony on shark attacks. And most of the people who soak up these tear-jerking pieces like a truck load of Bounty super absorbent paper towels are the same knuckleheads who complain that only the bad stuff is reported from Iraq. I can’t imagine why.

2. Jimmy Hoffa!

Jimmy Hoffa is dead! Jimmy Hoffa has been dead for a long time now. You know how long? He has been dead for so long that the FBI has spent taxpayer money to bring in a team of archeologists and anthropologists to investigate the most recent claim to his whereabouts. Do you know what archeologists and anthropologists do? They search for lost civilizations and missing links for Gods sake! That’s how long he has been dead! Where are the clairvoyants when you need them? Personally? I think Jimmy Hoffa got fed up, took off, had a little surgery and started a new life under a secret new persona. I think Jimmy Hoffa is Pee Wee Herman.

1. Our Government!

Republicans and Democrats alike have become useless. While the two parties continue to fiddle around, home burns. Why just the other day, amidst a southern border that looks like the night of the living undocumented workers, the Senate passed not one but two propositions to a pending Immigration Bill: 1) make English the national language, and 2) make English the common and unifying language. Whew I’m sure glad they took care of that. I think I can sleep better at night now knowing English is here to save the day.

The real casualty of our two party system’s arrogance is leadership. It has atrophied along with that other useless appendage, integrity. And that arrogance unfortunately has percolated down to the masses. We really believe that God is on our side; an arrogant twist to what Lincoln once stated so eloquently, “My concern is not whether God is on our side; my greatest concern is to be on God’s side “

Bill O’Reilly, you want to return to traditional values? Start with that one pal!

This article was written by humorist Robert Crane. Author of “Still Living in the Sixties” and “The Single Adventure of Inlin Freebosh”, Robert also writes a popular blog of casual observations and polical commentary, almost always unfair and never balanced, all of which can be freely read at his website located in the outer edges of the “internets”:

http://www.cranelegs.com