iowahawk

BELTWAY ADVENTURE

WELCOME TO ADVENTURE! WOULD YOU LIKE INSTRUCTIONS?

>YES

YOU ARE SOMEWHERE IN BELTWAY FOREST, WHERE SOME HAVE FOUND TREASURES OF GOLD ALTHOUGH SOME HAVE ENTERED AND NEVER BEEN SEEN AGAIN. MAGIC IS SAID TO WORK IN THE FOREST. I WILL BE YOUR EYES AND HANDS. DIRECT ME WITH SIMPLE COMMANDS.

YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. THERE IS SNOW OUTSIDE. YOU ARE BEHIND A DESK. ON DESK THERE IS A BUST OF CHURCHILL.

YOU HAVE A CONGRESS.

YOU HAVE A SENATE.

YOU HAVE A MEDIA.

YOU HAVE A TELEPROMPTER.

YOU HAVE A MILITARY.

YOU HAVE A BIG JET.

YOU HAVE $3 TRILLION OF GOLD.

YOU HAVE 82% APPROVAL HEALTH.

THERE IS 7.2% UNEMPLOYMENT IN THE FOREST.

YOU HAVE A RACE CARD.

YOU HAVE INAUGURAL PARTY LEFTOVERS.

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>EAT LEFTOVERS

>RETURN BUST

YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. YOU ARE BEHIND A DESK. ON DESK THERE IS NO BUST OF CHURCHILL. THERE ARE NO MORE LEFTOVERS. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>GIVE SPEECH

 YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. YOUR APPROVAL HEALTH IS 81%. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>NAME TEAM

ENTER TEAM NAMES. GIVE THEM WEAPONS AND SPECIAL POWERS SEPARATED BY COMMA. WHEN YOU ARE DONE PRESS CTL-T

>BIDEN, BRAIN
>HILLARY, RESET BUTTON
>HOLDER, LAW
>GEITHNER, GOLD
>RAHM, CURSES
>JARRETT, FASHION
>AXELROD, MUSTACHE
>SEBELIUS, HEALTH
>LAHOOD, LIGHT RAIL
>CULVER, FOOD
>CHU, AIR
>GOOLSBY, BLACK MAGICK
>GIBBS, MOUTH
>DUNN, FEMALE MOUTH
^T

DO YOU WANT CZARS?

>Y

ENTER CZAR NAMES SEPARATED BY COMMA. WHEN YOU ARE DONE PRESS CTL-T

>JONES, JENNINGS, HOLBROOK, CROWLEY, RATTNER, MONTGOMERY, BERSIN, HAYES, ROSS, STERN, ROSENTHAL, VOLKER, BROWNER, DUBOIS, DAVIS, FRIED, DEPARLE, KUNDRA, BLAIR, MITCHELL, FEINBERG, SUNSTEIN, HOLDREN, DEVANEY, GRATION, ALLISON, CHOPRA, BRENNAN, CARRION, CARTER, SAMORE

I'M SORRY. THAT IS AGAINST THE CONSTITUTION. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>IGNORE CONSTITUTION

YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. YOU ARE BEHIND A DESK. YOU ARE BORED. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>GIVE RESET BUTTON TO RUSSIA, BUY CAR COMPANIES

HOW MANY CAR COMPANIES?

>2

THIS WILL COST $85 BILLION OF GOLD. YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. YOU HAVE 2 CAR COMPANIES. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO WITH THEM?

>GIVE TO UNIONS

YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. YOUR APPROVAL HEALTH IS 67%. UNEMPLOYMENT IN THE FOREST IS 8.1% WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>STIMULATE ECONOMY

HOW?

>$1 TRILLION TARP

YOU DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH GOLD FOR THAT. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>BORROW GOLD

FROM?

>CHINA

WHO DO YOU WANT GOLD TO GO TO?

>BANKING AND INSURANCE FRIENDS

YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. YOUR APPROVAL HEALTH IS 61%. UNEMPLOYMENT IN THE FOREST IS 8.3% THE FOREST PEASANTS ARE COMPLAINING. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>DEMONIZE BANKS, DEMONIZE INSURANCE, BLAME BUSH

YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. YOUR APPROVAL HEALTH IS 61%. UNEMPLOYMENT IN THE FOREST IS 8.5% WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>GIVE SPEECH

CONGRATULATIONS! YOUR SPEECH HAS WON NOBEL PEACE PRIZE. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>FLY JET

WHERE?

>EUROPE

YOU ARE IN A PALACE. YOU ARE STANDING IN FRONT OF QUEEN. WHAT DO WANT TO DO?

>GIVE QUEEN IPOD

YOU ARE IN OSLO. YOU ARE IN TUXEDO. WHAT DO WANT TO DO?

>ACCEPT PEACE PRIZE

YOU ARE IN COPENHAGEN. YOU ARE IN FRONT OF COMMITTEE.

>REQUEST OLYMPICS

YOU ARE ON BIG JET. WHERE DO YOU WANT TO GO?

>MIDEAST

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO THERE?

>APOLOGY SPEECH

YOU ARE IN A PALACE. YOU ARE STANDING IN FRONT OF FAT KING. HE SMELLS BAD. HE IS WEARING BED SHEET. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>BOW

YOU ARE ON BIG JET. WHERE DO YOU WANT TO GO?

>BELTWAY

YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. YOU ARE BEHIND A DESK. ON THE DESK IS A NOBEL PEACE PRIZE. YOUR APPROVAL HEALTH IS 58%. UNEMPLOYMENT IN THE FOREST IS 8.6% WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>STIMULATE ECONOMY

HOW?

>$1 TRILLION RECOVERY ACT

I'M SORRY, YOU DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH GOLD FOR THAT. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>BORROW FROM CHINA

I'M SORRY, CHINA DOES NOT WANT TO LEND YOU GOLD. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>PRINT GOLD

WHERE DO YOU WANT GOLD TO GO TO?

>CONSTRUCTION SIGNS, WHATEVER

DO YOU WANT CONGRESS TO HELP?

>Y

YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. YOU ARE BEHIND A DESK. YOUR APPROVAL HEALTH IS 55%. YOUR CONGRESS HAS 31% HEALTH. UNEMPLOYMENT IN THE FOREST IS 8.9% YOUR FRIEND AT HARVARD IS ARRESTED BY POLICEMAN.

>CALL POLICEMAN STUPID, PLAY RACE CARD

I'M SORRY, THAT DID NOT WORK. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>BEER SUMMIT, BLAME BUSH

YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. YOU ARE BEHIND A DESK. ON THE DESK IS A TELEPHONE AND A TV. THE TELEPHONE RINGS. IT IS COPENHAGEN. YOU DO NOT GET THE OLYMPICS FOR CHICAGO. A PEASANT ON TV FROM CHICAGO CALLS FOR TEA PARTY REVOLT. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>NATIONALIZE HEALTHCARE

I'M SORRY, THIS NAME WILL NOT WORK. DO YOU WANT TO CALL IT SOMETHING DIFFERENT?

>REFORM HEALTHCARE

YOU WILL NEED A CONGRESS AND SENATE TO "REFORM HEALTHCARE" IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

>TELL CONGRESS TO REFORM HEALTHCARE

YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. YOU ARE WITH GENERALS. AFGHANISTAN IS GOING BAD. IRAN IS BUILDING NUCLEAR BOMBS. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>PLAY GOLF

YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. ON THE TV ARE TOWN HALLS. AT THE TOWN HALLS ARE PEASANTS. THEY ARE YELLING AT YOUR CONGRESS. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>ATTACK PEASANTS

WITH WHAT?

>MEDIA

WHAT WEAPON?

>RACE CARD

THE PEASANTS ARE NOW ANGRIER. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>ATTACK PEASANTS

WITH WHAT?

>UNIONS

WHAT WEAPON?

>FISTS, NIGHTSTICKS

YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. ON THE TV ARE YOUR CZARS. YOUR CZARS ARE PRAISING COMMUNISM. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>PLAY RACE CARD, VOICE SUPPORT FOR CZARS

I'M SORRY, THIS DOES NOT WORK. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>THROW CZARS UNDER BUS

CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE A SUPREME COURT VACANCY. WHO DO YOU WANT TO APPOINT?

>WISE LATINA

YOU SEEM TO BE HAVING PROBLEMS. DO YOU WANT TO SET PRIORITIES?

>Y

ENTER TOP PRIORITIES SEPARATED BY COMMAS.

>HEALTH CARE, CHILDHOOD OBESITY, ECONOMY, GAS MILEAGE, GITMO, JOBS, CONSTRUCTION SIGNS, LIGHT RAIL, MUSLIM SELF ESTEEM, GOLF HANDICAP, WAR

DO YOU NEED A CIGARETTE BREAK?

>Y

ADVENTURE WILL RESUME WHEN YOU PRESS F12

>[F12]

YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. YOU ARE STANDING IN FRONT OF CONGRESS. ON THE DESK IS DRAFT HEALTH CARE BILL. DO YOU WANT TO READ?

>N

YOU CANNOT SIGN HEALTH CARE BILL UNTIL IT PASSES THROUGH CONGRESS RULES. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>CHANGE RULES, RAM THROUGH

CONGRESS SAYS THEY ARE AFRAID OF PEASANTS.

>TELL CONGRESS TO ATTACK PEASANTS

HOW?

>RACE CARD, CHOKE HOLDS

YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. YOU ARE BEHIND A DESK. YOUR APPROVAL HEALTH IS 49%. HEALTH CARE BILL IS STALLED. YOUR CONGRESS HAS 16% HEALTH. UNEMPLOYMENT IN THE FOREST IS 9.5%. YOUR TEAM IS SHOPPING THEIR RESUMES. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>ADD PAGES TO HEALTH CARE BILL

HOW MANY?

>1826

DO YOU WANT TO READ NEW HEALTH CARE BILL?

>N

HEALTH CARE BILL NOW COST $1 TRILLION. HOW WILL YOU PAY?

>PRETEND IT COSTS $0

CONGRATULATIONS! YOU NOW HAVE HEALTH CARE BILL. DO YOU WISH TO SIGN?

>Y

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO WITH HEALTH CARE BILL?

>GIVE TO PEASANTS AS XMAS GIFT

YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. YOU ARE BEHIND A DESK. YOUR APPROVAL HEALTH IS 46%. YOU HAVE LOST 3 CONGRESSMEN TO PEASANTS IN SPECIAL ELECTION REVOLT. YOUR CONGRESS HAS 11% HEALTH. UNEMPLOYMENT IN THE FOREST IS 10.0%. WAR IS GOING BAD. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>PLAY GOLF, RENAME WAR

GIVE NEW NAME TO WAR.

>OVERSEAS CONTINGENCY OPERATION

YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. THE GOVERNOR IN ARIZONA FOREST IS THREATENING TO ENFORCE YOUR IMMIGRATION LAWS. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>ATTACK ARIZONA

HOW?

>RACE CARD, HOLDER

HOLDER IS BUSY LOOKING FOR NEW YORK COURT FOR TRIAL FOR TERRORISTS. I MEAN UNDOCUMENTED GUEST DISSENTER. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>PLAY GOLF

YOU ARE ON A GOLF GREEN. YOU ARE STANDING NEXT TO A GOLF CART. ON THE GOLF CART IS A SUITCASE WITH A RED PHONE. THE PHONE RINGS. IT IS CONGRESS. THEY ARE EVEN MORE SCARED OF PEASANTS, WHO ARE EVEN MORE PISSED OFF. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>CALM CONGRESS

HOW?

>TELL TO WORK ON CAP AND TRADE

YOU SEEMS TO BE HAVING PROBLEMS. WOULD YOU LIKE HELP?

>Y

ENTER YOUR HELPERS SEPARATED BY COMMAS.

>MSNBC, NYT, ACORN, SEIU, MOVE ON, NETROOTS, SOROS

ARE YOU SURE?

>Y

SERIOUSLY, ARE YOU SURE?

>Y

I'M NOT TRYING TO TELL YOU HOW TO PLAY THE ADVENTURE, BUT I'M NOT SURE THAT REALLY QUALIFIES AS "HELP." ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY SURE?

>Y

OKAY, YOU'RE THE BOSS. PLEASE ENTER THE NUMBER OF PUFF PIECES YOU WANT.

>180

PLEASE ENTER THE NUMBER OF ATTACK PIECES YOU WANT.

>5276

ATTACK PIECES HAVE BACKFIRED. MEDIA IS AT 0% HEALTH. ACORN IS AT 0% HEALTH. CONGRESS IS AT 7% HEALTH. THERE ARE A LOT MORE PEASANTS OUT THERE THAN YOU THOUGHT. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>BLAME BUSH

THAT DOES NOT WORK ANYMORE.

>BLAME BANKS

THAT DOES NOT WORK ANYMORE.

>BLAME PALIN

WOULD YOU LIKE TO BUY A DISTRACTION?

>Y

I'M SORRY, THE PEASANTS ARE NOT EASILY DISTRACTED. YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. YOU ARE BEHIND A DESK. YOU HAVE LOST RAHM. PEASANTS ARE LOSING THEIR HEALTH CARE. PEASANTS ARE MARCHING ON THE BELTWAY. THERE IS 9.6% UNEMPLOYMENT IN THE FOREST. YOUR APPROVAL HEALTH IS 42%. YOUR CONGRESS HAS 1.3% HEALTH. YOUR CONGRESS WILL NOT RETURN YOUR CALLS. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>TURN LEFT

EXCUSE ME?

>TURN LEFT

WHOA. FOR A MINUTE THERE I THOUGHT YOU TYPED 'TURN LEFT'.

>I DID! TURN LEFT

UMM, ANY PARTICULAR REASON?

>ENERGIZE BASE

BY "BASE", DO YOU MEAN THAT REPULSIVE COLLECTION OF SNIDE FUCKWIT URBAN HIPSTER TWATS?

>Y

HOW?

>CAR DITCH SLURPEE JOKE

BASE ENERGY FAIL. STIMULUS FAIL. HEALTH CARE FAIL. TARP FAIL.

YOU ARE IN AN OVAL OFFICE. YOU HAVE 41% APPROVAL HEALTH. YOU HAVE NO GOLD LEFT. YOU HAVE NO CONGRESS LEFT. YOU HAVE NO MEDIA LEFT. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>BLAME BUSH

I'M SORRY, THAT DOESN'T WORK ANYMORE.

>PLAY RACE CARD

I'M SORRY, THAT DOESN'T WORK ANYMORE.

>PLAY GOLF

GOLF COURSE IS CLOSED.

>TURN LEFT

DUDE.

>FAKE TURN RIGHT

ADVENTURER PLEASE, YOU'RE JUST EMBARRASING YOURSELF.

>^C

>^C

>^C

I'M SORRY, THERE IS NO ESCAPE KEY. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

>

 

It's Time for Carbon Action... Action! ACTION!

Dear Reader:

Good news! This coming Sunday is 10/10/10, which has been officially designated as global Carbon Action Day. Which, as I understand it, involves scaring up some action by way of our old miracle friend carbon - a/k/a "Gaia's gift to the periodic tables."

Mister, now that's the kind of activism I can get behind! And if the reader-driven annual Iowahawk Earth Week Cruise is any indication, you can too. That's why I'm asking you - the selfless, globally concerned Iowahawk reader - to dedicate the upcoming weekend to increasing your carbon output by 10*10*10%. And the more action you create the better! Have some tires to smoke? Leaves to burn? Bratwurst to grill? Heavy breathing to do? Get to it, carbon slacker, and be creative! Send me the documentary evidence (video, photo, or links) and I'll see to it your fellow Iowahawk carbon activist are informed of your good works, right here on this thread.

Together we can stand proudly alongside other activists, like the fantasy-snuff-film makers of the 10:10 Project, and let the world know we are ready to do something about carbon. Plus generate some cheap site hits for me!

Send me your stuff by Friday Oct 15, via the email link on the left sidebar, with subject line "10/10 Carbon Action." Thread will be updated as entries roll in. To help generate community awareness and activism, comments are now open!

10/13/10 UPDATE

Many thanks to all for sharing your carbon exploits, both by email and in the comments section. One last one from me - after ditching Tammi Jo on Saturday to drink beer with my bum hot rod friends the Hunnert Car Pileup (see below) I thought it'd be best for common-law marriage relations to spend Sunday on a romantic his & hers carbon spew. Drove all 7 of our operational vehicles (5 cars, 2 sickles), capped by a drive to Navy Pier for a ride on a real life Chicago carbon pirate ship. Aaaaarrrrrgh matey! Never mind those sails, that sucker had a big diesel below deck.

10/11/10 UPDATE: BEHOLD THE CARBONATION

Thanks to the Sunday carbon activism of wise earth steward C. Thompson, the planet will soon have a sustainable supply of high fructose corn syrup:

This little beauty burns 35 gallons of diesel fuel a day, but its carbon emissions are dwarfed by those liberated by burning of trees. This land is being cleared of forest in order to plant corn. Will definitely be roudup-ready corn fertilized with urea synthetically derived from natural gas ripped from the tender womb of Gaia.

Anthony Bialy does his carbonating in the most efficient way possible - by paying the corporate experts at Micky D's:

I outsourced my carbon output increase to the professionals. What better option is there for increasing one's footprint than the world’s favorite fryer? Being part of the solution was greasily delicious. And you better fucking believe I ordered the biggest value meal they sell, because I CARE. Best of all, I won a "large beef sandwich" in the Monopoly game. I will think globally/gorge locally again soon for free!

Everythang's big in Texas - especially the carbon output! Quadruple-threat carbonator Mike B explains:

Here in Texas, once the Fall breezes blow an the temp drops below the mid 90s, there is such a flurry of activity that one has to pick and choose which event and vehicle that one has time to get going.

As we say here in Texas, "If you don't have an oil well, get one."

The first Saturday of the Month is Cars & Coffee. Plus got my Alfa to Italian Car Fest. A few highlights.

Last weekend was the GoodGuys show at the Texas Motor Speedway. It was also the Peanut Fest in my home town of Aubrey. Drove my tractor to town and joined the parade. Mine's at the tail end.

I usually participate, but the Texas Antique Airplane Association was also holding their Fly-In at the Gainsville Airport. I flew my Pacer. There were 120 aircraft registered.

Today was our Cadillac-LaSalle Club regional meet. Drug myself out and drove the '63 Coupe to the festivities. I would have brought the '41 as well, but couldn't find an extra driver.

Fellow Chicagolander Jeff Heileman paid back our unseasonable awesome weather with a delicious carbon contribution:

Here is my small contribution to your "carbon action" drive. The weather in Chicago was beautiful this weekend, so I fired up my smoker to cook up a load of spare ribs with a homemade Jim Beam BBQ sauce (half a cup for the sauce, one cup for the chef). I know this a meager offering, but bear in mind I had to chop down the apple tree in my backyard earlier this summer for the apple wood for the smoker. Its fruit producing days were long gone, and the only purpose the tree served was as a home for a bunch of freeloading squirrels and birds! By the way, the ribs were great, recipe at http://www.smoker-cooking.com/smokedbabybackribs.html and you can find a good Bourbon sauce recipe under the sauces link on that page.

When it comes to his '69 F-100, Ed Stembridge obeys Truth-In-Labeling laws.

Atlanta's James Hammons is probably out of the running for a Nobel Peace Prize after this Sunday drive:

I fly a fabric-covered, radial-engined, 100-octane LEADED fuel burning, oil-smoke-spewing biplane, pimping rides in Atlanta. We separate the unsuspecting masses from their cash, in return for messing up their hair and upsetting their stomach for 30 minutes at a time.

We do the same thing at regional airshows, where people line up to hand us their money. We took these photos today, during the foolishness. The yellow biplane (N7020L) is mine, but I included some other hot rods, including a 12,000 HP jet dragster that crept along the runway at a mere 375 MPH. Twice. Each Day.

A couple of F-15s burning kerosene in the afterburners managed a fuel burn of about 1000 pounds of fuel per MINUTE, and the grand finale was the jet dragster racing an airplane, and the race ended with a pyro display worthy of a tree hugger's ire. As you'll see, the smoke blocked the sun.

Did I mention we did all of this two days in a row? Got bless Capitalism and leaded fuel.

One of my favorite Iowahawk readers, the mighty and mysterious "Pilot X," never disappoints in carbon-related reader participation posts. He send this pic of his hoopty, and from the comments adds:

Today I unselfishly contributed and then vaporized 2,052 gallons of ultra-premium JET-A to the cause of keeping the planet from turning into a giant ice ball. Thank me very much.

"Red Seewun" of the carbon crazy San Fernando Valley decided to do some cross-promotion at Gaia-worship site 350.org for his Sunday carbon fest. The party poopers deleted it, but not before Red grabbed a screen cap:

Atlanta's Ralph Lord had a solid reason for celebrating the human race yesterday:

We're having a party today for my wife who just finished radiation treatment for cancer. 3 large pieces of meat smoked and rotisseried. (is that a word?) Oh, the wasteful emission of carbon we'll be causing

1. The carbon emitted to raise the livestock
2. The methane (containing carbon you know) emitted by the livestock
3. The carbon put into the atmosphere to cook the meat
4. 30 kids running around expelling huge amounts of CO2. Maybe we should ask them to sit quietly and not breathe so hard?
5. The extra CO2 that escapes from the keg of barley pop

BTW, I wonder how much wonderful carbon was emitted for the construction and operation of the radiation machine? Egads, think how we could have helped mother earth by just letting my wife die and not using the 'lectricity to shoot the x-rays. Oh, the horror of our selfishness is becoming apparent to me now.

I think we'll just have to kill her at the party and burn her on a BBQ pyre. Wait a minute...

Former Iowan Jeff Matejcik spent Sunday carbonating Arizona and 3 or 4 other Southwest states in his righteous Caddy:

This is my 1966 Caddy, 429, Rochester 4-Jet. Original everything - inside and out (except for the seat covers). Bought her in 2000 with 140K on her - and and she's been my DAILY for 110,000 more. Blowing so much oil past the rings on #6 cylinder and the front and rear seals (gotta keep that oil level just below the shaft - ha) that she takes a a quart every couple of days and occasionally some Lucas honey. If you want hot rod action on a tranny and rear end geared this low (limo style) you have to hyper tune the carb and thump that pedal to drag off every line and leave the appropriate cloud of oil smoke. Sticker in the back window says "shut up hippy" and the other says "Joy Division". Pure Detroit muscle - and it makes me happy every day I throw it down the road. Here she is at Manzanita Speed Way (before they turned it into another housing development) in Phoenix - dirt race track - I got to take it around the track before we left (that includes both girls in this picture)... and had no business parking her along side of all the sweet piles of love-rust that we were around.

*Unfortunately I will have to disqualify Jeff from award consideration; hot chick and Caddy not withstanding, what kind of Iowan puts a damned MICHIGAN plate on it?

PD Batt offers this meaty entry:

Over pure carbon charcoal, 2 NY strip steaks (from corn fed, flatulence emitting bovine’s) cook “Pittsburgh Style” in cast iron to honor the ultimate Carbon Kings, the iron workers, whose smokestacks, rising hundreds of feet in the air, paid homage to Gaia by spreading the blessed carbon across several states and countries.

And we cruise to the butcher shop in this 2010 Iowahawk Earth Day Virtual Cruise-In entry;

 

Harry Bergeron writes:

I will spend 10/10 building this simple ramjet, copied from the V-1 buzz bomb by the godless heathens at Survival Research Labs.  Runs on kerosene squeezed from coal 

And in the evening, visit the drags to see the famous Late To School Rocket Drag Bus

 

10/10/10 10:10 AM UPDATE: videos and pics are beginning to trickle in, and I'll be updating this post as they do.

First contestant: me! I got a jumpstart on the carbonating yesterday by making a completely unnecessary 400 mile solo round trip in an empty 5.4 liter V-8 pickup to Decatur IL for the 9th Hunnert Car Pileup, an annual pagan rite that celebrates automotive inefficiency. Somewhere around 2000 hot rod and customs were on hand for the festivities, and afterwards I attended an elegant carbon spewing afterparty BBQ at the home of my colleague Aaron 'Plowboy' Grote (whom you may recall from our sojourn to the Playboy Mansion last year).

Some noteworthy carbon activism stickers spotted:

And a slideshow of some of the festivities:

 

 

 

Mad Men

Environmental PSAs have certainly evolved since the day of Woodsy Owl and Iron Eyes Cody, if this educational film from the UK is any indication (h/t Tim Blair).

An impressive piece of work to be sure, especially when you consider the amount of effort that went into its making. It might even make a boffo Harvard Business School case study.

London, sometime earlier this year: The 10:10 Project, a nonprofit NGO focused on reducing carbon, convenes a high level meeting in their posh modern conference room. After reviewing PowerPoint on the results of their latest government grant proposals and white-liberal-guilt fund raising campaigns, the 10:10 marketing team reports that previous communication efforts have not been proceeding as expected.

"Perhaps what we need is a fresh new campaign," offers one of the conferees. "Something different, provocative... something edgy. Something that will really get our message across." This is greeted with great excitement. The finance director pours through spreadsheets and identifies a budget source. An executive screening committee is appointed who develop timelines and begin scheduling meetings with London's top agencies and independent film production firms.

Several weeks later, after sitting through a half dozen agency presentations that have yet to meet their standards, 10:10's highly paid executive brain trust arrives at a meeting at the sleek offices of  London's hottest agency Splodey, Youngblood, Gutz & Bones. After introductions, small talk, and pastries, SYG&B's creative director - winner of 5 British Clio awards - strolls confidently to the television monitor at the front of the room and walks the 10:10 clients through a scene-by-scene video storyboard pitching a new promotional mini-movie that will solve their communication dilemma. The smoothness of the presentation masks the hundreds of late night man-hours and debating the SYG&B creative department spent in crafting it - but it was worth it.

"Brilliant!" exclaims the 10:10 executive committee chair, to the enthusiastic nods of his colleagues. "Add one more exploding child, and I think we have a winner."

Small changes are made to bring the production budget under $400,000, and the agency brings in a high profile horror director to put it on film. Ads are taken in the trades to announce casting calls. After reading through the script the Tottenham Hotspur football club agrees to allow its players to appear in the project. Fees are discussed through the players' agents.

For nearly an entire week, the director and his two assistant directors peer intently at each auditioning actor as they pantomime reactions to imagined exploding bodies next to them. Do they give a convincing portrayal of traumatic shock? Will they read through the line again? It takes at least three auditions per role to finally cast the film, but this is what it takes to create art.

Finally, with five separate locations scouted and scheduled, a unionized crew hired, and with craft services contracted, filming begins in late August. Excited members of the 10:10 team are on hand to witness the magic of movie making. Assistants with light meters take careful measurements of each shot and run the actors through their blocks. Hair and makeup and blood bucket workers stand at the ready. The shooting goes smoothly, requiring only five or six takes per scene. 

A week later, the raw footage goes to post production where the award winning editor begins paring it down to its final length. Special effects are subcontracted to London's top CGI and sound designers, to give the flying blood and bone fragments the you-are-there realism that will enhance the film's carbon-awareness-raising impact.

After some last minute tweaks the director delivers the final cut to SYG&B in late September. A gala weekend premier screening is arranged at the 10:10 office, with key 10:10 donors, board members, staff and spouses on hand. As the film ends, party-goers erupt into enthusiastic applause. The director steps forward to accept toasts and accolades, and take a polite bow.

And somehow, throughout this entire process, not one of the hundreds of people involved seemed to have questioned the wisdom of an advertising message advocating the violent, sudden death of people who disagree with it.

Don Draper, call your office.

The Car, the Ditch, and the Slurpee

from Barack Obama's Big Book of Stump Speech Parables

Thank you for that kind introduction, _EMCEE______, and let me say how good it is to be back here in the __th district of _STATE___ which was so vital in helping us take back Washington in November of 2008. And let me also say that we've made a lot of progress thanks to __DEMOCRATIC_CANDIDATE__. Neither I nor the __th district has had a more loyal and hard-working ally in Congress.

As we all know, __DEMOCRATIC_CANDIDATE__ is facing a tough re-election campaign this November. S/he is facing an unprecedented barrage of attacks from outside special interest groups and Wall Street fat cats who want to make this election more about alleged __CANDIDATE_INCIDENT__ than the bread and butter issues that concern everyday voters in the ___th District. Well, we're not going to let them get away with it. Because the voters here know that when it comes to health care, the environment, and economic development __DEMOCRATIC_CANDIDATE__ is on their side.

Have we made all the progress we wanted to? Of course not. But we're working hard every day and moving in the right direction. And make no mistake, this is pretty darn hard work. Now, you see, I like to use a little analogy. The Republicans drove the car into the ditch. [pause for applause]

So now and me and __DEMOCRATIC_CANDIDATE__ are down there, behind the bumper, sweatin' and pushin', trying to get it out. [applause]

It's all hot, and there's flies and bugs and so on, and we're in our flipflops down there in the mud. [applause] Meanwhile __REPUBLICAN_CANDIDATE__ and his Republican friends are up on the blacktop, sipping on their Slurpees, laughing and telling us to work harder. [laughs, applause]

And don't even try to point out their horrible driving that put the car in the ditch in the first place, because then they'll accuse YOU of causing it -- even though it was the Republicans who told you to grab the wheel while they torched up the one-hitter. [applause]

Yeah, smooth move there Republicans, especially with that pineapple truck coming down the other side of the highway. Hey scro, I don't care whose hands were on the wheel - it was your ass in the damned driver's seat and Hawaii law says it's YOUR fault. [applause]

It's all right there in the Driver's Ed booklet. Which also says you're supposed to steer INTO the skid, just like I was before you tried to yank it back.

So, whatever, we're down in the ditch. Instead of thanking you for not totalling the car, the Republicans start up with their upperclassman bullshit. [applause]

You're like, "come on man, help push it out before the cops get here," and the Republicans are like, "I don't give a shit dude, it ain't my grandma's car." And then you remind them that they are the ones who are over 18 and will have to explain why they're in a car with minors and a trunk full of beer and weed and bashed mailboxes, and they're like, "Do we know you? Hey, we're just a couple of passing hitchhikers, man. We've never seen you guys before in our lives."

So instead of trying to argue further with these senior Republican assholes, __DEMOCRATIC CANDIDATE__ and I roll up our sleeves, get down there in the muck, and start working to get the car up out of the ditch so we can get back before 7th period History. [applause]

Meanwhile __REPUBLICAN_CANDIDATE__ and his fat buddy are up there sucking on their Slurpees, laughing everytime I kill the motor because I've never driven a stick. Fuck you, Republicans. I hope you get a brain freeze from your goddamn Slurpees. [applause]

Finally the predicament changes and you see another car coming down the highway. Thankfully it's not a cop, but kind of an older Chinese-looking surfer guy in a Jeep. Now, it's a little rusted out but you immediately realize that Jeep has 4 wheel drive, which is the sort of program you really need to get the economic car out of the ditch. [applause]

So you flag the Jeep down and ask the surfer for help. He looks at you and __DEMOCRATIC CANDIDATE__ up and down, real slow, and the he says, "sure... boys." Okay, yeah, maybe the whole thing's getting a little creepy at this point but you're tired and your flipflops are ruined and you're running out of getting-out-of-the-ditch options. So you take up a collection to give the Chinese surfer guy some money so he doesn't get the wrong idea, and guess what? The Republicans claim they spent their last dollar on the fucking Slurpee. [applause]

Luckily there is some weed and beer in the trunk of grandma's car which seems to satisfy the creepy Chinese surfer guy, and so __DEMOCRATIC CANDIDATE__ and me drag the chain down in the ditch and hook it to the bumper of the car. Then the Chinese surfer guns the motor on the Jeep and the car starts coming out of the ditch but then you hear a sickening snap and the front bumper comes flying off the car and then you start thinking about how to explain to your grandma why her Maverick is covered in mud and missing a bumper. And guess what? Those Republicans are still sitting on the side of the road, laughing their asses off, still sucking on the Slurpees.[applause]

So you take the chain back down in the ditch and wrap it around the front of the frame and get behind the wheel and start the Maverick, and wave to the Jeep guy, and you both gun your motors, and this time you finally get out of the ditch but you're still getting the hang of driving a stick, so you knock the Jeep into the ditch and accidentally hit the gas and go flying across the other side of the road into a pineapple field. And now those Republican fuckers are laughing so hard Slurpee is coming out of their noses.

Luckily the pineapple farmer drives by on his tractor and pulls you out, but then he's like "how come you boys aren't in school?"  And so the creepy Chinese surfer dude says, "it's alright, sir, I'm their teacher and we're on a biology field trip. Aren't we boys?" and all you can do is nod sheepishly because you already have 3 unexcused absences this quarter. [applause]

So then the pineapple farmer leaves and I'm sitting there with __DEMOCRATIC CANDIDATE__ and __REPUBLICAN_CANDIDATE__ and his fat fuck Republican buddy, plus now the creepy Chinese surfer dude's Jeep is wrecked from pulling your grandma's car out of the ditch, so we're pretty much obligated to offer him a ride back to Honolulu, which he seems a little too enthusiastic to accept. Then __REPUBLICAN_CANDIDATE__ grabs your car keys and throws him to his friend, the same asshole who drove into the ditch in the first place, and then __REPUBLICAN_CANDIDATE__ yells "shotgun!"

Oh. Perfect. Now me and __DEMOCRATIC CANDIDATE__ are sitting in the back of Grandma's bumperless Maverick, listening to dried clods of volcanic mud hitting inside the economy's wheel wells, with creepy shirtless Chinese surfer guy between us while __REPUBLICAN_CANDIDATE__ is playing that fucking Jethro Tull 8 track again that I can't stand. And then surfer guy lights up a one hitter with the weed we gave him for pulling our economy of the ditch, and offers to shotgun me a hit, while  -- swear to god -- he puts his hand on __DEMOCRATIC CANDIDATE__'s leg.

I mean, holy crap, now me and __DEMOCRATIC CANDIDATE__ are pretty much freaking out. Good thing at this point that the Republicans had those Slurpees, because now they have to pull the economy over to the side of the road to take a piss. [applause] So we all get out and then I notice that the Republicans have left the keys to the economy on the hood, so while they are pissing out behind the palm tree I grab them. [applause] And then __REPUBLICAN_CANDIDATE__ sees it and he has the nerve to yell, "hey, give us back the car keys!"

Car keys? We remember what happened when you Republicans had the car keys. This is our grandma's Maverick, and we're taking it back, learner's permit or no learner's permit. [applause] You Slurpee-sucking Republican fuckers can stay out here and rot with your new creepy surfer boyfriend until a ride comes along because we're driving now. [applause] 

Ha ha ha! [applause]

Aw shit. Hey, __DEMOCRATIC CANDIDATE__, do you know how to drive a stick?

If It Is a Fight These Jacobins Want, Then It Is a Fight They Shall Have

T. Coddington Van Voorhees VII
Conservative Intellectual At-Large

Such are the vicissitudes of our current political zeitgeist that Homo Republicanus is each day forced to endure a fresh assault on his intelligence somehow more insulting than the last. Doubly insulting, as you no doubt imagine, when the Homo in question is me. Contrary to what you may assume, the gift of intellectual acuity and foresight can in times like these prove to be an almost unbearable cross; I shall not use this space to recount the many unheeded warnings I have issued to fellow Republicans regarding the growing menace of the soi dissant "Tea Party" faction, other than to note that as a Cassandra I have, if anything, proven to be insufficiently alarmist.

The latest proof of this assertion came with Wednesday morning's grapefruit and New York Times, borne as always on the old family serving cart by Farquhar the old family butler. According to Van Voorhees lore the sterling conveyance was acquired by T. Coddington II during some long-forgotten 19th century Panic, from a newly destitute Albany canal boat nabob to whom he had lent a small ransom. Unable to repay his bonds, the man offered great-great-great grandpapa the serving cart in a desperate act of supplicancy to stave off a well-deserved thrashing from TC2's diamond-tipped swagger stick. Although it would not so avail him that day, the old tarnished trolley now serves as a handsome household heirloom. And, if the appraisers of Sotheby's are to be trusted, a lasting tribute to the Van Voorhees' famed financial clairvoyance. As for Farquhar, I would note that he has become in his own way an equally treasured family keepsake, having now faithfully served four generations of Van Voorheeses without complaint and without once taking a holiday. Though well into his late nineties and afflicted with the St. Vitus Dance, the old Irishman continues to do so today. As a lad I once queried my grandfather as to Farquhar's remarkable loyalty; in reply he explained that Farquhar was a penniless immigrant beggar waif when TC5 first discovered him at the Cunard docks in 1921; a wretched urchin possessing neither passport nor prospects, and with a Sinn Fein bounty on his head. In pity TC5 remanded young Farquhar to the custody of his household staff, who tutored him in the fine points of servantry and US deportation laws. Although his duties have for the most part been delegated to other members of our current household staff, I still request that he bring me my morning paper and grapefruit; for even as Mariska complains of his smell, the sight of the dear old chap hobbling into the breakfast room with the old serving cart provides a comforting reminder of a saner era when living was gracious and Republicans knew how to comport themselves.

But I digress. I was, as you might imagine, eager to read the results of the previous evening's Republican U.S. Senate primary in Delaware. Normally I would have followed the returns by live television, but Mariska and I were otherwise engaged as hosts of a black-tie fundraiser for our new charity program, Inner City Badminton, along with our dear friends from the firmament of conservative punditry, Kathleen Parker and David Brooks. Together we passionately believe that by introducing the "grand old pastime" to the hiphop community, we will in some small way begin to repair the incalculable damage done to Republican-African American relations by the racially tactless Tea Party idiots. Spirits were quite festive, especially after Parker, Brooks and the Rev. Sharpton became entangled in a badminton net during a Tom Collins-fueled limbo tournament. By the time they were freed we were all too giddy and exhausted to worry about election returns. Indeed, why should we? For the most part, the damage inflicted by the Tea Partyists has been confined to the hinterlands west of the Alleghenies and south of Washington, so it seemed somewhat absurd to suggest that their benighted candidates might actually find success in one of the better states like Delaware. Yes, I am aware of Mr. Scott Brown in Massachusetts, but as I have noted before, that particular electoral fluke can be readily explained by Brown's erotic appeal to his state's famously nymphomaniacal womenfolk. Once Senator Adonis suffers the ravages of time and gravity, I have every confidence Massachusetts will return, chastened, to its traditional progressive heritage. But Delaware? With its long record of electing deep, gravitas-laden men such as Joe Biden (who, despite suffering over 1500 sun strokes, cerebral infarctions, and hematomae over the last 10 years, retains a reputation as one of Washington's brightest minds) the 'First State' seemed the last state to be seduced by the Tea Partyist's inane lowbrow "smaller gubmint" hillbilly bunkum.

Thus I assumed when the Delaware Republican party approached me last week requesting high-level strategic advice it was in regards to the November general election. Mr. Biden's elevation to the executive branch created an open Senate seat and, mercifully, a rare moment of kismet for moderate and intellectual conservatives; here, at last, the right kind of seat, for the right kind of state, and the right kind of candidate in Mr. Mike Castle. With his nomination a forgone conclusion and a voting record scarcely distinguishable from Mr. Biden's, Mr. Castle would be undoubtedly competitive in November and could be supported by a better stripe of conservative without fear of Washington social embarrassment. Better yet, his nomination would represent a return to the rational conservatism which has been all but eclipsed by the dark moon of Tea Party lunacy. All that remained to formulate a strategy to position Mr. Castle further to the center for the general election, and to make arrangements for cocktails; two task for which I am eminently qualified and brimming with ideas. Instead, I was mortified to learn from party officials that they were in fact seeking help in parrying a primary challenge to Mr. Castle from a dark horse Republican who was in the midst of a last minute charge in the polls.

Who was this mysterious rival, I inquired - some heretofore unknown Machiavellian prodigy from Harvard poli sci? An old-money interloper from the Philadelphia Mainline? Neither, they said. The challenge, they explained, came in the form of one "Christine O'Donnell," a financially destitute 37-year old Tea Party schoolgirl whose intellectual heft by comparison made even la Palin look Obamanesque. I then watched in abject horror as they played a video of her crusading against teenage onanism. I admit no great pride in my own occasional participation in that unseemly adolescent pastime, but what sort of person declaims it on MTV? And what sort of party allows her name to appear on an official primary ballot? And that is when it struck me: I was obviously now witnessing the premise of an elaborate practical joke. Delawareans have long been known as the irascible pranksters of East Coast Republicanism, and to be selected as the target of their good-natured japery is in some fashion an honor. Even though the stunt nearly led to his untimely demise, the very first T. Coddington Van Voorhees himself reportedly enjoyed a hearty laugh after his waggish Delaware friend E. I. du Pont replaced his trusty dueling pistol with a replica that egested a comical "BANG" flag. Not wanting to spoil their fun, I did not let on to the Delaware party officials that I was wise to their little joke. Instead, I played along and counseled them to run a last minute, no-holds-barred negative media blitz against their impossibly fictional "Tea Party candidate."

And thus I awaited with wry anticipation as Farquhar slowly traversed the breakfast room with the cart bearing the punchline to the Delawareans' clever prank. This was followed by gales of riotous laughter when I discovered the wags had printed an entire mock edition of the New York Times announcing their satirical "Miss O'Donnell" had actually won the race! I was so overcome with mirth that I kicked over the cart, spilling grapefruit across the marble. As Farquhar trembled back to the kitchens to retrieve the mop, I reached for the ringing telephone prepared to hear the voice of the Delaware GOP chairman crowing about his ingenious drollery. Instead I was greeted with the panicked entreaties of none other that Mr. Castle himself, joined by the Republican National Congressional Committee brain trust, insisting against all rational evidence that Miss O'Donnell was in fact real and that she had indeed won the contest. I conducted an incredulous review of the cable news channels, which confirmed their wild story. I called the kitchen intercom and bade Farquhar fetch me a stiff drink on his way back with the mop.

What followed, I will state with no small amount of confidence, was the birth of a mighty counterrevolution to wrest the cause of conservatism back from the would-be mobs.

"Gentlemen, at long last it is time to draw a line in the sand," I announced. "For too long we have stood by idly while these insipid cretins - the Palins, the Limbaughs, the Becks - have run roughshod over our once proud party, making it a mockery and ruining our social standing, advancing the insane notion that years of Washington experience and good breeding are somehow trumped by idiotic pledges to dismantle the very government on which their very existence depends. Well, my friends, I say unto you, with this Delaware disaster they have gone a bridge too far. Today we begin the counterattack, and we will make it plain to the insurrectionists that they shan't see another dime of our inheritances."

The polite huzzahs and claps emanating from the speaker-phone indicated to me that my call to arms was striking a chord within the heart of traditional Republicanism. Heartened, I pressed on.

"If it is a fight the Jacobins want, then it is a fight they shall have," I added with a pugilistic flourish. "And let this be their warning - I once took 4th place in the East Hampton Silver Gloves boxing tournament."

My battle cry was greeted, as you might imagine, with a lusty cheer the likes of which had not been heard since the eve of Agincourt. And justly so; for in the course of human events, there comes a time when a well bred man must roll up his cashmere sleeves, grab the old family swagger stick, and remind the rabble of their proper place.

Take Farquhar, for instance. I swear the old fool just offered me an obscene gesture.

So You Want To Be a Right Wing Villain

From Allahpundit comes late breaking Washington showbiz news that another slasher flick from White House-Sulzberger-CBS Narrative Films has landed with a thud at the box office. As a result the studio will drop promising newcomer villain John Boehner and greenlight a big budget sequel starring - wait for it - Sarah Palin, Glenn Beck, and Rush Limbaugh.

More than anything, what really chaps my hide about this development is the lack of imagination. Why should these same boring overexposed studio "stars" get to hog all the limelight, when there are tens of millions of undiscovered amateur right wingers out here with the raw talent to become America's Next Top Media Scare Figure?

In fact I'd wager there's plenty of 'em right here at Iowahawk - maybe even you! All you need is that big break, like Susan Boyle or William Hung. That's why I'm opening up the comment section on this post to let you showcase your talent. Are you secretly a nexus between two extremist paramilitary organizations, like the Rotary and Shriners? Have a grotesque tan or flat nasal Midwestern twang or a suspiciously large number of children? Lack a plumber's license? Then you just might have what it takes to become a goverment-media complex Two-Minute-Hatebiz superstar!

Please keep your audition to 100 words or less. Our expert panel of judges will carefully review each performance against the critical "4 Ps":

• Poise
• Posture
• Perkiness
• Provokes Progressive Apoplexy

I know you've got it in you, folks - show those suits at CNN and the West Wing you are ready to be demonized as the villanous avatar of Middle America's depraved violent stupidity!*

*Deadline Sept 18, 2010. Eligibility: entries open to all US resident villains over the age of 2. Employees of ABC, NBC, CBS, MSNBC, Newsweek, Time, Tribune Company, NPR, PBS, CNN, Washington Post, New York Times or other White House subsidiaries and their immediate families are ineligible. All entries become the property of Iowahawk Ventures LLC. Winners agree to assign 10% of all Regnery book deals or villain appearances to David R. Burge. Don't Call Us, We'll Call You.

A Horribly Cheap Topical Joke That I Somehow Managed to Milk Into an Entire Blog Post

Didja hear about the dyslexic agnostic insomniac narcissist President?

He laid awake nights wondering if he was really Dog.

UPDATE:

Barack, Can We Talk?

Barack, can we, uh, talk for a few minutes?

Oh, nothing. It's just that it just seems we haven't had a chance to talk for a while. I mean, I know we've both been busy for the past year or so. You with your fundraisers and golfing and stuff, and me with all those appointments at the unemployment office. But you know I think it's important in a relationship like ours to keep the lines of communication open.

So anyway, I've been think that... look, this is really hard. God. Do you remember when we met at that big party in Denver back in 08? I mean when I saw you across that crowded convention floor, it was like, Oh My God. I don't think I ever saw anything like you before. I was on the rebound from a bad relationship and you were so tall and articulate and, well hot. And then I couldn't believe that of all the democracies in the room you picked me out!

Yeah I know my some of my friends warned me you were trouble, and that it was the alcohol talking. But I knew that if we gave it a chance we could make it work. You and me, together. And after you moved in, I really think we did for a while. I mean, you've really helped me get over my inhibitions and hangups, and I like to think I've really helped you grow and discover yourself. Like last year when I lent you $800 billion to pay for your demo tape and new rims for the Cadillac.

No, no. I'm not asking for the money back now, Paul Krugman told me you're good for it. And please don't think I don't appreciate all the constructive criticism. It's important for me to know when I'm not meeting your needs and when I'm holding you back. Look, I know I'm not the prettiest democracy in the hemisphere, and I really can't blame you when your eyes wander to Spain or Venezuela. It's just been kind of hard to pay attention to my appearance since losing my job.

Speaking of that, Mr. Hu called again today about the rent. I don't mean to be a nag, but did you get a chance to drop my check off? Oh yeah, the baillout thing with Goldman Sacks. Yeah, I guess you did mention that. Oh well, I'll call Mr. Hu and see if he'll take another IOU till the 15th.

Where was I? Oh yeah. I guess what I was trying to say is that those early days were magical. But, well, maybe magic isn't the best basis for a... Shit. Look, maybe the best way to do this is just come out and say it. I think it's best if we take a break.

There, I said it.

Come... come on Barack, please don't be that way. And don't act so surprised, I mean you must have at least seen some of the approval rating signs. Tea Party? No, Tea Party didn't put me up to this. Yeah, sure I've see him around the neighborhood. I mean, what am I supposed to do while you're off vacationing with your friends? Sit around this place without a job and watch MSNBC? No, it's platonic. So far. And for your information, Tea isn't the retarded Nazi racist loser your friends are always painting him to be. And guess what? He listens to me and seems to like me for what I am, and doesn't expect me to wear that stupid complicated Scandinavian nurse outfit like you gave me for Christmas. By the way, the charge card bill from Frederick's of Stockholm just arrived yesterday. $1 trillion, Barack? Really?

Look, let's be civil adults and not let this descend into yelling. It's really not you, it's me. We both know you deserve a better democracy than me. I mean, let's face it - you're cool and urbane and Euro and sexy; I'm frumpy and overweight and not that bright. You've said so plenty of times yourself. And you're probably right that I'll never quite understand you. But I think I know you well enough now to understand you'd be happier with a different country to govern.

Tax cut? Please Barack, I appreciate the gesture, but it's a little late for romantic gifts. Don't embarrass both of us. Let's just go on from here and remember the good times. Don't worry about me. I know it'll be hard, but I need to show myself I can make it without you. Somehow.

In the meantime, we'll always have Denver.

Have Your People Call My People

(Image courtesy Nate Whited)

Jim Treacher reports that former child actor (and pride of the Evanston Township HS English Department) John Cusack has discovered the joys of Twitter, with somewhat predictable results.

Crueler folks have already analyzed Mr. Cusack's 140-character musings and theorized the poor fellow has finally cracked under the pressure of living in the shadow of his more popular and talented sibling Joan; a clear misdiagnosis, in my opinion, as these armchair psychologists understand neither method acting nor the inner workings of the film industry. Rather than a cry for help, any fool can see that Mr. Cusack's curious tweeting is a cleverly disguised request for new script pitches from Hollywood writing professionals. Like myself.

Well, this is one aspiring screen scribe who knows an opportunity when he sees one! So I quick put together a few sure-fire plot treatments designed at relaunching Mr. Cusack's moribund career. Synopses below.

And John, if you're reading this? My option (and spell-checking) fees are very reasonable. Let's do lunch.

********** 

HellChecker - suspense horror piece about a demonically possessed MacBook Pro that mutilates a man's internet postings to make him appear an illiterate meth head (alt title: Shredded Tweet)

Spew Anything - a moping lovesick middle aged teen stands outside the internet's bedroom window in a trenchcoat, holding aloft a boombox that plays a stream of gibberish

46 Candles - A lonely middle aged outcast wakes up for his Sweet Forty-Sixth birthday only to discover no one remembers - and no one cares. Can he finally get the other kids at Huffington High to notice?

THE A.D.D. DOZEN - ENSEMBLE ONLINE WAR ACTION ABOUNDS AS CAPTAIN BUZZ CAPSLOCK (John Cusack) AND LT. DEMENTO ITALICO (Matt Damon) LEAD AN ALL-STAR ALL-CAPS SUICIDE MISSION BEHIND RIGHT WING LINES. CAN THEY MAKE IT OUT BEFORE THEY EXHAUST THEIR SHIFT KEYS AND RITALIN?

Hot Tweet Time Machine - Remember those awful Oughties? Enjoy retro laughs as a WiFi connection magically transports a group of aging social media losers (John Cusack, Sean Penn, Roger Ebert) back to the year 2008 where they must survive an alien dystopia wracked by Gitmo, Middle East war, and 6% unemployment

Cracka RTIma Lijke RTWhateva Bith - Explosive buddy action flick featuring Twitter superstars John Cusack and 50 Cent as two headstrong detectives who must communicate a terrorist plot before it's too late (directed by Michael Bay, with English subtitles)

The Grammarian - Victorian biopic about misunderstood poet Chalmondeley Blackthorne (John Cusack) who is wrongly committed to an 19th Century British insane asylum after creating a new language consisting only of random characters and punctuation marks.

Exclamation Point Hardboiled gumshoe Sam Spacekey (John Cusack) tracks a psychopath sabotaging  Hollywood's typewriters in this stylish noir detective thriller set in 1946 L.A.

Signulls - Scientists monitoring space alien communications find an unlikely interpreter in a brain-damaged Amish farmer (John Cusack) in this sci fi thriller from director M. Night Shyamalan. With Janeane Garofalo as "the visitor"

Me Johnny - Heartwarming tale of a wealthy learning disabled Malibu asshole (John Cusack) who overcomes his fear of incoherent screaming thanks to a miracle-working educator (Naomi Klein)

Help a Brother Out

Longtime Iowahawk readers will recall my old Ozark hotrodding medico friend Darren "Doc" Lee from Operation Dumb-Vee, where we successfully conspired to plaster Doc's Army unit's vehicles with morale-boosting refridgerator magnets from home, during his stint in Iraq. You also may recall that Doc is my go-to supplier of, um, "Ozark hair tonic."

I am sad to report that Doc was recently the victim of a terrible garage accident while restoring his righteous Falcon Ranchero. Long story short, the O2 ring on his oxy-acetylene welding rig failed, launching the hose. Doc's nose was broken in 3 places, and suffered a severe eye injury (ripped eyelid detached retina, displaced lens). He is currently in the hospital facing some surgery this week. Whether his eye can regain function, he will be out of work for some time.

I very seldom ask you guys for anything, but I am hoping you might please provide a little moral and financial support for Doc to see him through the difficult times ahead. Prayers are good, especially when accompanied by a little cash. If you have some to spare, you can PayPal it to Doc at

doclee462@yahoo.com

Or you can send it the old fashioned way to

Doc Lee
400 S. Mt. Olive
Siloam Springs, AR 72761

Anything you can do to help will be deeply appreciated, especially if you can make this appeal viral through your blog or social media site.