Middle Income Richard's Third Millennium Almanack, No. 35

Third Millennium Almanack
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A webzine published every now and again
via the Internet, which should, in the coming
thousand years, save a few wads of paper
and spare a whole bunch of trees.
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Number 35, Late June 2007
In the 7th year of the 21st century
© 2007 Rich Limacher
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And here's to you,
Mrs. AND Mr. Robinson...

...and that poor sucker you've just
terrorized on the highway

This webzine is supposed to mollify the extreme, dreaded boredom
of your drab, humdrum existence

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Please send editorial material, immaterial, ads, subtracts,
and everything else (including praise and adulation) to...

TheTroubadour@sbcglobal.net

And please note also that this is a brand-new e-address.

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OK, maybe these bytes might be, but you'll find the real deal by clicking on this:

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Here. Have a sneak peek at the future:

[Who remembers that tall black monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey?]
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r
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rare - wisdom - and - fluff
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  e v e r y t h i n g   - e l s e       ______
  a                                      d      feetures:
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ps page numbers are no longer necessary
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(because everything is all on one page)
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"Feetures" in this issue include:

a) Kindler, Gentler, Realer Future?
b) Real Men of Genius
c) I Am The Egg Man
d) The "Education" President
e) Saved By Nazis! (Part 1)
f)   This Just In: Healthy Conscientiousnesses
g) Something There Is Inside Your Computer
h) Yankee Folly of the Day
i)   Cyber Savvy
j) The Finger of God
k) Mid Ink on Altoids
l)   Birth Control Commercial
m) Video/Java Streams of the Century
n) Globalization
o) Vertical Cartoon
p) Today's Recommended Website
q) Department of Bumpering Stickies
r) Catholic School Kids Know Their Bible
s) That Heavenly 72 Virgin SURPRISE!
t)   Hey, Your Daughter Needs a New Boyfriend
u) Lewis Carroll Illustration

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Actually, we're thinking THIS is the truer peek at our future:

Allow us to present...
unser Reichstag:

[There's not a damn thing kindler nor gentler about it. And thank you, Messrs. Bush.]

Back in 1976--in fact it was the very day that the Bicentennial of these United States was being trumpeted and celebrated--in Washington, DC, Middle Income (at that time even less) Richard happened to walk directly inside the National Archives Building right there between Pennsylvania and Constitution Avenues. Incredibly, it was open (not so many strangleholds on our freedoms back then due to paranoias of "security"). Anyway, there in the midst of all our souvenirs, practically in front of The Declaration itself, was--also incredibly--a "guestbook." Yea oh yea, all ye visitors were invited to "sign in" and write a comment, if they'd like, before the big book would then be lowered and encased in safety down below street level in the very vault of the archives--to next arise and be displayed for all the folks who might be visiting our nation's capital on July 4, 2076.

Welllllllllllllllllllllllll, somebody asking Mid Ink Rick to write something? Hah! How could he possibly resist??

Here is precisely what Mid wrote for his comment: "Hi, future visitor, I'm Rich Limacher, but anything I write you won't be able to read in 2076, because by then the national language will be Chinese."

Hmm... maybe the language will prove to be a wild guess. But the totalitarianism is very likely to match point for point.

__ __
( Q_Q )

Our Leader, Humpty Dumpty

Dub Light Presents: Real Men of Genius

Today we celebrate you, Mr. Brilliant Commander-In-Chief and Two-Term President of these United States.

Ever since the toppling of King George III, our country has been ruled by no fewer than 42 presidents, but none have ever come close to commanding the brainpower of you.

Who besides you could possibly have penetrated the fog of Muslim "jihad" and wisely retaliated against one presumed towel-headed family outcast from Saudi Arabia by invading the totally disconnected sovereign state of Iraq. And staying there. For more than five full years--secretly waiting to arrest Osama bin Laden just as soon as that idiot tries to cross the border.

Sure, you told everyone you were hunting for WMD's, relieving the oppression of a cruel heartless tyrant, and promising Iraqi oil would pay for it all, but secretly you were plotting all along to trap al-Qaeda into thinking you weren't looking for them. You were just punching out Saddam for what he tried to do to your poppa.

So here's to you, mister smartest guy in the White room. Let's have everyone in the country crack open an ice cold Busch and pour it right down the drain... because that's where our economy is heading. But maybe some day you will be recognized for this brilliance that is so uniquely yours--on that one fine day, in the far distant future, after eighteen hundred trillion dollars have been spent bringing to justice that one stupid terrorist who started it all, when bin Laden's remains are finally unearthed by archeologists digging around in the landfills of New Jersey.

Dub Light is shed at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, Washington, DC, and exported much too frequently throughout the world.

"In the big city, if the man next door happens to be a slum landlord, a Mafia bag man, or a long distance runner, what does it matter, as long as he puts his garbage out on Tuesdays?"

--Hal Higdon
On the Run from Dogs and People

George Bush goes to a primary school to talk to the kids, and to put a little boost into his PR. After his talk he offers question time. One little boy puts up his hand and George asks him his name.

"I have four questions: First, why did the USA invade Iraq without the support of the UN? Second, why are you President when Al Gore got more votes? Third, whatever happened to Osama bin Laden? Fourth, why are we so worried about gay-marriage when one-half of all Americans don't even have health insurance?"

Just then, the bell rings for recess. George Bush informs the kiddies that they will continue after recess.

When they resume George says, "OK, where were we? Oh, that's right--question time. Who has a question?"

Another little boy puts up his hand. George points to him and asks him his name.

"Actually, I have six questions. First, why did the USA invade Iraq without the support of the UN? Second, why are you President when Al Gore got more votes? Third, whatever happened to Osama bin Laden? Fourth, why are we so worried about gay marriage when one-half of all Americans don't have health insurance? Fifth, why did the recess bell go off 20 minutes early? And sixth, what the heck happened to Stanley?"

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Here's What Happened To Stanley:

So there I was, your basic terminally frustrated starving artist, running on a Sunday morning with two of my very much rich kids running friends.

And I tell 'em about my whiz-bang nouveaux riche up-and-coming mobile home investment scheme... and they practically laugh me off the trail.

Saturday, the day before, my bride and I had plunked down a $500 earnest money check on a pretty great-looking deal for a mobile home (a.k.a. one of what our pompous overpaid "No Money Up Down Or Sideways Real Estate Investing Get Rich Weekend Seminar" millionaire instructor had called "little tin boxes that spit out cash"). What made the "deal" so instruction-manual lucrative was that the trailer was an inheritance that was needing to be gotten rid of by a family man whose father just died and the family was anxious to dump at practically any cost.

They'd advertised a sale price of $10,500 (what, a third the price of a good new car?) and my lovely bride, ever the shopper, managed to haggle the guy down another thousand from that! Thus (I'm thinkin', smilin') we can have a 2-bedroom, nicely decorated, central a/c with fireplace (!) mobile home in a definitely NOT white trash trailer park (even the grass is perfect; they've got "rules" about dandelions!) all for the upfront cost (notice: 4 figures, not 5, not 6) of $9,500. So, whoa! I'm thinkin' I can turn around and sell this baby for at least double my money...

...and that's when my richkid buddies crucify my virginal realty non-fascist ass.

"Fuhgeddaboudit, C.C.," they say. "You can't make money in a trailer park. It ain't real estate! What you're really dealing with here is a damn used car market."

So, I come home after the run, and already my bride is all over her laptop. Not smiling. She's found at least two other newer (!) mobile homes for sale in that same damn trailer park for ten grand apiece.

Whoa, and woe! This immediately puts new wrinkles in the polyester of my fantasy. The plain fact of the matter is, of course, that my friends are right. Mobile homes do nothing but go down in value, never up.

So, I'm now suddenly faced with the very ugly iffy-chancy prospect of tryin' to sell a used car for more than I paid for it.

1) On the one hand, I'm thinkin': Hey, look at all those other used mobile homes for sale between 20 and 80 grand!

2) On the other hand, I'm thinkin': We'll need to dump this sucker quick. Or lease it quick. (How much would illegal aliens, for example, be able to cough up twelve times a year?) The mofriggin' lot rent is nearly 400 slammers a month!

3) On the third hand, I'm realizing: Hey, there's a contingency in our contract. We even get our $500 back IF THE PARK finds us undesirable. If I then, say for example, go over to the park office and just, you know, BE WHITE TRASH. (Or, in the parlance of the contract, if we don't "pass" their credit report demands). Hmm... maybe the park will deny us ownership 'cuz they'll think we're a bad risk. They'll be afraid we won't be able to whack up 400 clams each month.

4) On the fourth hand, I'm rememberin'... what one of my pals reported yesterday... about "Jugular." Chugga Jugga (we call him that), it just so happens, is already a sorta/kinda white trash guy who also happens to (at least he used to) be a runner and member of our running club but who always claimed to be poor but who also owned a trailer in a trailer park... which, after my having done a little more research, I now discover is located IN THAT VERY SAME TRAILER PARK! But--here's what I was told yesterday--"Chugga Jugga's been trying to sell his mobile home for years! And he has still not been able to do it."

5) On the final hand, of course, I know Chugga Jugga, and I know he's not dumping his trailer for ten grand. He no doubt thinks he should get all kinds of money for it--certainly at least as much as he paid years ago. He doesn't understand how it's lost value. So therefore he would never sell the sucker for less than $50,000, say, if that's in fact what he paid (and he might've)! But I don't think like that. I'm now merely wondering... if (and here's "the gamble") I could turn this around for, say, 15 grand within, say, less than two months, that would give us a little profit... which might be reason enough now to not go into the park's office pretending to be some kinda white trash cowboy.

In any case, I am indeed obligated to go in there on Monday (the next business day after all these friendship runs and blinding Saul-like revelations) in order to start our credit check.

OK. So then what I finally resolve to do is drive over there and not fill out or sign anything; just bring the paperwork back home so my bride can gawk, and squawk, over it too. Then we'll decide if it's worth it or not.

So, OK. This right here's "the thing." When one has thought and thought and worried and worked and worried some more, and then tosses good sawbucks and C-notes down into fathomless pits that one already knows already contains all his previous good sawbucks and C-notes, and then when that one finally happens on a "plan" to bring back up some of those bucks in a little salvage pail by tugging hand-over-hand on some dank shriveling rope, and then one becomes excited because one believes in his heart that he's now finally followed sound rules of the real estate investing game and even did a little "due diligence" already, and then when one has ultimately taken out his checkbook and written a draft that, really, amounts to just pennies in the pockets of much bigger players in the game--but that one is dying to get started anyway because that one realizes he's old and getting older and cannot live like a hippie anymore and must indeed begin the game or be dumped down that same bottomless well himself at age 80--and so then when one trots alongside his admittedly already vastly more successful friends and compatriots during a lovely Sunday morning run... well... one then does not wish to hear what a f***ing idiot he's been.

We've paid many good C-notes already (for weekend seminar tuition) and learned how to buy at a big discount something which is sound and good but that somebody wants to get rid of--but would otherwise be good (and profitable!) in the hands of someone (like us) who's willing to work the place a little and who has the patience to seek out yet another buyer, who wants it not for some investment but for his house and home.

So, hey. Buy a "tin box" for 9.5K and turn it around for, oh, say 15K (dirt cheap!) and you've nearly doubled your money on, admittedly, a real inexpensive investment--but still in a great neighborhood surrounded by lots and lots of seemingly happy neighbors.

That very Monday, yore's twooley drives over and strolls through "the neighborhood" and struts right into its "sales office."

"No. You must make an appointment. With the manager. She is gone. She will not return until next week."

(He thinks: but... but... but... there's a 7-day limit already written into the contract. If we don't get "approval" within that time, the contract is null and void.) So he asks, "Well, can't you just give me the forms to fill out?"

"No. You must make an appointment. In person. Everyone who is going to live in the mobile home must come in for an interview."

"Oh. OK, I guess. But, uh, in the meantime, can I have a copy of, I guess, the 'rules' of this park?"

[And now--perhaps in honor of a new Fourth Reich?--Red Flag number 4, with swastika, is immediately thrust up there as well.]

The meek seeker thanks the very white, very bespectacled, very sharp-tongued matronly clerk, and receives the SHEAF of papers she hands him, then leaves.

Oh, there's more to this "fact finding, due diligence mission" of course--like about how those clerks (there were two) apparently had NOT been informed that Mr. Elder Jaundice's trailer was for sale, or even that Mr. Jaundice had died; and neither had Mr. Jaundice, Jr., given The Office its REQUIRED 30-days notice for NOT renewing The Lot Lease... and yadda, yadda, yadda.

Whoa, and woe? Zee Ess-Ess haff NOT beane korreckedley nott-iss-fied? Vass ist los?

Well then, yours troubledly, ye meek seeker, that very evening telephones Mr. Jaundice Junior and informs the younger executor of the Elder's estate that, "Hey, dude, we don't qualify. We couldn't close on your mobile home now, not even with an extra-wide (double-wide) self-sealing screw-down lid."

So, um, can we assume that Mr. Jaundice, Jr., would then immediately be all over the phone to his attorney (who happens to be holding our $500 earnest money) and then all over the phone to those S.S. Powers That Be--"hey! I got buyers here! whudda you care if they live there or not?"--only to be ultimately thwarted by the dictatorship and sadly resign himself to the earnestly giving back of our hard-spent cash.

As it turns out, ain't none of we meek seekers OBEYING THE RULES OF STALAG 17.

Oh yeah, this just in: (well, it was current whenever I wrote this stuff) I did in fact take a little drive around the lovely Aryan Nation all-Causasian-all-the-time friendly neighborly little peaceful perfect trailer park, and I for sure managed to locate my buddy Chugga Jugga's still-for-sale mobile home. It happens to sit just two little streets over from that great tin box of the late Elder Jaundice. I drove by there, slowly, carefully noting that although Chugga Jugga's car was gone he certainly was still living there. His old familiar American Flag was draped inside the living room window.

A couple streets over, of course, high above the perfect Park Headquarters of Stalag 17, there also briskly flies the flag of the Fourth Reich.

[Editor's note: The terrifying conclusion to this campy concentrated story will no doubt be cyber-published as Part 2 in the very next exciting edition of Middle Income Richard's Third Millennium Almanack--whenever the heck that is. Don't hold your breath.]

Health Consciousness Information For Your Conscientiously Informed
Better Health

Here, verbatim (natch), is an office visit recorded by some dude (asking the Q's) when he met with his redoubtable physician from Indonesia (giving the A's).

Q: I've heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life; is this true?
A: Your heart is only good for so many beats, and that's it... don't waste them on exercise. Everything wears out eventually. Speeding up your heart will not make you live longer; that's like saying you can extend the life of your car by driving it faster. Want to live longer? Take a nap.

Q: Should I cut down on meat and eat more fruits and vegetables?
A: You must grasp logistical efficiencies. What does a cow eat? Hay and corn. And what are these? Vegetables. So a steak is nothing more than an efficient mechanism of delivering vegetables to your system. Need grain? Eat chicken. Beef is also a good source of field grass (green leafy vegetable). And a pork chop can give you 100% of your recommended daily allowance of vegetable products.

Q: Should I reduce my alcohol intake?
A: No, not at all. Wine is made from fruit; brandy is distilled wine. That means they take the water out of the fruit bits so you get even more of the fruity goodness. Beer is made the same way out of grain. Bottoms' up!

Q: How can I calculate my body/fat ratio?
A: Well, if you have a body and you have fat, your ratio is one to one. If you have two bodies, your ratio is two to one, and so forth.

Q: What are some of the advantages of participating in a regular exercise program?
A: I cannot think of a single one, sorry. My philosophy is: No Pain... Good!

Q: Aren't fried foods bad for you?
A: YOU'RE NOT LISTENING!!! Foods are fried these days in vegetable oil. In fact, they're permeated in it. How could getting more vegetables be bad for you?

Q: Will sit-ups help prevent me from getting a little soft around the middle?
A: Definitely not! When you exercise a muscle, it gets bigger. You should only be doing sit-ups if you want a bigger stomach.

Q: Is chocolate bad for me?
A: Are you crazy? HELLO, cocoa bean! Another vegetable!!! This is the best feel-good food around!

Q: Is swimming good for your figure?
A: If swimming is good for your figure, explain whales to me.

"Well," our dude reports, "I hope this has cleared up any misconceptions you may have had about food and diets.

"And remember," he concludes, "life should not be a careful journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved package, but rather to skid in sideways--chardonnay in one hand, chocolate in the other--body thoroughly used."

@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@

"The start of a World Cross-country event is like riding a horse in the middle of a buffalo stampede. It's a thrill if you keep up, but one slip and you're nothing but hoof prints."

--Ed Eyestone,
U.S. former Olympic marathoner

@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@

Something Curious At Work Inside Your Computer:

Ever wonder what exactly makes that arrow move on your monitor?

Click the link below and when the page loads you will see a pale gray ball.

Put your mouse on the ball and you will see what makes the arrow move. This is indeed the hard work of computer geniuses, to whom we are all so gratefully indebted. Wouldn't you agree?

http://www.1-click.jp:80/

:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(

Yankee Folly of the Day:
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:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(

Oh baby, here we go again!

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[Today's Lesson in Cyber-Savvy. :-]

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Everytime's Repeated Media Message:
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It's no secret that one of America's most inventive founding fathers, Benjamin Franklin, got his first real "break" in the media by not pandering to the tastes of those old stodgy publishers of his time, but by coming up with something completely different all on his own. He published a simple one-page annual periodical called "Poor Richard's Almanack" and sold it along the streets and rivers of the colonies for a penny apiece. And it thrived as a business for the next twenty-five years. So now, some two-hundred seventy-odd years later, you get "Middle Income Richard's Third Millennium Almanack" soon to be selling along the buy-ways and Java-streams of the Internet for a buck a copy, especially now that it's been miraculously, and successfully, installed on a website. And for that Mid Inc Rick owes a huge debt of gratitude to D.C. Lundell and Gillian Robinson, owners and founders of ZombieRunner.com.

So far, for the past umpteen issues, this e-rag's been free. But before the next umpteen are published, however, this particular freedom of yours might somehow be taken away, and you'll be asked to cough up as many as twelve U.S. dollars, via credit card or otherwise, to that nutty parent company called C. C. Writers, at P.O. Box 963, Matteson, IL 60443 USA.

In the meantime, however, please don't take all this technological wizardry for granted. You have our permission and supplications to continue sending in your cards, letters, ads, "subtracts," encouragements, detractions, and good ol' coin o' the realm in the form of U$A one-dollar bills to the above-mentioned post office box; and you're also invited to thoroughly search through everything offered by MIR's hosts, the Zombies, on their truly awesome website. And finally, of course, Uncle Ben Franklin's weird and most strangely distant cousin M.I. Richard thanks you very much.

* * * * *

Oh, and keep thinking "green" to help save our environment by promoting paperless publishing!!!

And, hey, It's OK. Go ahead and forward this link to a friend!

Here. This is considered among the best and brightest of today's theologians to be God's opinion of Mr. Bush:

"Every morning I wake up torn between a desire to save the world and an inclination to savor it. This makes it hard to plan the day."

--E.B. White

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( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ )

'Twoulda Bee Betta, Dig, Ta Mebbe Neva bin Bourne

Here. This is dedicated to all you ultra tough stud muffins and homeys our there whose parents raised you tough; so that, oh yeah, you had a chance to become this stalwart individual you've now become. So, whudja do, fergit??? Behold...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Qy03kC5iQU&mode=related&search

( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ )

____________________________________________________________________________________

And speaking of terrorists' threats...

"Significant."

      --Tim Rhay,
         City of Eugene Oregon's Acting Park Operations Manager,
         describing the likely cost of their HazMat team cleanup
         of more than 50 small piles of white powder
         believed to be flour found at the base of trees
         and light poles in Maurie Jacobs Park.

According to a local news brief, Eugene city officials speculated the substance may have marked the course of an unofficial run. [This news amusingly supplied by the Eugene Hash House Harriers, a local running club.]

And now for something completely different, here's a daffynition:

of Globalization:

Major American Television Network Broadcaster Scoops the World and Interviews Britain's Royal Princes:

His Nibs Mr. Sharpie asks Their Royal Highnesses all of the following insightful questions (inserting each insight as indicated) in precisely this order:

1.      So how did the death of your mother affect    you,   Prince   William*    ?

2.      you, Prince Harry*

3.    your father, Prince Charles*

4.      his, uh, new girl, Hoozits Camilla*

5.      your grandmother, Queen Elizabeth*

6.      your grandfather, Prince Phillip*

7.      your great-grandmother, the Queen Mum*

8.      the people of Britain*

9.      the people of America*

10.    the French*

11.     everybody else*

12.    your mates in the British military*

13.    your classmates at Eaton (or wherever)*

14.    your classmates at University (or wherever)*

15.    your girlfriends*

16.    their girlfriends*

17.    the paparazzi*

18.    the insurance company*

19.    the European economy*

20.    Wall Street*

21.    the souvenir industry*

22.    the publishing industry*

23.    the little statue and bobblehead making industries*

24.    British tourism*

25.    French tourism*

26.    your tourism*

27.    Prime Minister Tony Blair*

28.    his girlfriends*

29.    the Parliament*

30.    President Whathisname Bush*

31.    the Congress*

32.    your Exchequer and our Treasury*

33.    global warming*

34.    the future of Earth*

35.    the planned manned space flight to Mars*

36.    any chance for future princesses to be aboard*

37.    the presumed reactions from extraterrestrials*

38.    any reaction from the Milky Way*

39.    eventual reactions from anywhere throughout the known universe*

40.    and the unknown universe*

41. any messages so far from heaven*

42.    no sense in asking about the other place, is there*?

To each and every single question of which His Royal Highness Prince William responds precisely in this exact same insightful way:

"Well, in this particular instance under these peculiarly egregious circumstances whatever might be conjectured at this specific time and place may indubitably be considered only something of speculation at best, or in other areas could be construed to represent quite something else entirely, which, due perhaps to my being apparently in fact Diana's elder son, principle heir, and future possible beneficiary and proscriber to the national indebtedness for this particular commonwealth of nations and potentate of all potatoes both for better and best towards the civilized good, but for the which hypothetical economy I now trust I have seemingly responded appropriately to your interrogatory at this particular juncture of space and time as at least insofar as we here in Britain have come at last to comprehend it. What again was the question?"

And after every such painstaking response, so obsequiously and deliberatively proffered by Wills, his Royal Highness Prince Harry barely audibly grunts:

"Whut 'e said, mite."

:-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-)

( ô-ô )

Today's Recommended Website:

Here. In honor of the American Revolution and your sadly neglected civic and patriotic responsibilities, take this test:

From the Department of Bumper Sticklers:

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"May the bees in your bonnet only make honey,
and may they never find a new hive in your behind."

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Subject: Fw: know your bible... thought you might like these

HERE'S TO ALL YOU NUNS AND CATHOLIC ELEMENTARY SCHOOL TEACHERS OUT THERE. NO, THE GRAMMAR AND SPELLING APPEARS BELOW EXACTLY AS THE KIDS THEMSELVES RENDERED IT. THEY WERE BEING TESTED ON THEIR KNOWLEDGE OF THE OLD AND NEW TESTAMENTS:

1. IN THE FIRST BOOK OF THE BIBLE, GUINESS, GOD GOT TIRED OF CREATING THE WORLD SO HE TOOK THE SABBATH OFF.

2. ADAM AND EVE WERE CREATED FROM AN APPLE TREE. NOAH'S WIFE WAS JOAN OF ARK. NOAH BUILT AND ARK AND THE ANIMALS CAME ON IN PEARS. [Editor's note: So it wasn't Evan Almighty after all.]

3. LOTS WIFE WAS A PILLAR OF SALT DURING THE DAY, BUT A BALL OF FIRE DURING THE NIGHT.

4. THE JEWS WERE A PROUD PEOPLE AND THROUGHOUT HISTORY THEY HAD TROUBLE WITH UNSYMPATHETIC GENITALS.

5. SAMPSON WAS A STRONGMAN WHO LET HIMSELF BE LED ASTRAY BY A JEZEBEL LIKE DELILAH.

7. MOSES LED THE JEWS TO THE RED SEA WHERE THEY MADE UNLEAVENED BREAD WHICH IS BREAD WITHOUT ANY INGREDIENTS.

8, THE EGYPTIANS WERE ALL DROWNED IN THE DESSERT. AFTERWARDS, MOSES WENT UP TO MOUNT CYANIDE TO GET THE TEN COMMANDMENTS.

11. MOSES DIED BEFORE HE EVER REACHED CANADA. THEN JOSHUA LED THE HEBREWS IN THE BATTLE OF GERITOL.

12. THE GREATEST MIRICLE IN THE BIBLE IS WHEN JOSHUA TOLD HIS SON TO STAND STILL AND HE OBEYED HIM.

13. DAVID WAS A HEBREW KING WHO WAS SKILLED AT PLAYING THE LIAR. HE FOUGHT THE FINKELSTEINS, A RACE OF PEOPLE WHO LIVED IN BIBLICAL TIMES.

16. WHEN THE THREE WISE GUYS FROM THE EAST SIDE ARRIVED THEY FOUND JESUS IN THE MANAGER.

19. JESUS ENUNCIATED THE GOLDEN RULE, WHICH SAYS TO DO UNTO OTHERS BEFORE THEY DO ONE TO YOU. HE ALSO EXPLAINED A MAN DOTH NOT LIVE BY SWEAT ALONE.

20. IT WAS A MIRICLE WHEN JESUS ROSE FROM THE DEAD AND MANAGED TO GET THE TOMBSTONE OFF THE ENTRANCE.

24. ST. PAUL CAVORTED TO CHRISTIANITY, HE PREACHED HOLY ACRIMONY WHICH IS ANOTHER NAME FOR MARRAIGE.

Which reminds us... Maybe Osama ISN'T so darn smart after all.

_ _
QQ
-

WHAT?
Your Daughter's Boyfriend Refuses To Help Now That Your Entire System Just Crashed?

Well, this could be why:

"Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop."
--Lewis Carroll, from Alice in Wonderland

Photo/audio-visual credits for this issue (top to bottom): 1) What Old People Do For Fun (MPEG video file apparently created by self-identified source and freely circulated via the Internet); 2) fictional Shell sign (apparently by FreakingNews.com); 3) Maxine cartoon (by an unidentified source) freely and popularly circulated via the Internet; 4) unidentified "headless" boys (unknown Internet source); 5) Paris Hilton released from jail 6-26-07 (AP-AOL News photo); 6) cyber gas price sign (unknown Internet source); 7) cloud finger photo (unknown Internet source); 8) three cartoon caricatures (by Rich Limacher); 9) nuns in Muslim heaven (apparently scanned from an unknown print source); 10) unidentified piercings model (Modblog.BMEzine.com); 11) unidentified skateboarding boy on hill (unknown Internet source).

"The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources." --Albert Einstein

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[Middle Income Richard's will return
at some as yet unimaginable, non-specific, and
similarly improbable opportunity in the future]