Fake news blues

Posted on November 23, 2016 by PMcG

Having worked for decades as a newsman, I am distressed to find that news has been supplanted by fake news (in some states, supplanted beneath turnips.) Perhaps worse, people tend to believe fake news more than the non-fake (aka real) news.

Take these real headlines in yesterday’s Times:

Hawking says life on earth has only a thousand years left

Merchants predict spike in thousand-year calendar sales

Look at how fakenews.dotdotdot@uranus.haw twists that:

Alt-right says Obama is to blame for world ending early

Obama ducks questions about end of world, injures duck

How can you tell fake news from real news? Researchers have found  only one thing that works consistently: intelligence.

Where can you get some intelligence? If you’re asking this question two thoughts occur simultaneously. One: you need intelligence. Two: you’ll never get any. Bonus thought: The Central Intelligence Agency will never bother you.

For those with at least a modicum of intelligence (ie: up is up there, down is down there, in is in there and out is one-third of a half-inning) here are the basics of real news.

• Real news is an out-of-the-ordinary happening to someone in reality, although not necessarily on reality TV, which may or may not be real reality (Let’s say probably not.)

• Real reality is where audible, visible, tangible, smellable and/or feltibibble things happen to real people.

• Real people are those who cast a shadow and have way too much stuff.

• Real news is something that is discovered by real reporters with some level of formal training in finding real news (Trump University’s School of Pretend Journalism doesn’t count.)

• Real reporters go to primary sources to get both sides of a story before reporting on it. Example: Real reporters, rather than going with the press release from Genesis 3:7 “Adam ateth of the forbidden fruiteth,” get quotes from both parties. Adam: “And I say unto thee, come on Dude, she made me doith it.” And Eve: “What crapith. He was just trying to get into my leaf.”

• Real news is composed of solid facts but none of your factory air.

• Real reporters seek answers to 6 questions known as the Five W’s and the H: Who, What, Where, When, Why and How. On the rare occasions they don’t work, they can always fall back on Whither and Whumpa.*

An intriguing aspect of real news is that  it isn’t always what people want to believe. Presented with unsettling real news, many people go through Elizabeth Keebler-Elf’s Five Stages of Good Grief:

• Stage One, Denial: That’s bullshit!

• Stage Two, Anger: Get outa here with that bullshit.

• Stage Three, Negotiation: You want any lovin’ tonight, you better cut the bullshit.

• Stage Four, Depression: This bullshit has really got me down.

• Stage Five, Acceptance: Well, whaddya expect from a pig but bullshit?

(Warning: Metaphor belt ahead.)

Is it any wonder that people, overcome by barnyard manoo, slide down a slippery slope into shark-infested waters where they grasp at straws —  not nearly as practical as, say, a rope.

They then get shark-bit in the butt where, it turns out, their brains have long since been vacationing. The shark takes everything they ever learned in grammar school about commas, George Washington and the electrical college.

Desperate, they reach out for a lifeline called “Fake News,” and are pulled toward the shore of Unbelievable Lies. Grateful to be alive they immediately apply for citizenship after signing a pledge of allegiance to the concept of one and one equals negative four.

*Fake news also has a six question standard: Who cares? What will they fall for today? Where else can you make $300k a year by lying? When will my new Maserati El Camino be delivered? Why didn’t I think of this before? and How now brown cow?

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2016, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, Mockery and derision, News You Can Use (Sort of) | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The crawfish pie guy

Posted on November 16, 2016 by PMcG

In the old days, a tough question at a job interview might be “How many murders have you committed?” Or “If we hire you, will you murder any of us? Specifically, um, me?”

But today’s employers have gotten creative in sorting the chaff from the wheat. Statistics show that chaff hires have quadrupled in the past few wheat seasons because there is such a crying need for chaff. (Ironically, there is no crying in chaff.)

Employers now bypass a job seeker’s comfort zone and expose the real dickweed loser they’re going to end up hiring and making miserable anyway.

For example, rather than “How well do you get along with others?” employers may ask “How would you react if a rabbi, a priest and an atheist knocked over your falafel stand because they were so busy arguing about jambalaya, crawfish pie and filet gumbo that they weren’t watching where they were going. They refuse to pay for damage and the crawfish pie guy screams ‘What is this ca ca on my shoes?’”

Other weird questions being asked today at interviews include:

• Where don’t you want to be and why? (Risky answer: North Dakota. Because I’d keep getting it mixed up with North Carolina and I’d be late to work a lot.)

• What is a common misperception people have of you and why? (Inadvisable answer: That I‘m dead, because I seldom move or breathe.)

• What would you do if you found a penguin in the freezer?

Seriously, this question was put to an actual job-seeker at the corporate offices of the trendy food pusher, Trader Moe’s.

But come on, no employer makes up a question like that. Someone in that organization—probably Moe–found a penguin in his freezer and wanted to know what to do and whether it was gluten-free. The question went viral and now employers everywhere pose the penguin question to job prospects—even though those employers don’t even know the correct answer.

Think of the idiots erroneously hired into high paying jobs because they’d ask the penguin “Why did the moron tiptoe past the medicine cabinet?” or “Please don’t eat all the Cherry Garcia.”

What is the right penguin strategy?

I opened my freezer recently to retrieve a bag of frozen lima beans. I find that duct-taping frozen limas to my head—not individually, of course–cures a headache while also defrosting the beans in time for supper.

I had one of those thumping hangovers from too many Norwegians–not the people next door to Sweden, but their favorite beverage: 190 proof Everclear mixed with the sweat of an unsuspecting walleye looking for a place to float belly up for a couple of hours.

When I saw a penguin lounging among the frozen limas, I stumbled out of the house, screaming.

My neighbor called out “Penguin in your freezer?” I nodded and he said “Been to a wedding recently?” Indeed, I had, just the day before. A very formal, but very wild Norwegian wedding. Uffda!* I ran back into the house, re-opened the freezer and found my badly wrinkled black tuxedo, tails and all, among the lima beans.

I’d made the common mistake of confusing the freezer with the washing machine—hey, it’s a wash-n-wear tux onesie. Nobody’s perfect. True, I shouldn’t have been confused, because what penguin can tie a bow tie?

While this may help at your next job interview, be careful. If they ask “What if you find a penguin in your washing machine?” tell them you’d make damn sure to pre-treat with  Uffda-Begone®

*Norwegian translation of ethnic exclamations such as ¡Ay, caramba! Oy vey! and What the poupon?(WTP)

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2016, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, Mockery and derision, News You Can Use (Sort of) | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Rrrrrrrappahannock!

Posted on November 10, 2016 by PMcG

In Poker, they are called Tells. Little tics of character that a player inadvertently reveals about the cards in his hand — all the while convinced that his poker face gives away nothing. Sometimes we do the same in the game of life, projecting, for example, the brass of Sir Lancelot beneath an empty helmet.

How do you tell the real knights from the Knights Who Say Ni? For better or worse, you can tell a lot about a man by…

• The size of his feet compared to the size of his mouth (ideal: big feet; small mouth)

• The number of times he has used locker-room-talk sans locker room.

• The way he reacts to news that, once again, he has not won a Nobel Prize: Dali Lama humility? Incredible Hulk outrage? Sister Mary Bruno humble-my-holy-butt choke hold?

• The song he sings in the shower (related: does he do the drum parts?)

• The way he deals with a stink bug: Vicious heel stomp? TP cocoon flush? Escort to front door, bus ticket out of town, stern warning never to return?

• Who plays him in his bio flic: Robert DeNiro or William H. Macey.

• The word he tries to make a belch sound like (RRRRRipvawinkle! Rrrrrrrappahannock! Grrrrrronk!)

• His sixth sense in knowing exactly when to speak and when to shut up.

• His seventh sense that tells him to keep speaking anyway.

• Whether or not his health plan covers onomatopoeia.

• His capacity for reading blank verse without saying “Hey, this poem doesn’t rhyme.”

• His choice of the better guitar player: Lennon or Harrison.

• The way he reacts when a bear walks into a bar and takes the stool next to him: Cool indifference? Google-eyed surprise? Awkward attempt at selfie with arm around bear’s shoulder, with bear grabbing selfie stick and performing unscheduled sigmoidoscopy?

• His capacity for patience while waiting patiently.

• Whether or not the screen door hits him on the way out.

• His quickness at naming his favorite poem without using the word Nantucket.

• His ability to form power chords while playing air guitar.

• How often he’s been gored by a bull.

• His insistence on butchering Jerusalem Ridge on the five-string instead of saying “Nope, don’t quite have that one surrounded yet.”

• The way he excuses himself. (Hold that thought, my back teeth are singing. Gotta see a man about a dog. You never own beer, you just rent it.)

• The way he pronounces the word strength (hint: can you hear the g? Is he patient when you remind him there is a g?)

• His memory of where he was the day the music died.

• His lifetime batting average at telling shit from Shinola.

• His track record for hitting the cutoff man.

• How long it takes him to remember the Alamo.

• His grasp of the 12 times table.

• His philosophy on pocket squares (blow and reposition; never blow because it’s a fake hanky anyway; forehead sweat mop–emergencies only).

• The non-letter/number in his password.

• The tone of his voice when telling birds chirping outside his window in the morning to zip it.

• His uncanny sense in knowing when to take a shower.

• His canny sense that tells him he can go one more day/week/month without a shower.

• How quickly he returns a borrowed tissue.

• Whether he can hold it in, at least until the pope leaves the room.

• The way he tells you a lot about himself, when you knew the instant he walked in the door.

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2016, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, Mockery and derision, News You Can Use (Sort of) | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

Pronouns of the Apocalypse

Posted on October 26, 2016 by PMcG

Q. Can I ask you something in confidence?
A. In confidence of what?

Q. In confidence you’ll keep it to yourself.
A. Hmm. A very unfrequently asked question here at the F.A.Q. card table. Let me think about it.

Q. Okay.
A. Of course, to think about it, I’d have to know what it is

Q. If I tell you what it is, will you keep that to yourself?
A. Hmm. I’ll think about that while I’m thinking about it.

Q. So what do you think?
A. About that? Or it?

Q. I need to think about it.
A. While you’re at it, I’ll think about that.

Q. That won’t be necessary. I think it will suffice.
A. Okay, it it is.

Q. It’s kind of embarrassing, you know. That’s why I want you to keep it under your hat.
A. I left my hat in the car.

Q. Hard to keep something under your hat without a hat.
A. Look, I said I have a hat.

Q. If I’m looking — which I am, because you just asked me to — and I don’t see a hat, then it could be said that you are sans chapeau.
A. I’m going to think about that and I’m going to think about it, but as I’m already thinking about an it and a that, while simultaneously looking for my French-English dictionary, perhaps you could help me prioritize which it and/or that you want me to think about first.

Q. It’s up to you.
A. Hold the phone, Jerome. I thought you were handling it. Maybe you meant to say “That’s up to you?” Which still isn’t very clear, if you feel me. And I wouldn’t advise it. Or that. Because now I’m confused about which it we’re talking about.

Q. Be that as it may…
A. That as it? Do you realize impersonating a pronoun will get you in trouble with The Grammar Lady? And why May? It’s October.

Q. It is October. But…
A. But is it October? Is that the it? Moreover is it the that?

Q. No. It’s not that.
A. But what if it is?

Q. Trust me, it’s neither here nor there.
A. Is it anywhere?

Q. I hadn’t thought of that.
A. That is obvious.

Q. I don’t think it’s that obvious.
A. That’s obviouser.

Q. Um, excuse me, I need to go take a nap in Aruba.
A. That is grammatically irrelevant.

Q. No, it’s not.
A. Exactly. Because I said that is irrelevant. It isn’t. Not at all. By the way, a lot of people from New Jersey go there. Just saying.

Q. I hadn’t thought of it that way.
A. If you stopped over-thinking it, that would never be a problem.

Q. That’s what she said.
A. Who said?

Q. Again, can you keep it under your hat?
A. To be honest, I keep my head under my hat, when I’m wearing my hat. The one in the car. And there’s not a lot of extra room.

Q. So, that’s that?
A. No. That’s it. Like my hat, that remains to be seen.

Q. I still don’t get it.
A. Things would go a lot easier if you didn’t fight it.

Q. But it’s not easy.
A. Look, it is what it is. And that is the truth.

Q. That can’t be the truth. It feels so wrong.
A. That’s just it. The thing about truth: It hurts. Even in Aruba.

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2016, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, F.A.Q., Mockery and derision | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Sweating like a rat

Posted on October 19, 2016 by PMcG

In the latest Journal of Physiology, scientists in Finland (who even knew they had science in Finland?) describe how exercise creates new brain cells. The following line gave me pause:

“Scientists in Finland gathered a large group of adult male rats…”

Using my old brain cells I struggled to picture the scene. Of course, it’s Finland and it’s cold. Probably dark. In the distance you can hear the cry of a wild reindeer. (Fact: Tame reindeer never cry, especially not “Santa just shot Rudolph.”)

Ironically, the lab where the scientists gathered their rats is also in Finland, also cold, also dark—except for the candle in the men’s room. Although, maybe the word should be coincidentally, not ironically. Hey, maybe even autopolyploidly.

There are so many words. Too many, really. Sometimes the old gray cells just can’t handle them all.

Smaller words like “yo” and “boo” get shoved to the back of a brain cell by scary words like suppository or epistemology. Those words then get squeezed by monsters like inagaddadavida and nostrilhairprotuberansical.

You can easily imagine how word-cell overcrowding triggers word riots — what we on earth know as  diarrhea of the pie hole. There’s so much overcrowding that some words wander freely around the cellblock, unfairly getting first dibs on the National Geographics from the library cart.

But, you ask, how does one gather adult male rats in the first place? A reasonable question, I answer. Rat experts cite two basic methods: messaging through Ratfacebook, or rolling a giant cheese wheel down the hill above the laboratory (explains why laboratories are built at the foot of a hill.)

The idea is to get the rats chasing the wheel into the lab where scientists put them on treadmills, dumbbells, dumberbells, ellipticals, hypotenuses and equilateral trade agreements. The goal? To get the rats into the state of Neurogenesis – formerly known as Nevada.

The Finns tell us that Neurogenesis is ruled by our Brain-Derived Neurotrophic Factor, or BDNF—not to be confused with the better known BDNF: Bob Did Not Fluff.

As the rats lie sweating on the lab floor, scientists use their alfalfa male personalities to bore them to death. They cut them up with a Bill Monroe mandolin slicer and call in the lab accountant to tally the new brain cells. As one researcher put it “This is why I went into science.”

At this point in the journal article,* the writer felt compelled to note:

“Obviously, rats are not people.”

Um, not that I know anything about science, but if rats are not people, then why are some people rats? Do scientists not remember their old childhood rhyme?

If wishes were horses/beggars would ride,/if rats were people/horses would be pissed because/look/they don’t bite/their tails are fluffier/they have horse sense/and they love to kick back at a picnic and play/play what?/ Rat shoes?/I don’t think so.

Why is any of this important, you ask? Is it important, you ask, even before I get a chance to answer your stupid first question? Is there a life lesson to be learned from this experiment, you bloviate as I marvel at your rudity.

Are you done? May I continue?

Basically, it’s not important at all, and only marginally interesting if you must know. And, apparently, you must, because I see your smirks of superiority, the hatred in your hearts, the gas in your bags. You bunch of whining, Communist/Fascist/Bassoonist rodent lovers.

*Turns out there are no cartoons: http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1113/JP271552/full

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2016, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, Mockery and derision, News You Can Use (Sort of) | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

F.A.Q. Who who hoo hoo

Posted on October 7, 2016 by PMcG

Q. Knock-knock
A. Can I help you?

Q. You’re supposed to say ‘Who’s there?’
A. Why? I can see who’s there. It’s you.

Q. Yeah, but who am I?
A. I give up. Who am you?

Q. Come on. I’m knocking on your door and you’re supposed to say who’s there so I can tell you who’s there.
A. I don’t know how to break this to you, but there’s no door. You’re standing in front of a card table. I’m sitting here, ready to answer your frequently asked questions about whatever.

Q. Obama.
A. Come again? Look, I don’t really mean come again. I wish you hadn’t come in the first place. But did you say Obama?

Q. You’re supposed to say Obama who.
A. I know who Obama is. And you aint him. First of all, you’re white. Second of all, I just can’t get past first of all.

Q. Okay, obviously I’m not Obama. I’m not even president, either. But that’s not the point.
A. Let me guess. The point is the one on top of your head.

Q. Humor me. Just say ‘Obama who?’
A. You know, I’m a volunteer. I don’t get paid to do this.

Q. Come on. Please. Pretty please with marmelade.
A. I could have been a contender.

Q. From the top, okay? I say knock-knock, you say who’s there, I say Obama. You say…
A. I say I’m dialing 9-1-1.

Q. Obama.
A. Okay, but only because of the marmelade. Obama who?

Q. Alllllll byyyy myyyyy self.
A. Gee, for a minute there you sounded like Celine Dion. You should lose the beard, though. It spoils the effect.

Q. Obama self. Get it? Oh baaaa maaaa self.
A. Is this some kind of a joke?

Q. Of course it is. Haven’t you ever heard of a knock-knock joke?
A. Aren’t jokes supposed to be funny?

Q. They are funny. Try it.
A. All right. Knock-knock.

Q. Who’s there?
A. Obama.

Q. Obama who?
A. President Obama, you idiot. How many other Obama’s have you ever heard of?

Q. I don’t get it.
A. Neither do I.

Q. But you do have a nice singing voice.
A. I practice in the shower.

…30 seconds later…

Q. Excuse me, but that guy who just left here?
A. What about him?

Q. Wasn’t that Obama Igalixpoo?
A. Obama who?

Q. O-ba-ma seeeeellllf.
A. What, did you two guys break out of the asylum together?

…4 seconds later…

Q. Hi. Is this the Frequently Asked Question station?
A. I hope you’re not going to sing.

Q. I was trying to remember the notes on the Tonal scale. What note comes between fa and la?
A. That would be Sol.

Q. Sooooola Oooootra Vez.
A. Please don’t tell me that’s Spanish for…

Q. O-Baa-ma seeelfff.
A. You know, in some states it’s illegal to fool with people. Although, interestingly, not if you’re running for president.

…7 seconds later…

Q. Pardon me. Have you seen any Secret Service agents looking for me?
A. Hey, aren’t you…

Q. O-Baa-ma seeelf.
A. You know, I voted for you, and now you’re pulling my chain.

Q. Sorry. I don’t get much time alone when I can just blow out the pipes.
A. Uh, so to speak, right?

Q. By the way, Knock-Knock.
A. Oh boy. Who’s there, Mr. President.

Q. Bjorn.
A. Okay. Bjorn who?

Q. Bjorn in the U.S.A. I was…Bjorn in the U.S.A.
A. Everybody knows that. Well, almost everybody.

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2016, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, F.A.Q., Mockery and derision, News You Can Use (Sort of) | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Rules of thumb

Posted on September 29, 2016 by PMcG

So often we hear about a person of supreme talent who squanders a golden opportunity because of a problem with opioids, steroids or Sigmund Freud’s slip. They wind up in jail, or living under a highway overpass or borrowing $14 million from their father to start a business.

We are fascinated with the failure of those supposedly more fortunate than us. Why? Because we are certain in our hearts that if we had been presented the same chances for success we would have simultaneously thrown up and filled our pants and by the time we got cleaned up, all the shelled edamame beans would be gone.

Which is why we are suckers for books and TV shows and movies that try to discover just what went wrong with this or that failed genius or celebrity or Pokemon Gonad. How many times have we seen or read that the loser in question lost his way, fell in with some bad cholesterol and ignored the many wise rules-of-thumb that have been passed down for years by the all-powerful thumb lobby.

Eons back, when men were just beginning to evolve from apes into idiots, there were rules-of-thumb, but also rules of fingers, toes, noses and ear lobes. The thumb’s powerful one-two combination of not only having plenty of rules, but being quite amenable to sucking, soon eclipsed all others.

Our long documented need of thumb-sucking is eclipsed only by our ironic insistence on shouting suckful things at others, like “You suck.” “No, you suck.” “Hey, suck my toe. The big one.” And, of course, the illiterate existentialist’s battle cry of “Life sucks.” It goes without saying that

Anyway, as a dutiful sucking observer, I maintain a list of rules-of-thumb gleaned over the years by a bonded gleaning service. So, glean this:

  • Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Try to have them do unto you first so you can see if their unto has damaged your unto, giving you time to call in an adjuster and a lawyer and maybe some lobotomized muscle.
  • Don’t have sex while driving. The logical corollary to this rule is don’t drive while having sex. This goes back to the philosopher panda twins, Yingo and Yango.
  • If you can’t say something nice about someone, be frank and ask them for suggestions. Example: “Excuse me, my name is Frank. What would you say about you if you were me and thought you were a moron?”
  • Don’t moon people. (Not the same as the environmentalist’s interstellar whine “Don’t people the moon.”)
  • Don’t, um, use the bathroom where you eat. (If you’re bagging my groceries.)
  • Never order the chicken salad. Like a pigeon on a statue, you don’t know how long it’s been sitting there.
  • Don’t have sex in the bathtub.
  • It’s rude to eat the last gawumpie.
  • Don’t borrow or steal your neighbor’s wife/husband/dog/morning paper.
  • Don’t have sex in separate bathtubs.
  • Don’t be found dead in unclean underwear. (Ditto for being found alive.)
  • Don’t bite the hand that feeds you unless it’s made of milk chocolate or pepperoni.
  • You can’t always get what you want. If you try sometimes you just might find it’s true.
  • Don’t have sex.
  • If you can’t be a god-fearing man, be a god-fearing woman. If you can’t be a god-fearing woman, be a god-fearing mollusk. If you can’t be any of those, try fearing banjo players. That seems to work for just about everybody.
  • Never say “I wash my underwear whether it needs it or not.” Dude, it always needs it.
  • Don’t have sex. Am I repeating myself?
  • Don’t repeat yourself in a bathtub.
  • The Golden Rule of Thumb: Never get caught with your thumb up the old sigmoid colon.

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2016, all rights reserved.

Posted in Absurd and/or zany, Mockery and derision, News You Can Use (Sort of) | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment