New Toxic Fumes - 2007 Forecast

I hear tell that the long-delayed premier edition of The Hellbender Press, Volume 9, is about to hit the news stands. So I figured I'd post the very mediocre "Toxic Fumes" that's included in it.

(No, the issue wasn't delayed because they were waiting for me to improve the damn column - I was done with it in December. But maybe the HB editorial staff punched it up some.)

Anyway, here it is, unedited and unimproved. Be sure to pick up a hardcopy of the Hellbender, though. I'm sure there will be better stuff than this in it.

2007 Forecast: Oil, Beer, Microbes, Weather and More

by Scott McNutt

January. Oil companies announce obscene record profits. The newly elected Democratic congress promises swift investigation into possible price gouging. Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi is quoted as saying, "I will travel to the headquarters of each major oil corporation and personally subject the president of each board of directors to exhaustive questioning over the course of a seven-course dinner. At their expense."

Pelosi added teeth to her threat by warning the board presidents that if they balked at her intentions, she’d "invite Teddy Kennedy along too. You don’t want to see what Teddy can do to a seven-course meal. And you really don’t want to pay for it."

February. Anheuser-Busch brewing researchers announce they have genetically engineered a microbial additive for beer that literally scrubs the painful effects of hangovers from the brain.

March. A drunk -- but hangover-free -- tanker captain runs his ship aground in Prince William Sound, then tosses overboard the 36 cases of Hangoverbegone Bud beer that would incriminate him. Days later, environmental scientists announce that the microbes in the beer designed to eliminate hangovers work even better at scrubbing oil spills.

April. Ten thousand breastfeeding lactivists stage a "feed-in" at the UN Building to protest the ignorance and prejudice to which their sister mothers around the world are daily subjected. Tragedy strikes when UN security forces open fire on the demonstrators after mistaking abreast pump for a nuclear device.

May. Madonna captures headlines again after offering to adopt the entire country of Malawi. National fathers are at first amenable to the proposal, but the plan is scrapped when Mrs. Ritchie makes clear that upon adoption, the country is expected to pick up and move to her Wiltshire, England, estate.

June. In an effort to improve their public image, seal hunters publicly renounce the practice of clubbing baby seals. Instead, a seal hunter spokesperson explains, seal hunters will seek out less sympathetic things to bludgeon to death. Green Peace, the United Nations, Donald Rumsfeld and lactivists are announced as potential candidates for clubbing.

July. Oil companies announce obscene record profits. The Democratic congress promises swift investigation into possible price gouging. Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid is quoted as saying, "I will travel to the personal yacht of each oil company CEO and subject him to exhaustive questioning over the course of a three-day deep-sea fishing excursion."

Reid added weight to his threat by warning the CEOs that if they balked at his plan, he’d "invite Teddy Kennedy along too. And you don’t want Teddy on your boat. Heck, I don’t want Teddy on your boat. We all know the dangers of capsizing. So, just invite me out for an extended crui- an extensive question and answer session, and nobody gets hurt."

August. Scientists announce that the genetically engineered "hangover" microbes can scrub away most forms of cancer. Other than that, the Earth catches a breather.

September. A "storm of the millennium" event takes place, as two hurricane systems converge on New York, completely devastating Manhattan Island. Satellite photos of the systems reveal that the shape and configuration of the hurricanes bear a remarkable resemblance to butt cheeks.

The Reverend Jerry Falwell is quoted as saying, "This proves that God’s buttprints are all over the destruction of the Big, Rotten Apple. Now He’s farted Manhattan to hell because of all the Jewish, secularist, pagan, feminist, abortionist, homo and Islamofascist turds who lived there. Leave it as wasteland, like Sodom and Gomorrah. Amen."

October. A gargantuan storm system blankets the Southeastern United States, spawning lethal tornadoes that rip through Falwell’s hometown of Lynchburg, Virginia, and eventually converge on and lay waste to Fort Mill, South Carolina, the site of the former Heritage USA Christian theme park.

Time-lapse satellite photos of the system reveal that the shape and configuration of the twisters bear a remarkable resemblance to fingers on a hand closing into a fist. The Reverend Jerry Falwell is quoted as saying, "This proves that Satan’s fingerprints are all over this tragic disaster. Because I’m always courageously pointing out his evil influences, the devil’s put out a hit on me and mine. Send your donations now. Amen."

November. Thanks to Rep. Pelosi’s and Sen. Reid’s diligence, the major oil companies announce that, through significant restructuring, repositioning, consolidating and outsourcing in their public relations departments, plus liberal distribution of Hangoverbegone beer to their media contacts, the terms "record" and "obscene" will no longer be used to describe their profits, and please not to send Teddy Kennedy to stay with them over the holiday recess.

December. The FDA announces that all Hangoverbegone beer has been recalled. The announcement is made after it was found that the beer had an additional side effect -- if consumed regularly for more than six weeks, the hangover-scrubbing microbes in the beer scrubbed not only the hangover from the brain, but also the brain from the cranium.

When asked why, if the unwanted side effects were detectable after just six weeks of product use, the FDA was only now announcing the beer’s recall, ten months after its commercial release, an FDA spokesperson stated, "Remember, these were Bud drinkers. It’s not like anyone could tell that their brains were gone."

Another anitiquated Snarls - Will You Be My Valentine?

Cleverly disguised as a column about broken-hearted single people, this was actually a continuation of my long-running War on Stupid Occasions.

Will You Be My Valentine?

Get away from me, you creep!

by Scott McNutt

Ah, Valentine's Day, the day when lovers spend a romantic evening rubbing their couplehood in single people's noses. Perhaps no other holiday so encourages the "loves me" part of the population to taunt and torment the "loves me not" group. It's a good thing we start children early on this program of blatant contempt for single people's feelings; otherwise, it might still bother some of us when we become adults.

Despite its current status as a socially sanctioned occasion for nose-thumbing at singles, the reason this day bears St. Valentine's name has little to do with such behavior. According to Christian tradition, in the 3rd century A.D., Valentine offended the Roman Emperor. Probably, as the laurel-crowned dictator passed by in a parade, Valentine yelled something like, "Hey doofus! You know you got a bunch of leaves on your head? Don't you ever wash your hair?" So Valentine was in prison, awaiting execution, set for the 14th of February.

While in jail, he cured the jailer's daughter of blindness. Impressed with this miracle and never having seen a guy before, she fell in love with the saint-to-be. Tragically, they could not consummate the relationship, because Valentine was vowed to chastity. Also, his head was cut off the next day. But just before his death, Valentine slipped the jailer a note to pass to the girl, which read, "He's your father! Make him let me out! I'm not joking! Get me out! PLEASE!!!! Yours, Valentine. xxooxx." Thus began the tradition of lovers giving "Valentines." So, to truly celebrate the spirit of Valentine's Day, if you give your love a valentine, you should have your head cut off. Sure, it's drastic. But something must be done about this so-called holiday.

Valentine's Day is the worst, most crassly commercial pseudo-holiday we endure. At least with Christmas and Easter, the religious overtones are still acknowledged. But frankly, Valentine's Day would be more interesting if we celebrated its pagan origins: the RomanFeast of Lupercalia. This was a "festival of eroticism that honored Juno Februata, the goddess of 'feverish' (febris) love...[O]n the ides of February, love notes...would be drawn to partner men and women for feasting and sexual game playing" (from "Saint Valentine's Day: A Short History," at http://www.me2u.com/ LoveLore/Valentine/). This is especially significant when we realize that "Feverish Love, Feasting, and Sexual Game Playing" would be a great title for Bill Clinton's memoirs.

Anyway, since what we currently do on the 14th really doesn't have anything to do with St. Valentine, why not ditch that connection in favor of other occasions that more closely touch us? For instance, besides being home to Valentine's Day, February is also Potato Lover's Month. So if you dig root vegetables, flaunt your special stud spud with pride!

Feb. 14 also happens to be National Cream-Filled Chocolates Day and National Cardiovascular Technologists Recognition Day. It is also the day of Trifon Zarezan (Viticulturists' Day; Bulgarian Dionysus Festival), and the date "Borrowed Days" end in the Scottish Highlands.

This begs the question: From whom do those rowdy, hard-livin' Highlanders borrow days? The English sure as heck wouldn't lend 'em any. Be that as it may, we could celebrate Feb. 14 with a ceremony where a bunch of angry Scots, toked up on cream-filled chocolates, try to wrestle more days from the cardiovascular technologists, with the Bulgarian viticulturists refereeing. I think I'm safe in saying that it would be an occasion none would ever forget, try as they might.

And this is only scratching the surface. February also gives us, in all seriousness, International Twit Award Month, Canned Food Month, Return Shopping Carts to the Supermarket Month, Wisconsin Farm Woman of the Year Month, Dietary Managers' Pride in Food Service Week, National Kraut & Frankfurter Week, National Condom Week, Exorbitant Price Day, Get A Different Name Day, and Dump Your Significant Jerk Day, to name only a few potential substitutes for Valentine's Day. So what are you waiting for? Get out there and celebrate an occasion that suits you. Just keep your mitts off Feb. 16, the "Feast of Sticky Buns." Seriously.

And remember, March is (I'm still serious) Humorists Are Artists Month. Send me a congratulatory note. I'll send you a National Talk with Your Teen about Sex Month card in return. xxooxx.

rerun -- Democracy Inaction -- rerun

The following was the first "Snarls" to appear in MetroPulse, back in May of 2000. I just posted it back in April 2006, because of developments with the Knox County Commission re: term limits. It's a (slightly) fictionalized account of one of that august body's meetings.

Now, because of developments with the Knox County Commission re: term limits, I am posting it again.

I figure it will be entirely appropriate if I simply adopt a policy of posting it every six months. Or maybe I should forward a copy of it to each commissioner before each commission meeting?

Democracy Inaction
A mostly true tale of local government

by Scott McNutt

Every citizen should attend a local government meeting at least once. It's a great opportunity to see your tax dollars at play—I've been there, and it sure didn't look like those little greenbacks were working. Yes, it's time eligible voters acknowledged the spawn of their democratic inactivity. Some readers may think the following account is exaggerated. But honestly, only the names have been changed to amuse the innocent.

I should begin by describing the Community Commission. Membership is restricted to humans, mostly. No doubt because of the anti-smoking ordinances for government buildings, no backroom wheeling-dealing appeared to be going on. All the Commissioners sat in full view of the public, around an enormous semicircular desk. Which made them perfect links in the political food chain for Winnifred "Pooh" Corners.

Every local governing body seems to have one guy who's been there since the Jurassic Period—and who has the political bite and walnut-sized brain to prove it. Ours is Pooh Corners: a crusty, fossilized crustacean of a politician, with an agenda and a hairstyle all his own. Pooh's head looked as if some exotic jungle bird had lost half its plumage when crash-landing into his cranium. His approach to government had a similar eye-catching flair, no back-room deals needed.

Pooh controlled the course of the meeting through forceful, penetrating observations. "Who are all these people?" he shrilled, gesturing imperiously at citizens there to present their opinions on community business. "Why are they here?" he asked querulously. "Don't they know we have community business to attend to?" At which point one or two political parrots echoed, "Community business! Community business!"

A debate ensued over whether the citizens should, indeed, be allowed to express their views to their representatives. Before any action could be taken, Pooh suddenly announced, "I'm going to the bathroom!" Someone responded, "Do we need a motion on that?" And another called out, "Nay!" and someone else shouted, "What are we voting on again?" Then a loud chorus of "Recess!" broke out, and the Chairman banged his gavel on the table and called for a sandwich from the vending machine, hold the mustard.

Eventually, the citizens got to speak. And I appreciate our local leaders allowing that. It's true, many of the Commissioners seemed completely indifferent to what the citizens had to say, and sometimes baffled and resentful that the citizens wanted to speak at all. But I thought I detected a Commissioner listening occasionally, and I appreciate that. Really. Truly. Thanks.

But on other issues, Pooh Corners, this octogenarian velociraptor, this dart-full codger, seemed to cow the Commissioners, who were the usual assortment of "yes-men" and "no-men," though the biggest group was the "I-don't-know-men." For instance, on the subject of whether a large, costly parking garage had been kept in or cut out of a larger, costlier, downtown jail project, the consensus was, "Huh?"

I can't really blame the I-don't-knowers for not understanding the proceedings. Even without Pooh's distraction tactics, every discussion was couched in a pseudo-legalistic dialect. Whenever an issue was put to vote, the Chairman would say something like, "Okay, we're voting on a three-part, subjunctive declension of the secondary amendment to dismiss the motion to proceed with a vote on whether to take a recess for lunch, which was the original item. And this item comes with a side item. I'll have the fries."

Pooh would then interject, "I have to go to the bathroom again!" And someone would courageously proclaim, "I still don't understand what we're doing!" Then the Chairman would bang his gavel and declare, "We are recessed until we figure out what it is that we're voting on. Can I get some cheese on this, please?" To which Pooh would reply, "I move against that! Cheese gives me gas!"

I left after about five hours.

Was this the sort of democracy you envisioned when you didn't vote in the last election? Of course not! That's why I say it's time to revoke the ban on smoking in government buildings, and return to the shady-deals-done-in-smoke-filled-backrooms kind of government that made this country what it is today. All in favor stand and say, "I have to go to the bathroom!"

http://www.metropulse.com/dir_zine/dir_2000/1022/t_snarls.html