Where’s Your Poseidon Now?

Dear Mr. Eccentric

I can’t help but think there’s not enough coverage and/or outrage over the Deepwater Horizon disaster in the Gulf of Mexico. There seemed to be way more coverage and scandal with the Exon Valdez than with this rig. I don’t get it. I mean don’t get me wrong, the Valdez was horrendous; but that was a finite amount of oil working on one habitat… where this rig is spewing an infinite amount of oil into countless fragile wetland ecosystems and affecting all sorts of seafood related industries. We didn’t have the 24hr news cycle back then nor the greenmindedness we have now, and yet, there’s only been but a dull roar from the media and a prodded response from government. What gives?

Ralph Moore

We didn’t have a reliance on bottled water nor the affinity for gourmet cooking we do today either. Confused?

The beating around the bush reaction to this disaster is all due to a misunderstanding on the part of a low level cog in the Illuminati’s Foodie Division and his part to cover up his blunder. The IFD being the wing of the worldwide conspiracy that creates all the food trends that seem to come around for no good reason – like everyone and their mother putting out Buffalo chicken (yay) or suddenly serving everything with chipotle or arugala with a light aioli (meh).

When the news broke out that the rig had sunk, news analysts began their barely-enough-info-to-pass-2nd-grade reports on the type of toxins being leaked by the disaster. In this case the substance in question is a lightweight oil lovingly referred to as “sweet;” and, that in a matter of days, the wildlife would be marinating in this stuff.

This misguided Illuminati figured shrimp infused in sweet oil straight from the sea would be a great new foodie fad, and thus sent the signal to the governments to drag their feet. That is till he realized that oil from the ground and oil from pressed veggies were not at all equal. Something to do with a night of drinking and Biodiesel lectures got his wires crossed.

In order to save face, the lackey changed his story. He “determined” that this slick of petroleum would, yes, toxify any seafood it came in contact with, but with a beneficial effect.

As we know, bottled water is a billion dollar industry facing some scrutiny due possible chemical seepage from the bottles. Plastic bottles are made from, amongst other things, oil byproducts.

If enough petroleum based toxins are ingested at the casual dining level, humanity would have built up an immunity to these chemicals and ready to not only continue buying bottled water as a supplemental source of hydration, but as a primary source too… after the Illuminati turn of the potable water supply in ten years.

As appealing as a solution to the “Waterworks Quandry” was, after a month’s deliberation, the high level Masters decided that they would have to act beneficially in this case and finally loosened the reigns on government and business to fix the mess after all.

As for the party responsible in the first place, though we’ve never heard of him before, I’m doubly sure we never will in the future.

Over the Top Holiday

Dear Mr. Eccentric,

I am having a huge holiday soiree is a few days for a few thousand of my closest friends. But, as I make my plans, I realized I could very well make a total ass of myself if I went too over the top. So, I need your humble advice: Which appetizer goes better with roast reindeer under glass? Beluga caviar with miniscule edible pearls or crocks of vichyssoise crusted with melted Swedish moose cheese and gold leaf?

Thank you in advance,
Ebu D. Katzenfett
Martha’s Vinyard

Wha?!

First of all, just because I was born in a supermarket and wear a grocery bag on my head doesn’t make me Mr. Food Guy! We got some other cat on this site for that stuff!

Secondly, you sir are a sick son of an expletive! Such flaunting of opulence went out of style as soon as Rome burned to the ground! This is a time for sharing and giving! People are in need!

Men and women die daily halfway across the world to protect your right to excess. So you want my humbling advice? Skip the party entirely. And rather than feed the egos and bloated stomachs of your “freinds,” why not do something for those who’re eating sand this holiday season – our troops abroad! That goes for all your friends and anyone reading. Here’s a small list of charities that can help you get the job done of helping them get the job done over there:

The USO – If you don’t know who they are or what they do by now, well, that’d be sad.
Cell Phone’s For Soldiers – Let our troops phone home this holiday season.
Wounded Warriors Family Support – Doing nice things for our wounded vets and their families
Military Working Dog Foundation – Because it’s not only humans risking life and limb for our security.

Thirdly, yuk! You can’t go wrong with franks and beans, man!

Near Manhattan Data Transfer

Dear Mr. Eccentric

I’m not the most tech savvy person these days. I used to be – I mean, I always had the latest digital calculating devices, just take a look at my pride and joy HP-35 (see attached photo). But lately I’ve been seeing ads on my Philco (that is till the vacuum tube blew) about this Windows 7 doohickey. Should I get this? [handwriting indecipherable]… I feel left out. I miss being on the cusp of technology and am ready and raring to join the 21st century!

Chuck Babbage
Old Town, Staten Island NY

Dear CB,

It shouldn’t make a difference whether or not you are on the cusp of the technological revolution. They got to the moon and back using what we now consider a wristwatch. Just imagine if they had access to and iPod. We’d be on Mars by now.

See, it’s not how powerful your gadget is, it’s how fast you can do long division with it.

That said, if you’re still convinced you need to upgrade, I think you should start out slow. Granted Windows 7 is rather user friendly; however, the concept of multitasking with ease may overload the brain of someone used to one equation at a time.

Might I recommend an earlier version PC? You really can’t buy older operating systems anymore, and eBay and most antiques dealers will rip you off (my throne made of C64s currently on hold due to budget constraints). The good news is, you have all you need in your palm.

Take your prized HP-35 and open up the case. Solder the display wires to a common house hold blender. Then, take the battery leads and put them into a bottle of 5hr energy.

Voila, you’ve now got a PC with all the functionality of Windows ME.

Happy Computing
Mr. E.

A Cure For Cabin Fever

Dr. Mr. Eccentric

I am currently laid up in bed with what is most likely this swine flu thing that’s been going around. I am going out of my mind with bordom; so much so that I… cleaned out my closet!

Well, long story short, I think I found a portal to another dimension! I’m dying to check it out, but is it such a good idea in my condition? Should I report it to someone? I’m soooo freakin’ bored!

-Manhattan Misery

Dear MM,

First of all, I hope to heck you didn’t lick the envelope before you sent this.

Secondly, this is an interesting scenario that leads to dire safety issues.

Chapter 3 in his book Dealing With Portals and Other Rifts in Space Time, Davis Blackmour, Qu.D. addresses what to do after initial discovery: “Rule one: When dealing with portals and other rifts in space time – DON’T JUST JUMP IN ALL ALICE LIKE! Alternate dimensions are not exact copies of our own, nor do geographic locations of portals coincide if they happened to be. In other words, just because you may have found a portal in an open field does not guarantee the same will be on the other side. You could pop out in the void of deep space; or worse, their equivalent of a Las Vegas wedding chapel.”

Words to live by.

Short story long – in your weakened health, bad things could go down depending on the other side. What you need to do is send a probe through first. Send a tethered camcorder – or better yet, your mother’s camcorder – in first to see what your dealing with.

Should you come across an agrarian society then stay out! The last thing you need is to go into a disease ridden land with a sub-par immune system. You’ll catch your death of plague! And worse, give it to all of us! Just go play some Warcraft, I understand it’s almost the same as the real thing.

Should you come across some shimmering Utopia, go right in. Most likely they’ve been sterile for centuries and have no natural immunities. We need to strike first. For if some deliriously fevered high-schooler could find a gateway, then sure shootin’ they’ve already found it and are gearing up for an invasion. Do us all a favor and save our universe. Please.

As for reporting it, I advise against it. Army form 775 stroke Z stroke 9G (“Release of Haunted Clothing Receptacles Request”) is a pain to fill out and your closet will be embroiled in red tape for years. My credenza is still in lockdown despite the capture of those… Things that leaped out that one rainy day.

In The Dog House: Follow-up

You sonofa…

I took your advice about the nutria for a family pet and the damn thing went on a rampage! It bit my son’s legs off the same night I brought it home. Luckily my wife is a skilled Amazon Huntress and was able to kill it before it got further. But man you should be locked up for the “help” you give. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers!

-Miguel
Sarasota, FL

Mikhail,

And you sir shall be hearing from my loan officer!

Seriously though, you should be on your knees thanking me now that your son can follow in your footsteps. With Amazonian genes in him, did you really think your kid’d have any chance of being a jockey without some sort of amputation? I just saved you $30,000 in leg shortening bills.

No Charge,
Mr. Eccentric

Dear Readers,

Although my words should be law, they are not. I but sit here in my padded cubicle ticking away at my keyboard, putting me out of posture to have a gun to your head. So if you don’t have the time to dedicate to keep vigil over your sleeping children while a bloodthirsty megarodent sleeps in their beds, please consider an antfarm to an exotic pet.

Yours in disclaimer,
Mr. Eccentric

In The Dog House

Dear Mr. Eccentric

My name is Miguel. I am a jockey from Florida, and keep a whole bunch of horses on my land. But my son, he wants a real pet like a dog. I told him if I won my next race, I would get him his dog. At the time, I didn’t realize that my entire family was deathly allergic to dogs. What do I do?

Miguel
Sarasota, FL

Dear Mike,

Ah Florida… land of sun, rain and its legally binding verbal contracts. You sir are in a jam, especially since it is also the land that gave birth to kids divorcing parents.

At first, I thought, that due to your stature you could easily dress up in a dog suit and pose as the family pooch. You wife would say you went out for oats and never came back. But I won’t go there.

Then I was watching The Tick on DVD the other day (yes, its a plug. A man can’t live on dispensing free advice alone!). In an episode to be released later on he comes across Speak, the capybara, and mistakes it for a dog. Now, I am in now way advocating importing a 140lb rodent into your family.

No, you can easily go for a Nutria, a 20lb rat / beaver… thing that’s become quite plentiful in your neck of the woods. They were introduced into Louisiana in the 30′s by fur trappers as a new source of pelts. Since then they’ve gone forth and multiplied and have spread throughout the southeast and become quite the pest. But your adopting and spaying and/or neutering one will help curtail the spread of the “brown menace!”

Call it a Chilean Root Hound. The boy will be happy, the family won’t sneeze to death, and you have a good excuse for your HMO to approve rabies vaccines.

Philatelist of Grievances

Dear Mr. Eccentric

What is up with the bump in stamp prices?! It’s not like it gets ‘em there any faster!

W.H. Russell
St. Joseph, Missouri

Post marked May 1st… point taken sir.

Interesting thing postage. They, that is to say THE THEY, would have you believe that the postage you now pay is used to cover the expense of mailing stuff. And, up until 1998, this was true… to a point. Now however the little square on the envelope is used to keep the price of oil down. I know, I know… you scoff at this idea each time you blink your eyes these days, but its a fact.

In 1932, analysts predicted that the use of the postal service would, due to the increase in telephone services and private carriers such as UPS (est 1930), slow to a point whereby it couldn’t fund itself via postage alone. So the price of a stamp was raised from .02 to .03 each. The actual cost to mail was still only .02. That extra penny was secretly siphoned into a fund called the “The Obsolescence Fund.” And from that point on a percentage of each stamp went into that account.

Fast forward to 1998 and the still infant days of the Internet. The craze of instant communication swept the globe; email was both functional and a fad and chat rooms buzzed. The mailmen panicked and invoked the fund.

Now you know that bit where by you take a penny, double it, double that, then double that still. Yeah well, needless to say the postal service could mail the Earth to Alpha Centauri and still have a tip for the delivery dude.

But you just couldn’t declare free postage for all! There would be chaos. People would be shipping bricks… just because they could. So no, they had to keep postage in place. But what to do with it?

It was about this time that oil spiked from $15 to $30 a barrel (was there such a time?). The grandchildren of the 1932 analysts also became analysts and also foresaw gloom and doom – this time in the oil trend. So, a new “Obsolescence Fund” was established to build a “floating” petroleum reserve: secretly buying as much oil as possible and flooding it into the overt US oil market.

This is why in 1998, the USPS switched to self adhesive stamps – it was for “legal” purposes. The sticky stuff is petroleum rubber based… so in essence the postage would be paying for the oil to make the rubber. A weak argument, but this IS Washington we’re talking about.

THEY tried something like that in ’74, during the gas shortage. A self stick stamp was issued around Christmas time, but it fell through. There backlash from the leftover hippies who complained that they needed the lickable stamps in circulation so they can pass off their LSD tabs as legit.

Long story short – whenever theres a bump in oil prices, theres a bump in stamp prices.

Figure this – one .42 cent stamp, per day, per person for one year: .42x365x300million = 45,990,000,000. Imagine our oil prices if this WASN’T supplementing it. Phew.

A Cookie Question

Dear Mr. Eccentric

Me and some of my Navy buddies noticed something the other day. Major brand cookies, like Oreos for example, seem taste different from season to season, even pack to pack – like hard cream and crumbly cookies one day and gooey cream and rock hard cookies the next. Are we imagining things or do the recipes change for some reason.

Commodore De la Galleta, Ret.
U.S. Naval Station Rota, Spain

Dear Commodore,

You and your sweet eating swabbies can relax. You’re right, the recipes do change.

Now, the official story they’ll have you believe is that the taste differs slightly based upon manufacturing location – i.e. the whole hard water/soft water differential. They also will say that they change some ingredients based upon, as you said, the season – like additives to chocolate chips in the summer to prevent melting, and so forth.

However, that’s all a crock. The truth of the matter is there is only one manufacturing location… and it’s mobile. Well, they’re mobile at any rate. You see all major brand cookies are made by a large nomadic tribe called the al-Zulaabiyyah, who follow herds of the rare Double Humped Pastry Camel (Camelus Crustulum). That’s why they taste so good – because they’re all made by hand.

The tribesmen use the camels’ milk and a gluten made from the hooves as the base for their confections. The reason there’s a slight change in taste is the additional ingredients and preservatives used in cookie production. Being nomads, they use the resources of the land around them at the time. Camelus Crustulum‘s migratory pattern is vast (from North Eastern Latvia to Souther Saudi Arabia). As you can expect, bake shops and supermarkets vary from country to country so it’s not always possible to be consistent.

Thanks for you question sir, and keep snacking!

In Need of a Quack

Dear Mr. Eccentric,

I am a 14-year-old wreck. I am obese and eat way too much, play too many video games, stay up way past midnight, ditch classes and sleep with all sorts of people. I know its bad the lifestyle I lead, but it’s hard for me to stop. I went to my parents with my problems (well, except for the sex), and they pass it off as just a phase; but I think I need help!

Is it too late for me?

Spinning My wheels,
Spread Eagle, Wisconsin

My Dear Ms. Spinning,

I hope “injecting Sterno between my toes” is thankfully not in that litany of miss deeds because you don’t do it, rather than merely omitted because you just spaced out.

Your parents are right, however; it is just a phase. That is, if by phase they mean it will end in its own due time. Then yes, it’s a phase. And, it will end… on a slab in the county morgue!

But it’s not too late. By realizing you are wastrel whore and by admitting that raiding fridge is not a glandular problem… you can be saved. Though from what I can see this is a very tough case to which your standard psychobabble won’t cut mustard.

So I recommend you do what all troubled teens with asinine parents do, join a cult. Theres one near you just two towns west called the Union of the Celestial Wooden Duck. It began in 1977 with the launch of the Voyager Space probe. One of the scientists snuck a hunting decoy into the Golden Record compartment. On the duck he carved a bunch of random squiggles figuring it just had to read “Please Return to Sender” in some language somewhere out there. Now he and his followers wait for the glorious return of that decoy in the loving arms of an intergalactic woodwork lover.

But with their guidance I’m sure you’ll be able to shape up. A steady diet of Kool-Aid and rice will get you nice and trim; the no technology mandate will get the controller out of your hands; and the strictly enforced chastity dogma will beat the promiscuity out of you. You’ll be even be able to catch up on your school work what with their top-notch re-education program.

I would just bail out when the Grand Oaken Mallard breaks out his telescope and HAM radio.

It’s Plane to See

Dear Mr. Eccentric

Sir, you’ve got to help me. Right now I’m on a airplane headed to Australia. We left from Newark NJ and the captain said we’re currently just over Redding, PA. The problem is the child in the seat behind me has already begun the whole kicking the back of my seat thing and he looks like he’s had a few caffeinated beverages… I see no end in sight and no work getting done on this flight.

What should I do?
Rich and Flighty CEO
30,000ft, OH

Ah, the miracles of modern technology. Not only can you bug me from a 30 ton flying cigar tube traveling at supersonic speeds, but you can be bugged as well for hours on end – strapped to your doom with a hyperactive mite in the 3×3 open-lid coffin behind you..

This reminds me of my days working the old Northwestern Pacific Railroad Line. They had just installed one of those newfangled telegraph line thingys. Cripes almighty it was annoying. When it didn’t dotdotdot on about ladies corsets or the latest rhino horn, my co-engineer was busy dashing his girlfriend in Tulsa. “Get off the line you damn Irish,” I’d say… but he wouldn’t listen, what with the phonograph bell in his ear and all.

Anyhoo, the train got all robbed and whatnot one day. I tried to message ahead for help; but, when we got to our stop later on, I heard that there was a cow with a bucket on her udder sittin’ there on the tracks mooing in Morse code… so the locals burned her for being a witch, forgoing the desired help sending effect.

Things have progressed nicely since then, and luckily for you there were no unholy ducks with antennae to interrupt your email to me. Dang it.

So, to answer your question I quote an unruly mob… “JUMP! JUMP! JUMP!” It’s your only recourse. What you think is a vexatious child in the seat to your aft is actually a highly trained air marshal. It’s part of the FAA’s top-secret terrorist identification program. They figure any terrorist would never put up with the undisciplined antics of a spoiled American-pig-sloth child, and reveal themselves.

To beat his head with a shovel will only get you shot; to ask his mother to do something would offend her and get you maced or glared at by the collective unconscientious unconsciousness of the other bad parents on the plane. That causes cancer my friend.

The parachute’s by the door,
Mr. Eccentric.

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