What Would You Wish on Your Worst Enemy?

There's an old expression that we sometimes use when confronted with something really awful: I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. Which begs the obvious question: what would you wish on your worst enemy?

As it happens, someone has already thought about that, and offers you a resource to identify things to wish on your worst enemy. You can check out the entire list here, but if you just want a few to start you off (with a few additions of my own), here you go ...

Utterly indestructible clamshell packaging on everything they buy.

Flimsy one-ply toilet paper everywhere they go* (this one's for you, Eddie!).

A predisposition to hitting "Reply All" by accident.

Seat back, meal on lap, drink in hand, telephone and remote on the other side of the room.

Mosquito bites between their toes.

The world's smallest bladder.

Their name on every telemarketer's call list ...

A seat next to a proud and long-winded grandparent on very long flights. In coach.

So, Dear Readers, what would you wish on your worst enemy? Leave a comment ... we can use the ideas.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

* So to speak.

Free Speech for Me. For You, Not So Much

I read a fascinating article yesterday on Atlantic.com - The Culture of Shut Up, by Jon Lovett.

In the article, Mr Lovett discusses how our tendency to shout down or shut out people with opinions other than our own, to vilify those who think differently rather than we do, is killing our entire concept of free speech. Here's what I thought was the best quote out of the article:

"The right to free speech may begin and end with the First Amendment, but there is a vast middle where our freedom of speech is protected by us - by our capacity to listen and accept that people disagree, often strongly, that there are fools, some of them columnists and elected officials and, yes, even reality-show patriarchs, that there are people who believe stupid, irrational, hateful things about other people and it's okay to let those words in our ears sometimes without rolling out the guillotines."

We live in a time when we don't have to listen to speech we don't want to hear. If you're a hard right conservative and you're offended by the very existence of a liberal mouthpiece like MSNBC, you can listen to Fox News all day. If you're a hard left liberal and you can't believe anyone would listen to the bilge masquerading as fair and balanced news on Fox, you can listen to MSNBC. Neither one of you ever has to listen to the opinions of the other and weigh those opinions in your own mind, without the filtering of your chosen media outlets.

What this means is that all too many of us live in self-reinforcing echo chambers where we hear only what we want to hear, and wonder not only why anyone would want to listen to that other junk, but why anyone should be allowed to utter that other junk.

This is what I find particularly evil - the idea that people with wrong ideas shouldn't be allowed to express them. Some people, particularly on the left, believe that some ideas aren't just wrong and offensive, but are so wrong and offensive that they shouldn't be allowed to be expressed at all. Speakers are shouted down or find their invitations cancelled for fear of controversy or - worse - violence. People who advocate ideas that most people consider offensive are stifled ... victims of Mr Lovett's culture of shut up (read his article for a lengthy list of people who've been told to shut up because their opinions ran contrary to popular opinion).

There are a lot of people out there I think are stupid, with whose positions I strongly disagree. But is either of us well served when we prevent the free exchange of ideas? I've always believed that the cure for really stupid ideas is to force them to compete in the give and take of the intellectual marketplace, where their stupidity can be exposed for everyone to see. Sadly, we don't do that. We decide that we need ... and everyone else needs ... to be protected from those ideas, and we make rules to prevent them from being expressed ... even though that convinces those whose speech is stifled that they're really right, because we're afraid to listen to their version of the truth. Here's another quote from Mr Lovett's article:

"We need to learn to live with the noise and tolerate the noise even when the noise is stupid, even when the noise is offensive, even when the noise is at times dangerous. Because no matter how noble the intent, it’s a demand for conformity that encourages people on all sides of a debate to police each other instead of argue and convince each other. And, ultimately, the cycle of attack and apology, of disagreement and boycott, will leave us with fewer and fewer people talking more and more about less and less."

It's frustrating, but we need to listen to the people we think are hopeless dumbasses.

After all, we may end up having to vote for them.

Have a good day. Listen to all sides of the argument, then make up your mind. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

Shaggy Dog Stories

The shaggy dog story is one of my favorite types of joke. It's usually an extremely long-winded story characterized by excessive and often irrelevant detail and finished off by an anticlimax or a totally unexpected punchline that's either irrelevant or a complex pun. Here are three of my favorite shaggy dog stories ...

An Indian chief had three wives (or squaws, in the language of the time). He was a vigorous and virile man, and soon all three of the squaws were pregnant. As the time of their confinement neared, the chief ordered that comfortable beds be prepared for each of them. The two junior squaws received beds made from the soft, prepared hides of wolves, while the third - favorite - squaw had a bed made from the very rare, imported hide of a hippopotamus. In due time all three squaws went into labor and delivered their children: the two women who slept on the beds made of wolf hides each had a single child - one a boy and the other a girl. The third squaw, however - the favored lady who slept on the bed made of the hippopotamus skin - bore twins, a boy and a girl. When the chief was notified of this, he thought for a while and then nodded sagely. "Makes sense," he opined. "The squaw of the hippopotamus hide is always equal to the sum of the squaws of the other two hides."

A man living in a remote village in Africa came down with a terrible stomach ache. He tried all the usual folk remedies to relieve the condition, but nothing worked, and so he finally broke down and went to his tribal shaman for help. The shaman studied the man carefully, then thought for a few minutes, consulted his notes, and decided on a course of action. He told the man to bring him a strip of untreated rawhide about a foot long. The man brought the rawhide thong to the shaman, who tied seven equidistantly spaced knots in it and gave it back to the sufferer. "Take this thong home with you," the shaman said, "And starting tomorrow, each day I want you to bite off one of the knots, chew it up, and swallow it. On the seventh day, after you eat the last knot, your stomach problems will leave your body when you go to the bathroom and excrete* what's left of the thong. The man went home and, as directed, ate one knot each day for the next week. But ten days later, he was back in the shaman's tent, complaining that his stomach ache was still there, and worse than ever. The shaman was puzzled and examined the man closely. Finally he sat back and shook his head in dismay. "I don't understand," he said. "The thong is ended, but the malady lingers on."

Everyone knows the story of how the legendary Carthaginian general Hannibal attacked Rome by doing the unexpected, leading his army over the snow-covered vastness of the Alps to attack from the north - the direction the Romans never expected. But as with all military campaigns, the tactical success of Hannibal's campaign depended on the logistics of supplying his army and getting it over the mountains. Most of the credit for this goes to Hannibal's chief of logistics, a brilliant Carthaginian engineer named George who designed huge racks made of logs that could be piled high with the army's tack and pulled along by the elephants that were the army's primary beasts of burden. George built the racks, the soldiers loaded them with supplies and equipment, and the army set out into the Alps with the elephants stoically pulling the enormous racks up the steep grades. Near the summit of one of the alpine passes, one of the elephants slipped on a patch of ice and stumbled, causing the leather straps that fastened the rack to his mighty shoulders to break ... and the heavily-loaded rack began a long, uncontrolled slide down the mountain. The huge rack thundered down the icy slope, gathering speed as men and beasts frantically leaped out of the way to avoid being crushed by its tremendous weight. As it roared along, it struck one of the war elephants, flipping it into the air, and dumping its riders to the round; the elephant landed on top of the speeding rack, bellowing in terror as its unexpected transport raced down the mountain. Far down the line of march, two weary, footsore Carthaginian soldiers were trudging along when they heard shouts and screams and a loud rumbling noise ahead ... they looked up and saw bearing down on them an enormous rack, loaded with supplies and with a huge elephant on top of the supplies, bellowing and roaring in fear as the rack sped faster and faster down the mountain. The two men leaped aside just in time to avoid being crushed by the speeding rack, and as they slowly got back to their feet and looked at the rack disappearing down the mountain, one man looked at the other and gasped, "Holy moley, what was that?" The other soldier looked down the mountain and replied, "It's a ramblin' rack from George's tack with an elephant engineer!"

Shaggy dog stories. Apply with care.

Have a good day. Send me a good joke if you have one. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

* I wasn't going to use the more graphic, earthy term ... children read this blog, after all.

April Showers Bring May Flowers. And Other Things.

After a glorious weekend of temperatures in the low sixties and clear skies, those April showers are returning to NoVa today, which is okay, because we all have to go back to work and won't be able to enjoy the great outdoors, anyhow.

But although April is known for the showers that bring May flowers*, it is also known for a number of offbeat celebrations and commemorations. Here's a list (with my observations, of course):

National Humor Month - we'll celebrate it four times this month on Cartoon Saturdays. And on other days, too.

International Guitar Month - of course it is. Would I string you along?

Keep America Beautiful Month - you could start by voting out 535 useless oxygen sponges in Washington.

Lawn and Garden Month - if the weather just decides on which season it wants to be, maybe I can get the lawn in shape and the garden planted. As it happens, our cold, damp winter has pushed the pollen season for just about everything into a narrow range of days this month here in NoVa - gives all-new meaning to the expression, "catching the red-eye."

National Poetry Month - now, there's a good reason to visit this blog for Poetry Sundays! Not that you needed one, of course.

National Pecan Month - you say PEE-cahn, I say pee-CAHN ... let's call the whole thing off. After we eat the pie, of course.

National Welding Month - how did Noah fasten the pieces of his boat together? With an arc welder, of course.

Records and Information Management Month - now THERE's an exciting excuse for a raucous party and a parade. Wake me when it's over.

Stress Awareness Month - believe me, I'm aware of it.

Sexual Assault Awareness Month - unfortunately, the people who need to be aware of this problem aren't. And don't care.

In addition to the month-long observations, there are (as there are in every month) lots of individual days devoted to odd things. My favorite is April 17th, which - I have discovered - is "Blah-Blah-Blah Day," devoted to getting you to do all of the projects and things that people have been nagging you to do. This is your day to quit smoking, lose weight, or fix the broken thing that your partner** has been bugging you about.

April. There's something for everyone to celebrate. As for me, I'm going to celebrate the slow approach of the tank top season for the ladies. You admire your scenery, I'll admire mine.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

* Every child knows the riddle: "If April showers bring May flowers, what do May flowers bring? Pilgrims!

** Can't say "wife" any more in today's non-gender-specific, can't-possibly-offend-anyone social environment.

Poetry Sunday

For the second Poetry Sunday post, I've chosen a piece from one of my favorite poets, Robert W. Service, "The Bard of the Yukon," who wrote vivid descriptions of the Canadian north and the Klondike gold rush in poems like "The Shooting of Dan McGrew," and "The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill." His classic tall tale "The Cremation of Sam McGee" is a wonderful poem with a rhyme and cadence that lends itself to reading aloud ... it's one of my favorites to recite. Today's poem is typical of Service's work, telling the story of the sort of rugged individuals he watched and knew during his time in the frozen north.

The Men That Don't Fit In

by Robert W. Service

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper grove,
What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
He's a man who won't fit in.

I hope you enjoyed your weekly poetry fix, and that it ... fit in ... with your need for a little culture. Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

Cartoon Saturday

Welcome to April ...

For the second time in less than five years, a soldier at Fort Hood, Texas, pulled a gun and began shooting at his comrades - this time killing four and wounding another 16 before killing himself; in response to extraordinarily modest success of its Windows 8 operating system, Microsoft is working on an upgrade to make it more like ... Windows 7; in another victory for those who want to inject more money into the election process, the Supreme Court in a 5-4 ruling this week eliminated limits on the total amount of money people can donate one election season, while leaving intact the current $5,200 limit on how much an individual can give to any single candidate during a two-year election cycle; aid workers in coastal west Africa reported that the death toll from an outbreak of deadly Ebola had reached 86, with dozens more sick; and in Pennsylvania, a man survived a bizarre work accident in which a chainsaw blade dug deep into his neck and shoulder, coming to rest less than a centimeter from his carotid artery.

New month, new cartoons needed. I'm on it!

This week, in honor of the ongoing hysteria over health care in America, our theme cartoons deal with ... health care. And whether you're a Republican or a Democrat, or have medical insurance or not, Ol' Doc Bilbo is covering your humor injection.

Hospitals know they can charge more for simple treatments if those treatments have appropriately expensive names ...

Insurance companies are always looking for creative ways to cut costs ...

Even for heart problems ...

 It's important to take the correct first steps in responding to a medical emergency ...

Of course, we need to slip in the obligatory pun ...

"Medical marijuana" isn't always the herb you need ...

This one's for all of us senior citizens ...

I wonder if this treatment might be covered for some members of Congress ...

Don't wait too long to seek medical attention ...

Finally for this week, we move from HMO to CSI ...

And there you have it - the first Cartoon Saturday collection for April, 2014. I hope it helped you ease into the new month.

The weather this weekend here in NoVa is supposed to be glorious, and so what better way to spend those glorious days than by spring cleaning and hauling old junk to the landfill? I'm such a swinger, aren't I?

Have a good day and a great weekend. Come back tomorrow for Poetry Sunday.

Bilbo

P.S. - Just a reminder: if you haven't paid your taxes yet, you only have ten more days. Good luck.

B.

The Ass Clown of the Month Award for April, 2014

This month celebrates the third year of presentation of the quasi-prestigious Ass Clown of the Month Award ...

On April 17, 2011, billionaire, birther, climate change denier, and all-around generally miserable human being Donald Trump was named as the first Ass Clown of the Month, setting a standard aspired to by such other dim luminaries as Vladimir Putin (March, 2014), Wayne LaPierre (annual winner for 2012), Senator Mitch McConnell (January, 2013) and many others. Today, three years after the first award, we recognize yet another individual who has exhibited the qualities of a supreme Ass Clown.

In fact, this month we present a dual award to a pair of individuals who, together, make one give the sad head-shake and sigh of resignation that mark truly deserving Ass Clowns. Ladies and Gentlemen, the award for April, 2014 goes to

Robert H. Richards, IV

and

Delaware Superior Court Judge Jan Jurden

In 2008, Mr Richards was indicted on two counts of second-degree child rape for repeatedly assaulting his three year-old daughter between 2005 and 2007. Real People indicted on those counts would have received mandatory minimum sentences of 10 years on each count, but Mr Richards - heir to the DuPont fortune - was released on $60,000 bail and ultimately offered a deal allowing him to plead guilty to fourth-degree rape. Instead of 20 years in prison, Mr Richards was ordered to pay $4,395 to the Delaware Violent Crimes Compensation Board and sentenced to eight years in prison ... suspended in favor of probation by Judge Jan Jurden, who wrote in her decision that Mr Richards "will not fare well in Level 5 (prison) setting."

It is generally known that those who are wealthy and well-connected are able to manipulate the criminal justice system that would drop huge fines and jail time on lesser beings. If you're the heir to a vast fortune, you can afford to pay teams of top-drawer lawyers instead of having to rely on overworked, poorly-paid public defenders. If you're a big shot, chances are you won't spend time eating jail food from plastic trays and wearing orange jumpsuits ... you'll pay an easily-affordable fine (if that) and suffer the indignity of probation within the walls of your own home.

Some commentators have argued that the judge who imposed this laughable penalty should not be criticized because Delaware law prohibits her from defending herself by commenting on the facts of the case. They also argue that the language in the decision about Mr Richards "not far(ing) well" in prison was probably added by the defense team. No matter. Judge Jurden, responsible for the even-handed imposition of justice, signed off on a decision that made a mockery of the law she is sworn to uphold.

If there were any doubt in your mind about the existence of one form of justice for the elite, and another for the hoi polloi, this case should clear it up for you. Read the whole miserable story here.

Mr Robert H. Richards, IV, and Judge Jan Jurden are named as co-awardees as April 2014's Ass Clown of the Month - Mr Richards for the despicable abuse of his daughter, and Judge Jurden for issuing an unbelievable ruling that feeds public cynicism about the fairness of the judicial system.

Sometimes, there's just nothing more you can say.

Have a good day. Come back tomorrow for Cartoon Saturday, when we'll try to laugh rather than cry.

Bilbo

Voulez-Vous Coucher Avec Moi?

No, Mike, I'm not talking to you.

People who speak no other French know this useful phrase, which translates as would you like to go to bed with me? It was made famous ... or, perhaps, famouser ... when it appeared in the Lady Marmelade number from the film Moulin Rouge!. Here's a version of it for your morning titillation ...

I got to thinking about this for a couple of reasons. One was Angel's recent posts on the topics of strip poker and the Coolidge Effect, and the other was a link I followed from Miss Cellania's website to a Neatorama article which, in turn, referred me to an article in the Annals of Improbable Research: “Gender Differences in Receptivity to Sexual Offers.”

According to a study originally published in 1989 in The Journal of Psychology and Human Sexuality, five women and four men were sent, one at a time, onto a college campus. Each approached strangers of the opposite sex, and said: “I have been noticing you around campus. I find you to be very attractive.” They then invited the strangers to have sex.

This experiment was designed to test the cultural stereotype that men want sex, and women set the limits. It was performed twice, once in 1978, and again in 1982, with the same results: the great majority of men were willing to dance the horizontal tango with the women who approached them; however, not one woman agreed to do so when approached by the men.

So, what does this mean to you and I?

Two things. First, if you're a guy, your odds of scoring aren't very good. Second, if you're a lady, you instinctively understand how to use the handle with which men come equipped.

Good thing I'm too old to worry about all that stuff any more.

Have a good day. Consider taking up chess or bridge ... losing is less embarrassing.

More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

Technical Difficulties

... and it's going to be a long day.

I'll try to put up a real post later this afternoon. Or tomorrow. Trust me.

Have a good day. More thoughts coming, I promise.

Bilbo

A Font of Useless Knowledge, Part 2

Continuing with the discussion of fonts we began yesterday, and a nod to April Fool's Day ...

When comparing the Times New Roman and Garamond fonts, it's clear that Garamond saves money by using less ink. Let's look at the examples again ...

But there would probably still be ink (and, thus, money) to be saved by trimming down the fonts still further - by removing the serifs that are used on some of the individual letters. A serif is a stylistic addition to a letter, as shown in this picture ...

The serifs aren't large, of course, but the amount of ink that would be used to print them in large numbers is not insubstantial. In my opinion, fonts that do not use serifs are less attractive than than fonts with them, but if your goal is simply to save money, dropping the serifs may be a better choice.

Fonts that do not use serifs are referred to as sans serif. And this leads us to the connection between fonts and April Fool's Day.

On April 1, 1977, Britain's Guardian newspaper published a seven-page supplement in the style of contemporary reviews of foreign countries, commemorating the tenth anniversary of the independence of the semicolon-shaped island nation of San Serriffe, complete with themed advertisements from major companies. The parody was so well-done and convincing that many readers were fooled into thinking that San Serriffe was a real place in the Indian Ocean, near the Seychelles, and it's still recognized as one of the most brilliant April Fool's pranks ever hatched. Here's a sample page from the original Guardian story (click it to verbiggen it) ...

And here's a larger picture of the map of San Serriffe that accompanied the story ... note that many of the towns and geographical features are named for various fonts and printing terms (I especially liked "Caissa Superiore," or "Upper Caisse" and "Thirty Point" at the southern end of Caissa Inferiore) ...

And if you still haven't had your fill of jokes about serifs, try this one on for size ...

With apologies to Eric Clapton.

Have a good day. Oh, and APRIL FOOL!!

More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo