The Crank

Semi-Unified Conspiracy Theories

The Crank

There’s a lot going on today and with our media tanking it’s time we learned the truth! Conspiracy theories are rampant, yet what are we to make of the Age of Misinformation? The Daily Discord has paid me handsomely to get to the bottom of several of the leading stories of our time. I, The Crank, found most of the loose strings of a generation and tied them into a nice little bow. On that note, I could really use that case of Coca Cola now, Mr. Winslow. It would be better for everyone if it arrived soon…

It wasn’t planes that brought down the W.T.C. on 9/11, it was Rodan and Mothra. Fracking woke them from their subterranean slumber and now they’re pissed. Only good thing…at least now they’re heading toward Japan.

Bush is the space alien from area 51, and, yes, it IS all his fault. He is not in Texas, as they would have us believe. No one can “clear brush” for that long. He was called back to the Klingon Home World to answer for a failed mission. Just when exactly WAS the last time anyone has seen him?

Atlantis was located off the coast of New Jersey, and it was the largest landfill on Earth. It collapsed under the weight of untold tons of ancient shit. The whole Atlantis theory was an epic sewage fail cover-up by the prehistory Mafia. Even Plato alludes to the fact they built it with substandard rocks.

Justin Beiber is the next Anti-Christ and can only be beaten at the Apocalypse by a shirtless William Shatner. (Who has actually beaten Genghis Khan, Napoleon and Hitler in past Apocalypses, also shirtless)

If you play any Joe Walsh song backwards, it makes perfect sense.

The Most Interesting Man In The World is, in fact, Jewish. (Stay tzameh my friends?) Dos XX was originally called He-Brew.

The Etrade Babies are real!! They actually run Wall Street from tiny offices inside the Bull statue’s testicles…which is somehow fitting.

People who die while filming themselves for ‘Jackass’ all come back as MSNBC employees.

John Boehner is a pothead. Look carefully at him next time. Red, moist eyes, heavy lids, slurred speech, hyper emotional. Oh, and he was last sighted entering a secret area beneath the Capital steps with a copy of the Affordable Care Act, a half eaten bag of potato chips, and a rather large doobie. Much laughter/coughing heard later.

Mohammed reincarnated back as Barney Frank. Paybacks are a beeoch. (Fatwah anyone?)

Ronnie James Dio was an Italian Leprechaun. His rainbow ended at a Pot ‘o’ Sauce.

Donald Trump’s hair is actually a portal to an alternate universe where corporations run everything. Oh, wait, that’s here….

Bigfoot killed Kennedy because he “knew too much.” The grassy knoll was some type of forest sprite that took the rap.

Rupert Murdoch is actually a Ferengi after ear reduction surgery. (Think about it…)

Ozzy Osborne sold his soul to the Devil. It was returned for a manufacturer’s defect. When he does reach and remain indefinitely in purgatory…well, that could make one hell of a reality television show.

Hidden in the Affordable Care Act is a new law making use of the term ‘epic fail’ taxable.

Zombies ARE real. “Attention shoppers and welcome to Wal Mart”

The Supreme Court Justices are naked under their robes, and have secret ties to Grounds Keeper Willy. That’s why they never smile. All except Justice Thomas. He smiles. He has reason to smile.

Primus makes music that has subliminal messages in it that make you dance like an idiot. Try it. You start out looking all cool, then within seconds your arms are flapping and your knees are bowing and you are clucking like a chicken. The military is currently trying to weaponize this technology.

I hope this clears some things up.

The Crank

Temp Sensitivity in AZ or It’s 72°, Get My Sweater

The Crank

As I enter my pool after a hard day’s work, I’m greeted by the momentary chill one gets when going from over 105° to a frigid 88°. As I start my exercise routine, I soon warm. Fifteen minutes of calisthenics, followed by ten minutes of “floundering” as I don’t really swim, per se. When I decide I’ve had about enough of this whole “healthy” thing, I float like a dead man for another ten minutes…or, as I call it, the ‘Fuck You Richard Simmons’ position.

Then, after finally reaching the edge of the pool under methane power alone (which is great fun), I proceed to remove my protuberant posterior from its watery retreat and hit the lounge chair to dry off…which in AZ takes about three minutes. Then I always get chilled, “Shit, it’s cold.” As I look at the backyard thermometer the absurdity of the situation comes into frightening clarity. It’s 104°. The water was nearly 90°.

I’m cold? Kill me now, dear lord, as I have truly become just what I have dreaded for so long. I’m officially an old Arizonian. I can remember when I was in my thirties, on Lawn-Guyland, in the winter. If it was over 40°, I was in short sleeves. No problem. I worked in a refrigerated room for almost 27 years! I always went fishing on St. Patrick’s Day, when it was usually a balmy 45° with a stiff wind and stiff drink. And, when it passed 70°, I was in danger of breaking the local public nudity ordinances.

I am standing by my pool with a towel wrapped around my shoulders, freezing. It’s 104°! The term “WTF?” doesn’t begin to capture how I am feeling. As my feet become one with the now glowing-hot cool deck around my pool—a misnomer of the highest order—I have goose bumps on my arms. It’s like not knowing whether to shit or drink Drano. It’s not for lack of body hair, as I am a true ethnic Itralyun gorilla (see picture above). I am also not without the obligatory self-insulation (aka, body fat).

So what exactly IS the fuck, as it were? Am I sick? No. Have I somehow managed to transport the upper half of my body to the arctic, whilst leaving the lower half in Hellazona? No. I am just getting old. And that, my friends, sucks Burro beganga.

As I look at my reflection in the sliding glass door, with flames coming off my feet and icicles hanging off my chin, I am truly mortified. Next I’ll be exchanging my Metallica CDs for Sinatra! Will my Ram pickup magically change into a Buick LeSabre while I sleep? Am I destined to smell like an ‘old person’? Dinner at 4? Will I….(gulp) GOLF? I shudder to think of the string of atrocities yet to befall me…

I’m just a little cold, that’s all. Yeah, that’s it. Just a smidge of those chronological blues. I’m not heading for the great Bingo hall at the rec. center, right?

Or is this the way it all begins?

But I’m not ready…not ready by a long shot. I will fight! I will not go gently into that evil night. Time to play Nothing Else Matters on Spinal Taps’ level ‘11’ and maybe I’ll sneak out into the woods and throw a kegger. Ah…no woods, just the saguaro wastelands…and it’s a little hot and cold today. Maybe tomorrow. Now, where’s my fucking sweater?!

Cranky tip for today: Diesel smoke makes a very good Prius repellent.


Technology Bytes

The Crank

In a world where we’ve become so totally dependent upon electronic wizardry to do even the most basic of tasks, the failure of such technology makes us old timers long for the old days. The latest tech forces us to choose between quality and convenience. Do we wish to get off our ever fatter asses and actually ‘do’ something? No, we want something done ‘for us’ by the magic little Chinese dude inside our latest job robber from the east. Ask not what your Compaq can do for you, but what you can…a fuggedaboutit.

In our quest to become ‘Hutts”(as in Jabba the-) we are settling for much less quality than we ever had before. Take music. MP3 is about the worst music storage device ever conceived. It literally makes a command decision on just what it wants you to hear, and what it deems ‘unnecessary information’ gets unceremoniously expunged. This is also what Winslow did to my article on Why Can’t that Bitch Next Door Just…Never mind. Perhaps all is for the best.

So you end up with something infinitesimally small and vast in its storage capacity, yet sounding no better than an old 8-track (on a good day). Most don’t see the problem because they have never heard Ride of the Valkyries on a Telarc CD while sitting in front of a pair of odd shaped boxes known to the archeological community as Bose 901s. Look it up. The purveyors of music today are banking on the shear fucking stupidity of the purchasers. Letting other people/things make your decisions for you never ends well. Hear that big Gov? To paraphrase an anti-technology Dodge Charger commercial from a few years back, “We’ve all seen the way THAT movie ends, with machines picking through body parts looking for energy.”

Darwin is alive and well today. Just watch people try to drive/walk/run/cook/clean/work etc. whilst texting/sexting/talking/shopping/working on their own personal little torture devices/prison cells known ironically as smartphones. They are getting smarter as we are getting dumber. Hear ye, hear ye…there is no scenario where ‘texting’ is better than talking. If you call me and I can’t speak right away, they have this thing called leave a fucking message. It works really well. If I am at a meeting and I text you, it means I am at a meeting. I don’t need to be at and I’m ignoring and dissing the speaker. If you text me at a meeting, well, fuck you. I’ll call you back later, dude, it ain’t all about you. If you text someone who is driving, you might kill them, so STOP NOW! If you text back while driving, you might very well deserve to die. (There’s that Darwin thing again). But the dude next to you might not want to go for that same ride. No information I have ever received was worth a human life, mine OR yours (with perhaps one exception: this season’s finale of Jersey Shore).

So, you now pay hundreds per month for crystal-clear reception to NOT TALK to your friends? You push little buttons with your thumbs and relay a message? And they’re not even real buttons. They are just pictures of buttons. It’s just like the old telegraph, just way more expensive. AND, no one can spell anymore, dorks. What next, Verizon smoke signals?

And watching movies on a fucking phone? Talk about going back in time. My TV in the 50s was bigger. “I got a 66 inch flat screen at home, so let’s go watch my phone?” Jeez. “Hey Bob, I watched the whole game on my phone. Yeah, it was great, except now my friggin’ eyes are permanently crossed.”

Wireless: making your whole life dependent on an internet connection through radio waves. Sounds like ancient technology to me, but it does work until your system bytes the dust. You can’t print, you can’t shop, you can’t work. You pick up a pencil, but you just can’t seem to remember how to use it.

“Wait, I’ll look it up online!” Oh no you won’t. You pick up a newspaper, but it’s in a different language called English—not the lol bff ttfn shit you’re used to. You could go to the “store” to shop, but there are none left. They all closed while you were sexting that chick from accounting. You would eat but you can’t order delivery, and by now your ass is too big to fit out the fucking door. You could clear your weekend schedule and try to figure out how to use the big yellow book that’s been sitting by your phone all these years, but naaah. You couldn’t fit in the driver’s seat of your fucking Prius anyway. You’re fucked, and China is laughing their skinny asses off at our fat asses, you asses!

Technology is responsible for the biggest horror to befall mankind in centuries. It’s called Auto-Tune. It’s when you can’t sing for shit, but you are pretty and have large breasts. So you find someone who wants them boobs enough to pay for a singing career for someone who can’t sing for shit. The machine does it for you. It takes a note that you can manage to sing, and the computer does the rest, manufacturing a song with your voice. Bullshit at it’s finest. Bullshit you pay big-time for when you purchase these idiot’s songs. Back to the purveyors banking on the purchaser’s stupidity, and believe me, there are plenty of stupid people with money and smarter people who want it. Gene Simmons stated the next Kiss tour will be an “Auto-Tune Free Zone.” He then proceeded to disparage all young female “singers” whose names just happen to end in a vowel (a tongue lashing?).

Did you know that the most common word in divorces in America today is Facebook? For real. People are spending more time online than with their spouses and children. Can you say “Demise of the family unit as we know it?” I new ya could. You may think it’s no big deal, but just ask someone who hasn’t had a family. Not so good. Take an interest, or bug out. Make a decision people. Real people are interesting. People watching is great only if you have a loved one with you to denigrate/ make fun of/ laugh at the strangers you see. If you go to Wal-Mart and just sit there alone, laughing at people, one of two things will happen. You will get a visit from store security or from men in white lab coats. Neither of those choices is a good one. Being alone with technology does no one any good.

Except me,

I get material to write about at work when the fucking modem dies, and the IT guy is here trying to fix it at $Arm/Leg per hour, and I can’t do shit. Guess just what he’s doing while working on our computers? Yes, and his smartphone ringtone is the theme from The Jetsons.

But I Digress…


Verbal Charades and ADHD

The Crank

While waiting for my shrink to digitally write out my meds for the next three months, I asked him a question. What amazed me was the cognizant answer. This new guy is great. He has knowledge and stuff—not like that last one. I spent my $125.00 listening to her bitch for 30 minutes. She had her loser daughter as her assistant. Imagine moving your business and not calling all of your regular clients to inform them. Then berating them when they suggest how a knowledgeable person might be better in that position. Headbob, followed by a “layta beeoch!”

Anyway, back to the current shrink. I asked him a question about memory retention. While I am only 57, I have noticed a steady and almost relentless decline in my memory, particularly names. The comedian Louis Black calls this phenomenon verbal charades. He said whenever he hit 60-ish, his friends got together to shoot the shit, but it eventually always turned into a game of, “Geeh, who was that guy in the movie with, err, whatshername? You know the one with the mole in that movie with the guy from Sopranos? You know.”

Yeah, verbal charades. I am now living the dream.

I wanted to know two things from the psychiatrist: #1 was WTF? And #2, “What can I do about it?” I didn’t think I was getting Alzheimers. I was told if you forget your keys, you’re getting old, but if you forget what keys are for, it’s Big Al time. I just think I’m a bit young for this shit (I say as I use my keys to try to start the microwave).

What the doc said to me makes perfect sense, but first some background info. I was a victim of what I call Galloping ADHD. ADHD stand for Attention Deficit—holy shit, it’s raining!

I was born with a-talkin’ and a-twitchin’ that never stopped. I had the attention span of the average little kitten. I was also, like the kitten, easily distracted by shiny objects. In my case, those shiny objects had four wheels and a V8. I finished High School in three years, with a N.Y.S. Regents diploma and an A average and never did homework. Not once-evah! I did the last period’s homework whilst listening to this periods work. The final period was always study hall, by design.

I was smart, but you had only milliseconds to get your point across to me before I was off to see the wizard. I actually attended college…for three days. It was just like High School, only LONGER. So fucking much for that shit. I eventually found the perfect job for ADHD’ers. Supermarkets. They needed people who could work for union scale, do everything ultra-fast, and do it so it looks like it was done right. Not necessarily done right, just the appearance of correctness would suffice. Oh, and just how many jobs CAN you start simultaneously and never finish? You’re hired!

It wasn’t until I visited a shrink with someone else that I found out I might have ADH— what the hell is that cat up to now?

I was 35, married, and finally given a name for my affliction. I was also given a remedy of sorts. Ritalin. This little pill saved my fat ass, it did.

I was told it would take about three weeks to see any difference. A lot of what I did in my job was repetitive, and this one day was no exception. As I was trying peal some labels off this roll for the cheese—sometimes these labels refused to obey my wishes—I would give the first one three tries and, if it didn’t come off, the whole roll got tossed. I had little patience. 1-2-3-toss, 1-2-3-toss, etc.

Well, this particular day I noticed my coworkers got very silent all of a sudden. As I turned around to see why, I see them all staring at me. My assistant Rob then leans over and with a look of utter astonishment whispers, “Hey Crank, do you see just what the fuck you’re doing?” I look down, and in my hands was a roll of labels.

There I was, like I had all the time on Earth, gently trying to persuade a deviant label off its roll.

After a few tears, I realized one thing: I had never made a decision not based on my ability to work around this friggin’ ADHD. It was another in a line of epiphanies. My life was going to change for the better. The Ritalin, and later Strattera, would bring me somewhere near the realm of “normal.”

Here it is 22 years later and my life did change. I now make a fair living at a computer—something that wasn’t possible for me back in the day. My attention span has improved drastically. There are still things I would not attempt for all the money in the world, but that list grows shorter by the year. Watching golf? There is not enough Ritalin on Earth for me to do that…likewise, sitting in traffic, long phone conversations, or reading complete Zano features. Naah.

But herein lies the return-ass-bite. As I age, the friendly new shrink told me, my short term memory would be the first thing to go, because it’s what I always had trouble with from the onset of my affliction. So I guess verbal charades is here to stay.

I now laugh at myself without having to look in the mirror. People will walk into work and walk over to me and start talking, all the while I’m nodding in agreement and taking notes. When they leave, my coworker leans over to me and asks, “You don’t have a CLUE who they were, do you?”

If I don’t remember their names by the time they’re ready to leave, I usually ask them, “How do you spell your name again?” Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. I just know one thing. Getting old sucks ass. But it beats the alternative.

You know, the guy who dresses all in black, big scythe? He was playing chess in that Ingmar what’shisface film?

You know, whatshisname?


Oh My, You’ve Lost Some Weight!

The Crank

I get that a lot lately. Yes, the 800lb beige gorilla in the room has managed to somehow lose 30 lbs. Giving up nearly everything you love to eat apparently has that effect. When I was younger the only incentive to stay fit involved getting girls. But sometimes even then it just wasn’t enough (aka, boy those Twinkies and that 3 liter bottle of Coke look real good, but I better not if I want to gggaaaammmffff-glugglugglug). Oh well, so much for the diet or the date.

Now it’s very different. After 50 + years of being asked to do the impossible—the regulation of blood sugar for someone with a sweet tooth, nay, a sweet TUSK—my pancreas has flown the white flag of surrender. If it could speak, it would be handing me my ass on a platter about now, which I couldn’t then eat because of all of the associated sugar. The Doc said that I was ‘borderline’ and needed to take daily doses of a wonderful little drug called Metformin, or as I have renamed it, ‘Hello Cramps!’

You see, with the aid of medication, I have been able to cheat destiny many times. Survival has become my very own version of Star Trek’s ‘Kobiashi-Maru’ test. Thanks to drugs like Crestor and Hyzaar, I have, like Captain Kirk, successfully changed the parameters of cause and effect, allowing me to attain an age even my father never reached. Patting myself on the back for attaining the blood pressure and cholesterol of thin people whilst engaging in my very own Food Channel version of “Dancing with Mr. D” as the Stones called it, has now come back to bite me in the ass.

Metformin is supposed to help the pancreas generate insulin, which it does rather effectively. But it does so at a cost. I take it with dinner so as to “lessen its effects on the stomach” as the directions state. Yeah, well, notsomuch. About halfway though Dancing With the Has-beens, as I talk to my wife “Gee hon, I think they got a real good bunch of HOLYSHIT-OH-MY-GOD THAT HURTS…pleaseletmediepleaseletmedie!”

Not wanting to endure the pain of CHILDBIRTH every evening for THE REST OF MY FUCKING LIFE, I have succumbed to what my Wife calls Healthy Eating Habits. I call it The Long Tasteless Goodbye. As I sit there at dinner trying to be upbeat about my dinner salad I rephrase the words to an old favorite Meatloaf song, Paradise by the Dashboard Light, as I sing to myself:

“…and now I’m prayin’ for the end of time,
so hurry-up man arrive.
For if I have to eat another salad again I don’t think that I can really survive.
I won’t forget my promise or forget my vow,
So I’m prayin’ for the end of time is all that I can do-hoo-hoo,
prayin’ for the end of time so I can have   some    damn    real    food.

It was long ago and it was far away
and tasted so much better than it does today.
Oh it was long ago and it was far away
and tasted so much better than it does today…”

Shit, I can’t eat Meatloaf either.

Now that you all feel very sad for me, and dammit you should, let me say now there is a bright side to this friggin foodless fiasco. First off, it’s been a long time since I was this size. One day, as I walked across the showroom at work, my pants—ones I have had an intensely close relationship with for many years—had to my absolute horror suddenly decided the floor was where they’d rather be! It was like my ass wasn’t good enough anymore, I didn’t quite know why at the time, studying my belt and the pants closer for issues. It wasn’t till then that I realized I had in fact lost width. When I got home and ran to the bathroom and stepped on the digital scale that heretofore despised me, I had lost 30 lbs!

Well hi-de-fucking-ho there fellas. To paraphrase Sarah Palin, I can see my feet from my house!

The problem now is that I need all new clothes. Because of the recession, I can ill afford such luxuries as clothes, so I hereby state my intentions to petition President Obama for a “Too Big to Fall” pants stimulus bailout.

As I write this I am at a weight I haven’t seen in probably 20 years, and while I miss my sugar, I find that it’s the carbs I miss the most. Just what the FUCK am I supposed to do with sauce, eh? Make believe I got pasta? Drink it like soup? What? I also found that the makers of Aspartame should be arrested for war crimes. I would love to water board them myself. Soylent Yellow. Aspartame is jet fuel. If you must diet, think Stevia. Oh, and looking for a diet soda that won’t make you plotz? Try Dr. Pepper 10. Not 0 calories, but not 300 either. 10 calories, they actually add sugar, just not a shit load.

Can I keep it up? I hope so, and my wife does too. Only time will tell, but I have to say I would really rather die like my grandpa did…calmly in his sleep at a ripe old age, not screaming like the passengers in the bus he was driving at the time.

Greens, its wut’s fer dinner? L



The Lottery as an Investment Strategy

The Lottery as an Investment Strategy
The Crank

As I sit at my desk at work, not really earning anything, I dream of winning the mega lottery, just like everyone else who lacks the fortitude to actually ‘save’, or ‘invest’ or any of those other long range, forethought-related endeavors…you know, the Middle Class.

As this week’s Mega Millions is exceeding all expectations and is now at 650 miwwiyun dowwas, I know intellectually I stand a better chance of a faith healer kick starting my pancreas with a laying on of hands than actually winning it. “Oh ye of faith, pray ye to God that insulin shall flow and Twinkies and Coke shall be imbibed with no ill effects…praise the Lord.”

I may fully understand my chances, yet still participate all the same. On my favorite TV show (Fox Business Channel), Stewart Varney had a ‘numbers expert’ on and he said the odds were now 1 in about 175 million, and we shouldn’t bother. That’s less chance than our own Mick Zano shutting the hell up about Fox during any given week.

Varney asked this number guru if someone would win. He said “Oh yes, at some point you will have a winner.” Varney then asked him if he had partaken of this week’s game. “Of course,” said he.

I rest my case. With the winnings this big, all the networks had to trot out all the stories of life gone wrong because of winning the lottery. In watching all these stories, I realized that all these people had at least one of three things in common. Not a full set of teeth, exceedingly low I.Q., and/or family members willing to kill for a cut. Like the man who got robbed of $576 thousand in cash-AT A STRIP CLUB! Okay, we know the first question, just how many fucking lap dances did you think you were getting that day, Stiffy McHornbag?

Then there was the tragedy of a guy losing his wife and daughter to overdose. “Geeh, my wife and kid are hooked big time, should I send them to the best rehab? Naaah, I’ll just give them a shitload of cash and things will just work themselves out.” Or remember the guy whose sister-in-law and her ‘boyfriend’ kidnapped and killed him in a botched attempt at a payoff. “We never liked her anyway.”

How about the guy that lost millions in Vegas. Or the guy that “just lost track of the money.” Don’t worry, that one has a happy ending. Obama is working on an economic czar position for that dude.

See the common thread here? Stu-fucking-pidity. It’s just like giving millions to young athletes, or to child stars (also known as the Lohan Effect). It usually doesn’t end well. As I’ve said before, there should be a test before anyone receives large sums of money. If you are too stoopid, you have to hire a business manager who has to report to a court monthly (aka, if you’re a public douche, you need a public fidusch). You would be given an ‘allowance’ commensurate with your past experiences of handling money. Investing and budgeting classes would be mandatory.

If you’re stupid, you will end up with relatives coming out of the woodwork in waves, daily robberies of your home, and small unruly armies camped out in your yard that make Oakland’s Occupy movement seem well organized. And absolutely know when to say ‘NO’. They say that a fool and his money are soon parted. Yeah, like the friggin Red Sea.

I can see it now, the TV interview with the winner. It will be either the old person who will still go to work daily cause it’s wut ah do, or the toothless yahoo with a third grade edumacashun, dressed in his Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clean t shirt, planning to ‘bondo-up the Pinto’ with his extra cash.

I cry every time I see that happen—every time some idiot with long hair and an AC/DC t-shirt gets handed that big fake check and, when asked what he’s going to do with the money, invariably says, “gonna paaaaaaarty!” while holding up the Metal hand sign.

See, in my world the check issuer would snatch it back, right then, and clock him on the head with it and say, “I think not, asshole.”

You do get the ones that tell you they would “give most of it away to charity” and “keep just a little for myself.” Bullshit. On a local TV news show, three regular news people were sitting around the set near the end of the broadcast. One said he would donate “at least half” to some heretofore unknown charity. Another said she would, “Buy my family new houses and put all the kids through college.”

The last one turned to the camera just as the show is coming to an end and with a crooked smile said, “Oh, I will be needing a MUCH bigger garage…”

My thoughts exactly.

The Crank

Seattle Five-O: Post ‘em, Zano

The Crank

Dear Mr. Zano, I realize you, just like all politicians, cater to your base. I understand that and almost always fully support it. The problem arises when ‘your base’ refers to six or seven deeply depressed individuals in the rainiest, coldest, wettest, most depressed, most northeast corner of the United States. I also realize one more thing. You do, well, suck.

And just so you know, if you cut out any of this diatribe, you prove my point J. You must have sat back after reading my last post about bad words and said to yourself, “How can I call Crank an asshole without exactly calling him an asshole? I am in fact much smarter than he, and I feel the need to prove it.” The result of that question was your last post. Hundreds of words (yawn) spouting just the same ridiculous Talking Points. If you had done your due diligence you would have realized they were as slanted as a ‘Fox News Readers Poll”. You actually referenced the now widely disgraced “all people who watch Fox are idiots” poll. Now that’s funny, I don’t care who y’aare. You just keep doin wut yer doin, Mik.

You continue to do two things. First, you prove every point I make without realizing it, and you make 26 lefties in Seattle very happy, as they laugh at your “joke” calling me an asshole without actually doing it, therefore proving that they also, well, suck.

What you, in fact, keep saying to me is that I am wrong on most things. I am wrong, why? Because you say I am? Because you’re talking points and polls and charts say I am? If you are right, then you are indeed well, fucked, because a whole shitload of us ‘wrong people’ are about to vastly change back what Obama is trying to change. You fail to understand human nature—odd for someone in your field—and you fail to understand human natures effect on the redistribution of wealth and socialism in general. If all people were like you, we could in fact live like Star Trek, you know, like you left leaners want us to. Problem is, well look at Europe. You cannot have a society that purports to being all things to all peoples when the ‘all peoples’ takes all the ‘free stuff’ and goes to wild lengths to avoid paying for them.

That is why Obama has to incite class warfare; he has to have all the “takers” in his corner, because most of the “payers” will not vote for him. As he loses the “payers”, he loses the one thing his type of government needs the most, money. So therefore you don’t have to be a website owner to realize that his type of government can’t, never has, and never will work. It is, by its very nature, self defeating. With the noted exception of things like defense, interstate transportation, and banking, bigger government has failed all its efforts to prove it has any merit, time and time again. The States and local communities is where the Founders wanted most of the power to be, and that is exactly where it’s heading back to. If you choose to have an idiot for a Mayor (ie Bloomberg), Senator/Representative (ie: Boehner and Reid) or Governor (ie; Moonbeam of California), the rest of us don’t have to deal with it. Or pay for it, as we all will be doing soon in the case of California.

If you really wanted to increase your readership, you would do just what MSNBC and Fox are doing, trying to appeal to a broader base, you know, like my ass…’cause, as goes my ass, also goes America. Oh wait, that was GM. But in reality, you would rather six people agree with you, (ie: Socialism) than ten thousand rednecks. Hey, you get enough hits and you can spend the rest of your life tasting microbrews and gourmet coffees whilst laughing at your own readership (ie, Capitalism). That is called ‘principles’ and I am totally cool with that—but the pay sucks, unless, you get a block grant from Big Government paid for by the Taxpayers to study Microbrews and Gourmet Coffees? Why not write the grant, Mikko? Obama would probably bite

The problem with that? All the rest of us that actually pay taxes will be relocating to Costa Rica. (Costa Rica, the ‘Little Humid Germany’ of Central America). Like Margret Thatcher once said, (in a voice like the late Graham Chapman doing an impression of her) “The problem with socialism is that you eventually run out of other people’s money.”


P.S. love the Darth Cheney heart one   

Wiwhtoi (Wish I Would Have Thought Of It)

A Not so Special Comment:

Yeah, if you want to dabble in rebuttals (not recommended), you’re not going to get the last word. Life’s a bitch. What we’ve been suggesting is for you to cover what you want, look into Fast & Furious. I think there’s real meat there. Look into the policies and the politicians you want to investigate, aka, rail and rant on whatever and whoever you want, but the back and forth sucks. This is not about you. It’s about a failing country and the side order of propaganda that brought us here. Fox News is wrong about most things, true story, but I’m attacking the Sean Hannitys of the world, not you. He’s the source, you’re simply the collateral damage.

A few quick points:

  1. I don’t have a base. I agree with D about 6 of 10 issues and R about 1 in 10. I’m not listing my differences with liberals again; all my posts are available here at the Discord. Yet, in three years, you have never identified a single time where you’ve differed from a Fox News talking point. You, sir, clearly have a base and Fox News’ effectiveness is the story. You’ve also never figured out you’re not dealing with a typical liberal. The reason you think I’m attacking you is the fact that you and Fox News share a brain. Media Oblongata? The Right’s philosophy is a laundry list of false assumptions, which I will continue to cover and you will continue to ignore.
  2. Ridiculous talking points? Soooo when we review the budgetary score card for past presidents and it shows the inability of Republican presidents to do anything but spend too much and expand government, that’s a talking point? Umm, that’s history. And when the Congressional Budget Office—the people who spent the money actually say where they spent the money, which turns out to be predominately on Bush’s policies—that’s just a talking point too? What…we blew all the money on hookers? Well, that would explain the latest Secret Service scandal.  

  3. Who the hell is talking about socialism? Your main point against me is always, “You’re a flaming socialist.” I did not support Obamacare, because we’re broke and it’s not the right time. Obamacare would likely keep me employed, yet here’s what I said about it in my last post.

    “The increase in Medicare recipients is the only meat to this entire clusterfuck to facts. I will benefit from this eventuality circa 2014, but it smells like enabling to me and I’m not sure how we can fund the increase in enrollments or even if they’re medically necessary.”

    The rest here:

  4. Where are all of my socialism posts and points? All adult societies find a way to care for their most needy. You call that socialism, I call that responsibility. I bring to the debate meaningful insights, hatched by reviewing whatever facts can be ascertained from this manure pile we call the media. I am “of no party or clique” so I have a tremendous advantage over you, Dr. Regurgitate. As Bill Maher tells us, the Right has created Obama X to run against in 2012. So have fun running against a thought form created by bullshit.

  5. As you say, I’m fucked. True story…as are we all. We were truly nailed to the wall under Bush and we will resume our collective descent under the next asshole Fox elects. For a rehashing of the past, present and future:

    This is my graph from way back when. When things continue to go down precisely on cue, it will be interesting to hear your explanation. Kidding!

  6. And, finally, you keep using that same Margaret Thatcher socialism quote. I promise to keep that in mind if I ever decide to become a socialist. But here’s a quote that’s actually relevant to what’s happening today. Supreme Court Justice, Louis Brandeis, once said, “We can have democracy in this country or we can have great wealth concentrated in the hands of a few, but we can’t have both.”

At the end of the day, I actually think big government and big corporations both suck and eventually enough people will come to terms with this reality and form a viable third party. Fox News is and will continue the biggest barrier to this eventuality. What’s actually hurting any Obama or .gov investigations is a rightwing media totally off track, incompetent, and disreputable. If you make up nine scandals, I’ll bet you the real one will sneak right on by…and it probably already has.

Fox News

Last and Spurious

Mick Zano

Sticks and Groans May Break My Balls

The Crank

If during a conversation someone called you an asshole, you would leave the area upset or stove in someone’s head with a Louisville Slugger, via Joe Pesci in Goodfellas (my choice). Hurtful words can even lead to suicide, a reaction I have never understood (outside of reading Zano features). My first thought would be to end the other person’s life. Where does that get you? Dead? Not even. Although, my mom did manage to get both dead and even…with me at least. I’ll never forget her loving last words, “I may end up dead, but I will get you back!”

People use hurtful words to make themselves feel better. When you run out of real honest facts to back up your theories, one can rely on “Oh yeah, well just go fuck yourself”, or the classic “yo mama”. And, for the really adventurous, “Yo mama go fuck yourself”.

On the other hand, if your penis (or brain) is exceptionally small, and all your friends found out, you may go ape-shit and start flinging mouth-missiles at them. As if that will remake your image in their eyes, and with each and every word, your dick/brain gets bigger ala Pinocchio. In the case of a small penis, just purchase a Dodge Viper, it will work wonders.

The other reason is the person who you are conversing, seems to have a hearing problem, or an understanding problem, and just keeps tossing what are today known as ‘Talking Points’ back at you. Unless there are massive amounts of mind-numbing medication involved, you might want to use hurtful words. Ostensibly to possibly wake the person out of his ‘body-awake/mind-asleep’ state—a state with which I am very familiar. It’s what got me through the seventies, as well as a supermarket career. I remember thinking super is in the name, so what’s the worst that can happen?

If you think that calling someone asshole will change their mind then you are somewhat mistaken. I have never once seen someone react like “Oh, geeh, I see your point. I AM an asshole! You are absolutely correct. I now see the error of my ways, and would have never realized how wrong I was until you enlightened me by calling me a name.”


What I now see is that the internet has helped the human race in a way totally unforeseen by even its inventor, Al Gore. I have previously stated about how the word ‘racist’ now means virtually nothing thanks to the far left, successfully undoing a century’s worth of work, sacrifice and even deaths on behalf of equal rights. Well, now the internet has redeemed itself. Now, if you are having an animated conversation with a relative or friend, and this other person starts running out of ideas and hurls insults at you like hail in a twister, you now just shrug and say “Well, I guess you’re a (place political/lifestyle affiliation here) and you just shrug and walk away. No harm done, see ya later.

Yes, it’s true! The internet’s anonymity has given strength to the meek, by hiding their skinny asses from the much bigger, the ones with who one used to agree with so as not to become dead. So much strength that their words no longer have any meaning. The only meaning these hateful words now have is to align yourself with other people of similar tastes, to become ‘one of the guys’ you must know the newest insult, like having the newest handbag makes you person of the five seconds in your crowd. So meaningful isn’t it?

Which now brings me to another mental epiphany, so called “funny” insults? This is a habit even I admit I used to partake of. I have, as of late, ‘seen the light’ as it were, and now take on the education of my peers as a new life’s work. OK, maybe a few months. Ok, maybe just now. I am like the ex-smoker who now harasses all who partake. I am the festering boil on all your collective asses. Well, actually I have been that to most of my family and friends for most of my life, but for different reasons. This is my reason du jour.

I realized just how ‘un-funny’ that these so called ‘funny’ insults were when I heard people I respected laughing at things that were so incredibly hurtful to the object of their insult that it had the opposite effect on me. I didn’t laugh. I either felt sorry for the individual being chastised for speaking their beliefs, or what they had done was so wrong in my view that there was really nothing ‘funny’ about it. I then realized that when someone has the opposite view from you on any subject, the only reasons I can think of to hurl insults at them, or their families, is to make you feel like you are superior to them, or to be the ‘person of the minute’ in your crowd, or to silence them.

I want you all to think about this. If you have ever laughed at the denigration of someone’s intelligence or even their families and children by someone because they disagree with that person, you are not really a nice person. You may even, well, suck.

Comedy as a medium has made funny insults its very own since the first caveman slipped on a banana, and all the other cavemen laughed their hairy, unibrow-ed asses off. TV in the fifties and sixties was full of comedy that really did not insult. Think of Abbot and Costello’s Who’s on First?, or the Three Stooges’ Niagara Falls. That’s not what I am talking about. I am talking of mean spirited vile that is aimed at ones family tree, children, sexuality, gender or intelligence that is meant to try to silence them. THAT IS THE REAL REASON FOR THESE INSULTS. To silence them. If you are so afraid of someone, for reasons real or imagined, state your case, then shut the fuck up. If you are correct, most will see this and not listen to them. Kinda like the Romulans. If you are in the minority? Oh well, suck it up, life’s a beeoch. It happens. To me more often than most and I’m ok with that. Look up the word ‘minority’ in your Funk & Wagnall’s, there’s a picture of a beige ape.

The problem today is that everyone agrees with me. Just not when they do it. It’s ok when I do it, it just wrong when they do it. While they all call for “civil discourse”, they all hurl brain bombs at each other. You are all full of shit. Either stop it, or make it open season on enemies. After all, “they” are the enemy after all. I mean, if they disagree with me, they cannot possibly love America, can they? It’s not like we are a democratic republic or anything like that. It’s not like we should compromise, perish the thought.


The Crank

Good Healthcare & Phoenix: Mutually Exclusive Terms

Good Healthcare & Phoenix: Mutually Exclusive Terms
The Crank

When I knew I was leaving Lawn Guyland, I visited my long time dentist for the last time. This man had done all my dental work since the early Reagan Administration. My union dental coverage had purchased him numerous fine German and, later, Japanese cars over the years. He used to say that when I came into his office, he could hear the revving of new engines instead of air drills.

The O.C.D. dentist I called him, as he was a true perfectionist. His work with crowns was so good, none of it ever had to be redone, even after nearly 30 years.

At my last appointment, I said to him,”So, Doc, when I move to Aridzona I want to look up your organization, so as to find a dentist as good as you.”

“What organization?” he replied.

“Oh, you know, the A.R.J.D.A.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

With a wink to his assistant, I said “Anal-Retentive Jewish Dentists of America!”

We all laughed, but I had the sinking feeling I was gonna miss him. Boy, was I ever right.

With the Valley of the Sun in my sights, I moved to a little cotton field west of Phoenix. A “city” they called it. Not like any city I’ve ever seen, more like a “town”. After taking four months off to, well, play hooky—after all, I had been working nonstop since I was eight—eventually my wife and I decided to find jobs. Hers would have to have health bennies. Only a blind man would give me any health benefits. Once that was settled, I went about the task of visiting doctors and dentists within our plan’s network.

Within a year, I realized there are 20 ‘truths’ concerning healthcare in ‘The Valley’ as everyone calls it. I will now recite these 20 Commandments:

  1. There is a damn good reason your doctor or dentist isn’t in New York or L.A. Look up the term “Goober” in the dictionary. There’s his/her picture.
    Goober in the desert
  2. If you are waiting to see your doctor or dentist for way too long, and his waiting room is empty, he can usually be found in his office on his laptop, on E*Trade checking his retirement portfolio, or on the phone talking to the guy he’s got rehabbing foreclosures.
  3. Dentists in The Valley do not like doing standard dentistry. If it doesn’t involve use of a blue light, and include the terms ‘Brite Smile’, or “porcelain veneers’, it’s beyond his/her scope of practice.
  4. No matter how competent the doctor is, his office personnel will surely give a whole new meaning to the term “asleep at the wheel.”
  5. Messages between the doctor and office personnel will get lost/changed/forgotten during its arduous six-foot journey from counter to computer.
  6. Be prepared to get all of your information paperwork from the office personnel in Spanish, whether or not you even speak Spanish. Qué?
  7. Referrals take years.
  8. Test results always take until the day before your next test (Quantum Faxing?)
  9. If you really like your physician, just wait, he will be moving back to his home state soon enough.
  10. Check to see if their degree came from a degree mill, such as the Arizona School of Medicine and Animal Husbandry. Red flag: look out for the pictures of horses in the waiting room. On a related note, never say “Blücher” out loud. They hate that.
  11. Nothing is permanent. Nothing. Any tooth repair, any surgery, any prescription for a problem, all will only work for six to eight weeks, then fall-out/drop/swell/delaminate/leak/become infected/hurt like a biatch and then you can start with the word “fall-out” again and reread that list. At that point you will be asked if you want the upgraded version at no charge. He will then redo what he’s already done poorly—poorly once again—and gets to bill your insurance company twice.
  12. No matter what the problem is, do not ever interrupt the office girls personal phone calls. You have no idea how long you can be made to wait, or how fucked up your paperwork can get. Oh, and it’s no fun getting an imaginary molar removed from your testicles.
  13. Appointments in Arizona are merely suggestions.
  14. If you make an appointment, call back in an hour and ask if you made an appointment. You will be told “no” …at which time you can remake your appointment. This increases your chances of making the schedule, albeit only slightly.
  15. Get a second opinion, like your life depended on it. It does. And maybe a third just for shits-n-giggles.
  16. If your Doctor says to you, “What you have is inoperable/unfixable/terminal, what he means is it’s above his pay grade and he’s too fucking embarrassed to refer you to a physician that can do it.
  17. Get to know all the Hindu holidays’ time tables, your doctor will be unavailable at these times.
  18. Before your first visit to your physician, always go to his website and fill out all the pre-visit forms online. It won’t save you any time, as they will have lost them when you get there, but you have practiced and can now fill them out more efficiently whilst balancing the clipboard on your knee and talking on the phone simultaneously. This will also not help the wait, because you will finish the forms six to seven months before you will be seen. Luckily, all dentist and doctor offices in AZ are equipped with cafeterias for this reason.
  19. “We do take your insurance plan” can be a deceiving statement. What it means is this: “It’s ok for you to do all the paperwork for us after we fuck it all up. It’s also OK for them to pay us, and for us to say we never got the payment.”
  20. Win the lottery and pull an Elvis. When you’re sick or have a toothache just get on a plane to NY.

GOP: You’re Squandering an Opportunity More Golden than Trump Friggin’ Towers!

GOP: You’re Squandering an Opportunity More Golden than Trump Friggin’ Towers!

Yeah, that’s right, The Crank is finally calling out the right wing. Why don’t you just put the f*&^ing election into a pretty foil box with a bow and hand it to Obama and say, “Sorry we bothered.” Or put on the cake, Enjoy Four More Years, oh Anointed One.

You people are making Obama look smart and that’s no easy task considering he has lived his entire pre-Presidential life in a box in Chicago on ex-Mayor Daley’s porch (only reading the Huffington Post, while viewing 24-hr live feeds from his most liberal university professors’ classes—with only the occasional “Al Capone Story” reruns to break it up).

I’m talking about Rick Sanitarium…er, Santorum. Evan Trump said it’s a gift to Democrats to make him run against The Evil Dr. Obamatron. Of course, it’s not ALL your fault. In states where independents can vote in primaries, many are being cajoled into voting for Sanitarium to “help the cause” as it were. It’s easy, actually. These are people who cannot, for the life of themselves, decide which side they’re on in any given decision. Independents spend their lives over-thinking a decision to its flaming finale. Making the decisions for them actually removes some of their stress.

Sanitarium makes one speech on “The Evil Satan” or talks about how much he admires Gays & any Non-Christians, and he’s history. Newt I’m-mad-as-hell-and-I’m-not-going-to-take-it-anymore Gingrich is faltering because we all see him for what he is—a hateful and resentful man who looks like a grown-up Cabbage Patch doll.

Mitt Headroom is our only hope. He is middle of the road enough to have a real chance to beat Obummer. Let’s all face the facts: no fat-assed Joisey Governor is going to ride in on a gleaming, but rather bow-backed, white stallion to save us. It’s just not gonna happen. And let’s all thank our deities that Palin isn’t running. As a local DJ said on his Facebook page: “Do I want her as President? NO. Would I like to bang her? Like a screen door in a cat-5 hurricane.” I know that’s sexist, but I’m told it will be edited out. And I believe in the crew at the Discord, they’re like a finely tuned…okay, they’re idiots. Sue me.

The Ron-ulans will have their 5 %—they always do—but never more. Paul wears two hats: one of them a cowboy hat and the other one hand-crafted from tin foil. Many great, great ideas about auditing the Fed and re-arranging our finances to suit our income, but he loses me with the “foreign policy” he has lodged in his eye.

If in fact gasoline is $4.50- $5.00 per gallon this summer, and the pipeline and the drilling are nowhere in sight, Mikko could beat Ohmamma. I am looking a C-note + to fill the Ram at $5.00, and America has more trucks than bicycles. As it heats up this season, Obama’s popularity will start to sink like a certain “I forgot to wear my glasses after I fell into the life boat” cruise ship captain.

The recovery that is happening in spite of Washington will give up by then, and I will be waving a tattered 3x white T-shirt in complete surrender. But that’s a crapshoot, and I’m not a betting man.

William F. Buckley, famed Conservative pundit, once said “I will vote for the most conservative person that I think can be elected.” He saw that a bird in the hand, may shit on it…wait, that’s not how it goes. He saw that two Bushes in the palm were…never mind. But he understands how having a semi-conservative in charge is better than the least conservative. Evidently, the Republicans last shred of intelligence died with old Bill.

Don’t fuck this up guys, the alternative is horrific.

Like a-planet-ruled-by-Mikko horrific.

Crank me a story