Stevieslaw: Havahart

Havahart

In addition to his formidable math skills, Cousin Myron’s ability to rapidly read and faithfully remember anything he wishes has led cognitive scientists around the globe to line up to study him.

“All this poking and prodding is exhausting,” he has muttered on more than one occasion.

At lunch late last week, I asked Myron what he was currently reading.

“I’ve worked my way through all of the classified documents that have been released recently,” he said between bites of what I thought of as my knish.

“And your conclusions,” I asked—hoping against hope that I wouldn’t get a recital.

“Buy Havahart stock,” he counseled with a robust burp.

I have. Here is the rest of the story…

The US government, increasingly under pressure to do away with the unpopular drone program, has turned to human-sized Havahart traps as an alternative. The three-part plan is to humanely capture the bad guys, enlist a troop of hackers to steal their identities, and then to train them for some harmless occupation. The first three terrorists captured, for example, are currently working with the monk-fish industry based in Finland.

A critical element to the program is baiting the traps. At Stevieslaw, we have learned that initial attempts to bait the traps with hummus and pita went horribly wrong, at one point capturing three teenage Jewish boys returning from a Bar-Mitzvah in Queens. The boys, now reprogrammed and reunited with their families, learned all there is to know about potato farming in Idaho. The current thinking is to bait the traps with the most universally desired food product—potato chips. Bids are out to potato chip companies, but the smart money has the government turning to Pringles because of their uniformity and their ability to stay “fresh and whole” for hundreds and hundreds of years. Word has it that thousands of traps will be released shortly.

Remember to keep this story under your hat. If you talk it up, you could be charged under the current espionage laws and now you know how that is likely to go. One minute you’d be munching Pringles potato chips and the next you’d be baiting hooks in the Baltic.

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Coming Soon: The New Public Enemy Number One

Smokey Diamond, our intrepid reporter, was quite depressed after speaking to his cousin Charley this week. Charley retired from the City of Detroit some years ago after a fine, thirty seven year career as a dog catcher. It was only during the last few years of his tenure that he received the title of “Animal Control Officer;” a title which he can even today only mumble with a little goofy grin.

“Charley,” Smokey said “Just took a job as a greeter at Walmart.

Charley had a small pension from the city of Detroit and, with that and his and his wife’s social security, they are able to maintain their little house, take an occasional fishing trip to the great lakes with some friends and visit their kids and grandkids in Indiana and Iowa, once or twice a year.

“According to many of our civic leaders, noted Smokey, Charley’s lifestyle is the new definition of extravagant.”

Charley feels bad about it. “I didn’t know that when I was contributing to my pension plan that I was going to bring down the City of Detroit.”

“And now, Smokey continued, he feels trapped. The letters to the editor have started to get ugly and he is worried each time he and his wife leave their house that someone might start screaming at them or worse.”

“Charley starts next week,” she went on. “He hasn’t lost his pension yet, but he feels that once he does, other pension plans are sure to follow and the good jobs like Walmart Greeter or McDonald’s burger fryer will go fast.” “He foresees a time when the fast food industry will be dominated by really old people.”

The Committee for Compassionate Conservatism (or CCC) believes that Charley should feel ashamed. The CCC is of the opinion that State and Municipal pensions are merely a promise to pay—not any sort of guarantee. Their Spokesperson, Meme Mine, told Smokey that “we feel the whole concept of retirement, for workers, is destructive to their wellbeing. It is well known that once workers retire and accept a pension they tend to age and even to die. Here, we can take our cue from the natural world, she said, Are ants pensioned? Are bees pensioned?” The Committee will sponsor a huge advertising campaign this fall featuring the slogan, “Real American Workers Die on the Job.” “Pretty catchy,” she said with a smile.

There is a lot of money in State and Local pensions—the amount they are underfunded alone is estimated at 5 trillion dollars. With all that money floating around, we at Stevielsaw are left with two nagging questions.

  1. When will Corporate America get its hands on the money? And
  2. How can our Republican representatives at all levels facilitate the process?

Stay tuned.

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Stevieslaw: Privatizing Privatization

Smokey Diamond, our intrepid reporter, has had her nose to the grindstone in sniffing out not only today’s news, but tomorrow’s. She reports that the thought keeping the two major Republican think tanks awake at night is the slow pace of privatization. Both the ultra-conservative IGM group and the ultra, way past-conservative WGOs group had thought that most government services would have withered away by now, leaving the only government functions the fighting of wars in nations whose names we cannot spell and the occasional photo shoot of an uncomfortable looking John Boehner and a satanic looking Eric Cantor cutting the funds for some program or other that the young or sick depend on. Not so.
The reason says Republican strategist, Yua Domed, is that “we depend upon government to cut government.” “What we need on the Local, State and Federal level is a private company; say a bank or financial institution, to take over the process of privatizing government functions. Just think how much easier it would have been to privatize Social Security, just before the stock market crash, had some commercial entity that stood to make oodles of money on the change managed it.”
“Look for the Republicans to press this issue, as the 2014 elections approach,” voiced Smokey. “Some Republican strategists as well as most corporate leaders believe that there is some money the middle class is still hanging on to, which— by the nature of it being money— cannot belong to them.” “Based on the Republicans past achievements,” she said “They will use that same middle class, through creative voting procedures, to help them funnel that money to the rich.”

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My Voices Article for July/August (stevieslaw)

“The Only Thing—“. The LAGuide to the Art of Winning.
Here at Stevieslaw, we have all signed up for a gentle yoga program at the local YMCA. Once a week we try to lose ourselves in the formal stretches and poses—sunrise salutation, warrior one and warrior two, and others whose names I haven’t mastered yet. I am ashamed to say I haven’t mastered the ability to lose myself—to float egoless—either. I find that each week I spend a good part of the lesson time searching the group to see if I am winning. Yes, it’s gentle yoga and yes, many of the people who attend—often including me—need chairs to help them stand on one leg, but I still somehow view my yoga class as a competition. I want to win.
I share that desire with nearly all Americans. They want to win also. While more than 99% of the nation can’t tell you what Secretary of State John Kerry said about Syria this weekend—perhaps because they don’t know who Kerry is or what a Secretary of State does and, for that matter where Syria might be, more than 100% of our fellow citizens can tell you that Vince Lombardi of the Green Bay Packers coined the phrase, “Winning isn’t everything; it’s the only thing.” Of course, they would be wrong, as Vince apparently stole the quote from UCLA coach Henry Russell Sanders, who said it some ten years earlier. But I guess Vince was determined to be the one with the best quote ever. And because he is a winner we forgive him, just as we are quite willing to forgive our public enemy number 1’s, even going so far as to glorify them in movies. Think of Bonnie and Clyde. But forgive our number 2’s. Phooey. Yes, we are a competitive people. We grow up singing (from Annie Get Your Gun):
Anything you can do,
I can do better
I can do anything
Better than you.
And with that in mind, we take great pleasure and welcome responsibility in publishing, “The Only Thing—“The Less-intelligent-than-average-American Guide to the Art of Winning.” In the guide, you will learn that being a winner is often a matter of making the right choices.
1. In sports, you should pick a sport where the competition is not strong because no one wants to play it. My college, for example, had the number 1 pick-up-sticks team in the nation. Of course, the college was nestled in the mountains of Southern Appalachia and we could all practice by attempting to pick up rattlesnakes blindfolded, but that needn’t be your story. In the guide, we identify 500 of the least popular sports ever.
2. In sporting events, you must remember that if the team you root for is number 1, than you are number 1. Yes, chanting we’re number one, as you gulp your beer and munch your chips by the TV in air conditioned comfort, is certainly the moral equivalent of winning the big match played for over four hours In 110 degree heat. Hey, you have the t-shirt. Choose well! My friends are Mets fans. Why? My older brother, Bad Barry, introduced me to an important concept in the mid-fifties, when he declared that I was a NY Yankee, Green Bay Packer and Boston Celtic fan. I was only eleven months old at the time, but still old enough to know that when BadB spoke, you listened and simply shook your head yes. Find the best of the best in the Guide. Moreover, our interactive feature will allow you to change teams, instantly, as conditions change.
3. In games, you must choose your competition with the same care you use to choose self-help guides. You can be the words-with-friends champ if every member of your playing group is taking English as a second language on Wednesday nights at the local high school. Chess champ—register for classes for infants on line. Bridge, no sweat, give lessons to those who know so little of the game that they don’t even know the number of cards in a deck.
4. Always remember that being number 1 clearly extends to your offspring and your offspring’s offspring. Sure, bragging is fine but the real war for number one is being fought out in ever more outrageous bumper stickers. Your kid is an honor student? My kid eats honor students for lunch. Now with the simple cd included in the guide and some help from our spy agency, The NSA, you can move on to the brave new world of interactive bumper stickers. You will have the ability to evaluate the lives of the people in all the cars around you, find their weak points and rotate through a series of bumper stickers establishing that you are much, much better than they will ever be.
5. Be number 1 forever. We will identify the most probable locations of the fountain of youth. Find it and be the oldest person ever. That’s number 1.
Be a winner. Buy the guide. Then use it— not to win one for “the gipper”, but to win one for your Number 1—you.

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Thursdays with John Prine (stevieslaw)

Stevieslaw: Thursday with John Prine
While strolling around my garden this morning as a light warm rain came down, who should I run into—way back on the other side of the roses—but my old friend John Prine. We know him from way back—back in the day, as they say now. As I recall (or perhaps invented), he used to keep a lit cigarette tucked between his guitar strings as he played and sang. Sure enough, he was singing “Spanish Pipedream,” an old favorite:
She was a level-headed dancer on the road to alcohol
And I was just a soldier on my way to Montreal
Well she pressed her chest against me
About the time the juke box broke
Yeah, she gave me a peck on the back of the neck
And these are the words she spoke

Chorus:
Blow up your T.V. throw away your paper
Go to the country, build you a home
Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches
Try an find Jesus on your own

Well, I sat there at the table and I acted real naive
For I knew that topless lady had something up her sleeve
Well, she danced around the bar room and she did the hoochy-coo
Yeah she sang her song all night long, tellin’ me what to do

Repeat chorus:

Well, I was young and hungry and about to leave that place
When just as I was leavin’, well she looked me in the face
I said “You must know the answer.”
“She said, “No but I’ll give it a try.”
And to this very day we’ve been livin’ our way
And here is the reason why

We blew up our T.V. threw away our paper
Went to the country, built us a home
Had a lot of children, fed ’em on peaches
They all found Jesus on their own
So where did John come from? I’ve no idea. Still in our time, when the bottom line seems the answer to everything, it’s nice to know that my thoughts—all of our thoughts— can take a goes to b, with some c, and come up with peach pie. Hi, my name is Steve and I am not an IBMer. Let’s build a better planet (see chorus).

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Newsbriefs you May Have Missed: Bringing the Heat

stevieslwaw

Senate Republicans announced today through their spokesperson, Byon Bleef, that the immigration deal will require a little more than a seven hundred mile border fence costing nearly 30 billion dollars, if it is to have bipartisan support in the senate. They will introduce an amendment to the bill, first thing Monday morning, that will guarantee the border area will be carpet bombed, using B-52’s and B-2’s from Guam, at least once a day.
“This,” Byon stated, “Will probably guarantee Republican support.”
The cost of the measure is not yet known. A spokesperson for Raytheon Corporation, builder of the popular Tomahawk cruise missile would only say, again and again, “Oh Boy!, Oh Boy! Rumors of loud moans and what might be the sound of a body rolling over, near Dwight Eisenhower’s final resting place in Kansas could not be confirmed.

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Stevieslaw Book Review: Unleashing Corporate Compassion

In her new book, “Profit of Privatization,”(Fascion Press, $29.95 or company script, 343 pps) the conservative Becky Rishlim writes of a modern utopia in which the tyranny of unions and local and national government has been replaced by the benevolence of corporations. No one can deny the timeliness of this tome. In today’s CDT, for example, there were two articles about privatization: the first about selling the State owned liquor stores; and, the second about the clearly unexpected consequences of slashing the budget for public schools— the subsequent layoffs of State employees. This is, of course, just the tip of the iceberg, illustrating how a seamless merging of corporate and government function may proceed. Ms. Rishlim (the thinly disguised amalgam of Rush Limbaugh and Glen Beck) presents the case for complete corporate control—with the profit motive providing the “AynRandian” fostering of the common man. He, she, or they argue that we place a heavy burden on common people by forcing them to find suitable work, housing and markets for their needs, considering their ever declining education and training. They suggest that well-being would be better provided by company run housing, stores, education and medical care. Security could be easily provided by identifying employees and their families by innocuous numerical tattoos and by fencing in—with the newly learned anti-immigration technology, the corporate cities of the future.
Becky suggests a simple start to the inevitable process. We must stop calling our corporate heads, CEO’s, which somehow has acquired a negative connotation. She suggests we try, “Dear Leaders.”

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Stevieslaw: Cousin Myron and the Corned-beef Conspiracy

Cousin Myron and the Corned-beef Conspiracy
We all knew that Myron, our fiery red-headed cousin, had met his match in marrying Marsha. Myron had made a fortune using his untutored math skills to bet on the ponies. He had taken on the IRS, had struck fear in the hearts of tough New York City waiters and waitresses, and had defended the poor and innocent against the rich and powerful—particularly, our cousin Marvin—but the most he could manage in response to any statement from Marsha—and this only on his best days, was “Yes, Dear.”
So it came as very little surprise when a miserable Myron called late last night to tell me he had just finished dining on lentil and chia seed stew.
“She’s killing me,” he said.
Marsha had gotten a subscription to Prevention Magazine, sent by an anonymous donor, on her birthday.
“Marvin,” we said in unison.
His wife had taken to it like a fish takes to water. After reading and rereading the first issue to the point of it falling apart, she had announced to Myron—
“You will eat like you are planning to live forever, or I will murder you.”
“Sadly,” Myron continued, “My teenagers are at just the age when they believe all this stuff. “They spy on me.”
Myron described his horror as his stash of Yankee Doodles and Devil Dogs, potato chips and Doritos and all candy devoid of dark chocolate were confiscated and tossed. His refrigerator was cleaned just short of sterilization to rid any presence of meat or animal fat.
“They gave the pound and half porterhouse I was saving for my birthday to the Anne and Arthur next door after they promised to feed it to their dog” he whined. “I caught a whiff of them grilling it last night.” “Some friends.”
Myron, who weighs in at 110 pounds sopping wet sobbed, “It’s not like I have bad health problems,” he continued. “And, this diet advice changes every hour.”
“Bingo,” he said and slammed the phone down.
Later in the week, I was pleased to learn that Dr. William Jeffson, in The Nutrition Department, had received a grant from something called the “Corned-beef Consortium” to study the health inducing effects of a traditional kosher deli diet.
Keep your eyes on Prevention Magazine where, I’m betting, Dr. Bill’s research will be published very, very soon.

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Stevieslaw: As Is- The LAGuide to Your Best Sale Yet.

As Is: The LAGuide to Your Best Sale Yet.

Trust me. Here in Central Pennsylvania, there is many a morning in early March so raw that it sends all sensible people back to bed with a hot water bottle and a copy of an early P.G. Wodehouse novel, so they might pass the time studying the meanderings of the Empress of Blanding as she is poised to win the big prize In the “fat pigs” category at the local Agricultural Show. Until May, we say here—meaning that’s when you are likely to see me outside voluntarily. We say it often. And yet each year around the start of Daylight Savings Time, yard sales sprout like wild mustard greens and a hardy bunch of souls trawl for trinkets in other peoples’ garages.

My great Aunt and Uncle, Marlene and Matthew, are stout, seventyish and usually so gentle and mild-mannered that they might be poster people for kindness personified. In fact, they were thrice named grandparents of the year by AARP magazine. And yet, come “the season,” they become garage sale warriors and heaven help anyone that comes between them and their treasure. Marl and Matt, as they are known on the circuit, spend weekends immersed in the culture of the garage sale. Thursday finds them at their kitchen table with maps and markers and our local newspaper plotting their routes and schedules with the precision of the fascist railroaders of the Thirties. Friday and Saturday they strike—setting off before dark, with their pockets full of small change and their ancient Volvo station wagon filled with gas and packing materials— attacking each sale as if it were the last. They move with the agility of the young, are fiendishly efficient at separating the wheat from the chaff, and together are able to bargain in an astonishing seven languages.

Here at Stevieslaw, we believe that garage sales, like all good scavenger hunts, should be challenging and worthy of the talents of M&M and others like them. And so with a challenge in mind, we are very pleased to publish “As is,” the Less-intelligent-than-average-American guide to your garage sale. In the guide you will learn about:

Advertising—Your ad must be the largest in the paper—much bigger than the one for the sale at the local church with 114 dealers. Remember to put items in the ad that are odd and unusual. Also remember that you do not have to have the items. You can always tell the furious early arriver, “No, we sold the baby goat last night as we were setting up.” “Had six offers for it and in the end couldn’t stand to disappoint little Mary, who wanted it so badly.”

Opening time—Set the opening time for your sale at least a half an hour earlier than the earliest time you have ever been awake on a Saturday. That way, hordes of frustrated garage salers can watch your silhouette parading around in pajamas, clutching a steaming cup of coffee and casually setting prices.

Stock—Where do you think you can buy jigsaw puzzles missing one or two pieces, tea pots without handles and garden forks short of teeth? Shop for your junk at Good Will, flea markets and, of course, other garage sales. Who knows—the junk might actually sell. You bought it didn’t you?

Pricing—Price anything decent you might accidently have at under a dollar. Price all the other stuff at the high end—say, antique mall prices. Then bargain, bargain, bargain. Think of the great fun you can have arguing for an hour over whether or not you will sell a slightly stained Naugahyde pocketbook for 50c or a dollar. Always label one item as rare. At this year’s sale, I found a button on the floor of the garage that I am labeling as rare and will price at $50. On that one item, I will refuse to bargain.

Setting up: Have your most scatterbrained cousins or your Aunt’s twin toddlers set up the stock at your sale.

Offer additional services: My neighbor loves his flower garden. At one sale a few years ago, I made all my profit on 50c guided tours of my neighbor’s garden. He was surprised, but happy, to show people around.

Set a Reasonable Goal—My wife and I consider a successful sale one that earns sufficient profit to buy a medium pizza at our local that night. A great sale gets you pepperoni. We had one banner year, in which we earned a pizza with pepperoni and green pepper and two small side salads. We had almost enough to split a beer.

THE GOLDEN RULE—Do unto…no, not that. The rule is that nothing comes back into your house. At the end of every garage sale, you must pack up the remaining junk and drive it to some Good Will or Salvation Army store. Sure, you may buy the same junk again on Monday in preparation for you next sale, but at the end of the sale on Saturday afternoon everything must go.

Buy the guide. Worse comes to worse, you can always sell it at your garage sale.

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Stevieslaw: Global Warming Gets Personal

Stevieslaw: Global Warming gets Personal
Smokey Diamond, our intrepid reporter, practically shredded the main section of our local newspaper, the CDT, this morning—even before she finished her first cup of coffee. “Hold on,” I said, “I haven’t even looked at the Sudoku yet.” For those of you who have never seen a copy of our local, you can trust me when I say Sudoku and the remnants of the comics are the by far the highlights.
Still, you do not want an angry Smokey around, so I asked cautiously, “What’s wrong?” Smokey tossed me the CDT and there on the Obituary page in bold letters was the headline, “Blight Sweeps Coffee Plantation.” The article, written by Tim Johnson of McClatchy News, has some of the worst news ever reported on a Monday morning. Tim writes, “The orange, dust-like fungus sucks nourishing sap from coffee leaves killing the bushes.”
My heart sank and all feeling drained from my feet and hands. Rust, as the fungus is called, has been around for decades, but the constant warming of the planet has allowed it to infect the coffee bushes at a much higher altitude than ever before—up to 5000 feet above sea level. The loss of the coffee crop is predicted to cost a half million jobs, increase crime, immigration and promote the substitution of narcotics producing crops.
From Johnson, “Central American growers usually cultivate Arabica coffee rather than the intense and harsher Robusta coffee. In blend, Central American beans often are mixed in to lend flavor.”
“Lend flavor,” I thought, “Oh no.”
“What’s next,” mused a heartbroken Smokey. “Tuna?”
I hadn’t the heart to tell her.

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