Accident Reports

UTAH EVIDENCES

When I was about twelve, my whole family went to Saratoga that Summer. It was a really cool place, like Pacific Ocean Park, I think it was called New Pike (?) down by Long Beach. For those of you in Utah, it was sort of like Lagoon, but not quite as fancy. While the whole car full of us sang merrily along, another car, coming from the opposite direction somehow met ours directly, head-on while passing. We were going about 55 miles an hour and so was the other guy. Crunch! We all got out, and ran over to the other car, to see if they were alright. They were. So were we. Not a scratch or bruise on any one. Because this happened right while I was in my formative years, it made me think. Kinda weird.

About 3 years later my mom went to Las Vegas to see Elvis, with my new step-dad, John. I decided to take the family station wagon for a spin. Laura left the keys in the ignition, and the next thing I knew was I was behind the Black Hill, going 100 miles an hour, last I looked. Then all of a sidden, a curve was ahead, and I turned to make it, and there was a rolling sensation, dust, a banging sound, over and over.

I knew the car was hot, and so, I kicked out the driver window and jumped out, gashing my right knee pretty badly. Blood was everywhere, even though I took off my shirt and wrapped it tightly around the wounded knee. I hitched a ride into St. George, and the nice guy took me all the way to my house.

I walked inside, grabbed a blanket, covered myself and went to sleep on the couch, with a pillow to prop up the knee. Mom came home, asked Laura where the car was, and then ran over to me. She freaked out when she pulled the cover off. Next thing I knew I was in the hospital.

- dinner here, continued in an hour -

Pictured: Filling out the detailed accident report of Matthew 6:3

That was delicious!

The doctors said that the hours that I spent sleeping had made the wound unstitchable or whatever. Seems that the body just prefers to heal itself if you just take it easy. So we went home and I have a nice scar to show for it all. Elbert Hubbard said that God will not look us over for titles and degrees, but for scars.

Badda-BING!

About 2 years later, I got into another head-on collision. This time it was with a High School teacher, Paul H. Smith. Seems he wasn't making enough money on his lowly teaching job, or with the additional loot from being a Justice of the Peace. He one day asked me if I wanted to Graduate, for a mere $10 per grade level from his class. "You're failing, you know." Yeah, I knew. School never meant much to me. I was too busy watching real life and reading and conversing with cool people.

Mother ran a cafe and there I poured coffee to the Jack-Mormons and other great folks. Some were Military, some old sailors, most were farmers, bored housewives and their kids late at night. Restaurants were the Internet back in 1969. Anyway, Mr. Smith called me on the carpet a few weeks later, in a private talk behind closed door. Spooky. I was nervous as hell. His father-in-law was the St. George Temple President or whatever. I think his name was MacArthur. Anyway, The dirt bag told me that if I didn't zip my lip, he wuld sick a few football players on me.

I took that as a threat, being all of 125 pounds and standing just 5'11" so I was shaken to the core. I swore to him I hadn't told a soul about his gift. He told me he could take away mom's cafe, "lock, stock and barrel."

I went home pondering this odd phrase. At that age, I just couldn't figure out what the Sam Hill it meant, but it didn't sound good. Mothers were the Google back in those days, and when Google saw me quivering, she asked me what was the matter.

"What does 'lock, stock and barrel mean?'" I asked her. She told me to use it in a sentence. "Well, if Paul Smith was able to take your cafe lock stock and barrel, what does that exactly mean?"

She slapped me. "Don't you ever tell such a lie about Brother Smith!"

My God. Slapped by Google. It freaked me out that my refuge was my #1 Enemy at the moment. Kinda like today in the USA. Very disturbing, indeed. Especially at 125 pounds, and only sixteen years old.

"I swear he said it. I can get it recorded, to prove it, Mom." I pleaded.

Within 15 minutes I was all decked out on my big Army jacket, with the tape recorder rolling as I entered the room, where Mr. Smith was grading papers. "Can we talk?" I asked sheepishly. "Sure. Have a seat..."

I explained to him that I didn't understand what he meant about mom's restaurant. That 'lock stock and barrel' remark. "Can you tell me what you meant?"

The tape later showed that my heartbeat was thumping big time. I was so afraid, honestly.



"So just keep it our little secret and everything will be fine."

It was wonderful to get a civics lesson all alone with the teacher. I think its how I formed my respect for authority.

- wifey wants the computer, back in a bit -

Mama wants salami.

CLASSICAL MUSIC Epiphany by "Janet Dunbar" *Symphonic Music*: Premiere i...

We're Outta Here

This blog has been purchased by a private investor, and may be seen at his new blog address. The staff has been relocated and is working to continue production quality at his new blog.

Millennial Dining

Last night my wife and I were eating a pleasant meal at a Beach Resort. Toward the end of our meal, a hand appeared from a hole in our table. We suspect that the Millennium has begun.

Who will believe our report?? We have additional pictures, and want this known everywhere.

(it could bring down all houses built upon sandy foundations)

May I introduce myself?

My name is Maria Giff ~ Shut up and hold me.

My husband Paul Giff took his life three days ago. The mess is cleaned up, and he's now buried. As per his Last Will, I will be very well taken care of. He wanted me to find a new man, so I will. From now on the blog he started will stop focusing on the imminent danger to America and his stupid obsession of hatred toward Mormons, and instead look on the sunny side of life. There is just too much to lust upon to even think about news, sports and crap. I do want you to know...I blog only when drinking, so buckle up and keep the kids away.

HAPPY HEART

There is so much to be thankful for, now that Paul is gone. I will miss him terribly. But when I feel better, I will return and report my daily doings here. I hope I can be of some service to you. I was born in Harlem, New York. I have many songs about me. That's how Paul and I met, actually.

I'll tell you our story next chance I get. I have to go shopping now. The insurance check already came!

See ya soon..I have so many cool SECRETS to tell you.

Paul was shy. I collect bull horns. BOTH KINDS.


Maria
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Monson Impeached by Unanimous Quorum

Revelation to Move Conference Center to Niagara Falls Soundly Rejected

Deseret News - After delivering a Revelation to Move the Conference Center to the banks of the Niagara Falls, President Monson was forcefully removed from the Executive Office Building of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints Thurday morning. Sources told the Deseret News that the leader of the fourteen million member cult was ranting about a March collapse of the Stock Market before guards finally muffled him and carried him away.

An emergency vote was taken and the rampaging elderly man was stripped of "any and all authority to speak for God any more." Church attorneys declined to speculate if the latest 'revelation' will be printed in current editions of the Doctrine and Covenants. "This ranks right up there with polygamy and the United Order in its absurd nature," fumed Dallin Oaks, who asked to be identified. "The United States Dollar is completely safe from hyperinflation."

What irked the Quorum most was the choice of the new location, not the move itself. "When President Monson claimed that the banks of the Niagara would be the only banks left in America after March, he lost my support," another voice chimed in, "The economy is sound. The future is bright. There is no need to stop work, panic and beeline it to the nearest ATM machine."

Ironically, that is exactly what happened after the full draft Revelation was passed out to the Executive Priesthood Board overseeing Probable Panic Hot Spots. The room was as empty as an Obama promise.

"If the Lord had such news for the Saints, He would have gone through the normal channels of bureaucratic communication. He would not have appeared at the bedside of a delirious Prophet." cautioned Brother David A. Bednar. "Just because the church will dump all equity positions next week doesn't mean that the Brethren place any confidence in Brother Monson's so-called heavenly visitation.

Search for a new, more moderate Prophet, Seer and Revelator will begin after the Quorum of the Twelve finish their weekend shopping spree at Sam's Club.
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My Final Prayer

Dear You Tube Friends, it's all over

Mom called an hour ago.

She was sobbing. My older brother has taken his life.

Just...too much bullshit. He'd lost his pension, and had too many debts to float into safety.

Before I got off the phone with her, I knew I was going to join him, soon. We were as close as two brothers could be. This will be my final blog post. Perhaps you'll find something of value in it.

I tried.

FRANK TALK

I am sad to leave the world I have loved so well. I must. No longer can I live with the knowledge I possess.

Before I leave, and it will be before my wife gets home with our son, (they're shopping for groceries); I want to leave a video legacy for her and for him. And I guess for you. I feel to type out...my final prayer.

THANK YOU LORD

Thank you, Lord for life itself. That span of time wherein we each can find what we desire, to titillate, depress or inspire. Thank you for the air, the breeze, the storms, the clouds, the sunrises each day, so reliable. Thank you for toilets, and plumbers and pipe makers, the porcelain factories in Ohio and China. Thank you for the water, the sewers, the plumbers, pipe fitters and engineers who made it all possible. Thank you for the machinists, the salesmen, the advertising firms and the warehouse men.

Thank you, Lord, for good toilet paper, the soaps and toothbrushes, great tooth pastes and valves. For the floor beneath my feet, and the tile upon which I stood. I thank thee for the windows, the sashes, the Windex and paper towels.

Lord, I thank Thee especially for coffee, and friends and memories and such great music.

 For laughter, orgasms and natural-sex porn. Thank you, Lord for the Super Bowl and Doritos, for Pepsi, Chevrolet and Budweiser. And salsa, peanuts and of course, toothpicks. I am grateful for the couches, chairs and curtains, without which, I would have more headaches than I do.

Thank you for the front door, the hinges that make it so useful, the screws that give authority to the hinges, and the wood that held those brass screws for so long, with so little complaint or subsequent cost. Thank you Lord for the doormat, the sidewalk and the orchid my wife prays for each day. Let it bloom, Lord, for she has been a good wife and a wonderful mother. Thank you for our front gate, the welder, his torch and carbon sticks, or whatever you call those things. For the painter and the used stack of newspapers. They are the real unsung heroes of earth.

Lord, I thank Thee for groceries, and stores, and truck drivers, unloaders, forklifts, Security Guards and linoleum. For shelves and stockers and price cuts and good lighting. Thank you for the hours we keep, that give us time to work till we tire, then rest till we're refreshed. Thank you so much for sleep, pillows, sheets, mattresses, beds, with their legs, the rugs near them and the dust that keeps my wife from becoming too lazy.

Thank you Lord for the look and sound of my boy's delight ~

There is no happier boy on earth than he. His bliss is my only defense.

When he finds every new adventure we've lined up for him, I am justified. Then, even his soul-cutting deep cries, when I don't let him stay on You Tube too late, are pardonable.

Thank you for his aura of complete serenity while he naps, his carefree hair locks, perfect cheeks, those Knightly knees and intention-filled fingernails. I so loved his complete peace in sleep, Lord.

I am thankful for the fan, the air conditioner and the lighting in our humble home. Thank you for cinder blocks, the rebar and cement, the sand and water, lime and shovel-mixing workers who gladly produced the fine shelter for my family.

Thank you for shoes, socks, sandals, tee shirts, Levi's, undies and especially the cool nakedness during our weekend and sleeping hours. Thank you for showers and shampoo, clean water, the municipal pipes, the reservoir, the rains and especially the bottled water. I thank thee for shaving cream, quality disposable razors, the drain at the bottom of the sink and especially the mirror.

Lord, I want to thank you for icing on cake, pork chops, rice, pineapple, bananas, can openers, (both hand and electric), Lord. Thank you for the stove, and its fuel, the oven, the refrigerator and the television. Thank you so much for electricity, wires and malfunctioning meters. Thank you also for the VCR and our TIVO, the satellite dish and programming that is still a little competitive.

Thank you for my years as a human being, my job and my family. Thank you for music and toast and blackberry jam over real butter, and surgeons and anesthesia. Thank you for so few ingrown toe nails, Lord.

Thank you Lord for roads and parks and convenience stores and criminals who sacrifice their freedoms to give us such memorable stories each day. Thank you for Drudge, FARK and World Net Daily. Bless please Alex Jones, The Micro Effect and Orly Taitz. Thank you for pistols, semi-automatics and hollow-point ammunition, of all calibers, Lord.

Thank you for angry men, of all ages, but especially those who muster up the will to stand together and shout, then use fingers, then spines and finally sweat, tears, signs, groups, shouts, guns, and finally huge mobs to get us free.

Thank you for the radio voices of determined rage: the Levins, the Becks, the Lonsberries, the Savages and especially for that Great American out of Cincinnati, Willie Cunningham. Thank you Lord for getting Dr. Laura off the air. Bless you, Lord, for that great miracle!

Please bless my dear wife, who thought I was so funny, when I was most serious.

Bless her as she arrives home, and calls out for me to come help unload the groceries, that she will know that she's better off without me now. That my son (some day) will be proud of his father who said, enough is enough, and "I'm outta here!"

Lord, thank you for suicide, and mops and Febreeze and caring neighbors who will clean up the mess I make.

Finally Lord, if I have overlooked anything, and I'm sure I have, because my eye sight and mind aren't what they used to be...forgive me. I did love the steaks and the fries and those strawberry pies in June. With real whipped cream. I loved the Blue Light Specials and the many coupons each Thursday and Sunday. Thank you for the trash cans, the garbage trucks, the landfills and the maggots.

For the funeral Directors, the soloist and the printer of the little program that will grace our Family Bible for many years. Thank you for bookmarks and computers and Google and repair shops. Thank you for upgrades and shareware, Wikipedia and especially for Google and You Tube, Face book and FarmVille.

This is it Lord. If you want to burn me in Hell forever because I just couldn't suffer Obama any longer, then have at it. I am not worthy. I tried, but simply failed. Please separate my kin as they argue over the contents of my wallet, my Seiko watch and the pens.

Let my son know that he was the last face I thought of, as I swallowed the pills, drank the Drambuie and pulled the trigger a half hour later.

Thank you Lord for this escape route. I can't thank you enough for it.

I'll be seeing you soon. In Jesus name,

Amen

Oh, and Lord, thank you so much for Philip Glass.

 And for Beethoven, Mahler, Liszt, Vivaldi, Bruckner, Haydn, Bernstein, Andrew Lloyd-Webber, Merle Haggard, Joe Satriani, Mozart and Rosini. And Pucini, Rott, Andy Williams, Neil Diamond, Jethro Tull, Pink Floyd and Sinead O'Connor. Thank you so much for Thank you also for the fantastic newer artists, of rap, hip hop, seriously smooth Jazz and pure Country music. Thank you for those one-hit wonders and the indies, the unique voices of those who thrilled me no end, bringing me tears of satisfaction and joy so many times. How I loved Eminem, Lord.

Please be with the future artists, Lord. Inspire them to outperform Johnny Cash, Neil Young, The Traveling Wilburys and Queen. May you find it in your heart to forgive me, if you can, Lord.  I know I've left out so many great ones.

Finally, if there are Juke Boxes in Heaven, please do whatever you have to, to come and get me.

Thank you, dear Lord.

It is finished.

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The Blind Builder

There once was was a blind man who lived in a small village on the island of Bohol.

 I found him recently after I entered a dirt pathway. I asked some playful youngsters, "Who is the most righteous man living here?"

The poor natives couldn't understand my word, 'righteous', so I again asked, "Who is the man here that loves more deeply than anyone else?"

I was taken by them to a small but bright house, which was obviously hand-made and freshly painted. His daughter was standing outside.

This is a picture I took of her, taken moments before I met him.

"There he is," the group spoke, in various words. He slowly approached me.

I spat upon both thumbs, and pressing them to his sockets, I restored his sight, and we hugged wetly.

I then showed him his mansion which I had designed and built myself. Just one picture. Wiping his eyes, he knelt down and kissed my feet.

Then I knelt before him, and I washed his feet. Just as I had seen my Father do before.

He was still embracing his little girl when I left the village three days later. And still wiping his eyes. He jumped many times at the sight of his new world.

YOUR TURN SOON

Are you ready for your mansion? Do you love your child as he did his? Does your home and heart show it?

If they both do, I will hunt you down. I will show you a picture of your own future home.

I think you'll like it.

- God

Men seek me. I seek them.

Repent while you still may.


It's well worth it.


...checkmate.


Amen

Will Obama Take It In Stride?

PHO EX LUA TAPES

If President Obama was arrested, say, for a Mandela death-surprize that failed, would he cooperate fully with the booking officer, and surrender accurate biodata, bodily marks and fingerprints and allow a good mug shot?

By the way, does You Tube have any speeches about this "African gift to White America" from any modest Muslim ecologists? Former terrorists? Nobel Prize Winner(s)?

MELVIN DUMMAR, II

The tapes were dropped off at the Salt Lake City Office this morning. Start packing, Michelle. But stay away from our New America.

Blog complete.

"Operation Micro Effect has left the building."


PS - Never lie.


From me?


I prefer tap dancing. C'mon Massah. Here Boy...


Cash Cow: Packers take it home! Bet hard.
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