Letters to teh Puppeh

Dear Haggis,

I love how you've managed to cover a variety of topics in your blog, from personal observations to politics, while still managing to throw in a horror story or two along the way. You are obviously an extremely brilliant individual. Your parents must be proud of you.

Sincerely,
Anonymous


Dear Anonymous,

No doubt.

Thanks, Mom.

Haggis


Dear Haggis,

Why don't you blog more often?

Sincerely,
A follower


Dear Follower,

Why don't you stop in less frequently? We'd accomplish the same thing.

Best,
Haggis


Dear Haggis,

It's been a year since you've updated your short story sales listing. Can't you tell us where to look for your new publications?

Sincerely,
Curious


Dear Curious,

You haven't seen any new publication updates because everything's been rejected this year, you hateful bastige. Now go pick on MisterBastard and leave me alone.

Best,
Haggis


Deer Hagiss,

I rely lik puppehs and I watn a Chihooa just lik yuo. Woud you come live with me? Im eigth years old.

Luv,
Missy


Dear Missy,

Do your parents have lots of money? I hope so, because you seriously need a remedial course in spelling. I've had ringworms that can spell better than you.

Best,
Haggis


That 's it for today, folks. Keep those cards and letters coming in.

Your Government at Work, Part II - the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act

I first noticed the signs Sunday afternoon while on a mission to refill two empty growlers at a craft brewery a couple of counties away. The signs weren't everywhere--only at a few places along the highway--but there were enough of them to keep the thought of the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act stuck in my head. It was kind of insidious the way they did it, really. Too many signs would have been overkill, but these few seemed hardly conspiracy-worthy.

The signs, as you'll know if you paid attention to the picture at the beginning of this rant, point out to the traveler, certain, specific projects funded by the former contents of his wallet. Those projects, as the signs explain, are designed to create jobs.

The signs were nice and all, but I didn't see any actual working projects. No bulldozers digging up dirt. No workers with hard hats leaning on shovels. Of course it's clear that the signs at least created jobs for sign makers. In fact, at $2000 a pop, they must be high paying jobs too. Still, a stimulus recovery package that only benefited sign makers seemed kind of short sighted.

Eventually I got home, and while sampling the contents of my newly filled growlers, I started to think more about the signs. It's true there were no actual work projects happening near the signs. But then I remembered seeing the orange and white traffic barrels.

In fact, nearby every sign, were a minimum of one hundred or so traffic barrels.

Now, this might not seem important to you at first glance, but the fact is, those barrels don't come cheap. The average price is about $100 per. What that means is that each sign (providing $2,000 worth of sign making jobs) generates an additional $10K in traffic barrel making jobs. When you toss in the jobs created for the folks needed to install the signs and move the barrels into the rode at daybreak and off the road at sunset, you can begin to see the genius of the government's plan.

I just hope they don't get all giddy with success and go and do something stupid like try to actually fix roads or repair overpasses in a way that might last, say, twenty years. Because then the sign jobs would go away, and the traffic barrel jobs would go away, and then where would we be?

The Census--Your Government at Work

Last week I received a letter from Robert M. Groves, the Director of the U.S. Census Bureau, advising me that I was about to receive a Census form in the mail. Mr. Groves cautioned that I should fill it out and return it promptly, so that my community gets "its fair share of government funds."

I was a little taken aback, because when politicians and bureaucrats bandy around the term "fair share," it usually involves taking money from rich people and giving it to poor people--you know, redistribution of wealth--but this was different. This time they were talking about a "fair share of government funds." Government funds are the money they take from you and me and the guy across the street that they think is theirs. They dole it out again when some other politician wants "funding" or some other politician is looking for "an investment," but if you listen real close, you'll hear the sound of someone pulling your wallet out of your back pocket and taking most of your cash.

But anyhow, being the good citizen I am, and understanding that the Census is a constitutional undertaking, I vowed to comply. Then the Census form arrived.

Question # 1 asked how many people were staying at my dwelling as of April 1, 2010.

Seeing that it was still March, I had two choices. Either do as Mr. Groves asked, that is, answer the question and send the form back promptly, or wait until April 1st so I could answer the question honestly without having to try to predict the future.

Question # 2 said, in effect, "We know you lied when you answered Question # 1, so tell us the real number of people who live in your dwelling." Seriously. If you still have your Census form, check it out and let me know if I'm wrong.

Questions # 3 through # 10 asked if I'm Hispanic.

In case you're wondering, I've decided to wait until April 1st to send in my form. Sorry, Mr. Groves, but I could be fined for providing erroneous information. I won't know all the answers for sure until then, so you'll just have to be patient. Besides, sending it in on April Fools Day seems, somehow, so appropriate.

Hair and Teeth--a Brief Introduction to Politics in my Lifetime

Back in the day, all Republicans and Democrats looked alike.

Then along came a young Democrat from Massachusetts who had perfect hair and perfect teeth,

By a sad stroke of fate, he was prematurely succeeded by a fellow who had very little hair and forgettable teeth.

The Republicans figured that if hair and teeth would win the presidency, then maybe glasses would have a shot.

They were wrong. But eventually a different Republican did win--another fellow with no hair, but he'd run a campaign against another fellow who'd been pulling out his own hair for a long time.

Another unfortunate circumstance caused the one balding fellow to be replaced by another.

But a Georgia peanut farmer came along to bring us back to what was important again--hair and teeth. Especially teeth.

Unfortunately, he pretty much sucked as a president and the Republicans could have run just about anyone against him in the following election. They chose to run a former B actor with hair. His hair was of questionable color, but it was surely all there.

The Dems came back with somebody who actually did have hair, but made the mistake of covering it up in a tank helmet. It was enough to cost him the election. At least it didn't help any.

This allowed a notably unhairy man to win the presidency.

In fairness, he did choose a Vice Presidential candidate with hair.

Sadly, he couldn't even spell "potato."

Eventually, the Dems brought hair back where it belonged. Hair even became news when the Dem's guy sat on the tarmac getting his $200 haircut while other air traffic sat waiting patiently for him to get finished.

The next Dem to run for president had what I'd call adequate, but unremarkable hair. He did recognize the importance of hair though, growing a beard, albeit too late after he lost the election.

But the Democrats had finally learned their lesson. Hair ran for the presidency in the next election.

But it was probably too much hair because he didn't win. A different fellow won.

And he had sort of meh hair. His Vice President though, had typical Republican hair.

The sad thing is, the GOP apparently hasn't learned.

Whereas the Democrats are all over the issue.

Some Democrats took it way too seriously. <--CLICK ME

And others, who suffer from male pattern baldness, have chosen instead to call themselves "Harry."

Wait. How did he get in here?



Anyhow, now we have today's top Dems. The President has backed off the hair (probably hearkening back to Kerry's earlier failure, but he's brought to bear a whole new level of teeth. A whole new level, that is, until you take a look at his Vice President.

If you're as old as I am, you're old enough to remember Smokin' Joe before he had all that hair. What hair he had was darker then, but plugs are harder to detect once the hair has turned to silver or gray. But, you know, I can't fault him for a little cosmetic surgery. After all, the Democrats have finally learned how essential hair is to their success, and you better hop on the bus if you don't want to be left behind.

Besides, at least his teeth are genuine.

Right?

Anyone?

Beuller?

Honest Scrap

Honest Scrap? What is it? It's a list of ten honest facts about yourself. This is mine, and, no, I didn't come up with the idea on my own. The good folks from the Shock Totem forum (and some of their bad folks too) have been passing around their own Honest Scrap for awhile, so I figured, what the hey? Why not join them. I've done posts like this before, so I was able to steal a bunch of stuff I'd written earlier, write some new ones and put it all together into the meaningless post you see before you. Have at it, and when you're done reading, why not post your own Honest Scrap on your own blog? If you do, come back here and let me know. After all, I've shown you mine, so I should get to see yours, no?
_____

• I miss my dog. We used to go outside and pee on trees and bushes together. He was cool.
• There's this one long hair that keeps growing back on top of my nose. I pluck it out and it comes back up like a piece of bad meat. Trouble is that my eyes aren’t what they used to be, so I can’t always see it either. Usually I just wait until someone says to me, “Hey look, Haggis. You’ve got a big fat-ass hair growing on top of your frickin' nose.” Then I find it and pluck it out again.
• I wrote my first short story since school days seven years ago. It was pretty bad. I kept writing, though, and finally had one I was pleased with. I submitted it for publication and someone actually bought it--paid me good money too. This whole writing thing seemed damn simple and I was more than a little bit ticked at myself for not seeking this easy money sooner. Then I subbed more. Then the rejections started coming in. Then more rejections. Then more. Sometimes things aren't quite as easy as they seem.
• Favorite food? Anything with scales, fins, shells, wings or four legs. Preferably dead and cooked rare (except for sushi which I prefer raw). On the other hand, broccoli, asparagus, lima beans and Brussels sprouts are evil and should be eradicated. Sorry vegans. That stuff you eat isn’t food. It’s what food eats.
• I was an evil child. As a young boy, I used to love tossing water balloons at busses. One time a friend and I decided to up the ante and pee into them too. His toss slammed into the side of the bus pretty good. Mine sailed through an open window, where it probably landed and exploded on the lap of an unsuspecting senior citizen or a young mother with five children in tow. Needless to say, I set a new land speed record hauling my sorry ass outta there.
• A toy rat with flashing red eyes sits on top of my computer monitor at work where a stuffed raven also watches me from atop a filing cabinet. At home, a gargoyle stares at me from the monitor and a plastic owl searches for prey from her perch on my bookcase.
• Dark, evil, supernatural stories are my favorites--stories that make people turn on a night light or stay awake all night shaking. These kinds of stories make me smile. And I can fall asleep like a baby after reading them. I don't believe in ghosts or evil spirits but they are surely entertaining. .
• Back when I was about ten years old or so, I was at the doctor’s office having a physical exam or being checked out for one thing or another. The nurse handed me what looked like a milk bottle and told me to go into the bathroom and provide a specimen. I was clever enough to realize what a specimen was. I was not clever enough to figure out just how I was supposed to get the specimen into that milk bottle. No one had ever said to me, “Now, hold the bottle with one hand and hold your little twanger with the other.” They should have, because instead, I placed the milk bottle on the floor, stood up straight, and took careful aim, shooting from the hip (so to speak). Sadly, I was no Deadeye Dick, with more of the specimen landing on the floor than in the milk bottle. Naturally, I never confessed.
• I'm going on six months without a cigarette. Still want one though, but I'm not going to have one. Through today, I figure I've saved $2,430 by not smoking.
• I have difficulty counting to ten.

_____

Okay. It's your turn now.

Observations on Old People

Believe it or not, there are still people who pay for their groceries with checks instead of debit cards. I'm one of them. Stop laughing. It’s what my generation does. Even though we know better, we still kid ourselves into thinking we’re getting a float of a few days ‘til the check clears. The difference between me and the other old people is that by the time I get to the checkout counter, all I have to do is enter the amount of the purchase on my check. I’ve already filled out the rest of it.

But my other old brethren and sistren don’t quite get it. They don’t seem to share my love of a speedy check out. Indeed, they do what they can to drag things out as long as possible. And I don’t understand this at all. When you’re old, you should move faster, not slower. It’s not like you have that much time left to waste, you know?

Anyhow, let me share with you an experience that happened to me last Sunday. It’s a good example of what you can expect from old people in grocery stores nowadays. I had my shopping cart full of goodies and I pushed it over to the short line, where only one person was ahead of me. We’ll call this person “Customer,” but her real name might be “Gini Koch[1].”

8:07 Cashier rings up “Customer’s” order: "That will be $97.53, please."

8:08 Customer searches in her purse for her checkbook while discussing her daughter's pending orthodontia needs with cashier.

8:10 Customer senses checkbook is close, dumps contents of purse onto checkout counter to make checkbook more visible.

8:12 Customer finds checkbook. Cashier mentions name of Orthodontist who did her kids' teeth.

8:13 Customer puts dumped stuff back in checkbook and asks cashier how much all the orthodontia cost.

8:14 Customer redumps stuff onto checkout counter, looking for pen to fill out check. Cashier's husband worked for Ford so he had 100% dental. She had no idea how much it cost.

8:17 Customer finds pen, shoves stuff back into purse and begins to fill out check.

8:18 Using best handwriting, customer ever so slowly fills out check and passes it over to cashier who compliments her on her handwriting. As it turns out, both customer and cashier earned certificates in grammar school for their penmanship. They talk about this for awhile, both of them bemoaning the quality of handwriting of “kids nowadays.”

8:21 Cashier asks for ID

8:22 Customer dumps contents of purse onto checkout counter, looking for wallet.

8:24 Customer finds wallet. Puts dumped stuff back into purse.

8:25 Driver's license not in wallet, customer panics.

8:26 Customer checks pockets, then notices driver's license sitting on check writing stand where she left it.

8:26 Customer hands driver's licence to cashier who notes driver's licence number and forgets to compare signatures. Cashier hands license back to customer.

8:27 Customer dumps contents of her purse onto cashier's counter, looking for wallet.

8:28 Customer finds wallet, inserts drivers license into appropriate purse pocket and returns wallet to purse.

8:29 Customer returns the rest of the junk to her purse, cashier bags all items and puts them in customer's cart.

8:29 - 8:37 Customer and cashier engage in idle chatter while customer's purse continues to block any further transactions by next customer in line. Who happens to be me. Who has neglected to take his blood pressure pills that day.

And people ask me why I drink.

---

[1] Her real named might be Gini Koch or it might be something else. But whatever it is, she has a new book, Touched by an Alien, coming out in April. You should pre order it, ‘cause I said so. And, Gini, that's what you get for being mean and making me write stuff.

For Haiti: The Mission

I hate winter. Every cell in my body hates winter. I hate winter so much I complain about it all the time. People see me coming and they cross to the other side of the street just to avoid me and my whining. See, in my opinion, winter sucks. But it doesn't suck as much as what the people in Haiti are going through right now. Nothing sucks that bad.

So I was sitting around the other day pissing and moaning about winter and feeling bad in general for what was happening to the Haitians, but thinking I couldn't do anything about it. Then I saw this blog post from a fellow writer, Mercedes Yardley. It seems that Crossed Genres magazine came up with the idea of asking writers to donate stories to the Haitian relief cause. Of course, stories don't buy bread or medicine, but if the stories are posted for free, and if the people who read the stories decide to toss a couple of bucks in the direction of charities helping out with the relief effort that changes everything.

So, here's mine. If you like it, why not donate to a charity you know is helping out with Haitian relief. If you don't like it, why not donate anyhow? If you need a good story to convince you, go here for a list of participating authors. You can follow that same link to donate directly to several legitimate relief organizations, or to sign up to participate yourself.

Do it for Uncle Haggis.

_____________________________________________________

The Mission

by Steve Barber

He deserved to die. That was clear. And he deserved to die slowly, painfully. But it would be no easy task. Like all celebrities, he had his posse--his handlers. They kept him protected from the public except for rare appearances, and even then they gathered around him like Secret Service agents protecting the President. It would take someone with the single-minded dedication of a mad man to pull this off. But a mad man could not possibly infiltrate their ranks. That would require guile and cunning. Fortunately, those were qualities I had in abundance. And although I'm clearly as sane as you, I was thoroughly dedicated to the task.

I'd watched him year after year as he ruined my life and the lives of others I cared for. But my associates always made excuses for him: "Oh, he didn't mean it," they'd say, or, "He doesn't really know what he's doing," or "It's just a legend. He doesn't really do it himself." Yet I knew better. I'd watched him in person; I'd studied film frame by frame. It was impossible to miss that knowing look in his eyes and the awful, evil smirk on his face when he'd accomplished his mission.

So I befriended one of his minions, and ever so gradually I gained the trust of the others. Eventually they welcomed me into their ranks. I grinned broadly as I pretended to pay homage to their sovereign. I smiled serenely as I performed the required menial tasks, knowing that my day of glory would be soon at hand.

Yesterday came with good news. I had been selected to greet His Honor this year. After years of careful planning the time had finally come. My revenge was at hand. He would die tomorrow morning.

An hour before dawn, I was ready. I'd donned my top hat and ceremonial gloves and stood with the others, waiting for His Majesty's arrival. The sun slowly rose above the horizon and touched the clear blue sky. It would be yet another bright and sunny day.

It was time.

The speeches ended; it was my turn. I thrust my hand into his lair, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and held him up so I could stare directly into his beady little eyes.

His fear was palpable. He knew his days were numbered, yet seemed resigned to his fate. He offered no struggle as I reached into my belt and withdrew the dagger. "Sic semper marmotus!" I cried as I plunged the knife deep into Punxatawney Phil's cold, cold heart.

And as his life's blood spilled to the ground, a cloud drifted across the sun, the shadows advanced and a crocus poked its head out from under a cover of light snow.