Open letter to Former Senator Jim DeMint, the new President of the Heritage Foundation

Dear Senator Jim,

Hey, thanks for the emailed survey you sent me the other day. The one that said. "for Principled Conservatives only, because I gotta tell you, Jim, you won't find any Conservative more Principled than I am. See, I was one of the original Barry's Boys way back in the early 60s. I expect you might not know about that time because I'm older than you and it probably all went down long before your balls dropped. So let me fill you in on what most of my fellow Principled Conservatives and I believed in way back in the day.

Like Barry I believed in low taxes, fiscal responsibility, strong defense, the free market system and letting people enjoy their lives without government interference. That's, of course, before the religious right took over the Republican party (something Barry warned us about) and decided that small government meant that they had the right to camp out in people's bedrooms and see who was doing what to whom and send them to jail if it wasn't okay in Leviticus. Which may have run contrary to that "make no religion" crap in the Constitution, but everyone knows the Founders didn't really mean it.

You might not remember this, Jim, but gays weren't allowed to serve in the military for the longest time. Even so, that old "Principled Conservative" Barry Goldwater said, "I don't care if they are gay or straight, as long as they can shoot straight." Being a Brigadier General in the Air Force Reserve, he kind of had an idea of what the military should be like. But you know, those nasty liberals like Johnson, Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush, Clinton, Bush and Obama didn't agree with that. Thank Dawg that Obama's ever changing principles finally evolved to the point that he could agree with something Barry had said fifty years earlier. And thank Dawg today's Principled Conservatives agree with that point of view too. Right, Jim?

Jim?

Okay, so while we're waiting for Jim to return let's take a look at the survey he sent me.

Let’s see now. Oh, here’s a good question.

Q. How do you think conservatives in Congress should approach their job?

A. Maybe they should do it for a change. And they can share that answer with their liberal friends across the aisle too. For the record, that job is not getting re-elected, nor is it being a power broker, nor is it graft, corruption or similar activities. Their job is serving and representing their constituents. Period. Full stop.

Here’s another.

Q. Which countries pose a threat to the United States? Iran, China, Russia, North Korea or Other?

A. All the above, including “other,” which in this case I’d say was the United States itself. As far as I know, none of the other countries are overflying us with drones, nor are their tax collection units targeting groups in this country who think The Wrong Way. I doubt that any of those listed countries would bother collecting information from some stupid blog like this one, but we already know that our country’s NSA does, don't we, Jim?

Plus you left Canada off your list of evil countries. You can never be too careful where Canada's concerned.

And this one.

Q. How serious do you consider the threat of Islamic terrorism in the world today?

A. About as seriously as I consider the threat of domestic terrorism. You know what I mean, Jim? Terrorism like The Oklahoma City bombing, the Unibomber, the Atlanta Olympics bombing, The Wisconsin Sikh Temple bombing, acts of hate groups like the KKK, Aryan Nation, Black Panthers, Eco-terrorists, people who kill physicians who perform abortions for Christ's sake--shall I go on?

Don’t get me wrong, Jim. I know all too well that there are people outside our country, many of them radical Islamists, who would just as soon see you and me dead. But I also know that the vast majority of the followers of Islam don’t give a rat’s ass about either you or me. All they want to do is live their lives in relative peace. They just want to be left the hell alone. They don’t want to be targeted. Like you’re trying to do to them by the nature of that last question.

And I love this one.

Q. Are the government’s intelligence agencies and the administration doing enough to protect us against terrorism?

A. Oh, hell no. Do you think collecting information on every American’s telephone calls, email, and Internet activities is enough? Do you think the drones you already have flying over US territory spying on its citizens is enough? Gitcher self a backbone, son. It's about time for you to send NSA agents into every classroom to pistol whip the little children until they turn in their parents for subversive activities.

Q. Who (do) you think should decide about controversial social questions like same-sex marriage and abortion?

A. Where've you been, Jim? That’s already been decided.

#

You know what, Jim? I've been thinking. Maybe I'm not the Principled Conservative you're looking for after all. Or maybe I am, and instead you're the problem. Yeah, I think that's it. I think I haven't changed a bit. Conservatism has. And your kind of Conservatism is not something I want to associate with anymore. So excuse me, but I'm going to go hang out with the Libertarians for awhile. I think they're mostly nuts and they think I'm mostly nuts, but at least we're honest with each other.

Chickens got bones

Today I went into town to do a little shopping (picking up my old fart drugs at the old fart store/AKA pharmacy) then used that as an excuse to head down to the local gin mill to pound a few. Two beers and four Words With Friends games later I sent Hunny a text asking her if she needed me to pick up anything for dinner.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’ve already had a sammich. Go ahead and get something for yourself.”

I used that as an excuse to have one more beer while I thought about my dinner.

I didn’t feel like making anything, there was no bar food I wanted to take home and I never, ever get fast food. Well, hardly ever. I will admit that sometimes I have a craving for KFC. The chicken tastes okay even if it isn’t good for me, the taters are mostly edible and the biscuits are really good—especially with honey. Of course I no longer get the KFC honey because it’s not honey anymore. Rather, it’s something they call “Honey Sauce.” Honey Sauce is that packet of stuff they give you to put on your biscuits only if you ask for it. According to this guy, Honey Sauce is a full 7% honey with the rest mostly corn syrup, and you know what I think about corn syrup. I have no idea what the last few ingredients are. Maybe a secret blend of eleven herbs and spices. I dunno. But whatever’s in it, it doesn’t taste like honey, so I stopped getting it years ago. I always, always keep a stash of real honey just for these emergency occasions.

So I headed off to KFC, pleased with myself for my forethought and looking forward to a meal of legs, thighs and breasts. But when I got there I discovered that something had happened. KFC had changed their menu. They’d lost their bones.

I used to order chicken only, with a few biscuits and maybe a side of taters. But according to their new menu, I no longer had that option. What I had instead was a choice of various selections of boneless, skinless chicken—what Wendy’s Hamburgers used to call “parts is parts."

In fairness, they still offered a small selection of bone-in skin-on chicken but it was harder to find on the menu. It occurred to me that KFC might be planning on phasing out bone-in chicken. Turns out I was right:

“The risky move, three years in the making, is KFC's very public admission that its core product -- a big bucket filled with fried chicken legs, thighs and breasts on the bone -- may ultimately be banished to the dust-heap of fast-food lore.”

I guess KFC is afraid the new generation of fast food addicts might accidentally discover that chickens used to be living, breathing animals. Dawg forbid that little Aiden or sweet Gabriella ever find out that animals have been slaughtered to sate their gluttony. And can you imagine precious Sloan and young Logan biting into a honking big-ass drumstick? I can hear their tiny high-pitched shrieks now.

“Skin! It’s got skin! And…and…and…booooooooooooooooooooones. MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMY!”

Oh, the horror.

Well, I’m not gonna hang around to hear that, KFC. It hurts to tell you this, but chickens got bones, so you and I are through. 

No. Don’t cry. It’s my fault, not yours. I simply can’t adjust to your insane need to take food and turn it into something that isn’t. Don’t worry, you’ll find someone new. But as for me, I’ll go back to making my own chicken. It’s better than yours anyhow. And I still have my stash of real honey.

Don’t Tase Me for Medicare Fraud, Bro

 

I’ve been a bad puppy. At least it seems that way. But I never meant for it to go down like it did. Still, I suppose it’s ultimately my fault, my responsibility and I’m the one who’s got to make it right.

Let me tell you what happened.

About six months ago I received a notice from my Medicare supplemental insurance provider—let’s call them “Purple Cross Purple Shield”-- that my pharmacy had not collected enough of a co pay on a prescription purchase I’d made months earlier. “This is not a bill,” they assured me. “We will deduct the money from over payments you make in the future.” Apparently they got tired of waiting for over payments, because last week I did receive a bill in the mail for the full amount of the underpayment. All 22 cents of it.

That’s 22 cents.

Cents, not dollars.

Cents.

Now, I have no idea how much it cost them to send me that bill. The bill for 22 cents, that is. I have no idea how much it cost them to enclose a postage paid envelope or if it will cost them anything on their end when they receive it back, and I don’t know how much it will cost them to process that payment when they receive it. All 22 cents of it. But it didn’t make a lot of sense (that’s “sense” not “cents”) to me why an organization that had handled my health care costs promptly and efficiently up to that point would suddenly start hyperventilating over 22 cents,  Then I read a little further into the letter, and there it was. “The Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services requires us to attempt to collect the balance owed.” So it’s not Purple Cross Purple Shield that decided to go into full collection mode over the 22 cents at all. It’s the government agency charged with controlling health care costs. Now I was beginning to understand.

On the plus side, the government agency never claimed that I purposely withheld the 22 cents, but they did insist on their right to a reimbursement of those funds. In a more perfect world, the agency might have gone after my pharmacy, which, after all, was the one that made the mistake about the amount of the 22 cent deductible. In a more perfect and reasonable world, the government would have written off anything under, say, $10 to $40 at a minimum, because is surely costs them more than that to try to collect it. Still, that wouldn’t have absolved me of my guilt for…for…for whatever it is I must have done wrong that ultimately put the full force of the United States government all over my ancient ass for 22 cents. Cents, not dollars. 

Cents. 

 Twenty two of 'em..

Don’t think I’m down on government, though. Not for a minute. Because they were there to help too. They wanted to help me so bad they made me the following offer:

“We understand that even the smallest unplanned expense can cause difficulty, and we have payment options available if you’re unable to pay the full amount due at this time.” The full amount of which was--you guessed it--22 cents.

Let me be honest here. I thought about it. I really did. After all, they are the ones who offered to set up payment arrangements for the money I owed them—all 22 cents of it. They also assured me not to worry that my coverage would stop “while we’re working this issue out.” All 22 cents of issue. But at my age I don’t have enough time left to do all the stupid that dealing with the government requires. So instead, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to write out a check for 22 cents. I’m going to put my account number on the check like they asked, and enclose it in the prepaid envelope along with the handy payment coupon they also mailed me. But before I drop it in the mail slot, I’m going to enclose one more thing—my request for a written receipt.

An Urgent Business Matter

 So I lied. Get over it.

Maybe I haven't written quite as much as I said I would, but maybe I'll pick up from this point on. Or not. But in any event, this is the second post of the year, so I've doubled my output from last year. Gotta give me points for that.

You can take a few points away too, 'cause this is an older story I'm posting. But, see, there's nowhere to sell it. Besides it's short--blog sized--and I haven't posted a story here in some time. Besideser, I like this o ne. You may not, but you're probably not a a Nigerian. So there.

Here we go....

#

An Urgent Business Matter

by

Steve Barber

Lt. Colonel Smiths Magado waddled across the room and gingerly settled his overly fat ass onto a cushioned office chair. He squirmed. No good. He'd have to try something else.

Magado dragged the ottoman over and reached down with both hands, hefting his nearly two pound penis out of his boxers and resting it on the foot stool. He sat back exhausted, hyperventilating and sweating profusely. But even as wiped out as he was, Magado had to smile. If only my father could see me now, he thought, not without some pride. His late father had constantly teased him about his "shortcomings."

Magado's father, Mgbatu Magado, had been the Principal Vice Chairman of Abuja State Bank and Trust, the primary holding company for foreign investments in his country. Six months earlier, the senior Magado died in a tragic Internet accident that was still under investigation. Fortunately, before his death, he had confided in his son as to the whereabouts of certain unclaimed funds he planned to secret out of the country. His death put a hold on any such transfer. But the Colonel was working to change that.

Magado punched the “on” button on his computer, waited for it to get up to speed, then accessed his email. There it was. The response he’d been waiting for. Someone had risen to the bait. He reached for the keyboard, but the ottoman on which his penis rested kept him too far away to type. He turned sideways, and somehow managed to grab the keyboard and deposit it onto his ample lap.

Alma Grinkle of Saskatoon had accepted his offer. I'll make her a rich woman, thought the Colonel, but I'll be even richer. And I'll still have my huge penis too. 

"My dear Miss Alma," typed Magado. "It is with delightness that I receive your missive this day. Please to know funds at your bank tomorrow morning earliest. My friend, yes I say my good friend Miss Alma, most wonderful lady, I looking forward meet you seventh January when we concluding transactions."

He finished the email with additional platitudes, sent it along to Alma, then electronically transferred the funds from his father's account to Alma's bank.

The Colonel was basking in the glow of a job well done when his watch alarm reminded him it was time to change his penile patches. The directions cautioned "one patch at a time," but he'd reasoned if one was good, two must be better.

He applied both patches, and sat back to watch his penis grow again. But this time it was different. Something was wrong. It was growing way too much, way too fast. Crap. Directions. I should have followed the directions. 

#

The following morning, Alma Grinkle scanned through the newspaper while finishing her morning tea. A page two headline leaped out at her: "Top Nigerian Army Officer Killed by Exploding Penis."

Alma sighed and shook her head. She put on her hat and gloves, grabbed her keys and headed out the door toward her bank. How awful for him, she thought. He was such a sweet man.

Bucket O' Food List

A belated Happy New Year to you all.

I've made a resolution. I'm definitely going to post more on my blog this year than I did last year. Fortunately, that won't be too difficult. If I manage one more I'll have doubled my output.

But enough about resolutions and writing. I'm here to talk about food.

It's been almost three and a half years since I've had a cigarette. I haven't slipped up one time. Nope. Not once. But, you know, this is not going to be a preachy post. I don't consider myself an ex-smoker anyhow. I consider myself a non-practcing smoker. Once the Death Comet is confirmed to be approaching Earth, I'll be the first one in line at the Smoke Shoppe, looking for a carton of Kents.

I can hear you telling me, “You said we were going to talk about food. All you're talking about is cigarettes.”

Well, that's true to a degree. But I'll urge patience, Grasshopper. It's merely a lead in.

See, when people give up one sin, they often take up another in its place. In my case, I've replaced the cigarettes with food. Mostly carbs or fats. I eat lots of cheese. Fresh croissants are wonderful with butter and blackberry jam. Bagels with cream cheese are good too. If I make a peanut butter sammich, it has to have butter on it too.

You get the picture. The picture is not pretty. It's about fifty pounds heavier than it used to be. It needs to get lighter.

I've decided I've got to combat the carbs and fats, but before I do I need to run through my Bucket O' Food List one time.

What's a Bucket O' Food List, you ask? I know you know that a Bucket List is a list of all the things you want to do before you croak. A Bucket O' Food List is the same thing, except it's only about food. And even though I'm not planning on croaking any time soon, I still see no reason to avoid these delicious food items, especially seeing as though I'm going to have to give them up soon.

So here's my Bucket O' Food List, presented in no particular order:

1. A shore dinner, including steamed lobster, clams on the half shell and steamers, corn on the cob and roasted 'taters. Lots of butter shall be consumed with this meal.
2. A Maine blueberry pie.
3. The above mentioned fresh croissant with butter and blackberry jam.
4. Chocolate chip cookies.
5. A boneless leg of lamb, spit roasted medium rare, covered with my mystery dry rub and poked and larded with a bunch of garlic cloves, spinach sprinkled with vinegar (butter added), baked potato with sour cream, chives, salt, pepper, butter.
6. Home made lemon sherbet.
7. A complete Thanksgiving dinner, even if it isn't Thanksgiving. No green bean casserole.
8. Enough cashews in one sitting to seriously hurt me.
9. A bagel with lox, onions and cream cheese from Zingerman's. And since I'm already there, I'll get a pastrami on rye for dessert.
10. Three slightly pan seared sea scallops, covered with a pat of sherry butter, and placed on a bed of cous-cous cooked in chicken broth, then mixed with finely chopped green onions and spearmint, grilled thinly sliced eggplant, lightly brushed with olive oil, and a couple of crabcakes from Phillip's Restaurant in Baltimore. All preceded by a shrimp cocktail. And oysters on the half shell. With horseradish, lemon and hot sauce. And don't skimp on the salt and pepper.
11. A pizza from Bocce's Pizzeria in Buffalo. Double cheese and double pepperoni.
12. One Beef on Weck, loaded with horseradish, from pretty much any sleazy bar in Buffalo.
13. An Italian sausage sub with caramelized green peppers and onions.
14. Hot peach cobbler served with a scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream.

I'll tick these off over time. Yes, I will. And as soon as I'm done I'll be ready to lead an austere life and start shedding the pounds. You'll be proud of me too, won't you?

So what are the foods on your Bucket O' Food List? What do you want to make sure you eat before you croak or swear off good food? Let me know in the comments section. And if it sounds really good I'll not only add it to my list, I'll beg you for the recipe.

O hai.

Miss me?

Yeah, I know I've been gone for awhile.

Well, okay. Longer than awhile.

See, I got myself involved with this group of writers called "An Army of Ermas" and wound up writing some columns for them which meant I wasn't writing posts for me because if I write too much I turn into a goat. Or something. Anyhow, Ermas went to teh Intrawebbies Heaven a couple of months ago so now I have the time to write about whatever it is I write about on this blog.

So I'm back. At least for now. We'll see if I have the fortitude to keep it going this time.

If you want to see what I did write about while I was gone, you can go here. You can also check out the other amazing writers, most of whom are way funnier than I ever thought of being. Then you can come back here and see if I've gotten any better. Let me tell you, the odds are against it.

But you never know. Hunny hasn't left me yet,so there are sure to be some interesting things that will happen with or because of her. We still have the new puppy, and it's possible I might write elventy posts about her (have I told you she talks?). And there are those books I've read that I'd like to make some book comments about. So stay tuned. I just might get back in the habit of doing this thing again.

Caberet Lobstah Stew

Hunny's gone. No, not permanently. But she is out in Vegas this week, cavorting around with a couple of old chums and leaving me here all alone. By myself. You know what that means, don't you? Yep. Wet towels on the bathroom floor, dirty underwear hanging from the chandelier, beer cans strewn helter skelter and most importantly, raised toilet seats. I'll tell you what else it means. Lobstah stew for me and one of my buddies.

My regular readers, those two of you who may have read part of one of my blog posts, might remember Hunny as the person who made me kill the lust-filled cricket under therefrigerator, and as the one who likes to keep her garbage in the refrigerator. There's another thing about her that you probably don't know. She hates seafood. If Hunny had her way there would be no seafood. No shrimp cocktail, no oysters on the half shell, no fish and chips, no fish sticks, no McFish sandwiches. But there would be chicken. Lots and lots of chicken. This is a problem for me. It's not that I don't like chicken, but I never signed on for 24/7 chicken. I like some variety in my food. Fortunately, last Sunday, I got to have it.

On Saturday, I went to the grocery store hungry, in hopes I'd overspend on seafood. I did. I bought enough shrimp and scallops to kill a horse, and the two lobsters were a nice touch too. I did a little prep work that evening by cooking and shelling the lobster. Here's the procedure:

First, name your lobsters as you get your pot of salted water boiling.

Next, thrust the little buggers into the rapidly boiling water head first. No, it's not that it's more merciful that way, it's just so you don't have to hear them scream.

Cook them briefly just enough so that they've stopped struggling and that they've begun to turn a lovely shade of red-green. It's important not to overcook them because they'll cook more when they're added to the stew. You're looking for a color like this:

Here's Artee on the left and cray on the right. See how Artee's trying to struggle to the surface? He almost made it, crying like a schoolgirl all the way, but I pushed his head back underwater and he eventually gave up the ghost.

Remove the lobsters from the water let sit until they're cool enough to handle.

Crack the shells, remove the meat from the tail, claws, body (yes there's body meat) and legs. It's work but it's worth it.

Refrigerate the lobster meat; retain the shells.

Chop finely one bunch of green onions and one shallot. Saute the shallot and onions in butter. Retain the chopped green onion tops for garnish.

When the shallots and onions are soft, toss in the lobster shells. If you have any other seafood shells (I had shrimp shells) add them too.

Pour in three cups of milk and three cups of half and half. I used more because I needed extra stock for the seafood linguine I was making.

Simmer on low for an hour or until Hell freezes over I've simmered for up to 2 ½ hours before and it only made the stock better.

Strain the stock and discard the veggies and shells.

Return the stock to the stove, add in the chopped and/or torn lobster and bring up to temperature.

Add one teaspoon of paprika for color; salt and pepper to taste.

Add one to two ounces of dry sherry, if desired. I desired.

Finally, add in a schlop of butter and stir in.

Ladle into bowls, garnish with the onion greens and serve.

You'll notice there are no potatoes in this stew. There are no carrots. The onions (except for the garnish) have been strained out. There is only one star, and it is the lobster. Lobster needs little help to shine. In fact, too many ingredients would only take away from what this dish has to offer. So keep it simple and remember to take your gout medicine.

By the way, we also had seafood linguine. Here's a pic. Be jealous.

And I have leftovers.

And you don't.