Dog Tails

As you may have guessed, I have too much time on my hands. I talk about things that cross my mind, or try to cross my mind before I apprehend them. I have noticed, however, that a lot of folks seem to have even more time than I. For example, I read recently that a researcher noticed that all dogs wag their tails to the right when they first start wagging. Every time. That's the kind of thing that makes you wonder, that just makes you just sit there with your mouth open and stare blankly into space. How did someone notice this? Did it just happen, like when Isaac Newton noticed that what goes up must come down? Or was it the result of a scholarly assignment from a grizzled old professor covered with chalk dust, given to a brilliant student at some ancient and ivy-covered university?
 I took note of the tail-wagging phenomenon, and placed it aside for further scrutiny, when to my amazement, another blockbuster announcement burst upon the internet. It has been discovered that, if a dog is happy to see you, his tail wags to the right side of his body, but if he's nervous or angry, it wags totally on the left side!
 Lesser minds might think this is all meaningless, but nothing could be further from the truth. Here's the interesting thing. Throughout history, left-handed people have been considered flawed, to say the least. In the Italian language, the word for "left" is "sinistre". Yes, it closely resembles the word "sinister", which means something with evil connotations. In the French language, the word for "left" is "gauche", which is also used to mean low-class.
 In the old days, if a child was seen to favor using the left hand, it was discouraged, and even punished. As so often happens, the old wives' tales have proven to be based in fact. Things that tend to the left are indeed an ill omen. Just ask any batsman in baseball who faces a southpaw on the mound.

Nonsense

Just a quick note. I restarted this blog after a long hiatus to try to regain some scraps of my remaining sanity. I was informed that I had a very small amount of money coming to me from when I was previously active. It's not enough money to buy a six pack of decent beer, but it was money I earned due to my unique brilliance, so I wanted it. As my mother in law would say, "Not to make a long story", I couldn't remember my old password, no matter how hard I tried. They won't give me my own money. So, I said, OK, keep the money, but I'd like to sign up again with the same name for the blog. But no. I can't do that because I already did it. My application was disapproved, with vague suggestions that I was attempting something underhanded. Bear in mind, my blog, "Wormstooth", is still my blog, and nobody can use that name. Go ahead, try it. You'll be told that the name is the exclusive property of someone else, who would be me.
 Yes, I know I'm dealing with a computer, not a person. Knowing that, I have made it my life's mission to make the computer understand that it is protecting me from myself. The diabolical machine's latest suggestion is that I invite myself to join myself as a co-author of my blog. I have asked myself if I'd like to join me in authoring this blog, and my answer was a resounding "Yes!" I am thrilled to have joined myself in this endeavor. The only thing I resent is, when the Pulitzer Prize is inevitably awarded to Wormstooth, I will have to share it with me.

Pope Francis Needs a Flak Jacket

When a charismatic individual captures the imagination of the masses, he puts himself in a very dangerous spot. The folks that really run the world get a bit edgy when they think someone might cause people to think the Powers That Be aren't really nice, and not even all that necessary. Jesus had a short time in the public eye, made the great Caesar lose sleep, and was dead at the age of 33. Abraham Lincoln shook up an entire nation with outlandish ideas about taking the US Constitution seriously about all men being equal, and never had a chance to see his dreams come to fruition. Jack and Bobby Kennedy both made the Military Industrial Complex nervous, at the same time worrying the American mafia. Talk about asking for trouble! Both were killed before they grew a grey hair. Martin Luther King made everybody in any kind of power unable to hold down breakfast, and was dead before he even hit his stride.
 Now, in the old days, somebody like Caesar could get away with putting a hit on Jesus in front of the whole Empire. Who was going to question him? In more modern times, things must be done in a more subtle way, so as not to cause a revolution. The assassin must be a loner, a loser, a misfit who somehow can successfully murder people who are well protected by professionals at all times. The Authorities explain to us that it was just a random, unexplainable, fantastic plan by a deranged individual who was looking for attention.
 The question is, if this individual was looking for attention, why did he run away and hide after he committed his glorious deed? Why did all the assassins not stand proudly up, waiting for the applause they were seeking? And how did someone so loony and disconnected from reality pull off the hit with such horrible success?
 You'll notice that all the victims mentioned inflamed the passions of the little people of society, the powerless millions that actually do the work to make the system run. The assassination attempts on Gerald Ford were real loonies, members of the Manson clan. The guy that tried to kill Reagan was just trying to impress actress Jody Foster. They were real nutjobs, and they failed because they were dysfunctional nitwits. The killers of Lincoln, the Kennedys, and King were not, and the majority of Americans still do not believe any of them acted alone, nor do I.
 Which brings me to my point. Pope Francis has already been adopted by the masses as a truly good man, a pope so desperately needed by the Catholic church if it is to survive. He makes outrageous suggestions to his bishops, saying the church must stop trying to protect itself and begin protecting the poor. He says the Vatican must pay less attention to preserving the status quo, and more to those who need help all over the world. He even says that priests should spend less time reciting the rules, and more time trying to act like Jesus!
 Sadly, it seems obvious to any student of history that no man on Earth needs protection more than Pope Francis, the Kind.

If Only I Bought Bitcoins!

Bitcoins were selling for $13 apiece last January. Yesterday they closed at $1004. Now, I knew about bitcoins in January, and I had $13 to spare, but of course I was way too smart to waste my hard-earned money on such foolishness.
 For the unenlightened, bitcoins are a form of "virtual currency" that is being closely watched by folks like the nation of China and the U.S. Federal Reserve. Bitcoins can be "mined" by your computer, using complex algorithms. They were invented by a mathematician a while ago that nobody seems to know, as a legitimate experiment or a magnificent scam, depending upon your point of view. Since I don't even know what an algorithm is, I shied away from the whole thing. Discretion is the better part of valor, as they say. Except, of course, if by being bold you could have walked away with a heavy bundle of cash.
 The idea of money goes back a long way. Beads, shells, silver, copper and gold have all been used over the years to buy stuff, to hoard, and to kill for so you don't have to bother saving it. Today, we mostly use paper money, and if the wrong person realizes you have a lot of these pieces of paper in your pocket, he may kill you for them. Looking at it from that perspective, bitcoins are no more foolish than any other representation of wealth.
 Then there is the troublesome idea of value. What is an ounce of gold worth? It's worth what someone will pay you for it, using a form of currency you will accept. That depends literally on the day of the week and the time of day. What something is really, really worth is called its intrinsic value. In truth, the value of anything depends, like beauty, on the eye of the beholder. What is a slice of pizza worth? It depends on how hungry you are. If you just ate a nice meal, the pizza has no value at all. If your family is starving, you'll kill for it.
 Financial advisors tell us we should pay off our debts, own our own house, keep six month's pay in the bank, put ten per cent of our wealth in hard assets like gold and silver, and live a cautious and frugal life. If we could do all that, we wouldn't need a financial advisor in the first place.
 If they're so smart, why didn't they tell us to buy bitcoins?

How to Pull Wings Off Butterflies to Produce Maximum Pain

First of all, bear in mind that this is a warm weather sport. Butterflies leave the colder climates as Autumn approaches. Here in New England, butterflies leave in October and fly all the way south to the lovely nation of Mexico, where they decorate the trees in huge numbers and do whatever else it is that they do.
 Catching butterflies can have varying degrees of difficulty, depending on the breed. Tiger Swallow-tails are notoriously shy, while Monarchs have been known to land on a person's nose, just for the hell of it.
 When I was a kid, I caught a butterfly, cupped it in my little hands, and then realized I didn't know what to do with him or her, as the case may have been. I put it in a jar, where the poor fool beat its wings against the glass trying to escape. The pretty colors that make the delicate wings look so wonderful are actually a fine, chalky powder. The powder came off the wings and stuck to the glass, and the once beautiful wings became transparent and tattered. The butterfly became an ugly bug that couldn't fly when I released it. It looked like a giant ant in a wet raincoat, and crawled pathetically away to die.
 I guess we are all butterflies in our own way. The key is to get out of the jar soon enough, or, better yet, to avoid the jar entirely. There are those who want to put everyone in jars, just like Captain Hook did to Tinker Belle. I learned at an early age that jars are for peanut butter, not for something lovely and free.
 For those of you that wanted to learn how to hurt butterflies, I'm sorry to disappoint you. Seek counseling.

Thanksgiving

A real holiday is fast approaching. The beautiful thing about Thanksgiving is that Corporate America has not figured out a way to co-opt it and commercialize it to death, a la Christmas and Halloween. Most retailers in America do almost half their annual sales during the Christmas season. That's because Americans buy gifts for friends, family, postmen, hair stylists, and secret lovers. They buy gifts for their pets and little babies, none of whom own a calendar and don't know what Christmas is.
 Halloween runs a close second. People spend money they should be saving for Christmas on Halloween masks, costumes, and decorations to scare small children, all to celebrate the eve of All Souls Day, when spirits are supposed to rise into heaven for some reason.
 Easter is another major holiday, though less monetary in nature. We spend a good deal of money to dress up little kids in white and pink dresses for delighted girls, and suits for reluctant boys, all of whom will outgrow them almost immediately. But it's all harmless fun designed to celebrate the rising of Christ from his tomb, after which he flew off into the heavens like Batman before comic books were invented.
 Thanksgiving is different. We all sit down and gorge ourselves on traditional foods that are guaranteed to give us dangerous amounts of cholesterol and gas, in celebration of the day the Indians taught the Pilgrims how to hunt and fish, saving their lives by fattening them up before a harsh winter. The Native Americans, who were fascinated by the Europeans arriving on ships they called "Village on Water", were soon repaid by losing their land, starving, and being introduced to disease that wiped out entire tribes. But there is no need to dwell on such uncomfortable facts. Who really cares?
 Right now, pies are baking, vegetables are being gathered, and turkeys are looking around nervously. It's a good time to sit with family members and reflect on all we have to be thankful for. All holidays have a questionable past, much like ourselves. For the moment, I raise a glass to us, the present tenants of this earth. Let's relax and enjoy it. And remember, you can never be truly happy unless you are grateful for what life has given you.

Nuclear Power for Iran

Some time ago, someone invented the bow and arrow. That gave them military superiority over their neighbors. It would have been convenient if they could forbid their friends and enemies to figure out how to build bows and arrows. Sadly for all of us, that couldn't be done. The idea was out there, and was inevitably duplicated and improved upon. That's the way it is.
 A long time before that, the Chinese invented explosives that they would use to entertain themselves in their celebrations. When Europeans saw these things, they immediately thought, "Hey, these are great! We can use this stuff for weapons to kill people!" Thus, the entire future of warfare was changed. No longer was it necessary to kill one man at a time!
 Along came World War Two. It was bloody, costly, and only necessary because a small group of megalomaniacs decided it was their destiny to rule the world. There was a race to develop new technology designed to destroy the maximum number of people in the shortest amount of time. A guy named Hitler had engineers and scientists working on new stuff like jets and nuclear bombs. Fortunately for us, we stopped Hitler in Europe before his team could come up with the new weapons. Otherwise, we'd all have to learn to speak German, which seems like a difficult language, and learn to eat food that we can't pronounce.
 Unfortunately, we still had to deal with Japan, a people who don't know how to quit. We figured out the nuclear bomb, and dropped a couple of them on Japan. After some thought, the Japanese decided to surrender. Thus began the nuclear age, the Age of Darkness.
 It was only a matter of time before Russia, China, France, and a few other players learned how to make the magic bomb. I will now release a well-known secret. Israel has the magic bomb, too. Now there is concern that Iran, a powerful nation that has no love for Israel, the US, or Europe, may develop a magic bomb themselves. We're asking them not to, and Israel is strongly hinting that they'll attack Iran before they'll allow them to have the Bomb.
 It boils down to this. We have learned to make a bow and arrow that can kill you, and we will kill you if you make a bow and arrow.

Free Speech

  The great George Burns once said, "The most important thing in life is sincerity. Once you learn to fake that, the rest is easy."
  Today I got an anonymous first class letter in the mail. It was a smearing insinuation against the mayor of my fair city. I'm no cheerleader for this mayor, who went to high school with my children, but he's doing a fair job as far as I can see.
  The important thing is, whoever this fool is, they think anonymous letters carry any kind of weight. We are lucky enough to live in America, which is a much better country than most of us, (excepting war veterans), really deserve. What kind of chowderhead would pay attention to an unsigned letter?
  One of the many great paintings by Norman Rockwell is called "Freedom of Speech". It depicts a man speaking at a town hall meeting, standing up, obviously not used to public speaking. His friends and neighbors are sitting around him, watching and listening to his every word. It's a beautiful portrayal of the innocence and dignity of an America that I fear is becoming a distant memory, like "The Cisco Kid", and "The   Lone Ranger".
 The really scary thing is, this type of whispering campaign, which was common a century ago, might actually be effective today, because we've come full circle, from ignorance and illiteracy to a population with instant information available all day long that can't distinguish real from unreal. If it's in front of my face, it must be true!
 My suggestion is, if you have something to say, stand up like a man and say it. Otherwise, stay under the flat rock, with the salamanders and centipedes, where you belong.

Numerology

Numerologists believe they can find significant hints about the future in the numbers that relate to us every day. Our birthdays, age, height, IQ, street address, longitude and latitude, etc.. There's an old joke about a guy who woke up on Cinco de Mayo, (May fifth), (5/5). He bought a mocha latte and noticed the bill, with tax, was $5.55. When he got to work, he was five minutes late, and his boss mentioned it was the fifth time he did this.
 He was by now dwelling on the number during work. He bought lunch for himself and a client he'd had for five years, and the bill of course was $55.55. He couldn't concentrate on his work, so he left early, and got to the race track in time for the fifth race. He'd withdrawn all his cash from the credit union, $5,555., and put it all on the number five horse to win. It came in fifth.
 Yes, that's the kind of stuff that killed Vaudeville. But a numerologist would insist that the horse came in fifth because the numbers dictated that he would.
 The phone number for my first girl friend ended in 1203. If you look at the back of a tanker truck, you'll notice they all have numbers on the back, assigned by the Federal Department of Transportation. The number 1203 identifies it as a truck carrying volatile and combustible material. If I were a numerologist, I never would have called her that first timid time, my hands shaking as I dropped the dime into the payphone. The girl was of Sicilian descent, her parents came from the Old Country, and she was as volatile and combustible as anyone I ever knew. The year was 1964. We went together through high school, surviving each other's temper explosions, wound up married, and are still together as I write.
 A numerologist would say, "I told you she was trouble!"

The Worth and Weight of Wisdom

As a twelve year old girl, I obviously am wise beyond my years. Sadly, I am not a twelve year old girl. It's true that I once was twelve years old, but that was quite some time ago. And I have never, to my knowledge, been a girl. I'm actually an old man. But I have been told more than once that I am wise. Being a wise old man, I naturally ignore such flattering praise, for the most part.
 Still, I'm positive I have more wisdom than two guys I just read about who calmly robbed a man in a wheelchair of his cell phone and all his money in a subway elevator for the handicapped. The guy has cerebral palsy, one leg, and three fingers on each hand. One of the robbers was named Demetrius, the other Tyrell, rather grandiose names for a pair of subway slugs. If they had a spark of wisdom, they might think, "Gosh, maybe I'm going down the wrong road!" But no.
 Anyway, the cops, who get used to seeing ordinary, petty thievery and mayhem on a daily basis, took this case to heart, and made an extra effort to catch the perpetrators. They flashed security cam photos of the crime and soon found one of the guys, who promptly turned in his partner. There is honor among thieves, but not among slime.
 Confucius said, "Wisdom is the comb that Nature gives men when they are bald". I don't think Confucius ever said anything that wasn't profound and quotable, worthy of the paper strip tucked in your fortune cookie. ( How they do that is beyond me ). The term "Common Sense" is a contradiction in terms, to say the least. "Common Decency" is also a head scratcher. Who comes up with these hilarious phrases? Here's another. " Prevailing Wisdom".
 Sense and decency are far from common, and history teaches us that wisdom has never prevailed.

An Open Letter to Toronto Mayor Rob Ford, From One Happy Slob to Another

Dear Rob,
 You don't know me, but I feel as though I know you. That's because I've made colossal mistakes in my life, just as you seem to have the habit of doing. As a fellow traveler through time, I want to warn you that the jackals are getting worked up, big time. There's blood in the dirt, and people who call themselves "reporters" are trying frantically to create news by goading, taunting, and crowding the wounded bull. Your brother wants you to take a little time off, and that's not in your nature, but it's good advice. I, too, have a brother, and once in a while he comes up with good advice. You want to fight the world right now, and the "reporters" would love it, so they could document every misstep you make.
 Who among us has never had too much to drink? Who among us has never tried a banned substance? OK, I suppose there are a few who haven't. A president from my country, Abraham Lincoln, (you may have heard of him), once said, "It has been my experience that those with no vices have few virtues". You're a big guy who makes big mistakes, and you have a loyal following called "Ford Nation". How many of your clucking, horrified critics have nations named for them?
 You'll probably never read this letter, but if, by chance, you do, please know it comes from the heart of a man who knows pain and knows how to laugh so hard it hurts. Rock On, Dude!

November Morn

The usual grey dawn of the unnecessary month of November has broken. The leaves of the enormous maple that is not even mine litter the yard, slowly turning from the gay bright colors they sported as they fell, into the inevitable damp brown globs waiting to rot on the grass.
 Some folks rake them in piles when they're freshly fallen. Kids jump on the piles with the family dog following them. Winston Churchill said the beauty of a dog is that, no matter how foolish you act, he will do the same thing and enjoy the hell out of it.
 In the good old days, the man of the family would finally light up a Lucky Strike and  toss the match into the pile, (making sure the kids and dogs are not still in it ), and let the leaves convert themselves into the fragrant scent that used to fill the autumn air in New England. Today that's considered an insane way to burn down entire neighborhoods. The odd thing is, I've never heard of anyone turning a neighborhood into an inferno because they burned leaves. Actually, not even a single house was destroyed in my experience, and I'm 65 years old. But then, I never knew of one kid who fell off his bike and died, or even got a serious wound, but everyone has to wear helmets as they careen around at ten miles an hour today, looking like idiots. I'm becoming a cranky old man.
 In about an hour, I'll force myself to drag out the old mower one last time for the year, and mow the living crap out of those leaves. It's not as much fun as burning them, and the fumes from the mower are way less attractive than leaf smoke, but it's a good way to force me off my ass.

Testing

Why, hello there. I've been away from the game for a while now, and since I'm almost thirty, I'm a little slower to make it to first base, if you know what I'm saying. Since I've never been a home run hitter, racing to first is doubly important. Please rest assured, I won't leave you, breathless and panting for more wisdom, again. I'm capable of enormous cruelty, but not in a repetitive way.
 Right now I'm pressed for time, dealing with things of global importance and such, but I, like General MacArthur, shall return. Lafayette, nous voici!

How To Build A Nuclear Bomb To Destroy The World

First of all, you must go to the nearest grocery store and pick up about six pounds of weapons- grade enriched plutonium. This product is available under various brand names, and all of them are equally good. Next, a quart of tabasco sauce. You may receive some suspicious glances with this purchase, so just get used to it. After all, the world will end soon, so, why obsess about it?
 Add these ingredients, along with a pint of inexpensive whiskey, into a stainless steel lobster pot and stir vigorously. I might even say, stir with absolute malice. The stainless steel will hold the ingredients for about two hours, before they eat through the bottom of the pot, so keep an eye on your new hobby!
 Now comes the hard part. You must add a quart jar full of air collected from a public restroom on a Saturday night, preferably around one o'clock in the morning. The quality of this air will vaguely resemble your grandfather's farts after a night of carousing. I have warm personal memories of my sainted grandfather MacKenzie releasing farts of Olympian proportions that would wilt the flowers on my sainted grandmother's wallpaper. It is this methane- saturated air that will be the vehicle your very own bomb will use to come into existence, just before it ends existence in general, so to speak.
 Finally, set the sealed jar into the lobster pot carefully. Place the pot on the front lawn of your least favorite neighbor, or your local IRS office. Stand about four feet away, and shoot the pot with the copper-clad, armor-piercing  bullets that I know are already loaded into your AK47.
 And, there you have it! Have a nice day, and happy destroying!