On Being Santa

Skyping Father Christmas? Things have
changed from the days when I was a kid.
 

Perhaps skyping is better than
Macky's "encounter" with Santa
last year. (You can read about that
from a previous blog entry:
A visit with St. Nick)

Now that Thanksgiving has passed, we may now turn our attention to the Christmas Season.

Provided, of course, that everyone adheres to the holiday guidelines established by the Bureau of Holiday Affairs.

I came home and found Macky Rae (my youngest dog) busy with something on the computer.
 

ME: What are you doing?

 

MACKY: Getting my Christmas list ready for Santa.

 

ME: Are you going to send him a letter?

 

MACKY: No, I'm going to email it to him.

Making a list and spellchecking it twice, no doubt.

ME: I suppose you are going to want me to take you to the mall.

 

MACKY: For what?

 

ME: To see Santa.

 

MACKY: We do not need to go to the mall.

 

ME: You don't want to see him?

 

MACKY: I do.

 

ME: Then how are you going to do that if we don't go to the mall?

 

MACKY: I'm going to Skype him.

 

 

 

I don't exactly know what Macky Rae wants for Christmas. His "list" is on the computer, but I don't know his password, so I will need to go in through a backdoor (thanks to administrative functions) and see if I can extract his list. But I do know that he would really (really) like the expansion pack for

ZombieLand™

Regular readers of this blog are aware the Macky Rae likes computer games. His favorite is ZombieLand™ which he has been playing for over two years.

The other dogs are easy. Freedom (my oldest) wants some R&B CDs. Sarah (my female) wants an MP3 player (with dog friendly earphones).

 

When I was a child, I wanted "Red Ryder carbine-action, two hundred shot Range Model air rifle with a compass in the stock and this thing which tells time."

I never got one.

My mother told me I would shoot my eye out.

1881 illustration by Thomas

Nast who, along with Clement

Clarke Moore's poem "A

Visit from St. Nicholas",

helped to create the modern

image of Santa Claus.

Believe it or not, one year I was actually hired to be a mall Santa Claus.

It's true!

The people in charge of Santa in the Mall approached me and offered me a seasonal job as Santa Clause. As it paid better than my day job, I accepted.

Those of you who know me (in person) know that I am nowhere near what anyone would expect St. Nick to look like. Although I am not exactly skinny (I am 6'3" and weight about 170#), my body hardy resembles the traditional depiction of St. Nicholas as a portly gentleman.

But with the assistance of stuffing removed from several pillows, the Head Elf and her assistant (Elf #1) managed to inflate the Santa outfit that I wore on duty, molding the foam into something that closely resembled the traditional visual of Papa Noel.

The first and main rule of being Santa is to remain in character. That meant keeping the fake beard on my face when in view of the public. We (me and the elves) did not want to do anything to dispel the notion that Santa is real. Some disgruntled parent might actually sue us for ruining their Christmas, or inflicting emotional damage to their child. That also meant not using profanity within earshot of young children.

There was a rough Script: Ho Ho Ho and Have you been a good boy/girl? and What do you want for Christmas? After a while the routine of asking if the child if he/she had been good all year seemed lame. After all, what child is dumb enough to confess past indiscretions to Santa?

So I decided to deviate from the script - with interesting results:

Two siblings a brother (age 4) and sister (age 7) came together, and after they had situated themselves on Santa's lap, I ask "So, who is the naughty child and who is the nice child?"

The answer surprised me.

The boy quickly raised his little finger, pointed at his sister, and said "She is! She's naughty. Our mom says she has a bad attitude!"

Bad attitude? This is not a word your typical four year old uses. I wonder where he learned that?

I'd have loved to hear what mom had to say on the subject

The sister tried to remained cool, but you could sense the guilt in her eyes.

The boy, using the logic of a four year old, reasoned that there was only going to be one child receiving a gift in that household, and he was going to make darn sure that Santa knew who did (and who didn't) deserve a Christmas gift - by snitching on his sister.

The first problem that we encountered was the heat. That much foam made the Santa suit warm. Quite warm. In order to not fall over from heat exhaustion, Santa needed a break about once an hour or so. The elves inform the assorted children (and their parents) that Santa needed to go check on his reindeer, but would be back in 5 minutes. Elf #1 would lead me out the side door so I could open up my Santa suit and cool off. Restroom breaks were more problematic. As Santa, I was not allowed to use the public restroom and I understand why. One year, I saw a Rent-a-Santa bell ringer taking a whizz in the restrooms. I knew this wasn't really Santa, but the visual remains with me to this day. So under the guise of feeding the reindeer, we wandered back to the empty room we used as a dressing room, then (after Elf #1 verified the cost was clear) I was allowed to use a small bathroom across the hall in the "Employees Only" part of the mall.

Another "cute" child was a boy, about 5 years old, who had the most angelic smile I had seen. He was nicely (warmly) dressed in a holiday sweater and slacks, and his hair was nicely combed (with dippy-doo hair gel).

So I asked the usual question: "Have you been a good boy?"

He assured me he had.

"All year?" I asked.

Again I was assured of his good behavior

"SO" I asked, "If I were to ask you mother, what would she tell me?"

The smile vanished from his face, and I swear I saw fear in his eyes.

He hadn't figured on this. He turned his face towards his mother (who was chatting with the Head Elf about the different photo packages), no doubt contemplating the information that his mother would reveal upon Santa's request. He hadn't counted on that, and he didn't have a back-up plan. He looked back at me, and I could see it in his eyes.

In his little heart, he knew he was getting coal in his stocking.

Sweat began to form on his forehead.

OK, I'm making that up.

I waited a moment then let him off the hook.

"Have you been mostly good?"

He assured me he had.

I then asked him what he wanted for Christmas, to which he told me several items that he would prefer to find under the family Christmas tree rather than coal.

To this day, I wonder just what "Dennis the Menace" might have done to fear receiving coal.

Growing up, my Santa smoked a pipe. My Uncle Theo said when he was growing up, Santa smoked Lucky Strikes.  One of the problems was smoking. At the time, I smoked and after an hour or so, Santa needed a smoke break. The problem was one of the "rules" was that I could not be seen by the children smoking. Which seems odd, at least to me, because growing up all the depictions of Santa Claus I saw showed him smoking a pipe. But heaven forbid these days if we have a smoking Santa. Like Joe Camel, this might cause children to start smoking - which leads to other drug usage, premarital sex, and listening to devil music. We can't be having this. So what we had to do was go on another "reindeer check." Near Santa's Magic Kingdom was a side hallway (marked employees only) which led outside, behind the mall. Elf #1 would go out first and look around, and if the coast was clear (i.e. no children) Santa would hide behind the dumpster, remove his beard, and smoke a cigarette. And open the suit to cool off. Elf #1 would keep watch (just in case).   After Santa finished smoking, Elf #1 spritzed Santa's mouth with breath spray, so he didn't smell like Marlboros. He smelled like Christmas Mint. And Chanel #5. Elf #1 also spritzed the Santa suit with her perfume so it didn't smell like smoke One of my co-workers from my regular job just happened to be coming to work one time when me and Elf #1 were smoking. He commented later that it looked bad to him, and wondered what Santa and a cute female elf were doing behind the dumpster. "Get your mind out of the gutter" I told him. "Santa doesn't do things like that." Not behind a dumpster, anyhow. This Santa had more class than that.

As a mall Santa, you had to be ready for some clever questions:

One child asked me where were my reindeer.

A good question.

Upon arriving at the mall with her mother, she no doubt noticed that there were no reindeer in the parking lot.

So where were they?

I had to think quickly

"They're on the roof" I told her.

And that made sense to her. After all, if you have flying reindeers, why park in a crowded parking lot, when there was all that space available on the roof.

Another child asked me what makes reindeer fly.

Another good question as deer, rein or other, are not aerodynamic.

Being a child of the 70s, and having listened to Cheech and Chong, my first thought was to say magic dust.

If you were a child of the 70s and/or listened to Cheech and Chong, you will know that reference.

If not, here is a YouTube video of Santa and His Old Lady:

In that his (the child's) parents were within earshot, and the chances were good that either one of them may have also been children of the 70s and/or listened to Cheech and Chong, I thought it wise not to go with my first impulse.

I had to think (fast) and then I recalled from a Rankin and Bass stop animation Christmas special (Rudolph) that the deer learned flight at reindeer games. They practice jumping, going higher and higher until finally they are able to remain airborne.

I told this to the boy, who accepted this (he no doubt had also seen the special).

Myself, I still believe the magic dust explanation.

I was also told no flirting. I wasn't flirting with the mothers, but with the woman who ran the gizmo shop near the Winter Wonderland. She was rather cute. I even offered her a candy cane. The Head Elf told me to quit flirting in the Santa Suit, as it was inappropriate.

 
While wearing the Santa suit, you would not immediately recognize me.

So when a young couple to whom I was acquainted showed up with their son, I had a little Christmas magic trick.

"Ho! Ho! Ho!"

Actually, I never Ho! Ho! Ho! when I was Santa.

"Well, look who has come to see me: My little friend Liam"

Liam, smiling, came over and sat on my lap.

His parents looked confused and startled. Nobody had mentioned the child's name, yet Santa called him by his name. His correct name.

This mad perfect sense to Liam. After all Santa know everyone, right? He proceeded to confirmed his goodness for the preceding year, and then tell me what he wanted for Christmas.

The parents were puzzled. Liam isn't that common of a name, so the chance that Santa happened to guess it was unlikely.

To this day, they still don't know just how Santa managed to do that.

Sorry to inform you, but
you are on the naught list.

You are the reason Santa
even has a naught list.

Bill was working at a Christmas kiosk to earn a bit of money during the season. I knew him from here and there.

It was a slow time an Santa's Toyland (there were no children waiting to see Santa) when Bill walked past , on his way out of the Mall for a smoke break. Elf #1 and Elf #2 (who was hired as a part time elf) called to him, flirtingly, inviting him to come visit with Santa. He smile, verbally declined their offer, and continued on his way to the doors.

"Not so fast, William" I boomed out in a Santa voice.

Bill stopped in his tracks, and turned around, and re-approached the North Pole mini-station.

"How does Santa Claus know my name?" he asked

"Santa knows everyone's name, and he also knows what you were doing this weekend."

And I did, because I was at the same party.

His face turned white.

Let's just say that what he did that weekend would not be appropriate in this blog.

For a brief moment in his adult life, Bill believed in Santa (because Santa knew specifically how naught he had been.)

 Santa Claus and the reindeer work the graveyard shift in the middle of winter. You know they be drinking some coffee! Another issue was coffee. I've mentioned a few times that I'm a coffee drinker. Another one of the Santa rules was that I could not patronize any of the stores while in uniform. This (unfortunately) included the mall coffee shop. Ok, I understood about the restrooms, and the smoking, and I realize that it might not look good if Kris Kringle was patronizing a retailer (it might look like an endorsement). But coffee? So, in order to get a Raspberry Mocha, I had to send Elf #1 to the coffee shop. It was OK for the elves to go get coffee, but not Santa. So I gave Elf #1 my debit card and she headed out to the coffee shop. After a few moments, a thought occurred to me: I go to that coffee shop frequently, enough that I am on a first name basis with all the baristas. Knowing me by name, they are going to know that Elf #1 is not me, and (possible) have her detained for theft. So I grabbed my cellphone and called the shop. ME: Hey Debbie, this is Doug... DEB: Hi Doug. ME: I got someone coming over to pick up a coffee for me. DEB: Your usual? ME: Uh, yeah. Raspberry Mocha. I told you they knew me. DEB: I'll get it started. ME: Thanks. She moves away from the phone and tells the crew to start a Raspberry Mocha. In the background, I hear someone ask "Is it for Doug?" I told you they knew me. ME: The reason I called is that the girl will be using my debit card, and I just wanted you to know it was OK to accepted it. DEB: It's Christmas. Do you think we have time to read the names on the debit cards? ME: Probably not. DEB: We'll have you drink ready by the time she.. A sudden pause of silence ME: Are you there? DEB: Uh, yeah. An elf just walked into the shop. ME: That's her. She's got my debit card. And if she wants something, put it on my card.

So this young couple come to Santa's Kingdom, carrying a baby. Now, I knew this would happen eventually and I knew eventually I would be forced to pose with at least one.

Might have been the team captain.

I don't like to hold babies. It's not that I don't like babies, its just that I am afraid that I might break them. I'm told that this is an irrational fear, that babies are (despite appearance) quite durable and about the only way to break them is to slam them against a brick wall or drop then from a third story balcony - although you should never do this.

But I don't want to chance it.

What I'm afraid of, is some years later going my high school alma mater to watch the homecoming game (Go Bombers!) with some parents. As we watch the game, some kid with a bad leg is limping around and passing out sport drinks to the player.

"Look" my friend says. "There's my son, the waterboy. He would have been the quarterback except somebody broke him when he was a baby!"

That's more guilt than I want to carry through my life.

So this young couple come to Santa's Kingdom, carrying a baby. Now, I knew this would happen eventually.

And it was about to happen.

I braced my self, and readied myself to hold (and not break) the small child. The proud parents trustingly placed their progeny into my arms. I looked down at the baby, a girl (judging by the pink clothing) and intoned the traditional mantra of "My, what a lovely baby" that is often spoke upon examining a small, human infant.

But wait. There was something wrong. This was a small baby - my dogs are bigger than this baby was.

"How old is she?" I asked.

"She was born 10pm Saturday night."

It was now 11:38am on a Wednesday, which meant the baby wasn't even four days old yet. You could still faintly smell womb on the child.

OK, I am exaggerating here. I know that you can't smell the scent of female reproductive organ on a newborn infant. Please, nobody e-mail me about this.

I froze and did not move out of fear that the slightest movement on my part would break the child (and forever deny the child the opportunity to become a cheerleader). The proud parents, both wearing matching holiday sweaters that were (in my humble opinion) tacky, knelt on either side of me, and smiled their Christmas smile as the Head Elf took the picture.

Somewhere out there, there is a photo in someone's family album (labeled Baby's First Christmas) in which, years later, people looking at it are puzzled by how stiff Santa looks, and the nervous expression on his face.

According to Macky Rae: On Christmas Eve, people can easily track Santa as he makes his journey all around the globe. Norad Tracks Santa Macky Rae is planning to utilize this.

And it wasn't just the young that came to see Santa. One afternoon, a resident of a local assisted living facility were brought to Santa's Toyland to have her pictures taken, perhaps to be given to family members or possibly used as a picture Christmas card.

And that was OK. I like old people.

The woman was old, and I mean old (She later mentioned she was 93). She was confined to a wheel chair, and the caregiver wheeled her up to me (in order to pose for the camera).

I was not fond of her caregiver.

The caregiver, who was a young woman no older than 25, was talking to the older woman like she was a child.

"Now Claire, tell Santa what you want for Christmas."

Claire rolled her eyes.

In my family, disrespecting the elderly was not allowed.

So with this woman treating Claire (who was obviously still in complete possession of all her mental faculties) disrespectfully, Santa was not pleased.

Let's just say the Santa wanted to give the caregiver a peppermint enema, and let it go at that.

But I digress

I turned my attention to Claire.

ME: So, what do you want for Christmas?

CLAIRE: I'm ninety-three years old. What would you suggest?

ME: I don't know. You're probably to old for a Barbie doll.

That got a pleasant smile out of her.

CLAIRE: How about a twenty year old Frenchman?

ME: Do you think you can handle him?

The mischievous smile of a twenty-three year old Claire appeared on her lips.

ME: I'll see what I can do.

My time as Santa was some years ago, so I am almost certain that Claire is no longer with us (if she is, she is now over 100 years old). She made my Christmas Season brighter with her attitude. Physically, she couldn't handle a young lover, French or otherwise.

But she wanted to at least try.

I want to be the ornery when I'm that old.





---

In memory of
Amanda Marie Stueckle

When I decided on this entry, and began writing it (about two month ago), I meant for it only to be a simple Christmas story.

Sadly, it has become a bit more.

Amanda, who was the Elf #1 mentioned repeatedly in this story, died November 24, along with her life partner Jason McCready and their dog Buddy, the result of carbon monoxide poisoning.

Both of them left children, family, and friends who will miss them.

She was preceded in death by her Mother, Juanita, who was the Head Elf (also mentioned in the story)

Merry Christmas to both of you, wherever you are.

---

Celebrities, Guns and Nudity (part 4)

---

Warning: This blog entry contains a light hearted discussion of nudity, a subject that many people find offensive. If you are offended by nudity, discussions of nudity, guns, or free speech, you may not want to continue reading.

However, if you like nudity, or at least discussions of nudity, or just want to find out what bizarre and off the wall things I have to say, then by all means continue reading.

---

The other day, there was a knock at my door. It was around 8:45am. It was early (for me anyhow), but I was up...

Of course I was up. I get up between 6 and 6:30 every morning. When you have three small dogs with tiny bladders, you don't get to sleep in.

... and I had drank a cup of coffee so I was awake and ready to deal with whoever had decided to pay me a visit. I went to the door, and opened it, and discovered it was my friend it was my friend Ali Bulsara.

Ali and his brother, Farrokh, are the owners of "The House of Kebabs" which is about a half block from the Zip-E-Mart.

ALI: Peace upon you, Mr. Doug.

ME: Peace to you too. What do I owe the privilege of your visit?

MACKY: Who's at the door?

SARAH: I smell kebabs.

FREEDOM: Me, too.

MACKY: Is Ali here?

ALI: I have come in regards to you Facebook post.

DOUG: Which one

ALI: The Walk Nude for Your Country post.

DOUG: Oh...

The Facebook post to which Ali referred was this:

---

Walk Nude for Your Country

The President has asked that we unite for a common cause.
Since the Islamic people cannot stand nudity, they consider it a sin to see a naked woman that is not their wife. On the 11th of this month, all women should leave their house naked and walk around in order to help locate hidden terrorists.

Men are to position themselves in lawn chairs in front of their houses to demonstrate their support for the women and to prove that they are not Muslim terrorist sympathizers. Since Islam also does not approve of alcohol, a cold 6-pack at your side is further proof of your patriotism.

The United States appreciates your efforts, and applauds you. God bless America.

---

Underneath the post I added the following:
I will be providing free coffee and other beverages at my place to women participating in this event.

ALI: I have come to help.

ME: Help?

ALI: Yes. Your post said that Muslims would be offended. I am Muslim so I have come her to join you and to be offended.

ME: Wait a minute. You are not a Muslim. You and your brother are Coptic Christians. You invited me to services several times.

ALI: Yes, this is true. But I can pretend. When the women come her for refreshments, I will act as if I am offended. That way, they will believe that what they are doing is helping the country.

ME: Ali, that post was meant to be a joke.

ALI: Doing our patriotic duty is no joking matter. We must hurry and set up. The woman will start walking very soon.

So we set up a folding table in front of my place, and brought out the coffee pot, coffee, cups, creamers, sugars, spoons, etc.

Ali thought that we did not have enough creamer, so I gave Macky Rae my debit card and sent him (and his little red wagon) to the grocery store to buy more creamer, as well as two dozen assorted donuts.

We brewed up some coffee (and some decaf, just in case) then sat down in the lawn chairs and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, we realized that nobody was coming. It was starting to get dark, Ali and I had drank most of the coffee (and ate half the donuts), and the dogs were finishing off the last of the kebabs. We packed up the lawn chairs, table, coffee, and condiments, after which Ali went home.

And quite frankly, I was a bit disappointed.

Women are not appreciative of what this country has given them, and they have not, as a whole (in my opinion) done there part to uphold the principles for which this country, and our Constitution, stand for. Women only comprise 14.5% of the military force while enjoying 100% of the rights and privileges of living in this country (and I bet you women would scream if you were only given 14.5% of the rights and privileges). All that was asked was to simply take a walk around the block to help identify potential terrorist. Was that so hard?

But I digress.

There was a news article that I read about celebrities getting their Cloud accounts hacked, allowing miscreants access to their private pictures...

What were these people thinking? Miscreants keep hacking major companies and stealing credit cards information! Why would anyone put there private picks online?

People never cease to amaze me.

Oops... I did it again.

I am a supporter of the 2nd Amendment,
but anyone who forgets her panties
should not be allowed have a gun.

You may remember sometime back one Miss Britney Spears graced us with a view of her hoo-ha by exposing it in view of paparazzi. Later, her "official" explanation was that she forgot to wear any underwear.

Forgot to wear underwear?

Nobody forgets to wear underwear. You might chose not to wear underwear, but you do not forget.

Even if you did forget your panties, you would not get very far wearing a short short skirt. As soon as you walked outside, the temperature differential would register on your.. well, you know - down there.

And this works with both genders. Once I chose not to wear underwear (because I forgot to do laundry the day before). It was a cold autumnal morning, and as I stepped outside, I realized that I had forgot to re-zip my Levis.

And she's not the only celebrity who has been caught au naturel by paparazzi. You know what I think? It done on purpose for publicity.

An inconvenient truth: Sex sells.

STARLET: Hello?

AGENT: Tiffany, Baby. It's you agent.

STARLET: Hey Al.

AGENT: I got some goon news for you: You are being considered for the lead role in The ZombieLand™ movie.

STARLET: Awesome.

AGENT: The bad news is that they are also considering Courtney Cute.

STARLET: Courtney? I hate that bitch!

AGENT: I know you do baby. So if we are going to get you this part, we're going to have to work on getting you some publicity. Are you with me?

STARLET: Sure. What do you want me to do?

AGENT: I want you to show up at The Nightclub.

STARLET: OK.

AGENT: I want you to wear your short, short skirt.

STARLET: The silky black one?

AGENT: That's the one. And I want you to forget to wear your panties.

STARLET: What for?

AGENT: Publicity. I'll alert the paparazzi and they will be waiting with there cameras, so when you get out of the car flash them your hoohoo.

STARLET: No way! They take pictures of it, and publish it online.

AGENT: That's the point. The publicity this will generate will guarantee you the part.

STARLET: I don't know...

AGENT: Tiffany, you want the part, don't you?

STARLET: Yeah

AGENT: Then this is what you got to do

STARLET: OK, if you think it will help.

AGENT: Trust me.

The Swedish Bikini Team

An inconvenient truth: Sex sells.

In spite of what feminist and politically correct say, sexy is an excellent selling tool. And if you don't believe this, let me give you a good example:

I give you The Swedish Bikini Team - A group of scantily-clad gorgeous blonde babes featured in a series of Old Milwaukee beer spots in the early 1990s.

According to their TV commercials, when males vacationing in the mountains, on the beach, or in the water became bored and thirsty, the Swedish Bikini Team miraculously arrived to rescue them from their doldrums by providing Old Milwaukee Beer and the companionship of beautiful bikini-clad beer bimbos.

Thanks to this ad, numerous males began to drink this second-rate beer, and much to there surprise, the bikini team did not appear.

Optical Illusion

 

 

Theodore J. Barnes
 

Bullet

Now that I talked about nudity, I need to talk about guns. Since the name of this blog entry is Guns and nudity (part 4), if I don't talk about guns I would only be able to call this blog entry and Nudity (part 4), which wouldn't make as much sense.

I've mentioned my Uncle Theo, a few times.

 

Uncle Theo lives out in the country on a farm that has been in the family since the 1800s.

Before that, it belonged to Coyotes.

Late one evening awhile back (around 11:30), Uncle Theo heard (or thought he heard) a prowler on the property.

Actually, it was his dog, Bullet, that heard the prowler first.

Since there had been a rash of thefts on farms in the area, so Uncle Theo was naturally concerned.

As was Bullet, who was hiding under the bed.

Uncle Theo called the Sheriff's office, and was informed by the dispatcher (Ernestine) that there were no deputies immediately available and so it would be at least an hour before they could respond.

My Uncle was naturally annoyed, and decided to take matters into his own hands.



(Ernestine)

He called back 5 minutes later to inform the dispatcher (Ernestine) that there was no longer a need to hurry a deputy out to his farm, as he had just shot the prowler and it didn't look like he was going anywhere anytime soon.

Naturally, the deputies arrived in a matter of minutes.

All of them.

As did the Sherriff.

And they were puzzled when they did not find a body on Uncle Theo's property.

 

"Theo" the Sheriff said, "I was told by Ernestine that you said you had just shot someone"

 

"And I was told by Ernestine that there were no available deputies"

 

The former governor of California.

But then, if I looked like that, I'd walk

around naked too.
 

Arnold would make a good
NRA president.

Speaking of celebrities and nudity:

Loyal readers of this blog are aware that Macky Rae (my youngest dog enjoys science fiction (he is a big fan of Star Trek), "1950s Era Black and White Giant Insect Films," and Zombie Flicks. One of his favorite movies is The Terminator (and the sequals) - we've seen them numerous time, almost as often as Star Wars.

In Terminator 2, there is a scene where the T-800 (Arnold) arrives from the future and proudly strolls across the desert, au natural.
 
The star of The Terminator (and sequels) was Arnold Schwarzenegger, the actor and former Mr. Universe and Mr. Olympia who served as governor of California from November 17, 2003 to January 3, 2011.

Now when I watch this, I think "There goes the governor of California."

If this was anyone else, as soon as he (or she) announced that he (or she) was running for office, the pictures would surface, ending a promising political career. For most people, anything incriminating (such as a nude photo) would more or less prohibit any political aspirations.

This is why there are no former playmates in congress.

Ms. Staller continued to make

hardcore pornographic films

while a member of parliament.

You will not see any former Playmates, Penthouse Pets, or other Ecdysiasts running for public office.

At least not in this countries.

The picture to the right is of a woman by the name Ilona Staller who was during the late 80s/early 90s was a member of the Italian Parliament.

She is also know by her stage name, Cicciolina.

In addition to politics, The honorable Ms. Staller does porn.

Speaking of celebrities and guns:

 
The man pictures on the right is Charlton Heston, an actor who appeared in 100 films over the course of 60 years. He is best known for his roles in The Ten Commandments (1956); Ben-Hur, for which he won the Academy Award for Best Actor (1959), El Cid (1961), and Planet of the Apes (1968). He also is well known for his roles in the films The Greatest Show on Earth (1952), Touch of Evil (1958), and The Agony and the Ecstasy (1965). The starring roles gave the actor a grave, authoritative persona and embodied responsibility, individualism and masculinity; he rejected scripts that did not emphasize those virtues. His media image as a spokesman for Judeo-Christian moral values enabled his political voice.

 

Amongst his political activisms was the NRA. Heston was the president (a largely ceremonial position) and spokesman of the NRA from 1998 until he resigned in 2003. At the 2000 NRA convention, he raised a rifle over his head and declared that a potential Al Gore administration would take away his Second Amendment rights "from my cold, dead hands". In announcing his resignation in 2003, he again raised a rifle over his head, repeating the five famous words of his 2000 speech. He was an honorary life member.

Sarah, my female dog, was
named after Ms. Palin.

The fact that Heston was remembered as being Moses no doubt helped with his advocacy of the NRA. One thought of the 2nd Amendment as being from the Ten Commandments instead of the Bill of Rights.

 

You know who would make a good NRA president? Sarah Palin.

She would have made a great Vice-President in 2008, and I bet she doesn't forget her panties.

Or Ted Nugent. He'd make a great president,

either of the NRA or the USA.

 

 

I love coffee, I love tea
I love the java jive and it loves me
Coffee and tea and the java and me
A cup, a cup, a cup, a cup, a cup.

Those of you who know me are aware that I have suffer from a long term chemical dependency most of my adult life, the result of my time in the Air Force.

I am a coffee junkie.

I spend a bit of time at coffee houses in my area, and it was while visiting that I experience a story that I call:

Dirt Devil

Dust Devil

Real Devil

Dancing with the Devils

Ever heard of a dust devil?

No not a Dirt Devil (that's a vacuum cleaner).

Dust Devils are a fairly common phenomena in the desert and arid regions (such as where I live). It is a strong, well-formed, and relatively long-lived whirlwind, ranging from small (half a meter wide and a few meters tall) to large (more than 10 meters wide and more than 1000 meters tall), they are cause by hot surface air rising in a swirling motion, usually taking a fair amount of dust with it (thus the name Dust Devil). The resemble miniature tornadoes, except they have never been known to wreak havoc in motorhome parks.

 

And they don't need to be out in a field in order to form. They can easily form in a parking lot, although you might not notice them unless there is enough dust in the parking lot to be swirled about.

Or trash.

If nobody's cleaned up the lot in a while, a devil might form and pick up discarded plastic bags, old receipt, candy wrappers, and other debris as it dances across the pavement.

I call these Trash Devils.

They are comparable to tornadoes in that both are a weather phenomenon of a vertically oriented rotating column of air. Most tornadoes are associated with a larger parent circulation, the mesocyclone on the back of a supercell thunderstorm, while dust devils form as a swirling updraft under sunny conditions during fair weather, rarely coming close to the intensity of a tornado.

They are not actually real devils.

They do have a sense of humor

 

 

So it happened one day that I was sitting at my coffee shop, drinking coffee and reading a magazine and watching people as they walk in and out of the coffee shop, or just walked past. One of them was a young woman, mid twenties, wearing a short foofy gossamer pixie-style skirt, who walked in to the coffee shop. She was inside for maybe 5 minutes, just long enough to order two coffees. She emerged with her coffees and headed out into the parking lot towards (one would assume) her car.

That's when I heard a voice.

"Hey Doug, look up."

What was weird was that there was nobody else out on the café patio, but the voice seem to be close. I knew it wasn't the "voice in my head," and I knew it wasn't God.

The reason I knew it wasn't God is because of what I have read about God. If he ever spoke to you, there would be no doubt in your mind that it was indeed God.

That, and when God speaks, there is usually a bush burning nearby.

So I looked up, but all I saw was the young woman with the foofy skirt walking away between the rows of parked cars (presumably to her own), holding on to two cups of coffee (one in each hand)

"Watch this" the voice said.

At that moment, I heard a slight rustling sound, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the dirt (and a bit of rubbish) beginning to swirl and rise, and form itself into a dust devil. It came across the parking lot, and went down between the rows of cars toward the young woman as she was walking away. The dust devil slipped up behind her, lifted up her skirt, and

the young woman "forgot" to wear panties!

The young woman quickly pushed her skirt back down (which was difficult with both hands holding a cup of coffee) and hurried toward her car.

 

I heard a laugh (har! har! har!) as the dust devil disappeared across the parking lot.

Apparently, Dust Devils have a sense of humor.

 

STARLET: Hello?

AGENT: Tiffany, Baby. It's you agent.

STARLET: Hey Al.

AGENT: I got bad news. You didn't get the part in the The ZombieLand™ movie. They gave it to Courtney.

STARLET: I hate that bitch!

AGENT: I know you do.

STARLET: What happened? I did what you suggested. I wore my short short mini skirt, and I didn't wear panties, and I let the paparazzi that pictures of my hoohoo.

AGENT: And you did good.

STARLET: Then why didn't I the part.

AGENT: Courtney "accidentally" leaked a video of her having sex with her boyfriend. It went viral.

STARLET: That bitch! I so hate her!