New Member To The Mookified Compound

Look at how cute I am!

This is Gracie.  Officially her name is Sergeant Gracie Mae Lovell.  But we just call her Gracie.  She's a Yellow Lab mixed with Husky. And as I write this post, she's trying to lay on my feet... that is until I wrote that sentence, now she got up and decided to have food.  I feel she is just preparing me to go for a walk..yep, there's the singular scratch at the door signalling that I must do as I'm told before finishing what I want to do.  Just like a woman.  Speaking of women... here is proof of their craziness:



"I got it! I got it! Now what?"

Now I grew up with dogs all my life.  Gracie is the first dog I've had since leaving my parents' digs.  In all my life, the only dog I ever saw chase her tail, much less actually get it, was Odie from the Garfield cartoons and comics... until the other day.  I just assumed it was comedy on the part of animators, but it turns out this is serious real-life business.

Anyways... Last Sunday I was taking my boys up to stay the week with my parents, and the plan was to get a dog, Tucker, who had been getting nursed back to health at their local Vet hospital my mom clerks at.  It's a long story of neglect and malnutrition prior to them trying to save the dog.  On the day we were to go up, I get a call from my mom saying the dog was found dead.  Well, I had been set on getting my first adult-life dog for about 3 weeks at this point.  After doing some hunting, I found an ad on craigslist for Gracie, and she lived here in the Des Moines area.  Her previous owner had a life situation and had to find her a good home or turn her over to the ARL that same night.  So after a quick supper with my parents and saying good bye to the boys, my girlfriend and I hustled back to Des Moines to pick up this 4 month-old pup.  She's been either full steam ahead or napping it out since.

She only slowed down one day, and that was Saturday when we went back up to my parents to have her spayed and get all her shots, and then on Sunday bring her and the boys back home.  She actually rode in the car very well:

See me...I'm blond just like my new brothers!

 Oh, I was supposed to be in that seat back there?

I prefer the window seat.  Josh doesn't mind me using his lap!

The only thing about bringing Gracie into our home to really consider was The Colonel.  On night one he established himself as the top dog of the house, and asserted the difference in rank, him being an officer and her being enlisted.  As he went up to sniff her out, she moved behind a chair.  It was all over from there.  He chased her round and round the basement, him getting that puffy cat look and her running scared out of her mind with her tail tucked between her legs.  Gracie is scared of cats, and the Colonel took full advantage of his intimidation factor.  Only wish I had a video camera for that!  The basement is now been deemed solely the Colonel's territory.  He has another blue chair down there that he uses, along with the blue recliner in my bedroom he took over long before we moved into this place.  Gracie will now attempt to play assuming the "downward dog" position and trying to lunge forward a couple inches, but the cat mostly ignores her.  Unless he's in a corner, then he gets on his hind legs, hisses, and occasionally throws a couple jabs, and Gracie comes running for protection.

When outside, she is always on a leash.  She is getting better, but she is a puppy and can get distracted easily, whether its a scent trail, a moving bug, kids, people, squirrels, random sticks, trash... you get the idea.  Whenever she spies a bird on the ground, she does the classic "pointer" pose.  But she does do a decent walk along from time to time.  On the homestretch, she likes to reach back grab the leash in her mouth and give it a tug to let me know its her turn to walk me, and if I'm willing, she really loves to run along.  I don't know if that's just her thing, or the Husky side coming out.  While at my parents, who have a fenced yard, she was allowed to roam free.  At first she wasn't entirely sure what to do, but it didn't take long to go exploring.

She knows how to sit, lay down, shake, and hi-five.  I'd say she knows the STAY command, but it seems I'm not allowed to leave whichever floor we're on to go to another without her wanting to follow along...  She has grown attached to both my girlfriend and I, but she really seems to have bonded with me.  And with the Olympics on these last couple weeks, she decided to invent her own sport for us to participate in together.  I fell asleep watching TV one afternoon, as she was napping after a long hot walk.  I woke up to her having chewed a sandal, and now was trying to lick me to death.  So I got up, decided I would use the bathroom quick and then take her out for the same.  So I go to take a leak and I left the door open.  Hey it was me and the pets, so why not?  Well, she followed me over, stared at me, and then decided that her spot on the carpet in front of the bathroom was perfect to trying out her half of the "synchronized peeing" routine.  Part of me wanted to laugh, the other part wanted to cry, because I had to clean up.  That and we would've been penalized heavily on our synchronization skills since I was standing and she was squatting... We have a long ways to go if we're going to get that act into the next games down in Rio!

But anyways... She's the newest addition.  The Colonel tolerates her.  The kids love her, and she loves them right back...Josh even took her for a walk around the block at my parents.  And she seems to be quite attached to me and my girlfriend.  So I'm quite happy in how things worked out.  She got a happy home without going through the shelter system, and I finally get to have my own dog again!

And here is Gracie doing what I always wanted to do- fart on my dad!  She does me proud!!!!

Now I just need an official flag for the Mookified Compound...





Congratulations Abound!!

In spectacular fashion, The Mookist Regime has proven itself victorious yet again. After attempting a peaceful resolution with entities wishing to encroach upon the sovereignty and air space of the Mookified Compound failed, we were left with no choice but to respond militarily.

The Feline Brigade, led by the brilliant Colonel Beauregard Sterling Lovell, responded successfully to a dual threat posed by both a squirrel infantry faction and an aerial attack by birds.


Having been nicer weather, General Mook had decided to allow freedom of movement between the interior compound and the area known as The Deck. The first assault came at 0930 hours this morning with a squirrel sapper attack, harassing the Colonel's good sensibilities. The Colonel swiftly moved into action from a distance of 6 feet within the compound towards the squirrel, who immediately shifted gears to get away. A bird attempted to strafe the Colonel as he entered the Deck area. In a blindingly fast moment, the Colonel took to the air, knocking the aerial intruder out of the airspace. There was a moment of confusion as the Colonel left the marked boundaries of the Mookified Compound, as he took the enemy over the railing of the deck out into the Occupied Territory that most people know as "The Yard." An amazing leap, and a death defying drop to the lower level. It was an intense moment, but quickly we saw that The Colonel had not only taken the enemy out of our airspace, but out of his ill-willed existence.

Even at the risk of life and paw, The Colonel showed the military might of the Mookified Regime, and the effectiveness of its training regimen to turn out super soldiers. A hero's welcome followed, including some kitty treats for The Colonel, as they are his favorite. After a brief medical checkup, the Colonel was found to be in good health despite the non-parachute assisted jump. Squirrels run off, Bird flying has retreated to a safe distance that no longer threatens the Mookified Compound. April 7th has already been officially declared a holiday within the Mookified Compound and shall be henceforth celebrated heartily, with milk flowing and kitty treats being downed in amounts to surely lead to long catnaps everywhere!

Spring Has Arrived, and Life Is Still Here.

Spring is finally rearing its head back around. FINALLY! While this last winter has been much easier than the winter before, and I should be thankful for that, I still, as a matter of principle have to complain. I hate the cold weather, The fact that snow soaks my boots and makes my socks wet and thus my feet are long term grape-ified from a night of work walking around businesses and houses that weren't kind enough to ensure me a dry manageable route to traverse at all times. But finally the snow has melted and the temperatures have gone up somewhat. It still gets cold at night, and during the day while it is considerably warmer, the moderate spring breeze keeps it too chilly for me to go out and about in a t-shirt and shorts. I have a heck of an issue with holding body heat apparently, since I have other friends who complain that they get hot in their apartments, even though the windows are open and the breeze is blowing thru and I feel like I have to put my coat back on just to be comfortable.

But, that will all come to an end soon enough. I now have rain and thunderstorms to complain about coming soon, and once those quit, I'll have the high humidity levels to complain about that make me sweat profusely and cause me, a guy who will sweat like Richard Simmons at the very thought of physical activity, to take 2 showers a day, just to avoid being as smelly as the landfill. But I much prefer the heat of summer to the cold of winter. Much more that can be done outside, whether its a game of football or basketball, walking or biking the trails, hiking through the woods with the kids, or taking them to the lake to watch them have fun in the water. I'm not much of a water person...and for some reason the local authorities have not seen fit to heat the natural waterways to a comfortable 75 or 80 degrees as of yet for my swimming comfort.

As spring represents a new beginning, I got some bad news this weekend that I have to stat a lot of things over. The computer we had last fall crashed and burned. SO bad that a computer genius was unable to pull the 7000+ photos we had amassed over the years, nor my book writings. Now many people might ask why I didn't have them backed up. Well, I intended to back them up, but never got around to it. So now, with the exception of what photos I have posted on previous blog entries and elsewhere online, pictures from holiday events, family get togethers, and vacations are all lost, never to be seen again. This was quite disappointing, given all the years of memories encapsulated in those photos are gone forever. My electronic form of my book writings was also gone. This, I considered less important than the photos, since I can always rewrite anything, and I had the majority of the book printed out. I only have to manually re-copy all that, and rewrite the few chapters I hadn't finished and/or printed out prior to the computer dying on us.

Since I have cancelled my netflix, deactivated my facebook and will soon rely on the public library for my Internet, I will have time to get on with my writing without the excuse of distractions such as facebook. As of Monday April 11, I will be devoting 2 hours a day to rewriting everything until it is done. Then I will work on submission to some agents I looked up and think might be favorable to my writing style for representation. Then maybe I can sell some books and make some money. I don't expect to be able to retire on that kind of money, but it would be nice for an unknown author to set some sort of sales record, and be able to concentrate on either more writing, or whatever whim catches my fancy on any given day. It's a dream to keep in mind I suppose. And since I doubt I can convince the government or taxpayers to beginning allotting 1-2% of their income to supporting me and whatever lifestyle I choose to lead, I guess I'll have to keep plugging away until I figure out what's going to work best for me. This overnight work as a rentacop has served a basic purpose providing something resembling 'making a living', but just as I am, its getting old, and BORING.

There has got to be way more to life than going to work, coming home, eating and sleeping. And I don't mean all the things you see in luxury magazines, but even the simplest lifestyle where one can find the fun activities to participate in (such as skydiving, family vacations without worry of having enough money to do anything AND pay the rent) or observe (like live sporting events, without worrying if I'm going to have to sacrifice sleep before work time arrives). I remember growing up, I had all kinds of plans for life. I was going to make life my bitch essentially. Life was going to be your average sitcom. Nice house, family pets, money to go on vacation or get gifts for people, all your problems solved in a half hour with simple fatherly wisdom, or an hour if you couldn't fit the script in a particular week's episode. I would have all the great perks in life, including the well paying job I loved to go do in between well balanced meals served to me by my loving spouse and getting to eat it with the family, while they tell me the tales of their adventures throughout the day while I was away.

I also was going to be some sort of real life action hero. My plans included the military life. I was going to be like a one man wrecking machine. The guy the President and Pentagon requested whenever something went wrong in the world and some bad guys needed killing. What's this? Libya is acting up. Quick, call up Mook, apprise him of the situation and give him whatever he needs. WE need this taken care of now, for the good of the country and the rest of the world. And then I would go parachuting into some far off land loaded down with twice my body weight in weapons and ammo. Who knows, maybe I'd just get into a tank and have it air-dropped in while I was at it. I'd have all the know how of MacGyver and the ability to drop my enemies with deadly Chuck Norris like moves (I am a ninja after all), in the eventual happenstance of my weapons all jamming up. I figure no war would outlast a single week. Then I'd go back home, get the ticker tape parade, commercial endorsements for GI MOOK action figures, free sandwiches at Subway or Jimmy Johns. More official visits to the White House...as Forrest Gump said: AGAIN! Eventually I'd probably end up being elected President of the United States, and all the fun that comes with that business. Of course being a one man walking army, I'd abolish the Secret Service... after all, when you're as awesome as I am, the few crazies who might want to harm me needn't put up with amateurs like those guys.

You know, all that crap that only screenwriters can come up with. But, with any luck, I can chase down my own piece of the American Dream, where I can at least have a nice house and some dogs to terrorize The Colonel. Maybe go catch a few MLB games, and if they still play in the future some NFL games (Maybe I can catch a 49ers game where they actually win!), drive back and forth across the country checking out a few of the major touristy spots, but mostly the lesser known local haunts that make each place interesting in its own way. Or just get up at 0-dark-thirty with a thermos of coffee and go fishing. Wouldn't matter if I caught anything. The supermarket has fish that I don't have to gut and clean!

As for right now, I'm just happy that I have Scentsy stuff and a new brand of cat litter that seem to be doing the job keeping the smell of The Colonel's latrine and his acid pee from overtaking the apartment. And I get to hammer my kids over doing their homework and then going outside to play for a couple hours. Even if they find me boring and decide they'd rather play with their friends and not their dear old dad.

Spinning My Wheels

Today I finally went to have my tire fixed. I ran over a nail two weeks ago, and have just put up with having to add a little air to replace what was lost by a super slow leak. But today, I decided I might as well get it taken care of before I go and ruin the tire completely at some point while out driving. Knowing my luck this would happen only when its really cold, really snowing, or pouring down rain like during the Noahic Flood. I figured while I was there I'd have them replace my wiper blades, since those things are in tatters. The guy comes back after 15 minutes, and tells me the wiper blades for my car are not in their stock. Apparently my car, a Saturn Aura, takes some sort of special blades, and they cost $24 a piece. Now I'm not the most mechanical guy in the world, as anyone who knows me will tell you. But c'mon $24 PER blade?? Special kind of wiper blade?

It's a friggin Saturn, it's a goddamn GM product. It's barely any different from a Chevy Malibu. The blades are just a simple piece of rubber. $24?!?!?!? You have got to be kidding me. My wallet, made of leather, costs less than that, and is clearly much more fragile than those wiper blades given the size of my paychecks, and the motherfuckers are trying to ruin my shit $24 at a time. I told them I'd look elsewhere rather than let them triple my bill for fixing my tire. Almost two hours, they remove a nail from my tire and do the patch job...after tax: $21.09. To add two wipers THAT THEY'D HAVE TO ORDER AND MAKE ME COME BACK: an additional $48 plus tax. You've got to be fucking kidding me. Speaking of ruining my shit...

The Colonel. He ruins the fine mass crafted cheap ass wood veneer that substitutes for a good door frame. He likes to use his claws on everything. The frames, the couch, the chair, the friggin carpet, my arms, hands, legs. I finally clipped his front nails... he's still a pain in the ass, but at least he doesn't hook into my skin as much and tear out half my forearm on a mere swipe of the claws. And it's not just his claws that ruin things. His bathroom habits are quite noticeable. The cat craps out his own body weight a day, even if he doesn't eat much. His piss could be used to melt through locked steel doors. It all has the great superpower of being able to overpower kitty litter of all brands. I have yet to find a quality brand that does the job they say they do. Odor reducing (I'm scared to think how bad it would be before hitting the odor reducing stuff), indoor, multiple cats (he poops enough for a bakers dozen worth of the little mangy bastards), clumping (his piss creates huge wet, smelly useless bricks of litter), spring fresh stepping kitty excrement killing sand powder. Doesn't matter. They all fail miserably. That's right, my cat is so powerful his poop and pee have reduced all of our scientific know-how in odor reducing to ashes. Yes, I have a small apartment, with relatively little ventilation, but you'd think we have something that would kill the odor. And CAT HAIR...fuck. This cat sheds enough hair to outfit 3 Chemo patients with a new wig, EACH DAY. And he doesn't look like he has lost a single hair. Until you look at my recliner, the couch, my fuzzy sweatshirt, the horse blanket on my bed, every damn spot he curls up on the carpet. Pet the little bastard and your hand looks more like that of the Abominable Snowman rather than a normal human hand!

I have joked about exiling my executive officer, but it's all been jokes up to this point. Some days I look at all the shit he ruins and I'm about ready to give him the boot. But, sadly, I like the Colonel too much to just give him up. He has his own unique personality, and I don't think too many people would really and truly "get" the Colonel and what he's about. He'd need a patient and understanding family to deal with, and probably on a two week probationary period of ownership just so he can get used to them and the new environment, while they get to find out if they really do have the patience to deal with a feline so pretentious he gave himself the title and name, Colonel Beauregard Sterling Lovell.

As a kitten, it was he who said this would be his name. I didn't think of that on my own. Sure, I may be creative, but that is just a bit beyond my bullshit-stretching abilities. The cat really does think that highly of himself. So he sheds, shits and claws the crap out of everything...because ultimately its his home, and I'm just allowed to remain here to feed him, offer myself up as a scratching post, and to pet him when he feels the need. But hey... looking on the bright side, at least he doesn't have fleas...anymore.

And Mother Nature has apparently decided to fuck with me too. Yesterday was beautiful out. Sunny, warm. Today is sunny, cooler but not too bad, but with a bit of a wind. Tomorrow will cool down a bit more...and on thru the weekend, into rain, then snow on Monday and friggin COLD! Apparently Mother Nature doesn't give a damn about that overgrown beaver seeing his shadow or not. It's Iowa and we WILL have winter...ALL OF IT! She decided to warm thing sup a bit, just to melt some stuff down and prepare the rivers and creeks to flood like crazy. Then, just to be on the safe side...lets add more rain and snow on top of it. Oh, and let's make sure that I have to work when it all goes to shit. Cuz I love working in crappy weather...yeah that's it.

Oh, and as has been mentioned in other forums, and is quite apparent from previous pictures of me, I rarely make a photo's quality go up by virtue of having my mug in it. A friend went through hundreds of physical photos and we found 3 acceptable ones of me. Couple of them 9-11 years old, and one that is maybe in the last 3 or 4 yrs. Nothing much in that department as far as new stuff that would qualify me as a photogenic face. I have a digital camera I got from my mom, but it needed batteries. The cheap alkaline ones pretty much die by the mere act of putting them in the camera. Last week while taking the boys to use some gift cards from Christmas, I bought some lithium batteries. I watched them go into the bag. I saw them here when I got home. And now I can't find the damn things ANY where. I didn't even open up the package. They just grew legs and walked out of here...of that I am convinced. So now I have to go out and buy some more, and then find someone who's good at tricking a camera into taking good pictures, so I can get something new to throw up that doesn't seem to emphasize my double chin, closed eyes, or some creepy look on my face. You know, so I can maybe convince someone or another that I might actually be normal...well at least until they actually talk to me. But I can at least fake out the facebook friends who've never met me as of yet.

Welcome to 2011

Okay, so first post of the year. Lots of stuff going on, or not going on. Not really sure how things got to where they are, but they are here, and I'm going to try to figure them out.

1. I have a cell phone. Yes, I know. I said I would never ever own one. Turns out it became a bit of a necessity, and I have to thank my buddy and brother Stew for lending me a hand on this one and providing me with a line on his account. And NO, you can't have my number. Just because I own one, does not mean I'm going to use it. I'll keep it around as a paper weight between calls from my parents or my kids' school.

2. I have been without computer or Internet for awhile now. I can thank my mom and dad, and our friend Steve, for having an extra desktop that found its way to the Mookified Compound. I can thank my Aunt Denise and Uncle Bill for setting me up with 3 months of Internet at no cost to me, while I get back on my feet, financially speaking. So now you can all get your regular updates on the Colonel wreaking havoc and unleashing (ironically enough) the Dogs of War! As well as the occasional updates on what the young Mooks are up to in an effort to maintain a steady presence of hilarity in life.

3. The most recent Census has the Mookified Compound down to 2 full time citizens, now, with 2 other dual-citizenship residents in the form of the Little Mooks. Since the cat is out of the bag with both families, I guess I can get it off my chest now. I have recently found myself to be a single father, as my wife relocated to her own apartment along with our sons. There is no need to speculate on the details, as those are private, and fault always lays with both adult parties. She is still the mother of my children, and essentially off limits when speaking to me. You're free to hold whatever opinions about either of us, but I don't need to hear about it. We are working together to make sure the kids can lead as normal a life as possible, given the two-home situation now, and we are relating amicably. It was a nice long run, of just shy of 14 years since our first date, and 10 1/2 years of marriage. Somewhere along the line, the flames burned out. I guess I got complacent and took her for granted for far too long without realizing the path it would take us down. She is/was the love of my life, and it sucks, but it is what it is. I regret none of it (minus the fact that it took a wrong turn and ended), and will cherish the memories for the rest of my life. I can only wish her the best life has to offer from this point forward.

So I find myself in a slightly sparser (is that a word?) apartment. I have had great help from people in the form of well wishing, lending me a hand in moving furniture into here to make it a home, food,etc etc etc. So I set out to decorate it more in my own style, but not overboard. It is the abode of a single father, not a mere bachelor. But if you must know...yes there are a couple flats of ramen noodles, as there should be in any world that is halfway right. I keep them up high though, so the Colonel doesn't get any ideas about stealing and eating my ramen. He already just this morning tried to chew the power cord to the phone charger, and tried to shred my arm and hand up shortly after returning from work. I suspect a power struggle will ensue at some point. I have prepared and studied the latest techniques on smothering a cat in his sleep by an ancient Chinese wiseguy. Then maybe I'll get the recliner to myself, unless Josh is in the house. He seems to have taken it upon himself to lay claim to the recliner whenever I'm not sitting there.

So, here's to a new year, entirely new beginnings, and hoping for and working towards the best.

State Of The Cat Address- Nov2010

From the desk of: Colonel Beauregard Sterling Lovell



Well, this time around, we'll get through the nitty-gritty details, then onto my diaboloical plans for the future.

Economy:
So far the economy is going well. The lady in the house has just accepted a job that pays better. I've heard rumors of the General preparing for as second job, or replacing it altogether with something more akin to daytime hours. I'm not sure how I feel about everyone being gone all day, as I will have to do my own bidding during that time. I've been eating pretty heartily, but I expect more posh snacking with more money to circulate around here. I've also done very well in making sure my fiber intake is being supplemented well enough to keep up my fecal matter production. This industry is one of hard work but great rewards, as I make the humans clean out my litter box at a more frequent pace. With a growing obesity index amongst humans, they need the exercise.

Quality of life:

Things here are so-so. I'm still getting plenty of exercise as I run rampantly throughout the compound, jumping on all the furniture, on counters and into cupboards when people leave them open for me. I have been receiving lots of good training time by attacking the little people around here, and one of them even falls for my luring him into a little hand to paw combat from time to time. He tastes a bit funny with that 11 yr old boy smell he has going on, but the taste of his blood mostly makes up for it. However, that being said, I think the political atmosphere around here is a bit tyrranical. Yes, I own this place and these people, but the official balance of power leaves much to be desired. they also have worked hard to contain me within the walls of the compound, and not letting me out onto the deck to oversee the perimeter.

Onto my rant:
Keeping with the balance of power, election tuesday came and went. I voted for myself to become supreme leader in this Mookified Compound, and being feline I get a vote for each and everyone of my claws, and the rest get their normal 1 vote. However, somehow I still lost. I'm not sure who to blame, and I'm not naming names here, but it rhymes with dookie. Which is what this election farce smells like. It's worse than my litter box when they ignore it!

I think, much like the General defected from the Branch Duanians, I too will defect and startup my own compound, where I run the show actively, not just behind the scenes business. The General's tyrranical hand has shown itself, as you can see in the picture above, and I don't need to take that abuse. I'll probably stick around for the rest of the year, then after collecting any Christmas loot, I may well just move on out. For a coup de grace, I may work to convince the lady and the two little people to come with me, leaving the General to be the ruler of only himself. And he'll have to actually provide his own compound security. I know what he does for a living, so I doubt he'll be able to contract outside help. Should prove to be very interesting, and he wil then realize where the true power in this place lies: With me...King Supreme Emperor Lord Almighty Colonel Beauregard Sterling Lovell has a nice ring to it. Don't you agree? You'd better or I'll fleece your naughty parts with my claws of death!

ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT!!

Sunday nights are always the longest (a 12 hour shift instead of an 8) and the slowest as well. So often I am left with plenty of time to get everything done and have some time to kill. However, someone else in the area decided to use their time to kill me!!!

The attempt appeared to most to be random, but after consulting my security counsel, headed by the esteemed Colonel Beauregard Sterling Lovell, it has been determined that this was in fact a very real and present danger aimed at destroying the last hope of the free world by eliminating the head of the Mookist Regime (That'd be me, people, pay attention!).

Of course the attack on me was only another plot in a series of recent events designed to take down the Mookist Regime. First, the fleas were sent in to bring down the Colonel. However, having been on post, I was able to douse, soap, scrub, and re-douse the feline. The Colonel was not happy, and didn't come around me for almost 24 hours for fear of getting it again. I have, over the years of his pitiful life, become almost violently and deadly efficient with my flea bath tactics. Instead of a long drawn out regurgitation of the War On Pests, this battle lasted a matter of minutes before the flea army was vanquished in one fell swoop, and about 25 gallons of water. Not one scout flea has been seen since the initial discovery of the insurgent bastards. Mookist Regime: 1, Enemies: 0

Then last night, at almost the stroke of midnight, a bigger, much more determined enemy decided to take their crack at the Mook, this time in human form. Clearly they knew that I am bulletproof with my soft gelatinous outer crust, and opted not to spray me down in a drive by, or hit me with a rooftop sniper. Nope, they did it the way they like to take out freedom loving Mookamaniacs the world around: Improvised explosive devices, or IED's for short. Most of you have heard of these deadly devices throughout the news as al-Qaeda has been known to use them all over the place to take out American soldiers in their various combat zones.

Well, my friends, it's clear that al-Qaeda has decided to step up their attacks, not overseas, but right here at home, in the good old U.S. of A.

That's right, despite what the White house or the Pentagon may or may not tell you, al-Qaeda has sent operatives right here to the Heartland! They may try to spin this off as just some random act perpetrated by pranksters, or some right-wing nutcase riled up by the likes of Rush, Hannity or Glenn Beck himself, or maybe just some poor soul who lost their house to the evil banks, but I assure you, after much research and maybe some enhanced interrogation techniques (but don't hold us to that, we will deny, deny deny!), that this was an orchestrated attack, hours, maybe even DAYS into the planning stages before they decided to unleash their evil plot.

Clearly they had infiltrated the Rentacop Headquarters, and gotten hold of the scheduling. They saw that I would be working, and that Supervisor Stew would be on duty. Once the suspicious device had been seen being delivered, it would be reported to Supervisor Stew. And Stew, always trusting in the Mook, would call me up to get me involved in the situation. One of the oldest tricks in a terrorists playbook: The Lure. You see, they purposely are seen dropping a package off, in an effort to bring in the command forces (like Stew) and any super duper tactical specialists (like myself). Usually the tactical specialist would go in for a close look and KABOOM, nothing but specialist krispies going snap crackle and pop in a smoldering mess of blood and guts. However, since I'm a SUPER DUPER (that's a technical designation) tactical specialist, I'm not easily fooled like that. Nope, instead we did the smart responsible thing and called in the local authorities bomb squad. It was either that or get into a big hissy fit over who had ultimate authority (clearly me), and that would've just made things a lot more difficult, and of course we're all about action around here. So anyways, the local authorities brings in the big fat bomb squad truck, also known as Natasha. Due to the damp conditions, they did not bring out the cool remote controlled robot, also known as Frank. So, one of the bomb techs suited up in the big EOD blast suit. If you haven't seen the movie The Hurt Locker you may not know what I'm talking about. But basically it turns you into some kind of martian looking guy, only way more bad ass. He has to walk in the x-ray equipment, to get an idea of what is in this small box we have discovered. After getting the pic and taking the equipment back to the truck, they are able to determine that there is "something" in the box, but not likely to be explosive. So the both of them take the long walk back to the box. Just as Tech 1 reaches the box to probe the edge, Tech 2 holds a cover position about 25 yards back. Tech 1 removes the paper cover (adorned with the word surprise,only with letter written backwards on it), and then proceeds to lift the box top off. Then it happened...


No one else saw it, but banana shaped missiles came flying out, under the cover of stealth cloak directly towards me. If I hadn't knelt down to light up my cigarette, I surely would've been decapitated. Luckily for the bomb techs it was rigged to go in one precise trajectory instead of full spread, or they would've been dead before they knew what they had found.

What they found instead was really weird. A couple banana peels, rubber banded together, with some crumpled paper inside them and a pen inserted thru the middle. Definitely something done on purpose and not just some random throwing trash out the window, thats for sure. I'm beginning to think al-qaeda must have some issues descrambling their Netflix account to get the MacGuyver episodes to play all the way through. Clearly they missed something, or they watched MacGruber instead of MacGuyver....hard to say, but either way, it was a near miss!


However, it turns out the War Chests are a bit depleted right now. But just think, you can change a life, and maybe even the world, if you adopt a poor little mook like (well, insert whatever picture of a poor starving lil child that makes you want to give money). Remember, 100% of all donations go towards fixing up the mooks, so they can go out and change the world. All for just a few dollars a day (Man, I really wish one of those adopt-a-kid commercials would come on, so I could make this even better!) you can change a lil mook's life, so that he can go arm himself to the hilt heavier than an AC-130 gunship and end all these wars by killing the bad guys, while still winning the hearts and minds of everyone else...even if he has to do a public version of the Carlton Dance to get that done!

10 Years Later....

Really Beautiful Wife, Or 12th Russian Spy Confirmed

Ten years ago today was the day my status went up in this world. I married my wife, which infinitely improved my life. On a facebook post I made earlier today to the same effect, she commented that it was the second semi-public sweet thing I've done/said within the last week. To be honest I'm not sure I remember what the first one was, but I wasn't about to ask her right then. She'll read this and then inform me of whatever it was, maybe. In the same breath/typing she wondered if I had been dropped on my head or something recently. I've informed her that she has the rest of her life to be confused about when I've fallen on my cranium and when I'm just being her usual suspect.

While she was preparing for work, our youngest was messing with her hat on the couch. The same hat on her head in this picture, and the same hat I blogged about previously in which I have identified it as her "commie hat". She told me to quit calling it that, when I identified it as such to Corwyn. I stated as matter-of-factly as usual that I call it that because that's what it is. I mean c'mon! Look at it! Standard Communist Revolutionary Headgear! I've seen footage from Cuba, and other central and South American communist revolutionary periods in which this very kind of hat was quite prominently worn by those who felt oppression of the masses, in the name of the masses was far better than a more possibly freedom-inducing environment. I also mentioned that I may have found an undiscovered 12th member of the Russian spy ring, recently uncovered by the FBI.

Her Response? "Why do you say that? Am I THAT hot?" Now to the untrained eye, this merely seems like a woman baiting a guy for a compliment. But for a professional Rent-A-Cop like myself, this was a veiled confession. I responded with some random psychobabble to avoid her catching on that I knew about her secret identity. And then I took this picture. She asked why. I said I might need it for a blog. She was rightly suspicious of me and my blogging intentions. However, she had to go to work, and didn't have time to delete the picture hastily, in order to keep from having her cover blown. Well, it's too late, and right here, in front of the world (or at least my 8 or 9 readers), I am shedding the light on more undercover spy agents in our midst! The media made light of the attractiveness of one of the Russian spies, but my wife is likely to make that one look like a big pile of dog mess in comparison.

I find myself confused at this moment. I am feeling inordinately patriotic having uncovered this plot against not only my country, but the Mookified compound itself. At the same time, I don't know how I missed it. She has no accent and speaks absolutely zero Russian as far as I can tell. She clearly was deep undercover. She convinced her mother that she came from her, and has blended in with family very nicely. Almost as if, she had been one of them since birth. Brainwashing must have occurred at a highly secret Soviet-era facility to unknowingly bring her whole family into the fold. Then in a move that could only be conjured up by remnants of the KGB, she infiltrated my life, made me fall in love with her, marry her and have two sons with her. She speaks as though down home conservative hate mongering is her native language, yet she pretends to detest talk radio.

However, her espionatic (I'm pretty sure I made that word up, but please feel free to use it openly and spread it around) ways were not enough to keep her subconscious need for comrade wear buried away forever. And she doesn't mind vodka on occasion. Maybe that was the giveaway. In my America-loving opinion, only hard core alcoholics (which my wife is not) and commies (I'm beginning to question things here)can really and truly enjoy a nasty concoction made from potatoes such as Vodka! BLECH!

Now I have read reports that the other 11 haven't been charged or suspected of any real espionage. However, the possible finding of the 12th Commie (not to be confused with the 12th Imam), squarely embedded within the Mookist Compound? Clearly the idea that high-level espionage has been occurring has to be considered. After all, with all the wealth of knowledge and power that resides with the Mook and his trusty sidekick, Colonel B.S. Lovell, mining the information that lies within these walls and turning it over to Russia could be detrimental not only to the General and his people, but to the world at large! You think the worldwide economic meltdown was horrendous, or the BP gulf oil spill insanely dangerous? Just wait and see what happens if my wife gets away with this.

I just remembered something vitally important. She'll read this before coming home. By the time you read this I may be dead, from her dispatching a secret assassination squad, or be transported to a secret gulag somewhere in the remote regions of Siberia. Not only then will Russia keep her secret safe, but the anti-Mookist forces out there will gain an even stronger foothold, which is equally bad, if not worse.

Of course, despite all that, I'll still technically be able to lay claim to having a really hot wife!

Afghanistan: Questioning the Leadership and the Mission

From Jeff Emanuel on RedState.com:
By now, you’ve heard or seen the news: President Obama (D-IL) has accepted the resignation of Gen. Stanley McChrystal, who had until now been in charge of the coalition’s erstwhile efforts in Afghanistan, and is attempting to demote General David [Betray Us] Petraeus from CENTCOM commander to czar of the eastern front of the [Global War on Terror] Isolated Effort to Diplomatically Prevent Man-Caused, Non-Islam-Related Disasters.




And from the blog of my friend, Scott who is also a professor of Political Science at the University of Maine: World in Motion:

The problem is that planners, both civilian and military, can always dream up a plan that on paper looks like it might work. It’s akin to a football coach putting together a plan for a play that should be able to score a winning touch down. If executed right, if the defense plays as we expect, and if there are no other difficulties encountered, then we should score.

And one last quote:
"I am appalled that Obama did not contact Col. B.S. Lovell to replace McChrystal in Afghanistan!" From Eric Stone, to my facebook wall. What President wouldn't pick a face like this to lead a big and important command?

(Note: this message was removed from my facebook wall somehow. Either Eric changed his mind, or facebook has become involved in the anti-Mookist movement gaining hold here in the U.S.)

Let me be the first to tell you that the Colonel has seriously considered putting his name in contention for the Afghan Post. He has relayed to me, that given the general rules of engagement over there aren't much different than here at the Mookist Compound. He gets to see the enemy all day, but unless he is directly attacked, he is given little latitude to operate as a top notch combat fighting machine. He has informed me that despite all this, he has opened up a can of whoop ass on a particular 6 year old in this household more than once. The Colonel estimates, in his own highly self-important position, that fighting a 1000 fully armed Taliban fighters while weaponless himself would be an easier task than living with the little punk.

The Colonel has decided if these guys can do it, he most certainly could handle the job

That information notwithstanding, the Colonel has decided ultimately against the top posting position in The Afghan Theater. He said he really does have a desire to make it on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine himself, and would have no problems with spewing forth his ideas on how wrong the Commander-in-Chief is on certain issues not having military experience or expertise himself, not on the level the Colonel does anyways. He said he would be forced to resign, or end up in Leavenworth after publicly embarrassing President Obama in a hand-to-hand confrontation. He said if the President, acting as his boss or not, even consdiered not doing exactly what teh Colonel tells him to do, this WOULD happen. I believe the exact words were, "The President would most certainly witness my cat-like reflexes." The Colonel seems to think his use of puns is hilarious.

To drive his point home, he gacked up on the carpet right in front of my feet. Then walked off as though nothing had happened. Clearly the sign of the one master strategist who could win any war deemed unwinnable by humans. Cats are a little too pompous if you ask me, but then again he'd reply that he threw up all over my office and left me, The General, to clean it up my damn self. He could be right.

More on Denny's, Buggy, The Colonel, and Adoption

Just to clarify the title a bit, none of those are actually related. Buggy stays here; the Colonel wont leave unless it is to go outside, but he would expect to be let back in; And so far Denny's hasn't adopted me...YET!

So first, lets go with Denny's. As some of you know, I have an unhealthy liking of Denny's Restaurants. I'd call it stalking, but since the buildings don't exactly move, and they WANT me to come in and eat their food, it doesn't technically qualify. But, if the Denny's went on wheels like the Ice Cream man, yes I would be one of the crazies running down the street begging for the guy to throw me a few pancakes to catch like some sort of dog chasing a car. And maybe an omelet, and some hash browns with the works. Sure it'd be messy, but my inner child will manifest himself and eat the stuff off of the pavement just like a kid who drops his candy in the dirt. It's just like sprinkles, that's all!

Anyways, so I started a Facebook group page dedicated to making me the next new face of Denny's. I haven't worked out all the details yet, but it basically involves them making me their real world advertiser. Some pics, some videos, some blogs about the Denny's I'm at, the city its in, employees, people in that city (in and outside of the Denny's), things like that. The first step is this page, to attempt to use facebook's networking capabilities to garner support from my friends, their friends, and whoever else may stumble upon it. It seemed to have worked well for Betty White to get asked to host Saturday Night Live. But she's a celebrity. Let's see how well this thing can work for a normal (I use that term loosely when referring to me) person.
Then we go to Denny's Corporate with a nice juicy plan for them and me. So if you have a facebook account, you can friend me, or just join the group or both. If you don't have a facebook account, you should make one for the pure purposes of helping out this effort. With no monetary support, and my having limited interactions with much of anybody, this is as grassroots as it gets. Plus, I'd get to travel to all the wondrous Denny's locations...and then maybe take in some of the local attractions, which of course are secondary to my favorite eating establishment.

Now, onto Buggy. He is just about to finish his year in Kindergarten in a few hours. As some of you readers know, this boy has managed to endear himself to the staff while sneaking extra breakfasts at school. In fact one of the staff mentioned that he specifically is one of the staff favorites when it comes to the kids. He recently came home with an award from his teacher. I assume its one of those things where every kid gets some kind of positive acknowledgement. His, unsurprisingly, was "Best Sense of Humor". He had surprised his teacher early in the school year by exuding an extremely dry sense of humor on top of the normal cackling little kid humor most people are used to from kids. So, as I said, neither his mother nor I were very surprised at this. I do believe that nothing will really surprise us with this particular son of ours. Even if he comes home one day and accidentally lets it slip out of his mouth the goings-on in other parts of the metro area, after having jumped on a city bus, or took off with a friends parents under the assumption that we knew about it and were okay with them taking him along, or just plain having walked. Or if he comes home with a ripped shirt and tells us how he had just scored the winning touchdown while scrimmaging with the local high school football team even though he is nowhere near old enough, and now was thirsty, not giving second thought to the fact that we might want to know what he's doing BEFORE he goes and does it...none of this would be surprising.

The older one, Josh, pushes his limits somewhat, but is generally more passive and willing to ask permission before going off to do much of anything. Corwyn on the other hand would be the one to tell everyone things are fine, and he doesn't need to ask permission to do stuff "he already knows he can do." I already know that when he is a teenager that he and I will be having the same stupid discussions my dad had with me when I came home at 3 or 4 in the morning. And he will irritate me because I have to have these discussion, but also because it will be just another set of opportunities for me to sound JUST LIKE the Evil Duane did, which I had promised to never be like when I grew up. Whenever I talk to Mom and Dad, he always laughs at me when I tell stories of what the kids have done 'this time.' I have another feeling that whenever the boys go up to see their Nana and grandpa that stories are told and ideas planted, just to expedite the process. I just can't prove it yet!

The Colonel is as feisty as ever. He'll nap in long stretches and leave you alone, until its time for you to be left alone by necessity. Then he shows up, wound up like a kid who just downed 12 giant Pixie sticks, followed by an entire 2 liter bottle of Coke. He makes weird growling noises as he runs back and forth through the apartment, sometimes only stopping his current path because his head ran into a wall, the door, a cabinet, or some furniture, before reversing paths back the way he came. He's a bit on the weird side. We are however in the midst of changing over his diet a little bit. It has been told to me by my friend Machelle, that the current cat food brand (which shall remain nameless) we have been giving the Colonel since we got him, was mentioned by her vet to cause crystals in the urine/bladder, and can seriously screw the cats system up over time. Whether or not its factual information or the vet is a shill for some other cat food manufacturer is beyond me. But one ingredient in the current brand is Zinc Oxide. Now maybe I'm wrong, but isn't that what people throw on their noses at the beach to avoid a sunburn, while causing them to look like an albino-nosed idiot at the same time? I treasure my cat's health, but I never thought to worry about his innards getting sun burnt, what with all that fur and abundance of fatty tissue and bone surrounding his digestive system. I have no idea why someone would stick zinc oxide into food. I am pretty sure that if I wiped the zinc oxide off your nose someday this summer and proceeded to eat it, I would not be doing too well later on that day, never mind the nasty taste left in my mouth. Turns out the stuff is nearly insoluble in water. No wonder they say an adequate supply of water is needed to maintain your pet's health. I have to wonder what amount is considered 'adequate.' Either way, we've made the switch over to Purina cat food, and are doing a mixture of both, until we work the Colonel into the new stuff entirely. Don't need to upset his bowels any, he already poops more than enough for a whole herd of cats. I'm hoping that the new diet will curb some of the pooping, the eating of paper and cardboard boxes, the strength of smell his pee comes armed with (it gets bad some days). And he can tone it down to normal cat like activities of snubbing me, and eating the children, things like that. I'm not thinking he'll calm down much on any of it, but I can always cross my fingers and hope.

Now onto probably the most important topic, Adoption. Some of my readers already know of the situation, but for the rest of you, I'll bring forth some enlightenment.
For awhile now, my good friends Jed and Naomi, have been looking to adopt children and have their own family. They have been working hard at saving money up and holding fundraisers, to get the over-$30,000 they need for this to happen at all. They have gone through the excitement of having a placement of 2 young girls, only to have their joy arrested when the girls were found to have been placed in the foster program fraudulently by their mother. The supposed dead father had showed back up. It was heartbreaking for all involved who have been supporting them, but I guess God had decided that those were not the children meant to be a part of Jed and Naomi's family. Well, after a long wait, far too long, they have 2 qualified little girls, ages 4 and 7, who have been vetted it appears, and ready for adoption. The court date is tentatively going to be this fall to make the adoption go through. While its months away yet, it also gives Jed and Naomi time to work toward the last few thousand dollars they need. It turns out Ethiopia has new rules on adoption to overseas. Instead of just one trip over, both Jed and Naomi will need to go over twice. Once for the adoption court date, and again to bring home the children to the United States. You can find some of their plans
here on their adoption blog. Please think it over, pray on it, whatever it is you do, and if you can give, even just a little bit, feel free to donate to their cause so that they might make their dreams of having a family come true! And, if you could, as a favor to me, or them, pass this section on to your friends, and see if they would be willing to help out as well! Thank you!

Mook's Allies Put Down Insurrection (AND DENNY'S!!!)

A couple posts ago you got to read about the trip my wife and I got to take together. What was not told was a bigger story that happened at the Mookified Compound while we were away.

For those of you who know the Colonel, you know he has a tendency to be mentally unstable, like any other cat. When creating a relationship with a cat, things don't always go smoothly. The overall situation is often precarious at best. By appointing him as my executive officer, thus giving him some real power in our world, I made the situation even worse.

It's kind of like professional sports. You feed the athlete's ego, you pay him, and he becomes a bitchy millionaire who feels entitled. Well, the same goes for the Colonel. Minus the millions of dollars. He just gets bitchy when things don't go his way. By us leaving him home alone, we robbed him of his opportunity to decide when he would let us pay attention to him. Rather than accepting his responsibilities of guarding the Mookified Compound, he chose to throw a temper tantrum. Or more accurately, he chose to throw his food all over the kitchen. And, unbeknownst to me, there was a head of lettuce left out. It was found on the floor, with holes having been punctured through the plastic bag it came in, quite easily comparable to Cat-Inflicted-Damage (CID) marks.

Luckily for the Colonel, we had our ally in our friend Machelle. She had taken the kids for the weekend so the wife and I could get away alone, and also cleaned up the mess before my wife came home and found it. The Colonel would have surely been skinned alive before being made to meet his demise. And that also made me a lucky one. I would've been put on clean-up and burial details. And then I would have had to go through the long drawn out process of vetting out my next executive officer to take his place. After all, I may be a high ranking official and the supremely powerful Grand Mookatollah, but I can't run this place by myself.

So yes, luckily I had a great ally on my side of things. The grand architects of the Anti-Mookist movement have yet to corrupt her. However....

They may be infecting the citizens within the walls of the Mookified Compound. My wife wears what I see as an official Commie Cap. The appearance is way too close to the type of hat seen worn by many a commie throughout history. Not the big fur Ruskie hats on Soviet guards, but those short billed caps that you'd see someone like Fidel Castro wear.
Like this, only hers is in black

After long reflection to see how my strong willed and independent wife could be wooed by the commies (as a small portion of the Anti-Mookists), I have come down to a couple conclusions. She did receive some college education, and we all know infiltrated Academia is with communist idolaters and their evil ways.

And then there are my hippy parents. As liberals, and grandparents to my kids, I'm sure they have learned to communicate with subliminal messaging techniques in an effort to bring down this great regime of freedom and opportunity which I have produced for all to enjoy. Also, my parents give the kids toys and snacks to corrupt them with their socialist bent while the boys are still too young to know better. Little do they realize that eventually the toys and snacks will end up being regular streams of socks and underwear for gifts. And then there is the fact that when given a choice between me and their mother, the little fruits of my loins choose her...EVERY time! It seems the game is afoot! I may have to move the family somewhere more isolated amongst the hatemongers of our country and away from the evil influences of the far reaching arms of communism. Where I can hide in the mountains where I have built a bunker for official use of the Mookified government, should widespread civil war break out amongst the populace.


Let's see, what else is there to report. Ah yes, the Denny's campaign. Pictures of me at a Denny's have shown themselves onto the Denny's Facebook page, prior to my finding the page and without my knowledge. So it appears I have some, even if accidental, allies in my campaign to be the official face of Denny's.

What I need to do, and I may need help, is writing up the proposal and getting proper face time and respect with Corporate Denny's. I need to convince them that I need a basic salary to cover my time away from home, a official Denny's Guy car to motor around the country touring Denny's restaurants, trying out different dishes every meal and in different regions of the country, giving them Internet advertising through a blog or some other forum. And I'll also need them to cover hotel/motel fare for when I'm a ways away from the Mookified Compound that I call home. I don't think a year of traveling about on their dime, eating their food and publicly shouting their praises (for a fair amount of money)is too much to ask of the great capitalist story that is Denny's Restaurants. So yes, spread the message, tell Denny's that they need to utilize me for such a campaign, and at a cost much lower than most television advertising campaigns go for!

I Am The Last Stand

"If we lose freedom here, there is no place to escape to. This is the last stand on Earth." --Ronald Reagan

Okay, full disclosure here, I am not talking political and economical ideologies here. What I am talking about is the freedom to avoid people and the encroachment upon my life made by advancing technology in the communication industry.

Everyone around me has a cell phone these days. I remember when I first saw cell phones. One kid, Tim, had a bag phone for his car, which we all rode in to go to work. Cell phones those days looked more like the kind of phone the Army used to call in air strikes. Today they come in all manners of shape and size. They also have more functions than ever. You can talk, take photos, video, or you can text people. With the standard phone buttons or a fold out complete keyboard. You can type out your texts with individual characters or use the T9 technology that will predict your words and help you get through a message even faster. That is unless you're me, I am hopelessly useless with the T9 functions when I borrowed my wife's cell phone once to go to a niece's 6th grade basketball tourney. And the only reason I borrowed it was so that I could check in that I made it there, and for when I was coming back, depending on how the tourney went.

I am constantly asked to text someone, or just give them a call when I get to where ever it is we are hanging out, or when I get to their house to let them know I'm there to pick them up. I have to inform them that sorry, I don't have a cell phone!

I get some pretty weird looks. They are incredulous that I don't own the new iPhone or Blackberry cell phones. They ask how I can possibly live without a cell phone. I tell them essentially to quit projecting their way of life onto me. I was born before cell phones, I never had one attached to me surgically once they did come out, and I will probably most likely NEVER own one. I can live without one, because I lived half my life without them even existing. I put a caveat on that never, because I'm sure at some point someone will get it in their head to ban landlines altogether through government pressure. In which case I suppose I will then own a cell phone. However, I can guarantee that if this happens, my cellphone will stay in the same spot my current home phone's base is located.

I carry a cell phone for work. It is part of the equipment that goes with my little rentacop route. I pass it on to the guy who relieves me, who passes it on to the next guy, who will pass it back to me when I come back on duty. Other than that, I am generally at home. I have a home phone to be reached by, so I have no need for a cell phone. If I am not at work or at home, chances are likely that I am doing something I enjoy, and wish not to be contacted by anyone that isn't physically present with me. Some people just can't understand this. People I hang out with will keep checking their phone in the midst of conversations for new texts, missed calls, etc. Now I don't mind that they do this. After all, ask my wife, I'm not the best conversationalist in the world, so its not like I feel slighted that they are not interested in an already not-so-deep conversation to begin with. Writing is my better form of communication. Although with some people I may have to learn how to write in a texting form of language in order to hold their attention long enough for them to get the point I may be trying to make. But at the same time they have become slaves to this technology, and that I abhor. The whole point of the things were to be a tool of convenience, not a ruler of your life. You use the phone to dictate and communicate. Instead, it seems the phone and other gadgets now dictate their lives for them. Even by their own admission to be feel the need to be left alone, or that they are addicted, cellphone users just can't shut the thing off or leave it at home. They even have SCIENTIFIC STUDIES that show the addictive capabilities of these devices. And the people wonder why they can't get a private moment in their lives without worry that so-and-so is going to call or text them at any moment.

Now I know you're probably wondering what the hell my point is with all this rambling. Well it is this. I TRULY am the last stand when it comes to not having a cellphone to interfere with my life. Especially in my family. My sister has one, her hubby does too. My wife and all her siblings and parents have cell phones. The only reason my kids don't have cell phones is that I'm not paying for them, and they aren't old enough to have a job to support their own cell phone ownership.

Then there is me without a cell phone, along with my parents. But that all ended this last weekend. I received a call from my mom, who informed me that she had accompanied the Evil Duane (of the Branch Duanians of Sac City) downtown and bought themselves a phone for each of them, ad to give me their new cell numbers. I thought I had allies in my anti-technology fight. Yes I realize I'm saying I'm anti-technology while maintaining a blog site on a computer, an old Myspace account, and a Facebook page. The latter two things I once said I'd never do, and I broke down and added myself to the millions of mind numbing activities provided by a social networking site. In my defense, this was the only way to keep track of some friends. A cell phone is still not necessary to this mission, and if they provide me with an ultimatum that they will only communicate by texting from here on out, then I shall issue them my resignation from the relationship on a grounds of irreconcilable differences of conditional relationship status.

Things may not be going commie around here, but I see everyone throwing their hat in the ring in order to get the newest gadget, make themselves more trackable and susceptible to identity theft and surveillance by those who fly the silent black helicopters. Don't deny the conspiracy, we all know they do it. Ultimately its all part of a much larger conspiracy to use the world's population to get to me. Luckily I am hiding out in my super-ultra-secret underground bunker located at...oh wait, never mind. No one can find me here. The Mookified State is in full control.

My parents getting cell phones only reinforces my position that I was key to the strength of the Branch Duanian organization. However, having branched out on my own and running the Mookified Compound along with my trusty executive officer, Colonel Beauregard Sterling Lovell, the power and ultimate autonomy of the Branch Duanians faded, leaving me as the last stand. The Rebel Alliance is no more, as it is just I now, and no others to help in the fight against all that is evil, such as Big Cell Phone, and other technology demons like Apple!

Spring Report From the Colonel

From The Desk Of:

Col. Beauregard Sterling Lovell, Mookified Army, Feline Brigade, Commanding


Once again Spring has arrived, and it is time for my quarterly report. So lets get to it, I haven't much time for you people unless you plan on feeding me or letting me outside.

Health Report on the Colonel: Eating the same old dry cat food crap. No tasty live vittles for this guy. Recently underwent annual health inspection from just another lowly veterinarian. As a member of the Mookified Fighting Forces, this is taxpayer subsidized health care at its finest. You know, General Mook is always bragging about his state of the art James Medical Institution he co-founded. Sure they can make a simple one-time vaccine for cootie to help people out, but I still have to get a freaking distemper shot every year. State of the art my furry butt. The doctors say that while my Kitty-crack (that's catnip to you wise acres) addiction is under control, that I'm going to have to cut down on my cigar smoking. I'm not so sure how I feel about this. I may have to quit sneaking out and hanging with the Godfather when the General isn't paying attention. Besides that, the Godfather keeps brand name cereal around. Much better than this store brand crap the General's wife keeps buying. I think its sub par processed cereal material that has led me to a serious bout of cabin fever, and causing me to climb up every file cabinet, bookcase, or armoire available.

Economy: The economy, I am proud to say is in good condition. The fecal output is good, reeeaaall good. Air pollution reducers are being enacted for a better quality environment. And as a part of that economic benefit comes from using the recyclables I grab out of their container to help further bury the fecal material. Win-win proposition for me. Keep up my industriousness, while satisfying the "greenies" need to reduce flooding the atmosphere with my stuff.

Education: Happy to report all is well here, and I am learning absolutely nothing. I mean hey, whats the point of furthering one's education when you have people around to do a cat's (much less a fat cat Colonel) bidding?

Security: Here is one area that I, as the Colonel in this outfit, have found lacking. Since the receding glaciers have given way to more moderate temperatures, those dastardly birds have returned yet again. They are nesting above the Deck outpost. They are using sappers to take up posts on the deck itself. I fear it will only be days before the squirrels join them in harassing us further. The General has put an end to recon patrols outside the command post. Something about invading the area above our compound, or another stupid excuse for the man to keep me down.

I thought at first we were finally going to be proactive in our security measures. It appears that the one they call Buggy made a bird-feeding treat, and the General's wife hung it up out on the deck. Surely we were planning to lure the enemy in with a baited trap where I would be able to use my finely honed skills to eliminate them one by one. But I was ushered back inside. I plan on filing a formal complaint with the General later. I'm sure he'll find the time to lose it with all the bureaucratic paperwork he makes up to waste his time.

Clearly this is something that must be taken care of. Had the General's wife not put the kibosh on me getting my own executive officer, we would have this outfit in fine shape. However, given that I was denied my request, stewardship of the compound under General Mook has become rather lackluster.

In summary, we are at about 75-80% okay so far. However, should this security matter not be taken care of, all else may be in danger of collapsing. Please, send help, or the ASPCA or whoever is in charge of making sure I have a good home.

The Ups and Downs Of Mookism

The problem with being the great and powerful Mook is that it has some ups, but is definitely set up for big downers. The great thing about Mookism is that when things go well, my ego is fed, heartily. When my critics react to me and any shortcomings, I chalk it up to how much I and my opinions matter, and therefore my ego is fed- again heartily. Now, if I could only convince others that I am a world superpower all by myself (and the aid of the Colonel- Rentacop of the Year, 2009)

This last Saturday, we were preparing to have a get together with another couple for a nice dinner at our place. My wife was busy in the kitchen trying her hand at a nice creole-themed feast. I on the other hand was busy cleaning up in the living room while doing laundry. I took one look at the desk area where this very computer I am typing on sits. The Colonel is back behind the tower, along with a lot of wires, dust, random papers that needed to be sorted through, and bits and pieces of god only knows it needs to be vacuumed up.

I shut down the computer. Then I unplugged the tower from everything and moved it and all the wires out of the way so that I could do a little dusting and then vacuum the carpet. Seems simple enough and goes by quickly. Then I take all the wires, plug them back in where they go and replace the tower to its normal position. I commence to turn on the computer. It starts up, makes some funny beeping noises like a warning and then shuts itself down. I try again with the same result. I bother my wife, the closest person to a tech guru of the household, and she tries the same thing, jiggles a few wires after an inspection, and we try again. Same results.


It turns out that I am the only person in the western hemisphere who can kill a computer without actually doing anything wrong. I am beginning to think someone has set the Mook up for a dismal failure. Either to stick it to my fragile ego, or to cause me to stimulate the economy by hiring a tech support guy to standby just in case I want to use the computer. This way, he can fix it after each keystroke or movement of the mouse I make.

So, great, we have no access to the computer over the weekend. This is both good and bad. It is good in that I can spend more time reading an actual book a little more often. Also both my wife and I are not wasting time messing around on Facebook or whatever site we choose to visit. (Editor's note: visiting this site and my blog family however are important sites not seen as time wasters. Thank you readers for visiting. Please check out the gift shop before you leave). So we spent some time playing card games, and also a board game with the kids. This is good time spent when everyone is home alone. HOWEVER, not having access to the computer is bad in that it takes away my excuses to avoid actual productive work during the daytime when I'm left home alone during the week.

Now, being the all powerful Mook that I am, this problem was going to require some real genius work on my behalf. So, Monday morning comes rolling around. I get home from work and the wife leaves. I had two plans of action, as a man always does. The first plan was to jiggle wire connections, stare at the box contemplatively, and push buttons. Plan B was to take a screwdriver to the tower, open it up and stare at the innards as though I have some sort of clue as to what I'm looking at inside.

I jiggled, I flipped a switch, I pushed a button. Nothing. I flipped the switch back, pushed the power button again, and VOILA! Computer is on. Had to check with tech support (aka my wife) as to why the keyboard wasn't working. Got that going, found everything was okay with our files. I informed her then of what Plan B was. I think the schism that occurred in her brain almost caused her to wreck. I was assured that had I opened the box, I would be in for a lobotomy via my rear end and her foot. Not her words, but that was the message I heard. Good thing Plan A worked, because I would've been clueless anyways, and and just more than slightly physically re-arranged afterwards.

So, it turns out I don't need a personal standby tech support guy to help me out. I just have to commence jiggling wires, pushing buttons and staring at the electronic stuff until it does what I want it to do. Like the men who stare at goats and kill them, I obviously have the mental powers to stare at electronics and fix them. It's when I touch them that they die. The Force must be really strong in me. Not sure how strong. Probably equivalent to the amount of strength in a small pony at least (thank you Eddie Izzard for this line).

So, if you have anything that needs to be stared (or is it scared when having to look at my face?) into working right, bring it on over. I'll act as though I know what I'm doing. Kind of like a guy who is trying to be manly in front of some poor helpless woman stranded by a P.O.S. car, thinking he'll get a date out of the deal or something. But don't bring a car by. I have not honed the Force well enough to fix objects that big. I've been doing that for years without any luck. so far, Mookism has a better shot at killing a car than fixing one. So technically I'm still more powerful than they are, but just in one way.

Oh, and in case you were wondering. My wife did a fantastic job on the dinner that night. I don't know about the guests, but I could certainly get full on that stuff every night and add some more weight onto my little frame. It's probably best that I don't though. I might get used to it, then having to give it up after ballooning to 400lbs or more, I might go through withdrawals and THAT would be bad. I would kill more than computers to say the least. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go pour myself a 4th cup of coffee.

Rent-a-Cop of the Year Awards

Well, after a long, hard fought competition, the Rent-a-Cop of the Year for 2009 is...... (okay so I haven't learned how to make a drum roll noise happen here, you need to do it yourself):

Colonel Beauregard Sterlng Lovell, Head of security at the Mookified Compound. What he did to earn this illustrious honor: took out Rent-a-Cop Manager of the Year 2008, Stew Holloway, when he came to check on the Colonel. After Manager Holloway stepped on his tail, The Colonel sprung into action with his cat-like reflexes, did a jiu jitsu leg sweep and then sprang at Manager Holloway's head, and biting him on the ear.

Let me be the first one to say, this contest was obviously rigged somewhere along the line, and by rigged, I mean NOT IN MY FAVOR!!! I was one of the 6 judges for the competition. Now before anyone asks how ethical it might be for me to be running for the award while being a judge...I invented the friggin award, so get over it. After hearing the announcement, I found the head judge, Manager Holloway, and asked for the breakdown on the votes. Apparently I was the only one who voted for me. Given my track record of excellent rentacopping, I was rather shocked at this. Apparently I didn't bribe the right people here. (In retrospect, bribing myself, a sure vote, was probably not worth the time, energy or cost that could've been invested in one of the other 5 judges).

Also upon hearing the news, newcomer and runner-up for the award, Trevor "Irish" McCarthy was also not pleased, and recently commented on his facebook about how he would be gracious, yet wished the Colonel harm, in hopes of taking his place. Irish was then informed that unlike other meritorious awards like Miss America (Irish also missed out on winning this one, after disparaging homosexuals rather blatantly when questioned by Perez Hilton- almost to the point of being arrested for his disturbances), there are no duties to the community or anything resembling service requirements associated with this award. Once you win, you win, and all losers (which I guess includes me) will just have to wait for next year in hopes of being bestowed with such high honors as the Rent-a-Cop of the Year Award.

It was however a very successful gala last evening. Lots of cavorting about drunk on jelly donut filling, or glaze, as well as highly intoximacated rentacops loaded with all sorts of liquor, and probably a few other things, like drain cleaner (Irish), windex (Manager Holloway), and the like (Me- not sure what it was...scrubbing bubbles maybe?).

At one point, all human rentacops vowed revenge on the Colonel for having upstaged them, a brawl ensued, we haven't seen the Colonel since, however we have all managed to be coated, inside and out, with his hair.

Three upstanding rentacops made citizen arrests on themselves for drunk and disorderly after having gone, not through the window in the midst of the fight, but managed to take out the wall itself, and land in the parking lot. One, is testifying both for and against himself in a trial set for just after the New Year. We haven't figured that one out yet. But, if you thought lawyers were full of shit, be prepared for this idiot rentacop to make you proud at his ability to upstage even the best of lawyers.

WE haven't seen Irish either. We last saw him bragging about his ability to maintain the fight while imbibing an entire 55-gallon drum full of Irish Whiskey, without being knocked out, or passing out. He's probably still somewhere in the rubble trying to get the last few drops down before the cleanup crew clears all the debris away, finds him, and kicks him out.

In all the drunken madness the Rent-a-Cop Manager of the Year award ended up going to former NPI supervisor Hayley Eash. She was not in attendance at the great gala, but received 5 out of 6 first place votes in the human poll. The Harris interactive computers had her at .945, while the AP computers had her as low as .796. BCS representatives were unable to explain these discrepancies, but did issue a statement to the effect that the system is what it is, and works effectively enough to determine a national championship. Somewhere, Congress is looking to investigate the BCS' role in determining not only college football, but also the Rent-a-Cop of the Year awards as well. Representative Barney Frank was clearly annoyed that after Manager Holloway stole the ladies swimwear event with style yet didn't win.

Either way it was fun, we were all drunk and/or in jail despite our supposing to have been on duty. Irish and the Colonel are AWOL....could be that Irish found the Colonel, and perpetrated that harm he wished and is off burying the body. But until he returns and files an incident report, details are sketchy at best. We're still a bit busy nursing our hangovers and in some cases, consoling their Bubbas as they get bailed out pending their hearings. If we ever recover any photos from the event we'll be sure to update you. If pictures of a few goats surface, don't judge us.

Glad I'm a Boy and other happenings

This morning I came home from work. In the midst of telling my wife about my evening, she suddenly interrupts with "OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD"

While my work shift had some actual work involved, I didn't think it was so exciting that it would elicit such a strong and loud response. She was standing in front of the bathroom mirror doing what women do with their hair. I don't know about this kind of stuff. My involvement with my hair is cutting it back off as much as I can (also read: as short as my wife will allow it to get, apparently she isn't into the boot camp haircut on my head) Anyways....I thought, well maybe she burned herself with one of those hair tool thingys that women use. But no, that isn't the case. As I walk in to see her, she is examining a very lightly colored hair, it was pretty much white. I say pretty much, because it wasn't entirely white. It had SOME coloration to it. Now my wife wears vision correction devices. I on the other hand have better than 20/20 vision. So obviously I can see better than she can.

But she's freaking out about finding grey hairs on her head. She's 29. I met her when she was 17 when I met her. She had these ultra light colored hairs back then. I guess she never noticed them before. but she is completely focused on her having grey hairs. Apparently her mind can't get past what her eyes see. I attempt to explain to her that these are not "old lady" grey hairs, but merely the same kind of super light colored hairs she has always had. I've seen pictures of her when she was young and had hair that nearly qualified as albino in its coloration. While your hair may darken to a different hue over time, you never lose all your natural coloring, even the really light stuff. I know this, she SHOULD know this, but naturally being a woman, the first reaction is not to be logical and develop a clear sense of conclusions. Nope, its to freak out in some weird traumatic emotional overload.

And yes, I can get away with saying this, because my attempts to quell her emotional tide have already gotten her irritated with me...and being her boyfriend, fiancee, and husband for so many years, the hole I've dug for myself is so deep there is no hope of ever getting out of it. I'm currently constructing a state of the art nuclear proof bunker while I'm down here. I have already offered the rational, well thought out, and sensible conclusion as to what the hair was, and all without a hint of emotion. Well, there was some emotion, but it was the immature giddy kind, as I used a higher pitched voice while mocking her initial spastic verbal reactions. But beyond that...completely sensible. God, I am sure glad I'm a boy and don't freak out over such small fry stuff. I now shall sit back and await a unified female backlash for this posting here in the blog as well as from the facebook community of female friends who will chastise me about my insensitivity, to which I say "Screw it!"

The Colonel May Need to be Demoted

After returning home from a weekend full of Thanksgiving festivities, my wife decided it was time to erect the Christmas Tree. Not a big deal in my eyes. The Colonel however had ideas of using it as a training opportunity. At some point a few days ago, he attacked the tree vigorously in an attempt to make it submit. My wife caught him in the act. With one of the fake branches the cat had managed to dislodge from its place, she whacked the Colonel. He ran off to hide.

That was 4 days ago. Now, I get the whole retreat to regroup after a vicious attack like that. I've done it before, and will probably do it again. But I always come back. The Colonel has, as of the last 2 months, become oddly affectionate, and will crawl up in our laps for some relaxation while being petted. However it is day 4, and every time she approaches, he runs off and hides. Clearly the Colonel has become a coward. The Mookified Army, including the Feline Division, is expected to act bravely and smartly in all situations and never fear an opponent, no matter how ruthless they may be. As the Commanding General of the Mookified Armed Forces, i take to the front of the charge, involving myself in all the glorious battles that ensue, as a true leader should. I smart at my wife, knowing full well that I may be awakened from sleep being victimized with a maneuver called "The Claw" ripping my abdominal muscles away from my body. It tickles and hurts all at the same time, and yet, I return with aggressive rhetoric and offensive strategies of pure genius. I also know that at any given confrontation my wife may tweak my highly sensitive and tiny little nipples as a response to these offensives. It hurts like no one's business. But, the campaign must continue, no matter how many injuries I receive or purple hearts I find pinned to my uniform. Because in the words of a highly touted rap artist, "I ain't scurred."

Today, the Colonel had to be coaxed to her so she could pet him and let him know she still loved him. He was more than just a little apprehensive about this meeting. Clearly though, the Colonel has demonstrated a propensity for cowardice when it comes to my wife. It was a disappointing and embarrassing moment for me, as his commanding officer to see this streak of yellow painted boldly down his back. He will have limited time to earn his right to retain rank, otherwise, I may have to demote the cat.