You know what? I’m so tired of talking about politics. Opining, bloviating, masticating until my brain starts to feel like the inside of a homeless guy’s pants. And no, I have no idea what I mean by that. Anyway, I realize “Out Of My mind” is supposed to be one of them humor-slash-political columns and, as such, it requires pontification. But hey ~ do not attempt to control this man, my friend, for I and I alone am the boss of me. And because I am so tired of talking about politics, I will not so much as mention any political thing this time. Not McBama, not O’Cain, not the Dems, not the Pubs, not the DNC, not Nancy Pelosi and especially not Nancy Pelosi. This is not going to be, in any way, a political column. And that, my friend, is my personal promise to you.

Masticating. That’s good.

Michael Jackson celebrated his 50th birthday on Friday. I like Michael. To me, he’s a symbol of the American dream. Only in this country can a person be born a poor black boy and celebrate their 50th birthday as a rich white woman. Yes, I know that’s an old joke but I steal it with impunity for this truly is the land of opportunity.

Researchers are saying if U.S. trends in diet and exercise continue, every American adult could be overweight within 40 years. People, that’s a 100 per cent obesity rate. That is awesome. I knew we could do it. But let’s not wait 40 years. I’m there now ~ where are you? We all get on the same page with this, then work out a good curriculum of carbonated sugar drinks and saturated fat to get the kids up to speed, and before you know it … Fat City, USA. population: us.

A Jewish guy up in New York recently had a Bar Mitzvah for his dog. Only the guy called it a “Bark” Mitzvah. Clever, huh? The dog, whose name is Elvis, said, “Bark Mitzvah, Schmark Mitzvah … it’s better than that circumcision thing we did the other time. At least with this I get to eat.”

Okay, you know what? I can’t do it. I admit it. It’s too much, I can’t do it. I look around at the debacle that is American politics and I cannot not comment. Politics in this country is 50 percent circus, 50 percent eating in restaurants and 50 percent organized crime. I cannot sit idly by without offering my opinion. And that, my friend, is my broken personal promise to you.

Therefore …

Nancy Pelosi derided offshore drilling advocates at the DNC by calling them the “two-cents-in-ten-years-crowd.” She says offshore drilling will only reduce gas prices two cents over the next 10 years. But I’ll tell you this … when they started talking about domestic drilling ~ not acting on it, mind you, but just talking ~ the price at the pump around where I live dropped 60 cents a gallon in three days. Make of that what you will.

Nancy also told the protesters, “Can we drill your brains?” I gotta say, that was a good one. Cheap shot but well executed. For a very brief instant there I actually kinda liked her. Very brief instant.

Little more Nancy … I saw that clip again on TV where she’s going, “I’m trying to save the planet! I’m trying to save the planet!” all doe-eyed and beseeching, like she’s our last hope. I half expect her to dress Harry Reid, AlGore, John Murtha and some of those others up in spandex and capes and form a Justice League of America or something. Makes me wonder how the planet has managed to survive all these billions of years without her.

But, drill your brains. That’s gold.

Look, I’m not saying the Democratic Convention was hyperbolic, but AlGore actually got up there and equated Barack Obama to Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln, Kennedy, the Messiah. Guy’s going to have to actually be God to live up to the hype. People ask me what I think of Barack Obama, I tell em I think the emperor’s naked. I think this whole election’s like a strange Coke-Pepsi taste test. Where’s the uncola when you really need it, huh? And no, I ain’t talking about Hillary. She’s more of a root beer.

By the way … Lincoln was a Republican. And so was Dr. King. You gotta love revisionist history, though, because without it there could be no politics.

I don’t know if this is significant or not, but Barack Hussein Obama’s long lost brother, Hussein Onyango Obama (got that “Hussein” theme going), has been located living in a hut in a “ramshackle town” on the outskirts of Nairobi. Barack doesn’t talk much about Onyango, but in his autobiography, he described him as a “beautiful boy with a rounded head.” You know, Charlie Brown was oft described as “that round headed kid.” I wonder if he’s related to Barack, too. Could be. The senior Obama seems to have sprinkled seed among several women. In fact, the old man’s uncomfortably close to being a negative stereotype. Ahhh, race ~ can’t live with it, won’t let it go.

But what’s good about Obama is … here’s a U.S senator with no accomplishments who’s managed to write two books about himself. That’s his real strength.

Okay, close out with some political stupidness that’s closer to home. Tennessee State Senator Ophelia Ford’s been getting all huffy and indignant about the way state legislators have been regulating the “funeral home industry.” This is a matter of interest to Ophelia because she’s in the funeral business herself. She accused state regulators of trying to “eat us up and put us out of business.” At a recent legislative committee hearing, she demanded to know who is was that authorized higher licensing fees and other expenses. Turns out it was her. As a state legislator, she voted for the new statutes herself … twice. Yes, voted on it two times. Trying to eat her own self up and put her own self out of business, I guess. But what struck me was ~ if that’s how stupid our elected officials are with their own interests, why do we think they’re going to show even a glimmer of wisdom when it comes to ours?

Yes, come and gather round, children … I will tell you of that faithful time when India fell and how the world came to be thus as it is today. Our hated neighbor to the west, Pakistan, lorded their nuclear arsenal over us lo those many years, as did we to them. But then, as will inevitably happen in such situations, one of us flinched and we both launched our bombs. Hundreds and hundreds of bombs. Needless to say, both India and Pakistan were incinerated in a hot, white instant and there was not a single creature left alive from Afghanistan all the way to the Bay of Bengal. As you might imagine, with our death toll in the billions, the entire country of India was gripped by massive outbreaks of reincarnation …

Rupak and Jagadeep shuffled along the empty Ganges riverbed, the mighty river long since vaporized from the nuclear exchange between Pakistan and India. Rupak rooted and snorted in the mud, then sighed, “This is the pits, Jagadeep. I expected to return as something a little higher on the karmic ladder than a pig.”

“You?” cried Jagadeep, who had been a pious man and was now a cow. “It is no wonder you came back as a pig ~ you are no better than a heathen ~ but what about me? I never violated my caste or disrespected the gods. I wish I had a rupee for every time I have bathed in this filthy river or let rats eat off my plate.”

“Rats are nasty,” said Rupak. “They carry the plague.”

“See how you are? No respect for the gods. You are lucky you did not come back as a worm.”

“Oh ~ that was a low blow, Jagadeep,” quipped a nearby worm.

“Who said that?” asked Jagadeep, startled.

“Down here, Jagadeep. It is me … your old friend Anoop.”

“Anoop? That is you?”

“Yes,” replied Anoop. “Can you believe it? I, too, hate worms and now I am one. Yuck! If you ask me, Rupak is lucky. I would give anything to have been a pig. It would be better if I was just crushed underfoot, for then I might have better luck in another life.”

“Okay,” replied Rupak, squashing Anoop with his hoof.

“Oh, nice, Rupak,” said Jagadeep with disgust.

“What? I did him a favor, my son. Now forget about Anoop and let us make our way over to Calcutta, see if we can find some decent rubble over there. This mud tastes like scorched chicken.”

Later, in Calcutta, gazing out over the radioactive desolation, Rupak noticed a fat jackal slinking towards them.

“Say, that fat jackal slinking toward us … isn’t that Geet? He was a jute salesman in his prior life, I would know him anywhere. Geet, is that you? I must say, you look well-fed for a Bangladeshian.”

“There is plenty of food if you are not all hung up about eating cows,” Geet explained.

“Moooo,” said Jagadeep.

“Geet,” cautioned Rupak, “ixnay on eating the owcays … ”

“Do not worry,” sneered Geet. “I would not eat Jagadeep if he was cooked in a curry pilaf and served by a virgin. I have bigger fish to fry.” He then turned and headed toward the sea. “Follow me and I will show you.”

Geet directed Rupak and Jagadeep to the ruins of a top secret military base. There, still nestled in the barrel of a concrete silo, was a thermonuclear missile with a primed warhead attached to the nose.

“My plan,” explained Geet, “is to launch this warhead at Iran. Iran will retaliate against Israel, the U.S. will retaliate against Iran, Russia and China will retaliate against the U.S., yadda yadda yadda, extinction event, mushroom clouds will block out the sun, there will be centuries of nuclear winter and before you know it ~ everyone will be dead.”

“Everyone?” queried Rupak.

“You, me, them ~ everyone.”

“That is some ambitious plan, Geet,” said Jagadeep. “But I cannot help wondering, is there a point to it?”

“Only the solution to surviving in this desolate age, my bovine friend,” replied Geet. “We will have triggered the destruction of the planet … which would be such a loathsome and cowardly act that surely karma would demand we be reincarnated as lowly cockroaches. And, as everyone knows, cockroaches thrive in any environment. We could take over the world.”

“I must grudgingly admit,” said Jagadeep thoughtfully, “that is not a bad plan. And it certainly beats being a cow, for in all candor, I could use a good milking. It is intolerable.”

“But wait a minute,” interrupted Rupak. “You cannot just pull a trigger and launch a thermonuclear missile out of a silo. You need high tech computerized launching systems, matching keys, secret codes, failsafe devices, that sort of thing … ”

“Naw,” replied Geet. “That is not true. All you have to do is touch those red and yellow wires together.”

“Really? You mean like this?”

But as it turned out, they weren’t reincarnated as cockroaches. The death and destruction they caused was so heinous that they were instead reincarnated as lawyers. After a time, Jagadeep commented, “Well, life is not good, but it is strange.”

THE END

Questions of wrong-doing and conflict of interest have surrounded the Bradley Co. Commission for several years. The latest problems of ethics and possible criminal violation concern Commissioner Jim Smith, a real estate agent and auctioneer who also serves as the Chairman of the Bradley Co. Building & Land Committee.

Commissioner Smith launched into an angry tirade directed against Bradley Co. Sheriff Tim Gobble at the July 7 Co. Commission meeting after several videos posted at bradleysheriff.com indicated that Commissioner Smith was being deceptive when he recently made allegations of property damage at the sheriff’s office. The internet videos prove that Commissioner Smith’s allegations of property damage were untrue.

Commissioner Smith also serves as auctioneer for Crye-Leike Realty, who holds land auctions on behalf of Bradley Co., the latest of which was on June 28. Because of his position as Chairman of the Bradley Co. Building & Land Committee, questions abound as to Commissioner Smith’s motives and integrity. Is he buying and selling personal property at the county auctions, is he receiving any form of compensation for his participation in the auctions, did Bradley Co. go through the appropriate selection process before awarding Commissioner Smith’s company, and does the benefit Commissioner Smith receives from free advertising constitute a conflict of interest?

According to the Tennessee County Government Handbook, “…officials are held to a more stringent standard of conduct, referred to as the ‘strict rule.’ Under this standard both direct and indirect conflicts of interest are prohibited.”

Commissioner Smith’s questionable behavior seems to follow a pattern. On January 3, 2008, Commissioner Smith’s family purchased property on Blue Springs Road for $469,000. A month later, Commissioner Smith and the Bradley Co. Building & Land Committee moved to purchase the property on behalf of the county for $837,500, which is almost twice the appraised value. This is a clear violation of the third statute of the ‘strict rule’ as defined by the County Purchasing Law of 1957 (TCA 5-14-114).

In August of 2007, the county commission was publicly criticized by District Attorney Steven Bebb when they requested that Bradley Co. attorney, Robert Thompson, interfere in “a future court decision involving a (county) defendant” who had been cited by the Bradley Co. environmental officer for refusing to clean up his property after numerous warnings.
At the time, District Attorney Bebb said, “The idea of a motion to have the county-paid attorney ‘provide some relief’ for a man who has not had a business license since 1968, and who has ignored eight warnings before a ticket was written is ludicrous. The county attorney should advise the commission that they have no business discussing a case pending in any court.”

County Mayor, D. Gary Davis and the county commission have engaged in a running battle with Sheriff Tim Gobble over requests for funding and better pay for county deputies. In September of 2006 when Sheriff Gobble first took office, Mayor Davis allegedly commented that he and the Bradley Co. Commission would never grant any request made by Sheriff Gobble. Mayor Davis was unaware that a nearby recording device was picking up his comments.

In addition to questionable legal practices, the county commission has also been criticized for advancing personal political agendas, overstepping their authority, violating the Sunshine Law, and engaging in personal attacks upon the superintendent of City Schools, the administrators of Sky View Hospital, and numerous private citizens.

What do you think?

Little bad news this week. Been kinda out of pocket for awhile, ain’t been feeling myself, so I went in to see the doctor. He took one look at me and said I had contracted intelligentsia. He said most people who suffer from intelligentsia don’t even recognize they have it. I know I didn’t. It started out mild enough … a little Thomas Pynchon, some Kahlil Gilbran, Norman Mailer at his most pretentious. Soon, though, I was watching a lot of PBS, and even sending them money. I got to reading Leo Tolstoy and Alexander Solzenitzen and was filled with self-loathing because I couldn’t understand a word of it. I realized that, more and more, I was blaming George Bush for all the ills of the world. I even began to view Barack Obama as the savior of mankind. I became a registered Democrat, and for the first time in my life I hated the fact that I was a white guy. White guys have caused so much pain and evil. I hated myself with a hatred that was almost pleasurable, like some weird emotional masochism. Then, in one of those rare flashes of insight that precede revelation, I realized the feeling of self-hatred plaguing me was pure, unfiltered White Guilt. The doctor put me on generic hot dogs three times a day ~ not beef dogs, the other kind with the chicken and turkey parts ~ and Mountain Dew. I can only read comic books or condensed Reader’s Digest stuff. Maybe a beach novel if I clear it with him first. I’m on straight network television, no cable, no PBS. I’ve quit going to the Episcopal church and am now safely back amongst the Baptists. I quit libraries cold turkey, can’t barely even remember what Keith Olbermann looks like. And, honestly? I like it. My thoughts are clearer and more concise than they have been in years. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade and the next Miss America pageant. I’m sharing this with the public because intelligentsia is one of those crippling diseases that is also a stigma. People don’t like to talk about it. If you are suffering from this malady, just remember: It is not your fault. With ego-reducing drugs and maybe a good anti-pretentious cream, you can still lead a relatively normal life as long as you refrain from dominating every conversation. If my story has helped just one poor intelligentsia sufferer, then the pain I am in will be worth it. Please keep me in your prayers.

The L.A. city council has slapped a one-year moratorium on new fast-food restaurants in a 32-square-mile area of South Los Angeles where, evidently, all the poor fat people live. The council is hoping to attract a higher class of restaurant to the area so the poor fat people will either accept “healthier food choices” or go somewhere else. But you know as well as I do, fat poor people don’t want no healthier choices … they want double triple cheese pounders with extra meat and extra cheese and a large fry and they want it supersized with Huge Gulps and sugar and extra salt and cheese. I dunno, L.A. city council … I’m thinking that’s one y’all ain’t gonna win.

I like fat poor people. I’m a fat poor person myself and I’m digging the heck out of it.

My New Slogan: “You can have my double cheeseburger when you pry it from my cold dead fingers.”

You know what I haven’t done in awhile? I haven’t done my “Idiot On A Cell Phone” segment since I can’t remember when. That’s probably because idiots on cell phones have officially became a cliché. Even so, every now and then an idiot on a cell phone comes along who displays such reckless and audacious idiocy that you can’t help but acknowledge them. Like the guy up in Minneapolis who was pulled over by a sheriff’s deputy recently for driving 80 mph in the wrong lane while sending a text-message. That’s good, isn’t it? There’s more. The guy was drunk and the text message was to the Minnesota Department of Public Safety. On the phone, texting, 80 mph, in the wrong lane, drunk, sending a message to the department of safety. Somewhere out there on the Interstate is an innocent family of four just waiting to be annihilated by this guy.

And I Quote: “I loved him so much that I would ski naked down Mt. Everest in the nude with a carnation up my nose if he asked me to.” ~ Bernann (Joyce) McKinney, the woman who recently paid 50K to have her dog Booger cloned, explaining why (this is kinda complicated) she abducted a Mormon missionary 31 years in England and held him captive as her sex slave until he escaped and reported her to the police … she was arrested, jumped bail, changed her identity and (until now) never answered for her crime

She’s gonna ski down Mt. Everest naked and nude? Gal’s determined, huh? But the carnation’s a nice touch.

I’m not that surprised about John Edwards being exposed as an unfaithful husband with the secret lover and the illegitimate child and the poor wife sitting home with cancer. But how has the National Enquirer all of a sudden become more credible than NBC, CBS, ABC, PBS, CNN, MSNBC, the New York Times and the Washington Post? That ain’t far from being an End Times prophecy.

China … while the world is digging on the Olympics, give my regards to Tiananmen Square. On black, smoggy nights, can you still hear the moaning of the ghosts who live there? Or have the ghosts forgotten, too?

Lastly, a new survey by BBC Wildlife Magazine claims that kids aged nine to 11 can’t identify common animals and plants. The article I read specifically mentioned daddy-long-legs, oak trees and blue tits. As a kid, I could point out a daddy-long-legs and an oak tree. And if a blue tit is what I think it is, I always knew them as “purple pennies,” and they were not fun.

The Tyson Foods poultry processing plant in Shelbyville, Tennessee is doing away with their Labor Day holiday and replacing it with the Muslim holiday of Eid al-Fitr. What is Eid al-Fitr? Who knows. But over in the Middle East, as a gesture of unity with Tyson, the Muslims are doing away with their holiday of Laylat al-Qadr and replacing it with Halloween. Hah! Yeah. Naw, I’m just messin’ with you. They ain’t doing that. Won’t be, either. Not in a billllllion years.

And I Quote: “The big powers are going down … They have come to the end of their power and the world is on the verge of entering a new, promising era.” ~ Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad

Yeah, Mahmoud … a promising era of misogyny, homophobia, beheadings and nuclear jihad. Looking forward to it, bro’.

One day the lion shall lay down with the lamb. Might even lay down with the monkey, too. And the coyote shall lay down with the prairie dog. And the penguin shall lay down with the squirrel. And the aardvark with the long-legged sac spider. The Irish setter shall lay down with the mud guppy, although I don’t know why. The saber-tooth tiger shall lay down with the Cro-Magnon, and they shall even allow a gecko in there with em. The tortoise shall lay with the hare, the Indian mongoose with the spitting cobra, the atheist with the street preacher, the scarecrow with the crow and the Coke with the Pepsi. But … I say but … it’ll be a cold day before Mahmoud Ahmadinejad lays down with the Jew. Without it’s in a death grip kinda way, of course.

A guy in Jacksonville, Florida called 911 this week to report that Subway had not put any sauce on his spicy Italian sandwich. Then the guy called 911 again and complained that the police weren’t responding fast enough. When the police did arrive they arrested the owners of Subway and all the employees and shut the store down for good. They then apologized for not responding quickly enough and the mayor of Jacksonville commended the guy for sticking up for himself and gave him a key to the city, saying that if civilization is to endure no one should have to eat a spicy Italian sandwich without the sauce on it and if anyone else should ever have a problem like that they should do like the guy did and call 911 immediately. Hah! No, see, I’m just messin’ with you again, that’s all that is. Actually, they didn’t like what the guy did, calling 911 like that. You gotta watch me all the time cause they ain’t no telling what I’m gonna say next.

A beekeeper in Miami says he removed a hive of three million Italian bees that had infested a home down there. Three million bees. What I want to know ~ who counted em? I don’t know, but sitting there counting the bees … that is one patient guy. And was it three million, give or take ~ or was it three million exactly. Seems like the time it would take to count three million bees, some would be born, some would die … and wouldn’t that skew the total? And what are three million Italian bees doing in Miami? How’d they get in Miami? And even more puzzling, why am I devoting so much ink to the bees? What do I know from bees? I should care it’s an Italian bee or maybe a spicy Italian bee, or a do-be, or even an Aunt Bee? Normally, I don’t give bees a second thought, why am I obsessing over the bees? No, seriously, why? Discuss amongst yourselves. Quietly, though … quietly.

Nancy Pelosi’s book, Know Your Power, has only sold a paltry 2,737 copies. That’s pretty bad. Her book sales are about as bad as the favorability rating of Congress since she took over as Speaker of the House. Nancy, whatever you’re doing, stop … it ain’t working.

I don’t know if you’re aware of it or not, but for the first time in my adult life, I am actually proud of my country. No, seriously, I am finally, at last, now, as an adult, proud of my country. It’s true and I can reveal to you now that I am, indeed, for the first time in my adult life, proud of my country. Is everyone clear on that? Never been proud, but now, first time as an adult, proud. I just want to make sure everyone understands so there will be no question about it later. Listen closely: For the first time in my adult life, I am actually proud of my country. Okay? Okay.

I have a few minutes left, how about I take a few questions. Yes … the guy there in the back ~ you have a question, sir? What? What’s that you say? Have I ever made the statement that “For first time in my adult life, I am actually proud of my country”? Why, no, of course not. What are you talking about? What? No, I never said that. Never said anything like that. Why would I say that? No, sir, I did not. That’s a dirty lie. You show me were I ever said “For the first time in my adult life I am proud of my country” or anything like that and I’ll eat your hat. You need to stop lying and you need to stop believing everything you read in the biased, left-leaning media. Don’t you know they’re biased and left-leaning? I have always been proud of my country … as an adult, as a child and even as a fetus. If you’re just gonna waste my time making me respond to lies this Q&A is over.

“In the beginning there was darkness over the void. And the Lord said, ‘Let there be Barack.’ And there was Barack. And the world went mad with lust and longing …” You like that? I’m rewriting the Bible. That’s all I got so far.

Real quick before I get started … I been catching the tiniest bit of flack over the way I sometimes use the word “ain’t.” People been saying I’m supposed to say “isn’t,” saying that’s the proper usage. Normally, I’d tell them I’ll start saying “isn’t” when they start using their blinkers or when they quit yakking on their cell phone everywhere they go like they’re the freakin’ king of Siam or something, but since I try to be on my best behavior during our time together, I ain’t gonna buck … I mean, I isn’t gonna buck at a little constructive criticism. I understand that if I want to communicate with people, I got to speak a language they understand. I don’t want my message getting lost because I’m using language people don’t understand. Lord knows my message is weak enough on its own without it’s got to struggle under the weight of off-putting language, like saying “ain’t” instead of “isn’t.” It’s small enough a concession and one I am willing to make. Maybe. I don’t know. We’ll see.

You have probably already discovered for yourselves that I am a communicatory writer who is secure in his cognition (otherwise I never would have had the guts to use the expression “off-putting” in that last paragraph). True, I often mispronounce words, and at times will even use the wrong word altogether. Sometimes that’s license, sometimes it’s ’cause I went to public school. But stuff like that really don’t matter so much these days. More and more I’m learning that the 21st Century truly is the Age of Lowered Expectations. The Age of Lowered Expectations has trumped the Information Age. Even with the Internet (maybe because of the Internet), I doubt there’s one in ten people out there under the age of 30 can string a half dozen words together to make a coherent sentence. And I’ll go ahead and count myself among that number. Expect for the under 30 part. But I ain’t complaining. I mean, I isn’t complaining. I like it everything’s dumbed down. This is my kind of age and you are my kind of peeps: you’re a little dumb and you’re somewhere else.

And I Quote: “I’m trying to save the planet! I’m trying to save the planet!” ~ Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi, getting a little manic behind why she and the Dem Congress are blocking ‘Publican efforts to lift the moratorium on offshore oil and gas exploration

But you gotta give Nancy her due. She’s the first ever female Speaker of the House … and the first ever Speaker of the House to take Congress to their lowest approval rating in the history of the Republic … waaaaay down there in the single digits. I kid you not. And she did it all in a scant eighteen months. You go, grrl.

And now … a random sampling of political headlines gleaned from our nation’s newspapers:

“Obama Raises Child from the Dead in Europe!”

“McCain Orders Liver & Onions During Bakersfield Stopover”

“Obama Goes Back in Time, Saves JFK!”

“McCain Meets with Amway Reps”

“Obama Revealed to Be the Messiah!”

“McCain Has Prostate Exam”

John Wiley Price, a Dallas County commissioner of color, accused a fellow commissioner of being a racist for using the term “black hole” as an analogy for the inefficient government bureaucracy there in Dallas County. Some folks think Price epitomizes a national dialogue on race that’s so far down the rabbit hole it’ll never climb out. But that’s over-thinking it. Price was just embracing his own lowered expectations. If science disrespects a brother, rewrite the science. Feel me? “Black hole” bugs you? Change it to “white hole.” But pronounce it, “whide ho,” so it’s not recognizable as a word. Yeah, rewrite it. Why not? Hey, didn’t I already tell you I’m rewriting the Bible? You ain’t down for … I mean, you isn’t down for science, go ahead and change it up, make it something you can live with.

And I Quote: “Black is the new white.” ~ J. Michael Leonard, writing in “Out Of My Mind”

I’m going to close with somewhat of a public service announcement: Couple weeks ago, a guy in South Wales called the police to say a flying saucer was hovering silently over the mountains near his home. The police investigated and reported the flying saucer was, in fact, the moon. Okay, but I ain’t so sure … I mean, I isn’t so sure. I happen to know firsthand how the authorities try to discredit people who report alien activity. I’ve tried repeatedly to get them to do something about a squadron of alien invaders who have set up camp at the edge of my back yard, lurking back there, watching, waiting to make their move. Big, tall aliens, some of em 70-foot high with woody flesh and leafy hair. They’re pretty frightening. I called the cops on them, just like the guy in South Wales. You know what the cops did? Said they weren’t aliens at all. Said they were hickory trees. Yeah, okay. But I’ll tell you this for free ~ about the time those “hickory trees” cut loose on you with a death ray, you’ll wish you had listened to me.