The Tea Time Conversation Starter

Top Five Ugliest Americans, Week of August 26

Miley Cyrus

Demented Disney diva has issues that should be worked out in a therapist’s office, not in front of millions at the VMAs. I’ll apologize for her, Smith family.

Ted Cruze

Tiny-brained Texas senator thinks Obama might sign a bill to defund the signature legislation of his two terms in office, the Affordable Care Act. Uh huh.

Eliot Engle

Daffy Dem representative from New York thinks we should start bombing Syria right now. Sure, El. All of our other incursions in the Middle East have worked out so well, let’s do it again.

George Zimmerman

Myopic man who (figuratively) dodged a bullet and was acquitted of murdering Trayvon Martin visits Kel-Tec Firearms factory, the company that manufactured the gun used to shoot Trayvon Martin.

Donald Trump

Bloviating billionaire birther runs a sham university to bilk people trying to create better lives for themselves. Well done, Sir. Well done.

Never forget our true heroes

Thirty-five years. Bradley Manning has been sentenced to thirty-five years in prison for releasing documents showing illegal and immoral actions committed in our country’s name in Afghanistan and Iraq.

No one died because of his revelations. Yet the architects of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the ones who covered up the atrocities that Manning’s documents exposed, go free.

Bush and Cheney and their cadre of neocons who lied us into a war with Iraq where thousands of Americans and hundreds of thousands of Iraqis died get to go on playing golf and hosting parties and painting childish pictures and watching grandchildren grow up while Manning languishes in a federal jail.

If this isn’t a case of shooting the messenger I don’t know what is.

Bush, Cheney, Wolfowitz, and the whole rogues gallery of neocons from the Bush administration should be tried in an international court for crimes against humanity; for waging war on a country that had nothing to do with international terrorism.

Instead, we send some poor schmuck away to prison for virtually the rest of his life merely as a lesson to others. Don’t reveal our secrets. Don’t let the world see our real face, because that face is not Brad Pitt or John Wayne. It’s a bloated hog’s head, an overweight billionaire licking a bowl of caviar, a grotesque caricature of Uncle Sam stomping his way across the globe, destroying villages in order to save them.

Bradley Manning is a hero. Daniel Ellsberg is a hero. Edward Snowden is a hero. Never forget that.

Bumbling U.K. agents should concern us all

Of all the side stories spinning off of the Snowden saga, yesterday’s report that U.K. “security experts” invaded the offices of the Guardian newspaper and destroyed computer hard drives in an attempt to stop any further revelations has to be one of the most mind boggling.

The security experts were from GCHQ intelligence agency, which had earlier demanded that the paper’s editor either hand over all Snowden related materials or destroy the files. When the editor refused, the agency sent in the so-called experts to physically smash the hard drives of the newspaper’s computers.

There’s so much wrong in this single event it’s hard to know where to begin. The first issue is the embarrassingly thuggish approach taken by a government agency. It’s like a scene pulled from the script of a bad mafia movie. “You want I should break his thumbs, Boss?” “Not yet. Just bust up the computers. We’ll save the fun stuff for another time.” What sly and sophisticated tactic will the government try next? A dead fish wrapped in newspaper? Cutting off the head of the editor’s pet hamster and putting it in his bed?

The second part of this PR disaster is the apparent ignorance displayed by the security experts regarding current data storage capabilities. Smashing hard drives to stop further security leaks is like smashing a TV set to stop the broadcast of a television show. It’s as if the U.K.’s security experts were frozen in 1995 and just thawed out yesterday.

All of this brilliance comes from an agency in charge of the country’s most important secrets. And in our country, Obama has the nerve to scoff at people concerned about the possible abuse of blanket surveillance.

Tomorrow’s headlines today v2

Director of the NSA Says Office Bugged by FBI at Request of CIA on Tip From DEA Originally Provided by ATF. Obama responds: STFU.

SWAT unit raids child’s tea party on tip from uninvited toy. Winnie-the-Pooh tazed repeatedly.

Plastic Surgeon Reveals He Has Reduced Length of Obama’s Nose Dozens of Times in Past Months

Samsung Introduces New Smart-Ass Phone With Exclusive Insult Apps

Taylor Swift Institutionalized After Day When No New Photos of Her Appear On Internet

Pulitzer Prize for fiction goes to Fall Lake by John Andreini

America Behind Bars

According to the International Centre for Prison Studies, the land of the free and the home of the brave incarcerates a higher percentage of its population than any other country on the planet. Higher than Russia. Higher than Cuba. Higher than Rwanda.

Of course our prisons are bulging at the seams. Good for the private prisons industry, but bad for just about everyone else. Yesterday Attorney General Eric Holder announced some very modest sentencing reforms that include scaling back mandatory sentences for some small-time drug offenders and letting out a few non-violent geezers. One more timid step in the right direction from the president who stood on a platform labeled “change” when he ran for the office.

Change. The only substantive change we’ve seen in Washington is watching Obama slip-sliding to his right on just about every major issue he’s faced.

The sad reality is that when you have an administration that’s been frozen in the headlights for as long as Obama’s executive branch has been, even the smallest amount of movement is hailed by the press as a major step forward.

The steps that need to be taken are the decriminalization of marijuana and an entirely new approach to drug use and abuse by emphasizing treatment and education over incarceration. That would be real change.

Little Timmy watch: Day 5

Yes, today is day 5, the day of reckoning. I want to thank you all for your generous support, but unfortunately we have come up about $44 million short on the bill, give or take a million. I don’t know how Jerry Lewis does it. Anyway, in anticipation of this shortfall, we smuggled Little Timmy out of the hospital last night.

Our disguises worked perfectly.

Now we are on the run, as they say, but thankfully our escape vehicle blends right in.

So, with Little Timmy at least stabilized and in good spirits,

we can resume our lives. Thank you again.

For less than $5, you can help us resume our lives.

Buy a copy of “Fall Lake.” The link is over there on the right. We all thank you. 

Little Timmy watch: Day 4

Thankfully, Little Timmy’s condition improved last night. In fact, Dr. Mengele said our boy has had made so much progress that he could be moved to a new section of the hospital were he would be more comfortable.

This is his new roommate Denise.

Meanwhile, the family is settling into our new accommodations. Our neighbors in the alley have been very helpful. This is Captain Craptastic.

His vocal chords were damaged in a knife fight so he writes everything on a notepad. Great sense of humor. Just a little while ago, a nice young man asked our teenage daughter Margo out on a date.

But my thoughts are always on Little Timmy. Soon we will be presented with a bill.

For less than $5, you can help us pay Little Timmy’s hospital bill. 

Buy a copy of “Fall Lake.” The link is over there on the right. Little Timmy thanks you.

Little Timmy watch: Day 3

Little Timmy’s situation has taken a turn for the worse. Dr. Mengele’s experimental treatments have resulted in some unpleasant side effects.

Poor child may have to reconsider his dream of being a concert pianist. Another hope dashed. At least he has a roommate to help keep his spirits up.

On the brighter side, psych ward patients dressed in costumes visited the children’s floor and brightened up an otherwise gloomy day.

After twenty minutes of clownish antics, which included setting the nurse’s station on fire, the goofy troop was escorted back to their ward by a local SWAT unit. At least they were able to put a smile on Little Timmy’s face.

Won’t you help me brighten Little Timmy’s day?

For less than $5, you can give Little Timmy the hope he needs.

Buy a copy of “Fall Lake.” The link is over there on the right. Little Timmy thanks you.

Little Timmy watch: Day 2

My brave little man keeps smiling in the face of adversity.

I spoke with Little Timmy’s doctor a few minutes ago, Dr. Mengele, and he is not happy with our boy’s progress. He is recommending a radical new treatment

that has, up to this point, only been tested on sea urchins. We’ll do anything for our Little Timmy, so we agreed, even though the regimen costs $3,000 a session. Apparently the cone hat is made with meteorite dust and eagle droppings.

Unfortunately, hospital security evicted us from the emergency room waiting area and we were forced to find new accommodations.

We are trying to make the best of a bad situation, but the bills keep mounting. Our daughter Gina ran away with a band of gypsies, but they brought her back and demanded money for housing and feeding her for a week. Of course, we have no money. Thankfully, they were satisfied with a pair of flip flops and a broken umbrella.

Please, don’t force me to sell my children to gypsies.

For less than $5 you can help pay for Little Timmy’s medical treatments,

Buy a copy of “Fall Lake.” The link is over there on the right. Little Timmy thanks you.

Little Timmy watch: Day 1

I regret to report that Little Timmy’s Xerostomia flared up last night and we had to take him to the hospital for treatment. As you can see in the photo above, he’s putting on a brave face, but the doctor

told me that his chances for a full recovery are 50/50 at best.

Since we were also evicted from our apartment yesterday, our family is living in the hospital waiting room, washing our clothes in bathroom sinks, eating when we find change under seat cushions. Seth, our third oldest son

is the only family member with a steady job, but twenty-six cents a day doesn’t go very far.

The hospital administrator 

said Little Timmy’s treatments will cost $40,000 a day. When I told him of our financial situation, he said we have five days to come up with the money or they will pull the plug on Little Timmy.

Please don’t let them pull the plug on Little Timmy.

For less than $5, you can help pay for Little Timmy’s medical treatment.

Buy a copy of “Fall Lake” today. The link is over to your right. Little Timmy thanks you.

Buy my book. Do it for Little Timmy

Well, it’s come to this.

As my family (all twelve of us) huddled around the single bulb dangling from the ceiling of our dank, windowless basement apartment (we’ll have electricity for a few more days), Little Timmy looked up at me, his dirty face stained by tears of hunger and hopelessness, and he asked me,

            “Daddy, will we eat today?”

I blinked, holding back my own tears, trying to come up with reassuring words for my little barefoot boy who’d only consumed an Altoids and a cricket in the past two days.

            “Someone will surely buy one of my books today, Timmy.”

            His big brown eyes widened. “But what if they don’t?”

            All I could do was wrap my arms around his bony little body and squeeze.

            “They won’t let us perish. I promise you.”

I made a promise to Little Timmy. Please, won’t you help me keep it?

For less than $5, you can help Little Timmy have his first decent meal in weeks (did I mention he suffers from Xerostomia?).

Buy a copy of “Fall Lake” today. The link is over to your right. Little Timmy thanks you.

Dark times

I’ve been experiencing a strong sense of helplessness lately.

Our political system is no longer “our” — as in “the people’s” — political system. It now belongs to a cabal of ultra wealthy individuals and multinational corporations who regularly buy house and senate members and send lobbyists to crawl all over Capital Hill like maggots feeding on a corpse.

We have no control over what government feels it can do in our name. Revelations of spying by the NSA and other government agencies makes it clear that those who supposedly represent us are actually fearful of us, enough so that they are willing to shred the Constitution to keep tabs on our every word. Civil protests are treated as terrorist gatherings. Peaceful protesters are beaten, maced and arrested. Those who dare expose government malfeasance are locked away in prisons or forced into exile. Drones are sent in our name to execute people who have never had a trial or been convicted of a crime, and in many cases, innocent civilians are collateral damage.

You can still vote, can’t you? Yes and no. Republican statehouses are doing everything they can to keep minority citizens from voting. Then there’s gerrymandering. And when we do vote, our choices are limited to corporate lackey A or corporate lackey B. Voting machines are highly susceptible to manipulation and there is strong evidence they have been secretly tampered with in past elections. And, if a national election is close, we can count on the Supreme Court to step in and choose a winner based on the political preferences of the majority.

Finally, there is the corporate propaganda machine that some still refer to as the American media. Under the control of a handful of companies, our media works at the behest of its masters, conveying corporate friendly news and entertainment designed more to mesmerize than inform, distract more than engage, while it continually reassures the masses that everything is under control as the world burns around them.

I see fewer and fewer avenues for citizens to realistically exert their will. That’s a bad sign in a country that calls itself a democracy. We elected Barack Obama on the promise of change, but that promise turned out to be a blatant lie, and the last six years have seen us move inexorably closer to an oligarchy rather than away from it.

So where do we go from here? How do we make our voices heard? How do we return the balance of power to the people of America? The unfortunate reality is that the list of possible responses to these questions is growing shorter and shorter with every passing day. 

Name suggestions for the royal baby

Damian

Darth Paul

Crevice

Richie Rich

Aqualung

Bugsy

Bond James Bond

Bloody ‘ell

La  La

Gustav Ashford Cumberbum

Sue

Spiderman

Long Dong Silver

Snoop King

Ron Burgundy

The lies drone on

A secret internal document prepared for Pakistan’s government indicates that as many as 400 innocent civilians, many of them children, have been killed in drone attacks over the past nine years.

Of course, the U.S. government insists that it’s only killed 50 or 60 “non-combatants,” which is somehow supposed to make it better. The thing about this latest report is that it was never meant to go public, so there was no reason for the Pakistani officials who prepared it to fudge the numbers up.

What warped rational is there for this kind of activity? So what if we kill a few dozen children, we got our SUSPECTED terrorist, who was never found guilty of anything in a court of law? If a murder suspect were hiding out in a childcare facility in Milwaukee, would we drop a bomb on the building to stop him?

Why is it okay to murder innocent Pakistani’s in our zeal to stop people we think might be terrorists? Why isn’t the UN loudly condemning this action? Why is the Pakistani government allowing it to go on or do they know that they really don’t have the power to stop it?

Our government is acting like an international thug, going wherever it wants to do whatever it wants regardless of the law or signed treaties. And to top it all off, they want to punish anyone who exposes their lies and atrocities to the world.

How have we come to this, but more importantly, how do we stop it?

Fall Lake - An excerpt

Chapter 1

July 1953

Fall Lake, Minnesota

The two-tone Olds 88 clung to the heat-softened blacktop as it hissed along a narrow rural Northern Minnesota road. Two children in back, two parents up front, the Holzinger family was into hour seven of the eight-hour drive from their home in Waterloo, Iowa to their destination, Fall Lake, Minnesota, and tempers were fraying like an old knit scarf.

“Dad, what’s human sacrifice mean?”

            “Human…what?”

            “Mom, Dennis is reading that comic book again.”

            The sharp-featured and even sharper tongued Eve Holzinger rested her elbow on the top of her seat and turned around with a scowl. “Didn’t I tell you to throw away that piece of trash?”

            “It’s called “Weird Tales,” just like him,” said his sister Nancy.

“Mom, it’s Captain Marvel,” complained the nine-year old boy.

            “I don’t care if it’s Captain Jesus Christ, hand it to me right now.”

            The driver, 40-year old Peter Holzinger, glanced tiredly over at his wife as she retrieved the offending material from Dennis. “Eve, we’re on vacation.”

            “I don’t know why you keep telling me that,” shot back the irritated Eve. “Why don’t we just all take our clothes off and dance in the road. We’re on vacation.”

            Twelve-year old Nancy groaned from the back seat. “Mom, please.”

            A gaunt, bony man with a shiny pate and tired brown eyes, Peter shook his head in quiet resignation. Subservient to a fault, discouraged enough to keep a loaded handgun in the back of his sock drawer, Peter clung to the towrope of life simply hoping that he wouldn’t fall off before he got to the end. With each passing day, however, he felt his grip weakening.

            “Honestly, Peter. If I have to spend another half-an hour cooped up in this car I am going to scream.” Eve checked the small vanity mirror in her visor, a ritual she had performed every twenty minutes since they pulled out of their driveway in Waterloo, nervously poking fingers into her wavy brown hair to try and achieve a look that that was “guaranteed to turn heads” by Elizabeth Taylor. A furtive smile curled her lips momentarily as she thought about the only head she enjoyed turning; the perpetually tan VP of Marketing Dwight Hawkins.

            “We’re close, Eve. Very close.”

            “That’s what you said two hours ago.”

            “Dad,” shouted Dennis, kicking the driver’s seat.

            “What,” Peter barked.

            “When are you going to teach me to shave? You promised.”

            Peter closed his eyes for the split second it took to consider and reject steering the car into oncoming traffic, and he unclenched his grip on the steering wheel and refocused on the road ahead of him and the joy of spending the next week with his family in a trailer the size of a phone booth.

            An hour-and-a-half later, Peter pulled the car onto a gravel road blocked by a metal gate with a padlock. To one side of the gate was a large sign that read, “Glenn Creek subdivision. Lots for sale now.” “This is it,” Peter said with a sense of accomplishment. He put the car into park, got out and walked to the gate.

            “Thank God,” said Eve, fanning herself with her hand. “I was going to throw up if we had to drive another mile.”

Peter fished around in his pocket and pulled out the key for the padlock. Beyond the gate the road wound through a dense stand of maples and scrubby pines until it opened up to a large treeless space the size of several football fields. The ground had been leveled by a grader and small sticks poked up from the dirt to indicate lot boundaries.

“Here we are,” said Peter, smiling for the first time. He pulled to a stop near the western edge of the field and everyone got out of the car.

“This is where we’re camping?” asked Nancy incredulously. “I thought there were going to be mountains and waterfalls and stuff.”

“No one said anything about mountains or waterfalls,” said Peter. “But there is a lake.” He explored the wooded edge of the field until he found the beginning of a path cutting through the brush. “Here. This is exactly where Bill said it would be. Come on.”

“I’m shocked,” remarked Eve. “My brother the real estate mogul hasn’t been right about anything since the fifth grade. You go on. I need a cigarette.”

Nancy and Dennis followed Peter along the overgrown path, pushing away weeds and branches and swatting at mosquitoes with every step, until they finally emerged from the brush onto a thin, sandy beach leading to the dark blue-green water of Fall Lake.

“Whoa,” yelled Dennis. “This is unreal.”

“Coolsville,” added Nancy in a rare display of positive emotions.

“Coolsville,” repeated Peter to himself. Framed by dense green deciduous and evergreen woods, the lake stretched out to the north like a broad river, its glassy surface reflecting a blue sky and marshmallowy clouds floating overhead. Enveloped by the smells of lilacs and pine, the three Holzingers went to the edge of the water and breathed in the beauty of the moment silently. This was almost worth the agony, thought Peter, dipping a hand into the cool water and rubbing it on his face.

Later, the trailer tent now set up, a small fire burning a short distance away, Peter and Eve relaxed in their camp chairs while the kids played at the lake. Eve had mixed a thermos of martinis before they left, and they sipped from plastic cups and smoked cigarettes as the late afternoon sun slowly dipped behind the tree line. Just behind the congenial conversation, like scenes playing out just beyond the firelight, Eve imagined her next lunchtime tryst with Dwight, while Peter contemplated the possibility that this was the last family vacation they would ever have. The outer tranquility and inner turmoil were short lived, however, as Nancy and Dennis stomped back from the lake arguing loudly.

“Hey,” shouted Eve. “Knock it off.”

“What are you two arguing about?” asked Peter.

“We came back because Dennis got scared,” announced Nancy loudly.

“I heard voices. People talking,” responded her angry brother.

Peter turned toward his son. “Voices?”

“Yeah. It sounded like people whispering or something.”

Nancy pulled out a Coke from the cooler and opened it. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Wind blowing through branches, water lapping up on the shore, the sounds are different here than they are at home.” Peter was trying to help his son out.

“Yeah, sure,” said Dennis, clearly unconvinced. “Nobody believes anything I say.”

“Tomorrow we take the boat down to the lake and catch some walleye or trout. How’s that sound?”

“You all have a grand time,” said Eve. “I’m going to sleep as long as I can and then get some sun. Oh,” she continued, pointing at Peter. “You clean everything you catch. Understand?”

“Yes, dear. I’ll gladly gut the fish.”

It was a struggle getting the heavy aluminum rowboat down to the lake the next morning, but with Peter on one end and Nancy and Dennis arguing at the other, they managed to get the craft into the water without a serious injury. Peter loaded up the boat with fishing poles, a tackle box, a net and lunches, and finally children, before pushing off into Fall Lake. He grabbed oars and enthusiastically rowed away from shore, noting to himself with a smile that he hadn’t felt this alive in years. As the boat glided across the dark water, the three talked idly, debating whether “Make Room For Daddy” or “I Love Lucy” was funnier and why no team will ever beat the Yankees in the World Series. Muscles now beginning to protest, Peter drew in the oars and rested as the boat quietly slid along the surface.

“This is heaven. Isn’t it?” asked Peter, not expecting a response. “A nice crispy green dollar bill to whoever catches the biggest fish today.”

“No contest,” Nancy assured everyone. “I always catch the biggest fish.”

 “Always?” protested Dennis. “One time you got lucky.”

Peter was reaching for the tackle box when they heard the first thud on the bottom of the boat.

“What was that?” asked Dennis.

“I’m not sure,” said Peter. “Uh, sometimes tree branches fall into the lake and the boat can—“

There was a second, louder thud, and everyone jumped. Peter leaned over the side of the boat and inspected the black water.  “I don’t see anything.”

“I’m scared,” announced Nancy. “I want to go back.”

“Yeah. Me too, Dad.”

Peter looked concerned but not alarmed. “It’s a lake full of small fish. I really don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”

Then a new sound; metal on metal. Something was slowly scraping along the bottom of the boat, from underneath. Nancy screamed and Peter quickly set the oars back into the water.

A cigarette dangling from her rose-red lips, Ellen smoothed suntan lotion along her legs until she was glistening like a basted turkey. She had brought out one of the sleeping mattresses and laid it on the short grass next to the tent for maximum sun exposure, and, capping the bottle, she lay back, removing her cigarette and adjusting her body. Her idea of vacationing was a far cry from her husband’s. There was no hiking or cleaning dead fish or cutting firewood for this girl. Sun, cigarettes and a siesta — that’s what vacations are all about.

The afternoon slid by quietly for Eve until the sun grew uncomfortably hot and she had to find other things to occupy her time. She read a magazine, made herself a sandwich, did her fingernails; but soon the silence grew tiresome, and she became bored and grouchy. After getting dressed, she decided to go down to the lake and see if she could locate her family. Maybe she’d even go out in the boat with them for a while.

 Even Eve was impressed as she emerged from the shadowy woods and saw Fall Lake for the first time. We should be camping down here, she thought to herself as her eyes roamed over the bucolic scene. At the waters edge, she lit another cigarette and became engrossed in the gentle, tension-relieving sound of water lapping up against the sand. She saw no signs of a boat, however, and decided to walk north along the shore until she found Peter and the kids. When she turned to her right to begin her journey, her eyes caught sight of something in the tall reeds near her that looked out of place. Pulling back the giant tendrils, her heart stopped. There sat the Holzinger’s rowboat. The rods and cooler were resting on the metal bottom, but no husband or children. It bobbed gently in the water as if it had been abandoned. Then she heard a voice calling, screaming.

“Mom. Help me. Help.”

There was no question in her mind it was Dennis yelling for her. She squinted and scanned the lake’s surface, finally locating a small dark figure bobbing up and down and splashing in the water about three hundred yards into the lake.

“Dennis?” she yelled back, her cigarette dropping from between her fingers. “Dennis?” It only took an instant for her to realize that there had been an accident and her children and Peter were in freezing lake water. Eve grabbed the nose of the boat and jerked it in closer, at the same time jumping in clumsily and grabbing the oars. Frantic, she wielded the oars like propeller blades, slapping wildly at the water until she was pointed in the direction of the voice. “I’m coming,” she yelled over and over again as she rowed furiously out into the lake. The voice called out one more time, fairly close to her location, but when she pulled the oars out of the water to listen, there was only the sound of blackbird jeering from the shore. No splashing. No calls.

Hysterical, Eve got on her knees, leaning against the metal sidewall of the boat, looking into the blackness and listening. “Please God,” she said to herself. “Please let them be okay.” She lowered herself even farther over the edge, the boat tipping on its side, trying to pierce through the gloomy depths for any signs of her family. Crying, panting, praying, Eve continued searching in the water, but the only face she saw was the pale wobbly reflection of a terrified woman who had lost everything of meaning in her life.

Eve’s sobs echoed from shore to shore, and the small craft bobbled aimlessly in the middle of Fall Lake a cork. 

Order Fall Lake now

The reviews are coming in for Fall Lake

“I wish I’d written it.”

Stephon King

“Made me ashamed to call myself a writer.”

Dan Koontz

“I soiled myself.”

K.L. Middling

“This was a novel I could really sink my teeth into.”

Anna Rice

“It made me go out and buy a night light.”

V. D. Andrews