There have always been poor predictions in this world my kids will live in

1876
Rutherford B. Hayes, U.S. President – The telephone is a great invention but who would want to use it anyway?

1895
Lord Kelvin – Heavier-than-air flying machines are impossible.

1954
W.C. Heuper, National Cancer Institute – If excessive smoking actually plays a role in the production of lung cancer, it seems to be a minor one.

Spring 1962
Dick Rowe, executive in charge of evaluating new talent for the London office of Decca Records, re: signing The Beatles – Not to mince words, Mr. Epstein, but we don’t like your boys’ sound. Groups are out; four-piece groups with guitars particularly are finished.

June 26, 2004
Paul Bremer (after transitioning the govt from the US Coalition Provisional Authority to the Iraqi govt a day early to thwart planned terrorist attacks and before running onto a chopper so he wouldn’t be attacked on the way out) – I leave Iraq gladdened by what has been accomplished and confident your future is full of hope.

May 31, 2010
Tony Hayward, CEO of BP, when asked about the burden of 11 employees of BP dying from an explosion of an oil rig, as well as the big Gulf of Mexico leak, and his having to answer for it, given that he was CEO – I would like my life back.

The Olden Dayz
Mark Twain – Sometimes I wonder whether the world is being run by smart people who are putting us on, or by imbeciles who really mean it.

Homekit By Apple Scares Me Because I Don’t Want My Garbage To Fight Back

Ambitious, but do we really want our toaster to call out "hey stupid, your bread is burning!"
Ambitious, but do we really want our toaster to call out “hey stupid, your bread is burning!”

So I hear about Apple Homekit from their presentation at the Worldwide Developers Conference in San Francisco.

I immediately think of HAL from “2001: A Space Odyssey”, telling Dave not to turn him off.

Uh oh...or as Scooby Doo would say...Ruh roh....
Uh oh…or as Scooby Doo would say…Ruh roh….

I then move forward, albeit briefly, to “West World”, A movie about a robust robot amusement park where Yul Brenner kills a bunch of people and other robots kill people in the control center.

Where nothing could possibly go "worng"
Where nothing could possibly go “worng”

Then my mind wanders to the recent Johnny Depp film “Transcendence”, but then I laugh it off since computers will not be that ridiculous anytime ever.

oops.......
oops…….

There was a movie of the week I recall in the 1970’s called “Colossus: The Forbin Project” that I thought was scary. I was very young and my mom was feeding me candy and homemade oatmeal cookies, so I might have just been high wired, unlike like I am now.

1970's groovy computer goes bananas
1970’s groovy computer goes bananas

And as I look at my Tempur Pedic pillow, I wonder if it would someday be able to suffocate me in the middle of the night because I snore too much….or would my ResMed CPAP machine (for snoring) come to my defense and declare war against it.

Ahhh....good for the neck, unless it strangles me....
Ahhh….good for the neck, unless it strangles me….
CPAP machine and all attachments that are connected to your face to help you sleep...not intimidating at all
CPAP machine and all attachments that are connected to your face to help you sleep…not intimidating at all
The actual mask I have to wear....do I even have to explain the risks here?
The actual mask I have to wear….do I even have to explain the risks here?

Who would win in that battle?

And why did I just refer to two home objects as “who”?

Common Sense FAIL – My two young kids have more brains than a few hikers I have read about in the news! (A testament to my good parenting!)

Jack and Dylan safely on the curb

ABOVE PHOTO:Look how careful my little kids are before getting near a ball that’s in the street!

OK So I guess I’m a pretty good parent……

BELOW PHOTO: The Iran hikers who were held for a while…..If I were her I’d say NO when one of those idiots asked me to marry him CUZ I wouldn’t want to be with someone for the rest of my life who had ZERO COMMON SENSE!

iran hikers

I say that because MY NINE YEAR OLD and MY TWO YEAR OLD know that when the ball goes into the street they need to be very careful not to get SLAMMED AND KILLED by a speeding car or truck, which there are a lot of in my street, due to all the getaways from robberies that occur near there.

It’s a good street to take when you are a robber and you just ripped off the local Subway sandwich store. The owner of the store doesn’t speak English so you have at least 20 minutes before the cops even figure out what happened.

Anyway, I contrast that with the following, and here’s the scenario:

1. You are Jewish. You are hiking in Iraq-
2. Iraq is a war zone. People are getting killed for being from the wrong “tribe” (ie Sunni, Shia, American, Jewish)
3. You are not only an American but a Jewish American….
4. You are hiking near the border of a country who’s president says your homeland (Israel) should be wiped off the map.
5. You figure through all your readings that they use hostages as political theater
6. But you do the hike near the border anyway…
7. You get caught…
8. Two years later you are released and are very angry about how you were treated and want the public to know how rough it was.

I AM THE PUBLIC

You are:

1. STUPID.
2. IGNORANT (ie stupid)
3. Lucky to be alive.
4. A pawn.
5. An idiot.
6. Reckless.
7. The last person anyone should marry due to your lack of common sense (see above, the scenario, if you will).

IF I WERE YOUR GIRLFRIEND AND YOU ASKED ME TO MARRY YOU AT A PRESS CONFERENCE I WOULD DO THE FOLLOWING:

1. Tell you to shove it.
2. Thank you sarcastically for getting me into this lousy situation in the first place.
3. And if that wasn’t clear enough, JUST SAY NO VERY LOUD WHILE THE PICTURES WERE BEING TAKEN BY THE MEDIA OF ALL OF US.
4. Unfriend you on Facebook.
5. Tell you I hate you.

Dominique Strauss Kahn has a quiet dinner with his wife in an Italian restaurant – just like I would with my wife if I were released from jail for a rape charge

What did you mean by "Tu as le cochon!!" my little buttaircup?
What did you mean by “Tu as le cochon!!” my little buttaircup?

So Dominique Strauss Kahn (DSK – sounds like a shoe brand) got out of jail and house arrest yesterday and left the courthouse smiling, his arms around his loving and patient wife, who no doubt has made a deal with the devil to keep her lifestyle.

The woman who accused him of the sexual attack had actually lied about a whole bunch of other stuff. So that made her a “weak” witness, says the mousey weak little New York DA.

I believe though, that this DSK guy DID IT.

I also believe he is connected to more powerful people than I am.

It is been reported that they went out to a quiet Italian restaurant for dinner, and by accounts of witnesses, they were having a pleasant, seemingly romantic time. The restaurant was a little place on the posh upscale Upper East Side of Manhattan. I can see him whispering sweet nothings into her ear like “C’est la vie.”

And her, Mrs DSK, gritting her teeth, but enjoying her lifestyle.

Women stand by their men, when their men are powerful, so I have observed from time to time (Hillary). They also leave from time to time (Arnolds wife Maria).

I wanted to see how it would go with my wife if I told her a tale much like what I have observed about DSK (the old French guy). Perhaps I was powerful enough in her eyes.

Here was my test:

We, like DSK, also went to a quiet little Italian restaurant (after lining up a babysitter for our two kids). Its name was “Davannis”.

While we were waiting for my meatball hoagie and my wifes something or other, I think it was a chicken salad or something, I said:

“You look nice tonite.”

She smiled. “Thank you.” she said.

“You know last week at the hotel when you went down to get breakfast and I stayed in the room?” I asked.

“Yes.” she said.

“Well, while you were down there,” I began, “I raped a housekeeping person.”

“YOU WHAT?” she said (raising her voice just a little).

“I sexually assaulted a housekeeper.”

A stare – and then I noticed she clutched her knife. AND it was real silverware, so it would have penetrated my skin had she attacked. (BTW-high risk move-she is a Scorpio – or at least she used to be – before some dork changed the zodiac dates. Who would do that – and why?).

I paused, but continued the test.

“I threw her down on the floor and brutally attacked her, dislocating her shoulder.”

You know the scenes in the “Werewolf” movies where the guy is starting to transform, and he stares at the camera while slowly growing hair, and his teeth get fangy, and he starts looking mean like a – werewolf?

That’s kind of how she started to look.

Test over.

“I am JOKING.” I said.

“GOD!” she said back.

She didn’t put the knife down, though.

“But if I really did that, would you stay with me?”

She used the knife as an extension of her hand, clutching it with her fist, pointing it at me (blade out) while saying:

“YOU ARE NOT THAT RICH” she began, “YOU ARE NOT THAT POWERFUL!”

“Should I check to see if our order is ready?” I asked.

“AND” she said, the knife quivering from seemingly, her anger, “THAT WAS NOT FUNNY!”

“Exactly my point.” I agreed. “But that French guy who did it, he walked out of jail and got away with that very thing.”

“That’s because he is rich and powerful. He doesn’t pay a lot in taxes. And he gets free parking wherever he goes. Oh, and to answer your question – NO I WOULDNT STAY WITH YOU!”

“Well, I won’t do it, so no worries.”

“BUT IT’S OKAY IF YOU WANTED TO GET RICH AND POWERFUL PETE.” she said. “THAT’S CLEAR, RIGHT? ITS OKAY TO BECOME RICH!”

“Yeah, that’s clear.” I say. “Because the rich get richer. I’d like to be a member of the rich club. Then we could be FREE of all the rules that apply to the rest of us prawns.”

“You mean pawns.” she said.

“What did I say?” I asked.

“You said prawns.” she said.

“Well….WE ARE SHRIMPS!” I say declare. “I WANT FINANCIAL FREEDOM!”

People in other booths turned around to look at what was going on.

She put the knife down, finally, and looked me right in the eyes.

“Freedoms just another word…for nothing left to lose.”

That’s what she said.

Brett Favre sent a picture of his what….to who…and she wasn’t in it for the money..and he was in his crocs….wuhuh….wuhuh….how am I supposed to explain this to my BOYEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!???????????

So Brett Favre took the Green Bay Packers to a Superbowl in the 90’s.

He also brought the MN Vikings as close as they’re gonna get for a while in a stunning season that ended against the Saints in 2010.

He also said this on a voicemail:

Jen – Hey babee….Aww…huh…uh….just got done with practice, got meetings here, in a couple more hours I’m goin’ back to the hotel to just chill, so send me a text, um, cause … uh…I’ll be in the hotel for a couple of hours … come over tonight … but uh, … but …if you, might give you my number, or … gimme a text, love to see you tonight, talk to you later – bah babee

And it is in that context that my son Jack comes home from school today talking about Jenn Sterger, the masseuse who was at the other end of the MIDWESTOLDERPARENTGUY CREEPY PHONE STALKING WHO DO I THINK I AM WAIT I AM BRETT FAVRE phonecall(s) – allegedly.

“So dad, why did Brett Favre send that lady a picture of his private parts when he was wearing his croc’s and call her?” Jack asked.

She was in the paper this morning. He must have had a friend talking about it at school today.

SO was his question: ‘Why did Brett wear his crocs while on the phone to her?’

Or was it: ‘Why did he send her pictures of his private parts and call her AFTER he put his crocs on?’

IT MATTERS!

See, she said this morning in the paper she was never after any money or fame or anything.

“Jack” I said, “Is that where we keep old socks now?” I said, pointing to the top of the Xbox 360 console where he had thrown his socks and now was wondering why the game controller wasn’t receiving any signal from the said Xbox that had socks on it, which were in fact blocking the signal on the whatchamacallit.

“Huh?” Jack asked me, still trying to figure out why the G**D*** CONTROLLER WASN’T RECEIVING A SIGNAL!!!!!

I picked up the socks off the controller, he turned on his World Series of Poker game, and I started hearing the honky tonk blues music of the game…preceeded by “EA SPORTS……IT’S IN THE GAME!”

“Brett Favre did something GREAT for the VIKINGS last year, Jack.” I said. “He gave them dignity. He gave them respect.”

“Huh?” Jack asked, not missing a beat of his Xbox game, his little hands massaging the controller buttons left and right, toggling this way and that way…going all in with Texas Hold Em.

“Exactly!” I said to him. “So pick up after yourself, did you hear me?”

“Huh?” he asked.

“I said we don’t leave socks on the Xbox!” I told him.

“Yes.” he said, trailing off – his eyes still looking at and completely mesmorized by the screen.

“Do you still want to know about the Brett Favre picture to that lady?” I asked.

He looked up at me.

“Yes.” he said.

“Turn off the Xbox.” I said.

He did.

I sat down next to him on the couch.

“Ok, so he sent a picture of his private parts to that lady because he liked her.” I began.

“Why?” he asked

“Because he thought she was nice and he wanted her to be his girlfriend.” I said.

“Did you do that with mom?”

I knew what he said, but I needed a minute.

Then –

“Um, no. I just called her and asked her to go out with me.”

“Did you show her your penis?” he asked.

“Not right away.”

“When?” he asked.

“What?” I asked. Oh, I realized I said ‘not right away’ out loud. Shit!

“When did you show -” he began.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. I didn’t.”

“How come he did?” Jack asked.

“Because he wanted to,um, he kind of.so….okay, so he liked her right?”

“Yes.”

“And sometimes when guys like a girl they want to show off and take their clothes..no….actually…we, we don’t know why he did that.” I said.

“Did she like it?” he asked.

“I don’t think so.” I said.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because she told everyone that he did that.”

“Why?”

“Because she didn’t want to go out with him.”

“Why didn’t she just tell him?”

“I don’t know. I guess she did, but he didn’t listen and took that picture instead. I think.”

I looked down at our area rug. Then looked back at him.

“Did you see the picture?” I asked.

“No.”

“Well, it’s gone, now, but yeah, she didn’t like it.” I said.

“Okay.”

“So Brett was wrong for doing that. Some things we need to keep private.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“Like our private.” I said. “That’s why we call them private.”

He nodded.

“So did Brett Favre get in trouble?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah. Totally.”

“How?”

“He had to pay a fine to the NFL.”

“How much?” he asked.

“About fifty thousand.”

“Didn’t he make twenty million with the Vikings?”

“Yeah, something like that.” I said.

“So thats not alot.” he said.

“Right.” I agreed.

“So is he retired?” Jack asked.

“Yes.” I said. “Very retired.”

“Dad?” he asked.

“What?”

“Can I play my World Series of Poker now?”

I looked at him, then down to his controller.

Then back up at him.

“Yep!” I said.

With that, the tv came back on, the honky tonk music began again, and balance was restored to the universe.

So my 8 year old son Jack asked me why America was shutting down tonite and I told him what we’d do if we were in Washington DC

SO my eight year old son gets in the car after school activities are done and we’re on the way home. My infant son Dylan is asleep in the back seat.

“Dad?” he asks.

“What?” I say.

“How come America is shutting down tonite?”

I thought – ‘Cuz they’re a bunch of f**kin’ idiots, Jack’

I said – “Well, all the Congress people can’t figure out how to spend our money.”

“What happens when America shuts down?”

“Well, remember we were gonna go on vacation to see all that stuff in Washington DC?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Well, if we were there, and America closed, we couldn’t see the first space ship to the moon, the first flag, Abe Lincoln’s hat, all the huge statues and stuff – we couldn’t go see them. We’d just have to stay in our room and play cards.”

“What if they stay closed when we go there?” he asks.

I smile when I think about it, like the Grinch did when he came up with that plan with the little dog.

“Well,” I say, “We’d go to one of those fancy Georgetown restaurants where all those guys have supper, we’d send Dylan in to throw their plates of food at them, maybe spill some hot coffee on them.”

Jack laughed.

I was just warmin’ up.

“Then, we’d take all those guys over to Obama, he lives in the White House, you know that?”

“I know that.” Jack says, still laughing.

“Let me tell you what’s really funny.” I say.

“What?”

“We’d take him to Obama, wake him up, and have them do pushups for a couple hours, then we’d go back to those restaurants, and spill their steak and lobster all over them and tell them to open America up again.”

Jack loved it.

“We’d take ALL THEIR HOT SOUP AND CRABBIE PATTIES and throw it at ’em!” I say. “YEAH! We’ll torch the streets….then we’ll go to all their houses and wake them up and yell at them!”

Jack’s trying to say something, but is laughing too hard.

“Then Dylan would walk up to them, pull their hair, take their glasses and throw them and break them, and poke and bite their faces until they did what we said!”

I looked over at him. I gave him one of those evil smiles, like the Grinch.

He evil smiled back.

Then I gave him an ‘Atta boy!’ hug.

My Eight year old wants to know about geopolitics at 6 in the morning on a SATURDAY

So I’m watching both of my sons last Saturday morning (they woke up at 5:30am, just like me…no time to myself now unless I wake up at 4am, whatever…) my eight year old (Jack) finishing up his spring break, my seventeen month old (Dylan) throwing and breaking everything he sees.

I’m sitting at my computer. My wife is sleeping upstairs. I know she is sleeping because I can hear her snoring.

I’ve had a Mountain Dew, a 5 hour energy drink, a Clariton D (I do have a cold, thanks Dylan) with the pseudo ephedrine in it (speed), and some herbal adrenal gland pills that evidently boost your energy (herbal speed).

“Dad?” my eight year old, Jack, asks.

“What?” I say, making a mental note to interrupt Jack when he gets older and is sitting in front of his computer, or phone or whatever they’ll have then.

“How come Obama is bombing Libya?” he asks.

I look up to face him, stopping the video of the guy who puts 2,747 toothpicks in his beard I am watching on You Tube.

“Um mm” I begin, “Because the leader in Libya is mean and is killing all of the people that live there, so then Obama is trying to kill him before he kills all of them.”

That was good enough for an eight year old, I guess.

“Oh, that’s why” Jack got it. “That’s a good reason.Why is their leader trying to kill them?”

“I dunno” I say, not ready to go all “60 Minutes” with him. “Because he’s mean and mad at them.”

” Why is he mad at them?”

“He just is.” I say, thinking – can I get back to my video, JACK?

“Is Obama mad at us?” he asks.

“Sometimes, probably.” I say.

“Is he gonna kill us?”

“No.”

“Why won’t he kill us when he’s mad?”

“Because he’s not like that.” I say, hoping I’m right.

“What if he did?”

“What if he did-what?” I ask.

“What if he killed us?” he asks.

“Then we’d be dead.” I say.

Okay, so I stand up, slowly, because of my lower back problems, and start talking:

“Jack, there’s just some mean people out there who do mean things to other people. Like bullies.”

“Why do they do that?” he says.

“I don’t know.” I say, “Some people are born and just want to hurt people, other people are taught how to hurt other people. It doesn’t mean that we want to kill someone.”

“You told mom you could strangle her, once.”

From now on my wife and I need to go outside to the garage when we fight.

“Not really strangle. A fake strangle.” I say.

“Whats that?”

“Just a phrase.” I say. “Some people actually try to go out of their way to hurt–“

BONK!

I get hit in the back of my head by something heavy, and it really hurts.

I turn around to see my seventeen month old Dylan clasping and unclasping his hands, looking at his bottle on the floor next to me (I just filled it with Nutramigen powder and water – I even waited for the water to get warm).

I turn back to see Jack laughing like crazy, his hands on his stomach, he’s almost crying.

I turn around and Dylan is now looking up at me, still clasping and unclasping his hands, saying “Bye – bye, dadda – Bye-bye.”

I look back to Jack, who is still laughing, and I make a mental note (another one) to make sure he rakes the whole lawn this spring and bags all the leaves.

“People just do mean things to other people sometimes, Jack, and its hard to know why.” I say.

I turn back around to see Dylan leaning over toward a heavy metallic little Hot Wheels truck. He’s going to grab it and throw it at me. I just know it.

I bust a move and grab it from him. He starts crying.

And I didn’t even call NATO.

Mission Accomplished.