Evil Wordsmith

I HATE FLASH.

I could live with Flash if people just used it for video. I still don’t like it, cause most of the time I’m connected to the Internet via a phone line. That means it’s impossible to watch a Flash video even if I want to, because you can ONLY stream it. And via a phone line you ain’t streaming anything. Sure, I suppose there are tools out there for ripping the stream, but so far there hasn’t been any video online that I want to see that bad. You are NOT the Martin Scorsese of the Internet.

However, that’s not all that Flash does. For some reason out there, particularly larger companies with too much money to spend for web “designers”, Flash is used for things like download links. Several years ago I sold a customer a valve. It’s a complicated bugger and now that customer wants me to do some maintenance on it. So I went to the manufacturer’s website to download the manual for that.

I did a search using their site’s search page (always amazed when that actually works…) and found the files I wanted, in pdf form, as I expected. Then I click the little “download” link. Nothing. No shocker there, I don’t like javascript either.

Here’s a clue for you web “designers” out there. I don’t want to run your software for you. Your stuff is running on a huge machine, mine’s a little machine. Plus, there are just too many guys out there with nothing but time on their hands working to run things on my machine so they can get things like my bank account numbers, access to my email and other generally bad things. Those people like it when the average guy lets anyone run stuff on their computer, like ActiveX. For me, I don’t need cutesy animations, I like text. Pictures when I need them. And I’ll take my video on the TV. That goes for cookies too. If you are just dying to track me, use your own hard drives like Google.

Ok so the link is javascript. Great, fine, I turned it on for you. Now when I click the “download” link I am greeted with a black page with a little text on it in the corner “Get Flash player.” Well, I suppose I got my text anyway. Now I’m irritated. I look at the source of the page, which I noticed was a redirect from the page I actually wanted. Yeah I saw that page pop up just before the black page. The source of the page was about three lines.

Now I can feel that my blood pressure meds weren’t prepared for this afternoon. So I do some deep searching with Google, since I can see the filenames of the actual files I want, none of which are flash.exe. So I got what I needed, without calling the phone number listed on the site under “Having trouble with downloading?” I’m pretty sure a chat with Bob (pronounced Boob) somewhere in India or Pakistan wouldn’t be at all good for my personal health right now.

So what have we learned? I hate Flash. Ok maybe you learned it, I already knew that. What I learned is that the next time I sell a preaction valve to someone it will be made by Tyco. Their website just works. In fact I may just allow their cookies next time I visit.

E. W.

I know none of this matters. I don’t have any illusions that I’m the William Shakespeare of the Internet.

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As I sit here a long way from home and the communication equipment between me and my family fails, threatening to take my sanity with it, I’ve been getting a small taste of what it is like for our military.  I’m not anywhere like Afghanistan and no one is shooting at me (though there are probably some who want to hit me) and I can still talk to my wife and kid most any time of the day.  But I wonder how those other families manage.  If you know one of them and you can, take some time to help them.  It is harder than most can imagine.  It’s still harder than I can imagine.

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You are President Jones.  You are in the Oval Office.  You are there because the door is locked and the windows are pretty tough.  So you are doing what presidents do, talking on the phone.  If you don’t believe me, check out any photo op pictures of any president.  They are always on the phone.

“AWESOME!  You da man, Berli!…  Yeah, your debt is paid in full dude…  Yeah, see you tonight man!”

You press a button to get the line to the Shrew, and she answers, “Yes Sir?”

“Tell Captain Tailhook to get the Mile High Club ready, Operation Road Trip is a go.  Then get me the Drinking Buddies and tell them we are wheels up for Operation Gladiator in two hours.  Remind them not to forget the Friendly Scotsman, Andrew Jackson and the Redneck.”  You’re really getting the hang of the code word.

For you non-presidents, I’ll translate.  What you just said was tell the commander of Air Force One to get the plane ready to go to Rome.  And tell the Joint Chiefs that Operation Gladiator is about to commence so don’t forget the Scotch, Jack Daniels and the beer.  We’ll get to Operation Gladiator in a minute.

A few minutes later the phone rings, it’s the Shrew, “Sir I have Army Chief of Staff, General A. S. Kicker on the line for you.”

“Milli, you’re supposed to use his code name.”

There is a heavy sigh on the line, “Sir, Patton Two is on the line for you.”

“Thank you, Milli, put him through.”

There is a click, “Hello Sir.  I must say, I can’t believe you pulled this off.  I’m curious as to how you talked Made Man into this. Care to share your secret Sir?”

“Oh it was easy, he owed me big money.  I took him to the cleaners at the World Cup.”

“You had inside info on one of the teams?”

“Oh no, it’s soccer, I figured it was 50-50 so I put all my money on red, so to speak, and I got lucky.  It’s not like it’s really my money anyway.”

There’s a raspy chuckle, “Sir, I gotta respect your willingness to take risks.  The last few guys who sat where you are couldn’t change their shorts without a report telling them it was a good idea.  And Yahoo and the Mad Abbot?  How did you convince them to show up?”

“Geez General, you’ve been to the middle east, it’s not hard to talk anybody who lives there into going anywhere else.”

“Yeah, but to get them to meet in the same room…”

“Um… I might have left out that little detail.”

Another raspy chuckle, “I haven’t been this excited about going to a fight since we dropped in on Hussein.”

“Hey General, I got another call, I’ll see you on the plane.”

You press a button and the Shrew is on, “Sir, the Secretary of the Treasury, err, I mean Vampire Bill is asking to talk to you.  He seems pretty upset Sir, something about gambling public funds…”

“Oh crap, um, tell him the money is already back in the bank and I can’t come to the phone, I’m on the Thinker and doing some serious Thinking.  I did eat the chili tacos last night.”

A few hours later, you’re in the dark downstairs VIP room that sports a nice bar and a private boxing ring somewhere in Rome.  At the bar you’re sitting with Patton Two, Admiral Bligh (codename for the Chief of the Navy) and a half dozen of the Men in Black (Secret Service), all of you admiring the, er, culture of the bartender who’s turned around talking on the phone.  Sadly it’s a short phone call and she turns around.  Well, maybe not so sad if you’re a breast man…

She says, in the most wonderful Italian accent, “They said to tell you that Prime Minister Berlusconi would be a little late, there is some kind of problem with the Minister of Economy.  And he said that ‘Yahoo’ is suited up and would be here in a minute?  I think they might have meant Mr. Netanyahu.”

“Excellent,” you say as you hand her back your empty beer mug.

Patton Two chuckles, “Sounds like Made Man might be having a little trouble balancing the budget…”

“Well, as long as they don’t kill him before morning, he’ll make it all back tonight from his cut of the Eye in the Sky.”

Prime Minister Netanyahu steps in, dressed out like a high schooler at gym class complete with sparing head gear, padding and boxing gloves.  He looks at you and seems somewhat dismayed.  “Mr. President, I thought we would be sparing tonight?”

“Benji! No need to be so formal, we’re all friends here, just call me Cheesy.” You give him a big hug, “And I got someone much better for you to spar with than me.  I’d just go down like a wet noodle.  And that makes the Men in Black over there nervous and they’re scary enough without being nervous.”

He looks unsure, “I’m an out of shape old man, I don’t really want to take on any kind of professional…”

“Oh no problem, you’re perfectly matched for this guy.”

Just then one of the Agents Smith standing near the other doorway says, “Sir, the Mad Abbot is ready.”  He opens the door and another man dressed out for gym class steps through, President Mahmoud Abbas.

For a minute they stare at each other like the final scenes of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.  Then Netanyahu says, “Mr. President, you did not tell me that he would be here!”

“I didn’t?  I’m sure I mentioned this was about world peace though didn’t I?  I mean, I can’t just fly around in the Mile High Club for fun you know?”  Everybody glances over at the bar cause of the odd sound of Scotch coming out of Admiral Bligh’s nose.  “Besides… You know you wanna hit him.”  You give him the boxing trainer shoulder rub like he’s Rocky.  “And he sure wants to hit you.”  Abbas starts nodding, while Agent Smith helps him into the ring.  “Come on Benji, get in there and strike a blow for world peace.”

“Ok, yeah, I guess… “ there’s an evil grin on Yahoo now, “I DO want to hit him.  Maybe just once or twice.”

“Great, cause we got fifteen rounds planned.  Admiral Bligh will be the referee and in the unlikely event that there’s no KO, Agent Smith and two of his twins here will be the judges.”

Just as the round one bell rings, Prime Minister Berlusconi arrives, looking a little haggard.  You don’t need to speak Italian to understand the name of the Minister of Economy and that all the other words he said were swearing.  “Did I miss anything?”

“No you’re just in time to make a little wager, I’ll put five hundred large on Yahoo.”

“No way, I’m not taking that bet with your guys as judges.  I got enough problems with the,” he says some more swearing in Italian, “Minister of Economy.”

“Hey they will be perfectly unbiased.  But, I know how you feel, I got my own vampires to deal with.”

Patton Two spins around on his bar stool, “Sir, I’ll call that bet for five large.”

“You’re crazy General, Yahoo has all the mad skills.”

“Yeah but the Abbot is meaner.”

“You’re on.”

An epic battle wages.  There is surprisingly no knock out.  Or pass out.  Or heart attacks.  The bell rings for the end of round fifteen and two old men collapse into their corners, bruised and bloodied.  And grinning.  You can feel the world peace in the air.

The three Men in Black turn around from their huddle to face the spectators.  You ask the one on the left, “So Agent Smith, what’s the decision?”

He points to the man next to him, “Sir, he’s Agent Smith.”

“I really gotta get you guys name tags.  Or numbers… anyway what’s the decision?”

“By a score of 122 to 108, the match goes to Mad Abbot, err, I mean Mahmoud Abbas.”

“WHAT?!?” you cry thinking to yourself, Vampire Bill is not gonna be happy.  Oh well, it’s only five K.

Meanwhile Patton Two jumps off his barstool and does a happy dance most unbecoming an officer, even a drunk general.  “Pay up!” he yells.

A while later, after some awful barfing sounds from the locker room, everybody is back at the bar.  Yahoo with his black eye and swollen cheek is sitting having a drink with his new buddy, the Mad Abbot.  Yahoo gives him a bar napkin to wipe the blood off his nose.

“Thanks.  I have to be honest, Mr. Prime Minister, that was fun.”

“Hey, just call me Benji, that’s the most fun I’ve had since the big party after basic training.  I still think I beat you.  Anyway, I’m just glad that we’re in private so no one saw that.”

You look over toward the new friends, “Um… I think I might have forgotten to mention the Eye in the Sky…”

Benji asks, “What is that?”

“Um… well… it’s our code word for Pay per View.”

“What??” Yahoo and the Mad Abbot say in unison.

“Hey now, we’ve all had to take one for the team tonight.  I just got a call from my buddies at Neilsen and they say I’m now the most popular president since fricken Washington cause of this.  So I’m sure to be drafted for another term.  We’ve all been hurt here is what I’m saying.

But, on the upside, your cut of the proceeds will keep you guys up to your necks in weaponry for the next decade.”

Turning to the bartender, “So how would you like to join the Mile High Club and do something presidential?”

E.W.

World peace may be more like a journey than a destination.

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I just had a discussion recently with a Fox-breathing republican friend of mine where I pointed out that while I did drink the O koolaid, I’ve been clean and sober for about a year now. There probably should be a 12 step group for this, but I think most of the 12 steppers probably drank the W koolaid.

Now that I’m sober, I realize I haven’t liked any of our presidents much since Reagan. So I started thinking about how we could pick a good one, since this whole voting thing isn’t working out so well.

Now I don’t want to ditch voting entirely, since that seems to lead to things like the Taliban and Kim Jung Il. I kinda like the Queen of England, but after all that shooting a couple centuries back, we really can’t ask her I guess. I thought about this for a long time then it hit me:

Bring back the draft.

No I don’t mean the wholesale draft, we already got enough soldiers wandering aimlessly in deserts around the world, we can’t afford any more of those. But the President is the Commander-in-chief and by default part of the military. So next time let’s draft him. Find the guy in America who least wants the job and put him in charge.

Imagine you’re sitting there, having a beer and playing your Wii one Saturday afternoon while you wait for the race to start. There’s a knock at the door. You open it and there’s a man in black, and I don’t mean the ghost of Earnhardt. No, I’m talking Agent Smith. Behind him is a limo and more police cars than you’d need to take down Pablo Escobar.

He holds up a letter, “Mr. Jones, I’m Special Agent Smith of the Secret Service and I’m here to inform you…”

You slam the door and run for the rear exit only to find Agent Smith’s twin at the back door. “… that as of Noon today…”

You slam the door and run for the side window, as you open it you realize that Mrs. Smith obviously had triplets, “…you are now the President of the United States of…” You run to the other side window upstairs and, damn, apparently Mrs. Smith could have had her own TV show, another few of her boys are down there with a net.

“… America. Mr. President we’d prefer it if you didn’t jump or make us taser you,” Agent Smith #4 says.

Realizing you’re surrounded you consider the possibility of hiding, but as you pull the attic stairs down, you notice yet another Agent Smith already in the attic. “Sir we are very good at our job, you’ll have to come with us.”

You give up, “Ok. Can I bring my beer?”

“We have beer in the limo, Sir.”

Ok, so maybe it’s not so bad, “Got any…”

“Jack Daniels, yes, Sir, and Cheetos. chips and shrimp dip and the chef has prepared your favorite chili cheese fries.”

Ok, maybe not so bad at all, “Got a…”

“TV in the limo? Yes Sir, and the race pregame is about to start Sir.”

“Ok, I’m in.”

Agent Smith #… well, whatever, talks to his watch, “Big Cheeseball is go for extraction.”

“Big Cheesball?”

“Your codename, Sir.”

“I like it.”

Fast forward a couple weeks to the White House. Friday afternoon, you’re sitting there drinking a beer and wondering dimly who the idiot at NASCAR was that thought running a race around midnight on Friday was a good idea and whether or not the President has the power to fix that or not. On the TV your press secretary is apologizing for you telling Wolf Blitzer to “buy a clue” the other day and threatening to send Agent Smith to “adjust him with a clue by four.”

Your secretary knocks and you hear the lock on the Oval Office click, both sounds you have now associated with something like the sound of a dentist’s drill. She emerges carrying a thick stack of paper and you realize your instincts are right, she is always a bad thing. It’s the latest bill from the Stooges, which is now the official codeword for the Senate, despite being told by Agent Smith that they don’t need one.

You play the little game you invented last week with her, “Ok… I say… twelve-hundred-and-fifty pages?”

“Thirteen-hundred-twenty-seven, Sir.” You note that she never smiles.

“Damn, I’m getting good at this.”

“Yes Sir.” she says without humor. She eyes the broken chair in the corner, “I told you that the glass was shatter-proof, Sir. Besides, there are probably a hundred Secret Service between here and the fourteen foot high fence.”

“I had to try, Milli. So, which asshole sent me this bill?”

“Well, the main author is Senator Schister and the other significant…”

“Have him come see me, ASAP”

You note the oh-boy look as she sits the bill down on your desk, “Yes Sir.”

A couple of hours of Burn Notice marathon on TV, and you are disturbed again by the awful sound of Milli knocking and unlocking the door to the Oval Office. Thanks to your reputation of being dangerous, the Stooges don’t keep you waiting for them when you call. She enters followed by Schister, “Senator Schister here to see you as requested, Sir,” she says.

She exits and you notice Schister hates the sound of the door being locked almost as much as you hate hearing get unlocked. He also seems particularly nervous about seeing the broken chair.

You wait for a commercial just to annoy him, and then walk to your desk and pick up the bill and show it to him, “Are you out of your mind sending me this? You guys sure are slow learners.” You glance at the broken chair just cause it makes him sweat.

“I don’t understand Mr. President.”

You rap him on the forehead with your knuckles a la Biff from Back to the Future, “What did I tell you idiots about sending me books to read?”

“Well, Sir, if you read it, you’ll see that our bill tackles some complex issues and…”

“Read it?? Nobody has read it, not even the guys who wrote it, which I’m pretty sure wasn’t you.”

“Does that mean you intend to veto it?”

“I’m not going to sign it or veto it, every time I do that I end up wanting to send Smith over to beat the Hell out of either Blitzer or Chris Wallace. No, you’re going to take it back to the Stooges and revise it to my liking.”

Schister swallows hard trying not wonder how the chair got broken, “And if I refuse?”

You feel your eyes narrow, “I’ll have you shot.”

“Sir you can’t do that, it’s not in your power…”

“Oh I didn’t say I’d shoot you, you’re right, I can’t. But I can have Moscow do it.”

“What??”

“All I have to do is launch a nuke. Then they’ll shoot you for me. And, the Drinking Buddies,” your code name for the Joint Chiefs, “assure me that my bunker will survive and yours won’t.”

“You wouldn’t…” He seems to change his mind about finishing that sentence, “Ok… So exactly how do we revise it ‘to your liking’?”

“Well, let me put it this way, if I get to page three, you better be wearing your lead underwear. Now GET OUT!”

You’re pleased that as he leaves, he backs out, never taking his eyes off you. “Milli if you need me, I’ll be in the Wii Room with the Drinking Buddies. So don’t need me.”

Yes, being President is hard work.

E.W.

Now that I think about there may be a flaw in this plan. All the people smart enough to not want to be the president will spend their life in college avoiding the draft and the morons who want the job will all drop out of high school.

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So here we are the 1st weekend of the post season and we have some of the same matchups as last weekend. Can Philly beat the Cowboys at home this time? We hope so, we’re both picking the Eagles to win. We have the same picks for most of the games except the Jets and Cincinnati. I don’t think the Bengals will allow the Jets to blow them away and shut them out at home. So that’s our weekend tie breaker.

Wild Card Weekend - Sat Jan 9 / Sun Jan 10
AFC Game			NFC Game
	Momma	Prince		Momma	Prince
NYJ @ CIN	Cincinnati	NY Jets	PHI @ DAL	Philadelphia	Philadelphia
BAL @ NE	New England	New England	GB @ ARZ	Arizona	Arizona

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