Will Blog for Food

Schnickelgruberia

There has never been peace in Schnickelgruberia. That's because two different ethnic groups, the Schnickels and the Grubers, both claim this parcel of what we might term real estate, but to them it is much more than real estate: it is their holy land and their right to this land is by divine fiat. The Schnickels will tell you that it says right there in their Hubla (that's their Bible) that God gave them this land so that's it, period, end of story. However, the Grubers will tell you that it says right there in their Hruka (that's their Bible) that God gave them this land so no compromise is acceptable. To the Schnickels this land is Schnickeland, and to the Grubers this land is Gruberstan. Some rational person suggested, "Why not just share the land and call it Schickelgruberia," but, no, this is not acceptable to either side. Well then, why not divide the land into two parcels, and the Schnickels could occupy one segment and the Grubers, the other. But no, this is not acceptable to either side either. As soon as one of their leaders is nutty enough to want to share or cooperate or make peace, he or she is promptly assassinated so any rational solution is entirely out of the question. After all, say the Schnickels, the Grubers could just go to any one of a number of different countries which are also run by Grubers whereas how many countries are run by Schnickels? Hardly any! The Grubers, by the same token, say that the Schnickels could go anywhere and become investment bankers like, say, New York City.

Every so often, open war breaks out between the Schnickels and the Grubers, and then there is much loss of life, much suffering and much destruction of property. But, according to the Schnickels it's always the Grubers' fault and, according to the Grubers, it's alway the Schnickels' fault. There's no possibility that these two peoples who have widely varying customs would ever want to sit down at the same table and, for example, eat a meal together. For one thing the Schnickel men wear these funny looking little hats that barely cover their bald spots, and this is annoying to the Grubers. They wear them everywhere so insistently that the Grubers are always aware that they are dealing with a Schnickel and not just an ordinary, generic human being. The Grubers, on the other hand, insist that their women wear funny looking hats that they tie on their heads with weird scarves. These hats provide a little foundation, so to speak, for a little black box that is sort of a combination prayer holder and wish list. They actually place in the box some quotation from the Hruka. Sometimes, in an act of rebellion, the women also put their shopping list in there, but, if they're caught, they're punished most severely. After all this is a male dominated society unlike the Schnickels where the males are routinely given their marching orders by the women. One of the sects of the Schnickels distinguish themselves by wearing broad brimmed black hats. Likewise, the Grubers have their sect that makes the women wear a kind of fedora with a long feathered plume that they dare not let touch the ground or a wall or any object. This makes negotiating narrow passages most difficult.

The Grubers especially find Schnickel  holidays and celebrations most disgusting. On their special days, the Schnickel women put their bras on backwards and dance around singing something that sounds like, "Have a tequila. Have a tequila." Then the men throw crockery against the wall and stomp around in the broken pottery in their bare feet. This greatly excites the Schnickel women who then choose the man whose feet bleeds the most so that they can take great care in bandaging them. The Grubers in their celebrations put dark hoods over the womens' heads and then have them twirl around like whirling dervishes till they get dizzy and fall over. Meanwhile, the men enjoy smoking aromatic tobacco through long convoluted straws that are rumoured to have been made in China. There's one thing the Schnickel men are envious of and that is that the Grubers can each have as many as four wives at a time while they are confined to just one. However, in recent times this restriction has been gotten around by serial divorce and remarriage. Not to be outdone, the Grubers have gotten their laws changed so they can change out four wives at a time and get another four in there. This the Schnickels find especially disgusting and morally reprehensible. But then the Grubers think the Schnickel morals are lower than a snake because of the disgusting way the women dance around with their bras on backwards and sing "Have a tequila."

Each group finds the others' dietary habits especially disgusting. The Schnickels' favorite meal is rudabega with prosciutto while the Grubers enjoy fetid cheese and a kind of gruel made with arugula and skunk cabbage. Neither can stomach even the sight or the thought of the other ones' favorite dish. "Why in the world anyone would want to eat that disgusting crap is beyond me" is a sentiment that might equally be attributed to either group. And this makes it very problematic when the Schnickels drive onto Gruber property and immediately set up a car camp. After a few weeks they take up residence in the Grubers' living room like they really belonged there. If the Grubers ignore them, as they usually do, before long the Schnickels have moved into their bedroom and have started using the kitchen appliances. The Grubers consider them pests and swear they're worse than termites. After a few months the Schnickels are even electing their members to the local school board. The Schnickels claim the Grubers are technologically unsophisticated and that their (Schnickel) children routinely have higher IQs and score higher on the college boards.

Another complicating factor in this whole sorry situation is that both the Schnickels and the Grubers claim the same site as a place of worship. Their religious practices couldn't be more different. A couple thousand years ago the United Bombadiers of Vespucci (the UBV) dropped an atomic bomb on a Schnickel place of worship called a Holyplatz in a mistaken attempt to ferret out a few evildoers in their ongoing state of animosity with the United Powerful Provinces of Rubblebouncers (the UPPR). All that was left was a pile of rubble, but that didn't stop the Schnickels and Grubers from fighting over this pile of rubble each claiming that it was the holiest site in their religion. The Schnickels claimed that their Grand Poobah had a "push to talk" cell phone connection with God and God told him that this site belonged to the Schnickels. The Grubers pooh-poohed this assertion and said, "If that's true, give us your cell phone, and, if God tells us the site is yours, then we relinquish all rights to it." To which the Schnickels replied that only their Grand Poobah could talk to God over the "push to talk" cell phone connection. It was forbidden for anyone else to use this cell phone, much less a Gruber. As it turns out, the Grubers have their own direct line to God, whom they call the Final Authority, and their Most Highly Endowed Enlightened One can talk to the Final Authority without even using a cell phone, just by shouting up a camel's ass. He has it from the Final Authority that the rubble belongs exclusively to the Grubers. There has been an uneasy truce for about 100 years during which the Schnickels have worshiped on the west side of the rubble and the Grubers have worshiped on the east side.

The Grubers find the Schnickels' religious practices disgusting and vice versa for the Schnickels. The Schnickels have what looks like little rubber mallets called probosci with which they tap their knees constantly trying to get a knee jerk reaction. They claim it transports them to an ecsatic state. The Grubers in turn attempt to stand on their heads and move around by lifting themselves up and bumping their head down a few inches away. By this method they circumnavigate their portion of the rubble sometimes falling all over each other and causing massive domino effects. It has been proposed that the rubble should be made into an international holy zone so that pilgrims from all over the world can come and visit. But the Schnickels and Grubers will not hear of this. They each want to control the rubble site as it is the holiest site for both religions. The Schnickels claim that this is the site where their Ancient Leader first had sex and, therefore, God has ordained that, in his honor and glory, this is where they must pray. Nonsense say the Grubers. This is the site where their Ancient One was born, married, died and ascended to LaLa Land, and the Final Authority has decreed that this site is holier for them than it is for the Schnickels. In fact it is so holy and God has told them time and again that it's theirs so they will not hear of sharing it or opening it to the tourist trade who would only defile it much as the Schnickels would do if they got the chance. For this reason there is no backing down, there is no middle ground, there is no compromise. It would be better to die than to compromise which many of them have proceeded to do. Unlike in Schnickel culture where it is considered unwise to die for your country but to make your enemies die for theirs, the Grubers don't mind dying as well as killing, so sure are they of their reward in the afterlife.

The Schnickels and Grubers are impaled on the horns of a dilemma, and are laboring under a delusion at the same time. How you ever get a dilemma underneath a delusion is beyond me, but they do it! Similar to the Sneetches who separated themselves into two groups years ago depending on whether or not they had stars on their bellies, there is no way out except intermarriage. If a Schnickel falls in love with a Gruber and they have little Schnickel-Grubers, then maybe there is hope that they all could live happily and peacefully in a united Schnickelgruberia, but short of that they will go on feuding and fighting and claiming they both own the same piece of land since God gave it to them. Both claim a direct pipeline to God. At least it's the same God. Only both claim a different Grand Poobah and a different Holy Book containing the will of God. However, God has been sending mixed messages telling one group that they own the land while telling the other group that they own the same land. Only when there are lots of little Schnickelgrubers will it become irrelevant who owns the land. It could be any one - even Sylvester McMonkey McBean or a large Chinese corporation. Calling Dr. Seuss...

The Qualcomm vs Broadcom Spat

By now everyone has heard about the Qualcomm Broadcom spat. Qualcomm sued Broadcom over patent infringement and Broadcom sued Qualcom over patent infringement. They are like two little boys playing in a sandbox, and one says, "You infringed on my patent." The other one says, "No you infringed on my patent. Nyaaaah." "My patent portfolio is bigger than yours." "No it's not! Mine is bigger than yours!" As they continue to hurl sand in each other's face, someone said, "Let's get an adult (in this case a judge) to decide who infringed on who's patent." Well, the adult has finally determined that Broadcom is right and Qualcomm is wrong. "Not fair," cries Qualcomm. "We'll get another adult to decide because this one is biased!" Besides Qualcomm recently had to pony up $20 million to Broadcom even before the recent ruling.

The ruling means all new devices launched after 7th June 2007 that use Qualcomm's chipsets will be banned from being imported into the U.S. The stakes, therefore, could not be higher, even though the ruling does not affect handsets that are already available. The point is it will in effect prevent operators from launching new models using Qualcomm chipsets in the U.S. market.

But Broadcom is being magnanimous in victory just as Qualcomm is crying foul in defeat. Broadcom is extending an open hand and is offering Qualcomm the opportunity of licensing its patents, the ones Qualcomm is infringing upon. Isn't that nice of Broadcom? The one kid is going to still let the other kid play in his sandbox even after the other kid threw sand in his face. C'mon Qualcomm. Be gracious in defeat, pay up to Broadcom for the use of its patents and everything will be fine. You still will be able to import all the chipsets you want into the US market. But Qualcomm says, "Waaahhh. Those are our patents, and (stamping its feet) Broadcom should pay us not the other way around." Qualcomm wants to make all this money just for letting other companies license its patents. Its fleet of corporate lawyers must justify their existence by insisting that other companies pay them, and they take it pretty hard if it's the other way around. Now Broadcom's corporate lawyers have smug smiles of satisfaction on their faces while Qualcomm's drag around with their tails between their legs. We can't have that.

"Our goal is simply to ensure fair competition and a level playing field, not just for Broadcom, but for the entire cellular industry," said Scott McGregor, CEO at Broadcom. "Qualcomm's practices prevent that. Their monopoly in CDMA technology has increased the price of cell phones in the U.S., and we are hoping that the courts will prevent the same thing from happening with the next generation '3G' cell phones. Qualcomm's monopolistic activities limit competition, stifle innovation, and ultimately harm consumers and service providers."

This sounds very reasonable, Qualcomm. Be nice. Scott McGregor is looking out for the whole industry and the American consumer, not just himself! Now don't be greedy, and (I shudder to think) monopolistic! Horrors! Out damned spot!

But wait a minute! There's a missing piece of the puzzle. Qualcomm is being forbidden from importing CDMA chips into the US market. But Qualcomm is a San Diego, CA, USA based company. Solution! Make them here. Then you won't have to import them! And it would create a few more US based jobs. Problem solved! That'll be a couple million, please. Just pay my PayPal account. Fire the corporate lawyers. Save tons of money. Jeez, I might even let you infringe on my patent. I can't afford to hire a bevy of corporate lawyers to defend it. How would I even know? Someone's infringin' Lawd, Kum Bay Ya. You know, while these high tech billionaires play their little sandbox games over millions of dollars, the rest of us peons are just scratching out a living and playing games on our cell phones. How did we ever get along without them? We're  living in different worlds.

To add insult to injury Qualcomm Stadium and the feckless San Diego Chargers are going bye-bye while Henry Samueli, co-founder and CTO of Broadcom, is cruising to victory as owner of the Anaheim Mighty Ducks (just Ducks now, thank you!) ice hockey team since his team won the much coveted Stanley Cup this year in addition to its triumphs over Qualcomm.

But if my previous suggestion doesn't work for them, here's another one: Qualcomm and Broadcom should merge! That's a true capitalistic solution to the problem. They could call themselves QualBroadcom, and for a website QualBroad.com. Pretty neat, huh? But I've got a patent on the name. So don't think about doing it without paying me first! Don't forget my expertise in the name game! If the cell phone gig starts to fade, they could always go into the escort, massage, outcall business. You know Quality Broad Company, QualBroad.com. For all the conventioneers, conference attenders and out of town CEOs, where you gonna turn when you need a little excitement or dinner companionship? Why QualBroadcom! Satisfaction guaranteed for all of your out of town human resource needs! We are discreet and professional.  Need a massage after a hard day of conventioneering? Just call QualBroadCom or  log on to QualBroad.com. Problem solved! That'll be another million, please.

Hillbilly Who Hairdo Gone Haywire

My girlfriend woke me up the other day by gently brushing her Anna Nicoles across my face. "Good Morning, Honey." "You're all sweet and clean!" "I just showered. Is this a nice way to wake up?" "By that I didn't mean to imply that my former girlfriends were not sweet or clean." I had just made a Bidenesque remark that required immediate clarification. "You know what, Honey? You're not only sweet and clean. You don't have a gold tooth in your mouth, and by that I don't mean to imply that my former girlfriends did or did not have gold teeth in their mouths." "You always have to bring up your old girlfriends. I'm tired of hearing about them." "Well I  have to say, Honey, you pull the plow better than all of them put together."

I drifted back to sleep. "There's a pterodactyl in my ranunculus. What are you doing?" my Grandmother said. "Just putting the nosebag on the horse," said my Grandfather. "Is that the horse you bought in Sparta?" "Yeah" "Well you better do something about that bovine flatulence.  A cloud is settling over the house. It's not healthy, and, furthermore, it's contributing to global warming!" "Well, equine flatulence is a bigger contributor. But that problem will be solved as soon as the automobile comes in and we get all these horses off the road." My Grandfather did eventually solve the problem of bovine flatulence. Every night he taped plastic bags to all the cows' rumps in his barn, and then in the morning he transfered the methane gas to a sealed container and marketed it to the City of Newark for use in their gaslamp district. He had plans to expand to Baltimore and New Orleans, but then electricity came in and sales went flatulent.

But he had a talented horse. Once he bet a man that his horse could fart halfway across the Delaware River. This feat prompted Luther Hill, the chief agronomist and poet laureate of Sussex County, to compose the following poem:

"There was a young horse from Sparta.
Who was a prodigious fatwa.
He could faht everything from 'God Save the King'
To Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonarter.'"

But in all seriousness, true scientific measurements of global warming should take into account the decrease in greenhouse gas emissions due to the diminution of equine flatulence due to the fact that there are less horses on the road these days. However, there is a concomitant increase in bovine flatulence due to the fact that there is an increase of cars on the road all heading for McDonald's to purchase an Old Dead Cow Burger. Consequently, McDonald's has seen to it that there is an increase in bovine pregnancy and a build up of herds all over the world. Now all this has to be taken into account when computing the amount of greenhouse gas emissions. It's inconvenient, but true. What's needed is an AlGorithm to take into account the carbon dioxide emitted from automobile tailpipes minus the base line equine methane emissions due to flatulence plus the increased bovine emissions due to McDonald's Old Dead Cow Burgers. Bear in mind that methane is 20 times as powerful as carbon dioxide in terms of its greenhouse gas effects and there you have it.

"Wake up. Wake up," said my girlfriend. "It's time to go." My girlfriend's name is Judy so now I am living in the era of Judyism. When I was going with Natsy, I had to live under Natsyism. It was much more difficult. "What are you  doing today? Jumping in and out of chalk pavement pictures?" "No, Honey, everything I do is carefully planned. I think I need a bit of social interaction." "Well, look at your hair! It looks like a Hillbilly Who's Hairdo Gone Haywire!"

Well, come to think of it, the Whos are having a Whobilation down in the Gaslamp District.  Maybe I'll check it out. Those Whos ... they're so sanctimonious and politically correct. They don't think any greenhouse gas comes out of the tailpipes of their Whomobiles! And then they blame me, the Grinch, and my dog, Max, for CANINE FLATULENCE!

But I have a wonderful idea ... a wonderful, terrible idea ... a terrible, terrible grinchy idea. I'll start my own video production company. And my first video - Da. Dahhh! - "Whos Gone Haywire!" I know I can get those Who girls to flash their booties. Flash their BOOTAY!! Hah! Where's my videocam? I'm heading for the Greenhouse Gaslamp for a little social interaction. Better take some beads for Cindy Lou.

"Honey, wake up. Now we're late. Do you want me to miss my trolley? Are you daft?"

"Yeah, but you love me anyway."

Despite Bush Administration Failures in Iraq, Katrina, Capturing Bin Laden, There is One Glaring Success: No Oral Sex in the Oval Office in Six Years!

One might look at the Bush Administration as a total failure. After all, they've failed to capture Bin Laden, invaded the wrong country based on lies and deception, haven't even cleaned up all the junk in New Orleans one year after Katrina, run up the budget and trade deficits to record highs, failed to use his "political capital" to trash Social Security, turned the rest of the world against the US and on and on with a bunch of stuff too numerous to mention.

However, there has been no oral sex in the Oval Office for at least six years! At least no oral sex that has been reported to the general public. We don't know for sure if there has been no oral sex. What we know is that, if there has been, it has been successfully covered up by Karl Rove and the Republicvan Party. You see, that's where the Republicans are better than the Democrats: they know how to cover their tracks. I'm sure that Karl Rove, early on in the Bush Administration, produced a PDB (Presidential Daily Briefing) giving the protocol for any sexual activity in the Oval Office. Determined not to repeat the mistakes of the Clinton Administration which come down to letting the evidence in the form of Monica Lewinsky's semen-stained blue dress leave the premises, the Number One Bullet Point of the PDB entitled "Guidelines for Dealing with Oral Sex in the Oval Office," is that, after having oral sex, the President must not let any article of clothing leave the Oval Office. Instead all clothing will be confiscated and new clothing will be offered to the female in question.

If the desig-nated female is an intern, offer her a $50. gift certif-icate to Wal-Mart to buy another outfit. Call the Secret Service and have them take her old clothing to the incinerator immediately. On the other hand if the designated female is a member of the housekeeping staff, a $25.00 gift certificate to Wal-Mart will do. If she is a high profile person such as Condoleeza Rice, you must offer a $500.00 gift certificate for Ferragamo shoes.

Bullet Point Number 2: Immediately call in the housekeeping staff and have them disinfect all surfaces with either Mr. Clean or Formuila 409. The President himself should immediately change suits and shoes and instruct the Secret Service to incinerate his old suit and shoes. The President must immediately shower as must the designated female in question.  No bodily fluids are to leave the Oval Office under any conditions!

Rumors have abounded that the President is involved with Condi Rice. Didn't she once memorably refer to George W as "my husband"? Also there have been rumors to the effect that Laura has moved out of the White House. Let's hope that, if George W and Condi have a love child, it won't have his brain and her teeth. The poor kid would end up looking like Alfred E Newman. Let's hope that Condi has plenty of Plan B on hand.

So just because there have been no reports of oral sex in the Oval Office for six years, this doesn't mean that no oral sex has actually occurred. As Donald Rumsfield might say, "It's an unknown known." It either has occurred or it hasn't occurred. The important thing is that, if it has occurred, the public doesn't know anything about it. And that's because Karl Rove thinks of everything whereas Clinton was very sloppy in this regard. I guess he actually trusted Monica Lewinsky not to rat him out. That was a major mistake that Liberals are continually making. They think human nature is better and more trustworthy than it actually is. Conservatives know better. They know that you can't trust anybody. Or as President Reagan said, "Trust but verify."

Oh My Goodness Gracious. Secy of Defense Aunt Rummy Kayoed by a Girl!!!

Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld was pilloried by Hillary last week at an appearance before the Senate Armed Services Committee. Rumsfeld managed to muster a lot of 100 year old sanitized oaths like "Heavens to Betsy," and "Goodness Gracious" to explain why the US was having "a dickens of a time" making any headway in Iraq. Hillary attacked him with a left jab ( “Yes, we hear a lot of happy talk and rosy scenarios, but because of the administration’s strategic blunders and, frankly, the record of incompetence in executing, you are presiding over a failed policy.”) and then followed with a right hook (“Given your track record, Secretary Rumsfeld, why should we believe your assurances now?”). Rumsfeld was reduced to muttering "My Goodness,"  sort of a strange response, don't you think, for the man who is presiding over the world's most powerful military machine?

Afterwords, Hillary called for Rummy's resignation, but he won't resign and Bush won't fire him. Why? Because Bush's only foreign policy is the one given to him by Bush, Cheney, Wolfowitz, Perle and other members of Project for the New American Century (PNAC). Bush's only job as Salesman-in-Chief is to sell it, not to come up with a new policy. It's better to have a failed policy in Iraq than none at all, they must be thinking. Besides all these men have their collective egos invested in succeeding in Iraq. Any admission that they might have to change their policy is tantamount to admitting failure. So they would rather cling to the same policy and ride out their terms handing the mess over to the next administration. Who's going to stop them? Not Congress unless the Democrats take over control of the House and Senate in the November elections. This way they can go out shouting "Stay the Course" and blaming the next administration for failing in Iraq, failing in the economy (which they've trashed in the long term) and failing at the War on Terrorism, the fires of which they've done everything to fan.

The self-interrogating Rumsfeld has a strange way of answering questions. If he were to be asked whether the world would be better off if he resigned, he might answer this way: "If I stepped down, would the American people be better off? Possibly. Would the Iraqis be better off? I don't think so. Would I get to spend more time with my family? You bet. Would my family be better off? For sure. Heavens to Murgetroid, I would like nothing better than to turn over this dickens of a job to someone else. Henny Penny, Loosey Goosey, but is the Sky Falling? I don't think so. Will the war in Iraq be over some day? Yes. Will it be during this administration? Maybe. Are we better off today than we were yesterday? I think so." And so on and so on. By asking himself a series of questions and then providing answers, he has successfully avoided answering the original question. A very good technique I think for avoiding embarrassing questions.

But beside that Rumsfeld likes to give his audiences elementary lessons in algebra that might go something like this in response to the question, "Mr. Rumsfeld, why are our troops so inadequately prepared for the war in Iraq?"   "Well, let's say that our preparedness at the beginning of the war is represented by x. Then as the war goes on, we decide we want to be prepared at a level of 5x. But during the interim we've increased our preparedness to 3x. Then we are 2x short of where we want to be, but 3x more prepared than where we started out at 1x." Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! As every ninth grade student of algebra knows, you never refer to x as 1x. This is an algebraic faux pas! Goodness gracious, should Auntie Rummy go back and retake Algebra I? I think so. Does he know what he's talking about? No. Is he full of BS? You bet!

Then there's Rummy's philosophical analysis of known knowns, unknown knowns, known unknowns, and unknown unknowns. Like at the outset of the war when they asked him how long we were going to be in Iraq, and Rummy replied something like this: "It's an unknown unknown, but I think 6 days, maybe 6 weeks, I don't think 6 months." Well, Rummy, how about 6 years? It's one of those unknown unknowns with a large margin of error, I guess. Maybe Rummy should have trotted out the Bell curve. I think he's angling for a professorship of philosophy at Harvard where he can expound on known knowns like how many troops we have at our disposal, unknown knowns like where Osama is (he's got to be some place), known unknowns like how many Iraqi civilians have been killed so far and unknown unknowns like how many young Arabs are going to grow up hating the US.

Talk about a failed policy! The Bush Administration adopted the neocon agenda of invading Iraq for the oil and to make it a jumping off point for exerting US geopolitical power in the Middle East. What they created instead was an empowered and emboldened Iran whose main counter (Saddam) has been eliminated and a Shiite theocracy aligned with Iran (who are also Shiites). In fact now instead of geopolitical stability (what we had before the US invasion) we have a Shiite crescent throughout the Middle East presided over by Iranian President, Ahmadindahead. Does anyone think the world is better off now that Saddam is gone? I don't hear them asking that question any more. As the amount of death and destruction caused by the US invasion approaches that caused by Saddam, what excuse will they come up with next? Instead of spreading democracy, they've spread theocracy. Instead of the people of Iraq loving us, they demonstrate in the streets against us. Instead of geopolitical stability, we've created a greater Iran.

So Hillary has countered Carl Rove's strategy to paint the Democrats as those who would "cut and run" in Iraq. Instead Hillary and the Dems will make this a referendum on the Reps' "failed policy and incompetence" in Iraq, and "Why should we believe their assurances now?" Good move, Hillary. You have reduced it to a battle of the sound bites. Now it just remains to be seen how much money each party can drum up in order to bombard us with TV ads whose themes will be "cut and run" or "failed policy and incompetence."

Classical Cellist Yo-Yo Ma and Rapper Yo Ma-Ma do a Recording Session Together

The date is set and the venue is famous sound engineer Rudy Van Gelder’s recording studio in Englewood Cliffs, NJ. The rapper and the cellist will each bring one additional colleague to round out the group. Yo Ma-Ma has brought rapper R. Kelly and Yo-Yo Ma has brought basso profundo R. Peggio. It’s around 10 AM when the troops come wandering in.

Yo Ma-Ma  (to R. Kelly amid much virtuosic handshaking): Whassup niggah! Good to see you, man!

R. Kelly (to Yo Ma-Ma): Whassup niggah! How you is, man?

Yo Ma-Ma  (to Yo-Yo Ma): Dis heah be R. Kelly.

Yo-Yo Ma (to R Kelly): Whassup, niggah!

Yo Ma-Ma  (to Yo-Yo Ma): Whatchu call him?

Yo-Yo Ma: Well, I...

Yo Ma-Ma: Whatchu call him?

Yo-Yo Ma: Well, I…you called him a niggah in an endearing and affectionate way. I was just trying…

Yo Ma-Ma: You can’t call him no niggah. What are you, a racist or somethin? How would you like it if I called you a chink?

Yo-Yo Ma: Well, no, Chinese people find that very offensive.

Yo Ma-Ma: Well then, don’t you be usin the N word around heah agin, heah?

Just then in walks R. Peggio, the basso profundo with the San Diego Symphony.

Yo-Yo Ma (to R. Peggio): Hey, my man. Whassup, chink?

R. Peggio: Hey, whassup, chink? Good to see you, Yo-Yo.

Rudy Van Gelder: Hey, I didn’t know he was Chinese. How’d he get a name like Peggio. That sounds Italian.

Yo-Yo Ma: Yes, his father’s Italian, but his mother is Chinese.

Yo-Yo Ma (to Yo Ma-Ma  and R. Kelly): This is R. Peggio.

Yo Ma-Ma  and R. Kelly: Whassup, chink?

Rudy Van Gelder: Awright, places everyone. Time to do the sound check. Yo-Yo, give me an A flat.

Yo-Yo Ma: We always tune up to a concert A at the symphony.

Rudy: Yeah, Yeah. Well these guys are always so out of pitch, what difference does it make. And besides my parents are asleep upstairs, and an A always wakes them up.

Yo-Yo Ma: Oh, so solly, I didn’t realize this is your parents' living room.

Rudy: Yo, give me some rap in mike 2.

Yo Ma-Ma: Mutha humpin, mutha frumpin, piss, shit and…

Rudy: That’s good. OK. Mr. basso profundo, give me an arpeggio in mike 3.

R. Peggio: Dah, duh, duh, dah, duh, duh, dahhhh.

Rudy: Very good. Now, R. Kelly, give me some rap in mike 4.

R. Kelly: Shake yer booty, baby. Get down with it. Up yer ying yang…

Rudy: OK. That’s fine.

Yo-Yo Ma: Hey Rudy, can I get some more low end in my monitor.

Yo Ma-Ma: Hey, that sounds like what I told my girlfrin lass night. Gimme sa Mo a Dat Low End, Babuh. Hey R. I think we can use that today in the ‘cawdin session. That sounds like the name of a tune.

R. Kelly: Yeah, good hook!

Yo-Yo Ma: You mean you didn’t bring the music with you. You’re going to make it up right here on the fly, so to speak.

Yo Ma-Ma: Thass right, baby. It’s more spontaneous that way. Hey Rudy, what we gonna call dis album anyway?

Rudy: How about Yo Ma-Ma  and Yo-Yo Ma: Together again for the first time.

R. Kelly: I like that, man. It has a nice ring to it.

Yo Ma-Ma: Yo … Yo-Yo. Whatcha tink a dat?

Yo-Yo Ma: Yo … Ma-Ma. I can live with…

Yo Ma-Ma: Don’t be callin me by my last name. It’s Mr. Ma-Ma to you … or you can call me Yo, like Yo … Yo, but don’t be addressin me by my last name without putting a Mistah in front of it.

Yo-Yo Ma: OK, Yo. By the way I like your bring bring.

Yo Ma-Ma: You mean my bling bling doncha?

Yo-Yo Ma: That’s what I said: bring bring. Chinese people have problem pronouncing l and r.

Yo Ma-Ma: Oh that’s hot. Hey, R. There’s another song: “Bring bring my bling bling” or in Chinese “Bling bling my bring bring.” Yeah put some words to it, man. We can use dat today. Bring me all da bling bling, man, as in money, moolah, cash as in Johnny Cash, paycheck as in Johnny Paycheck, price as in Sol Price. That’s what I tell my girls, man. Bring me all the money. I’ll give you a taste after Big Daddy checks it out first. I call them my Poosah Posseh. They sure is good to me, you see what I’m sayin?

Yo-Yo Ma: I understand what you mean, but isn’t it hard out there for a pimp.

Yo Ma-Ma: Yeah, man dat be da song dat won da Oscahs dis yeah: "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp" by my man Cedric and my man Jordan.

Yo-Yo Ma: I thought it was by Deejay f and Shug.

R. Peggio: Actually it’s by the Three 6 Mafia.

Yo Ma-Ma: Oh, who cares who it’s by, but my man, my men, my bros, my soul brothers, they sure knows how ta rake in da dough.

Yo-Yo Ma: I heard they couldn’t say “fuck, “shit” or “niggaz,” but “bitches” and “hos” was OK at the Oscars.

Yo Ma-Ma: Yeah, you know the censahs man. They had to clean it up fa da Oscahs.

R. Kelly: Yeah, but they be rakin in da dough. Whooeey!! Did you hear they gonna license it to that Abu Dabi Dubai Ports seafood company and they gonna do a commercial: “It’s Hard Out Here for a Shrimp.” And Pixar studios is a gonna come up wit a cute cartoon shrimp, and Will Smith be doin da voiceovah.

Yo Ma-Ma: Yeah, dat’s mah man. He thinks of everythin. Dey be gettin residuals on they residuals.

R. Peggio: Yeah, and did you hear that Revlon has spun off a subsidiary called “Girl Stick” to market cosmetics to girls in the hood?

Yo Ma-Ma: That’s hot, man. My man can license they pimp song to them and cut a commercial, “It’s Hard out Here for a Primp.” That’s perfect man, cuz when my girls - the Poosah Posseh as I calls em - are out they workin the streets, they be primpin all the time. Puttin on lipstick, pluckin they eyebrows…

R. Kelly: Yeah, and then they backup groupies is gonna do another follow-on called “It’s Hard out Here for a Ho, Too, Dammit.” They gonna call theyselves "Deb Occle and the Ho Down!"

Yo Ma-Ma: That’s perfect, man. Man, they be rollin in dough. And just think we be marketin all this shit to da white man and be takin all his money just to listen to our shit.

R. Kelly: Beats reparations, man. We deserves it after all the slavery and shit.

Yo Ma-Ma: Yeah, da Indians be takin most a da white man’s money wit da casinos and slot machines and crap, and we be takin da rest of it wit rap and hip hop. Dat’s justice, man. Dat’s justice!

Yo-Yo Ma: Maybe we could do a cover of “It’s Hard Out Here for a Pimp" today to round out our album.

Yo Ma-Ma: Great idea, man. Hey bah da way, why did you, a world famous classical musician, want to do a hip hop album?

Yo-Yo Ma: We need to repay student loan.

Yo Ma-Ma (incredulous): What!!!

Yo-Yo Ma: Yes R. Peggio and I went to Juilliard, and we have $100,000. in student loans to pay back. The symphony pays so poorly and…

Yo Ma-Ma: So you decided to make a rap album. Jeesh, I went ta da school a hard knocks in the ghetto. The only student loan I ever heard of was when some niggah comes up to me, sticks a knife in my rib, and says, “Hey, student, gimme a loan.” I say, “Sure Perfessah, how much do ya need?”

Rudy Van Gelder: OK. OK. Let’s get on with it. Yo-Yo, did you bring in any tunes?

Yo-Yo Ma: Well I thought, this being Easter and all, it might be nice to have something seasonally appropriate like “Here comes Peter Cottontail.” You know (sings) “Here comes Peter Cottontail. Hip hopping down the bunny trail.” Notice how I cleverly change lyrics to get real hip hop feel.

Yo Ma-Ma: That’s some sad shit, man! I can’t be singin no shit like dat, man. I’d be laughed right outtada hood! Dere goes mah street cred, rot dere. Whaddaya think R. Can you make somethin outta dat?

R. Kelly: Let me work on it, man. Maybe I can come up with somethin.

Rudy: Ok. Let’s get something down. Time’s a wastin.

Yo Ma-Ma: Awright. Let’s do the first tune: “Bring bring bring me some bling bling bling. Yo-Yo, just give me something like dang dang dang a dang a dang dang on the cello and just keep playing that over and over.

Yo-Yo Ma: Don’t you have a score, man, or at least a lead sheet. I’m a classically trained musician, you know.

Yo Ma-Ma: No, we don’t need none a dat shit. Jus do what I tells you.

Yo-Yo Ma: Well, what key?

Yo Ma-Ma: Yuh can figuh dat out as we moves along heah.

LATER:

Rudy: OK folks, we got lotsa good tunes down in the can. We need one more though. Hey R., did you come up with anything on that Cottontail tune?

R. Kelly: Yeah, how’s this:

I’m Peter pimpin Cottontail. I be down heah in da hood. I lives in a breier patch, and dat makes all my bunnies good. My girls be workin overtime turning tricks and rollin johns. I’m Peter pimpin Cottontail down here in da hood.

Yo Ma-Ma  and R. Peggio: He’s Peter pimpin Cottontail. He be down here in da hood.

R. Kelly: I said to my girl, Tawanda, get yo ass on outta bed. She just look at me and pull da covahs ovuh huh head. I said get on outta heah; get up outta da bed. You could be up on da street givin some john some head. I said get on up and outta heah. Get up on da street.

Yo Ma-Ma  and R. Peggio:  Get yo ass on outta heah and get out on da street. Get yo ass on outta heah and get out on da street.

R. Kelly: My babies call me “Big Daddy.” Dey’s cute as dey can be. You know it’s just a wondah how they all done look like me. Dey all be different colors and some a dem are black. I done raised em good down in da hood. I tell you thass a fack!

Yo Ma-Ma  and R. Peggio:  He done raised em good down in da hood. I tell you thass a fack! He done raised em good down in da hood. I tell you thass a fack!

Now dat old Brer Rabbit, he be cuttin in my turf. I told him he better watch his ass if he know what it’s wurf. He look at me and said “No shit. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll whip yo ass and call it grass and make a meal of you!”

Yo Ma-Ma  and R. Peggio: He’ll whip yo ass and call it grass and make a meal of you! He’ll whip yo ass and call it grass and make a meal of you!”

R. Kelly: I said dis hood ain’t big enough fa da likes a you and me. Cuz I’m Peter pimpin Cottontail, and you’re not shit, you see. I’ll carve  yo ass and you’ll throw up glass when I get done wich you. You piece a crud. You be spittin up blood, and then you be turnin blue.

Yo Ma-Ma and R. Peggio: You piece a crud. You be spittin up blood, and then you be turnin blue.

R. Kelly: I saw old Grandpa Moses. He be walkin pritty slow. He said, “Cotton, you be da man now. Ole Brer he gotta go. You watch your back cuz he be sellin crack and da Man he gotta know."

Yo Ma-Ma  and R. Peggio: You watch your back cuz he be sellin crack and da Man he gotta know. You watch your back cuz he be sellin crack and da Man he gotta know.

R. Kelly: I’m Peter pimpin Cottontail and now my tale be told. I’m sittin mighty pritty. Cuz of all da snatch I’ve sold. And as for old Brer Rabbit, he better watch his back. Cuz if I see him, I’ll cut his ass, and I ain’t be smoking no crack.

Yo Ma-Ma  and R. Peggio: If he see him, he’ll cut his ass, and he ain’t be smoking no crack. If he see him, he’ll cut his ass, and he ain’t be smoking no crack.

Yo-Yo Ma (playing): dang a dang a dang a dang dang a dang a dang a dang dang

Rudy Van Gelder: That’s it, man. It's in the can. Good as gold!

It's Morning in America!

As Dubai Ports World puts a hold on its acquisition of contracts to manage 6 US ports in order to buy time for Bob Dole to lobby in its favor, inside information has it that Dole will produce an infomercial designed to placate the fears of the American public or in other words to sell Dubai Ports to the American public much in the same way that soap is sold or the Bush Presidency is sold for that matter. They are trying to capture the essence and the spirit of President Reagan's successful "Morning in America" selling job...er... campaign. They are doing the shooting at the Port of Newark with big container ships in the background and stevedores running around as busy as bees.

Bob Dole: Put those yellow and orange filters on the cameras. I want this to look like those "Morning in America" commercials you guys shot for Ronald Reagan. Man, were they effective! You know, I want to get that 'amber waves of grain feeling in there.'

As a container ship softly blows its horn in the background, a paid actor dressed as a burly stevedore replete with hardhat, a big brown mustache and a friendly smile, steps into the camera's field of view.

Bob Dole: Take one. Morning in America redux. Roll 'em!

Actor: Hello, my name is Mahmoud and I'm...

Bob Dole: Cut! Cut! What's with the name 'Mahmoud.'

Actor: Well, I'm Arabic, and that's my name.

Bob Dole: Well, couldn't you call yourself Paul or something more American sounding. Let's try that again. OK. Morning in America redux. Take 2. Roll 'em!

Actor: Hi, my name's Paul, and I'm here to tell you that I'm proud to work for a company like Dubai Ports. You know you have nothing to fear from Dubai Ports. We unload cargo from all over the world. You know even though I'm an Arab..

Bob Dole: Cut! Cut! You know that doesn't sound good. Couldn't we say something easier on the ears?

Actor: I could say I'm Arabic.

Bob Dole: No, that's too fricative. We need something more...sibilant. From now on you're Arabian as in Arabian Nights.

Actor: I like that. Reminds me of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.

Bob Dole: Yeah, right. OK actors take your places. Morning in America redux. Take 3. Roll 'em

Actor: Hello there. My name is Paul and I'm here to tell you that working for Dubai Ports...well, all's I can tell you is that Dubai Ports has been very, very, very good to me. Here at the Port of Newark, for example, we are busy all night unloading Chinese container ships with the latest Barbie dolls and cell phones. While you Americans are sleeping soundly in your beds, there are no worries, because here at Dubai Ports we take your security very, very, very seriously. Even though I'm Arabian - you know, "Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves"- Ha. Ha. Ha. These are very good children's stories. I know they warmed the cockle's of my son's heart. He came to America on a student visa. I'm so proud of him. While he was earning his degree in Electrical Engineering, he even took flying lessons on the side. And...

Bob Dole: Cut! Cut! Cut! We don't want to mention anything about flying lessons, you idiot. Cut that out. OK, now. Continue. Morning in America redux. Take 4. Roll 'em.

Actor: Yes, I'm so proud of my son. In addition to Arabic, he speaks fluent English and Chinese. I do too! We need to speak Arabic to our managers here at Dubai World and Chinese to all the ship captains that dock here. Pretty soon English will probably not any longer be the chief international language. Ha. Ha.

Bob Dole: Cut! Cut! Hey don't be suggesting that Chinese and Arabic are going to become the major international languages. This infomercial is supposed to calm the fears of the American people, not exacerbate them. Now let's start again. Morning in America redux. Take 5. Roll 'em.

Actor: Well, you are probably asking yourself 'why is an Arabian such as me from the United Arab Emirates working as a stevedore at the Port of Newark?' That is a good question. But it's thanks to your wonderful President, Mr. George Bush. Praise Allah. He wants to be fair to all countries, to all peoples. He doesn't want to discriminate, bless his heart. So when Dubai Ports World offered to take over port management in 6 American cities, George Bush was all for it in the name of fairness, in the name of non-discrimination etc. etc. Naturally, the nice folks at the Longshoreman's Union also were very kind and non-discriminating. So when I applied for a job here, they treated me like they would anyone else whether from England or Germany or Ireland. They took me in. Yes, I did offer to work for less than minimum wage, but after all, I am doing what your President has called "those jobs Americans don't want to do." So while we are busy doing those jobs Americans don't want to do, you can be out shopping at Wal-Mart buying all the Chinese trinkets and toys I was busily unloading last night as you soundly slept (music wells here) secure in the knowledge that no terrorists were entering your port system. I, Paul, will see to that. No terrorist will get by me! You can rest assured. I will see to that.

And in addition to all the Chinese manufactures we unload here, we also unload shipments of Viagra for Bob Dole. Where would Bob Dole be without Viagra.

Bob Dole: Cut! Cut! Cut! I don't think we need to tell them about Viagra.

Actor: Yes, Mr. Dole but didn't you do some Viagra commercials.

Bob Dole: Yes, but we don't need any 'crosstalk,' if you get my drift. This is an infomercial to reassure the American people that they have nothing to fear by a bunch of Arabs running our ports. This has nothing to do with Viagra. Besides we don't want the American people to know that Viagra is produced overseas by Chinese workers receiving third world wages when they have to pay first world prices.

Actor: Well, they could buy directly from the Chinese and save...

Bob Dole: That wouldn't be ethical! The drug companies wouldn't be able to make a profit,  and then where would we be? Besides if the American people purchased directly from overseas, they might get inferior merchandise. They might get something that would cause them harm instead of a hard-on. When they purchase directly from an American drug company, they know they are getting merchandise that's approved by the FDA.

Actor: Yes, but isn't it the same merchandise?

Bob Dole: You ask too many questions. Let's get on with this infomercial. Morning in America redux. Take 6. Roll 'em.

Actor: Hi, this is Paul again. You know you Americans have nothing to fear. Yes, I'm not an American citizen, but I have a green card. I'm here legally doing a job no American wants to do. And when my job is finished, unlike the students on student visas that stayed on illegally in this country, I will return to my home country. If I was British or French would you deny me a job as a stevedore? No, I don't think so. That's why you Americans are so reasonable and compassionate. I know President Bush is a compassionate conservative.

And you know the Coast Guard has the ultimate responsibility for protecting your ports. You can rest assured with them on the job. And you know the Coast Guard is very fair and compassionate. They would not try to keep out my brother Ahmed just because he is a Muslim. Why he's an American citizen for crying out loud. He's serving his country,... nobly I might add. Don't think he believes all that crap he hears on a daily basis in the mosque. He's no more affected by that than you Americans are by all the violence you see on TV. He's a mature person that Ahmed!

So in conclusion, I want to assure all Americans that you have nothing to fear from Dubai Ports World, Arabian stevedores or Muslims in the Coast Guard. We are all here to help and serve. Just read your children to sleep from a chapter of Arabian Nights. (Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves is my favorite) And all will be well! (Big Smile. The music wells.) And just remember folks, when it's Morning in America, it's midnight in Iraq!

Bob Dole: Cut! Cut! Cut! Cut!

Actor: Praise Allah.

Age at Morena Vista Apartments

All amenities are provided at this latest, most up-to-date, state of the art retirement home. Here we don't mince words. Here you can age gracefully or otherwise. We're not going to tell you how to live your life. You can eat anything you want since the latest study shows that reducing your consumption of fat will do nothing to lengthen your life. So pizza, hot dogs, french fries - why not enjoy them all? The Federal study, costing $415 million, has proven that there's no increased risk of heart attack, cancer or stroke in post-menopausal women no matter how many fats you consume! (As a caveat, the same may not hold true, however, for post-womenopausal men!)

We're calling for all you guys in New York City to come out here and enjoy our beautiful weather, and we promise to make you feel right at home.  We have Brooklyn Pizza, Bronx Pizza even Queens Pizza (no pun intended). In addition to that we have Brooklyn hot dogs, Bronx hot dogs etc. etc. You get the idea. All you folks from Chicago will enjoy our Chicago Pizza, and denizens of Philadelphia will not have to go without their Philly cheese steak sandwiches!

Our wonderful recreation directors, Rob O' Tussin and Kay O' Pectate, will put you through your paces in order to work off all those extra calories the Federal Government says it's now alright to consume. And just think - they were about to put sanctions on McDonald's until this study came out. The folks at McDonald's are heaving a huge sigh of relief. Forget about the salad bar and Lean Cuisine. The stock at Krispy Kreme just hit a new high! So super size me!

Now our wonderful facility is located right next to the Marina trolley stop. You don't even need a car to get anywhere. The senior rate for a transit pass is only $15.00 a month. Hop aboard the trolley and in one or two stops you can be at Fashion Valley or Mission Valley shopping centers or Old Town. Shopping, restaurants, cultural attractions are only minutes away. Or hop on over to the Mission Valley YMCA. It's within walking distance. There you can Aquasize till your heart's content or acquire a personal trainer.

Here at Morena Vista we have dances every Saturday night under the direction of our social director, Arthur Ritis. Our resident medical staff including renowned Dr. Paul Patate will be there to attend to your every medical need. Sal Hepatica and Ginger Vitus head up our housekeeping staff. Finally, Cy Attica and Sigmund Oscopy provide handyman and concierge services, respectively.

And in the lounge our friendly bartenders, Luke O'Treines and Sue DaFed, will never tell you: "Last call for alcohol." Instead it's "Last call for Cepacol!"

So come age with us! You won't regret it. Don't pass up this opportunity to live and age in beautiful San Diego. Here at Morena Vista we don't mince words. So you can forget the 'ageing gracefully' crap.