Rodeo Tail-Flip Beats Dinosaurs

Part 8 of 30

The Mam & Pap

Royal Splendid Traveling Rodeo

World records are a lot of fun. Of course they take various forms, the big huge official stuff, like when the first guy ran the 4-minute mile. Which is what a good laxative can do for you. Then the unofficial stuff no one thinks of, and maybe it never happens, like, say, the guy who wore his dentures the longest without taking them out. Someone had to! Just glad it wasn't my dad.

And that record could be beaten by now if we knew all the details. My dad had false teeth and put them in a container at night. So obviously he had no discipline when it came to world records, unless it would be the longest unbroken streak of putting them in a container every night. If he would’ve striven to keep them in his mouth the longest, that might've been something. But he didn't care. If you want the glory you gotta have the guts to put up with a little discomfort. In dad’s case, he was too crabby to try.

I’m probably the world-record holder in something without even knowing it. You can do dubious things and honorable things. For example, I keep my lawnmower in the dining room. I needed a place to keep it so it wouldn't be stolen and my dining room's pretty safe. But how would I find the current world's record? I could even actually push it room to room everyday, with lots of world records attainable. But it's not a great distinction. A bigger distinction would be “The longest a guy’s kept a lawn mower in the Big City without someone stealing it.” And I can’t brag about that because the thieves would show up.

Mam & Pap were always looking for unique aspects of the show to advertise to bring out sightseers to share the glory, but whenever it seemed they had something it turned out to be average. Finally, the perfect rarity jumped its way to immortality, a horse whose tail cleared an extraordinary 9+ feet, the highest such clearance reported since the time of the dinosaurs, which was the distant past. Way back before the Pilgrims, before the Model T, and predating Abraham Lincoln, incidentally my spirit animal, totally ancient compared to me.   

The tale of the tail is a great record, having been scrupulously documented, the documentation now lost. I heard some yammering naysayers were disputing Mam & Pap's claim. To which I say, Give me a break! Mam & Pap lived a good moral life. If they said something about their horse's tail, their word's good enough for me! These people were good as gold, and their word better. But because dinosaurs are no more, obviously there's no way we can show a dinosaur's pathetic vertical leap again. Think about it, though, a dinosaur tale weighed around a ton and a horse's tail is about 12 ounces. Which would be more likely to flip higher with a vertical jump?

You May Have Psychotic Tendencies

No. 26 of 30 -- Psycho Squad

Something most of us share is a great hope for the future. I believe there's a correlation between hoping for things and getting them, even if it's nothing more than an occasional coincidence. You certainly see it at the personal level. You tell your mom you hope for a dartboard at Christmas and there's a pretty good chance you'll get one. Unless you have a bad history with darts as some families have. If you ever threw a dart and killed a brother, ask for something else.

In the Psycho Squad business we’re always hoping to pin down the things that accompany psychological eruptions. It’d be great if we could predict when they're going to happen, who the parties are, and where they are. With there possibly being a few drawbacks. You'd still have to let it happen before you jumped in. If we had the stun gun ready and jumped the gun, right there's a lawsuit. And if you've ever seen a certified psycho with a certified lawyer, they want so much money they're both psychos. Let me underscore this point: Even if it’s statistically likely someone's going to go completely nuts and kill half the state, wait! Maybe put up some netting at the ceiling, that's it; you could save a few lives without being an accomplice.

And after reflection, I'm thinking it's not smart to predict things too accurately for other reasons. If I showed up at someone's place to treat them preemptively, after a while they’d think it was me that was making them sick. Business would drop off, I’d miss out on meals and get hungry. And I wouldn’t be able to afford the few meds I take. I’d start acting out, getting crazier and crazier, and pretty soon a different Psycho Squad would take me in and predict all my future eruptions.

So it's the element of surprise that keeps me in the green. Making me resolve, “Even if I know who’s going to act out, I will do nothing about it in advance." In fact, I might just wait till all hope is lost before responding. Then drive five miles out of my way before turning around, so the exacerbated consequences will yield more profits. Soon society will be so bad off that my work will be publicly subsidized, with greater and greater profits. However (and this is a good point), I can't purposely fail too much, because then the competition would overtake me. Plus, if I was always late and they were always early, that'd hurt my self image; I've always been proud of my punctuality.

Anyway, I started working up a few psychological tests (see above), but I think I'll junk them now. We need to keep psychological stuff, and certainly the world of psychoses, a little quieter. We really don't want competition. I won't even explain the graphic, because, honestly, that one graphic is the key to everything. If the competition had the barest inkling of the arcane implications of those five graphics and five captions, that'd be it! So I will leave it posted only briefly, a few minutes, OK? And, please, no one make copies of it. Even now I'm going to print off a copy and immediately burn it. Must -- keep -- everything -- secret.

Money Mule Arms Race 2000

Note: I'm off to a slow start on this. Since it's my 2000th post, all of a sudden I'm worried about quality. How to begin? Just begin, stupid...

The last few days I've been worrying myself sick about money mules. It's a big deal because, frankly, I've been putting a lot of money into them. The idea's basically sound: Send money mules (people) out with money, stay at home myself, then let them bring back their earnings. I'd share with them some pittance and keep the rest myself.

The big problem -- it's a poison pill -- is none of them returns. They apparently think, "I've got $100,000 in my hot little hands, I'm footloose and fancy free, why should I return?" Which, I guess, I might also think were I in their position. The bastards!

Now, of course I'm not focused on any of this in a vacuum. There's plenty of others out there, now alerted to the money-making possibilities (and the development rights), jumping into the fray. And as far as I know, coming up with better techniques, ones that actually work.

That being the case, it leaves me more or less high and dry. Except for what a small-time local operator might make at the edges, two-bit stuff, while flying under the radar and keeping his activities lowkey. Similar to small taco places, that once surpassed in quality by the likes of Taco Bell, et. al., just can't compete. We spit out their crap food in a second and flock to the corporate counterpart.

Still, shouldn't a little guy, say, in the money mule business, flourish? It hasn't been proven that he shouldn't. But in any arms race there's going to be winners and losers. Those with the greatest resources have the upper hand.

The time to get busy, then, is now. Find a way to make money mules more trustworthy! There's no time to waste! Time is of the essence, ready or not! To delay is to lose! He who puts his hand to the plow ... something something something.

At this point I'm thinking my go-to strategy has to be to convey to the mules the sense that I like them, appreciate them, and trust them. Do what my mom did to me, with moderate success on her part. If I only can ... But you lose a million or so, as I have, and it does something to your confidence.

One other good tactic might be something like this, give and demand back:

I have five money mules before me. I give each one $100,000, then immediately demand back $50,000. Then half of the remainder, then another half, etc., until they have almost nothing. Then repeat, and repeat time and time again. By evening they're exhausted but hopefully have learned a message.

The arms race is heating up. This much I know for a fact, the big guys have the best psychological teams at their disposal. Just like the Nazis. You have your hands around the throat of an entire nation, of course you can command resources. And what have I got? I'm one guy, no country, no Gestapo, no conglomerate, no company. I'm like the little taco guy, doing my best with diminishing resources. Peddling a little bike and throwing tacos out of the basket and hoping people pay, so to speak.

And yet I need it to work! I have no other option. The money I get from money mules today might very well fund my retirement tomorrow. Depending on how much I lose to them between now and then.... I'll either retire or keep working the system till I die.

2000: OK, that ought to hold everyone, while I express my thanks to myself for 2000 posts since this blog started. In addition to thanks, I'd like to recognize a deep inner beauty in myself that made this moment possible. Everyday, lately, I've sat in silence at the beginning of each morning, and have looked within. I've liked what I've seen, making, almost, two of me. Get that split? I should be up to 4000 by now!

Anyway, it's a measly 2000. I remember 1000 in 2010, and now 2000 in 2015. If it takes me 5 years to do 1000, that means I'll be writing my next self-congratulatory message in 2020. At which point I'll be 67. Is it normal for 62-67 year olds to write blogs like this? Seems a bit abnormal. I know my old friends -- people I know on Facebook -- are busy grilling and taking pictures of their food. Which is also a labor of love. The question is, Do they grill 2000 cuts of meat and stop to congratulate themselves? 

On the Bright Side, My Color's Still Good

The great blogging battle against my brother is over. He won. I lost.

So here I sit. It's all I can do to get up and take a small bit of liquid, then jot down these last few lines ... before ... I don't know what ... hope the lightning hits me and puts me out of my misery, perhaps...

I feel like cussing a blue streak. If only it'd do any good. Instead, I guess I'll just channel my disappointment, and this dreadful feeling of rage into a silence deeper than anything I've managed in a while. Seriously, this might just be a new low. "Christ!" I'm able to barely manage a curse, shaking my fist at the stormy sky before letting it fall aimlessly back to the bed. I look at my hand. On the bright side, my color's still good.

Some people go, "I wish I was in bed ... I'd be happy." Right, because you've never seen those commercials for bedbug exterminators or the ones for mattress stores. Did you know if you don't change your mattress every seven years you get a seven-year-itch of an entirely different kind? From bugs spontaneously generated from your own dead skin cells. Every bolt of lightning, like we're getting today, it's another million. Then there's bedbugs, in battle with these spontaneous bugs, trying to eat the skin cells before they spawn. All the while, as they bite one another, they periodically get you.

I'm resigned to it. I'm not stirring. I deserve it. I couldn't hold my brother off ... for three damned days. I thought I was the blogging champion of the family. Then I heard from my nephew that his dad was "catching up," and I didn't even know he had a blog. I thought yesterday, maybe -- a long shot -- those who like my blog, and the various readers I get everyday, might be able to put me over the finish line, to vanquish my brother once and for all. But it wasn't to be. They deserted me. Or whatever help they provided was far from enough.

The truth of the matter is likely this: They've all abandoned me. Leaving me alone, alone and blue, alone and bitter ... Well, to you, to any stragglers stopping by to see my reaction to this terrible defeat -- actually a rout -- take a good long look at what you've done. You ruined me. Me, the last guy I'd ever imagine to be in this position. I've always been an overcomer. But I couldn't overcome this. Thanks for nothing. Thanks for kicking a guy when he was down. Don't think I won't remember it. I vow, if it's the last thing I do, I'll ruin each and every one of you. You know who you are ... and if I can get my second wind ... and get these creaky legs to work ... and a few other things ... bug bites ... and get your address ... and drag myself across country ... well, I won't tell you what I'll do. It'll be my little secret.

Oh, man, I'm such a mess. I've already expended more energy typing this than I had. And I used the rest shaking my fist. In my brother's direction. Enjoy the fruit of your victory, brother! Maybe I can't take out my frustrations on my readers -- most of them live in places like Russia, China, Ukraine, Bulgaria, and Canada. (I'm probably close enough to crawl to Canada, being only three or four states up) -- but I know where you live!

My Brother's Blog's Getting Great Word of Mouth

It was just yesterday I asked all of you to help me get more blog traffic than my brother. Just yesterday. But the internet travels at the speed of light, or faster, so since then everything's changed. Instead of his traffic going down and mine going up, I'm looking at a disaster: Everything's just the opposite.

I'm kicking myself, really, for calling attention to him. Although I'm finding some relief in the realization that it was going to happen with or without me. I mentioned that he blogs about some of his business trips overseas, which, amazingly, is exactly what a lot of people want. Which makes sense in some weird, twisted way. Because they're also planning trips abroad and want to know the latest scuttlebutt on travel conditions, personal safety, and who's sleeping with which dictator.

As it so happens, I have never personally been anywhere except the United States. And I don't really even travel here. I'm always trying to save money, or I'm too busy, or the weather's bad, or something. It's always something. I did write the other day about walking to Edwinton and being bitten by a dog, but no one wants to know about that. It's no Gibraltar!

I've got something bitter to say to my "faithful" readers: Thanks for nothing. Although I'm sure there's a few of you who're trying your best. Please forgive me if you weren't here yesterday, if you have a good excuse for your absence. To the rest of you, I can only wish you'd taken my plea a little more seriously. Oh, if only it hadn't been such a huge imposition to help a brother, your fellow man in his time of need. So here I am now, dying. Where's the milk of human kindness? Was it a problem that I called you riffraff?

A helpful family member's been keeping me up to date on my brother's exploits, filling my ear with all kinds of things. For example, the Gibraltar stuff is lighting up the internet. Travelogue bullshit, in my opinion. Not worth the monitor it's printed on. Meaning, for me, that I better come up with something or all is lost.

We used to write "themes" in school on places we'd never been. Africa comes to mind, a land of savages, darkness, dense forests, and an occasional river, mostly well known for its animals, including the giraffe. I'm smarter now, I could probably fill a page like that on any country. They always say to writers -- one of which is me, if you write a thousand words a day, any old crap -- that you'll eventually come up with something worthwhile.

I could call attention to the fact that Gibraltar is very near Africa. Somewhere near the top there, and you can see it from Gibraltar. Likewise, you can see Gibraltar from Africa. Africa is an enormous place, though, and Gibraltar's a fairly tiny island -- except for its rock, the immensest thing for miles. Meaning, you can see a lot more of Gibraltar from Africa than vice versa. What you can see of Gibraltar is something, but what you can see of Africa is not worth seeing. A few more words and I've got a thousand...

In addition to travel, if I want to beat my brother, I could write about people. People like that. But that's tough for a loner. Although I know about people. I've been ducking them for years, which makes me a real expert. Streisand sings, "People who need people are the luckiest people." I've often disagreed with that in practice, but now that I need people (to help me beat my brother), I need to start mingling.

So, people, permit me to reach out to you. I'm making a gracious exception for this cause. I'm venturing forth. Please don't shame me. I need you! Help me keep up with his hits. Help me keep my brother from winning the blog war. Don't click on his links. Only click on mine, and as often as possible. He will never let me live it down if he wins. Just as I will stick it to him if I win.

Many thoughts are racing in my head on this battle. Most of them are indecipherable. The others are harder to explain.

Help Me Beat My Brother Blogging

I recently heard about one of my brothers, that he too has a blog. And it seems that he's been in a "friendly competition" with me without telling me. Meaning, of course, that I've been taking it easy while he's been going great guns. It all comes down to hits and popularity.

Well, I just happened to catch wind of this when one of my nephews messaged me on Facebook, and in the course of everything else he had to say, mentioned the existence of his dad's blog. And that he was "catching up" with me. You can imagine how I felt. Of course I was floored. First, I had no idea that he was blogging; that much in itself was a total shock. But worse was the strange, weird news that he had made the decision, secretly, to surpass me in hits. Talk about devious!

Shouldn't it go without saying that he should've told me he had this in mind? I mean, I'm all for competition, really as much as anyone, but I want to know there's a competition going on before I end up being surpassed. Once I'm surpassed it's a little late then to tell me. How nice is that? Leaving me in the dust before I even know he's there!

It goes against our history, as is typical with brothers. Even though we don't see each other much, we're still tight. At least I thought we were. The history was like this: We were competitive growing up, and he was quite capable. I am the oldest, so I had to trail blaze where there was no path. Once I had the path well blazed, of course it was a lot easier for him coming up. So, I'll concede, he had some abilities beyond me, having had the easier path. But when we competed the other person knew it.  None of this sneaking around.

So that's where we are. I don't know what else to say except I'm speechless. And getting a late start toward the overall goal of holding my lead and hopefully increasing it. I've seen his stats and they're pretty good. I'm tracing all this back to the time I was mysteriously unfriended on Facebook. It went like this. We were friends on Facebook and he was posting regularly. Then suddenly his posts became fewer. I thought nothing of it. Then they were nothing. But he'd simply unfriended me, leading me to think nothing was going on! I never dreamed he'd lure me into complacency, then unfriend me, all the while going for the upper hand!

Now, today, what I'm asking from you -- and I know I have 8-10 true readers on this blog, in addition to the thousands of casual riffraff -- is to read my posts. Even if it doesn't look that great, click on it and do your best. I believe you'll be pleasantly surprised, as I don't have a reputation for writing crap. Unlike ... someone I know. (I'm not actually reading his blog. But I've heard from various family members that a lot of what he's doing is writing about some of his trips abroad on business. For example, he was in Gibraltar, an island in the Mediterranean, for a couple days, but writes about it all the time ... the monkeys they have over there, the beautiful gardens, and of course their language, Gibrish. More power to him ... that'll only take him so far!)

What I really want -- what I need -- is to win this competition, and maybe if I do he'll become so dispirited that he'll simply give up, leaving the field open for me to represent the family in blogging, as I believe I was meant to do. He can carve out some other specialty, such as collecting postcards or whatever. Surely he picked up a few postcards in farking Gibraltar, he loved it so much. We can oooo and awww over his dime store treasures and he'll feel just fine.