How Are Things in the Ukraine?

Pictured above is one of the very helpful reports my blog receives from my exclusive partnership with Google. It shows my pageviews by country. I'm not going to say if it's daily, weekly, yearly, or all time. But it's one of those.

I happen to be in the United States, so of course I'm heartened that most of my pageviews are from home. This is the audience I frankly prefer, since most of them know English and are not located so far away as to be mucho foreign. As an aside, I'd like there to be a few United Kingdom visitors for the same reason, instead of all these other screwball places. But you know what they say about begging and choosing.

Still, look at what I'm dealing with! Canada, a measly 8? I can see France coming in at 11; I never speak Canadian, but once in a while I use French, like raison d'etre and savoir faire, so they like to see that. Turkey, I don't get, probably something to do with my Thanksgiving posts. Then there's the complete inscrutability of the others, excluding Germany, since I do on occasion say something about the war. Then Taiwan! Russia! China! Give me a break. All that's crazy, but the very craziest is Ukraine coming in just after the United States! It's the rabbit and hare all over; if America slept a mere 20 minutes, Ukraine would pass us and win!

My actual theory on what's going on sounds very dark, I know, even conspiratorial, but I'm going to say it anyway. Who's more into hacking, gambling, the black market, the sale of body parts, bootlegging, illicit drugs, and dropping out in the 8th grade than these countries? Over there, if you live to be 5 you've beaten the odds. So they're doing something with otherwise neglected websites like mine. Let's say it's like this: I have zero contact with any of them, making my blog the perfect decider for bets. They could look up a post, deciding that X number of characters from a particular line settles something. Web blackjack, roulette, vault combinations, longitudes and latitudes for mumble-peg tournaments, etc.

Going through the possibilities, I'm halfway afraid to ever quit writing. They might set my house on fire. And with global warming and a foolish thatch roof, that's nothing to joke about. I sometimes don't blog for a week at a time, then I get nervous I'm going to see a foreign head pop up on my screen making threats in a tongue I don't understand ... But I would understand the finger cocked like a gun. ... It's scary, the freaking Ukraine!?

If any Ukraine-ites do contact me, I'll try my best to mollify them, such as expressing solidarity with them against Putin, if that's how they swing. Solidarity with Putin if otherwise. Maybe they'll comment on my blog what they might otherwise tweet if Twitter goes down and they need a functioning outlet. For example, I'll say, "Ukraine, how are things?" They'll say, "Could be better," "There's shortages," or, "Tell your NRA patriots, send ammo."

That's important stuff, making it critical -- essential -- that I keep posting. I'm sure one of them is thinking right now, "There are shortages. For example, Putin has a short fuse, and who knows what else? He's willing to show his upper half, why not the lower?"

I'd absolutely love to get a tribute like so: "We need more Grandma Slump posts. It's the only thing that gets us through these tough nights. What with the Army rock 'n' rolling all night and partying every day." That's vivid, a slice of life under siege, and a decent compliment for me.

The NSA Cleans Out My Garage

The news reports are telling us these guys -- the National Security Agency (NSA) -- can do anything. They're able to keep track of every call you've ever made, every piece of mail you've ever sent or received, and every note your friends used to pass in school. There's nothing they're not good at! Giving lie to the old complaint that the government can't do anything right.

Seriously, with this record of efficiency, we need them to keep going and take over the rest of the government. Get in there and start with Congress. Congress can't get anything done, anything that does anyone any good. Put the NSA on the job. Start right at the top and maybe they can accomplish something. Then they can work their way down. Far down, as in helping each one of us with our day to day lives. I know I could use some help cleaning out my garage.

And if they didn't want to do it just to be nice guys, maybe I could trick them into doing it. Sort of like Tom Sawyer and the fence, except I'll have to drop hints that maybe there's something incriminating in my garage. They're actually is ... more about that later ... but by the time they get here, of course I'll have that stuff safely tucked in the hidden room I've been building. Which is right there in the garage, but it's small -- they probably won't notice it.

For the most part, all I have in my garage is the typical everyday crap of life. Stuff that would overrun the house if I kept it in here. Nothing too important, but still too good to just throw away. Old books, records, rugs, lamps, a typewriter, and just boxes and boxes of miscellaneous stuff. There's quite a few Christmas decorations, some of which are only in sacks, and some of those are tipped over. It seems like I step on and break an ornament every time I'm out there. If I can get the NSA to clean it out, that'd be great. Who knows? They might find some unregistered nicknacks, bought with cash at garage sales, very tough to trace.

Then there's the other stuff, which will have to go in the hidden room. I know everyone will think I'm kidding, but that's only because you didn't have a Great Aunt Natasha working as a secretary at the Pentagon in the late '50s and early '60s. The fact is, I have extensive Soviet correspondence from the '60s, going into the '70s. I was one of those kids, thanks to Aunt Natasha, who was a "goodwill pen pal" with Khrushchev, which later bloomed into a nice relationship with Breshnev. For them it was an in with America's youth, hoping to undermine us, but for me, I was only doing it for extra credit in Social Studies.

Still, it probably should've been cleared through official channels. As it was, I was only too happy to fulfill their strange requests. Like going to Air Force installations and using my "secret spy binoculars," which they provided and periodically showed up "to have developed." I never knew what that meant, developing binoculars? Other than that, we had quite a bit of correspondence about the comings and goings of local Civil Defense volunteers. I still remember this one old guy from town and the day his Jeep blew up. Must've been something wrong with it.

Natasha's husband, our Great Uncle Boris, was also a help. Anything he needed, us sneaky kids were happy to help him with. Especially if it meant being paid off in rare Russian candy. Which I, ever the entrepreneur, used to trade with other kids for Krugerrands and Cuban cigars. It was very good candy, they say, but the cigars were better. There was more than one bright side ... The kids at my school did great on international affairs quizzes.

Later, and this is stuff I shouldn't mention; it's all more recent, there were Uncle Osama and Uncle Saddam, not really uncles but that's what they called themselves. Wow, the things they used to send! Gift certificates for flying lessons. I always figured they were kidding. And the things they would say! No one could be that crazy, wanting that much destruction for the United States. After all, I was like their favorite nephew. OK, they did tell us they wouldn't completely destroy America till they got us to safety. So we didn't say anything to the cops. Those records will go in the secret room, for sure.

I just got back from the garage. And speaking of Christmas decorations, there's a bag of ribbons on the floor that must puff up with air by miracle, because every time I try to walk through the garage, I step on it, and I can hear the air hissing out again. Weird. The things I put up with.

I looked around and there isn't much else that would be incriminating. I have a hymnal from Burma out there. But that's nothing to worry about, is it? Only the channels I went through to get it, it probably involved some persecution. And maybe a death or two. I need to hide it.

Foreigners Are A Little Too Foreign

I was at a meeting the other day (absolutely true story, my hand's up), where the supposed benefits of foreign travel were set forth. The guy had been to Africa, and in his life, Pago Pago, Timbuktu, Europe, and probably Copacabana. And he had a display of rough handmade trinkets to prove it!

I sat there respectfully, for the most part, only clearing my throat and shifting uneasily in my chair a couple times for effect. As I watched his slides, replete with straw huts, shrunken heads, headdresses, nose-bones, and bare-breasted women, and everyone living in close proximity to trees, I felt a little queasy. But I was thankful, thankful that I'm not a foreigner!

I don't know how many of you have been to a foreign country. I actually have not been anywhere but right here on home soil, the homeland. Not even Canada. And certainly not Mexico -- God forbid. You can't even drink foreign water.

It always turned me off, what we used to hear about foreigners, and even now I feel the same revulsion at how they do things that are basically crazy. Such as the things they eat. Human flesh is of course the worst thing. But even the stuff we might consider better is still stuff they're fighting monkeys and anteaters for.

Foreigners. Even the word has a foreign sound to it. Because that's what they are, the other, something or someone apart from civilization. They're out there doing their thing, more or less one with nature. Nature as it was lived by primal man thousands of years ago. Nudity is natural. It's still how we're born. But in their case, it's also how they stayed! They're closer to nature in that.

One tribe of foreigners I saw on TV -- and it's an image that's seared in my memory, regrettably -- had big long sticks on their penises, like maybe 18 inches long, with something, maybe a string hooked to a counterbalance behind their ass to keep it erect. I saw that and spit my drink, "No! Don't tell me!" I fell to the floor laughing, and the ridiculousness of it all still makes me chuckle, after all this time.

I don't see any penis sticks in my top picture. But there's plenty of sharp erect dealyboppers on their heads. And I love the caption! "The chilling sound of the Boo-Boos!" You get poked with one of those spikes and you'll have a Boo-Boo! LOL. But for them it's "a summons to frenzied dances." If they go at it too hard, someone's going to lose an eye! Myself, I wouldn't approach to within 50 feet of that, let alone dance barefoot in such a crazy crowd!

And look at the other picture. Our civilized man is shaking hands with the foreigner, who's obviously sizing him up for a meal. But such plans could be hasty and premature, as we see that we're armed and ready to defend ourselves. The situation is clearly perceived to be potentially dire, as even the lady is armed. But it looks, amazingly, like the savage is armed as well, meaning it's more dangerous than I'd like, since I'm thinking he stole the gun from one of our guys, possibly his breakfast.

You noticed I called the foreigner a savage. Yes, I realize nowadays that's usually thought of as a politically incorrect word. But I feel we can use it anyway, especially when we reflect on its meaning. Since they are savages, we may as well call them that. And they don't know what we're talking about anyway. To them "boog-uh-de-boo" is a word. They're babbling gibberish, so of course they're not going to be real offended. And even if they are, it probably wouldn't take a lot of persuasion and they'd agree, they are pretty wild.

No, my friends, I'll leave the rest of the world to you. I'm happy right here! I seriously don't want to deal with foreigners!