Feldman on Feldman: Quizmaster Quizzed

Posted June 10, 2010 by mefeld
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags:

The Quizmaster Quizzed

The Wall St. Journal once called you “The king of small talk radio.” Are you still?

M: I don’t know, I don’t get the Wall St. Journal.

Did you ever think that, 25 years later, you would still be saying, pretty much word for word, the same things?

M: I’m pretty consistent. Sometimes my slider doesn’t fall off the table, but otherwise pretty dependable. I know a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, but I still don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. Birds gotta swim, fish gotta fly. I don’t believe I was preordained to do a public radio comedy quiz show, but I do think I was deigned. The great thing about being a Quizmaster is that you have all the answers. It’s the closest a layman can get to infallibility. Normally you have to be a Jewish woman or the Pope. I hope to live to see a Jewish female Pope.

How do you feel about current trends in America and the world?

M: Hard to find a bandwagon to hop on, but not from lack of bandwagons. A lack of hopping, yes. Not a lot of upticks. And what about those flagging indicators. More natural fabrics in menswear, that’s got to be good. The only revolution, in fact, has been in menswear. The carefree fabrics, the relaxed fit. Good news that radiation from cell phones is apparently not destroying the brains of users, they were like that already. Needing a cell phone to cross the street is probably the most disturbing cultural trend beside Snuggies or those plastic bumps women can put in their hair-do’s to get that Jersey girl look. There’s certainly more appreciation of what it would be like to be the Gulf of Mexico. Toyota pedals are not currently sticking. I have health care. But I pay for it. I’m on Facebook and no longer just lurking, but I’m very uncomfortable with people I don’t even know talking about things I don’t even care about on what is supposed to be my page. Too much like being at home.

A big believer in social networking are you?

M: Beats doing it in person. Probably more efficient then tossing your business card into the fishbowl next to the Lions Club gumball machine at the Chinese Buffet in Tomah.

In all 25 years what is your favorite moment of the show?

M: Well, that’s easy, it’s always the same moment, when I hoist the Red Lager to my parched lips at the Great Dane with my stage-mates Jim, John, and Jeff and Lyle, my soul mate, and we go to great lengths to avoid mentioning anything that might just have occurred on any sort of radio show anywhere. That’s the real show, afterwards with the boys.

Kind of a bromance thing?

M: Well, you know, we never called it that among the boys, always just a guy gets lonely on the road kind of thing, and when we’re grounded by forest fires at the Fairbanks airport an “at least we’re all together” kind of thing. I am a man’s man, in fact, I would say a man’s man’s man, and with that comes a certain amount of responsibility, but that’s what she said. I am not about to go bare-chesty drumming in the woods with them, but we’ve shared some things that guys usually don’t. Share. Spiritual more than physical.

If you were a tree what kind of tree would you be?

M: What are my choices?

Hardwoods, softwoods. Coniferous.

M: Something deciduous, I think. With dicotyledons, because you never get a chance to say that after high school biology. Gymnosperms. There, I said it and I’m glad. I know, a bilbao that grows upside down, especially one that isn’t real, like at Disney World.

When you come to heaven’s gate, what will St. Peter say to you?

M: I pictured you taller. Better looking.

What will you say to him?

M: Ditto, Moishe, or whatever your name used to be.

Trivia must be your life.

M: Yes, it must be.

Do you ever tire of trivia?

M: No, for that would be to tire of life. Trivia is no small thing. Nor the trivial in one’s own life—

Well, let’s not go there.

M: So, you admit you’re me.

Although I notice that you do not talk about your wife, what was her name, anymore, the occasional aside aside.

M: On advice of counsel. Hers. I was lucky in that my wife was largely a fictional character, although the children seem to be real. No, I had to let Consuela go. Should just have said ‘she took to marriage like a duck to oil’ and left it at that. Wife jokes are not funny when they’re on you. Now, with the girls, we have to be thinking about caregiver and power of attorney considerations. Wife jokes, kid jokes, pre-senility concerns, or, last gasps—its de-evolutionary. On the upside, I no longer discuss my daughter’s poopies on the air, and it’s a good thing because she’s in college now.

If there’s one thing you would like the audience to take away from the Whad’ya Know experience it would be . . .

M: Well, not the golf course pencils. We have to pay for those. They are welcome to take any left over donuts because otherwise Lyle will and he, ahem, doesn’t need them. Emotionally, I would hope they would not feel they’ve been through some sort of ordeal. A hostage situation, internment, lineup, inoculation, anything like that. There is a lot of pressure on the actual physical audience of my show; I always tell them “this is an audience participation show, so if it’s a bad show, who’s fault is it?” They always say mine, and we never get any farther. In 25 years. The audience at home, mostly guys whose wives hate me who have to pretend to be putting insulation in the attic so they listen on their walkmans, and middle-aged guys who still live with their mothers, have no need of any more obligations, they should just enjoy it, hopefully. My audience is so nice they almost make me feel good about myself.

Comments: Comments Off on Feldman on Feldman: Quizmaster Quizzed

Got Raw?

Posted June 8, 2010 by mefeld
Categories: Uncategorized

By Michael Feldman

Madison, WI

THE buses rolling into the parking lot of Eau Claire’s Chippewa Valley Technical College came from every corner of Wisconsin, and at least from one corner of Ontario, each packed with farm families wearing paper milking caps with “Freedom” written on them and brandishing signs that said, “I H Raw Milk.” March 10 was smack in the middle of calving time, but the heifers would have to wait — raw milk was that important.

The occasion was a hearing-turned-rally on a bill in the Wisconsin Legislature that would allow dairy farmers to sell milk straight from the spigot to anyone who felt it did a body good, save the very young, the very old and the very pregnant. Some 500 farmers crammed into the small college auditorium to cheer on one of the bill’s sponsors, State Representative Chris Danou, the Thoreau of raw, who declared that, should the legislative process fail, civil disobedience would surely follow.

Zealots like those at the rally extol the virtues of raw, including its unadulterated animal fat bio-activators, which may lower the risk of asthma and allergies. Standard pasteurization, they claim, kills a dubious-sounding 99.999 percent of milk’s good, bad and indifferent microorganisms, resulting in what raw milk people call “a whitish liquid.” What they fail to mention is that you can’t get $6 a gallon for pasteurized milk.

June is National Dairy Month, but milk has been the coin of this realm ever since there was a Dairyland. Wisconsin’s state quarter has two heads: George Washington’s on one side and a Holstein’s on the other. Badgers have skimmed the cream but also paid the price for living in a milkocracy; for years non-dairy creamers were banned from restaurants. And if it was yellow margarine you wanted, you had to either slip over the Illinois border to a sympathetic South Beloit gas station, or draw what satisfaction you could from kneading an orange dye tablet into a pound of milk-white oleo.

Things loosened considerably over the years, but raw milk, the bane of an industry built around dairy processing, remained taboo. Then, in April, during the waning hours of the legislative session, the Raw Milk Act finally passed, sending Representative Danou to his feet again to tip back a glass of what must have been pretty warm raw milk. Victory seemed assured; Wisconsin’s governor, James Doyle, had earlier indicated he would sign the bill.

Mr. Danou had no way of knowing that in the meantime the Cheese Makers Association, the Farm Bureau Federation and the Dairy Business Association, a sort of “Axis of Ag,” had sold their anti-raw case to Governor Doyle, blending their self-interest with warnings over diphtheria, salmonellosis and strep-bearing unpasteurized milk. Governor Doyle has had his moments, but Solomon he wasn’t on May 19, when he vetoed the Raw Milk Act despite his February approval of a tangentially related bill that made the dills and salsas of home-picklers street-legal.

Still, it wasn’t a total loss for the dairymen. The veto may prove a tipping point for public awareness and farm acceptance of raw milk. The movement gets its energy from the raw-food crusade swirling nationwide, but it’s now also drawing strength from Wisconsin’s farmer-activists, who’ve been pouring milk down the Capitol steps to protest prices for so long that many believe that’s why the marble is so white.

In fact, while this round of the raw milk fight may be over, it has left behind a nascent political movement — call it the Teat Party. In April, Madison played host to the second annual International Raw Milk Symposium, a quasi-academic affair that felt more like a convention, with grassroots food activists moving around the floor building coalitions. The Farm to Consumer Legal Defense Fund was there to offer its services. And a movement firebrand, Sally Fallon Morell, author of the game-changing “Nourishing Traditions: The Cookbook That Challenges Politically Correct Nutrition and the Diet Dictocrats,” was PowerPointing the way to the ramparts.

No one there seemed ready to call off the fight. It’s a fair guess that the anti-raw dictocrats, hunkered down somewhere across town, weren’t either.

Comments: 2 Comments

Michael Feldman’s All the News That Isn’t

Posted June 1, 2010 by mefeld
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags:

This just not in . . .

Comments: 1 Comment

Michael Feldman’s All the News That Isn’t

Posted May 25, 2010 by mefeld
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags:

May 24, 2010

Dow Jones found hanging from bell at New York Stock Exchange.

Turns out it’s the Davy Jones Index.

British Domestic Partners Cameron & Clegg already having problems. Cameron’s going to Berlin without Clegg, and boy is she steaming! Those Public School relationships are tough to maintain.

FBI warns of terrorist caterers—that’s pretty well established. Try to get your deposit back from Osama.

Arlen Specter victim of the single ballot theory.

Rand Paul, poster boy for Tea Party Intellectualism, calls the president’s criticism of British Petroleum “Un-American.”
His dad is trying to distance himself from Rand, says he was adopted.

Clarifying another misstatement, Rand says he never said slavery was all right in a pinch.

Vatican warns scientists that man-made bacteria cannot be buried in consecrated ground. Pagan bacteria.

“Lost” fans now unable to make sense of life.

US Intelligence head replaced with iPad.

War on terror on hiatus along with war on poverty, war on drugs, and war on paying too much for men’s suits.

Rand Paul’s name is really an anagram for “darn.”

Lindsay Lohan would rather party on a yacht in Cannes than testify at a probation hearing in municipal court. Case dismissed!
This Deep Throat movie should turn things around for her; Lindsay Lovelace.

Reverend Wright says Barrack Obama “threw me under the bus”—but he’s lucky because there was a train a-comin’!

Lance Armstrong says he has nothing to hide, which, after the surgery, is probably true.

Gas prices have been falling ever since they began giving it away in the Gulf.

Sarah Palin rounding up other mama grizzlies for this fall’s “Real Housewives of Hell.”

Senate passes finance bill just as we run out of ‘em.

The Salahis were on their way to get a life when stopped by police.

The state dinner for the Mexican president went off with the only hitch being Joe Biden’s impromptu hat dance with Sr. Calderon’s fedora.

Anti-missile found to actually be afraid of missiles and even, secretly, pro-missile.

Kevin Trudeau, author of Natural Cures You Don’t Want to Know About, sentenced to 30 days of a raw organic diet with daily injections of liquid manure.

Kagan not known for dating at Harvard.

Google street view cannot only video your residence, it can take a posture picture of you.

Facebook fails to explain why people you never heard of dominate your page with news that has nothing to do with you. Or, like, what likes means.

Human Growth Hormone explains half-back going to full-back and tight end wide receiver.

Miley Cyrus does Lady Gag Gag video. Well, Hannah Montana always was a stripper’s name.

North Korea preparing an army of Hello Kitty’s to invade the south, where they will be welcomed with open arms. The Trojan Hello Kitty.

Richard Blumenthal says he sure is going to miss the Battle of the Bulge reunions.

Study reveals men get post-partum, although it’s a different partum.

First Lady says obesity not p-h-a-t.

Elvis Costello cancels Israeli concerts—didn’t realize the Israelis were Jews.

Miss USA says Trump told her pole dancing qualified as a talent.

Ladies investment club at Blue Horizon Retirement Home caused 1,000 point drop in the Dow. The ladies were hedging their bets.

And, a cougar takes out a cow in Wisconsin—Salahis seen in neighborhood . . .

That’s All the News That Isn’t

Comments: 1 Comment

Top Five Must Have Commandments

Posted May 17, 2010 by mefeld
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags:

Top Five Must Have Commandments

Today Moses would have 140 characters with which to prove the Lord God more worthy of following than Ashton Kutcher. On his blog, Mo Sez, there would be opportunity to flesh it out a little, although not as much as ten commandments, since only Letterman Almighty still goes that route. Here in the US of ADD it is a well-established principle that you are allowed either one gross bloviation on the state of things or the Top Five Kim Kardashian relationships, ways to stand out during Glee auditions, killer iPad apps, iPad killers, ways to erase blackheads or reasons to stop saying “good job!” to your kids for their own good. By the third no one is paying attention, but a convention is a convention. Fiveness is not just an American preoccupation, as the Japanese have sufficiently demonstrated by broiling, simmering, steaming, frying and pickling; nor is it uniquely post-Modern if you but look at St. Thomas Aquinas’s overkill of God via (1) the unmoved mover (2) first cause (3) contingency (my personal favorite) (4) degree and (5) the teleological proofs of His existence. Five is much honored, with accolades including (but not limited to) Fermat and Eisenstein prime, fifth Fibonacci number, the 5 Pillars of Islam and Books of Torah, Dr. Gary Chapman’s seminal tome on relationships, “The Five Love Languages, and the Five Virtues of crickets cited in Hugh Raffles’ Insectopedia.
One assumes the 10 Commandments had been considerably pared down from the several thousand or so talking points the Lord God summoned forth for starters, and may have, in fact, been only the ones Moses could remember or transport. They were light reading at a time when there were 24 species of birds alone, bat to vulture (despite the ossifrage—bone-breaker—being some pretty good eating) not kosher for consumption. The wisdom of the elders stops short of anticipating the attenuated attention spans of the sons of the sons of the etc. Today Moses’ robes would be visibly drenched in flop sweat immediately following number I. V is pushing it to the max–but which old shoes to drop? The Anglicans have conveniently lumped the first 2 into a preface with which Gershom, presumably, preceded his dad down Sinai (Eliezer following with sources and acknowledgements). “I am the Lord, your God,” is inferred, while “no other gods before me,” an obvious shot across Baal’s bow, nothing if not implicit. Today “No Idols” is a tough sell, although maybe not after Crystal Bowersox. Murder and stealing, boilerplate, really, pretty much have to be in there; coveting, negotiable, in light of the Five Gadgets You Have to Have, none of which, luckily, happen to be your neighbor’s wife or stuff. In Exodus, neighbors are on all sides of you, taking up a good 3 of the original 10 commandments, which pieces might be sewn into the one size fits all garment of Geraldine Feldman’s “Don’t start with the neighbors.” “Honor they father and mother” goes without saying, at least by them, leaving us with

The Top Five Must Have Commandments

1. All eyes here.
2. Don’t steal, don’t lip, 20 years of schooling and they put you on the day shift.
3. Don’t start with the neighbors.
4. Do not murder, profane and commit adultery in the same sin.
5. The Lord God’s name, image, likeness, play-by-play and/or transcriptions may not be used without the expressed written consent of Major League Baseball.

Comments: 1 Comment

Try a Little Happiness

Posted May 10, 2010 by mefeld
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags:

Michael Sez:

A very nice guy in the audience in Springfield, James Davis-Willard, wrote on his card “Are you a happier person now than you were ten years ago? You seem to be really happy the last few years.” Isn’t that sweet? Being me, I told him “only goes to show what senility can do for you,” but, in fact, that’s only partly true, and its still pre-senility. I am entitled to senior moments, now, and it’s a great way of saying you forgot something you really didn’t want to do and not getting an argument. Almost as good as wearing a selective hearing aid. But, beneath the planet of me, I guess I really am happier even though everything is getting worse, you know physical functions, career, popular music, men’s wear. I just don’t take it personally any more. I don’t really care, but I do. It’s a kind of Zen-like uncaring caring, that accepts the fact that the things that you can do something about are more than enough, thank you. I never hoisted the world, a la Atlas, on my back, but there was quite a bit of unclaimed baggage some of which I don’t even remember unclaiming. Marriage, for example, has never been my (2) cups of tea, and I always said my wife took to marriage like a duck to oil, and its true. Some people are better off mating, and going their separate ways. But then kids come along, and it’s a game changer. Terrific, love being a father, not much heavy lifting, set your own hours, work out of the home. Early attempt to be both father and mother to the girls quickly dissipated under the withering glare of she who has lovemotherearth for her email address, but that was for the best. Now, of course, the girls are teenagers, and, if there is nothing like a dame, there is really nothing like a teenage dame, and I say that with all due cowering respect. They bark at me, and wave me away. Unbelievable. I who did everything from wiping their poopy behinds to paying their tuition and everything in between. Well, OK, its not as hands on as it used to be—I try to be of use and not say anything analytical, and certainly refrain from any advice based on my own experience, because as the once-little Nora told me, “Dad, you’re not a girl, and you’re not NOW!” I don’t think she meant the organization for women.
So, really, in effect, I’ve been released from fathering, at least in the nose to the grindstone sense. OK. I miss playing with little Nora and little Ellie, but finger painting, making acorn people and claymation movies are probably not going to make a comeback. OK. Well. I know I’m on call, but that’s a hell of a lot better than working 12 hour shifts. Frees me up quite a bit. My show, for me, has always been the only two hours of my life I could control, and there’s still that, but it now, in effect, it is my life, I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit, as much as painting civil war miniatures or donning an engineer cap to run your HO gauge through tunnels you made yourself might be. Love it. I have a crush on my audience. Some of them feel the same way, but, at this point, its OK if it’s unrequited or requited just a little. When I first did radio from Dolly’s Fine Foods in Madison, my routine was basically my personal life, or lack of, and the many emotional reversals and amusing little failures endemic to twenty-somethings. A guy once called in and said, “You know, you mess up a lot, you really have a lot of neuroses, but its very entertaining—don’t ever change!” Ever see that movie where Jim Carrey beats up himself? Like that. It occurred to me that I needed to save some for myself, and also that a relationship with an audience is nothing you can come home to. These days, I enjoy nothing more than wading into a crowd (which, confidentially, is the exact opposite of my wading into myself personality type) who have taken the time and effort to pack a sometimes unwilling family into the Caravan and get up at 5 to drive all the way in from Bloomer on a Saturday morning. Nobody had ever done that for me before. Nothing has ever reaffirmed (or affirmed, to be truthful) my faith, maybe not in mankind, but in people, like talking with my audience, learning a little about them, maybe sharing a laugh. And that, in long, is why I feel pretty happy these days, and lucky.
And also what I told Mrs. Davis-Willard after the show (she was trying to explain what her husband was getting at, which was really cute, too) that I’m just happy to get up in the morning. “That’s what I’ll tell him!” she said.

Comments: 1 Comment

The Statistically Average Tea Partier

Posted May 4, 2010 by mefeld
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags:

The much anticipated profile of the statistically average tea partier has come out:

1. 80% male, 100% white.
2. No discernable ethnicity.
3. Tweets but does not follow.
4. Votes only for write-in candidates.
5. Believes he has won the Publisher’s Clearinghouse Sweepstakes.
6. Reveres the Boston patriots although personally would have stayed with England.
7. 5 times as likely to use stool softeners.
8. Drives a Buick.
9. Believes that flying a plane into the IRS is wrong but understandable.
10. Has a jpeg of Sarah Palin stretching in her warm-ups in a locked file on his PC.
11. Pays off his Visa card monthly.
12. Practices lawn care.
13. Thinks there will never be another Everett Dirksen.
14. Tips 10%, and only if the service is good.
15. Did not respond to this survey.

Comments: 1 Comment

All the News That Isn’t from Michael Feldman

Posted May 3, 2010 by mefeld
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags:

May 3, 2010

On the Gulf oil platform disaster: All I know is, you put in a toilet—a toilet—and you have to put in a cutoff valve. It’s the law.

President Obama does not tell Brownie “you’ve done a heckuva job.”

Immediately deployed to the correspondents dinner to have a look for himself.

British petroleum is coming! British Petroleum is coming!
One if by land, two if by—never mind, it’s already here.

BP is referring to the disaster as “a spot of bother I must say.”

The rig was in the Gulf but the wellhead is in London. Spouting off more than Gordon Brown.

Thank God it wasn’t Yiddish Petroleum—we have enough trouble.

The good news is the British like their kippers packed in oil.

In retaliation for the wind farm off the Kennedy compound, the Kennedys are pushing a BP platform off the Bush compound.

The car bomb found in Times Square—fire crackers tied to a cat—now seen as less deadly than first thought.

Chairman of Goldman Sachs draws a Blankfein in front of committee.

There will be a controlled burn of the oil slick he released.

Goldman left holding the Sachs.

Goldfinger and Sachs.

Hard times for these guys—you can’t tie the oldest daughter to the train tracks anymore.

I say throw the TARP over him. You want transparency, make him disappear.

Although it makes sense from a business standpoint; I bet my investments will fail.

Congress is biting the hand that feeds it, but they’re doing it gingerly, like your doggy anxious for the treat.

After missing several days of tee times, Republicans relent on bringing financial reform bill to the floor. The Tee Party. Dems were taking divots out of ‘em.

Shakira goes to Arizona to straighten out this immigration thing, is shipped back to Bogotá in a steel drum.

The governor of Arizona turns to WhiteFacebook to make her case on immigration.

The French church is turning to Craig’s List to attract priests.

Iran comes out with its version of the iPad, the ineedashaveabadPad.

Post Office to cut costs by going back to ponies.

Man who smuggled song birds in his pants to be Birds-in-pants man of Alcatraz.

Iceland will fire up the volcano again to soften up Europe for a full scale Viking invasion.
Eric the Sooty.

Physicist Stephen Hawking says space aliens have “To Serve Mankind” cookbook.

The first time Tiger couldn’t make it at Quail Hollow. Just tired.

Men encouraged to do colon self exams. There’s an app for it.

California’s Santa Clara county rips Happy Meals out of the tiny hands of inconsolable toddlers, stomps Ronald McDonald to death in front of them—but it’s for their own good—

That’s All the News That Isn’t . . .

Comments: 1 Comment

iRival

Posted April 29, 2010 by mefeld
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags:

iRival Launch Day

Haven’t been so excited about an electronic device since the Rival can opener mom got at Boston Store. I think it may have been intended for dog food, but it turned out to be one giant leap for Feldmankind, who previously had to stab our tin cans like Norman Bates and hope for the best. The Rival was a killer app–it firmly held the can and ran it over a circular blade to a very satisfying whir while a little magnet held the lid out of the Chef Boyardee. I bet mom was shoulder to shoulder with the early adopters storming the doors at 10 AM to get their hands on one, it was that big.

The Rival was rivaled only, perhaps, by the coming of the electric blanket, which was like a heating pad the size of a bed, and had captivated the nation after one thawed out the Thing From Another World in the movie of the same name. If it could defrost a frozen entree from space, it certainly should have been able to and did thaw out the typical uninsulated Milwaukee duplex family. A lot of people will get iPads, but everybody had an electric blanket, which even had model years, like cars, so they could keep sweetening the pot with much anticipated features we didn’t know we needed–dual controls, thermostats, timers, rotisserie mode. The thinking at the time was that America’s appetite for the electric blanket was insatiable. They were given as wedding presents, and not re-gifted.

Some electronic breakthroughs did not break through 2718 N. 58th. The electric carving knife was big in the ‘burbs, but we were not headed that direction. I believe it was a pride thing with my dad, who felt duty-bound to saw through mom’s overcooked roasts, briskets and turkeys personally, although the birds, at least, were self-carving, falling apart on their own after 24 hours in a 325 oven. A cold reception was also afforded the concept of electrified oral hygiene–the water pic, something the French might use, only on the other end, and the electric toothbrush, an oxymoron not deemed capable of the crucial up and down not sideways brushing regimen drummed into us by our myopic but good-hearted dentist, Dr. Blumenthal. My wife and kids use them today, but I want to be able to look Dr. Blumenthal in the bottle bottom lenses should ever we meet again.

We were never an all-electric home, like the Reagans, but dad, in the early days, worked for the Electric Company in Milwaukee, so Reddy Kilowatt, the lightbulb-headed lightning bolt man who encouraged us to plug it in, was a close personal friend. The wedding gifts on dad’s desk in the 1935 photo were the apps I grew up with– a one slice chrome deco toaster, the battle ready Mixmaster, the elegant silver-like electric drip coffee urn, the little oscillating fan that could, and the herald of miniaturization, the table radio. A radio you could put on a table, and not have to build the house around. No life changers, perhaps, like the iPad, although the Ozone generator, a black case with electrodes and a rheostat you could dial up to create a god awful O3 smell that was supposed to make your life better, came closest. In a moment of weakness mom bought it from a door to door salesman who was good, but no Steve Jobs.

Comments: 1 Comment

All the News That Isn’t (and some that is)

Posted April 29, 2010 by mefeld
Categories: Uncategorized

April 26, 2010

Poll finds 4 out of 5 Americans have no trust in government and the other one is in it.

In Florida passion play it’s Crist on the Cross.

Apple employee who lost next generation iPhone in bar now sporting a Newton.

The most interesting revelation about the 4G iPhone is that it’s a suppository. Wonder how it fell out.

Thief steals Denver man’s finger along with his iPad—but it’s useless without the hand.

Spirit Airlines to charge passengers for being overweight—but your Spirit flies free.

In retaliation for French face-veil ban, berets and carrying a loaf of bread in your armpit now taboo in Saudi Arabia.

In dramatic gesture, President Obama leaps into NY Stock Exchange mosh pit and is not body passed.  Mr. Obama’s take on Gordon Gecko—“Greed is OK”—gets a tepid response.

South Park producers warned by Revolution Jewish that robotic depictions of Barbra Streisand are not Kosher.

New $100 bill unveiled as iPhone app. Ronald Reagan will be on the 50, although it’s a later portrait and he’s facing the wrong way.

Octomom tells Oprah if she did it again she’d have 8 husbands.  Denies Stedman is the father.

First HD pictures of the sun melt immediately.

Air Force launches top secret modified Winnebago in earth orbit, would not verify how the electrical hookup is going to work.

Holiday changed to National Day of Haven’t Got a Prayer.  And, next year, it’s going to be Get Your Kids Out of Here Day.

UK flights back to normal after a week of shoe bombers cooling their heels at Heathrow.

Madison’s mayor and county exec were stranded in Amsterdam for a week. He’s a boy, she’s a girl—expect a new unit of government.

Arizona law requires proof of passage on the Mayflower.  Many retirees are being shipped back to their countries of origin or Brooklyn, whichever comes first.

Dr. Death turns out to be Al Pacino.

Gay character in Archie turns out not to be Archie; Veronica appears to have large hands and feet.

Hacker on trial says he just guessed Sarah Palin’s password was ubetcha.

Raw milk movement gathers steam in Wisconsin, coalesces into new entity, the Teat Party.  “Hands Off Our Teats!” the rallying cry.

And in Wisconsin, all Indian mascots have been recalled unless they refer specifically to casinos—the Ho Chunk Slots, for example, the Pottawatomie Fighting Bingos, or the Oneida Let-It-Rides . . .

That’s All the News That Isn’t . . .

Comments: 3 Comments

Newer Entries »