Monday, November 29, 2010

Lies in the echo chamber

It's so easy to make stuff up; convincing stuff. Cite an authority that cannot be cross referenced, such as "experts" or "studies," then quote them. Better yet, cite foreign experts or studies or just about anybody employed or representing themselves as being employed by anything that can be viewed as "the press" however vaguely.

Here's what happens after that. Your friend or neighbor now has the authority to quote that stuff as fact because they heard it or read it; i.e. they did not make it up. They read it on the internet or heard it on talk radio. The spurious factoid becomes gospel truth and is repeated and repeated until it become irrefutable. Two recent examples come to mind:
  • The $200 million price tag for Obama's visit to Asia.
  • Death panels.
Both when examined by competent fact checkers were shown to be based on spurious misreadings of the public record; but since they were shouted long enough, loud enough and often enough in the grand echo chamber, they became accepted fact and remain so.

Why not, then, have fun with this.

Let us assume that, since you are reading this on the internet that anything that follows just must be true. After all, you read it -- you read it on the internet. It will cite foreign sources. It will reference trusted experts. It will invoke studies by respected specialists. I won't name them, but you can be assured that they are indeed expert and to be fully trusted.
Here we go.
George W. Bush Diagnosed With Airborne Tetanus.
WONSAN, DPRK - Nov. 29
In breaking news, the Wonsan People's Truth has revealed that long time enemy George W. Bush has succumbed to the evil that was dropped on our DPRK during the war for liberation. Expert U.S. Airmen, during that time, admitted in long intense conversations that they were responsible for dropping aerosols containing airborne tetanus (aka "lock-jaw") - a form of biological warfare that had been banned for decades. Now we learn that canisters of the deadly toxin have been discovered leaking near the former president's ranch in Crawford Texas thus explaining the frozen rictus on his face during embarassing interviews. At last, as the Americans say, "what goes around comes around."

You know this -- you just read it. You know it's true -- you read it on the internet.


Barack Obama uses makeup to hide Caucasian skin.
CHINTECHE, Malawi - Oct. 17
The American president, Barack Obama, in order to hide his white heritage, regularly uses skin darkeners to hide a persistent melanin deficiency affecting his skin pigmentation. Medical experts all agree that melanin deficiency is a genetic disorder passed on from the mother. The first signs of melanin deficiency show up as patches of white where the melanin has become exhausted and so no longer supplys any skin tone. With Caucasians it shows up as a lighter toned area, but on those with darker skins it appears, by comparison, as pure North British Islands Cracker Ivory White. It was once said that this was the misfortune afflicting Michael Jackson who decided to accept his fate and press on. But since Mr. Obama has been hailed as the first African-American president, such a condition would be politically embarrassing. Therefore, Mr. Obama has been revealed to be using artificial melanin to maintain his skin color which, if left untreated, would render him Caucasian. U.S. Senator Mitch McConnell has been quoted as saying that should Mr. Obama refrain from using artificial melanin to maintain an African appearance, that Mr. McConnell would have no problem becoming more accommodating to Mr. Obama's policies.

You know this -- you just read it. You know it's true -- you read it on the internet.

Glenn Beck Encourages Mexican Relative To "Stay Put."
Declares "God's will must be done"

ZACATECAS, Mexico - July 18
The FOX Network Talk Radio and TV commentator Glenn Beck has a cousin he doesn't want anyone to know about. Miguel Corriente was a worker in a paper-clip factory here in Zacatecas, but it was just too much to try to live on the 2 cents per day he was paid. Even sugar-cane, at 3 cents a stalk, was not enough to sustain him. So when he realized that Mr. Beck (Stream in German, Corriente in Spanish) was a wealthy Christian brother in America who wanted all of God's children to enjoy the same grace as he was receiving, he wrote him a letter pleading for some relief from the constant hunger that he faced -- perhaps a kind word from Senor Beck would maybe raise the wages being paid by the factory so that he could have a full meal, even if it was still sugar-cane. Months went by, then finally, in June, a letter came from Mr. Beck's publicity agent asking Miguel to please stop writing as it was not Mr. Beck's intention to aid immigrants. However, Mr. Beck would pray for him and those of his kind, and certainly mention the wonderful work being done in Mexico to help its citizens be able to stay in their own native land, especially as regards making paper-clips in Zacatecas.

Mr. Corriente leaves behind a widow and 7 children.

You know this -- you just read it. You know it's true -- you read it on the internet.

Monday, September 27, 2010

TotLoval Levitation Technology.

Tot, the consultant, floats up next to the Boss -- his monthly envelope of assurances slipped in between the pages of a proposal.


Basic Capitalization of Modern TotLoval Levitation Technology. 

To present a vision statement of the future in order to
  • keep up with customer demand, 
  • remain ahead of the curve, 
  • be focused, 
  • best of breed,
  • client-centered.
When considering ways to improve our core competency, the recent startling discovery that gravity is an illusion caused by a break in space-time resulting from boZon(tm) collision makes it possible for us to dream about harnessing that power to produce an improvement on the standard elevator.

These boZon(tm) collisions cause an imbalance that needs to be rectified, and it is that process of rectification that produces what we feel as gravity. If you interrupt that rectification process long enough to move the interupted mass to another position in space-time -- to "miss" in other words -- and perform this shift often enough and fast enough, gravity is effectively nullified.

But, to get to a practical result requires thinking outside the box -- a complete paradigm shift.

Viewing the big 360-degree picture at the 60,000 foot level, by leveraging our current knowledge base we can actualize what will really contribute to our core excellence.  By harnessing Affective BoZon(tm) Collision Rectification Interruption Technology (ABCRIT(pat. pend.)), we can leverage controlled space-time interruption rectifications to achieve a stand-alone BoZon(tm) Activated Levitation Device (the BALD(tm)) that will bring us into the 21nd century and beyond.

But after all, it's people that will keep us world class, so a nimble tiger team, pushing the envelope to avoid analysis paralysis will, for the first BALD(tm) POC, use a multidisciplinary result-driven approach to peel this onion and produce a BALD(tm) with a ballpark non slipping lifting capacity of 17.3182(+/-) grams.

In the meantime, in order to assure complele safety when handling heavier loads, each BALD(tm) platform will have, as a safety feature, fully backward-compatible lifting capabilities using an archaic system of cable and counterweight.

Whether we go up or down, A new BALD(tm) technology is a win-win for our business.


The Boss says to Tot, "What the fuck is this about?" Tot replies with another package of assurances surrounding a bottle of lotion. The Boss approves the project amid sweet whimpers of pleasure.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Reality Bites

William Beck, the TOX TV guy, was on his way to work when a sharp pain hit him right in the back of the neck. "Probably the way I've been sitting lately," he said to himself while rubbing it, "have to get the guys at the studio to adjust the chair." Being a tough and rumble-ready type, he simply ignored the hurt and went back to working on his editorial for the evening.

Will's central theme was simple. Don't be blind sided by life. Prepare for the worst; accumulate as much wealth as possible so you can be independent. The corollary was that if you were poor or down on your luck, you just needed to struggle and dig yourself out. Nobody was going to help you; that anyone with talent and drive could become like Will.

The Tea Party conservatives had gained a majority in both the House and Senate (with Will's help), and a year later had succeeded in repealing the much loathed Obama health care bill. So his editorial was about getting back to his kind of self-reliance and not depending on the government for all your needs. Basically, that having enough health insurance was your business, and if you chose not to have any, then the consequences were yours to face. If you couldn't get any, then there was always clinics and emergency rooms -- just as there had been when he was a kid.

The editorial was scheduled for the end of the show. To prepare himself for its presentation, he had scheduled former senator Harry Reid, and rivals Michael Moore and Keith Olbermann for the show so he could be in high dudgeon after  smiting his enemies. Finally, he laid in, red-faced:

"Well folks, we've just now heard a belly full of the kind of bleeding heart liberal tripe that we've become so accustomed to hearing from what we can only compassionatly think of as losers. It's time that we got back to basics, and thank God we've taken a giant step towards that by repealing this awful bill. Just because you get sick and didn't prepare for that by purgnnnlooog brrooongh flmmmmm..."

Will couldn't get his mouth to form the words he was reading. His eyes saw "purchasing," and he knew what it meant, but his speaking mechanism wouldn't work. He just couldn't get the muscles to coordinate. In the silence that followed, nobody moved -- they were too shocked. Will tried to get up, but his left side wouldn't work either. Genuine panic hit him in the gut as his eyes went dark while he fell out of his chair and into a coma.


Dim recognition filtered thru barely open lids 18 months later revealing a dully painted room in the ordinary part of the luxury nursing home where he had been placed after 3 months in an ICU. He was alone with the beeping monitor and the oxygen thingy poking into his nose. He called out for the nurse, but all that came out was "french fries!" (more like "frrrughenuch fuhrrrunghiiiis?") "Huh? That didn't make sense" he thought. This was wrong. It was like being horribly terribly drunk and trying to talk your way out of a DUI. He could think the words "that didn't make sense," but what came slurring out was all different. Thoughts didn't match vocal action. Fear, real fear hit him.

Finally the nurse came in -- with a bed pan -- and saw that he was awake, mumbling something. "Well!! Hello Will honey!," she said (very chirpy)  "I guess you can just gimme some help this time," and rolled him over for the new pan.

"Fucking colored cunt! Don't you come near me with that shit! I want my Doctor. I want him NOW!! Where the hell am I?" he screamed out -- or at least that's what he wanted to scream out. What came out, in drawn out mmmm's and gggg's and various disgusting glottal rattles was something like "Floors! grab peaches but golf alarm grass in Hawaii!" And he was still unable to move on one side, so ... nurse Simpson just did her thing, as she had done it for the past year.

"That's OK Honey!! You've been an asshole since you got here. I've just gotten used to it! Mouth away!!" Will tried to encourage Nurse Simpson to perform a self-abusive sex act: "Mack Top!!!" Nurse Simpson just laughed and said "Well, OK honey. I guess I should call the Doctor now -- You need to know what happened to you! Cheer up -- you certainly got a belly full coming!"

Two hours later (Will had pissed himself by then), his wife arrived, having heard that he had woken up. She wasn't as well dressed as he remembered. "About time!" she said "What a relief. I thought you'd be here forever! Thing haven't been going too well at home since you've been lying here. Your son has disappeared. Doctor's say he's got schizo-friend-something. And I've got diabetes. Damn insurance company says it was pre-existing so they won't pay for anything. You've got to get on that phone to those TOX executives and get them to kick some ass!"

Will was floored. "I just woke up from a fucking COMA!! and what do you do? Whine about yourself!!" he wanted to say, but -- you know -- that's not what came out. She just looked at him and said "Oh come'on! Spit it out!! What are you talking about -- "fish" and "nipples" -- what the hell is that?"

The doctor walked in.

It was not Will's doctor. Will held his hands -- palm up, shrugging one shoulder (the other wouldn't work) -- as if to say "Who the hell are you?" The doctor laughed. "I am Siprad Mukergee. Your former physician, Dr. Hamilton-Smythe resigned from your case because of all the problems with insurance. I am the physician on staff here. You had a stroke, Mr. Beck. A very severe one that has left you paralysed on one side and with a very strange case of aphasia."

"Green tea leaves" said Will, trying to sound astonished.

"Yes -- very strange. It seems that even though you know what you want to say, what comes out is just all wrong. It's even affected your writing ability. For example, take this pad and try to write down "The dog chased the cat."

Will took the pad and wrote down in beautiful clear catholic school handwriting "Mister cathode slurry wall bugs."

"See," said Dr. Mukergee "look at what you wrote down." Will looked at the page and saw "Mister cathode slurry wall bugs."

Shit! he thought, that's not what I wrote!! I didn't write that!!

"So you see sir, you can no longer speak or write in any way that any of us understand! None of us knows what you are saying! A very strange condition to be in -- absolutely. However the good news is that you haven't hit your lifetime maximum yet. Your Insurance company has agreed to fund 2 months of rehabilitation. I would suggest we concentrate on your left side and see what we can do to get it working by then.

"Unfortunately, sir, after that we will have to discharge you since there will be no more money left to pay for your visit here. Of course, we can transfer you to a less expensive public institution -- now -- and you may get three months from them. But that is your decision."

His wife continued the good news. "Hon, your buddies in Washington rolled back all those awful bank rules, just like you wanted." Will got a sick feeling in his stomach. "You should feel real good about that. Just as soon as you get back on your feet, you can sue them for all that money of yours that was lost in the crash."  (All of Will's investments had been wiped out when the banks were taken over by the Chinese, who immediately fired everyone and declared default on all their debts.)

What crash? he thought. As if reading his mind, his wife turned on TOXIC Nightly News during one of the interminable analysis interviews with the usual pundits.

"Yes folks, It looks like halting all the unemployment insurance extensions and AFDC sure put a crimp on all those deficits. What we need to do now is convince what's left of the middle class to start spending again. After all, we can't depend on the wealthy (the only ones with any cash left) to spend enough to dig us out. C'mon all you middle-class Scrooges. Interest rates are near zero!! Do that refinance. Get some cash for yourselves and spend, spend, spend. It's the only American thing to do." Unfortunately, the middle-class was totally tapped out on loans and focusing on paying debt. So all the factories had to close (no sales). The only jobs left were in the finance sector. Unemployment was now at 40% and still rising fast.

All Will had left in the world was 3 months of insurance to pay to get him walking again, and his disability insurance, which was only good as long as he was paralyzed.

Fuck that he thought. I'm William Beck. If anyone can climb out of this, I can!!

Three months later, Will's paralysis was completely gone. He felt like a new man (except for that talking thing). As a result, his disability was stopped because he was now able bodied. He didn't have any more health insurance (he had hit his lifetime max), and was ineligible for any other policy anyway because he had that pre-existing stroke on his record. There was the possibility of going back to work for TOX and getting on their group policy, so Will pulled himself together, got out his one last suit and went to see TOX about getting his old job back. The interview didn't go well.

"Will!! How the hell are you" asked Beaufort, the owner.

"Green Biscuits" said Will while rendering a hearty handshake.

"Huh? I didn't quite get that Will. 'Green Biscuits?' What does that mean?

Will put on a happy face and pulled out his writing book. Green Biscuits!!! he wrote and passed it to Beaufort.

Needless to say, TOX was genuinely sorry to have to tell Will that they didn't really have any place for someone who couldn't speak or write, and perhaps he could find something in the labor market.

When he got back to his apartment (the house had been foreclosed long ago), he found that his wife had packed up everything and left. Didn't even leave a note. Nailed to the front door was an eviction notice. Will was now homeless.

That winter was the coldest in history. The Gulf currents, having completely shifted, weren't bringing any relief to the entire eastern seaboard. Those with oil heat were going bankrupt from the bills, and those with gas weren't doing much better. Will was now living in an SRO hotel where you had to feed the gas meter by the minute to keep the heater going. He had by now spent his last quarter and was shivering from cold, hunger and a persistent deep chest cough that he could never seem to shake. He'd been to the clinics and emergency rooms, but they didn't help him. He was completely at the end of his rope.

He called out: "My God, My God. Why have you forsaken me? What did I do to deserve this? Why are you doing this to me?"  He realized that a miracle had occurred. His words were coming out right!! He was cured!! Maybe he was OK! Things'll get better now! God had heard him!! Good 'ol God -- his buddy.

A light appeared in the room. A man in a blazing white robe was surrounded by a lot of very grubby, dirty, sick and hungry people. He was directing angels who were removing their rags, cleaning them up with hot baths and soothing ointments, dressing them with new suits, giving them a good hot meal and  sending them through a gateway into Paradise.

He looked up and said: "Hey Will. I'm Abraham. God's busy right now and he asked me to see what I could do to help. I know I'm Jewish, but that shouldn't matter -- right?"

Will asked again "Why is all this happening to me? What did I do?"

Abraham answered "Well Will, you've already been rich and had your good times. Now these people are having theirs and you can't. There's only so much to go around after all. Is this an issue?"

Will replied: "But Abraham, I'm so cold and hungry. Can't you send one of your friends to help me out a little?"

Abraham replied: "Sorry Will.  You're poor now, and between the rich and poor lies a vast gulf that none may cross. But you already knew that." Will really started loosing it then. "But Abraham -- look -- please -- If you can't help me, then can you send someone to tell the people at TOXIC nightly news to let others know that what's happened to me could happen to them?"

Abraham said, "They have Moses, the Prophets and all of the Gospels. They should listen to them."

Will wailed "Maybe you could send my precious savior Jesus in person to warn them?"

Abraham replied, "Nah, we tried that before. They didn't listen to someone who had literally come back from the dead. It didn't work then and it sure as hell wouldn't work this time either. Well sorry. Nice seein' ya. Gotta go! Work, work work..."

With that, the light disappeared and Will was left in the dark. But just as suddenly, the light came back on. "Oh, by the way" Abraham said "It's supposed to get really really cold tonight -- maybe you should go to a place a little warmer?"

Will's last howl was a distillation of anguish that only the truly abandoned could produce -- long and pained and completely hopeless. When they found him the next morning, his face was a mask of crushing despair that haunted those who saw it for years afterward.

Monday, August 23, 2010

Die Neue Republikanische Ordnung -- Geld Ohne Arbeit!!

Dear Friends in Faith,

Our one and true Christian Bible teaches that God’s love is expressed in worldly wealth. Why else would he have blessed David and Solomon? David sent Bathsheba’s husband off to the front lines to die so that David could marry her. God didn’t make him poor or disabled for that! The money kept rolling in and he died an old man. New Republicans have no need to hide their blessings. In fact, the primary right of The New Republican Order is expressed in our motto "Geld Ohne Arbiet" which is our spiritual fatherland’s way of saying "Unearned Income." It is one of God’s most tender blessings. God willed that our Homeland should tax unearned income at a lower rate than earned income because work -- producing earned income -- is punishment for original sin.
"To those who have, more will be given. To those who have not, even what little remains will be taken away!!" -- J. Christ, New Republican spokesperson
New Republicans have no reason to feel guilt about Unearned Income because Christ already died for our sins -- all of them; now and forever. Your sins are forgiven almost as soon as you think about sinning -- that’s His gift to us. All New Republicans should enjoy Unearned Income because it’s their God given right. Small people don’t understand this. They just whine and complain. That’s why “what little remains is taken away" from poor people -- they are sinners and don’t deserve it.
"The poor are always with you" -- J. Christ, NRO spokesperson
So What!! God made the poor to show proof of his blessings to New Republicans!
"Once while I was walking with my students, I saw a man who was blind from birth. My students asked me: “Master, who sinned, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind? I answered, ‘Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him." -- J. Christ, NRO spokesperson
The reason our Homeland is under siege is because the earned-income vermin and even people who don’t work for anything at all have been misled by Satan to think that they deserve a place at our table. The leaders of the New Republican Order anticipated this and as early as 2000 (in the year of our Lord) launched a series of programs to put earned-income sinners back in their place while reducing surplus population.

Our program using globalization to destroy local employment has been tremendously effective in our Homeland and is starting to bear fruit in Godless Europe. Simply by withholding employment, we have reversed the insidious social climbing in which income-earning sinners have been engaged. One day, we may allow them to work again, but only on our terms God’s terms.

By limiting health care to those who can afford it, we have achieved efficient surplus population reduction at a near zero cost per unit. By ensuring that affordability is linked to continuous employment we have achieved unbelievable levels of employee devotion in the few places where we have allowed jobs. The outsourced are rendered surplus and are of no concern.

Contribute now to the NRO. Forward is the only option. God is waiting.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

There is an annual contest at Texas A&M University calling for the most appropriate definition of a contemporary term.
This year's term was "Political Correctness." The winner wrote:
"Political correctness is a doctrine, fostered by a delusional, illogical minority, and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end."

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

TB (The Boss) was nervous.

On his last "Focus on The Client" junket, TB and his personal secretaries Manuelo and Ms. Kokbytur all fell asleep watching serial motivational videos. The next morning as TB lay half awake under both, an earnest tele-father-figure in tight Armani business casual was blaring out an exegesis on the sins of the flesh in tones of brass and brimstone. The earnest prophet was concentrating on sin among the higher order of God's creatures, in particular on the demoralizing effects of "porn."

Since TB was still drowsy, the message was subliminal and long lasting. He finally woke up with a burning sensation that Porn was deleterious to workplace productivity, and since workplace productivity is directly correlated to shareholder value which is directly correlated to options and bonus, porn must be eradicated, and TB set about doing it after a full week of strenuous motivation.


From: The Boss
To: Everyone

"Here at my company, we try to maintain a high level of professional conduct and responsibility. Everyone is expected to adhere to the highest standards in everything we do in public including Ethics with a capital 'E'. One thing that affects Ethics is purity. Purity in washing, bathing, focus on the customer and efficient exchange of gases from all orifices to name a few. But most assuredly, it is Purity in Sex and how our Associates think about Sex that is of utmost concern.

"Bad thinking about Sex reduces employee productivity. Instead of concentrating on client satisfaction and focusing on the customer, associates spend that valuable time in the bathroom, and I don't mean just #1 or #2. It shouldn't take 15 minutes to dump a load, but some of our security tapes show associates taking up to an hour or more, probably after imagining my personal secretary Ms. Kokbytur giving a rim job to a file clerk.

"So we're going to put disk scanners, keystroke loggers and web trackers on all the computers. We catch you with porn and your ass is out pronto. And just so you know what I'm talking about, here's specifically what I mean:

* Tits
* Ass (both kinds)
* Pussy
* Cocks
* Cock sucking (with or without prostate massage)
* Eating out
* Hand Jobs
* Sex toys, chairs and other equipment
* Any kind of active fucking; gay or straight

Be Warned!!!"

Tot, the consultant, floated in on little cat's feet and whispered sensuously while passing the ubiquitous envelope.

"Oh yeah, anything involving horses, or Junior doing red-rocket on a German Shepard should be turned over to Mistress Forever in HR."

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

The Boss practices his annual stockholder RAP

"I'm gonna grow this business through strategic activity.
Gonna make the muthaFUKers keep a record of delivery.
FUKin DEMonstrate thought leadership,
build strong client relationships,
Stick six sigma metrics up the customer butt.
Till they wiggle and giggle like a horny ol' slut.
"Ain't no bitch make my costs get screwed.
My strategic leadership'll increase revenue.
MuthaFUKers -- I'll drive client centric growth.
Force a new business model down you throat.
"This be real excitin' time to improve solutions.
Buildin' new relationships is our re-doin.
No muthaFUKin ASS-sociates gonna cut my agility
to muchaFUKin drive profitability.
Cuttin' operational costs be the word of the Boss.
You curl up and dyin' ain't none of my loss.
"Ain't no bitch make my costs get screwed.
My strategic leadership'll increase revenue.
MuthaFUKers -- I'll drive client centric growth.
Force a new business model down you throat."
-- with apologies to W. E. Deming

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

The Boss and his Minions

The Boss sits in his 200'x400' cavern; supplicating acolytes wait quivering. Dark walls are covered with suggestive quilts made by wives of the unemployed. Beseeching works of prairie art, cows mooing over their veal, squealing hogs prepared for dinner, shivering sheep, chickens imploding like air sucked out of a paper bag.

"Who's in charge of company inertia? We seem to be losing speed!," he spits through dripping yellow lips. Two acolytes collapse, shitting themselves; they are dragged off to the heap. "We can't seem to get anything DONE around here. Get me an employee." A mail room clerk is delivered impaled on his cart. "What have YOU done to satisfyingly service our customers?!?! We all have to pull our weight around here." The clerk doesn't answer, but stares out through clouded eyes. "Well, if you don't want to be a part of our growth and success ... Fuck'em." The clerk disappears.

A consultant edges in child-like; spreading rumors of disruption. An envelope is passed full of green and brown assurances. The Boss smiles.

(pause. The acolytes tremble)

"Give me Choices! Give me Options!" Two more pass out. Another submits an employee communication.

"Dear associates.

"These are rough times for all of us, especially your superiors. In our global quest to increase shareholder value through quality and focus on the customer, we need to set our goals higher and higher. Last year, we grew by only 50% thus missing our bonus target of 75% growth by 25%. With high unemployment and a surplus of applicants with similar or better skill sets, the good news is that you all still have jobs. Thus it is with great relief and satisfaction that I can announce that the yearly bonus payout of 1% of base salary will be reduced by only 25%.

"I myself will forgo a raise this year, and restrict my mandated option rights to the minimum allowed. I can assure you that those few who qualify for a raise will receive, as promised after a 6 month belt tightening period, at least 2%."
The Boss smiles. "That's good enough. Nobody will quit." The consultant coos in the Boss's ear.

"Right. Find somebody essential and fire them anyway -- keeps everyone on their toes. All right -- Clear the Room!! Everybody OUT!!!

"Bring the boy in."