Posts Tagged With: Pentagon

Bad Advice Friday, 3-31-17

Today is once more Bad-Advice Friday. I shall be dispensing bad advice to all comers. The advice will stupendously bad.

RO asks: Why do I need a trip to Hawaii?

Dear RO: Your life is stressful. Destressify your life or you’ll flip out and murder someone. Although a good lawyer should be able to get you off with manslaughter, you’ll do serious time in jail, which will cost the tax payers a lot. The state will have divert funds from hiring teachers at their universities in order to lock you up and feed your for ten-to-twenty years. The state doesn’t want to do that, you don’t want to rot in jail, and the victim doesn’t want to die. There is an opportunity for a deal. Simply walk into the governor’s and ask money for a calming trip to Hawaii if she doesn’t want to be offed. I guarantee you that within seconds she and her staff will be discussing your request with the utmost seriousness.

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RSD asks:

What is your recipe for greatest sleep ever? What tricks of the sleep trade do you have to share?

Dear RSD:

No matter hard you try, getting a good night’s sleep the first night is impossible. To heck with that noise, go for a good night’s rest the second night. To ensure a solid slumber on the second night, you simply must be completely wired with caffeine the first night. Go early to your neighborhood café or coffeehouse and chain drink coffee. Ask for a ThermosTM full of espresso. Take a walk with the Thermos until its empty. Come back for a refill. Go for another walk. Repeat, you’ll be amazed how much exercise your legs and your heart will be getting. And your mind, my gosh, it will be active all night long reviewing your life. When the next night finally comes, you’ll be so exhausted that you will sleep the sleep of the just. Happy dreams!

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DH asks: How do I keep my dog from eating butter? I go to make cookies and it’s gone.

Dear DH: The dog keeps eating your butter because it tastes good. However, being the dog whisperer that I am, I know that no dog will eat anything that turns its mouth into the fiery inferno of Hell and pooping into a burning river of lava. So, I suggest buying habañero flavored butter. If you can’t find that at your supermarket, you’ll need to inject pureed habañero into the butter. (Be sure to wash your hands before touching your genitals, though.) Then leave the butter out. If the dogs senses something’s amiss, allay its fear by eating the butter first. The dog will follow your lead. Now, the two of you will scream, or bark, at the top of your lungs to be released from life. Of course, the dog will never eat butter again and you will never leave the butter out again. But you will have bonded forever with your pet. All ends well.
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JAS aks: If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why, oh why can’t I?

Dear JAS: Bluebirds can’t fly beyond the rainbow. The leprechauns won’t allow it. They have an anti-happy-little-bluebird force field deployed. The leprechauns don’t want to share their pots-o-gold with gold-bricking bluebirds. The only way for a blue bird to penetrate the force field is to be shot out of a cannon with the same force that NASA uses to launch rockets. It’s astounding that the wee birds go through unscathed through the force field using that method. One would think they’d be annihilated. NASA and the Pentagon are thinking the same thing. They’d be very grateful if you could discover the blue birds’ secret technology. So, buy yourself a cannon put yourself in it and fire away. Good luck! Don’t forget to let NASA and the Pentagon know about technological breakthroughs should you should survive.
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KM How do I get my cat to watch television? She does a lot of other cute things, so why not that, too?

Dear KM: Buy a can of tuna. Buy catnip. Smear tuna and catnip all over your TV screen. Your cat will be sitting in front of the TV forever.

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JR asks: What’s the best starter for a charcoal grill: gasoline or diesel?

Dear JR: Those charcoal briquets are absolutely flame proof. Rural firemen stack them to form impenetrable firewalls out there in the hills. But you want to use charcoal anyway, so the challenge is to use them this one time while curing you of the desire to ever use them again. Put the inert charcoal briquets in the grill. Add gelignite to the grill. Gelignite is safe; I’m reasonably sure it doesn’t go off accidently. Activate gelignite; hitting it with a hammer or pointing a flame thrower at it ought to do the trick. The resulting explosion will scatter your briquets for miles and miles in every direction making it impossible to find them. Oh, you’ll likely to be flung for quite a distance as well. Be sure to have your cell phone with you. It’s doubtful you’ll be able to walk and you’ll be wanting a friend to drive you the ER. However, you’ll never want to go through the frustration of trying ignite charcoal again. I mean, who needs that?

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ABG asks: Red wine or white wine with breakfast? asking for a friend.

Dear ABG: Red wine goes with red food such as ham. White wine goes with white food such as egg whites. If you have something like bacon, however, with its white and red stripes, you’ll have to have a glass of white wine for each white, fatty stripe and a glass of red white for each red stripe. Why? Something in red wine overpowers something bad in red foods and similarly for white wine. (I read something to this effect on a bulletin board in the Med School library in college some decades ago.) So drink up. It’s possible you’ll get too drunk to drive. This is all to the good. It’s not safe to drive anymore. They’re all animals out there. Omg, I’d be remiss if I didn’t say what wine to drink with bacon that’s been in the fridge so long that it’s turning grey. Grey bacon should, of course, be paired with a good Grey Riesling.

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JCA asks: If I see a chicken crossing the road, should I follow?

Dear JCA: First check to see if the road is actually a Mobius strip. If so, following the chicken will simply get you to your starting point. (Of course, you’ll be upside down on the strip. You will fall on your head if you’re not wearing anti-grav boots. Is the chicken wearing anti-grav boots? If not, you’re probably safe from the perils of a Mobius strip.)

Is the chicken heavily armed? If so, it’s probably going into combat. Are you heavily armed as well? If you are, it’s okay to follow. Be sure to bring anti-septic lotions with you though, as chickens can walk under barbed-wire fences while you can’t. It’s this attention to detail that gets us through life.

Doctor Paul De Lancey

(Please click on my name and submit Bad Advice questions to my Facebook page and simply make a comment to this post. I look
forward to hearing from you.)

 

My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with 180 wonderful recipes is available on amazon.com. My newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, is also available on amazon.com

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The Wonder Dog – Part Two

Captain Pizarro surveyed the yellow-orange expanse and announced that we were going to eat those hot dogs or die. Pale-faced Lieutenant Kelso staggered to his feet to voice his support before pitching forward into a huge bowl of papaya-bisque soup. Corporal Conigliaro timidly suggested that eating rotting hot dogs might kill us, or worse, give us diarrhea. Sergeant Gagliano put both of his powerful hands on Conigliaro and volunteered the Corporal for the honor of tasting the hot dogs.

Conigliaro said that although he was aware of the immense honor, he was reasonably sure that army regs stated that a certified medical doctor had to test all suspect foods. He was only an unregistered quack and so, respectfully declined.

It appeared that some stupid health regulation written by some desk-bound, pencil pusher in the Pentagon was going to deny us this wondrous, alternate source of food. However, our Sarge immediately volunteered Private Romero, a veterinarian, to taste the frankfurters.

Bilko accepted the assignment but said that he was such a good vet that he could determine the quality of the franks just by looking at them. He headed straight to the Hut of Hell, stopping only at the infirmary to put on a gas mask. Moments later he returned, ashen and trembling, stating that they were safe to eat. Though I did hear him mumble as he headed back to his tent hot dogs should not display internal movement. The other airmen just heard our cook announce hot dogs for tomorrow’s lunch.

Around eleven o’clock cookie started boiling the franks. Fortunately, a strong wind from the south blew the fumes away from the camp toward the town of Lake Harbor. About that time in an unrelated incident, Bert Taylor, a tea tester from that town, suddenly pulled his own head off and died.

We all lined up at the mess tent to eat our hot dogs in shifts of one hundred which was also the number of gas masks on hand. Well, the first shift manfully ate their hot dogs and immediately fell to the floor suffering from violent convulsions. Then Private Owchinko’s stomach burst open flinging his guts all over the mess hall. Soon, everyone’s guts erupted just like cooking popcorn. Owchinko turned his hideously contorted face toward me and said, “Dang, at least it wasn’t papaya.” He then died with a look of complete serenity on his face; well, at least as serene as one could get with an exploded stomach.

We carried the men outside and buried them properly. We put on all their tombstones, “He wouldn’t eat papaya.” Since bullets were scarce at our base, we gave our departed comrades ten hot-dog salutes. Most of these franks exploded in air giving off the same noise as rifle shots. However, some didn’t explode until they hit the ground. One hot dog, in particular, landed on a latrine and exploded, scattering its contents for hundreds of yards. Private Franco noted that the smells of the latrine improved the smell of the hot dog. However, Captain Pizarro displayed true genius when he stated these franks could be terrible weapons of war.

We drifted along in papaya hell until we received orders to fly over to Europe. The Germans had just broken through our lines in a massive offensive now known as the Battle of the Bulge. Disaster loomed and every airman was needed. We armed our bombers with our hot dogs, which now had been rotting for an additional four months in the hot, humid Hut of Hell.

Our 800th Bomber Group arrived just as the Germans seemed poised to overrun the heroic defenders of Bastogne. None of our infantry or armored divisions could get to them in time. None of the other bomber groups could get off the ground due to bad weather. However, we could and we did.

We bombed the hell out of those Nazis. A Tiger tank can take a direct hit from a Sherman tank just twenty yards away and drive away only mildly annoyed, but just one hit from our franks just ripped those tanks to bits. Down they fell, ton after ton of freedom franks. The foul, poisonous vapors from the exploding dogs suffocated the supporting German infantry. Our hot dogs created a huge hole in the German lines into which poured General Patton’s troops. Patton, that glory hog, claimed full credit for the American victory at Bastogne.

However, we knew better and so did many others. In fact, Winston Churchill, Prime Minister of Great Britain praised us saying, “This was their finest meat product.”

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