Saturday, May 17, 2008

Week in Review, May 11-17




     Ready for another week's worth of insanity, asininity, and plain ol' stupidity? No? Too bad . . .

They forgot the car keys and whiskey


     To start things off, we head to picturesque Newark, Texas, where Ralph Hardy used his father's credit card to ran up a $30,000 tab on such varied items as snack foods, video games, and hookers. Yep, hookers. According to a recent article published by money.co.uk, the enterprising young lad ordered a second credit card on his father's pre-existing account and treated himself and a friend to a night on the town. Everything was apparently going along swimmingly until the boys asked a delivery clerk where they might "score some chicks" after winning big in a World of Warcraft tournament; they were ready for some relaxation and were "willing to pay". Already alarmed by the large quantities of junk food he'd just delivered, the clerk gave the kids a line on some horizontal entertainment and then decided to call the police. When the cops arrived at the hotel, they found a room full of junk food, various and sundry electronic devices, two kids playing video games and two confused prostitutes. The prostiutes told the responding officers that they thought something was amiss when the boys told them they wanted to play video gams instead of rumpling the sheets However, since the boys informed them that they were midgets working for a traveling circus and therefore considered disabled under state law, the hookers decided to stay and take their money because in the great state of Texas it's apparently illegal for illegal sex workers to discriminate against the handicapped. While the prostitutes were eventually released, young Mr. Hardy has been convicted of fraud and given a three-year "community order", whatever the hell that is. And what does little Ralphie want to be when he grows up? A politician. Perfect.
     A little too perfect, actually. This story is obviously B.S., and the one glaring error should've tipped you off right away: nobody in America delivers junk food. Pizza, sure. But not just Dr. Pepper and Oreos. The rest of the story is entirely believable, of course, and serves as perfect proof of the old adage that truth is stranger than fiction because fiction has to be, well, believable. It also serves as an excellent lesson as to why 13-year-olds are not treated as adults: they don't know how to act like one. Sure, Raplh was smart enough to order a second credit card instead of just stealing his dad's original, and he was even clever enough to come up with that briliant line about being a midget. However, the sad fact remains that when given the opportunity, the kid spent thirty grand and didn't buy and drugs or alcohol. Yeah, he hired a couple of $1000 hookers, but he didn't know what to do with them. Given the amount of time he apparently spends online, you'd think he should've seen some internet porn by now, but I guess not. Or maybe it just didn't take. Anyway, he doesn't have the first clue as to how properly debauch himself, which is why he's still a minor. And that's a good thing.


"I'm, like, all for saving stuff . . . "


     Last week I brought you the story of the selfish Houston bimbo who wanted to make her gigantic boobs even more bigger. This week I have an even better story: unselfishly using one's powers of bimbo-ry to inspire others to philanthropic altruism. Or maybe altruistic philanthropy. Or, like, whatever. Seriously. It's, like, totally for a good cause, dude. Kim Kardashian, star of her own homemade internet porn video, is lending her considerable talents to ease the plight of the Burmese people. And don't think she's just jumping on the bandwagon; she'd been working on this long before that pesky cyclone stole came along and totally stole her spotlight. Late last week she released video of a public service announcement she's been working on in order to raise awareness about the oppressive military regime in Burma, and was quickly and roundly criticized for acting like a total bimbo. Unfortunately, the video has been pulled from circulation, so you'll just have to take my word for it. During the course of the PSA Ms. Kardashain discusses Burma with her sisters Kourtney and Khloe (yes, both with a K) while preparing for a benefit. It begins thusly:
Kim: “What’s this benefit for again? Burping?”
Kourtney: “No, not burping, Burma.”
Kim: “I was kidding.”
It gets worse from there, including Kim checking out her butt in a mirror. The post on her official bolg did elicit numerous comments, including one from some nitwit who asked "what's a burma?"[sic]. It frightens me to think that these people are out there somewhere, roaming free and secure in the belief that nothing is wrong with them.


"It was all her fault, your Honor"


     From female boobs to those of the male variety: O.J. Simpson was back in the news this week. According to a recent Associated Press article, memorabilia dealer and former "Juice" crony Mike Gilbert claims that O.J. confessed to his ex-wife's infamous murder while high on marijuana. According to Gilbert, Simpson told him: "If she hadn't opened that door with a knife in her hand . . . she'd still be alive." You should've heard all about this by now, so I'll keep this one short and sweet. While it has long been obvious to the entire planet that O.J. was guilty as proverbial sin, it was only with this recent revelation that everything really came into focus. From the "Trial of the Century" to avoiding payment of the massive civil judgement against him to his touring the nation's golf courses in the hunt for the real killer(s) to his recent insane escapade in Las Vegas, we all now know why he's done the things he's done: the bitch set him up.


"Pass the beer nuts."


     Want more male boobs? Here's another one, anyway. Fresh from his much-reviled attack on British women as being fat and lazy, writer Tad Safran informs the world that everything he knows about women he's learned from his two-year-old niece, Lou-Lou. Aside from bearing the douchebaggy name "Tad", the article clearly shows why this guy is a total idiot and is presumably unmarried. Please bear with me as I apply my vast knowledge of the subject and summarize Tad's assumptions about women:
  1. Ignore them  He claims that if he wants his neice to pay attention to him, he need only act like he dosen't notice him, but it's a well-known fact that women want men to pay attention to them. That's why they're fond of asking the unanswerable question "Does this make me look fat?"
  2. Bribe them  Duh. Diamonds never make a woman look fat, and she'll never even think to ask.
  3. Compliment them  Again, duh. Women like to be complimented; that's why they're fond of asking the unanswerable question "Does this make me look fat?"
  4. Listen to them  A "duh" hat-trick. Women love to talk, that's why they're fond of asking the unanswerable question "Does this make me look fat?"
  5. Apologize  You're wrong. Those pants don't make her butt look fat, and if you gave a damn about her feelings you'd understand that, you insensitive bastard.
  6. Let them do it  If they really think they look fat, they'll do something about it, even if it's eating yet another pint of Jen & Berry's.
  7. Don't tell them what to do  For the love of God, don't tell her to get some exercise or join a gym, even if everything makes her look fat. You might as well just perform the castration yourself and get it over with.
  8. Don't complain  Woman love to talk, not listen. Try to complain about something and all you'll get is "Oh, so you think your day was bad?" or "Why should I care? You think I'm fat!"
  9. Don't argue  Women love to argue, so you needn't bother starting one; they'll start one for you, most likely with the unanswerable question "Does this make me look fat?"
  10. Don't make them cry  Good luck with that one, Taddy-boy. Women love to cry, often for no earthly reason whatsoever. There's even an entire TV channel devoted to making them cry. The only remedy for this is a locked, soundproof room or a large supply of alcohol. Whatever makes your ears go numb.
So, as you can clearly see women only care about one thing: whether or not they're fat. You can't learn this kind of thing from a toddler, and despite his article about English wide-loads, Tad apparently has yet to figure this out. Or maybe he has; I didn't actually read the article. However, from the posted picture I assume that he thinks Paris Hilton is the paradigm of feminine beauty. Personaly, I think that if she wants people to take her seriously as a blone bimbo, she really needs to get some bigger boobs.


What housing slump?


     Despite the much-bemoaned "housing crisis", real estate mogul, TV star, and comb-over afficionado Donald Trump continues to make a fortune in the highly lucrative field of amassing wealth. The Palm Beach Post reported in an article Wednesday that Trump has finally managed to unload his newly-renovated Palm Beach estate to an unnamed foreign buyer for its official asking price of $100 million. Even The Donald isn't immune to the market's recent woes, however: he only sold the property after droping the asking price from an initial $125 million and had even been forced to refuse bids as low as $85 million. How people can possibly be so cheap, I'll never know. In a Thursday interview on CNBC's Squawk Box, Mr. Trump in a rather roundabout way confirmed that the buyer was Russian, but did not mention the buyer's name or explain how in the hell a Russian managed to come up with that much hard currency. The original article did mention, however, that it is rumored that the buyer has plans to demolish the house and possibly even subdivide the six-acre property. Typical foreigners, buying the property Americans won't buy and then trashing the place. This is why we need stricter immigration controls, people.


Miscellany


     From the "News You Can Use" Department: A recent study done by somebody from somewhere found that people with tattoos are often perceived as more sexually "available". Duh. If you're not interested, then why would you bother to advertise?


     The San Diego Union-Tribune reports that the price of cocaine today is much lower that in its heyday in the 80s. According to their research at a local college, today's gram of cocaine will run you about $28, while back in the day you would've spent anywhere from $100 to $120 for the same sugar-packet-sized slice of heaven. Seeing as how with inflation that gram of coke ought to cost almost $300 these days, this is great news. With the price of everything else escalating out of control, soon it will be cheaper to ruin your life rather than to live it.

     In other medical news, the government of Iran has eradicated the waiting list for kidneys. That's right, the very same country which has no homosexuals they will admit to also has no problem providing its citizens with much-needed kidneys. How do they do it, you ask? Simple: they seized the initiative by legalizing and regulating the sale of kidneys. They pay donors approximately $2000, which works out to about one-sixth the average Iranian's share of their country's GDP (2007 est). Here in the good ol' US of A, per capita GDP runs at $44,000 (2006 est.), so one-sixth of that would be . . . um . . . lemmie find my calculator . . . forty-four grand . . . divide by pi . . . carry the two . . . well, it's a whole helluva lot more than two grand. so you ought to be able to see where I'm going wih this: I'm gonna get me a kidney trading license and start buying up Iranian kidneys and selling them here, thus making a bloody fortune. To hell with the whales.

     Even more in the medical field: A Manhattan man recently confessed to sexualy assaulting the corpse of a 92-year-old woman at a morgue in Teaneck, NJ. While this is pretty disgusting, it's also a great way to avoid all those pesky relational problems men seem to have with women. Perhaps Tad Safran ought to give this guy a call.

     Moving back to the economical, both the US Federal Reserve and the Bank of England have finally come to the realization that all the frantic rate cutting they've been doing just might have something to do with all the inflation that's been going on, so in their finite wisdom they've decided to cut back. I can't speak for Englanders, but I think this sucks. I haven't been frittering away enough of my "disposable" income on food and fuel and rent lately, and if they do something to temper inflation rates then cocaine abuse might not seem like such an attrative option. Thanks, Ben; I really appreciate the hell outta it.

     From bureaucrats to politicians: Barry Obama was caught on tape this week calling a female reporter "sweetie". As I'm sure you've heard all about this by now, I'll just ask the question no one else, not even Tad Safran, bothered to ask: How did a woman get to be a reporter in the first place?


     One last Obama item to see you out: At long last, former North Carolina Senator John Edwards has thrown his considerable support behind Obama's run for the White House. Apparently taking some well-deserved time off from his day job of driving malpractice insurance rates through the roof and thus running doctors out of his state, Edwards made an apperance at what was described as a "boisterous" rally in Grand Rapids, Mich. on Monday and pledged his support for Obama, along with thirteen of his committed electors. Or maybe it was his thirteen committed voters. I wasn't paying too terrible much attention, but I'm betting on the latter. At any rate, I know what you're thinking: now that Barry has the support of one DNC has-been, does he have Michael Dukakis' support, too? You bet! In an interview with CNN's Larry King, Dukakis wouldn't specifically endorse Obama, but he did say that "[I]t's very clear that Sen. Obama knows what's going to be hitting him, already does, and I think will be prepared." With this ringing endorsement from a man who squandered a ninteen-point lead in the polls after the 1988 DNC convention, Obama's path to his party's nomination is now obviously clear. Gimmie that change I can believe in, Barry, whether I want it or not!




Sunday, May 11, 2008

Week in Review, May 4-10




     Without any introduction, explanation or reason at all, I submit for your perusal the following news nuggets. Enjoy them, if you can.


Can't read? Welcome to Iraq


     Remember when John Kerry said that the uneducated end up stuck in the army? Well, last month noted horror author and presumably well-educated word-smith Stephen King offered the following less-than-eloquent statement to a group of high school students at the Library of Congress:
I don't want to sound like an ad, a public service ad on TV, but the fact is if you can read, you can walk into a job later on. If you don't, then you've got, the Army, Iraq, I don't know, something like that. It's, it's not as bright. So, that's my little commercial for that.
Thanks for clearing that up for me, Steve. After I coasted through high school and gave up on various attempts at college, I had no real idea what options I had. Now I know I can either join the army or emigrate to Iraq, or "I don't know, something like that." Irregardless, I can rest assured that no matter which path I'm forced to choose, "[i]t's just not as bright." Although, I hear there's lots of sunshine in Iraq . . .


Down with the sickness, yo!


     More news you can use: Gang violence is a virus. So says Alex Kotlowtiz in a recent piece (registration may be required) in the New York Times Magazine. Because it's a well-known fact that many minorities are memebrs of gangs, it's quite obvious that the violence virus was created by the government, or some other sinister group of white guys, to oppress and eventually wipe out the minority population(s) of the United States. "They" have a long and storied tradition of such hatred, from the AIDS virus to syphilis to smallpox to cooties and even the monsters hiding under my bed (they're real, people; I can hear them plotting against me). Wherefore art thou, Reverend Wright?
     As an alert reader might've noticed from actually reading the article, nobody's claiming that gang violence is caused by an actual virus. Gary Slutkin, founder of an anti-gang-violence outfit called CeaseFire, put his medical training as an epidemiologist to work and figured out that gang violence acts like a virus. Therefore it is predictable and should be treated not as a crime problem, but as a public health problem. This is great news, especially for all the cops across the nation who've been battling gangs for decades now and apparently never noticed that if the East Side Idiots whacked some homie from the 42nd Street Morons, then the Morons from the four-two might be inclined to retaliate. It also means the police no longer need risk their lives trying to put a stop to gangs and their violent tendencies. All we have to do is have doctors ask their patients a few pertinent questions, such as "Have you, in the past year, ever felt the need to pop a cap in someone's ass?" If anyone answers "yes", then the doctor can administer a lead vaccine with a .357 syringe. Or maybe a .45 ACP enema; whatever is more medically appropriate.


Would you like a complimentary bikini wax with your epidural?


     In other medical news, it seems that more and more pregnant women are prettying themselves up before the big day. That's right: now that people expect to see graphic pictures and/or video of their friends and relatives giving birth, the multimedia-savy mothers-to-be of New York City are heading to the salon before the hospital so they can put their best . . . um . . . face forward, so-to-speak. I have only two comments to make:
  1.   Who the hell wants to watch a film of someone giving birth? I remember when they forced us to watch such a thing in my eighth-grade health class, and it was the most God-awful, disgusting thing I'd even seen. Still is, too.  It's bad enough that you have to watch your own wife go through that. How sick do you have to be to wanna watch someone else's?
  2.   The NY Post article mentions that one woman had a Brazilian bikini wax done while she was in labor. This pretty much confirms that all the bitching and moaning women do about labor pains is a bunch B.S.  I mean, if you can have someone pour hot wax onto and rip the hair from your most sensitive of areas while in labor, finally pushing the kid out can't possibly be that painful.  So quit yer bitchin', already; that cat's out of the bag.


Au Natural or Plastic?


     In yet more medical stupidity, Houston housewife and Brazilian √©migr√© Sheyla Hershey made headlines this week when she announced to have her size triple-F breasts enlarged. Again. For the ninth time. The Great State of Texas said "no", but since everything's supposedly bigger in Texas, one wonders why they're objecting. Perhaps it's because carrying a gallon of silicone around in your boobs might pose certain health risks, most notably to your lower back. Go ahead, try it: strap two half-gallon containers of milk to your chest and walk around like that for a week and see if you can't avoid a frantic search of the yellow pages for a chiropractor. At any rate, there is no sound reason for wanting to do such a thing, so let's move on, shall we?
     She ought to come and visit sunny South Florida; plastic surgeons here are desperate for the business. According to a recent article in the Palm Beach Post, area body-and-fender doctors have seen their business drop by rates as high as 60%, due largely to the present economic slowdown. Some doctors have been been forced to eat meals at home instead of eating out. Oh, the indignity! This sort of thing must be stopped, and stopped now! What we need is a massive new federal welfare entitlement program, which I propose be named Boobfare, whereby facelifts, tummy tucks, boob jobs and all other completely unnecessary surgical procedures will be heavily subsidized in order that no more proud doctors will be forced to put off buying that new Beemer. I expect announcements any day now from all of the major presidential contenders detailing their plans for Boobfare. Hillary? Barry? John? Action must be taken.


I thought he said he was moving to France


     Speaking of boobs and politicians, actor Alec Baldwin told 60 Minutes correspondant Morely Safer that he was considering running for political office. Someday. Maybe. If he feels like it. It's certainly something he's considering doing besides acting. Frankliy, I think he'd make a great president, especially if we ever get that 3am phone call of Hillary's and we need someone to call a world leader a "thoughtless little pig". Maybe he can pull a JFK and appoint all his brothers to cabinet posts: Alec as president, Daniel as Attorney General, Stephen as Secretary for Faith-Based Initiatives, and William as . . . well, whatever. That alone would almost be worth the certain disater and ruin which would befall our country if that jackass were ever to be voted into office. Best of luck to ya, Al.


Gump Stumps for Obama


     That's right, kids: the star of such screen gems as Bachelor Party and the long-running sitcom Bosom Buddies has thrown his considerable support in favor of Barrack Obama. In a video posted on his personal Myspace profile, Tom Hanks announced that he wants Obama to be the next president, and then went on for a while explaining his decision. Or maybe he just rambled on incoherently about how his mamma always told him an election is like a box of chocolates; I didn't care, so I didn't watch the rest. I did manage to catch the part where he tried a bit of self-depreciation about how he's such a major celebrity that now that I know he's for Obama he's also made up my mind for me, but he delivered it in such an awful dead-pan manner that it just sucked. Tom, if you really want to grab people's attention, you ought to do us a favor and let us know who Peter Scolari's supporting. I don't have the time to find out myself because, frankly, I have more important things to do. Like researching the next story.


Um, I have a headache?


     That, my loyal readers, is a picture of a seal lying on top of a penguin. Why, you ask, is this important? Because, I say, it is the first known incidence of seal-on-penguin action; you can read all the purient details here. While no one knows exactly why the incident in question occured, the South African scientists who witnessed the event believe it was merely the action(s) of a "frustrated, sexually inexperienced young male seal." They ought to know; they sat there and watched this go on for the better part of an hour. And took pictures.   Perverts.  Unfortunately, no action was taken against any of the parties involved because of a lack of a controlling legal authority in Antarctica. The scientists did note, however, that the penguin didn't seem to have been harmed by the incident, and it is yet unkonown whether the seal has bothered to call. He probably won't; they never do.


God Damn Springfield


     To close out, I leave you with the following presentation from VanityFair.com. Enjoy.







Friday, May 02, 2008

Thinking Green? Call Me Ishmael.






     So I'm at work watching Bloomberg TV, and from a lot of careful observation I noticed that all of the large, integrated oil companies continued to profit obscenely over the course of the previous fiscal quarter. Royal Dutch Shell's profits are up 25%. BP's are up a whopping 63%. ExxonMobil raked in nearly $11 billion, and Chevron made $5.17 billion. Seeing as how Earth Day was a couple of weeks ago and I didn't do a damn thing to alleviate any of the guilt tree-huggers tell me I ought to be feeling, my first thought was the obvious one, i.e."How do I get into this racket?" The oil racket, that is; the environmental doom-and-gloom guilt-tripping racket is an entirely different matter. I did a little research and found out that had I invested my hamster money into some oil wells instead of the trout farm, by now I'd be swimming in more money than Scrooge McDuck. Unfortunately, at that time oil was trading at about $18-$20/bbl and nobody was investing in exploration or production, so the fur-bearing trout looked like a better bet. Anyway, the point I suppose I'm trying to make is that at this point I don't have the resources to invest in oil, so my dreams of monetary avarice were once again dashed to little itty-bitty pieces upon the sharp, painful rocks of economic reality. Now, by this point I'm sure you're wondering what this possibly has to do with thinking green, but please bear with me. In my experience I've found is useful to explain my little train-wrecks of thought, if only to avoid people asking me stupid questions like "How could you come to such an insane conclusion?" or "Did you take lessons to become this crazy, or were you just hatched that way?" The answer, of course, is that I'm not completely insane; I still have a few classes left.

     Anyway, back to the topic at hand: thinking green. Greenbacks, that is; that should be pretty obvious by now. Some time after completing my fateful research I was again watching TV and was assaulted one of BP's entries for most obnoxious commercials ever. In an effort to showcase their sincere desire to move Beyond Petroleum, they apparently hit upon the quite brilliant idea of wandering the streets with a camera and microphone, interviewing anyone who would consent and then compiling the stupidest responses for use in their commercials. The ad in question involves solar power, with a few people offering such brilliant insights as "What ever happened to solar?" and "Solar works!" Then they focus in on a man sitting in a booth in a restaurant with this look on his face like he's attempting to castrate himself with a butter knife and is using the table salt as an antiseptic. By this point I've usually turned the sound off, so I have no idea what he has to say about solar power, and he looks so creepy that I can't even look at the TV while he's on it, so I can't even read the closed-caption feed. The thing that really bothers me about these commercials, and the alternative energy movement as a whole, is that this stuff just doesn't work very well. Sure, solar works, and so does wind; I'm not denying that. I just don't see them as viable alternatives. Both are god-awful expensive and not entirely reliable. Solar photovoltaic cells cost a bloody fortune as an initial investment and obviously only work when the sun's up; in order for you to have power at night you'd need either a connection to an external power grid or a large bank of storage batteries, which costs even more money. And while wind turbines are becoming both cheaper and more powerful, they generally only work well in winds ranging from 5-25mph and the damn things have been falling down in heavy winds pretty much anywhere they've been erected (see video here and here). Wind turbines also seem to be particularly deadly to birds and bats. And don't even get me started on ethanol as fuel; aside from the obvious absurdity of burning our food, one gallon of the stuff only contains about two-thirds the BTUs of a gallon of gasoline. That simple comparison doesn't even take into account all the BTUs expended in the diesel fuel that has to be burnt to grow the corn, harvest it, truck it to a distillery, distill the alcohol, and finally ship the ethanol to the point of sale. How again is this energy efficient?
     But I digress: back to the TV. Yeah, I know I watch too much, but when I want your opinion I'll give it to you. Anyway, at some point after Mr. Neuteronomy along comes another guy asking me if I wanted to add something exciting to my dinner table. This was right after an ad for the latest installment in the Girls Gone Wild franchise, so I asked myself "Self, what could possibly be more exciting on my dinner table than the bared mammary glands of nubile twenty-somethings?" The answer, of course, was bison. Bison steaks, to be precise. Now, not knowing what bison was and why I'd want to a steak thereof, I did some research on these mythical creatures and learned the following fun facts:
  1. Bison are also known as "Buffalo", which is, as far as I can tell, now a city in upstate New York.
  2. I suppose that's kinda like how Charles de Gaulle, former General and later President of France, is now an airport.
  3. Despite popular myth, they don't have wings.
  4. The buffalo, not airports.
  5. Categorically-wise, they're in the same family as cows.
  6. Much like cows, God saw fit to comprise them mostly of meat.
  7. There used to be a whole helluva lot of 'em roaming the Middle East.
  8. Or the Mid-west.
  9. Or maybe Middle Earth.
  10. I wasn't paying a whole lot of attention.
At any rate, despite the fact that the earth used to be lousy with 'em, bison are now in such limited supply that you can get away with charging hundreds of dollars per pound for their meat. Now, you're probably thinking that this would be a perfect scam great way for me to make money. If you are, you're wrong, and here's why: somebody already beat me to it. If there's somebody else out there doing it, then I'll have to compete with them and won't be able to charge the sort of monopolistic prices necessary to make me filthy-stinking rich in the timeframe I prefer (Before the authorities catch up with me). So buffalo ranching is a non-starter. However, it was then that the idea hit me. I knew of another large, lumbering beast which had nearly been eradicated, one way bigger than a lousy wild cow. One which was for centuries used as a source of food, fuel and industrial lubricants the world over. One the raising of which wouldn't take up vaulable real estate which could be used for housing or golf courses. Or go-cart racing. I'd found the perfect renewable resource, and nobody else has thought of it. And since you can probably already see the illustrative picture below, you ought to know what it is.

The Bounty of the Sea


     That's right: whale oil. Why whale oil, you ask? It's simple, really: whale ranching will solve a great number of our current problems. Unlike any other form of alternative energy, whaling and whale oil are proven technologies. We know how to catch the buggers, we know how to render their blubber into precious oil, and it was with 19th century technology that we hunted them to near extinction. With today's advanced technology we ought to be able to kill them by the hundreds of thousands per year . . . maybe even millions! And there's no other renewable resource out there which givs us both food and fuel. With corn, sugar beets or sugar cane you either eat it or turn it into hooch. And with the hooch you either go blind drinking it or burn it as fuel, but either way you can't do both. Whales, however, yield both tasty meat and valuable oil, which makes me wonder why nobody's thought of this before. So I did me a little research and a little thinking and came up with the following plan.

Step one: Supertanker   Whales live primarily in the ocean, which is great for ranching purposes. The ocean's pretty big, which means there's lots of space for lots of whales. It also doesn't take up any land area, which as I mentioned above leaves room for go-cart tracks and miniature golf courses, which'll keep the kids happy. And because horses, the traditional work-horse of the ranching world, can't swim very well (at least as far as I know), I hit upon the modern supertanker as the perfect whaling platform. With some of them displacing upwards of 500,000 tons, they're pretty honkin' big, which is great considering the size of both whales and the ocean. Being so huge, I can't see any reason why the entire whale-ranching process can't be vertically integrated on board, so I'll need to buy me a few. I wonder what they cost . . . ?

Step two: Whaleifornication   One fun fact about whales I encountered in my research is that they don't breed too fast. Reproductive maturity can take anywhere from seven to ten years to develop and most females only ever give birth to one calf which must then be nursed for a year or more. This sucks. Fortunately, the human race has become quite expert in the act of reproduction, so helping whales pick up the pace shouldn't be too much of a problem. First we'll have to crack the whalesong code so we'll be able to communicate with them. I'm pretty sure there's a few people somewhere working on this problem, so hopefully I'll just have to offer them not-too-much more money to come work for me. Second, once that's solved, one section of each of my tankers will be transformed into dedicated whale-husbandry laboratories, mainly by building a moon pool large enough to hold a whale and stocking some very large syringes. Third, Wednesdays will be dedicated to attracting females. This will be primarily accomplished by broadcasting advertisements for buy-one-get-one-free sales in whalesong. It doesn't matter what is being sold because it's a well known fact that women will buy anything, regardless of cost, need or time consumed, so long as they think they're saving money. And if they're getting something for free, God help you if you get in their way. Anyway, when they surface in the moon pool we'll fire a syringe at them and pump 'em full of fertility drugs in the hope of getting them to bear at least two kids at a time. Last, but not least, Thursdays and Saturdays will be dedicated to the males. Since most men know instinctively that it's mathematically and fiscally impossible to save money by buying something you don't need, much less two of them, I'll be enlisting the assistance of America's vast porn industry to create a series of Sows Gone Wild audiotapes which will be sure to get their attention. Once on board they'll be force-fed large doses of Viagra until the ship itself begins to look attractive, and then released to prey upon the unsuspecting and highly hormonal females. I mean, whales are mammals, humans are mammals, and Viagra works on humans, so it oughta work on whales, right?

Step three: Keep them dogies movin'; Whalehide!   With the breeding problem solved, next I'll need to keep track of my herds. Branding will likely be impractical, if only because I don't want to find out what burnt whale flesh smells like. Besides, it's not like anyone could see the brands when they're underwater, anyway. And I'm not going to have a fleet of ships wandering the seven seas waiting for some old salt to shout "Thar she blows!" So GPS trackers will be the best way to go. They could be embedded in a fin or stapled to a snout or whatever, so long as they don't fall off.

Step four: McPhotoplankton's   Whales like to eat. Baleen whales spend most of their time, as far as I know, sucking up as much plankton as they can find. Photoplankton blooms have become a problem of late, caused mostly by massive fertilizer runoff from farms. So more whales eating more plankton means we can continue farming the living hell out of the land and benefit from all the tasty whale meat we'll end up with. And all the extra blubber will be great, too. In the event that we can't feed enough whales this way the tankers can always grow plankton on board and then just dump the stuff right into the water like so many farm hands slopping so many hogs. Either way, everybody wins!

Step five: The SS Abattoir   When they're ripe, the real fun'll begin! Since they'll all be tagged, it will be an easy matter to find 'em, spear 'em, and haul 'em up through the moon pool and into the bowels of the ship for butchering. The blubber could be rendered into biodeisel on board, offloaded onto smaller tankers and then delivered around the world, saving the supertanker the necessity of pulling into port to discharge its cargo. The prime cuts of meat could easily be vacuum-packaged and similarly offloaded onto cargo vessels while underway. And the leftovers could be ground into a fine pulp, compressed into inedible powerbar-like lumps and then sold to guilt-ridden western governments to be air-dropped into third world countries, thus feeding the poor urchins. Ain't nothin' like a nice Whalebar® to fill your tummy!

     So, now that you see the obvious merits of my plan, all I need is money. Supertankers ain't cheap, and neither is the extravagant lifestyle I became quickly accustomed to while I was breeding my Combat Hamsters®. If everybody in the G8 sent me ten bucks, I'd have enough seed money to disappear forever attract some venture capital and line up some nice, juicy loans. If you care about hungry people, whales and/or the environment, then you need to send money RIGHT NOW via PayPal to mobiledick.whaleoil@gmail.com If everybody chips in, in a few short years we'll have a world full of well-fed people, an ocean literally teeming with whales, and gas stations overflowing with cheap, renewable biofuel. And who wouldn't want that?