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Who's yer Mayor?
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9/29/2004
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There are two places to live in Georgia. In Atlanta, and not in Atlanta. Not in Atlanta scares me for the most part, but not in an "I'm better than they are" way that non-Atlantians might assume. More in a "It will take me four hours to get to work and nine to go to the grocery store" kind of way. I like the energy of the city. The noise, the excitement, and for the most part, the convenience. That is why I want to be Mayor.
"What the hell do you know about being a politician, Dusty?"
So glad you asked. See, I know nothing about it. That is why I'd be so awesome at it. The idea of allocating $30,000 to a part-time employee so he can decorate his office would never even occur to me because it is completely ridiculous. I have no idea how corrupt one could be in this position, so I would probably go about my day fixing the stuff that is wrong with the city instead of looking for ways to waste huge amounts of money.
"What kind of stuff would you fix, future Mayor?"
To start with, the no alcohol sales on Sunday law would be repealed before you could say, "Damn, he looks good in that sash". I figure I could win on that idea alone. That law needs to go away because, well, it isn't 1922 anymore and it didn't even make sense then. No one has ever posed a logical argument in favor of this law, and no one ever will. There is still a law on the books in this state that says it is illegal to pilot a motorcar without a person walking at least fifty paces ahead of you waving a flag to warn people on horses so the animals don't get spooked. That one actually makes more sense in today's society than the no beer on Sunday law. Because horses still exist and prohibition does not.
If the dry Sunday law looks like it will pass a re-vote, I'm attaching a rider to the bill that would require all billboards be written in Braille. I mean as long as we are making horrible ideas into laws, let's raise the bar.
A portion of the taxes collected by the Sunday sale of alcohol would go toward bringing back the Driver's license centers in grocery stores. I wanted to call the conjunction of the two plans the "Drink to Drive" bill, but have been advised to re-word that one. Helping people avoid the DMV would reduce the incidence of violent crime in the city. Particularly violence against government employees.
The third part of my platform would be to mandate recurrent drivers testing for people over the age of 65. Call me ageist, but it would make the roads safer if people would re-test every four years after a certain age. I saw a guy stop in the number two lane on the connector so he could put the straw in his drink. I hope he lived, but that sort of stuff wouldn't fly at a license test. At least not without a guy waving a flag fifty paces ahead.
So vote for me whenever the next Mayoral election is. Kim Lichtenstein doesn't know it yet, but she's running on the same ticket for director of public affairs. She'll be a great ambassador for the city. Look for the Dusty-Lick ticket.
Gotta' run. There are babies to kiss and hands to glad.
 Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 9:01 AM |
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One Against Nature
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9/21/2004
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This weekend I met a friend for lunch and accidentally ate a bug. It was a tiny black beetle looking thing, and it tasted horrible. I noticed the taste before I realized there was a bug in my mouth. It was a weird soapy cilantro kind of taste (further indication that cilantro was never meant to be consumed by humans), so I blew my food politely all over my plate and found the tiny bug.
Nature gives certain insects a foul flavor as a defense against their being consumed by various predators. However, it didn't work for this unfortunate little guy.
I killed him for tasting shitty.
The moral of this story is that nature sucks.
Speaking of which, last week's hurricane knocked a bunch of trees into power lines, cars, and garages all over my neighborhood.
Damn trees.
That brought me to a final decision about what kind of car I am getting next. I had my mind set on a Honda Insight or a Toyota Prius, but that was before the stupid trees started ruining refrigerated goods and therefore lives. At that point I considered a Hummer or a steam locomotive, whichever creates more pollution.
Then I saw the Timberjack 1470D Harvester on Discovery channel. The "D" stands for "Dusty must have this for his birthday (October 11)". Oh my dear sweet lord, Timberjack has harvested my heart.
Six wheels, a billion horsepower, and bogey suspension only begin to describe this piece of mechanized badassery. On the end of the boom is a cutting head that will grab any tree up to 24" diameter, cut it off at the base, strip off all of the branches at 30 feet per second, and chop it into logs with a massive chainsaw. I get chills when I think of what it would do to those people who blow whistles at you when you block the crosswalk at an intersection because they want someone to get out and beat them.
"TWEEET! I am a pedestrian! Get out of the crosswalk!"
"Oh, really? *clamp/zip/scream/chainsaw noise that cannot be phoneticized or onomatopoeiaficated* Well how do you like being firewood? Is that working for you, Dr. Whistlebritches?"
Of course my victim of choice would be the trees. I figure I could get to work in under five minutes if I just clear cut a path from my house to my job. I'd call it Peachtree Slaughter Highway (because there is a city ordinance requiring all road names contain the word "peachtree") and charge a toll so I could afford to keep gas in my harvester.
As soon as I figure out how to make it fly, I'm taking over the world. So start being nice to me now and I'll make sure you don't see it coming.
Now go watch the video. Or download the simulator. Oh god, this is better than porn. Well, better than Amish porn. That's just ankles and necks.
Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 4:43 AM |
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Just around the bend...Can't miss it.
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9/14/2004
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Taken from an article on foxnews.com
A Tennessee trio's weekend excursion turned into a harrowing 60-hour road trip when the driver got lost.
Floyd Edwards, 78, Ruth Stancil, 62, and Edwards' son, Clifford, left Erwin, Tenn., at around 11 a.m. Saturday, reports the Press of Johnson City, Tenn.
The three planned to drive the elder Edwards' Nissan Maxima about 50 miles south down U.S. Route 19 to Asheville, N.C.
They "routinely cash their government checks the first of every month and drive over to Asheville, Elizabethton, Weaverville [N.C.] or Mars Hill [N.C.] to shop and eat," explained Unicoi County Sheriff’s Department administrative assistant William "Brushy" Lewis.
Super great awesome, guys. I won't get into the fact that I am giving part of my income to a group of people who can remain lost for two days on a shopping trip. Make sure we get the Sheriff's assistant's nickname "Brushy" in there. What do you want to bet he's got crazy hair, so his really funny kinfolk started calling him "Brushy" because it was not what he was and therefore hilarious? His brother Scooter was born with no legs.
Sometimes I lie about where I'm from...
Instead, the wayward trio headed north into Virginia, then got on Interstate 81and drove hundreds of miles south to end up in Marietta, Ga., just outside Atlanta.
Okay, so I'm going to give Floyd and Ruth a mulligan for being sort of oldish and possibly prone to bouts of lostness, but Floyd's son was there (presumably to keep Floyd and Ruth from stopping at rest areas and having old people sex in the bathrooms), and it would seem that he would become aware at some point that they had been driving for a long time. Maybe toward the end of the first day he could have said "Hey, you know, I don't remember filling up the car nine times on the way to the yarn store last month."
The trio apparently made it to Abingdon, Va., about 50 or 60 miles north of Erwin on Route 19, where they stopped at a Shoney's restaurant.
Realizing they weren't where they were supposed to be, they turned around but got on the interstate instead of the U.S. route.
Harris said Edwards may have gotten wrong directions, then became confused and afraid to stop.
When I get lost, just about the only thing I want to do is stop. Of course, I have been through some parts of the deep south that made me afraid to open my eyes, so I can sort of understand this part of the story.
Stancil described the panic as the three drove through metropolitan Atlanta late on Saturday night.
"I knew I couldn’t take much more ... the blowing of horns and the cars racing by," she told the newspaper. "Floyd [who was driving] was doing the best he could."
I can fully understand the panic that one feels driving through Atlanta at any hour, and I'm not even lost when I go through. The 75/85 connector can be described as a sixteen lane gauntlet of mechanized horror. For once, I'm not exaggerating.
They were apparently stopped twice by Georgia police, but continued heading south anyway.
Maybe a dumb question, but who forgot to ask directions when the cop was standing at the window? "Well, Floyd, I say we ignore the officer and keep headin' south until our hats float, and then we'll know for sure we need to turn around."
The car stopped at a gas station, where Floyd Edwards fell and hit his head, prompting the attendant to call 911.
At this point, cynical comedy writer Dusty Scott felt like an ass for poking fun at the wacky trio in what appears to be the worst day ever experienced by any human anywhere.
"At 3:30 Sunday morning, we got a call from the Marietta, Ga., Fire Department saying the three had been found," said Harris.
Relatives and two sheriff's investigators drove down to Atlanta, and the three were back in Erwin at about 4:30 p.m. Monday afternoon- 2½ days after they'd left.
I just invented a new rule for all drivers' exams- if you can start driving somewhere that you think is about an hour away and remain lost for two more days, you don't get to drive anymore.
"I just want to thank the Lord above, because without his help, we may never have made it home," Stancil said Tuesday afternoon. "I can't thank him enough and of course all the neighbors and the sheriff's [department] for their help. It's just really good to be back home."
So much for my "God is my Co-pilot" license plate frame. Apparently he doesn't know where the hell he's going, either.
Asked if she would head back to Asheville again, Stancil replied, "Probably not any time soon ... maybe never."
If you do, Ruth, give me a call. I'd be happy to drive.
Dusty
RELATED LINK: http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,132176,00.html
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posted by Dusty at 5:46 PM |
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College Football not Widely Received
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9/7/2004
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I have been abandoned by my friends for the next six months (or however long the college football season is). I've watched a game or two in my life, but it is usually because that is where all of my friends are, and I enjoy hanging out with them. I have a lot of trouble devoting much time to anything that isn't going to make me smarter, happier, or richer, so unless I'm going to be able to drink and laugh with my friends, I'll usually pass on the football game in favor of sitting down and writing an article about this phenomenon.
In their DE-FENSE! DE-FENSE! DE-FENSE!, some of my less psychotic friends can sit around and shoot the bull with the game on and occasionally check the score, but I do have a group of friends who will watch every second of any college football game with an intensity that makes you wonder if they can actually affect the play with some kind of telekenesis. They wouldn't look away from the television if a Lamborghini crashed throught the living room wall and Big Bird got out singing "Flashdance" in yiddish.
Some of them let the outcome of a game affect their mood, becoming dangerously depressed when their team loses. I actually knew a guy in college who would get physically ill with nerves before every game. Let me add that he was not on the team, nor affiliated with them in any way. All that's left is for one of my pals to come to me and lift his shirt to show me his stigmata- "DOOOOD! check this out!! you know when Joey Fastfeet ran down the field on that punt return in the third and got hit so hard his colon came out of his tear ducts? DOOOD! Look! I have a helmet-shaped bruise in the EXACT SAME PLACE, and I don't know where it came from!"
You don't think it was from where you and Ty re-enacted the play four times, do you? Nah.
In one of the most brilliant moves ever made by the Football Mind Control Consortium (they meet every year in a cavern beneath Disney World), Fantasy Football was invented. Now people who only used to follow one team have to watch every game played by any team. And they do. Where I used to only have to find something else to do when Auburn or Florida was playing, now the East Keskatee State Purple Warriors could be going toe to toe with a physically handicapped team sponsored by Wal-Mart and it becomes the most important game of the century. I have to hand it to the FMCC for the sheer genius of that idea.
So until the end of the season, I will be hanging out at home a lot, watching MAD TV reruns and writing more stories. Or maybe I'll start doing some research on a fantasy football team for next year so I can be more normal.
Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 6:07 AM |
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