Take that, you turkey!

From Maine to Iowa, and Wisconsin to California, people are reporting vicious unprovoked attacks.  Their attackers lurk in front yards, bushes and trees.

No one’s safe!

After years of exploitation and holiday appearances on gluttonous festive fall tables, it appears that it’s “pay back time” for Americans.  Yes … it’s a matter of revenge and repayment.

After clawing their way back from near extinction to over 7 million strong, the wild turkey has come home to roost … and we’re in their roosting territory!


Most recently it seems these wild and reckless gobblers are switching roles from the hunted to the hunters.  Just ask the denizens of Stamford, CT.

Connecticut Yuppies, Preppies, and filthy rich have been feeding the wild fowl and now they’re screaming, “Foul!” because turkeys don’t seem to give a “turkey scat” about their social status, cars, or Ivy League credentials.

The Turkeys want their land back and they want it now!  They’re enraged numbers are high enough to scare the whale blotched pants and Lily skirts off all those Preppies!


Move over, Rover.  Chewing on the mail man’s no longer your sole domain.

Turkeys have usurped your favorite targets … US Postal Carriers.

“Turkey-sperts” – my name for self-appointed Turkey Behavioral Experts – explain that the regularity of postal schedules allows these bird brains to establish a behavioral pattern.

Now, they hide in waiting for their shot at new game … “Postal Hunt-n-Peck!”


These same “avian-nists” warn people … “When you’re under attack, do not turn and run.  This just makes the turkey ‘bolder.’”

Bolder?  WTF?  How frickin’ bold can a turkey be?

We’re talkin’ big fat feathery birds that gobble better than they can fly.  We’re not talkin’ Grizzly Bears or Bengal Tigers!  It’s 12’ish pounds of feathers armed with a beak and a wattle.

C’mon man – stand your ground!

Stop … take aim … and drop kick that “Feathered Butterball” into your neighbor’s yard.

And speakin’ of “taking aim,” if unlike most gun owners you can hit the bird and not your own toe or nether regions … “turkey trot” to your mailbox locked and loaded and with a single shot, blow your potential Thanksgiving dinner into the street!


Given all this turkey uproar, I wonder if “L’orange 45” will continue the November tradition of Presidential pardons.

Probably … past turkeys pardoned have been American bred … and white!

That would give him three free white birds since he’s already pardoned his first “turkey” – ex-sheriff Joe Arpaio!

Just sayin’ …

What to do with all that bronze?

Aargh … we’re in the middle of another Bronze Age.  But this one’s different.

It’s all about what we can do with the 1500+ Confederate symbols scattered across the country… of which 750+ are Confederate war statues.

Ideas are pouring into the central office of Seriously Absurd with the “sound and fury” of a Willie Shakespeare play.

Excuse me … I gotta head to the “Throne Room” and brainstorm what to do with all this s**t!


One suggestion … replicate the Amarillo, TX Cadillac Ranch featuring the statues buried ass-up with heads in the sand … or maybe vice-versa?  Nope … we’ve got 750+ statues and the Cadillac Ranch is only 10 ‘Lacs large!

Another … smelt down the statues and shape the molten metal into doorstops for all the Trump properties.  Nope … we know he’d never pay the final bill!


But of course … Here’s the winner … Florida’s #1 commodity … theme parks!

Ta Da! … Johnny Reb’s Guns & Galleries … a new Florida theme park!

It’s a sure shot to be another major draw in Central Florida’s unending “War for the Tourist Buck.”

Take over one of the many struggling Florida malls … massive land parcels readily available … ample parking … crying for investors.

Not to give away too many details, but the purveyors of White Hate could solve several of their problems in one central spot … and it would all be legal!

Pssst … don’t tell them they’d be paying taxes.  That’d royally piss ‘em off!


JR’sG&G … a legitimate outlet to vent pent up negative behavior and emotions!

Jobs! Jobs! Jobs!  Suitable for undereducated & unskilled white males!

EZ Gun Sales … use Florida’s weekend “Gun Show Loophole” and get your weapon on-the-spot!

Florida’s the “Vacation State” … indoctrinate your progeny at an early age with discounts for repeat visits.

Hone your hate and bile skills at Johnny Reb’s Guns & Galleries.


It’s “Eden-esque” for Civil War statues.  Scattered throughout JR’sG&G, it’ll be like they never left home!

Visit the Disney knock-off “Hall of Dissidents” … see and hear your favorite historical Southern Treasonist and his plan to overthrow the “US Gubmint!”

And be sure to stop at Ford’s Theatre to catch the Abe Lincoln Assassination … a special one act play featuring live actors!


What better way to expose hate in our society than to monetize it in the klieg lights of an amusement park …  capitalism and Johnny Reb’s … they kinda go together!

Just sayin’ …

Oh My … 45’s* still with us! …………………………………………………………… (*Many now refer to Trump as “45” … not President.)

I was desperately searching for non-45 related blog ideas trying to break free from the “He-who-shall-not-be-mentioned” malaise fogging my brain, reducing my food cravings, and maximizing my urge for self-destructive behavior.

I found some non-sciencers who think the solar eclipse is the “Devil’s Spawn.”  Potential fun there.

The Smurf Village in Juzcar, Spain lost its right to be known as “Smurf Village” over a royalties dispute with Smurf heirs.  That’s sad … and seriously absurd.

I shelved TSA pat downs, shopping at WalMart without WalMartians, and the Underwear Guys as potential high level absurdities.

Sorry … but I can’t dodge 45’s self-inflicted Charlottesville non-Nuclear Holocaust.


Don’t ya just love it when he Trump-Dumps the script?

Over a three day span, 45 uncloaked himself as the racist-bigoted-xenophobic- narcissistic-halfwit we all suspected lurked under that orange mop of hair and falsely reported 6’3” frame.

He bobbed and wove his way through this past weekend’s white nationalist hate fest spewing his warped view of facts, history and intentions as he stripped himself … unfortunately before our eyes … butt-naked and became the self-declared emperor who has no clothes.

Except maybe for the extra long tie needed to hide his genitalia … which BTW, no woman in her right mind would ever want to grab.


The White Deploracists – I refuse to recognize them as “Supremacists” at anything – stormed Charlottesville ostensibly to protest the removal of a Robert E. Lee statue.  Dressed in paramilitary garb, armed with military styled weaponry, shields and combat helmets, they resembled Storm Troopers more than ordinary citizens coming to town to “voice their opinion.”

What I ask is … “Why did the Deploracists come to defend a ‘Loser’?”

Surely if 45’s already labeled John McCain a Loser … Bobby E. Lee’s gotta be a Loser, too.  He lost an entire damn war!

Harsh?  You ain’t seen nuttin’ yet.


People voted for 45 thinking he was the “Great Uniter” … he promised to bring all the big deal making biz folks into governing councils to “clean up the swamp.”

Hmmm … as of Wednesday, these Biz Leaders couldn’t get away, far enough or fast enough, from 45’s crash and burn false equivalency remarks, followed by his “hostage speech,” finished with his “Beat the Press” show.

“You’re all fired,” blustered a totally confused and flustered 45 just after receiving the mass resignation of almost 50 of our nation’s most prominent biz people.

They’d heard and had enough of 45 as the “Defiler in Chief.”


One thing about 45 … he’s consistent.

He’s at best diminished and at worst destroyed everyone who’s entered his penumbra during his seven incredibly long months in office.

Aaah … excuse me while I dream of 46!

Just sayin’ …

Google Guy Opens Mouth … Inserts Size 13 Foot!

Uhoh … Google’s done it again.  Yes … on the famed Google Campus … that jewel of openness and corporate camaraderie … the place where everyone else would love to be.

Yep, that Google.

The nasty, dirty, warty, abusive underbelly of their ideal workplace environment … and unbelievable cafeteria options … has been crudely and rudely pushed in front of the public for everyone to see.

And they owe it all to one guy!  What a surprise.

There’s a man in the workplace who hasn’t learned to keep his fricking’ mouth shut and who then stupidly makes a public statement.

And in case you haven’t read his 10 page memo, he insisted that women can’t handle work place stress and that’s why there’s so few of them in his department.

He was fired?  Great.

But why wasn’t he stripped naked and forced to run through a gauntlet of pissed- off-stressed-out-women as he exited the Google Campus?


“Going Postal” … since 1986, we’ve all heard that phrase.  Guess what?  Only one damn woman has shot up a Post Office.  Ever!

I haven’t found one headline, or lead into a news story, or breaking news TV special that covers an armed, angry woman barging into the workplace and gunning down hapless employees because she’s been passed over for a promotion … or worse, fired.


What about “Mass Murderers?”

When’s the last time a woman and her BFFs ran through their school hallways with automatic weapons in each hand and sprayed the student body?

And when the FBI searched her house, was her suburban bedroom filled with explosives, boxes of armor piercing ammo, and extra weaponry … just to express her outrage and feelings of rejection for not making the cheering squad?


And … let’s not forget it’s not the working women who come home drunk and kick their hubby’s ass simply because they’re pissed off about losing their female superiority and can’t handle the stress of the workplace!

Oh … and it’s definitely not the women sexually abusing their sons because they’re too f**ked up sexually to express themselves in acceptable ways.


C’mon Google Guy … you’re a way overpaid white male in a dream job in dream corporate environment.

Sure, improvements can be made … but at least you’re working for someone who’s not busy suing the government about covering birth control, whining about health care, or arguing about paying you the minimum wage.

Just sayin’ …

I tried making friends without Facebook

The other day I was thinking about the “good old days.”  You know … the ones before Facebook.

I tried to recall what I did to “make friends.”  It seemed to be really easy for me, but I wondered:  Maybe I’ve lost that touch since most of my friend-making now involved a “mouse click.”

I set out to see what would happen if I tried to make friends with people who I really didn’t know, but were included in the 317 Friends I list on Facebook.  My best guess is that 15 or so are folks I would call “a friend” 12+ years ago … before Facebook launched.

So I found the phone number and I called the first guy who I’ve never had a personal conversation with, but is on my list of “Close Facebook Friends.”


“Hi FBF (Facebook Friend – I’m not using his real name).

“This is Richard Huss … we’re friends on Facebook.  I’m sure you’ve read my posts even though I don’t recall getting any ‘Likes’ from you.

“I thought it would be fun to actually talk to each other … you know, face-to-face … kinda like non-digital, real friends used to do once-and-a-while.”

My FBF doesn’t respond which causes an embarrassing pause.

“This IS so-and-so … isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

Oh boy … I’ve broken the ice and this could be my first BFF-FBF (Best Friend Forever-Facebook Friend).  I feel goose bumps popping up on my arms.

“Who did you say this is?”

“Richard Huss, from Facebook.  You’re one of my Close Facebook Friends.”

“Hmm … do you have a photo posted?  I’m having trouble placing you.”

“Well … we can solve that.  I live here in Mount Dora and I see on your page that you live here, too.  I thought maybe we could get together and chat … face-to-face … not a chat room chat.  You know … have a beer, some wine, or coffee if you don’t drink.”

There’s a longer pause.  I’m sweating a bit now.  My goose bumps are history.

My almost BFF-FBF takes a breath and says, “Let me check your Facebook page.  What’s your cell number?”

I give him my number and he says, “I’ll call you back.”  Then breaks the connection.

Wow … a non-digital rejection.  That really hurt. This friend making seems tougher than I remember.

Maybe I should drop his status to “Acquaintance.”


In a bit of a funk, I go find my wife.  “Hi hon … wanna go get a drink and chat with each other?

We’re out the door before you can say “Martini.”

I think … I don’t recall getting any “Likes” from her either.  But then, that would be kinda weird if she started doing that.

We talked like good friends … and, it was a “heluva Martini.”

Just sayin’ …

If I had it to do all over again … Dream Weddings

I dunno about you, but there are few things in my life I’d redo.

That doesn’t mean that I’ve been that good … it just means that my mistakes didn’t occur where there were lawyers or cops around.

But then I read in The Huffington Post that you can “dream your own wedding” and that caught my attention.

We’re not talking about the trite “Let’s get married in the park, back yard or vacant lot” kinda venue!  They’re all passé … mundane even.  Been there done that.

Let’s see … if I wanted to retie the matrimonial knot with my bride, what’s out there for me?


Now when you want to connect-the-dot with your bride, you can connect at “The Bell.”

For $600 they’ll plan your wedding … including Doritos Tacos Locos, Chalupas, cheesy Gordita Crunches, and a deluxe Cinnabon wedding cake!  Hmm, “Yummy in my Tummy!”

To paraphrase a recent Taco Bell bride and groom:

“…. We’ll be talking about our wedding long after your church wedding for a hundred grand is a dim memory!  Take that to the bank!”


Other fast food chains – here and abroad – are offering “wedding packages” for couples who want to get hitched, have some fun and keep their cash in their bank accounts.

McDonalds offers several matrimonial packages … but so far only in Hong Kong.

I you make that trip for your trip down Mickey D’s plastic-nuptial-aisle, just be sure the fries are hot … nothing ruins a wedding like greasy cold French Fries.  And you’ll enjoy a delicious 3-tier “Double Apple Pie Box Cake” for your wedding cake!

If you’re into pizza, check out D.C.’s &Pizza chain for their “Pi Day Las Vegas Chapel” wedding package.

For my non-nerd friends, that’s Pi Day as in 3.14 … as in 3/14 meaning March 14th … get it?

Don’t forget Pizza Hut … they’ll hold your Pre-wedding Engagement Party for a mere $10,010, which includes a red ruby ring … the extra ten buck’s for your personal Pizza Hut Dinner Box for two!

Go ahead … Pop the question at Pizza Hut and then hit “The Bell” to tie the knot!


If you’re really adventurous, there’s still one HoJo’s open in the USA … Lake George, New York.

Remember the fried Clams and 28 flavors of ice cream?  Check with the owners …  I bet they’d love to package a ceremony for you.

You could be among the last to get married under an “Orange Roof” that truly “Made America Great!”

Just sayin’ …

Privacy … the Last Bastion

‘There are times when I still appreciate the feel of paper.’

FLASH … Over 60% of people confess they use their cell phone while they’re on the toilet.  The other 40% are probably lying.

Your cell phone’s already more contaminated from bacteria and viruses than you want to know about … and, that’s before you go in!

The emotional and the anal toll of using your cell phone while in the bathroom … though not quantified … are real.


For many of us, the last bastion of privacy from the digital world is the bathroom.

It’s the place where you can “let it all go.”  You can “s**t or get off the pot.”  You can stink up the room and still think … “your s**t doesn’t stink.”

It’s the place where you can be alone and not feel guilty that you’re enjoying your “down time.”

Unless, of course, you’re clutching your demon-digital-device!


Only if you’re a contortionist who can open the bathroom door … and have prehensile toes so you can flush the toilet and manage the faucets while wearing protective socks … will you avoid mega-contamination of your cell phone while using it in the bathroom.

Your cell phone’s an extension of your hand.  Remember that as you play Angry Birds perched on your throne … everything you’ve touched gets transferred to your phone.

One in six phones examined is contaminated with E.coli bacteria and that’s before you’ve entered the Petri dish of fecal aerosol particles, viruses and pathogens called “the bathroom.”


The average time spent toileting has increased to 100+ minutes per week for men … women are in and out in a mere 80+ minutes per week.  As a result, there’s a new syndrome in town … I call it “Butt Drag Syndrome” … or BDS.

A big part of that time-on-task-increase is blamed on a load of multitasking while dumping.  You know … reading and grunting … gaming and farting … not to mention x-word puzzling and Iphoning.

God forbid we simply tend to our business.  31% of people have stayed on the toilet longer just to finish a social media task … while 44% have heard a toilet flush from the other end of a phone!

Consider the G-Force pull and tug to your cute butt thanks to gravitational pressure!

Gravity’s winnin’ every minute you’re not movin’ and groovin’!


So, to avoid worry over who’s done what and where in that stall … and a saggy-baggy-bottom … keep your already unclean phone in your pocket.  And BTW, when’s the last time you cleaned your damn phone?

Just sayin’ …

Paul Ryan’s War against Women Baring Arms

Well … we may not be able to get meaningful legislation passed in Congress, but at least we‘ll “look good” in Paul Ryan’s House of Representatives.

“Tall Paul,” who’s beginning to look more and more like that ridiculously un-cuddly Munster son, Eddie Wolfgang Munster, has taken the control of the House of Representatives a step further than many of his predecessors.

Just like middle school in his Roman Catholic Diocese, Saint Paul has decided to enforce an obscure, little known, and rarely used House dress code.


Cries of “foul play” immediately reverberated throughout the hallowed halls of Congress.

Women wearing sleeveless dresses and, God forbid, open toed shoes are now banned from the House.

The mockery and sexist symbolism of this rule became a media “cause de célèbre” since it was clearly aimed at female members of the press.


Totally unaware of the fact that he was a sexist pig, Munster-Ryan clung to the high moral ground touting that Congress was a place for “serious deliberation and work.”

And we all know what happens when the “Men of the House” are distracted by those Hot-Press-Tarts … sexy red toenails peeking out at them … as they’re asked the difficult and mind bending questions of the day.

Like … “Tell me, oh exalted Congressman, why would you want to eliminate health care for 20 million plus people … then give the money saved to the super wealthy as a tax cut … and subsequently force people into medical bankruptcy with your new, kinder, better health care bill?”


And, if you throw in an “erection-inducing-glistening-bare-female-shoulder” thrust right in front of these same men, God only knows what could happen on the floor of the House … or in the Cloak room … or bent over a Congressman’s desk.

We all know that bare toed shoes and sleeveless dresses are “sexual gateways” to deeper carnal urges.  Clearly it’s the work of the Devil Incarnate!

Bare shoulders?  What’ll those sex-crazed female reporters expose next … the news?


It could take months to get any meaningful legislation passed … unless you count repealing Obama Care over 50 times.

Meanwhile, our Senators are pissed because it’s clear they’re missing some kinda sex-show reserved only for House members!


As of July 13th, House Speaker Munster-Ryan has vowed to reconsider his Tantric position and indicated that the House needs to probe into dreadfully outdated House Dress Codes.

Thank you Mrs. Janna Ryan … some of us appreciate your informal but forceful input.  We’re sure hubby Paul, nee-Eddie Wolfgang, would not have moved that fast without your not-so-gentle nudge!

Just sayin’ …

Conspiracy: Follow the Bouncing Ball

Just when I thought the US owned all Fake News, I read … “China floods Eastern markets with plastic rice!”

Wow … glad rice isn’t my go-to-side dish or the base for my entrée.

This is a yuuge and bigly Asian-pseudo-scandal that periodically pops up.  And when it does, everyone goes bat s**t … or as the Chinese say, “Biān fú shǐ!”


Wait … don’t give me details!  I’ll bet it’s Lego … and they’ve found a new outlet for their plastic fantasy pieces.

While China’s busy serving up plastic that folks are eating, I’m wondering what I can build with my box of Uncle Ben’s Quick Brown Rice.


I dunno about you guys, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out this is a pile of rice-s**t!

Even I know that if you empty a bag of plastic-looking-rice-kernels into a pot of boiling water … it’ll melt into a fricking blob.

After it’s boiled … rice is fluffy.  Plastic’s never fluffy … pre or post boiling.

And, I’ll bet cleaning that pot’s a real you-know-what … which begins with “B” and ends with “h!”

“Hey, Vana White … can I buy an ‘I’?  I think I know that word!”


So … how did all this “hullaba-rice” get started?

One apocryphal incident notes that disgruntled rice aficionados hurled a bad tasting tightly packed rice ball against a restaurant wall … a rice protest.

Instead of making a splat-on-the-wall-decoration, it bounced back.

From that event, the leap to “there must be plastic in the rice” was easy for conspiracy loving Chinese rice eaters.

That’s how a rice-ball-urban-legend got started.


But after a quick scan of Dr. Google’s 49,700,000 plastic rice offerings … you can shout out a hardy Chinese, “Tiān a,” which loosely translated means, “Holy Cow!”

Plastic rice’s a massive hoax that’s been raising its ugly kernel around Asia and the Far East since 2010.  This is not a funny frat-boy prank.

National heads of departments for food safety and agricultural controls have spent heavy sums on inspections trying to reassure the population that “their rice is not plastic!”

As for the bouncing rice ball, several Asian “rice-sperts” (their answer to Bill Nye, America’s Science Guy) pointed out that rice has adhesive and cohesive properties because of the high percentage of starch in it … 80%.

It’s easy to shape into a ball and when you chuck it, the ball bounces because of its volume expansion and air entrapment … that’s “science talk!”


So there you have it.

Fake News for the plastic.  But proof that a rice ball will bounce.

Now … I’m off to find my Uncle Ben’s … science marches on!

Just sayin’ …

Presidents and “Hunting” — Macho, Macho Man!

Most politicians hunt more than votes to prove they’re manly enough to bring home the bacon needed to fill the pork barrel called Washington.

Witness Teddy “Sure-they-named-a-cuddly-bear-after-me” Roosevelt.  He sure made it clear he was a “Big Game Guy” when he cleared the prairies and the African savannahs to establish his manhood.

Surprisingly, Jimmy “I’m-a-Bleeding-Heart-Liberal” Carter also was listed as a big time hunter.  Hard to believe … but he’s ranked in the top five “Presidential Hunters.”

Then there was the photo op debacle of John “Straight-from-LL Bean’s-Hunting-for-Dummies” Kerry, rifle in hand … posed desperately hoping to ooze maximum macho juice!

And even though he was only the Veep, we can’t forget Dick Cheney dumping a load of bird shot right in the face of his “sitting duck hunting partner!”


Not to be outdone by this political “macho-madness,” our current President Trumplethinskin has let us know that, he too, is a hunter … but only as he can describe it.

Braggadocio Don brayed to the world, “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose voters.”  I’m not sure that’s hunting … but it involves a gun, pulling the trigger, and killing.

Maybe he’s our new urban style “Great-White-Hunter-President.”


Here’s the downside of down-and-dirty Trump, the mythical hunter.

Our total non-outdoorsey, nature and exercise phobic, don’t make me walk a step … let alone a mile in your shoes President, recently Tweet-whined, “You’re witnessing the single greatest Witch Hunt in American History.”

Witch Hunt?  He said “Witch Hunt!”  Who doesn’t love a good old fashioned Witch Hunt?

“Hey Grammy, break out the marshmallows, grahams and chocolate … we’re havin’ a fat-assed Smores’ fire!”


Trumplethinskin’s greatest “Witch Hunt” fear better be the throngs of “Nasty Women” after his scalp … wouldn’t that hunka-hunka-burnin’ orange hair look great dangling from an “I’m Proud and I Vote” woman’s g-string?

Trump quotes the false god of “MAGA” more than he does “Corinthians Two.”  Surely God fearing Jesus loving Evangelicals should pile the kindling high and sauté his ballooning bulbous witchy-ass for bowing down before “False Idols.”

It’s clear that Jeff “The-Troll-Who-Lives-under-the-Fallen-Bridge-of-Infrastructure-and-Lack-of-Memory” Sessions is a true Trumpian Warlock in collusion!

For just a hint of historical perspective … even a 5th grader knows that over 200 people were fried, drowned, stretched, dismembered, stoned, or otherwise subjected to “enhanced interrogation techniques” in the greatest Witch Hunt in American history … the Salem Witch Trials.

Now that’s real Witch Hunting!

Just sayin …