Note: A preview from my upcoming autobiography, Life’s Too Short to Smoke Cheap Cigars (Or to Drink Cheap Whiskey.)
Fear!
Not really the subject.
A howl of agony split the darkness. I cringed deeper down into my sleeping bag. The agonized cry sent goose bumps galloping up and down my spine like tiny racehorses.
The night was as dark as it was cold. A steady, drizzling rain beat down on our pup tents. An occasional flash of lightning strobe-lit the dreary river-bottom mud flats, casting eerie shapes among the bedraggled, wind-swept willows. The Mississippi oozed nearby, leaden gray in the night. All the while mournful wails and moans echoed close by, and the occasional sudden cry of pain split the darkness.
At least we knew the source of the horrible cries. Albert Hedley was suffering the aftereffects of Jon Hooper’s infamous Mystery Stew.
Not Fit for Human Consumption
Jon’s camp cookery consisted of about one part whatever local critter found its way into the cook pot, one part whatever canned goods Jon was able to get out of his mother’s pantry without her notice, one part whatever fell in the pot during the preparation, and at least three parts wishful thinking. His Mystery Stew was known for causing indigestion in people who walked within fifty feet of the stew pot; his pancakes would have adequately patched holes in a corrugated iron roof. Worst of all were his main courses; usually fine dining in Jon’s Mississippi river fishing camps consisted of whatever Jon was able to run down and place on a skewer over the fire. Possums, muskrats, squirrels, bullheads, even carp found their ways onto spits strung over Jon’s cook fires. In a series of hunting and fishing camps, Jon produced a never-failing succession of greasy stews, lumpy gravies, rock-hard steaks, burnt sausages, and runny eggs.
On this ill-fated evening, several of us were celebrating our recent high school graduation with a long weekend camping and fishing on the islands that dot the Upper Mississippi Wildlife Refuge. Earlier that same afternoon, a small flotilla of sputtering john boats had left the Waukon Junction boat ramp, bearing us with fishing and camping gear into the great wet wilderness of the upper Mississippi. Jon’s green-painted boat led the armada, with a 16-gallon beer keg riding proudly in the prow. Weaving through the bayous and backwaters, Jon led the fleet to a large island, with one side bordering the main channel and a high, dry sand beach for camping. Our plan was to string trotlines between a couple of islands, baited for catfish; then we would retire to our camp, eat heartily from our supplies of grub, and attack Jon’s beer keg. Come morning, we would haul in our lines, collect our catch of sleek channel and weird, primordial flathead catfish, and begin rod and reel fishing for the day. The following evening the process would be repeated, for as many nights as the beer keg and ice held out.
Jon was proud of his culinary skills, in fact he considered himself one of The World’s Great Chefs. All the while bragging that he could turn any breathing critter into a banquet fit for royalty, Jon probably did more single-handedly to ensure the future success of the manufacturers of antacids and indigestion remedies than any other person living. On this occasion Jon had promised that on one evening, he would prepare a meal to remember.
Fortunately, the Mystery Stew wasn’t that meal. Whatever Jon had in store for us was yet to come.
As his boat hit the beach that first afternoon, Jon let out a whoop and went immediately bounding into the trees. As the rest of us pulled boats up on the sand and began unloading gear, the sounds of breaking branches and crashing brush echoed behind us. Albert looked at me with some apprehension.
“Jon’s out there after something for supper, isn’t he?” Albert’s voice was filled with dread. He knew Jon a little too well.
“I bet he is – and it sounds like he’s found something, too.”
The crashing noises stopped, and a hoot of triumph arose from the middle of the island. Several members of the party called encouragement to Jon; they hadn’t eaten Jon’s camp cookery before. Albert and I remained silent as Jon reappeared, grinning like an ape.
“What did you get after, Jon?” one of the others asked.
“You’ll find out at supper,” Jon grinned back at him. “It’s a…” he looked at me, his eyes wide, his smile growing maniacal, “mystery!” I groaned in foreknowledge of the evening to come. I’d eaten a few of Jon’s mysteries.
Not really Jon’s cauldron, but much the same.
The Mystery Stewpot played an integral part in making Jon’s stews what they were. An ancient, black, three-legged cauldron of Shakespearean dimensions, the pot had supposedly belonged to Jon’s great-grandmother, who used it to stew mules, whole. This pot weighed roughly one hundred pounds and would bubble away many gallons of stew over a good bed of coals for most of a weekend. One could easily imagine a convocation of hags gathered around, stirring the giant pot with evil cackles. This evening, Jon had placed the stewpot, half-filled with water, right in the middle of our campfire, since burned down to a bed of coals. Proceeding to place a variety of substances into the pot, at least one of which ingredients required a trip into the woods to retrieve something that was evidently buried there, Jon prepared a pot of Mystery Stew that would feed an army.
And feed an army it very nearly did. At least, it fed a group of about ten eighteen-year old boys after a hard day of fishing. Some of the comments that accompanied the stew were enlightening.
“What is this lump in the stew? I think it has wings!”
“Is this a bean, or a beetle? Beans don’t have legs, do they?”
“Jon, how long did you say this critter’s been dead?”
“Yeecchh!”
“Hey, isn’t that a badger skin Jon’s got drying over there?”
Even with those observations, the level of Jon’s stewpot dropped appreciably that night. I managed to consume a helping myself; as Jon’s cooking went, it wasn’t too bad. It’s true, certainly, that these things are all relative; even so, I managed to eat my portion of stew with only a few dry heaves.
Albert wasn’t so lucky. He’d been affected by the exertion and the early –summer heat more then the rest of us and required liquid refreshment on our return to camp. After several visits to the beer keg, now ensconced in a large wooden box full of ice sheltered in the trees, Albert was feeling adventurous.
“Hey, Jon, this isn’t bad stuff!” Albert shouted. “Dish me up another helping!”
Jon beamed; he wasn’t accustomed to his culinary skills receiving that sort of acclaim. I shuddered in certain foreknowledge of what was, inevitably, to follow. Albert, fueled by beer, hunger, and dehydration, ate four helpings of Mystery Stew.
Later that night, the effects became known.
It started around ten o’clock, as the groups sat around the fire, laughing over the days’ events. Albert laughed as loud as anyone at the start; but as the night wore on, he adopted a strange, rather contemplative expression. While the rest of us suffered the odd twinge of indigestion, Albert was building up a world-class case; indeed, the H-Bomb of digestive ailments was about to strike Albert’s tract. A loud groan distracted us all from our jokes; Albert suddenly sprang to life with a shouted, “Ooohhhhhnnnooo!” He leaped away from the fire, dashing into the woods.
To describe the sounds that emanated from the woods the next few minutes would require pages of colorful expression. To describe the words that emanated from Albert would likewise require pages, although if you edited the words unsuitable for small children and those of gentle dispositions, it would cut the list down to about one short paragraph.
Eventually, Albert returned to the fire, looking somewhat green. The indigestion had hit him like a sledgehammer at both ends, as his digestive tract wisely chose to rid itself of every remnant of mystery stew. His suffering, however, was to go on, and in fact to keep the rest of us awake for most of the night, despite several boots tossed at his tent with varying degrees of accuracy.
The Next Day
The next morning, Jon was first up, stirring about in the soggy remnants of the fire pit, hoping to find a coal. I poked my head out of my pup tent to see him drop his stick and begin setting up a propane camp stove; I decided the day had best get under way and climbed into my jeans and out of the tent.
The storm had passed over in the night, and left a sunny, cool morning. As the camp began to wake up, Jon motioned me to silence, and pointed to his camp trunk. Ensconced therein were a number ten can of red beans, another of jalapenos, two pounds of bacon, several huge sausages, a pound of flour, two dozen eggs, and a five-pound bag of rice. There was also a big Mason jar of some mysterious reddish-brown sauce, the source of which Jon would not reveal.
“Wait until tonight!” Jon grinned. “We get some catfish, and I’ll make up a gumbo that will knock everyone’s socks off!”
That was exactly what I was afraid of.
The location of the incident.
We pulled in the trotline, which yielded four big channel cats and one flathead. Jon whooped with glee. So did several of the others, who hadn’t yet shared a successful catfishing outing with Jon. It’s certainly true that, properly prepared, catfish can be a meal fit for the most discriminating palate. Trouble was that Jon lacked both a discriminating palate and the barest rudiments of proper catfish preparation.
By evening Jon had confiscated at least three large catfish and had the cauldron bubbling. Amazingly enough, the gumbo smelled pretty good; good enough, in fact, to draw the main body of the group away from the beer keg. Jon busied himself tasting, adding a little salt here, a little pepper there, and placing several pans of dinner rolls near the fire to warm. As the sun was setting, I perched on an upturned piece of driftwood to set and watch.
“Well, that keg ain’t gonna last much longer,” Dick Meechum approached the fire, cup in hand. Dick could estimate the remaining level of a beer keg by the angle of the barrel.
“Save some for the gumbo!” Jon advised him. “You’ll need it! This here’s a hot Cajun gumbo, I got the recipe out of a magazine.”
Even while hoping against hope that the magazine was Good Housekeeping and not Roadkill Weekly, I had to admit the gumbo smelled pretty good. The savory odors from the stewpot were beginning to make my mouth water. Could it be that Jon had finally mastered the art of camp cooking? Could we have an actual chef in the making? My entire understanding of the world was tottering on its foundations.
I had forgotten about the jar of mystery sauce.
And Then This Happened
Finally, the moment came; Jon turned to the group and hollered, “It’s ready!” After thirty minutes of smelling the savory gumbo, I was first in line. I filled my tin plate with Jon’s concoction, grabbed three warm rolls, and seated myself on the driftwood as the rest of the group filled their plates.
This was the moment of truth. I took a sip of cold beer, looked around; deep breath, spoon full, here we go; I took a large bite.
The gumbo was incredible for the first one tenth of a second. Rich, savory, the catfish, beans and rice set off just right by the tangy spices and peppers. A faint tingling sensation began on my tongue; I thought it to be just a side effect of the peppers and took another large bite of stew.
Across from me, I noticed Dick Meechum’s face growing red. Odder still, his eyes were beginning to protrude strangely, and beads of sweat were popping out on his forehead. The tingling sensation on my tongue was beginning to turn into a burning feeling.
Then the gumbo really started to hit. It was as though someone had poured a cocktail of nuclear reactor coolant, sulfuric acid, and lava fresh from a Hawaiian volcano directly on my tongue. I could feel sweat pouring from my face like water squeezed from a sponge. My face flushed to incandescence, my vision blurred, I couldn’t see but I could hear choking and spluttering from around the fire.
Albert’s stomach had not completely recovered from the previous night’s overindulgence, and so he was the first to break from the campfire. He ran for a five-gallon jug of water, which he grabbed and dumped over his upturned face. The jug gone, he looked at Jon with flushed face and wild eyes, shouted, “AAYOOHWWAAHHH!!!” or some such, and disappeared into the woods. Several others followed suit within seconds; the beach of this small island was soon filled with leaping, gesticulating, shouting, swearing, sweating, teary-eyed eighteen-year olds, frantically grabbing for anything that might extinguish the flames.
A struggle broke out at the beer keg, as several gumbo victims tried to run the tap’s flow out directly on their tongues. I dove for my small cooler, which contained a quart jug of milk; I swallowed the milk at a gulp and ran for the beer tap myself.
Jon sat on his campstool with some bemusement as he watched our antics. His huge bowl of gumbo untasted, he watched us run to and fro, seizing and swallowing anything cool we could find. Several young men drank copious quantities of brown Mississippi water, trading immediate relief for certain consequences in another day or so. I inhaled at least one entire pan of dinner rolls, trying to quench the flames; Albert was unaccounted for until sometime the next morning, when we found him stuffing box-elder leaves in his mouth, groaning about third-degree burns to various portions of his digestive tract.
After about thirty minutes, we all regained our composure. A group of angry, sweating, red-faced youths gathered around Jon as he sat calmly on his stool.
“What is the matter with you guys, anyway?” Jon asked the sweating, swearing throng. “Can’t take a little pepper?”
“Let’s see YOU eat some of that sludge, Hooper!” Dick Meechum challenged.
Jon grinned at him, casually picked up an old Army surplus spoon the size of a snow shovel, stirred his gumbo up a little bit, popped the spoonful in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. He looked up at us all and smiled.
“You know, it’s a little bland, isn’t it? Maybe a few more jalapenos next time?”
Calm, clear-faced, not a drop of sweat visible; Jon took another mammoth bite, chased it with a sip of beer, and then proceeded to empty the bowl. The group fell silent, whether in awe or in shock, I couldn’t say. Speculation on the subject was certainly the topic of conversation the following morning as we broke camp.
“Oo kno,” Albert observed, “I ‘ink e’ ony go’ bu’ one tas’ bud lef’.”
“Is’ ton’ go’ oo be lie, ‘on-rete or som’in.” Dick added.
“May’ee ‘e jus’ don’ ha’ no ner’ en-ins in ‘is ton’ no mo.” I wondered.
“I be’ he’ jus’ ‘oo use’ ‘o eatin’ ‘at stuff.”
Loyal sidekick Rat, these days a much better camp cook.
Whatever the reason, Jon’s cast-iron constitution had seen him through nicely; that was apparent just from watching him whistle happily as he loaded his boat.
Since I lacked a boat, I rode with Jon back to the ramp where we’d left our various cars and trucks.
“Ma’,” I observed to Jon, “I don’ know ‘ow ‘oo do it.”
“What’s the big deal?” Jon wanted to know. “I make the best stew of my whole life, and you guys just got no stomach for it. You ought to learn to handle a little spice on your food, bud.”
Jon’s experiment in Cajun cooking wasn’t a total waste, though. The remaining gumbo turned out to be admirably suited for burning holes in sheet steel, acid-etching car windows in creative patterns, and stripping paint.
Later
Ironically, three years later found me in an Army Basic Training Company. The evening of our arrival, a cadre of shouting, swearing Drill Sergeants herded us into a mess hall for our first taste of Army chow, served up red-faced, sweating cooks.
“Uuughh” the recruit next to me at the table complained. “I’ve never seen meat loaf this color before – and what are these, beans or cockroaches?”
My memory took me back to a cool summer evening on the Mississippi. A sense of perspective took hold; I looked at the gray Army meatloaf and lumpy gravy in a new light.
“Oh,” I grinned at the complainer, “this ain’t so bad.”
The remaining gumbo turned out to be admirably suited for burning holes in sheet steel, acid-etching car windows in creative patterns, and stripping paint.
Make lemonade from lemons.
Good story.
The night was as dark as it was cold. A steady, drizzling rain beat down on our pup tents. An occasional flash of lightning strobe-lit the dreary river-bottom mud flats, casting eerie shapes among the bedraggled, wind-swept willows. – so that is the long way of saying it was a dark and stormy night?
Possums, muskrats, squirrels – lucky you people didn’t cause a pandemic
even carp- well what we call carp here is a perfectly adequate eating fish
Earlier that same afternoon, a small flotilla of sputtering john boats – is jon boat and john boat interchangeable?
The following evening the process would be repeated, for as many nights as the beer keg and ice held out. – that is what 120 beers worth?
about ten eighteen-year old boys after a hard day of fishing. – so 12 beers a pop so 2 or 3 nights
“John (jon?) boat” is one of those words that I’d heard since I was a little kid and could identify and describe easily but has never occurred to me to try to spell. And, really, there has never been a time I’ve used the term when I needed to write it down.
Great story, Animal!
but what about besmirching the good name of carp?
You overestimate the esteem in which the name is held.
Tres Sr. always called them ‘sewer bass’.
They are fun to catch. But stinky and gross. I’d have to be really fucking hungry to eat one.
Its all in the preparation
H?
Brined and smoked carp is delicious
You left out the part about all that hot & spicy stew making its way out the other end…
There is a reason people that eat spicy food love to sing about “The ring of fire”.
“The ring of fire”
I like Thai food, but there can be – um – side-effects.
Well, I got back from my covid test, and it turns out almost everything everyone told me was wrong.
How so, and how’d it go?
C’mon, Your Lordship, High-Tuber! Details!
if you had something in you butt at any point, it was not a standard covid test
I was told I needed ID and my insurance card. No one asked for them. Which is fine.
What annoys me was that I was told I would stay in my car.
When I first showed up there was a security guy with only a surgical mask. He asked who I was, so I held my arm out the window, showing him a piece of paper with my information on printed on it. I told him it was “less talking”. He read it, did something on a cell phone, and told me pull up to the first sign.
There was a canopy. Under it was a bunch of tables, computers, some kind of gas heater, and five people dressed like they were handling AIDS-infected plutonium. Then I had to yell out the passenger side window who I was. I trying showing them the paper, but they wouldn’t come close enough to read it.
How long for results?
See below, I received conflicting information.
Then I was told to roll up my windows, and pull up another car length of so, to the second sign. Now this is where I was expecting someone to come up to my car. Instead, I was told to get out of my car, and sit in a chair. Someone asked my DOB, and then shoved a swab way the fuck up my nose. He told me my doctor would get the results in “five to seven business days”. I was told by my doctor and the lab it would be 2-3 days. He had some information printed for me to take, and told me that if I tested positive, I should call the Health Department.
Oh, they’re using the shitty CDC test instead of the faster two-five minute private sector tests.
I have no idea which test they are using, or what the other local testing places use.
Well, the test time frames and the “shove the swab to the back of the nose” are key indicators that it’s the CDC’s test.
I thought pretty much all of them (except the hospital lung lavage tests) were a swab up the nose.
I wonder how they did the COVID-19 tests on the tigers.
A really long swab?
Go on…
Taped to a broom stick?
The same way they do every other vet exam – they sedated the tiger first.
Trump described it in a press conference. Said they took a left turn with the swab somewhere around his eyeball.
Turn around will depend on what lab and how far away from the lab you are. Heard there have been some backups due to the massive volume.
“if I tested positive, I should call the Health Department.”
Call them for what?
Statistical purposes?
All positive tests should be reported to the Health Department by either the lab or the ordering provider.
Yeah, I think LabCorp and the state labs are taking 5 – 7 days. We have a different lab we use, and I think their turnaround is 2 – 3 days. In a couple of weeks our in-house lab will be set up and we will get results in 2 hours.
I have no idea who is doing the lab work, but the test was taken by a major hospital, outdoors on their campus. I would be shocked if they didn’t have their own RT-PCR machines. I think the problem is that the test needs approval from the FDA, CDC, the state, or some other bunch of assholes.
If I knew that I would have to get out of my car, I would have chosen some place else. My doctor told me that this was also the fastest place.
Ouch. Sorry. Hopefully the test comes back negative.
It’s having to go sit in that chair where every other person with symptoms went. It wasn’t an enclosed tent. So well-ventilated. But who knows what could have been in the air?
The bureaucratic incentive at this point is probably to get as many positive test results as necessary to match their models.
Well, then they should fix the problems with false negatives.
They’re “fix” is what I’m afraid of.
Da Fix1
Also the fix
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JOiZP8FS5Ww
But who knows what could have been in the air?
Love?
I didn’t tell you anything so I’m good.
Everyone except WebMD, I presume?
Animal, the Tails of Allamakee County just get better and better. We’ve all known some of these guys, maybe slightly different and maybe we are some of them. Great story. Waiting for the next one as long as Jon doesn’t share the stew recipe with the readers.
What’s great about these stories is how they are simultaneously unique, yet universal. Anyone who has camped more than a few times has eaten some…unmentionable meals, be they overspiced, undercooked, overcooked, etc.
Thanks again, Animal! Enjoyable with all of the metaphorical pantshitting over Covid that we can read about some actual earned pantshitting.
Anyone who has camped more than a few times has eaten some…unmentionable meals – that is only true if camping food is other that canned food brought with you. Most people in Romania do not forage while camping.
Sounds like the continued unholy legacy of Marxism to me.
I have never done really wild camping myself. But people I know who did usually brought food. Eating squirrels was never considered an option.
They’re probably an EU protected species anyway.
Ain’t that the truth!
We used to go to the Boundary Waters each May. Often we would have walleye a couple times per day.
No suffering at all!
The best part was hiding the cast iron pan in the rookie’s pack when he wasn’t paying attention.
The ocean has a version of this, too. I lived in a coastal town my senior year of high school and our last week of school was widely known in the town as “Senior Cottages” – where most of the senior class would rent beach houses in an attempt at one-upping “Animal House.” I lived with three buddies and we spent most of each day gigging crabs, digging clams, fishing (once the hangover wore off) and then getting beer and cooking for that night’s party. Add in all the high school hijinks you can imagine and lather-rinse-repeat for a week. Good times.
I have fond memories of fishing for walleye in the French or English river areas of northern/northwestern Ontario each summer. Great shore lunches!
Way back in the day, we’d go backpacking through northern NM/southern Colorado. We’d always plan on having at least a few dinners that were fresh-caught trout – we’d take some flour and cornmeal to bread them and pan fry them.
Effing. Awesome. Talk about fresh fish. They were usually dead less than 15 minutes when they hit the pan.
Ritz crackers and eggs for us. But yeah, it was amazing. One guy getting the fire ready, two guys cleaning fish and the fourth guy mixing cocktails.
Life was good.
Martinis where all you did was wave the vermouth bottle over the gin, right? cause that’s a good Martini…
Now I’m hungry.
I live on the Mississippi too. I remember swimming in that dirt that was called water. Would have a line of scum where your head was above water, yuck. You couldn’t pay me to swim in there now.
You guys went camping with the wrong cooks. My dad was a firefighter so was used to cooking for a large group that had taste buds. Always good eating on our outings.
Great tale, Animal. I love this series; it makes me nostalgic for the freedom of my rural youth.
FTFY to be COVID relevant. 😉
We took some boy scouts hiking in the Superstition mountains one time. Two days with an over night stay. No water along the trail, so you had to carry all your own water.
We weighed each scout and then the scout with their pack to make sure they weren’t carrying too much weight.
A couple of days later, nearing the end of the first day, one of the kids (the smallest in the troop) is dragging. The scout leader takes the kids pack and it weigh too much (a lot too much). So the leader empties the pack and finds Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary in the bottom. The kid’s mother stuck it in there after we weighed the pack, because the kid just might need to spell a new work in the Arizona wilderness.
… ?
Exactly
I’m calling bullshit…
I think mom was a Marine and wanted nerdboy to learn how to hump a proper combat load.
Incorrect. Half the boys were living with single moms that were bitter and irrational. This was the 80s.
kinnath: There’s a great retort to this that would make me hated by both female Marines and single moms, so… here it goes!
J/K
That’s a pretty funny story. I am known in my family for always taking too many books to read when I travel, so I kinda empathize with the little nerd.
In boot camp before long marches, the drill instructor used to ask us who was going to radio school (I was). I considered it an intelligence test that I passed by keeping my hand down and letting him stuff the 30-lb radio in somebody else’s pack.
-1 PRC-76
“hump a proper combat load”
Rule 34.
Sneaking big rocks into other people’s packs was a classic prank when I was in the scouts.
Something to make you want to have your fist socially collide with his face.
A video verified by the Louisville Courier Journal in a Sunday report shows a man shoving three young females and “grabbing the neck” of an 18-year-old.
The altercation took place on Saturday in Norton Commons, Louisville, where the unidentified man confronted the girls about apparently not properly “social distancing.”
“The person who posted the video to Louisville’s Reddit.com page wrote that the man and a woman he was with confronted the group for failing to follow social-distancing guidelines designed to combat the spread of the coronavirus,” the Journal reported. “Three people who were there at the time of the incident confirmed this account.”
Authorities told the Journal that Eighth Division officers responded to the call on Saturday and a police report was filed.
Ugh…Norton Commons.
that is all.
How would he know if they are not related?
That’s not disorderly conduct, that’s some species of murder. And hospital police just let him wander off? Where the fuck were the real cops with handcuffs and jails and shit?
Arresting people not social distancing properly, duh.
Welcome to de Blasio’s NYC.
Also from a Daily News article:
According to the medical examiner it seems the heart disease must have hit her in the head.
https://www.nydailynews.com/coronavirus/ny-coronavirus-woodhull-assuault-victim-family-wants-answers-20200330-zc3nqz5n3jge7hlbze6nhtgfy4-story.html
People are awful. So what if they’re not properly social distancing? It’s none of your fucking business. Keep out of it. Oh, real cool picking on teenage girls. There’s some less hospitable neighborhoods in Louisville where he should try that stunt. What a creep. I hope Louisville PD tracks his ass down and books him for battery. This is unacceptable.
Not sure what this means, but it sounds bad.
Now that’s funny.
So.. you can manifest tentacles from your blood oxides?
But it’s FDA certified!
Gotta run, but in the life goes on category: the cactuses are starting to bloom around the Casa Dean.
Great story Animal. I was waiting to read Jon was standing among the cooks in the boot camp chow line. Our youthful camping trips were never that well planned. We would often go fishing/camping on a whim forgetting everything except maybe a can of beans and way too much beer. We once cooked trout on the inside door panel of a full sized van. I don’t think it got washed prior to the cooking or the replacement back on the door the next day.
Everyone Jumps Off Bridge After New Government Order Telling Everyone To Jump Off Bridge
In Another Hilarious Gaffe, Biden Shouts, ‘Help Me! I Don’t Want To Do This Anymore!’
https://babylonbee.com/news/chick-fil-a-temporarily-changes-slogan-to-eat-fewer-bats
Constitution Dies Of Coronavirus
Wish it was parody.
Excellent
Now that we got that pesky old piece of paper out of the way its time to party!
Communist Party!
Sublime.
Masters to be played in November.
When flu season starts.
Good gravy, but your voice is magnificent!
Paging Barry White…
Yehhhh baybeeee
Hopefully I still have a job.
For some inexplcable reason, I answered a company survey about how we could improve “diversity and inclusiion.”
I wrote (paraphrsed from memory) “We have had people from more than fifty countries working together here successfully since 2011. We have devout Muslims working alongside people with rainbow flag neck tatoos. The idea that we need to be taught how to “correctly” be diverse and inclusive would be laughable were it not so troubling. “
?
This is why you don’t accept
bribestax incentives from New York. The costs are just not worth it.?
D’oh!
“Perhaps if we knew what problem we are trying to solve, we could have a focussed solution. I would caution that diversity and inclusion training seems to focus on the differences between people, and encourages people to treat even the most innocuous remarks and situations as micro-aggressions or some other kind of bigotry or hatred. Introducing this kind of training into our workplace is likely to drive people apart, not make our company more inclusive.”
I’m offended.
You and I sent the exact same email. I also asked newly appointed diversity director what metrics are we using to ensure the program is successful. She was a very good engineer with a 6sigma black belt before her appointment. She indicated that the metrics will be our overall success in hiring the best and brightest and increasing our diversity of thought on problem solving and innovation.
My response, “So how will we measure this?”
Her, “lets move on to the next question”
Translation – “I transferred to diversity so I wouldn’t be beholden to metrics anymore”
“So how will we measure this?”
By total number of memorandums issued.
Don’t forget the number of wrongthinkers fired, and the number of new inclusivity policies imposed on the workforce.
❤❤❤
“Perhaps if Human Resources stopped talking to me about “diversity and inclusion” I would stop thinking about and judging the race, religion, and sexual habits of the people I work with.”
No, no, that puts too much of the blame on you. “The consistant emphesis on differences by HR is leading to a reduction in inclusivity among the staff.”
https://www.nj.com/coronavirus/2020/04/sorry-were-closed-sign-pops-up-in-pa-along-i-80-just-past-border-from-nj.html
LOL
Taking down signs is nonessential work and should be posponed until all restrictions are lifted.
Unciv. These folks say they have plague masks.
https://www.theshadowedstranger.com/?fbclid=IwAR301c9WVuA08jB_HfBkc9lTux5XeOytMiuHSRmOuIbrlKbDf5S1seZW_fo
I have a couple more potential leads that I am waiting for.
Thank you.
Though I’m hating their website nagivation.
I have no direct history with this merchant.
Don’t worry, I don’t blame you for the navigation.
That was meant as a joke, I didn’t think you’d made the site. And I understand that, not having worked with them you can’t vouch for them.
I will let you know if I get anymore leads.
Thank you.
I told my daughter about wanting to dress in a plague doctor costume, and walk around poking people with my stick. She said that would be inappropriate. Kids these days, amirite?
I think she knew which stick you’d be planning to do the poking with.
I want this setup.
I think it sets the proper mood.
lolwut
For some inexplcable reason, I answered a company survey about how we could improve “diversity and inclusiion.”
“Diversity and inclusion” are utterly meaningless as an end, in themselves. We should be willing to accept good ideas and conscientious work habits from anyone with the ability to make our products better, and our organization stronger.
*This is why I don’t have a job.
Thanks Animal. That was a fun read.
And since it’s been a while how about this gem where companies with forced arbitration get a taste of their own medicine.
‘Scared to Death’ by Arbitration: Companies Drowning in Their Own System
Lawyers and a Silicon Valley start-up have found ways to flood the system with claims, so companies are looking to thwart a process they created.
“The quote is that high for such a simple project because I don’t particularly care for you personally.”
/things I don’t say
/things hookers say
Or is that just me?
We’re all whores.
We all got it coming, kid.
Good and hard.
I occasionally go to reddit for mild amusement, but it’s completely deranged these days. Everything is COVID/TRUMP/CAPITALISM!!!!!
So, they added a topic to their usual lunatic ravings?
Mask, you say?
I like these.
I’m not a furry.
Wouldn’t that be a feathery? a downy?
I don’t know enough about the fractal divisions of that subculture to say.
This is a better choice
I find this hard to believe. New York City May Temporarily Bury Coronavirus Victims in Public Park
A city of 8 and a half million can’t deal with 4,000 deaths? They must normally deal with 100,000+ deaths a year, right? Something like 10k a month. Or do all New Yorkers die in Florida?
It’s a touch over 50k yearly for NYC alone
https://www.health.ny.gov/statistics/vital_statistics/vs_reports_tables_list.htm
Or something like this, perhaps, to wear to the bank
Jumping the shark
The FDA can fuck right off.
^^^THIS^^^
I have had some real angry people tell me without the FDA we would all die. When I pointed out the FDA was slowing all this shit up with bureaucracy, they didn’t lose a step and told that was needed or people would die…
I pointed out to them people were needlessly dying…
This – I hope Paul and Massie try very hard to kill it when this is over.
It’s Time to Track the FDA’s Death Toll
The French Reps at the Hague will be pleased to learn that their drug trials don’t count for shit.
Every time you think you’ve seen what Peak Derp looks like……
My response, “So how will we measure this?”
With a feeler gauge.
Boo!
So I know about the glib wars related to pineapple on pizza, but what’s the take on pineapples in your Chili? Made some the other day, and my lady friend can’t get enough (of the Chili, I mean, because it is obvious she can’t get enough of me)….
I never thought there could be some form of chili that made less sense then Cincinnati chili…
YOU SHUT YOUR FILTHY WHORE MOUTH !
Cincinnati chili isnt chili, it is a greek dish that resembles chili enough that it got translated to that.
It is also awesome (on hot dogs). The skyline cheese coney is very good.
I’m familiar with what it is… I’d rather have a real chili dog then one with Cincinnati chili on it though. We’ve almost completed the purge of Skyline from the Cleveland area, but there’s still one left.
If its the on in Mayfield off 271- Ive been there.
I’ve been to that one. Also been to the original in Cincy a bunch of times.
(barf)
what’s the take on pineapples in your Chili
Whatever you are putting pineapples in, isn’t chili (any more).
We all got it coming, kid.
And deserve‘s got nothing to do with it.
I’ll see you in hell, P Brooks.
Wut?
Warren’s penchant for planning stands in particularly stark contrast to this administration, which still has not released a clear coronavirus plan. There is no document you can download, no website you can visit, that details our national strategy to slow the disease, transition back to normalcy, and rebuild the economy.
So I asked Warren to explain what the plan should be, given the grim reality we face. We discussed what, specifically, the federal government should do; the roots of the testing debacle; her idea for mobilizing the post-coronavirus economy around building affordable housing; why she thinks this is exactly the right time to cancel student loan debt; why America spends so much money preparing for war and so little defending itself against pandemics and climate change; whether the Democratic primary focused on the wrong issues; and how this crisis is recasting Ronald Reagan’s old saw about “the scariest words in the English language.”
Stick your head in this bag, and breathe deeply until the non sequiturs go away, Liz.
the roots of the testing debacle;
*raises hand*
Wouldn’t that be the FDA, the CDC, and misc. state health departments?
The rest of it is the usual “this crisis proves I was right all along” confirmation bias.
Anybody who knows anything about plans know they usually are never designed for what actually happens. At best they give some idea on what to do. At worst they are worse than useless. They focus on the wrong things.
From the excerpt, it sounds like Warren wants to help the people who weren’t hurt by the corona virus.
More from the
HandicapperPlanner General:The White House is just simply wrong on the notion that somehow the states can manage this on their own. We need a national response. Think about what I was just talking about. It is the federal government that can order the tests. It is the federal government that can use the Defense Production Act in order to force companies to produce the test kits, the masks, the gowns, the kinds of things that we actually need in a crisis. The states don’t have the power to do that. Only the federal government does.
Considering what a horrific a fascist he is, Trump doesn’t seem to be fascisting very hard. We need to get those CEOs in here at gunpoint and force them to do our bidding.
That’s what these morons want: not a solution to the problem, but the people they hate/envy made to suffer more than they have to…
It is the federal government that can order the tests. It is the federal government that can use the Defense Production Act in order to force companies to produce the test kits, the masks, the gowns, the kinds of things that we actually need in a crisis.
Because nothing happens unless the government orders it. The lack of test kits wasn’t various government agencies taking their sweet time approving them, no, it was due to the lack of mandates backed with hard men carrying guns in corporate boardrooms.
On PPE – remember when we had stockpiles of that stuff managed by the government for the next pandemic? Yeah, what the fuck happened to all that?
I think the Trump administration owns the PPE issue. He’s been in office for three years.
He may own it, but the stores were there and the responsible agencies let it it go to hell. State’s are receiving items that are 10-years out of code, disintegrating, parts missing, etc. This is a failure of multiple administrations, particularly given the protocols developed post-SARS/H1N1.
Overseen by the CDC until couple of years ago, just to name responsible agency.
Yep, the agency was big enough to admit “they knew some items were expired, but sent because the state’s needed them” – I hope Trump lays waste to that organization once all this is over. They couldn’t even be bothered to update their website when this started.
I think he owns it only in the vaguest sense (ditto the Obama admin). This was bureaucratic hack incompetence, the sort of thing that the independent, efficient, and accountable civil service is supposed to take care of on its own. But that would require pointing the blame finger at people with the right politics (Democrat or Republican, they’re deep staters).
The DPA can conjure up finished products out of thin air. It is know.
testing. getting errors on posting message.
#metoo
I blame pineapple “chili”.
Speaking of crimes against humanity…
Next you heathens will tell me that HM is an evil dude because he might like to put some pineapple in his woman’s ass (not the whole thing, but the chunks or slices), when he eats it…
What happened to live & let live?
Only with Canadians and Polynesians.
A man of both class and taste, I see.
#me3. E-mailed webmaster.
E-mail bounced back. “Address does not exist.” Then why did the error message give me that address??
black? gray?
oh look, it works again, but still indecisive.
RAAAAAAACIST!
I know these people are attention whores but seriously anyone can look and see that Trump, for all his many faults isnt presenting any signs of totalitarianism takeover…
Tw Breitbart
https://www.breitbart.com/clips/2020/04/06/meghan-mccain-im-fearful-totalitarian-trump-will-try-pandemic-power-grab/
His desire to get the economy back on track is very totalitarian.
A fun read, as expected, 2 thumbs up.
Priming the public for the Green New Steal…
https://www.fox5vegas.com/coronavirus/less-vehicle-traffic-in-las-vegas-during-covid-19-pandemic-leads-to-less-air-pollution/article_cbc7f9b2-7829-11ea-b3f6-47533da1353e.html
I’ve seen this a lot already as well. Green new deal and gun control are the next targets with these newly exercises powers.
Boris has been moved to intensive care.
That’s a sad turn of events.
Dang.
I’m raising awareness.
Damn.
https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-52192604
And Scruffy has it.
The only person I knew of that MAYbe had the CoVID-19 lives in Brooklyn, NYC
I just got done talking to him, and he’s convinced he’s a survivor now.
Congratulations to New York City! Today they might pass Hubei, China in total deaths from Covid-19! If not, some time in the next 48 hours seems a lock.
This is quite a feat, as a city of only 8,6 million competing with a province of 58.5 million!
Well done, Mayor De Blasio! Excellent assist from the progressives’ current “It-Boy” Governor Cuomo!
Ok, X-er
Excellent response!
The insufferable, unmitigated techno-utopianism was one of the things I hated most about Reason.