According to three allegedly expert groundhogs, Punxatawny Phil, Wiarton Willie, and Hoser Harry (or whatever they call the one from Nova Scotia), this winter was supposed to end soon, but I think those groundhogs are lying little rodents. From where I’m sitting, it looks like Jack Frost has been taking steroids. Last week, I was moaning about our little snowstorm up here in Burks Falls, Ontario, which dumped about two feet on us in less than 48 hours. Then I saw on the news that in Oswego County, N.Y., they’d had steady lake effect snow for over a week, dumping as much as eleven on some unlucky residents. Now that’s what I call a lake effect snowstorm! I’d heard stories about the legendary snowstorms on the east end of Lake Ontario, but ELEVEN FEET? That’s a lot of snow! Every time I think of lake effect snow, I am reminded of the time a friend’s French poodle was plowed into a snow bank in Buffalo. It’s hard enough losing a pet, but how does one process something like that? Life is tough enough as it is, but when the Grim Reaper is a comedian, it’s even harder. Still, we Buffalonians are a hearty clan … we pry our frozen pets out of snowbanks and we move on.
And speaking of bizarre deaths, “celebrity” Anna Nicole Smith has left us for that great medicine cabinet in the sky. She was kind of like Marylin Monroe, but without the talent or the good looks. I know I should not speak ill of the dead, and yet I do. It never ceases to amaze me that this woman achieved any level of fame simply because she met some old millionaire in a club where she was stripping, he married her, and she instantly became rich and notorious. I couldn’t get enough of her slurred ineloquence, the stories of her many tribulations, and of course, her gigungas breast augmentations. She was the darling of the tabloids, the car accident we all slow down to watch. But who am I to judge? I’m judgmental, that’s who I am! Was her death an accident? Was her evil publicist and lawyer (interesting combination) involved? Would she ever get all the money from her deceased Texas millionaire husband’s estate? How many plastic surgeries did she have? So many questions remain unanswered, but I think the question on most people’s minds is, did she really have sex with that old man? Before she died, she was in embroiled in a bitter lawsuit over his $400 Million estate. Apparently, the millionaire’s son felt he was entitled to the inheritance as well. Now that both the son and Smith are dead (how ironical, eh?), the big question is, who will inherit all the money … I mean after the attorneys get their cut? My guess is that Smith’s newborn baby girl will be entitled to a good chunk of it, which probably explains why any man who has ever exchanged DNA with Smith is now claiming paternity. I give that little girl 14 years max before we read about HER tragic death by misadventure. Ain’t celebrity grand?
And speaking of “where-did-the-money-go?” … last week, I was watching my favorite comedy show, Jon Stewart’s “The Daily Show” (my number one news source these days), and he did a story on missing funds earmarked for the rebuilding of Iraq. Apparently, shortly after the wildly successful overthrow of Saddam Hussein, the United States government shipped $12 BILLION in CASH over to Iraq to assist in the rebuilding of her infrastructure. There was so much cash that they loaded it onto a transport plane on pallets, each containing many large bundles of one hundred dollar bills. Now, several years later, it appears that only about $4 Billion is accounted for. If you ask me, Iraq is showing all the signs of a budding democracy. You might ask, where did all that money go? Really, what’s twelve million anyhow … three pork barrel projects for New Jersey? My guess is that the missing eight billion ended up in the hands of insurgents who are now dragging the country into a civil war, but that’s just a hunch. And nobody documents bribes, so I think we can kiss that money goodbye. I’m sure we’ll be more careful next time. Stewart had one suggestion for where the money went … it was Fatima in accounting.
We are still up in the Great White North, reclaiming hardware and paneling from the old cottage. Last night, at yet another town board meeting, we jumped over another hurdle in the excruciatingly long process of obtaining a building permit. Perhaps as early as the end of this month, we will say farewell to the old cottage. I look forward to the new house, complete with central heating! Later on today, I may take a break from the ongoing task of chopping wood to go hunt for groundhogs. Come on you furry little lying bastards … say hello to my little friend … make my day … heeeeere’s Johnny … ( fill in your own cinematic reference to imminent murder).
And speaking of bizarre deaths, “celebrity” Anna Nicole Smith has left us for that great medicine cabinet in the sky. She was kind of like Marylin Monroe, but without the talent or the good looks. I know I should not speak ill of the dead, and yet I do. It never ceases to amaze me that this woman achieved any level of fame simply because she met some old millionaire in a club where she was stripping, he married her, and she instantly became rich and notorious. I couldn’t get enough of her slurred ineloquence, the stories of her many tribulations, and of course, her gigungas breast augmentations. She was the darling of the tabloids, the car accident we all slow down to watch. But who am I to judge? I’m judgmental, that’s who I am! Was her death an accident? Was her evil publicist and lawyer (interesting combination) involved? Would she ever get all the money from her deceased Texas millionaire husband’s estate? How many plastic surgeries did she have? So many questions remain unanswered, but I think the question on most people’s minds is, did she really have sex with that old man? Before she died, she was in embroiled in a bitter lawsuit over his $400 Million estate. Apparently, the millionaire’s son felt he was entitled to the inheritance as well. Now that both the son and Smith are dead (how ironical, eh?), the big question is, who will inherit all the money … I mean after the attorneys get their cut? My guess is that Smith’s newborn baby girl will be entitled to a good chunk of it, which probably explains why any man who has ever exchanged DNA with Smith is now claiming paternity. I give that little girl 14 years max before we read about HER tragic death by misadventure. Ain’t celebrity grand?
And speaking of “where-did-the-money-go?” … last week, I was watching my favorite comedy show, Jon Stewart’s “The Daily Show” (my number one news source these days), and he did a story on missing funds earmarked for the rebuilding of Iraq. Apparently, shortly after the wildly successful overthrow of Saddam Hussein, the United States government shipped $12 BILLION in CASH over to Iraq to assist in the rebuilding of her infrastructure. There was so much cash that they loaded it onto a transport plane on pallets, each containing many large bundles of one hundred dollar bills. Now, several years later, it appears that only about $4 Billion is accounted for. If you ask me, Iraq is showing all the signs of a budding democracy. You might ask, where did all that money go? Really, what’s twelve million anyhow … three pork barrel projects for New Jersey? My guess is that the missing eight billion ended up in the hands of insurgents who are now dragging the country into a civil war, but that’s just a hunch. And nobody documents bribes, so I think we can kiss that money goodbye. I’m sure we’ll be more careful next time. Stewart had one suggestion for where the money went … it was Fatima in accounting.
We are still up in the Great White North, reclaiming hardware and paneling from the old cottage. Last night, at yet another town board meeting, we jumped over another hurdle in the excruciatingly long process of obtaining a building permit. Perhaps as early as the end of this month, we will say farewell to the old cottage. I look forward to the new house, complete with central heating! Later on today, I may take a break from the ongoing task of chopping wood to go hunt for groundhogs. Come on you furry little lying bastards … say hello to my little friend … make my day … heeeeere’s Johnny … ( fill in your own cinematic reference to imminent murder).
- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2007 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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