Hammer Mill Days

Electrodes to power, turbines to speed, wind in the willows, egg on your face. What the hell - why can't we get lift? We need lift, man, lift ! Arrrgh! Where the hell is Mitch Macaphee when you need him? Answer: Buenos Aires, at a mad scientist conference. You know as well as I do, don't you? Well, friends and countrymen (and countrywomen, as well... and, well, city men and women... and dogs and cats and..... oooooohhhh !), your associates in Big Green have finally arrived in the environs of the small marbled greenish-blue planet we know as Earth. And when I say "environs," I mean atmosphere; straight down the chute in our rented spacecraft, nose pointed towards the upstate New York industrial ruin we know as the Cheney Hammer Mill. As John and the others are otherwise occupied, I have taken it upon myself to man the helm, with Marvin (my personal robot assistant) and the man-sized tuber (see his Facebook page) handling the navigation console. (Yes, it takes both ...

As of this writing, there have been 3 "major" primary contests on the Republican side - Iowa, New Hampshire, and Michigan - and just as many winners. Good grief. One might only hope that it would continue along these lines, right up to their caveman convention. Still, I'm certain they'll congeal around one of those disgusting blisters and proceed with their usual (and often successful) attempt to race-bait, terror-scam, and otherwise bluster their way into the White House for another term. Hardly matters who the actual candidate will be - whichever one takes his party's grisly mantle, he will no doubt benefit enormously from television ads that open with an ominous low note and a blurry photograph of their opponent. Just hold out for a few more weeks, folks, then it'll be open season. (They're loading up the slime cannons right now.) And whoever emerges from the fray with the most votes this November... well, their savaged remains will take up residence at...