My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

There he is. Went in asked for Rus’ saw. The little red Sears. Howard dug around the pile at his feet, pulled it out.
“Oh yeah. Be ready after lunch.”

Dear New Hampshire,

It’s been so long since I wrote, sorry man. Just been super busy. How ’bout you?

Anyway, I thought I’d tell you about Tecate beer, since that’s what we drink out here. Take a look at those cans! I love this stuff. It’s Mexican beer at its finest. Cheap and tasty. Just a squeeze of lemon…fiesta your ass off, dude!

Maybe if you ever get around to visiting I can take you to the Mission. I know a bar that sells the stuff for $2.95 a pound! Hey, yeah, bring some Hefenreffer’s with you when you come, it’s been ages!

editor’s note: Junior marts are included in this graph

It’s just under twelve miles on a dirt road before you hit tar and the curves in the road straighten out. Out there the trees are cut down and you tend to look forward and drive fast.

If you stay at the other end of the twelve miles you are under the canopy of downward draping second growth redwood forest. These giant rough skinned trees are like sponges, they suck up moisture and block out the sun, keeping everything cool. Damp. The fallen needles quiet the footsteps of creatures. Dusk comes early. It really feels like killers and spirits take haven in redwood forests.

This camp with bark strip siding was one we came upon through dense forest. Stories had been told and passed on and told again. “Somewhere up there there’s a vein that’s still producing nuggets.” I cradled a 30.6 in my left hand, my stronger right hand gripped the 9 mil. Sean was on my right with his gold dowsing stick.

“We’re real close..” he said, but with fear in his voice. He wasn’t ready for claim jumping this afternoon. I looked over and that sapling crook was trembling in his hands. It was pulling strong towards that cabin.

“If the old man was home we’d be dead by now…” I said. It didn’t give us the confidence I thought it would. Neither of us smiled.

A limb cracks behind us, we turn to the noise. Nothing else moves. We turn back to the cabin. A man of robust middle age stands there. He is dressed in a fine dark suit and smiling. Staring at Sean and I.

“Did you bring ice? It’s such a rare commodity in these parts.”

Sean and I looked at each other. We looked at the gentleman who’d spoken.

“You’re here for Robin’s birthday party, aren’t you?”

Sean and I looked at each other. We looked at the gentleman who’d spoken.

“It melted,” Sean said. He lowered his gold dowser to his side. My pistol was pointing at pine needles on the ground. I put it in my pocket.

Sometimes you get stories mixed up.

A guy at the junk mail factory told this dumb joke last week, and since then I’ve found four opportunities to retell it.

“A giraffe walks into a bar and says, ‘Hi-balls are on me’”.

(I could draw a picture in case you don’t get it)

I’d like you to take note if you are suddenly thrust into conversations about giraffes this week, now that you’ve heard the joke.

There’s a new blog on the block, and property values are gonna start going down. It’s called “Jeff the Bum” and it is a spot for Lyle and Oggy and I to work on the sit-com about homeless people.

I don’t like to pander, but I would love some guidance on how I can embed this blogger page into My Robot as a separate page, but within this domain. It gave me the option at set up, which I tried, but something didn’t click. Anyone out there who could point me in the right direction, I have dreamweaver and a limited grasp of the internet.

There will be a reward, i’m just not sure what. Maybe you’ll find it in heaven. Thanks.

This little image got me thinking of Yoken’s Restaurant on Route One in Portsmouth NH.

But Yoken’s ain’t no more. That landmark neon whale sign and New England’s largest gift shop – stuffed up to the gills with fake nautical bullshit – are now only remembered on google image searches.

I can’t say I think much about the place or ever lost a minute’s time reminiscing over an enjoyable memory of the sprawling industrial complex it had become shortly before its death, but that sign was an honest to god landmark.

“Thar she blows!” was all you had to holler and that image of a black whale on the blue sign would come to everyone’s mind who’d heard you. If you believed the hallway gossip in Portsmouth High, Kate Hubbard yelled it the first time she jerked Butch Dxxxxxx* off in his dad’s Ford. Regardless, it came as no surprise when they finally decided to knock it down and put a grocery store in its place. Who cared?

They were famous for churning out 55 gallon drums of seafood chowder that consisted of anything dragged in on a gill net or hauled up in a lobster pot. My good friend found a tampon applicator in his while enjoying the soup and sandwich special after church one Sunday.

That was Yokem’s. Yokem’s… that’s how old people called it, and that’s pretty much who went there. Leastwise towards the end. Old folks like my Grandmother’s Women’s Alliance or my Dad’s Rotary Club would rent out the conference center weekday afternoons and fine each other for not wearing their name badges, even though they grew up together in the same town for the last sixty years.

That’s how those organizations stay together, you hate the jerk and you can’t wait to get him to cough up three bucks into the “Eyeglasses For Indians” fund because he didn’t salute the flag when he walked in the room. I’ve been to Rotary. I seen how it works. When someone hangs around for too long they get on your nerves.

Best thing to do is take a picture and sell out.

*name has been changed per his request. Here is the email:
“Jon,
I appreciate a funny story along with the rest. I am not sure what I did to you but it is unfortunate that people I know and parents of my elementary school age boys can type my name into google and read this story. Any way keep up the good work I appreciate you smearing my name for no reason. Let me know when you are in town maybe I can buy you a beer.

Butch Dxxxxx”

To Butch and Kate and all the parents out there, please accept my apology. I was reporting gossip, not fact.

thanks to google image search and whoever took this

Look what turned up in the basement at an Estate Sale this morning! You forget how long My Robot has been around. This must be from the days of wooden transistors and unreliable pregnancy testing.

This really makes you want to quit smoking and put that money towards a drum kit. Right? It’s 1970 and the Aldens Fall/Winter catalogue just arrived. There isn’t a single mall in the WHOLE STATE of New Hampshire. It’s a big event, and you are dreaming about all the things you can be. Take a look at how Aldens plays the field. They cater to every whim. That’s how it used to be, before the internet let us specialize. Sears and Aldens and other catalogue companies didn’t have one look. They sold the Denim Look on the same page as the Cool Look.

The Denim Look

The Cool Look

There was no stopping them. Just like radio stations in the 70′s, shit was eclectic. No target market, you pack every option between the covers.

Old man Ling-Rod sent me back this negative from the pile I found in the garbage. It looks like something bad is happening inside that factory. Things seem a little too quiet.

Unrelated Rhyme

how many ducks
would a wood chuck fuck
if a wood chuck could fuck
ducks?

I don’t know, but they’d end up with decoys.
(wood ducks)

Yes that is a dumb rhyme with a bad punch line. So what?

I was raised to believe in God, that he was keeping track of all my thoughts. As I grew older and considered the feasibility of that, I became a unbeliever. Now that I’ve come to understand our ability to track people’s habits on the internet, I have become a disunbeliever.

The human thought process is an electronic one, and can be recorded. And can be played back. Like trying to figure out how ones and zeros can be sent wirelessly through the air and convert into a music video, I’ve heard that God can scan our brains and recover old data we tried to delete, but I don’t get how.

To Catch A Masturbater

The Christian Television Network has created a reality show where they track members of the congregation’s online destinations, and during a church service, a power point presentation is produced showing the questionable sites visited.

The guilty party can ask for forgiveness and guidance right then and there, or try to deny they had impure thoughts. It is fascinating to watch people try to lie there way out of it.

An Unlikely Coupling

Conservative Christians are very vocal in their opposition to stem cell research, yet they are eager to donate large sums of money to MIT and other research institutes who are investigating the processes of thought and memory.

It is already possible to surgically implant electrodes into human brains and manipulate actions via remote. But what members of The Christian Coalition are really interested in is the ability to someday record and “broadcast” memories and thoughts.

It is seen as a way to guarantee a place in heaven. If all sins and impure thoughts are available for peer review, then you can take steps to absolve yourself of those sins. This, combined with a sincere acceptance of Jesus the Christ of Nazareth who died on a cross for those sins, is all that is asked of you to gain entrance into the Kingdom Of Heaven.

Preachers, Priests, Deacons and Elders will be given access to parishioners complete mental activity in order to better give guidance on matters of spirit.

“God isn’t interested in robots,” says Roberta Combs, president of the Christian Coalition, speaking about the power to control activity through chip implants. “The Christian community is interested in becoming aware of our transgressions only so that we may take proper steps to mend them and come to peace with God’s will.”

GaryB comments on TechnologyReview .com:

“MIT is developing nanowire electrodes that are much finer than current electrodes. You can feed them into more parts of the brain while doing less damage to the tissue. If you injected a bunch of nano-bots into your brain, they could do more than just record. They could “memorize” your brain for resimulation later should you die. They could repair damage or eventually take over lost function. They could add new function — you could directly experience another’s thoughts … or make conscious your own internal workings of your brain.”

The Sun Also Sets, And It Gets Wicked Hot

Ecclesiastes 1:5 states that “the sun rises and the sun sets, and hurries back to where it rises.”

While this line of scripture put the Catholic Church at odds with the scientific community of Europe back in the early 1600′s, in a short three hundred years, (with the discovery of other universes in the 1900′s) the Catholic Church became convinced that the earth is the heavenly body that is doing the spinning, creating the illusion the sun moves around us.

Is it because sun no longer rises and sets that many Christian lambs are beginning to lie down with the lions of Science? That is not a question for either group, but is an answer only linguistics can provide.

because he trusted google not to turn over for the Chinese government.

Yesterday’s announcement of paper archive in gmail was an april fools joke. Thank god.

A while back my friend threw a silver and gold party, and with the help of my grandmother, I won the contest! Here I am with the runner up, who would have won, but for two factors.

1. She has on hardly any gold
2. No boy judges.

This suit was sewn together by my Gram, as mentioned, back in 1998. I’ve worn it once or twice a year since then, and people always flip when I tell them she made it for me. It is gold lame, patterned after the photo on “Half a million Elvis fans can’t be wrong”.

note the red velvet shoes on the right of her table. I glued the fabric to a pair of dress shoes.

I assisted where I could

Remember when email and the internet was going to reduce the amount of paperwork in our lives? Gmail, my email provider, has just announced it will be chopping down more forests than ever as part of its latest service package.

You can have them mail you hard copies of all your emails.

It doesn’t make any sense to me. Why not print them out yourself? No, they are going to print them for you, package them, and mail them to your doorstep. This will add lots of fuel use to the already wasteful process.

Why do we keep doing this to ourselves?