Superman

Have you seen the trailers for this?

I just don’t know how to feel about this movie. Brian Singer did a great job on the X-Men and I loved him for it. Those two movies were as good as that comic was ever going to get on the big screen. That many character people love all together on the screen at the same time, and he still managed, as a whole, not to piss off any fanboy. That took a lot of skill and I won’t forget that.

But all the crap it took to get Superman back on the screen, all the revisions of the script, and all the people fired from the production make me fear he doesn’t have a chance to make a movie worth a damn. Trashing the movie lore by forgetting the last two movies was a stroke of genius. He’s also pulled any supernatural villain (spare me the Lex Luthor rant and go find a date) out of the movie so you can concentrate on the boy in blue. He tore all the things away that made anyone reading about it wince and replaced it with a story of being an outcast trying to win the people back. So freaking clever!

And, yet, I still have the feeling that I’ll be bored with it like I was as a kid when I saw the first one. It will play out of having him using his godlike power to make us feel awe in someone with such power and using it for good. Then, someone will find a green rock and he will fall on the ground and cry and writhe like you do when you hit your knee on the coffee table in the morning. The last part will be some ordinary person will kick the rock over a few feet; he will bounce back up and save the day. Woo Hoo. The world saved and I’m out ten bucks.

I’m really sick of the green rock story. It bores me terribly. I can see it coming and can only pray that it’s done in a better way. I believe in you, Brian. You made X-men work when no one else would have stood a chance. For me and for the inner child George Lucas viciously murdered, please make me believe a man can fly.

LOST

Ok, with the season of Lost ending, I am ready to start my summer of no (ok, less) television. I have to admit; I love that series and will pick it back up in the fall. I can only pray they actually planned out the whole thing in advance like they said they did and don’t just run the thing into the ground trying to keep it going.

I love the way the BBC does things. They write series that actually have an ending, and the stories are incredible. They don’t torture you like Will and grace with episodes about who can be the most neurotic so they can milk the network for millions. Not like I have sympathy for the networks, but you catch my drift.

I have a great idea. How about we get a group of actors and writes story lines that are one or two seasons long? Then, once it ends, you take the same cast and make them new characters in a completely new story. The angel of the first story could be the harlot of the second. The poor kid could be the serial killer in the next. Imagine how interesting it could be in keeping the show fresh, and yet they can still milk the network for years of “buy this SUV or you neighbors will think you are losers” goodness.

I’m very clever. Remember I came up with this idea so you can be witnesses when I sue someone for using it. See, anyone can milk the networks.

Oh, I’m like Paris Hilton now

Sheer genius. That is what I call the newest marketing to us these days. Now that you can own anything as long as you can hold off the creditors, how do you keep your individuality while still buying the exact same thing as everyone else has? Well, by purchasing accessories, of course!

In this new world the web connects us all, everyone gets the same TV channels, and mega-corps have provided us with a standard set of shops in every town. It’s a wonderland out there. Never even feel bad that you can’t travel, because every town in America that has more the ten thousand people has the exact same shops in it. There is not a Mennonite that doesn’t know Starbucks, and you can go down any road on which they might have filmed Deliverance and find some toothless wonder in an Old Navy shirt.

The individuality of every town is close to extinction, but at least we are all in fashion together. The fear of us all becoming the Logan’s Run society is near, but the people who sell us our ideas have come up with a way to keep you fresh and different from everyone else. You can buy accessories for everything these days, like iPods, Xbox 360’s, refrigerators, cars, coffee, lunches, web service, and even pets. Just think how much money you have blown not only buying what everyone else has, but I bet you have blown twice that trying to personalize it. Good job, now everyone picks you out from teems of people drowning in debt and says “Wow, that guy loves red.”

Think through just how much money you have lost buying a named item and then how much more on personalizing them. Doesn’t in make you feel just a little manipulated? All these years after getting out the hell that was high school, and you are still trying to fit in with the cool kids. Go buy a generic; it costs less and gives a little bit of your soul back with every purchase.

Quiet Riot

I read yesterday that some people were buying gas for 29 cents in New York. It must have been a grand time for the buyers. I bet they felt proud they stuck it to the oil companies for that mistake. I imagine they feel great, and didn’t even consider all they did was cause some person that owns a convenience store to lose a lot of money.

Do you think the people knew that little fact? Were they misguided protestors, or just a bunch of scum sucking thieves? I almost hope they were thieves. Because I’m really getting tired of seeing Americans easily vault the bar is stupidity.

Do you recall how the French protested America’s plan to invade Iraq and get the weapons of mass destruction? Don’t look away, I’m talking to you. You remember that, right? They kept saying rude things, like “more proof.” You laughed when David Lettermen said “The last time France waited for more proof, it walked into Paris with a Nazi flag.” You looked at the American graveyards in France and were angry they would even question us after our sacrifice. Well, you know you did and I’ll not press you on it.

Anyway, during that little time of patriotism, there was a group of protestors who got a lot of air time all over the world. It was a group of people who showed their disapproval of France not backing us by pouring out French wine. Did they steal the wine? Did they boycott it? Did they protest stores that soled it? Nope, those fools paid for the wine, got in front of a camera, and poured it into the sewers. Must have been a sharp stick in the eye to be holding a wad of cash from the sales of all that wine and see it wasted like that. I bet the guy that sold it to them couldn’t sleep wondering how much more French wine he could get in stock in case you decided to do it again. You dumb people; do you not even see how stupid you look?

I don’t travel to other countries and think everyone hates me because I’m American. I see them pity me because they think I’m a moron like the ones they see on the news. I pray it was thievery that happened to those poor people who owned the gas station. I pray it because I know in the next week I’ll see some dumb American go buy 100 gallons of gas to burn a protest to the oil companies in his lawn, or buy an SUV and run it off a cliff to protest low gas mileage.

And the rich eat you…

Pleasantries

My mother once gave me the fresh out of the can advice of, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all” on my way back from meeting with the principal of my elementary school. Even at that young age, I snidely replied that would mean that we never spoke again. She laughed and agreed, but I meant it. I wonder how many people are rude on purpose and how many are just suffering from a butterfly effect of the last jackass that crossed their path?

I have been doing my best to change the way I treat people in my life for the past two years and I must say it has been a good thing. I go to counters, and instead of asking for my drink, I say hello and ask them how their day is going. The look dumbfounded most of the time, but usually say “fine,” and “thank you,” and then tend to get me what I want and look like they are actually trying. Amazingly, the only person that seems to not like me doing this is whatever chode is behind me wondering how they will ever get back the three seconds it took me to show so humanity to the kid in the paper hat. I often have to step on my toe not to turn around and ask how they got so damn busy that those three seconds could turn the tide of their existence, but I am trying to be a better person and that would be wrong. It would probably make me squeal with glee, but it still would be wrong.

The effect doesn’t seem to be that great, but I have noticed the memorized greeting the counter clerk has for the next person in line does have the slightest upswing in it. Often it is dashed by the person behind me, but I’m not Mother Theresa, so I don’t worry about it passing so quickly.

Where was I? Oh, right, the point of my story is, well, there is no point. Just try and be nice to the guy at the counter. Would if kill you to spare a second be pleasant and not just remind them they are trapped in a crappy job?

Strangers

Somehow we have been forced into a vision of a stranger as a person that wants to stab us, steal our items, and bag our wife while they are drinking the last beer in the refrigerator while we are at work. We seem to set up strangers as monsters in the fairy tale we keep in our mind as a good life. Is it all just the media and marketers teaching me to fear everyone so they can sell items to every single person instead of lessening their profits by the horror we might share things? There are millions of these strangers around me. I can’t help but wonder how I have even lived a week with all these vile creatures constantly circling me like a shark waiting for me to look away. They are here to take my iPod, then foul my shoes and must be stopped. Damn you, unfamiliar person, what unspeakable evil do you plan against me?

As I leave the gun store with the promise I can have a handgun once I stop screaming, I try to recall what made me so afraid in the first place. Then I think back to the moments of my life and see what hurt me and why. I know I am responsible for my life, but there are other characters in the story. It was the best friend who needed a place to stay and played Sancho with the girl I thought to marry. It was the family that was so self-consumed; they never saw the child that needed guidance. It was the friend who borrowed my stereo and then pawned it. It was the high school friend who knew who robbed my house, but didn’t tell me because he didn’t want me to know he was hanging out with an ex-girlfriend. They were all terrible moments, but not a stranger to be found.

They did me no harm. If they stole my wallet, would it be worse then what a close friend could do? God bless strangers. They don’t know me well enough to really hurt me.

The Stock Racket

Today, the Dow is down 100 points? Do you even know what that means? If you really do, why the heck are you even reading this or any other blog? Are you sitting on your couch after being the patsy for the other brokers? Perhaps all your money has driven you mad and you wanted to peek at the little folk before you got a humus rub down from a man you hired to dress as a leprechaun. Maybe you just got out of business school and decided to read up on what was hot with the kids to build the next great ETF. Whatever your reason, glad to have you here and don’t waste my time telling me what the Dow is because I really don’t care.

I think my real question is, why the heck should any middle class person really care? They are the true majority of the nation I reside in. To them, the stock market is a mystery. Some more respectable race track that takes years to come in so you don’t have to tell the wife you lost all the savings in an afternoon. You can blame the current economy and feel like you were robbed by the rich instead of your own stupidity of picking a horse with a cool name. It’s a dog track at best, and a lottery if you happen to find the next person to find a way for us to not get caught watching porn.

I suppose there are financial advisors that know a great deal about the bets, but they want money to tell you what to invest in. These legal bookies are great resources of information that can help you really know the best horse, but how many of the middle class can even afford to talk to one? Hell, how many of them can afford the tie they are wearing? Go ask them what they would invest in and what they do invest in and see two different answers. That makes me worry perhaps it’s all a scam to get your fees so they can give you the answer they were told to give, and one you have to spend a lot of cash in to get screwed over. Why would any of us even want to learn such a soulless game?

And yet, it’s something I read every day. The Dow is up, it’s down, it’s afraid of oil, buy gold, be wary of bulls and bears attacking you in the market, and stop buying gold. How the hell did this enigma to the majority of America become so prominent in our news? Couldn’t the rich just buy themselves a TV station and keep it there? What will get you better feedback in the places you frequent? Would it be the price of Tyco stock today or the scores of the ball game?

I’m tired of seeing people give their money away to the wealthy in hopes to become one. I think I’ll go join a credit union and help our neighbors, so we profit together. The next time I decide I want to be rich; I’m going to buy a lottery ticket. Throwing my money away like that goes to school taxes in my state. Perhaps my kids will get a better education and can explain to the rest of us why I pay monthly fees to have a bank use my money for their own profit.

Notice to Humans

It’s a bear! What did you think was going to happen?

Thank you.

You win; just try to sound the sirens for me

Remember that scene in Roxanne where Steve Martin buys the paper? Well for you that didn’t see this pinnacle of a story rehashed every five years, you really have missed out. The scene play out that Steve’s character goes to a newspaper machine to buy, amazingly enough, a newspaper. He gets it out of the machine, starts reading, screams at the top of his lungs, and rushes quarters into the machine to put the damn thing back. Watching the news of late has given me just that kind of feeling. Then something else happened.

Things are getting to the point where I’m unfazed by any horrible thing I hear. I hear of the deaths of good people in Iraq everyday and I just add it to the number in my head. I hear of the vast corruption of the subcontracting of the rebuilding of New Orleans and can only think “Well, at least we will know where to locate a majority of our undocumented workers this fall.” There is a volcano erupting in Indonesia and I start to wonder how much press Vesuvius will get when it decides to relocate its inhabitants. I heard a horrible story that both of a woman’s arms were found in an alligator in Florida last week, and all I wonder was if she lost the first arm shaking her finger at the alligator when it took the first one?

I think I am done for a while. I don’t want to watch them tell me that I have a chance to be brutally murderd every fifteen seconds or that my cat is running a meth lab. I don’t want to hear that my government is torturing people in other countries and they know I surf the web to find action shots of squirrel fights. I don’t want to know that my grocery store is dropping prices on avocados to put my neighbor’s fruit stand out of business. I just don’t think I can take much more right now.

So, in short, I may not be the one to ask about what happened in Iran in the next few weeks. If you could please, make sure my local civil defense sirens are operating so I will know to get laid one last time before I have to go put in my job application with the Morlocks.

‘Tis the season

Well, the army of bad television is almost stopping for summer and I must say I am excited about it. What will be on this summer? Will it be an old Greek Mythology story, cutting out all the homosexuality so no one bans it? Will it be some fantastic biblical epic that has been edited just in the right places so we don’t offend the people who pretend to have read it in the last twenty years? Will they have a Facts of Life reunion to show us that fat kids can live happy and learn how to live better if you stop calling them fat every week? I’m sure many web readers already know these answers, but I personally don’t care.

It’s kill your television summer at my happy little compound and I’m ready to go for a walk and live like a man free of the burden of which one of the “Desperate Housewives” will lose all moral reasoning and hurt the people they care about. I will breathe the fresh city air as I no longer wonder who the hell had time to draw a florescent map on a blast door that no one seems to care about being there in the first place. It will be a great time, of healing and self improvement. Books will be read, games will be placed, monuments will be visited, and penguins will be met.

The question is will I go back? When it all comes back on the air, will I find myself stuck in front of a TV with my attention span being cut to pieces by the glowing box that brings me joy? I hate my TV; it has made me a fat, unthinking sod that needed Superman to not only fall to the ground and look sick when they hold the glowing green rock near him, but also to say “Kryptonite….making….me….feel…weak….” Sure, I might have had something to do with it, but now is not the time for me to be the first person in my country to take accountability for my own actions. Now is the time to blame the people who make these happy video snippets of life worse then my own to make me feel better about being a screw-up and free myself from this couch based existence.

So, here I am. I am ready to walk away for my video enslavement and get back to using my mind and let it grow into the useful device it once was. When was the last time I sat in silence for more then five minutes without feeling a bit of panic? When was the last time I could focus on one thought and really give it the attention it deserved? It will be glorious, and I will feel empowered and will be a better person for it. I will never go back, never! I will be free!

At least till October when Battlestar Galactica comes back on. That show rocks, and you are out of your damn mind if you think I’m going to miss it.

Keep the Revolution Talk to a Minimum, Grandma

You know how the terrorists are calling in to not only kill us, but skew the results of the next American Idol? Well, it’s not going to happen on Bush’s watch. Luckily, the NSA has been able to keep us safe from that by doing wiretaps. You know how they do it? Well, they won’t tell you, so that makes us all very safe. Besides, I’m sure the Justice Department will give it a look over just to make sure it is not illegal, or defiling your rights like some drunk prom date. What’s that? Not even the Justice Department is allowed to know what they are doing. Oh I feel very safe indeed. I’m glad they doing whatever they are doing to make sure I am safe. I think I’ll call my family and tell them how safe we all are.

Well, guess what. Look at this. How safe do you feel now? Do you know who you called last month? Well, they do. They know who, when, for how long, and how many times. Let me also add that these stories are coming out from luddites that still think their computer is a word processor. If you think for a second ANYTHING you did on the web today didn’t get recorded, turn off the system now and throw away your machine. You are too much of a danger to yourself to own it. But don’t worry; it’s just those companies, right? It’s not like you are using those companies to connect to other people, right? Yeah, perhaps you should think this through.

If I hear one more person tell me that “as long as I am doing nothing wrong, I have nothing to fear,” I will tear my hair out. You know what? You pick your nose. You have phone sex with your lover. You like to paint happy messages on cockroaches. You like to pee on your couch because it makes you fee like you are in control. You like to staple bacon to yourself while you watch “The Golden Girls.” Not a bit of it is illegal, but do you really think you want other people to know that, publicly? You may be shunned at the PTA for letting your bacon chest fly, but at least you’ll be safe.

I’d like you to call your phone company and ask then for a list of every call your ex has made in the last year. Ask them what you need to get that information. Then ask if the NSA needed to do that. Thank you AT&T. I was thinking about canceling my home phone. You just made it a priority.

The Passion of the Cruise

This week was a rough one for our buddy Tommy. His new flick only made 47 million at the American box office. That poor man, I can feel his pain. It must be so terrible to have so much damn money that you could swim through it like Scrooge McDuck and yet feel empty when your movie flops like that. Sure, it made another 70 million across the world, but America is his Daddy. Daddy missed his soccer match. What can he do to get past this?

Perhaps his friends can break him out of this? He could seek solace in his religion to get him through this terrible time in his career. He could treat it like a midlife crisis and take a thrill-seeking ride on a fire truck, or a motorcycle, or a racecar, or a speed boat. How about if he goes and knocks up a girl half his age, that works for some people who are getting old and don’t want to admit it. Nah, that might just make him look creepy.

You won Tom; you have successfully gotten everyone on the planet to know who you are. There are kids in Ethiopia who could be asked in between groans of starvation if they know who you are and they would say, “Yeah, that guy’s a freak.” Not the freak all the girls lust for. Any young girl that lusted for you just got a big case of the willies when you had Katie Holmes impregnated. Now you’re just an old dude that had his way with a kid. That’s creepy; Michael Jackson creepy.

How much time do you have left before Scientology disavows all knowledge of you?

Respect

“Well, I was going to give him head, but I was so drunk I was worried I’d put my eye out.”

That would be the sentence I heard as I walked up to the two ladies waiting to cross the street. Both of them stood in torn jeans, tight blouses, reflective makeup, and enough gaudy accessories to make them look sparkly. If not for having “E!” on my cable system, I might have mistaken them for beaten hookers.

Both of them looked back at me, and then turned back to the conversation without even lowering their voices.

I don’t even know what to say. I’m just too old. I can’t seem to get past the idea that you should respect and cherish the woman you are in love with. She should be a pristine thing that you want to hold above all else; whether she is a waitress, or steelworker, or mother, or lawyer, or all of them combined. These two ladies before me didn’t get that. They just wanted to be desired and didn’t even really know what that meant.

Perhaps the short attention span world we have created has transitioned over to our relationships. What a sad thing. I look at a couple of 50 years and feel a respect and pride for something I would shake the earth to have. I think these people in front of me would think of how many people they could nail in the next week. Perhaps you think it’s just how you are supposed to be in college? Perhaps, but if these two were still in college, they were PhD’s.

Oh really?

This just in: movie coma patients are misrepresented!

That’s right boys and girls, it’s all a wrong. Remember how you broke your arm trying to steal pies from the windowsill of that old lady down the street and it took months to get the muscles working right when you got the cast off? Recall the year of physical therapy you had to go through after taking a bad fall escaping those angry hookers? Well it also applies to sitting in a bed for weeks, months, or years. I know, I’m simply shocked how you go through all the effort to drag yourself out of a coma and you still have to deal with muscle atrophy. Apparently, I’m not the only one.

They didn’t give the numbers, but the people conducting the survey were surprised to find what a high percentage of the audiences thought the movie scenes of the coma patient was accurate. Personally, I’m not all that surprised, but then again, I doubt people conducting research for Reuters get down to the Wal-Mart as often as they should. Perhaps if they did, they might conduct a study on how Wal-Mart is run by werewolves (It’s true, remind me to explain it to you some time.)

I’m sure the movie industry will view this information and change it immediately. Perhaps they can hire Spielberg to re-master them to be covered in tubes and wires, or just put a flashlight in their hand. Or, you could put the remote down long enough to teach your kid something. If not, I propose plan B. Next time you have to bring Timmy in to see his grandpa in the hospital after he tried to climb out of the car window on the way to the retirement home, don’t tell him he’s in a coma. All the tubes and machines will just confuse him and lead to more questions. Just tell him he’s a cyborg.

Does Noah Know a Good Electrician?

Living in Austin was a damp life these past weeks. I know how many of you want to flood me with “You don’t know rain!” replies, but please spare me. If people in Seattle got two weeks of 100 degree plus weather, they would be committing suicide. Well, more of them would then usually do, I guess. Or maybe they would cheer up seeing some sunlight and decide to make the world a better place. Ok, it’s a bad analogy. Is it technically an analogy? Oh hell, let’s just drop it and say it won’t stop raining in my town.

The past weekend brought a great storm of rain, hail, and winds that is a reminder that God hates poor people, especially ones who live in trailers or near water. After giving the usual group the beating they needed to remain faithful to Him instead of that creepy Hilton guy who goes around in drag; he made a special visit to west Austin.

West Austin is where the older money tends to build up their great white havens and lives to protect themselves from all those nasty immigrants. No, not their gardener Juan, he’s one of the good ones. Storms tore the whole area to pieces and lightening took out what the wind couldn’t knock down. Hundreds are without power even four days later, repair crews from Houston were called in to help, and the whole area is about as furious as a Baptist is allowed to get when there is a camera on them. One woman in particular had me rolling with laughter and disgust while I was getting ready for work today.

They conducted the interview on the second story porch of her home and you could tell she was mad. Her hair had one strand out of place and she shook her finger at the camera as if the reporter was to blame. As she went on with words like “ridiculous” and “irresponsible,” I found myself getting blinded by the rock on her ring that must have powered the laser in Congo and getting a feeling of not giving a damn. For some reason, a person that could afford to buy a hotel, or a private repair crew for that matter, doesn’t get to have my sympathy. Guess I’m just mean that way.

I’d love to turn this into a rant to bring down the rich and divide their wealth till we all live in a glorious utopia where all the boys have X-Boxes and girls can buy what ever whorish thing Lindsey Lohan is wearing this week, but I won’t. I won’t because the storm destroyed a lot of home computers and I will make a killing repairing them all since the people who live there are too busy to bother with trying to fix something themselves.

Was it Jello Biafra who said, “Eat the Rich?”

Hell to the Chief

The press is still mumbling about Steven Colbert’s performance last Saturday. I use the word mumbling because it’s almost like they want to discuss it, but quietly so no one sees them. It’s hysterical to watch as the cheer or jeer him and then change the subject quickly. They are dieing to talk about it, and yet it’s almost like they are not allowed. Poor media, still so scared to get fired to do the job they were hired to do. I wonder how much of my integrity I’d give up for a paycheck like they get. Would I get into my car with the expensive insignia wonder and if I owned it, or it owned me. I don’t think I’ll ever know, and I’m a bit thankful for that. Not too much, I was still raised to be a consumer whore. And How!

Well, in any case, I’ll talk about it. That was the most uncomfortable twenty minutes I have seen since Andy Kaufman did his wrestling matches. It was like telling stories about how your grandmother had peed herself last Christmas and didn’t know it, then seeing her standing in the doorway as you get to the punch line. Except what he did was no accident. It was clever, it was biting, it was hysterical, it was true, and it was just damn mean. I love Colbert, I love his work, and I agreed with every thing he said. I’m damn glad it was said and that he heard, but that doesn’t change the fact that it was mean and it lowered him in my eyes.

Perhaps the only way to stop a bully is to punch in the face and make him cry in front of everyone. Still, it takes his dignity, and it makes you no better then him. If you like what Colbert did, you should thank him. Thank him because I think he just gave up a lot of respect to show us something. He showed us that it’s not the least bit funny, because it’s true.

Blu-Ray Blues

Looks like Blu-ray is almost here. I have to admit what kind of nerd I am by the fact the only reason I am excited about it is that I’ll be able to start reducing the dozens on DVD’s I have of data to a few of the Blu’s.

I recall converting the CD’s to DVD’s and felt a weight lifted as I took the tower of disks to the recycling bin. I also recall taking them back in and destroying them so no one else could have my precious data. This was followed by pondering if I should make a second copy of everything and put it in a fireproof safe or get a safety deposit box in another city in case of terrorist attacks or volcanoes.

As I came back from my vision of an apocalyptic future where I was on the run from mutants desperate to have the only copy of Toto’s “Africa,” I decided I had been single too long. You’d be surprised how far the pick up line “I just condensed all my music to DVD’s” will get you at a Goth club, but that is another story.

The current prices for the devices and the blank disks are around $1000 and $45 respectively, so I don’t see me outside the Best Buy on the first day. Seeing how CD, CD-R, and DVD devices dropped that price so quickly; I think I can wait. I’m not the kind of nerd who has to have the new gadget the day it comes out.

Yeah, I did stand in line to see Star Wars at midnight. What about it? You don’t know me…

So It Begins

At long last, I have taken up the keyboard and started a blog. I know there are at least ten of them out there already, so I'll try not to be too repetitive. There is so much to discuss and enlighten you with, but I have to start somewhere. What will I go with? What to write? Oh I’ve got it.

Dear drunk girl on my couch last week,

Live aliens have not been captured by our government and are being experimented on and interrogated as we speak. How do I know?

They have mastered interstellar travel! There’s a good chance they might have come up with a few other nifty inventions. How the hell do you propose we captured them, a banana in a jar? Do you really think they went missing and their race just let it go? Did they neglect to put a signal in his ship like every damn thing we have made since the 90’s? “Damn, Geeglob turned off his communicator near that monkey rock in the Milky Way. Guess he wants to be left alone or he would have told us he was going to try to disappear. We should not go looking for him; no way should we do that.”

I’m sorry to say, but if by some great chance this indeed happened, it must be the equivalent of some jackass that got too drunk and puts his truck in the river. Even if they do have him alive, I seriously doubt they will get much technology out of him. Go ask the next person you see to tell you exactly how a television works. Go ask the next twenty.

Thank you for drinking my liquor, now please don’t barf on my cat on the way out.