AT&T and the Great Suckable Conspiracy Theory

I had the misfortune of hearing yet another in a long line of conspiracy theories recently, this one pertaining to AT&T’s recent price changes and the not so unusually high volume of dropped calls. But for the life of me, my frazzled brain can’t seem to locate the exact location of the memory in question. Perhaps it is sleep deprivation, or my cramped cranium is starting to show signs of age and wear, whatever the case may be the memory escapes me at the moment. But the one thing that is almost certain is that it is more than likely a conspiracy theory born like so many others. Cousin Otis has too much free time on his hands, has had one too many Red Bull’s at 3:00 AM, and has spent too many hours perusing the vast wastelands of the world wide web, feeding a extremely over active, hungry imagination. Which when you think about it, really doesn’t seem like that much of a reach now does it?

It usually begins on one of those Roswell sites, where the government is either in cahoots with- or just flat out denying the existence of extraterrestrials. They have the bodies, they have the flying saucers, and they’re somehow keeping it from us. The damn government, trading secrets with the damn Martians now, and it goes all the way from Roswell to Area 51, that’s where they’re keeping the bodies, the secret aircraft, and of course EVERYBODY knows, that that’s where they are holding Elvis Presley prisoner. I’m never clear on how exactly Elvis fits into the equation but his name always seems to pop up in most of the popular conspiracy theories. Who really killed Kennedy? The same fuckers that kidnapped Elvis. Why can’t they find Bigfoot? He was a witness to the Elvis kidnapping so they took him prisoner too. And of course the only way to protect yourself from the Governments secret mind control device that is hiding the truth from us is to wear a hat made of aluminum foil to reflect the radio waves that televisions, radios, computers and cell phones all transmit into our brains. Which I’m guessing is how AT&T fits in.


And speaking of the corporate devils AT&T, the way that they fit into the conspiracy goes something like this: Cousin Otis who lives in Bugtussle Arkansas is on the phone with Uncle Clem in Porkbelly Kentucky at 3:00 AM, and right in the middle of a highly intellectual conversation about the correlation between the government, alien abduction, the Kennedy assassination and of course the suspicious circumstances surrounding the “Alleged” death of Elvis Presley- AT&T decides to drop the call. After which Cousin Otis has to resort to trying to climb up on his roof in the middle of a thunder storm to improve his reception and gets struck by lightning in the process. Meanwhile over in Porkbelly, Uncle Clem finds himself wandering around in the dark, in the bog out behind the farm uttering the dreaded words ‘Can you hear me now bubba?’ over and over again. which attracts the attention of a hungry grizzly bear who promptly rips him in half and drags his into the deep dark woods where he is never heard from nor seen ever again, which when you think about it- kinda makes the dropped call a moot point.




But lets not confuse the conspiracy theory in progress, to any sort of facts, after all the two are seldom in direct relation to one another. I have never seriously put a lot of stock in conspiracy theories of any sort, but I do find them rather entertaining in all of their ridiculous glory. Then perhaps the real truth isn’t as convoluted as all of that, maybe the truth is the American Government doesn’t know as much as everyone suspects they do, maybe they’re really as clueless as Otis and Clem. Maybe Elvis really IS dead. And Maybe Lee Harvey Oswald really DID shoot Kennedy.. And maybe AT&T drops phone calls because their service really does suck rhinoceros balls. So how about just this once we allow ourselves to set our theories aside if only for a moment, and lets accept our government for what it is, in all of its inept glory. Lets finally let Elvis rest in peace. And when you think about it it really doesn’t matter who shot Kennedy, no matter who pulled the trigger gone is gone and nothing will bring him back. And as for AT&T lets just leave them be, and let them suck their Rhinoceros balls. I mean they always have- (Sucked that is) -and the evidence would suggest that no matter what. They always will.

The Life of a Bait fish.

I always thought that swimming with sharks was some kind of metaphor for someone who was trying to fight to survive in a vicious business environment. I never thought that I would ever see it used in a literal sense. Then the other night I watching the discovery channel I think it was- there was a guy who was declaring his love of anything and everything sharky. No matter the species, he said that he would swim with any kind that would ummmm, have him I guess. Forgoing Balls for brains I decided that I would take a quick peek at some of the oceans less than popular residents.


The Mako:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




These little Buggers- (Yeah right.. Little) can be found in waters all across the globe and have been known to be as diverse as they are unpredictable. Some live in colder temperatures, some thrive in warmer climates, but the vast majority are found in waters around Tahiti. While people aren’t a part of a Mako’s diet they have been known to become extremely aggressive and even attack whenever humans enter into their environment. A common misconception seems to be that because it is a smaller shark than most, a Mako isn’t widely viewed as any real danger, nothing could be further from the truth. Although a Mako’s diet consists mainly of tuna, herring and swordfish, they WILL attack whatever gets their attention, and while migrating or hunting they have been known to hit speeds of up to 60 MPH in the water. Making them the fastest sharks in the ocean today. ~ For more information visit Sharks-world.com ~


The Blue Shark
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Picky eaters- they’re not. Basically whatever enters into the water becomes a part of the buffet. They prefer squid as their primary dietary supplement but will basically eat anything, they are fast and agile swimmers and although you find them in very deep waters they have been known to travel great distances to find the food. And perhaps the single most import thing to remember- when you see one, it is very likely that they have a few friends close by. Blues travel in small groups.. And they do like people.. And no, not in a good way.



The Great White
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Holy crap! Did you see the smile on that guy? Popularly known as the garbage disposal of the deep, these little rascals are very, very, VERY aggressive. They have an amazing sense of smell and it is believed that they can smell a single drop of blood in the water. They have a ferocious appetite, and a full grown Great White will dine on a wide variety of ocean delicacies ranging from fish, other sharks, seals and sea lions, and if they can’t get their chompers around some live prey- the will eat whatever the can get dead or otherwise. And they are NOT afraid of people! Cute little buggers though aren't they?

I really don't know why I feel like I need to explain this, but still I feel as though I must.. The reason I don't have a Facebook Page anymore.

It Sucks.




The End.

Chin up all ye little buggers..

It is 8:30 in the morning, it is still rather cool out and the day looks like it may just turn into a decent one. It is supposed to hit 83 degrees today for the high according to AOL. I get up, make a pot of coffee and head to the shower. That’s when I first hear something coming from the living room, I strain to listen over the sounds of gushing water as it beats against my skin, I turn off both faucets and step out of the shower and dry myself off, now it becomes clear, someone is knocking on the front door. I hurry to get dressed and make my way to the front of the apartment.

I swing the door open and poke my head out, my hair still dripping wet from the shower. The walkway is completely empty, so I step to the railing and look over the edge at the apartments downstairs. Nobody there. What the hell? I know I heard a knock, I shrug my shoulders and walk back inside glancing once again back down the walkway as I re-enter the apartment. That’s when I see the little guy with the clip board and shoulder bag climbing the stairs, crap, he spotted me and is now making a bee line to my front door.

I realize that there is no escape for me now so I lean up against the door jam to patiently await my fate, whatever it turns out to be. A strange feeling of déjà vu strikes me as he gets closer. “Henry Morrison” I say to myself, apparently louder than I intended to.
“What?” he asks leaning forward curiously.
“Ummm.. Nothing, just thinking out loud. What can I do for you?”
His shoulders suddenly square up and his posture straitens, and he becomes strangely indignant.

He straightens his glasses and begins to fumble with the papers on the clip board. Mumbling out loud as he goes. Its only 8:30 in the morning and I am already of the distinct impression that he is having a very bad day. His head is still pointed down, his face seems a bit reddened.
“Are you a registered voter in Carson County?” He asks.
“Yep.”
“I am here to secure your vote for the republican party in the Nevada State Primaries.”
Not his exact words, but my eyes glaze over whenever I hear the word; ‘Republican’ so I couldn’t really tell you what his exact words were.

I look him up and down wondering if he will ever raise his head to see exactly who it is that he’s talking to.
“Don’t you think it would be helpful to your cause to ask if I am a card carrying Republican before you try to secure my vote?” It seemed like a rational response.
He stops digging and looks up in surprise.
“Well.. Are you? A Republican?”
I slowly shake my head no.
“Nope.”
“Oh.. A Democrat then.”
“Nope.. Independent actually.”

He squares his shoulders and once again readjusts his posture as he goes storming towards the stairs mumbling under his breath every step of the way. I remember a kid named Henry Morrison, I used to know him in the seventh grade. He was always a little pest as I recall, always had his head down, always just a tad impatient with everyone, a very assuming kid. Always went out of his way to make people feel as though they owed him their undivided attention whenever he opened his mouth. Suddenly as I watch the angry, inpatient looking little man storming down the stairs with his head down. The immediate comparison becomes obvious. Funny, I hadn’t thought of Henry Morrison in many years and then he just popped into my head.


It serves as a reminder to me, and I think about it as I walk into the kitchen to pour my first cup of morning coffee. No matter how bad I think my day may end up being, any day, every day. The sun is going to come up, and it may rain or it may snow, or it may not. And no matter how many times I trip, I stumble and fall, no matter how many times I have to pick myself back up off of the pavement. I only have to pause and think about all of the Henry Morrison’s of the world, the ones that think everyone owes them something, all of the ones that have those kinds of days, everyday, for a whole lifetime. I can pick myself up, dust myself off and aim for tomorrow, at least we all have that. There’s always tomorrow.


~Scratch A.B.T copyright © 2010~

Brave Young Lads

We wandered in the fields of gold,
In the places of our birth,
Never questioning the values,
Of what our lives were worth.

Then the overlords came calling,
And took us to a place,
They gave us guns, and wars to wage,
And stripped our youth away.

Now they don’t teach us to live,
And they don’t teach us to learn,
And they don’t tell us the reasons,
Of why our hunger burns.

Just stand in silence, get in line,
And place your freedom on the shelf,
You’re a number now, you’re property,
And there’s no thinking for yourself.


My eyes have seen the coming,
Of the Modern age,
Where brave young lads
Stand shouldered,
In the midst of gun smoke haze.

And cultural indifference
Lay mixed in pools of blood,
I’m finished now
Now I just wanna go home.
Please let me go home.

~Based on the short story Brave Young Lads by A Timmons.~

~Scratch A.B.T. copyright © 2010~

To Zen And Back..

I knew a man, not one in particular, just a man, who never figured himself for much of anything special. Worked two jobs, had a wife, a child, plus a mortgage and a small pile of credit card debt that managed over a brief period of time to keep his head down and his eyes focused straight forward, blinders firmly in place, never seeing what was around him. Go to the office for eight miserable hours in the morning, come home in the afternoon and turn around and go to job number two for another eight. Five or sometimes even six days a week, leaving the little woman to pay the bills while he slaved away. What was her name? damn he could barely remember his kids name or his own, let alone hers. Too many lives with too many bills, and barely enough money to pay them, barely enough to keep a roof over their heads. Too many people, too many lives passing them by way too soon. Never seeing, never smelling, never once realizing what is around them, there are too many flowers to stop and smell, too many kids to listen to all of their laughter, or to see their smiles every morning, too many puppies chasing after too many kittens, too many family Barbeques when you couldn’t afford steaks, but hamburgers and hot dogs will do. Too many sunrises and sunsets to be missed with your husband or wife by your side, too much life missed.



A man died today, no not in the physical sense, in the sense that something inside of him died, like his soul, his spirit, his very essence had been stripped from him, like some piece of repossessed property. He died inside, from the lack of pure oxygen, from never being able to loosen his tie, or to really take a slow deep delicious breath of air, to stop and breathe in the fragrance of life. He died from the lack of Joy, of promise, of hope, living without living life. Stop.. what are you doing? Look.. Just look right there. You didn’t even see it did you?. You miss so much life when your head is down like that. Right outside that ridiculous cubicle that you slave away in everyday, just walk over to the window, open it up once in awhile. There. Right out there, there’s a whole world that you may never know, that you may never see. Just stop. Just look.. Listen. Just feel like you are alive inside, really alive and part of it all, part of something beyond the understanding of wealth and power, beyond their constraints. Just open the fucking window and breathe. It won’t cost you anything, I promise. A man died today, not in a physical sense, he died because he was so busy trying to make a living that he forgot to do any living. A man died today, and the truly sad thing is he didn’t have to.

~Scratch~ ABT Copyright © 2010~

Old School New. (A Reposting from Blogstream.Com)

They come at him from every angle. They come in waves of what seems like numbers ranging in the thousands. Zombies, werewolves, wombats and vampires and the like, monsters of every size, shape and color imaginable, all wanting a piece of the master. Does he panic? Nope. This is after all, what he was seemingly born to do, meet 11 year old Marvin Tallmadge, video game master, monster fighter extraordinaire. Nimbly his young fingers glide over the controller, vanquishing monster after monster, level 10, level 11, level 12, working on 13. He’s never been this far before, but he knows he’s going to do it, he’s going to beat level 13 and move farther in Monster Zombie Attack than any other kid on his block has before! Almost there, a little farther. Damn, only three zombies left in the swamp, then he has to deal with those pesky wombats waiting in the tree’s, the werewolves are all dead, and he put down the last vampire eon’s ago. Damn! They retreated back into the bog, ahh they’re trying to draw him in to where the wombats are waiting. Wait- something is wrong here. Marvin! Huh? What? Zombies don’t talk! And they surely wouldn’t know his name. “MARVIN!! Turn of that infernal video game and get your butt down here now!”
“But.. Daaaad. I’m, almost finished!” he yells looking back over his shoulder at the door.
Now distracted, the master monster hunter falls easy prey to the flesh devouring zombies who swoop in to surround and eat him. Please start level 13 all over again.
“NOOOOO!!!!“


He stands before his father, dejected, and more than just a little annoyed. He looks up at him from the sofa where he is forced to sit as his father prepares to deliver the morning lecture. He paces back and forth carefully eying the eleven year old at every pass.
“Son? Have you done your chores?”
“Yep.”
“Taken out the garbage?”
“Yep”
“Mowed The Lawn?”
“Yep, did it yesterday.”
"Done your homework?"
"Yep"
"Cleaned your room?"
"Yep"
He smiles triumphantly at his eleven year old son.
“Well then its time for your reward son!” he exclaims to the delight of the eleven year old.
A thousand thoughts race through Marvin Tallmadge’s mind. He is so excited, maybe he’ll buy a copy of Monster Zombie Attack II! Yeah that must be it! He looks up at his father with a renewed sense of respect.
“Son go get your fishing pole! You and I are going to spend the day up at Lake Hazatoxin hiking and fishing! Isn’t that great son??”
“Huh?”
“Just you and me. A father and son alone in the woods. side by side!"
"Huh?"
"Think of it son.. all alone, Fishing, hiking, No phones, no TV, no video games! Just you and me son, bonding with nature and the elements!”
“I have a fishing pole?”

They drive on for more than two hours before Marvin Tallmadge’s father steers the gray Lexus into the parking area at the base of Lake Hazatoxin. They get out of the car and he begins to study his unfamiliar surroundings. The towering pine trees, the loud chirping sounds of the birds, the dark winding pathways leading upwards into the hillside where Lake Hazatoxin itself awaits their impending arrival. His father assigns him the task of carrying the fishing poles while he himself carries the tackle box and the picnic basket that holds their lunch. Half way up the trail as he looks around a thought occurs to young Marvin Tallmadge. “Damn! This would be the perfect spot for a Zombie/wombat ambush! This could be a trap! Damn we have to go back!” he looks up at his father.
“Dad are you sure this is such a good idea?” he asks.
“Keep walking son, the next left turn is going to take us all of the way to the edge of the lake. Stay sharp!” they arrive at the feet of Lake Hazatoxin moments later. Exhausted from the hike, the father almost collapses onto a picnic table that is nestled in the trees some fifty or so feet from the lake.
“Whoo son! I forgot that the air is so much thinner up here than in the city. Now don‘t you worry about a thing, I‘m going to help you bait the hook and cast it out the first time. Just until you get used to it”
he sits the tackle box down on the table and begins to rummage through the assorted hooks, lines and sinkers until he arrives at what he believes to be the perfect combination, before removing the container of worms to bait the hooks with.

The scene for the next twenty or so minutes reminds young Marvin Tallmadge of an old Three Stooges gag, as he sits curiously watching his father try to bait the hooks, while dropping first the worms themselves on the ground, followed by the rod & reels being dropped into the lake, followed by his father wading into the shallow part of the lake to retrieve them, followed by he himself slipping on a slick rock resulting in him falling ass first into the water, followed by some slightly subdued giggles coming from the eleven year old son. The next hour features disaster upon disaster for the father on the fishing front. Finally the two decide to eat lunch before hiking back to the car to drive home. Silently Marvin Tallmadge gnaws at his sandwich before having yet another revelation that he reluctantly shares with his slightly aggravated and no less dejected father.
“Hey Pop?” he asks waving the sandwich in the air. “what kind of sandwich did you get?”
His father looks at him with a cold blank stare.
“I think they are all the same son.. Tuna I think.” he answers flatly.
Marvin smiles triumphantly.
“Well at least we got some kinda fish to eat today! Ay Pop?”
He rises to his feet giving his son a cold humorless look.
“Lets get back to the car son.”

For the next two hours he leads them up and down every wooded trail that the shores of Lake Hazatoxin has to offer, before finally coming to rest in a clearing over looking the very spot that had stood only two hours previous. The father stops to scratch his head.
“We should have went left at that last trail fork, I think I may have missed a landmark or two, C’mon son, we’ll have to back track.”
They move back up the trail until finally the eleven year old boy begins to point out where they should be walking. And soon finds himself taking the lead, winding along trailhead and forks, turning left, turning right, going uphill, going downhill until finally in the clearing ahead of them, the gray Lexus appears right where they left it.
“Ok son, I have to ask, how did you remember where the car was?” his Father asks.
Marvin Tallmadge produces a slim, shiny black gadget from his pocket.
“Pop, I programmed our exact position into my GPS before we got out of the car.“
The father stares at him grimly.
“is there anything else that you’d care to share with me son?”
“Umm well.. Pop?”
“Yes son?”
“Do you remember that term paper that I wrote last year that I researched on the internet?”
“Why yes I do. I believe, you got an A+ on that paper, your mother and I were so proud.” he smiles.
“Pop. Well I wrote that paper on botany. You know. The study of plants? Well I don’t know how to tell you this but.. You see that stuff your standing in?”
He looks down at his feet.
“Pop. I’m pretty sure that that is poison Ivy.”
“We’d better get moving son, I’m pretty sure that we may be stopping by the doctors office on the way home. I want to get there before they close.”

~FIN~

~Scratch. A.B.T. Copyright © 2009~