Thursday, November 20, 2008

Episode 38 -- Bail Water, Bail Water!

Inside a duffel bag, tied up in duct tape, stuffed into a storage canister, at the bottom of a deep lake there was a secret. That secret was the body of a once-powerful man, the Chancellor of the Former Checker. Once known as Little Jimbo, the Chancellor had inherited his father's industrial fortune. Unfortunately, he made the wrong people angry. This is what brought him to his present predicament.

Bride Lake, where the Chancellor was spending his retirement, was surrounded by electric fences, and the area surrounding the lake was guarded by hungry coyotes. Even so, it was not a difficult task for the Seven Angry Soldiers to dispatch their animal foes and to make their way under the cover of darkness to the lake's edge.

Once there, they fulfilled their mission without a sound. A very large raft suddenly inflated, and two of the men rowed it as the others used sonic equipment to probe the depths of Bride Lake. After several moments, one of the men held his fist in the air -- a signal for the rowers to stop rowing. The men dropped an anchor, and four SCUBA divers entered the water as silently as fish. A few minutes later, they surfaced with their prize: the chancellor's corpse.

By the next morning, the Seven Angry Soldiers were on planes to different parts of the world, and the rotting corpse of the Chancellor of the Former Checker lie on a slab at Area 61. In front of the hideously twisted body stood three doctors; on the other side of the table, pondering his own origin, was the Obese American.

"You're going to resurrect THAT?" Our hero was both astonished and gagging at the same time.
"Gentlemen," said one of the doctors, "we can rebuild him."
Another doctor turned to our hero and asked, "Did you bring the Vodan device?" The rotund one produced a small sphere that was connected to eight pods so that the object resembled a metallic spider. He nodded, still shuddering at the sight of the corpse.
The two remaining doctors had just finished extracting the Chancellor's brain from what was left of his body. The brain smelled of formaldehyde, sweat, and decaffeinated coffee. After placing the Vodan spider in a position around the brain, they smiled at one another and took the brain into another room. The Obese American could only wait.

About ten minutes later, Lectros strode into the room. Lectros was a fellow member of HERO Inc. who also had top-level CIA clearance. His presence was unusual in this situation, given that the CIA was not supposed to know about the medical procedure that was taking place next door. Lectros and our hero greeted one another, and then the operative continued:
"That's quite a sight," he said. The Obese American concurred.
"Are you sure this guy can help?"
"I'm fairly sure of it," reported the Large One with certainty. "He and the budget-cutting forces were great opponents back when he was ... when he was alive."
"Those guys know what they're doing. I'm sure your man will be back on his feet in no time."

Lectros was sure, but the Spirit of America was filled with doubts. Within five minutes' time those doubts were removed, for into the room strode the scientists together with a fully restored Chancellor. "I hear that I have you to thank for my revival," he said. Our hero acknowledged it humbly. "When the time comes, you'll be rewarded. Meanwhile, we've got to get to work. Explain the situation to me."

Both the Obese American and Lectros relayed what they knew, and what the FBI and other authorities had been able to learn. Elections were being rigged all around the country, and money was missing everywhere; indeed, it seemed to be oozing from every one of the nation's pores. Some were advocating stealing money from the people, but others were rumored to be killing off their opponents in order to cut costs. One college reportedly solved its financial woes by murdering one of its own employees and collecting the insurance money, although even the presence of on of the nation's best detectives could not prove that the college was responsible for the murder.

"The situation is hideous," the Chancellor said. "I'll get right on this." He charged out of the room like a rogue rhinoceros, leaving the others gaping. The next day, the newspapers heralded the headline: Former Checker Returns -- Seeks Grant from Mafia. Indeed, the Chancellor was working on the problem, but he intended to solve it in his own way. "I've only made things worse," Bobby (OA) Yokel mumbled to himself while reading the morning news and eating a twelve-egg cheese omelet.

Another day passed, and the Chancellor of the Former Checker appeared on television. "I'll be brief," he said. And indeed his remarks were pithy. "I challenge the governor of this state to a high-stakes cage match. If he wins, I'll help him carve the budget like a turkey, but if I win, he has to find funding for the whole economy." The governor returned the challenge with one change: "The battle will be a grudge match -- to the death."

NEXT: Enter The Spoiler

Friday, November 7, 2008

Episode 37 -- The Winner Is...

Before Bobby Yokel had the accident that turned him into the Obese American, he was a mediocre attorney. Now he was much more than that: he was a mediocre attorney who doubled as a superhero. This fact became quite relevant when the Lost Wages mayoral race turned into such a blame game that lawyers were called upon to decide the fate of the city.

One woman, a rising star in the political sphere, disappeared mysteriously. The finger-pointing was so intense that the media outlets became consumed with it. One paper, the Moon, reported that Johan Barley must be responsible, since his opponents in the race had nothing to gain. The other paper, the Rotten Journalism, blamed Ashcan Goombah. "After all," the editorial ran, "Goombah is behind just about every other crooked enterprise in town. If he's guilty of fraud, then why not murder?" Goombah's people countered with a full-page ad in the moon proclaiming his outrage.

It continued like this for several weeks, with Bobby Yokel counseling Mayor Goombah to stay out of the political mud war. The reporters, however, seemed privy to every detail of the candidates' lives, for news about Goombah's partying and his opponents' wives' spending habits made the front page on a daily basis. Bobby wondered where these leaks were coming from, and he was unsuccessful at getting a judge to grant an injunction against printing such stories.

All at once in October, the tall tales died down -- as though the wind had been taken out of them. A new rumor about the state's financial situation began with whispers. By November, those whispers had turned into roars. So much money was suddenly missing from the state's leaky coffers that every department and bureau would have to reduce next year's budget by 10%...no, 14%...no, 20%!

The city of Lost Wages itself wound up cutting its staff by 34% to keep up with the downward spiral. Someone had spent $150,000 on clothing, but no one knew who had done it. Millions had gone toward polling, but again no one was responsible. Because of his connection to the case, Bobby Yokel was in court nearly every day, arguing for one action or another. Each one of his judicial appeals was denied.

Meanwhile, subliminal attacks on Mayor Goombah continued to pour out over the air waves. The people now hated him, but due to the massive morass of mudslinging they hated everyone else just as much. On election day, it occurred that there were more votes for mayor than there were registered voters in the city. This prompted several stages of recounting, with the attorneys riding shotgun over the process.

A group called OAK -- apparently a gang called "Obese American Killers" -- was accused of creating thousands of false ballots, but none of the charges stuck. Meanwhile, Johan Barley and the thirteen Lieges held secret talks -- even as the mayoral race was being decided. Three times the votes were counted, and three times the voting ended in a tie.

Marta Teufel was present on that deciding day, volunteering her own coin for the purpose of determining the winner. It was a two-headed coin, and she assigned "heads" to her good friend and political ally, Alberto Potter. How was it possible that Potter wound up in this situation, when his fates had been determined? No one knew, and yet, there they were: Potter and Goombah, staring at a shiny piece of metal with their fates in the balance.

While the coin was in the air, in strode Governor Lemur. Deftly, he snatched the coin from the atmosphere and strode to the center of the gathering. "I have declared martial law in the city," he said. "Until such time -- if any -- as I determine otherwise, there exists a state of financial exigency here. This election itself has cost taxpayers too much money. Goombah, you will retain your office until further notice."

The witnesses, among them our hero, were stunned senseless. Bobby muttered a nonsense syllable under his breath. THIS was how it ended? It couldn't be over! The governor paused, then spoke again: "Potter...due to the spending policies that you advocated on the radio, I order you to be incarcerated for a period of no less than thirty years." He snapped his fingers, and the police pounced on Potter.

Marta Teufel reached into her purse, where there rested a carefully-concealed luger. She glanced around at the number of people she would have to kill in order to get her way, and then she withdrew her hand...empty. There would be another day for the execution of enemies of her reich, but for now she would bide her time. She stared at Bobby, and a cold chill went up his spine. Or perhaps it was merely a draft in the air.

NEXT: Awaken the Chancellor

Friday, October 10, 2008

Episode 36 -- The Great Excommunicator

Alberto Potter was the chosen one, from Marta Teufel's perspective. Many viewed him as a vacuous politician, but he was also conniving. When he was Deputy Sheriff, he resigned from his post and then -- as the song says -- "shot the sheriff." No one ever suspected that he was behind the sheriff's untimely demise, and Alberto silently chuckled to himself every time the office of sheriff was mentioned. "Everybody loves Alberto," they would say -- and they still said that now.

Potter glad-handed everyone with whom he came into contact, usually saying something to them like, "What do you think we should do? ... Why, that's exactly what I want to do!" Then he would walk away, calling the people idiots under his breath. Potter was a man of opportunities who liked getting what he wanted and who enjoyed the false praise of toadies. He and Marta Teufel fit together perfectly.

Although the Obese American was aware of such people, he wanted eagerly to believe that they did not exist. His was a patriotic world of apple pie, free market economics, and justice for all. Unbeknownst to our hero, his world and the seedy underbelly of Lost Wages were about to collide.

Alberto Potter stood on a corner, shamelessly proclaiming to others how wonderful he was. He also picked the occasional pocket when the opportunity presented itself. When a wimpy individual said to him, "I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today," Potter flim-flammed the man into believing that not only was it Tuesday but also that the man owed him a considerable fortune. The man staggered away -- $200 poorer and no wiser. With so many rumors spreading about his opponents, in two weeks Potter went from being a Dark Horse candidate to being the clear front-runner in the mayoral race.

It was then that the strangest thing occurred. A boy -- or a man of barely eighteen years -- meandered through the crowd in the general direction of the gentle Alberto. The boy was wearing tattered jeans, flip-flops, and a brand new T-Shirt proclaiming the slogan, "Fork Potter!" Emblazoned under the slogan was a cartoon of Alberto Potter being jabbed in the rump by a giant pitchfork.

Suddenly, in front of a crowd of hundreds, Potter went ballistic. From his pocket he extracted a convenient roll of duct tape. Then he siezed the boy, threw him to the ground, and taped up his mouth. A moment later, he ripped the t-shirt from the boy's chest and set it on fire. "No one may be allowed to say such things," Potter said -- loud enough for the press to hear. After threatening lawsuits against the boy, Potter snapped back into character and resumed his previous baby-kissing and hand-shaking. Seconds after his face had gone red with anger, the traditional Alberto Smile again spread across that face. This time, though, the people were suitably unimpressed. As rapidly as had been his rise to stardom, Alberto Potter was now out of the running for the mayor's office.

Meanwhile, the boy wandered off in amazement. After losing the crowd, he looked around him, entering a parking garage. Normally, this garage was subject to video recording; strangely, the recording devices were "off" at the moment. The boy walked over to a corner pillar and leaned against it. Around the corner, leaning against the same pillar, was a shadowy figure. The boy said, "It was even better than you expected." The figure tossed down a suitcase, and the boy picked it up. The boy strode off, delighted to see so much cash.

As the figure moved toward his own vehicle, his shadow acquired the odd appearance of having a long tail. This, accompanied by the figure's chattering like a monkey, might have given a passerby the impression that the boy had been paid off by a monkey. Yet no one was nearby; not even a cockroach was witness as the figure entered his black car and drove farther and farther away until only the license plate was visible from the garage. From a distance, one could simply read, "CHEETAH."

NEXT: All the Money's Gone

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Episode 35 -- The Secret Candidates

Now convinced that subliminal messages were being used to spawn hatred against the city's mayor, the Obese American set out to help save Lost Wages. His geek friends had tracked down the source of the mysterious pop songs containing subliminal messages. With the election coming rapidly, he thought, he'd better move fast. His size, however, greatly restricted his ability to move fast.

Meanwhile, in another secret laboratory somewhere in East Lost Wages, the kettle of paranoia was boiling. Marta Teufel and several skinhead compatriots were fuming about the upcoming election.

"Mayor Goombah's poll numbers are way down," one of the skinheads said, rubbing the swastika on his bald pate. "This is great news."
"No, this is terrible news," Ms. Teufel growled. "People should be calling for change now, and they're not. Even worse, there's news of a conspiracy."
"I didn't hear about any conspiracy," the second Nazi skinhead said. This man's eyes were sunk so deeply into his head that he appeared to have none at all.
"There's always a conspiracy," Marta snapped. "Haven't you heard about the Barley ploy?"
"You mean the rumor that wealthy financier Johan Barley is going to run for mayor?"
"Oh, he's not running for mayor," she sneered, "He's lobbying the city council to have him installed as mayor. It will be a coronation."
The second skinhead pondered this for a moment. Then he asked, "How do we know that's happening?"
Marta Teufel drew her luger from its holster, and with an unexpected swiftness she jammed its barrel into the lackey's ear. "You idiot," she proclaimed. "Of course that's what's happening. That's exactly what I tried to do last year in the presidential primary. He's copying me."

Also present in the room with Marta Teufel were three silent Nazis. Together the skinheads constituted a group of five. When they realized that such a conspiracy might indeed become a reality, they began dashing about the room willy-nilly, knocking over chairs and bumping into the walls. The two skinheads with whom she was conversing were no less frightened, and the man with the gun to his head began to weep bitterly.

"Ach!" The first skinhead now had a look of terror on his face. "They can't sneak Johan Barley in there. His administration would be just as hostile toward us as Mayor Goombah's!"
"It gets worse," Marta said lowly -- as though someone might be listening in. "I have heard that one of the thirteen lieges...."
"Powerful politicians who control education in the state," the second Nazi interrupted. Ms. Teufel's luger was still pointed at his head.
After glaring at the interruption, Marta continued, "...one of them belongs to the group called Barley's Buddies. She had been planning to leave her vast fortune to her French poodle, Snuffy. Instead, she's going to pay off the council so that they'll install Barley as mayor."
"We have to stop this!" The first Nazi was dripping a cold sweat. Meanwhile, the three silent Nazis were so agitated that they were slamming into one another. Then, almost in unison, they began cutting themselves with razor blades.

"I have a crafty plan that will preserve our legacy." Ms. Teufel grinned an evil, Grinch-like smile, and the others stopped what they were doing. Immediately, all eyes were riveted on her. Every ear was bent toward her.
"We'll manipulate a politician -- a slicker one than Barley -- into secretly running for mayor. Then, we'll pay the council even more money to have him installed instead of Barley. Best yet, if they don't install our man as mayor, we'll torture them to death!"

It took a moment for the plan to sink in, but when the group of five understood they began to applaud. As was often the case, Ms. Teufel basked in the glow of her own brilliance. Then the second skinhead interrupted her grandstanding with a question. "But who will be our candidate? Who's smoother than Barley?"

"I know just the man: crafty as a snake but pliable. He'll do anything for fortune and fame. Alberto Potter is the one." She cackled wildly, and the others cheered. She ushered the others out of the room quickly, keeping only the second skinhead behind -- the one with the sunken eyes.

"We need to rally people behind our party," she said. "They won't accept our candidate unless we can win their hearts." The skinhead nodded, and she continued. "But what if Johan Barley murdered one our fellow Nazis in cold blood," she suggested.
"Will he do that?"
"They'll think he did that, and perception is all that matters."
The skinhead nodded again, smiling. It was his last action. Although it would later be said that Barley's Buddies were responsible, Marta Teufel had drawn a knife from her belt and had ended the unfortunate man's life.

NEXT: the Hairy Potter

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Episode 34 -- Another Layer of the Onion

Following mysterious clues was far from the strong suit of the astonishing superhero, the Obese American. Truth be told, his greatest skill was probably speed-eating. Nevertheless, with the fate of the city of Lost Wages at stake, and with its mayor, Ashcan Goombah, pleading with him constantly, the power of the American dream sustained our hero -- to the point of uncovering a dastardly plot.

"At first I wasn't sure they were trying to kill me because of this investigation," he told the mayor, "but now I'm certain that they want me off this case." The American wiped his brow, downed a lard smoothie, and stared at a handful of papers.
"What have you discovered?" Mayor Goombah seldom looked nervous, but this was a rare day for him.
"Hmm...I'm not sure...." That made the mayor even more uptight, but the American continued speaking:
"The blog entries I found the other day alluded to some sort of voting campaign. They mentioned a series of pro-voting songs. I downloaded the music to my iPod Nano (TM), and there's something fishy about it."
"Fishy? We have an organization in town called PISCES!"

Mayor Goombah was referring to the clandestine group whose acronym stood for Plotting In Secrecy to Control Everything Subversively. The Obese American had dealings with them before, during the Great Water Grab.

"No, that's not what I mean," he replied. "The songs themselves were bland pop songs. They sort of reminded me of that singer, Bratney."
"Nobody listens to her anymore, bubbala. She's totally last week."
"Uh...I know that. But the music...never mind. Anyway, I transferred the files to a computer and had some geeks look at it. This is their report."
Mayor Goombah glanced at the pages in the fat one's gloved-but-sweaty hand. "Always trust the geeks," he said, as if he had nothing else to say.
"Ah, yes," continued the enormous hero. "They're convinced that the music contains subliminal messages. The first message seemed harmless, telling people to save their money, but this came just before the economic slowdown here in Lost Wages."
"You think they're manipulating the economy?"

The Obese American pondered the possibility of someone using music to control people's minds. It seemed crazy to him, and yet in this case it almost had to be true. "The next message said, 'Nazis are fun.' I don't know what THAT meant, but the third message was the most obvious. While the song itself was all about getting out to vote, the embedded message told people to hate you."

"What exactly did it say?" The mayor's nervousness was now even more manifest. His voice was weak, and his brow was dripping perspiration.
"Don't trust Goombah. Hate Goombah. Stop Goombah."
The mayor gasped. "No wonder my poll numbers are down!"
"So, you believe this subliminal stuff?"
"I have no choice," he replied. His anxiety had begun to transform into anger. "Who's behind this?!"
"Well....Do you have an organized neo-Nazi group in this city?" The Obese American was tentative about this as he said it, but his instincts were on the mark. "I always suspect a conspiracy," he added, and indeed, many Americans do believe at least one conspiracy theory.
"Not that I know of. Can you find out?"
"Oh, yeah," the tubby one blurted out confidently. "Whatever's going on, I'll have it figured out soon."

Soon indeed...

Next: Be a Smarty

Saturday, June 14, 2008

Don't Put Off To Tomorrow...

...what you can postpone until the day after.
(from Cracked Magazine)

We interrupt our regularly-scheduled comedy tale
to bring this special news bulletin.

Defer (v.t.)

Merriam-Webster defines this word simply as "put off; delay"
They add:
"DEFER implies a deliberate putting off to a later time
<deferred buying a car until spring>."
The American Heritage Dictionary has "put off; postpone."

What is the difference between something being deferred and something being eliminated entirely? There's a huge difference. For example...

When a qualified student is permitted to defer paying tuition and fees, that fee deferment allows the student to pay those fees at a later date. Now, unless the student drops his classes before the refund deadline, he must still pay those fees -- even though he may no longer be enrolled when payment comes due.

If someone is permitted to defer payment on a debt for one month, when the next month comes there is still money due. The debtor still must pay the debt; payment has not been canceled ... merely put off.

Alright, now let's look at the government's use of "defer" as it relates to salaries.

Recently, the state of Nevada determined to "defer" the increase of pay that normally comes in July. These "step increases," they claimed, will now come in January. This is not a deferment. Suppose that for you, personally, the additional pay for the Fall semester amounted to $1000. When do you get this money? Will you receive it in Spring, along with the additional money that is owed you for Spring? No. You will not get that money at all...ever. Hypothetically, if you were to leave the state in December, you should still get the money whose payment to you has been "deferred" -- IF it's a deferment. However, if you leave in December, you get nothing; the state pockets that $1000 that, allegedly, it was going to pay to you. Payment of that $1000 has been canceled -- not deferred.

Now some state legislators are talking about a "deferment" of the 4% Cost-of-Living Adjustment (COLA). These people now claim that perhaps they'll "defer" that COLA until 2009. Will you then receive the money from 2008 in addition to the money from 2009? No. You'll get an adjustment for 2009 ONLY. The money whose payment has been "deferred" has actually been "pocketed." You will never get that money no matter how long you work for the state.

I am not saying here that it is wrong to cancel the COLA for the coming year. This might be a reasonable way to save part of the 14% that the state is demanding in cuts. Since the state has so far refused to generate other revenue to replace the anticipated ("lost") revenues, within that paradigm cuts are the only way to go. Across-the-board salary reductions make sense, since it is almost certainly preferable to reduce salaries than to cut positions. However, let's call the elimination of the COLA what it is. It is NOT a proposed deferment; it is a proposed elimination. That money will remain with the state as "savings" -- not until next year but indefinitely.




Thursday, June 5, 2008

Episode 33 -- The Battle

All around the Obese American arose cries of anger, desperation, and malice. To the north he found the Ants gang: a ruthless band of thugs. Charging at him from the south were members of the Lost gang --a group local to the city of Lost Wages who were reportedly involved in drug-related violence. Both groups charged angrily down the street. At first, the Great One believed that he had inadvertently found himself in the middle of a gang war, but then he heard the cries:

"There he is!"
"Kill him!"
"Kill that fat slob!!"

He had no time to consider why these two mobs of strangers might be coveting his hide. Instead, he glanced quickly at his surroundings. East of him was a block wall approximately twelve feet high. On the other side was a storefront; surely he wouldn't take the combat into someone's business. Below him was a manhole cover, but judging from its diameter, it would be a difficult squeeze. Several times in US history, the country had been in difficult scrapes. The hero thought of Iwo Jima and the long battle for Guadalcanal. Whenever threatened most, America always thrived.

As they attacked him with clubs, rocks, and knives, he spun around rapidly -- a lot more rapidly than they expected. Five of them were rebuffed at one time. With a flurry of punches and kicks, he knocked them back out of his zone of control. Still, they had him surrounded. From all sides, dozens of angry citizens picked up rocks and began to hurl them at him. Undaunted, he faced them all with great courage. They sneered, hoping to bloody his uniform. Then one of them observed, "It's an American flag." He took the opportunity and spoke.

"That's right, citizens. The costume that I wear is a reflection of my own identity: YOUR identity as Americans. Is this how we want to behave? Like the lawless and unruly? America was founded on far greater principles."

As if to approve of his speech, both gangs suddenly stopped throwing stones and began to listen. He continued: "The rule of law assures that all Americans are safe from tyranny. I do not know why you are angry with me today, but if I have wronged you, let the great courts of this land decide it. If anything I have done deserves punishment, let me take my place in prison. If you have anything to say to me, let the First Amendment to our great Constitution guide your speech. Whatever you decide to do, do it proudly as Americans. Show respect both to the flag and to this nation."

One by one, they dropped their rocks and concealed their weapons. Then one of the Ants, the oldest, said, "We were told that you hate minorities." One of the Lost -- a man named Jack -- interjected, "We were told that you hate whites." Members of the two gangs looked at one another in confusion. The Obese American spoke again.

"My friends, I am not here today because I am filled with hatred. Indeed, I have fought hatred and intolerance throughout my career. America, that great melting pot, is the one place in the world where humans of all colors and creeds can find their spirit of unity. That spirit, the American spirit, is free from petty hatreds and fears. I don't know who told you these things about me, but they were mistaken."

"Mistaken?" The elder Ant's face showed a look of perplexity and aggravation. "No. They weren't mistaken. They were LYING!" Someone else shouted, "Yeah!" A Lost gang member named Hugo screamed, "Let's rip their freaking heads off!" The Obese American frowned at this, but before he could speak, Jack retorted: "No. We must trust in the spirit that guides this great nation. Sir," he addressed our hero, "can you promise us justice?"

The Obese American looked at the citizens around him. He felt their yearning for righteousness. Humbly and honestly he said, "I can, and I do." Jack nodded. Suddenly and with one purpose, the mob parted, allowing the Great One a path of egress. "For justice...away we go," he said, and he trotted off.

Upon the departure of our hero, Jack commented to both gangs: "It will take a great man to stop the fighting here and to bring about justice. And I admit that I've never seen anyone greater."

NEXT: A Grave Plot

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Episode 32 -- The Investigation

The Obese American stared across the table at the mayor he had once opposed. This time, though, Mayor Goombah seemed humble and sincere -- almost quiet. With great reserve, the "Happiest Mayor on the Planet" explained to the superhero the great political predicament that he was now in. The huge man across from him seemed confused.

"So, you think someone is slamming you intentionally? Do you have any proof?"
"Proof?" The mayor was indignant. "I would have called the Supreme Court if I wanted to prove it. I need you to help me investigate."
"Alright, but I'm doing this my own way. I'm not answering to you or to the city of Lost Wages, and I'll make public whatever I discover."
"Fine. Just speed up the process."
Mayor Goombah waved his hand dismissively, being ever-conscious of the fact that reporters from the Reused Journal were observing the conversation closely. With that, the Obese American stood, unfurled his cape, and darted off with the swiftness of the sword of justice.

Answers began to reveal themselves almost immediately. A search of local blogs revealed a pattern in the language of the posters, leading our hero to conclude that many of the rumors about Mayor Goombah were being circulated by the same individuals posting under various assumed names. After putting pressure on the webmasters of the blogs by threatening to jump on them with great ferocity, the Obese American learned that the newest anti-Goombah blog was being funded by the same entity that also sponsored a political coup several years back.

"Where is this going to lead?" His brow furrowed as he pondered the mystery. The American paced back and forth down the Strip, muttering to himself as though he already had the answer. The more he walked, the more people noticed him, and the more they noticed him, the more they followed him. Soon, over one hundred people were roaming the streets. Oddly, each of them mumbled to himself as he did. All at once and in concert with one another, they stopped moving. A single thought came to the collective, blocking out all other considerations. Just as that thought was coming down out of the ether and into their brains....

BANG! A shot rang out. Then another. The people screamed at once, then scattered in all directions as though they had all been hit. Suddenly the Obese American found himself without allies in the street. On the north side stood twenty members of a street gang, armed with guns and knives. To the south stood twenty members of a different gang, similarly armed. With a great yell, the two small armies brandished their weapons and charged forward -- our hero trapped between them. At a time like this, he could only think one thing: boy, was he hungry!

NEXT: Honeymooners in Wages

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Episode 31 -- Achtung

Marta Teufel was the kind of woman who ate puppies for breakfast. In school, she was voted "Most Likely to Commit Patricide." She once had a husband whom she poisoned just to watch him die. These days, Marta works for a man known to her only as the Skinny Nazi, but she has dreams of controlling humanity one day. Marta works with skinhead gangs in the city of Lost Wages.

Kindwhile, the American dream has been summoned to the White House for a secret conference with President Bush:

"This is why I asked you to come here: the FBI director has been reading a lot of blogs dealing with domestic terror. We need someone to track down any would be attackers and bring them to justice. Are you up to it?"
"I suppose I might be able to do something, but I'm curious. Why didn't you call HERO Inc.?"
"Most of them are in space right now."
"Shouldn't I convene the Legion of Fat Heroes?"
"They're handling a famine in Africa."
"Then I'm your man!"
"My advisor, Bob, believes you can stop these terrorists. Are you sure you can help?"

Our hero looked over at the man known only as "Bob." His hair was dark and slicked back. Both his chin and his nose were significantly longer than average, but there was a twinkle in his eye -- as though he represented the spirit of a calmer time.

"Sir, I don't believe American can ever be defeated!" The hero looked unshaken as he uttered these words. Bob replied with a warning: "Be careful, oh lardacious one! Your arrogance may result in defeat. Why, when a friend and I were on the road to Tehran...."

Bob began a tale of great heroism, but even while he spoke, the Skinny Nazi was plotting against our hero. "Call our people in Nevada. Ze Obese American almost discovered our plans last week. Ve vill deshtrakt der Grosschen Amerikaner and deshtroy his character. Once he is out of ze vay, ve will eliminate Congress. Do this now!"
His lackeys shouted, "Jawohl!" as they went on to do his bidding.

Soon, Bobby "TOA" Yokel returns home via Meteor Airlines' finest jet. Away from Washington, his thoughts drift into other areas: "I should sue the airline. Surely I'm not over the weight limit!" And yet, this matters very little in the overall scheme of things, for the Skinny Nazi has contacted Marta Teufel. In the basement of a meth lab in Lost Wages, Teufel rubs the X-shaped scar on her forehead and smiles. She has a suitable plan.

"Mayor Goombah is too self-centered to be of any use to us. His career needs to be destroyed. We'll spread lies about him during the election period, rig the election, and put Nazis in charge. Heh-heh-heh! The Furor will be pleased. Finally, the whole state will bow to my will and worship me!"

Three days later, Mayor Ashcan Goombah learned of the developing plot. His assistant, Polly Sigh, brought him the bad news shortly after his weekly radio address to the Lost Wagen masses. He was not amused.

"What? A smear campaign against me?!"
"Yes, yeronnah."
"Call the casino mafia. Rub the bums out!"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Mayor. They won't get involved."
"Then call Senator Reek. I donated a fortune to his reelection campaign."
"The senator has vanished mysteriously."
"The teamsters?"
"Busy with a strike."

Mayor Goombah sighed a heavy sigh as he wiped his brow. If his usual allies were avoiding him, that could only mean that they were leaving him twisting in the wind. Just as Bobby Yokel was stepping off his flight at McCareless Airport, the mayor uttered the last phrase he ever thought he would bring himself to say: "Well...Call the Obese American."

NEXT: Gang War


Friday, May 16, 2008

The Serialized Adventures of a Modern Hero

What has gone before...

The sky was dark but clear. As usual, the commute across the Nevada desert was an unenviable task, and attorney Bobby Yokel found that the distance from Elko to Pahrump was much farther than the distance from Pahrump to Elko. Even so, he made good use of his time. He was eating junk food and talking on his cellular phone as he navigated the journey.

For the moment, though, let us step backward in time a few years. Young Bobby grew up wanting only one thing: to work at his favorite restaurant -- McBurger's. He did very little in high school that was not required, but his teachers passed him from grade to grade anyway. In college, he cheated his way through several courses until he achieved his master's degree in business administration.
Bobby's focus had been on the money he might make with an MBA, but the job proved to be too difficult for him.

This took Mr. Yokel to law school, where he spent more taxpayer dollars on what was allegedly his education. He emerged from that episode of his life with a degree, and yet he was no better prepared after college than he had been during his days at McBurger's. Fate was about to make him a hero -- something that Bobby equated with a sandwich from Gubway.

For on that ominous night -- several miles from the town of Rachel -- Bobby's inattentive driving brought his Hummer into head-on contact with a semi driven by a student in the Bates-Grayson College CDL program. The student was unharmed, but Mr. Yokel's Hummer rolled several times before slamming into a large rock. Bobby met his maker, but the Maker sent him back to earth....

The BGC instructor, Johnny Johnson by name, was annoyed at the prospect that his secret defense contract was about to be uncovered. He scrambled to contact high-level government bureaucrats. Within minutes, Bobby's nearly lifeless body was being rushed to nearby Area 51 (which had been a stop on the Extraterrestrial Highway before the important research was shifted to nearby Yucck mountain).

Once inside the Groom Lake facility, doctors and scientists stared at his two-hundred-seventy-pound frame. There was little they could do for him at this point. "However," one of them said, "perhaps if we install in his body all of the alien technology whose functions we do not comprehend...perhaps that will save him."

Indeed, Bobby Yokel's life was spared that night, and the unknown gadgets implanted in him by the scientists at Area 51 put him in touch with mainstream America. Since that fateful evening, Bobby Yokel has been compelled to fight terror, crime, and socialism wherever they may be. He's a great patriot. He's larger than life. He is...THE OBESE AMERICAN.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Come Together

"Got to be a joker. He just do what he please."

In July, 1969, Dr. Timothy Leary was giving serious consideration to making a run for the US presidency. He had just given a popular series of lectures at UC Berkeley (and at other colleges) and was widely known for having told Americans to "Turn on. Tune in. Drop out."

Leary's first goal was to win the California gubernatorial election against Ronald Reagan. Leary was busted for drug possession, and his career in politics wound up being permanently derailed. However, Leary's campaign left some thought-provoking ideas behind:

"The basic function of government is to protect individuals against organized gangs and groups."

Leary wasn't entirely wrong about that, was he? At every level, people seek protection from groups -- in part because the individual needs to know that she has a voice. The individual has to matter. Any elected official worth his salt knows this and keeps it in his heart; politicians who forget this wind up bringing upon themselves the wrath of the people. This is a basic expectation of government: that it help individuals where they cannot help themselves.

"Another basic function of government is to entertain/educate."

At times, we in education laughingly refer to our service as "edutainment." Articles have been written for and against the connection between education and entertainment. Leary believed that the two ideas could go hand in hand. He further expressed that government should take on the edutainment role itself. Sometimes comedy is the best means of providing information. Sometimes, though, seriousness is called for. A good politician would be able to distinguish between those times.

Leary's campaign, however, was shortsighted at times and narrowly-focused. As a "drug guru," he pushed more strongly for legalization than for anything else. Had Leary become governor of California, his lack of leadership on other issues would surely have shown. But he was right about one thing for sure: there was room for everyone in the process. His tongue-in-cheek slogan, "Come together: join the party!" was somewhat inspirational. He didn't want to exclude his opposition; instead, he wanted everyone to be taken seriously.

We may not need all of Leary's shenanigans, but we certainly need his sense of inclusiveness today. Aren't faculty, staff, and administration equally deserving of participation? By virtue of the examples that we present to others, shouldn't we all be engaged in education? And maybe...just maybe...a little entertainment, too?



Thursday, March 27, 2008

The Necessities

When we speak of academic freedom and shared governance, I tend to hear the terms defined this way:

"Academic Freedom means I can do whatever I want, and Shared Governance means I can tell you what to do."

In a business-minded, self-centered society, this is indeed how the concepts play out. We rarely hear one another say things like, "I enjoy sharing the governance of my department with others," but we often hear how administrators are expected to share governance with us. When other instructors disagree with us, do we rush to protect their academic freedom? I hope so; we should.

At some colleges, there is no pretense of shared governance. In the strongest cases, a military-minded, authoritarian administration dictates policies without the input or agreement of the faculty. The faculty, meanwhile, exhibit the same tendencies toward one another, so that department chairs are lords of their departments, senior faculty are barons of their offices, and junior faculty live to serve.

Other colleges and universities claim to practice shared governance in one form or another. If shared governance is to work properly, though, it must be desired. A self-directed faculty has little desire to share governance with anyone else. A faculty who view their work as merely a job that pays the bills will be unable to glimpse the benefits of shared governance. An administration who adhere strongly to a business model of the college -- wherein the students are clients and the faculty are employees -- will likewise have great difficulty thinking that there might be any advantage to shared governance. Thus, a shared paradigm must precede shared governance.

Simply put: in order to have it, we must want it. In order to want it, we must know what it means to share. We must realize that if things get out of control, it is not our job to "fix" them. If others do contrary to what we would do, not only should we accept it, but it behooves us to embrace their freedom to do so. Sharing governance means that the community deliberately obtains input from one another prior to, and in the process of, making decisions. We do not seek such input because we are required by policy to do so; on the contrary, we do this because their input might likely be useful, and because we do not wish to marginalize anyone. If people stop caring, then they stop sharing, and shared governance ceases to exist.

Academic Freedom is likewise an ideal that must be closely guarded. Protecting the academic freedom of others means letting them speak when we think they should shut up. It means letting them teach when we think it will blow up in their faces. To have academic freedom means allowing others to do whatever decision we would like the liberty to make for ourselves.

Sharing our governance with one another and protecting one another's academic freedom are central concepts in the educational paradigm. These things distinguish us from corporations. They are what allow us to focus on education as our primary objective. But notice that we have turned the definitions around. Shared governance and academic freedom must not be things that we "take" for ourselves. If we hold such an attitude, then these things will escape us. We must always remember that shared governance and academic freedom are things that you must all give in order for any to have.

Friday, March 21, 2008

You Didn't Hear This From Me



"I heard it in the night

Words the thoughtless speak

(Like vultures swooping down below)

On the Devil's Radio."


People in the engineering department are squabbling over office space.
The exchange professor from Bangla Desh is getting deported because he propositioned his students for sex.
Dr. Noah Boddy got a tattoo of President Killpatrick's face -- on his buttocks!

Some gossip is silly, but all of it is malevolent. It might seem well-intentioned to tell a few friends that Dr. No hates Dr. Yes, but then someone will say that Dr. Yes has a grudge against Dr. No -- and when word gets back to them, they both feel betrayed. Now they really do dislike one another, and it's your fault.

It is a nice thing to console a friend during a crisis, but it is not nice to stir up the whole department about it. Sometimes I wish that my own lips had come pre-buttoned from the lip factory!

I'm not sure about all of you, but I like everyone I work with -- even though we disagree sometimes. But if one of you sees one such disagreement and tells someone else, "Oh, Pascal really doesn't like Aloysius," then if that person or someone further down the gossip chain tells Aloysius, "Pascal is trying to get your tenure revoked," all that accomplishes is to place a fine friendship in a proverbial pickle.

These seeds of distrust are sown every day. No one wants to walk around campus feeling like everyone is whispering about their personal (and personnel) matters, but this is what we are doing to one another. This is the atmosphere of discontent that we are creating for one another,
and if we bite at and gnaw on one another, we need to beware or we will consume one another.

If we must talk about one another to others, let it be like this:
"I just heard that Richard is getting an award."
"Everyone says that Gretchen is a great friend."
"Bret really cares about student learning."
"Mike has done some really good things as a leader."
Aren't there at least a few stories that are truly worth telling? I believe there are. I think we have done some very good things in secret that could be told in public. Instead of telling stories that offend and harm, let's sell stories that construct and heal. What a fine place this would be if we all found nice things to say about one another.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

A Typical Unbiased Faculty Survey

1. Why do you think administrators treat faculty unfairly?
2. Which of the college president's qualities or attributes most negatively impact his job performance?
3. Describe how overworked you are.
4. Describe how underpaid you are.
5. Which administrator is most directly responsible for all of the negativity on this campus?
6. Which administrators are not qualified to do their jobs?
7. Describe the impact of the top-down management style at this college.

Thursday, March 6, 2008

What the Rough Rider Said

"You stand for Academic Freedom, for the right of private judgment, for a duty more incumbent upon the scholar than upon any other man, to tell the truth as he sees it, to claim for himself and to give to others the largest liberty in seeking after the truth." (Theodore Roosevelt at Trinity College, September, 1905)

With those words, President Roosevelt kept racial issues on the front burner of the political stove. Although it had been practiced for some time previously, the legal concept of academic freedom originated in Germany in 1850, when the Prussian Constitution formally declared, "Science and its teaching shall be free."

This freedom carries with it the responsibility to guard the freedom of others. The failure to protect that freedom allows one side of a disagreement to dominate. This majority opinion becomes the rule of the day, and that rule is used to compel others to conform.

"What were the Romish arguments, from the days of the Nicene debate, down to the pontifical anathama? They were, truth is one -- therefore true believers can not differ. But they do differ Therefore there is heresy. Heresy must be kept out. Make a creed to keep it out; and as to which side is heresy "Quod semper quod ubique quod ab omnibus." That is, "heresy is the opinion which is in the minority." A strange rule in a world where wise heads are certainly not generally in the majority, but a rule eminently convenient and practical. Yes; shear off the troublesome thinkers, and sing stagnant hallelujahs!" (Charles Beecher, "Creeds," the Western Preacher, Vol. 1, 1865).

It is indeed possible for this majority rule to become so strong in the secular realm that academic freedom is infringed. Consider the landmark case, "Adler v. Board of Education," in which the Supreme Court of the United States ruled that a teacher may be dismissed based on membership in an organization that is regarded negatively by the school or system.

"The present law proceeds on a principle repugnant to our society - guilt by association. A teacher is disqualified because of her membership in an organization found to be "subversive." ...The mere fact of membership in the organization raises a prima facie case of her own guilt. She may, it is said, show her innocence. But innocence in this case turns on knowledge; and when the witch hunt is on, one who must rely on ignorance leans on a feeble reed. The very threat of such a procedure is certain to raise havoc with academic freedom." (statement of Justices Douglas and Black, dissenting with Adler v. Board of Education, 1952)

Thus we see how easy it was for such an important principle to be tossed aside because of prevailing sentiments. Fortunately for academia, the majority opinion of the Supreme Court was expressed as follows five years later:


"We believe that there unquestionably was an invasion of petitioner's liberties in the areas of academic freedom and political expression – areas in which government should be extremely reticent to tread.

"The essentiality of freedom in the community of American universities is almost self-evident. No one should underestimate the vital role in a democracy that is played by those who guide and train our youth. To impose any strait jacket upon the intellectual leaders in our colleges and universities would imperil the future of our Nation." (Sweezy v. New Hampshire, 1957)

Taking these words to heart, every faculty member, every student, and every department must jealously guard the freedom of those around us. We should not allow the college as a whole, or its administration, to make decisions that rightly belong to the departments, or to individuals. Even so, an open discussion of ideas is necessary to ensure that the best possible paths are chosen. Think about these things as you plan the upcoming semester, schedule courses, and select and order textbooks.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Do We Need a Calamity in Order to C*RE?

Our social system at GBC is designed, in part, by well-meaning attorneys. If one expresses concern for someone's progress, or for their happiness, that concern is misinterpreted, shaken, reconstituted, and recreated as something "inappropriate" or "unprofessional." Therefore, we are all made aware that "care" is a dirty word. Telling a student or coworker that you care leaves both you and the institution wide open for a gaggle of lawsuits.

Sometimes, what someone really needs is a hug. A hug can save the day...truly. However, the willy-nilly dispensation of hugs is misinterpreted, shaken, reconstituted, and recreated as an inappropriate display of affection. If you hug a coworker frequently enough, the gossip mill will churn out stories of the most shocking variety -- and here comes that lawsuit again.

Consequently, we work in a society in which it is best not to care. Keep your head down, and keep your emotions in check. The pure "T" -- the thinker -- is the smartest hire for any position. The system virtually requires the hire of employees who will stare blankly as others fail or go through trials. Getting others to demonstrate care toward others is more difficult than putting a camel through the eye of a needle (or getting a wealthy person into heaven, if I follow the analogy).

Recently, however, there was a certain calamity, and in the wake of that calamity, the lawyers have turned the other way. Suddenly, everyone must care. Suddenly there is an outpouring of positive emotion of a magnitude unseen since the colonials won the revolution and secured the right to low-cost tea. Hugs, smiles, and tears have become abundant. It may not be politically correct to care, but we have stopped being concerned about what is socially acceptable. We CARE.

Will it take another calamity, or will we be able to take this genuine emotional event into our daily lives? It would be terrific if the college could be transformed by this shared experience. Let us go forth and delight in one another, worry about one another, and care for one another and give up challenging one another, envying one another, and ignoring one another. Let us become known as "the college where we care about YOU." I continue to dream.

Thursday, February 7, 2008

Acting Like Children




During that hour, the students came to Jesus, saying, "Then who is the greatest in the kingdom of the heavens?" And he called a school child to him and stood it in their midst, and he said, "Indeed I am telling you, unless you turn and become like the children, you will by no means enter into the kingdom of the heavens. Therefore, whoever may humble himself like this child, this one is the greatest in the kingdom of the heavens. And whoever may receive one such child in my name, he is receiving me. But whoever causes one of these little ones who trust in me to stumble, it would make sense for him that an upper millstone be hung around his neck and for him to be plunged down in the deep waters of the sea. (Mt 18:1-6)
Being childish isn't such a bad thing. Young children are capable of grasping deep concepts (such as what numbers are) -- notions that give adults pause. Children are able to imagine what they are physically unable to see, hear, or touch. They can visualize things that they are unable to do. Children look upon the world with wonder, and the world looks back with similar wonder.

When problems arise, do we remember how imaginatively we used to solve problems when we were children? When we engage in emotional spats with one another, do we recall how those same troubles used to disappear with each new day? When we become territorial at work, do we recollect how many times we were told to share? As kids, we may have pouted occasionally, but we learned those rules -- only to have forgotten them when we became adults.

Here are some interesting rules that we all learned years ago:

"1. No hitting or biting allowed.
2. Use good manners. Say 'please,' 'thank you,' and 'excuse me.'
3. Say 'have a good day' to employees at the grocery, bank, and so on, as you exit a business." (Raising Respectful Children in a Disrespectful World, p. 92)

Or how about these rules about property?

"1. Share your toys with your friends.
2. Keep one and share one when candy is given out.
3. Always let your friends go first." (ibid)

Or these rules about responsibility?

"1. Tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
2. Do not blame others when you get in trouble. Take responsibility for your own actions.
3. Ask before using someone else's belongings." (ibid, p. 93)

Michael Grose writes, "
Conflict is part of daily living. Effective people resolve conflict in ways that protect relationships, honour feelings and lead to a resolution. They neither avoid conflict nor do they use power to dominate others or win conflict." (Teach Your Children How to Resolve Conflict Without Anger or Power)

Again, we knew all of these things when we were younger. Have the so-called practicalities of adult living rendered these principles worthless? May it never happen! Therefore, in our dealings with one another let us behave at least as politely and respectfully as we teach our children to behave. Then maybe we will regain the sense of wonder and imagination that we have lost as adults.

Friday, January 25, 2008

Competitive Games

Monopoly is an example of a classic competitive game. Generally speaking, the purpose of the game is to bankrupt all of the other players. In all modern versions of the Game of Life, the winner is the player with the most money. Sporting events operate with the same competitive ethic: there is one gold medal per event. One team wins the super bowl, and the others are all losers.

The business model of governance is a competitive game. Increased productivity (as defined by the business) leads to increased job security, and the failure to bring in the numbers leads to termination. In education, one brings in more students or greater amounts of grant money in order to receive a superior office, closer parking space, or more leeway in selecting and running classes.

This model discourages faculty members from cooperating on projects for a number of reasons, and the "publish-or-perish" concept leads to an increasing number of journal articles of decreasing quality. Non-research institutions of higher learning frequently are judged by enrollment statistics and by the phantom statistic known as the "graduation rate."

Students who transfer to other institutions are deemed failures under this measure, as are those who enter college with purposes other than obtaining degrees. A student who improves her job skills without obtaining a degree is a failure. A student who takes courses for his own betterment is a failure. Anyone who takes one or two courses in technology-related work in order to remain current is a failure. State legislatures usually fund colleges and projects based on enrollment and graduation statistics.

The governor of Texas last year
"insisted that budget negotiators discuss another request – that $350 million in higher education funding be tied to performance incentives for campuses. Performance would be measured by things like graduation rate and student retention." (Dallas Morning News, 22 May 2007) In Colorado, one of the university presidents wants to tie funding to graduation rates (Rocky Mountain News, 08 Jan 2008).

The easiest way to improve graduation rates is to alter a college's mission so as to discourage the presence of nondegree students and students who are likely to transfer. The recruitment of top students only -- those who are most likely to graduate -- also increases the graduation rate and improves retention. A college can also put all of its classes online as quickly as possible, attracting students from the other colleges. These strategies leave no room for a traditional community college mission.

In order for a community college to exist and to thrive, its operation must not be a competitive game. The state's legislatures and regents must not fund on the basis of compared statistics, focusing instead on the finances needed to get the job done. A community college must be a community, and its operation must be a cooperative game.

Monday, January 14, 2008

Welcome Back

"Did I ever tell you about my uncle Ernie? Well, uncle Ernie was a shoe salesman in Syracuse, but people used to say he was the worst shoe salesman in the world. One day, my aunt Marie was sick of his complaining and went to his store. There was Ernie, sitting alone in the store, and all around him were shoes of every style imaginable. These were good shoes, and they were all on sale. Black ones, brown ones, blue ones -- every color you could think of. So my aunt Marie asks him, 'Are the shoes overpriced?' He acts insulted and says, 'No! They're half the price of the place across the street.' 'Are they knock-offs?' she adds. Again he says, 'No! They're all name brands.'

"That's when aunt Marie noticed that they were all size 10-D. 'Ernie,' she says -- 'Ernie, these shoes are all the same size! People wear different sizes, you know.' Ernie said, 'These shoes are all in MY size. That way, if no one wants 'em, at least I can wear them.'"