Man eaten by his own Koi fish.

Just this morning, in a small peaceful suburban cul-de-sac in central California, terror reigned supreme. All was calm. Sons were playing catch with their fathers. Wives were shopping for scarves with their daughters. And Grampa Joe was feeding the fish. Little did they know, a brutal slaying would occur.

At 567 Coral Drive where Grampa Joe lived, he had a koi pond. He loved his fish, and he was meticulous about feeding them. Unfortunately, today was the day the food ran out. But, the fish didn't know that. As Grampa made his way out to the pond he noticed that one of the fish had jumped out of the pond. Seeing the fish, he stooped down to pick it up. However, right as he did, another fish splashed water at his feet. He slipped and fell back into the pond in a graceful swan dive.

Only hours later did anyone notice Grampa Joe was gone. But it was too late. He was devoured by his fish. After 3 hours of very vigorous nibbling, Grampa Joe was unrecognizable.

"Suzy and I were in the house knitting sweaters for the homeless. We were just having so much fun, we didn't even think about Grampa Joe. I guess we got a little carried away," said Carol, her daughter.

Dr. Martin, expert on koi fish from the Institute of Ichthyology in Dearborn, Michigan said, "This is very irregular. Koi fish are usually too lazy to move more than a couple feet a day. For them to have eaten this man is quite odd. I worry about this new phenomenon. I'm thinking about having a koi fish BBQ this weekend to get rid of mine."

Grampa Joe's funeral will be held at 42 South Redford Lane at Ahab's Funeral Home in Lemon Cove, California. All those who own fish, or loved Grampa Joe are invited.

The Government Bails Me Out

Well, I'm sure you're all well aware that the government bailed out AIG with 85 billion dollars of worthless paper, then came back and made it $150 billion. Then, congress passed the $700 billion dollar TARP (Troubled Asset Relief Program) initiative to bail out almost any bank and lender with a good enough reason to stick its hand into Uncle Sam's pocket. Well, the government has just bailed out Citigroup with another $300 billion, and Obama has said he will pump in another $300 billion in another recovery plan when he takes office. That brings the tally (not including the other money appropriated directly by the treasury that didn't get as much press) to $1,450 billion. That's almost 1.5 trillion dollars. And, most people are saying that no end is in sight. When all is said and done the government of the US may have pumped in over 5 trillion dollars. 

But here's the kicker. The government has now decided to bail me out. I will get $70 billion. They say it's the largest bailout of a private citizen in our nation's history. 

The reason I deserve it is because if I don't get this bailout I will not be able to remain solvent. I personally backed over 40,000 mortgages in the US with my steely grin and chutzpah. But, in these uncertain times that's apparently just not good enough. Some who own my mortgages were going to default (Edna and George, Jay and Carla, Betty and Fred I'm referring to you in particular you pansies). 

In exchange for the money I've given the government a 30% stake in me. Good news? I still own myself. Mostly.

And you thought your money was worthless before this economic downturn. Ha. Quickly, start buying up gold coins! Or go on a quest like Super Mario, Sonic, or play Zelda.

Provo I bid thee farewell!

Provo I bid you farewell. Just like the Russians bid farewell to Rasputin. I bid you farewell like miners bid farewell to a decrepit mineshaft. I bid you farewell like a viking funeral. 

But, at the same time, I bid you goodbye like Murray does to the tech support lady on Flight of the Conchords season one: Leggy Blonde. And, in place of you I will party. Perhaps even becoming the Prince of Parties, as can be seen in the acid-tripping episode of Flight of the Conchords.

There will be much food and merriment. Turkeys will abound. White meat, dark meat, and gravy. Grrrraaaaaavvvvvvyy. There will be sumptuous pies, soups, breads, cranberry sauce, and stuffing. Lounging around will become my new and most favorite Olympic sport in which all I can win is the gold. Why? Why must I be so good at it? Golden turkey....Mmmmm.

But, sacrifices must be made. To get out of this place I have to take a plane. That flight leaves at 6am. So, I have to leave the house tomorrow at 4:30am. Seeing as I hit the snooze at least three times every morning when it goes off at 7:30am, it should be interesting. Worst case scenario: If I miss it I will have to eat turkey at some place other than my grandparent's house in California. Probably not the worst thing. The REAL worst case scenario: Sigourney Weaver wakes me up from my bed and tells me I have an alien inside of me. Only seconds later it pops out of my chest and eats all the turkey (One more reason to be anti-alien).

Goodbye Provo! I only wish it were a longer goodbye.

Moon Water!

A self-made billionaire who goes by the name of Bubba Fat has embarked on a quest to re-christen the entire bottled water industry. 

Bubba Fat decided one day while rolling around in piles of his money and left over popcorn that he was thirsty (and also bored with his money). So, his logical deduction was to make bottled water. 

However, the idea that struck him was anything but practical. Mr. Fat didn't just want to dig a hole in some cave or spring and sell the water he found, he wanted to tap the new glaciers recently discovered by the Japanese on the moon. He recounted the story of his epiphany to me:

"It was a late night and I had just finished watching the movie Hot Fuzz for the 7th time. The money piles were making my back a little stiff and I felt itchy. I sat up and I felt this parched sensation in my throat, as if I had just eaten 3 buckets of popcorn without anything to drink. Well, my butler said that is exactly what happened and he offered me a bottled water. The stuff tasted like...well...water. And it bored me. So, I decided to start my own little bottled water company, with moon water!"

Moon water. That is the name Mr. Fat has decided to name his new company. When asked about logistics he said:

"Well, initially the Chinese said I was too fat to go to the moon, but then they said there could be a way. They said they'd take me up there instead of the orangutan they were going to send (he didn't pass the drug test), and they wouldn't even charge me. So, I told them I'd throw down a hundred million if they made me a giant hose connected to a tank with a heater."

Mr. Fat says that if the trip is successful he might even branch out to making a product called Real Moonshine. He said he could make it in his basement with a touch of weed killer, moon water, and his "special ingredient."

"The market for bottled water is still growing, even with the facts out there that say it's not as healthy or as green as tap water. People are enticed by the novelty. And if it's novelty they want, I think moon water wins. It even beats that 10,000 year old Alaskan stuff any day," said Mr. Fat.

Bottled water and liquor from the moon. Could life get any better? I submit that it cannot.

The call of the ocean

I was listening to Hawaiian music in the shower this morning. The sound of the ukulele and the amazing vocal range of an almost 800 pound man named Israel Kamakawiwo'ole filled me with a longing for the ocean. The tropics. The beach. The surf. 

Part of this longing has to come from the fact that it is getting colder in Utah. That, and as it gets colder, the trees shed their leaves and I can see more of the barren desert that surrounds me. I get this feeling of distance from the sea. I almost believe it is gone. There is only a vast sea of brown earth. Oh sure, there are multiple shades of brown, but it's still brown.

I hate to see my surfboards idly leaning against the wall with nothing to do but hope. They were meant to ride the waves. I was meant to ride the waves. 

The ocean has always inspired men. It beckons like an unconquerable expanse. It is truly the last frontier, regardless of all of man's peregrinations and circumnavigations. We know very little about it. It's mystique and seemingly endless grip on the horizon fills the soul with wonder and contemplation. You can allow your mind to slip into an infinite blue that has no master. It liberates me. It is somehow home.

Well, I guess there's only one way to solve this problem. Ditch Utah. Go to the coast. Marry a mermaid. Live underwater with clownfish and sea turtles. And surf.