So Predictable

During the summer recess, Congressional Democrats returned to their home districts to hold open town hall meetings to solicit feedback from their constituents. These meetings were open to the public.

A very small group of rabid right-wingers organized some mindless zombies programmed with conservative talk radio sound bytes to show up at these town hall meetings with no other purpose than to disrupt the meetings and stifle debate.

Not a single one of these tea-bagging douche-nozzles came to the meetings with an alternate proposal presented in a calm and rational manner.

Every single one of these cocksucking doorknobs stood up, waved signs, yelled down elected members of congress, refused to let anyone else speak. Their ONLY purpose was to create disruption and get on the news to give the impression that a very small band of radical idiots represented an actual grass roots revolution of pissed off Americans.



Today, Republicans John McCain, Kit Bond, and Mitch McConnel came to Kansas City to hold a "health care reform debate" at Children's Mercy Hospital.

This "debate" was close to the public. It was invitation only!

Apparently 3 of the highest ranking Republican members of the United States Senate were too chickenshit to face the public.

They didn't want any outraged liberals showing up and loudly demanding that the United States give all of it's citizens the same access to health care that every other modern, civilized, industrialized nation in the world provides their citizens.

The Senators kept referring to the United States as having the best health care in the world. I guess they didn't want anybody asking why the World Health Organization ranks the U.S. Health care system only the 37th best out of 50.

We rank just below the Dominican Republic and Costa Rica, but just above Slovenia and Cube. So we've got THAT working for us! France has the Number 1 rated health care system in the world.

No, the Three Republican Amigos didn't want any harshness or tough questions. Fuck, they didn't even want any raised eyebrows or cocked heads. So they invited a few Stepford Families and TV crews and locked the doors to everyone else.

So predictable.

Well, It's Official

My 15 year old daughter, young Galadriel Tanqueray Onassis, has a boyfriend.

Jimmy.

Now, I'm not foolish enough to think that Jimmy is her first boyfriend. Jimmy is just the first one that she's actually told me about.

It happened like this. I took her to pick up her friend Alyssa on Friday. They were going to the Chief's game on Saturday with some other folks. On the way back I heard GTO ask Alyssa what time she was leaving on Sunday. I didn't really follow the conversation but me ears perked up when I heard "hanging out with me and Jimmy".

"Me and Jimmy". Yeah.

But I didn't say anything, I just sort of filed that away.

Today she texted me. She was pissed off at her mom. Not exactly breaking news. The reason for this particular instance of her pissedoffedness was the fact that her mother, who had previously agreed to drive GTO to Blue Springs and pick up Jimmy on Sunday, was now backing out because she had "plans". She wanted to know if I could take her.

Summoning all of the casual innocence and passive, dismissive curiosity I could muster, I asked. "Who's Jimmy?"

"Jimmy's my boyfriend."

Dum, Dum, DUMMMMM.

And there it was.

I took the news in stride and focused on what I considered to be the two most important points:

1. She felt confident enough in our father/daughter relationship to know that she could tell me she had a boyfriend and know that I wasn't going to freak the fuck out.

2. She was actually going to let us meet each other. That means she knew I could handle meeting him and she didn't view me as some embarrassment that she needed to hide from her boyfriend.

I told her I could probably squeeze the excursion into my busy vacation schedule. Just before we ended the call, she said "WAIT. He has ear gauges. Don't say a word!" I agreed to keep my mouth shut, even though she knows I think that shit is STUPID.

As things turned out, I didn't get to meet him. He turns 16 tomorrow and his mom was taking him out for his birthday, so there would be no hanging out today.

When she told me this, I asked her to send me a picture of him, which she did.

This isn't him, but the ear gauges are about the same.



He has holes in his earlobes about the size of a quarter.

Now, I'm not crazy about this, but it's OK. Other than the facial mutilation, he's not a bad looking guy. And GTO tells me he's an atheist, like us, and that makes me happy. Makes me think he might be intelligent despite the visual evidence to the contrary.

I'd much rather see her hook up with an atheist hipster with holes in his ears than some fundamentalist football quarterback who wants her to "get right with God" and save her soul.

I take solace in the fact that this won't last. One of them will break the other one's heart and she will move on to the next boyfriend who will be different from the last boyfriend. This is how it works. It's a winnowing process. Eventually she will discover what she wants and doesn't want and, I hope, she will find the man (or woman) who will make her happy. Which is my only concern.

In the meantime, I'm just nurturing the "you can talk to me about anything" aspect of the father/daughter relationship because I know that will become increasingly important in the coming years.

With honest and open communication, anything is possible. Between parents and children, between boyfriends and girlfriends, between husbands and wives, between life partners and life partners, between business's and customers, between politicians of opposing parties, and between nations who seek each other's demise. Nothing is as powerful or important as communication.

If you aren't communicating, you are powerless and inconsequential.

The Greatest Rock & Roll Jam Ever

I see:

Ray Charles
Keith Richards
B.B. King
Jerry Lee Lewis
Little Richard
Bo Diddley
Fats Domino
Steve Cropper
Donald "Duck" Dunn

I'm sure there are a whole lot more I didn't spot. But that's a pretty impressive bunch of talent to have on one stage at the same time.

An Untold Story Chapter 1 - The Woman

This story has been stewing inside of me for about a year. With the exception of a few trusted confidants, I haven't shared this with anyone.

It was too personal, too recent, and too raw. I was also, and still am, respectful of the other person's privacy. Which is why the names have been changed, although the circumstances are completely factual.

Most of the prologue can be found in Parts 1-3 of my "Disasters in Dating" series.

Disasters in Dating - Part 1

Disasters in Dating - Part 2

Disasters in Dating - Part 3

The beginning of Part 1 finds me freshly divorced from my 2nd wife and very much on the prowl.

By the end of Part 3, I am in love, happy, content and have been for a few years.
Which is where this story begins.

The Woman

I met Becky over 5 years ago. I had been divorced for a couple of years and was very active in the local online dating scene.

OK, "active" doesn't quite do it justice. That's like saying Ted Kennedy enjoyed an occasional sip of scotch in a social setting. Or saying Bill Gates is doing OK for himself and can live within his budget.

I was a full speed, pedal to the metal, balls to the wall manwhore, mkay? I can refer you to a few local bloggers and tweeters who will vouch for the depths of depravity and promiscuity into which I dived like Alvin on Ecstasy.

But after a couple of years of this, I had started to think that maybe I was beginning to be ready for something more. Maybe.

None of my attempts at "something more" lasted more than a month. It got to the point that I started thinking I could save myself a lot of time and money by just calling up women at random out of the phone book and breaking up with them.

"Hi! You don't know me, we've never met. But I really don't think we should see each other. It's not you, it's me. I know this comes as a shock. I'm so sorry! But you'll get over me. You'll find somebody else. You deserve to be happy. I still want to be friends. Let's stay in touch! Maybe we could have lunch sometime! O.K., I gotta run. Buh bye!" click buzzzzzzzzzzzz (that's a dial tone for you young fucks who have never heard one)

When I found Becky's online profile, I noticed that not only was she petite and cute and hot and funny, but her status was "separated".

I thought "This is fucking PERFECT! She isn't even divorced yet! She can't possibly be looking for anything serious, I suck at anything serious, so this is doomed from the start! Exactly what I'm looking for!"

I can help her transition to single life, we can have some laughs together, she'll realize she isn't ready for a relationship, in a couple of months we can part as friends and it will all be good.

Well fuck me running! It didn't work out that way. We fell in love. Sometimes shit just happens.

She'd been married twice. So had I.

Her first marriage was to a shiftless, abusive, druggie and only lasted a few years but resulted in her oldest son, Jerry.

Her second marriage was to a callous, misogynist, railroader, lasted 20 years and resulted in two more boys, Desmond and Sam.

The first 3 years we were together were fucking AWESOME. We talked and emailed every day, spent almost every weekend together. We never fought or argued. We shared a warped and twisted sense of humor.

[SIDE STORY - Before our first date, we were talking on the phone. I can even tell you the exact day. It was Saturday, July 3, 2004. She was in the middle of trying to find a job. As we were chatting and flirting over the phone, a Breaking News Story came on her TV. Tragically, it was the story of the disgruntled ConAgra meat plant worker who brought a couple of pistols to work, shot 7 people, killing 5 of them before killing himself. Her first reaction was "OOH! I bet they're hiring!" That was some sick and twisted shit! I was pretty much a goner right then and there.]

We had a lot in common. We were both the oldest of 4 kids. Both of our dad's worked for TWA. We ALWAYS had each other's back. We weathered some individual tough times hand in hand.

When I was out of work and filing for bankruptcy, I woke up one morning to find my jeep GONE. Repossessed in the middle of the night (due to bad advice from my lawyer). After an entire day of complete MELTDOWN PANIC, she came over after work picked me up and calmed me down. We drove to a dealership I had found that had a jeep I wanted. She had to write the check because my hands were shaking too bad. I was barely able to sign it. Then she bought me dinner at Denny's because I hadn't eaten anything all day and was about to pass out.

She called me, crying, when her transmission died at Truman and I-435. I ditched my grocery cart at Price Chopper and raced to her. We got her fucked up car towed to her house. Then I took her to KCI where I rented her a car so she could go car shopping. When she found one she wanted, she needed to borrow $1500.00 for a down payment. I met her at CarMax and wrote a check. No questions asked.

We were a great team!

This was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

Then about two years ago, tragically, things started to change.

Next: Chapter 2 - The Diagnosis

Park Name FAIL

Senator Edward M. Kennedy, R.I.P.

Nothing was ever expected of Ted Kennedy. He grew up knowing that. He was WAY down on the food chain.

Joesph P. Kennedy, Jr. was the son that his father, Joe Kennedy, Sr. had groomed to be president.



Unfortunately, after surviving his required 25 combat missions, he was killed on August 12, 1944 while serving as a test pilot for an experimental and cutting edge bombing technique.

With Joe Jr. dead, the family burden fell on JFK's shoulders. He was able to fulfill his father's ambition and become the first Irish Catholic president of the United States.


Unfortunately, JFK was assassinated before he could complete his first term of office.


The weight of the family legacy then fell on the shoulders of Bobby Kennedy.


I still think he would have been the best of the bunch.

But unfortunately, he was also gunned down in 1968, just 2 months after the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr.



In a tragic and tumultuous 5 years, arguably the most important 5 years of the 20th century, the Kennedy mantle had been unexpectedly passed from the 2nd string quarter back to the 4th string quarter back.

He was completely traumatized and unprepared.

Joe, Jr. would be the one in the spotlight.

Jack would be the one in the spotlight.

Bobby would be the one in the spotlight.

Ted never, ever, expected to be in the spotlight.

Which explains why his behaviour in those days was so...unheroic.

He had all of the benefits of being a Kennedy but none of of the expectations of ever amounting to anything. Yet history kept brutally slicing it's way towards him.

History met a critical mass on July 18th, 1969. He was 35 years old. He attended a party on Chappaquiddick Island for "the boiler room girls" who had served in his brother Bobby's campaign the previous year. He offered to give Mary Jo Kopechne a ride home. On the way, he lost control of his car (probably because he was drunk) on Dike Bridge and the car went into Poucha Pond.

Although Ted Kennedy managed to swim his way free, Mary Jo Kopechne drowned in the car and the incident went unreported until fishermen discovered the car the following morning and reported it to officials who discovered the body of Mary Jo Kopechne inside.

Ironically, the fulfillment of his brother JFK's greatest legacy, landing a man on the moon, was in full swing. Apollo 11 lifted off on July 16th, 1969. Neal Armrsrong set foot on the moon on July 20th. What with the news lag 40 years ago, I have a copy (somewhere) of the Kansas City Star from July 20, 1969 that has "MAN LANDS ON THE MOON" in HUGE type above the fold and a much smaller reference to Ted Kennedy and Chappaquiddick below the fold.

There is no doubt whatsoever that his family's legacy and position spared him what would have been severe DUI and manslaughter charges for you and me.

I won't even try to justify it because I can't. He should have done time. But he didn't.

From 1969 until 1979 he was mainly an ineffectual politician maintaining a legacy Senate seat with the American public wondering when he would finally make a presidential run and, most likely, meet the same fate as his brothers.

That moment came when he decided to challenge Jimmy Carter in the 1980 Primary election. He decided to challenge a sitting president over the issue of health care. This was, and remained his passion. Nothing was more important to Ted Kennedy than bringing the United States up to the level of the rest of the industrialized nations that provided health care to everyone.

He barely finished announcing his candidacy before people started talking about Chappaquiddick. Fair enough.

He also ran a crappy and inarticulate campaign framed by the Iranian revolution and American Embassy hostages resulting in a deeply divided Democratic party and a Reagan win.

But I would argue that 1980 was the best thing to ever happen to Ted Kennedy.
He finally realized that he would never be president.

The burden of his father's expectations was finally lifted from his shoulders and he could focus on being the best Senator he could be.

And he was a GREAT Senator. He knew how to reach across party lines, compromise, and get things done.

If you look at the long list of legislative bills over 40 years that carry Ted Kennedy's name, the great majority of them will carry the name of a co-sponsor from the Republican party.

This is how government is supposed to work.



Ted Kennedy, despite insurrmountable burdens, inauspicious expectations and ineffectual initial efforts became one of the longest serving and most influential Senators in the history of the United States.

We will never see his like again.

Go in peace.

How Does US Health Care Rank Compared To Other Industrialized Countries?

We suck ass. That's how we compare. We are the only industrialized nation on the planet that doesn't have the means to provide health care for everyone. The only one. Everyone else can do it. Just not us.

According to the World Health Organization, we rank 37th among the 50 industrialzed countries.

That's 37th from the top, only 13th from the bottom.

From Yahoo Answers

WHO rankings:

Rank Country

1 France
2 Italy
3 San Marino
4 Andorra
5 Malta
6 Singapore
7 Spain
8 Oman
9 Austria
10 Japan
11 Norway
12 Portugal
13 Monaco
14 Greece
15 Iceland
16 Luxembourg
17 Netherlands
18 United Kingdom
19 Ireland
20 Switzerland
21 Belgium
22 Colombia
23 Sweden
24 Cyprus
25 Germany
26 Saudi Arabia
27 United Arab Emirates
28 Israel
29 Morocco
30 Canada
31 Finland
32 Australia
33 Chile
34 Denmark
35 Dominica
36 Costa Rica
37 United States of America
38 Slovenia
39 Cuba
40 Brunei
41 New Zealand
42 Bahrain
43 Croatia
44 Qatar
45 Kuwait
46 Barbados
47 Thailand
48 Czech Republic
49 Malaysia
50 Poland

===

1.The US has the most expensive healthcare system in the world. It is almost twice as expensive as every other developed nation. This is largely due to administrative costs which account for 19-25% of healthcare costs, and up to 34% at for-profit hospitals.

2.Other than South Africa, America is the only developed country in the world that does not provide healthcare for all of its citizens.

3.Yet, the US ranks 26th in infant mortality and 24th in the number of healthy years a person can expect to live - putting America’s healthcare system in the company of Cuba and Slovenia rather than Canada and Western European nations.

4.And, despite ludicrous right-wing anecdotal claims of high dissatisfaction among those who live in countries with universal healthcare, the reality is that, with the exception of Italy, Americans are more dissatisfied with their healthcare than are the citizens of every other developed nation, including England, France, Germany, and Canada. Moreover, US doctors spend less time with patients that do doctors in other nations.

http://dll.umaine.edu/ble/U.S.%20HCweb.pdf

http://news.ucsf.edu/releases/comparison-study-shows-us-low-in-primary-care-physician-visits/

Prosecutor To Probe CIA Interrogations

"WASHINGTON (CNN) -- Attorney General Eric Holder has asked federal prosecutor John Durham to examine whether CIA interrogations of suspected terrorists were illegal, the Justice Department announced Monday."

Good! It's about fucking time somebody grew some balls!

"WASHINGTON (AP) - A newly declassified CIA report says interrogators threatened to kill the children of a Sept. 11 suspect.

The document, released Monday by the Justice Department, says one interrogator said a colleague had told Khalid Sheikh Mohammed that if any other attacks happened in the United States, "We're going to kill your children."...Another interrogator allegedly tried to convince a different terror suspect detainee that his mother would be sexually assaulted in front of him — though the interrogator in question denied making such a threat"

What the fuck? Our government threatening to kill children and rape mothers?

This isn't the America I grew up in. I don't care what the external threat may be. I grew up in a world that could end in nuclear annihilation on 20 minutes notice. I remember the Cuban Missile Crisis. I remember being in 2nd grade, leaving for school in the morning knowing that the world could be engulfed in thermonuclear flames before the end of the school day.



But even then, it was understood that the United States would never, ever, initiate hostilities. As my father (a veteran of WWII in the Merchant Marine and The Korean Conflict in the Army) explained it to me, "we don't start wars...we finish them".

I was raised to believe that America leads by example. We don't stoop to the level of the terrorists. We don't BECOME terrorists.

We are a nation founded on the rule of law. We must always, ALWAYS follow the law.

When we cast the law aside in the name of expediency and lower ourselves to the level of our enemies, we have ceased to be Americans.

I hope Durham is given the authority to follow the evidence and prosecute any official, at any level who attempted to pull America down to the level of a terrorist.

Health Care Reform You Can Believe In!

One word.

HIPAA.

The Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act of 1996.

"The Office for Civil Rights enforces the HIPAA Privacy Rule, which protects the privacy of individually identifiable health information, and the confidentiality provisions of the Patient Safety Rule, which protect identifiable information being used to analyze patient safety events and improve patient safety."

Don't get me wrong. I don't have any problem with the policy itself. I think it was good legislation.

What I have a problem with is being required to sign a fucking HIPAA form every time I visit my doctor or pick up a prescription!

I'm almost 54 years old (birthday is September 16th...shop early, shop often!), I could wallpaper a Rodeo Drive mansion with the HIPAA forms I've had to sign in the past 13 years!

You want to reform health care? Want to reduce paper work? Want to streamline the process? Reduce financial costs and environmental impacts?

CREATE A FUCKING SPREADSHEET!

Here is how my RADICAL, LIBERAL, SOCIALIST PLAN would work.

I visit my doctor and I sign a HIPAA form.

My name, date of birth, SSN, is sent via a secure IP connection to The Office for Civil Rights. They log the information and send me a wallet sized card with a hologram, a mag stripe and a bar code saying I am now exempt from ever having to sign another fucking HIPAA form!

This is not rocket science. It's a fucking Excel spreadsheet. First Name. Middle Name. Last Name. Date of Birth. SSN. Five fucking columns. Log it, print it, send me a card, we're done.

Why is this so difficult?

August Blogger/Tweeter Gathering

Tuesday
August 25th, 2009
5pm-?

Spin! Neapolitan Pizza
4950 Main St,
Kansas City, Mo, 644112

The Remco Years - The Final Chapter

Our CEO was batshit crazy.


He was this Col. Kurtz like figure down in Houston, an est disciple who would send out these rambling, indecipherable "Company Memos".



They were like letters from your senile Great Aunt down in Arkansas who thought you were her long-dead sister, Marta Lou.

They were only useful for their entertainment value. The guy was nucking futs!

The folks below him weren't any better. There was no real business direction. It was all panicky, reactive decisions based on lagging business indicators

There was no Strategic Vision because (I suspect) they were all huddled around the corporate hookah listening to our CEO/guru spout his est-inspired, ganja-fueled, goon-babble.


So our boss, Dan, would get these memos and phone calls from Houston.

"You have too many delinquent accounts! If your customers are one hour past due, you go get those units! Take no excuses! Get those units!"

So he would be forced to send us out on these massive roundups that were coordinated like multi-jurisdictional warrant strikes. We would even notify law enforcement officials and have units staged nearby and on alert if we needed them.

Then we would be left with fewer customers and a store room full of cockroach infested rental units waiting to be fumigated, cleaned up, touched up, refurbished and ready to be rented to some other poor schmucks.

As a result of all this, we would start doubling up on our due diligence. We started to be more careful about who we rented to. We would verify employment. We would actually call their personal references. We tried harder to make sure we were only renting to people who could make the payments.

A few weeks would go by, and we would get another urgent memo from Houston.

"You have too many idle units! Those units aren't generating any revenue sitting in the store room! Move 'em! Anyone who walks in with a pulse and can 'make their mark' on an application leaves with a unit! That store room better be empty by the end of the week! You're e rental company! Rent some units!"

This tidal cycle would repeat itself over, and over and over. We saw the folly, but apparently the folks in Houston were oblivious to it.

I know the stress took its toll on Dan. Like any good manager, he tried to be a buffer between us and Corporate HQ. His job was to absorb all the crazy, stress inducing bullshit and distill it down to "this is what we need to do to keep the paychecks coming".

Towards the end, Dan was forced to accept an Assistant Manager hand picked by HQ. That's when it started being not so much fun anymore. It was also about the time that we started branching out and renting shit like washing machines, dryers, furniture.

I forget whether Dan quit or got fired. But we were all left reporting to the corporate assistant manager guy.

Also can't remember whether I quit or got fired. I suspect I was fired because I wound up on unemployment for a while. The Remco delivery van was no longer at my disposal for personal use. I could no longer afford my apartment. I needed a place to live.

As I recall, Dan wound up with another sales job, but he wasn't making the money he used to and he was looking for a roommate.

So we became roomies at his place at 65th and Oak. Our landlord was the owner of Kelly's in Westport.

What went on during the years that Dan and I roomed together are probably worthy of their own series of posts.



Thanks for reading.

Rorschach's Plight

I always wondered how the eye-holeless mask thing worked.

Now I know.

Well, That Was Fun!

Today was the Elvis Movie Marathon and Sammich Festival.

In attendance (I'll be using Twitter IDs because it's easiest and you really should be following all of these people on Twitter. It's 2009 people. Blogs are so 2007!) were @MySecretSelf and her cub, @banky and his better half @thundabolt, @MySpyderWeb and her hubby Kanga who does not twitter, @average_jane, @m_toast, @princessofworld, @wellhellchell and later, after everyone else had left (my fault...mix-up in posted times), @kcsponge and her young adorable spawn.

I don't think I missed anyone, but if I did I'm sure I'll hear about it and deservedly so.

@TheDLC indicated that he would be in attendance. But was he? No. Not so much, really. Fine. Whatevies.

Each instance of the obscenely decadent peanut butter & banana & BACON sandwich, pan grilled in REAL BUTTER was a custom creation.

Some opted for the Steakhouse Twist bread (because it was closest to the white bread that Elvis would probably have preferred).

Others went with the potato bread. I don't think anyone went with the buttermilk bread, but I could be wrong.

Most went with the smooth peanut butter (which I put on both slices), but one attendee (I'm looking at you, @thundabolt!) was edgy enough to add to the inherent bacon crunch by opting for the extra crunchy peanut butter.

Some went balls to the wall, others chose to leave off the bacon and opt for the minimalist version of The King's favorite sandwich.

As I was frying up my 4th or 5th sandwich, @princessofworld declared she could physically feel her arteries hardening and clogging just by breathing the air in the room. I honestly don't think this was her imagination.

Everyone seemed to be quite pleased with their sandwiches. There was no projectile vomiting. No one immediately went into cardiac arrest and keeled over dead, so that was good. I got that working for me.

The general reaction was that The Elvis was really fucking good! It's kind of like a greasy, risky, uber-high-calorie version of a 'smore.

In fact, a 'smore is to an Elvis, what your first real date is to a Roman orgy.

I'm a little afraid that my friends will work this culinary catastrophe into their regular diets and they'll all be dead in 6 months.

It happened 32 years ago...it could happen again.

Which, after preparing them all day, makes me a little scared to finally fix one of my own. But fuck! I gotta eat SOMETHING for supper. Shit! This can't be good.

Rewriting Ad Copy

An ex girlfriend, like most of my ex girlfriends, became a lifelong good friend (so much better in so many ways).

Her parents have a very nice mobile home. They are wanting to sell it and move to a maintenance free rental. Ya know. Like me. I'm such a trend setter!

They don't have computers or digital cameras or internet access. But someone told them there was a web site where they could "sell their mobile home on the internet".

So I'm trying to help them out. My ex gf's sister wrote an ad for their them. Here it is.

"16 x 80 mobile home for sale. 2 bedrooms, 2 baths. Master bedroom has separate master bath with double vanity, shower & new jacuzzi. Second full bath has new bathtub and shower. Large kitchen with oak cabinets + large living room. Cathedral ceilings throughout. Kitchen appliances like new. 3 outdoor sheds for storage. Privacy fence on part of lot & deck. Car port for 2 cars. New roof, siding, carpet & hot water heater. Beautiful, a must see. Call 816-XXX-XXXX."

*****

I took 10 pictures of the place and rewrote the ad, but I could use some professional second opinions.

HOME FOR SALE BY OWNER

Beautiful 1280 square foot, 2 bedroom, 2 bathroom, manufactured home with large living room and cathedral ceilings available!

FEATURES

Car Port for 2 cars



Wheelchair Accessible



Modern kitchen & appliances with lots of oak storage and central cooking island




Master bathroom has double vanity,



A shower and new jacuzzi



Second full bath has new bathtub and shower

Small, flat, easily maintainable yard with a privacy fence.



3 outdoor sheds for storage
Deck with dual fenced pet gates
New Roof
New siding
New carpet
New hot water heater

Priced to sell! Call 816-XXX-XXXX. to arrange an appointment with the owner.

Opinions? Feedback?

Rock Star Heart Attack

This Sunday, Turner Classic Movies is presenting an Elvis Movie Marathon to commemorate his passing on August 16, 1977.

I have decided to host an Open House from 11am - 5pm the same day. Anyone who wants to drop by will get a free Elvis Sandwich, a handful of french fries or chips (your choice) and a glass of ice cold milk. If you want something else to drink, bring it.



The TCM movies on tap during the open house are:

11:00 "GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS"
1:00 "JAILHOUSE ROCK"
2:45 "FUN IN ACAPULCO"

The Elvis

Elvis Presley died on August 16, 1977.

He was supposedly found dead on the crapper with his pajamas around his knees.

This Sunday will be the 32nd anniversary of his death.

I'm considering commemorating his passing by cranking up his Sun Records sessions and fixing one of the things that killed him.

I've done a little research and found a couple of different versions of Elvis' favorite sandwich.

There is the classic story of the Fool's Gold Loaf from The Mine Company restaurant in Denver.

It was basically a loaf of Italian bread, hollowed out and filled with peanut butter, jelly and bacon.

That sounds kind of...well, disgusting.

Then there was the grilled peanut butter and banana versions, with or without bacon.

Of the various versions, I think the grilled peanut butter and banana with bacon sounds the most Elvisish.

Seriously considering grilling up a batch of theses decadent fuckers on Sunday to mark the demise of the King of Rock and Roll.

I'm thinking you grill up all the bacon first. I lean towards thick cut, peppered bacon.

Then you make your peanut butter and banana sandwiches, layer in the bacon, and fry those fuckers up in the bacon grease.

Might even consider going all international and substituting plain old banana slices with fried plantains...also fried in the bacon grease. Ya know, for the calories.



So, if I decided to create some of these epicurean abominations this Sunday...who's in? Who will bring the Shatto milk to wash these belly bombers down?

Feedback on choice of bread? Plantains vs. Bananas? Jelly, no jelly? Brand of peanut butter? Crunchy vs. smooth? Bacon thin and crispy or thick and meaty? Hickory smoked or maple cured?

C'mon food bloggers! Weigh in on The Elvis!

The Remco Years - Chapter 4

I don't remember how long I worked for Remco. A couple of years, tops. But I suspect it was more like one year.

It was a blast! It was exciting! I was in my early 20's! There was a constant dangerous vibe. You never knew what would go down on a delivery or collection run.

I mentioned in previous posts that my manager, Dan, had been a Naval Aviator. a Rescue Helicopter pilot, and flight instructor.

He taught me a lot.

One of his most zen-like sayings was "There is nothing more useless than the sky above you or the ground below you".

For you and me this sounds like nonsense! They are both VERY important! But not for a pilot.

If you have the sky above you but can't get there because you can't take off, the sky is useless.

If you have the ground below you but can't land, then the ground is useless.

Life, like air combat, is a chess game. If you aren't thinking six or seven moves ahead...you are already dead.

But it is also SUPREMELY IMPORTANT to live in the NOW.

He drilled the concept of "situational awareness" into us. This is a fighter pilot skill. They need to be able to focus on friendly planes, enemy planes, altitude, speed, weapon status, radio chatter, weather conditions, fuel level, navigation and their own physical condition all at the same time at all times!

You always, always have to be aware of everything that is going on around you. You need to maintain a 360 degree focus of awareness in 4 dimensions.

You can go into any neighborhood, under any conditions, and do your job as long as you stay alert and pay attention. It's the stupid people who wake up dead. Smart people always win and always wake up alive.

These are skills that have stayed with me and probably feed my road rage. When I see drivers yacking on their fucking cell phones, or reading the newspaper, or texting, or putting on their makeup, I know that their situational awareness is compromised and that makes them a navigational hazard to me!

PUT DOWN THE FUCKING PHONE! THE LIGHT IS GREEN! MOVE YOUR FUCKING ASS! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY! DRIVE LIKE YOU ARE TRYING TO GET SOMEWHERE! IGNORANT, INCONSIDERATE, FUCKTARD! PAY ATTENTION! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!

Breath! Calm. Go to your "Happy Place". OK. Come back now.

Honestly, Remco was my first "real job". One that paid me enough to afford a decent apartment. Well, it was the same Cimarron apartment that had the mushroom in the closet as detailed in Chapter 2, but it didn't have too many cockroaches.

I had an office. I had business cards with my name on them. I got to take my delivery van home at night and use it for personal transportation.

Dan offered me this opportunity from the drunken back seat of my Raytown taxi out of the blue. A completely random occurence. [Yes, it was random! It wasn't Divine Intervention, it wasn't my "Guardian Angel", it wasn't fate or karma. I picked up a drunk at a bar. He needed a driver who knew his way around town. Shit happens!]

In many ways, he is responsible for the path my career has taken over the past 30 years. One experience built upon another to take me from there to here.

Of course, he was also responsible for my post graduate education in Manwhorelyness. I graduated Phi Beta Goddamned Kappa from THAT class! Magna Cum Laude!

He and I eventually became roommates in a house at 65th & Oak in a house we rented from the owner of Kelly's in Westport.

I hope to have more on that later.

It's hard to tell where this will go. This was not the post I thought I would be publishing tonight. Not the one I had been composing all day. But that's OK!

Another lesson from Dan. You have to go with the flow, and most importantly, you have to know when to say "fuck it!"

Good call, Dan. Good call.

My Friend Sam Elliott

OK, I don't actually know Sam Elliott. Never met the man.

I had this drinking buddy back in my hippie days named J.W. Butler who was a dead ringer for Sam Elliott.

Maybe a bit more grizzled and less well-groomed. His hair may have been a bit longer and shaggier. But he definitely rocked Elliott with the stache and the tude.

He was a few years older than me. Old enough to have served a tour of duty in the Army. Although he served during the Vietnam era, he wasn't a Vietnam vet, per se. He served his time in the Panama Canal Zone. "Guarding the jungle" as he called it. His biggest enemies were boredom, mosquitoes and snakes.

He was over 21 and could buy beer. I was younger than that and had access to weed. Now that's the basis for for a meaningful friendship, right there!

He was a real outdoorsy kinda guy. You never saw this guy in public without a 12" Bowie knife hanging off his belt. He hunted deer with a bow and would hike out into the woods and stay for days or weeks. Whatever it took. Just living off the land until he got his deer. A bit of a Rambo.

He's the only person I know who actually went to Woodstock.

He didn't make it to Woodstock, but he got closer than anyone I know. He got stuck in the traffic jam about 10 miles away. They couldn't get any closer and they couldn't turn around. They were stuck in traffic for 3 days.


Somebody should make a movie about those folks. I'm looking at you, Judd Apatow!

J.W. bought an old church just outside of Excelsior Springs and converted it into a house. Does your house have a steeple and an altar? No. Probably not.

He was just a cool guy.

So that's the background, here's the story.

J.W. and me had been out partying. Can't remember where we went or what we did. All I remember is that we wound up at the Sambo's in Liberty at about 2am. We were stoned out of our minds and we wanted something to eat.

Yeah. There was actually a restaurant chain called Sambo's.



After the modern political correctness (and actual cultural correctness) , most of them either became Denny's or went out of business.




But I digress.

J.w. & me are sitting at the counter at Sambo's. It's probably 1974, 1975. We're drunk, we're stoned, we both have long hair and we need us some munchies.

Let me set the stage...



The place is packed with it's normal 2am clientele of drunken truck drivers and Highway Patrolmen. For Sambo's, bar closing time is just like lunch time. The waitresses are busy and stressed.

We are the only long haired hippies in the place.

A harried waitress runs buy us holding up an index finger saying "I'll be with you in just a minute!"

A big, burly, redneck, liquored-up, truck driver who apparently disapproved of our long hair and was sitting between us and some Highway Patrolmen at the counter calls out to the waitress and says "Yeah, see what these LADIES want to have!"

My friend, J.W., turns and looks at the truck driver.

He smiles his biggest, most charming, Sam Elliott, moustachey grin, stares the douchey truck driver right in the eye and says...

"How would you like to suck a lady's dick?"

This is the tensenst moment of my life. I can envision the Liberty Sambo's exploding into a scene of Hippie vs. Trucker violence being intervened by hungry, pissed off highway patrolmen.

Tensions at Samboe's rise to thermonuclear levels, until the waitress boomerangs back, get's in J.W.'s face and say's "How'd you like to sit someplace else with a mouth like that?!"

He apologized to the waitress, everyone calmed down and nobody got killed dead ala Easy Rider.

The waitress, like all good waitresses, managed to defuse a volatile situation, keep the peace, and come away with a tip!

What a great night!

Derrick Thomas - NFL Hall of Fame

Derrick Thomas is dead because he was travelling at high speeds, during an ice storm, weaving in and out of traffic in his SUV and generally being an ignorant dick.

His asshat behavior killed his personal assistant Michael Tellus.

Instead of being inducted into the NFL Hall of Fame, he should be posthumously indicted on manslaughter charges for the death of Michael Tellus.

Iron Man 2 Trailer

Sort of. It's the Comicon trailer that got posted on Youtube.

Movie Review: The Hangover

I was kinda wanting to see a movie this weekend. When it is ridonkulously hot and humid, there is something satisfying about sitting in a cool, dark movie theater for a couple of hours.

Thought about it yesterday, but a competing urge for a nap completely kicked the movie's ass.

But today, I got the kitchen cleaned up (it having served as the Staging Area for Absolutely Feisty and her friend L's night of Big Fun.), and I got my laundry done, all before noon. I decided a movie was in order.

I texted AF and invited her along. I knew she'd be hungover after her night out on the town, so I chose "The Hangover".

We grabbed a quick and tasty bite to eat at Smokehouse BBQ and hit the AMC 20.

Jesus H. Christ In A Motherfucking Chicken Basket Covered With In-A-Tub Powdered Cheese!

This was the funniest movie I've seen since Rat Race!

I don't want to say too much. Most of you have already seen it (it came out in early June) and know what I'm talking about. For those who haven't, I don't want to spoil it.

I'll just give you the set-up.

A guy about to be married and three of his buddies go to Las Vegas for a bachelor party.

They wake up the next day in a completely trashed hotel room, with a Siberian tiger in the bathroom, a baby in the closet, missing a tooth and missing the groom with absolutely no memory of what happened the night before.

Hilarity ensues!

Seriously, I haven't laughed this hard for this long since The D Rules claimed to have a date. With a woman. Who wasn't a relative. That he didn't have to pay.

Seriously, if I had this movie on DVD, I'd be watching it again right now.

Great fucking movie. Go see it!

The Remco Years - Chapter 3

The people.

It would be easy to form a less than flattering preconception about the type of people who would be renting TVs and stereos. And some of those preconceptions would be accurate. Some wouldn't.

Might surprise you to learn that some of my customers were Kansas City Chiefs. Couldn't name any of them, but I had a few. Think about it. They were only in town for the season. As I recall, this was when they still had their training camp at William Jewell College in Liberty.

Didn't make any sense for them to hire a moving company, haul all of their shit from Texas, or Florida or wherever they lived all the way up to KC for a few months and then haul all of that shit back. Easier to come up here light, rent what they needed for as long as they needed, then send it all back and travel home light. Not like they couldn't afford it!

But admittedly, that was the exception. For the most part, they are on the lower end of the economic spectrum. Maybe not quite poverty level, but they could swing a dead cat at arms length and hit poverty level.

Could be a guy who is recently divorced and trying to start over. She had a good lawyer. She got the house, the newest car, judge awarded her generous maintenance and child support for their three kids. He finds himself working just as long and hard as he used to, but left with nothing. He's living in a shitty part of town because it's all he can afford. He just needs a TV to watch in his crappy little roach hotel to distract him from his desire to blow his brains out.

They could be a couple who don't have a lot of education, no marketable skills and maybe started a family a bit too soon. They are together. They're struggling mightily to do the right thing and raise their kids. They just can't get a break and they can barely...just barely, pay their rent and buy food. They can't take their kids to Worlds of Fun. Fuck, they can't even afford to take the family to McDonald's for a "night out". But by God they can have a TV. The family can at least watch TV.

And this was back in the day when you only had 3 channels! ABC, CBS, NBC. That was it. KSHB might have been available on the UHF spectrum by then, but all they had were re-runs of "Love American Style" and Uncle Ed Muscare. If you weren't watching one, you were watching the other. And they both sucked ass.

The rental business was pretty brutal. Probably still is.

You know how when you owe money for something or have a credit card, the company sends you a bill. The bill tells you how much your payment is and when it's due. They even tell you how much more you will owe if the bill goes past due.

The rental business ain't like that.

Here's your TV. Sign here. Your payment is $XX.XX a month and payments are due on the 16th of the month. Best be remembering that. We don't send no stinking bills.

If the 16th rolls around and we don't have your rent payment, I'll be at your door on the 17th. The money or the TV are your only options. There is no mercy, there are no negotiations, no deals, no bargains. You give me the money, or I'm taking the TV. Period.

It doesn't even matter if the 16th was a Sunday or a holiday. We have a mail slot in the front door. Better fucking be an envelope with cash or a money order from you waiting for us on the floor. Or you go on My List.

People used to say "Man! That has got to be rough! You show up on a Sunday afternoon, the renter and his buddies are drinking beer and watching a Chiefs vs. Raiders game and you're there to take away the TV! Dayum! That's cold!"

It was rough and it was cold. I won't lie to you. I was cleaning out my van one day and found a slug. A bullet. Did a walk around and found the entry point just forward and above the rear driver's side wheel.

Somebody could have been targeting me. Or maybe I just caught a bit of stray gunfire. Have no idea. But I kept it for years as a sort of good luck charm. It didn't kill me. That's good luck, right?

I also remember showing up on a collection run to find the po po on sight intervening in a full-blown domestic disturbance. Maybe over the fact that somebody forgot to drop off the Remco payment. Who knows. I just need to grab this TV and I'll be out of your way. Won't be a minute. As you were.

Those were sensitive situations that had to be handled delicately. But it got a whole lot worse than that.

Try getting an early start on a Saturday morning. Your first collection stop of the day doesn't have his rent payment. Just lost his job. He can probably borrow it from his folks. He can have it Monday. Promise.

Sorry man. Sucks to be you. I gotta take the TV.

You walk into the living room to retrieve YOUR rental property and there are 3 or 4 kids, still in their pajamas, eating dry, stale, expired "Best Choice" knock-off Cheerios right out of the box, watching their favorite cartoons.

They look up at you. Wondering who you are and why you are there. One of them smiles.

You look at their dad. His head is hanging, eyes closed. Wondering how he's going to explain to his kids why the man had to take the TV away. They don't know daddy lost his job. He'll have to explain that part to them. Again.

BOSS: "How did it go today? I don't see a TV. Did you get the payment?"

ME: "Nobody home. I'll try again. On Monday."

My First T-Shirt

Get the T-Shirt here.

Bank Teller Stops Alleged Robber, Loses Job

"(CNN) -- Jim Nicholson could've just handed over the cash. Instead, he gave the would-be robber a run for his money -- and paid for it.

The 30-year-old bank teller said the suspect, dressed in black and wearing sunglasses, walked up to his counter at the Key Bank branch in suburban Seattle, Washington, demanding he fill the man's bag with cash.

"So I grab the bag ... I threw it on the floor," Nicholson told CNN Radio. He said he demanded the robber show him a weapon. When he realized there was none, Nicholson said, he lunged at the robber, chased him down the street, pinned him down and waited for the police.

That was Tuesday of last week. He lost his job Thursday.

Why?

"Policy violation," Nicholson said. "Basically, we are supposed to comply with any robber that would come in. We're supposed to just give him the money and let him go -- and obviously I did not do that."

Probably sounds counter-intuitive and unfair, right? The guy prevented a crime, risked his LIFE to protect his employer from being robbed and his reward for his bravery is to get FIRED?!

Goddamn right he got fired, and he deserved to.

Every bank has that exact same policy for a very good reason. If the employees "just give them the money and let them go", NOBODY GETS KILLED!

The banks are insured! When a robber holds up a bank, the only loser is the insurance company!

The customers don't lose any money.

The banks don't lose any money.

The shareholders don't lose any money.

It's just the insurance company who loses money when they reimburse the bank for the amount stolen. Why do they lose money? BECAUSE THAT'S THEIR FUCKING BUSINESS MODEL! The insurance companies go to a bank and say "Look. For a recurring fee, we will bet you that you will never be robbed. We are so confidant that you will never be robbed that we will cover your losses if you are robbed."

In casino terms, the insurance companies are The House. They win 99% of the bets by having a steady revenue stream without having to do a goddamn thing! Occasionally, rarely, they have to pay off a bet. They don't give a fuck. They still make an assload of money and they get to raise the insurance rates on the victim!

In fact, it is the insurance companies who INSIST that the banks they insure have a policy to "give them the money and let them go". As long as the banks adhere to that policy, the insurance company is only on the hook for the amount in the teller's drawer (heh heh) when the robbery occurs.

But if the bank has a policy of resisting robbery attempts, or some Rambo-fucktard-wannabe-teller decides to be a movie star hero, a whole lot of bank employees and customers could get killed dead! Not just "merely dead", but "really most sincerely dead!" Or permanently disabled. Or distressed, ya know, emotionally.

Do you have any fucking idea how exponentially the civil lawsuits explode when collateral victims of a bank robbery gone bad realize that they can sue A BANK?

This guy was a fucking idiot. The only thing he was doing was risking the lives of everyone around him to protect the most microscopic, infinitesimal, minuscule fraction of a giant insurance companies assets.

I'll bet you he's a gun owning, conservative, Republican.

Real Blogger Journalism

There are a lot of ego whores in this small town blogosphere who fancy themselves to be cutting edge, new wave journalists because they post gossip and float stories that have no basis in fact and don't have the education or discipline to verify their information.

They rank their importance in their self contained worlds by the number of visitors they get to their blogs and the number of vicious, anonymous commentors they attract. The more of both they get, the more important they feel.

This town is full of them and they all blend together. It's hard to distinguish one from another. They engage in an endless incestuous warfare of vacuous masturbatory banter that dulls the senses and lowers the collective IQ of anyone who reads them.

They subscribe to the Manjooian philosophy of a post-fact society and claim newspapers are dead, and that this new, loosey-goosey, say-it-enough-times-and-it's-true propaganda are the wave of the future.

That's bullshit.

In stark juxtaposition to these local rumor mongers and wannabes stands the Midtown Miscreant.

He doesn't waste his time or blog space on meaningless drama or insider politics that doesn't impact anyone and that no one gives a shit about.

Instead he uncovered a truly dangerous and frightening case of a guy who used to be "kind of a big deal" in this town, the host of a local afternoon children's show, and later convicted child molester of a 14 year old relative.

That part was fairly common knowledge.

What we didn't know, and what Mark discovered, were the extremely creepy YouTube videos that Ed Muscare had been posting while still under probation for his child molestation conviction.

You can see the Fox 4 News story that was spurred by Mark's original blog journalism here.

 

Mark uncovered a true story about a dangerous man who posed a real threat to children. As a result, the police have seized Muscare's computers and are conducting an investigation.

I think Mark only posted about the subject once or twice, and he got results.

That's a pretty stark contrast to other local, shrill, one-note-wonders, who hammer away on the same, tired subjects hour after hour, day after day, month after month and continue to come up empty handed every time.

It's like watching a bunch of spastic chihuahuas dry humping a couch and coming away with nothing more than tiny sore peckers.

Mark, on the other hand, did some good solid investigative journalism that had a positive result.

This is Darwinian blogging.

The best blogs will survive because they are relevant.

The worst ones will paint themselves into a corner and implode like a supernova when their incoming traffic exceeds their compelling content and they become a critical mass of anonymous intellectual vacuum and create a black hole of stupidity from which nothing of interest, not even their anonymous trolls can escape.

Fulfilling My Destiny

I have a birthday coming up. September 16th. I will be 54 years old and I think it's about time that I fulfilled my destiny and became the Super Villian I was meant to be.

Lex Luthor.


It occurred to me that I am being rude to my readers by not giving you sufficient notice of things that I would like to receive as birthday presents to give you time to get them for me.

Again, this isn't about me, it's about you. Trying to save you that last minute scramble and having to rob from Peter to pay Paul or go further into debt just to get me something nice.

I know, I know. I'm selfless like that. Always have been! Call it a character flaw. And you're welcome.

So here is my gift registry.

The first thing I will need is a Lair. All Super Villians have Lairs. This is the one I want.

1. Necker Island

"Necker Island is located in the British Virgin Islands, 2 km north of the northeastern flank of Virgin Gorda. Sir Richard Branson purchased Necker Island more than 25 years ago.Â

Totally private, Necker island has only one residence, a magnificent villa of breathtaking Balinese design. Necker can accommodate up to 28 guests and can be booked as a complete private package, or for certain weeks of the year the villas and rooms can be rented individually.

Previously uninhabited, Necker has now been developed into a superb private hideaway, now with several buildings including the Great House, five Balinese villas, a spa and a beach pavilion.

The Great House, an airy Balinese villa, has 9 bedrooms including a Master Suite. All rooms have balconies and stunning ocean views. Amidst the tropical flora and fauna you’ll find 5 Bali houses. Each alfresco style house has several tiers and access to a pool.

Varied amenities include a barbecue, two whirlpools, a lighted tennis court and three beaches. The magnificent freshwater pool features a cascade set amid boulders, and lounge chairs beckon nappers."

Of course, I'll need a way to get there! Duh!

2. The Oculus

"The interior features of Oculus focus on a 12 foot high ceiling in the main salon, a cylindrical double height dining room, central stair and elevator tube, and seemingly anatomical ceiling and floor lighting extensions giving definition to the seating areas.

The second level is the dedicated Owner’s suite. Living areas and bedchambers are divided by a series of four freestanding tubes, which house bath and storage necessities.

In addition to the main common stair, the second Owner’s stair connects to the third level aft private salon and deck / water feature.

The third level also contains the forward pilothouse and separate captain’s quarters. The generous open decks with separate water features are located forward and aft for convenient guest use."

Once there, I'll need something to do.

3. Deep Flight Super Falcon

"Super Falcon has a state of the art fly‐by‐wire flight control system (finger tip). Pitch, roll, and yaw flight are controlled by micro‐controllers and are connected through to powerful electro‐mechanical actuators that manage rudders, elevators and ailerons – all identical to our 37,000 foot Deep Flight Challenger.

Super Falcon also raises the bar with its highly advanced piloting and navigational and life support electronics, which includes a head’s‐up combined graphics navigation and flight display ‐‐ all quite familiar to military pilots – but a first for privately‐owned submersibles.

Another first is the navigation module which includes an on‐board computerized track plot that enables the pilot to mark way points and will guide the sub back to its launch point etc.

Deep Flight Super Falcon is incomparable to other submersibles in terms of safety, comfort and experience. The sub can provide its owner with a graceful, balletic flight beneath the waves, but has the performance for, among other things, barrel‐rolling with dolphins, spy‐hopping with whales, or searching for sunken galleons."

Of course traveling over the ocean can be so tedious. You can't go very fast, and let's face it, the ocean stinks because fish fuck in it. No one wants to smell that.

Sometimes, I need to get places fast. So I need my own plane.

4. XO One

"...special cylindrical elevator that comes out of the bottom of the plane...relaxation comes from a steam room, Turkish bath, concert hall (with a baby grand piano) or in one of the five private quarters, complete with king size beds. Less fortunate guests will have to spend the night in one of the 20 "normal" first class sleeper suites...the "well being" room has a floor made from a giant screen, showing what the plane is flying over."

I'm particularly fond of the "Well being room".

This is how XO rolls.

Of course, once XO One lands, I can't be rolling out of the onboard garage in a Ford Fuckus! I need an XO-worthy ride. And that can only be...

5. Bugatti Veyron

"A W-16 engine that can produce 1,001 horsepower
A top speed of 250+ mph (400+ kph)
A zero-to-60 time of three seconds
A zero-to-180 time of 14 seconds
A price tag somewhere in the $1.2 million range

Seven gears
A dual clutch system
Sequential shifting
A paddle-driven, computer-controlled shifting system

At maximum power, the engine is consuming 45,000 liters of air per minute.
At maximum power, the engine is burning 1.33 gallons of gasoline per minute and needs to dissipate all of that heat through its radiators.

The engine has four valves per cylinder, for a total of 64 valves.

It has a dry sump lubrication system borrowed from Formula 1 race cars, along with an intricate internal oil path to ensure proper lubrication and cooling within the 16 cylinders.

It has electronically controlled, continuously variable cam timing to create optimal performance at different engine rpm settings.

It has a massive radiator to deal with all of the waste heat that burning 1.33 gallons of gasoline per minute can generate."

"The Bugatti Veyron is a car built around an engine. Essentially, Bugatti made the decision to blow the doors off the supercar world by creating a 1,000-horsepower engine. Everything else follows from that resolution."

"The interior is swathed almost completely in leather -- the dash, seats, floor and sides are all leather. Only the instruments and a few metal trim pieces interrupt the leather experience."

I just can't decide on a paint scheme.

Should I go with a classic black and red Batmobile style?



Or should I go with a more modern, anodized red and gold Iron Man look?



Whaddaya think?

Oh, one last thing.

I need a Lex Luthor costume.



kthxbai!