The First Thanksgiving and Black Friday - Shopping like it's 1621!

CHAPTER ONE - The First Thanksgiving

In 1621, prior to anthropogenic global warming, the month of November was cold in New England. Freakin' cold. Certainly too cold to plant crops! "I wished I'd thought of that before leaving in September on a 2-month tour," thought Plymouth Colony Governor William Bradford, regretting once his decision to anchor the Mayflower off the shores of the new world in the dead of winter.

"...and honkey please, I'm freezing my butt off in these knickers!," Bradford complained.

The hull of the Mayflower was almost entirely empty when they arrived, the colonists having eaten all the frozen tv dinners, pop tarts and slower moving rats during the long journey across the Atlantic. 

Thankfully, Indians met the bumbling white folk at the shore, draping animal pelts and furs over their shoulders to warm them as they stepped off the gang plank with chattering teeth. A large fire was raging on the beach, and the pilgrims pulled up the nearest log or large rock to take a load off.

As the Indian squaws rushed around preparing dinner, the Mayflower manfolk relaxed and watched the male Indians run around tossing a ball back and forth, playing a game they called Lacrosse. "I hope the redskins cover the spread," joked Bradford to his fellow lounging partners.

When the food was prepared, they all sat around the table to enjoy the feast. The first Thanksgiving!

CHAPTER 2 - The First Black Friday

It didn't take long for the colonists to regret eating and gorging themselves so much on that First Thanksgiving feast. The Indians had left enough food to get the colonist through that first winter (The First Leftovers!), but when the colonists awoke from their naps, they immediately started in on the leftovers - eating turkey sandwiches and the rest of the pumpkin pie until their sizeable square brass britches buckles breached. When they were finally finished eating, they realized they had consumed the entire winter stores!

In near panic, that night they traveled to the outskirts of the closed and sleeping Indian encampment and pitched their tents outside the TeePees in order to keep their place in line. Many died of scurvy and malnutrition - Of the 102 original Mayflower passengers, only 44 survived while waiting in line (The First Black Friday!).

Early the next morning, the TeePee doors were opened, and the Indians once again saved the rest from a frosty and premature death with sales of corn and venison.

The End

Obama Turkey Touts Iran Nuke Deal

This might just be legit. Maybe now we can totally trust them!

Startling New Picture Shows Comet ICON May Be Breaking Up

CHATTERING TEETH - A blogger and self-described stargazer from Swartz Creek, Michigan, known simply as 'DaBlade', has captured what is believed to be unique photographic evidence that the once mighty Comet ICON is in the process of disintegrating. This comet was once hailed by Astronomers worldwide as potentially the greatest astronomical spectacle in our lifetime, but more and more agree that it is turning out to be a dim and disappointing smudge.

5 Things You Need to Know About Comet ICON

What is its real name? Strictly speaking this comet should be referred to as Comet Soetoro/2008, but it was renamed for convenience sake after being discovered by a couple of commies.

Why all the excitement? Its a dynamically new, never before seen comet. Just gazing upon its majesty is believed to make one a better person.

Where is it from?: Nobody is really sure. Some think it is from the Oort Cloud, the little-known shell of literally trillions of comet nuclei lying tens of thousands of AU (1 AU =150 million km) from the Sun. Others believe its from Kenya.

What is it? Despite its bright exterior and candy-coated shell, Comet ICON's nucleus is now understood to be comprised of a sooty lump of frozen promises and broken dreams, with veins of icy bullshit.

Why is it breaking up now? Comet ICON has survived just fine in the cold, dark vacuum of space where no competing ideas were allowed to penetrate. However, as it approaches the disinfecting heat of the sun and bombards it with rays of truth and light, it breaks away its facade of lies.

10 Things You Need to Know About Comet ISON

Uncle Sam the latest victim "Point-em-out, Knock-em-out"

I was walking home alone through the National Mall last evening in my black patent leather shoes, neatly pressed red and white striped trousers, navy-blue tailcoat with the lapels trimmed in red and white stripes, and feeling well at ease under my matching Ten-Gallon bucket hat banded in white stars. I was minding my own business and whistling the Spangled Banner, when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

It gets dark early this time of year, and the Mall was devoid of any tourists - nary even a jogger or dog-walker could be seen under the glow of the LED-lit faux gaslights lining the sidewalk. I've made this trip countless times without any problems. You don't get a beard as long and white as mine by not being wary when necessary, or strong when called for.

It was then I spotted the headlights of an approaching vehicle on the otherwise abandoned street. I stopped at the corner to light my pipe and surreptitiously monitor the suspicious vehicle from under my prodigious brow, hoping to ascertain whether the occupant's intent was that for malice.

I remember noticeable relaxing as the first thing I noticed were miniature versions of Old Glory sprouting from the hood corners just above the vehicle's front headlights. I raised my hand in a friendly gesture, as the huge, black Cadillac limousine slowly cruised past. I couldn't determine if my greeting was reciprocated, as tinting made the windows of the vehicle completely opaque.

The vehicle was so long from bow to stern, it seemed to take an eternity for it to completely pass. I remember thinking, "this ride is an absolute BEAST!," as I pressed my white-gloved hands against my ears in response to the offending noise emanating from the trunk, a kind of incessant pounding and thumping that caused the trunk lid to vibrate and rattle. The noise dissipated completely, as the vehicle disappeared around yonder corner.

For the next few minutes I continued my evening stroll in solitude, leaving a trail of dissipating smoke rings and a pleasant waft of pipe tobacco.

"Strange," thought I, as I observed the limo rounding the corner, seemingly circling for another pass.  "Undoubtedly the occupant has had second thoughts regarding his prior un-neighborly behavior and will attempt to recompense by offering me transport to my destination," I naively considered.

The Beast slowly passed just as before, albeit silently and sans the preposterous thumping. Just when I thought the vehicle would egress as before, the brakes locked and the vehicle's momentum responded by rearing slightly forward before the Beast settled back on all four tires, radiating steam and gold rims continuing to spin.

The back passenger door opened, and a vaguely familiar silhouette emerged, wearing a long, black trench. I raised my hand in a sort of salute for the purpose of shielding my eyes from the glare of the headlights in order to get a better visual of the approaching gentleman on foot. It happened so fast.

"Do I know you good sir?," I asked the apparition, extending my hand in greeting. He must have suckered me, for my next awareness was that of my bloodied cheek pressed against the hard, cold pavement as I watched the vehicle pull away. While I didn't get a good look at the face of my perpetrator, I can most accurately describe the bumper sticker on the vehicle he left in poste-haste.

Coming soon - Chapter Two: BiBi takes a stroll.

Dreams on Airforce One (S1, Episode 2) Starring President Obama and special guest Kanye West

President Obama took a seat by the window of Air force One, as was his habit, so he could read about himself in natural light. The flight was going to be a short one and he was looking forward to that afternoon's day of golf. "I haven't had a vacation in over 10 days!," he pondered to himself. 

He scanned the headlines for articles that mentioned his greatness. It didn't used to be this hard. His handlers were careful to go over each newspaper beforehand with a wide-tipped Black Sharpie felt pen and black out any rare occurrence of negative press. It seemed each day's edition was marked up more than the last, but today's paper was ridiculous! His handlers told Barack that there must have been a press malfunction at the newspaper because, except for the Sports and Entertainment Sections, today's edition was almost entirely black ink.

As the plane reached cruising altitude, Barack turned to Entertainment and found some legible newsprint. His eye was immediately drawn to this headline:

Kanye West Debuts Sexy Music Video for 'Bound 2'

Excitedly, Barack inserted his custom-made and over-sized ear buds and selected Kanye's 'Bound 2' on his iPod for what must have been the hundreth time, he put the seat back in recline and hits 'PLAY"... the music begins, and as the piano entrance is at it's peak, Barack mumbles, "uh huh honey!," and begins to read the story.

President Obama shocks the world with his appearance in Kanye West's racy new video. Kanye West didn't have to look far for a replacement costar to ride shotgun nude with him in the music video for his new song "Bound 2" after he surprisingly dumped his ex-fiancé Kim Kardashian. His racy costar is none other than President Obama, who helps turn up the heat in the road-trip-themed clip.

 Just who is that riding dirty and topless on Kanye West's motorcycle?

Suddenly, Airforce One hit an air pocket momentarily jarring Obama awake in his airplane seat. He looked down at the newspaper lying open on his lap. He had fallen asleep while reading the article and listening to Kanye's mellifluous and delicious rhymes.

"It was all a dream," the president whispered through uncontrolled sobs.

Click here for the 'Pilot' Episode of Dreams on Airforce One 

Blockbuster Trade Leaves Prince Fielder Hungry For Nachos

I know I have been a little hard on Prince Fielder in the past with respect to his anemic and pathetic postseason flops, but now that he's gone in a blockbuster trade, I can honestly say...

* I'm gonna miss Prince Fielder's sportsmanship exhibited by his easy smile and contagious laugh freely given to the other team's first baseman, as Prince waddles to first base after hitting into yet another inning-ending double play during the playoffs.

* I'm going to miss his hustle exhibited by his belly-flop faceplant slides into (pick a base) coming up short a mere 2 or 3 feet.

* I'm going to miss his numerous exciting and successful steals as exhibited by another nacho swiped over the rail from an unsuspecting fan during a failed catch of a pop fly into the stands.

* I'm going to miss the celebratory and unique handshake greeting between Fielder and Miguel after yet another timely and awe-inspiring monster homer from Cabrera.

Fellow Tiger fans: What will you miss? 

Maybe after a few minor tweaks, he will be up and running by next playoffs?

Gettysburg Golf & Country Club

President Obama’s Historic Gettysburg Slight  
(An incomprehensible snub.)?

or simple Scheduling conflict?

The most important step to the perfect swing is in the address.

Cowboys & Indians & Army Men - The First Thanksgiving (and Fashion Show) Action Playset

If you're like me, you like to sometimes 'time travel' in your head back to your childhood by viewing old photographs. I was in one of those melancholy moods this morning, browsing through the digitized version of old photo albums on the computer when I stumbled upon this gem, circa 1968.-ish.

Pictured - foreground, left to right: Jerry (that's me), brother Donnie, and in the background is brother Greg.

My apologies to sister Cindy and brother Rick for not appearing in today's special feature pic, but I will get them next time. I'm sure it's their own fault, as I'm guessing they thought they were too good for this game, now that they were teenagers.

I'll try to keep this analysis short (yah, right!), but let me begin by saying that I've probably glanced at this old photograph dozens of times. You know how it is when you have a folder with hundreds of photos inside. Each individual photograph might merit a casual millisecond glance before you click anxiously to the next one. It's sort of like the amount of attention your resume' (that you've spent weeks constructing) receives from today's hiring managers. You're not sure what you're looking for, but you know you'll recogize it when you see it. Like I said, I've glanced at this photo before - at first blush, nothing special happening here - but apparently this morning is the first time I've actually LOOKED at it closely.

THE SCENE:
It's obvious to any male from my time period what my brothers and I are doing. However, for the sake of any youngin's who stumble by and have never played with any toy that wasn't electronic, let me explain. We are playing Cowboys & Indians & Army Men (at least Donnie and I are playing that. I'm not sure what brother Greg is playing, but I'll get to that in a moment).

Horror of horrors, kids! We didn't have Wii-Station 4, Intendo or Gamecast game consoles. We had whatever was in the tin container pulled from the toybox at the end of the hallway (as well as our well-developed imaginations). Some days we would only play Army Men. Other days we would play Cowboys & Indians & Army Men & Dinosaurs. When we were real ambitious, we might try a game of Matchbox & Lincoln Logs * Playskool Farm animals. Or any combination therein.

In this particular photo, it appears that Donnie and I are recreating the true story of Thanksgiving by playing a straight up game of Cowboys & Indians & Army Men. I don't actually remember the scenario, but its obvious to me by looking at the position of the plastic molded action figures that in this scene we were celebrating the life of the giant Indian chief lying prone on the makeshift funeral pyre (which is actually some kind of center piece on the coffee table, but in our world you use whatever prop you have).

I don't remember why the giant Indian chief died this day, or why army men are attending the funeral heavily armed. Can the infantryman be the pall bearer and still hold his machine gun, and just what is the mortar launcher pointing at?  Maybe its just a 21-gun salute and the projectile is for lighting the pyre? Sorry, I just don't remember. Is that an electronic football player piece on the table and paying his respects?

But that is not what I wanted to blog to you about today.

Family, we can no longer ignore the very disturbing game Greg appears to be playing at the lamp table. Intervention?  I have blown up the object of his attentions here, but as you can see - it is now somewhat pixelated. This of course will not stop me from doing my best at Play-by-play analysis.

A few questions come to mind. Why is this giant green Indian not attending his chief's funeral, which is quite obviously already under way? Also, I don't recognize that piece lying prone at his feet. It's large, and not a regular army man or giant indian. It can't be Stretch Armstrong, as he doesn't hit the scene for another decade or so. Could it be sister Cindy's Ken action figure? Is it just me, or is it not wearing any pants? Greg did always state that he wanted to be a doctor while growing up.

Lastly, is that a purse hanging over the giant indian's shoulder? I really don't think that came with the full action set and appears to be made from construction paper?

I'm open to suggestions as to possible explanations.

Now in all seriousness for a moment, what gave inspiration to this silly blog today was the following story I stumbled upon, and in which the title is self-explanatory. I only wish this were possible with my  photo above. Hey Donz, maybe we can play again with as much wreckless abandon in Heaven?

'Look how we've grown, mom!': Brothers travel back to childhood vacation spots and recreate old family photos for their mother's 55th birthday

The Raisins of Wrath and the fall of progressivism

Chattering Teeth Pictures presents a first look at The Raisins of Wrath, a major motion picture still in development (in my head) and what is sure to be a blockbuster hit. The Raisins of Wrath is loosely based on John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath, although it is updated for the times. Differences from the original include an underlying theme of rediscovery and empowerment of individualistic ideals over government bureaucratic control and the result is a happier ending.

PLOT DRAFT:
Barack Obama is a former migrant community organizer who became President by riding on the back of a unicorn and throwing candy canes and free condoms to the citizenry.  This film takes up around the mid-point of his second term when he is forced from his Washington D.C. Pennsylvania Avenue home by Tea Party Patriots during the new American depression he caused. He sets out along with thousands of others in search of jobs, new homes, and hope for a brighter future. Alas, poor Barack can't find any openings for a community organizer (or free health care) anywhere.

Here is a still frame from a scene in the beginning of the picture when Barry is still president, just as everything begins to unravel around him due to the collapse of his signature health care bill.

After he is removed from office, the country rejects the tyranical liberal progressive activist government and once again embraces the ideals of freedom and liberty that had originally made this county great. Almost over night the country begins to heal. The economy roars back with implementation of free market principles. With Big Government on the run with all its food stamps and other "freebies", the traditional American family takes center stage once again - with a married mom and dad taking their children to church to give thanks to God. The sun begins to shine on this country's face once again.

I'm still working on the ending, but rest assured it will be inspired by that "I'll be there" speech made famous by the late, great Henry Fonda in the 1940 original...

I envision Obama giving the following speech towards picture's end when he realizes his utopic progressive ideology is doomed to the trash heap of history (where it has always landed)

OBAMA: Then it don't matter. I'll be all around in the dark - I'll be everywhere. Wherever you can look in the world where socialism still thrives. Wherever you see millions barely sustaining themselves in abject poverty, I'll be there. Wherever there is massive and unsustainable debt due to immoral entitlement promises that enslave the citizenry, I'll be there. Wherever God is rejected and sin is uplifted, I'll be there on my knees with my forehead pressed against my prayer rug. I'll be there passing out condoms and clean hypodermic needles, soothing the masses with polarizing lies and false promises. wherever there is a stack of dead baby fetuses left rotting in the sun, I'll be there too - celebrating the right for women to choose. 

Here is the original:

Another Hitler Photobomb

This linked article would have us believe that the Nazis invented photoshopping in 1914 and that the face in the crowd in this famous photograph of Munich's Odeonsplatz is not really a young Adolf Hitler’s.

However, after closer scrutiny over a steaming mug of morning coffee and squinting through my readers, I am prepared to set the internets on storm by proclaiming this photo legit. That is definitely Hitler with the funny 'stache.

Now as for that Chinese dude in the bottom of the blowup..
I'm almost positive I've seen that dude from somewhere before.

THE END

P.S.: Rearranging the letters of "Munichs Odeonsplatz" produces this very ominous anagram:

A Schnitzel Dooms Pun

Why did Francis Bacon's Painting of 'Three Studies of Lucian Freud' sell for a whopping $142M, yet the portrait of Pope Francis with Bacon Vestment only went for $38 on eBay?

Chances are, somewhere on your favorite news feed today is the story of the art dealer, William Acquavella (Aqua Velva?), who just paid a record $142 Million for a portrait by Francis Bacon titled, 'Three Studies of Lucian Freud'.

Francis Bacon Painting Sets Record At Auction

But the reason you come to my Chattering Teeth blog is to get the rest of the story (or the google search miss-directs by pet owners wondering why their dog or cat's teeth chatter).

Either way, you're in luck! Chattering Teeth was on the scene with crack (smoking) reporter, Gullible Gabe, to interview the bid winner, and finely groomed William Aqua Velva.

WILLIAM: Remember the Edward Jones commercial where a man with the winning bid at an art auction immediately turns back to the auctioneer, saying, "I'd like to go ahead and sell it now."?

Well I know how he feels. What is this exactly? The Three Stooges of Freud? What a lovely use of browns, tans and baby poop diarrhea yellow. C'mon! I thought this auction was a classy joint. When I read the sandwich board out front that read "Francis Bacon Painting For Sale", I was convinced it was for that masterpiece on Ebay I missed out on this past summer of Pope Francis with Pancake And Bacon Vestments.

Now THAT is a work of art! What would you rather hang on your wall!?

In other news, contrary to the MSM, I am a Catholic AND a conservative, and I LOVE Pope Francis... and everything 'bacon' for that matter.

"Deer just not as funny", state Wildlife officials, ever since an arrow has been removed from it's head

The arrow-thru-the-head deer took the internet by storm last week, as pictures of the little fella's predicament met with gasps and an outpouring of sympathy.  So you would think the latest news that Wildlife officials have removed an arrow from a young deer's head and released the animal back into the New Jersey woods would be met with unanimous joy.

You would be wrong.  Chattering Teeth was on the scene with crack (smoking) reporter, Gullible Gabe, to interview this New Jersey property owner, Mr. Johnson.

MR JOHNSON: I was just sitting on my porch enjoying a good cigar, when I notice this young deer approaching from the distance. My heart sank as it got closer and I spotted that an arrow had punctured through its tiny little head and was still protruding out both sides. Then it saunters right up to me in my front yard and starts TALKING and TELLING JOKES!

DAY ONE: "Hey, it's really great to be here! I am a wild and crazy deer! Don't forget to tip your poacher. Thank you. I'll be here all week. Try the venison smoked jerky. Hey! Thank you."
"I was flabbergasted," stated Mr. Johnson. "It was amazing he was still alive and walking around, let alone in such good spirits!."

According to the property owner, the deer kept this up for about an hour and a half, before he finally wandered back off into the woods.

"I wanted to tell somebody about this, but I was convinced nobody would believe me. I doubted it myself, until the next night at dusk, the little fella approaches my front porch and repeats his routine. I just sat there laughing so hard I had tears flowing out my eyes! This deer was hilarious!"

Mr. Johnson insists the deer returned every night for the past week, telling jokes and eating the apples on the bait pile.

DAY TWO: Two rednecks from Arkansas were out hunting. They decided to separate to get a better chance of catching something.The first redneck says to the other, "If you get lost, fire three shots into the air every hour. That way I can pinpoint you and find you."After about three hours, the second redneck finds he is really lost. He decides to fire three shots into the air as the first man told him. He then waits an hour and does it again. He repeats this until he is out of ammo.The next morning, the first redneck finds the second with the help of forest rangers. He asks the second redneck man if he did what he told him to do.The redneck answers, "Yes, I fired three shots into the air every hour on the hour until I ran out of arrows."

DAY THREE: If you like your arrow, you can keep your arrow. Period. That would also apply to arrows you are not so fond of! Hey! Did somebody hear a rim shot!?

DAY FOUR: Take my doe. Please!

DAY FIVE: I get no respect. My bath toys were a toaster and a radio.

"By the sixth day, the deer just stumbles up and starts playing a banjo. A FREAKING BANJO for a full hour. I was laughing less and less each day, and I attributed it to a possible loss of blood. That's when I called the authorities."

The biologists who did the procedure say the arrow had not damaged any major arteries or organs and the deer's prognosis for survival is excellent. (The arrow was removed) The animal was treated with preventive antibiotics and released back into the wild.

So I'm back on my porch the next night, waiting for a healthy arrowless deer to come crack me up. I see him approaching without his banjo, and I start to grin in anticipation. Then, he starts in with some dramatic readings, and I'm like, WTF!

The deer then wandered off into the New Jersey woods, where it was attached and eaten by Governor Chris Christie.

THE END

Partly Right-Wing with a Chance of Pork Meatballs

If you're like me, you've heard the rumors about a massive and highly radiated floating garbage pile in the middle of the Pacific Ocean - a huge and toxic debris field washed to sea after a tsunami caused the Japanese Fukushima nuclear power plant meltdown - and you've dreamed about leaving Obamaville and relocating to live free there eating two-headed fish.

Hey, no place is perfect, but Plutonium Island sounds like a much more preferable place to live than the current Un-united States of Progressivism.

Then I read the following headline this morning from the NY Times:
Right Wing’s Surge in Europe Has the Establishment Rattled
and I think that maybe, just maybe, putting the Mayflower in reverse and migrating back East across the Atlantic might be an option. Could Europe now possibly be more conservative than the current sad state of the U.S.?

Intrigued, I *click link - read - learn*

Mikkel Dencker of the Danish People’s Party has found yet another cause to stir public anger: pork meatballs missing from kindergartens... Mr. Dencker is furious that some day care centers have removed meatballs, a staple of traditional Danish cuisine, from their cafeterias in deference to Islamic dietary rules... The missing meatballs, he said, are an example of how “Denmark is losing its identity” under pressure from outsiders.

Maybe that's the catalyst we need here? You can take away my liberty as long as you don't wake me from my nap. You can remove my individual freedoms one by one, and I'll take as much notice as the proverbial frog in the slowly heated pot of water. Destroy the finest healthcare system the world has ever seen *whatever* Criminalize Christian beliefs *yawn* Confiscate my guns *pishaw* JUST HANDS OFF MY MEATBALLS!

First, let me say that as a fan of Danish cuisine, I applaud you sir! (Full disclosure. Not really sure what a complete Danish menu would encompass, but I do know that I enjoy a good Danish. And meatballs.)

Secondly, it occurs to me that this is the second blog I've done with an underlying theme of the Danish people fighting Islamofacism. The first one was back in January, 2010, and had to do with that Danish cartoonist who drew that now-famous picture of their prophet with a bomb in his bonnet. Here is an excerpt strictly for my viewing pleasure:


"Danish police arrest man trying to kill cartoonist"

For some reason I found humor in the rearranging this headline to read:

Cartoonist Police Arrest Danish Trying To Kill Man

Dear Cheese Danish, you have the right to remain delicious. Any calories you have in your flaky crust or creamy center can and will be used against me in a pair of pants. You have the right to a French Chef. If you cannot afford a French Chef, one will be pompously thrust upon you. Do you understand this recipe as it has been read to you?


END EXCERPT

As you can see, I've always tried to get to the crux of the matter.

In conclusion, I wish success to Europe’s Tea Party movement, though I fear your "welfare state mentality" is just too ingrained. You've been wearing that human hair weave taken from the corpse of socialism for far too long, and as a result, flesh-eating entitlement maggots have burrowed deep into your brains.

As for me, as attractive as that floating radiation pile may look (and the hopeful glimmer from this Danish politician), I'm staying put. I will, however, be adding freeze-dried cheese danishes to the bug-out pack.

DISCLAIMER: Eminem did not catch fire, and Brent Musburger did not really smoke crack in the making of today's blog entry

If you're like me, after a hard day at work you like to go home, put on some baggy jeans down to your knees, hit on your crack pipe while grooving to the latest Eminem tune. That's why the following headline struck me with panic:

Fire damages Eminem's childhood home in Detroit

No longer trusting the media, I jumped in my Chrysler (Imported from Detroit)... and drove the hour south to get the true story.

Thankfully, the first thing I realized upon my arrival was that the structure was still standing. What a blow to Detroit, had this boarded up 747-square-foot dilapidated brick house with 3 beds and 1.5 baths on the beautiful east side of Detroit been destroyed. Not to mention the loss to humanity of the future site of the Eminem museum.

I shuddered at the thought, as I approached the porch in a zig-zag pattern in order to avoid discarded hypodermics scattering the lawn and walkway. I nonchalantly waved a hand in front of my face, as the drive-by bullets whizzed by as thick as skeeters on the back deck of a steamy Michigan summer night in paradise.

Just as I thought. The house was not vacant, as was reported in the story.

At first blush, I thought my knock on the door was answered by Marshal Mathers his-own-self. The gentleman opened the door a crack, but left it chained. Bloodshot, yet lidless eyes stared vacantly at me from a stubbled and pasty-yellow face. My nose was immediately assaulted by a mixture of smoke, whiskey breath, vomit and feces.

I quickly recovered and realized this hoody-less gentleman carried himself with much more confidence and class and couldn't possibly be the previous occupant who had made this humble abode famous.

"Nice ride cracka!," he mumbled, as he stared over my shoulder at my car idling in his dirt drive.

"I heard there was a fire here last night," I answered. "Everybody OK?"

Just then, a disheveled Brent Musburger wearing a stained and torn mini skirt appeared behind the gentleman inside the home. "He's fine, just a little accident with the crack pipe" slurred Musburger. "Good thing he melts in your mouth and not in your hand."

"I am really uncomfortable right now," I said, as I turned and fled the scene poste-haste.

THE END

Some folks may think Brent Musburger's surprise guest appearance rather random in my work of fictional art above. If so, they didn't see this gem of an interview during the halftime of the September 27th football game between Notre Dame and Michigan. Broadcast Magic baby!

New and easy to use OBAMACARE FLOWCHART

Obama: "What We Said Was You Can Keep It If It Hasn't Changed Since The Law Passed"


The Obamacare law contains thousands of pages of rules, regulations and mandates. Don't accuse the president of lying just because you were too lazy to read it. The good news is that I made this easy to use Obamacare Flowchart that graphically demonstrates the law as it pertains to the grandfather clause.

In further news, Human Services Secretary Kathleen Sebelius has called in the experts in a tech surge in order to iron out a few website glitches. Chattering Teeth has the breaking story of their progress so far...