Middle Income Richard’s Third Millennium Almanack, No. 11

MIDDLE INCOME RICHARD’S
Third Millennium Almanack
===============================
An e-zine published every now and again
via the Internet, which should, in the coming
thousand years, save a few wads of paper
and spare a whole bunch of trees.
———————————————
Number 11, Fourth of July, 2002
(or slightly thereafter)
In the 2nd year of the 21st century
© 2002 Rich Limacher
———————————————

No, this ain’t from terrorists. Just me.

———————————————

By the way, I have a question:
Where IS Osama bin Laden?

(5/6 of one year later–and perhaps THE single biggest
international manhunt ever–and this sucker is still on the
loose?)

———————————————

Certainly keeps my faith up in the CIA.

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Editorial material, immaterial, ads, subtracts,
and everything else to:
TheTroubadour@prodigy.net

——————————–
This e-zine is all about:
*our* future.
——————————–

Chair of Contents:

r
e
g
u
l
a
rare-wisdom-and-fluff Happy
f e July
e v e r y t h i n g – e l s e Survival!
a d feetures:
t b p on scrolli
u a e n
r c e o
e k k n
p s page numbers are no longer necessary
————————————————————
(because everything is all on one page)
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Here’s something else that needs discovering:
A place to dump our nuclear waste.

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>From The “We’re Still Trying To Tell You So” Department:

Not long ago, Middle Income Richard took a long airplane
ride. In the seatback pouch in front of him–along with the
airsick bag, Boeing 7-XYZ operating instructions, and
somebody else’s empty peanut packet–he discovered an
exceptionally intelligent essay. Making a mental note that
he ought to republish the whole thing in his next e-zine, he
stopped short, realizing that would be plagiarism. So,
okay. Here following is just one quote. Never mind the
fact that it’s coming from an airline boss–and therefore
huge consumer of vast quantities of “black fossil fuel”–the
guy makes an awful lot of sense and we ought to listen to
him.

————–

“There are so many of us and we are so smart. For all our
efforts to save our planet, however, we still are changing
the natural order at an alarming rate. We are the ultimate
consumer and we are in fact effectively consuming this
little ball on which we live. One example: The world pumps
76.8 million barrels, or 3.2 billion gallons, of black
fossil fuels out of the ground daily. Most of it is
converted to petroleum products, burned, and in turn spewed
into the air as carbon dioxide with devastating effect.
Yet, instead of placing our primary focus on the development
of new alternative technologies and the deployment of
existing ones, we seem to be intent on tapping the fossil
fuels below more and more of our national parks, coastal
regions, and pristine waters. Does our national security
rest in freeing ourselves of foreign sources of oil, or does
it truly rest in alternatives to oil? In my view, if you
will allow me, I believe our priorities have gotten somewhat
confused on this all-important issue.

“And all this is the result of a world population of 6
billion. What kind of world will our children’s children
inhabit when there are 9 billion of us? What good is a
Social Security or medical-care system if we no longer have
a climate or resources to sustain a vastly increased global
population? One shudders to think if we don’t have a new
and more intensive effort to bring about change.”

–Stephen M. Wolf
Chairman
US Airways

————–

The entire essay from which this is excerpted was published
in the May issue of US Airways “Attach©” in-flight magazine.
You might inquire or ask for a copy by writing to Deborah
Thompson, US Airways Consumer Affairs, P.O. Box 1501,
Winston-Salem, NC 27102-1501; phone 336-661-0061; fax
336-661-8031; web http://www.attachemag.com. Tell ’em
Middle Income Richard sent ya. (They won’t know what the
heck you’re talkin’ about.)

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

Yankee Folly of the Day:

“Close” only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, but it
also happens right about the time I arrive at the stores.

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( Q_Q )

The following (freely distributed over the Internet
recently) is alleged to have been written by Ted Nugent*,
rock singer and hunter/naturalist, upon hearing that
California Senators B. Boxer and D. Feinstein denounced him
for being a “gun owner” and a “Rock Star.”

This was reportedly his response, after first having told
the senators about his supposed past contributions to
children’s charities and scholarship foundations which he
allegedly claimed to total more than $13.7 million in the
last five years alone.

————–

*A slightly different version of this has also been
circulated, attributed to George Carlin. But since M.I.
Richard tends to like George and shun Ted, the following as
attributed to the latter is preferred. It’s also quite
possible that neither one of these guys wrote anything like
this.

Of course, the real point here is not what *they* say, but
what Richard says.

———————————————

“I’m a Bad American — this pretty much sums it up for me.
I like big trucks, big boats, big houses, and, naturally,
pretty women.

“I believe the money I make belongs to me and my family; not
some midlevel governmental functionary with a bad comb-over
who wants to give it away to
crack addicts squirting out babies.

“I don’t care about appearing compassionate.

“I think playing with toy guns doesn’t make you a killer. I
believe ignoring our kids and giving them Prozac might.

“I think I’m doing better than the homeless.

“I don’t think being a minority makes you noble or
victimized.

“I have the right not to be tolerant of others because they
are different, weird or make me mad.

“This is my life to live, and not necessarily up to others
expectations.

“I know what sex is and there are not varying degrees of it.

“I don’t celebrate Kwanzaa. But if you want to that’s fine.
I just don’t feel like everyone else should have to.

“I believe that if you are selling me a Dairy Queen shake, a
pack of cigarettes, or hotel room you do it in English. As
a matter of fact, if you are an American citizen you should
speak English.

“I think the cops have every right to shoot your sorry butt
if you’re running from them after they tell you to stop. If
you can’t understand the word ‘freeze’ or ‘stop’ in English,
see the previous line.

“My uncles and forefathers shouldn’t have had to die in vain
so you can leave the countries you were born in to come
disrespect ours, and make us bend to your will. Get over
it.

“I don’t use the excuse ‘it’s for the children’ as a shield
for unpopular opinions or actions.

“I know how to count votes and I feel much safer letting a
machine with no political affiliation do a recount when
needed.

“I know what the definition of lying is, and it isn’t based
on the word ‘is’ — ever.

“I don’t think, just because you were not born in this
country, you qualify for any special loan programs,
government sponsored bank loans, etc., so you can open a
hotel, 7-Eleven, trinket shop, or anything else, while the
indigenous peoples can’t get past a high school education
because they can’t afford it.

“I didn’t take the initiative in inventing the Internet.

“I thought the Taco Bell dog was funny.

“I want them to bring back safe and sane fireworks.

“I believe no one ever died because of something Ozzy
Osbourne, Ice-T or Marilyn Manson sang, but that doesn’t
mean I want to listen to that crap from someone else’s car
when I’m stopped at a red light. But I respect your right
to.

“I think that being a student doesn’t give you any more
enlightenment than working at Blockbuster or Jack-in-the
Box.

“I don’t want to eat or drink anything with the words
‘light,’ ‘lite’ or ‘fat-free’ on the package.

“Our soldiers did not go to some foreign country and risk
their lives in vain and defend our Constitution so that
decades later you can tell me it’s a living document ever
changing and is open to interpretation. The guys who wrote
it were light years ahead of anyone today, and they meant
what they said — now leave the document alone, or there’s
going to be trouble.

“I don’t hate the rich. I help the poor. I know wrestling
is fake.

“I’ve never owned or was a slave; and a large percentage of
our forefathers weren’t wealthy enough to own one either.
Please stop blaming me because some prior white people were
idiots; and remember — tons of white, Indian, Chinese, and
other races have been enslaved too. It was wrong for every
one of them.

“I want to know exactly which church is it where the
‘Reverend’ Jessie Jackson preaches, and what exactly is his
job function.

“I own a gun, you can own a gun, and any red-blooded
American should be allowed to own a gun; but if you use it
in a crime, then you will serve the time.

“I think Bill Gates has every right to keep every penny he
made and continue to make more. If it makes you mad, then
invent the next operating system that’s better and put your
name on the building.

“I don’t believe in hate crime legislation. Even suggesting
it makes me mad. You’re telling me that someone who is a
minority, gay, disabled, another nationality, or otherwise
different from the mainstream of this country has more value
as a human being than I do as a white male. If someone
kills anyone, I’d say that it’s a hate crime. We don’t need
more laws! Let’s enforce the ones we already have.

“I think turkey bacon, turkey beef, turkey fake anything
sucks.

“I believe that it doesn’t take a village to raise a
child — it takes a parent with the guts to stand up to the
kid and spank his butt and say ‘NO!’ when it’s necessary to
do so.

“I’ll admit that the only movie that ever made me cry was
‘Ole Yeller.’ I didn’t realize Dr. Seuss was a genius until
I had a kid.

“I will not be frowned upon or be looked down upon or be
made to keep silent because I have these beliefs and
opinions. I thought this country allowed me that right. I
will not conform or compromise just to keep from hurting
somebody’s feelings. I’m neither angry nor disenfranchised,
no matter how desperately the mainstream media would like
the world to believe otherwise.

“Yes, I guess by some people’s definition, I may be a bad
American. But that’s tough.”

———————————————

Rejoinder to the Alleged Mr. Nugent

by

M.I. Richard

This is a response to Ted and all his great wide badass
gun-toting squirrel-shooting supremely patriotic hunting
ilk:

To quote a slightly different antique rock ‘n’ roll singer,
“I’m a mean motorscooter and a bad go-getter.”

I like running shoes and wide open spaces to use them on. I
hate big rigs and other mothers’ truckers with a passion.

I think big boats, big houses, and big private touring
busses are gross excesses of conspicuous consumption. I
don’t give a rip how many “toys” you have when you die. My
idea is to enjoy every last possible good human quality I
can acquire, or improve upon, and then die broke. I don’t
want to leave a gosh darn dime to my kids — or yours.

But I will give you this: I like pretty women, too.
However, I am pretty sure we differ on just what’s “pretty.”
I think your typical big-chested stick-figured blonde-headed
lipgloss paper doll is ugly. I like a woman with strength
and guts who’s every bit my equal, in some ways superior,
and is usually quite able to outrun my sorry butt — that’s
a pretty woman.

I believe the money you make ought to help with the solution
to the poisoning and over-populating of this planet, and not
contribute to the problem.

I don’t like midlevel governmental functionaries with bad
combs any more than you do, but they have spouses and
families, too, and chances are real good their kids listen
to worse music than you used to make; and maybe even one of
them will grow up to be a hothead loudmouth former rock star
like you are now.

Hey, Ted, what kind of work did your daddy do? Did he
function in midlevel government somewhere so that you
wouldn’t have to abandon your education and work in a paper
mill someplace to keep your poor mother alive?

But maybe you did quit high school. Maybe you did form your
own rock ‘n’ roll band at a very young age and hit the big
time, so that now you can pontificate your learning all over
the floor of the U.S. Senate and flaunt your rights to
accumulate excesses ostentatiously and go outdoors and blow
little beavers’ brains out with bazookas and howitzers.
Maybe you were just lucky, huh?

Real big genius like yours is preposterously rewarded in
this country you love to love so much and not leave.
Inconspicuous little genius like Ralph Nader’s, for example,
does not get elected and barely even gets noticed. And, for
sure, nobody’s ever heard of his record label and nobody
buys his CDs.

We know you don’t care about appearing compassionate. When
this great green earth becomes brown and dusty and not even
one squiggly weed can “squirt” up, as you say, through the
asphalt without noxious inbred chemicals borne of the
contaminated water table put there by the factories that
made your big trucks, big boats, and big Marilyn mansions,
we know perfectly well that it’ll be your gigantic
mind-blowing turbo-charged gas-guzzling Toro lawnmower
that’ll cut the sucker down. And then, also for sure, we’ll
have you to thank for blocking the spread of “The Dandelion
Plague.”

Compassion? Screw it, you say. Just mow the dirty little
buggers down and spew your God-given fumes throughout our
air supply while you’re at it. You have the RIGHT, Ted —
and you’ll ram this right down our parched throats to prove
it — to annihilate this planet in any freedom-loving
God-fearing way you damn well choose.

I know you think playing with toy guns doesn’t make you a
killer. But what I’m not quite sure about is whether you
think the universal over-proliferation of readily-available
real ones doesn’t either. I think you’re full of it, Ted.
I think if you force the hoodlum to make his own darn gun,
he’ll be too freaking lazy to make any. But I also think if
you mass market bazookas and howitzers to every nincompoop
in the drug store, yeah, we’re probably gonna find some
killers here.

You know what? I also don’t believe you should have kids in
the first place, if what you intend to do is ignore them.
And what the heck is “Prozac” anyway? Don’t Prozac poppers
have as much right to buy that crap as you do to buy the
kinds of “poppers” that put holes in people?

You think you’re doing better than the homeless. That’s
cool. Of course, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart became homeless
also. I’m kind of wondering if in the year, say, 2299, the
world is more likely to remember Mozart’s music or Nugent’s.

I know you don’t think being a minority makes you noble or
victimized. But I’m still scratching my head about the
profound sociological ignorance that has made you rich.

I also know that you have the right not to be tolerant of
others because they are different, weird, or make you mad.
Still I have to wonder how many different, weird, or
maddening individuals have purchased your mainstream,
although mediocre at best, compact disks.

I realize this is your life to live, Ted, and I am certainly
hoping it won’t soon be ended by some other lunatic’s right
to bear arms and shoot your sorry butt for pissing him off
by not living up to his expectations.

Do you really know what sex is, Ted? And is THAT what your
head-banging noise has been demonstrating all these years?

But if there are not varying degrees of sex, then how is it
for most of your adult life that you, sir, have mostly
resembled a female? Weren’t women the only ones who were
supposed to wear long hair?

Yes, you don’t celebrate Kwanzaa. Okay, that’s fine. And I
don’t contribute my salvation to the army, either. And
during Halloween, I’m not at home. Far be it from me
to ever be accused of putting God-given razors and bullets
and knifeblades and things inside little kids’ candies.

You don’t give a clear-streaming piss about other people’s
holidays, do you, Ted? And neither, gosh darn it, do I.
That must make us brothers, huh? Or equals? Or great big
God-manufactured human beings. Hey, let’s both be free to
pee wherever we want to, eh? And thumb our hard rock noises
at anything anybody different ever celebrates differently.
This is very cool. In fact, it’s the exact kind of
ragamuffin me-first philosophy that started this God-given
country in the first place.

But hey, man, if you come into my store and don’t speak my
language, I also have the right NOT to sell you your
precious DQ Royal Treat, your flip-top box of coffin nails,
or a ground-level shared-bath single in my hotel. “Hören
Sie gut zu! Machen Sie Sienen grossen Sari Buttz zee Föch
aus mein Schoppe!”

As a matter of fact, Ted, if you are an American citizen,
chances are real good your great-grandparents could not
speak one word of English. So, maybe I should rather be
more etymologically correct and consider you not an English
speaker at all, but an evolutionized Anglo-Saxon philologist,
linguist, and grammarian instead. Eh, Beowulfy Baby?

You know what else, Ted? I think I’m getting a little tired
of your “rights” tirade right about now. I already know the
rest of your drivel without even drooling on it. You’re on
the side of law and order, gol’ darn it. You love cops and
hate robbers. And you’re real dang proud of our boys “over
there” rooting evil and other vegetables out of Afghanistan
forever and ever but, of course, not Osama bin Laden, who,
we suspect, is every bit the loudmouthed overly zealous
patriot of the far right wing in Muslimland that you are
here in Tinseltown. Gosh, maybe you guys should have lunch.
You’ve got so much in common! Maybe Osama Baby doesn’t eat
quiche either, you think?

But, all in all, Teddy-boy, I really don’t see much use in
my continuing down the line here, commenting item-by-item on
your pseudo-national-pride-and-greater-social-good kind of
propaganda.

“For the good of our great nation!” Yeah, right. “The
great society of the free and the well-fortified home of the
brave!” Yeah, right. Hey, Ted, let me ask you, in your
all-knowing, all-wise, all-insistent use of the English
language to the utter ignorance and complete disparagement
of all others. Do you even know — auf Deutsch now — what
the abbreviation was in Germany for the National Sozialist
Partei? It was: Nazi.

That’s right, my heap big hero machismo has-been manic music
machine; and, for all this pseudo scholarship you now
propound, you certainly don’t seem to know squat about
history.

So I’m guessing you’re preparing to repeat it. You know, of
course, that one of the last century’s most outspoken overly
zealous patriots of the far right in Germany wasn’t very
compassionate either.

Only thing is, Ted, in his country you wouldn’t be a
“patriot” at all. Your sorry butt would have already been
shot.

Maybe you should think about that next time you hang out at
the drug store and buy your ammunition and only speak
English and wave your flag and squirt your philosophy all
over this floor.

Just clean it up before you leave, okay? Somebody else
wants to walk here, too.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Richard’s First Law for Singers:

Sing.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Today’s Strong-Armed Advice from Auntie Sammie:
“Say ‘Uncle.'”

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Yesterday’s Feedback:
——————————–

[start] * * * * * * E-letters to the Editor * * * * * * *

Dear Richard (M.I.R.):

This will be short because I am running (not walking),
downstairs to get my checkbook out at this very, yes, very
moment in time to do
the very, very most important thing I could possibly do to
help ‘Save the Trees’ and be a recipient of your (with the
help of C.C. Writers) brilliant, creative, mind-boggling
(I’m not kidding) e-zine.

After promising to send a few $’s with my last letter, I
DNF’d. “GUILT” immediately took over my entire being ~
tight hamstrings and all. I KNEW I was not among those “you
know who you are” people that sent something so as not to
miss any future exciting, upcoming issues.

I GO ~ more later on running in Colorado.

Your e-zine online buddy,
Margie Stauffer
In Colorado
via e-mail

[Editor’s note: Thanks to you, Margie, I was able to meet
my June payment on the Rolls Royce. (Just kidding. 🙂 But
I’m not kidding about how much M.I.R. appreciates your
S.U.P.P.O.R.T. Thank you very much!]

——————————–

OK M.I. Richard,

Thanks much for the intro to your quite valuable e-letter.
I shall, in fact, accompany my next meeting with you
(assuming that such meeting occurs in the near future) with
sufficient green-ware to continue these transactions for a
goodly time.

See you on the trails,

Jack Thomas
in Illinois
via e-mail

[Editor’s note: Jack’s a great running buddy who entertains
lots of us on the trails–especially since no one is ever
expected to carry money in the woods. He makes wonderful
“excuses”! (Just kidding. Don’t hit the road, Jack. Stay
on trails! 🙂 ]

——————————–

Hi Rich,

How come a multimillionaire publishing giant hasn’t bought
you out yet?!

Thanks to you, the race was a major hit downunder!

TTFN

John Remington
in Ontario, Canada
via e-mail
[continued below]

“I see you like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the
start.”
— William Shakespeare

Co-Race Director Greater Toronto Ultra Race[tm] 50k and 100k
April or May 2003 –The Canadian National 50k, 80k, and 100k
Road Championships
http://ous.kw.net/races/toro.htm
Virtual Race Director Cross Canada Race[tm]

[Editor’s note: John was one of “Middle Income Richard’s”
paying advertisers prior to his excellent racing event this
past April in Toronto. He, too, apparently kids a lot!
Especially about this e-zine being bought out by big money
publishers. Of course, I don’t suppose the Boston Athletic
Association is making mega bids to take over his labor of
love either. But that’s the nature of labors of love:
labor. Who said anything about getting rich at them? (I
want to strangle whoever said it.)]

[end] * * * * * * E-letters to the Editor * * * * * * *

: > : > : > : > : > : > : > : > : > : >

Richard’s First Law of Beachwear:

Less costs more.

: > : > : > : > : > : > : > : > : > : >

( O_O )

Vertical Cartoon:

In Deference to an Early Flag of the American Colonies:

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(_______)

===========================

“Don’t Tread On (what comes out of) Me!”

:-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-)

Before we had natural catastrophes,
we had to rely solely on Congress.

:-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-)

@~@ @~@ @~@ @~@ @~@ @~@ @~@ @~@ @~@

Today’s Meany Movie Review
By CeCe Rooters

“Minority Report”
————————————–

We think it would be a total dereliction of duty for this
kind of wacky paper-less futuristic media to ignore that
kind of wacky premise-less futuristic movie.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s still a pretty cool time in the
cinema (as long as the theater’s air-conditioned) and
there’s an awful lot in there to keep you guessing, but,
unlike Steven Spielberg’s previous “A.I. (Artificial
Intelligence),” this pipedream flick doesn’t have a
snowball’s chance of ever coming true.

Here’s the idea in a nutshell: In the future, say, fifty
years from now, there’s these three genetic–or drug
induced–mutants who can “see” into the future. Only thing
is, all they got was bad drugs so all they can really see is
bad stuff–like murder.

Enter the hotshot Washington D.C. metro police department
and its creatively ambitious head of wacky special
operations and–presto: Now you’ve got an ambitious whole
new bureaucracy called the “Pre-Crime Department.” And for
six years now, Tom Cruise & Company have successfully
interpreted these weird three’s unanimous nightmares and
raced in weird helicopters to not-quite-rescue the scene of
the not-yet-crime and–you got it–prevent the murder from
ever happening.

This naturally begs the question: well, if our mutant dream
geniuses can SEE the future, what they’re SEEing is NOT
actually the future, because Tom & The Cruisers always get
there in time to stop it. So, what “the three” SHOULD be
seeing–if there is to be logical consistency here–is
precisely that: Tom & Co. stopping the crime, because
that’s what ends up actually happening.

Of course, that’s not what the movie shows us. Spielberg &
Co. shows the mutants hot-flashing on the murder actually
taking place, which in fact it later doesn’t.

If you swallow this premise–that the future Yin or Yang or
Puddin’ Tang will all come out of sleepy people’s
nightmares–you could be a sucker for anything this movie
throws at you. Like, for example, why the mother of the
only weird female sleepy seer could possibly be a threat to

anybody in the hotshot Pre-Crime Department. Or, carrying
the goofy “whydunit” (not who) further, why the real villain
in the flick needs to plot this wildly elaborate plot in
order to get rid of the hotshot Tom Cruise.

What’s cool, though, is this: the three weirds dream up Tom
himself committing a murder (!) so now, ah-ha! The cop in
charge suddenly sees himself going to kill somebody he
doesn’t know, with a motive he can’t imagine.

Well, all that was pre-engineered by the bad guy apparently
to cover up his own murder of the weird sister’s old lady
who could not possibly have been a threat to anyone in the
first place.

So, I gotta give “thumbs down” to the sense of the thing,
but I’ll definitely cough “thumbs up” for all the gee-whiz
whiz-bang high-tech gimmickry. Like, for example, all the
big-screen liquid crystal visuals projected via some kind of
weird wiring from the minds of our fave milk-bathed mutants.
Tom, as boss cop, manipulates these visuals not with mouse
and keyboard but with a couple of cool gloves with
cyber-thimbles stitched on the fingers. He waves his hands,
like conducting an orchestra, and everything jumps around on
the big screen in front of him. Like close-ups, blow-ups,
and stuff lurking in the shadows. Oh, and also like stuff
happening ten minutes from now, nine minutes from now,
and–whoa, baby! Time to strap on the jet-packs and FLY!

Yes, they fly. And their cars all apparently drive
themselves. (Interesting. There’s still cars in fifty
years? We’re still sucking the drops from OPEC’s nozzle?
What do you suppose the price of gasoline is in 2052? The
movie doesn’t tell us, but I’m guessing fifty bucks a
gallon.)

And Spiderman? Ha! Wait’ll you check out the “spiders” in
this flick! They’re robots! And their job is to track down
every human being and lift their eyelids to “scan” their
eyeballs. In the future, someone’s guessing, every single
human being will be completely trackable via his or her
retinal eyescans. So much so that even all the commercials
can be beamed individually to each person’s own particular
tastes and preferences.

Now think of the criminal element. Think: what if I gouge
my eyeballs out? And then think: what if I replace mine
with somebody else’s?? Ooh, baby. Pretty scary “thinks”
these thoughts.

Maybe the most surprising innovation is driving your car
straight up the side of the high-rise building you live in,
and parking it right outside your living room window. Ah,
but I don’t even think that will work. If I live on the
thirty-eighth floor, say, I now have the potential of
THIRTY-SEVEN neighbors blocking my driveway!

Should I “give it away” and tell you exactly WHAT the, uh,
“minority report” actually means? Sure. I’m not giving
away the “surprise ending” at all by telling you, so I’ll
tell you. The “thing” is, you see, there are THREE weird
milktoasts soaking in drugland dreaming, and, the other
thing is, all THREE need to agree on those prophecies
flashed up on the big liquid crystal screen, otherwise, hey,
they don’t have a snowball’s chance of ever coming true. If
one of the three disagrees, well… that mutant’s in the
minority and whatever he or she conjures up–that’s the
report. And then it’s “filed,” we suppose, in “the circular
file.”

So the whole thing hinges on one lone minority opinion,
except as you will see, that opinion wasn’t really very
significant to the “sense” but–wowie zowie! somebody evil
disguised a majority report as a minority report!–it does
make a pretty cool “whydunit” (not who)–as long as the
theater’s air-conditioned, of course.

I always have the sinking feeling, however, after I walk
back outside in the hot summer’s heat, that this really
creative stuff purported by this really creative guy
Spielberg is really, sadly, way over the heads of the
majority of the civilization he’s showing it to. Those
folks who need to understand it most, won’t.

Let me make my own prediction: I say in 2052, everyone who
rents this ZVD, or whatever, and watches it on their own
liquid crystal big screens will think, “Ha! Did they think
our world today depends on fortune tellers?”

No, actually, people of the future, your world depends then
on how we handle OPEC now.

@~@ @~@ @~@ @~@ @~@ @~@ @~@ @~@ @~@

[start] * * * * * * Free Promos * * * * * * *

Be sure to check out Running Delights at

http://www.runningdelights.com

…for all (or most) of your running/walking/sporting
personal and/or gift-giving needs. They sell, for example,
an absolutely wonderful T-shirt type of thing called a
“Trail Shirt.” You can’t soak it with your perspiration
because it wicks it all away from you and into the
atmosphere even while you exercise. Oh yes, and Misty
Delights and Larry the Legend are great folks to do business
with. So, you know, buy somethin’! And tell ’em “The
Troubadour” sent ya.)

——————————–

Here’s one more friendly professional promotion:

If it’s custom furniture you’d like in your home or
workplace, you couldn’t do better than asking ERDMAN
WOODWORKING of Silverton, Colorado, to build it exactly to
your specifications. Write to Eric at

cerdman@frontier.net

[end] * * * * * * Free Promos * * * * * * *

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

[start] * * * * * * Paid Advertisements * * * * * * *

*************************************************
Well, I’m fresh out. But it’s okay to buy one!

*************************************************

[end] * * * * * * Paid Advertisements * * * * * * *

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

( Q_Q )

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Help Wanted: Desperately seeking someone, anyone, who
speaks Arabic and/or Farsi or Dari. No Aston Martin
w/ejection seat required or necessary. Will train.
Turbans, deep cover, Palm Pilots with language dictionary
software provided. Apply in person. Do NOT mail anything.
Central Intelligence Agency Headquarters, Langley, Virginia.

[This non-paid advertisement provided as an intelligence
community service. Middle Income Richard intends to
continue providing this service from now on, or until
intelligence is detected in the community.]

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Everyday’s Repetitious Media Message:

* * * * *

[By the way, I would truly and sincerely like to thank all
those who actually have snail-mailed a buck or two in care
of my P.O. Box. You know who you are, and I thank you with
all my heart. I appreciate your encouragement to keep this
“groove thing” going.]

* * * * *

It’s no secret that one of our most memorable ancestors, Ben
Franklin, got his first real “break” in the media by giving
up trying to pander to the tastes of the more traditional
publishers of his time–and just inventing that “break” on
his own. He published a simple one-page periodical called
“Poor Richard’s Almanack” and sold it along the streets and
rivers of the colonies for a penny apiece. And it thrived
as a business for the next twenty-five years. So now, some
two-hundred and sixty-nine years later, you get “Middle
Income Richard’s 3rd Millennium Almanack” selling along the
buy-ways and Java-streams of the Internet for a buck a copy.

At least, that’s the plan.

For the moment, of course, this is free. That is, unless
you suddenly develop pangs of conscience, and for that you
might find immediate relief by snail-mailing a Yankee
greenback to Ben’s most dubious distant cousin: C. C.
Writers at P.O. Box 963, Matteson, Illinois 60443 USA.
Thanks. And keep thinking “green” (i.e., saving the
environment by promoting paperless publishing)!!!

gggggggggggggggggreengggggggggggggggggggg

“Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy,
wealthy, and wise” is, like, soooo eighteenth century.
Like, now it’s: Gettin’ jiggy with your groove thang ain’t
chump time zzz’en in the crib, baby. You gots to wail!

:-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-):-)

Tomorrow’s Whether Report:

We’re kinda wonderin’ whether there’ll be a tomorrow.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

[“Middle Income Richard’s” will return
at some as yet unimaginable
future unspecified time]