Some folks are to abject stupidity what Madonna is to repugnant ugliness.

Follow me here. There is a point.

I was out and about very early today, but my work day very quickly devolved into a total wash-out. I tried. Allah only knows, I tried. But dealing with hundreds of linear feet of frozen snow pack buried by a fresh foot of some of the heaviest snow ever known to escape a few pregnant clouds was not something I chose to deal with for very long.

After falling on my hands a few times, trying will all that I had to strain a groin and begging my lower back to cop an attitude on me; I decided that enough was enough. I turned my glance from that more bucolic setting surrounding millions upon millions of gallons of water, and headed for the Burger King in Dallas.

Upon my arrival at the burger joint, I grabbed the cell phone and called the office. And once I was dialed in, I told my secretary (for lack of a more politically correct term) to move those jobs I did not complete to another day's schedule. She understood why we needed to do this and we quickly set about gabbing away with each other about the weather conditions, the road conditions and who it was that might have murdered Princess Diana.

And after we exhausted all of the hot air we had stored up, I told her I was at the burger joint in Dallas, and that I was on my way back to the office just as soon as I had a medium chocolate shake within my grasp. She bid me adieu, and I did likewise to her. I then headed into the evil symbol of Yankee imperialisim, ordered my shake and answered a few questions about my boss' untimely demise. Once back at the truck, I fired that puppy up and joined the unmitigated fracas that is the Luzerne/Dallas Highway. Not a scratch. Anywho, it was at this point that my official lunch break had begun. Imay have been motoring along, but I was "on lunch."

Once I passed through the rock cut that us valley dwellars recognize as the unofficial entrance/exit to/from the Back Mountain, I turned the scanner on so as to see what was going on in good ole Wilkes-Barre. And by the time I was passing the off-ramp to River Street, it became obvious that the city was kind of quiet at that point. Good. Go figure.

As I veered down the ramp towards the boulevard, I decided to drop on by city hall and see if someone of some importance was in their office. I had talked to this person earlier in the day and promised to drop something off that required their attention. This "something" was of a lighthearted nature, not something that might lead to Wilkes-Barre declaring war on Jackson Township. It was no big deal. And if the big cheese wasn't there when I blew in, the fun stuff would have to wait for a much warmer day. No biggie.

I arrived at the big hall, parked in one of those parking spots next to the building on Washington Street, and glanced at my watch. I was 12 minutes into my lunch. 18 more to go. Cool. I grabbed my palmtop computer, jammed it into it's protective case and lurched from the truck cab and onto the sidewalk. I waltzed in there, took the elevator to the 4th floor and traded a few niceties with that pretty lady up there while quickly realizing that the big cheese was not in house. After a minute had elapsed, we said our goodbyes and I headed back to my faithful truck.

Chevy! Klattu! Barada! Nickto! Back to the home office, my trustworthy fellow traveler. And off we were.

This is where the stupidity was needlessly injected into the equation.

As it turned out, I wasn't the only one that bothered to call my secretary (for lack of a more politically correct term) today. When I got back to the office, I was met with a few questions, some quizzical looks and lots of giggling. Apparently, some cheese-dick called the place complaining about me taking pictures at city hall when I should have been working. (?) When the cheese-dick was asked if he'd like to speak to a manager, the only sound coming from his end was an abrupt click. He hung up. Is this some new low previously unimagined in these anonymous, ad-hoc attack parts? SAYSO by cell phone?

Some folks are to abject stupidity what Madonna is to repugnant ugliness.

Yepper. Some folks are all over stupidity like white is on rice. It's literally impossible to convince an asshole that they are a useless asshole. So why try?

Then again, let's give it a shot.

Basically, someone bothered to complain about where I chose to spend my lunch break. If that doesn't have the SAYSO mentality written all over it, I fail to see what ever will. This is what tired cops must feel like when they decide to stop for a coffee. Hold the phone! That f**ker is headed in for a donut! Quick! Get yer hand off of yer ya-ya and call SAYSO! Since when do the new rule-sets preclude anyone from spending five minutes of their lunch break at city hall? I must have missed that memo.

Now get this. The cheese-dick that called rambled on about me taking pictures at city hall when I should have been working. Pictures? Oh! A camera!?! That would be my new Dell Axim palmtop computer that I had in my hand when I sprung from the truck. It was secured in it's protective case so as to protect it, so I can see why some passing dimwit might confuse something a third of an inch thick with a camera. (?) The thing is amazing and lightning quick, unlike the dimwit that stupidly thought it looked like a camera. It's probably not entirely his fault. Heredity is a curse in some cases.

Now this is the part where the dimwit realing starts taking his well-deserved lumps. One of the reasons I have this Dell Axim by my side is so that my company can account for every minute of my working day. And if it shows that I'm on lunch...then I'm on lunch. Isn't that neat? Technology, man. So...if the thing shows a half hour gap from when I left the burger joint to when I arrived back at the shop, the dimwit looks really f**king stupid on this one, doesn't he?

NO! It was not a camera. And NO!, I was not taking pictures at city hall. And NO!, I was not out dicking around when I should have been working.

I realize that it must suck to be so mentally slow, but we don't call them dimwits for nothing, do we? So what do we have here? A camera? WRONG! Pictures? WRONG! Goofin' off! WRONG! A complete dimwit? DING!!! We have ourselves a hapless winner of life's dimwitted lottery. Do not collect $200 and do not presume to have risen higher on the Bell Curve than those species' that troll the bottom of stagnated ponds looking for excrement of any sort to consume.

The dimwit fired up the official Dimwit Phone and proceeded to prove to the folks that I work with that he's a dimwit. How clever was that? And if that's not abject stupidity personified, he also failed to notice that I had spotted him sitting at the red light right next to me in his big, black Ford Explorer. Well...DUH!!! Whatever. It runs in that family. Say a prayer for him. It won't help, but at least you can say that you tried.

Drop me an e-mail line and I'll clue you in as to who the dumbest f**k ever to pollute Wilkes-Barre by his very presence is.

Some folks are all over stupidity like white is on rice.

I snagged this bit of hysterics from Kevin Lynn's web page at WilkNewsRadio.com.

I'm not interested in debating any of it. I have no problem with nuclear power plants. Build one out back. Build one down the block. Build one up there in Beer Creek instead of those environmentally damaging wind turbines. I really don't give a hoot. I'm no expert in that particular field, but a few close relatives of mine happen to be.

But I would point out one thing to Kev about his soulmates (commies) in the former Soviet Union. Those Soviet folks have a well-documented history of building inferior products of the technical sort. Be it ultra noisy submarines, inaccurate ballistic missiles, (Not MIRVS) or seriously lethal-looking attack helicopters (HIND-24s) that Osama's boys were downing with single rifle shots from WWII era bolt-action rifles during the Afgan war-the Soviets sucked at building most everything. Forget splatting their only attempt at an unmanned moon landing. The Soviets made Chernobyl a household word all over the world. The long and short of it was those vodka fans weren't real sharp when it came to the latest technologies. Sorry, Kev, but your heroes sucked.

But to call the Chernobyl incident a "a relatively small nuclear accident" is a gross misrepresentation of the facts, and Kev has to know at least as much. When the outside air is allowed to rush into a nuclear reactor and it's graphite containment panels start firing away like a 4th of July display, this is not what you'd call "a relatively small nuclear accident." But why let little things like facts get in the way while pounding on the environemental pulpit? The modern day environmental movement was born when "Silent Spring" was published, but that book has been debunked more thoroughly than Kevin would be if Nancy would stop rushing off to the next caller everytime Kevin starts stammering when nailed with a fact he can't refute.

Let's see here, we can't develop nuclear power. And we can't drill for our own oil. And from what the local greenies are now telling us, even those long-sought wind farms can have devastating effects on our precious environment. I guess we have to do something else, like build cranberry-powered cars, solar-powered dildos, and cold fusion paper shredders. Or...whatever those Euro types tell us to do. Whatever works. Whatever worsens the American economy is good for the Euro folks and good for their biggest cheerleader. That would be Kev.

Alright, so I did get into this thing a bit. That was not my original intent. Sorry. Here's Kev's hysterical rant that I had previously alluded to:

SUICIDE SOLUTION? We never learn. The price of oil is rising, the Middle East is in turmoil, we’ve decided to plunder the Alaskan Wildlife Refuge for a few months’ supply of gas, but do we care? Have we even talked about conservation? Nah. Our solution is suicide. Our solution is nuclear power. I’m not kidding, although I wish I were. Energy Secretary Sam Bodman said "America hasn't ordered a new nuclear power plant since the 1970s and it's time to start building again." He uttered those words last week in Paris at an international conference on nuclear energy. We’re not alone. Despite irreversible accidents, the world is leaning toward nukes again. Finland begins construction on a reactor next year, and France will start building a new-generation reactor in 2007. Nukes suddenly look economical. The Kyoto treaty to reduce global warming fines power companies for pollution, raising their costs. "It's clear that nuclear energy is regaining stature as a serious option," said Mohamed ElBaradei, head of the International Atomic Energy Agency. The U.N. organized the conference and 74 countries showed up. The world is thinking nuclear again. Russia is expected to double its nuclear capacity, China plans to boost production 500% in the next fifteen years and India wants a tenfold increase. How could this happen again? Easy. We forgot. We forgot what happened at Chernobyl, where a relatively small nuclear accident left an entire section of the planet scarred and poisonous to all life for centuries to come. We have forgotten what we learned back then: we can’t handle nuclear power. We don’t even have a single secure place in America to store our nuclear waste, which remains deadly for centuries and is piling up at our reactors. We’re only human. We make mistakes. Problem is, there are no backsies with nuclear accidents. No fixing nuclear mistakes—ever. We learned that deadly lesson once, only to forget it. Memories only last a lifetime if we don’t pass along what we learn. It’s an old saying, "if we don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it." Actually, the truth is much more chilling. Even if we learn from history, we are still doomed to repeat it. The same colossal collective human ego that led us to think we could harness nuclear energy will be our undoing yet. We won’t have to worry about terrorists getting us. We’ll get ourselves.

And with all of his and my bullspit happily behind you, Kev's sudden outburst reminded me of this web site put up by some Euro babe who feels the need for some motorcycle speed. She toured the entire "Dead Zone" around Chernobyl on her sexy motorcycle. Follow the links at the bottom of each page. They include lots of wild pics.

Kiddofspeed-GHOST TOWN-Chernobyl Pictures-Elena's Motorcycle Ride through Chernobyl

Note: 17,000 people still reside in that radioactive area.

I'm tired and I'm cutting this nonsense short.

Later