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The Junk File:

Crystal Balls, Fashion Tips,

and Another Flaming Cat

Week of August 29, 2005


            Associated Press reports an increasing number of infants are being prevented from boarding airplanes because their names are the same or similar to those on the anti-terror “no fly” list.  “I know they have to be careful, but come on, he’s a baby for Pete’s sake,” said the father of 6-month-old Carlos the Jackal Anderson.  OK, I made that up, but a little common sense shouldn’t hurt national security too much.


            My 19-year-old daughter took my wife clothes shopping, always happy to spend our money even if it’s not on her.  My wife’s new wardrobe is, well, youthful.  “Are you sure that looks OK?” I asked my daughter.  “She’s old enough to be your mother.”  “She is my mother!” came the reply, which I thought just proved my point.  Wrong again; my wife likes the new duds so they stay.  At least my son has no interest in dressing me.


            In other fashion news, my daughter broke into tears after she returned from the beauty parlor with a short Meg Ryan‑ish do.  “I look like a boy!” she wailed.  “Honey,” I said, “you wouldn’t look like a boy if you grew a beard.”  A puzzled look replaced the tears.  “What does that mean?” she asked.  I have no idea, but years of experience with the fair sex have taught me the value of distraction when dealing with bad hair days and dresses that may or may not make one look fat. 


            I’ll bet he didn’t see that coming …  An amateur psychic in  Edinburgh, Scotland, found his apartment destroyed after a crystal ball he left on a window sill focused the sun’s rays on a stack of laundry, starting a fire.  The psychic blames his computer – don’t we all – but investigators are sure it was the ball.  The guy might want to switch to reading tea leaves; they won’t work any better but don’t make anything more dangerous than sun tea when left in a window.


            A couple of years ago I wrote about a UFO sighting in Norway that had the town of Lardal all atwitter; the Unidentified Frying Object turned out to be a cat that climbed into a high voltage wire.  A Nevada feline was luckier last month, surviving a 25,000 volt jolt, but not before sparking a grass fire.  Firefighters found a bird’s nest near a black spot where the cat apparently touched a relay; a witness identified only as “Tweety” was questioned and released after admitting only “I tawt I taw a puddy tat.” 


            Writers everywhere will be pleased to know “wedgie” has finally made the Webster’s New World College Dictionary.  (My computer apparently didn’t get the memo; it just gave the word the red squiggled line treatment.)  Joining wedgie as bona fide words are Al Qaeda, cargo pants, and irritable bowel syndrome, which, in my book, are practically synonyms anyway. 


            Authors of a review of previous research at the University of California, San Francisco, claim to have found that fetuses don’t feel pain until 29 or 30 weeks into pregnancy.  A hubbub erupted after it was discovered the lead author once worked for the abortion advocacy group NARAL Pro Choice America and a co-author is an administrator for an abortion clinic, facts not disclosed to the Journal of the American Medical Association which printed the findings.  I’m no scientist, but this shouldn’t be that tough to figure out:  The survival rate for infants born at 24 weeks in industrial nations hovers around 40 percent, most of whom get poked with plenty of needles while hospitalized.  Just watch and learn.  Not sure the results would solve anything but it might save the taxpayer dollars spent on this kind of nonsense. 






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© 2005 Brent Morrison