And Little Lambs Eat ID

I'm Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain'a? And speaking of voter fraud, “here's a newsy bit to help you start your day,” as the late, great Alex Thien of the old Milwaukee Sentinel would say—this from one of those places in a web called Salon.com you find on that newfangled Internet:

Voting machines used by as many as a quarter of American voters heading to the polls in 2012 can be hacked with just $10.50 in parts and an 8th-grade science education, according to computer science and security experts at the Vulnerability Assessment Team at Argonne National Laboratory in Illinois. The experts say the newly developed hack could change voting results while leaving absolutely no trace of the manipulation behind.

Yeah, focking swell. As if the electoral dirty-trick strategy of bribing a homeless guy—whose only ID was the Old Mr. Boston on his breath and the puke on his shoelaces—with a baloney sandwich and a pack of Chesterfields to go out and vote a hundred times wasn't enough to worry about.

Hey, but hold on a cotton-focking-picking minute! They said you need an “8th grade science education” to be able to dick with these voting machines, which obviously disqualifies any Republican from engaging in such a nefarious practice. I feel better now. Besides, when you got the Supreme Court declaring that corporations are people, how much voter fraud does one political party need? You tell me.

And then I'll tell you's that I'm feeling pretty gosh darn good for a change. Always happens when the Packers rub the Bears' noses in it, which reminds me of a little story:

Three knobs from the Land of Lincoln (pardon the redundancy) died and are cooling their heels outside the Pearly Gates. St. Peter tells the trio that what with the lateness of the hour, God's retired for the evening but had asked Albert Einstein to show them around so they wouldn't get bored before He gave them the once-over in the morning.

So Einstein asks the first knob what his IQ was when he was alive. “159.” So Einstein says, “Swell. We'll discuss my general theory of relativity and maybe a little unified theory to boot as I show you around the joint, what the heck.”

Einstein introduces himself to the second knob and asks what his earthly IQ was. “141.” Einstein says, “Not too shabby, not too shabby at all, mister. On our tour, how 'bout we discuss a little mathematics and some philosophy. And by the way, what's your favorite Mahler symphony?”

And finally, the most influential genius of the 20th century introduced himself to the third knob from Wisconsin's neighbor to the south and asks the IQ question. “Fifty-something.” Einstein punches him in the arm and says, “Hey pally, so how 'bout 'dem Bears, yeah?”

And speaking of Einstein, I saw in the papers the other day that some scientists out Switzerland way may have discovered that a teeny-tiny particle called the neutrino may actually be able to hightail it faster than the speed of light, which, if true, could make Einstein read like yesterday's news, you betcha.

Yeah yeah, that's the thing about genius. Here today, gone tomorrow, so big focking deal. In fact, I do indeed posit that genius, like beauty, lies in the eye of the beholder. A little story, as proof:

So there's this butcher. One day a dog runs into his shop, but before he could chase the dog out, he spots a $10 bill and a note in the dog's mouth. Note says, “Ten lamb chops, please.” Amazed, the butcher takes the money, puts a bag of chops in the dog's mouth and quickly closes the shop. He follows the dog and watches him wait for a green light, look both ways, and trot across the street to a bus stop. Dog checks a bus schedule and sits on the bench. Bus comes, dog checks the route number and then boards. The butcher follows 'cause he can't believe what he's seeing.

The bus travels out to the 'burbs and the dog takes in the scenery. Eventually, the dog stands on his hind legs, pulls the “stop” cord and exits. The butcher follows and sees the dog run up to a house and drop his bag on the stoop. Dog goes back down the path, takes a big run and throws himself against the door, which he does two, three times, with no response from inside the house. Dog walks to the side of the house, jumps up on a wall, beats his head against a window, then runs back to the front door. Guy opens the door, starts cursing and spanks the dog. The butcher screams at the guy, “What the fock are you doing? That dog's a genius.” Guy says, “Genius, my aching heinie. That's the third goddamn time this week this 'Einstein' forgot his keys.”

And speaking of relativity, I suddenly got the hankering for a nice baloney sandwich to be washed down with a tubful of Old Mr. Boston; so, gotta go, 'cause I'm Art Kumbalek and I told you so.