The Great Expert Blog

There are a lot of people out there who for one reason or another really can’t so something. This article is not about you so don’t be offended. This article is about all the other people who for one reason or another say they can’t do something, when what they really should be saying is that they won’t do something. Now I don’t want you to be offended either, I am merely pointing out that we should mean what we say and do what we say we can’t but know in our hearts that we could if we tried.

Sound a little confusing? Well it is confusing to me why in our society there are a lot of reasons why we can’t but very little results when we could. We can always come up with a lot of reasons why something did not work when we should be trying to get the results of what we are trying to do in the first place. By the time your mind comes up with an excuse you could have been making a break through or completing a task. In fact it takes more effort to think of a reason why won’t do something then to actually do it the first place.

Case in point you are asked to take out the garbage, now you stand there for 10 minutes arguing with the other person trying to get you point across why you can’t do it, when you know in your heart you just really don’t want to do it. Now you know if you had just taken out the trash in the first place you would have saved yourself 7 or 8 minutes of time, which you could have used to do something else.

Now don’t get me wrong we are a country of dreamers who fail to carry out our dreams because we are to busy making excuses for why our dreams would never have worked in the first place. We seem to think that when someone asks us to solve a problem or perform a task that we don’t want to do we just come up with those four little words,” I can’t do it”. Now I don’t know about you but most people can’t because they do not even think trying to see if they can.

A good example of this is the person who would like to go back to school after 15 or 20 years. In their heart they have already said that is going to be tough and so on and so on. Now if they would have expended one ounce of energy they used to make up all those excuses they probably would have gotten an A in their first four classes.

I can’t or I can it is such a simple choice but one that ways heavily on our mind. Even now you might be thinking I can’t write an article like this one when you never really tried to see if you could. When you are done here pick up a pencil or get on that computer and start writing.

Your mind is a powerful tool. The trick is to not use it for making excuses but to use it for carrying out your dreams. Teach yourself to say I can and I will instead of I can’t because I won’t

About the Author

I am a freelance writer from Reading, PA. I write on a variety of subjects from business resources to Christian topics

Recalling the gas crisis twenty years ago, a songster has created a song timely for today: Cyril May’s release “Gas Pump Fever” goes miles toward cheering us through the high prices and long lines:
“Gas pump fever in the gas pump line
This is gas pump fever time. And it doesn’t have a vaccination for your behind It’s mighty catching and its pure hell As the pain in your wallet will plainly tell. You got gas pump fever from waiting in the gas pump line”

A down to earth singer, and songwriter, Cyril May and his musical cohort Jack McDonald make a timely statement with “Gas Pump Fever”, creating lyrics we sing along to, and Jack’s lilting musical arrangements providing the cheerful flavor.

Though they live half a world apart, Jack in Australia and Cyril in Southern
California, the music they make together brings all of us closer. So while you’re in line, sing along to “Gas Pump Fever” and perhaps it won’t feel quite so bad.

“Gas Pump Fever” is only one of the great songs on Cyril May and Jack McDonald’s CD “Off The Beaten Track”. Listen to samples of their tunes on the web site:

www.cyrilmay.com , and place your order online. For more information contact via postal mail at 266 Orizaba, Long Beach, CA 90803; 562/433-0734 or email at divingds@juno.com

About the Author

Freelance Writer in Ashland, Oregon

The amazing thing about contemporary American culture is its predisposition to organize itself into neat little categories. This “pigeonhole syndrome,” referred to by some as PHS, (not to be confused with PMS), is responsible for much of the stress in our society today.

We even categorize this stress, enabling us to compare our stress with people we meet. Some fear they will one day meet someone with the same kind of stress as they have and will not know how to label him or her. Imagine the stress this would create. Or, visualize a situation where someone meets someone who has no stress at all.

PHS finds its way into every area of our culture, even the religious. Nobody in these days of labeling madness can just be a Christian. Are you Protestant or Catholic?

If you are Protestant what kind? Baptist? Methodist? Presbyterian? My question is simply, why can’t we just be Christians?

I was behind an elderly lady at the post office recently and could not help overhearing the conversation. The lady wanted stamps.

The Postmaster asked her, “What denomination of stamps would you like?”

The lady paused for a moment and then replied, “Presbyterian.”

I guess a Presbyterian doesn’t need as much water as, say, a Baptist.

Cataloging people into convenient groupings is not bad. In fact, it can be helpful in many ways. I attended a conference last year where 97 percent of the people were of the non-male persuasion and believe me when I say classification is important.

Following one session I followed the crowd; not paying too much attention to where we were going - and ended up in the ladies restroom. To say they labeled me is putting it mildly.

Women, regardless of what you may have heard to the contrary, are quite cruel to any man (meaning of course, Yours Truly) found in the ladies restroom.

During the last days of this election, politicians and pundits alike are making much of the undecided voter. I like to refer to these elusive people as the UDVs of our country.

Who are these people and where do they live? Moreover, how long did it take them to decide where they were going to live?

If UDVs exist at this point in the game, I would not want them voting for me. Personally, I do not believe in UDVs. In my mind, it is something the news media invented so they would have something to talk about, especially these 24-hour cable news programs.

Having something fresh and interesting to say 24 hours a day, seven days a week is a lot of airtime to fill. Not to mention that most (if not all) on-air personnel are full of hot air.

UDVs are only a figment of their tired and stressed imagination, searching for something new to say about something everyone already knows. In fact, I think UDVs, the WMDs and Elvis are all hiding out in Syria.

Putting labels on other people to see where people fit is not bad, except some people want to include God in this PHS equation and He does not fit.

Perhaps because we are in an election year, many people ask the question, “Is God a Democrat or a Republican?” I have never heard anyone ask if God was an Independent or member of the Green Party. Maybe they know something about these parties I don’t.

During an election year, politicians will use anything or anyone to help their cause. Most politicians need more help in their cause than even God could give them.

However, some think it important to try to draw God into their party platform. The further behind they are in the polls the more they invoke the Almighty on their behalf.

Knowing God as I do, and understanding as much of politics as I do, no politician in his right mind (and try to find one in his right or left mind) would even want God on their side. God deals in absolutes. A thing is absolutely right or it is absolutely wrong.

Politicians shy away from absolutes.

A politician deals with all things relative and self-serving. If it does not advance his or her cause, the politician has no interest in it.

Every political party has its “spin-room.” That’s a place where they take what was said and spin it around for self-serving purposes. It all depends, so they all say, on what your definition of is, is.

I remember the day my mother got her first spin dryer. Up to that time, she hung all the washing outside to dry in God’s good sunshine. Then came the spin dryer and it did not matter what the weather was like outside, my mother could always dry the wash.

It was great. If some of the clothes were not folded right away and were wrinkled, she just tossed them into the dryer and, presto, the wrinkles were gone.

The political “spin-zone” does the very same thing. If a political candidate says something, immediately it goes into the spin to get rid of those wrinkles.

God, however, does not work that way. In the Old Testament we read, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.” (Isaiah 55:8-9 KJV.)

It is never a question of whether God is on my side, but whether I am on His side. The only way to get on “God’s side” is through the Lord Jesus Christ.

Mexican immigrants, upon hearing of President Bush’s intention to send the National Guard to patrol our borders with Mexico, flocked to Guard headquarters across the nation to sign up for duty.

While waiting in line, an applicant, Carlos Amigos, exclaimed, “The President has given us a truly wonderful opportunity to help our families and friends in Mexico. Now we have a much better chance of helping them get to America.”

The Guard, stretched thin by deployment in Iraq and its need to be at the ready to assist in case of a national emergency, was quick to accept the swarm of new recruits.

The head of the National Guard, fresh from testimony on Capital Hill, where he insisted that the Guard is not overextended, voiced reserve. “Just because we accept these eager beavers doesn’t mean we intend to deploy them along the Mexican border. We’ll make that determination on a case by case basis.”

Undaunted, another Mexican in line to sign up told us, “I know it’s not certain that I will get border duty, but even a small chance is better than none, amigo, because my family can’t afford to buy anymore forged papers.”

Tom Attea, humorist and creator of NewsLaugh.com, has had six shows produced Off-Broadway and has written comedy for TV. Critics have called his writing “”delightfully funny” and “witty” with “good, genuine laughs.”

Many people freak out on Viagra, while some go totally gung ho on Cialis; may be it is all about the basic human taste, you love ice-cream, well, and I’d rather munch those cookies. The philosophy may not be this simple, but there is only a fine line that separates you and me, you, who dote on Viagra, with your ‘I don’t give a damn’ attitude and I, a Cialis lover, with my ‘been there, seen it and done that’ mindset. Sexual play, an act that is a game for you, is a sacred ritual of love for me. Period.

With Viagra, you can discharge your seeds with the velocity of a rocket propeller in zero gravity. Viagra gives man an erection, second to none in vigor and energy, unparallel to any erection in terms of its sheer intensity. It is definitely a big hit with men, who go about copulating wildly and feverishly as if there is no tomorrow, caring not the ramifications their untamed actions can lead to. Men with a one night stand in mind sing the Viagra song. Relationships and emotional bonds are a far cry, entities totally alien to their very flirty existence. The Viagra anthem goes by the tune, hit when the iron (rod) is hot.

Guys who want to walk the wild side of life keep harping on Viagra as a perfect company befitting a journeyman. They are high on passion but low on compassion. They don’t give a damn when it comes to who they mate and how they mate, as long as they get the chance for a lay. Knock, knock, goes the count and it is another addition to the score line, knocking out more damsels as they pass by. Fueled by Viagra, with its instant vitalizing booster, they are no less than a bitch on heat. Viagra flare up the sexual temper in a sudden upsurge, only to ebb away in no time much like the receding wave. Viagra is for them, they who want sex with no strings attached, flamboyant playboys, who go on the rampage, making a headcount of their conquests of the fairer sex. To them sex is all about motions devoid of emotions.

Well, what about the other breed of men, who swear on Cialis for consistent, unwavering and steady moments of sex? They are lovebirds of the world, struck by the romance of the word. Cialis allows them the passion and the compassion to make love, the way they love. There is no looking back for these blokes after that one shot on the goal, they just keep on scoring and scoring, over and over again, till the game is won all out. Cialis takers don’t believe in half-baked methods; they see to it that no part of the female mind and her physical anatomy is left insatiated.

If a firm and steady relationship is at the back of a person’s mind, and he’s head over heels in love, the satisfaction and pleasure of his partner would be a matter of the highest concern and priority. Cialis is the ultimate weapon of desire, a choice strengthened by its ability to go with you all along the way, indeed a 36 long hours, which by no means is a mean feat. Consistency is their forte, and regularly do Cialis users take their partners to amazing and fancy heights of sexual ecstasy, and engage them in pursuit of delights, undreamed of even in their wildest fantasy. It is pleasure uninterrupted for them.

Viagra poppers make no pains to portray themselves as a bunch of party troopers, with zero level of commitment, hooked only to the physicalities of a sexual enactment. For them, it’s just momentary pleasure, the instant escalation and spiraling of the libido, with no further ado. The heady mix of crazy uncontrollable passion blows in like a wild gust of wind, and bang it goes even before you realize it, much like the way it came.

However, the Cialis brigade sees love and commitment as the driving force that gives them an added impetus to the ritual of sex. They wish to stop at nothing short of a total adoration and worship of the female species. With Cialis giving them a sexual calm, not unsettling them one moment in an entire span stretching one and a half day, they can douse the fire of passions raging in the mind and body of the fairer sex.

Viagra is a 100 meter heat, while Cialis is a sexual marathon.

Viagra is for the passing, while Cialis is for keeps. And there, lies the difference.

The writer is a freelancer who writes on various health issues. Log on to http://www.viagrathunder.com and http://www.buy-viagra-with-us.com for the latest news, research, articles, jokes, controversies etc related to men’s health.

Well it seems as if the international terrorists leaders just like to be on TV a lot. Kind of reminds you of Donald Trump and his reality TV series; You’re Fired! Each one of the international terrorist leaders has gone on television on Al Jazeera to remind us who’s boss, but it kind of looks like family feud. Will the real boss please stand up?

Now their messages rather convoluted and most of people United States of America did not know if they should laugh at these bozos or pretend to be scared. Each time another predator drone fires on a Al Queda home, the remaining leaders get on TV again. It is kind of like the survivor series.

Who is the United States military going to kick off the planet next? Actually, I guess it depends on who is tracked down and killed first, as each week another one bites the dust don’t they? Silly little international terrorist leaders, they must’ve been kicked around his kids? They run around all angry and try to get their videos on TV without being caught, you know that must be very stressful?

Behind the scenes around their little board room table I am sure of they are playing the blame game, like on the Martha Stewart Show or Donald Trump Reality TV hit? You know at first I felt sorry for those poor little international terrorists and after that 10-seconds was over, I decided maybe we should have pay-per-view executions as we catch them and donate the money to the 911 families? Think on it.

“Lance Winslow” - Online Think Tank forum board. If you have innovative thoughts and unique perspectives, come think with Lance; http://www.WorldThinkTank.net/wttbbs/

I really don’t know how to say this any other way. My dog decided to talk to me the other night and he had a lot to say.

It initially played like any other night really. Once again, I was tossing and turning, in and out of sleep. I was half awake, mulling over my job situation: I want to make money writing but I need an income more. Then the most bizarre thing happened.

“Hey human Bob! This is your best friend speaking! Wake up!”

Who the hell was that? It was a deep, low voice; strong and certain with a hint of a bourbon induced slur. Sounded like Dean Martin actually. I immediately sat up. It was pitch black. The radio clock blurred 3:53 in a dull crimson light. All I could make out was the shadowy outline of Parker, my trusty beagle, sitting upright at my feet.

“Hey boy, did you hear that?” I whispered instinctively. “Someone’s in the house.”

My vision was starting to warm up to the darkness. Parker just stared back at me, his head tilted, his long ears hanging to the side of his head like hand towels on a wall. He turned his head to the bedroom doorway, lifted his nose to the night and sniffed. He turned back to face me.

“Don’t think so.”

I swore Parker spoke but it couldn’t be. I mean his hound drawn lips seemed to move to the words I heard but that was impossible.

“Who’s there?” I yelled into the night. “Whoever it is, I am warning you that I am at this moment retrieving my loaded double-barrel twelve gauge from under the bed. I will shoot you. So leave now and I want to hear the door slam behind you.”

I made some dumb noises in a lame attempt to fool the intruder into believing what I had just proclaimed. I took the ruse to the next level.

“Okay. I’m fully armed and about to call 911 from my fully powered cell phone. Oh yeah, strong signal, four bars. Oh yeah, this is going to be a very clear 911 call.”

“You’re breaking me up. Put the phone down human Bob.”

It was Parker talking. I was certain of it. Nah, it had to be a sick trick.

“Okay, good one Steve. You wired up the dog with a little speaker. Very funny.”

My brother Steve was known to go to great lengths to pull off pranks. But I was pretty sure he was at his apartment in the city, sixty miles away, God knows doing what, and at 48 years old, unlikely to suddenly bother me with a prankit had been 25 years since his last one. But the mind scrambles to the most implausible scenarios when so duly challenged.

“Don’t think so. Nope it’s me, Parker,” the dog mumbled.

I was positive he spoke again. By now I was sitting straight up, leaning towards him. He just sat there and looked at me with those big dark eyes. His poker face was on.

“Parker? Are you talking to me?”

“Well I’m not talking to myself.”

I leaned back against the headboard. He yawned.

“This can’t be. I’ve got to stop watching Animal Planet.”

“Listen, I’ve got something to say and I’m not sure how long this talking stuff is going to work so …”

“You are talking!” I interrupted incredulously.

“Should you want I bow wow?”

“Holy cow! Parker you are talking.”

“Yup. But I’m not sure for how long. So can I say a few things before …”

“I can’t believe this.”

“Yeah I know. Either can I but if you don’t mind.”

I looked at him with a giant smile plastered across my face. Parker can talk. The dog was talking. Who was I kidding? It had to be a prank. He continued.

“I’ve been listening to a lot of that talk radio and that C-SPAN channel you watch while you write. I’m here to tell ya I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

“You’re kidding me right?”

“Afraid not.”

Oh this was good. I was really hallucinating. Talk-shmalk, I had a few nagging questions of my own.

“Hey, can I ask you something before you get to your stuff?”

“Make it quick. I haven’t got all night.”

“You like smell things a hundred times more than we do, right?”

“Four hundred.”

“Okay, four hundred. Wow! Then I really wonder about this.”

“Yeah I know. Why do we like to sniff every morsel of excrement or yellow patch of urine we encounter on our walks?”

“Now that you bring it up, yeah, why? It must smell like the inside of Dick Cheney’s or Ted Kennedy’s septic tank? And you know how much crap they’re filled with.”

“That was a funny one human Bob. But it isn’t like what you smell. We pick up a lot more notes. It’s a broader pallet if you will. We don’t smell stink. We smell identity, mood, and illness. For instance, you know that crazy cairn terrier down the street?”

“Yeah.”

“She has stomach cancer and her humans don’t have a clue.”

“You are kidding me?”

“She probably has less than six months if they don’t get her to a vet soon.” He paused to lick his right front paw. “Yeah, and another thing. Don’t take me out at nights for awhile.”

“Why?”

“Cause there is a rabid possum living under the porch. That’s why.”

“You know this from the smell of possum poop?”

“Excrement.”

“Whatever.”

“Yup.” Parker yawned as if bored. “So is that it? Can I say what I need to say?”

“Well there is that thing you do with that licking your, you know, your …”

“Penis?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Jealous are we?”

“Well, it’s just that …”

“It’s all about keeping clean. Nothing pleasurable if that’s what you’re driving at. Nothing like what you do with your hand. By the way, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t pet me afterwards. Nope, no pleasure; it’s all business. You made sure of that when you had me “fixed”, remember. Thank you very much.”

“Oh yeah, sorry about that. I had no idea you knew any different.”

“No idea my butt. I’ll ‘no idea’ ya.” He paused again to lick his right paw again and then continued. “But I don’t hold it against you. We don’t hold grudges. Heck, if we did, we would have mauled most humans dead by now. Which brings me to why I am talking to you.”

“No grudges. Really? I mean that “fixing” stuff is pretty serious. That’s pretty good if that doesn’t bother you.”

“You done? Can I get to my concern?”

“Sure. Sorry. Go ahead.”

“How can humans be so smart supposedly, while they single handedly are destroying the Earth?”

“You mean global warming?”

“It’s more than that. It’s the air. It’s the water. It’s the dirt. It’s the forests. It’s the killing. It’s the anger. It’s the hate. It’s the grudges. It’s the fear. It’s everything.”

“Oh come on. You’re being a little dramatic.”

“We don’t know dramatic.”

“Well give me examples of what you mean.”

“First of all, the air is filled with danger. Dogs, cats, birds, animals of all kinds can smell it. It is our biggest topic when we get together.”

“I don’t smell a thing.”

“Yeah, that’s part of the problem. And you can’t taste the troubled water either.”

“Scientists don’t seem to be complaining. So I should be listening to a dog?”

“We have no agenda. Dogs call it as they smell it.”

” ‘call it as they smell it’; I’m suppose to just accept that?”

“Yeah, there is a lot you should just accept.”

“Oh yeah, like what else?”

“Well, and here is what I think is the crux of the problem, you keep choosing the wrong alpha humans.”

“What?”

“You’ve got this alpha thing all wrong. Just because animals order their packs based on physical size and strength doesn’t make it so for humans. We do it because we are simple. You do it because you are thoughtless. That’s what we, and I think it is fair to say I am speaking for all animals, don’t get. Humans are able to think things through. But they never do. Well, that’s not completely true; some have but they are mocked or marginalized.

An alpha dog barks and gets all puffy, like that wacky shepherd Sarge from around the block. The worst he can do is break out of his electronic fence and charge one of us. But you humans take it up a notch.”

“Can you give me a for instance?”

“God there are so many. Let me see. Okay, you’ve elected a president who pounds his chest and walks around like a gorilla with its arms all out to the side, all tough and all, carrying on with ‘bring it on’. When he jumps the fence, he brings tanks and bombs and humans loaded down in weapons and in body armor. Meanwhile, you have alpha males all over the place, flexing their muscle in their packs, threatening to obtain nuclear weapons, the great equalizer, giving the president one excuse after another to hop the fence. It’s nuts. And I for one am telling you, you’ve got it all wrong.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. Just start picking the right alpha humans; humans whose visions see beyond fighting, whose hearts hold no grudges, whose thoughts and reasons are not the products of testosterone, whose collective knowledge is rooted in the concept that true peace is never the consequence of war but the outcome of constant learning, negotiating and adjusting.”

“This is what you want to tell me? Nothin’ for nothin’ but it’s a little heavy for a little chat with a dog at 3:30 in the morning.”

“In a nut shell, yeah.”

It was hard to accept this from my beagle. I mean, he’s a dog; a sleeping, eating, sniffing, crapping dog. I was chalking this whole episode up to stress. I was apparently snapping.

“That’s it. I’m pretty much done. Just one last thing while I have the chance.”

“What? World hunger? String theory?” I asked sarcastically.

“You get the right alpha humans and the world hunger thing will take care of itself, smart ass. As far as string theory, who do you think I am, Hawking? I’m just a dog. No it’s more pedestrian than that, something I think you can manage.”

“Then what, already?” I asked impatiently.

“You know that thing you do occasionally where you empty the dish washer in the buff.”

“Ummm … yeah I guess.”

“Put some clothes on. It’s disturbing. I’m beggin’ ya, please!”

“All right, but only if you lick your privates in private.”

“I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”

“So this is it? No more talking? You know we could make a fortune on Letterman with his stupid pet tricks.”

“It’ll never happen. You see, this is a one time deal. Not sure why or how this is happening. Maybe that God guy is involved somehow. All I know is that when it is done, it is …” He abruptly stopped talking.

“Parker?”

Not a grunt. He yawned and as he did he stretched his front legs out and spread across the foot of the bed, his ears resting flat on the blanket.

“Parker … are you done? Is that it?”

He slowly closed his eyes and floated off to sleep.

“Parker … just like that?”

He began to twitch; in hot pursuit of a fox I imagined.

“Holy smokes. I must be dreaming myself.”

I curled back down under the safety of my covers, scratched my butt and thought about the conversation I had just had with Parker or myself or both. I sniffed the air. It smelled fine to me. What the heck was he talking about, ‘danger in the air’? It had to be a dream.

As I drifted off to sleep, I thought about getting a real job real soon, apparently this writing stuff was getting the best of me. I also made a point to remember to talk to the owners of that crazy cairn terrier. I thought it was the least I could do. One can’t be too dismissive of the unexplainable these days.

This article was written by humorist Robert Crane. Please visit his popular and free website for a lot more of the same.

http://www.cranelegs.com

Definition #1:

- A pinion is the edible nut of a pine tree.

- O pinion is a nutty perspective held by a person (unless it is your own opinion, of course). The more opinions that get expressed, the nuttier the flavor of a conversation becomes.

- A belief is an opinion masquerading as assumed fact in order to disguise its nutty origin.

Definition #2:

- A pinion is a toothed wheel, often also called a gear.

- O pinion is a small, toothed wheel in the gearbox of someone’s mind. The wheels turn round, the teeth interacting with other gears. Occasionally, these o-pinions will pop out of the gearbox. The more opinions pop out (are expressed), the less functional the gearbox becomes and it soon spins out of control or jams up entirely.

- A belief is an o-pinion that has no teeth. It just spins around and around without being able to interface with the other gears in the mind.

Definition #3:

O’Pinion is an Irish nut. It is used to add color and flavor to Guinness. The more Guinness you drink, the more you are inclined to express opinions.

There are over 2 dozen different styles of beer in the world. However, all these styles fall within two types, Ales and Lagers. These two types are different because of the two different kinds of yeast used in the fermentation process.

Ales

Ales are “top fermenting” beers. They are made with a top fermenting yeast called Saccharomyces cerevisiae. This yeast clings together in large clumps near the surface during fermentation. Ale yeast works best at higher temperatures and, as a consequence, works more quickly to convert sugars into alcohol, but does not convert all the sugars and leaves a sweetness in the beer. Ales are more cloudy with flavors that tend to be louder than Lagers and that change, even improve, with warmer temperatures. As your Ale warms up in your glass it gets more bolder tasting. Darker ales are even more flavorful.

Lagers

Lagers are “bottom fermenting” beers. They are made with a bottom fermenting yeast called Saccharomyces uvarum. This kind of yeast does not clump together and therefore sinks to the bottom during fermentation. This Lager yeast works best at low temperatures and slowly ferments more sugars into alcohol. So while Ale yeast actually converts sugar faster, Lager yeast converts more sugar over the longer fermentation. Therefore, Lagers tend to be clean, crisp and less sweet than Ales. Darker lagers are more malty tasting than light lagers, but both share a common crispness. Lagers are usually served very cold and the flavor typically will not improve with increasing temperature.

Drink your lagers cold. Your ales should be drunk only slightly cool. Of course, that’s only my opinion.

Yeasts, by the way, are single celled fungi. Yes, relatives of the Amanita (the magic mushroom) and ergot (the rye fungus that produces LSD).

Ingesting yeasts/fungi tends to affect one’s perspective of the world and thus, one’s opinions.

Some day, I will write a book on the subject and call it, “As a Man Drinketh”.

Articles are the sole copyright of Leslie Fieger. Permission to reprint or republish does not wave any copyright.
Leslie Fieger is the author of The DELFIN Knowledge System Trilogy, The Initiation, The Journey and The Quest and many other eBooks on success. He also the co-author of The End of the World with Hugh Jeffries and Alexandra’s DragonFire with his daughter Ashley. You can subscribe to his free and ad-free eZine at http://www.prosperityparadigm.com and be sure to visit his website http://www.lesliefieger.com.

The Prodigal Prince Fred, (Tasmanian Fred, Royal Spoiled Brat)

THE SETTING Luke 15:11 “There was a man who had two sons.

Far away, long before children had beds, There lived a Tasmanian ‘Devil’ named “Fred” Prince Frederick the Fifth, Son of Frederick the Fourth Who ruled the Tasmanian Kingdom, of course.

King Frederick was noble and goodly and nice The Tasmanians loved him- from mooses to mice They also loved King Freddy’s nicely son “Ned” But oh how they hated that nasty Prince Fred.

Prince Freddy was snooty and cocky and smuggly He hung with his “gang”, “The Tasmanian Thugglies” They loved to break furniture, quarrel, and fight And steal kiddies’ candies on Halloween night.

They’d cruise through the countryside hooting and howling Kicking the kangaroos, shooting and scowling Scaring the children asleep in their beds And thumping the night owls on top of their heads; they’d

throw rocks through windows and break into stores They’d put piles of doo-doo by people’s front doors And laugh at the look in the nice people’s eyes When they stepped out and stepped in Fred’s “poo-poo surprise.”

And the townspeople said, “For these prattles and pranks We’ll break out our paddles- PRINCE FRED NEEDS A SPANK!”

And oh how they spanked him- they swatted and popped him But Prince Freddy liked the attention it got him - His horrible habits would not go away So he pranked every night and got spanked every day.

Luke 15:12 The younger one said to his father, `Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them.

But what Fred only knew was that he had grown weary Tasmanian teasing was boring and dreary He’d broken or messed up most everything there And he ached for a change- a breath of fresh air.

So he said “hey King Daddy-O, gimme my Money I ‘m sick and I’m tired of you, Neddy and Mummy I’m gonna go where the grasses are greener The girls are much cuter, the cows are much leaner We’ll conquer the world, my Thugglies and me THEY’RE my real family- They love me, you’ll see.”

King Frederick wiped a big tear from his eye, said, “Dear Son Freddy, please don’t say goodbye” The world is a jungle, cruel and abusing You’ll get bamboosled, you’ll get a bad bruising.

But Freddy shouted, “Quiet, you looney old man Just gimme my money, as fast as you can!”

King Frederick thought “I don’t owe him a thing” But I’ll follow the counsel of Cousin King Sting Who said “Sometimes love is to let people be” for “If you love someone you must set them free.”

King stood up and said, I’ll give half of my kingdom Then Fred will see just how much I love him (But Freddy just stood looking bored and half-sick And said “good enough, Daddy, -let’s make it quite quick!”).

Out came the servants with barrels and trunkets Silver by truckloads, Doubloons by the buckets Deeds for the land, for the houses and castles Clothes with gold hats zippers and diamonds on tassles.

And when finally they’d loaded the loot and the booty Prince Fred turned around with a shout super-snooty “Good riddance, Good King, and Tasmania too I’ll conquer the world, just like I conquered YOU!

THE SQUANDERING Luke 15:13 “Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living.”

So Fred bought a ship and a giant Jalope The Thugglies and some of the girlies came hopping They sailed off to Greece, to Italia and Thebes Germania, San Pedro, the Isle of Saint Dweebes Morocco, Swahili, Israeli, Bombay Calcutta, Cape Cod, Albakerkie and Spain The Thugglies all cheered “2,4,6, and 8 Freddie’s the Thugguly we ‘preciate We really love you, not just for your money- You’re every boy’s buddy, and every girl’s honey.

They sailed to Cape horn where the Africans dance Got drunk on bamboo juice and wet in their pants (They drove the Jalope all through the Sahara ’til it broke down in the hot desert weatha’) They Flew on a flybird to HulaHuLoo And swiggled and swayed like the hulahoo’s doo They took a fast train to Bermuda for fishing And snork’ling and swimming and winnihee wishing Then off to Arabia seeking the carpet- The magic one- and when the found it Fred bought it They rode like the wind on a magical flight So close to the stars they could kiss them goodnight And they laughed and they sang and they never once worried … Til they ran out of gas in Pougkipsee, Missouri Starving and thirsting from singing and lauging They searched out a truck stop for eating and gassing They ordered hamburglers and ice cream and coke- That’s when Fred said with a gasp- “Friends, I’m broke!”

His ‘friends’ said, “Hey, Freddy-O, you must be jokin’” Fred said “I’m not…” and they started to choke him “Why have you brought us out here to Missouri?!”- they cried and they cried ’til their vision was blurry.

They beat Fred that night ’bout the head and the shoulders Kicked him and pelted him hard with small boulders, Then pooled every cent they’d embezzled from Fred Hopped a bird home and left Fred for dead.

PIGS Luke 15:14 After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need.

When Fred awoke in the ditch the next tuesday, Angry and dizzy and battered and bruisedy Seeing he needed some doct’ring and nursing He wobbled and bobbled back into Poughkipsee.

‘These people will serve me as soon as they see My royal credentials, my choice pedigree I’m Frederick the Fifth, Son of Frederick The Fourth Heir to the crown of Tasmania, of course!’

“Tasmania!”, they laughed, “why it sounds to me Like this boy’s been eating the wackety weed! He thinks he’s a Prince, but it’s clear, he’s a fake (disgrace) From the thuggardly look on his uggardly face He’s nothing but trouble, repair bills, and grief Poughkipsee has no need for this little thief!”

Luke 15:15 So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. Luke 15:16 He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.

So Fred limped down the road, saw a farmer named Rooflus (fat, bald, and sweaty and dirty and toothless) Who said, “You can feed all my pigglies, you dooflus!”

So Fred slept in the barn with the hogs in Missouri Where roachies and rats and reegreechies would scurry So dark and so cold in the yuck and the storm He’d hug to the hogs in the mud to keep warm.

And up with the sunrise Ol’ Rooflus came screaming “TIME TO SLOP HOGS- STOP YOUR SNORING AND DREAMING” And oh- how Fred hated to wake up each day For he dreamed of his soft bed, back home, far away.

Then Rooflus would swat with his sluggardly-stick Fred’d jump for the bucket of schloppettyschlick, full of sloopage and scumdredge and leftover lardy, rotten vomatoes and chunkies of barfy.

Fred got so hungry his tummy would gurgle When he’d spy a bitey of uneaten burgle Floating about in the schloppetyschlick But Rooflus said “NO SIR, NOT ONE LITTLE BIT” For hogs need to eat, they are useful and tasty But you’re good for nothing; you’re stoopid and lazy .

And the only thing Fred was the Prince of was pigs (But the pigs ate much better than Fred ever did!)

REPENTANCE Luke 15:17 “When he came to his senses, he said, `How many of my father’s hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! Luke 15:18 I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. Luke 15:19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men.’

And slowly, sneaking as if by surprise an idea began growing behind Freddy’s eyes ’til one day he came to his senses and said, “If I stay with these hogs pretty soon I’ll be DEAD!” The servants that work for my Dad eat like Kings And all I can eat is regreechichies and squings And moldy old swatches of schlochettyschlick Left where the piggelet’s tongues couldn’t lick.

So I’ll hike back to Father and beg for a job ’cause I’ve got experience slopping these hogs! Of course he won’t let me back into the house Since I spent all his money out being a louse I’m no longer worthy of being his son But I’m great with the hogs- I can get the job done.

EATING HUMBLE PIE Luke 15:20 So he got up and went to his father.

So Fred ran away from Pougkipsee and Rooflus Hitchedhiked a wildebeest down to San Lucas Stowed away in the gut of a whale named Jonah Til the whale barfed him out on the beach of Pomplona! He ran in a rickshaw to Katmandudu Nambibia, Naples and Kalamazoo.

After 7 long years of swimming and running (It takes a long time without daddy-o’s funding) Fred saw the land he’d remembered in dreams- The shores of Tasmania- sparkling and clean.

FATHER WELCOMES HIM: “But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.

Now King Frederick feared that young Fred had died But day after day, the King strained his old eyes Peering through periscopes over the hills Praying that Fred would come home to him still.

And that day, the greatest day, what did he see? Floundering Freddy afloat on the sea The King ran like an antelope, threw out a raft Pulled Freddy onto the beach with a laugh.

Luke 15:21 “The son said to him, `Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.

Freddy coughed up all the seaweed and water said, please don’t kill me, but hear me out, Father I’ve sinned, I’m a joke, I’m a heel of a schmuck I’m mother’s worst nightmare- bait for bad luck, so Just let me live in the shack with the peasants Slopping the hogs, or dressing the pheasants I’m no longer worthy to be called your son But I’ve learned to slop hogs- I can get the job done!

Luke 15:22 “But the father said to his servants, `Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Luke 15:23 Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. Luke 15:24 For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.

King said, “Son, we’ve no hogs, we’re Tasmanian Jews But you’re home alive- That’s the greatest of news!” “So bring him my robe, put my ring on his hand Let’s throw a party all over the land Strike up the band let the hoopla abound For Prince Fred was lost; HOORAY, he’s been found!”

OLDER SON GETS MAD: Luke 15:25 “Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. Luke 15:26 So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. Luke 15:27 `Your brother has come,’ he replied, `and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’ Luke 15:28 “The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. Luke 15:29 But he answered his father, `Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. Luke 15:30 But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’

But Fred’s brother Ned wasn’t dancing with glee Ned sat there, lips pouting all pitifully Saying, “Hey daddy-o - I’m as nice as can be- But when did you throw a big party for ME? I worked and I slaved and busted my buttocks While that little twirp spent your loot like a dumb-ox.

FATHER GIVES MORAL Luke 15:31 “`My son,’ the father said, `you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. Luke 15:32 But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’”

“But Ned”, said the King, “You’re already with me What’s mine is all yours, far as eagle eyes see So come on! Let’s party, let’s rock & get down ’cause Fred, left for dead, is alive and in town!”

And this, goobs and gurls, is the way God loves you Whatever you say, sin, bamboozzle or do, When you come running home with your arms open wide God says, “Come on in, love! There’s a party inside!”

© Copyright 1989 Troy Nilsson You may reprint this story in whole or in part if you: 1) Notify Troy Nilsson of the use, 2) Prominently include credit “© Troy Nilsson of NilssonMedia.org” with the used material.

Before long, a new technology will render search engines, ppc engines and email marketing obsolete. It will completely change the way we view webpages and retreive information from the web. Transportational marketing (or better known as ‘Beam Me Up Ads’) are sweeping the internet as marketers and site owners scramble to get their hands on it.

“Imagine a world where you can literally inject your message into the brains of web surfers”, said the founder, John Martinna, “… this is the solution we’ve been waiting for. It’s like RSS on steroids!”

Google reportedly offered a hefty sum to acquire the new technology, however John knew that this was something he just couldn’t let slip through his fingers.

“I’d be a complete fool!”, he said, “It would be as crazy as finding Tom Cruise in a psychiatric ward dispensing medications…… it just ain’t gonna happen.”

When asked how it works, John said “It’s simple. You supply your subscribers and web visitors with a small chip which easily implants into their brain, through their ear using a special injector. They then sit back and whenever you have a message to beam to them, it instantly reaches their brain. From there, the special chip evaluates their response, and if positive, will connect them directly to the webpage you want them to go.”

“Sounds intrusive”, I said, “What about when they aren’t online?”

“Not a problem. The chip is specially designed to know when the user is online and will only deliver messages when turned on. You see…. by simply logging into their online account, they can choose to disable messages at any time and even have options for limiting the amount they receive.”

“That’s quite impressive.”, I said, “So I understand this was inspired by Star Trek?”

John continued, “You bet, I’ve been a big fan ever since I was a kid. The ‘Beam Me Up Ads’ technology was inspired by the episode which featured those two guys with the big throbbing heads, The Talosians, you know…. the telepathy guys that kidnapped Captain Pike and tried to get him to breed with a real hot chick.”

I then asked John about side effects.

“In our initial testing, we only had one person become violent when an ad for penis enlargement got mixed up with a spyware ad. He began to believe that people were spying on his penis. But that was while we were still in beta mode….. we’ve worked out those bugs.”

The new transportational marketing system is expected to be made available next year in the fall. But don’t expect it to come cheap. It’s expected to hit the market with a pricetag of $1500 per chip.

“I think Scotty would be proud”, said John in closing thoughts, “Just like the Enterprise, this technology will be going where no man has gone before……”