Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Another reason why Germans prefer David Hasselhoff

Looks like it's turning into Headline Week here at Rocketradio...

BERLIN (Reuters Life!) - Driver crash-lands car on church roof

A motorist missed a bend in the road, broke through a barrier and hurtled up a bank, crash-landing on a church roof in eastern Germany, police said on Monday.

The bank acted like a springboard, propelling the vehicle about 35 meters (115 ft) forward and straight into the church's roof frame, where it remained wedged 7 meters off the ground, police said in a statement.


In spite of the damage caused to the car and the church, police have reported that hillbilly cousins Bo and Luke Duke sustained no injuries.

Police statement: "They're just some good ol' boys, never meanin' no harm. Today the church might have got 'em, but the law never will."

Saturday, January 24, 2009

The Nigerian Police always get their goat

TRUE STORY: LAGOS (Reuters) - Police in Nigeria are holding a goat on suspicion of attempted armed robbery.

Vigilantes took the black and white beast to the police saying it was an armed robber who had used black magic to transform himself into a goat to escape arrest after trying to steal a Mazda 323.

The group of vigilante men came to report that while they were on patrol they saw some hoodlums attempting to rob a car. They pursued them. However one of them escaped while the other turned into a goat," Kwara state police spokesman Tunde Mohammed told Reuters by telephone.

"We cannot confirm the story, but the goat is in our custody. We cannot base our information on something mystical. It is something that has to be proved scientifically, that a human being turned into a goat," he said.

Belief in witchcraft is widespread in parts of Nigeria, Africa's most populous nation. Residents came to the police station to see the goat, photographed in one national newspaper on its knees next to a pile of straw.


Police also have good reason to suspect the goat had been involved with an internet phishing scam in the past, e-mailing innocent Americans to solicit help in claiming his family's lost fortune.

The goat's lawyer steadfastly denies the accusations of grand theft auto, and has issued the following statement to news media:

"My client is innocent. We are confident that the evidence will reveal in court that Squirrels are the masterminds behind this crime ring. Everyone knows that goats can't drive stick."

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Morning Announcements

If you haven't dropped by Fire That Agency! in a while, let me tell you: it's smokin' hot:

-- We've got some fabulous new writers (Andy Rooney, Skyler's Dad, and Michael)

-- BeckEye has the latest scoop on ShamWow Vince's nuts!

-- Stay tuned later today for the long awaited return of Pistols At Dawn!

Sorry, I'm a little busy today, so that's all I've got for the moment. I know, such a let-down after all the cake and boobs last week. I've spoiled you people.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Bush Defends Legacy In Final News Conference

Yahoo! News HEADLINE: Bush Defends Legacy In Final News Conference



"There are plenty of critics in this business," Bush said
at a valedictory encounter with reporters in the White House
briefing room at the end of a turbulent two term presidency,
"but I thought it was a purdy good movie."




"I can see why that David Hasselhoff fella
is so darn popular," he added, throwin' out some
el diablo action to photographers in attendance.

Monday, January 12, 2009

The King of Cakes

Thanks for your enthusiastic comments on the previous cake-themed post. Here's a quick cake story to kick off your week....

My sister-in-law took me for a winter hike through her little alpine village to see the church where she married my brother. I have no idea why - I mean, I had no real interest in churches per se, but I do enjoy checking out old architecture, and the grand tour about town made Sophie happy.

It was late afternoon when we entered the church, and it was pretty dark inside, save for a small shrine of glowing candles on the east wall and rows of tall, backlit stained glass windows above us. In spite of the low light, I could see that the interior was quite ornate and golden and gaudy in a sort of charming way. We ad libbed some silly captions for the iconic tapestries on the walls, and we were still giggling like heathens when a shaky voice suddenly boomed out of the darkness and scared the shit out of us.

"Aimez-vous mon g√Ęteau?"

I was pretty sure it wasn't God, because the voice was asking if we liked his cake.

There was a large golden throne next to the dias at the front altar section of the church, and as we cautiously approached the source of the voice, we could see the emerging shadow of an old man sitting on the throne. He was staring at us and eating a giant piece of cake from a styrofoam plate with a plastic spoon. He was wearing one of those tissue paper crowns that come from those Christmas cracker thingys. He had a lei around his neck made of sparkly red and silver Christmas tree garland. He was giggling and sing-saying (in French):

"I am the king... I have some cake!
I AM THE KING OF CAKES!
You have no cake! NO CAKE!
Do you like MY cake?
HahaHAHAHA!
I am the best king ever!"

My sister-in-law began to engage the old man in conversation, and she quickly learned that a local family had rented the large common room and kitchen in the church basement for their Christmas party, and Gramps - who was suffering from Alzheimer's or some other mental disability - had wandered upstairs to enjoy his cake on the comfort of his throne.

It was far too dark to get a decent photo of him, so please enjoy this artist's rendering to your left.

(actual King and Throne not as gay as illustrated.)

We could hear music echoing from below, so Sophie presented her right elbow to him for support, which he happily accepted, although he steadfastly refused to allow either of us to hold his plate of cake for even a moment while we descended the steps from the altar. He was prudent not to trust us. Sophie and I both hail from a long, nefarious line of cake usurpers.

The King shuffled along beside us, rambling on and on about cake and some other stuff I couldn't understand because he was mumbling and still had his mouth stuffed full of cake. He had green icing on his chin, on his shirt, and all over his hands, which were now clinging tight to Sophie's forearm. We slowly steered him down the center aisle and down a narrow winding staircase to the basement.

We returned The King to his People at the party downstairs, where his grateful relatives rewarded us each with a slice of cake, a glass of wine, and a really awkward performance by a group of four tween-aged girls doing some kind of gay voguing routine to a Daft Punk song. It made me wonder if little French girls learn how to dance from Italian game shows. Their style could best be described as 'cheerleading without the pompoms', or - if I'm being really generous - possibly an homage to doin' The Robot.

The King of Cakes helped himself to another big slice, ignoring all protests from some mean old bitch who was slapping at his sticky hands while barking "Non! Non plus!" He winked at me, and when he smiled, the three teeth in his mouth were stained bright green with icing.

Long live the The King of Cakes, for He truly is the Best King Ever.
------------------------------------------------

SLOW WORK DAY? Here's more amazing stories to help you look busy:

- Andy Rooney - special guest on Fire That Agency!
- Skyler's Dad joins the writing staff at Fire That Agency!
- The Green Knight
- The Abominable Snowman
- Last Call

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Baby's First Explosion

I was in the truck with my dad, driving to my uncle's house for Christmas dinner, when we passed by a row of townhouses where we lived when I was around 7 years old. I confessed that the most vivid memory I have of that house was at Christmastime, when I figured out that Santa Claus was all a big fat lie.

With my mom's help, I wrote out some questions for Santa on one of those giant pads of doodle paper. I asked why he wore a red suit, if he had any children of his own, if he had a part-time job in the summer, and a few other things I suppose, and placed it next to his milk and cookies.

On Christmas morning, the cookies were eaten (with a few crumbs left behind for a nice effect), and my letter was answered! But I was no idiot - I knew right away that the reply was in my father's handwriting. He was a draughtsman and architect, and his penmanship reflected his trade -- very neat, tidy, and perfectly aligned, and he only ever used ALL CAPS. Aside from his signature, I've never seen him write anything in script - just block printing. Seven-year old me was shocked and disappointed, but I had a 3 year-old brother to consider, and I also feared that outing dad as Santa would greatly diminish any hopes of future holiday loot. So I kept that little secret to myself until a couple weeks ago.

My dad was laughing about the whole thing, and then he very casually asked me: "Do you remember the explosion?"

The explosion, dad? Oh, do tell.

Well, it was years before that house, he told me, when we lived out at the lake. He reckoned I was just a year old, maybe not even that, and there was a violent lightning storm one night. My mom had been working the late shift at the hospital, and he was worried about her driving the 40-minute commute home in bad weather. Several loud thunder crashes had awakened me in the night, so he was pacing the living room with me in his arms, trying to get me to stop screaming, while silently freaking out about his wife, who was already an hour late getting herself home. He was only 21 years old.

"I managed to settle you down a bit," he recalled, "I was at the big bay window, pointing at the giant apple tree in our front yard -- I guess it was about 30 feet from the house, really tall and wide and full of big white blossoms. I was saying soothing shit like 'look! Look at the pretty flowers! ... it's only rain, and the rain makes the flowers grow' and just as a smile came across your face, this gigantic lighting bolt came outta nowhere and blew that fucking apple tree into a million pieces! The explosion blew out the side windows of the house and the back window of my car. I can't believe the big window in front of us didn't shatter. I'm not exaggerating here - it was a mutherfucking fireball. The noise was deafening... and there was no goddam tree left after that. Completely obliterated."

Wow. I certainly didn't remember any of that. But it did occur to me that I have inherited my father's pottymouth. So how did he handle it?

"We both squealed and shat our pants."

Monday, January 5, 2009

Hey kids, how were your holidays? I enjoyed my time off, but I'm back with a fresh new look to celebrate my return to blogging. I'm not completely satisfied with this design, so it may change over time, but that all-white template had to go. It stains too easily.

Okay, enough about you... I suppose a lot has happened over the past three weeks. I missed most of it, so feel free to fill me in. I'm not going to bait you with phenomenal tales about my vacation - they'll only make you intensely jealous of me and the glamourous life I lead, and neither of us want that, most especially not you.

Here's a few updates:

Katrocket Wins Prestigious Blogging Awards
After several years of complete failure at the Drysdale Awards, Grant Miller Media has bestowed Rocketradio with The Lifetime Achievement Award in the Field of Promoting Grant Miller Media. I'm sure there are some bitter losers out there who will make wild claims of nepotism, but ask yourself this: what have YOU done for Grant Miller lately?

some award-winning 2008 posts about Grant Miller Media:
Setting Free The Bears: Grant Miller and his stance on Gay Bear Dating
Grant is...Facebook: status updates from Grant Miller
Happy Birthday Grant Miller: a comprehensive dissertation on The Man and His Milestones

I was also awarded a Gold Star from Champion Lurker Bill Stankus from Just A Moment of Miscellany (thanks, Bill). This is especially cool because I had no idea that Mr. Stankus was a Rocketreader until a few days ago, which makes this the first blog award I've ever won that was not the direct result of intense lobbying and/or blackmail.

Following the Rocketroll
The blogroll has been updated with some fabulous new bloggers, and I finally caved and added that fucking Follower gadget that you're all so fond of. I promise I'll be adding your blog soon, so if you've been holding out on "following" Rocketradio for childish political reasons (i.e.- because I haven't been "following" your blog), I hope you're happy now.

Blogmosis
I've got too many blogs and not enough time to maintain them, so I have moved all the short stories from my WordPress site over to this blog and I'll be shutting down r o c k e t a l k next week. The WP content is now tagged in the archives as "amazing stories" - I'm not kidding you. They are pretty fucking amazing. Waaaay more amazing than this shitty post.

Newsflash: Scientology helped Tom Cruise beat dyslexia
No logner fnuctoinlaly illiteraet, btu sitll a pompuos asshoel.

A lame joke I heard while watching Mythbusters at 2am:
Q: What's red and smells like blue paint?
A: Red paint.

Stuff I recently quit doing, but refuse to call "new year resolutions" in case I feel like doing them again some day:
- drinking coffee
- smoking cigarettes
- eating junk food (not to be confused with "eating junk")
- dating miserable cunts
- enjoying a carefree lifestyle that included coffee, cigarettes, junk food and cunts.