Thursday, March 28, 2013

For Teh Zombie

ZRM needs this as his entrance overture.

Throwing My Two Cents Into The Air

Open Letter to 'The Morning Grind', AM950 KTNF Twin Cities. The host again used a phrase this morning on the gun control debate -

" keep them out of the hands of felons and the mentally ill..."

- that honestly grates on me, so I again put pen to paper fingers to ah, screw it, making letters appear on a screen in some specific order.
(Just to be clear, I genuinely like this cat, even though I have been abused for 'squatch love, but he's a good host, and I agree with him far more than not.)

Mr. McNeil, Mr. Wonderful,
I would like to take a bit of issue with one of your common constructions regarding background checks for gun purchases -
" keep them out of the hands of felons and the mentally ill.."    
specifically, the "mentally ill". 
Certainly I understand what you are saying, and agree on universal background checks at a minimum.  But I know and have known many people who based on the DSM-IV have various mental illnesses, and I believe that much mental illness is never diagnosed. The vast majority of this population, like the majority of the overall population, don't have guns, don't want guns, believe in background checks, are not violent, are in complete touch with reality, and could be totally trusted to behave responsibly with a gun. They simply have some extra challenges to tackle and don't need any more grief, or to become the scapegoat Fox desperately needs. 
We are, however, missing a category. Actually, category, hell - we are missing a mania. That mania is that of the gun fetishist, one of the fastest growing categories of anything in America, including flavors of fruit-juice.  
I do wonder why, at this time, what could have changed over the last few years. Something... But I digress.
These are the people who need to own more and more weapons, telling themselves that it is to ward off the thugs, or the jackbooted UN inspectors, or the damnable Zombie Apocalypse (whilst I welcome our undead conquerors and will cooperate fully in exchange for the Boundary Waters.) I suspect it has more to do with concern over the functionality and size of one's genitalia, especially in consideration with, say, Bob down the street, with the 10" barrel. Regardless, it is these people, with an overwhelming desire to own weapons, take them out, shoot them, carefully oil them down, and dream of defending the neighborhood against the urban hordes who are the sick ones. I'm saying that a need for more guns than you have bedrooms should disqualify you immediately, light up that background check form with the blazing of a nova-ed sun. I know, it won't happen, but I believe my point is valid. 
Again gentlemen, I recognize, as do all your listeners, that when you refer to keeping guns from the mentally ill, you mean men whose names I won't mention, as their names should smoulder on the ashheap of history, not be given a Fox Primetime Special, 'The Many Loves Of Serial Killer', or interviewed on the Today Show. I guess I just wanted to voice my two cents and ask for that clarification once in a while. 
Just my opinion, but I am pretty cheesed off at Congress, especially Harry Reid, the damnable NRA, people I know who are basically average people but who polish the hell out of the Second Amendment while clamoring for the end of  the First Amendment, and ignoring my rights not to have a bunch of gun-toting lunatics surrounding me in the movie theater.

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Cat Hair And Despair

'Twas a busy week. 

Spent a couple days working on the house, including cleaning for the arrival of my in-laws. The 4 garbage bags of fur collected have already been carded, I expect to get to spinning it after Easter, upon finishing the war on Easter and having brunch. (I expect the black and white hair of Diva Kitteh will make a fine, soft weave, akin to cashmere, while the coarser, vacuum destroying fur of Punkboy will make a near indestructible kevlar vest.) The really big prep is for the carpentry next week, and then moving downstairs Easter weekend - I have beer and brats for volunteers willing to do what I tell them while I drink beer and have brats, real brats, from Wisconsin, not any of the eldritch abominations Minnesotans call brats, and who the fuck puts catsup on a brat anyways, I mean, goddammit, I bought a package of Minnesota made 'sausage', garlic shambling mound flavoured, the other day and it had an instant coupon on it for 'Real California Cheese',

no one knows what that it because California cheese resides in an even more netherworld than Minnesota sausage and I live in bizarroworld I keep expecting to turn on the TV AND FIND WE HAD A WACKJOBBIER-THAN-ME-CONSPIRACY-THEORIST-FUCKING-WRESTLER-AS-GOV


Just a momentum, poor favor.

-Yes Sweetie?
-No shit? grumblepoopdammitlooklikeabloodyidiot

Ummm, I also spent some time applying for a job, internally, big step up, and the first time I've ever had to do a professional resume, as much as a CV as anything, my boss, who is helping me with this, thought it turned out all right. Just to 'splain - although I have, and make no bones about having, certain ambitions regarding responsibilities, taking a little control over my own job, certainly a little more cash wouldn't hurt, my primary ambition is banker's hours. I want to come home, have dinner with my Sweetie, have the national holidays off, have a dog, as opposed to working every other weekend and if enough preventive maintenance is happening, every weekend. I think I've earned a bit. Wish me luck, just getting an interview might be tough but if I can get that, I'm pretty confident in my ability to make an impression.


-Sweetie, quit laughing.

Anyhow, I appreciate wishes of luck, and if you are a particularly unlucky sort, I'll accept Scotch.


A Revolution In Mental Health

I want to run over Casey Kasem with a Prius, strapped to the scoop of a front end loader. Wait, wait. Hear me out. I know on its face it’s a great idea, but let me justify this.

Casey Kasem is the cause of all depression in this world.

I am not speaking, of course, of clinical depression, which is a messxture of symptoms, behaviors, and brain chemistry and should not be taken lightly. I don’t. I am talking of the more common use of the term, wherein you go to your room, throw yourself at the bed, yell at your goldfish, and then one, just one, of your grandmother's collection of porcelain dolls, winks one, just one, eye. 

Or in the sense where you get angry, because this is bullshit, and KARE-TV finally gets to use that new helicopter and their sadface. 

I have spoken before of the man’s lack of perspective, but foolishly found myself listening to the best of AT40 on the way to work this morning, about 1973-ish. Before Death Metal, and Dethklok, there was, what I refer as, Death Pop, starting with the famous Last Kiss.

and the tragic last stanza, where the boy holds his girl as she dies in a wreck. And then he finds he has a taste for necrophilia. And then she finds she has a taste for fresh brain. (Yeah, I know it's the Pearl Jam remake. I'm lazy. Pbbfflltt!) 

Sillier Better still was Laurie (Strange Things Happen In This World).

A strange force drew me to the graveyard.
I stood in the dark,
I saw the shadows wave,
And then I looked and saw my sweater
Lyin' there upon her grave.
Strange things happen in this world. 
Found her sweater in the cemetary? Rilly. I believe in all that shit but that song makes my diabetes bleed.

In 1973, there was a new entrant, Daisy A Day by Jud Strunk.

For he feels all her love walkin’ with him 
And he smiles at the things she might say 
Then the old man walks up to the hilltop 
And gives her a daisy a day 

I’ll give you a daisy a day, dear 
I’ll give you a daisy a day 
I’ll love you until the rivers run still 
And the four winds we know blow away

The problem I have here is that it is really kind of sweet, but Sweet Flying Spaghetti Monster do I not need that sobfest on the way to work.

Competing in the Stalk-O-Rama category, the Chi-Lites, (who generally I like rather a bit, even though Chicago), with (Write) A Letter To Myself.

And I know you'd think that I'm crazy
But I can't lose what have I left 
So I've decided to write this letter 
And send it to myself...... 

Get me a pencil and paper
And write all the things 
Say all the things 
I've heard you say before 

But with a little extra
(Extra, extra read all about it) 
Sugar and spice 
I guess it makes me feel kind of nice...... 

Oh, I put on the coat, leave you a note
And go to the places, places, places where we used to be 
I pretend you are there, order dinner for two 
Your very presence is all in the air 

I write a letter to myself
Oh, write another letter to myself 
I write another letter to myself 
Oh, I write another letter to myself

Ummm. Er. Dude. Wow. You are one sick bastard. This piece of paper is a restraining order.  It means go away. A lot.


Oh, and Casey, I don't know if you are teh cause or an unwitting victim of this, but I'm going to blame you. Ta!

Gotta cleanse my ear type palate - oh, maybe one more sad song.

Full Lyrics Under The Jump

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Final Shape Starting To, Ummm, Take... Shape?

Lot of basement work this weekend, and now have a sufficient temporary entertainment area/living room. Pics later this week, along with more details. I is beated.

Quote of the weekend:
"This isn't Wall Street, this is Hell! We have a little something called integrity!"*

Weekend Poll
    • Cake
    • Death

Its St. Patrick's Day, the streets of St. Paul run green with used beer.
Love this version...

Love, paleo

*Crowley, King of Hell, Supernatural

Friday, March 15, 2013

Ladies And Gentlemen, May I Present, MINNESOTA

I really like where I live. I do. The northern side of the Twin Cities. I've built a very good life here (a lot due to Sweetie, who wants to start her own blog - likely to be somewhat less weirdly inflammatory but have more sewing - love you Honey!). I miss Wisconsin, (knew all the good hunting and fishing spots, and when I first moved to Minnesota, I could have hunted and fished but somehow was never able to - pbbffflltt!!), but right now, politisocially, MN is the far and away saner of the two states.  And then, once in a while...

I like good food, not quite the foodie of some of my online acquaintances but I ain't no slouch. As a diabetic, I'm not technically allowed to eat, well, anything - although very often the packaging is safe. But, once in a while. I like many asian foods; sushi, tempura; Chinese - Szechuan, Cantonese, and American; pad thai (cannot eat now - rice noodles - shooteth me please); and such. There is a, sort of, Eastern/Minneapolis Fusion, bit of a small niche, restaurant in Minneapolis called Gingerhop. It is supposed to be quite good, reasonably priced, good atmosphere. And I give props for any place selling the 'Kim Jong-il Burger', unfortunately not on the menu so I don't know what it is, but on a scale of One-to-Trolling I give it a Beautiful. And I have meant to, and will get to, eating there at some point.

It is now Lent, and in Minnesota (and Wisconsin, for that matter) it is Friday Fish Fry time (contrary to popular opinion, lutefisk is not high on the Minnesota Fish Fry menu, it is technically not organic, as evidenced by the number of enthusiastic lutefisk eaters who are no longer alive yet suspiciously well preserved. A bit on the gelatinous side perhaps. The lutefisk eaters, that is. And the lutefisk. Um. Where was I?)

What is on the Gingerhop radio ads?

Walleye Satay.

Ok. Satay is pretty simple, grilled spiced meat onnastick. I'm with you here- 

Beer-Battered Walleye Satay. With Wasabi Tartar Sauce.

Land Of 10,000 Lakes, everybody!

Does sound good, though, doesn't it?

I Need Help With A Linkage - MetaPost

Hi kiddies.

I haz a new and improved "Blogs O' Importance" widget over there on the right hand side (probably holds up hands thumbs out the right) of blogs I think are paramount. At the time, one Mr. Charlie Pierce was entered, his politics blog at Esquire is beautiful*. The only reason for the bleedin' website's existence, in my humble wossname, the rest of the site is pretentious nonsense.

ZRM pointed out a bit ago that my link goes to the Esquire front page, which only rarely has to do with snarky Bostonians and more often has to so with watches, waterproof to 17,000 meters, genuine coelecanth leather banding, fine Latverian gearing made with Unobtanium 47. My blog, not fucking interested. I want to highlight the contributions of Mr. Pierce to the political discourse. 

I tried reloading the /politics/ link a couple times, but I cannot find a way around the fact that the damnable ciphering gnome inside this here naked lady machine keeps deleting the subheadings, changing the link, sending to the home site.


Second Shorter (on the grassy knoll):


Seriously, any suggestions how to defeat this damnable thing? 

*But, Mr. Pierce, should you somehow happen to read this, DROP THE FB COMMENTING SYSTEM, add another registration, I don't care, but I ain't'nt joining Facebook.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

The Immutable Laws Of The Universe - Gravity, Thermodynamics, Poe's

Look, I've had a little fun the last couple days, letting my weird out, mocking the age-old traditions of Mother Church - teh Conclave, prayerful consideration, testifying in pedophilia cases and corruption. It was fun, I thought it likely that they would end up with a seriously repressed conservative old guy. Safe bet. 

And they did.

One who, according to some accounts, KNOWS WHERE THE GODDAMN BODIES ARE BURIED.

Why do I bother? I can't top this. No one can top this. Maybe TBogg, or Cerberus, 'k. But, are you fucking kidding me?

I need a drink.

paleo And The Quest For The Holy Papaciness

For Cardinal paleo, life is nothing if not complications. The Real Popehoodness™, my life's ambition, is being thwarted, no white smoke, no dancing in the street, just calls from Immigration and Customs Enforcement, wondering about my background.The questioning was ferocious, particularly when they learned that I was into adults.

I suspect it was the doing of that Cardinal Scalia, Diocese of Opus Dei C. Bitch has been jealous since the day we wore the same cossack to Timmy's to-do, I was a-dorable, he, well, didn't really pull it off. At all. (Hag.)

I.C.E. eventually turned me loose, I mean, I like to arriviste fashionably late, but the conclave was locked and I had to berate a footman to get a damn cup of espresso, much less let in the door, they took my stylish man-bag and found my back-up Blackberry (I am sooo naughty...), so no tweeting, sorry my loves.

Trouble, trouble, trouble. And now Archcardinal Mahony is doing his lip-sync routine to the CHANT! album, attention whore. Poo.

I'll update when I can, once some of the older conclavists get into the Mogen David it will be easier to get some privacy.

Delirium Tremens, ta-ta!

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Stay Classy, Bush Family

Christ on a sausage wagon, will these goddamn bloodthirsty monsters just self-immolate, try to regain a smidge of dignity before burning in hell?

Laura Bush: ‘We have room’ for Republicans who ‘frightened’ women with rape talk
“Well, no, I wouldn’t say that necessarily,” Bush replied. “And every candidate was different, each one of them. There were obviously some examples of candidates that were — that I think frightened some women, but they were the exception rather than the norm in the party. And, you know, all of those social issues are very, very heartfelt by people,” she added. “And I understand that. There are differences, and people — you know, there just will be. And I’m glad that in our party, we have room for all of them.”
She learned so much from mummy-in-law. 

Fucking worthless human waste. I said it.

(h/t Raw Story)

The Most Important Post You Will Ever Read Part 65,290

Hands shaking, fever pitch, this is difficult for me to type, ummm, but, here goes.

I am. Wow. Papabili. First vote is this afternoon, and upon carefully considered prayer and applique of logic, I have realized. I am Papabili.

In retrospect, I should have realized. The black sedans always within my vision. The fact that I possess fine and well-kept pirate regalia, or at least an eyepatch and bandana.

I am, well, prepared. Some major changes coming. Gonna loot the Vatican, sell everything, actually helping the poor, with, say food and heat. Hymns by MC Frontalot. Allowing gay priests to marry. Oh, again, the whole actually helping of the poor. 

I grew up Catholic, not so much anymore, as they are fundamentally evil, but I can fix that. 

I was surprised, but should not have been. The signs were there, all along. From a young age, the long conversations the parents had with the nuns and priests at my school. Co-workers, acquaintances, throughout life, looking at me with what I can only assume to be awe, reverence, wonder.

You were here. I love you all. Domino caravan, moondance.

Sunday, March 10, 2013

In Which paleo Reveals Himself To Be A Film Snob: Or, The Oscars Do Not Count Until John Carpenter And Kurt Russell Win

For my wee anniversary post, I put up a screen shot of the Eye Booger from Big Trouble In Little China. 

The perfect film. Chop-saki, magic, humor, cat-like reflexes. Black Blood Of Earth. Renowned Shakespearean company veteran Kurt Russell flexed chops few of today's Disney creations have any hope of achieving, while proto-Method director John Carpenter created an organic flow never since matched.
Egg Shen: Oh, a six-demon bag!  
Jack Burton: Terrific, a six-demon bag. Sensational. What's in it, Egg?
Egg Shen: Wind fire, all that sort of thing!
Even Kim Cattrall  - fantastic. Cute too. She later became dead to me (will not post a picture as it has been known to cause terminal Phlebotinittus), but she was great here.

My next evidence that film remains a vital art form is a perfect film. The best use of the Statue of Liberty as a setpiece. John Carpenter and Kurt Russell aim for greatness. Also starring a young up-and-comer named Donald Pleasance, and veteran character actor Wee Van Cweef.

Finally I wish to submit to you a perfect film, a pioneer in CGI, and one of the most amazingly white setpieces known. Whiter than...none more white. A young Kurt Russell and film auteur John Carpenter reached for a stark bleakness akin to the photographic genre informally known as Page 3.

I thank you for your consideration.

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Leap Year - Turn Your Clocks Around

Just a notification to the vast internet audience - at 3 in the morning, it won't be.

Rock and roll, bicthez!

No particular theme, no particular order, these just make me happy tonight.
Ladies and gentlemens, please stand boogie for The Presidents Of The United States.

Continue emo-style, MCR.

Brilliant song. Tull.

And one more. Let's get weird.

Year 1, A.C. - One Year Of Checking Out Your Shorts

I knew I was coming up on a year, but only caught, this morning whilst checking into something, want to make a musical directory for myself so I don't post the same stuff too many times, that the date was March 7.

A year of general weirditude. Endless tangents requiring a dowsing rod to find the point I was originally trying to make...often being that, ultimately, I should not be in charge of anything. For example, I'd bomb anyone using rice adjuncts for beer, St. Louis, this means you.

Probably shared enough of myself to continue diminishing my chances to make friends in The Real World, When People Stop Being Polite, And Start Believing In Bigfoot. I have happily let my geek flag fly.

I've never been under the impression that I'm the new media. I'm comfortable both in life and with myself, and don't have the time or hunger to Empower The Afflicted And Afflict The Powerful, as much as I want to, anyhow... 

There are bloggers out there who are genuine reporters, including many who have been seen and linked to here - I'm not, I have my pet philosophies, liberal viewpoints, what I of course consider to be common sense; my last post on gay equality of marriage in Minnesota; my determination that the owner of the Vikings is a criminal and that Minnesota is getting the shaft in so many ways on this dumbass stadium project; the fact that Mitt Romney could have made a lemonade stand very successful and universally corrupt, and so should not have been in charge of anything either. 

You've watched the showing off of a basement remodel, while, hopefully, not noticing that it is making paleo go slowly crazy - and we've basically had a comparatively good experience, and are actually reasonably close to done, thus cutting down on my future therapy bills. In truth, this sort of project is never easy for anyone, comparatively good experience or not, but, the horror stories heard from even just friends' projects would have had me gibbering, shivering, laughing maniacally through the sobs.

Also featured some of my pet kinks: fishing opener is coming up, put up the stockings and earthworm bunting; in general, music needs either crunchy guitar or crunchy lyrics or at least some goddamn emotion, hence, Top 40 Pop Music/Country Music is the most Satanic of all forms of anything ever and how in hell do you pronounce Ke$ha anyway TikTok my ass; the Brown Lady of Raynham Hall is one of the coolest photos ever taken, right there with the Patterson Gimlin film.

Thanks for reading, if you are reading and not commenting, fucking bring it, I can go anywhere and take abuse but am happily providing a public forum.

Thoughts, critiques, scathing rebuttals?

Friday, March 8, 2013

So Much Stupid In One Bigoted Pile

Oh Joy.

Teh Minnesotans Living In Fear Of Butthole Stretching Exercises, Kind Of Like Kegels For Afeart Good Moral People Who May End Up SuperGluing Teh Sphincter And Getting Colostomy Bags Oh God The Gheys Don't Bugger That Do They ENID!!! (TMLIFOBSEKOLKFAGMPFUCKIT) had a little clambake at the Minnesota Capitol.

Letting their legislators, all the Independent Republican minority of them (sometimes I like MN), know that they stood with them in the fight against equal rights.

Brian Brown, of the National Organization for Marriage, and creators of The Gathering Storm video (I'll link to the rotten sonuvabitch but I won't embed it, life is short enough) led the brain damaged in a desire for the troof, essentially that equal rights suck, that human dignity sucks, that some people are just, sort of, um, lesser?
Oh yeah, and a contribution would be useful, 'cuz fags.

Maybe a thousand backward peckernecks. Look at the signs, embiggenize the photo, if your lunch is digested.

"Don't Erase Moms and Dads"
Because being a parent is only about a biological act. If'n ya got that, go ahead and warp the shit out of your little cabbages.

"Don't Lie To Children"
Those young'uns should be TOLD, goddamit, that THEY ALONE are Gawd's little snowflakes. Anybody in the slightest different, hell, anybody who is not them, needs to be miserable and preferably dead.

There is a very, very special place in my heart for these jackholes. A little, stabby, dark place. Go to hell, kiddies.

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Pot, Kettle. Metaphor.

Listening to morning progressive radio, hawking a show called History Unearthed on the H2 channel, starring a local boy, and geologist, Scott Wolter. Admittedly, the geologist part speaks well of him, yet the show is pretty standard conspiracy-ancient civilisation fare. Wevs, it's usually my speed, 'lone wolf redefines history against the whole weight of scientific consensus Mayan hollow earth giants Von Daniken'. 

Mr. Wolter, an independent scientific test agent, has authenticated the Kensington Runestone. The host, Mr. McNeil, took advantage of having a scientific expert on the Kensington Runestone, to hammer on the 'squatchers. Again.

I believe in everything. The Kensington Runestone, not so much. Ignoring the fact that the provenance of the stone leaves a bit to be desired, like say, a provenance, and the fact that linguists, cunning though they may be, are all over the map on the text, I find it a little difficult to believe that after 10 members of a party of thirty were killed, fourteen days walking from their boats, that someone would take the time to carve out a block of fairly tough sedimentary rock, carve the story, and leave it upside down in the middle of bleedin' nowhere. Although the stone may in fact be real, the backstory of the find is wildly unlikely - sorry Olaf. Mr. Wolter believes the stone was carved by the Knights Templar - how much do you want to bet the Holy Grail is in Duluth?

Anyhow, I once again wrote of my displeasure to Mr. McNeil:

Mr. McNeil, Mr. Wonderful,
I listened to your 7:00 hour and your interview with Scott Wolter from History Unearthed. You introduced him as a man who had authenticated the Kensington Runestone, and spoke of his show as, well, unearthing the hidden wonders of history. Such as the European gravesite of a 12th century englishman in Arizona. Or Mayans in Georgia. You then took advantage of the presence of the mighty scientist to call people who believe, or hope that, Bigfoot exists, ie., me, stupid.
Now you're just trolling. Having fun?
Love, paleotectonics

Monday, March 4, 2013

Just One Little Creepy Thing, That's All I Ask

DateLine: Twin Cities, MN

Forecast - 17 feet of snow overnight.

Forecast - paleo will be shovelling and plowing for several thousand feet tomorrow.

Method Of Procedure: Load up electronic noisemaker thingy with podcasts and magic music-making plasma-type stuff.

Now, of course, I had to review the podcasts, limited space on iPhone because me. One of my favorites is Beyond The Edge, 'alternative paranormal radio'.

Yes, I happily believe in bigfeets, ghosts, greys, gnomes. Other than a couple weird things in a couple places I've lived, and a couple weird lights in the sky, I done been skunked, but I hope, and so, although I try to be discriminating, I listen and read to many bizarre ass things. GhostHunters until they jumped the shark. The Mothman Prophecies (book) by John A. Keel, a truly trippy document, although some of it is now believed to be a hoax perpetrated on Keel. Ooo - fucking BBC Ghostwatch (I'd start a religion to find a BlueRay copy, yeah it's fiction but it's a great story, got the BBC sued and Mary Whitehall frothing at the mouth.) Hey, other people will pay money to see the new GI Joe movie - I have no concerns that I am out of the mainstream.

Anyhoo, the show was about the Bridgewater Triangle and the Freetown Forest in Massachusetts, famously creepy areas, not quite Skinwalker Ranch velociraptor freaky, but historically nuts. They mentioned the Red-Headed Hitchhiker, something like Resurrection Mary in Chicago. This stuff is so cool to me, I'd like to believe there is more out there than what we see, but again, I'm zero for several hundred. Fudge. Anyone know anything in Minnesota? I've heard wendego stories from some Lakota guys I worked with, not told as a ghost story, maybe pulling my leg a bit, but told as a matter of fact thing, an omen of bad change. Ah, well.

Someday, p'raps, but at least I'll be entertained tomorrow.

Friday, March 1, 2013

Sometimes The Dumbness Writes Itself

The one social network I belong to is LinkedIn, used purely for networking/keeping my name out/following my field, resume, and such. I have said that I am ambitious, to a point anyway, that point being banker's hours, some control over my workday, a bump in responsibility, and pay, etc. As such, I get LinkedIn updates, articles, etc.

When what to my wandering eyes should appear (in my mailbox) but a subject line*:

(paleo), see the best advice Martha Stewart ever got!

The best advice I ever got
The wisdom that shaped 70+ influencers

And so on.

Silly paleo. Martha Stewart? Imma thunkin - 
1. Get a better lawyer
2. Get a better stockbroker
3. 1001 Easy Shivs Made From Cake Decoration Bits

*not captured for privacy concerns