Me You Got, Really

     From The Copy Desk: Warren has finally returned from Minnesota. It has been nearly five months since The Boys set out for Bemidji. Marty was back a week later on a flight from the Twin Cities, but could not (or would not) remember what happened to Warren. We are told there are photos of Warren with certain large mythical characters (not all of them depressed ruminants) and that, as he says, "we're waiting for a chance to load them down." Based on that statement, we here at The Copy Desk are pessimistic about ever seeing these photos, but these young rodents have surprised us before.

     Whatever happened in Minnesota left The Boys barely speaking to each other. This had been going on for 19 days, far too many for even the most ardent grudge-holders.
     Finally one day, Warren was fiddling with the headphones, tears streaming down his face, as Marty stalked through the room. "Hey Warren, what's wrong," Marty asked, "Are the batteries dead in your headphones."
     "No. It's just that this video .... "   Marty, interrupting "of more humans falling down. I love that website."
     Warren, irked, "This video of brothers' reunion. I was excited to see it because I thought it would make me happy, and it did, until I saw how happy the brothers were back together. Then I was happy for them."
     Marty slipped under the headphones and watched the video ( http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/watch-the-kinks-ray-and-dave-davies-reunite-onstage-for-you-really-got-me-20151219 ) and was likewise affected.
     "I never told you how much I missed you while you were gone," Marty said. "It's good to have you back."


    

On to Minnesota!

     From The Copy Desk: The big day is here. Warren and Marty are setting off for Minnesota and the first events in their attempt to gain a small, but crucial, number of delegates to the Republican National Convention. They may even get to meet Donald Trump!

 

Marty, Warren's campaign manager, 
unwinds after work.

     "It's packed in the car," Warren shouted. Good, Marty thought, the last detail taken care of.
     "Tell me again why we need a red ice scraper," Warren said.
     "Because we're going to Fargo too," Marty said. "And I plan to plant it along some lonely fence line to mess with people."
     "I think when we get there, we'll see lots of red ice scrapers along the fence line," Warren said. "So now it's time for The Boys to catch a quick nap and prepare for the long drive, which they will probably sleep through anyway, but they like to be prepared when it comes to sleep.
     "See you in about two hours," Marty said, setting down his files and notes. The trip now also includes stops in many states, including Montana and Nevada, and Marty figured Warren would need to practice his campaign stylings in remote places to avoid too much embarrassment - although if it works for Trump ..........
     

     From The Copy Desk: With that thought, Marty drifted off to sleep. Updates from the road may be forthcoming, if all the technology cooperates.

I Am Greek

     From The Copy Desk: While the international bankers cartel and their minions press the suffering Greek nation to accept more pain and suffering so their nation can still fail to repay its debt, the peers of the Greeks in the  "democratic west" watch dispassionately while the will of the plutocrats is imposed  . . . not realizing they are in the same line - just a little further away from the front of the line.

     Warren sleeps late on Thursdays. He just does, nobody knows why. "It's already past noon, better check to see if those lazy Greeks have finally been brought to heel," Warren said, clicking on CRBN (Comically Relentless Business News). After the commercial selling silver, Warren saw the world remained intact - stock and oil were up, everything was up. "Grexit" was oversold, the worried hedge fund execs circling the finest hotels in Athens to watch over their investments may yet cash in on the suffering of a whole nation, Warren thought.
     "Hey Marty those Greeks are going to get it now," Warren said. "The bankers are not budging and they'll have to pay up."
     Marty sighed. "The only problem is they can't pay up," Marty said. "The weak, corrupt and inefficient economy Greece had is gone. Crushed by the austerity imposed by the earlier 'bailouts.' Now there is no way they can meet the economic targets set by the lenders - which assumed the nation would flip from the least efficient economy in the Eurozone to become the most efficient, better even than Germany."
     "Don't the lenders deserve to be repaid, how can they let the Greeks get away with this," Warren asked.

West Germany signs a deal
to halve its debt  in 1953.

     Marty sighed again. The younger halph-brother was still to easily taken in and forgets history. Remember, he thought to himself, those who forget history and condemned to believe Republic Party.
     "Remember Warren, in 1953 West Germany's struggling economy was released from crushing debt by a 50 percent write-off of the nation's debt," Marty said. "In addition Europe as a whole received billions in aid through the Marshall plan."
     "Hey, that's hypocrisy," Warren said. "I learned about that a few posts ago. And I remembered!"
     "Accidents, and miracles, happen sometimes," Marty said. "In this case, I fear neither will happen and to please the "investors" who now hold much of the Greek debt - the investors who came in as the Greek crisis grew, they got in for the really high interest rates, they knew the risks - the birthplace of Democracy will soon be plunged into a deep, dark and dangerous situation that we may yet come to regret. The power of the globe's giant pool of money has its latest victim. But not its last."
    

Fat in the Ring

     From The Copy Desk: Now that even former N.Y. Governor George E. Pataki (remember him?) has declared his candidacy for the Republic Party Presidential nomination, and after several moments of not so careful consideration, Warren has decided to make a very important announcement.


     " Good afternoon. It's good to see you all here. Thanks for coming," Warren said.
     "I live here and there's nobody else around," Marty grumbled. "Maybe they have all gone to Iowa to woo voters."
     Warren, trying to ignore Marty, continued, "It has come to my attention that many, many things are really messed up and that someone should do something about it.
     "That someone is me . . . I am Warren Marmot Douglas and I now declare myself a candidate for the Republic Party Presidential nomination. Kind of."
     "What the hell does that mean," Marty said. "You want to be a kind of President? Are you founding the Meh? Party?"
     "Here's the plan," Warren said. "I will focus all my campaign efforts on Minnesota. It's my natural constituency. Despite all the lakes, which scare me, I think a state where its major university has 'Golden Gophers' as the mascot is one I can carry."
     "Great. You'll win one state," Marty said. "What will that accomplish?"
     "Well, first of all, think about all the food," Warren said. "Everywhere you go you have to eat the local food or you'll insult people. A whole year of free food!"
     "OK, so you'll get really fat for free," Marty said. "Any other benefits?"
     "With so many candidates, the chances for a deadlocked convention increase, and if I control even a few delegates . .  I could be the GOP power-broker - without spending nearly a billion dollars like some plutocrat," Warren said.
     "On to Bemidji!"

Oh, the Hannity!

A gas bag has certain risks.

     
     From The Copy Desk: It's been a while since the last update and there's news from the wandering would-be wonks, Marty and Warren, who seem to be enjoying their foray into the educational-industrial complex (albeit with vegan food) so much that they missed the car home last week . . . twice. We're thinking they don't like us any more. Which makes The Copy Desk sad. But life goes on and sometimes we think about stuff.

Lecturing people about racism.

     Warren and Marty were alone in the room, which to their horror featured a laptop streaming Faux News. After many hours of application, the glazed look in Warren's eyes told Marty it was too late to save his half-brother. He would be convinced all his misconceptions, misconsrues and mislabeling was actually fact.He would also buy lots of gold.
     "I've got to shut down that laptop," Marty said,.
     Zombie-Warren sprang up to stand between Marty and the laptop. "You shall not pass," he howled.
     "Sorry, I left my Balrog in my other pants. Oh, wait, I don't own pants," Marty said. "It's time to cut the cord Warren. Regain your brain. Think!"

    

I'm Mad As Hell

From The Copy Desk:

      Two of the great disappointments of my life involve NBC. At some point in the late '60s, I won permission to stay up late to watch The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson because B.B. King was on the show.
     But the dolts at NBC (I'm talking to you Fred de Cordova), lacked enough of a brain to get this simple task right. B.B. King came out and was singing, and, as he put his left hand up on Lucille's neck and was about to play his first notes - they cut to commercial.
     Then, 45 years later, I sat down to watch the London Olympic ceremony because I heard that Ray Davies was going to lead the world in a sing-a-long of Waterloo Sunset .... but of course they cut it because of time.
   
NBC . . . . Never Been Competent. At least they are consistent.

     God Bless Riley B. King. RIP.

Space Monkeys!

      From The Copy Desk: With The Boys still away and undecided as to if they're coming home after spring break, it once again falls to those of us who shovel roofs to fill the void left by the halphlings. So, we're going to go on about Monkeys in space. Well, that's the link to the Wikipedia page, where all the actual details are supposed.

      Now that elephants are being retired by the circus, see Pachederms Paroled. The Boys would urge everyone to pick a reputable charity working to save wild elephants and give according to your means. As for the monkeys, we killed most of them during early space flight experiments. Please remember their sacrifice whenever you (or your cell-phone signal) are in space.

Miss Baker, a squirrel monkey, a species presumably from Earth. was purchased in a Miami, Fla., pet shop and enlisted in the U.S. Navy. She was the first primate to survive space flight.

The Bard Owl

     From The Copy Desk: While our young half-brothers are off matriculating in Annandale, the home burrow has seen some changes The Boys surely need to be aware of, or even alert to. The boughs near the burrow now harbor an owl, a barred owl to be precise. It appears to be a young one and its presence has trimmed the bird seed bill for sure, as no birds brave the feeder with the owl on top. Unfortunately the home burrow's communique to The Boys regarding all things owl was garbled, and received first by Warren. This took a while to clear up to their mutual satisfaction. After Marty convinced Warren cell phones were not just for people in jail, we talked. A transcript follows.


     Copy Desk: Hey Marty, did you guys understand the last communique about the owl.
     Marty: Warren's out of his mind with fear ..... he's convinced the message meant that there was an owl sent to hunt him down here on campus. He's been under the covers for days.
     Copy Desk: Shove the phone under the covers. I need to talk to him. Hey, Warren. It's OK there's no owl specifically out to get you.
      Warren: So I should just exhibit my normal terror at the sight of Raptors?
      Copy Desk: That would be a start.
      Warren: I need to go change these sheets. I matriculated all over them.
     Copy Desk: You mean micturated, fancy-speak for urination.
     Warren: Oh. At least I don't have any pants to wash. But didn't you say it was a Bard Owl?
     Marty: Or a barn owl.
     Copy Desk: No. We believe it's a barred, b-a-r-r-e-d owl.
     Marty: Well, that should help. Warren, you can come out now.
     Warren: Never! There's Raptors everywhere!
    

Happy Groundhogs' Day!

     From The Copy Desk: Whatever Phil predicts today, remember groundhogs are mammals, not meteorologists.

Gugelhupf Time!

     From The Copy Desk: The Boys are missing. It was in this wheezing Upstate city, a global powerhouse down on its luck, that The Boys were last seen. Schenectady, where GE made the stuff that lit up the world, is due to get a state-sanctioned casino complex . . . are The Boys involved in gambling or have they slipped away somewhere to further their education. We expect to see our fuzzy, Hawaiian-shirt wearing half-brothers on milk cartons soon, and if you actually spot The Boys tell them their burrow is still here for them and the larder is stocked. 
     Since it's a holiday weekend, Monday is of course Groundhogs' Day (Hey, it's a day of marmot solidarity, so the apostrophe follows the s to indicate the day belongs to all marmots, not just our imprisoned brothers awoken rudely on an annual basis and forced to become meteorologists), The Boys did leave behind recorded greetings for this august occasion. A transcript follows.

    Marty:  "On this Groundhogs' Day Eve, we plan to remember our imprisoned brothers and sisters. We plan to boycott green screens, that tool of the cult of meteorology, and to enjoy a traditional meal of root vegetables and greens, followed by a bundt cake with green and purple frosting, . . . "
    Warren (interrupting): "Just one cake?"
     Marty (droning on attempting to ignore his half-brother): "green and purple frosting and another with orange frosting - representing all those imprisoned and forced to practice meteorology. We ... "
     Warren (interrupting again): "Hey, should we be messing with meteorologists? They recently cast a spell that shut down New York City!"
     Marty (exasperated): "We plan to leave no leftovers."
     Warren and Marty: "Gugelhupf."
    

Monosyllabic

    

     "Why is the word for the shortest words five times as long?"
                                                                                                 - Warren.



 

Je Suis Charlie

          "I have never made but one prayer to God, a very short one. Oh Lord, make my enemies ridiculous. And God granted it."
                                                - Voltaire