Words Concerning The Book of Faces

Heedest Thou Well My Council.

And so it is written concerning The Book of Faces:

Know ye that in the fullness of time, and from time to time, there shall appear before thee upon The Book of Faces entreaties from faces and names unfamiliar to thee and beseeching thy friendship, though ye know them not.

And while these faces be unfamiliar in thy sight, still do they seek ye out on the Book of Faces and clamor mightily for thy acceptance and attentions, while in truth they knowest thee not even themselves.

And yea, though they wouldest not recognize thy countenance in uncrowded chambers, nor even upon meeting thy gaze directly in the streets of thy town and public shops therein, still will they supplicate themselves upon thy Board of Messages, asking that they be recognized in thy sight and made worthy of thy favor.

I say unto thee now, beware! For once thy favor hath been bestowed unto them, so likewise shall they be granted the power to inscribe their own words upon thy Wall of Notations and lo, even to comment and mark their approval of thy own ruminations, though their words be as those of morons.

And verily I tell thee, though these stranger's vacuous and ceaseless commentary upon all manner of topics diverse and obscure may be as full of ignorance as are the bowels of the sheep of the field full of clover and succulent grasses, understand thee that though they know not whereof they speak that speak they will, and often without reason. So too will their writing be rich with spelling errors, and often their words arranged in such a manner as to defy all attempts at understanding.

Mine Eyes, They Doest Burn

Further, know ye also that not only will they make public on your Book of Faces their multitude of thoughts, so also shall they put forth images of their own countenances and figures, no matter how grotesque they may be, for all to behold and thus marvel at the inequities of genetics.

Likewise, so too shall they often share images of even their own offspring in all manner of heretofore private activities such as bathing, or eating of spaghetti in a manner untidy and repulsive in thy eyes. Heed me, and like them not, for such images are an abomination and thy validation will encourage them only unto further trespasses in thy sight.

Mark well my words, for they are spoken from experience of all such things which I have written here. I greatly implore thee henceforth to mind carefully how such friendships are accepted. Should ye bring these persons into thy fold without first appraising the content of the words inscribed upon the pages of their own Book of Faces is akin to inviting a plague of chattering locusts into thy own skull.

Thus endeth "Lamentations Concerning The Book of Faces, Chapter One, Verse One."

Episode 1: The Gathering Storm

PRESS RELEASE, FOR IMMEDIATE DISPERSAL TO ALL AGENCIES:

Signals of unusual activity within reach of the vast network of universal sensors operated by The Facility have been strangely inactive over the last several months, as evidenced by the the lack of updates on their publicly-accessible blog site recently. However, in the last two weeks researchers have noticed a faint but measurable rise in anomalous data output from remote detection devices here in our own terrestrial dimension.

Always anxious to react with as much immediacy as possible to potential incidences of inter-dimensional and/or extraterrestrial unpleasantness, Field Explorer Third Class, Clinton "Clint" Kowalski (advanced trainee, clearance level 4b), was dispatched by The Facility to travel the many miles necessary to reach a remote Utah canyon where several unusual readings had been detected.

"The signals we were receiving from the remote sensors weren't overtly alarming," said Dr. Quentin Bloor, director of The Facility. "Quite honestly, we anticipated that when investigated they would prove to be nothing more than geo-magnetic 'static', perhaps from underlying metal ores uncovered by recent flash-flooding in the area. But then, Kowalski just... vanished."

As a result of fragments of the contents recovered from the memory card of a damaged digital camera (see attached digital file) discovered by a group a hikers in the area, Bloor and other officials at The Facility have re-assessed their diagnosis, noting that the flooding may have uncovered more than just the signals of "a few naturally-occuring magnetic lodestones."

A team of specialists, led by Robert "Rock" Abslab, head of security for The Facility, has been dispatched to the canyon to determine the whereabouts of the missing explorer.

"Right now we're hoping this is a [censored] rescue mission, rather than a [censored] bag-and-tag operation," said Abslab, speaking by satellite phone from the depths of the canyon. "The footage we recovered shows he's close to [censored] losing it at times. Kowalski was [censored] tough. Real tough. So if there was something here strong enough to [censored] take him and his [censored] mind out . . . well, we're [censored] concerned."

While hesitant to issue a Level Three Alarm, officials at The Facility are advising residents in the states of Utah, Nevada, Arizona, and New Mexico to report any bizzarre lights in the sky, freakishly large earthworms, birds that resemble a flying octopus, and unexplainable yet strangely pleasurable tingling in their pre-frontal cortexes.

The attached video has been cleared for public release by The Facility. Some audiences may find the footage disturbing. Viewer discretion is advised.

Mom Jeans By Any Other Name

NYDJ. Guess why.

On a recent trip to a local department store we came across these fashionable pants for today's hip and happening moms. Marketed under the acronym NYDJ® or "Not Your Daughter's Jeans®," these snug-fitting trousers make a noble attempt to bridge that terrible gap between the "with it" jeans worn by the younger crowd and the dowdy monstrosities known as "Mom Jeans."

But, alas, I fear that the team of highly paid fashion consultants here at Random Musings have had no choice but to go ahead and brand them with their Big Red Stamp of Fail anyway.

We're pretty sure the fashionistas who conceived these had something entirely different in mind, but the first (admittedly uncharitable) thought that came to our mind was: they're not your daughter's jeans, because your daughter wouldn't be caught dead in them.

We have to wonder if the marketing team that came up with the name for these pants slept through their Introduction to Reasoning class, as  it seems a no-brainer that by labeling them as being not your daughter's jeans they are in effect saying that if you are the Mom, they are your jeans. Thus, by extension, making them "Mom Jeans" and transforming them (at least semantically) into the very thing they claim to not be.

Mom Jeans. The terrible reality.

On a more positive note however, the inclusion of a few pairs of NYDJ's® in your wardrobe is virtually guaranteed to put an end to Teenage Closet Raiding, both by daughters going for that "retro" look, and by sons still clinging desperately to the "Girl Pants" look.

Strangely enough, in yet another example of Fashion Sexism, a run through the Men's Department at the same store revealed no corresponding equivalent.

Here at Random Musings we wonder why some hotshot fashion designer has not unleashed upon the clothes-buying public the very latest style for men: Not Your Dad's Pants©®™.

We suppose the results would be equally successful.

All American Badass Dad Pants.

Rather than pants that rise somewhere around the level of the armpits with pockets you could fit your entire arm into, we'd instead have pants that were awkwardly snug, resulting in the dreaded male "muffin top" look. Or maybe they'd be way too loose in the seat, making the wearer look like his ass is chewing gum when he walks.

Wait. We've already got those, and odds are, if you're male, either you or your dad are already wearing them, and if not, soon will be.

But don't sweat it. You and Mom will look great together.

The Scarf of Doom

Administrators at The Facility, a research and science division of Random Musings, today released video surveillance footage which many observers call "extremely disturbing."

The footage was recorded earlier this week at The Facility's Level 3 Subterranean Threat Assessment Unit, and appears to show a staff researcher performing a routine examination of a woman's scarf patterned with strange markings. As the taped sequence progresses events unfold which, according unofficial sources, "came close to heralding the arrival of a new age of horror for the planet."

Do not look at this design.

"I admit that initially we were not terribly concerned about the arcane-looking symbols," says Dr. Quentin Bloor, director of The Facility. "Garment-makers have always been keen to use designs with a South American or quasi-Mayan motif in their fabrics. I suppose they believe it will make the wearer feel somehow more worldly, or some such nonsense. Needless to say, we've since re-evaluated our diagnosis."

According to Facility sources, the staff member conducting the examination is Professor Willamina Gottlieb, considered by many to be the nation's top authority on ancient languages and occult symbology.

"It was Professor Gottlieb herself who insisted that the scarf be isolated for further study," says Bloor, shaking his head sadly. "Had we known of its terrible powers we would have quarantined it forever at Level 6. Alas, we allowed the investigation to proceed, and now it appears that poor Willamina may have perhaps opened a door for the return of the malign Elder Gods spoken of in the Necronomic Texts, and in the process been possessed by something quite unspeakable herself."

Robert "Rock" Abslab, security chief at The Facility, was in the surveillance center when the event took place. In a brief press conference where the tape was played back for reporters (minus the audio track, which was removed for security reasons), he explains the chain of events:

Rubber gloves. Not enough protection.

"Okay, as you can see here, she's holding the scarf up and pointing out the symbols, which she says are some sort of pre-Sumerian language having to do with an ancient demon-god named Yog-Sothoth, and how it's the 'the one that opens the void', or some [censored] like that. She goes on about that for awhile, then for some [censored] reason she starts reading the [censored] thing out loud... kind of chanting it, you know?" 

Abslab fast-forwards the tape to the point where Professor Gottlieb, apparently still chanting, appears with the scarf wrapped around her shoulders. The image quality has begun to distort wildly at this point, an effect caused by what Dr. Bloor refers to as "dimensional warpage." In the background the lab appears to be collapsing into some sort of whirling vortex while, disturbingly, the scarf seems to be in absorbing into Gottlieb's skin. 

ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn

"It was right here that Bloor freaked out and ordered the shutdown," says Abslab, freezing the tape on a frame showing the dim outlines of a vaguely octopus-looking shape shimmering in the background. "We dropped the [censored] blast doors and sealed the lab off, then flooded the room with knockout gas. Looks like Willamina got herself a live one this time."

According to The Facility's medical staff Professor Gottlieb is resting comfortably in The Facility's Maximum Security Healthcare Chambers. Dr. Bloor notes that while at this time she has been rendered "utterly and completely insane as a result of her misadventure," hopes are high that in time she will make a full recovery.

Meanwhile, authorities at The Facility are remaining tight-lipped on further specific details regarding this weeks events, but insist there is no immediate danger to local residents. However, citizens within a 20-mile radius of The Facility are being asked to avoid touching anything resembling a moth, or looking into mirrors for the next 48 hours.

Just Arrived! How To Be Happy

The Last Self-Help Book You'll Ever Need

Tired of feeling down, depressed, and disjointed in a world that seems determined to prevent you from experiencing the true happiness that should be your right to enjoy? Constantly disappointed by the superficial council of all those dubious gurus of self-help whose remedies for your inner turmoil last about as long as it takes you to finish their book?

Forget the ramblings of bald-headed loons like "Dr." Phil, and "Dr." Wayne Dyer and scores of other self-appoined "life-coaches." They've found their own paths to contentment, and we think that's swell, but it often seems to us that their roads to enlightenment have been paved with the stones of your hard-earned dollars and lead not to your salvation but rather to their own bank accounts. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Here at Happy Home Products, we realize that the roadblocks on your path to contentment simply can't be removed by spending a few hours reading through some meager 200-page book with pictures of butterflies on the cover.

What you need is in-depth instruction with the exact details of how to find true happiness. And that's exactly what you'll find in this back-breaking and eye-opening volume of wisdom entitled, simply, How To Be Happy.

In his magnum opus, Dr. Roderick "Rocky" Abslab (grandfather of Robert "Rock" Abslab, head of security at our parent company, The Facility), maps the precise steps you need to completely wipe your "mental hard drive" and reinstall a fresh operating system free of corrupted files and outdated programs.

Packed with charts, graphs, and sound advice delivered in the trademark direct language of the Abslab family, this 6000-page, 45-pound guidebook will blast your mind to new levels and finally put you on a direct course to personal fulfillment.

Just check out this excerpt from Chapter 9: Who The Hell Do You Think You Are?

One of 100's of Useful Graphs

"The Universe has been around for something like 12 billion years . . . 12 [censored] billion! And it's going to be around for a few billion more before the sun turns to a red giant and swallows the earth like a [censored] raw oyster. On that scale your moment in time isn't even a blink. So get over yourself. At best you're a [censored] cog in a machine you'll never figure out. But that's good news because once you accept that, you'll be able to focus on this moment, this exact right NOW, in your life and start enjoying the scenery rather than whining about the [censored] bumpy ride."

Other chapters include:

• Empowerment Without Empathy: A Quick Path To Becoming A Jackass

• Positive Self-Affirmations: The Loser's Mantra

• Throw Your Television In The Trash

• Building Esteem Without Actual Substance: A Ticket To Disappointment

• How To Bake Perfect Brownies

• Some Days Are Going To Suck. Deal With It

• Look, Listen, Learn, Remember: What To Let Go Of And What To Keep

• Life Is But A Dream And Other New-Age Misconceptions

• Cutting Slack: How To Do It For Yourself And Others

• If The Ancients Were So Wise, Where The [censored] Are They Now

• Keeping Your Shoelaces Tied: More Important Than You Might Think

Don't delay! Order your copy of How To Be Happy today! As Dr. Abslab notes, there are no guarantees in life, but we can assure you that once you've finished reading this massive tome not only will you be older, but you'll likely be considerably wiser. As for being happier? That's a choice you'll have to make for yourself by placing your order right this very moment!

Operators are standing by!

How To Be Happy

Catalog #2323

Just $128 While Supplies Last!

Includes FREE handcart for easy transport!

(Please add $140 for Shipping and Handling)

Alien Threat Eliminated

Officials at The Facility, a science and research agency affiliated with Random Musings, announced today that an apparent attack by a hostile alien being has been successfully stopped. No civilian casualties were reported during what witnesses describe as "very relaxed combat action."

Pre-combat film footage taken by First Contact Teams from The Facility clearly shows a towering, vaguely cylindrical creature obviously not of this world, attempting to smash its way through the wall of a local barber shop.

"This time we were fortunate," says Dr. Quentin Bloor, director of The Facility. "Rather than the freakishly strong and armored alien attacker that we have come to expect, the creature was instead an ambulatory air-filled organism protected only by a layer of durable, but thin, flesh."

Bloor believes that the creature could have continued to flail away for days, perhaps even weeks or months, without causing any discernible damage to the building. However, due to what Facility researchers have termed "The Quantum Annoyance Factor," teams were rapidly dispatched to the site to eliminate this most recent threat to man's hierarchy on planet earth.

A New Weapon Against the Alien Scourge

"We hit the ground with [censored] massive amounts of firepower," says Robert "Rock" Abslab, chief of security at The Facility. "Turns out we were way [censored] over-prepared. Didn't even take time to lock and load, baby. Our man Sargent Brannock over there just dropped his gun and ran up to the thing and stabbed it in the ass with a big [censored] safety pin and down it went. Nothing left but an empty pile of alien skin. It was [censored] beautiful."

"It's Standard Facility issue," said Brannock when reporters asked him why he was carrying a safety pin the size of a hunting knife. "So don't be all up in my grill about it, okay?"

Bloor cautions that while this gaseous threat to our populace's well-being has been eliminated, growing evidence indicates that further assaults on the planet by extraterrestrial and extra-dimensional adversaries are not only possible, by highly probable.

Officials at The Facility are asking citizens to remain extra-vigilant, and keep their eyes on the sky, as a watchful populace is our best defense against invasion.

Random Grandpa Memories

Grandpa about to smack me upside the head, circa 1982.

Had my Grandpa Brown lived, he would have been 117 years old last month. Alas, he was taken much too soon at the age of 96.

As the gray hairs swarm and multiply on my own once youthful head, memories of Grandpa come rushing back . . . .

I remember how he used to break the filters off his Camel cigarettes before lighting up because filters were for sissies, and how the waistband of his pants rose higher with each passing year. When he had to by a longer belt and larger pants he always said it was because the older he got the more his chest dropped.

And how could I forget his artificial leg? He once stapled his sock to it because he was tired of how it kept slipping down the smooth surface of his wooden calf. Grandma was furious, but that was just how he rolled.

I am flooded with fond memories of helping him tear down the slant-6 engine of some old car in his garage. He was a mechanic, a carburetor specialist, and he could fix anything. Today's automotive electronics would have eluded him, I think, but if it had moving parts and it didn't work he could pull it apart, put it back together, and it would be better than it was when new.

He gave me my first vehicle: a 1970 four-wheel drive Chevrolet pickup, dark metallic green with a bored-out 350, Holley 4-barrel, headers and Thrush mufflers. Hell on gas mileage, but I could have pulled your house off its foundation with that tank of a truck. Its doors had more steel in them than in the entire body of the Toyota 4-cylinder truck I traded it in for years later that didn't have enough towing power to pull your hat off.

The only advice he gave me about its maintenance before I left for college was, "Keep the oil changed and don't skimp on tires."

I think this is how Grandpa saw pretty much everyone.

Solid advice for anyone, and something I've always remembered.

That's the way it was with Grandpa Brown though. He'd throw his comments out there on whatever the situation was and not waste time elaborating or explaining. You took what he was saying and kept it, or you stood there like an idiot wondering what the hell he was talking about. Either way, I don't think he much cared.

Sometimes nihilistic and bitter, often profane, many times utterly incomprehensible, it is his words and phrases more than anything that keep Grandpa's memory alive for me today.

As sort of a tribute, I've compiled here a few of my favorites of his more frequently uttered aphorisms, along with notes on their situational context. Out of respect to Grandma who never, ever, swore, I've edited out a few of his more colorful words. I hate doing that but I'm sure your imaginations will provide adequate substitutions.

• "A frying pan works both ways once the cook leaves the kitchen." He often said this about people who questioned his way of doing something.

• "Nothing to do now but [bleep] in the chimney and go home." A reference to something being a lost cause.

• "Get over thinking you're special. Some day you'll be trading shoes with a donkey, and then I guess you'll see."  I still haven't managed to unravel what he meant by this one.

• "You can't stomp a spider with both feet in the bucket." Used when someone was failing at a task as a result of laziness and/or incompetence.

• "Wish in one hand and [bleep] in the other hand and see which fills up first." I learned at a very early age that Grandpa wasn't big on people going around wishing for things (not a Grandpa original, but one of his favored sayings).

• "Get a load of that guy. All dressed up with his hair slicked back and shining like a monkey's ass." Apparently Grandpa also had a problem with men who used hair gel.

I could go on, but in deference to the brevity Grandpa always favored, I'll leave things where they are and call it good for now. After all, as he often said, "no sense hiding the mice when the owl's already full."

Rest in Peace, Grandpa Brown.

Petrified Cherubs of Gloom

"Why was I not made of stone, like thee?" – Victor Hugo

We don't know what the weather is like where you are, but here at the Happy Home Products headquarters, we're starting to wonder if there ever really were such things as blue sky and sunshine.

Even the shelves our warehouses, so normally full of brightly-colored products of cheer and wonder, now seem to be sagging beneath the weight of winter's icy embrace.

It was in the gloom-shrouded aisles of Warehouse B that we came across this grim tableau of petrified cherubs, apparently frozen in the act of dining on an old tire. Beholding them, you'll wonder, as did we, what terrible force turned them to stone during their bleak repast. Our best guess is that Medusa passed by and these unfortunate angels spared her a glance, thus sealing their fate to eventually crumble away to gray dust as time marches unmercifully onward.

We're sure that once this monochromatic sculptural marvel takes up residence in your home you'll be inspired to pause for a moment during the daily empty chores of your life to ponder the fleeting nature of life, and to whisper, "please, when it's my turn to leave this world, at least let me not be preserved stuffing food into my mouth with a stupid look on my face."

We can't even pretend to offer any answers as to what may lie beyond this life, but we can give our guarantee that this durable item will likely be around long after you're gone, leaving your descendants to wonder why the hell you would have bought such a thing. Scant comfort, we know, when faced with questions of mortality, but it's the only truth we have to offer. 

Our time here is short, so don't delay! Begin your Existential Journey today by ordering this stony representation of the dark cloud of doubt that is ordinarily surrounded by the whimsical silver lining of hope you have carefully constructed for yourself. Now at a special sale price!

Petrified Cherubs of Gloom

Regular Price: $34.95

NOW: You know what? We don't even care anymore. Just make an offer.

Happy Home Products Clearance Sale

The Holiday Season has come to a close, and here at Happy Home Products we've found our warehouse inexplicably overloaded with an abundance of leftover holiday decor.

Frankly, we're puzzled why some of these items didn't fly out of our doors, but no matter. Our confusion over our surplus inventory is your gain, as we offer these unique and festive ornaments and home adornments at super blow-out savings! Don't wait for next year, when prices are sure to soar once more. Order now and start stockpiling scads of festive delight for next season!

Ho Ho . . . Oh Owww

DETERMINED SANTA

Everyone knows that Santa Claus brings toys to well-behaved boys and girls all around the world. What few to take into consideration, however, is that his delivery routes often take him into some of the most dangerous and inhospitable locations on the planet, such as the Amazon Rainforest where he must wade through piranha-infested waters to deliver his goods. This whimsical ornament depicting Santa, his legs eaten away to skeletal sticks by carnivorous fish but still tottering along bravely, is sure to bring a smile to the face of even the most Grinch-like of observers as they are suddenly confronted with the harsh reality of the high price of delivering gifts of joy to even the most Godless and forsaken of our planet's populace!

REG. PRICE: $24 NOW: 11.96!

Too much glitter? Nonsense!

KING MIDAS GINGERBREAD MAN

We had to don our extra-dark sunglasses to even look at this festive ornament! Thickly encrusted with presumably non-toxic golden glitter, this delightful decoration shines as if touched by King Midas himself! You'll be every bit as touched yourself, when with every handling more and more of this ornament's "extra-shiny" coating rubs off and adheres itself to not just every surface in your home, but also to any exposed body parts of family members and house guests! We're reasonably certain that the glitter dust isn't radioactive, but all the same we recommend keeping exposure limited so the fun doesn't end prematurely with unfortunate genetic mutations!

REG. PRICE: $18 NOW: $9.75!

Come on! Feel the burn!

PILATES BALL ELF

Once you lay eyes on this excruciatingly jolly elf, you'll laugh so hard that you may lose your breath and momentarily black out from lack of oxygen. Not to worry though! Once you regain consciousness this diminutive fitness fanatic will still be rolling around on his big green exercise ball, toning his elfin abs and relentlessly mocking you for letting your own physique slide over to the jiggly side of the scale this season. Rumor has it that this merry sprite has the strength to lift your flagging resolve to finally get off the couch and do something about your own shabby physical appearance, or at the very least blind you to your reflection in the mirror with the eye-scorching atomic green hue of his stylish workout apparel. Either way, its a win-win situation once you add this adorable aerobic imp to your collection of equally priceless treasures designed to put you in a better place, emotionally speaking.

REG. PRICE: $22 NOW: $12.25!

Apparel for the Apathetic

Glad I've got someone of the opposite sex with me,
or I'd really feel like a complete moron.

Several weeks ago I encountered a product called the "Forever Lazy Soft Fleece Lounge Wear" suit on the shelves of a local store, snapped this quick (and regrettably blurry) cellphone picture of it for evidence of yet another sign of our collapsing society, and went about my day.

It was only later, when I came across it again in my vast database of images, that I began to ponder what this item had to offer.  

According to the packaging, only three activities are recommended by the manufacturer (and one has to wonder if these are suggestions or stipulations) while wearing the Forever Lazy Lounging Around Doing Nothing With Your Life Suit:

• Read a book.

• Watch TV.

• Do nothing at all.

Sounds good on the surface, but when you realize that "Watching TV," and "Doing Nothing At All," are virtually the same thing, you're suddenly down to two activities: "Reading A Book Book," and "Doing Nothing At All." 

Going one step further, it you're the type of person whose main activities in life have been reduced to reading or doing nothing, odds are you're going to default to "Doing Nothing." Just a guess. 

So there you have it. All you can really do in your colorful costume of sloth is . . . nothing. Nothing at all. If you were motivated, maybe you could sort of shuffle around the house looking for the TV remote or something. But after awhile even that would likely prove to be too much effort and soon you'd be back in the comfy chair, fantasizing about the greatness you could achieve if only you had more time.

Being a big fan of comfort myself, I have to admit that for a moment I envisioned myself lying around the house doing nothing in a cocoon of warmth. But then I quickly came to my senses when I realized I'd never really be able to fully relax, because of the following nagging worry:

What if someone comes to the door?

There I'd be, resplendent in the vestibule: a six-foot-tall, 200-pound, 50-year-old man, in a saggy blue fleece suit with sleep drool on my chin. Given the quirky twists of fate the universe drop ships to me at the worst possible times, the visitor on my threshold would either be an incredibly beautiful woman trying to find her twin sister's house, or a gigantic biker with facial tattoos looking for someone named "Spider."

Awkward.

Instructions for the Forever Lazy Transformative Cocoon. The horror.

My decision not to succumb to the siren call of costumed relaxation was solidified when, after a little research on the web, I found a copy of the instructions included with the Forever Lazy Lounge Wear, and its diabolical end goal was revealed.

Personally, faced with the choice of remaining uncomfortable in my human skin, or risk being softly transmogrified into some sort of freakish plush gnome . . .  well, I'll stick with throwing a ratty old blanket over myself when the call to nap can no longer be denied.

Revelations from Elsewhere

The  interior of The Facility, circa 1862

The Facility, a science and research organization affiliated with Random Musings, has long been aware of the existence of realities parallel to our own. Until now, the results of their explorations into these extra-dimensional alternate realms have been kept locked away in The Vaults of Ultimate Secrecy.

To commemorate its 150 year anniversary of ground-breaking scientific research, The Facility announced today that they will begin to release some of their findings to the public. The announcement comes amid growing concerns involving predictions of the end of civilization as we know it on Earth when the Mayan Calendar inexplicably runs out of days in late December of 2012.

"Rather than upsetting the population with some of our more unsavory findings regarding the Mayan Calendar's end as it pertains to this particular dimension, we thought it might be amusing to reveal some of the light-hearted variations of reality we have found in the parallel worlds of the Multiverse which surrounds us," says Dr. Quentin Bloor, director of The Facility.

As an example, Bloor points to what researchers at The Facility call "Terra Variation 11c" (or TV11c), just one of many alternate versions of Earth where the following differences have been noted:

• Here, the President of the United States is Barack Obama, while on TV11c, the Commander-in-Chief is Paul Reubens, better known as Pee-wee Herman. Previous Presidents include: Red Skelton, Dick Van Dyke, and perhaps most strangely, John Elway, former quarterback for the Denver Broncos football team.

• In our dimension, the post of Surgeon General is held by Regina Benjamin. On TV11c, the position is rocking hard with Ozzy Osbourne at the helm.

• Here, Leon Panetta is the current Secretary of Defense. On TV11c there is no Secretary of Defense, as under the current administration  the Department of Defense has been phased out by the Department of It's All Cool (DAC), occasionally administrated by Peter Fonda.

Researchers at The Facility note that similar strangely positive changes in the power structure have been recorded across the planet in this particular dimension.

"Interestingly enough, on Terra Variation 11c, war, crime, hunger, and poverty are virtually non-existent," says Bloor. "We can't be certain, because so many factors are at play, but we suspect that it is because rather than nations spending billions of dollars on defense, the money is instead channeled into feeding, clothing, housing, and educating the people of the world."

The Facility is expected to release more of its unusual findings from parallel/alternate dimensions in the coming months, as well as updates on developments in the countdown to December 22, 2012.

Picnic of the Dead

Dad has spoken: This is the Ultimate Picnic Spot.

Dad was always tops at picking out the most incredible sites for picnic lunches while we were on family vacations.

One of my favorite memories was when we packed up the gigantic green Ford LTD and headed west from Colorado to the deserts of Utah. It was somewhere just outside of Hanksville, I think, when Dad announced that it was time for lunch.

Unlike many family vacations I've heard rumors of, in my little tribe we actually ate worse on our holidays than we did at home. This was because in Dad's Big Book of Conduct, the idea of eating at someplace even as budget-minded as a Denny's would have been utterly fiscally irresponsible.

Restaurants were a waste of money, and we needed to save our dollars for admission to see The House Where Brooms Stand Up On Their Own, or The Largest Water Faucet On Earth, or whatever.

So we travelled with our own food, which always included this weird bread my Mom baked in a coffee can, a seemingly endless supply of Deviled Ham, and dozens of cans of something called "Beanee Weenee." Also, we had a styrofoam cooler full of hard-boiled eggs and Lawry's Seasoning Salt. The hardboiled eggs were important, because they could be used for for both breakfast and lunch.

But I digress.

A staple on our family vacations.

It was along that desolate stretch of Utah roadway that Dad's keen eye, ever-alert for likely pullouts, spotted a huge cottonwood tree with a dusty parking area and a single decrepit picnic table. 

Within moments of setting up our lunchtime gourmet spread, we were beset by hordes of bees, wasps, and flies. No surprise there, really, considering that the picnic table was flanked by two 50-gallon oil drums serving as trashcans and overflowing with cascading mounds of garbage.

We fled with our food to the confines of the LTD where we sat with the windows rolled up, in August, in the desert, eating our sandwiches and hardboiled eggs while flying insects swarmed around our vehicle like something out of a bad movie on The Sci-Fi Channel.

As luck would have it though, more entertainment was on the way.

I'd guess we were about ten minutes into our meal when a pickup truck from the Utah Department of Transportation pulled in and backed up to what appeared to be a pile of tumbleweeds, dry brush, and some downed tree branches just a few feet in front of our car.

As we ate, we watched the UDOT employee attach a rope to something in the pile of debris, hook the other end to the truck's bumper, then drive slowly forward with something large in tow.

Dragging Away The Cow. A young artist's conception.

I think even Dad paused in his chewing when what we had at first thought were some branches sticking up from a fallen tree in fact proved to be the rigid limbs of the stiff and bloated corpse of a cow.

The truck drove up and over a hill on a dirt trail disappearing deeper into the desert, the cow sort of bouncing along behind like a hideous pull-toy in a cloud of dust. A short time later the truck returned, minus the cow.

Not yet done with his roadside cleanup, the UDOT employee pulled over on the shoulder of the road directly across from us, and giving us an odd look, bent to pick up the remains of another road-kill less than six feet from our car. This time it was a dog, or perhaps a coyote, that we had failed to notice earlier.

The animal's body was flung unceremoniously into the back of the pickup truck, which then pulled away, vanishing into the heat waves rising like specters from the asphalt and leaving us to contemplate the fleeting nature of life over our cans of cold cocktail franks and baked beans.