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My e-mail account got hacked this week causing me to get many e-mails from people telling me that they were getting bogus e-mails from me.  My first reaction was to draw upon all my technical knowledge and after doing so; my second reaction was to panic, because I have no technical knowledge.

After realizing I didn’t have a clue what to do about this situation, and the panic wasn’t helping, I relied on my American ingenuity and decided to ignore it, hoping it would go away.  My reasoning was if these hacker people saw that they weren’t getting any reaction from me they would stop doing their hacker type activities.  This was not based on common sense, but more so on the aforementioned panic and lack of technical knowledge.  I was figuring the hacker was like a bully, if he’s not getting a reaction he’ll go away.  But a hacker is not a bully.  He is more like the sleazy slime that feeds on the scum on the bottom of the scum that is beneath the other scum at the bottom of a swimming pool that has not been cared for a few years.

The ignoring philosophy is like a fat guy covering all but the first digit on his digital scale so that when he is over 200 pounds he had to go to 300 pounds, theoretically, to have gained any weight.  A nice idea, but not very workable when your pants are splitting every time you bend over.

It’s not that I wouldn’t have wanted to face the hacker head on but hackers are not accessible.  They hide behind the anonymousness of the Internet.  They are the type of geek that goes beyond geekiness  that would put a pen protector inside a pen protector in their shirt pocket.  But there is an evil side.  And all the while they do their hacking business to compensate for the pencil size of their private parts.  When I say pencil size I’m referring to a pencil that has been well used and sharpened many times so that only a nub is remaining and the use was all by the hacker himself because he couldn’t get anybody else to use his pencil at all and he even had to put cream on the sides of his pencil or the paint would rub off from all the self abuse of his pencil (if you get my meaning.)

Now that I’m through my bitterness, I can tell you the type of punishment that I think a hacker deserves.  I thought of it when I saw a headline of a news item on AOL.com, “Crocodile Tears Man’s Testicles to Shreds.”  Hmmm…now that I think of it there may still be a thread of bitterness left.

Luckily, the story had a happy ending when someone told me all you need to do is change the password on your account to end the madness.   Now you know what to do if an anonymous pencil-private parted geek hacks your account.  So, this web site is not only wildly (yes, I said wildly, not mildly) entertaining but it is now becoming educational as well!

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Today we have a guest on darnfunnyonline.   He is known as Mr. Handyman.  He is everyman’s handyman, who all men vision themselves to be, even though, in reality, we are not.  Many men like to think they can fix anything around the house, when actually we usually spend more in fixing our “repairs” than the original job would have cost when done by a professional.

The format we have chosen for today is that I will ask Mr. Handyman the questions that I’m pretty sure all of us men would like an answer to and we’ll let him educate us.

Steve:  Welcome Mr. Handyman.  Is there any sage advice you’d like to start us out with and then we can go from there?

Mr. Handyman:  One word, duct tape.

Steve: Uh… that’s actually two words.

Mr. Handyman:  Oops! I meant to say ducttape.

Steve:  You know, I have to admit that I have tried to “fix” things with duct tape, but does that really work most of the time?

Mr. Handyman:  Oh, absolutely.  I’ll prove it to you.  In fact, you being a writer, you can even fix sentences with it.  Let me give you an example with a little poem:

There once was a man from Nantucket,

Whose wife wanted him to fix something, but he said…“duct tape.”

Steve:  Wow!  I see what you mean.  Moving on then…Other than using duct tape, what advice can you give us for, let’s say, fixing a clogged sink?

Mr. Handyman:  Of course, you would turn on that switch for the garbage disposal.

Steve:  You already tried that.  Didn’t work.

Mr. Handyman:  You get out your plunger, with the duct taped handle, to show your experience.  Then…

Steve:  Nope, that didn’t  work either.

Mr. Handyman:  The first thing you’d want to do is pull your pants as far down on your waist as you can so that you show some butt cleavage.  That way you can really get into thinking like a plumber.  Next, if your wife is watching you work you have to really assess the situation and take a long hard look at things like you know what you are doing. Then ask her, politely, to leave, because her watching over your shoulder is making you nervous. After you are sure she is out of hearing range you run to the phone and call a friend who you think might know how to fix the problem and offer him some beer to come over and help you.  After you are both drunk and that has failed you call an actual plumber.

Steve:  Again, moving on…How about drywall, can you give us any tips on repairing a hole in the wall?

Mr. Handyman:  I sure can, Steve.  The first thing you do is go to Home Depot,  I had to fit their name in this interview because they pay me for that, and then you buy some sheet rock.  You take it home and you get a tape measure out and make lots of measurement, especially while your wife is watching so that she is impressed by what it looks like you are doing.  Then when she is off doing  something else you do a lot of hammering and make grunting sounds and schedule all this while there is a real carpenter at your house so the work can actually get done.

Steve:  You don’t really know how to fix anything, do you?

Mr. Handyman:  I’m sensing hostility.  You’re not ever going to invite me back, are you?

Steve:  Only if I can duct tape your mouth shut.

darnfunnyonline.com

This week I had some computer troubles.  Being a man, I was, of course, confident that I could fix it myself.  So, as I’m sure you can guess, I went to my tool box and got my most trustworthy tool, duct tape, and decided to get started.

As you might be guessing by now, duct tape is actually the only tool in my tool box.  Truthfully , it’s not so much a tool box as it is a drawer…in the kitchen, that has a lot of other important fix up stuff such as scotch tape, (I’m seeing a trend here that sticky stuff is important in repairing things) thumb tacks and matches.  The matches are kind of a last resort, if you can’t fix it you can at least have fun melting it down.

My computer had a virus.  It was kind of disgusting as it was sneezing, coughing up phlegm and there was about a box of used Kleenexes all around the floor of my desk.  Still, I was not to be deterred.  First, I exhausted all of the geek type methods of fixing a computer, i.e. looking at the screen while moving the mouse around deftly with a hard, determined look on my face like I really know what I’m doing , just in case anybody was watching me.  It’s true, I have people come from miles around just to watch me work on my computer.  There is a grandstand set up in my office just for that purpose.

After my forehead started hurting from faking that determined look so well and I had used up the extensive methods I knew of by using the mouse (exactly one) I decided to resort to my mechanical skills.  That’s right, it was time to open up the computer and stare at the insides, again, like I knew what I was doing.  This was a talent I had developed long ago when I would “fix” my car.

Naturally, fixing a car is a lot different than a computer because it’s bigger and there are a lot more things to stare at in a knowing fashion.  As I started opening the computer up some dramatic background music started to play and was getting louder…bompa, bompa, bompa, bompa, bompa.  Even I felt the drama and I KNEW I had less than a one percent chance of fixing anything.  I looked around and thought instinctively, “Where the heck is that coming from?”

At first I figured it was one of my fans in the grandstand seats, but strangely, they were empty.  I went back to work.  The music got louder and louder.  My adrenaline was pumping.  Finally, it became too much.  I got off the floor.  My computer got a reprieve from my skillful hands.  I went into the other room and discovered that someone was watching an episode of Glee and they were doing a dramatic song.  I was comforted in knowing that, even if I was unable to fix the computer, I was able to, at least, solve that mystery.

Now back at the computer, I was on this case once again.  I had her opened, wide open.  I did my stare.  Strangely, I felt like nothing had been repaired.  This called for drastic measures.  I decided to loosen some screws.  By the time I had the third one off I came to the conclusion that, “I had no freaking idea what I was going to do so put the screws back in before it’s too late.”

I had already gone through all the swear words that I knew, multiple times, so there was only one thing left to do…call someone who really knew what they were doing.  Fortunately, that method worked and before long my computer was disease free and working normally again.

As I leaned against the wall, I proudly realized that I had a lot to do with it getting fixed.  I did make the call to the competent person, after all.  I confidently looked at my curled up fingers, blew on my nails and wiped them off on my shirt.  I felt I should put my signature on this job like a painter does with his art work, even if I only did it symbolically.  So, I tore off a little piece of duct tape and pasted it onto the corner of the computer.  Job completed!

darnfunnyonline.com

Now that the original 627 Republican candidates for President are starting to get whittled down as all of their transgression and insanities come to light, the sad part is that we are soon going to be hearing much, much more from President Obama.  While that may be a boon to the teleprompter and manure businesses, for the rest of us it will be more than a minor nuisance.  I think I want to vote for Ross Perot.

Obama had just returned from what he has done most often over the last three years, no I’m not talking about campaigning and fund raising, although, truly as President that’s what he does do best, he just returned from vacation.  His timing was perfect as Congress was out of session so he could push through an appointment that he knew would not happen with Congress in session.  Who needs those pesky little things such as…what is that called again?…Oh, yeah, congressional approval.

So that you don’t just think I’m being a smart ass when I said he’s best at campaigning and fund raising let’s talk  about a presidential type action that he is good at.  Now, I am, of course talking about blaming the Bush administration for everything that is wrong with the world.  Even three years later it is Bush’s fault that the economy is so bad and that there are a lack of jobs.  Apparently, Dick Cheney waterboarded too many CEOs and made them agree to not hire people if they weren’t needed.  I guess he never got to the government guys that hire though because they give out jobs whether there’s something to do or not.  I feel so comforted knowing that our government is too big to fail.

The world economy is doing even slightly worse than our own.  For example, Greece may have to sell the copyright to being the creators of anal sex just so they can keep their economy afloat for another week.  The Germans have  a book out called “If it Moves Yell at It, if That Doesn’t Work Start a War With It,” and the French have one called “Ignore It and It Will Go Away, Just Don’t Smell My Armpits,” as a means of making money for their governments.

Since Obama’s approval ratings are so low I’m expecting as we get closer to the election that Osama bin Laden will likely come back to life due to some pact he had with the devil and the Bush Administration.  This time Obama will really kill him…just in time to, coincidentally, influence the voters.  Then since the bin Laden threat is now truly over we can cut back the military and give their jobs to welfare recipients who will still do no work…oh, and by the way to them, don’t forget when you go to the polls, it was Obama who got you that job.

Obama is also thinking of creating a Presidential super committee (since it worked so well for Congress) made up of past dead Presidents.  Ultimately, he won’t allow it though because he would be afraid they would make better decisions than he would.

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It’s nearly Christmas Eve.  That can be one of the most relaxing days of the year.  You’ve either finished your shopping or said, “Oh, the hell with it,” you get to push aside your worry if you are going to be fired from your job because of your Christmas party antics and you have until after Christmas day to think about how you are going to pay for all the presents you bought.

So, anyway, I talked to my neighbor the other day and he told me about his Christmas Eve last year which was not a very relaxing event at all.  It was pretty stressful when you get right down to it.

The night started off pretty good.  They got the kids to bed and he said it was almost like there were sugar plums dancing in their heads.  It was real quiet and he and his wife had just settled down and according to him he was hoping for a little action.  That’s when the trouble started.  He heard this damn mouse start to screech and since his wife hated mice he had to go hunt it down.  While he was looking for the mouse he heard this clatter arising out in the yard.  So in a flash he tore open the shutters and threw up the sash (to be clear the sash was not something he had eaten, it was the window.)

As soon as he was able to get it open far enough, because it was stuck from a sloppy paint job last summer, he yelled out, “Hey, what the hell’s going on out there?  Shut up or I’m calling the cops.  I don’t care if it is Christmas Eve.”

Well, this didn’t seem to matter to the guy out on the lawn.  He was yelling to somebody, “On Dasher, and Dancer, and Prancer, and Vixen, and Donner, and Cupid, hurry up there’s going to be a blizzard.” (or something like that.)  This was news to my neighbor because he heard the weather was supposed to be clear.  Anyway, from the names, he didn’t know if this was some gay dance troupe, or what, and then he heard them up on his roof and he really started to freak out.  But he did figure if it was just a bunch of gay dancers he could handle it, even if there were a lot of them, but still!

Then it got worse.  He heard somebody sliding down the chimney.  His first thought was he had packed away his shotgun because he didn’t have a permit to have a gun since he just didn’t think that was right to have to get one.  But, anyway, he ran to the top of the steps.  Then he remembered that while he did have a chimney it just led to his furnace, he had no fireplace.  Miraculously, this guy got into his living room, sure, he was covered with tarnish and soot, but what would you expect since he just came out of the furnace.

This guy was a fat little elf with white hair and a beard and he was dressed in an outfit that pretty much confirmed the gay theory.  But the good part was he had a bag full of toys with him and he was putting them under the tree and into his kid’s stockings.  This guy wasn’t robbing him he was leaving gifts!  He didn’t speak a word but went straight to his work, filled all the stocking and turned like a jerk.  (I’m not sure how he turned that my neighbor thought he was a jerk, but that’s what he said.)

Then somehow he flew up the chimney and to the gay dancers he whistled and away they all flew like the down of a thistle.  (I have no idea what that means but I’m guessing it’s a homosexual thing since he was whistling at the gay dancers.  Hey, I’m not judging, I’m just telling the story.)

They all flew away somehow but he shouted as he left, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”

Admittedly, sometimes my neighbor can be full of you know what, but it did make for a good story worth repeating.  Merry Christmas everybody!

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Today, since we are in the midst of the Christmas season, I thought I’d give Dear Crabby, our guest advice columnist, another shot at showing she might actually have a human side.  At least I’m hoping the Christmas spirit can bring it out of her.

Crabby:  Bah Humbug!

Damn! I knew you’d ruin it, Crabby.

Crabby: (laughing evilly) Oh, Steve, you jokeless, twit-like wonder, don’t you know when someone’s yanking your chain?  No one loves Christmas more than me. It brings out the craziness in people and they send me a lot more letters.  A girl’s gotta work, ya know?

What a lovely Christmas sentiment, Crabby!  Your problem is you are just mean.

Crabby:  Wow! With rapier-like comebacks as witless as that I can see why you need me to liven up this site.

Whatever!  Let’s get this over with and let you insult a few people with your ridiculous advice and then you’ll leave.

Crabby:  Thank you for the lovely introduction you insipid drone.  To our first letter:

Dear Crabby,

My boyfriend’s taste runs a little different than mine.  What should I do if I don’t really like the present he gets me for Christmas?

Lost in the Holidays

Dear Lost in the Holidays,

I’m going to assume that, by his “taste runs a little different” than yours that, being a man, his taste is not only bad but he’s also a cheap bastard, at least when it comes to buying presents for you.  Not so much with the cheap when he buys something for himself.  Am I right? (Don’t actually answer that, it was rhetorical, and I don’t care what you have to say about it anyway.)

You’re not married yet so you have several options.  First option: you could tell him that his taste sucks and if expects to get “it” for Christmas he better come up with something better than this.  Second option: you could try to exchange it or return it.  If you can’t do one of those without a receipt donate it to Goodwill so you can at least get that garbage out of your house.  The third option: if you didn’t like my first or second option you could write to another advice columnist who actually gives a damn.

Crabby

(Time for a little break for a swig of the Christmas spirit…Ahhhh! That was good (hiccup) onward to the next letter.)

Dear Crabby,

My kids get so excited just before Christmas that it is hard to have any control of them. Do you have any suggestions on how to handle that?

Tired Mother

Dear Tired Mother,

Give them a shot of whiskey and put them to bed.  That will shut them up and let them sleep really well.  Then have a couple big gulps of the stuff yourself!  It’s working for me right now!!  (Oh crap, I just dropped my glass…no problem the bottle is still working –woooo!!)

Crabby

Dear Crabby,

I’m looking for a romantic place to take my new girlfriend on a date.  I’m looking for something that is not too expensive, yet both fun and romantic.  Any suggestions?

A Romantic guy

Dear Romantic guy,

Can your cheap ass afford a bottle of booze? You can take the bottle with you while you take her to her bedroom.  That covers being cheap, fun and how much more romantic can you get than sex?

When you’re done with her you can come over to my place…just make sure it’s good booze.

Crabby

(Steve interrupts)  Okay, Crabby you’re done.  Go home and sleep it off.

Merry Christmas everybody!

darnfunnyonline.com

The holidays can be a tough time of year for many Americans.  I’m not saying that because of the so-called holiday stress but because America’s collective asses are already way too big and this is the time of year they tend to get a lot bigger.  People used to talk about California breaking off into the ocean because of an earthquake but these days there is more of a danger of the country splitting apart at the seams, say the Mississippi River, from all of the fat people spread throughout the country.

These days fat Americans are so addicted to sugar they are even eating the fruitcakes that have been being re-gifted year after year, possibly threatening extinction of the fruitcake (since they haven’t made new ones for a long time.)

Apparently, at this time of year the eating hormone kicks in and people are compelled to eat or drink everything in front of them, especially if it is sweet, greasy or alcoholic.  This previously unknown hormone then gave birth to the New Year’s resolution where everybody resolves to lose weight, failing already on New Year’s Day because they are too hung over, they give up on the whole thing.

Then a new year leads to a gradual weight gain until they hit another holiday season where the fat clings to the body like a meat dress does to Lady Gaga.  The whole vicious cycle starts again which is why power walking has given way to power waddling as a great source of exercise in America.

The holiday season is good for the economy, even after the fact, because of all the people who keep getting fatter have to buy new clothes, except for skinny pants.  The sale of skinny pants definitely suffers from the holidays, except for that occasional female who tries to fit a size 14 body into a pair of skinny pants and makes it look like their ass is about to explode. (Even they wouldn’t have the nerve to ask, “Do these jeans make my ass look fat?”  But they, somehow, still try to pull it off.)  You see them walk by and look at the person you are with and all you can say is, “Seriously?”  It’s the one time that a man can look at a woman’s rear end with their spouse in attendance and not get in trouble because there are just some things you can’t not look at.

While there are probably some people who actually lose weight during the holidays, they would never admit it though, because there would be too many fat people that would be pissed at them and would probably want to do them bodily harm, most likely by sitting on them.

The best thing to do regarding weight gain at this time of year is try to look on the bright side. Turn a negative into a positive.  Don’t think of it as getting fatter, think of it as expanding the awareness of yourself.  And as gravy on top of that (oops, sorry) think of it as income potential because you might soon be able to play Santa Claus.

I hadn’t realize this until someone just pointed it out to me, but stressed spelled backwards spells desserts so it just seems natural that the stress of holidays should cause one to eat desserts and be justified.  But just as a word of warning, if you do that don’t stand too close to the Mississippi River at Christmas time.

darnfunnyonline.com

It seemed that all was starting to go right with the world.  Finally the NBA strike was over and there will be professional basketball again by Christmas, (actually, that’s when many people think the season starts anyway) my football team is in first place again for the first time in two years and the Christmas tree and decorations are all done and I didn’t have to help.  (I did wear my proper hat though and harassed and harangued the decorators, it was fun…for me.)

Unfortunately, things are not always as good as they seem because I was also handed a Christmas shopping list.  Drat!  Oh, for the days of simple shopping, when, if you didn’t know what to get someone at Christmas time you just dropped by the local gold, frankincense and myrrh shop and picked something up.

Now, I had to actually confront shopping.  I like to walk through malls at Christmas as long as I don’t have to shop.  For one thing, I get to sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what I want for Christmas.  I don’t even mind the strange looks I get, for some reason, when I do it.  But, when I have to decide what to buy for someone else it becomes a whole different game.  For one thing, when men buy a woman a gift, no matter how much they act like they like it, they don’t like it!  The proof is in how much they wear it or use it after getting the gift.  They are counting on us guys to not pay enough attention (which is often the case) to know that they didn’t really appreciate it.  And they have become very good at faking it…I’m referring, of course, to the faking that they like the gift.

I don’t know why, but the idea of shopping makes many men, me included, break out in a cold sweat.  You’d think that cyber shopping would make it less daunting, and, in theory, it does.  In reality, though it’s the same if you go to the stores or you let your fingers do the walking…you still have to pick out a gift that you know your mate is more likely to use to clean up vomit than to actually wear on her body.

If only she would appreciate a gift like a whole bunch of mistletoe that you don’t just hang in the door way but you hang it over the whole bed.  Of course, that is a gift that the giver is giving more for himself so it disqualifies it as a giveable gift.  (But, still, I am proud of having come up with that one.  I wonder if I could pull that off… Hmm!)

I should have thought of this at Thanksgiving when I said all the things I was thankful for, but I am really thankful for is there not being a real twelve days of Christmas because that would mean a whole lot more of shopping.

In the end, you know how it’s all going to end up on Christmas day anyway, when she says, “Oh, Honey, I love it,” and the gift will never again see the light of day, unless it is at the return department of the store you bought it at.

darnfunnyonline.com

Since I had some computer problems the other day and we are also at Thanksgiving it made me pause and wonder what it would have been like if the Pilgrims would have had access to a computer.  (What can I say?  I had some free time since  my computer wasn’t working.)  Anyway, this is what I came up with:

Female Pilgrim:  Husband, I need thouest to Google something for me.

Male Pilgrim: (Big smile) Oh, I would be happy to Google thou.   I did not think thouest would be in the mood for, ahem, Googling since the Indians and all the other Pilgrims are coming  over and all the cooking thouest needs  to do.

Female Pilgrim: No, no, thouest is a moron.  To Google something is not a euphemism for sex, it means to get information about something on our new computer.  I want to know how long I’m supposed to cook this turkey.

Male Pilgrim:  Oh that, yeah, I cannot.  Windows is not working.

Female Pilgrim:  I must say, thouest’s English certainly does sucketh. You should say the windows are not working.  What does that matter anyway?  It’s November in New England.  We don’t need the windows open.

Male Pilgrim:  No dearest, wife.  Windows is the operating system on the computer.  If it is not working I cannot Google anything or do anything else on the computer for that matter.

Female Pilgrim:  Oh, well, I guess that is good.  That means thouest can’t look at porn now.

Male Pilgrim:  No, no, no, darling.  I only have eyes for you in thouest’s black dress with the sexy bonnet.

Female Pilgrim:  Thouest are full of excrement from the cow.  I saw thouest looking at picture of female Pilgrim’s ankles on the Internet the other day.

Male Pilgrim:  Well maybe if I got to see your ankles more often I wouldn’t need to look at such pictures.

Female Pilgrim: (Frustrated) AHHHHHHH!   Sometimes  I  wish  those Indians had never  even given us that computer.  I think maybe we should just give it back to them.

Male Pilgrim:  But then people would call us “Indian givers.”

Female Pilgrim:  That is not what that term means!  Thouest really are a moron!

Male Pilgrim:  Whateverest.

Female Pilgrim:  Ever since they gave us that computer all we do is fight.  You spend too much time on Farmville instead of actually working.

Male Pilgrim:  Well, thouest spends too  much  time  on  chat lines.

The camera (there had to be a camera in this  movie that is  going on in my head) pans the room and we see two Indians looking in the window. (That is an actual window not Windows from Microsoft.)  They are laughing to each other and give each other a high five.

First Indian:  They give us diseases, we give them computers.

They high five again.

Back to the Pilgrim couple.

Male Pilgrim: Well, if all thouest is going to do is argue with me, I’m going to watch football.

Female Pilgrim:  Watch what?

Male Pilgrim:  Football, it’s an American tradition every Thanksgiving.

Female Pilgrim:  (Exasperated)  But this is the first Thanksgiving!

Male Pilgrim:  Then I guess I’ll be starting the tradition.

darnfunnyonline.com

Today, this being very close to Thanksgiving, we’ll learn about a lesser known group that helped to start the Thanksgiving tradition.  This group was not quite up to being Pilgrims, they are the lesser known Ilgrims.  They just dropped their “P”, which if you just hear that instead of see it you may think that many of the Ilgrims had prostate problems, which many of them did.

You see, the Ilgrims were old Pilgrims that were kind of put out to pasture.  They couldn’t really serve any purpose in the original group anymore so they shipped them away to a neighboring village.  Their Pilgrim children would come to visit every now and then when their guilty consciences caught up with them, but not very often.

The Ilgrim’s Thanksgiving wasn’t quite the same experience as the Pilgrims.  The Pilgrims did invite the Ilgrims to the first Thanksgiving feast but the weather was bad and the Ilgrams couldn’t get there.  Being prideful old people they decided to have their own Thanksgiving feast so they went to the neighboring casino, which was run by the local Indian tribe.  The Indian casino was not their first choice, however.  They had sent out a hunting party but between all the bathroom breaks the male hunters had to take and their eyesight being so bad that they couldn’t get close enough to the deer or turkey to shoot them they ended up with a lesser meat, possum.  Actually, that didn’t even work out that well because after they shot the possum they realized it was already dead, the hunters thought it was just pretending.  It turns out it had been road kill and after they shot it there was not enough meat left to  feed one person let alone the whole group of Ilgrims.  That’s how they ended up at the Indian casino.

They ate at the buffet.  While their snooty kids, the Pilgrims, were eating outside on picnic tables in the middle of November the Ilgrims got to eat in a nice warm casino.  The Indian casino turned out to be a blessing in disguise for the Ilgrims because they met the Indian’s medicine man.  I should point out that these Indians were also older Indians that had been sent off in to the mountains to die.  Instead of going to the mountains though these old Indians met an old medicine man who had a kiosk and was selling snake oil.  Really it wasn’t snake oil at all.  It was actually experimental drugs from Eli Lilly that didn’t improve the quality of life but it did keep the Indians alive a lot longer.

Anyway the Indians at the casino introduced the Ilgrams to the sales rep from Eli Lilly and along with the old medicine man, who, by the way, got drummed out of the medicine man union for using pharmaceutical drugs, they got the Ilgrims hooked on the drugs that extended their lives even though the Ilgrims couldn’t have cared less because all they did after that was stare at their TV sets (which didn’t even work because electricity wasn’t invented yet) and droll into their soup bowls.

Since it did extend their lives another 20 years the Ilgrams started a tradition of going to the Indian casino every Thanksgiving.  And the Ilgram wives didn’t even get upset when the hookers from the casino made advances to their husbands because it wasn’t like they could do anything about it since Viagra had not yet been invented.

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