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Word of the Every So Often

kipple: (noun) Phillip K. Dick came up with this term in his 1968 novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, which was the basis for the 1982 movie Blade Runner (and, I suppose, it’s sequel, the 2017 movie Blade Runner 2049). Kipper is the clutter of useless junk and ephemera, which reproduces when your back is turned. Try as you might, the best you can do is fight all that clutter to a draw, but all the while know that eventually it is going to take over everything.

The Almost Daily

It was on yesterday, March 30, in 1867, that then Secretary of State William Seward purchased the entire territory of Alaska (right at 600,000 square miles) from Russia for 7.2 million dollars. That’s right at 2 cents an acre. Even with inflation, that’s a really good deal. The Senate approved the purchase on April 9, 1867. The President put his Andrew Johnson on the deal on May 28, 1867. And the whole thing became official with the formal transfer on October 18, 1867. It wasn’t until January 3, 1959, that Alaska become our 50th state. The point is, not one of those dates has anything to do with today. And you can’t tell me it was because yesterday was already taken with National Turkey Neck Soup Day. Just the same, today is National Seward Day. Traditionally, it’s celebrated tomorrow.

Cartoon of the Week

“Let me get this straight. After we have sex, you’re going to eat me... but we are having sex...?”

STUFF

Bad Fortunes

I’m a Chinese food junkie.

Carry out.

3 to 4 times a week.

Egg rolls, moo goo guy pan,

cashew chicken (Springfield style, of course),

and fortune cookies.

Especially fortune cookies.

So here’s the deal.

I started noticing

that something just wasn’t right with the fortunes.

You know, the ones you read and then say,

“What kind of fortune was that?”

Fortunes like,

“I’m trapped in this dead end job!”

“Send help!”

“Is this the best I can do with a college education?”

and “I expected more out of life than this.”

You get the idea.

And the more of these I read,

the more I realized

that they were either a pathetic cry for help

or a unique way to get published.

But either way,

it doesn’t really matter.

Because just as suddenly as they began,

they ended.

You know,

they became stupid stuff like

“Beware of paper dogs running backwards”

and “Fear the man who claims to know.”

I imagine the guy got canned.

I mean, you could pretty much see that coming.

But the bad thing is

now I’ll never know

just how his story might end.

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