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Baby and Bucky

The late afternoon sun broiled the self-storage units' flat rooftops. A mirage effect created the illusion of a cool lake floating atop wide, low block buildings. Bucky leaned back until his plastic deck chair quivered on the blacktop.

"Why do they call it late?" Bucky said to Baby and no one in particular. "It's here at the same time every day, more or less."

Baby's hair permanently screened her right eye like a curtain of fine blonde steel wool.

"You are the mighty oak that shades my babbling brook, King Dynamite," she said with a yellowish smile. "I dream constantly of your stout trunk and overspreading limbs."

Leonard "Bucky" Sawtooth was not handsome, unless he stood in a crowd of ugly men. Bucky did not seem to be particularly intelligent, unless he was packed into a room full of idiots. He was tolerated and mostly adored by his common-law wife, Doreen Shaker. Bucky called her "Baby."

Midlife Banking Crisis

Special Report -- Here's why I should start my own bank:

I appear very trustworthy and can project an image of calm reassurance that I combine with the illusion of giving a rat's ass.

You should see me when I'm wearing a suit jacket and without my body jewelry. Seriously, you won't know whether or not I mean what I say! If the bank venture doesn't work out I can apply my faux social skills to the restaurant or hotel industries.

Fashion Week: As Luck Would Have It

Special Report -- I wore my lucky shoes today.

It's been close to fifteen years since I paid thirty dollars for those black cross trainer/walking shoes at El-Bee Shoe Outlet. Inexpensive, amazingly comfortable, go-with-everything footwear. My back never hurts when I wear them, even when I have to walk on or stand on concrete floors all day.

Those shoes were on my feet for many grueling stage productions. Lots of trade shows and factory visits, too. I wore my lucky shoes to China in 2005 but didn't walk all the way there -- I sat inside an airplane that flew over the North Pole.

My lucky shoes are casual enough to wear with jeans, yet smart-looking enough to complement dress pants. I wore them once with shorts and ankle-high black socks. It was a long day outside in the summer but my feet felt great. I don't think people in Ohio dress like that, though.

Brush Off the Fuzz and Dig In

Special Report -- Today's special: salmonella 'n' jelly sandwiches and tainted milk. Your choice of side dish includes cultured mayonnaise rind, fruit roll-up kimchee, or refrigerator-blackened cherry tomatoes.

Is the nation's food supply at risk or are people just belly-aching?

A lot of perfectly good groceries are thrown away simply because of paranoia, misinformation, and perversely conscientious eating habits.

Although sensational stories of pathogenic contamination grab headlines, some experts are still reheating debates as old as last Thanksgiving's turkey carcass.

"Expiration dates are for the weak-minded," according to food archivist Denny Frisch. "Food Nazis want you to think it's wrong to leave tuna salad on the kitchen counter for more than seventy-two hours in July."

You're Full of It, Says Manure Industry

New York, NY -- What a load. Hits the fan. Runs downhill. A lying sack of it.

Enough is enough, according to manure processors and resellers. Image is everything when it comes to marketplace perceptions, and the much-maligned poop business has decided to litigate for respect if it can't earn it.

"It's impossible to turn on the TV or use a computer without being bombarded by flawed examples harmful to our hard-earned brand equity," Manure Trade Association president Raymond Tonewell said in a press release. "Gov. Rod Blagojevich, former Merrill Lynch CEO John Thain, indicted broker Bernard Madoff -- calling one of these guys 'the biggest pile of feces' damages our product's reputation."

"For the record," Mr. Tonewell added, "the world's largest mass of solid waste resides in our museum: a 900 lb. bat guano sculpture of the late hotel heiress Leona Helmsley. Rush Limbaugh can't hold a candle to that, and he shouldn't because it's highly combustible."

Unreleased Songs and Forgotten "B" Sides

From the vault. The archives. Rejected singles. Hidden treasure. Secret hits. Basement tapes. Forbidden melodies.

"March of the Damned" -- John Philip Sousa

"Razor Blades, Broken Glass, and Model Airplane Glue" -- Alison Krauss

"That's Not a Roll of Quarters in My Pocket, Darling" -- Irving Berlin

The Sucker Punch of a Brighter Tomorrow

Special Report -- I awake in the 4:00 AM gloom, unable to breathe. A bearded, brown-eyed Cyclops wearing a feathery plumed hat lies on my chest staring at me. My Indiglo watch's pale luminescence reveals the intruder's identity: cat #27 nuzzling my pajama pants drawstring again.

I am by necessity a cat rancher. Felines are useful for their varmint-hunting prowess, pelts, and milk. A dozen or so can keep you warm when no other heat source is available. Milking them is not an enterprise to be underestimated, but I have small hands so no problem there.

I'm enjoying my time above ground. Most of it, anyway. It's hard to sleep at night -- I have trouble resting because every day ends with a sense of unfinished business. I can't relax. And then those effing cats come around again.

Somali Pirates' Suicides Confound Naval Forces

Haradhere, Somalia -- Tides of change are sweeping into eastern Somalia via the Indian Ocean.

Residents of the impoverished Gulf of Aden coastal region are combing its beaches in a desperate attempt to recover hundreds of thousands of dollars set adrift by suicidal seafaring plunderers.

For reasons not yet determined, the bodies of thieving corsairs have washed ashore, ballasted by plastic bags full of ill-gotten ransom money.

"We are unsuccessful fishermen because we feed the bait to our starving families," according to local starving man Abdulahi Dintu. "The nets, we rendered into broth."

"Today's fresh catch?" he continued. "Pounds sterling. Why would those outlaws end their own lives? They had everything."

Chronically Indigent Resent Influx of Nouveau Poor

New York, NY -- The current global economy is tough, and soon to be tougher than your mother's broiled flank steak.

Formerly prosperous wage earners are joining the millions of traditionally penniless paupers who -- in some cases, for generations -- have been deprived of life's necessities.

Well-established destitute Americans are now voicing their concerns about the dramatic increase of recently impoverished citizens.

"This is my appliance carton cardboard hut," said career hobo Chester Baxter of Manhattan, NY. "No room for more. Hop a train and get the hell outta here!"

Cheney Douchiest VP of All Time, Ever, Seriously

Washington, DC -- In the waning days of the Bush Administration, Vice President Dick Cheney has few regrets.

The salty yet savvy second-in-command revealed some of his complex inner feelings, however, during a recent interview by Fox News reporter Chris Wallace.

Mr. Cheney grew visibly impatient and annoyed when the newsman prodded him with questions about Guantanamo detainees, expansion of the executive branch's power, and presidential authority to access the nation's nuclear codes when disputing pizza delivery service.

An increasingly upset Mr. Cheney stated categorically that Mr. Wallace, Barack Obama, Joe Biden, Hillary and Bill Clinton, Caroline Kennedy, and even Paris Hilton could all go "bleep" themselves.