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T. Michael Barclay's "Asylum Earth" takes a slightly different look at people, places and events that shape the planet we are confined to. It's overwhelming evidence that the patients are indeed running the asylum.
Friday, July 25, 2003
HOW TO LOSE THE BATTLE AND THE WAR . . .
Got Bed? -
As much as my relationship with my wife is different, her being a Thai national and all, there are still some things that remain the same and therefore must originate outside the simple bonds of marriage. Some of these occurrences seem to cross culture lines, age considerations, simple logic and even defy gravity . . .
I’m speaking of the phenomenon that my wife translates into two simple words, when just before we are about to go to sleep, she turns to me and says . . . “Got bed?” I reflected on those two simple words and came to the realization that I really do not, “got bed!” And, through several marriages and a few “sleepovers,” I really have never "had bed." I also realized that this acknowledgement of me having “no bed” was just a polite gesture as in all this time, they never intended for me to “have bed.”
Now, those among you that are enlightened have already figured out what I’m talking about and those of you who have not are most likely women who have so cleverly pulled this ruse for lo these many years. I’m talking about the fact that no matter how large the sleeping area we choose to own, rent or borrow, man is only going to get about six inches of it. And, by the way . . . when my wife and I first went to her home, in the rice paddies of Northern Thailand, and slept on a “rice” mat? You got it; I had “no mat” either.
It’s not that she hasn’t put any thought into it, as have all women of the world, because there is a definition for man’s sleeping area. I figured this out when one night, while giving me a goodnight hug (that’s all you get for free), my wife noticed that there was nothing on the other side of me but air! She sat up and exclaimed . . . “Honey, you don’t have bed.” It seems that if you have as much as 1/10th an inch between you and a “free fall,” you have all the bed you need and therefore, “have bed.” Conversely, if they can lay sideways and a toe hangs off their side, adjustments need to be made. I have also discovered that if you move the nightstand real close to your side, you can put one arm there and that should just about take care of that little problem.
So, after she discovers that my very life is in peril, we made the necessary adjustments and fell fast to sleep. I wake up about 15 minutes later and guess what . . . I got "no bed "again! Allowing us to occupy more than six inches of a King size bed is like watching a David Copperfield show, it’s all allusion. There is only six inches of bed and you had better learn to sleep on it. I’m not saying that women take up all the rest of the sleeping surface; quite to the contrary, they only take up about three feet (starting exactly at where your six inches ends). You could easily park a motorhome in the space they don’t sleep on.
And, what is it about the covers? Because I am “hot” natured and all women are not, I always start the night with nothing covering me at all. At some point during the night hours, my body temperature matches that of the room and I feel a slight chill. That’s when I discover that not only do I have, “no bed,” I got . . . “no sheet” either! And, exactly how can they have a “death grip” hold on the sheet and be asleep at the same time? I can pull and tug, push and shove and after about fifteen minutes, I’m so hot that I no longer need the three inches of sheet I get . . . I would literally have to spin this woman like a top to get any sheet.
As with all battles with the opposite sex, you will never win this one. Unless, of course, you want “no sex.” Come to think of it, that is the only time I get to visit the rest of our bed, but I digress. I have learned to cope with the situation and have even learned to just get up and get back in bed facing the opposite way so as to not disturb Ms. “Velcro” grip and save a whole lot of energy in the process.
The bottom line is that short of turning myself on a BBQ spit, I’m not getting any more room to maneuver. I did suggest that considering the circumstances we might just get a smaller bed and save room and money. She just looked at me and said, ”That’s silly, where would you sleep?”
Well, life goes on and every day I learn something new. Just today I was thinking how amazed I was at the big beautiful smile my wife has on her face every single morning when she first wakes up . . . Well, no small wonder, she had 9/10th of the bed and all of the covers, I wouldn’t know, but I bet that makes for a pretty nice nights sleep . . .
Got Bed? -
As much as my relationship with my wife is different, her being a Thai national and all, there are still some things that remain the same and therefore must originate outside the simple bonds of marriage. Some of these occurrences seem to cross culture lines, age considerations, simple logic and even defy gravity . . .
I’m speaking of the phenomenon that my wife translates into two simple words, when just before we are about to go to sleep, she turns to me and says . . . “Got bed?” I reflected on those two simple words and came to the realization that I really do not, “got bed!” And, through several marriages and a few “sleepovers,” I really have never "had bed." I also realized that this acknowledgement of me having “no bed” was just a polite gesture as in all this time, they never intended for me to “have bed.”
Now, those among you that are enlightened have already figured out what I’m talking about and those of you who have not are most likely women who have so cleverly pulled this ruse for lo these many years. I’m talking about the fact that no matter how large the sleeping area we choose to own, rent or borrow, man is only going to get about six inches of it. And, by the way . . . when my wife and I first went to her home, in the rice paddies of Northern Thailand, and slept on a “rice” mat? You got it; I had “no mat” either.
It’s not that she hasn’t put any thought into it, as have all women of the world, because there is a definition for man’s sleeping area. I figured this out when one night, while giving me a goodnight hug (that’s all you get for free), my wife noticed that there was nothing on the other side of me but air! She sat up and exclaimed . . . “Honey, you don’t have bed.” It seems that if you have as much as 1/10th an inch between you and a “free fall,” you have all the bed you need and therefore, “have bed.” Conversely, if they can lay sideways and a toe hangs off their side, adjustments need to be made. I have also discovered that if you move the nightstand real close to your side, you can put one arm there and that should just about take care of that little problem.
So, after she discovers that my very life is in peril, we made the necessary adjustments and fell fast to sleep. I wake up about 15 minutes later and guess what . . . I got "no bed "again! Allowing us to occupy more than six inches of a King size bed is like watching a David Copperfield show, it’s all allusion. There is only six inches of bed and you had better learn to sleep on it. I’m not saying that women take up all the rest of the sleeping surface; quite to the contrary, they only take up about three feet (starting exactly at where your six inches ends). You could easily park a motorhome in the space they don’t sleep on.
And, what is it about the covers? Because I am “hot” natured and all women are not, I always start the night with nothing covering me at all. At some point during the night hours, my body temperature matches that of the room and I feel a slight chill. That’s when I discover that not only do I have, “no bed,” I got . . . “no sheet” either! And, exactly how can they have a “death grip” hold on the sheet and be asleep at the same time? I can pull and tug, push and shove and after about fifteen minutes, I’m so hot that I no longer need the three inches of sheet I get . . . I would literally have to spin this woman like a top to get any sheet.
As with all battles with the opposite sex, you will never win this one. Unless, of course, you want “no sex.” Come to think of it, that is the only time I get to visit the rest of our bed, but I digress. I have learned to cope with the situation and have even learned to just get up and get back in bed facing the opposite way so as to not disturb Ms. “Velcro” grip and save a whole lot of energy in the process.
The bottom line is that short of turning myself on a BBQ spit, I’m not getting any more room to maneuver. I did suggest that considering the circumstances we might just get a smaller bed and save room and money. She just looked at me and said, ”That’s silly, where would you sleep?”
Well, life goes on and every day I learn something new. Just today I was thinking how amazed I was at the big beautiful smile my wife has on her face every single morning when she first wakes up . . . Well, no small wonder, she had 9/10th of the bed and all of the covers, I wouldn’t know, but I bet that makes for a pretty nice nights sleep . . .
Monday, July 14, 2003
NIGERIAN OPPORTUNITY –
Your Ship Just Came In . . .
STRICKLY CONFIDENTIAL –
From: Chief Ekim Yalcrab, Esq., Attorney & Doctor of Proctology
Chairman, Federal Tender Board, Contract Award Committee
Lagos, Nigeria (Congo Division)
Fax: 234-1-7597002, X-Originating – IP [62.192.151.134]
Email: ekimyalcrab@vaseline.ram
Re: Request to Give You The Business
Dear: Sir/Madam,
I would like to firstly send you the best wishes of good health and success in your pursuits, particularly relevant to the fact you are known as a astute business person with a kind heart and extreme open space not so constrained by brain matter. Even as we have not had any previous correspondence before, you have been recommended by an associate in the foreign office of the Nigerian Chambers of Commerce and Industry, the Dean of Edumaction at the Nigerian University of Gold Digging, as well as, the little Icon that pops up every damn time I ask Windows for friggin help.
Now, just in case the first two words of this message, spelled out in all capital letters, didn’t register, this letter is being written to you in the STRICTEST CONFIDENCE that spam mail will allow. You are known as a personage with ability and reliability to prosecute a transaction of great magnitude involving a pending business transaction requiring said STRICTEST CONFIDENCE. If you decide that this business proposal is not up to your liking, please feel free to pass it on to anyone you know of or might bump into on the street.
When I am not doing official Chief things or have my arm up to my elbow in rectums, I am a legal practitioner and personal Attorney to the late Adam Braitman, a national of your country who died along with his wife, two sons and their beagle, “Batman,” in a ghastly motor accident along our one-lane expressway (this seems to happen a lot). His last words were, “Holy horse shit!!” and were of absolutely no help in assisting our efforts to find his relatives, or at least not ouside the ones in the car at the time.
My client was a successful crook and dedicated family man. He left a tidy sum of US$32.5 Million (and that’s a lot of pasada’s in anyone’s currency), which resulted from overcharging my government for road building contracts. It’s a good bet that he wishes that he had added another lane to that expressway, but I digress. Presently all contractors have been paid and we need to transfer the remaining funds to his next of kin or the High Potentates are going to offer it to The God of Island Retirement and we end up with diddly.
For assisting us in transferring these monies out of this country, we will remit you with 30% of said funds. Before you wear out your abacus, that’s US$10.2, US$9.9, well, way more than you got now. And, don’t worry about the taxes, the IRS will be the least of your troubles, trust us on that. We will forward you information on how to send the remaining funds to us at a later date. Now, just how more trustworthy can we get? Remember, we are attorneys, after all.
Now, this is not rocket science. The board of directors of his bank adopted a resolution and I was mandated to provide his next of kin for the proceeds. Do you have any idea how many ‘Braitman’s there are in the U.S.? No? Well I was sort of hoping you knew, because we haven’t been able to turn up the first one. However, not a single person on the banks board of directors can read a word of English, so they wouldn’t know a Braitman from a Fishburn, so anyone with eight letters in their last name has a shot.
Well, isn’t this your lucky day! You now have eight letters in your last name. I seek your consent to present you, as the next of kin to Adam since you are at an advantage as nationals from the same country and white, you are white aren’t you? My colleagues and I are willing to transfer the total amount into your bank account or any account you nominate. The official office pool here has it 10 to 1 that you nominate your own account, but stranger things have happened. Just as soon as you pony up your account number (and for God’s sake, don’t forget the PIN, it just frosts our nose rings when they forget the PIN), we will deposit the whole wad in your account.
Assuming you are not Bill Gates, this could increase your wealth. Then all you have to do is sit and wait. We promise that your financial condition will change in a matter of days. Now, if you are worried that your bank will notice a US$32.5 million deposit, you can just send us the bank account numbers (don’t forget the PIN) of your friends and other family members. This way we can spread out the deposits and change the financial condition of everyone you know. What’s not to like about that plan?
All legal documents to back up your claim, as the deceased next of kin will be provided, provided you don’t forget that little PIN thing we talked about. If you have any questions, which seems remote after this letter, please contact us using the information provided at the beginning of this letter.
Always remember the words of that famous American fighter for free enterprise, Frank Keating, who said . . . “I upped my income, up yours!”
Best Regards,
Chief Ekim Yalcrab
Lagos, Nigeria (Congo Division)
T. Michael Barclay
Your Ship Just Came In . . .
STRICKLY CONFIDENTIAL –
From: Chief Ekim Yalcrab, Esq., Attorney & Doctor of Proctology
Chairman, Federal Tender Board, Contract Award Committee
Lagos, Nigeria (Congo Division)
Fax: 234-1-7597002, X-Originating – IP [62.192.151.134]
Email: ekimyalcrab@vaseline.ram
Re: Request to Give You The Business
Dear: Sir/Madam,
I would like to firstly send you the best wishes of good health and success in your pursuits, particularly relevant to the fact you are known as a astute business person with a kind heart and extreme open space not so constrained by brain matter. Even as we have not had any previous correspondence before, you have been recommended by an associate in the foreign office of the Nigerian Chambers of Commerce and Industry, the Dean of Edumaction at the Nigerian University of Gold Digging, as well as, the little Icon that pops up every damn time I ask Windows for friggin help.
Now, just in case the first two words of this message, spelled out in all capital letters, didn’t register, this letter is being written to you in the STRICTEST CONFIDENCE that spam mail will allow. You are known as a personage with ability and reliability to prosecute a transaction of great magnitude involving a pending business transaction requiring said STRICTEST CONFIDENCE. If you decide that this business proposal is not up to your liking, please feel free to pass it on to anyone you know of or might bump into on the street.
When I am not doing official Chief things or have my arm up to my elbow in rectums, I am a legal practitioner and personal Attorney to the late Adam Braitman, a national of your country who died along with his wife, two sons and their beagle, “Batman,” in a ghastly motor accident along our one-lane expressway (this seems to happen a lot). His last words were, “Holy horse shit!!” and were of absolutely no help in assisting our efforts to find his relatives, or at least not ouside the ones in the car at the time.
My client was a successful crook and dedicated family man. He left a tidy sum of US$32.5 Million (and that’s a lot of pasada’s in anyone’s currency), which resulted from overcharging my government for road building contracts. It’s a good bet that he wishes that he had added another lane to that expressway, but I digress. Presently all contractors have been paid and we need to transfer the remaining funds to his next of kin or the High Potentates are going to offer it to The God of Island Retirement and we end up with diddly.
For assisting us in transferring these monies out of this country, we will remit you with 30% of said funds. Before you wear out your abacus, that’s US$10.2, US$9.9, well, way more than you got now. And, don’t worry about the taxes, the IRS will be the least of your troubles, trust us on that. We will forward you information on how to send the remaining funds to us at a later date. Now, just how more trustworthy can we get? Remember, we are attorneys, after all.
Now, this is not rocket science. The board of directors of his bank adopted a resolution and I was mandated to provide his next of kin for the proceeds. Do you have any idea how many ‘Braitman’s there are in the U.S.? No? Well I was sort of hoping you knew, because we haven’t been able to turn up the first one. However, not a single person on the banks board of directors can read a word of English, so they wouldn’t know a Braitman from a Fishburn, so anyone with eight letters in their last name has a shot.
Well, isn’t this your lucky day! You now have eight letters in your last name. I seek your consent to present you, as the next of kin to Adam since you are at an advantage as nationals from the same country and white, you are white aren’t you? My colleagues and I are willing to transfer the total amount into your bank account or any account you nominate. The official office pool here has it 10 to 1 that you nominate your own account, but stranger things have happened. Just as soon as you pony up your account number (and for God’s sake, don’t forget the PIN, it just frosts our nose rings when they forget the PIN), we will deposit the whole wad in your account.
Assuming you are not Bill Gates, this could increase your wealth. Then all you have to do is sit and wait. We promise that your financial condition will change in a matter of days. Now, if you are worried that your bank will notice a US$32.5 million deposit, you can just send us the bank account numbers (don’t forget the PIN) of your friends and other family members. This way we can spread out the deposits and change the financial condition of everyone you know. What’s not to like about that plan?
All legal documents to back up your claim, as the deceased next of kin will be provided, provided you don’t forget that little PIN thing we talked about. If you have any questions, which seems remote after this letter, please contact us using the information provided at the beginning of this letter.
Always remember the words of that famous American fighter for free enterprise, Frank Keating, who said . . . “I upped my income, up yours!”
Best Regards,
Chief Ekim Yalcrab
Lagos, Nigeria (Congo Division)
T. Michael Barclay
Thursday, July 03, 2003
SO SIMPLE A CHILD CAN PLAY IT . . . PART II
That, “This is a Really Bad Idea” feeling . . .
If you recall, I was attempting to not only explain the game of baseball to a woman over the age of twenty, but to a naturalized citizen of an Asian country. Yes, my wife has three rather big hurdles to, well . . . hurdle, before she can saddle up next to me and enjoy America’s pastime, baseball. Three, you said? I only remember you mentioning two hurdles, the woman part and the, “never heard of baseball in my entire life,” part. Oh, you’re right, I did fail to mention the other tiny hurdle in her path to true baseball enjoyment . . . she could care less one way or the other . . . Happy now? Given all of this motivation, it’s no small wonder I was having a heck of a time getting her to run fast, much less, jump high . . .
Feigning at least a small modicum of interest, she managed to get over the fact that no one seemed to have the slightest clue why each team had nine participants, and allowed that that was the case and I moved forward, ever so cautiously, to where the “team on the field” would position said participants. “Okay, sweetheart, you have an infield and an outfield, separated by the three bases you see in the area covered by dirt.” The blank stare told me all I needed to know . . . move on quickly! “Great, you have a pitcher and a catcher, one standing on the raised mound of dirt in the middle of the infield and the other one behind the home plate, right here.” Hoping against hope that it was going to get more interesting, she sat silently only wondering if I actually thought she understood anything I was telling her. Hey, this was progress in my book!
“The object of the game is to score points that are called runs, ok?” I was taking any small period of silence as a yes and moving on . . . “Let me give you an example of how this works, ok? My, you sure are smart, most people would have a much more difficult time understanding the rules, but you’re just eating this up, I’m really proud of you,” I ventured, hoping to trigger her ego into actually digesting the fundamentals of the sport. I might as well have thrown in the fact that the “La Bare” boy dancers would be performing between innings as he eyes were now glazed over like a snake just before shedding it skin . . .
“Sweetheart? Are you okay? She managed a faint mumble, “Yeah, whatever.” “You know,” I offered, “We do have other televisions in the house. I could just go in the den and watch the game and you could watch this Arnold Schwartznernagger movie.” “Really,” she shrieked, “Great, would you bring me a glass of water before you go?” “No problem, sweetheart, I’m just glad we could have this time to bond over an area of common interest, do you want ice in your water?” “Yeah, whatever,” she managed while adjusting the volume so as not to miss a single grunt.
“Hasta La Vista,” I offered as I slumped toward the kitchen. What could I possible do? How was I going to create this valuable leisure time together? Was there an easier way to accomplish my objective? Well, sure there was and it was right there in front of me all the time . . . There was, as a matter of fact, a much easier way. Given that realization, I worked up my best “Terminator” voice and said . . . “Sweetheart? I’ll be bach . . . “
That, “This is a Really Bad Idea” feeling . . .
If you recall, I was attempting to not only explain the game of baseball to a woman over the age of twenty, but to a naturalized citizen of an Asian country. Yes, my wife has three rather big hurdles to, well . . . hurdle, before she can saddle up next to me and enjoy America’s pastime, baseball. Three, you said? I only remember you mentioning two hurdles, the woman part and the, “never heard of baseball in my entire life,” part. Oh, you’re right, I did fail to mention the other tiny hurdle in her path to true baseball enjoyment . . . she could care less one way or the other . . . Happy now? Given all of this motivation, it’s no small wonder I was having a heck of a time getting her to run fast, much less, jump high . . .
Feigning at least a small modicum of interest, she managed to get over the fact that no one seemed to have the slightest clue why each team had nine participants, and allowed that that was the case and I moved forward, ever so cautiously, to where the “team on the field” would position said participants. “Okay, sweetheart, you have an infield and an outfield, separated by the three bases you see in the area covered by dirt.” The blank stare told me all I needed to know . . . move on quickly! “Great, you have a pitcher and a catcher, one standing on the raised mound of dirt in the middle of the infield and the other one behind the home plate, right here.” Hoping against hope that it was going to get more interesting, she sat silently only wondering if I actually thought she understood anything I was telling her. Hey, this was progress in my book!
“The object of the game is to score points that are called runs, ok?” I was taking any small period of silence as a yes and moving on . . . “Let me give you an example of how this works, ok? My, you sure are smart, most people would have a much more difficult time understanding the rules, but you’re just eating this up, I’m really proud of you,” I ventured, hoping to trigger her ego into actually digesting the fundamentals of the sport. I might as well have thrown in the fact that the “La Bare” boy dancers would be performing between innings as he eyes were now glazed over like a snake just before shedding it skin . . .
“Sweetheart? Are you okay? She managed a faint mumble, “Yeah, whatever.” “You know,” I offered, “We do have other televisions in the house. I could just go in the den and watch the game and you could watch this Arnold Schwartznernagger movie.” “Really,” she shrieked, “Great, would you bring me a glass of water before you go?” “No problem, sweetheart, I’m just glad we could have this time to bond over an area of common interest, do you want ice in your water?” “Yeah, whatever,” she managed while adjusting the volume so as not to miss a single grunt.
“Hasta La Vista,” I offered as I slumped toward the kitchen. What could I possible do? How was I going to create this valuable leisure time together? Was there an easier way to accomplish my objective? Well, sure there was and it was right there in front of me all the time . . . There was, as a matter of fact, a much easier way. Given that realization, I worked up my best “Terminator” voice and said . . . “Sweetheart? I’ll be bach . . . “
