I just heard on the news this morning that Uday Hussein may be willing to surrender, but he is just worried about what interrogation techniques we may use on him. Think of all the things we could learn from him:
*Where is Saddam Hussein is hiding.
*Where the WMD’s are.
*Where his secret stash of porno is.
*What a great dictator’s son pickup lines are like, “Come with me now, or I will murder your family.”
*How many times someone can be struck with a rubber before they go unconscious from the pain.
*How many golf balls can we forcefully fit in his mouth (that would make a great office pool).
*How many times can you hear Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” before it goes from cool to annoying.
*How many times can you listen to Barney’s “I Love You” song before it goes from annoying to making you plead for sweet sweet death.
*How many times can you strike him in the groin with a whiffle bat before it gets tiresome.
I got this great idea. Once we’re in the middle of torturing him, we could have someone stop us saying he’s from Amnesty International. Then, when Uday is like, “Thank you. I couldn’t take it anymore,” he could walk up to Uday and start whaling on him; it would be hilarious. Uday, you’ve been punk’d!
Archive of entries posted on May 2003
Frank Answers: Resistors, Midnight Basketball, and Polymers
Dave from Gyrumi, Armenia asks:
Frank, why in a circuit are the resistors numbered the way they are? Is it arbitrary?
Most would say that the numbers on surface mount resistors reflect their resistance, and, a quick check with a multi-meter would seem to confirm this, but the real answer is much more ominous. They really are tags that allow the Zionists conspirators to track and control all electronic devices. Yes, that’s right, the Jews control the computer you are using even as we speak. The only defense against this is to install the resistors in backwards.
Jim R. from Werder, Ethiopia asks:
Would “midnight basketball” work for the Iraqi looters and/or the Palestinian bombers?
Midnight basketball has been proven an effective way to reduce crime. In a recent study, serial killers who played midnight basketball, though not less likely to kill, were less serial in their killing. Basketball would probably be a great alternative to looting in Iraq. It also may work for the Palestinian bombers as they will be too tired to get up early and bomb the next morning, and might not get to the mall until it’s already closed. I still say mass execution is the best solution for that problem, though. After that, I’d try midnight basketball.
Serenity from Latvia asks:
How are polymers made?
To understand polymers, you have to understand the origin of the word. “Poly” means many, and “Mer” is what one of the three wise guys gave to baby Jesus. I don’t know if it was enough mer to be qualified as polymer, but everyone’s attention was probably on the gold anyway.
Since the time of Jesus, polymers have become an essential part of human life and surround us every day. Why, even right now a polymer waits behind you, its icy hand slowly reaching for your throat.
Ha! Made you look! Seriously, though, the best way I have found to make polymers is through thinly veiled threats. “There better be a polymer on my desk by the end of the hour or there is going to be some poly-punching!”
I hope that helps.
Please keep the questions coming, <a href=”mailto:THISISSPAMTHISISSPAMace you’re from, I’ll randomly select one.
A Frank Guide to Homeland Security Alert Levels
Everyone has heard of the Homeland Security Advisory System by now and its rainbow of colors, but most are confused of exactly what it means to them about how they should act and live when it is at its different levels of alert. That’s why I’ve decided to create this guide make things clearer to the people.
Continue reading ‘A Frank Guide to Homeland Security Alert Levels’ »
Links of the Day
What were you doing during the Cold War? I was watching G.I. Joe and the Smurfs. Emperor Misha I has a much more interesting story.
Frank at On the Fritz has a better way to decide American Idol (which is about to come to its conclusion as I watch).
I forgot to link to this yesterday. It’s a list of quotes from every single U.S. president. I thought the Lyndon Johnson one was pretty funny, and the first George Washington quote is pretty awesome.
Frank Answers: Chicken or Egg, Licking Batteries, and the Flying Frank Fan Club
Dave from Colonia, Uruguay asks:
Which came first: the chicken or the egg?
I never understood why this was considered such a hard question. Eggs predate the chicken by millions of years, harking back to first egg laying fish.
Or is this some sort of creationist thing where God just suddenly created the chicken and it fell from the sky. If that’s the case, then He would have made the chicken and not a chicken egg, because the egg would have broke upon impact. That would be cool if that were true and that God still creates creatures that way. You’re just sitting in a park, minding your own business, and suddenly this huge dino-creature God just made falls from the sky. I know that’s what I would do if I were God; find some large congregation of people and then suddenly create some horrific beast. I’d then laugh my divine ass off as everyone fled in terror. I never was in to the whole “benevolence” thing.
Carrie S. from Everett, WA asks:
Why does it tingle when I put a battery in my mouth?
Well, Carrie, you understand that batteries are a great scientific accomplishment and they cost lots of money. You also understand that to play around and stick them in your mouth is wrong, so that tingle you feel is your conscience. 9-Volt batteries cost more, so your conscience gets really tingly if you put one in your mouth. AA batteries don’t cost as much, so licking one just causes your conscience to make your tongue have a salty taste. Now listen to your conscience and stop putting batteries in your mouth.
Ingrid P. from California asks:
Were you aware that there is a small group of teenage girls who would like to marry you?? We were thinking of starting a fan site, but we need more pictures of you.
A fan site of me is a great idea, and, if Ari Fleischer can be a sex symbol, then I sure as hell can. You must be a smart group of girls. Unfortunately, I don’t have many other pictures in digital form than those ones I took by holding a camera at arms length. If there is enough interest, maybe I could use some of my donation money booty to pay to get some good pictures done. Other than that, I did find this one of me doing aikido:
I’m the one with the green belt (it was taken a little while ago; I’m a brown belt now). To the untrained eye, it may look like I’m in trouble, but, in reality, I have my opponent exactly where I want him. Let that be a lesson to you: if you attack Frank J., you’ll wind up flat on your back while I fly away unharmed. (Hopefully no one knows that that type of throw is sometimes called “The Monkey Throw” as I’m tired of me getting associated with monkeys; I hate monkeys!)
Please keep the questions coming, <a href=”mailto:THISISSPAMTHISISSPAMace you’re from, I’ll randomly select one.
In My World: Orange Alert
Rumsfeld frowned at the crowd in front of him. “Why are there so many of you?”
“After the whole Jayson Blair incident, our editors are really cracking down on us about making up quotes or just stealing stories from the reporters nerdy enough to actually go to press conferences,” explained one reporter, “So now we all had to come to actually listen to you.”
“I hate reporters,” Rumsfeld muttered, “If you want a quote, here’s one: When Jayson Blair’s book comes out, I will personally beat him to death with it. Now get on with your inane questions.”
“Why are we in orange alert now?”
“How the hell would I know?” Rumsfeld shot back angrily, “That’s home security crap. My desire to kill foreigners is always at red alert.”
“But do you know anything about what the alert may be about?”
“No, all I know is it’s some chatter about attacking a press conference.”
“Infidels!” screamed four Muslim extremists who entered the room carrying AK-47’s. “We are in charge now!”
“You know this pisses me off!” Rumsfeld growled.
“We do not care!” answered a terrorist, “We hate Jews, America, and all American officials – except for a few of the Democrats – for reasons of varying levels of coherency, and you reporters will broadcast our message or we will kill you.”
“Can’t you do both?” Rumsfeld suggested.
“Laugh while you can, infidel!” shot back the terrorist. “We will execute you, the evil one who caused war against us Muslims and bombed our villages.”
“Oh, and I’m really convinced that was a bad idea now,” Rumsfeld chuckled. He then pulled out a tape recorder. “Note to self: bomb more villages.”
“Infidel!”
“No, my name is Buck, Buck the Marine,” Buck corrected, “I’m waiting here to meet with Rumsfeld after his press conference. We were going to go to a bar, drink a moderate amount of alcohol, and discuss new wars where I would get to kill more foreigners. Hey, those are neat AK-47’s you two have; looks just like the guns used by a lot of the foreigners I kill.”
“You killed out Muslim brothers!” the terrorist exclaimed.
“You knew them?” Buck exclaimed, “What a small world. So what are you guys’ names?”
“I am Mohammed.”
“I am also Mohammed.”
“That’s funny; you’re both named Mohammed. I was once in a platoon with two guys named John. We had to give them both crazy nicknames like ‘Johnny’ and ‘Jonathan’.” Buck laughed. “So do you guys ever use nicknames like ‘Mohammy’ and ‘Mohammathan’?”
“Do you insult our Muslim religion?”
“No, I don’t meant to do that at all,” Buck said sincerely, “My parents taught me to always be nice to people of other religions since they are destined for hell anyway since they haven’t accepted Jesus into their lives.” Buck nudged their AK-47 away from him. “You really have to practice better gun safety and watch where you point those things. Never point a gun and anything you don’t mean to shoot.” A thought then struck him. “Hey, it’s an orange alert right now, which means I’m being extra vigilant, and I’m starting to think you people are suspicious.”
“We will kill you and this Rumsfeld!” shouted one of the terrorists, “Then we will spit on the American flag and burn it.”
“You just made a big mistake,” Buck said darkly, “You angered a Marine.”
“Try to negotiate with them,” urged a reporter.
“No, we may end up with an outcome where they don’t die,” Rumsfeld answered, “That’s unacceptable.”
“Can you use your warmongering to save us?” asked another.
“Fine,” Rumsfeld grumbled.
“Quiet, infidels! It is now time to execute Rumsfeld.”
“Don’t think that’s going to happen, a-rab.”
“Ha! How will you stop us, old man?”
“By drawing my guns and shooting you,” Rumsfeld said, drawing his guns and shooting him. He then rolled across the ground and held out his .45’s in two different directions, quickly dispatching the other three terrorists in the room. “There may be more terrorists in the building,” Rumsfeld warned, “So everyone take out their guns.”
“We don’t have any guns,” a reporter said.
“No guns!” Rumsfeld yelled, “You knew we were in orange alert and didn’t bring a gun! Rarr!” He then grabbed the reporter and started shaking him.
Suddenly they heard more gunshots outside the room. It went on for a few seconds and then it ceased. It was silent for a few seconds, finally broken by the shout of “Ooh-rah!”
Buck entered the room. “There was a bunch of evil foreigners outside,” he explained to Rumsfeld, “So I killed them good and then shouted, ‘Ooh-rah.'”
“We heard,” Rumsfeld answered, “Good job, Buck.”
Buck looked at the reporters as he carefully held an AK-47. “Are you sure none of them are terrorists?”
“Not that sure,” Rumsfeld replied. He then looked at his watch. “We still have time for one more question.”
“Do you think you used excessive force against the terrorists?”
“Hey, you all saw me,” Rumsfeld said, “I didn’t continue to shoot them after they were dead.” He looked to Buck. “I’ve decided that questions was asinine; hand me something to break over his head.”
Buck handed him the AK-47. Rumsfeld then smacked it over the reporter’s head, snapping off the wooden stock. “Time for drinks,” Rumsfeld announced to the reporters, “None of you are invited.”
“Do you think in the next war we could kill Commies,” Buck asked Rumsfeld as they headed out of the room, “I’m getting tired of killing these Muslim extremists; it’s too easy.”
“We’ll see, Buck; we’ll see.”
Links of the Day
Courtney who is cute and owes me… ah, I’ll let it go. Anyway, she has a nice discussion about women and guns.
Maripat has a good discussion about Wal-Mart and their marketing choices (you can permalink RightWeAre’s individual comments, but am I missing how to link to their posts?).
The Carnival of the Vanities is up!
Finally, scientists say that chimpanzees are a bunch of homos. Hey, I didn’t say it; scientists did.
Frank Answers: Trees, Aerodynamics, and Ninjas
Tom M. from Pyay, Myanmar asks:
If a tree falls in the woods and crushes some tree hugging hippies would they still like the tree’s so much?
Great question. I’ve often wanted to say to some tree huggers blabbing on about how great nature is, “I hate trees.”
Then when they ask, “How can you hate trees?”
I’d say, “A tree killed my father,” just to see their reactions.
Trees are dangerous creatures. Frequently they like to take others in their deaths, toppling on to man and woodland creature alike. They also are the only other creature than man to use fire to kill; there would never be forest fires if it weren’t for trees. And accidentally running off the road would not be such a hazard if it weren’t for all the unforgiving trees that constantly line them.
That’s why I hate trees, and I would like to think that God, in His infinite wisdom, would grant some sense to the hippy at the moment just before the tree hits him. Then his last thought would be, “Damn you, trees!” before the massive creature crushed his skull in its dying fury.
Sam, supposedly from somewhere in Estonia, writes:
I’ve always wanted to know what makes planes stay up in the air. Maybe you
can shed some light on this issue?
It’s the shape of the wing. You see, the wing is flat on the top, but sloped on the bottom… or maybe it’s the other way around. Anyway, the air that goes over the top and the bottom both must past the wing at the same time for some reason, which means that the air going over the sloped surface must move faster. Air moving quicker creates less pressure… or is it more pressure? Anyway, you want more pressure going beneath the wing than on top of the wing; that’s I’m pretty sure of.
In short, the way planes fly has something to do with them having wings and there being air.
Poosh from Nanjing, China writes:
For a while now I’ve noticed a Ninja looking person following me home from school. What the hell do I do? I’m no Samurai and Ninja’s are mean and scary. Please Frank, help me defeat this Ninja threat. Oh crumbs! – I can see the Ninja outside in the garden! He’s making faces at me! The cheeky murderous rascal!
First of all, don’t panic; ninjas sense panic and will hone in on it. Also, make sure you don’t get bitten; if a ninja bites you, you become one. Just remember that the ninja is as afraid of you as you are of it.
…no wait; scratch that. The ninja will attack you fearlessly without thought of his own life.
You could climb a tree to get away, but ninjas are good at climbing. Maybe you can get in a car and drive away, but the ninja will probably jump on the car and try to stab you through the ceiling with his ninja sword. You could pull out a gun and shoot the ninja, but that is so dishonorable that we won’t even give it a second thought.
You’re only real option is to go out there and kung fu fight the ninja, and I think that’s a lesson for everyone: You can’t run from your ninja forever; eventually you have to take a stand and kung fu fight.
Please keep the questions coming, <a href=”mailto:THISISSPAMTHISISSPAMace you’re from, I’ll randomly select one.
If I Were President: Open Address to Whiny Countries of Interest
I know they’re are many people out there out there who do not think much of America, many who think we are in fact a terrible, evil nation. I just want to make one thing clear to those people: we don’t give a rat’s ass.
Why should we listen to you? Your countries are all small and pathetic, and that’s not our fault, that’s yours. It not like we set out to be so much more rich and powerful than other countries, it’s just we actually went the freedom and the capitalism route, the one that just “too scary” for others to try. And now we’re the big dog – partially because of our own success and partially because all other nations are a bunch of dorks.
And we never said, “Hey let’s be a superpower!” It was never our decision that all other countries be whiny and pathetic, but that’s the cards we were dealt. Just feel luckily we took the mantle, fighting back evil and trying our best to keep the world in some order. Think if we disappeared and everything was left up to Europe, for God’s sake. It would just be a matter of months until the world was nothing but a bunch of smoldering craters.
Still, it’s much easier for everyone to hate us rather than dwell on their own incompetence, but don’t think we’re going to go out of our way to be liked. We’ll give foreign aid as always, because, well, we’re just too nice of guys to just watch everyone starve. And you people can spout off all your hatred of America while you eat the food we donated to you, and we’ll still be back to feed you again. There is just one thing you have to keep in mind, though: if you ever act on that hatred and try to harm us, your worst visions of hell will pale in comparison to vengeance we will wreak upon you.
Thank you, and God bless.
Canada Still Sucks
For some reason, every once in a while an old post gets discovered by some wackos and commented on. That happened to this post about Canada (which, incidentally, was later adapted to my brief history of Canada), on which I now find a number of comments such as:
F**k you all mother f**king bitches who made this site the reason we wont support you sick ass f**ks in the Iraqi war is becuase we dont want to die and canada kicks ass and america sucks is my best friend and hes rite u bombed us u stupid f**ks you guys are fukin stupid ass bitches who still live with their moms and cant even afford a 1984 Toyota Corrola Sprinter Trueno and all you gay ass bitchs love da cock well we here are prety much straight you guys have guys on your cocks then all the american chicks will start to like mother fuking girls you gay ass mother f**kers f**ks stop dissin us you f**k ass homos nothing gives you that right and If I ever found you I would beet the f**king shit outta you f**king gay ass homos you guys are gay ass computer nerds who still cant afford that 1984 Toyota Corrala Sprinter Trueno as in all shut the f**k up u bitches and get f**king job DUMBASSES.
!AMERICA SUCKS AND F**KS DICK!
From Infinity Zero
I decided to edit only the swear word he spelled correctly. Just click on the post if you really want to see the rest of the comments.
Anyway, only one commenter left an e-mail, so I e-mailed him and left this warning in the comments:
Thank you for your interest in IMAO.us, and you are certainly free to read it anytime you want, but I need to remind of the Information on the Internet Act (Resolution 756). This resolution was developed in mind to keep the internet full of information that could be useful to other people, and it was thus determined by committee that Canada has no useful information and, though they are free to read America’s internet, they are not allowed to post any information on the internet as it will simply clutter and obscure useful things that people like Americans may have to say. You’ll probably get a warning for the first offense, but, if you continue offending, your IP will be banned and your neighborhood saturation bombed. I know this may anger you so much you’ll break your hockey sticks, but, remember, this is to help keep the internet as a useful information tool for everyone in the world.
Cordially,
Frank J.
Links of the Day
Ari can’t leave! And why didn’t he e-mail me personally? I had to find out in the papers. Anyway…
Greyhawk’s Nigerian scams have finally paid off and now he has his own URL and is using MT.
Rachel Lucas’s mug, the cutest mug ever made, is back in stock. I didn’t get one in the first batch, and I’m not going to be so foolish as to miss out this time (plus the money goes towards a great cause).
And I was mean to Michele, so I’ll link to her stupid poll.
Frank Answers: Detergent, Mars, and Astronomy
Loren S. of Brod, Czech Republic asks:
Do you think that the success of capitalism over communism has been our ability to get both “new” and “improved” in the same laundry detergent? If so, how long before the ChiComs catch on?
The ability for a detergent to be both “new” and “improved” means nothing in our superior capitalistic society, but it seems paradoxical to the foolish Communists. Detergents and their labeling are a mystery to those lacking a capitalistic orthodoxy, and it shall take the ChiComs some time to figure it out… if ever. And it will be yet another distraction to keep them from working on their neutrons bombs. I say that makes our relation with China both “new” and “improved.”
Dick of Samarinda, Indonesia asks:
Does Mars really need women?
No Melbourne, Florida does. Specifically, women in their early twenties. Not that I’m desperate or anything, but does anyone know someone around this area to set me up with. Just asking…
Richard R. of Moabi, Gabon asks:
Since the scientific method is based on experimentation, and you can’t do
any experiments on stars, is astronomy a science?
Great questions. Yes, it is true, astronomers are full of crap. “Ooh, by this light spectrum I know the composition of that distant star.” Yeah, whatever! Prove it! They can blabber on about anything, because everything they talk about would take millions of years to reach. You’ll probably see astronomers lobbying against further space exploration because they don’t want to be exposed as the frauds they are.
Astronomy won’t be an actual science until we have built a Death Star and can cruise around the galaxy blowing up planets and stars, i.e., actual experimentation. We can also then enslave alien races which will help astronomy somehow too, I believe. Oh, and I get first dibs on a Star Destroyer.
Please keep the questions coming, <a href=”mailto:THISISSPAMTHISISSPAMace you’re from, I’ll randomly select one.
Whitler Strikes Again
Is it just me, or are my In My World™ posts getting longer? Well, they still have a while to go before they’re as long as a Bill Whittle essay. He just sent me this letter:
Well, the seasons are slowly changing, which means time for a new post!
MAGIC takes a look at the difference between truth and assertion. Michael Moore gets compared to the Loch Ness Monster. Something for your readers?
Here is the link. He’s enabled comments again, so no one screw it up (I’m talking to you, Joey D). I probably won’t have time to read it until lunch (after answering a few more Frank Answers™), so someone tell me if it’s worth it.
UPDATE: I’ve read it now, and it was prose at its finest as always. If I understood the point of it properly, it’s that leprechauns are real because Bill saw one.
In My World: Whitehouse Hopes Democrats Don’t Flee to Canada (wink wink)
“But we need that tax cut to spurn the economy,” Bush pleaded.
“It’s just a tax cut for the rich!” Senator Tom Daschle responded, “It will only help the rich!”
“Liar! Liar! Liar!” Bush shouted back, “It will give money…”
Daschle covered his ears. “La la la! Not listening! Just a tax cut for the rich! La la la!”
“That’s it!” Bush screamed, “I’m going to stab you with this letter opener!”
Daschle ran out of Bush’s office, almost knocking over Condoleezza Rice on the way out. “Quick, Condi, hold him so I can stab him with my letter opener!” Bush called out.
“I’m not you secretary, Dubya,” Condi answered angrily, “It’s not my job to hold people while you stab them… and that’s not a letter opener – it’s a switchblade.”
“A switchblade can open letters,” Bush said, tossing the knife such that it stuck in the far wall. “I need your help, Condi; I have to get the economy improved to help win reelection.”
“I’m your National Security Advisor, President Jackass,” Rice answered, “If it doesn’t involve killing foreigners, it’s not my problem.”
“Hey, if the economy causes me to lose my reelection, then you’re out of job her and back to stripping at the Eager Beaver.”
“I never was a stripper!” Rice exclaimed.
“Hmm… that must have just been a product of my overactive imagination. Anyway, do you have any ideas?”
“Don’t you have some economic advisor?”
“Hell, I don’t know. There are all sorts of people who come up to me and say stuff during the day, I don’t understand what half of them are talking about.”
“Well, I do have one idea,” Rice told him, “You know how those Democrats fled Texas?”
“Yeah, what a bunch of pussies,” Bush chuckled, “Wouldn’t have happened during my term; I would have had Walker kick them all in the heads.”
“If you can get the Democrats in Congress to similarly flee to Canada, I can set up a task force to hunt them down and kill them.”
“That’s brilliant!” Bush exclaimed, “So all I have to do is scare them all into fleeing to Canada.”
Laura Bush then entered the room. “You’re not talking to that National Security Whore again, are you George?”
“But she had a great idea to help with the economy.”
“She was just trying to get you to drop your guard so she could trick you into nuking Finland again.”
“No I wasn’t!” Rice protested as she hid an unsigned executive order behind her back.
“What do you have against Finland anyway?” Laura asked.
“That’s between me and Finland,” Rice said angrily as she left the room.
“Hey, honey, I’ve wanting to talk to you,” Bush said softly.
“What about?”
“Can I get a katana like Morpheus?”
“But you already have a katana like the guy from Highlander!” Laura said with exasperation, “How many katanas do you need?”
“Just one more; I swear! Oh, and I had another idea. You know how President Kennedy stopped wearing a hat and then set the style for everyone? I was thinking that to my next press conference I could wear a black trench coat and sunglasses and maybe that would catch on.”
“I knew letting you see Matrix Reloaded was a bad idea. And it’s not like letting you land on an aircraft carrier has given you enough crazy ideas.”
“What?” Bush smiled, “You saying you didn’t like seeing me in that flight suit?”
“No, I didn’t mean that,” Laura answered, starting to giggle, “You think maybe you have time to put that back on and…”
“There is no time for that, woman,” echoed a voice throughout the room. The shadows in the room slowly merged into the form of Karl Rove. “We have work to do.”
“Hey, great you’re here, Rover,” Bush said, “I’ve been wanting to ask you a question: Who do you think will win American Idol? The big black dude or the little gay dude?”
“That’s of no concern to me,” Rove uttered darkly, “Now have your woman leave so we may talk business.”
“I’ve never heard such condescension!” Laura exclaimed, “I’m going to give you such a talking to after I check if my brownies are done, by golly.” Laura then stormed out of the room.
“You have plans to destroy the Democrats?” Rove asked hopefully, “Perhaps it is time for the prophecies to be fulfilled.”
“Yeah, maybe that or something!” Bush said excitedly, “We’re going to scare the Democrats into Canada.” He then yelled, “Ari!”
“What?” Ari Fleischer asked as he arrived at the door.
“Hey! Were you eating my cheetos?”
“No,” Ari said, wiping an orange substance off his mouth, “What do you want?”
“We need to find something to scare the Democrats away. What are they scared of?”
“Well… they’re scared of guns, cigarettes, loud noises, people spending their own money, certain spiders…”
“No, I mean what really like frightens them and keeps them up at night?”
“The thought of blacks getting educations, good jobs, and then voting Republican?” Ari ventured.
“Whatever it is, I need you to convince all the Democrats to flee to Canada.”
“I’ll try.”
“And I’ll use my dark powers to assist you,” Rove said before fading back into the shadows.
“So is that guy part of your cabinet or something?” Ari asked, “I never really understood his function.”
“I think he’s my boss,” Bush answered, looking around the room, “Where did I put my switchblade?”
“So there is nothing that the Democrats can do to keep us from getting our tax cuts,” Ari announced to the press, “Nothing can stop us.”
“Nothing at all?” asked a reporter.
“Well, nothing… unless they fled to Canada,” Ari said, “but that would be a bold move, and they would never do it. Instead they’ll stay here in D.C., where there is soon going to be a big march of the AAGO, the Association of Angry Gun Owners.”
“Isn’t it illegal for people to march around D.C. carrying guns?”
“Bah! Laws are for those who don’t have guns!”
“Is this all a trick so that you can slaughter the Democrats in mass after they have left U.S. soil?” asked a reporter. Suddenly darkness surrounded him and he burst into flames.
“New rule,” Ari announced, “If you spontaneously combust, I don’t have to answer your question.”
“Why is it that when it seems that a reporter is getting close to the truth,” one reporter stated, “He then is killed by some demonic force and…” A thought struck the reporter, and he suddenly became frightened. “Forget what I was just saying; I have a different question. Uh… does the president like kittens?”
“Yes, he finds them cute and easy to throw.”
“Since the terrorists who committed the bombings in Saudi Arabia are probably from Saudi Arabia, why haven’t nuked the crap out of the area in retaliation?” asked a Fox News reporter.
“That wouldn’t really be the diplomatic way to handle things.”
“I then have a follow up question: why are you such a homo?”
“”You think you can intimidate me with your pouty lips and your short skirt?” Ari shot back angrily, “We may not be as violent as you want, but we’re plenty warmongering.” Ari noticed protestors outside. “See, I’ll go beat up a protestor with his own sign. I’ll splatter some blood on a ‘No Blood for Oil’ sign; that will be ironic… or would it be ironic if I splattered oil on it?”
“Maybe you need to get both blood and oil on it for irony,” suggested one reporter.
“You want a piece of me too!” Ari shouted back. He then stormed outside to meet the protestors. “Bush is Hitler… Bush is Hitler… Bush is Hitler…” Ari said, reading the signs, “Bush is Stalin!?”
“Stalin was actually responsible for more deaths than Hitler,” the protestor explained, “I thought it was a more powerful statement of Bush’s evil.”
“Are you belittling Communism?” shouted another protestor angrily. The “Bush is Stalin” protestor was then pummeled by a number of “Bush is Hitler” signs.
“Whoa, I’m staying out of this one,” Ari said, backing up. He then looked to a nearby reporter. “You have any news feed? Have the Democrats fled to Canada yet?”
“Only a few so far.”
Ari sighed and started walking off. “Well, I got a bottle of Jack Daniels at home that isn’t going to drink itself.”
Frank Answers: Why Frank, Bad Hair, Infinity, and Fritz Needs Your Help
Jim of Yrghyz, Kazakhstan asks:
What were your parents thinking when they decided to name you Frank?
My parents didn’t name me Frank; I was given a much more horrible name. I guess it was out of spite, because my father was inflicted with the name as well, as was his father. To follow the tradition, if I one day have a second son, it will become his name. That’ll teach the brat.
Todd K. of Camiri, Bolivia asks:
Why did 80’s metal bands have such bad hair?
As we all know, music reached its peak in the eighties, and all music afterwards and before it pales in comparison to its synth sounds. God, in His infinite wisdom, could not let things be too perfect, and thus inflicted 80’s rockers with bad hair. As the hair changed, though, so did the music, and thus we are inflicted with the bland tunes that are popular today… except for Eminem, that is; he’s a genius.
Sandra of Nyala, Sudan writes:
So, I’m homeschooling my 8 year old son and discussing “infinity” when he says: “Ok Mom, so there isn’t a number for infinity, just a symbol. So, what is THE NUMBER just before you get to infinity?” He’s got me there. So, Frank “What IS the number just before you get to infinity?
That’s a great question, and it shows your son is using independent thinking that could one day lead to him being a great scientist or supervillian.
The short answer, of course, is infinity minus one. That’s hardly satisfying, though, and the real question can be how do you get from infinity back to finity. Now, I hold the unorthodox view that infinity multiplied by zero equals one, i.e., infinitely everything multiplied by infinitely nothing equals finite. This often gets me shouted down at conferences of mathematicians where they say things like, “You’re not a mathematician, you’re just some idiot who snuck in here,” and “Hey, aren’t you that psycho who was spouting on about Optimus Prime last conference?”
Their jibes won’t stop me in my quest for mathematical truth, though. One thing to keep in mind it that there are different sizes of infinity; for example, the infinite amount of integers is a smaller infinity than the infinite amount of irrational numbers. Corresponding to this, there are different levels of zero, some zeros more zero than others. You may be saying I’m getting zero confused with infinitesimals, but to that I say, “Feh.” (for those of you who don’t know what an infinitesimal is, just know that it’s a mathematical term that I know and you don’t which makes me smarter).
So, in answer to your question, the greatest finite number is the largest infinity (the most infinite infinity) multiplied by the least zero (the least zero of all zeros).
Your son may now be saying, “That’s just a bunch of gobbledygook; this Frank J. is full of s**t.” Smack him and wash his mouth out with soap.
UPDATE: Two more questions.
Wind Rider from Baja, Hungary asks:
Hey Frank, do people send in these questions or do you just make them up?
So far, I have yet to make up a question (they are edited for grammar, though).
Fritz from Choyr, Mongolia writes:
Former Clinton advisors, James Carville and Mary Matalin will be lecturing at the Monterey Conference Center tomorrow as part of the Sixth Annual Panetta Lecture Series. The topic is “Politics and People During Crisis.” During the brief Q&A session, I will be able to ask them ONE question. What should I ask them? Perhaps you and your readers can help.
I’d ask them the infinite number question, but perhaps my readers have some better suggestions. Please put them in the comments to help out Fritz; he needs the question by tomorrow.
Please keep the questions coming, <a href=”mailto:THISISSPAMTHISISSPAMace you’re from, I’ll randomly select one.