Copyright Controversy: “Pants on the Ground”

I’m sure you’ve heard it by now, and can’t get it out of your head. American Idol may only be remembered this season for the General Larry Platt version of “Pants on the Ground”. But the real question is, who said it first?

First, let’s look at the geezers, old teachers and retired coaches at Gerald’s Donuts on S. Penn. Probably over ten years ago when this sagging pants saga started, I’m sure one of the Geraldsters came in early one morning and in between his fourth cup of Joe and a maple Long John, said, “Those idiots are gonna look like a fool with their pants on the ground. Those dipwads with their hats all cocked sideways will trip over themselves.”

Pants on the ground, pants on the ground,
Lookin’ like a fool with your pants on the ground.
With the gold in your mouth, hat turned sideways,
Pants hit the ground, call yourself a cool cat, looking like a fool.

Maybe one of the Patrick Brothers, who were plumbers back then, had a wannabe worker looking for a job show up all sagging for work. They would say, “Boy, if your pants fall to the ground, they’ll be sopping up sewage like cornbread in pinto bean juice!”

Walking downtown with your pants on the ground. Giddy-up!
Hey, get your pants off the ground, looking like a fool.
Walkin’, talkin’, with your pants on the ground. Giddy-up!
Hey, get your pants off the ground. Looking like a fool with your pants on the ground.

Some say the manager of Chili’s yelled at some clown on the floor that spilled on his gosh darn pants that had slid down to the ground (floor), dumping a load of chili cheese nachos in the pile of pathetic khaki ankle-huggers.

I’m sure several more copyright claims will arise, but you bet your bling, they could all be true. So pull them up and walk proud!!!

The Big Bowl Game: Menopause University vs. Prostate State

During the holidays, conflicts expand — caused by time management, too much togetherness, or just a rumble over the remote rights, a.k.a. “Happy Pony is on, Billy. I won’t miss Happy Pony!” Most women just don’t understand how men can be so loyal to watching all those “lame” bowl games (like they really mean something). Case in point — name who won the 2007 Liberty Bowl, and how its importance fit into the history of the world?

Some of my favorite friends are witty but can’t even keep up with all the Bowls. Take the Playtex Bowl — lots of fan support, played by two teams with defenses that bend, but don’t break. The Ding Dong Bowl — a lousy location, but filled with the creme of the crop as far as fans go. Hostess — well, that just says it all for hospitality and a real pleasure for two dynamic (hardee-har-har) 6 and 6 teams.

The Cheese Doodle Bowl (no, I don’t mean Cheetos), which is played at the high school stadium in Belton, TX, and the big night before the banquet at the Chicken Express. What a half-time show when they turn out the lights and hundreds of dancing Cheese Doodles prance in the dark! I don’t care who you are, that’s a half-time show!

All those things are great, but as far as OU’s bowl, just where the heck has this “Hammer” guy been all year? He should have been hammering people since August. As for OSU — well, they were the losing team in the Turnover Bowl. Winner, winner, nobody claims the dinner, with them both acting like they were chasing greased pigs during the intermission of the Vici Rodeo. How’s 60,000 people and a Jumbotron yelling “Get a grip!” you scholarship jockeys.

Well, while the men were watching on New Year’s Day, Dillards had 50% off the already marked-down sale price. So, all in all, the women, wives and girlfriends in the OKC metroplex “saved” enough to fund the lottery (ha ha ha!!!).

If you didn’t have good food over the holidays, then shame on YOU! See you next year for the “Cry Me a River Bowl“…

Old Navy and Their “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” Policy

Old Navy (pun intended), a retail branch of the armed services (women’s shopping brigade) has instituted a politically correct policy stolen from the real Armed Forces of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” for the offense of shoplifting. Let me explain this asinine bit of dumb-dufus logic….

Employees are instructed not to approach, turn in, or call the police when observing a shoplifter. Yep, that’s right — it’s open season for wardrobe snatching. OK, let me explain it this way — because of theft loss, that Old School graphic t-shirt you’re buying for your kids or grandkids would probably be $2.00 cheaper, but you’re paying for losses. You’re subsidizing the ole kleptomaniac coupon sale of “We buy one, they steal one free.”

And if that’s not bad enough, now at the Old Navy on South I-240 and Penn, three women (pretty strong heifers) who are perpetual shoplifters assaulted people. They were leaving the store (with the goods) when an employee said, “Have a nice Christmas!” The perpetrators, thugs, shoplifting low-lifes shoved the employee’s head against the counter.

Seeing this, the manager followed these scum-bags out into the parking lot (steal all you want, but God forbid you bully anyone!) to get their tag number. Well, the scum-bags jumped the manager, kicked her and beat her with a hammer. Luckily she’s doing OK, but Old Navy needs to take back the flag of surrender and get tougher than a boot on shoplifters — or put up the white flag and just sell Navy (and Army) surplus items.

Have a very merry Christmas….

Thanksgiving with the Family (brings out the bizarre)

Three totally unconnected events got my attention over the holiday. First, I’m not a fan or big viewer of “Cops” the reality show, but it crossed my mind — imagine the hooty scenario of Tiger Woods in his white wife-beater shirt with a big Nike swoosh across the front, staggering to his Buick hybrid (plug as the pitchman) at 2:45 a.m. to get away from his wife.

She’s screaming nasty-mean-stuff at the Woodster and brandishing an 8 iron. Tiger knows her drives aren’t much, but her short game is a real head-buster. Mr. Woods learns what all rednecks know — a Buick won’t win against a hydrant or a tree, big-boy-type showdown. The “Tigress” claims she got him out with the golf club, but that’s just trailer trash talk — she was trying to get a good shot at the drunk linkster.

Second, the governor of Colorado told the press that on Thanksgiving morning, it took awhile to notice that it wasn’t snow but they’d been “TP’d” at the mansion. Remember when our Oklahoma mansion guards were leaving and going to Wal-Mart or going home early? I guess the Colorado mansion guards went to Denny’s for a Grand Slam or to Old Navy at midnight to get in line for “Old Navy” t-shirts. (Come on, folks — make them pay for their own advertising! You’re all a bunch of stooges, wearing THEIR ads.)

Third, what’s the deal with this couple “party-crashing” the state dinner at the White House? They could have been terrorists (except a terrorist would never have worn that ugly red India-type dress, even on a suicide mission). What kind of security do we have if it’s as lousy as a third-rate crime show on a cable network? At first I thought it was a funky scavenger hunt, because who would actually WANT their picture taken with Vice President Joe Biden?

Their lawyer said, “Heck, it’s not like they did anything wrong. All they did was go to a party.” So I guess if you’re in Washington, DC, then just drop in — there’s always good food at the White House! Just bring some rolls or a bottle of “not-cheap” wine.

What still beats me is why not get your picture taken with Oprah — but JOE BIDEN??????

One in a Million, Easily

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times — you could pay thousands of dollars and not buy a name like E.Z. Million. Part genius, part P.T. Barnum and part Will Rogers, this icon of eccentricity was my friend since the early 1980s.

His passing earlier this month left a big empty slot in the local characters. He was a Republican long before being Republican was cool and was always looking, scouting or prodding potential candidates to run for office. E.Z. would convince you that you could win on a shoestring budget because of your hard work and stand on the issues. Let me share with you, that hardly ever works. But ideals are dreams — who am I to crush them?

I first met Mr. Million back in the early, early 1980s as a warrior in the battle of technology. His Southwest Computer Conference was a hodgepodge of what was available at the time (to you youngsters not around back then, a big “ah-ha” — nothing hooked up to each other. Can you say “NO INTERNET”?).

The big mainframe computers (which E.Z. had worked for the IBM anti-trust trial) were prevalent, but smaller versions called “mini-computers” were trying to break through. Personal computers didn’t connect to each other, or anything else (except a dot-matrix printer). We had word processors the size of an airplane cockpit and fax machines that sent at a blazing speed of three minutes per page.

Million Man would get everyone hyped up and excited about all this “new technology”, and with more vigor than Dippin’ Dots “Ice Cream of the Future” could ever muster. Heck, none of the so-called technology could even make its own signs, but like the “Music Man”, he led the local media through like a bunch of school kids in awe. He was always looking for his successor — but, alas, nobody else had the same swagger.

Yep, you know him too, as the big advocate of turning the OU vs. Texas game into being a home-and-home exchange of games to increase and bolster the Norman economy. Call him crazy, but how about a year like this or 2010 — an economic shot in the arm could be a good thing.

I’ll miss his phone calls, if not for any other reason than this — who else is going to talk to me about running for Governor? E.Z. did have a lot of good ideas and wisdom. He’ll be missed by everyone. Heck, there’s a million reasons!

Ask Not What Your Car Can Do for You…

…but what you can do for your car.

If you’re a loyal reader or old friend, let me explain who I am – some think I work at the Moore/Norman Technology Center, but I’m really only a Board member (we get $25 per month and it costs $600 to sponsor a golf team in our Foundation tournament – you do the math). My daughter thinks I’m one of the question writers for Jeopardy or Cash Cab, my wife thinks I’m a politician (full of it), and in reality I’m a Realtor.

What do Realtors do? Well, they buy, sell and show real estate – in my case, homes, houses or residences.

I say all this to share my little car’s ruin-my-next-three-days experience. I was driving to my office to meet the loveliest little couple you’d ever want to meet, to show them five homes. Most likely they would pick from these the one, the perfect, the home they would just have to write a contract on.

STOP!!!! Why did my car at 40 miles per hour just stop running??? Crummy #*%$^* buttons!!! I’m only about half a mile from the office, but my car is stopped, dead as a doornail. Not overheated, but it won’t turn over when I twist the key.

I called my wife for backup, she called my daughter for backup-to-the-backup. I called the Ford dealership to have Triple-A tow the car there. My wife waited at the car as I drove off in her car, while my daughter pulled up to take my wife when the car got towed.

Strike two – the Ford dealership called late Monday afternoon, saying that the alternator (which is the electrical system) “fried out” and ruined the battery. Of course, it’s going to be about 30% higher than a mom & pop garage, plus they’ve found seven other things that they recommend I have done (cha-ching – big buncha bucks) while my car is there, because of wear and tear or mileage. But I only want the alternator fixed (and a battery)!

Strike three – I go pick it up and meet Sinbad the Service Writer (yes, the pun is intended to defame him as a pirate). He escorts me to the cashier, who takes my check for what (in my mind) is a one-person attempt to stimulate the economy of at least four central states in the US of A.

Kristie the cashier then wants me to fill out a “customer survey”, which I shouldn’t have done prior to even seeing if my car existed in a life form recognizable to me. Being the nice guy I am (most of the time – wink, wink), my answers were fairly upper-positive on the scale. And what, in the big scheme of things, does this survey mean? Maybe a piece of macaroni in the world of Kraft macaroni and cheese.

Much to my dismay upon walking out (the Customer Service Survey Dingdongs didn’t even pull my car up) and trying to start my car, I did experience ignition. However, my eyes quickly zeroed in on the radio lights not being on. I pushed the off/on button with no luck. The heat started to rise in my body as I tried the headlights – mission aborted because of no radio, no lights, and I had just written a check that would pay for part of these car guys’ kids to go to college.

I pulled my car back into the service drive and proceeded to explain my dilemma to Sinbad the Service Writer, as he assured me that there will be no extra charge. After three days, blank-check bucks and needing to go to an appointment that will actually make me some money, Sinbad thinks “no charge” is gonna come near to hitting my “calm” button!

They took my car and I rushed to the cashier’s office ot rescind my customer survey card. Kristie the Cashier has never had this happen before, but I don’t buy it. She had dropped into a locked box for management to review. I insist she unlock the 73-cent lock and get it out. She did, then handed the card to me. I tore it into three pieces and told her to give THAT to the service manager.

After going back to the service drive, pacing, looking at my watch, I see it – INCOMING SCUD!!! Golfshirt Gary, the service manager, asked me, “Is there a problem, Mr. Casper?” “I’m Mr. COSPER, if that’s who you’re looking for.” Then Golfshirt Gary proceeded to tell me that his service people wouldn’t have any reason to check the radio or headlights when the alternator is fried and the battery blows, thus proving he is a complete moron who slept during those classes put on by Ford (probably from being out at a strip bar the night before with the rest of the golfshirt service managers).

I told Gary the Golfshirt that if I had been somewhere at night with NO HEADLIGHTS to get home, I’d only be satisfied with somebody’s head. Then I reminded him that he had plenty of time to check seven other things, call me about them to drain MORE money from me, but didn’t have time to check my flippin’ lights and radio. It would be best if he (Golfshirt Gary) just strolled back to his office and set a tee time or call somebody’s wife that he’s fooling around with, but LEAVE ME ALONE!

After 30 minutes my car did function, but the aftermath still reared its ugly head all into the next week. My car will not be put through that again. I’m sure they THINK I’ll be back, but I love my car (and blood pressure) way too much.

Random Ramblings from the Cosperator (aka Glenco portable office)

Well, my dear friends, let’s look at a little of the good, the bad and the ugly from this week…

GOOD!

Soupy Sales passed away, but we were lucky that he came into our lives. You just gotta love the Soupster — over 20,000 pies to his face and 5,000 live TV appearances. Good clean (pun intended) fun for culture, not the vile, repulsive crap we get now.

The Olympics in Vancouver should be a home run. If you’ve never been to Vancouver, well, you’ve really missed out. It’s the Hollywood/San Francisco combined of Canada. A real happening place with an international-plus-urban big flair. Nice folks up there!

BAD – BAD – VULGAR

People scamming other people with H1N1 (swine flu) products and medicines. Fake Tamiflu for unsuspecting people when their loved ones’ very lives are at stake. These people are below pimps and maybe tied with child molesters.

UGLY/SENSELESS/SCARY

I’m ticking down the time to get on a plane to Denver as I’m writing this. What’s the deal with those bozo airline pilots in the Minnesota incident (“incident” if somebody else is involved, “big ding-dong whopper deal” if I’m involved) about “just missing the airport”? Get a grip, guys — this isn’t the freeway off-ramp to Garden Ridge Pottery or Hu Flung Wok’s Chinese Buffet. You missed landing at the airport (BIG airport — I’ve been there) with lots of other big planes. You are supposed to be concerned with safety and (don’t everyone laugh at once or get your eyes all watery) a scheduled time of arrival!

What’s the deal? Were Captain Bert and co-pilot Ernie just too enthralled, going ga-ga over the combo iPod/Foot Massager in the SkyMall magazine? Were these jokesters playing “I Spy” out the front window of the plane? Their lawyer may get them to say they were stunned into zombiness when the radar screen formed the outline of the Virgin Mary. My vote is to ground these dunderheads and have them drive the airport shuttle.

When I get on the plane Tuesday, I want to hear the pilot talk every five minutes all the way to Denver, even if it’s to tell me the name of his dog, or “We are now over the spot where four states touch each other.” If he doesn’t, I hope everyone bugs the bilucy’s out of the stewardesses to go check on them.

This is the Cosperator, signing off and approaching the gate. Please gather up your personal belongings.

Another Edition of “You Think It, I’ll Say It”

All this big hullabaloo about the healthcare debate — public options, everyone is covered, or who, what or where will get gypped. Everyone agrees the healthcare system needs reform of some sort. The doctors need to practice medicine, not get dumped on by low reimbursement payments or forced CYA tactics or paperwork nightmares.

So our very own lame-brain idea is Rep. Lucky Lamons wants the doctors to write prescriptions for medicines ALREADY available over-the-counter. You or I can’t just walk into Walgreens and buy an over-the-counter cough, cold or allergy medicine (some of which are behind the counter), and you are required to (1) present your ID and (2) you are limited to two boxes of it. All this added processing for stuff is absurd and ludicrous, not to mention burdensome.

* * * * * * * * *

Well, flip my flapjacks — Ellen DeGeneres is the new judge on American Idol. So are we going for funny criticism instead of cruel? What a joke — her show didn’t even pay their ASCAP (royalty fees) to the artists that she uses to do her little “dance time” segment. Ripping these fellow entertainers off and defrauding them from their royalty fees — shame on Ellen! This judge votes her out.

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Recently, Al Fischer donated blood to reach a lifetime level of giving gallon #40 to the cause. So he’s donated a hot water tank full of blood. That’s a lot of corpuscles, any way you stack ‘em! Salute to you, Big Al!!!

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Where would you go to be alone? A guy and gal in Wichita picked a dumpster. Yessaroo, they wanted their “intimate moment” to take place in a dumpster. Too bad romance was interrupted by being robbed. Now, if you were of a mind to go on a crime streak, would a dumpster be the first place you’d look for a victim? Whose idea was it to have your “date” in the dumpster? Can’t you just hear his wife? “I thought you were out cheating on me, but I know you can’t be because you smell like a dumpster.” Wait until she watches the news!

* * * * * * * * *

I just saw another one of those annoying TV ads about the Oklahoma lottery creating money for education. You know, the ones that say “The lottery money could buy two billion #2 wooden pencils…” Like we forgot the Governor told us it brings in five times as much as it really does.

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More later about “MAPS for Mick” — who gets the money and the benefits?

Fair? You Can’t Handle the Fair!

It all starts as you inch your way into the parking areas. Country, rock and rap music all blaring from cars, trucks and “things” that breathed a sigh of relief that they didn’t meet their demise on the Cash for Clunkers scrap pile. These are all competing with young families or grandparents taking their grandkids to park the closest to the gate.

The “buy a ticket” line is loooong, but people get to go to the front with rodeo tickets or monster truck tickets with a little “admit one” tabbie deal on the end.

I’m at the gate — let the people-watching begin! Hey, buddy with the spiky mohawk — do you use butch wax to make that stick up like that? Seems that one of the big deals this year is for girls and women (maybe a few ladies) to wear cowboy boots with shorts and skirts. Who’d have known? I don’t watch much CMT — well, maybe for Crossroads concerts. I mean Kidd Rock and Hank Williams Jr. — they will get your Monday Night Football yell going. How do you pick which cowboy boots go with shorts? Dressy or casual? Tri-colors or exotic skins? Daisy Duke’s and cowboy boots are bound to turn a few heads in the Pig Barn!

The biggest downside of the fair is females and males who think they need to wear shirts that show their bellies. Gross-a-mundo deluxe! It’s enough to make you heave your cheese on a stick, chunk your corn dog or toss your cinnamon roll in about six feet of fury.

The big upside is learning that if it exists, you can fry it. Fried Snickers, fried Oreos, fried ice cream, all for your pleasure — but if you want healthy, then there are roast beef sundaes (yes, you have to resort to that for healthy food).

I guess I’m really nostalgic about most things, so let me share what I miss at the fair — midgets racing on Shetland ponies or doing fancy riding tricks to packed audiences. The alligator lady that turns into a gorilla, the little mini-loaves of Wonder bread, Elsie the cow and her kids with ice cream. Everyone walking around with yardsticks (sword fights just broke out (I wonder why), and the motorcycle pit with riders circling the sides. And the games, the carney games of skill (ha ha!) that you knew were rigged, but you knew you could win anyway. Heck, it’s no big deal for you to toss a dime and have it land on the head of a pin!

Everyone can see all the people they have ever met in their life at the fair, even your next-door neighbor’s first wife — well, she wasn’t half bad when she wasn’t yelling! The Great State Fair of Oklahoma is NOT the same — but I guess we aren’t, either.

Darth Vader = Bank of America (or why I support local community banks)

Almost everyone is upset over the bailout billions going to banks that in turn dump on the people. Bank of America personifies everything that is evil with our convoluted system of no real checks and balances for the average Joe or Joette.

Their credit card companies charge obscene interest rates which should be banned as loan sharking, just as bad as Tony Soprano. They also were the first bank/credit card company to give credit cards to illegal aliens and also became their preferred bank. I know their BofA mothers are real proud of that.

Next, let’s look at a Money 101 basic premise. You write me a check on your Bank of America checking account of let’s say $35 as payment to me. The whole concept of a check is for me to present it to the issuing entity for payment. If I walk into a Bank of America to redeem your check is where the unethical (but not illegal) absurdity is committed.

BofA demands that you pay them a $5 fee, plus submit your thumbprints to redeem a check. This check was written by one of their (BofA’s) customers as payment to you, in lieu of cash. This is totally against the checking system established for many decades and honored by every bank in the United States.

Not only are they unethical, but also arrogant. Recently on the news, BofA turned down a man who tried to cash a check from his wife at her bank. This man had no arms (he was wearing prosthetics), and thus couldn’t give them a thumbprint. The bank would not make ANY accommodations for him, even though he had numerous forms of identification. Yes, friends, these idiots are getting OUR money to perpetuate this lunacy.

BofA has a constant thread in their organization of lying when answering questions in dealing with home mortgage purchases, and the long process of these individual home loans. The latest tactic is telling the closing company that the funds have been sent to fund a home closing, only to call back later requesting instructions on how to send it.

My gut says why, if the banks are regulated, then why aren’t the fees regulated? Why can illegal aliens be allowed credit cards?

Where’s the humor? Why the soapbox? Well, if you didn’t realize it, we are getting swallowed up by everyone taking away our consumer rights, but taking more and more of our money. We have plenty of local community banks to support, so why should we give these national banks the time of day?

Think LOCAL and help control your and your family’s future.