eight feet deep: May 2005

Boy, was I wrong.

"The things you find rummaging around in people's darkrooms."

I was way off on who Deep Throat really was but so were a lot of the Washington "know-it-all" crowd.

The admission by The Washington Post today confirming the identity of the confidential source who helped bring down the Nixon administration was kind of anticlimactic in a way.

Speculation was rampant for years about just who was the person who fed Woodward and Bernstein the lowdown on Tricky Dick Nixon. Some bigshot Washington pundits thought Deep Throat was a well-known name such as Al "I'm in charge here" Haig, or even Henry Kissinger. To find out in the wake of a Vanity Fair story that it was a guy I had never heard of -- a former top FBI official named Mark Felt -- was a bit of a letdown.

I always secretly hoped it was Elvis Presley who was Deep Throat. To find that out would have set off one hell of a conspiracy theory that would just conjoin with existing conspiracy theories that The King really wasn't dead in the first place and would result in a conspiracy theory deluxe on toast. How could Elvis possibly know all these secrets?

Hey, just look at the picture man! How could Elvis possibly NOT know everything that went on under the leadership of Richard Milhous Nixon? You can see the bond between them.

The photo above leaves one with the impression that aliens swooped in and took over Nixon's brain, and all that he was able to say afterwards was: "Thankaverymuch." Oh wait, that may have really happened.

Of course in this puritanical age in which we find ourselves today, it would have been a scream to find out that the real Deep Throat was Linda Lovelace, who of course was the original "Deep Throat.

" And how would she know all Nixon's secrets? I speculate, you decide.

So another enigma wrapped up in a mystery spoiled like a four-day old burrito!

Thanks for nothing Vanity Fair!

It's alive!

!!!

...

And has exclamation points for sell!!!

!!!

I still am alive despite sweating profusely in Beaumont, Texas. I was there over the weekend finding a place to live. Why?

That is where I am moving this week. Why? Why not.

I would like to say something clever explaining my reasoning for moving there as well as jumping into a freelance writing career like a man who owns few brain cells. It's a long complicated story. Maybe I'll discuss it sometime -- WHEN YOU ARE ALL DRUNK AND DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE READING.

Was it eightfeetdeep I saw this tortured reasoning of why someone moved to Beaumont, Texas? No, I think it was on Wonkette or maybe even Forbes.com.

This is your brain on fruit, get the picture?
Big Mac: Wouldn't you really rather have me?

Wow, everywhere I look I see McDonald's new Fruit and Walnut Salad.

" ..

. it's just what a girl wants. a heavenly combination of fresh, crisp apples.

..juicy, seedless grapes.

..creamy, low-fat yogurt and sweet candied walnuts.

and the best part? it's perfect for breakfast, lunch or snacktime, so i can get a "fruit buzz"..

.whenever ..

. "

Every girl wants a fruit buzz? I guess that explains where I have been screwing up with women all these years.

How thoughtless of me never considering that women really want a fruit buzz. What the hell is a fruit buzz anyway? Is it like apple crack, or melon smack,or satsuma sinsemilla?

McDonald's is going on a health kick and they've enlisted Destiny's Child and Venus Williams. I guess we'll soon be reading in the papers about those poor celebrities -- all strung out in some roach-ridden motel -- eyelids half closed -- sprawled out over their squeaky beds.

Detective Owens: "Damn, ain't it a shame.

Venus was the best tennis player in the world and now look at her!"
Detective Jones: "Yeah. Fruit.

Grapes to be exact. This poison is making all these women higher than a kite. We need to put these dealers so far behind bars that they can't see daylight.

"
Detective Owens: "If only McDonald's stuck to Big Macs instead of fruit. What a waste!"

You've got to give McDonald's this, they aren't afraid to try something different.

Take the McDLT.

I once interviewed for a story the man who invented the McDLT. For those of you who don't remember, the McDLT was a hamburger in a Styrofoam container with the meat on a bun on one side to keep it warm, and the tomato and lettuce on the other side to keep it cool.

The McDLT is no longer around.

The inventor was a Mickey D's franchisee in Lufkin, Texas. He just came up with this idea one day.

I don't know whatever became of the fellow. I don't know if anyone's sculpted a statue commemorating his invention of the McDLT. I don't know if he is rich.

I don't know if he is poor. I just hope he hasn't gone broke, trying to support the habit of a wife strung out on McDonald's new Fruit and Walnut Salad. Would that be irony -- or just a crying shame?

Money for nothing, dictators for free
Win Mobutu's money!

I'm not wistful or complaining or anything, but I haven't been getting e-mails from my African friends lately.

I am speaking of what has long been called the "419 Scam" or the "Nigerian 419 Scam." These are a variety of schemes under what is basically an advanced fee ruse that started through unsolicited snail mail and quickly adapted to the electronic age. Many of the letters are downright creative, often relaying some tale of woe either at the hands of ruthless African dictators or the story coming from someone claiming to be a relative of a deposed strongman.

Those who write always want to give you money. The problem is you have to pay for it first, such as in some sort of transaction fees. As if there is some honor among thieves, many of these scam artists quite often are courteous enough to have the subject of the e-mail (most often the text as well)in all capital letters.

Here is an example found on the excellent fraud education site that purportedly comes from Nzanga Joseph Desire Mobutu, who claims to be the son of deposed, exiled and now dead Zaire (Congo Republic) dictator Joseph Mobutu.

I got your contact during my search for a stranger that can cooperate with me in this mutual transaction. I want you to note that this business will benefit both of us.

However, you must confirm your ability to handle this because it involves a large amount of money. The money (50 million US DOLLARS is my share of my father's estate. I boxed and shipped the money to a security company abroad at the peak of the war/political crisis that rocked my country few years ago.

Now the crisis has ended and I need a trustworthy person like you to proceed to the place of the security company in order to clear the fund and invest on my behalf as I don't want my name to be used for now.

Well, a couple of things Joe, or should I call you Nzanga? First of all, your letter makes it seem as if you went down to the local liquor store and asked for empty boxes in which you could ship off the 50 million US DOLLARS.

I would almost pay just to see someone box up 50 million US DOLLARS. Secondly, you don't know me and you say you need a 'trustworthy' person like me to help clear the fund? Hell's bells!

Even the mention of 50 million US DOLLARS gives me untrustworthy, not to mention impure and evil thoughts.

Finally, Nzanga Joe, if that is indeed your real name, we have a saying over here in the United States: "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." If Mobutu was (and I'm assuming he really wasn't) your father, I don't think I would particularly become business partners with someone whose father was a supporter of the Hutu fanatics who were responsible for the genocide in Rwanda.

I know that I shouldn't judge you by your dad (fake dad most likely), but it just doesn't appear to be great business sense to partner up with the son of a dictator caught up in a genocide. Sorry. But on a lighter note, your pops did look kind of snazzy in leopard-skin get-ups.

I don't suppose they were faux fur?

Can you smell that smell?

Jesus, did you do that?

A friend sent by e-mail yesterday an alert from a local TV station in her area about an upcoming report that night on the "smells of the Savior."

Apparently, a craft shop in Vidor, Texas, called "Adalene's," is selling candles called "His Essence" that claim to smell like Jesus.

Now just how Jesus smells is the next logical question. The company that manufactures says the fragrance was derived through the Bible (what else? I'm sure Jesus left no marketing brochures or scratch-and-sniff samples upon his disappearance).

The South Dakota company that makes the scent describes it this way:

This 14-ounce wax jar candle is hand poured with a hand set paper core wick. The scent was inspired by Psalm 45:8 - "All your robes are fragrant with myrrh and aloes and cassia..

.". The candle will burn for 80 to 100 hours emitting the pleasant and gentle fragrance.

Each purchase will receive an attractive and informative His EssenceTM bookmark.

The bookmark is a nice touch. Will your books all smell like Jesus as well?

I do not claim to be a theologian. And I am certainly not a Jesus, although I played one as a little kid. But I have my doubts about what Jesus smelled like during those days before Right Guard and Old Spice.

And if you were truly the Messiah, why would you even care how you smelled? I suppose it wouldn't be pleasant for Jesus to hear people were saying behind his back: "Here comes the stinky Savior." But if you're God why give a damn?

It's not like B.O. is going to lose you an election as Savior to George W.

Bush, unless in the unlikely event Karl Rove somehow gets to Heaven.

Also, I think the TM is kind of lame: "His Essence." Maybe it's even a bit on the pornographic side if you get my drift.

And what other types of Jesus products might we expect? Jesus pen sets? Page Christ on your Holy BlackBerry?

God, I Can't Believe This is Butter? Where does it all end?

Laura, the one-woman show
Brown bear, brown bear, what do you see, Laura asks correspondents.

Laura Bush was reportedly funny Saturday evening at the White House Correspondent's Association dinner in Washington. That bunch -- the correspondents -- are just a regular bunch of cut-ups anyway.

I'm sure they would laugh at just about anything that will feed them.

She first read the book Brown bear, Brown bear, What do you see? to correspondents.

I heard that afterwards they were clamoring for transcripts of the children's book.

Apparently the remarks she made after reading to the reporters were hilarious. She made a reference to the ABC-TV hit "Desperate Housewives," which most of the White House correspondents had never heard of, much less seen.

It was only after when Mrs. Bush began "flying around the stage like Tinkerbell" did the reporters notice it was not going to be any ordinary correspondent's dinner. She then picked Sam Donaldson out of the audience, asked the now ancient reporter to come up to the stage and told him to get down on all fours.

Laura grabbed a lasso from under the dais and jumped upon Donaldson's back, and screamed: "Yeeee Hawwwww."

Secret Service agents had to gingerly disengage the rope from her hand once the lasso flew onto her husband's neck as she apparently was going to use him for calf-roping practice.

The first lady then began to sing and play air guitar to Gretchen Wilson's "I'm Here for the Party.

"

All in all, it was a pretty eye-opening night for the mostly reserved first lady as well as for some of the lugs in the press corps. Said one correspondent as he was leaving: "Damn, I wish I could get me a woman like that."

Polka on!
Making the middle-aged dance like chickens

It's somewhat heartwarming to see both young and (almost) old looking foolish and not really giving a damn. seems to have that influence on people with their strange but groovy blend of music stew making even the most staid pat their feet.

Brave Combo played last night in their hometown of Denton, Texas, at the Denton Arts and Jazz Fest. The band has been around forever, okay, 25 years. I've seen them several times including in the 100-degree Labor Day tents at West Fest, the Czech festival just north of Waco.

The band has been acclaimed and won Grammy awards for its so-called "nuclear polka." But these guys fuse a little of everything into the mix -- polka, zydeco, Tex-Mex, rock, big band -- and somehow it all works.

In Grateful Dead, cult-like fashion last night, the combo's "Chicken Dance" started playing and youngsters as well as middle-aged folks in their "Save the Planet" T-shirts began to obediently dance as a chicken would, provided the chicken had an iota of rhythm.

In addition to the old standard polkas such as "In Heaven There Is No Beer," I like their whimsical tunes such as "Flying Saucer:"

I want to see something not from Earth,
Something new to understand,
Something way beyond sex, death, or birth,
Or playing music in this band.

A mild 1st day of May, an admission-free festival, Brave Combo, and dogs, plenty of dogs including those wearing bandana AND sunglasses. I've spent worse Sundays.

Say hi to the Salt Solider.

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