The Whenever Newsletter

Change

2008-10-02T15:55:00.000-07:00

I wouldn’t be so cynical if my gut would be proven wrong every once in a while.

I received a forward from a friend titled, “Bush’s Empathy Squeeze,” by Arlie Hochschild. The entire article is about how Bush favors the wealthy and gives lip-service to the working man. The article is based on three “fact” put out that seem, at face value, to be horrible and damning of Bush and his policies.

They were:

1) On average, the 2003 tax cut has already given $93,500 to every millionaire. It is estimated that 52 percent of the benefits of George W. Bush's 2001-03 tax cuts have enriched the wealthiest 1 percent of Americans (those with an average annual income of $1,491,000).

2) On average, the 2003 tax cut gave $217 to every middle-income person. By 2010, it is estimated that just 1 percent of the benefits of the tax cut will go to the bottom 20 percent of Americans (those with an average annual income of $12,200).

3) During at least one year since 2000, 82 of the largest American corporations—including General Motors, El Paso Energy, and, before the scandal broke, Enron—paid no income tax.

If you’re like most Americans and make less than $100k, then odds are you read these and recoil at, if true, how unfair the policies that cause these are. The problem is, two seconds of actual thought would get a person beyond these facts, and the rest of the article seems hokey.

Very quickly, since this isn’t even the point I’m trying to make, I’ll comment on each point:

1) The wealthiest Americans will always get the most benefit from any tax cut. The reason is, they have the most taxes to cut. Of course the wealthiest Americans are going to get half of the benefits of tax cuts, because they already pay over half our taxes!

2) I’m surprised that the bottom 20% of Americans will even see a 1 percent benefit from tax cuts. After all, how much federal tax do you pay when you make less than $12,200? If you get taxed little to nothing, how can anyone cut that any lower?

3) Let’s take General Motors as an example as to why these companies pay no income taxes. In 2007, GM’s Net Income was $38 billion in the red. They LOST money by staying in business that year. How can a company pay income taxes when they had no income? Imagine if your basic needs cost you $5,000 more than you made last year, and some idiot out there complained that you didn’t pay income taxes.

These are not policies that stab the poor in the back, they’re policies that are fair and make sense!

The thing that drives me crazy isn’t how the author is either a liar or just plain stupid, but how people read this crap and accept it without processing it through any mental filter. They read “facts” like these, and instead of considering why the world’s that way (and perhaps that’s the way the world should be), they simply think, ‘Oh, that’s horrible!’ and move to change things.

The problem with an inability to think? Well, this whole presidential campaign has been built on change. A different direction in foreign policy, a different direction for the economy, a different direction for anything else they can think of. They’re trying so hard to convince you that not only are they different from the Bush administration, they’re also different from each other. The problem is, all three are from the same BASIC PHILOSOPHY: the Government is there to protect you.

Barack Obama is trying to convince you that it’s the Government’s job to save you from a lack of health insurance. It’s the Government’s job to protect you from the evils of greedy bankers on Wall Street.

John McCain? He want to save us from the bomb-making Muslims halfway around the world. He wants to save us from the evil countries like Iran and North Korea.

The whole time, our country buys each and every provision hook, line, and sinker.

The problem with each of these is they grow the government and shrink our freedoms.

Take the Government using the Patriot Act to keep us safe. The Patriot Act:

1) is 315 pages long, and lawmakers were given 15 minutes to read and consider it before voting. No debate took place.
2) Allows the police to write their own search warrants to search the property and being of suspected terrorists.
3) Allows the police to search thru the banking records, medical records, and mail of a suspected terrorist.
4) Allows the police to break into the property of a suspected terrorist and plant wires, cameras, etc and trash the place so that it looks like a robbery.
5) Allows the police to break into the property of a suspected terrorist and plant wires, cameras, etc and simply walk away so that they’re unaware the police were ever there.
6) Allows the police to bug the offices of a suspect terrorist’s lawyer.
7) Makes it illegal for anyone to inform anyone else about such searches (even the suspect to his/her lawyer or spiritual counsel).
8) Allows the police to define anyone, anywhere, for any reason, as a suspected terrorist (including you and me).
9) Has yet to yield a single conviction that couldn’t have taken place without it.

The problem with any government protection has nothing to do with the quality or quantity of such protection, but the cost in which it is provided.

With every disaster we face and every problem we endure, there the government works aggressively, trying to create dependence, rather than solutions. The more dependence they create, the bigger the Government will get. The bigger the Government, the easier it is to create dependence.

Now, I’m afraid the big-Government folks out there have created a nation dependent upon the Government for ideas and thoughts, and unless we snap out of it, it’ll only be down hill from here.

The Burdon of Beauty (#56)

2007-08-09T00:39:00.000-07:00

Somewhere deep inside the jungle known by locals as the Concklin’s basement…

Whenever Newsletter #56

A knock on the door...

"Excuse me, GAMGER?" Mike nervously sticks his head between the slightly opened throne doors. Fearing his actions may cause the door to fall off its hinges, he carefully creeks the door open just enough to allow him to slide past. Behind him follows Bubba, sneezing away the dust. Motionless, GAMGER sits in the dark; his silhouette contrasts against the glow of the monitor. The sound of a thousand distant whispers fill the chamber.

Mike repeats himself. "Excuse me, GAMGER?" The silhouette morphs as GAMGER slumps in His seat. A moment later, Mike continues, "Umm, GAMGER, we're sorry to bother you, but Your Fans are patiently awaiting the next addition." Having never been in the throne room, Bubba nervously fidgets in the background.

"I know, Mike," GAMGER said with His voice as slumped as His back.

Not knowing quite what to say, Mike responded, "Well, what do we tell them?"

After a moment of consideration, GAMGER asked, "Have I told you the story, The Burdon of Beauty?"

Mike twisted his head around to observe Bubba's head shake and his shoulders shrug. "No, I don't believe so, GAMGER," he said, looking forward again.

And GAMGER said...

There once was a man who left his home in search of a wife. He traveled from place to place, country after country in search of the world's perfect woman. Days turned to months, and months into years, and his search produced very little fruit. Despite finding many beautiful, intelligent women during his journey, many were good, some were great, but none were perfect.

Then one day in his despair and anguish, with tears flooding his face, he slumped against the side wall of an ally. Halfway around the world, he was tired, discouraged, and didn't know what to do. Amidst his weeping, he heard the pleas of an old man in the distance. Wiping his face, he walked to where he could see the commotion. Down the alleyway, he saw two men with bats struggling to steal the old man's bag. Immediately, he darted towards them, throwing rocks and sticks and anything he could get his hands on to scare away the attackers, and sure enough, they ran away as fast as they could.

Upon helping the old man to his feet, he was declared a son and offered a celebratory meal at the old man's house. Upon entering the home, he was introduced as a hero to his wife and sons. Overjoyed by her husband's safe return, the wife prepared a feast as the sons gathered to hear the tale.

At the dinner table, the man couldn't help but notice the picture of a beautiful woman hanging on the wall. With a smile that inspires poetry, her beauty sutured his soul. Unable to resist, he inquired about her.

"That's our daughter," the old man said, "but we haven't seen her for a long time now. She left to find a better life." Silence filled the room as sadness swelled in his heart.

Even after the evening closed and his body left the house, his mind and soul lingered in front of the picture. He couldn't get her out of his mind, and he didn't want to. He had found his beauty.

Finished searching, he packed his belongings and headed home.

Upon his arrival, all of his friends came to greet him. Story after story was told, but the memory of such beauty remained paramount in his mind. Compelled to express her beauty fully, he turned to poetry and artwork to share his feelings. He'd paint pictures of her and write songs, but everything he wrote and every line he drew seemed watered down compared to the beauty in his mind's eye.

Discouraged, he lives with the regret that even his best effort could not fully express the beauty he saw that day.

That, my dear creation, is the Burdon of Beauty.

“Local procrastinator enjoys first week of job search avoidance; does not clean office to celebrate.” (#55)

2007-02-12T22:36:00.000-08:00

Somewhere deep inside the jungle known by locals as the Concklin’s basement…

Whenever Newsletter #55

“Local procrastinator enjoys first week of job search avoidance; does not clean office to celebrate.”

We join our hero, Bubba, unaware of Mike’s demise and in his search for El Madre. Walking single file, with machetes in hand, Bubba, Aris, and a group of peons hack their way through the underbrush. Predictably, conversation strikes up…

“That’s disgusting,” one of the peons replied.
“Look,” the other explained, “all I’m saying is if incest is based solely upon genetics, then you should be able to travel forward in time and marry your great, great, great, great granddaughter. With all of those generations in between, the gene pool should be watered down sufficiently.”
“…and that’s disgusting.”
“I bet my great, great, great, great granddaughter will be hot.” Another peon chimes in.
“This is not an appropriate topic for an Authority to have,” Aris said. “It just isn’t of good character.”
“I don’t know,” Bubba said, “it’s interesting.”
“Bubba,” Aris said with warning in his voice, “what did I tell you about living?”
“’We live to please The Author, and The Author is pleased by good lives,’” Bubba quoted.
“And talking about marrying your great, great granddaughter isn’t becoming of good lives…” Aris said.
“There were four ‘greats,’” The peon corrected.
“…regardless of how interesting the point.”

Meanwhile, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, four detectives stand around a dead conversation. “You can tell by the knife in the back that it was killed by a self-righteous killjoy,” one of the older detectives pointed out...

About that same time, miles away on the other side of the jungle, the Heathen Leader slowly leads his squad of heathen henchmen with limps ever closer to The Gateway. Carried by a limping heathen henchman on each of the corners, The Video Card wobbles around like a dizzy retarded kid on a unicycle…

“Careful with that thing, my Heathen Henchmen!” the Heathen Leader shouts.
“Yellow five! Yellow five!” one henchman responds.

As they hobble over the last hill, The Gateway approaches, finally in view. As the Heathen encampment sets up base, The Gateway towers over the landscape in all its glory…

Elsewhere, nowhere near the middle, Bubba and company find themselves at an old wooden signpost which reads, “El Madre: Enter At Your Own Risk.” Upon reading the sign, many of the Peons fled in fear…

“Urgh,” Aris vented, “I guess that’s what we get for hiring movie extras to fill-in as Peons.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Bubba said, reading the sign.
“Well,” Aris commented, “with all of this under brush, it’s only by The Author’s grace that we found this at all.”

Back at The Gateway, the heathen henchmen with limps have installed the video card, and the Heathen Leader watches the status meter soar across the sky as the new drivers are installed. Suddenly, a sign appears from above, angering the Heathen Leader…

“’Unable to connect to the internet. Please contact the Heathen Leader who is in charge of your network!?’ Damn you! I AM the Heathen Leader in charge of the network!”

Will Bubba and Aris find El Madre in time, or will the Heathen Leader figure out how to download the newest drivers before then? Find out next time (i.e. next year) in The Adventures of Mike and… err, Just Bubba!

"Soma" (#54)

2006-03-01T01:48:00.000-08:00

Somewhere deep inside the jungle known by locals as the Concklin’s basement…

Whenever Newsletter #54

“Soma”

We join our heroes, Mike and Bubba, preparing to leave The Village, one in search for El Madre, and the other in an effort to put The Gateway back into working order!

After a ridiculously long and seemingly pointless ceremony granting Mike command of The Video Card, ten of the strongest men in the entire village are assigned to carry and guard the precious cargo. Forgetting who our real target audience is, The Village Council required the guards to go shirtless in an effort to appeal to the 26-40 year-old married female audience.

Knowing this may be their last time seeing each other, they shared a tear-filled (but manly) embrace, and said their good-byes.

As the horizon consumes Mike and his company, Bubba is greeted with a friendly smile camouflaged by a mirage of wisdom…

Meanwhile, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, a treat is tossed to the back of an empty “fridge 12-pack” soda case, out of the reach of the six-toed magical kitten. As the beast dives futilely in head first, snickers rise as sweet aroma to the gods of mischievousness…

We rejoin our hero, Bubba, whose company includes an arm around his shoulders and the whispers of free advice…

My dear Bubba,
I have words I’d like to share,
To ease this downpour of despair.
Your tears, created by this strife,
And the ignorance ‘o eternal life.
Regardless of what you think you know,
There is a torturous hell below.
And an Author free of blame,
Requires perfection for verdict tame.
The solution’s a pill take it whole,
Swallow yourself to a threatless below.
Change your habits, change your ways.
You must do as The Author’s lays.
Prey He steals your soul’s disease,
And replace it with all comfort’s ease.
Without this gift you’re life inept,
But with it you we can accept
Take this pill, take this bait,
And find yourself with us relate.

And Bubba did.

Meanwhile, nanometers away at the chasm of hellish proportions, the caffeine gods are restless and very unaware of the good news they are about to receive. The door creeks open as a lone figure approaches with several Heathen Henchmen with limps following closely behind…

“Yellow five! Yellow five!” one of the Henchmen squeaked.
“Ah, yes, my Heathen leader at last. Were you successful in attaining The Video Card?”
“Yes,” the Heathen leader said, “My party attacked a small group of The Village People deep in the jungle, just where you said they would be. We left none alive.”
“There was one of The GAMGER’s agents with them. What happened to him?” asked the darkness.
“We left none alive,” he replied.
“Good,” the caffeine gods said, “now take a brigade of Heathen henchmen and install The Video Card into The Gateway. Then we will have total control and put an end to this little world!”

Will the caffeine gods gain control of The Gateway? Will Bubba be able to find El Madre and seek help? Will Bubba be able to get over the side effects from the pill which includes dry mouth, fever, viral infection, and anal leakage? Find out in the next addition of The Adventures of Mike and Bubba!

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2006-02-14T22:19:00.000-08:00

Welcome to the world of the Whenever Newsletter! (evil laugh)

As far as the Newsletter is concerned, some of it is funny (if I do say so myself), some of it is dumb, and all of it was formed from my twisted sense of humor. So feel free to read it and may God have mercy on your soul.

FYI, it's best to partake these when you are either dead tired and/or under a great dosage of highly controlled medication. I usually just sit down, type for an hour or so and see what pops out. Little to no editing goes into any given Newsletter, and that's evident through the misspellings and grammar errors.

Aside from that, feel free to let me know what you think via email (whenevernewsletter@juno.com), and know that all mail is read by a human. Questions, comments, and strange growths are encouraged.

There have been many additions of the Whenever Newsletter since it's beginning four years ago. Subscription is free (minus the time spent reading it), and not all ideas spouted are serious. Most, in fact, are meant to be funny. Not all are, but they are meant to be.

So read, enjoy, and don't die.

Rob Concklin

“Poop: does not do a body good.” (#53)

2006-02-14T22:10:00.000-08:00

Whenever Newsletter Issue on poop #3 (#53)

“Poop: does not do a body good.”

With all honesty, I never expected to do three Newsletters discussing poop and the wisdom we can gather from the whole process.

Normally, I’d just let the whole thing drop and never really write part two of this series, and leave you all hanging, but several people are taking it in a very dangerous way.

For crying out loud, this is wisdom gathered FROM POOP, people. This should not keep you up at night. It’s not like I’m taking this concept from a religious text or a highly respected philosopher. Take with a grain of salt any wisdom gathered from a process that includes (1) running the fan and (2) giggling at the whimpers of your dog as he dies at the hand of the Cloud of Torment you’re emanating.

Rex Peterson, professor of Philosophy, responded perfectly to the first article. He wrote:

“Are we all half full or half empty of poop? Clearly we are almost never fleetfully poopless, and equally obvious we are sometimes full of poop. I tend to believe you manage to find yourself half full (or is it more optimistic to say half empty?).”

That response was perfect. On one hand he got the point, and on the other hand he knew the attitude in which to take it.

Many of you are probably wondering two things: 1) what was the point? And 2) what does this have to do with dating? Well, I’ll answer the first question, anyway.

What’s the point?

Think about poop for a second. What if you never pooped? What if the last time you pooped was, well, the last time you’ll poop? I’m not a doctor, but I’m guessing you’d die from it. Your body would shut down, and you’d die of constipation.

That brings a whole new meaning to “what do you want on your tombstone?” (Extra cheese, please!)

But on the other hand, even if you could poop everything out, you wouldn’t want to.

There are certain things that you NEED in your body. You need a certain amount of fat in your body to keep you alive. Some people need a certain amount of hard liquor in their bodies. And there are some things in your digestive system that you need in there in order to keep the system functioning correctly. If you pooped these things out, that would be bad.

Even if you could attain complete pooplessness, you’d spend your whole life trying to keep it that way. Every time you ate something, you’d end up getting the garden hose out to give yourself the world’s most complete and thorough enema.

Not only is this ridiculous, you wouldn’t even conceptualize it, unless you were someone crazy like me.

Alright, I suppose the meds helped with the creative process a little.

Life and dating are the exact same way, only there are people out there walking around with garden hoses up their butts trying to make themselves perfect in every way. The difference between the literal hose and the figurative hose is no one looks twice when someone’s using the figurative one – even though it produces nothing but guilt and anger and frustration.

How many times have people tried to stop a habit or behavior or whatever, only to find themselves frustrated, failing, and worse off than when they started? And if I may be so bold, Christians are the worst offenders.

The very foundation of salvation is grace from faith. Yet there are teachers and followers that try and try and try to pull believers away from that, and cause them to become unsatisfied with mere grace. As if you have to act a certain way or be a certain person in order to be Christian. And it is through this dissatisfaction that they, in essence, become slaves.

How ironic: people being bought with a price by our Heavenly Father only to be rented out to the father of lies.

You want a solution to this? Christians, understand this: happiness may come from us keeping up our end of the deal with God, but joy comes from understanding there never was a deal in the first place.

“While we were yet sinners…”

Some people question, does this mean that alcoholics should be content to stay under the bottle? That druggies should be happy with their use? Certainly not. Even the body knows there’s a time to poop. Some negative behaviors do need to change at some point, but even God grants us the freedom to fail.

What does this have to do with dating?

Anyone that knows me, knows that there are generally two reactions people have after meeting me. One reaction is, “Wow. That guy is open, honest, and direct. I like that.” The other reaction is, “Wow. That guy has the people skills of an STD.” Both attitudes are fine, because that’s their opinion.

But for a while, I was concerned that the second reaction was shared by too many women, and thus would eliminate me from any possible relationships.

So for a chapter in my life, I “dumb down” my approach with people. I was always nice, considerate, and constantly kept to myself. To beat many of you to the punch line, yes, it was a short chapter in my life.

The problem was, I turned myself into a fake and became dishonest. I was so concerned with my alleged imperfections that I lost who I was, and was probably passed up by many who may have otherwise been interested in me.

There are many people who beat themselves up because they’re single, and insist that it’s because of… whatever. Their looks, their intelligence, their social status… whatever. And so they try to change, mistaking low self-esteem for motivation, only to wonder why they fail.

Instead of being satisfied with who they are - instead of accepting themselves – they spend all their time and energy trying to poop out more than what’s necessary.

For Pete’s sake, just pinch it off.

Does that make more sense?

That’s all for now,

Robert Concklin

"Everything I learned about dating I learned from poop (part one… and a half)" (#52)

2006-02-13T23:23:00.000-08:00

Whenever Newsletter #52

"Everything I learned about dating I learned from poop (part one… and a half)"

Welcome to yet another addition of The Whenever Newsletter. We, the staff here at GAMGER Publications, have been overwhelmed by comments and responses to the Whenever Newsletter #51, “Everything I learned about dating I learned from poop (part one).”

One overly supportive fan wrote in saying, “I took your advice - honestly something I usually do the opposite of…” Yeah, we love you too. By a vote of 1-0, we officially hope that your date blossoms into a wonderful relationship that ends in you being left at the alter. Please send us an invitation to the wedding so that we can giggle about it in person.

From another one of the dedicated, “Fantastic Rob. One of your best e-mails/advice to date!”

Several of our subscribers took shots at a possible method to our madness. One writes, “I guess this is your gentle way of saying the reason most people are unhappy, is because they are full of [poop]...” Another reader suggests that, “We just have to be satisfied with the [poop] we already have, LOL!”

It’s nice to know we market to such a … colorful segment of our population.

As wonderful as those ideas are, they are not the points trying to be reached by this editorial board. The concept being presented is radically different from any of those.

We are currently in the first stages of The Adventures of Mike and Bubba. The story will never be a best seller. It is not written to compete with Harry Potter. Heck, even The Author doesn’t take it overly seriously. However, it is a tool to illustrate the concept prepped by Newsletter #51.

So read on. Enjoy it. And consider a mindset perhaps you've never truly considered before.

That’s all for now,
The Staff of The Whenever Newsletter

“Everything I need to know about dating I learned from poop (part one).” (#51)

2006-02-12T19:06:00.000-08:00

Whenever Newsletter #51

“Everything I need to know about dating I learned from poop (part one).”

I really don’t know why, but 90% of my thinking happens in the bathroom. I’m not sure if there’re magical thinking properties to the combination of linoleum, porcelain, and tiles, but I’ve heard of many other creative types that have done the majority of their thinking in the ol’ watercloset. Many of my Whenever Newsletters have come between shampooings, and many dates have been planned as I shaved.

I must admit, though, this is the first strike of creativity that’s hit while I was on the can. Well, I suppose it really didn’t hit until after I got up.

I think I’ll skip the details and get to the point.

While I was washing my hands, a thought hit me: I’m not finished. I still have poop in me.

Years ago I needed some x-rays done of my kidneys to see how they were doing, but in order to do that, they needed me fairly poopless. Apparently poop clouds x-rays, and that’s not good when you need clear images.

So they ended up giving me a “fleet kit” where you don’t eat anything and you take some pills and a couple of other things and it’s supposed to get rid of everything in your system.

You’ll be amazed at how much stuff there is to get rid of. What I also found amazing is how, when you don’t use a fleet kit, how much you don’t poop out.

So while I was washing my hands, the thought hit me: I’m not finished. I still have poop in me.

Yet, I felt finished.

Why would my body tell me that I was done, when in fact I probably wasn’t even half done?

Next time you walk around in a public place, if you let the thought sink in, it’ll shock you to realize that most of the people walking around are still carrying lots and lots of poop in their bodies, yet are all perfectly happy with that.

Why do our bodies let us walk around with so much poop? Because our bodies know when and how to be satisfied with itself.

How many times do you hear of others (or perhaps yourself) walking around with the attitude that, "I'd be more attractive if I weren’t so fat / scrawny / dumb / confident / ugly…" or whatever. They walk around, always longing for what other people have, and never being satisfied with where they are, or what their options are.

Their root problem isn’t with who they are, but accepting who they are. Like Aaron said tonight, there are many people who marry others simply because they think it’ll solve their problems; that it’ll “complete” them somehow. But once they marry, they find out that their problems are still there, and they are still who they were. Many of those people have more problems once they’re married because the root problem – failure to accept who they are – is still there. And now they start to think, "if only I had children," or, "if only I were single again." The cycle repeats, and they never accept who they are. They simply don’t know when and how to be satisfied.

I knew a gentleman who was good at his job and made six-figures a year. One time we were out eating, and I lamented how I was living paycheck to paycheck and how if I could just make more than I did, I wouldn’t have to live like that. He laughed, and added, "yeah, me too."

That’s when I realized that financial responsibility has nothing to do with your wages and everything to do with your way of thinking. The secret to material success is being satisfied with the crap you already have. The same is true with the dating world.

There are many people in life that try to guilt themselves out of a behavior when, ironically, it was their guilt and poor self-esteem that drove themselves to that behavior in the first place. How many times have you seen this?

Someone tries to go on a diet because they feel fat, but a week into the diet something reminds them of their size and they run straight back to the junk food for solace.

Someone notices all of the happy couples out there, and feels alone and worthless because they are single, all while telling themselves that they’re single because they’re worthless.

All cycles that can be broken, if they just learned when and how to be satisfied with who they are.

So how does one find that satisfaction?

Hmm... this is one heck of a teaser. I think I'll leave it like this for now.

I'll finish this later. ...maybe. (evil laugh)

Rob Concklin

“Hours of testing conclude: local know-it-all really does know it all.” (#50)

2006-02-12T13:35:00.000-08:00

Somewhere deep inside the jungle known by locals as the Concklin’s basement…

Whenever Newsletter #50

“Hours of testing conclude: local know-it-all really does know it all.”

We join our heroes, Mike and Bubba, who are slightly tied up at the moment. As the storm’s heavy breathing cause debris to dance all around them, Mike tries to work his magic with the ropes around his hands.

Suddenly, a pair of friendly smiles appeared and started to help our heroes off the alter they were on. Both Mike and Bubba, still bound, thank them gratefully. Cheerfully, their new found friends replied, “Don’t mention it,” then added, “What would we be if we forgot our sacrifice to The Author?” Picked up and carried around like the bondage version of a double date, our heroes are brought into a building, out of the storm, but not out of danger.

Inside, the hidden sounds of mothers trying to quiet their babies scattered throughout the room. An eerie silence fills the space – that is, when the wind isn’t leaning on the building’s old, arthritic joints.

Plopped under a table, our heroes look around as best they can, eyeing nervously the seemingly endless sea of peons not worth naming.

Next to them, cowering under a small chair normally used by toddlers was a rather large man that looked like the result of the romances between a Samoan and a small planetoid.

“This is an evil storm,” he said. “Normal storms come to pass, but this one…” As his voice trailed off, his head shook in disbelief, also like a small planetoid in disarray.
“GAMGER would know what to do,” Bubba said, looking at Mike.
“You are agents of the GAMGER?!” the big guy asked, overhearing Bubba. “Come with me, now!”

Mike glared at Bubba with worried eyes, knowing that not all in The Village are friends of GAMGER’s or His agents…

Meanwhile, light years away at the chasm of hellish proportions, the caffeine gods were growing restless. Several Heathen Henchmen with Limps approach the darkness…

Bowing, one of them squeaks, “Yellow five!”

A voice, the sounds of which know only anguish and torment, calls from deep within the chasm: "Heathen Henchmen with limps! Has our guest of honor arrived?”

“Yellow five! Yellow five!” came the response.

“Bring him in,” commanded the voice. As the sounds of pain beat against the walls, a lone man enters with his head bowed, never looking into the darkness.

“My lords,” he said, presenting himself. “I am Mill, at your service.”

“Mill! Have The Village People attained a new video card?”

“We have, my lord; just as you commanded.”

“Good. The GAMGER’s agents are within The Village and will soon arrive at your doorstep. Send the leader out with the video card and orders to fix The Gateway. We will ensure that he will run into… ‘problems’… and then we will have the video card for ourselves. Once we gain control of The Gateway, we gain control of the world and everything in it.”

“And what do you want me to do with his slightly retarded companion?” Mill asked.

“Send him out to continue his search for El Madre. In fact, send him with the false prophet just to guarantee his failure.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Bowing, Mill leaves his masters to do his work.

A few nanometers away, we return to our heroes, patiently waiting for someone, or something…

“I can’t believe I’m a prisoner,” Mike lamented. “I should be out leading a mission that suits my talents and abilities.” Bubba’s eyes followed Mike as he patrolled the room in an uncharacteristically disgruntled fashion. “Instead, I’m out here, waiting for whatever they have in store for us.”

As if to respond, the ceiling-high double doors creaked open, pouring both fear and anticipation into the room. A lone nameless peon walks into the room.

“Come with me,” the peon ordered.

Following the peon through the doors into the next room, our heroes are lead into what is obviously a meeting hall. The hall itself is long and wide, and even the ceiling seems to be willing to go higher than the lighting. Three men sit at a large table in the middle of the room.

“Please, come in,” Brown calls to them. “We hear that you know GAMGER, is this true?”

“If you do not mind, sirs, may I inquire who it is that is asking?” Mike responded, feeling right at home.

Brown chuckled, almost embarrassed by his rudeness. “My apologies. The man to my left is Hume, and to my right is Kant. I am Brown. In the closet to your right is Aris, The Village Prophet.”

“Your prophet is in the closet?” Bubba asked.

“Only literally!” came a voice beyond the door.

“You are The Council of The Village,” Mike said, astonished.

“You are correct,” Brown said, interrupted by a fifth man entering the room. “Ah, come in, my friend!” Brown called. “That is Mill. He is the last member of The Council.”

Will there be more than one teaser question, or will The Author just go to bed since it’s three in the morning? Find out next time, in The Adventures of Mike and Bubba!

"Local man attracted only to women, declared sexist; ACLU sues." (#49)

2006-02-12T13:34:00.001-08:00

Somewhere deep inside the jungle known by locals as the Concklin’s basement…

Whenever Newsletter #49

"Local man attracted only to women, declared sexist; ACLU sues."

We join our heroes, Mike and Bubba, somewhat sidetracked in their search for El Madre. Drowning in a sea of pitchforks and torches, Bubba gasps, in search for any air not containing fear. Dizzy from the noise swirling about his head, Bubba focuses on Mike, trusting his friend and leader. Mike, busy with his attempts at diplomacy, is ignored by the mob as they continue to stack wood at his feet with torches ready…

Meanwhile, a world away, the Fan of the Year enters the throne room, into the very presence of GAMGER and The Author. Bowing, he presents himself and offers his suggestion…

“GAMGER, why not write a newsletter that enlightens people with some of your wisdom, and consequently helps people?”

Consulting His Supreme Intellect, GAMGER replies, “I prefer to spin people off on the wrong course in life. I suppose that's the evil genius side of me leaking out. Although, if I kill off Bubba and Mike, I probably won't have any choice but to rant... er, share my wisdom.”

Humbly forgetting his place of high honor, The Fan of the Year bows once more and answers, “Who am I to tell a genius what to do? You created Bubba and Mike, and it should be your divine privilege to kill them off mercilessly. “

Returning, we rejoin our heroes, but we do not approach alone. Storm clouds from the South billow in, ominous in nature, and blue in color. What was once a terrifying mob quickly melted into a terrified swarm as confusion possessed their minds and fear pillaged their hearts. Lightning scorched the sky as white letters appeared in the middle of the vast blueness.

“What does it say?” Bubba asked Mike, not understanding Gatewayese.

“It’s a message from the Author,” Mike declared, screaming over the high winds. “It says that the Gateway does not have enough memory in the video card to maintain our world. Something must be done!”

Will Mike and Bubba escape the clutches of the Blue Storm Cloud of Death? Will the panicking mob remember to untie our heroes as a courtesy? Will the Gateway get a new graphics card in time to save their little universe? Will it have a Radeon or GeForce processer? Found out next time in The Adventures of Mike and Bubba!

"For Steve" (#48)

2006-02-12T13:34:00.000-08:00

Somewhere deep inside the jungle known by locals as the Concklin’s basement…

Whenever Newsletter #48

"For Steve."

We join our heroes, Mike and Bubba, approaching The Village in their search for El Madre in an effort to uncover the truth behind the shortage of Mountain Dew sacrifices!

Normalcy brings with it peace and contentment to The Village, but this day normalcy was not visiting. Mike and Bubba find themselves greeted at the city limits by panic and disarray. Several men carrying around signs proclaiming "The caffeine gods are pissed!" line the streets and sidewalks while women and children run terrified through the streets in random, zigzag patterns.

Fighting through the fog of crazy running people, our heroes find themselves approaching the Village Square. On the other side of the plaza, a commotion gathers.

"Mike, what's going on over there?" Bubba asked.

"I'm not sure, my slightly retarded companion. Let's investigate!" As our heroes approached the gathering, they began to realize that it was anything but a mere crowd. Taking note of the torches and pitchforks, Mike declares, "That's no crowd, my dear Bubba - that's a riotous mob!"

“Hey! You two!” A voice from within the mob called out. “Come here - we’re looking for people to lynch!”

With a healthy dose of fear, Bubba accepted the invitation to flee into the nearby neighborhood alleyways. Primitive instinct stuck around long enough to help Bubba find a good hiding spot, but quickly left him with nothing but exhausted legs and pounding chest. Looking about his surroundings with darting eyes, Bubba finds no torches, no pitchforks, no riotous mob, and no Mike...

Meanwhile, miles away at the chasm of hellish proportions, five heathen henchmen with limps squirm forward and present themselves, ugliness and all, to the caffeine gods …

Bowing, one of them fearfully squeaks, “Yellow five!”

A voice, the sounds of which know only anguish and torment, calls from deep within the chasm: “Heathen Henchmen with limps! Go, and tell your masters I am sending a Heathen leader to you. He will command you and lead your armies. Soon, you will find and gather Mountain Dew for me, and I will no longer need The Village. Then, I will destroy them, El Madre, and the entire Concklin Basement!”

“Yellow five! Yellow five!” they responded. Angered by their question, the caffeine gods cast one of the Heathen Henchmen into the pit of torture, screaming like a little school girl.

“I already know about GAMGER’s minions. Pay no mind to them, for I have already ensured their failure. They will both die. Now go!”

Excited, they staggered away exclaiming to each other, “Yellow five! Yellow five!”

Meanwhile, somewhere in the vastness of nowhere, some psychologist scribbles on his notepad, taking note of the “El Madre” reference. “And how do you feel about that?” he asks…

A few leagues away, we catch up with our lonely hero in his search for Mike, who is at the mob’s mercy. Carefully and quietly, Bubba creeps and crawls, squirming from side street to side street, following the crazies carrying his friend. As he follows, the sounds of the mob serve as Bubba’s tour guide while the sight of the pitchforks keeps him at bay. Slowly, the organized chaos found its way to the front of The Village Hall, and forced Mike to his knees.

“Get the elders!” a lone voice within the mob screamed. Knowing his role in the community, a nameless peon bolted into the tall brick structure, seeking his leadership. After an eternal moment, the sound of bells thundered from the white wooden steeple at the top of The Hall. After the nameless peon returned, a window on the second story opened and a man leaned out.

“What do you want? We’re busy!” he called.

“Brown, we seek permission to lynch this man! He is a Heathen from The Outskirts!” the mob cried out.

“I am not!” Mike protested.

“Well,” Brown responded, ignoring ‘the Heathen,’ “how can you be sure that’s what The Author wants?” Silence hushed the crowd as the thought sauntered among them.

“Please?” one man finally asked, “I’ve been in the mood for a lynching since breakfast.”

Brown scratched his beard as he considered the idea. “Alright,” he finally announced, “Just do it outside and clean up after you’re done.” As the crowd erupted with joy, he pulled his head back into The Hall and continued with his work. As most celebrated, a few got to work collecting firewood and rope while whispering excitedly to each other, “William would be proud.”

Not knowing quite what to do, Bubba jumped out in Hero style, screaming for them to stop. Pounced on like a football in a fumble drill, poor Bubba’s heroics didn’t last very long against the mob. Scraped up from his short-lived affair with the cement, they dragged Bubba to where they’re holding Mike, and made him stand next to his companion.

“Burn them both!” came the suggestion, and the joyous screams of the crowd was a second to that motion.

Meanwhile, deep within the blue of the sky, the Gateway rebooted unexpectedly, causing much of the plotline to be lost. A new video card and several naughty words later, our story continues...

Will the caffeine gods find a way to attain their own Mountain Dew? Will they destroy The Village and all The Village People with it? Will Mike and Bubba escape the clutches of the mob, or will they both be killed so we can end the story and all go home early? And what does a giraffe sound like? Find out in the next addition of The Adventures of Mike and Bubba!

Whenever Newsletter, special addition! (#42-47)

2006-02-12T13:33:00.000-08:00

Whenever Newsletter, special addition!

Good morning, and welcome to yet another addition of the Whenever Newsletter! We, the staff here at Whenever Newsletter, would like to announce the continuation of the Whenever Newsletter due to popular demand, and the fact that GAMGER uses, "Oh, I'm the author and creator of The Whenever Newsletter," as a means of picking up chicks. To start (or rather restart), the staff here at GAMGER Publications have decided to continue with the adventures of Mike and Bubba. Plus, we have a couple of things to rant about, too.

However, since the subscription list has almost doubled since the last Newsletter, we are republishing the story line so far. So, without further ado, we bring you the beginning of The Adventures of Mike and Bubba...

Somewhere deep inside the jungle known by locals as the Concklin's basement...

Whenever Newsletter #42

"President's job different than he expected; Bush complained: 'They don't even let me nuke a small country!'"

The hustle and bustle of commotion in the cave stirred a frenzy of excitement. Several men in white lab coats stood around like government employees in the background when finally one of the workers yelled eagerly to them, "Senor! Venga rapido! Hemos encontrado algo! Una cosa pequena del bicho!"

Lab coats flapped in the breeze as they ran full speed towards the site. Pushing workers aside, they fought their way through the crowd to the dig. Finally, to their awe and amazement, they find what all the commotion was about: a tiny mosquito trapped in petrified amber. This was the greatest discovery of their lives!

A short time later in an office, just a few feet away...

"So, how's looking for a bug going to help us?" Bubba asked.

"It's not just any bug," Mike protested, "but a mosquito! You see, mosquitoes suck blood, right?"

"Sure."

"Well, in the blood you have the DNA of whoever it came from."

"Whomever."

"Whatever. Anyway, scientists can take that DNA and clone whoever that was back to life."

Still with doubt, Bubba asked, "So where does the Gateway fit into this?"

Mike leaned in. "If we can find a mosquito with some DNA from the Gateway, then we can clone it back to life and restart the Whenever Newsletter."

Bubba paused for a moment, and finally stated, "But computers don't have blood."

Mike reared back into his chair, rubbing his eyes and exhaling his frustration. "Listen, if you want to have a newsletter that obeys every ounce of logic and science, then you can go start your own newsletter where everything fits perfectly."

Suddenly, as if to retort, the phone rang.

Irritated, Mike answered. "What?"

A muffled voice that could only be compared to Charlie Brown's teacher sounded from the ear piece.

"Yeah, this is Mike." More mumbles. Aggravation quickly turned to excitement as Mike scrambled, looking for a pen and paper. "Really? You found it?!?" Ink feverishly morphed into words as Mike listened. "Uh huh... yeah... Uh huh... great! I'll be there shortly!" With one swift motion, Mike hung up the phone, grabbed his hat and was out the door, car keys in hand.

"Was that the scientists?" Bubba, now standing, called out from within the office.

"No!" Mike replied on as the door was closing behind him. "That was the airline! They finally found my luggage they lost from when I took the business trip!"

"Okay. Drive carefully." And just like that, Bubba was alone.

At that very same moment, the Concklin refrigerator opened. It was time for yet another Mountain Dew to be sacrificed to the caffeine gods...

An hour later, back at the office, the phone rang, and Bubba was still alone.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Is this Mike?" A dignified voice flowed from the other side.

"No, I'm Bubba, Mike's slightly retarded companion."

"Well good afternoon, Mr. Bubba. This is Dr. JP, the head scientist from the site. I was just calling to inform Mike that we have found viable DNA and have already begun the cloning process."

"Cool."

"Yes, very much so. If possible, we would like for one of your staff to come out here and observe the final product. We are almost complete with the process even as we speak."

"Well, I can come."

"Splendid!"

At the airport, Mike was still waiting for his luggage, unaware of Bubba's scientific endeavor.

Later, at the lab Dr. JP and Bubba stood in front of the final product as the good doctor explained some things...

"Everything went smoothly except for a couple of things. Halfway through the process we realized that we didn't have complete strands of DNA for all of the components, so we had to fill in the gaps in the sequence in order to complete the cloning process."

"Did you use African frog DNA?"

"For the mouse we did, but as soon as it was created it did nothing but jump around and after five minutes of trying to get it to stay on the mouse pad, we decided that perhaps it was a mistake to use the frog DNA."

"How about the tower?"

"The CPU and its components had its complete DNA, so we didn't have to add anything, but we tried to cheat by mixing the modem with a blonde girl, thinking that it would upgrade the data-transfer rate by making it nonstop and at a high speed rating."

"Always online, always high-speed," one of the scientists added.

"Exactly. The problem is, some of it got mixed in with the keyboard DNA, so if you get slapped every once in a while by the keyboard for touching it wrong, you know why."

Dr. JP admitted, "The speakers... well, we ran out of DNA to mix things with, so we took Carlos - one of the Mexican workers - and we took his DNA and finished it up. So now all the sound that comes from the speakers is in Spanish. But they work hard, and they'll even do your dishes for you after dinner."

He added, "And as for the monitor, we just went to Best Buy and bought a new one. We'll send you the bill."

With the Gateway pieced together, this marks the beginning of the continuation of the Whenever Newsletter!

Somewhere deep inside the jungle known by locals as the Concklin’s basement…

Whenever Newsletter #46

“Local man marries his hunting dog claiming, ‘you can’t discriminate; we’re not hurting anyone.’ Not many wonder who the bitch of the relationship is.”

Deep within a chasm, so dark that even the blackest shadows are swallowed by a constant fear, the evil noises of death groan and grow...

Miles away, Bubba sits nervously outside of GAMGER’s office. Despite the restless tap-tap-tap of his foot against the tile, the corridor seems peacefully quiet. Bulletin boards littered with information sleep serenely, surrounded by sturdy walls coated with a hue of pure white. Even the rent-a-cop allows his eyes to close and his imagination to sweep him off his feet and carry him across the threshold into the warm surroundings of a lazy summer afternoon. With great determination, the door opens and Mike walks out of the office like a man on a mission.

Without even breaking a step, he calmly instructed, “Follow me.” Immediately, Bubba got up and followed Mike into the next room. There, Mike filled him in on his instructions straight from GAMGER.

“We must hurry, so gather your things while I talk.” Bubba nodded and began his rush collection of items. Mike explained: “There is a woman of great age who is known by some as ‘El Madre.’ She is well advanced in years, and quite senile. For years, she supplied the caffeine gods with regular sacrifices of Mountain Dew, but for some strange reason that supply has stopped. If this supply is not resumed, the caffeine gods will become angry and our world will be ravaged in eternal pain and anguish.”

“That would not be good,” Bubba commented.

“No, my dear Bubba, that would not be good at all. Now, we should hurry!”

Meanwhile, at the chasm of hellish proportions, a pretty college student approaches the darkness, pen and small notebook in hand...

“Hi, I’m Heidi, and I’ll be you’re waitress. Is there anything I can start you off with this evening?”

A voice, the sounds of which know only anguish and torment, responded from deep within the chasm. “We are the caffeine gods, and we demand the sacrifice of a Mountain Dew.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, tapping her pencil against the notepad, “we only have Coke products. Would you like some Sprite?”

Angered by this outrage, the sound of a thousand gnashing teeth raced for her, coming closer and closer. In a moment of absolute horror, the shadows from within the chasm enveloped her, and her screams of terror are no more. Almost peacefully, the shadows retracted, and the only hint that she was there came from the gurgling sound of boiling flesh, deep within the abyss.

Will the caffeine gods kill another beautiful college girl? Will Mike and Bubba find El Madre, and uncover the truth behind the shortage of Mountain Dew sacrifices? Or will the six-toed magical kitten eat them before they can deliver the Mountain Dew and save all of humanity as they know it? Find out next time in The Adventures of Mike and Bubba!

Somewhere deep inside the jungle known by locals as the Concklin’s basement…

Whenever Newsletter #47

“New study shows that cleaning out your ear wax before chewing your nails does not make them taste any better.”

We join our heroes, Mike and Bubba, in their search for El Madre in an effort to uncover the truth behind the shortage of Mountain Dew sacrifices!

After meandering for hours upon hours, they finally find their way through the thick, dense jungle brush into a clearing. The contrast between the darkness of the jungle and the bright, clear day is almost blinding. After rubbing their eyes, farms and fields are presented to our adventurers as they gladly welcome their new surroundings. A ways up the road amidst the fields sprouts a humble village of dirt roads and clay houses. Our heroes quicken their pace at the mere prospect of finding a place to rest!

Meanwhile, miles away at the chasm of hellish proportions, a little boy with the resemblance of that of Oliver Twist approaches with a bottle in hand. As he holds out his humble offering, his tiny voice manages to innocently leak out his heart…

“Excuse me, Mr. Caffeine Gods. My mommy told me that you weren’t very happy because you were thirsty, but that you didn’t have anything to drink. And my mommy tells me that we should all do things to help people to be happy, so I spent my allowance for this week and bought you this Coke from Mr. Bill’s store, and I want you to have it.”

Cold to the touch of a child’s kindness, the shadows blasted towards him without allowing even mercy to be a hindrance. Where the child stood just moments ago, only the echoes of sadistic laughter remained. Forced into the slavery of pure hate, the wind reluctantly carried the sounds of wickedness towards the horizon in every direction.

Catching the sounds of such disturbing glee, our heroes turn and look worryingly towards the small piece of the horizon now tainted with the growing black splotch of pure malice.

“Mike, what was that?” Bubba asked.
“I’m not sure, but whatever it was doesn’t sound good. Com’ on.”

Will the caffeine gods kill another small innocent child? Will Mike and Bubba find El Madre, and uncover the truth behind the shortage of Mountain Dew sacrifices? Will the storyline ever actually answer these questions, or will they be a teaser for yet another upcoming newsletter? Find out next time in The Adventures of Mike and Bubba!