Uncle John's Presents Book of the Dumb 2 Page 15

  Dirk and Burke were charged with manufacturing and possessing marijuana with intent to resell and tampering with evidence—the last of these charges related to tossing the joints. So do try to remember to just say no.

  Source: The Jackson Sun (TN), CBS News

  When You’re Sniffing This Stuff, It’s Time for Rehab

  Working on the principle of “When You’re a Hammer, Everything Looks Like a Nail,” the drug-loving burglars who were helping themselves to the contents of a Melbourne, Australia, home were thrilled when they found a wooden box with a powdery substance inside. It was powder! In a box! Just right for snorting! And so they did. It wasn’t until afterward—and when, we suspect, none of them felt the usual narcotic effects of actual narcotics—that one of them began to suspect that maybe that powder in a box wasn’t full of drugs after all.

  Here you have to imagine these burglars wracking their drug-blunted little brains as to what else those ashes in a box could be, and then slowly, as if controlled by a rheostat turned by a tortoise, the light coming on. They weren’t sniffing someone’s drugs—they were sniffing someone.

  In truth, it wasn’t the cremated remains of a human. But what it actually was isn’t any better. The burglars had taken a snootful of the cremated remains of the family’s beloved pet goat. Leaving aside the ancillary issue of goat cremains, the fact is, no one wants to snort a goat if they can help it.

  The robbers, incidentally, were eventually picked and charged with burglary and theft, and at least one of them—the one who figured out they weren’t snorting drugs—pled guilty and as of this writing was still awaiting sentencing. No matter what happens, it can’t be worse than inhaling an animal.

  Source: Sydney Morning Herald

  Dad, That’s MY Coke!

  Yes, some people have issues with their fathers, but people’s run of the mill daddy issues are nothing compared to the problems of South London, England, resident Shane Williams and his dad, Martin. Because although your dad might have yelled at you to turn down that damn music, or told you that he wouldn’t buy you that bicycle when you were six, it’s nowhere near as bad as what Martin arranged for his son.

  Know, to begin, that Shane was a drug dealer, and by drug dealer, we don’t mean a guy who grows a little weed in his closet. We mean like Tony “Scarface” Montana kind of drug dealer; at one point in May 2003, he had about 76 kilos of cocaine loitering in his house, a whole lot more than anyone is going to keep around for personal use. Yeah, Shane was a dealer, big time.

  Martin knew about Shane’s career choice, and he was concerned. Concerned that his son was a drug dealer? Well, no: he was more concerned that his son would sell all those drugs before he could steal them from him. Seems that Martin did the math on the street value of 76 kilos of blow and suddenly the wages he was pulling down as a working stiff seemed a little weak. So he told a trio of shady underworld types about his son’s inventory, presumably to strike a deal. They would rob Shane, and then split the proceeds. The plan was kind of like stealing from your kid’s piggy bank, if your kid was a narco kingpin.

  The first part of the plan went smoothly: Martin’s trio of shady friends surprised Shane and a friend and robbed them, but not before the trio took the time to taser poor Shane into submission and club his pal over the head with a crowbar. The second part, about the profit split . . . well, let’s just say there was a complication. As in, the authorities were already casing Shane’s place and, seeing the altercation, swooped in to arrest everyone, including Shane and Martin.

  If you think this little father-son adventure caused some family tension, you’d be right. At Martin’s sentencing—twenty years for robbery, conspiracy, and drug charges—Shane leaned over to dad (he was in the same docket) and reportedly encouraged him to “rot in hell.” Prison is probably close enough. Of course, Shane shouldn’t be feeling too smug, since he was also sentenced to twenty years for conspiracy to sell cocaine. If the British penal system had any sense of humor at all, it’d make ’em cell mates.

  See, after that tale, most people’s problems with their dads are nothing. So give your ol’ pop a hug! But, to be on the safe side, don’t tell him about any valuables you have in the house.

  Source: Reuters, Evening Standard (UK), Scotsman.com

  Another Meaning for Getting High

  Matt” had a certain popular—if illegal—agricultural enthusiasm: the Alpaugh, California, man liked growing himself a little bit of the marijuana, the illegality of which could present a problem. But Matt seemed to have it all figured out. His backyard was surrounded by a six-foot-high fence that he figured was more than tall enough to shield his gardening predilections from whatever various law enforcement officers or others might be happening to pass by.

  And it would have worked, too, if Matt’s thumb had not been so very green. We don’t know what Matt was feeding his pot plants, but whatever it was, it turned them into prize specimens of Cannabis Sativa, with some of the stalks exceeding over seven feet in height! That’s the marijuana equivalent of growing a hundred-pound pumpkin.

  However, seven feet, if you’ll recall, is taller than six feet. By about a foot, or so we’re told by the measuring experts. Anyway, more than tall enough to be seen over the fence by the neighbors, one of whom, unimpressed with Matt’s agricultural acumen, ratted out our gardening enthusiast to the cops. “Some were taller than the fence in the back yard,” Tulare County Sheriff’s Lt. Marsh Carter said. “It was kind of blatant. Unbelievable.”

  And thus did the police enter Matt’s backyard with a search warrant, to find more than 50 pot plants thriving in his tender care, a collection that Tulare County Sheriff’s officials estimated had a street value of more than half a million dollars. Matt redeemed all that possession for a free trip in a police car, the lucky sap, and a bail set at $75,000.

  At least where Matt’s likely to end up, the fences will be plenty high.

  Source: The Visalia Times-Delta (CA)

  Dim Bulbs in Bright Lights

  Dude, Where’s My Car? (2000)

  Our Dumb Guys: Jesse Richmond (Ashton Kutcher) and Chester Greenburg (Seann William Scott)

  Our Story: After a night of apparently intense partying, Jesse and Chester wake up with no memory of the previous night and no idea where Jesse’s car could be. The two attempt to track down the car, make up with their girlfriends, and recover their memories, which leads to an adventure featuring bizarre bubble-wrapped UFO cults, transvestite strippers, tattoos, skee-ball, and—of course!—the fate of the known universe.

  Dumb or Stoned? While it’s clear these two are complete failures of the “Just Say No” generation (their personal nicknames are “Johnny Potsmoker” and “Smokey McPot”), and indeed believe their substance abuse is the proximate cause of their memory lapse and missing automobile, they go through the actual film in a largely chemically unaltered state. So: we have to go with dumb here.

  High Point of Low Comedy: Jesse and Chester are held captive by a freakish French ostrich fancier (Brent Spiner, who played Data in Star Trek: The Next Generation) and must answer questions relating to those large birds or be trapped in a cage with the allegedly humorous Andy Dick.

  And Now, In Their Own Words: Jesse ponders, “Is it possible that we got so wasted last night that we bought a lifetime supply of pudding and then totally forgot about it? As he opens the refrigerator to reveal said lifetime supply of pudding, Chester says, “I’d say it’s entirely possible.”

  They’re Dumb, But Is the Film Good? It depends on what your definition of “good” is. If two hours of largely thought-free, stoner-humor entertainment sounds like fun, then this is the movie for you. If those types of movies make you want to demand those two hours of your life back, then perhaps another flick may be in order.

  CHAPTER 14

  Sex and Other Naked Activities

  Sex and nakidity: without them, none of us would be here today. Think about it (but not too much, because that’s a page in the tome known as �
�Things I Don’t Wanna Think About My Parents Doing”). Sex is one of the most natural processes a human can engage in. But just because it’s natural doesn’t mean people don’t approach it, well, unnaturally. You want proof? Then, this is the chapter for you. Enjoy.

  When Lust Goes Overboard

  We don’t know much, but we know this: most people are, shall we say, curious about nudity. Sure, some people say they’re not much for it, but the following story shows just how dumb the naked body can render a crowd of people.

  We should also admit that there’s a time and place for enjoying nudity and there are other times that are somewhat less than perfect. One of those times, it turns out, is while one is on a boat on Lake Travis, near Austin, Texas. One such boat, with about sixty people on it, was cruising along the lake when it approached a park known as Hippie Hollow. According to the official Web site, Hippie Hollow Park is famous for its rocky shoreline and “Spectacular views of Lake Travis.” But as it’s also the home to Texas’s only clothing-optional public beach, it’s also known for its spectacular views of other things, too.

  As was apparently well-known by the folks on the boat, since as it came closer to Hippie Hollow, everyone on the boat went to the shore-facing side to get a look at the exposed bits and pieces on the beach. In their rush for ogletainment, our boat riders neglected to consider what happens to a boat with all the weight on one side.

  And what does happen? Well, the boat capsizes, that’s what. And suddenly sixty people hoping to get a look at nekkid folks found themselves getting something of a cold dunking (probably just what they needed). Two people were slightly injured, but most of the passengers were simply all wet. We bet the nudists on the beach enjoyed the show they got more than the people on the boat enjoyed theirs.

  Source: Associated Press

  That Greasy Freak

  We all have our little obsessions. Some are harmless. Some are a little strange. And then somewhere way past that is “Robert” and his strange preoccupation with Vaseline.

  Yes, Vaseline, the world’s best-loved petroleum jelly. Who knew that a product that can soothe your chapped lips can also remove eye makeup without clogging your pores? Truly, it’s a miracle product with lots of good, clean uses.

  Just not quite as many as Robert had for the product. Robert had been staying at a Motel 6 near Binghamton, New York; when he checked out, housekeeping went in and found that Robert had liberally applied Vaseline to everything in the room. By everything, we mean everything: the TV, the chairs, tables, towels, sheets, even the carpeting. After police were called to the scene, they found a trash can filled with fourteen empty Vaseline containers. In all, damage to the room cost over $1,000.

  Where to find the greasy miscreant? Binghamton police had a hunch that someone who might slather one motel room might do something similar elsewhere. And wouldn’t you know, they were right. Robert was apprehended at a nearby hotel, covered from stem to stern in Vaseline. And aren’t you glad you’re not the cop who had to handcuff him (think they wiped him down first so he wouldn’t squirm out of the handcuffs?). But handcuff him they did, and sent him to jail, too, for “criminal mischief.” There’s a euphemism for you.

  Source: Associated Press, Newsday

  From the “Probably Too Dumb to Be True” File

  We just about drooled over ourselves when we saw this one while we were doing research for the book because it was just so perfect. And then we realized that it was maybe too perfect. Our research found the story in several different places, but each of the stories had the same source. And Snopes.com, the great Internet repository of urban legends, lists this story as “questionable.” So we reluctantly have to place this one in the “of doubtful truthfulness” file. You take your chances. But it’s just too good not to share.

  The story involves a German couple. They’ve been married for eight years, and while they’re otherwise happy, they’ve had no luck on the child front. So they go to the University Clinic of Lubek to see what might be the problem. The doctors there do a number of tests on the man and wife and discover the two of them are normally fertile; there’s no biological impediment to having kids. Now, if the couple aren’t having a whole lot of sex, that could complicate matters—it cuts down on the number of chances for conception. So the doctors ask the couple, “How often are you having sex?” To which the couple replies, “Having what?”

  “We are not talking retarded people here,” the clinic spokesperson is supposed to have said, “but a couple who were brought up in a religious environment who were simply unaware, after eight years of marriage, of the physical requirements necessary to procreate.”

  Now you can see why we adore this story down to its bones, and yet are deeply suspicious about it. The idea that two people could go through decades of life and eight years of marriage and not know about the whole sex thing. It’s boggling. At last report the couple were being sex therapy lessons; they’re in for a shock.

  True or not? You make the call.

  Source: Ananova

  Old School Nudity

  Anote to nudists, if you are of advancing years, you’ll want to stay well clear of the Eforie Nord resort in Romania. The police are trying to pass a law there that will make it illegal for women over the age of sixty to go topless. Apparently, law enforcement in this Black Sea hot spot has gotten complaints about older women shucking their tops and letting it all hang out.

  The official line here is that all those nekkid older women might scare away the tourists, but a quote from one Romanian policeman is rather more instructive: “It’s always a pleasure to see a young woman, who also has to be beautiful of course, topless on the beach,” he said. “But the irony is that there are more old women going topless. I find it sometimes quite repulsive. I can understand the idea of wanting to get a uniform tan, but old women should simply give up on it.”

  No word from the Romanian policemen if there would be a commensurate ban, on, say, pasty old guys prancing around in Speedos, or (shiver, shiver) without them. Also, of course, no word on how many of those allegedly tourist-scaring old women are actually tourists themselves, and therefore unlikely to be frightened by their own nudity. Or, for that matter, how many of the topless old women find the police repulsive. In the meantime, our advice to the policemen is simply this: You don’t have to look, pal.

  Source: ThisisLondon.com, Ananova

  A Hardcore Benefit

  In these times, job benefits mean more to employees than ever—and if you’re a business owner, the key to attracting and retaining good workers is to offer them benefits that are relevant to their lives; benefits that will keep on giving.

  Like, say, porn.

  Hey, we’re not offering it, but the Danish IT company LL Media is. It pays for its workers’ subscriptions for Internet smut, so long as they view it at home and not at work. Its owners came to the decision to offer porn as a benefit to workers in a simple, matter-of-fact way. “We know that 80 percent of all hits on the Internet are on porn sites,” said company director Levi Nielsen. “And we can see that people also surf porn pages during work.” And remember—when it comes to benefits, you want to give the people what they want. And Nielsen stated he believed this benefit would make his staff more relaxed. Well, for starters.

  This benefit might make one hesitant to get near any of the company’s computer equipment. But there’s a catch: as noted above, the free porn is only for home use—the company blocks all smutty sites during the work day. Work, it seems, is still meant to be work.

  We doubt this will catch on over here. For one thing, who wants to be the first to ask for it? No, no. After you.

  Source: Aftenposten

  Like Romeo and Juliet, With Ductwork

  Mandy” loved “Teddy.” Teddy loved Mandy. Oh sure, they met in an interesting way: Mandy was in Daviess County Detention Center in Kentucky for first-degree possession of a controlled substance, while Teddy was in the same facility sweating out multiple DUIs. But even their r
easons for incarceration implied they had so much in common. What is love but the controlled substance of the heart?

  There were, of course, complications, namely that in the United States, at least, detention facilities are not designed to allow for easy romantic moments. But where there’s a will, there’s a way, especially when there are also crawl spaces in the detention facility. Teddy apparently discovered that all the cells in the facility were connected by plumbing ductwork, and if one is ambitious (and we suspect, thin) enough, one can crawl through the ductwork to get to other cells for a romantic interlude.

  Interestingly enough, another thing detention facilities in the United States don’t offer much of is birth control, which is why Mandy found herself pregnant. Mandy and Teddy both denied any sexual contact, but you know, a baby isn’t someone one can brew up one’s self.

  The two of them were charged with administrative violations of attempted escape, lying to a jail deputy, and interfering with the safety and security of a facility. Mandy was carted off to a separate women’s facility, one that presumably does not have easily invasive piping. It seems that the course of true love still runs bumpy.

  Source: Messenger-Inquirer (Owensboro, KY)

  A Little Bit of Road Rage

  Yes, it’s true. Road rage makes people do strange, inexplicable things. That’s why it’s not called “Road Tiffs” or “Road Squabbles” or something innocuous like that. No, when you’re in a road rage, you’ve pretty much taken leave of your senses—and in at least one case, one man took leave of his pants.