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Showing posts with label miracle cures. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miracle cures. Show all posts
Sunday
Oar not...
It's unclear at the moment, what with different sources touting vastly different he-said-she-said versions of the story on Sunday. But it seems at least likely that the reason the incumbent minority PM is so certain that those costly new stealth fighter planes he's set his heart on would cost ludicrously less, by at least half, than the figures that every other financial and military authority other than the PM and the Department of National Defence has come up with, is because they're ummm, gliders.
But us coyotes can see the, ummm, logic. Yeah. That's it. Logic. Because this solves everything. All the haters who've pointed out that our
economically-trained PM has never actually practiced economics - nor, apparently, economy of any kind - look like losers this time.
Because ordering motorless planes saves a veritable billions-and-billions bundle on up-front costs and downline engine maintenance. And it'll put the Canadian military at the tippy-top forefront of those petroleum conservation and low carbon footprint thingies. Just what the country needs to counterbalance that plethora of negative tar sands environmental impacts, I'm sure. Not to mention how much stealthier they'll be than everybody else's stealth fighters, if they don't make any noise.
How to make 'em go, then? Look no further than Canada's proud and ancient voyageur tradition, people! Just borrow the Olympic rowing team's supply of high-tech carbon fibre oars (to match the high-tech carbon fibre wings, y'unnerstand...) and paddle them suckers! Using penitentiary prisoners as galley slaves would, without a Tory doubt, save huge bucks on the big prison-building schema, too!
All done within budget, just like those prudent, conservative fiscal managers said they would! Problem solved! Mission accomplished! Where have I heard that line before? Never mind! How could I have ever doubted?
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Unknown
Labels:
analysis,
Coyote,
Current Events,
Dysfunction,
Economics,
frugality,
genius,
military,
miracle cures,
prime minister,
SRW,
technology
Wednesday
$250K to transform 3 ? The RCMP needs us!
Y'know, this front page item totally arrested me (heh...) as I pawed thru this morning's Petfinder: the RCMP is set to pay $220,000 to send three deputy minister-level guys to counselling in Arizona, in hopes of transforming their organization, particularly its sliding public image. Factoring in travel, taxes, meals and booze, they'll likely sock out $80K to $85K to ship each warm body out for, ummm, transformational counselling. Which will then, of course, drip through the RCMP org chart like wholesome milk through a bowl of Grape Nuts...
I have no quibble with transformational counselling. What with tasers sizzling amok; questionable training; organizational arrogance and rot; PR stonewalling and BS*; and all-round not-getting-it-ness, the Mounties lately have been driving their spiffy squad cars in the PR ditch more often than not. They need to change.
What gripes me is the fact that we're outsourcing thislucrative gravy train ummm, serious and delicate matter, to US counsellors...
I mean, just yesterday, Aggie was saying that our long-term plans to (somehow) make tunza bux off this blog and never work again, were in serious peril. This story is karma!
I'd like to note that we ESIs are long-time experts in both personal and systemic transformation. For $85K a pop, I'm pretty sure we can offer the RCMP a competitive service. And it shouldn't stop at three guys. Oh, no. In fact, we recommend our comprehensive counselling package for all 25,000-odd sworn and unsworn members of the force.
According to my calculator, this rings up at a touch over $2 billion. Give or take a few bucks. Almost enough, I think, to keep us in the style to which we would love to become accustomed...
We have one condition: our fees are non-refundable. Because, while we, as professional counsellers, would do our utmost to create conditions for transformative change, it's up to the Mounties themselves to (heh, again....) cop to the responsibility. They've got to really want to change...
I have no quibble with transformational counselling. What with tasers sizzling amok; questionable training; organizational arrogance and rot; PR stonewalling and BS*; and all-round not-getting-it-ness, the Mounties lately have been driving their spiffy squad cars in the PR ditch more often than not. They need to change.
What gripes me is the fact that we're outsourcing this
I mean, just yesterday, Aggie was saying that our long-term plans to (somehow) make tunza bux off this blog and never work again, were in serious peril. This story is karma!
I'd like to note that we ESIs are long-time experts in both personal and systemic transformation. For $85K a pop, I'm pretty sure we can offer the RCMP a competitive service. And it shouldn't stop at three guys. Oh, no. In fact, we recommend our comprehensive counselling package for all 25,000-odd sworn and unsworn members of the force.
According to my calculator, this rings up at a touch over $2 billion. Give or take a few bucks. Almost enough, I think, to keep us in the style to which we would love to become accustomed...
We have one condition: our fees are non-refundable. Because, while we, as professional counsellers, would do our utmost to create conditions for transformative change, it's up to the Mounties themselves to (heh, again....) cop to the responsibility. They've got to really want to change...
* Blue Serge...
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Unknown
Labels:
diversionary tactic,
headlines,
Life coaching,
miracle cures,
money,
RCMP,
rehab,
Team Building
Bring on the holy tacos
Yeah, yeah. I know Michael Jackson posts are already about passé. But I've been busy. And even at 3,500 feet, where the air is rare, the horizon blessedly wide, nightly howl-ups with my coyote brethren loud and yappy, and the Internet is dial-up and crappy, the King of Pop's sad death did not escape my notice.
Neither I'm sure, will the ensuing tawdry burlesque. It is, after all, one of the Independent Observer's favourite states for a reason.
Jackson's life was pure tabloid: a slow-motion circus train wreck. How would his dying change things? Especially with Joe Jackson, the ever-classy Rev. Al Sharpton, a cawing murder of publicity-hungry lawyers, the odd cellphone-camera totin' ambulance attendant, carpet-bombing Fox News 'reporters' and hordes of opportunistic alleged insiders, all gyrating out of the worm-riddled woodwork.
I'm not cynical or anything. Ummm, okay, maybe a little... I digress. But I figure we have only nanoseconds - maybe less - before the end game.
Which, if I read the signs aright, will be sightings of Jackson and Elvis, still alive. Eternally cruising the American heartland together in a white '68 Cadillac, leaving humongous tips with awestruck night shift attendants in isolated Seven Eleven gas stops. Who will sell their amazing stories to tabloid TV.
After that, it's a short inevitable hop to tales of corn tortillas adorned with the King of Pop's likeness. Blessed with miraculous powers. Oh, and steep admissions for supplicants that wish to bathe in their curative aura. Later to be hawked on eBay for thousands of bucks, and displayed in a highly legitimate casino museum on Sunset Strip.
Which reminds me. My breakfast Fritos this morning? I chanced upon this amazing silhouette of Michael Jackson on one of the chips. Hallelujah! I'm pretty sure it cured me. Of cynicism. Oh, yes. It's a freakin' - and I use that term advisedly - miracle! Bidders...?
Neither I'm sure, will the ensuing tawdry burlesque. It is, after all, one of the Independent Observer's favourite states for a reason.
Jackson's life was pure tabloid: a slow-motion circus train wreck. How would his dying change things? Especially with Joe Jackson, the ever-classy Rev. Al Sharpton, a cawing murder of publicity-hungry lawyers, the odd cellphone-camera totin' ambulance attendant, carpet-bombing Fox News 'reporters' and hordes of opportunistic alleged insiders, all gyrating out of the worm-riddled woodwork.
I'm not cynical or anything. Ummm, okay, maybe a little... I digress. But I figure we have only nanoseconds - maybe less - before the end game.
Which, if I read the signs aright, will be sightings of Jackson and Elvis, still alive. Eternally cruising the American heartland together in a white '68 Cadillac, leaving humongous tips with awestruck night shift attendants in isolated Seven Eleven gas stops. Who will sell their amazing stories to tabloid TV.
After that, it's a short inevitable hop to tales of corn tortillas adorned with the King of Pop's likeness. Blessed with miraculous powers. Oh, and steep admissions for supplicants that wish to bathe in their curative aura. Later to be hawked on eBay for thousands of bucks, and displayed in a highly legitimate casino museum on Sunset Strip.
Which reminds me. My breakfast Fritos this morning? I chanced upon this amazing silhouette of Michael Jackson on one of the chips. Hallelujah! I'm pretty sure it cured me. Of cynicism. Oh, yes. It's a freakin' - and I use that term advisedly - miracle! Bidders...?
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Unknown
Labels:
Anthropology,
Coyote,
Current Events,
deep thoughts,
miracle cures,
SRW,
stardust,
UFOs
Tuesday
A cure to cry for
It is spring. Heck, it's almost summer. But it doesn't really feel like winter's truly over. Many people are still sick. Some are paranoid about getting swine flu.
The guy at the shawarma shop where I get my coffee has the cure.
"Eat an onion," he says. "Do not cook onion. Just eat the onion raw. Whole thing. Raw."
In addition to possibly curing your cold / flu / blahs, it will ensure you do not pick up any of these ailments from a person of the opposite sex.
The guy at the shawarma shop where I get my coffee has the cure.
"Eat an onion," he says. "Do not cook onion. Just eat the onion raw. Whole thing. Raw."
In addition to possibly curing your cold / flu / blahs, it will ensure you do not pick up any of these ailments from a person of the opposite sex.
Posted by
Unknown
Labels:
illness,
miracle cures,
onions