10 Hamptons Survival Tips if You're Robbed At Gunpoint in Your Car

On the heels of a recent robbing of a man and his girlfriend in a car by four males brandishing a shotgun on Muir Boulevard in East Hampton, herewith ten essential survival tips:

1. Offer to drive your assailants to Buzz Chew for a test drive of a new truck.
2. Tell them you're a reporter from Plum TV and you want to do a documentary on their criminal escapades in the Hamptons.
3. Give them the finger and tell them you're dead broke because you live in the Hamptons.
4. Run them over and then be sued for violating their rights.
5. Offer a free East Hampton beach permit to the first assailant who can speak three consecutive sentences in English.
6. Promise you'll open up a charge account for them when the new Ralph Lauren store opens on Main Street.
7. Wear a Barack Obama mask and hand them green cards.
8. Give each of your assailants the business card of your least favorite rich Hamptons real estate broker with their home address written on the back.
9. Use a rolled up summer Dan's Papers and beat them senseless with it.
10. Get out of the car slowly, bend over and kiss your own sorry ass goodbye.

New Hamptons Sport: Utility Pole Ramming

At a sparsely attended press conference, Southampton and East Hampton Town Police announced the creation of a new Hamptons sport called Utility Pole Ramming. The first participant in this new East End adrenaline rush was a black SUV that went off the road and slammed into a telephone pole on the north side of Montauk Highway, just west of the Hess station, in Wainscott, NY. The gutsy driver fled the scene before grateful police arrived, leaving the pole split, with the top hanging in tree branches.

The SUV was traveling west on Route 27 when it veered to the right and struck the utility pole, signaling the start of what's destined to become a popular local recreational pastime. Pedestrians cheered and camera crews and local officials were about to honor the camera-shy daredevil driver when he backed
up and sped off, continuing west toward Southampton Town. "Utility pole ramming is the wave of the future," Southampton Town Police Officer Mike Hunt gushed with enthusiasm. Hamptons local officials plan to expand the new Long Island-based sport in the summer months to include other stationary and non-stationary targets, with extra points and prizes to be given to local drivers who hit cityiots and other obnoxious out-of-towners.

The Hamptons Real Estate Agent

Kingdom: Hamptonsalia
Phylum: Whoredata
Class: None
Order : Otherwise known as a "Flip"
Family: Probably Homeless
Genus : Audacious
Species: Lowlifeus treacheretatum
Authority, Money, Ego, Treachery

English Names: Real Estate Broker, Broker, Real Estate Salesperson, Deal-Maker, Mover and Shaker, Middleman, Realtor, Land Whore

Characteristics: The Hamptons real-estate broker wears fine garments to impress his or her rich clients and to convey an aura of feel-good affluence. They tend to drive pricy cars, pretend to be your friend until they have stolen a listing or client and can't be trusted to say anything truthful.

The males of this human class generally have small penises (a length of 22.0-27.2mm), and the females have big mouths sized 123.3-130.6mm. All have big egos, especially the bigger producers. The "up-island" real estate broker has a grating vocal pattern, but is notorious for cold calling at the worst possible times. Their calls are repeated 1-2 or 4-5 times in quick succession every 4-5 minutes. First-time real estate brokers tend to be of moderate size, with an umbrella-shaped lip (ideal for exaggeration), with the labial papillae completely surrounding the labium.

Lifestyle: Hamptons real estate brokers are a 24-7 species, but most of their main sales activity is diurnal. Office activity generally begins at 9:00 a.m and ceases soon after 5:00 p.m., with peak activity occurring at full light. The Hamptons real estate broker is generally very active, but will sit motionless for periods in their office nests while basking in sunlit patches or, if low on the social totem pole, relegated to sharing office space with many other fledglings.

Range & Habitat: Anywhere where a real estate deal can be had.

This species inhabited flat, open plains that used to be farmland until an increase in commercial and residential development and species overpopulation has confined many of them to their offices or periodic visits to the Patchogue unemployment office. These large tracts of farmland had such highly productive yields that a name was given to the soil. It is scientifically know as Bridgehampton Silt Loam.

It prefers sucking up to the rich by attending meaningless social functions, but is known to frequent beaches and cocktail parties sponsored by bigger birds. Active Hamptons real estate brokers can be found among farmland hoping to sell overpriced land to a new mark.

Food: Pricey restaurants if high in the pecking order; fast-food places if young or on the way out. A word of caution should be noted here as they are highly competitive and are carnivorous. During extended periods of an extended economic down-turn there have been cases of of cannibalism documented.

Reproduction: Although Hamptons real estate brokers have been observed all year round, although less frequently during cooler winter months. Breeding occurred in warm weather after or during heavy rain between October and May, peaking in January to March. When a check clears on a big deal, enthusiastic sex generally occurs; often paid for with over-inflated land or housing prices.

History & Population: The species has been on the East End for decades but rose to prominence in the 1980s. It was considered to be relatively uncommon before that. The species enjoyed explosive growth as habitat was destroyed and 2009 seems to be the year where many may become extinct. Major deals have fallen since late 2008 and, despite continued efforts to relocate the species, there is currently no information on population size, structure, genetics or dynamics.

Possible Extinction Causes: The reason(s) for the gradual disappearance of the Hamptons real estate broker remains unknown. Is it too much housing product? Is it too many brokers chasing too few deals? Is is the collapse of Wall Street? Current research is examining the possibility that a disease called greed may have caused the decline of this species. The real estate broker's habitat was and is currently threatened by overdevelopment, low Wall Street bonuses and a general disgust at the lack of affordable housing.

Conservation Attempts: A recovery plan has been prepared by Washington, DC and real estate deals, albeit a trickle, continue. Sadly enough this all could not prevent the gradual disappearance of this species and its future is still very much in doubt.

Celente Predicts Revolution, Food Riots, Tax Rebellions By 2012

Trend forecaster, renowned for being accurate in the past, says that America will cease to be a developed nation within 4 years, crisis will be “worse than the great depression”

Paul Joseph Watson
Prison Planet.com
Thursday, November 13, 2008
The man who predicted the 1987 stock market crash and the fall of the Soviet Union is now forecasting revolution in America, food riots and tax rebellions - all within four years, while cautioning that putting food on the table will be a more pressing concern than buying Christmas gifts by 2012.
Gerald Celente, the CEO of Trends Research Institute, is renowned for his accuracy in predicting future world and economic events, which will send a chill down your spine considering what he told Fox News this week.
Celente says that by 2012 America will become an undeveloped nation, that there will be a revolution marked by food riots, squatter rebellions, tax revolts and job marches, and that holidays will be more about obtaining food, not gifts.
(ARTICLE CONTINUES BELOW)

“We’re going to see the end of the retail Christmas….we’re going to see a fundamental shift take place….putting food on the table is going to be more important that putting gifts under the Christmas tree,” said Celente, adding that the situation would be “worse than the great depression”.
“America’s going to go through a transition the likes of which no one is prepared for,” said Celente, noting that people’s refusal to acknowledge that America was even in a recession highlights how big a problem denial is in being ready for the true scale of the crisis.
Watch the clip.

Celente, who successfully predicted the 1997 Asian Currency Crisis, the subprime mortgage collapse and the massive devaluation of the U.S. dollar, told UPI in November last year that the following year would be known as “The Panic of 2008,” adding that “giants (would) tumble to their deaths,” which is exactly what we have witnessed with the collapse of Lehman Brothers, Bear Stearns and others. He also said that the dollar would eventually be devalued by as much as 90 per cent.
The consequence of what we have seen unfold this year would lead to a lowering in living standards, Celente predicted a year ago, which is also being borne out by plummeting retail sales figures.
The prospect of revolution was a concept echoed by a British Ministry of Defence report last year, which predicted that within 30 years, the growing gap between the super rich and the middle class, along with an urban underclass threatening social order would mean, “The world’s middle classes might unite, using access to knowledge, resources and skills to shape transnational processes in their own class interest,” and that, “The middle classes could become a revolutionary class.”
In a separate recent interview, Celente went further on the subject of revolution in America.
“There will be a revolution in this country,” he said. “It’s not going to come yet, but it’s going to come down the line and we’re going to see a third party and this was the catalyst for it: the takeover of Washington, D. C., in broad daylight by Wall Street in this bloodless coup. And it will happen as conditions continue to worsen.”
“The first thing to do is organize with tax revolts. That’s going to be the big one because people can’t afford to pay more school tax, property tax, any kind of tax. You’re going to start seeing those kinds of protests start to develop.”
“It’s going to be very bleak. Very sad. And there is going to be a lot of homeless, the likes of which we have never seen before. Tent cities are already sprouting up around the country and we’re going to see many more.”
“We’re going to start seeing huge areas of vacant real estate and squatters living in them as well. It’s going to be a picture the likes of which Americans are not going to be used to. It’s going to come as a shock and with it, there’s going to be a lot of crime. And the crime is going to be a lot worse than it was before because in the last 1929 Depression, people’s minds weren’t wrecked on all these modern drugs – over-the-counter drugs, or crystal meth or whatever it might be. So, you have a huge underclass of very desperate people with their minds chemically blown beyond anybody’s comprehension.”
The George Washington blog has compiled a list of quotes attesting to Celente’s accuracy as a trend forecaster.
“When CNN wants to know about the Top Trends, we ask Gerald Celente.”
— CNN Headline News
“A network of 25 experts whose range of specialties would rival many university faculties.”
— The Economist
“Gerald Celente has a knack for getting the zeitgeist right.”
— USA Today
“There’s not a better trend forecaster than Gerald Celente. The man knows what he’s talking about.”
- CNBC
“Those who take their predictions seriously … consider the Trends Research Institute.”
— The Wall Street Journal
“Gerald Celente is always ahead of the curve on trends and uncannily on the mark … he’s one of the most accurate forecasters around.”
— The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
“Mr. Celente tracks the world’s social, economic and business trends for corporate clients.”
— The New York Times
“Mr. Celente is a very intelligent guy. We are able to learn about trends from an authority.”
— 48 Hours, CBS News
“Gerald Celente has a solid track record. He has predicted everything from the 1987 stock market crash and the demise of the Soviet Union to green marketing and corporate downsizing.”
— The Detroit News
“Gerald Celente forecast the 1987 stock market crash, ‘green marketing,’ and the boom in gourmet coffees.”
— Chicago Tribune
“The Trends Research Institute is the Standard and Poors of Popular Culture.”
— The Los Angeles Times
“If Nostradamus were alive today, he’d have a hard time keeping up with Gerald Celente.”
— New York Post
So there you have it - hardly a nutjob conspiracy theorist blowhard now is he? The price of not heeding his warnings will be far greater than the cost of preparing for the future now. Storable food and gold are two good places to make a start.

Mother's Eulogy.... and the woman who's sense of humor I inherited

My mother would not want us to be sad today but to view her death as a release for her and her suffering and for us to celebrate her life, as she has made important contributions to this world. When my phone rang at 5:15 on the morning of October 19th I knew it was not good news... My sister Kay had gone to see our Mother just 48 hours before the call had come in. My mother had died... I got up and dressed quickly and hopped in the car and headed for the Nursing Home. As I was driving to Southampton the silliest phrase began bouncing around in my head... Mind you I took pause before I actually said it out loud to myself, as my mother had a rather wicked sense of humor that I have inherited from her and dare I say an unusual and politically incorrect way with words. Over the years I have found much of her diction has become my own and it is a gentle reminder of her powerful intellect and appreciation of the written and spoken word. She loved to read and would devour 5 to 10 books a week sometimes. To a degree I have inherited her love of books, but more so her appreciation for music. Some times she would be reading 3 or 4 novels simultaneously! I never understood how she could keep the plots and characters straight, but some how she managed...
Even though my mother had many personal demons, the one thing she managed to keep was her sense of humor. Barbara liked to poke fun about politics and the daily events of life that would transpire around her. She disliked her roommate at the Nursing home and she would roll her eyes to punctuate her displeasure or look at me and shake her frail little fist in the air or even silently flip someone the bird whilst they weren't looking. She wasn't a malicious person, but always had a strong opinion and wouldn't hesitate to let it be known, no matter how pedantic the topic of conversation may have been.

In terms of the larger picture, she knew she was going to die and it saddened her. I had broken the bad news to her when I had seen her in the hospital in Port Jefferson and we both cried. She knew the end was near, but she never really accepted it. Which in a way I think was a blessing in disguise. Rome for her was burning and nothing she could do was going to stop it, her only option was to get out and that is exactly what she did.
In her own words, she was“a little batty,” but she was also rather stoic in her last few days. It was widely known by many that she was more than a little batty for the last 10 or 15 years of her life. At times she was down right difficult. Few knew better than I. I had been with her for the majority of her time on earth and lord only knows the craziness she was capable of. The majority of her lifestyle was definitely not conducive to family life nor would it have passed the sensors on national TV, but I will tell you this...
There was rarely a dull moment when my mother was around...
It wasn't until I had become a man, gotten married and started a family of my own that I saw how destructive the disease of alcoholism was for her and I had to pull back from her so I could build what eluded her for most of her life, a stable family. Don't get me wrong, I am no a paragon of virtue, nor a pillar of moral perfection, but I have learned from my mother's mistakes, as we all should.
In the last few days of her life she was starting to hallucinate a bit and she was reporting to me with great conviction that so-and-so had come to visit or that someone she knew had become a resident of the nursing home. In reality she was seeing people who actually weren't there. One of them being a long time friend, Patsy Topping. A few days after my mother had reported to me with great certainty that Patsy was now a resident at the Southampton Center for Nursing and Rehabilitation I ran into Patsy at the drug store and relayed this tale to her about my mother seeing her at the Nursing Home. Patsy who is definitely not a resident, said “just tell her I am there and that my thoughts are with her.” I have known Patsy since I was about 6 years old and this seemed like a good approach to take. I must say that I value Patsy's wisdom and so as to appease the gods when I saw my mother next and I expected a comment about Patsy I was ready for it, but the moment never came.
Politics and racial prejudice were always an important topic of conversation and my mother felt it was her civic duty to make a difference some how, no matter how small it may seem to be. As I was growing up, I learned a great deal from her and in turn have become keenly interested in these facets of our society. My mother was very happy that we as a nation were on the verge of electing Barack Obama for President.
I was born 40 years ago on election day when our Nation was in great turmoil. As history tends to repeats itself, so we are again, at a very important juncture, facing great turmoil. For me it is a fitting time of change, strife and struggle that we face as a nation, and a very apropos end to my mother's time on this earth.
A story that was recounted to me about the day I was born (by whom I cannot recall) was very indicative of who my mother was as a person. After confirming that I was indeed a healthy baby boy, (two arms, check... two legs, check... ten fingers, ten toes, check...two eyes, check... etc....) the first question out of her mouth was “who won the election?” and much to our Nation's chagrin it was Richard Nixon. How I never ended up as a politician I do not know....
Actually I do know... I am my mother's son.
I have learned over my life time to push the edge of envelope as some would say. My mother on the other hand had a tendency to simply tear the envelope to shreds. Not long ago she was a person who could get certain things done whereas other could not, “by hook or by crook” she would say as she managed to pull off what ever shenanigan she was involved with at the time.
Her views on racial prejudice in our country were much more progressive than most and it was very important to her that everyone was treated equally. She was one of the first people to be a Fresh Air Fund volunteer in 1971 and I have many fond memories of Randy Pierce who came from the Bronx and spent the summers with us until 1975. She felt that no matter what the color of a person's skin, we are all important facets of our society. And as a result of her views I was raised to be color blind when other parents were feeding their children the hatred of racism.

She coached my little league baseball team in 1977 and I was mortified as a boy who's Mother was in charge of his baseball team, as only I knew, she knew little to nothing about the game of baseball. And again by hook or by crook she pulled it off with the grace and ease. I still didn't like it cause she was my Mom. Much to everyone's surprise she continued to coach baseball after I had reached the cut-off age of 12. She loved working with children.
As I walked in to the nursing home I thought to myself thank god she is finally free and she would suffer no more. She did a lot of that in the last 12/15 years of her life and now, finally for her... blessed relief... That evening I sat with a friend who has known me since I was a little boy, and we began the task of writing my mother's obituary and we were at a loss for words. Such promise and grace, such beauty and intellect and wit. Such dignity and yet so much suffering, sadness and chaos. Susan exclaimed “we really need your mother's help with this you know!”
Why she never wrote a book I do not know. We lived next door to John Irving for a number of years and she used to have lunch at Bobby Van's with Truman Capote on Thursday afternoons toward the end of his life, which was very similar to my mother's insomuch as they were both exceedingly intelligent people who drank like it was going out of style. Actually... I do know the reason she never wrote a book and it was the wish that I always had for her, it was always the same wish... If SHE COULD ONLY GET SOBER.... She could have done so many wonderful things in the waning years of her life. This was the dream I had for her and especially for my sister... who never really knew some of the more positive things about our mother as she is ten years younger than I.
Kay is the culmination of her mother's best attributes, she's creative and independent, strikingly beautiful, smart enough to become a successful lawyer, but not to linger in the profession too long. She is athletic, vibrant and loves animals, especially horses and is kind and thoughtful of others. Plus she has a penchant for men named Tom... Kay married a man named Tom which was was her Father's name as well as my mother's first husband. Now we must let our wishes and dreams go and remember the good times that again seem so few and far between... but in reality there were quite a lot of them.
She gave us the opportunity to grow up in what used to be and in some ways still is, one of the most beautiful places in the world and she saw that I was educated in one of the finest schools in the country. Your father took care of your education as our mother's darkness had taken a strong hold by that time in your life. Growing up with her as a mother was definitely not easy as I am sure my sister can attest to but as I look back on our life together it definitely was not boring either...
She could be one of the funniest people you would ever want to meet. She had a wicked way with words. As some would say she had a “caustic wit” which she would have pointed out is an over used and well worn phrase, and that was the god's honest truth... Again, her diction not mine. I remember listening to her and my Aunt Louise argue over the semantics and proper usage of certain words and phrases, such as the difference between idiomatic speech and diction. Idiomatic speech refers to a regional or native speech pattern that is particular to a certain locale and diction is simply one's choice of words. The definitions are similar, but Mom would usually win these types of arguments with Weezer... My grandfather was the only member of the family who could best my mother in these silly little games they would play with each other. He always ended up with the winning hand...
Unfortunately my sister Kay didn't have the opportunity to know my mother as I did before she fell off the deep end. She had a friend who is a writer and he was quoted as saying, “Your mother is so smart that if she could only get sober.... she wouldn't be running from the IRS she could be running the IRS.” There were good times back in the day... and as the years rolled past they only became fewer and farther in between... again one of my mother's phrases.
The phrase that popped into my head on the morning of her death was “Ding Dong The Witch is dead... The Witch is dead... The Witch is dead...” I know this may seem shallow and crass, but it was definitely something I had heard her say on the occasion of a close friend or family member's death. It was her way of making light of a very emotionally painful situation.
As I walked to the room where she lay not knowing what to expect, I knew but one thing. I am who I am as a result of her. Her values, her choices, her kindness, her fierceness and tenacity, her love, her spirit, her joy and sorrow. I kissed her on the forehead and told her that I loved her as she had done to me so many times as a child and I turned to leave the room. I paused and turned back just to double check as this would have been her idea of an uproariously funny joke on the Son who hears of his mother's death and runs to be at her side only to find her alive and kicking. Oh my would she have laughed. Like watching Monty Python on public television back in the day, laughter so raucous the neighbors who lived half a mile down the road would think she's gone right round the bend.... Well now she has... she's made the final turn... onto the home stretch...
I am reminded of a joke she told many times about the crucifixion of Jesus and his disciple Peter. Jesus was hanging on the cross and for him the end was near. He quietly called out to Peter “come closer Peter.” Peter struggled to get through the crowd that had gathered around Jesus and Jesus called out to him again “come closer” “I'm coming my Lord,” he hollered back as he drew closer, Jesus called out to him yet again, and Peter struggled to get closer through the maddening crowd. As Peter finally reached the base of the Cross he ask Jesus, “what is it My Lord, what can I do for you?” Jesus looked down upon Peter from the great height of his cross and quietly said “Peter..... I can see your house from here!...”
Like all us of Barbara had her faults, some much more glaring than others, but today we honor the memory of who she was as person when the demons had yet to rear their ugly heads, the gifts she gave, not just to her children, but to other children in the community as well and of the good times, the Christmas mornings rife with toys and the fantastic dinners she cooked, and of the time she took to help her friends. She was always very generous with her time especially when someone else was in need or hurting. I think she inherited this trait from her father who was always willing to help a friend tackle a project that was bigger than both of them. My mother wouldn't think twice about dropping what ever she was doing to help a friend. And finally the most important thing she gave to the world and the only real legacy she has left behind, her children.
As my mother was not big on charities and donating money to even the noblest of causes, as some people ask on the occasion of someone's death "can we make a donation to something that she cared about in her name?" My answer to that is no, if you would like to honor Barbara, TAKE ACTION! Do something extraordinary for a child in need and make a concrete and personal difference in that child's life even if that child is not your own. Go out of your way to visit an old friend who is not well and spend time with them as time is our most valuable commodity in life. Make a difference in your community by stepping up and volunteering, coach a baseball team even though you've never played the game. Do this in remembrance of her and think fondly of her in the times before the darkness set in...

POLICE DETONATE SUSPICIOUS MIDDLE SCHOOL BACKPACK IN SOUTHAMPTON VILLAGE

A suspicious middle school backpack found on the roof of Waldbaum’s in Southampton Village this past week was detonated by local police.

Southampton Village Police arrived at Waldbaum’s after a 911 caller reported seeing teenagers jeering startled shoppers from the roof. Officers did not find anyone on the roof, but they did find a heavy middle school backpack with foul language written all over it.

Ultimately, investigators determined the backpack was not a threat to anyone. But the overpaid Southampton emergency responders, in another blatant attempt to justify their high salaries over-time, decided to break the backpack by blasting it with liquid under pressure. Southampton Village was brought to a virtual stand as hundreds of firefighters, police and emergency medical personnel cheered the early morning explosion.

"I estimate that blowing up the backpack cost taxpayers at least $100,000," said Southampton Village Volunteer Ambulance member Tony LeBraco. "But, heck, we didn't have anything better to do and we all agreed that middle school was a waste of time."

The backpack contained condoms, Obama-Biden buttons, an i-pod nano and a Koran Village Police Captain Thomas Slummings said. "It was obviously owned by a communist sympathizer and we were proud to destroy it," Captain Slummings said.

Highly paid Suffolk County arson investigators were happy to get the overtime pay and advised Captain Slummings that the backpack was likely not an improvised explosive device.

Rules of Thumb...

The phrase "rule of thumb" is derived from an old English law, which stated that you couldn't beat your wife with anything wider than your thumb. Luckily, I was able to flatten my thumbs not too long ago by rolling a keg of beer on them. Now my thumbs are more than 6 inches wide!

The Duck and the Condom

The Duck and the Condom

Two ducks go on their honeymoon and stay in a hotel. As they are about to make love, the male duck says, ''Oh, we haven't got any condoms. I'll ring down to room service.'' He calls and asks for some condoms.

The woman says, ''OK sir, would you like to put them on your bill?''

''No,'' he says, ''I'll suffocate!''

Finding Laughter Wherever You May Roam...

I was paying homage to the gasoline gods and gathering a couple of snacks and other daily necessities when I bumped into an old acquaintance of mine who shall remain anonymous due to the tangled web we all weave in our little seaside abode. Now "Mike" is an avid fisherman who can be seen cruising the beaches in his SUV at this time of year; looking for the tell tale signs of our most common large game fish, Striped Bass. As he filled his fuel tank in anticipation of a bit of fishing we were chatting about how the fishing was so far this Fall and how crazy things were getting economically and the intensity of the Presidential election and all. We both expressed our concerns for the very near future insomuch that things are going to get very ugly for some people. Mike then said to me "You know when I die I want to come back as a Bird." I thought to my self that would be pretty cool being able to fly and all and then he hit me with a home-run! He said " I would just like to come back as a Seagull so I could fly around and SHIT ON ALL THE STUPID CITY PEOPLE WHO COME OUT HERE!

Now I think Mike and I are on the same page when it comes to defining a "City Person." Just about any body who lives west of say Manorville qualifies. Mike is a hard working guy who deals with the public at his workplace everyday and I know how he feels. There are some city folk that are down right awesome and then there seems to be a huge group that are not worth a piece of gum that sticks to the sole of your shoe.

So the next time you see a Gull gliding gracefully across the beach just remember it may be the landscaper who you screwed out of half of what you owed him or the waitress you jipped because you couldn't wait for her to bring you a bill so you snuck out the back door or the time you walked into an ice cream shop in August with your entire family of 13 people and 6 screaming kids and you didn't tip that college kid behind the counter. Who knows, could be a former employee who you fired cause you didn't like their shoes and they're going to shit all over you like there is no tomorrow. Just be grateful they didn't become a swan or an eagle or an Albatross or some other huge friggin' bird I haven't heard of yet...

A Message From The Dark Side...The Conservative Right...AKA The Moral Majority

Anna Throne Holst, the Southampton board member and environmental activist, flush with the success of her pool heater initiative, has struck another mighty blow for the planet.
This time, it is a triple play. Simply stated, Throne Holst has proposed making daily newspapers illegal. “Newspaper production, “ avers ms. Throne Holst pollutes in three ways. First there is the very nasty business of making tons of paper that are used every day. As one can imagine, the deforestation involved is frightening in itself, and then there is the well know problem of paper production which is a major polluter itself.Then there is the matter of the energy required to make millions of papers every day, and the introduction of the inks into the environment. Then at the end of the very day the papers are produced, the gigantic task of disposing of them begins: fuel is wasted, land fills engorged, and pathetic attempts at recycling started. All in all, it is simply a staggering waste of resources in an internet age when the news is already old by the time you buy your daily paper. Ms. Throne-Holst, who has not actually purchased a newspaper for several years, says that the habit is a lot easier to kick than smoking, and a lot better for the health. In fact, she states, she can scan a dozen web sites, like the Daily Kos, and so forth, in much less time than it takes to get to the newsstand, using no fossile fuel, and get a much wider range of view points that she found in the rather establishment New York Times, her former fav! Ms. T-H, would ban newspapers immediately, and weekly and monthly publications would have six months or a year to go electronic. Many of them already are.
Just to show her devotion to the environment, Anna has even proposed an extension for the Times, until Obama is elected, a critical step in saving the planet, or so she says...

We Can Ride Our Bikes with No Handlebars

One of the most annoying phenomena that has become a bane to our summertime existence is the presence of fanatical, spandex-clad road warriors. (You know what I am talking about.) They travel in rather large packs and ooze self-entitlement and haughty healthiness. Not to mention an explosion of bike signs reminiscent of the first days of the AIDS crisis. Yeah we get it: We have to share the road with them, but we're not happy about it.
Recently a friend who shall remain anonymous recounted a story that speaks volumes of the mindset of our cycle idiots.

The man is a volunteer ambulance member and a life long resident of the East End. He gives back to his community and doesn't just ride through it. The EMT was in transit with a patient in the back of his ambulance and was attempting to navigate the often narrow streets of Sag Harbor, NY when he encountered the "spokes." A large, diverse pack of cyclists had taken up the majority of the roadway as the ambulance approached from behind. The bikers would not yield to the ambulance's siren and continued to block its passage. When the driver of the ambulance had taken all he could, he rolled down his window to impart a few choice words to the cyclists. But before he could utter a sound, one of the female bikers in the group hollered out, "Do you mind... we're on vacation!"

ZULU WITCH DOCTOR TO PROVIDE TREATMENT FOR UNINSURED HAMPTONITES

People on the East End who are enrolled in the Hip Health Plan or GHI medical insurance plan were given the grim news that they will no longer be welcome at Southampton Hospital or Peconic Bay Medical Center in Riverhead, NY.

Officials at both hospitals advised anxious residents to not get sick. Or, if they do fall prey to illness or injury, to contact a local witch doctor to arrange treatment. "Fear not, uninsured Hamptonites," said Bheka Nkosi, a Zulu Sangoma healer wearing the gallbladder of a goat in his hair. "First, I will summon your ancestors by dancing, chanting, and most importantly playing drums. In my trance state, they will reveal to me the appropriate treament."

HIP Health Plan and GHI executives welcomed the shaman and vowed to provide insurance coverage for his channelling, bone throws and dream interpretations. "Mr. Nkosi's rituals need to be a part of the health care reform discussion,” said Karen Quack, President and CEO America's Health Insurance Plans (AHIP), a national association that represents roughly 1,300 member companies that provide health insurance coverage. "Bheka's the future of medical care in this country and a key part of our strategy to work with all stakeholders to close the gap in the quality of health care nationwide.” If you are interested in using Nkosi as your primary care physician, residents are urged to contact HIP at 1-800-HIP-TALK and GHI customers can call 1-800-552-0103 where they will hear a pre-recorded message saying,"Ngiyabonga (thank you)."

Living on Hess Food: Day 3

To Krispy Kreme, or not to Krispy Kreme: that is the pastry:
Whether 'tis nobler in the stomach to suffer
The slings and arrows of surly Hess attendants,
Or to eat doughnuts against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing belch them? To devour: to eat;
No more; and by a snack to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That craving is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be savored.
When Krispy Kreme has closed its doors
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the loss of heaven and yeast-raised delight,
The high gas prices, the long lines for ale,
The pangs of Hostess Donettes, the $3.00 ATM fee,
The malfunctioning pump or an empty newspaper rack?
The lost Krispy Kreme! Original Glazed, in thy glory
You were a doughnut for the ages.

Custard Pies Fly as Ferrera Receives Approval to Build 50-Story Skyscraper on Post Lane

On September 11, Gerry Ferrara, a village Zoning Board of Appeals member, was pelted by custard pies thrown by irate members of the Toylsome Lane/Post Lane Neighborhood Association at the Village Board meeting after the spineless, pro-development board members approved his 50-story skyscraper to be built on Post Lane. Irate and seeking revenge for the quiet settlement reached last month between the Southampton Village Board of Historic Preservation and Architectural Review and the would-be Trump, members of the Toylsome Lane/Post Lane Neighborhood threw a record 273 custard pies at Ferrera.

With custard streaming down his face, a defiant Gerry Ferrara raised his voice and told the miffed neighborhood association to “back off and stand down.” In August, Southampton Village Mayor Mark Epley brokered an agreement with Mr. Ferrara and the ARB on the heels of rejecting his application to replace his ranch house on Post Lane with a 75-story skyscraper. But Post Lane neighbors seethed because the modified 50-story skyscraper will destroy the once quiet neighborhood. "I exploited weaknesses in zoning rules to build what I wanted. You know how it is out here in the Hamptons. If you have money and lawyers, anything's possible. The only thing stopping you is a moral conscience. If you think pelting me with pies will stop me, think again."

Surging Red Tide in East End Believed to Be a Psych Ops Operation on Elite Liberal Bastion

In a country divided into blue states and red states facing another too-close-to-call Presidential election, it should come as no surprise that a toxic species of algae known as red tide has reappeared on the East End in recent weeks. "We're one of the capitols of the elite liberal media effetes and those cagey NASCAR-loving rednecks in the boonies have hit us right where it hurts," said Joe Halloway, who accepted Barack Obama as his personal savior last year. "What better way to get under our skin than destroying our ability to throw clambakes and staining our pristine yachts?" Joe whined in typical liberal fashion.

In recent weeks, as the McCain-Palin ticket has resurged in Middle America, liberals of all stripes have begun to panic and this latest round of psychological operations may prove to be especially effective. "We bard my brother's pickup truck in Jawjah and dumped Red Dye #40 into Peconic Bay," admitted Eustace Pickens. "We ain't ignert folks and we is raedy to fight for our rats." East End liberals will not take this latest attack lying down. They plan to retaliate by driving a caravan of powder blue Bentleys and dump blue dye to disrupt an upcoming truck offroad shootout in Texas.

Diary of a Hamptons Hitman

Hi...My name's Robert. I live in the Hamptons. I have a good job, a devoted wife named Mandy, two adorable children Max and Erin (ages 4 and 8, respectively) and a spacious mansion on the beach. Recently, I was driving my precious cargo for an ocean dip in my powder blue Bentley on a beautiful summer day. There wasn't a cloud in the sky as I brushed Max's hair with affection and we sang, "Row...row...row your boat...gently down the stream."

I was living the dream and I knew it. I had come a long way from the time I was 15 and living in NYC with my father Michael. In those days, dad drove a Buick Roadmaster with a spacious trunk where he stored his precious cargo. When I asked him what he did for a living, he answered: "I'm a restaurant owner, son. Some day, I want you to take over the family business. C'mon, let's run a little errand."

We drove in silence to an abandoned lot. My father told me to stay in the car while he met a key supplier. Suddenly, a powerful explosion shook the ground and my father's bloody and unrecognizable head landed with a loud thud on the car's front windhshield. Two armed thugs grabbed me from the car kicking and screaming and within seconds, wracked with grief, I was introduced to Vito DeVito, my new 'father.' "I like you, kid," Vito said. "But your scumbag dad double-crossed me and you're gonna work off his debt. Welcome to your new family...one that you can never leave, capisce?"

NEXT: After being honored at a celebrity-studded gala event for charity, I garotte a low-level informer in Westhampton, NY

The Fair Field Hillbilly (Sung to the Beverly Hillbillies Theme)

Come and listen to a story about a man named Ira
Who built the largest house which will be his funeral pyre
A smooth operator who defaulted on some bonds
But that didn't stop him from another string of cons.
Leverage that is, fool's gold, ya shittin' me?
Well the first thing you know ol' Ira's a billionaire,
Kinfolk said Ira gotta build right over there
Said the Hamptons is the place you ought to be
So he built the biggest mansion where he hides from misery.

The Hamptons, that is.
Swimmin pools, movie stars.

Sung at the end of the show:

Well now its time to say good-bye to Ira and all his kin.
And they would like to thank you folks fer never droppin in.
You won't ever be invited to his huge locality
Or ever get a chance again to see the deep blue sea

Fair Field Hillbilly that is. Get the hell out. Put your shoes on. Y'all never come back now, y'hear?

Born in 1934 in Brooklyn, NY, Ira Leon Rennert is the billionaire founder of Renco Group. Rennert is known for his palatial house in the Hamptons and never has been seen in these here parts.

JOHN McCAIN ANNOUNCES HE'S AN AGENT OF LOOSE CHANGE

Announcing he's the real agent of loose change, Republican Presidential candidate Sen. John McCain will be making a brief appearance in the Hamptons area in the coming weeks wearing his white Naval garb and driving an ice cream truck dubbed the "Straight Cream Express."

"If you go on my official web site's home page, I advise the American people to 'Serve a Cause Greater than Yourself.' After eight years of corruption, a limping economy and a misguided war under Republican leadership, I've decided to serve my country by serving free ice cream directly to the top one-percent of the population who've benefited from our policies and hand out loose change from my coin dispenser to the rest of you suckers who can't bring themselves to vote for an uppity African American. My campaign of distortion and lies designed to distract voters from the miserable state of our once-great nation is based on the old adage: 'I scream... Obama screams... we all scream for ice cream.'"

Living on Hess Food: Day Two

After eating an Angus burger at the McDonald's in Southampton, NY, I slept like a baby and vowed to jump start my experiment to eat only Hess food for the remainder of the week. That is, until the news broke the other day that our horny/drug-crazed government officials responsible for collecting billions of dollars in federal oil royalty revenues had created a "culture of substance abuse and promiscuity" that involved having sex with energy company employees, accepting lavish gifts and rigging contracts to favored firms.

I immediately drove back home and e-mailed my admittedly thin resume to the Denver Minerals Management Services office, anxiously hoping for a job interview, sex and drugs, not necessarily in that order. The only thing missing was the "rock & roll."

"Screw eating Hess food for the week," I thought to myself. "I'll buy some cans of motor oil from them and rub it all over my body like cologne and soon I'd be pumping away like a well-oiled Sarah Palin .338 Win Mag." With all the national debate swirling around the pros and cons of offshore drilling, the allure of onshore drilling was proving difficult to resist.

Next: Day Three of the Wainscott Hess Oil Cologne Experiment Ends Tragically When the Author flirts with Self-Immolation...

Living on Hess Food: Day One

The Hess station at 346 Montauk Highway in Wainscott, NY is my refuge, a sanctuary from the mad hustle and bustle of the choked roads and beaches seen on a typical Hamptons summer day. Local lore has it that one desperate female city resident recently begged a Hess attendant to borrow a $2.29 bottle opener to pry the lid off the beer in her car and vowed to return it only to receive this full-service reply from her all-too-concerned attendant: ”Sorry, lady, then the bottle opener would be used and I couldn’t sell it.”

My car and I draw sustenance from Hess. The ever-present long lines inside filled with swaggering up-island workers, anxious immigrants and nervous local kids trying to buy cigarettes or beer with fake IDs stand in sharp contrast to the smug self confidence of the proud high and mighty that line up at the General Store in Sagaponack, NY. In keeping with my distinctly lower middle class values (and because I'm dead broke), I decided to conduct a medical experiment along the lines of the hit movie "Supersize Me." I would eat only Hess food for one week and document my body's changes.

DAY ONE: Chose the egg, bacon and cheese biscuit sandwich for breakfast. Despite numerous attempts to microwave it, the sandwich stubbornly refused to heat up and tasted like a flaky hockey puck. For lunch, I ate two overdone hot dogs that caused immediate heartburn and cessation of all feeling from below my waist. (This noble experiment was going to be tough on my marriage I mused.) Dinner choices were limited to a six-pack of Corona beer or the last lonely microwavable bacon cheeseburger that looked and tasted eerily similar to the aforementioned egg, bacon and cheese biscuit sandwich.

I asked the young female Russian attendant if Hess offered any salads and she replied, "We're not a restaurant, sir. We're a gas station." With the hot dogs from lunch still burning a hole in my gut, I conceded her point.

My next decision was a no-brainer. Despite the considerable risks to my nascent study's reliability and validity, I would eat healthy. I would drive to the McDonald's in Southampton, NY and order an Angus and continue my Hess food experiment tomorrow.

Next: Day Two of the Wainscott Hess Food Diet Causes the Author to Experience Acute Paranoid Schizophrenia