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The Palo Alto Poop Patrol

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                                                        THE PALO ALTO POOP PATROL   The entrepreneurial, Silicon Valley spirit has overtaken me. My friends here are churning out new ideas and new enterprises—and, oh yes, getting rich. But what about me?  What is my special calling? What was I brought into this world to do? Ladies and gentlemen, that search is over.  I am the founder and CEO of the Palo Alto Poop Patrol.  As my fellow residents know, Palo Alto code 6,20,045 states : Dog defecation is to be removed by owners. It is unlawful for any person owning or having control or custody of any dog to permit the animal to defecate upon the public or private property of this city unless the person immediately removes the feces.  That is the law that inspired me.  So what is it that I, as the leader of the Palo Alto Poop Patrol, do? Do I issue fines? No! Whensurreptitiously film a law-breaking, dog-pooping dog and its owner, I don’t issue fines. I do accept bribes.  

City Council Ponders: Should We Give Ourselves a Raise?

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                     It was a time of great soul searching for city-council members in the City of Alt Losses. Should they increase their stipends from $300 to $950 a month and triple their benefits to $11,000 a year—an increase that the state of California just allowed? A special meeting was called to consider this all important question (during a 49ers football game).    "The increase would cover the cost of gasoline (for the 2-to-3mile drive) to our bi-monthly meetings," they agreed. "It would pay for our printer cartridges." "We could attract more lower-income people to run against us," they reasoned self-righteously, "especially full-time working moms with lots of kids."   One council member asked, "Does the increased health-insurance benefit include free facelifts?" "Facelifts? Yes," Staff responed. "Free? No. There's a $20 copay."   "And how will this affect the City's already stressed budge
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  GUESS WHAT?   Guess what? Men and women are different, though where I live, it's not PC to say that.  Our genes are different, our cells are different and our brains are different too—and I'm so glad. Men can be such jerks.   Female mammals—you know, we animals with large mammary glands--tend to put our offspring first and will do anything to protect them. We seek out security in the form of a good mate, though thankfully these days, some of us human females no longer have to rely on males for security.   As for males, they go for power, which gives them access to sex. These days, nothing much has changed with men.   We have tried to deny this male-female difference. Male babies prefer things with wheels and female babies prefer plush dolls because, we say, they have been culturally biased from birth. Well guess what? Girl babies, be they humans or chimps, do prefer plush toys and males do prefer things with wheels, and studies have proven this.    While males are

CALIFORNIA LAW ALERT!

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   Almost 1000 important new laws are passed in CA each year.   CALIFORNIA LAW ALERT!   Section 1708.5 of the Civil Code. 2021 My friend was concerned. "Stealthing will soon be illegal in California. It passed the legislature unanimously with only one major amendment—the word penis was changed to sexual organ ."    "I'm sorry", I said in response to my friend's concern, "but stealthing ? What is it?"   "Well to be blunt, it means if I take off my condom when I am screwing without partner permission, I am screwed."   "And if you don’t get partner permission, what will happen?"   "My partner can sue me."   "And if you do ask permission?" I persisted.    "Well," he paused, "she or he can say ok , or she or he can say no and in either case she or he can sue me because who the hell can prove to a court-of-law what either of us said when screwing. It's a he said she said,
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  SEEING WAS BELIEVING   I have learned over time that my memory is a confabulation machine. Am I a mountain nymph skiing gracefully down the mountain, slaloming to and fro--as I remember? Or could that be me-- ass out with ski poles wildly flailing-- as the damn video shows?    Could my sister be right, that dad was cremated right after he died, or was my trouble-making dad poised like an angel in his coffin, as I angrily recall? One of us is wrong, right? My memories are so unreliable that I've ditched the phrase, I remember .  In truth, I'm a figment of my own imagination.   Ask my husband who I am. My husband might describe me as an impatient and once- attractive politician. My daughter, as a mostly loving, patient mom. My political opponents describe me as a biased, retrogressive jerk, and my supporters, as realistic, fact-based and honest. Clearly, I exist differently in the eyes of the beholders.   I even experience myself differently. On Tuesday, my pink blouse
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  PROMOTING GNARLY KNOLLS: AN ACTIVE RETIREMENT COMMUNITY You Won't Die of Boredom Here Gnarly Knolls is my retirement home.   And I like it. What I don't like are the 11 costly vacancies that reduce the home's revenues and cause our rents to rise. And I especially don't like our incredibly stupid marketing agency that keeps the vacancies vacant. Would you run to a retirement home with this oh-so clever slogan?                                                                                         "We enjoy full-care care-free living"   One of the agency's brain storms to help fill those vacancies was to post monthly resident audio interviews on the website. Smart? You bet! Because, even though no one listens to them, they succeed in keeping the marketing firm raking in dough. You may ask: "Why is that interview not video taped?"   But if you were to then look at us residents, that question would be quickly withdrawn.   The intervi

A MEMORABLE FUNERAL: MINE

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  A MEMORABLE FUNERAL: MINE   I died on May 12 th of this very year and I was sure I was headed to Hell.   When alive I was accused of being an irritable know-it-all, a non-stop ranter, and an award-winning boozer. I was considered a selfish man who squandered my kid's college tuition on sports cars.  But after observing my funeral and hearing folks memorialize me it turns out that I was a knowledgeable renaissance man -- a man who knew everything about everything; a discerning man, who could identify every brand of liquor ever brewed, and who could identify every sports car ever made; a man who put his kids above almost everything. The world, I now believe, is lucky to have known me. I am so sorry for its loss.