Ask Mondo Bob

  Mondo Bob is Dufus News' resident know-it-all guru and roving investigative reporter. His insights on world and local events, politics, life, death, and the infinite Universe enlighten many, insult some but entertain all. Mondo Bob has condescended to make time in his hectic schedule to accept questions from our Dufus News readers on any and all subjects. His only requirements are that you have a thick skin, a sense of humor and five dollars (but not necessarily in that order).
  If you desire answers to life's most perplexing questions, try e-mailing the Dalai Lama. But if you are willing to settle for good solid down-home opinions, Mondo Bob is your source. Nobody is more opinionated than he.
  Simply use the "Buy Now" button below and submit your e-mail question. Mondo Bob will review it (once he is sober enough) and respond promptly with his answer. So, don't hold back! Make it a real toughy and put Mondo Bob's powers of insight, intellect and b*# s*# profundity to the test.
  The more salacious questions and responses will be posted on this page for all to enjoy.

Damn it, Janet
Mondo Bob

  I pose this hypothetical question. Just imagine that some nut flies over your house and drops a 500lb bomb and it lands right in your front lawn! Fortunately, it fails to detonate, just sits there buried up to its fins next to your bird bath fizzling and crackling, looking very out of place and unsightly. You hold your breath, wet your drawers, then just as you're ready to shift into a full-speed freak out and run screaming around the neighborhood, you realize that this quarter-ton hunk of lethal high explosives is a total dud...no more threatening to you than a huge dog turd. Now, what do you do? Maybe fall on your knees and offer a tearful prayer to whatever higher power just intervened to keep you from being atomized into a bloody mist?
  Well, I bet you don't call up Homeland Security and gush congratulations to them for a job well done. Right? Of course not. And why? Because you're not Janet Napolitano or some other labotomized bureaufeeb who is more concerned about looking good than doing their job and protecting you. That's why.
  Damn it, Janet...listen up! The only reason there hasn't been two horrific terrorist incidents in this country since last December is blind, simple, holy-sh**-I-must-be-living-right f**king LUCK!  Nothing more. You and yours did nada, nothing, ziltch to prevent any of it. After the thing goes "pop" or "fizz" or "blurp" or "thud", what happens next is solely in the hands of fate; whether we all walk away in our wet drawers or clutter up the sidewalks with chunks of charred body parts.
  Speaking for myself, I would much prefer that Homeland "Security" intervene BEFORE that bomb gets dropped, BEFORE those skivvies get lit and BEFORE that a**hole gets his Jihad SUV within a hundred miles of Times Square!   

End Game For Sports Analogies
Mondo Bob

  Why do pasty-faced politicians who don't know jock straps from shower caps always try to come off sounding like "Too Tall" Jones at every press conference? It's never, "we're winding this debate down to a meaningful conclusion" or something like that. It's always, "we're nearing an end game" or "we're on the one yard line" or "we're at the bottom of the ninth." I'm sure for a constituent like the Chicago Bulls fan in the picture these metaphors or analogies ring with a special resonance. Perhaps, short of smacking him in his sweaty head with a two-by-four, it's the only way to attract his attention for more than a few seconds. But for the rest of us, it not only implies that our representatives give us absolutely no credit for possessing living brain cells but also says, without a doubt, that they are seriously lacking in intelligence and imagination themselves.
  How about this. If you are so absorbed by unresolved adolescent fantasies about football, baseball, basketball and the like that you cannot give one damned speech or press conference without blathering on in sport metaphors, QUIT YOUR F**KING JOB! Stop pestering the grown-ups with your boring-a** gridiron delusions and go play  with the rest of the fat frustrated a**holes who always wished they could've "made the team."    

                   Your Kids Are Not Special
                             by Mondo Bob

  George Carlin referred to the phenomenon as "obsessive diaper-sniffing", this over-involvement with every aspect of our children's lives. Some parents seem to gear their entire existance to the diurnal bodily functions of their kids, oohing and awwing at every grunt and gurgle; video recording every obnoxious move as if its very greatness demanded a detailed record for our collective cultural posterity. "Isn't that cute?" coos the glassy-eyed young mom, "he's learning to express himself." "No, lady," I retort, "he's simply smearing his own feces on your new flat screen tv."
  I began a new policy for myself when I turned sixty. I vowed never again to lie about what I think when someone imposes upon me with pictures of their kids; or lie about how I feel when someone turns their deranged progeny loose to invade my space or sensibilities. Never again. "No, ma'am...sorry, but I don't think he's cute at all...he looks a bit like a poorly-trained chimpanzee and if he attempts to wipe another dingleberry on my pants leg, I plan to stuff the little bastard into a box and Fed-X him to Ethiopia."
 There are some advantages in being a sixty-two year old grumpy s.o.b.