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Snow falls on Russians
The vodka rations arrive
Russians fall on snow

The last time I ate at Li’s Brothers Chinese Restaurant, I found the following message inside my fortune cookie:

“If you blow out the flaming volcano in the center of the scorpion bowl, your wish will come true . . . but only if your wish is to set fire to the person sitting across the table from you.”

I was a huge fortune cookie. You could tell at a glance that the there was going to be a helluva lot of wisdom inside.

Last Friday morning, NJA Commissioner David Exceedingly Stern and the Jousting Board of Governors approved rules changes intended to curtail taunting and complaining by NJA jousters. By Friday afternoon, Jousters Union representatives were complaining about the new rules. Lord Rasheed William Wallace told the Dundee Daily News he took the league’s crackdown personally.

“Teeday they say Ah cannae gab,” Wallace told Dundee Daily News reporter Robert “Rabbie” Burns. “Hoo lang afair they say Ah cannae wear mah plaid skirt an’ mah blue face paint? Ach, Rabbie, pokin’ folk wi’ pointy sticks jist isnae fun anymair.”

Commissioner Stern vigorously denies that the Board of Governors is taking aim at Lord Wallace’s “gab.” He points instead to several occasions when woofing between jousters has escalated to outright violence. One such incident occurred at King’s Tiltgrounds on Tuesday, during a NJA playoff contest. On the final pass of the day, Robert Lord Horry knocked Sir Steven Ogden-Nash off of his steed, over the scorer’s table and into the Queen’s private box. After reviewing the play, judges ruled the hit illegal and obscene, and they disqualified Horry’s Staffordshire Spurs.

In the long and glorious history of jousting, only two other incidents have caused the forfeiture of a NJA playoff series. The first was the Cardigan Pistons and Argyle Pacers brawl during King Richard I’s “Malice at the Palace” Tournament of 1194. The second was the infamous “Gothic Revival” Tournament of 1838. The revival earned it’s name when Lady Flavia “Flavor Flav” Botherly had to be revived by EMTs after witnessing the lewd lancemanship of William Craven, the 3rd Marquess of Wastrel.

Neurotica — literature or art intended to arouse anxiety.

Last weekend, I went to the local CVS pharmacy to buy some Gillette Fusion razor blades. Gillette Fusion blades have “5-Blade Shaving Surface Technology,” and that makes them at least 20% better the lame-ass Schick Quatro razor blades. Until the Schick Seis® comes out later this year, Gillette Fusion will be my blade of choice.

CVS managers keep the expensive razor blades in a secure display case at one end of Aisle 7. The display works like a vending machine or an arcade game. Blade packages are held in a spiral mechanism, and when the customer pushes a big red button, the spiral turns and pushes a package into a Plexiglas drawer.

I pushed the big red button and jammed the machine on my first attempt. I tugged at the drawer handle and pushed the button again. The motor groaned but the spiral didn’t spin. I pushed the button again and again. Nothing. Just then a clerk pushed a cart around the corner into Aisle 7. She said, “Need help, Mr.?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I pushed the big red button but didn’t get my freakin’ toy surprise. Someone needs to reset this thing so I can play again.” I showed her exactly how I pushed the button. “Like this,” I said, and I poked the button six or seven more times.

“Stop poking that!” she said, but it was too late.

Somewhere above us, the store’s public address system did some electronic throat-clearing. Then it spoke. “Customer assistance required!” it said. “Customer assistance — Aisle 7, Razor Blades!” The announcement repeated several times, and it was painfully loud. Imagine that you’re standing in front of a speaker stack at a Motorhead concert. That’s how loud it was. At the other end of the aisle, a woman staggered away from the greeting card display and covered her ears. She glared at me, and her expression seemed to say, “Good god, man, why?!”

The clerk turned her eyes toward the ceiling. She shouted in my ear. “I don’t know why it does that,” she said. The manager appeared at the far end of the aisle and jogged toward us. He was shaking his head from side to side and swinging his keychain like a medieval weapon. “I don’t know why it does that,” he yelled.

The clerk didn’t hear him. She said, “Why does it do that?”

“I don’t know,” the manager said. “I don’t know why it does that.” He stuck a key into a lock on the razor display. The P.A. shut down.

“Phew, that’s a relief!” the clerk said.

“I don’t know why it did that,” the manager said.

“It could have been worse,” I said. “I could have been fiddling with the condom machine.”

Postscript — The “Skinner Box” was invented by a rodent-hating psychologist named B.F. Skinner. It is used in laboratories and CVS pharmacies for “operant conditioning” experiments. These experiments are performed on test rodents, usually squirrels. The Skinner box contains at least one big red button (BRB). If the test squirrel presses the big red button once, a “primary reinforcer” is delivered. Typically, the primary reinforcer is a food pellet or a package of Gillette Fusion Power razor blades. If the test squirrel presses the big red button more than once, it is jolted by an electric shock or a humiliating Public Address announcement.

I am regaining my senses. Already, I am able to make subtle distinctions between the two-dimensional environment called “cyberspace” and the three-dimensional environment called “the real world.” I can say with NEAR CERTAINTY that the Hopin Mad Mart, the Lottery Barn, Medieval Mastercuts, the White Hut, the Mardi Gras and the Plantation Man are all located in the real world, while “The Google,” BlogCo, TikiBarTV, YouTube, MySpace and all of the cyberporn sites are located in cyberspace.

Learning to make these distinctions is an important first step in my recovery.

Perhaps we disagree about the location of MySpace. Perhaps you are pointing your real, physical finger at me, and you are saying, “You occupy space, Mr. Squirrel, and your space is located in the physical world. Therefore, MySpace must be located in the physical world, too.” You are sadly mistaken, my friend. MySpace is not the same as “my space” or “your space.” MySpace is a place where young slackers collect and arrange invisible friends. It is a place where all 176,471,756 people in your extended network will eventually say to you, “Dood, thanks for the add.” There is nothing real about MySpace. It is totally cyber. Totally.

Okay, let’s review. Cyberspace is a space. The real world is also a space. Various important places are located entirely within one space and entirely outside of the other space. One must be alert to space-specific reference points so that one does not forget which space one occupies at any given moment. (Trust me on this one.) You will learn to do this on your own, but until you do, here are a few things to consider. Cyberspace is made of links, viruses, pop-ups and spam. The real world is made of gravel, sand, water, cigarette butts, popsicle sticks, viruses and SPAM. Both spaces provide a high resolution, large-format cinematic experience, and both can be surfed. Both are very vivid. Maybe too vivid.

The real world currently has no “back button.” This is very inconvenient. Hopefully, it will be added to an upcoming version. Be sure to check for updates.

So long for now, and thanks for the add!