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yuckitup-jwd · 5 years ago

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Historical people answer the question - Why did the chicken cross the road?

Douglas Adams: Forty-Two

Earnest Angsley: To be HAYELED! in the name o'Jayeeezus!

Marcus Antonius: The evil that chickens do lives after them, the good is oft interred with their bones.

Any Philosophy 101 Professor: Why not?

Any Calculus Professor: The road, if expressed in the form (y2-y1)/(x2-x1) is approximate for cases where lim(y2-y1)/(x2-x1) as (x2-x1) -> 0, is represented by the derivative, or rate of change, of the road with respect to the chicken, such that the value of the chicken may be assumed equal to the value of (y2-y1)/(x2-x1), for small values of roads.

Jane Austen: Because it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single chicken, being posessed of a good fortune and presented with a good road, must be desirous of crossing.

Aristotle: To actualize its potential.

Neil Armstrong: One small step for chickenkind, one giant leap for poultry.

Arthur, King of the Britons: What do you mean? African or European chickens?

Paul Atreidies: What name have you for the chicken shaped stain upon your road? That shall be the name that you shall call me!

Lord Baden-Powell: Because as a Chicken Scout, it needed the Road-Crossing Merit Badge.

Bilbo Baggins: Oh what I wouldn't give to back in my nice, warm Hobbit-hole! I hope I never have to lay eyes on such a thing as that chicken again!

Baldrick: It had a cunning plan.

The Band: To take a load off....

The Bandit, in The Treasure of The Sierra Madre: "Chickens? Chickens? We don't need no stinkin' chickens!"

Clive Barker: He was drawn to the road, and he didn't so much cross the road as the road crossed him. And once across, the chicken entered into a frightening void, filled only with the screams of a thousand agonized souls. The hands of doom reached out of the blackness, strangling the chicken, smothering him, suffocating him. He could not escape, as no one who crosses the road can escape. He was now a prisoner of the Cenobytes, doomed to an eternity of pain.

Roseanne Barr: Urrrrrp. What chicken?

The Beatles: To be free as a bird!

Lavrenti Beria (ex-head of the KGB): This is a State Secret -- we have informants everywhere.

Bill The Cat Ack. Thpppbt

Blackadder: Queenie: Because I told it to. Percy: To acquire a hunk of purest green Lord Flasheart: To DOOOOOOOOO IT!

Lucien Bouchard: So that it could be SEPARATE!

Ben Bova: To be reunited with beautiful grey-eyed Athena, the woman he has loved for all of time

Brisco (Law and Order): For A Bagel

Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, Bruce and Bruce: To grab a Fosters and get away from the poofters!

Buddha: If you ask this question, you deny your own chicken-nature.

Archie Bunker: I don't care what them there chickens do, as long as they stay on THEIR side of the street!

Bugs Bunny: What's up, cluck?

Robert Burns: Fair Fa Your Honest Sonsie Face Great Chieftain O' The Chicken Race The blackened road 'ahind ye said Ye best run quick ere ye be deid!

George Bush: If it did it was out of the loop

George Bush: (again) It could see the thousand points of headlights....

Rhett Butler: Frankly my dear, it didn't give a damn!

C3PO (1): Sir, may I remind you that I am fluent in 6,000,000 forms of communication and this chicken has not... shutting up, sir.

C3PO (2): Sir, according to my calculations, the odds of a chicken successfully navigating a road are 3,750 to 1 against.

Caesar: It came, it saw, it crossed.

Joseph Campbell: In primitive cultures, we can find many such examples of the chicken motif that cannot be dismissed as mere coincidence. For instance, I am reminded of an old Navajo legend in which a buffalo crosses a stream to "come" to the other side -- an obvious negative language devised to prepare tribesmen for a transcendental experience. Similarly, the Hindus believe in savanaya, or a sacred cow that leaps over a chasm on Thursdays. Through metaphorical interpretation, we are led to realize that all examples suggest an attainable higher state of consciousness like that of Nietzsche's ubermench, or superman, as outlined in his novel "Thus Spoke Zarathustra."

Albert Camus: Seeing that an indifferent world lied on all sides of the road, the chicken knew it would be absurd not too cross, and for that moment, the chicken knew what it was to really be alive. It was if the bird had been asleep its entirely up until this choice was put before him. So, with a newfound determination and a smile, the chicken valiently crossed the road only to be put out of its mercy by an eighteen wheeler.

Candide: To cultivate its garden.

Johnny Carson: Let me tell you, it was so cold at that farm... Ed McMahon: How cold was it? Johnny Carson: It was so cold, that the chickens were mugging the sheep to get wool for sweaters!

Raymond Chandler: Across these mean streets a chicken must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. He is the hero; he is everything. He must be a complete chicken and a common chicken and yet an unusual chicken. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a chicken of honor - by instinct, by inevitability, withough thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best chicken in his world and a good enough chicken for any world.

Charlie X: Because it didn't want to STAY....STAY....STAY....STAY....STAY...

Cheech (or Chong): Just to be there, man.

The Chicken: I am crossing the road to block traffic as a protest against ..." (thump).

Commander Chikotay: I'm not sure but I can find out. That chicken is my animal spirit guide.

Noam Chomsky: To manufacture consent

Tom Clancy: The Mark 84 gargleblaster that the chicken carried, at the heart of which was an inferior ex-Soviet excimer laser system, had insufficient range to allow the chicken to carry out its mission from this side of the road.

John Cleese From Fawlty Towers: Manuel from Barcelona: "Que?" Basil: "You know, a chicken crossing the road...." Manuel: "Que?" Basil: [looking it up in a dictionary], "Un Pollo..." Manuel: interrupting, "No, No we out of chicken.." * WHAP!!*

John Cleese: Because it was very silly.

John Cleese: (again) This isn't a chicken license, you know! It's a dog license with the word "Dog" crossed out and "Chicken" written in in crayon.

John Cleese: (#3) This Chicken is no more. It has ceased to function. Bereft of life, it rests in peace. It's a stiff. If it wasn't nailed to the road it'd be pushing up daisies. It's snuffed it. It's metabolic processes are now history. It's bleeding demised. It's rung down the curtain, shuffled off the mortal coil and joined the bleeding Choir Invisible. This is an Ex-Chicken.

Bill Clinton: What?

Bill Clinton (again): The chicken was persuaded to cross the road by the Democratic congress. It is now returning to the middle of the road

Joseph Conrad: Mistah Chicken, he dead.

John Constantine: Because it'd made a bollocks of things over on this side of the road and figured it'd better get out right quick.

Alastair Cooke: Good Evening, and welcome to Masterpiece Theatre. Tonight, we present the epic British drama "How The Chicken Went," based on the 1843 novel by Herbert T. Poultry, and adapted for the screen by Joanna Drumstick. Starring Susan Hampshire as the Chicken, and Anthony Hopkins as the evil and unrepentant diner, Borstrom, this elegant period piece explores the mores and morality of a society in which ordinary chickens had to face their destiny of crossing the road to meet their fate at the hands of the monied upper classes, regardless of their own ambitions or desires...

Shiela Copps (Deputy Prime Minister of Canada): BECAUSE I SCREAMED AT IT REAL LOUD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sheila Copps: Okay, I know that the chicken promised it would cross the road if the Liberals failed to eliminate the GST, but it was a stupid promise to make and the chicken deeply regrets ever making it. However, the chicken will not be crossing the road because to do so would cost tax payers $500,000.

Sheila Copps (a few days later): Alright! Alright! The chicken will cross the road like it promised. But it'll be right back again. Now leave me alone.

Howard Cosell: It may very well have been one of the most astonishing events to grace the annals of history. An historic, unprecendented avian biped with the temerity to attempt such an herculean achievement formerly relegated to homo sapien pedestrians is truly a remarkable occurrence.

Jacques Ives Cousteau: Zee cheecken, unaware of zee dangare beehind heem, crosses zee street. Weezout warning, zee Porsche strikes, and zee balance of zee nature ees maintained.

Stephen R. Covey: When the chicken and the road can work together for the win-win, the result is synergy!

Jean Cretien, Prime Minister of Canada: "It wasn't a chicken, you know, it was an Inuit carving of a loon. But the RCMP should have been there anyway..."

Aleister Crowley: Because it was its True Will to do so.

Salvador Dali: The Fish.

Stephanie Daniels: It was the turtle's day off.

Darwin: It was the logical next step after coming down from the trees.

Commander Data: I do not know. Although I have compared all of my 437 billion data points relating to chickens and roads, there is no possitive correlation between the two.

W. Edwards Demming: But is one chicken crossing one road of statistical importance? Only once we have established an historical baseline of chickens with respect to roads, with calculated upper and lower control limits, can we make that determination.

Arthur Dent: Are you sure the chicken is from Beetelgeuse, and not from Gilford after all?

Jacques Derrida: Any number of contending discourses may be discovered within the act of the chicken crossing the road, and each interpretation is equally valid as the authorial intent can never be discerned, because structuralism is DEAD, DAMMIT, DEAD!

Rene Descartes: It had sufficient reason to believe it was dreaming anyway.

Descartes (again): The chicken was merely a machine and was crossing due to the deterministic nature of the universe.

Emily Dickinson: Because it could not stop for death.

Bob Dole: Do you know that before that chicken had gotten across the road, its cellular phone was ringing and there was a lawyer on the other end asking if it would like to sue the city for not putting up a traffic light.

Bob Dylan: How many roads must a chicken travel down, before they call him a man?

E.T.: Chicken, phone home

Ecclesiastes (1): For every fowl, there is a season. A time for garlic, a time for sage...

Ecclesiastes (2): This bird is meaningless.

Wyatt Earp: Well, chicken, are you gonna do something, or just stand there and bleed?

Eeyore: If it did. Which I doubt. Not that it matters.

Albert Einstein: Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road crossed the chicken depends on your frame of reference.

T.S. Eliot: It's not that they cross, but that they cross like chickens.

Harlan Ellison: Because he had no beak and must scream.

Emergency Medical Holographic Doctor on U.S.S. Voyager: Maybe it was trying to state the nature of a medical emergency.

Ralph Waldo Emerson: It didn't cross the road; it transcended it.

Epicurus: For fun.

Basil Fawlty: Oh, don't mind that chicken. It's from Barcelona.

Sybil Fawlty: BASIL! Why is there a CHICKEN in my hotel?

Dr. Johnny Fever: To escape from the Phone Cops!

Fiver (from Watership Down): Don't you see it? The sky has turned to blood, the field has turned to fire... THE CHICKENS! DON'T YOU SEE THE CHICKENS?

Gerald R. Ford: It probably fell from an airplane and couldn't stop its forward momentum.

Sigmund Freud: The chicken obviously was female and obviously interpreted the pole on which the crosswalk sign was mounted as a phallic symbol of which she was envious, selbstverstaendlich.

Robert Frost: To cross the road less traveled by.

Barney Fyfe: Now Andy, let me tell you a thing or two about chickens. Chickens cross roads in those other counties, but not here in Mayberry. No chicken crosses no roads in Mayberry without Deputy Fyfe knowing about it!

Gandalf: O chicken, do not meddle in the affairs of roads, for you are tasty and good with barbecue sauce.

Bill Gates: For the money

Frank Bunker Gilbereth: To minimize its therbligs

Jim Gillis: The chicken crossed the road to show the gophers it could be done.

Newt Gingrich: To get to the RIGHT side of the road.

Newt Gingrich (again): The chicken had to cross the road, because, bogged down by the incredible debt burden, it was no longer able to fly.

Newt Gingrich (III): It was safety pinned to one of those damn punk rockers!

Ira Glasser (ACLU): The chicken maintains an absolute privacy interest in information as to whether or why he or she may have perambulated the thoroughfare.

Johann Wolfgang v. Goethe: The eternal hen-principle made it do it.

Sir Charles Grandiose: As surely as the golden hairs turn to silver, as surely as the sands drift silently through the slender neck of the hourglass, the last sunny days of summer flee soundlessly under autumn's chilly embrace. And with those last days of that warmest and most joyful of seasons, left the road's edge the sprightliest young chicken ever a Baronet did see

Hercules Gryptyppe-Thynne, (All-around Public-School Cad): That's not a chicken! It's a clever disguise, inside of which is Count Jim "Thighs" Moriarity.....

Gary Gygax: Because I rolled a 64 on the "Chicken Random Behaviors" chart on page 497 of the Dungeon Master's Guide.

Hamlet: Because 'tis better to suffer in the mind the slings and arrows of outrageous road maintenance than to take arms against a sea of oncoming vehicles.

Thomas Hardy: The road was black, the sky was white (and so were the feathers) as the bright red mark on the top of the chicken's head gleamed in the twilight. It was a pure chicken and it was doomed.

Mike Harris, (Premier of Ontario): Like evrything else in this province, it was facing the axe.

Paul Harvey: And now... page two... a chicken... attempts to cross... the street... yes... the street... and is... run down by a... Buick! The Buick Roadmaster with it's powerful perfomance and elegant style! Yes... that poor chicken... hit by the Buick... it's true... it's... true... and speaking of true... your local True Value Hardware Store...

Hegel: Only through the synthesis of the dialectical chicken and road could the spirit transcend the experience of crossing.

Robert Heinlein: Because with the freedom the chicken was given, it was the chicken's responsibility to do so.

Robert Heinlein (again): The more widely dispersed chickens are throughout the Universe, the better the long-term prospects for the survival of the chicken species.

Werner Heisenberg: We are not sure which side of the road the chicken was on, but it was moving very fast.

Ernest Hemingway: To die. In the rain.

Hippocrates: Because of an excess of light pink gooey stuff in its pancreas.

Doug Hofstadter: To seek explication of the correspondence between appearance and essence through the mapping of the external road-object onto the internal road-concept.

Sherlock Holmes: It crossed the road because it was going to catch a train at Victoria Station at 3:15, to Edinburgh. And how did I know that? Observe, Watson, the patina of dust on the chicken's feathers, which indicates that it had been spending time in a library, reading about Scotland. And observe also that it was humming "Bonnie Lassie" as it waited to cross. Finally, and most important, observe the train ticket marked Edinburgh, stuffed under one wing, and the fact that Victoria station was where the chicken crossed the street, and finally that the only train to Edinburgh this afternoon is the 3:15....

David Hume: Out of custom and habit.

Saddam Hussein: This was an unprovoked act of rebellion and we were quite justified in dropping 50 tons of nerve gas on it.

Lee Iacocca: It found a better car, which was on the other side of the road.

Dr. Jack Van Impe: Well you see, here's the really exciting part, if we were to look at Revelation 17:3 we will see that the Whore of Babylon rides on a scarlet beast. A scarlet beast! What this means is a Rhode Island Red. And the truly glorious thing is that this beast, this Rhode Island Red, this CHICKEN has crossed the road EXACTLY as was prophesized in the Bible and this is all a sign, Revelation 17:3, that we're living in the End Time. Hallelujah! And if you would like more information on the significance of this chicken crossing the road as all part of God's great plan then send me $50 and you will recieve this set of video tapes along with a copy of my recent book "Chickens: fowl beast, or foul beast?".

John Paul Jones: It has not yet begun to cross!

Carl Jung: The confluence of events in the cultural gesalt necessitated that individual chickens cross roads at this historical juncture, and therefore synchronicitously brought such occurrences into being.

Franz Kafka: Dieter, now in the form of a chicken, was running from the government's torture machine. The machine, an instrument of death, slowly obliterated the souls of its victims. Dieter was alone. He was running for his life, his insignificant life.

Immanuel Kant: The pure transcendental concept of the road, having been deduced a priori and without dependence on intuitions, is given in the mode of the chicken as an end in itself, while crossing the road as a hypothetical imperative, namely, as acting towards some end allowed by Reason.

Casey Kasem: And now here's a hot new number from a hot young band whose drummer was so tragically killed in a freeway accident, it's The Hen House Flock singing "When You Gonna Crow?" hitting the charts at number 23!

JFK: The chicken chose to cross the road in this decade not because it was easy, but because it was hard.

Obi Wan Kenobi: To follow old obi wan on some damn fool idealistic crusade.

Jack Kerouac: The chicken hipster, high on tea and the soul groves of Charlie (the bird) Parker, strolled aimlessly on the road looking for his dharma.

Soren Kierkegaard: The chicken is dead. The road is nothing.

Colonel Kilgore: "I love the smell of chickens in the morning"

Martin Luther King: It had a dream.

James Tiberius Kirk: To boldly go where no chicken has gone before.

Ralph Klein: Because we gave it a one-way bus ticket to B.C.

Mark Knophler: How come Chickens got Industrial Disease?

Mark Lane: There is new, irrefutable evidence that the chicken did not act alone.

Gary Larson: Don't ask me. I am retired. Stan Laurel: I'm sorry, Ollie. It escaped when I opened the run.

Timothy Leary: Because that's the only kind of trip the Establishment would let it take.

John Le Carre: Because it knew, at the core of its being where none could ever reach, that its only course of action now that its cover was blown wide open was to try and slip away into the grey, foggy, bleak evening before Smiley came, accompanied by his silent shadow Peter Guillam, asking questions for which there could never be answers.

Dr. Hannibal Lector: So I could eat its liver, with some fava beans and a nice chianti .......thththththththth.

Leda: Are you sure it wasn't Zeus dressed up as a chicken? He's into that kind of thing, you know.

Foghorn Leghorn: To get to that damn Dawg, Boah!

Gottfried Von Leibniz: In this best possible world, the road was made for it to cross.

Vladimir Lenin: It is not the chicken's road. It is the PEOPLE'S road!

David Letterman: And the No. 1 reason - fricasee!

Rush Limbaugh: Beacuse of those damn bleeding heart liberals, trying to save one stupid bird while thousands of jobs are being lost. Dave Lister: Because of the smegging space corps directives.

Any Late Evening News Anchor: The chicken crosses the road. Film at 11:00.

Abraham Lincoln: Fourscore and seven eggs ago, our forefeathers...

Logan (Law and Order): To buy a plaid tie

Jack London: To answer the call of the wild.

H.P. Lovecraft: To futilely attempt escape from the dark powers which even then pursued it, hungering after the stuff of its soul!

George Lucas: Because the Force was with it.

Machiavelli: So that its subjects will view it with admiration, as a chicken which has the daring and courage to boldly cross the road, but also with fear, for whom among them has the strength to contend with such a paragon of avian virtue? In such a manner is the princely chicken's dominion maintained.

Marvin (the paranoid android): "Here I am, brain the size of a planet, and you ask me why the chicken crossed the road? I could tell you, but I really don't think it's worth while."

Marvin the Paranoid Android: Here I am, brain the size of a planet, and what do they ask me? Why did the chicken cross the road? As if their pathetic cerebelums could even comprehend my answer. Chickens, don't talk to me about chickens... they're SO depressing.

Karl Marx: It was a historical inevitability.

Karl Marx (again): To escape the bourgeois middle-class struggle.

Groucho Marx: Chicken? What's all this talk about chicken? Why, I had an uncle who thought he was a chicken. My aunt almost divorced him, but we needed the eggs.

Groucho Marx (again): This morning I shot a chicken in my pyjamas -- and lemme tell ya, that chicken ran out of my pyjamas in a second!

Jackie Mason: Whaddaya want, it should just stand there?

Perry Mason: Cross the road you say? But how can you be sure? No one else would have known the chicken crossed the road except for the real killer!

Dr. McCoy: How should I know? Damnit Jim, I'm a Doctor not an ornithologist!

Marshall McLuhan: The Road is the Medium. The chicken is the Message!

Gregor Mendel: To get various strains of roads.

A.A. Milne: I imagine that if I thought very hard I shouold come up with a reason. (also applicable to Winnie the Pooh)

John Milton: To justify the ways of God to men.

Indigo Montoya: It too pursues a man with six fingers on his left hand.

Michael Moriarity: To annoy Janet Reno.

Jim Morrison: To break on thruough to the other side, I am the chicken king

Ralph Nader: A chicken on a road is unsafe at any speed

Sir Isaac Newton: Chickens at rest tend to stay at rest. Chickens in motion tend to cross the road.

Jack Nicholson: 'Cause it (censored) wanted to. That's the (censored) reason.

Nietzsche: Because if you gaze too long across the Road, the Road gazes also across you.

Col. Oliver North: I do not recall any such events. I had no knowledge of these occurrences.

Peter Norton: It was a virus and it saw me coming...

Richard Nixon: That part of our conversation was accidentally erased.

George Orwell: Because Big Brother was watching to make sure that it did cross the road, although in its heart, the chicken never did.

Thomas Paine: Out of common sense.

Michael Palin: Nobody expects the banished inky chicken!

Emporer Palpatine: Foolish chicken! Only now, at the end, do you see the head-lights!

Dorothy Parker: Travel, trouble, music, art / A kiss, a frock, a rhyme / The chicken never said they fed its heart / But still they pass its time.

Patsy: Oh, F*&% the chicken. Run it over and lets have a drink.

Gen. George S. Patton: To get those yellow bellied chickens outta here.

General George S. Patton (again): The way to win a war is not to cross a road for you country. The way to win a war is to make some OTHER poor chicken cross a road for HIS COUNTRY!

Wolfgang Pauli: There already was a chicken on the other side of the road.

Frank Perdue: How the heck do I know? Do I look like a chicken to you -- don't answer that.

Marlin Perkins, on Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom: Watch, as the chicken mauls Jim yet again...

H. Ross Perot: I'm crossing. I'm not crossing....

H. Ross Perot2: Crossing the road is that chickens primary concern! PRIMARY concern!

H. Ross Perot3: Chickens and roads, I'll tell ya what it means! It means 4 trillion dollars of dafficit, it means the end of our infrastructure, it means... look at this chart!

H. Ross Perot4: Let me tell ya, it's all about NAFTA. This chicken represents your job, and this road represents the Mexican border...

Jean-Luc Picard: To see what's out there.

Jean-Luc Picard (again): Because it's shields were down and it had no other options left...

Piglet: Because ch-ch-chickens are such very s-s-s-small animals.

Plato: For the greater good.

Edgar Allan Poe: Quoth the chicken,"Nevermore!"

Emily Post: When a chicken is confronted with a road, it is only proper for the chicken to stand erect, turn to face the road, look both ways and cross... remembering to send a sincere thank you letter within one month of the event.

Elvis Presley: You aint nothin' but a chicken, crossin' all the roads!

Psalms: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no road!

Pyrrho the Skeptic: What Road?

Monty Python: For Something Completely Different

Dan Quayle: "chicken" C-H-I-K-E-N "chicken"

The Red Queen: Who cares? Off with it's head!

R2D2: beep bleep be deep birp whirrrrrrrrr!

The White Rabbit: It was late!

Ayn Rand: The chicken crossed the road in order to get away from the flock that is stifling his creativity.

Ayn Rand (again): If not for the intransigently independent vision of that first chicken, none of the other chickens would have been able to cross the road. And they condemned him for his acheivement!

Ronald Reagan: I don't recall. What was the question?

Georg Friedrich Riemann: The answer appears in Dirichlet's lectures.

Pat Riley: The chicken crossed the lane in less than 3 seconds, so a "fowl" should not have been called.

Rimmer: Aliens!!!

General Jack D. Ripper: To maintain the purity of its precious bodily fluids.

Geraldo Rivera: Stay tuned as a panel of chickens reveals the shocking truth.

Tom Robbins: Well you see, that chicken was a special chicken who was a descendent of a parrot family that once built pyramids for tourist pharohs. This chicken liked the other side of the road whose shamanic whispers beckoned Anastasia, the parrot, like the popped cherry of a ritually consumated white wedding. That's the meaning of it all, baby!

Oral Roberts: He couldn't raise the $10,000,000.00 so God called him home.

Oral Roberts (again): And I said to the chicken: "Put your claw on the screen! Put your claw on the screen, upon the hand of Brother Oral, and you shall be healed. Make a love offering of $50 or more, and then touch the screen. And that chicken did put his claw on the screen. And the power of God, in his infinite wisdom and mercy, flowed through me and out through that television set, and that chicken was healed *PRAISE GOD!*. And then that chicken, stricken for so many months, rose up and walked across the road. But, since he had forgotten his love offering, God never warned him about the 30 ton semi barreling down on the crosswalk...."

Carl Sagan: To see the billions and billions of stars.

Col. Saunders: It Ran, Suh! I offered it a coating of 11 herbs and spices and it ran, Suh! So I shot it, Suh, shot it while it was trying to escape, suh!

Sappho: For the touch of your skin, the sweetness of your lips..

Jean-Paul Sartre: In order to act in good faith and be true to itself, the chicken found it necessary to cross the road.

Arnold Schwarzenegger: It was going back...

Mr. Scott: 'Cos ma wee transporter beam was na functioning properly. Ah canna work miracles, Captain, wi' no dilithium crystals left to speak of!

Agent Scully: There simply must be a rational, scientific explanation. Chickens don't just "cross roads"

Neddy Seagoon: WhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatWHAT?

William Shakespeare:

1: This is the road of chicken's discontent, Made ignoble abbatoir by this half-ton truck... (Richard II)

2: Bring me no more reports, let them fly all; 'Til a chicken remove to other side of road I cannot taint with fear. What is this chicken? Was he not born of hen? The spirits that know All fowl consequences have pronounced me thus: "Fear not, MacNugget; no chicken that's born of hen Shall e'er lay beak upon thee." (Macbeth)

3: If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly: if the crossing Could scoot across the dotted line, and catch, Beyond passing car, sidewalk; that but these feathers Might be the be-all and end-all here, But here, at this corner of street and avenue, We'd cross at the light to come. (Macbeth)

4: To cross, or not to cross? That is the question, Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The wheels and axles of the city's mass transit Or to take flight against a sea of motorists And by opposing, end me? To cross, to peep No more! And by that peep to say we end The chickhood and the thousand fender-shocks That chicken is heir to. 'Tis a perambulation Devoutly to be wish'd. (Hamlet)

Homer Simpson: ohhhhhhhh Chicken.....

Bart Simpson: It's outta here, man!

Mrs. Slocum: Now look what you've done, there's chicken all over my pussy!

Kenneth Starr: In view of President Clinton's dealings with the Tyson Poultry Company, the matter of the chicken crossing the road is under investigation for its possible connection with the Whitewater affair.

George Steinbrenner: Because I offered him a $4 million contract.

George Steinbrenner2: Because I fired him!

George Steinbrenner3: Because he's now my new manager.

George Steinbrenner4: Because I fired him again!

Dr. Suess: See the end of this document for the full Dr. Suess version.

Sisyphus: Was it pushing a rock, too?

B.F. Skinner: Because the external influences which had pervaded its sensorium from birth had caused it to develop in such a fashion that it would tend to cross roads, even while believing these actions to be of its own free will.

Mr. Spock: It was not logical for the chicken to do so, but I have frequently observed that the behaviour of chickens is not logical

E.E. (Doc) Smith: Your humble narrator can barely do justice to this climactic event that rent asunder the fundamental ether of space itself, as the chicken, embodying all that is good and hard and straight and keen in the Avain world, fearlessly approached, bridged, and conquered the road for Civilization.

Socrates: To pick up some hemlock at the corner druggist.

The Sphinx: You tell me.

Joseph Stalin: It was clearly a conspiracy. Take all the chickens out and shoot them. At Once!

John Steinbeck: The road baked in the relentless summer sun as the chicken, looking about, began to cross. It stopped occaisionally to peck at a grass seed that had become lodged in a crevice in the cracked macadam. The chicken reached the other side, then began making his way to the Salinas, which lay muddy and turgid in the July afternoon, all the while thinking of the cool shade by the river and how good the can of beans in his bedroll would taste tonight.

Ben Stone (Law and Order): Because the defendant made it, sir.

Oliver Stone: He went back, and to the left. Back, and to the left. Back, and to the left. Back, and to the left. Back, and to the left. Back, and to the..

Dr. Strangelove: Because it could not afford to be caught on the wrong side of the road-side gap.

John Sununu: The Air Force was only too happy to provide the transportation, so quite understandably the chicken availed himself of the opportunity.

Grand Moff Tarkin: Fear will keep the chickens in line, fear of this thoroughfare!

Tim "The Toolman" Taylor: This here bird'll cross that road in no time flat, now that I've made a few "special modifications! We've added the Binford 7100 Multi-Purpose power unit, which I've souped up by adding a United Aircraft PT-6 jet engine - Urrgh urrgh urrgh! Heidi, bring out the chicken, please....

Alfred, Lord Tennyson: So that it could sail beyond the sunset.

Old Testament: And rooster and hen were married. And rooster did begat chicken. And chicken did cross the road.

New Testament: He among you who has not crossed roads, let him cast the first egg!

Margaret Thatcher: There was simply no alternative!

Theodoric of York, the Medievil Barber: Because of an imbalance of bodily humors caused by an elf or small toad living in the chicken's stomach. What this fowl needs is a good bleeding. Dylan Thomas: To not go (sic) gentle into that good night.

Hunter S. Thompson: Why the &*%$#@ not?

Henry David Thoreau: To live deliberately ... and suck all the marrow out of life.

Tiggr: Because that's what chickens do best!

Tiggr: (again) That's the wonderful thing about Chickens, Chasing Chickens is FUN FUN FUN, And the Wonderful thing about Chickens Is that when crossing streets they RUN!

Tim, the Enchanter: It's got wings that... and a beak that... good god man, look at the bones!

Brian Tobin (new premier of Newfoundland): It followed the cod....

J.R.R. Tolkein: The chicken, sunlight coruscating off its radiant yellow- white coat of feathers, approached the dark, sullen asphalt road and scrutinized it intently with its obsidian-black eyes. Every detail of the thoroughfare leapt into blinding focus: the rough texture of the surface, over which count- less tires had worked their relentless tread through the ages; the innumerable fragments of stone embedded within the lugubrious mass, perhaps quarried from the great pits where the Sons of Man labored not far from here; the dull black asphalt itself, exuding those waves of heat which distort the sight and bring weakness to the body; the other attributes of the great highway too numerous to give name.

Thomas de Torquemada: Give me ten minutes with the chicken and I'll find out.

Anthony Trollope: Why, to avoid Mrs. Proudy and Mr. Slope, of course.

Mark Twain: The news of its crossing has been greatly exaggerated.

Darth Vader: Because it could not resist the power of the Dark Side.

George Washington: I cannot tell a lie. I was going to chop it with my little axe, so it crossed the road.

Mae West: 'Cause I invited it to come up and see me sometime.

Jerry White: Why does a chicken cross the road only half-way? So she can lay it on the line.

Walt Whitman: To cluck the song of itself.

Robert Anton Wilson: Because agents of the Ancient Illuminated Roosters of Cooperia were controlling it with their Orbital Mind-Control Lasers as part of their master plan to take over the world's egg production.

Major Charles Emerson Winchester, the Third: What do you two-bit quacks know about chickens? Did you learn about them in medical school, or did you just read the comic book?

Ludwig Wittgenstein: The possibility of "crossing" was encoded into the objects "chicken" and "road," and circumstances came into being which caused the actualization of this potential occurrence.

Wittgenstein #2: There are indeed things that cannot be put into words. They make themselves manifest. They are what is mystical.

Wittgenstein #3: What we cannot explain we must pass over in silence.

Tom Wolfe: Kesey, muscles rippling under his shirt, a mysterious smile on his face, surrounded by the Merry Pranksters, placed the chicken at the road's edge. The chicken paused at the edge of the road, looking this way and that, and then rending the air with a tremendous, "ba-BAAWWWWKKK!" bolted across the road, its disheveled wings flapping uselessly about, leaving a trail of feathers and dander that, whenever two-ton chromium steel, 300 horsepower tail-finned symbols of Detroit's and America's supremacy passed, would swirl in a miniature version of a cyclone like the ones Mr. and Mrs. America see on the TV news every evening when he's come home from work and she's setting the table for dinner, both only half paying attention to the cyclones that devastate midwestern cow towns on sweltering summer afternoons. And the heat, dander, tornados, asphalt, tail-fins and the sweat of Mr. and Mrs. America as they move mechanically in their daily routine like the figurines in one of those huge medieval clocks on some cathedral in some European town, moving in the same way, every hour on the hour, it was all summed up by the "ba-BAAWWWWKKK!" of a scampering chicken accompanied by the "skritch, skritch" of its feet.

William Wordsworth: To have something to recollect in tranquility.

Mr. Worf: I do not know, Klingon chickens do NOT cross the road.

Molly Yard: It was a hen!

Yoda: Crossing the road makes not a chicken great

Henny Youngman: Take this chicken ... please.

Zeno of Elea: To prove it could never reach the other side.

STAR TREK CHICKENS CROSS THE ROAD TOO

Chakotay: Whatever its reason, whatever its goals, we should respect its right to cross the road and seek its own spiritual awareness.

Neelix: Actually, Captain, I'm not really familiar with the chickens in this system. But--if you can catch it, I can cook it.

Riker: I don't know why, but I do know how: with pleasure, sir.

Garak: To get to the other side? Of course not! Do you realize how ridiculous that is? I'm sure it was a simple matter of its farmer expelling it from the coop for...embezzling eggs.

Odo: I don't have the slightest idea--and I don't particularly care...but then, I've never understood you ornithoids' need to engage in such pointless behavior.

Quark: Now really, why would I have bribed him to do it so I could make a tidy profit in the station pool? Besides, all I know is that chicken tastes just like tube grubs.

Q: Wouldn't you like to know? Too bad your puny human brain wouldn't be able to comprehend the answer.

O'Brien: Well, it's nothing a good pint or two won't fix.

Uhura: Shall I open hailing frequencies so you can ask it, sir?

V'Ger: To join with the Creator.

Sulu: To get back to San Franciso; it was born there.

Troi: It was running...running away from...no, escaping...oh, Captain, it was fleeing from such -pain-!

Kira: I bet those damn Cardassians were after it!

Picard: Dammit, that's not for us to answer! It's his fundamental right as a sentient being to determine the time and manner by which he travels towards his goals!

Dr. Bashir: I suppose it wanted to play some darts.

The Grand Nagus: Stupid chicken! You don't cross the road all at once! You sneak across it quietly, without anyone noticing! (Inconceivable!)

Sisko: I don't care -why- it was crossing the road! All I want to know is -why- it left the coop! So it wanted to "get to the other side"--there is only -so far- that my tolerance will go!

Barclay: Uh, chicken?!! Where?!!! C-c-c-ommander, did I ever mention my problem with small feathered things?

Gul Dukat: Well, that's a very interesting question...I'm sure we can work out some kind of arrangement to obtain that information that will be to everyone's satisfaction.

The Borg: Crossing the road is irrelevant. It will be assimilated.

Hugh the Borg: Maybe it wanted to be my friend.

Geordi: Well, wherever it's going, I'm sure it'll be there in an hour or two--but any later, and it'll be absolutely impossible for it to make it.

Jake: To check out the babe that just came off that transport!

Gene Roddenberry: To boldly go where no chicken had gone before.

Kes: It was remembering back to the times when its ancestors crossed roads all the time! They lost those abilities because they stopped using them!

Wesley: I'm not sure, but I can figure it out if I reroute these systems and reconfigure the warp field and run a complete internal whootchacallit on the computers and...

B'Elanna: I'm sure it felt suffocated by all the [BEEP] regulations of [BEEP] Starfleet and just couldn't stand it any longer!

Worf: I don't know. KLINGON chickens do NOT cross roads.

Spock: Fasincating, Captain, it seems driven by a beam of pure energy.

HoloDoc: How should I know? No one tells me anything around here! I didn't even know we added chickens to the crew! All I know is that it would have been nice, BEFORE the chicken went off to the cross the road, if it had remembered to turn me off!

Data: The chicken, in observing that it was on the opposite side of the 20th century Terran paved roadway, was aware that its immediate goal should have been to traverse the distance without interception by an kind of combustion-propelled personal transport vehicle, but I am unclear as to why any kind of domesticated fowl should desire to perambulate upon a conveyance normally reserved for the usage of...yes, sir.

Sarek: Sometimes my logic fails me where chickens are concerned.

Dax: To get to the other side. Kurzon might have disagreed with me, Tobin I'm sure wouldn't have had a clue,and then there's...

Tuvok: That's not a question we'd prefer to hear from a senior officer. It makes the junior officers nervous.

Dr. Crusher: Maybe since he couldn't make the other side to get to him, -he- had to get to the other side....

Dr. Soran: His heart just wasn't in it. (Scenes of chicken torture with nanoprobes have been edited out.)

Scotty: Because she couldna take much morrrrrre.

Charlie X: Because it didn't want to STAY...STAY...STAY...

Kirk: You chicken bastard, you killed my son...YOU chicken BASTARD, you killed...my SON...you CHICKEN bastard....youkilledmy...son!

Bones: Dammit, I'm a doctor, not an ornithologist!

Tasha: That depends...was it fully functional?

Chekov: It must have been on its way to assist in saving my life for the billionth time..did I scream this time?

Khan: With my last breath I spit at the chicken...

Harry: I don't know, it's my first mission.

Paris: Well, I think that...say, that's a lovely shirt you're wearing.

Harvey Mudd: Chicken? I don't remember any chicken. No no no, there's been a terrible misunderstanding.

Crewman in red suit: "Captain, this chicken seems to have crossed the AAARRRGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!"

Nurse Chapel: Oh, Spock, I fixed you your favorite Vulcan plomeek and chicken soup!

Lwaxana: Oh, Jean-Luc!

Janeway: Its primary goal was no doubt to get back to the Alpha Quadrant...and it probably misses its dog.

Dr. Suess:

Would you, could you cross the street On your two small chicken feet?

I would not, could not cross the street On my two small chicken feet. Across the road I will not scram Even though a fowl I am.

Would you cross it in Japan To flee Godzilla and Rodan

Not in Japan Godzilla and Rodan I would not, could not cross the street On my two small chicken feet. Across the road I will not scram Even though a fowl I am.

Would you cross the road and cluck And jump to avoid the speeding truck?

Not with a cluck to avoid a truck Not in Japan Godzilla and Rodan I would not, could not cross the street On my two small chicken feet Across the road I will not scram Even though a fowl I am.

Would you hop across the road As though you were a garden toad?

Not across the road as though a toad Not with a cluck to avoid a truck Not in Japan Godzilla and Rodan I would not could not cross the street On my two small chicken feet. Across the road I will not scram Even though a fowl I am.

Would you cross it in the night Lit by passing car headlight?

Not in the night With car headlight Not across the road As though a toad Not with a cluck To avoid a truck Not in Japan Godzilla and Rodan I would not could not cross the street On my two small chicken feet. Across the road I will not scram Even though a fowl I am.

Please dear chicken give it a try For across the road you can not fly.

Alright! Alright! I'll give it a try For it is true, chickens can't fly. Hey! It's not bad, infact it's neat! I truly love to cross the street. Across the road I LOVE to scram. I cross the road, a fowl I am.

#AnimalJokes #ChickenJokes #jokesonfamouspeople

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cricketrocker · 2 years ago

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True Confession #1: 175 million to one or odds for all the things or luck

Some people have a bucket list of the experiences or achievements or hopes or felonies they hope to accomplish or commit during their lifetime. I've always wondered why it was called a "bucket" list but some not quantitative research on Google indicated that it's short for "before you kick the bucket" list. In any case. I woke up too early this morning and rather than opting for rowing machine, I started compiling a new kind of bucket list: true confessions.

Here we go. True Confession #1:

Since the dawn of the COVID era, I have started buying MegaMillons and Powerball lottery tickets, every time the jackpot exceeds $100 million. There are some other boundaries. Only for Friday and Saturday drawings. Well, not many other boundaries. Typically on Thursday or Friday morning, I'll pull into the Tom Thumb grocery store right by my workplace betwee 7:05-7:15AM. I'll buy some snacks for the week that will enable me to skip lunch. Then when the checkout option gives me the "want some cash back, you sucker?" option, I click yes and get $20 cash. I'll complete my purchase then hit the Texas Lottery vending machine on the way out the door. One for the Friday PowerBall, one for the Saturday MegaMillions. I sometimes wonder if anyone is watching. I skulk out to my vehicle, put the tickets in the center console. Then I proceed about my day. A little bit of banked endorphined imagined possibility.

The odds of winning the MegaMillions or Powerball lotteries are, according research conducted concurrently for the origin of "bucket list" an incomprehensible 175 million to 1. I use the word "incomprehensible" because those odds are made up of numbers and ratios and though I managed to pass Quantitative Research Methods/Statistics in my doctoral program this past spring, I'm definately doing a qualitative disseration. In any case. 175 (million) to 1. Odds--in statistics--are the probability that an event will occur divided by the probability that the event will not occur. In this case, for every favorable 1 (win), there are 175 (million) chances of the unfavorable (loser). That's probably not really the definition, but you get it. This is well known stuff.

But in the console of my car--well, another true confession moment.

True Confession #2: I no longer drive Jane, The Black Pearl. I now drive Jane, The Hell Bitch. Before judging me on the that, know that is a Lonesome Dove novel reference, the Hell Bitch part. That was the name of Captain Call's horse. It is not rude, just inspirational. Symbolic. The Jane part, remember, is what all my cars have been named in the post-piece-of-crap-Saturn era (post-2001). This a whole separate post someday.

Coming soon. True confession about the truck.

Back to #1, though. While you're still judging me on the mid-life truck, please try to focus back on the lottery tickets in the center console. I'm writing this on a Sunday morning. There are two tickets right now that I have not checked. I am content to not check them right now. Maybe all day. Maybe I won't check them for a week. Having passed Quantitative Research Methods/Statistics (did I already mention that? #flex), I am aware that the probablity of being impossibly wealthy is almost nothing.

However. You can say whatever you want. The probability is not nothing. The probabilty is not nothing. Not nothing.

At this very moment, the two tickets in Jane's console are representative of a not nothing chance of imagined infinite possibility. They are representative of imagined infinite possibility. Say that again, but this time imagine an instrumental harp flourish. Imagined infinite possibility.

For this moment, the probability is not nothing, and I have not yet demonstrated that I am not the winner of a fated fortune.

Instead, in the moments preceding when I choose to validate the brutal and practical and infinitesimal actuality that there will be no random-luck riches, I will imagine a little. Recently, I've shopped Google for "Castles for Sale" in the United Kingdom, mainly. I've made mental notes of my altrutistic intent. A building or two I would endow either at my alma mater or my workplace or in the city town square--with a requisite statue. I haven't quite figured out how I'd be statued, but I think the statue has to also be part of an elaborate water feature. Yep. I'd really want to give out a ton of scholarships. I'd really want to give out as many "make a wish"-style opportunities and moments. I don't really know. What I realize the most lately, though, is that I have no imagination. Or not much of one. I still have not checked those tickets from last weekend. Just maybe. The chance is not nothing.

There are spaces of quiet and limbo and of infinite possibility and of fortune. The bittersweet torment of longing for that infinitesimal treasure...and while that's my confession of this moment, there is something else. Perhaps the cosmic lottery, the infinitesimal chance of losing that which is most important, of that which cannot be recovered, of the run stoplight, of the lightning strike, of the odorless and colorless gas leak, of the mysterious and unknown internal abyss of a despairing teenage mind.

What is the very opposite of winning the lottery? Is it losing infinite possibility or all possibility? What is the imagined pleasure that maybe--for just a little while--a parent might be that lottery winner after all--versus the opposite--the unimaginable despairing of infinitesimal loss? That family has lost a son, that is all, he was beautiful, that is all.

What are the chances of winning the world? What are the chances of losing the world? What is the lottery of every second? Everything is 175 million to 1, right? My heart is broken for my friend. I am not helpful and neither are words. I am so thankful, though. So many infinitesimal chances leading up to right now. There is nothing truer than there is what there is.

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hopeloto578 · 3 years ago

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wiremenu93-blog · 6 years ago

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The Bear’s Den, December 1, 2018

BEAR DOWN, CHICAGO BEARS, BEAR DOWN!!!!

BEARRRSSSS

5@5: Are Bears Doing Mitchell Trubisky A Disservice? - 670 The Score - The Mully & Haugh crew debates a five-pack of questions every weekday.

McKnight: In Stifling Saints, Cowboys Reinforce Defense Like Bears’ Can Win - 670 The Score - In an NFL filled with high-scoring offenses, defense can have its day too.

Players to watch in Bears-Giants game - ChicagoBears.com - Larry Mayer and Simon Kaufman of ChicagoBears.com discuss the Bears players they’ll be watching on both sides of the ball Sunday against the Giants, including receiver Taylor Gabriel.

Medina : Week 13 Preview – December 2, 2018 - Bleacher Nation - It’s a trap ... game!

Mayer: Daniel expected to make second straight start - ChicagoBears.com - The Bears on Friday listed quarterback Mitchell Trubisky as doubtful for Sunday’s game against the Giants with a right shoulder injury, meaning that backup Chase Daniel is expected to make his second consecutive start.

Community News: 11.30.18 - ChicagoBears.com - The Chicago Bears organization is proud to implement and support numerous community programs and initiatives which positively impact thousands of individuals, children and families each and every year. Here are some of the many ways the Bears show their s

Hughes: Week 13 Bears at Giants Game Preview, Volume II - Da Bears Blog - Khalil Mack and the pass rush should dominate a Giants’ offensive line that has already allowed 38 sacks. That means forcing Eli Manning into quick, hurried decisions and that usually means turnovers. The Giants can’t beat the Bears Sunday if they don’t win the turnover battle. And they’re not going to win the turnover battle.

Dickerson: Chase Daniel's experience pays dividends for Chicago Bears - ESPN - The Bears are plenty comfortable with Chase Daniel taking another start for the injured Mitchell Trubisky, thanks to his knowledge of the offense.

Joniak: Keys To Bears-Giants - 670 The Score - The Bears (8-3) face a test on the road against the Giants (3-8).

Emma: Bears QB Mitchell Trubisky Doubtful To Play Against Giants - 670 The Score - The Bears have officially listed Akiem Hicks (Achilles) as questionable.

Know Your Foe: Bears-Giants Storylines - 670 The Score - Danny Parkins of The Score and Evan Roberts of WFAN previewed the game.

Kane: Mitch Trubisky resumes throwing but still listed as doubtful for Sunday's Bears-Giants game - Chicago Tribune - Mitch Trubisky has been ruled as "officially doubtful" for Sunday's Giants game, the Bears announced Friday

Wiederer & Campbell's Week 13 NFL picks against the spread: Opposing takes on Chargers-Steelers, Rams-Lions, Vikings-Patriots — and Bears-Giants - Chicago Tribune - In a game with AFC playoff implications, the Steelers are looking to rally at home after last week’s narrow loss to the Broncos. It won’t be easy against Philip Rivers and a Chargers team that might be the most under-the-radar playoff team in the league.

Wiederer's Sunday storylines: The magic of Saquon Barkley, Eddie Jackson’s offensive role and more #BearsSingToAnything reaction - Chicago Tribune - What makes New York Giants rookie Saquon Barkley as good as advertised? Will Eddie Jackson soon see the ball on offense? How have the Bears' dance-heavy celebrations become even more fun? Tribune writer Dan Wiederer takes a deeper look at all of those topics.

Bears vs. Giants: Tribune writers make their picks - Chicago Tribune - Can the Bears top the Giants on the road? Tribune experts make their picks

Rosenbloom: Giants star Saquon Barkley is not the kind of running back the Bears want to see right now - Chicago Tribune - The Lions' LeGarrette Blount averaged 4.6 yards per carry against the Bears. If the 6-foot, 247-pound Blount is like trying to tackle a Coke machine with legs, then the 5-11, 233-pound Saquon Barkley is like trying to bring down a turbo dorm fridge, and he's coming off consecutive 100-yard games.

Wiederer: 3 keys for the Bears against the Giants: Saquon Barkley's big-play ability is dangerous - Chicago Tribune - The first-place Chicago Bears have a should-win game Sunday on the road against the New York Giants. But the Bears will need to be solid against the run, efficient on offense and play with urgency.

Game Preview: Chicago Bears - New York Giants - Da Bears Brothers Podcast - In this in-depth episode, the guys cover everything you need to know heading into the Chicago Bears' Week 13 game against the New York Giants.

Letizia: Eddie Goldman is the Chicago Bears' Unsung Hero - Da Bears Brothers Blog - Eddie Goldman is becoming one of the best nose tackles in the league and is the driving force behind the Bears top-ranked defense.

Stankevitz: The Bears trust their backup quarterback, and that’s not a given in today’s NFL - NBC Sports Chicago - Not every team has the trust in their backup quarterback the Bears have with Chase Daniel.

Cox: Mitchell Trubisky doubtful, Akiem Hicks questionable for Bears at Giants - NBC Sports Chicago - The statuses of Mitchell Trubisky and Akiem Hicks for Sunday's game against the Giants are up in the air.

Finley: Riding a five-game win streak, Bears preach the power of belief - Sun Times - Sidelined with a concussion last week, Aaron Lynch watched the Bears game from his couch. Even then, he couldn’t believe his good fortune.

Potash: Mitch Trubisky throws in practice, but Chase Daniel expected to start vs. Giants - Sun Times - Bears quarterback Mitch Trubisky threw passes for the first time since suffering a sprained shoulder against the

Finley: 4 Bears questions on stopping Odell, sacking Eli and examining the run game - Sun Times - Four questions as the Bears prepare to face the Giants on Sunday:

Jahns: What resting QB Mitch Trubisky says about the Bears' future - Sun Times - Adam L. Jahns' "Inside the Huddle" column appears in game-day editions of the Chicago Sun-Times.

Bears ticket prices increase as demand grows with team's success - Sun Times - "This is indeed the most expensive late-season ticket in recent Bears history," Andrew Gretchko, of Vivid Seats, said.

Campbell: The Bears take 12,000 pounds of equipment with them when they travel. Meet the guys who move it. - Chicago Tribune - Ken Miller, owner of Meyers Movers in Itasca, has been moving the Bears to and from games and everywhere in between since 1989. Over countless miles and hours working for the team and people connected to it, Miller has become part of the Bears fabric. Ken's Note: Read this one!

POLISH SAUSAGE

Jared Allen to make professional curling debut on Friday - Daily Norseman - He said he was going to do it, and he’s doing it

NFL still needs real-time video official – ProFootballTalk - The Cowboys barely won on Thursday night, the Saints barely lost. The officials, led by referee Walt Anderson, suffered a blowout. Various bad calls undermined a great game, with the most consequential blunder coming when Saints running back Alvin Kamara sustained the kind of hit that the new rul...

KNOW THY ENEMY

Green Bay Packers: What went wrong in 2018 season - SI.com - A one-of-a-kind franchise, a front office’s conservative approach, a roster caught in limbo, and the friction between the legendary quarterback and the embattled head coach. A closer examination of what has led to the Green Bay Packers’ most disappointing season of the past decade.

Vikings at Patriots: New England Patriots final injury report - Daily Norseman - Not a whole lot to see here, really.

Packers-Cardinals Injury Report: Two cornerbacks, Bakhtiari, Taylor all questionable - Acme Packing Company - The Packers ruled five players out, but most of the truly critical players still have a chance to suit up on Sunday

Predictability is the premise for the Packers’ poor play-action performance - Acme Packing Company - Almost every team in the league benefits from play action, but not the Packers. Here’s one reason why that’s the case.

We played the numbers on the Packers 2018 season and they don’t add up - Acme Packing Company - The statistics normally indicative of a team’s quality don’t show in Green Bay’s dreadful 4-6-1 record. Ken’s Note: Packers fans and math don’t generally go well together, so this does not surprise.

Detroit Lions shut out of top 25 players under 25 list - Pride Of Detroit - The Lions’ young talent doesn’t have any all stars... yet

Lions-Rams injury report: Kerryon Johnson will miss 2nd straight game - Pride Of Detroit - The Lions will be without another key offensive weapon this week.

Analyst: The Detroit Lions offensive line ‘should become a top-10 unit’ next year - Pride Of Detroit - One analyst breaks down the good and the bad from the Lions’ offensive line last year.

At least Packers fans are more miserable than Lions fans - Pride Of Detroit - Hey, we have to find something to take solace in.

Detroit Lions podcast: How did the Los Angeles Rams turn around the franchise on a dime? - Pride Of Detroit - This week’s preview podcast is full of envy.

IN CASE YOU MISSED IT ON WINDY CITY GRIDIRON

Sustaining Success: Higher Priorities for the Bears Moving Forward - Windy City Gridiron - The Chicago Bears are going strong, enjoying an 8-3 record. This is good, because after the season is over, any retooling will have limited resources. Where should those resources be spent?

Zeglinski: Windy City Gridiron picks Bears-Giants - Windy City Gridiron - The Bears head into a matchup at The Meadowlands with their backup quarterback. Here’s how the WCG staff sees it playing out.

Berkes: Fantasy Football Forum - Week 13 Asterisks & Quarterbacks - Windy City Gridiron - Your home for all things fantasy football

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meltingalphabet · 7 years ago

Text

I always underestimate the intelligence of others

I always underestimate the intelligence of others.

I met Cynthia at work. She was hired to replace Doreen in Marketing about 6 months ago. I didn’t think much of her at first. She wasn’t particularly pretty, or interesting. At least, I assumed she wasn’t. I dismissed her fairly immediately after meeting her.

But apparently, I left an impression on Cynthia. I started noticing her around a lot. At first, I assumed it was accidental. I’d see her in my favorite coffee shop, but it’s honestly the only decent cup of coffee within a two block radius of our office, so I didn’t think much of it. I noticed her lingering at the copy machine, right outside my office. Which was odd, but not that odd. I did, however, begin to get suspicious when I noticed her at my favorite lunch spot. And my second favorite lunch spot. And my favorite dive bar where I would often go for a quick snack after work.

Watching her nurse her dark beer at the bar, I raised an eyebrow. There was something fishy about her. About her obvious interest in me. I had an inkling, a hunch really, that if I investigated Cynthia’s ancestry, I’d find a little vampire hunter blood in her. You can always tell. The bastards get a whiff of you, and next thing you know, you’re outrunning an angry mob, pitchforks and torches forcing you to find a new life.

It all peaked on Halloween. Our CEO, John, loves Halloween. The second a brisk wind blows through, hinting that Summer is at its end, he starts asking people what they’re planning on dressing as and telling them that this year’s party is going to be “epic.” He is obnoxious. An overgrown child living off of daddy’s fortune, unaware of the difference between a company and a fraternity. So, thanks to him and his bank account, the company always hosts a huge, disgusting Halloween party, and this year was no different.

I went as a werewolf. I love the traditional scary costumes, though for obvious reasons, I avoid dressing as a vampire. It always felt so… stereotypical. Edward, my boyfriend of two years, went as a samurai, wearing one of those god awful inflatable suits to the party. I picked Edward as my partner because he was safe. He thought I was smart, and witty, and beautiful. And beyond that, he didn’t really care why I wouldn’t come home some nights. Most of the boyfriends, husbands, lovers, wives, and partners that I’ve had throughout the centuries would assume I was cheating on them, or, worse and closer to the truth, involved in something illegal. But not Edward. He always believed me when I told him I was spending the night at Sarah’s apartment after a girl’s night out. Sarah was a real woman I had befriended when I moved to the city eight years ago. Between her and Edward, I should have had enough gullible alibis to buy me at least… well, I’d say at least another five years here before I would have had to start over again.

That is, unless a latent vampire hunter fucked it up for me.

When I introduced Edward to Cynthia, he beamed like a dumb dog at her while she eyed him suspiciously from his feet to his head, absorbing all the inflated nonsense in between. She snickered, and looked at me with an expression meant to tell me she wasn’t buying any of it. I felt color rise to my cheeks, a sensation a vampire does not often experience, but I had gorged on a drunk reveler the night before, and I could feel his borrowed blood being pumped -- pumped is the wrong word, more like slushed about -- by my dead but defiant heart. The man had been out enjoying the holiday a little early, and had too much to drink. When a young, attractive woman invited him to join her in the dingy alleyway, he didn’t even bother saying “yes.” Simply staggered down the narrow passage, very much like the classic metaphor of a lamb to slaughter: unaware, and unafraid. Trusting the shepherd implicitly, as is in its nature.

I turned from Cynthia, rolling my eyes to myself as I walked away from her and my boyfriend to find more interesting company.

Several glasses of pinot later, I was in the kitchen debating Bukowski with one of the IT guys whose name I could never remember (I know it begins with a K… Kyle? No… more unique than that… Kel? Is that even a name? Oh, nevermind). I hadn’t ever read Bukowski before, I just like mocking drunk pretentious fucks. Key (now I’m just making shit up) was mid-sentence when Cynthia sauntered in. I turned to face her. The wine had heightened my senses and I could definitely smell the hunter on her.

She approached me, unhesitating in her closeness. She drew her face to mine. I sensed Kay (close enough) leave in discomfort. We were alone in the kitchen. I squared my shoulders and stood my ground, narrowing my eyes at her. We stared at each other for what felt like forever, neither willing to back down.

Finally, she spoke. Her voice barely higher than a whisper, “I know what you are.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, tilting my head slightly as I gave her a crooked smile. I could smell the booze on her breath, I could see the slight sway in her posture. A human would’ve been fooled, but I knew: she was drunk. An untrained drunk hunter? I could feel any trace of worry melt instantly away. I pressed my face closer, so close our noses almost touched. “What am I?” I whispered.

And then, to my great surprise, Cynthia kissed me. I allowed it, stuck in my spot in utter shock. She stepped her body closer to mine, and placed her hands on my lower back, pushing us together. Regaining my senses, I pulled away from her embrace. She looked up at me, her face, normally cold and stoic, was filled with questions. Questions I didn’t understand. Question I didn’t want to have in my face. I stepped back from her, and left the kitchen.

I found Edward playing beer pong with John and a bunch of the guys from sales. He was whooping about some idiot getting a ball into a cup, the opponent chugging more beer. I grabbed his arm and began pulling him to the door.

Edward resisted, “babe, what are you doing? We’re winning!” He emphasized the word winning, as if this game was the defining moment of his life. Edward, Beer Pong Champion in the 2017 Olympics.

I glared at him and lowered my voice into a not-quite-human growl, “we’re leaving. Now.” Edward gulped, He nodded silently, and we left.

I have been around for centuries. I have seen great men torn down by war, disease, love. I have seen strong women corrupted by lust, jealousy, greed. I have seen it all. I fear nothing and no one. Not even death itself. But when I woke up after that party. That kiss. I felt as I imagine human teenagers often feel: confused, lost, helpless, and a little… icky. A vampire hunter kissed me. Someone breed to find and kill me, got confused and kissed me instead. Part of my mind was whispering to take advantage of it while another part whispered to run away. And yet another part suggested filing a complaint with HR. But the idea of describing a lesbian kiss to Chris, our company’s pathetic excuse for Human Resources, who trembles every time I wait behind him at the printer, made my stomach drop.

I tried to hunt on Sunday, but it was useless. I was off my game. The scent of men felt dirty in my nose. The memory of Cynthia’s kiss warm, the smell of her shampoo much more enticing. I could smell it as I prowled the seedy streets of the city. I didn’t realize it at first, but I had followed it. I was suddenly at a doorstep. I could almost see her scent in the air around the building and I knew, my lust had brought me to the door of my enemy. I turned sharply, and walked home as fast as possible.

I stayed home from work Monday. I told Edward I was sick. I hung around the apartment all day, going back and forth between ignoring the feelings inside me, and trying to decipher them. Was I feeling sexually attracted to a hunter? Was I experiencing feelings for a hunter?

On Tuesday, as I rode the elevator up to the eleventh floor, I could feel sweat forming on my brow. It’s ok, I told myself, I probably won’t even see her. Outside of her stalking my daily outings, Cynthia and I rarely ran into each other in the office. The elevator doors began to open. My heart caught in my throat.

The hallway was empty.

Frustrated, I let out the breath I had been holding as I walked to my office. I was mad at myself for being so affected by a human. A hunter, nonetheless. But also frustrated that she wasn’t there, waiting for me.

The day was uneventful. I honestly couldn’t have told you if Cynthia was even in the office. The next day was the same. I felt relieved. Maybe I could forget this happened. Then, Thursday night, I was absorbed in a particularly nasty excel spreadsheet of dates and numbers that didn’t make sense, when there was a knock on my door. I looked at the clock. It was almost seven. Who would want to see me so late?

“Come in.” I called. The door opened, and there she was. She stood tentatively in the doorway wearing a blue dress. The dress hugged her body, and there was just enough cleavage to be interesting, but nothing too scandalous for work. I swallowed. We stared at each other for several seconds. Cynthia smiled sheepishly and waved.

“Hey.” She stepped slightly into the office. I remember being able to smell her scent from my desk, and she smelled so good. A tingle ran from the tip of my spine to my lower back.

“Hi.” I responded, unsure what was expected from me in the situation.

Cynthia took another step towards me, suddenly emboldened. “I wanted to stop by and apologize for my behavior at the Halloween party.” She blushed, and looked down at the floor. When I didn’t answer immediately, she looked back up at me timidly.

“It’s… it’s ok.” I shrugged. I immediately felt stupid for the gesture. I stood up from my desk, trying to mask my awkwardness with movement. I was suddenly very aware that it was more awkward that I was now just standing. I walked around and leaned back, sitting on the edge of my desk and crossing my arms. “These things happen.” I said, as coolly as possible.

Cynthia’s face grew serious, “No, I mean it.” She stepped forward. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend before the party. I guess it… surprised me. I got a little too drunk…” She shot her hands up defensively and quickly added, “Not that that’s an excuse! I didn’t mean to imply that…” She dropped her hands and groaned, “ugh, I’m terrible at this.” She straightened and looked me in the eyes, “I want to apologize for my actions Saturday. It was inappropriate, and I am sorry for making an advance on you. I would like to continue our professional relationship without any further discomfort.” She seemed proud of herself. She was smiling now, as if she was a contestant on a gameshow in mid-lucky streak. I swooned a little. She was being very cute. “I don’t want to create a… a hostile work environment.” She emphasized the phrase dramatically.

I burst out laughing. Cynthia was visibly taken aback. She blinked her wide eyes at me, unsure how to process my reaction.

“Oh my god, Cynthia. Please stop. It really is ok, I swear. You did not create a ‘hostile work environment.’” Cynthia smiled as her body relaxed. I felt more relaxed too. I smiled back at her, still chuckling to myself.

“Good, I’m so relieved.” She stood there, smiling at me. I returned the smile. Cynthia looked down at her watch-less wrist. “Oh goodness, look at the time.” She looked up at me, “I should probably be going.”

“Ok. Have a good night.”

She smiled, and turned to leave.

I tried to keep my lips shut, but something inside me couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Hey, Cynthia?” She turned to face me. “Wanna grab a drink?”

Latent vampire hunter or not, Cynthia was amazing. She was funny, smart, clever, silly, confident, and everyday she became more and more beautiful to me. Our happy hours became weekly. And then bi-weekly. We began getting coffee together every morning. I fell head over heels in love with her. My body ached for her. My heart swelled whenever I would smell her approach my office.

One Friday, we were celebrating Cynthia’s recent raise. We started at our usual happy hour spot, and moved across the city, drinking ourselves into oblivion.

At midnight, we got the brilliant idea to go back to Cynthia’s place and watch a movie. We had been gushing about our favorite horror films, and Cynthia discovered I had never seen Interview with a Vampire. She insisted we had to go and watch it that second. I had never seen that film because I refuse to indulge in anything vampiric. Watching Hollywood misrepresent my species disgusted me. But for Cynthia, I would’ve only read Anne Rice novels for the next hundred years.

I remember not hating the film as much as I expected. But I don’t think I was really paying much attention. Cynthia and I were on her small couch, huddled together under a fuzzy blanket. Her side was lightly touching mine, and I had never been as comfortable as I was in that moment. I never wanted the film to end.

I felt Cynthia adjust in the seat next to me. She leaned her body against my side, and rested her head on my shoulder. Electricity shot through my entire being. I looked down at the back of her head. Her hair smelled amazing. Cynthia must have felt my gaze, because she looked up at me.

“Oh, sorry. Is this ok?” Her large blue eyes bore into my being. I was on fire. I lost control over my body, my senses, and kissed her. Her lips remained slack for a few seconds, and then she reciprocated, hard. Thoughts escaped my mind completely as our bodies merged together.

I told Edward I drank too much and spent the night at Cynthia’s. I wasn’t lying. Looking back, I could’ve broken up with him. To be honest, I’m not sure why I didn’t. It’s not like I was in love with him, though that’s probably the excuse I would’ve given Cynthia if she had asked me to leave him for her. But she never did. She seemed content being with me, no matter the circumstances.

I couldn’t be with her, not really though. The hunter smell was there, no matter how much I tried to convince myself it wasn’t. I knew being with her in that capacity was a huge risk, let alone being with her for real. I loved her, but I had to protect myself. If only that instinct had been stronger. If only I could’ve stopped myself from seeing her. Then none of this would’ve happened. But I thought the affair was safe. I thought it was worth the risk.

Cynthia figured it out, of course. She noticed the fangs that would sometimes appear in my mouth when I was hungry and wasn’t being careful. One time she noticed fresh blood on my shirt and was worried. Having no visible sign of injury, I had to tell her that I had had a nose bleed. Like I said though, Cynthia was smart.

We were at my place. Edward was away on business for the whole week, so I had invited Cynthia over to play house. Pretend like we were a real couple. I’ve made so many mistakes. I had thought my emergency passports, cash, and decades of journals were locked safely away in the safe I kept in my closet. A secret safe that even Edward had seemed frustrated about, but eventually accepted as part of our lives. A safe meant for my eyes only. A safe I was very careful about locking behind me. Cynthia found it open, however, and had investigated. It only took her a few minutes to connect all the dots.

I was in the kitchen, cooking us dinner. She came in holding a leather bound book. I recognized it immediately as my journal from the early eighties. Years of idiotic cocaine use and playing the stock market for kicks.

“What the fuck.” It wasn’t a question.

“Cynthia…” I said.

She slammed the book on the counter. “I always thought my grandfather was insane, but he wasn’t, was he? Vampires are real. And you are one.”

I looked at her in silence. I didn’t know what to say.

She watched me for a moment, and then continued. “My grandfather used to tell me stories of our family of hunters. How we’d search the world for your species, ridding humanity of the evil of blood suckers. My father would tell me that Grandpa just had a wild imagination, and that vampires weren’t real. But he was wrong.” Cynthia paused, never taking her eyes off of me. “I knew something was weird. I could… It’s like I could sense it. I could almost...smell it.” She said the word with disgust. Like I was dirty now. “I assumed I was confused by my intense attraction to you. But I see now. My feelings were what was confusing me. Making me blind to the truth.” Her eyes began to water as her tone changed from hate to sorrow. She blinked and a tear ran down her cheek.

“Cynthia, I...” I started.

She shook her head angrily. “No, don’t talk. No talking!” She turned away and sat down at the kitchen table. She covered her face with her hands, and began to sob. My heart broke and instinctively I walked to her. I placed my hand tentatively on her back. She didn’t react, so I began to rub tenderly, as if comforting her for something normal. As if she had been fired or her cat had died.

I rubbed her back, and she leaned into my stomach. I moved my hand up and rubbed her hair gently. She looked up at me, her eyes red, her face wet. She was still so beautiful.

“I guess I’m supposed to kill you now.” She said. I smiled down at her, and she returned the smile.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

“Me too.” She placed her head back at my side and reached up to grab my hand. We stayed like that, unsure what to do next.

A loud thud from upstairs made us both jump. The house had been deathly silent. Cynthia’s grip on my hand tightened and she looked up at me. “What was that?”

“I have no idea.” I said, looking at the ceiling. There was another thud. I let go of Cynthia, “you stay here, I’ll check it out.”

It sounded like the thuds had come from the bedroom. I sniffed the air, but nothing was off about the smell in the house. If there was a stranger here, surely I’d smell it. I slowly pushed the bedroom door open. It was mostly empty, the open closet and safe being the only things out of place. I checked under the bed and Edward’s closet, but found nothing. I left the room and stopped short. Outside the door laid a clove of garlic. I picked it up. It had definitely not been there when I went into the bedroom.

Garlic negatively affecting vampires is a Hollywood myth. In fact, I love garlic. I use it in everything. But this was a sign. A message.

Cynthia screamed from downstairs. I dropped the garlic and ran.

Entering the kitchen, I immediately noticed Cynthia on the floor, blood beginning to pool around her. Before I could react, the world went black.

I woke up, my head splitting. I opened my eyes. My vision was blurry, but I slowly was able to blink the fuzziness away. There was something brown in front of me. I blinked again. It was a face. It was Edward’s face. His brown eyes were inches from me. I tried to speak, but my mouth was gagged. I turned my head, but couldn’t tell where I was. All I saw was a cement floor and matching walls. Wherever I was, it was filthy. I shudder and turned back to Edward, whose face filled my entire vision.

Edward reached behind my head and I felt the gag loosen and fall to my neck. Thoughts flooded my weak mind. Thank god Edward found me. Did he find Cynthia? Is she ok? I tried to open my mouth to ask, but my tongue was so dry I couldn’t speak.

Edward patted my shoulder. “Shh, shhh, sweetheart. I’m here.”

Tears filled my eyes, and I smiled at him.

“Do you remember me?” He asked. My smile was replaced with a look of confusion. What was he talking about. He continued, “It’s me, Edward. Your boyfriend?” I nodded, slowly, trying to put the pieces together. “You thought I didn't know, didn’t you? You thought I never knew. But I always knew.” My breath began to quicken as the adrenaline cleared my mind. “I was ok with your... Cravings. Cheating on me though? For that... You're gonna pay.” Realization flooded my brain with panic and I found my voice.

“Where is she, Edward?” He smiled. His dumb face twisted in macabre pleasure.

“Oh, your fuck buddy? She’s right over here. Let me get her for you.” Edward stepped back and I saw her. Cynthia was bound and gagged in the corner of what I now recognized as the water heater closet in our basement. Edward walked over to her, and grabbed her by the hair. She groaned and her eyes began to flutter as he dragged her towards me.

At least she was still alive.

He dropped her in front of me, and lowered himself onto her back, his knee pressing into her. I cringed as Cynthia cried out in pain. She was awake now, looking at me with a mix of utter fear and confusion. My face was wet with tears and I began to do something I’ve never done in all my years on this planet. I begged.

“Edward, please, no! Edward, don’t hurt her! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry! Please, stop!”

He glared at me and pushed down on his knee hard, carefully keeping his distance between himself and my face, my only current weapon. Cynthia screamed. Edward dug his fingers deep into Cynthia’s hair, and pulled up, stretching her pale neck long and taut in front of me.

My eyes locked with his.

"Eat beast." His words a slap of terror reverberating through my skull.

I shook my head violently and struggled with my rope restraints, trying to tear them from my wrists with force, but even a lion's might is useless if tied up tight enough. I pressed my back against the wall. My shoulder stung with the anguish of being pinned behind me, but I didn’t stop trying to distance myself as much as possible from the woman I loved. Edward’s lips curled into a nasty sneer. He spit on me, the wet fluid sliding down my face.

“Fine then.” He rose, dropping Cynthia to the ground. She curled her legs to her chest as she whimpered. “I can wait. We’ll see how long it takes you to choose. Starvation or her.” Edward said the last word with pure disgust, and kicked Cynthia away from me with his boot.

I don’t know exactly how long it’s been, but it’s been at least a week. Every day or so, Edward comes back. He offers me Cynthia’s neck, spits on me when I refuse, feeds Cynthia some old bread and water, re-ties her gag, and leaves.

I’m starting to get hungry. Really, really hungry. I can feel my hunger beginning to burrow into my insides, screaming to be released. Despite my best efforts, my fangs have grown in behind my lips, and refuse to leave. The first few days I would comfort Cynthia, promise her that I’d never bite her. That I love her. But, I don’t have the energy anymore. And the hungrier I get, the more unsure I am that I can keep my promise.

I can smell her blood from here, and it smells so fucking good.

#horror #shortstory

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bharatiyamedia-blog · 5 years ago

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Poker Taking part in A.I. Robotic Beats Greatest People

http://tinyurl.com/y2ztnukv To paraphrase a line from considered one of my favourite movies¹, it is unhappy to see one other drained A.I. bot lay down its hand and give up the holy sport of poker. Chess, checkers, Go, now poker? Sure, it is true. A crew of synthetic intelligence researchers at Carnegie Mellon and Fb have developed a poker-playing A.I. bot dubbed Pluribus that came out well ahead of some of the top human players on this planet after 10,000 palms. Pluribus first taught itself to play in customary machine studying trend, then went on to show its price in six-player, no-limit Texas Maintain’em. Identical to a superb human participant, Pluribus sometimes will bluff however it wins regardless of not finding out its opponents’ tendencies to change its technique, as most human gamers would. The outdated poker noticed that you just “play the person, not the playing cards,” or its 2019 incarnation “play the folks, not the playing cards,” could need to be reexamined. “On the finish of the day, it was making fairly a bit of cash enjoying in opposition to elite human execs. I feel that means the cliche is, at the very least partially, improper,” researcher Noam Brown wrote in an interesting online conversation he carried out within the remark part of Hacker Information. In some methods, it is not a shock {that a} mathematically ruthless and unflappable machine can win at poker given the opposite fields of play already conquered by the bots. However there have been a few noticeable departures from the standard “A.I. bites man” story within the case of Pluribus. For one, Pluribus educated on a the equal of a modest server laptop, utilizing about $150 price of cloud computing assets. Prior efforts have required staggeringly extra energy. Google’s DeepMind that conquered Go in 2016 wanted 1,200 CPUs and 176 GPUs, for instance. The second departure delivered to thoughts the road above from The Thomas Crown Affair (1999 model, after all). That is the choice by the crew behind Pluribus to not put it on-line to problem all comers or launch its code for poker consultants to review. “On the finish of the day, that is about advancing A.I., not about making a poker bot,” Brown famous. Seems like we’ll need to maintain making our personal selections about figuring out when to carry ’em and when to fold ’em. Wager Pluribus would not know when to run away, although. The Information Sheet crew together with the remainder of the Fortune tech crew is off to Colorado subsequent week for our annual Brainstorm Tech convention, as we could have talked about right here a couple of instances. Stand by for contemporary reporting on the going’s on there. And possibly, in some downtime, we’ll get in a couple of palms of Texas Maintain’em. (¹I’m nicely conscious that Thomas Crown is misquoting Leonard Cohen, however I feel it is type of pithier than the unique.) Aaron Pressman On Twitter: @ampressman E-mail: [email protected] NEWSWORTHY All-in. Talking of Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh-based autonomous car startup Argo AI, which additionally has ties to the famed college, is getting a $2.6 billion infusion from Volkswagen. The funding, which values Argo at $7 billion, follows main backing for the startup from Ford in 2017. Argo will even take over Volkswagen’s Autonomous Clever Driving crew in Munich. A lot smaller startup Luminar, which makes laser sensors for self-driving automobiles, raised a mere $100 million, because it debuted a brand new Lidar system known as Iris that can price lower than $1,000. Drawing useless. In his regrettable gathering of right-wing on-line personalities on Thursday, President Trump mentioned that he’d be looking for to punish the large Web corporations sooner or later. Later within the night, he took to Twitter to assault Fb’s Libra digital foreign money. And every other cryptocurrency, apparently. “I’m not a fan of Bitcoin and different Cryptocurrencies, which aren’t cash, and whose worth is extremely unstable and based mostly on skinny air,” Trump wrote. Stay one. Have hassle shopping for your double skinny, non-fat, decaf latte yesterday? Retail funds processor Stripe was offline for about two hours, irritating clients of many a small enterprise. Lock up my seat. In excellent news for journalists all over the place, Google is redesigning what seems underneath the “information” tab on its search outcomes pages. Utilizing a card format as an alternative of an inventory, the headlines of tales and names of publishers get larger play. Massive slick. When you’re retaining rating at house, depend it massive tech firm: 1 and widespread startup: 0. Properly, that’s not precisely proper. However Microsoft says its Groups group messaging app has over 13 million daily active users versus 10 million for scrappy upstart Slack when it final disclosed a quantity. Massive blind. It looks like Tim Prepare dinner has been speaking concerning the potential of India to present iPhone gross sales a lift since ceaselessly. However Apple is actually going for it now, as the corporate is about to start selling phones made within the nation domestically for the primary time. That may cut back the worth to customers by avoiding taxes utilized to imported smartphones FOR YOUR WEEKEND READING PLEASURE A number of longer reads that I got here throughout this week which may be interesting to your weekend studying pleasure: The Fight for the Future of YouTube (The New Yorker)The video large’s current travails underscore a primary query: How “impartial” ought to social-media platforms attempt to be? The Story McKinsey Didn’t Want Written (Institutional Investor)Tied to the worldwide consulting large is a large funding fund. Primarily based on its response to this story, McKinsey seemingly doesn’t need you studying a lot about it. What Really Happened to Malaysia’s Missing Airplane (The Atlantic)5 years in the past, the flight vanished into the Indian Ocean. Officers on land know extra about why than they dare to say. Cover Story: How Idris Elba Became the Coolest Man in Hollywood (Self-importance Truthful)From status TV to tentpole franchises to the Coachella DJ tent, the British actor is a poster boy for 21st-century fame: multidisciplinary, omnipresent, participating. So what does Idris Elba need to do subsequent? And what do we wish from him? FOOD FOR THOUGHT I’ve to say I really like among the on-line safety recommendation that’s been popping out of Microsoft currently. Thanks, Microsoft, for blasting the useless (and truly counterproductive) safety coverage of forcing customers to vary their password each 90 days. Now, Alex Weinert on Microsoft’s safety crew is out with another great essay, provocatively titled “Your Pa$$phrase doesn’t matter.” As he explains: Each week I’ve at the very least one dialog with a safety resolution maker explaining why a whole lot of the hyperbole about passwords – “by no means use a password that has ever been seen in a breach,” “use actually lengthy passwords”, “passphrases-will-save-us”, and so forth – is inconsistent with our analysis and with the fact our crew sees as we defend in opposition to 100s of hundreds of thousands of password-based assaults daily. Specializing in password guidelines, moderately than issues that may actually assist – like multi-factor authentication (MFA), or nice menace detection – is only a distraction. As a result of right here’s the factor: On the subject of composition and size, your password (principally) doesn’t matter. To grasp why, let’s have a look at what the most important assaults on passwords are and the way the password itself components into the equation for an attacker. Do not forget that all of your attacker cares about is stealing passwords so that they, or others, can entry accounts. That’s a key distinction between hypothetical and sensible safety – your attacker will solely do actually wacky, inventive stuff you hear about at conferences (or wherever) when there’s no simpler method and the goal of the assault justifies the additional effort. IN CASE YOU MISSED IT YouTube Adds More Pay Features to Its Free Video Services By Danielle Abril Accenture Names a New CEO: Julie Sweet By Alan Murray Alphabet’s Latest Data Grab: Google Home Records Far More Sound Than Users Realize, Report Says By Xavier Harding Survey Says: Corporate Culture Is Worth More Than a Big Salary By Natalie Rocha Attendee of President Trump’s Social Media Complaint Fest Speaks Out By Alyssa Newcomb Amazon Prime Subscription Growth Slows Ahead of Prime Day 2019 By Don Reisinger Virgin Galactic’s CEO: What Space Tourism Will Really Be Like By Erik Sherman BEFORE YOU GO Apple has nearly executed it. This week’s updates to the MacBook Professional and MacBook Air have undoubtedly bought me in an upgrading temper. The evaluations are great, the worth of storage is finally reasonable, however…there’s nonetheless that damnable keyboard. I undoubtedly want a Steve Jobsian “another factor” on the subsequent Apple occasion. Fairly please. This version of Information Sheet was curated by Aaron Pressman. Discover past issues, and sign up for different Fortune newsletters. Source link

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justsimplylovely · 5 years ago

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US president to use state visit to promote House of Trump as he doubles down on Brexit bet Trump with the Queen in Windsor last summer. Next week, the monarch will greet Trump ceremonially in the gardens of Buckingham Palace. Photograph: Pablo Martínez Monsiváis/AP Donald Trump’s state visit this week to the UK is being promoted as a celebration of a close alliance tempered through war. It could be more accurately described as a personal lap of victory for the US president, performed largely at the expense of his hosts. Trump arrives in London having survived Robert Mueller’s last blow, a verbal recap of the special counsel’s finding that the president could neither be charged with crimes nor exonerated. The president is now on the counter-attack and may well use his visit to repeat his claim – called “utterly ridiculous” by GCHQ – that UK intelligence helped spy on his election campaign. The rich pageantry that the British monarchy supplies will not only distract from the lingering clouds of suspicion, but send a bright red, white and blue message of reassurance to the Trump faithful that, while his domestic enemies might yap at his heels, he is still treated like royalty in foreign capitals. “What he wants is the adulation,” said Thomas Wright, the director of the centre on the US and Europe at the Brookings Institution. “He wants the protocol and the grandeur and to be at the centre of it all. It is how he sees global diplomacy. It’s going from palace to chancellery, meeting leaders and looking the part.” For that purpose, the UK visit could not be more perfect. On Monday, the Queen will greet Trump ceremonially in the gardens of Buckingham Palace. He will inspect a guard of honour and there will be royal gun salutes fired from Green Park and the Tower of London. There will be afternoon tea and banquets and then, in Portsmouth, the martial grandeur of the Royal Navy. Trump is bringing his extended family, including the heirs to his fortune and political power, Donald Jr, Eric and Ivanka. The most powerful of them, Ivanka, will attend a “business leaders” breakfast on Tuesday with her father in the company of Theresa May and the Duke of York. Travelling Trumps When Donald Trump and his wife, Melania, arrive for a state visit to the UK on 3 June, they will reportedly be joined by the president’s four adult children and their spouses. Here's who is in the family entourage: Ivanka Trump Ivanka is Trump’s oldest daughter and works in the White House (unpaid) as an adviser to the president. Trump has relied on her often for overseas diplomacy, including sitting in for him briefly at a G20 summit, and he said he had considered naming her to head the World Bank. She has visited Ethiopia and the Ivory Coast on behalf of the administration to promote women’s rights. Before her father’s presidency, Trump ran her own fashion line. Jared Kushner Trump’s son-in-law is a White House senior adviser and the administration’s envoy to the Middle East (also unpaid). With his wife Ivanka he has also been the subject of a host of controversies – with a whistleblower alleging they were granted sensitive security clearances over the objections of career security experts. He has also been accused of conflicts of interest over his family’s sprawling real-estate empire. Kushner wears many hats in Washington. He is supposed to come up with a Middle East peace plan, as well as US immigration policy. Donald Trump Jr Trump’s eldest son and his brother, Eric, run their father’s business empire while he is in the White House. Officially, Trump Jr is executive vice-president of the Trump Organization. It was Trump Jr who met a Russian lawyer in an infamous Trump Tower meeting in New York in 2016, after the Russian offered him election ‘dirt’ on the Democratic presidential candidate Hillary Clinton. Kushner also attended. Although accepting campaign help from foreign nationals is illegal, the special counsel Robert Mueller said after investigating that there was not enough evidence to prove meeting participants knew they were breaking the law. Trump Jr may be accompanied by his girlfriend, Kimberly Guilfoyle, a former Fox News host. Eric Trump Eric Trump is the co-leader of the Trump Organization during his father’s presidency. He has defended his father from accusations of racism, and called the president’s critics “not even people”. He is parodied on the weekly US satirical comedy TV show Saturday Night Live and elsewhere as the not-so-sharp Trump brother, though supporters call this portrayal inaccurate. Most recently, a watchdog group has been pressing to find out how much it cost taxpayers when Eric and members of one of the family’s golf clubs travelled to Scotland to play the links. Lara Trump Lara Trump is a campaign adviser to Donald Trump’s re-election campaign and wife to Eric. A vocal defender of her father-in-law, she recently made headlines by saying the decision to let in large numbers of migrants fleeing war- and poverty-torn countries for Europe was “one of the worst things that ever happened to Germany”. Tiffany Trump Tiffany is the lowest profile of Trump’s adult children and his only child with second wife Marla Maples. She headed to London ahead of the rest of her family. The 25-year-old is a graduate student at Georgetown Law in Washington DC. She travelled to the Cannes film festival earlier this month with her wealthy boyfriend, in a trip that has drawn scrutiny over its cost to taxpayers in terms of security for the presidential daughter. The scenes will eventually be marketed by his business empire and his re-election machine in the same way: the House of Trump and the House of Windsor, the top luxury brands of their respective nations, sitting down to make deals in the most sumptuous settings. In effect, the British royals will be serving as co-stars and extras in stock footage for Trump’s 2020 re-election ads. The only royal with experience of acting for a living, Meghan, the American-born Duchess of Sussex, is thought to be staying away. She is on maternity leave after having baby Archie, but she has called Trump “divisive” and “misogynistic” in the past. In return, he declared her “nasty” in a pre-departure Sun interview. Trump’s progress will be triumphal in other ways. May – who told him off for sharing far-right videos in 2017, and whom he has taunted mercilessly ever since for failing to deliver Brexit – will be in her last days as prime minister. The former Conservative foreign secretary Boris Johnson, whom Trump has consistently backed over May, and who he has said would do “an excellent job”, is tipped as most likely to succeed her. The Brexit party leader, Nigel Farage, another Trump favourite, emerged victorious from the European elections, while the hardest of all Brexits remains a likelihood. The US president is winning all his bets in the UK, and it would be out of character if he did not remind the hapless outgoing prime minister of that fact. Johnson and Farage were expected to attend a banquet thrown at the US ambassador’s London residence, Winfield House, on Tuesday night, though Farage claims he has been banned from meeting the president by the May government. Trump was coy on whether he would meet them but gave them a resounding shout-out last Thursday as “two very good guys, very interesting people”. In an interview with the Sunday Times, Trump called on Britain to leave the European Union without a deal if Brussels refuses to meet its demands, and urged the government to send Farage into the negotiations. The state visit is an opportunity for Trump to double down on his bet on Brexit, with the ultimate aim of striking his own bilateral trade deal with an amputated and weakened Britain. After arriving in the UK on Air Force One on Monday 3 June, US president Donald Trump will be formally welcomed in a ceremony in the gardens of Buckingham Palace. It will be attended by the Queen and Prince Charles. The president will then attend a private lunch at the palace, which is expected to be attended by Prince Harry, but not his wife, who Trump recently described as 'nasty'. Following a wreath-laying ceremony in Westminster Abbey, Donald Trump will join Prince Charles for an afternoon tea at Clarence House. The Queen, Prince Charles and Prince Harry will then host a state banquet in the evening, which will be attended by prominent US citizens who live in the UK, as well as political and civic leaders. On Tuesday 4 June the visit includes a breakfast meeting with Prince Andrew, and then talks and a press conference with prime minister Theresa May at Downing Street. On the Tuesday evening Trump hosts a dinner at the residence of the US ambassador. On Wednesday 5 June Trump will take part in commemoration services in Portsmouth to mark the 75th anniversary of the D-Day landings. The day ends with the Queen formally bidding farewell to the US president. Trump’s entourage will also include two identical seven-seat black armoured limousines nicknamed ‘The Beast’, and a number of presidential helicopters. The president has at his side at all times one of five rotating military aides who carry the nuclear ‘football’ which can trigger a missile strike - equipped with communication tools and a book with prepared war plans. “This is not about seeing where the UK is vulnerable in a post-EU environment and buttressing it; I think this is using US trade leverage to get as many gains as possible,” said Heather Conley, director of the Europe programme at the Centre for Strategic and International Studies. That leverage will be used to peel the UK away from EU regulations to fall in line with US standards on food, healthcare and banking. The US president will be coming to press home his advantage. “Trump is pursuing a predatory approach to Brexit,” Wright said. “It’s an opportunist strategy to take advantage of Britain’s vulnerability.”