Mister Green
9/08/2003
  So long and thanks for all the fish. I have been captured by a strange race of people who call themselves the "Munuvians". After my capture, a long negotiating session followed in which they agreed I would not be probed in any orifice and that (more importantly) I get to learn how to fly the spaceship. In return I agreed that resistance was futile and that my assimilation could begin immediately.

Therefore, this blog is moving to http://mrgreen.mu.nu. Eventually I will move all my old ramblings from this site over to there, 'cause, hey, I don't have many ideas and I can't afford to waste any of them.

Special Blogspot farewell thanks to Blackfive, who was primarily responsible for talking me into joining the blogging party, and entirely responsible for anybody else knowing I had done it. Were it not for him, I'd be posting in a vacuum, the blog equivalent of a crazy guy who sits in the corner muttering to himself. Which I actually am in real life, so maybe that wasn't the most effective of analogies.

Come by and visit the new place! 
9/07/2003
  SWM Update I have not made any progress on reading Stupid White Men. I was having too much fun this weekend to punish myself with Moore's prose. I got out of the house with the lovely Mrs. Green on Saturday night to meet up with an old friend, and went to the White Sox game today with a motley crew including the always-dangerous Blackfive. On his blog, Blackfive mentioned a bet involving me and 10 shots. I lost this bet, but it was not collected today. I'll explain later how I was sandbagged by the winner of the bet, my friend and co-worker known henceforth as the Deceitful Little Bastard.

Anyway, although I never opened it, the book itself did come in handy when I used it to kill a bug on my office wall. If I had been thinking, I would have just held the cover picture of Moore's smirking mug up to the wall to see if the little monster would have died. (The bug, I mean.) But then again, that would have probably constituted animal cruelty, and the last thing I want to do is get on the bad side of my good friends over at PETA. 
  The Agony of Defootball I used to think that I liked football season, but I may have to reconsider.

The Chicago Bears lost 49-7 to San Francisco, proving themselves completely helpless in every phase of the game. Is it too early to start thinking about position for next year’s draft?

My formerly beloved Purdue Boilermakers, whom I now permanently renounce, lost 27-26 to Bowling Gr…. Bo… Bowl…

I can’t even bring myself to say it.

And I can’t talk about the loss. In 15 years of watching them claw their way from being the laughingstocks of Division I NCAA football, through mediocrity, then to being very good and contending for conference championships and top bowl games – in all those years, this loss is the most heartbreaking.

Moving on to the villain part of the equation, my least favorite team, Notre Dame, came from behind to win in typical Notre Dame fashion: Being pretty good at playing football and insanely great at being lucky. Second least favorite team Indiana gave #22 Washington a good fight for much of the game, actually leading 13-10 at one point in the third quarter before reality asserted itself and Washington reeled off 28 unanswered points. If Indiana had won that game, I would have had no choice but to stop watching football altogether. So in an unlikely twist, I raise my cup in salute to the Indiana Hoosiers, who in defeat saved this year’s football season for me. Go IU!
 
9/06/2003
  Purdue lost. I'm drinkin'. 
  Dammit again! So I’m listening to the Purdue – Bowling Green game on Internet radio while I wait for Blogspot to come back to life. Bowling Green just took the lead with less than 7 minutes left in the third quarter.

I swear to God, if Purdue does not come back and win this game by at least two touchdowns I am going to burn my diploma and cancel my membership in the alumni association.

Coincidentally, and having nothing at all to do with the above, my wife hates to be around me when Purdue loses. She says I pout. I have no idea what she’s talking about.
 
  Dammit! I lost my wallet today. (Friday, I should say. It's going to say Saturday when I post this 'cause it's after midnight.) And I think it was stolen shortly after I lost it. I’m out $43 American, train passes worth about $55, a CTA card with about $3 left on it, a $25 wallet, and a bunch of little pieces of paper, plastic, and cardboard that will hopefully not enable anybody to steal my identity and make my life a living hell for the next few years.

I had it when I went through the McDonald’s drive through this afternoon. (I know I had $43 because after I paid, while I was waiting for my McNuggets, I checked to see if I needed to stop at an ATM.) After I paid I think I stuck it in my lap, or under my leg in the crotchal area. (Note: Nothing good ever comes from sticking anything in your crotch when you’re in the McDonalds drive through. If I were an idiot and stuck hot coffee in there, at least I’d be able to sue. As it is, I’m just an idiot.) I drove from McDonald’s to the record store the next town over. I got out of the car, walked in the store, and as I was standing just inside the doorway, for some reason I patted my pocket. No wallet. I immediately turned around and walked back out to the car. Two people had come out of the store and passed me as I was walking in. They were walking in the direction of the car that was parked on the driver’s side of my car. As I was walking out, they were pulling out. I noticed their license plate because it was a distinctive personalized plate. But at that point I was still thinking it had fallen out of my lap and on to the floor of the car.

It hadn’t. I searched the car thoroughly several times, looked around on the ground, went back in the store and checked with the clerks, and called the McDonald’s just in case I had temporarily lost my mind and chucked it out the window after I paid. Nobody had it. Then I searched the car a few more times, moved the car and looked all over the ground. The only conclusion left is that it fell out onto the ground by my car, and the two people noticed it and decided to take it while I was walking into the store.

So I canceled my bank debit/ATM card while Mrs. Green called and canceled both credit cards that were in there, my video store cards, and my library card. (Side note: At the end of the bank call and one of the credit card calls, they actually tried to segue into selling us additional services. Uh, sorry, did you hear me say MY WALLET IS MISSING?!! I have to make a few more calls before I get charged for some asshole’s Hawaii vacation. Thanks ever so much.) Called the insurance companies to request replacement cards. And I went to the police in the town where the record store is to file a report.

I knew they weren’t going to put out an all points bulletin because some guy walks in and gives them a plate number and thinks his wallet was stolen. But the cop who took my report seemed more concerned with impressing upon me the importance of letting them know if it turns up than with the plate number I saw. Apparently most of the time it turns up. Oh well. Maybe the 31st search of the car will be the charm.

Surprisingly, the trip to the DMV to get my license replaced was the least unpleasant part of the experience. Go figure.

The reason I started off so doom & gloom, talking about identity theft is that life at the Green Haus has been marked by some of the worst luck imaginable for the past two and a half years. Maybe I’ll blog about it later, but probably not. Even giving the shortest possible version of the story would take longer than I want to spend on it. But if the people I saw really did steal my wallet, and they happen to be the best identity thieves in America, and they spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on my tab and I get hauled into court and thrown in jail because I can’t afford to bribe the corrupt judge who gets my case, and then I get AIDS from my new prison boyfriend, and then when I’m finally let out of jail I am immediately and simultaneously struck by lightning and run over by a cement truck, and after they take me to the hospital I’m being wheeled into surgery and just as I’m slipping into unconsciousness I hear the doctor say, “I’m okay to operate, I only had like seven martinis! Nurse, gimme that sharp knifey thing… Scalpel, right!! God damn, this is an ugly woman. What size implants are we giving her?” Well, I won’t be surprised.
 
9/03/2003
  Michael and Me If Michael Moore had called his book “Stupid White Me” and sold it as an autobiography, then I would not have to pollute my brain with it in the name of journalism. Not that I fancy myself a journalist. If I were one, I would carefully keep my biases hidden and strike an objective pose so as to better exert subtle influence over you. Instead, I am bringing my biases out into the open and throwing them at you. Just so we’re clear: I don’t like Michael Moore. But I’m going to pretend to be a journalist for the purposes of this exercise, and not just because I stand a better chance of being able to have a three-martini lunch and deduct it as a business expense.

I have walked into stores and purchased condoms, tampons, and pornography. (No, not all at the same time, perverts.) On none of these occasions, which many comedians have mined as sources of humorous embarrassment, was I uncomfortable. But when I walked up to the library shelf to take Michael Moore’s Stupid White Men, I was nervous. “I don’t really want to read this!” I wanted to say to my fellow library patrons. “It’s for research purposes only,” I would reassure them. Except there was nobody besides me in the aisle, so I kept quiet. A quick search, and there it was on the top shelf, filed under 320.973 MOO. (Imagine the mileage I could get from that if I were a highly skilled professional humorist such as Al Franken. I might even write a book called Michael Moore is a Big, Fat Cow and make a lot of money. But I’d better leave that kind of sophisticated humor to pros like Franken.) Ann Coulter’s book Slander was on the same shelf, ironically enough. I felt sorry for the other books stuck in between those two vacuous blowhards, and wondered if they didn’t sometimes hurl themselves off the shelf in an attempt to end it all and escape the constant bickering, only to have unwitting library clerks put them right back up there the next morning. I grabbed Moore’s book and moved at a brisk slink toward the front desk. Brisk because I wanted to complete the transaction and have it done with; slinking because I didn’t want to be seen with it in my hands.

So up to the counter I slunk. There is no way to hold this book so as to hide both the front and back covers simultaneously. Big pictures of Moore appear on both sides, along with garish print. I did the best I could, holding the front cover against my leg with my hand positioned over his face on the back cover. I was waiting in the self-checkout line, behind a kid just old enough to scan his books All By Himself. Mom stepped in from time to time when he couldn’t get a particular book in fewer than 10 tries or so. (I’m not making fun of him. This scanner really does suck, and it usually takes me more than one swipe.) No way was I going to let a librarian check me out. I didn’t want to be seen with it! Alright, he’s on the last book… Oh, shit! He has a stack of 7 or 8 videotapes to scan, too! Each of which must be opened to get at the bar code! This could take another 5 minutes! A librarian beckoned me over. Defeat. My humiliation was ensured. She must have been horrified when she saw what it was, but she was nice and didn’t let it show.

I plan to read each chapter and report on it separately here. I think the first pass through the chapter will be uncritical, just to see where he wants to lead me. Then I’ll go back and really analyze it. I probably won’t have time to do extensive fact checking, but given his well-documented history of playing fast and loose with the truth I’m not really going to take any factual assertions at face value. I’ll make use of online Moore-debunking resources where I can. And I will try not to slip over to the dark side.

Pray for me.
 
8/31/2003
  Why the Left Sucks Interesting theory from Daniel Pipes, expert on the Middle East and Islam, on Why the Left Loves Osama (and Saddam). The article is from March 2003. He says it's basically because they're a bunch of socialists and in their view, anybody who hates the U.S. can't be all bad. "In sum: 9/11 and the prospect of war against Saddam Hussein have exposed the Left's political self-delusion, intellectual bankruptcy and moral turpitude."

I agree. They (or at least the politician segment of "they") have been reduced to sitting on the sidelines praying for disaster. "Oh please God, let some more soldiers get shot in Iraq today. And if it isn't too much trouble, could you keep the economy in the crapper until the 2004 elections? Thanks."

I'll get around to picking on the Right, specifically the preachy, busybody, social conservative faction of it, soon enough. But right now the Left is pissing me off more. Speaking of Moore, I've got to get to the library to check out "Stupid White Men", per my 8/29 pledge to read it. I would order it off Amazon so as not to have to leave the house, but my laziness is not so great as to put any more money into Mikey's pocket. 
  Victor Davis Hanson rules. This article in National Review Online about Iraq is dead on. In it he points out that apart from Americans and Iraqis, pretty much nobody in the world really wants things to go well there. So many people have so much invested in Iraq going down the toilet - Iran, Saudi Arabia, Egypt, the U.N., Europe, American Democratic presidential candidates. The main reason I hope that stable democracy can take hold in Iraq is for the good of the Iraqi people. But I also hope that it does because it would serve as a big slap in the face to the aforementioned list of assclowns. 
8/29/2003
  Michael Moore is the Antichrist Alright, maybe that's a bit harsh. Maybe that particular observation is fueled by a positive finite number of Scotches greater than five.

But as is frequently the case when I have had a positive finite number of Scotches greater than five, I don't care.

To quote my writing idol, James Lileks, in his Screed "Moore is Less":

If you ask me, Michael Moore is a gasbag who, if stuck with a pin, would fly around the room until he ended up on the floor as three pounds of wrinkled hot-dog skin and a sweat-stained ballcap. And if he is a balloon, that would mean that his penis is twisted in a tight little knot.

Which would certainly explain a lot.


If I were smart, I would simply link to Lileks and be done with it. Inviting comparison to Lileks by quoting him and then attempting to write on the same subject is not a smart move. Fortunately, I'm not smart.

Inspired by Lileks, and by Rachel Lucas's heroic leaping-on-the-grenade-like gesture in reviewing "Bowling for Bullshit" - er, "Columbine" - I shall read "Stupid White Men" and report my findings here.

Perhaps I will become so ashamed of my race and gender that I will have no choice but to kill myself, and that will be the end of this blog.

But if I find that Michael Moore is a cynical, lying, hypocritical, self-hating, limousine liberal, no good, asshatted sonofabitch, I will dutifully record that result here.

I report, you decide. Wait, can I still say that? 
8/28/2003
  Slogans All good blogs need a slogan, and I'm already tired of the "seventh Reservoir Dog" thing on mine. Glenn over at Hi! I'm Black! links to the Magical Slogan Maker. I went over and got some slogans for Mister Green:

Mister Green Hits the Spot
Do the Mister Green
Snap! Crackle! Mister Green!
The Right Mister Green at the Right Time
Tonight, Let It Be Mister Green

I like these, but as Glenn pointed out, they do seem to be sexually charged. The last thing I need is to add any more sexual excitement to my persona. As it is, I have a difficult enough time walking through the door at work and wading through all the women screaming, trying to rip my clothes off, and throwing their undergarments at me. You IT workers out there will know what I'm talking about. At first it was flattering, but now it just adds 20 minutes to my commute, you know? So maybe I'd better dial down the sexiness of the slogan. Something like, "Mister Green: A Lot of Correctly Spelled Words". Or, "Mister Green: More Fun than a 1040 Long Form".

Oh, hell with it. I'm going with "Snap! Crackle! Mister Green!" It's not too sexy, and it's kinda punchy. See, it's this kind of attention to detail that's going to make me a household name before long. Does Lileks have a slogan? No! Does the Puppy Blender? Hell, no! Just think how many more people would read them if they had the right slogan!


UPDATE: Well, I guess that Instapundit does have a slogan, if you count the quote attributed to Frank J. in the upper left corner of his main page. But as that is obviously a "fictitional"* quote, I hereby decree that it doesn't count. If the man would just put up an honest slogan, maybe he'd get some traffic. Sheesh.

* Thank you, Michael Moore, for that contribution to the language. Asshole. 
8/27/2003
  Letter Time Writing that last post about Fox and Franken reminded me of something I had written earlier this year right as my Premium subscription to Salon.com was about to expire. It's a letter to the editor at Salon:

I’ve been a Salon Premium subscriber for almost two years, and a regular reader for some time before that. It’s possible that it’s my perspective that’s changed, but it seems to me that Salon used to be a moderately left-leaning forum where diverse viewpoints were presented. Now it’s a forum for diverse opinions ranging from “George W. Bush is a stupid and evil man who has made a pact with Satan” to “George W. Bush, after a long day of being intensely stupid, lying about Saint Saddam, taking food out of the mouths of needy children, and clubbing baby seals while being stupid, approved a covert CIA operation to have Satan kidnapped and taken to Guantanamo Bay (where he is of course being mistreated), and has taken his place on the Dark Throne to oversee the rape of Hell’s precious natural resources by letting Halliburton drill for oil in fiery pits that are home to several endangered species of winged demons. And he’s stupid.” Only the occasional Andrew Sullivan piece breaks the monotony. (Note to Joe Conason: We know you hate President Bush. We know you really, really, REALLY hate him. A lot. So you can write about something else now. Thank you.) Not everybody is endlessly entertained and fascinated by hatchet jobs accusing the president and his administration of every evil impulse ever known and every evil deed ever committed. I find it shrill and every bit as tiresome as the endless “Monica: What did she blow and when did she blow it?” stories of 1998. I won’t be renewing my subscription.

Writing that was fun, but I ended up not sending it because I got busy and forgot about it for a few weeks, and when I remembered it I concluded that they wouldn't give a shit.

Coincidentally, I just checked Salon to see what they're up to. Their top story: "They can dish it out, but they can't take it: Al Franken talks about his big victory over the Fox News bullies, why Bush can be thrown out in 2004, and comedy as a political weapon." The graphic is a beaming Franken smacking a grimacing Bill O'Reilly in the back of the head with a book. If Franken's book is as unfunny as the radio segment I talked about below, I would say that the image does a good job demonstrating the only way in which Franken's political comedy could be used as a weapon.


 
  Fox v. Franken What the hell was Fox News thinking, suing Al Franken for using the phrase "Fair and Balanced" in the title of his new book? Didn't the attorney they paid to file that piece of crap suit tell them it wasn't going to fly?

I think Franken was generally pretty funny on SNL, sometimes very funny. But I heard him on the radio (I think it was NPR) in March 2002, and here is my recollection of what he said, in his slow, pleasant, sleep-inducing voice:

"George Bush is a stupid man. I mean, he's really stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He's just stupid. Very, very stupid. Extremely stupid. And on top of that, he's dumb. Dumb and stupid. Stupid and dumb. Sometimes I think he's more dumb than stupid, other times I think he's more stupid than dumb. Still other times I think that he is about as stupid as he is dumb. But one thing I know is, he's stupid. Everybody knows George Bush is a stupid man. I know he's stupid. You know he's stupid. My sister Alice knows he's stupid. My barber, Sid...."

On and on, for what seemed like an eternity. And I remember thinking at the time, I suppose there's somebody out there who thinks this is funny. Somebody somewhere must have been crying from laughing so hard, trying not to drive off the road from hearing Al Franken call the president stupid seven thousand times in a single radio segment. It reminded me of his book, "Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot". I remember picking it up in the bookstore and seeing, basically, "Rush Limbaugh is fat. Very, very fat. He's a big fat tub of goo, he is. His stomach is fat. His legs are fat. His head is fat....." On and on, for many, many pages.

I have mixed feelings about Bush, and I don't at all like Limbaugh, but I just don't find Al Franken very funny when he's in whiny Democratic partisan mode. And if you substituted someone I loathe, like Hillary Clinton, for Bush and started in on "Hillary is a bitch. She really is a bitch. She's a bitchy, bitchy, bitchy...", I wouldn't find that very funny either. So I am really disappointed that Fox gave the Left a martyr in Franken. There was no chance they were going to win in court, they gave Franken a ton of free publicity, helped perpetuate the "conservatives are mean" meme, and made themselves look like censorious assholes.

As Franken himself might say, that's just stupid.
 
8/26/2003
  Investigating the Obvious I got to wondering if my hatred of PETA is unusual. I personally know many people who think they're a bunch of psychotic nutjobs over at PETA, and exactly zero people who support them. But then, sampling the opinions of people who voluntarily associate with me is probably guaranteed to give screwy results. So I thought I'd conduct an extremely scientific study by doing Google searches on various specific phrases that slam PETA. Then I'd compare the number of pages it found with the number of pages found when searching for nice phrases about them. Here are the results:

PETA...
morons: 70 pages
assholes: 22
idiots: 66
fuckwads: 12
dipshits: 8
numbskulls: 4
lunatics: 7
crazies: 13
psychotic nutjobs: 0 (surprisingly)

PETA...
heroes: 1
geniuses: 1 (note: used sarcastically)

Then my brain locked up from the strain of trying to put the word "PETA" together with other words that weren't insults, and I had to stop. So I have to admit that my experiment was inconclusive, although preliminary results indicate that over 99% of the population thinks PETA should immediately disband and its members should turn themselves in to the appropriate authorities. This may be an inappropriate conclusion to draw from the data, but as is often the case when I make sweeping pronouncements, I don’t care.
 
8/25/2003
  A question for all you Bears fans Which is greater: The probability that on third and 8, John Shoop calls a 3-yard slant; or the probability that any time David Terrell is on the field he does something fantastically, catastrophically stupid?

Answer: It's a trick question. The probabilities are both 100%. 
  Vocab Lesson I'm reading "Rational Mysticism: Dispatches From the Border Between Science and Spirituality" by John Horgan. In it, he uses the word "noetic", which he defines as something that "seems to reveal deep, profound truth." An example would be, "I was floored by all the noetic wonders over at Mister Green's blog."

Noetic: Incorporate it into your everyday speech.  
8/24/2003
  Idiocy from PETA Yes, I know that the title of this post is like saying "Heat from the sun" or "Wetness from water". But this site, in which they make a direct comparison between the killing of animals for food and the Holocaust, is beyond the pale, even for them. Here's my open love letter to PETA:


Dear PETA,

Thanks so much for taking the time to present your views in such an organized way on your web site. And your campaign in which you equate animals with Holocaust victims - brilliant!

I think I speak for all rational people when I say that every time I see "PETA" in the news it makes me want a cheeseburger. When I read about your anti-KFC campaign, it makes me want to send a donation to KFC Headquarters. When I read about someone getting paint thrown on their mink, it makes me want to buy a fur coat. And I don't even like fur.

But to give you some credit, you're exactly right when you say that people are no better than animals - at least when you confine the reference to "people" to yourselves. You're very nearly as intelligent as tapeworms and have almost all the moral sense of reptiles. I had long known that you people were a bunch of insane zealots, completely divorced from reality. But just when I thought you could sink no lower, you cast Colonel Sanders as Hitler. 1 dead chicken = 1 dead Jew in Auschwitz? I think you've got a dead battery in your moral equivalency calculator, kids.

When a bunch of pigs get together and form "Animals for the Ethical Treatment of People", I'll be willing to reconsider whether people are qualitatively different from, say, chickens. Until then, fire up the grill baby, 'cause it's hamburger time!

I'd like to be nastier, but I've got to run to the grocery for some meat. Damn, that dead animal flesh sure is tasty!


Love and kisses,



Mr. Green 
  Required Reading As all of these people are more established than me, there's little chance that anybody reading this would not have already read anything below. But what the hell:

The story of Blackfive and the French General. Getting Blackfive dinged with an official letter of reprimand probably represents the greatest French military victory of all time. Not that there's a lot of competition for that honor. Blackfive is a great guy, and I'd say that even if he didn't know A) where I live, and B) at least five different ways to kill people with their own hair.

Frank J.'s In My World series. All of Frank's stuff is worth reading, but this still makes me laugh harder than anything else.

Bill Whittle's essay, Responsibility. By writing this before I got my blog rolling, Bill cruelly deprived me of the opportunity to say what he said, and he had the nerve to say it better than I would have. Vicious bastard. Responsibility and History are my favorites among his excellent essays.

Anything over at James Lileks's place. If I took the time to list all the good stuff there I'd probably crash Blogspot, but if you put a gun to my head and made me pick just one it would be this.

Rachel Lucas talking about affording college
  Why am I doing this? I am writing this blog as much to clarify my own thinking as anything else. I can’t remember who said that you don’t know what you think until you write it down, but they were on to something. Anyway, it’s supposed to be fun, too. I’m looking forward to voicing all the snarky opinions that I normally keep to myself out of tact or fear of repercussion. For example:

We recently had mandatory “diversity awareness” training where I work. I quickly diagnosed this as an opportunity to get together with a bunch of co-workers, under the auspices of the HR department, and have a frank discussion about matters such as race, gender, and sexual orientation. Nothing good could possibly come from this. I mean, I suppose if you were a slightly-bigoted-but-still-loveable character on a Very Special Episode of a TV sitcom, you might manage to provide a few laughs, have the error of your ways gently pointed out to you, and end up Learning Something. All in 30 minutes. But this is real life, and the best case is that you say as little as possible and walk out having wasted two hours of your life you’re never going to get back. Worst case, you say The Wrong Thing and get fired. Or at least be subjected to more diversity awareness training. But perhaps that’s not appreciably worse than just being canned.

Anyway, in training I kept my mouth shut and did not let on that I thought it was a bunch of superficial, feel-good crap whose sole purpose was to insulate the company from lawsuits. When asked to stand up and say one thing that makes me “different” (from what wasn’t specified), I didn’t say, “I’m different because I take the time to turn my Klan robe inside-out before I iron it. The other guys tease me for being prissy, which hurts my feelings. But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with looking good, you know?” (Note: I am not a Klansman. Saying that would not have been a heartfelt expression of my true feelings. It would have been an attempt to make the trainer have a seizure.) I did not offer that we could save everybody a lot of time by simply chanting in unison, “We’re all different, but we’re all really the same” for ten minutes and then going back to work. Instead I bit my tongue, kept a straight face, and pretended to pay attention.

Whereas here, I can be as big of a smartass as I want. Or as honest as I want. Or both at the same time.
 
  Who is this guy? Mr. Green went out and got an MBA to escape from the information technology field and then promptly took a job in IT, and that should tell you everything you need to know about what an idiot he is. He works in Chicago, lives in a Chicago suburb, and should be considered an expert in all the various ways in which such a commute sucks. He works for a fine organization that should not in any way be tarred by association with his foolishness, so both he and it will remain anonymous here. Mr. Green is married to a wonderful woman who most objective observers think must be insane, given their continuing marriage. He is in his early 30’s, reads a lot, cooks like nobody's business, pretends to be an amateur musician from time to time, and has been known to occasionally enjoy an alcoholic beverage.

Mr. Green can be reached at mistergreen at ameritech dot net. Any hate mail received may be published for public mockery. 
Snap! Crackle! Mister Green!

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Contact Mister Green: mistergreen at ameritech dot net

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