Give him freedom, give me a keyboard, and we’ll poke the bear! 

Let the fun begin! As promised in the finale to No Fat Jokes Please we are coming back strong with an untether rag. If Western civilization is on the verge of moral collapse,  the Mormon and the Madman preordered front row tickets to the show.

Achieving ODJ is the lifelong marination in fermented tidal pools left behind from the high tide of America’s Dream. Manifest Destiny crashed into the Pacific decades before our birth — leaving little to image across the western horizon. The pioneering spirit bridled and sent to the glue factory in order to make way for strip malls and convenience stores #$$$# hacking shining objects of distraction. All the while the last bastion of risk and reward holds a sign along the center median reading, “Homeless Vet. Anything helps. God Bless.” (proper punctuation optional.) The cardboard plea translates better through the goggles of truth; “Why lie… I am nuttier than a squirrel turd and terrify the straights.”

We specialize in the straights. We are them. If by name only. We are accepted into their clan.

Unlike journalist who chase a story, cover it , report on it, and then repeat elsewhere; we are noticers who derive pleasure from quirky. We take sides and rarely back it with fact. Preferring mockery over matter of fact. And love the sounds of our voice. Yet, can sincerely enjoy the sound of silence when our observations do not create conversation with the outside. Because in the end, we are two old friends riding this starship, holding two different itineraries, but connected by an eye for the odd.

JM