is an easy to use, index web page listing links to hundreds of my original photos. Clicking the link
will send you to a page of photos decorated by unique captioning that has been capturing the attention
of the entire WWW .
The MW Review of Books is where I issue eloquent and frank book reviews the everyday reader can comprehend and use as a factor as to whether to purchase the book or not. Go figure, a book reviewer you can believe.
As I was puttering along some Scottsdale street I spotted this couch in the back of a
work truck. As I later examined the photo, I saw that the driver was watching me in his
outside rearview mirror. That probably explained the bloody horse head I found that evening
laying outside the door to my apartment.
I haven't been many places, well that I can write about, (don't want to violate my
agreement with, uh: You know who) but I believe Arizona has the most beautiful
cloud formations of anyplace in the world. How could anyone doubt a loving God exists when He puts on displays like these?
Here is a photo of one of the helicopters that constantly keeps an eye on your Mr.Wonderful.
A different one followed me, at three hundred feet above Scottsdale Road, all the way from
Dynamite Boulevard to Greenway Road. Obviously this pilot is violating protocol by essentially
buzzing me (the helicopter was much closer than this snap shot reveals) to get a better look
at the mysterious MW. Or possibly the pilot is a female and she's zooming in on my package.
One never knows.
In courting the illegal alien vote (funny, I didn't think they could vote) my President Bush claims
that there are "Jobs American's Won't Do." I won't get into the semantics of that statement, but here
is photographic proof that there are some jobs even 'undocumented workers' will not do. Notice that the, by nature,
nocturnal and reclusive creature, is in such fear that it is gnawing on its own left paw.
Scottsdale, Arizona fuel prices continue to remain well above the two dollar mark. The Chevron, a block north of this station, advertised gasoline at ten cents less a gallon. That means Sam's Club gas would run nineteen cents less. It's so sad that not too many months ago, a gratuity consisting of a pair of sawbucks (two ten dollar bills) would fill up my Hyundai's tank and also afford me delicious take-out from the Tatum & Shea Taco Bell. I shouldn't feel too sorry for myself though, because a client, remembering on this January tenth morning that he had forgotten my Christmas tip, as if he were palming me a packet of heroin, slipped me a pair of brand new Grants. And we are not talking about the type you wear on the bridge of your nose, either. God bless those Russian baby smugglers.
Taking the Ménièrés afflicted Mr.Wonderful III on a Safeway / Claim Jumper-take out run, we observe this idiot, who didn't quite comprehend that the left turn lane is solely for turning left. Life is just so damned complicated these days.
Here we see a long 6:30PM line at the Kentucky Fried Chicken take-out. The white Infiniti G-35 in front of me
houses an idiot from a European nation. (Is that redundant?) Why is he an idiot? Well, you know how when you're buying tickets for the movie, and you and your partner will stand in two separate ticket lines and the one who gets to the front first buys the tickets while he is joined by his conspirator? This Bosnian idiot sent his woman inside to order, while he stayed in the drive-thru lane. As I heard him arguing with the squawk-box over the choices of the exact pieces of chicken in his order, his female came out of the restaurant and yelled at him to stop. He then halted his incomprehensible yabber, pulled past the drive-in window, parked in front and got out, accompanied by his English bulldog on a leash, to join his partner inside the restaurant. Wonder if the dog likes dark or light meat?
Waiting to race onto the 202 southbound at Pima Road today, I read the tailgate
lettering on this huge dumptruck. I'm pretty sure it should read: "Happiness is
a good dump." Aha, aha, aha, ha, ha ... not.
At work, even though I hold out my hand and often have the pleasure of my customers' gently laying a
warm, steaming, but firm, turd in it, I have scenery that is second to none. Every day. Here you can see a no charge
moon set that Snowbird's pay thousands of dollars to witness and many of us natives take for granted.
After wintering in trendy north Scottsdale, Arizona for three weeks, Santa butchers his reindeer, peddles the carcasses to A.J.'s Fine Foods and heads back to the North Pole. (There's only so long that man and reindeer can remain partners.) Oh, Saint Nick flies home on a comped ticket from Alaskan Air, while the Head Elf pilots the truck and trailer (enclosing the sleigh) the 12,000 miles north.
You ask "What about Rudolph the Reindeer?" Well, little lady, you don't really believe there is ONE Rudolph the Reindeer, any more than there is a single Blue Man Group, or a sole Shamu, or a
lone assassin at Dealey Plaza, Dallas in 1963 do you?
After a very fine three tequila lunch, complete with a great baked potato and an average
slab of prime rib (that for the second time I had to send back to the kitchen because my definition of 'medium'
is not cherry tomato red) at Chamberlain's, on the northeast corner of Scottsdale Road & Frank Lloyd Wright Boulevard. On my crowded drive back to The Town of Paradise Valley, hemmed in by H2 Hummers, BMWs, Mercedes, Jaguars and Escalades, I delighted in reading this bumper sticker.
Youngsters may not remember, but there was a time when, if one political party won the White House, the other political party did not immediately attempt to impeach its occupant. However, when you've got a sitting President of the United States, who is also an Arkansas bar-certified lawyer, sworn in and then proven lying to a judge in federal court (an offense for which you or I would have had our lives ruined by the resulting five year jail sentence) impeachment is indeed indicated.
Hearing the "whap-whap-whap-whap-whap-whap-whap" impact sounds quite similar to the 150 horsepower, tractor-mounted chisels used nearby to cruelly carve never-used swimming pools out of the solid Sonoran Desert rock, coming not from the earth, but from above, your Mr. Wonderful turned his hazel peepers skyward towards the baby blue January skies of Scottsdale. There I witnessed an exhaust contrail that could only have been made by the pulse jet engine of the super-secret Area-51 based Aurora Hypersonic spy-plane.
News about Art Bell
Listening to the incredible gentleman who drives this uniquely adorned vehicle, I learned the reason why his headlights are partially covered in aluminum foil. PHOTO RADAR. It seems, as he explained it to your Mr.Wonderful (who certainly does not have the triple doctorates of the speaker and hence may be unequipped to relay precisely what was uttered to me) that with the headlights on, and precisely shielded with Reynolds's Aluminum foil (shiny side out) only to the exact confluence of the point of 67.3% of the equator (as measured from the azimuth of the January Solstice altitude) and the centerline of the interior halogen seventy watt bulb (powered by alternating current constantly recharging the dozen-volt DC battery at 12 volts with a swing of plus or minus one volt) within the enclosure, so confuses the photo radar speeding/red light equipment used by the Phoenix, Scottsdale and Paradise Valley police departments, as to make any vehicle so equipped as to appear as a 1950 Greyhound bus cruising along at 123.4 MPH with Rip Taylor as the pilot. Amazing.
Who are these people dressed so oddly in Scottsdale? They are most likely resident's of the
European Union. (You recall? The "E.U." The brainchild of 'Big Thinkers' [in Latin: giganti dodoheadus ] who had the idea if they combined the strongly socialistic & struggling economies of twenty-five nations under one government, they would birth a single powerhouse that could compete with the U.S.A. and Asia?)
And these photographed visitors surely love The Grand Canyon State, the climate, the scenery, the affluence, the shops, the restaurants, but hate us evil Americans. Of course, being in North Scottsdale, and on foot, they probably haven't met a single Native Arizonan ... if you know what I mean señor.
A flash back, or is it flashback? to July of 2005, when the maximum temperature was well above
105F degrees (40.55C) which is why I have no problem with January's 68F degree (20C) high today.
Here we see a City of Scottsdale police officer preparing to ticket the driver of a Z1 circa 1990 Corvette. The citation was not for speed however. It was for simply driving, north of McDonald Drive, a "Too Old of a Corvette - That is Not Considered a Classic" #17-208 (a $323 fine) in the "West's Most Western Town". Sorry Charlie.
Using an intricate and unbelievably expensive filter on my camera (available only from my former employer who will never let me retire) I was able to catch the immense pulse-flash generated by an alien starship coming out
of its faster-than-light travel. Invisible to humanity, nature is quite aware of these occurrences as
is evidenced by the flock of birds scattering in the right lower middle corner of the photo.
Of course you're thinking, "This cannot be true because if it were, they  wouldn't let him put this on the net." Well, they  realize that most everyone believes I'm such a screwy, alcoholic, misogynist, right-wing Christian racist, that even Art Bell sycophants ignore my claims, so, therefore, what brand of moron, outside of a mental hospital would believe me?