Notes from the Turnabout

Take your place from a window in the Book Depository overlooking Dealy Plaza! Equip your Mannlicher-Carcano rifle, wipe down the scope lenses, use whatever resources available to help steady your aim, and train your crosshairs on the Presidential motorcade! The date is November 22, 1963; the location is Dallas, Tx; and your name is Lee Harvey Oswald.



For a meager $9.99 you can download JFK Reloaded and take part in the conspiracy theory yourself. And just in time for Christmas! Play for hours on end and try to beat your high score! Challenge your friends to a rumble match!



Made by Traffic Games out of Glasgow, Scotland--of all places--this is a poignant reminder that in today’s society, nothing is out-of-bounds; nothing is sacred. I’m wondering how long until they release the flight simulator where one is challenged to fly a Boeing 757 into the Twin Towers. Laugh or be offended. But it will happen. Mark my words.

On a lighter note I had an odd experience at an out-of-the-way gas station this morning. In order for you to fully grasp the gravity of this situation, you must first think of a woman of the “redneck” variety; her voice coarsed from years of smoking, her face wrinkled like the worn leather-bound back seat of a 1972 AMC Gremlin, the fat from her stomach partially resting on the counter, and outfitted in a t-shirt that reads, “If I Wanted to Hear from an Asshole, I’d Fart!” (seriously). This is what transpired:

DREW: I require ten dollars of gas.

Att: You what now?

DREW: I require ten dollars on pump two.

Att: (lethargically) Ten dollars?

DREW: Yes, please.

Att: Okay then.

[Drew goes to pump gas. Nothing happens. Hesitantly, he returns inside.]

DREW: Hey, there’s nothi--

[Attendant yells shrewdly into the phone]

Att: Blake, I told you... He’s doin’ what? Tell him to put it back, g-dammit! I told y’all--I’m gonna hafta call MaMaw!

[Slams phone down. Picks it up and lazily dials another number while panting breathlessly.]

Att: Momma? You’re gonna hafta go down to the trailer. Blake’s chasin’ Cassidy around with the pepper spray again. I told you shouldn’t have never brought that down.

[After some inaudible, monosyllabic grunts, she slams the phone down, again out of breath]

Att: Can I help you?

DREW: (nonplussed) Um. I can’t pump any gas.

Att: Are you usin’ regular?

DREW: I want to, yes.

Att: We ain’t got no regular.

DREW: You mean you have no regular altogether or just on pump two?

Att: What?

DREW: There is no regular-grade gasoline on any of those four pumps?

Att: Naw. I done tole you that.

DREW: ...

Att: Sorry ‘bout that.

DREW: Well, may I have my ten dollars back?

Att: I a’ready set the pump and rang up the sale.

DREW: Without informing me that you have no regular.

Att: You talk funny.

DREW: There’s no way to get my money back?

Att: I done rang it up. The pump’s set.

DREW: What if I pump twenty-five cents worth of gas?

Att: (stupidly) Whadda mean?

DREW: I mean... I pump twenty-five cents worth of gas and, since I’ve given you ten dollars--sale complete--and you give me nine dollars and seventy-five cents in change. Right?

Att: Oh... well yeah, I guess. I guess I can do that.


Anyway, better me than you, right?

Also, I think Yahoo!--the website--should pay some reverence to Jonathan Swift. They owe him...bigtime.