RUN! Run for the hills! The ants are coming!

We are being invaded by ants. The cat was yowling this morning, as he is wont to do on occasion, but this time there was a higher purpose to his caterwauling. He was trying to alert us to the present of tiny little IAMS thieves pilfering his precious kibble. It is even possible that he was worried he was going to be carried off by a bunch of little thugs and possibly fed to their queen. I get a mental image (which I'm sure is the product of some ill-advised and emotionally scarring Porky Pig cartoon) of Hannibal J Cat, Esq. being tied up Gulliver style and stuffed down the ant hill.

Ants bring out the worst in all of us. I go to great lengths to rehabilitate spiders. Even at work I will demand no-one crush a little eight-legged interloper and run and get a jar with which to carry it outside. But ants. I draw the line. I crush them with my bare hand, feeling their pathetic little ant bodies imploding at the pressure of my thumb. Why? because they have transgressed the unwritten rule of symbiotic relationships: get the hell off my food! There is in fact nothing even remotely approaching symbiosis in the Kafkaesque-ant paradigm.

I think if ants don't want to to be mushed into little balls of ant goo, they could go a long way towards that goal by working towards this symbiosis. Perhaps they could learn to shine my shoes. Or god forbid they should water the tomato plants or something. Oh no. They exist only to fill me with a sense of disgust – and here is the part that really bugs me about ants: I think they kind of like it when you kill the guy next to them in the ant-trail.

That is the supreme ant moment: when they get to hoist their fallen comrade on their little ant back and elbow their way through the crowd, thinking "Hey! Dig me! I can lift 5 times my own body weight!" Other than that, they pretty much just ass around on my counter all day, or in the cat's food bowl.

That's another strange thing about the ants we seem to be encouraging in our apartment lately: we are pretty sure they are Meat Ants. The Meat Ants don't go for sugar or normal bits of ant goodness. Oh no. They want the meat. For what I assure you are perfectly good reasons, I happened to have a half-finished bag of Beef Jerky on my counter a couple of days ago, and the Meat Ants were on that bag like...well, like Meat Ants on Beef Jerky.

I think the Meat Ants may be starting to get ideas. In the midst of yesterday's ant apocalypse ( as I like to call my little genocidal ant murder sprees), at least five Meat Ants started crawling up my leg. And I'm pretty sure one of them had a gun.

I live in fear.

There is a commercial I hear on netcasts of my Giants games that goes like this:

Announcer: Tell us about your perfect checking account!
Syrupy Voice: It would be free! It would be easily accessible on the net! etc.

not once does Syrupy Voice come up with the most obvious feature in a given "perfect" checking account:

It would always be full of money.

Any way you slice it, that feature would pretty much come up number one in my book. My perfect checking account would probably have to go to work for me too, freeing up more of my valuable time. Also, my perfect checking account would be ruled over by an evil mallard duck with a hedge trimmer, who wouldn't allow me to go blow money on frivolous impulse purchases like this.

Speaking of perfect, have you ever dreamt up your perfect breakfast cereal? submit it to the big boys at Post. I know mine would be a lot like Smurfberry Crunch, except it wouldn't leave your upper palate raw and bleeding. And it might taste more like beef jerky too.

Here is a group of people discussing the breakfast cereals of yesteryear. I picture them sitting on those maroon-colored overstuffed leather chairs in a musty library, decked out in smoking jackets, sipping Port and puffing on pipes as they discuss, with near-poetic nostalgia, the truly soul-touching taste of C3POs.

Want to collect something that may attract families of rodents? How bout cereal boxes?

Maybe you'd just like to peruse the cavalcade of delightful advertising characters cereal has brought us over the years? Pretty interesting site actually.

I need these. Eat octopus with an octopus!

Is Willard Library haunted?

You'll know for sure after you spend a few straight days sitting watching the Ghost Cam! It's actually kind of neat. They have cams set up in there and they invite you to grab screenshots and post them as proof. Some of the "ghosts" people have submitted as proof are kind of funny. One guy spotted an actual person reading a book and said something like "Tell me I am not seeing this!"

I've always been kind of fascinated by this kind of stuff. I don't think I really believe in it, but the kind of kooky subculture that surrounds paranormal stuff is more interesting anyway. The Fortean Times is good for a little weirdness:

Doghead Men

People convinced they are turning off streetlights

and my favorite: Cross-Species Chat

I don't remember much of my childhood. It all seems like one long fever dream now. Here's one thing I do remember though:

Villa Allegre!

My favorite part of the show was where the father cut off the mother's arms for her infidelity and then the son was forced to "become" her arms in a grisly Oedipal ritual that made you wonder if — oh! My mistake! That was Santa Sangre! Since I haven't mentioned "Dune" in a couple of days, did you know Jodorowsky made a version? Neither did I!

I just want to say that I was all ready to write a little piece about Lorne Greene, but about halfway through I read what I had written and realized it sounded like I was making fun of him. Let it never be said that Kafkaesque would besmirch the good name of Ben Cartwright. Actually, I wouldn't recommend saying the word "besmirch" at all unless you don't mind people not knowing what the hell you're talking about.

Let's just say this:

Commander Adama
you were no llama
your ads for alpo
kind of made me hungry
against my better judgement.

Yes! It's true! Some people have a bit of trouble distinguishing between Battlestar Galactica and reality. If you do ever get confused as to whether you are in reality or Battlestar Galactica, here's a tip to remember: If there's no Daggit (or any other large mechanical mammals for that matter) and no Cylons, chances are pretty good you are in reality. Where else but in the world of Battlestar Galactica are there interstellar fighter pilots named Jolly and Greenbean? Actually, I think they may have had that on "The Courtship of Eddie's Father" too.

Starbuck looks a little the worse for wear these days.

Fred from Scooby-Doo: the secret shame. Why is it that I don't remember this guy? You'd think I could remember an evil mastermind with a penchant for yellow cravats. I don't understand!

Steve and his scarlet viper.

I'm really really sorry I couldn't get that project done on time, boss, but it was extremely important that I waste several hours playing 3D Pong. I knew you'd understand.

By the way, don't even bother emailing me to tell me your high score, because I'm only going to lie and say mine is higher. Does this reveal my inner nature as a spineless cringing liar?

Possibly.

Via metafilter again.

via metafilter:

how to lose a fight so the other guy goes to jail

Kafkaesque's great idea #1: The Self-Mashing Potato

With the wonders of genetic tampering breaking new ground and giving scientists new ways to humiliate god's creatures, the time has come for a bold new product which will enable you to make mashed potatoes with almost zero effort: The Self-Mashing Potato. Right now in Kafkaesque Labs (hidden deep within a pile of bok choy that has lain untouched in the Safeway produce aisle for over a year), tiny elves are at work isolating the mashed potato genome. Once the DNA strand for "wanting to mash yourself" has been isolated, I am confident we will have produced a potato that will be capable of self-mashing. Many design factors have to be considered in the project of course. Namely:

1 How to make a potato grow an arm with which to perform the mashing.
2 How to stop the potato from mashing itself in the grocery store, in the car on the way home, or even en route to the boiling water.
3 How to make a potato which can survive the boiling and still be able to mash itself.

and of course, the biggie:
4 Wouldn't you be left with a tiny little unmashed potato arm?

Well, here's how I foresee the progression of the Self-Mashing Potato (or SMP if you will): eventually I envision a potato which not only mashes itself, but is genetically enhanced to include butter, salt, pepper and perhaps a pinch of garlic powder as part of its very internal structure. Maybe a central nervous system composed of these ingredients? Also, since the potato would have to grow an arm, it could even be set to work its way out of the pantry, pull itself up the stove and into the pan and calmly wait, possibly tapping its masher against the side of the pan until twenty minutes has gone by and the time for self-mashing is at hand. All you would have to do is put the water on to boil, saving you hundreds of man-hours per year and freeing up that much more time to watch Celebrity Skeet Shooting.

And we all want that, right?

Just picture it! A beautiful Yukon Gold crushing itself to death silently and inspirationally on your burner nightly, teaching your children a valuable lesson about dharma and the existential battle against cruel fate.

Have to work on the arm thing though.

First things first: ladies and gentlemen, "your" is possessive; "you're" is a contraction of two cute little words, "you" and "are". Simple as that. Feel free to print out this little guide and use it in your daily struggle with the juggernaut of incorrect syntax.

Today is going to be incredibly boring: That's right, friends and neighbors. It's time to take a look in the pile of CDs I brought to work today:

Marc Ribot Y Los Cubanos Postizos – Live @ the Palace Los Angeles 6-20-98 (Bootleg-o-licious)
Modest Mouse – This Is a Long Drive For Someone with Nothing to Think About (still getting used to this one. I like The Moon & Antarctica, but sometimes the songwriting is pretty poor. Also they border a little on annoying sometimes. And they once gave me a headache which is not usually a god sign)
Cowboy Junkies – Lay It Down (ahhh. I'll make the chamomile tea)
Sparklehorse – It's a Wonderful Life (Import...limited edition cardboard sleeve thingy. One less track than the American release. Very nice Tom Waits guest spot on Dog Door. The PJ Harvey vocals work surprisingly well. On the cover is a sticker that says "Featuring guest appearances from PJ Harvey, Nina Persson and Dave Fridmann". Ol' Tom didn't even get a mention. Too bad.)
Juno & The Dismemberment Plan – 4-song EP thingy. (I think I like it. "Crush" is a good song. "The Dismemberment Plan Get Rich" not so much.)
Calexico – The Black Light (first Calexico album I bought. This one and Hot Rail get a lot of air time. For added fun drive your white ass through Santa Ana blasting Calexico.)
Nick Drake – Way to Blue · An Introduction to Nick Drake (kind of like the Nick Drake starter kit. Hits all the biggies. Northern Sky, Pink Moon, etc.)
Death Cab For Cutie – We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes (Synapse to Synapse.....great hypnotic stuff. And it has a song called 405 which I drive to work every morning.)
Mojave 3 – Out Of Tune (How did I take so long to get into these guys? Used to be Slowdive, now have a little more twang and still are just...well..damn good)
Stereolab – Emperor Tomato Ketchup (Yes, everyone owns this album. Well everyone should anyway.)
Tom Waits – Bone Machine (Enough said)
Belle & Sebastian – Tigermilk (And I don't even own a cardigan)
The Rolling Stones – Singles Collection · The London Years (Not one bad song on 3 discs...though The Lantern is pretty close. Pretty strong evidence why the Stones were one of the top 5 bands pretty much ever. I'd way rather hear them than the Beatles any day of the week. )

Hey I can't be interesting EVERY day! Who can take that kind of pressure?! Next time I promise to try harder.

After much provocation from my friend Bungee Benji, here it is: The Fluffernutter. Strangely, it has nothing whatsoever to do with porn. Here is a little poem about the Fluffernutter

Fluffernutter
you make me mutter
and sound like a mountain
in Austria.

The Fluffernutter is a perilously unhealthy creation that is formed by the sythesis of white bread and Marshmallow Fluff. The elf in the bottom right corner looks like he drives a van and would like to lure you inside for some marshmallow fluffing, if you know what I mean. And I think you know what I mean.

Hi! My name is Horse Clam, and this is my story.

The spat or juvenile clam creates a permanent burrow where it remains for life. Adult clams may live to 25 years.

Just imagine it. You hit puberty and off you go, down into your burrow, for the rest of your life. Kind of like a job I guess. You just plug away in your little cube, day after day after day, the weeks growing to years, your hair falling out and your teeth rotting away, your butt slowly taking on the shape of the office-chair cushion, until one day some bastard comes and makes Clamato out of you. --cue The Clam Signal--

The real question here is how the hell do they get any baby Horse Clams when everyone's firmly ensconced in their burrows for life? Ah, the mystery of the clam!

Damn! Damn! Damn!

Someone took my domain name. Oh, my beloved gooseclothes.com! Now I will never call your strangeness my own. On the plus side, though, the site is working to combat a huge problem facing our society today: decorative lawn geese are running around naked. You hear me?! NAKED!

Luckily, thanks to this person's efforts, we can now dress our lawn geese as... oh, I don't know, maybe a ladybug and a witch? Or maybe something a little more commonplace: like maybe Vampire and Cowboy? And just remember that somehow, somewhere there are a couple of ceramic lawn rabbits dessed as geese.

Do you want to send that special someone in your life a greeting card that says "I picture you as a misshapen, deformed gnome surrounded by mushrooms and squirrels eating romaine lettuce"? Of course you do!

Check out all of Alegra Davidson's creations, especially "a meaner warrior" and "down on the farm" for added levity. Those would be links but Tripod doesn't seem to want to be linked to.

My apologies for all the pop-ups. Curse you Tripod!

I'm sure a million people have linked to Ron Lee's World Of Clowns, but I just had to call attention to Shriner Clown Genie. There! I feel better now. And by the way, here's a little something I learned from a Stephen King movie: I f any of Ron Lee's demented clown figurines show up in your room late at night, climb on their tiny yet strangely oversized clown shoes up onto your bed, and attempt to steal your breath while you are sleeping, always (and I cannot emphasize this enough) always have a fan handy.

Tired of doing things that sane people would do? Why not visit Ocean Spray's Cranberry World? Here's some comments from the public, attesting to the Cran-mania that's sweeping the country:

Great place to visit. We go there whenever we are in Vegas. We never knew they made so many products from cranberries. Simple, and to the point. When you go to Cranberry West, be prepared to be AWED by the grandeur that is the cranberry. I'm hoping they have pants made out of cranberries.

but....

DO NOT GO HERE!!!! I think this was actually an abortive attempt at posting to the guestbook, as the post underneath begins in the same enigmatic way. What is this guy saying, really? Should I go to Cranberry World or not? I just don't get it.

and my own personal comment:

HEY! Ocean Spray! Can we stop mixing cranberries with everything already?!

Ocean Spray Mission Statement: One day, God willing, the entire world will suffer from simultaneous bladder infections! And then Ocean Spray will rule the earth, much like a large cranberry would if you crossbred it with an ankylosaurus.

OK. So when I mentioned the word "daily" when I first started this blog thingy, I basically meant "whenever the hell I feel like it."

Just wanted to make sure that we were all clear on that.

Here's a question for you: what do jawless fish-suckers and New Hampshire Lake District realtors have in common? Of course the answer is: they're both Lampreys. That's right. There's a couple of elderly lampreys in New Hampshire and they're just waiting to lure you into their evil clutches, so they can attach themselves to you and drain you of your precious fluids. Or something. Take particular note of the cavalcade of weirdness on the left. The spinning sun with its tongue sticking out is an indicator that these lampreys are up to no good. And why is "meet our staff" represented by a little puppy dog coming out of a shirt pocket? Come to think of it, why does that gif even exist? Best not to think about it. Of course the wacky animated boat that is the centerpiece, the conversation pit, if you will, of the whole site is just a masterpiece. To me it says "Come live in a Popeye cartoon with old lampreys". Maybe that's just me.

Check out Rick Hagan's home page to delve a little deeper into the Lamprey & Lamprey phenomenon. Apparently it has something to do with big cowboy hats. You will not regret it.

My Life As An American Gladiator Episode I: The Snack Cracker Menace

Chicken in a Biskit Is there in fact any Chicken in this product? I am guessing there must be because they actually spelled "Chicken" correctly. The main reason for my suspicion of these tasty delights is the intentional misspelling of "Biscuit", replaced by the sinister "Biskit" in a move that can only be related to the "Creme" - "Cream" phenomenon, or even more frightening: "Kreme". In the food industry, this inaccuracy in the spelling department is nothing less than a license to kill. Just because "Krab" is spelled with a "K", the manufacturers have the inalienable right to put anything they feel like in there, from rodent bits (read: rodent ass) to actual human flesh. Think about that next time you decide to skimp on the hors d'hoeuvres budget! Not to say there is a recognized world standard for what constitutes a "biscuit", per se, but don't say I didn't warn you.

*ahem*

Chicken in a Biskit just opened a new chapter in my life. Maybe one that shouldn't have been opened. But it's too late now. Kind of like in movies when you see quite clearly that someone has the Gate of Hell in their basement or maybe behind their couch and you think to yourself "They really should, you know, brick that up or something. I just bet one of these days someone [like the father, especially if he's played by James Brolin or is any in any way Brolin-esque] is going to open that portal." Then you pause for effect, maybe glancing around to see if anyone is around before you say knowingly, "And then there'll be trouble." It's that kind of chapter: Owners of Pet Skunks: Recipes. So, if you own a pet skunk and you use Chicken in a Biskit to lovingly garnish your Broccoli Casserole, I'm guessing you are class all the way.

That's about all I wanted to say about Chicken in a Biskit, except that they are good in a way that only the most repellant food can be good. Another signal indicator of their perfection is the way they leave their scent on your fingers after consumption, sometimes for days to come, unless of course you shower. That's always the sign of a good snack cracker and, coincidentally, a sign of good catfish bait. Another stinky yet strangely satisfying bad food delight is the elusive store-brand "Bacon" cracker. What are they? Where did they come from? Why are they just called "Bacon"? I can imagine the marketing execs having a little brainstorming session on that one:

Marketing toady #1: "We need something that really says 'Bacon'"
Marketing toady #2: "Hmm. How about 'Bacon'?"
Marketing toady #1: "No, I mean something that says 'Bacon' without actually being the word 'Bacon'"
Marketing toady #2: "Hmm. Did I already say 'Bacon'?"

I'm thinking Bacon casserole with a crunchy layer of Bacon Snack Crackers on top, to give it that wholesome "drywall" texture. Hell, why stop there? Go ahead and add some Baco's. Not real Baco's, you understand, but the fake store-brand bacon bits that tend to break your teeth. Deep within the bowels of the casserole (we'll get to Bowel Casserole later) you could hide some of that Sizzlean microwave bacon they used to sell. I bet somewhere in the midwest someone has built one of those weird roadside attractions: The Sizzlean House. Come See The House Made Of Sizzlean! Maybe in Nevada where on hot days you could actually hear the walls sizzling leanly. I bet Triscuits would make good siding too!

Coming soon: Fun With Jawless Lampreys

So here I am at work, whiling away a slow 8 hours or so and listening to the new Sparklehorse album...12 fairly groovy mellow little tracks, and then perhaps I'll reach for a little musical change of pace to wake me from the torpor resulting from moving little boxes around in Quark XPress for a little too long....but no! Track 12 comes to an end and the silence sets in...a couple of minutes go by. In the first minute I am thinking "OK, sometimes there's a little blank time at the end of a disc. I don't know if that's actually true or not; maybe it's a subconscious leftover from the days of cassettes, like experiencing a minor letdown when your CDs don't begin and end with that little bleep noise like some cassettes used to. I think that bleep was a little unnecessary. I mean, what was its real purpose? Was it saying "Hey! Goober! The tape you put on less than five seconds ago is now actually going to begin!" or was it some sort of celebration at the end of the clear "leader" section, signalling that the boogie-ing could begin? Maybe it was a signal that all the sweaty home tapers could release the pause button on their double tape decks and let the illegal duplication begin with impunity. I remember that bleep most distinctly on the old Talking Heads album "Speaking In Tongues", because for a while I was relatively certain that the bleep was in fact part of the song! You are probably not so foolhardy and less inclined to fits of reminiscence about tape bleeps than I am, so don't lose any sleep over it.

Where was I?

Oh yes, the Sparklehorse album. So after a good minute or two I start to think..."Hmm! I wonder if there's one of those super-duper secret extra tracks at the end of this here CD.", because frankly after a couple of minutes of silence I better get an extra track or someone's going to owe me for a couple of minutes of my life. It's kind of like a delay in traffic on the freeway: the longer the delay, the more grievously injured the accident victims better be by the time I get there. After ten minutes or so, there better be some sort of graphic horror scene the likes of which man has previously only dreamed of. Anyway, so a good five minutes went by and then I got the extra track. A fairly good little tune, haunting and melodic.

But here's my point: Why not just make it another track? Why do I have to sit there and wait for the damn thing, hitting the search button in a frantic attempt not to miss out? And these long stretches of blank space are particularly frustrating when you have a few CDs in the old changer. They're mood breakers. I'm sure Trent Reznor thought he was being really cute and divergent from middle America when he put half the frigging songs on "Broken" after a lengthy empty section, and Tool must have just been hugging themselves when they put that stupid carrot thing at the end of "Undertow". I know it's probably an offshoot from when they used to do similar things at the end of LPs....but at least on the LPs you didn't have to wait five minutes for it! They couldn't spare the vinyl for that kind of excess. You got up to change the record....heard the little devil message or whatever and waited until the devil message was done.

And we were happy!

Oh well.

I apologize profoundly and sincerely for the total lack of any identifiable clam content in this entry. The score remains tied.

Well, the last little update on My Life As An American Gladiator was about Clamato, so I think it's only fair that today's be about everyone's other favorite topic: German or possibly Swiss actor Jurgen Prochnow. Someone with even more time on their hands than me has created The Jurgen Prochnow Watchdog Society. This is an impressive list of the movies Jurgen has appeared in. In case you don't know who Jurgen Prochnow is, you may have seen him in The Seventh Sign, a somewhat diverting apocalypse movie starring Demi Moore which I am ashamed to say that I actually kind of like. It's a hell of a lot less bizarre than The Rapture, and has a lot less Mimi Rogers in it, which may or may not be a good thing. The Rapture, by the way, features Agent Mulder in naughty sex activities which should be good news for all you X-Files nuts out there. I am aware that the actor's name is David Duchovny, but to be honest every role I've seen him in besides Mulder he was kind of terrible, so I'll just call him Agent Mulder.

Anyway, why bring up the chill spectre of Jurgen Prochnow once more? Well, he's just so damn entertaining. He's in a ton of movies, some of them good, some of them exceptionally goofy. Oh and he has weird skin which can supply movie viewers with hours of debate. "Is that acne?" you'll say. "I think he's burned" your movie buddy will say. It's all part of the mystery that is Jurgen Prochnow. Hell, maybe he's half iguana. I don't know. It's all part of the fun! I happen to really like the movie Dune. A big part of what made it so enjoyable was Jurgen as Duke Leto Atreides. He gets to have a poison tooth installed in his mouth and say inspirational things like "The sleeper must awaken!" I just waatched this again the other night and was struck by the weird look he gets in some of his scenes with Paul. Actually it's pretty much the same as the look he has when he surveys his troops in Das Boot.

I was so inspired seeing Dune again that I was compelled to buy The Keep on video. This is a really interesting flick about An Ancient Evil (oh yes, it's the capitalized kind of Evil) locked up in a mountain Keep in Transylvania. Locked up, that is, until some silly Germans show up and start messing with everything. Pretty soon, everything devolves into really ludicrous special effects and Holy Flashlights of God and other such delights. But, the important thing is that our pal Jurgen is featured as a good hearted German army captain. Another similarity between Dune and The Keep: they feature ethereal soundtracks by synthesizer bands. Dune gets the treatment from Toto, and The Keep is all Tangerine Dream, baby. As far as the quality of the film: some neat ideas, especially the interchanges between Prochnow and Gabriel Byrne as an SS commander. Unfortunately, the whole thing sounds like it was recorded in a men's room, probably because it was a straight-to-video release originally and then they dredged it up for theatrical release after the director, Michael Mann, worked on Miami Vice.

Another Jurgen highlight: In The Mouth Of Madness, starring Sam Neill, who continues to show up in films that I like despite the fact that I think he is not a real good actor. You'd think he would have a little more common courtesy. Oh well. In The Mouth Of Madness also features Sam Neill being chased down a hallway by Old Gods like Cthulhu, who is actually pretty spry for being thousands of years old and all. Jurgen gets to play the insane writer who is planning the end of days.

I know this entry wasn't all that hilarious or anything. Consider it a public service for those who don't know enough about Jurgen Prochnow.

In case you're keeping score at home, that's Clamato: 3, Jurgen Prochnow: 3. If there is any change in score, you will be immediately updated via the Clam Signal, which is kind of like the Bat Signal, but looks marginally more like a clam. Keep watching the skies!

Another exciting installment in the continuing Clamato Saga:

I received a response to the first kafkaesque-Clamato communique today. I really must commend them on their alacrity.

---
To: kafkaesque@mediaone.net
Subject: ID No. #1,576,429

Thank you for writing. You ideas and comments will be shared. In making the
Clamato Juice, we use Clam Broth. We do not actually harvest the Clams nor make
the Clam Broth ourselves, so you can be assured no inhumane treatment of clams
is ocurring here at Mott's.
We definitely do not have anything against the Great Clam. In fact, although the
Clamato has very little Clam Broth in it, we still gave the Clam the main part
of the name! Quite the honor for the Clam!
I will send along some great coupons and recipes.
Cheers!
---

I feel a little torn here. In one sense I am happy to hear that the noble clam is not being abused by folks at Mott's, I have been given no guarantee that clam-squeezing is not rampant in the company that makes the clam juice, or "puts the CLAM in Clamato," if you will.

As my wife put it when I told her my theory that "Someone, somewhere is squeezing clams": "Not for profit anyway". I thought that was hilarious. As a matter of fact, this could open up a whole new avenue of investigation: Non-Profit Clam Squeezing Organizations. They might even have pledge drives like Public TV.