Nudist men fantasize about clothed women. Humans are incorrigible.

Legislators in the Great State of Wyoming have begun the process of the realization of the dream of King Canute, who famously tried without success to “command the tides of the sea.” Their plan? To tax the wind! Brilliant! We’ve had water taxes forever, so why not make the wind pay up too?

It seems that Wyoming, a state that has enjoyed the good fortune to have recently undergone an energy boom with natural gas, has once again overcome being “only Wyoming,” as the other 49 states refer to it, and have built themselves a sizable wind energy industry, making lemonade out of the lemons of being an almost deserted and wind-swept backwater of America.

Eager to rehabilitate their state’s lousy image after having contributed America’s only dictator to our history, one Shotgun Dick Cheney, Wyoming is trying to figure out how to most equitably tax the wind. In an area larger than Austria but sparsely populated by a mere half a million souls, Wyoming has long been in the minds of Americans, well, not really there at all, just some place mentioned frequently in a childhood full of bad Western movies, and rarely, if ever, afterwards.

Taxing the wind seems like a pretty formidable task, but unlike King Canute, who commanded the tides to illustrate even a king’s powerlessness over the forces of nature, these people are serious and mean business. Or at least the business of the power companies harnessing the wind. The fact that the central power companies purchase a lot of power from independent land owners who have installed giant wind turbines on their giant empty windswept Wyoming ranches further complicates their task. Who do you tax the most?

Of course they want to do this right, and not seem foolish before the rest of the nation, and so Wyomans’ (or is it “Wyomingans?” Or is it “Who gives a rat’s ass?”) have not asked their most famous son to weigh in on this issue. Shotgun Dick’s approach to taxation has always been to bleed the working classes mercilessly and leave the very wealthy untaxed. Like the rest of our fine nation, they need another rash of property foreclosures about as much as a kangaroo needs another glove compartment.

The nation watches as an emerging industry takes shape, both in corporate structure and in relation to the government under which it operates. It would be nice for a semi-nonentity of a state to provide the rest of our nation with a working model of alternative energy infrastructure. These new technologies will be of great importance to this nation and the world, and someone has to begin to sort out how all this will work. We welcome Wyoming to provide us with something other that a dictator and fuzzy memories of “varmints and bushwackers” from old movies. Tax the wind, indeed.

Anyone can work incessantly and be busy every waking moment. It takes real talent and imagination to take it easy, do very little and still get stuff done.

Like a Phoenix rising from the ashes of political disgrace, former Speaker of The House of Representatives, Neuter “Neut” Limpdich returns to the high profile life. He holds no office and probably couldn’t get himself elected as Dog Catcher anywhere in America right now, but to the feeble minds of the disgraced conservative right wing, the man is a Messiah come to deliver them from the purgatory of Cable Talk Show Irrelevance. With an able assist from the  hilarious comedy trio, “The House Massahs,” Bull O’Really, Glen Bucks and Flush Limburger, Neut Limpdich is doing his best to pretend that the personal failings that betrayed actions and intentions the exact opposite of his stated policies are soon forgotten. It’s an uphill climb, to be sure, but there’s no shortage of unprincipled morons around to assist him.

Which is good news. Not for the conservatives, of course, but for a progressive movement led by a suddenly hesitant president that is faltering as a time when they should be enjoying their triumph and passing a bunch of enlightened legislation. All they need do to regain their lost momentum is to scan the field of their opposition and rejoice that there are no serious people within their ranks. The “mass-exodus” of 2 or 3 Democratic Senators and the election of a male stripper to Ted Kennedy’s old Senate seat are not cause for panic, no matter what “The House Massahs” say. If they had an idea between the three of them we’d know about it by now, but that hasn’t been the case.

The last idea Mr. Limpdich had was back in the 1990’s when he saw an opening to make an issue of President Clinton’s penis. Major troubles with his own penis, however, undid the man, and the most memorable of his deeds was informing his trophy wife who was sick with cancer in the hospital that he had found a new, cancer-free trophy wife, with a better brand of Christian religion to  boot (he generally changes religions with each new wife). Before that it was his Contract With America, a portfolio of legislation designed to undermine anything President Clinton was trying to do. Somehow Clinton (and his penis) managed to preside over 8 years of peace and prosperity in spite of Limpdich and left the nation with a huge budget surplus. At any rate, Neuter Limpdich was last seen in 1998 resigning from Congress in disgrace, the heavy door of Ethics Violations hitting him squarely in the ass on his way out.

No one missed him.

Fast forward a dozen years and here he is defying the axiom that there are no second acts in American lives. He has positioned himself as the new conscience of the right wing, outmaneuvering the two dim bulb pretenders, Sarah Bailin and Flush Limburger. The only drawback, at least for right wingers, is that having Neut Limpdich as your conscience is like having Popeye guarding the spinach garden. Sort of goes against the grain of what is trying to be achieved. Having learned that the term “Contract with America” smacks of corporate infestation at a time in America when no one trusts corporations, Neut has backed off that term, and also the “Republican Revolution” designation, what with the unholy mess his fellow Republicans left for the rest of us to fix.

None of which will deter the man from seeking the presidency in 2012, or suicidal right wing lemmings from following him off that cliff. Which should be taken as grand news for Democrats and progressives everywhere. With any luck he’ll pick another Sarah Bailin as a running mate, maybe even the naked pin-up guy from Massachusetts, thus ensuring the conservatives 4 more years of whining from the altars of Cable TV “situation rooms,” the closest thing to power they will see until they come to their senses and recruit some smart people who have at least some semblance of integrity and personal ethics, and maybe even a viable idea or two. Luckily for the president and his fellow progressives, that’s not in the cards as long as people like Neut Limpdich are calling the shots for the opposition. They would do well to ignore the ranting fools and get on with their agenda before the right wing smartens up.

Your idea of a perfect day might sound like a nightmare to the next person. The solution is simple: don’t hang around with that person. Contrary beings that we are, that’s the person that we almost always marry. It’s not just you two.

Have you seen them? Have they contacted you? Have they attempted to invade your conscious thoughts and brainwash you? Clogged your computer with e-mails espousing Green Causes? We are of course, discussing The Green People. They walk among us, shop in the same stores, use the same roads and mass transit systems, perhaps work with us side-by-side at our jobs, their children attending the same school as our children, seeming like normal human beings in many respects.

But they are different, they are Green People, and they have come to transform humanity and remake us according their own visions, and then… eliminate us completely!

Towards that end, they have already enjoyed remarkable success, especially in having much of humanity install mercury-laden coiled light bulbs in their homes. Their stated reason for such light bulbs was sound, that they would reduce energy consumption on a planet hard-pressed to keep up with ever-increasing demands for electrical power.

The suspicion, of course, is that Green People thrive on mercury and that with every broken light bulb on top of the uncounted tonnage of discarded bulbs, the air, soil and water of Earth will be slowly but inexorably infused with mercury, a deadly poison to you and I, but ambrosia itself to the Green People, washed down by the nectar of mercury-tainted water.

Then there is their insistence that we grow our own fuel for our cars and power plants, replacing petroleum with corn or sugar-based oils, promising cleaner and ever-renewable sources of power. What they neglect to mention is that these fuels will be just as expensive and dirty as petroleum, and that they will remove millions of acres of farmland from food production on a planet already plagued with starvation.

Today and tomorrow, and for every tomorrow until we can solve this plague, 36,000 people will die a painfully  slow and tortuous death from starvation. 85% of these victims are children under 5 years of age. If we listen to the Green People, those horrendous numbers will skyrocket, de-populating the planet so that the Greens can easily take over.

The Greens also actively campaign against the use of clean nuclear power, even though the navy has been using this technology for over half a century without a mishap and the only serious nuclear reactor accident happened in Russia 24 years ago. Since that time uncounted millions have died from the effects of dirty internal combustion.

Greater fuel efficiency for our internal combustion engines is also discouraged by the Green People, who insist they must be scrapped altogether. What chance we will have to invent new technology without using our existing technology is left to the imagination, but imagination without access to a means of implementing our imaginings is an exercise in futility. They would have us live by windmill power, a technology perfected in the 7th Century.

The suspicion is that the Green People are aliens from outer space with a society advanced beyond our own by only about fifteen years, and so lack any of the diabolical weaponry we always imagined space invaders would possess. That being the case, they must resort to other means to decimate our population and take over the Earth.

Cleverly, they have used many of mankind’s own very real problems as a weapon against us, and their success in seeding the planet with mercury via our light bulbs shows that they are apt students of pubic relations. That success seems to have gone to their green heads, and now they envision an America chock full of bicycle riders living in candle-lit homes, purchasing mercury-free water for a dollar a bottle.

Bicycles used to cost one-tenth of what they do now and pure water used to be free. Who owns the bicycle factories and clean waterworks? Green People! Where are the profits going? That’s right, to the Greens! What do they do with the money? They put it towards world conquest, of course. Not much point in invading a planet and not taking it over, is there?

There will come a day when we are all drinking dollar-a-bottle water, and at that point the water they sell us will be loaded with mercury and we’ll all drop dead and the world will be inherited by the Green People without firing a shot, or a death ray, and with our cities, farms, roads and infrastructure intact so that millions and millions of Greens from the Green Planet can just move right in, raid our fridges, watch our DVD collections and sit in our Jacuzzis munching on mercury-laden popcorn! And the government does nothing about it!

Is it too late to stop them? Have they infiltrated the Halls of Power so completely? Perhaps not. Or so we hope. But what can we do do resist the Green People, who are, after all, 15 years more advanced a civilization! They have razors with seven blades on the Green Planet, and have finally ceased using Roman numerals to count their Super Bowls, marking a significant cultural breakthrough for the Greens. Their cars get an average of 54 miles to the gallon! They had iPads 15 years ago! They know how “The Biggest Loser” ends!

So we have our work cut out for us to repel these invaders, those who would pretend to be fighting the great evils in this world while actively engaged in the worst of them. Now they offer us mercury, bicycles and windmills. And  whales, too. Who knows towards what insidious ends the Greens conspire to attack whaling ships? Are the whales cooperating with the Greens?

Okay, maybe you can’t blame whales for bearing a grudge against us, but there’s got to be a good reason why the Greens are “saving the whales.” For what? We shudder to think. Our only defense against the Green People is the defense of the conquered from time immemorial. Breed with them!

As the numerous descendants of the Roman slaves and vanquished races of people did, who intermarried with and eventually outnumbered their conquerors, Rome had to fall from within before it could be defeated from without, with babies as the most effective weapon.

So, young men and women of America, your mission is clear: To marry and interbreed with the sons and and daughters of the Green People. A pilot program has been underway for a generation in Brooklyn, our most active incubator for interracial babies for centuries. There are already some very interesting half Italian, half Green children, or a quarter Irish and an eighth Cherokee, or Black, or Puerto Rican, Greek, Lebanese, Norwegian or any other combination of Green and human you’d care to name.

These children will be raised in a world where Green People are mainstream, much more reasonable, and at least half human! No one wants to wipe out their Mom or Dad, or at least not too many of us. Perhaps one day a new level of acceptance and understanding will be achieved with the election of our first Half Green President, and our two races can live in harmony on a peaceful globe.

If being in love is not fun, joyful, mutually elevating and exhilarating, then the attraction is something other than love, and heaven help you both.

Hello readers. I hope your  Valentine’s Day was a good one, or at least not too crushing a disappointment. So often we invest so much emotion and anticipation in one particular holiday that it can never live up to our fervent hopes and dreams. New Year’s Eve comes to mind, or Amateur Night as those of us with a few miles on our odometers refer to it. Valentine’s Day, with a more-than-able assist from greedy corporations, is tailor-made for a huge letdown. Love, like life itself, is a process, not an event.

Love is never perfect, any more than any of us are, and investing unrealistic expectations in something as magical and hard to define as love is a setup for major disillusionment. No need to go there. Appreciate your loved ones every day, and measure the strength of your relationships on their endurance, their continuing tenderness and understanding, and not on one particular day. If we fell out of love when a bad day occurred, every relationship would be over inside a month. At most. That said, let’s check the inbox and see how your lives are progressing. Or not, as the case may be:

Dear Dot Kahm: Gee, I wish I’d read your intro before I wrote this letter, but what’s done is done. Anyway, I’m a single man in his late twenties and I’ve been dating Hillary for three years. Ours has been a special relationship and this Valentine’s Day I decided to pop the question. I asked her to live with me. She turned me down, Dot, and I can’t get over it. Now she’s so mad at me she doesn’t want to see me anymore. I knew she wanted to get married, but I figured that we’d ease into it. I’ve been crying ever since. What am I going to do? – Miserable in Manhasset

Dear Miserable: Here’s what you’re going to do: Get over it, you sniveling wimp! After three damned years, now you decide to take the tepid step of playing house? That’s something lovers do in the first few months of a relationship if they’re of a mind to do so. Three years is more than enough time to know whether or not you want to marry that person, and to know the mind of that person, if they may have objections to living together versus marrying. Didn’t you know? You insulted the lady, Miserable, and she is to be commended for not bitch-slapping your whining face purple! When it was time to shit or get off the pot, you farted and sat there like a mook. Maybe with the next lady who’s good enough to invest a chunk of her life with you, you’ll grow a pair of testicles and let her know that either you’re not the marrying kind, and that’s okay too, or that you want her forever, and then let her make her decision fully informed. As always, honesty is the best policy, starting with yourself, which you obviously are not.

Dear Dot Kahm: What’s a mook? -Wondering in Wisconsin

Dear Wondering in Wisconsin: Mook is Brooklyn term, meaning a person who simply does not get it, whatever it is, unless it is about them. To a mook, the portion of any conversation not specifically about them sounds sort of like a feint humming sound, or background noise, and is paid no mind at all. That’s a mook, as in: Don’t be a mook! Never dignify a mook with a capital M, either.

Dear Dot Kahm: Like you, Dot, I am from Brooklyn. My boyfriend asked me where I’d like to go on a beautiful Sunday afternoon last summer and when I told him Coney Island, he laughed! He’s not from New York and has never been there, but he had the nerve to tell me Coney Island is a chaotic old wreck in the middle of a slum. I just wanted to share a special place in my hometown with the guy and he completely blew me off, so I dumped him. Was I too hasty? – Coney Island Baby

Dear Coney Island Baby: Hasty, shmasty! There’s magic in Coney Island girl, a place like no other on Earth. I’m glad you wrote me now, Hon, since the middle of a hard winter is the perfect time to think abut Coney Island. Let that fool visit one of those uber-boring homogenized and controlled theme parks in the middle of nowhere with his homogenized and controlled new girlfriend (which rules out Brooklyn ladies!). No Nathans, no freak shows, no gypsies from who-knows-where speaking who-knows-what language, no Cyclone and no Wonder Wheel, and no boardwalk with a beach filled with a million smiling faces! And here’s some more good news, kiddo: by opening day, a rebuilt Luna Park will be open this year with 23 new rides. You were right to dump that chump, not only for his disrespect of Coney Island, but for dismissing your thoughts and wishes out of hand, and for insisting on sticking to an opinion based on no knowledge, facts or experience, as fatal a flaw and any human being can possess! Take your new man to Coney Island and the Brooklyn Botanical Garden too! He will thank you for sharing special Brooklyn places and opening his eyes.

Dear Dot Kahm: What do you think about the exciting news that King Tut died of Malaria? – Brian Jiggs

Dear Brian: Not much. Shouldn’t you be writing to Sammy Science? The only stiffs that excite me aren’t mummies, if you catch my drift, pal.

Dear Dot Kahm: Are you single? I’d sure like to meet you. – Teddy Bear

Dear Teddy Bear: I am, and you sure can meet me, Teddy Bear. That is, if the photo you sent me is really you. If not, be prepared for a beat down from a black belt in RHIAW, which stands for Random Household Items As Weapons. Review my honesty guidelines before approaching.

Dear Dot Kahm: Do you believe in coincidence? – Wondering in Waukegan?

Dear Wondering: That’s funny, I was just thinking about coincidence! What a … oh never mind!

Dear Dot Kahm: My husband is a police detective, and he says there is no such thing as a coincidence! – Mona from Staten Island

Dear Mona: That’s funny, I was just thinking about how cops never seem to believe in coincidences! Spooky, no?

Dear Dot Kahm: How’s this for a coincidence – my name is Dot and I also come from Brooklyn! – Dot Saul

Dear Dot Saul: Sorry, but I think we’ve exhausted the subject of coincidence.

Well, readers, we seem to be getting off topic here, so good old Dot Kahm is signing off for now. I’ve got to get ready for a hot date with Teddy Bear. Until next time, be good, be kind and be honest, and demand the same of others.

Summer never looks better than during a blizzard, and vice-versa.

Has anything gone right in Afghanistan since the opening weeks of that war when we destroyed their army and toppled the government? If that sounds like winning a war, well, that usually  does the trick, but America was in Afghanistan for another reason, to capture the madman who orchestrated the 9/11 attacks, Osama bin Laden. He wasn’t a part of the Afghansitan government, but a Sauidi Arabian of Yemeni descent, and he and his al Qaeda gang were being given a base of operations by the Taliban regime from which to train suicide killers and plan terrorist attacks. Both the head of the Taliban, one Mullah Omar, and Osama bin Laden escaped the initial onslaught and have been on the lam ever since, both still very active in their respective gangs.

For 8 years now we’ve been killing or capturing a series of #2 al Qaeda guys, possibly the least attractive job in Afghanistan. Now we get word that we have captured the #2 Taliban man, some goon with the mouthful of a name Mullah Abdul Ghani Baradar. Meanwile, his boss, and the al Qaeda boss, both of them a striking 6 foot 6, have melted into the bleak landscape somewhere in the nebulous border between Afghanistan and Pakistan. Catching the #2 man in any organization might be a public relations coup, but doesn’t really do the trick of crippling the organization.

That’s like catching Larry of the Three Stooges and leaving Moe free. He and Curly would still be capable of all sorts of mayhem. And if the new #2 guy Curly gets apprehended, then Moe would simply go on with the show with Shemp and Joe Besser. Moe is the mastermind behind all the havoc perpetrated by the Three Stooges, the “brains” of that outfit, or at least as far as brains go with outfits like the Three Stooges and the Taliban. Usually just enough to make a ton of trouble for everybody else, and it’s always Moe’s idea. It’s the same with Osama and Omar. Without them, the rest of the Taliban and al Qaeda Stooges couldn’t plan lunch, never mind a tyrannical government or a deadly terrorist organization.

Osama makes more inspirational videos than Tony Robbins while planning further attacks on the West as we capture or kill his latest Larry. And now we’ve started down that same road with the Taliban, with the big cheese Mullah “Moe” Omar still out there on the loose running the Taliban and organizing it into a lethal guerrilla force, waiting for the day America tires of searching for the twin Moes so he can seize power again. The recent assault by 15,000 soldiers on a Taliban stronghold in Afghanistan saw sporadic fighting by a rear guard Larry Brigade assigned to hold off the enemy until the rest of the Talistooge guerrillas melted back into the mountains.

Mullah Omar will simply have his Stooges reappear where the enemy is not, that’s the name of the game in a rebel insurgency. He found out 8 years ago that the Talistooges were no match for a modern army and has tailored his tactics accordingly, while America and her allies have not. Unless and until they can capture a Moe, this war will be continue to be a stalemate. Kill or capture the twin Moes, and there is no more Taliban or al Qaeda for the other Stooges to follow. Enough with the capturing of yet another Larry. That’s happened so often it’s not even news anymore. Go after Moe or go home.