An article in the Billings Gazette informs us that the North Dakota lottery, set to begin selling tickets this week, has already helped lottery retailers, ahem, get connected.

According to the story, the ND Lottery sent retailers terminals mis-printed with a toll-free number that connects to a phone sex line offering "live, one-on-one fantasy talk." Sounds like a sitcom setup:

LOTTERY RETAILER: I'm calling about the powerball.

BREATHY PHONE SEX VIXEN: So you want to party?

RETAILER: No, I have a question about the Powerball.

VIXEN: Sounds like you're ready for our all-swingers party. I'll just need your credit card number.

RETAILER: Look, I just want to know what balls came up.

VIXEN: Yours, if--.

RETAILER: No, I mean what numbers were printed on the balls?

VIXEN: Oooh, so you're into body modification.

RETAILER: (Click.)

Sigh. Alas, it seems the North Dakota lottery has headed off such hilarity; evidently, they've sent out stickers with the correct phone number to all retailers.

We can only hope the new stickers say: "To help your customers get lucky, call 877-XXX-XXXX."

Darren Karr is an independent Presidential candidate from West Linn, Oregon, and the founder of Party X. That's "Party X" as in a political party (or an "anti-political party," as Darren calls it), not "Party X" as in naughty photos of Gillian Anderson.
>>Read the interview>>

My apologies for the light posting this past week; I was out of town on an extended trip (nowhere near an internet cafe, alas). I am, however, cooking up some new things, including a new edition of the Dark Horse Dialogues for this Friday, as well as other fun and frivolity.

For a brief period in the mid-1970s, I can remember only one thing about my life:

I was obsessed with Farrah Fawcett Majors.

I had recently felt my first rush of testosterone as I slipped into puberty, and I distinctly remember wandering the aisles of the B&B shopping center, only to be pulled in by a poster of a woman with honey-golden hair and a red swimsuit.

It was Farrah's famous first poster.

But it was only the beginning of my Farrah fanatacism. I combed through old copies of my grandmother's "National Enquirer," cutting out and collecting photos. I saved my allowance money, forgoing my usual musical selections to buy each successive Farrah poster. I watched the wretched "Charlie's Angels" religiously--and sat through the equally wretched "Logan's Run" and "Saturn 3"--just to see her on screen. I even joined the Farrah Fawcett Fan Club, and received a personalized membership card. Lo, these many years later, I can still see it: a light pink credit card with a smiling photo of Farrah and my name--my very own name!--embossed on it.

Farrah has always held a special place in my heart since that time--even through all her idisyncratic downs and, well, downs. She is, and will always be, my first crush.

So perhaps you think I might watch "Behind the Camera: The Unauthorized Story of 'Charlie's Angels"' tonight on NBC. I thought about it. I really did. But then, I thought of buying posters at the B&B Shopping Center. I thought of pink fan club cards. I thought of Farrah's hypnotic stare (along with other parts which shall remain unmentioned) captivating my 12-year-old mind. And somehow, I knew this movie would sully those fond, sepia-hued images in the theater of my mind.

I'm visiting my parents this coming weekend. They still have much of my childhood, packed away in storage boxes. And I find myself thinking maybe--just maybe--packed away in one of those boxes is a small pink fan club card with my name on it.

Spammers will do anything to make it past filters--even, it seems, compose poetry. I received this in my email box this morning, and I thought it at least as creative as anything that refrigerator magnet poetry kit can come up with. Perhaps Madonna could rely on spammers to compose lyrics for her next album.

Her shining spoon spit and still our children round wine prepare for fight.
Her white little forg snores.
Whose little tv fidgeting and his brothers well-crafted printer walks and still whose well-crafted soda stands still.
The smart shining omprella is on fire.
His brothers hairy computer stinks.
Our children purple small paper snores.
Any small round computer is on fire and perhaps our children stupid binocyles walks.

Rather ee cummings-esque, wouldn't you agree? I especially like the line "The smart shining omprella is on fire." And to think it was all composed in hopes of bringing traffic to a site for, ahem, "casting couch girls."

Today, whilst driving home for lunch, I listened to "To the Point," an NPR news/talk program devoted to issues of the day. The topic du jour was the inadequacy of our current primary/caucus schedule, and one of host Warren Olney's guests was Mary Kiffmeyer, Minnesota's Secretary of State and President of the Association of Secretaries of State. As I drove, I realized what an unfortunate acronym the Association of Secretaries of State creates. Upon further reflection, I decided--the organization being an group of officials charged with overseeing political campaigns in all 50 U.S. states--it might nevertheless be somewhat fitting. And consider the possibilities for promotion; why, the mind fairly boggles when thinking of catchy tag lines.

If they wanted to educate members about where they are and what they do, they could send materials asking: "Do you know where your A.S.S. is?" How about recruitment of officers and leaders? Simply ask members: "Would you sit on your A.S.S.?" Perhaps a fundraiser could be launched under the battle cry of "Cover your A.S.S." And if Ms. Kiffmeyer ever resigns, they could begin the search for a new president by telling everyone "We need a head in our A.S.S."

Alas, the A.S.S. folks obviously felt this acronym would be a problem, and so added an unnecessary word to their name (and web site) to avoid unfortunate connotations: they want to be known as the National Association of Secretaries of State.

They can call themselves whatever they want. But in my mind, they'll never quite kick A.S.S.

Now, I don't usually venture into political posts (I'm in the same boat as Jim at Parkway Rest Stop, who discusses this very subject in a recent post), but one cannot live on smartass-ey quips alone, so indulge me while we discusss a bit of serious content, won't you? I promise: we'll soon return to the kind of posts you've come to know and love: penile humor, potty jokes, banality, that sort of thing.

Mark Twain is credited with one of my favorite quotes: "There are three kinds of lies in this world: lies, damned lies, and statistics." When one looks at all the polls, surveys and other attempts to portray the American populace's attitude on nearly any subject, it's a good quote to keep in mind--especially when you realize polls and surveys say more about the polling organization/research company than they do about the public's opinion. I say this for three reasons.

Reason #1: You can skew a poll's results with simple wording. In my evil marketing guise, I've participated in plenty of surveys, polls, focus groups, and the like, and I'll break some news to you: you can make a poll or survey say anything you want, before you ever ask a question. It all comes down to your wording. For instance, let's say you want to determine if most Americans are in favor of banning smoking in public places. Great. If you want to show that most Americans support a smoking ban, you might word your question something like "Knowing that second-hand smoke has been proven to cause cancer and other health problems, do you support a ban on smoking in public places?" If, on the other hand, you want to show most people oppose such a ban, you might say something like "Do you believe the government should infringe upon citizens' rights by banning smoking in public?"

Admittedly, this is a broad and extreme example. But even subtle differences in wording can have a dramatic impact on results. Ask potential voters: "Have you kept yourself informed on all the issues on this year's ballot?" You'll get a lot of "yes" answers. Now ask the same people: "Has your local election department kept you informed on all the issues on this year's ballot?" I guarantee you'll get a lot more "no" responses.

Point Number Two: Opinions change--and sometimes, quite quickly. Just this past weekend, CBS News released a poll showing that a Kerry/Edwards ticket would beat a Bush/Cheney ticket. A lot of folks have jumped on this, saying this spells trouble for President Bush's re-election efforts. Certainly, President Bush is facing plenty of obstacles, but polls like these aren't among them, because such polls mean nothing--and I mean nothing--right now. If you don't believe me, consider this: In July of 1988, the respected Gallup organization released a poll matching Michael Dukakis against George Bush Senior. The results of the poll? People said they'd vote for Michael Dukakis over George Bush, 54% to 37%. That's a 17-point spread.

Ask Michael Dukakis if poll numbers can change.

Point Number Three: What people say, and what people do, are two entirely different things. It's just human nature: when you ask someone a question, they will usually say what they think you want to hear. Even worse, they'll say what they wish was the answer. Ask: "Do you exercise three times a week?" I'll bet you more than half of the respondents say "yes." But tell me: does anyone actually believe more than half of us exercise three times a week? No way. People want to be part of the "good" crowd who exercises regularly, so they naturally say they do so.

So please, don't put too much stock in surveys, polls and other instruments that measure public opinion--especially if you're trying to form an opinion about something yourself. They're never impartial, even when they try to be.

And you can certainly trust what I say. After all, I work in marketing.