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The Fred:11 Phenomenon

Are you seeing Fred:11 in your sleep? When your mind is completely blank and you turn the corner, is this what you encounter? Is someone trying to send you a message?

If any or all of the above are true, there is still help available. Here are a dozen suggestions that will help you survive The Fred:11 Phenomenon:

1. Cut down on your Muscatel and Wild Irish Rose.

2. Cut back on your number of doobies.

3. Pull the plugs on your digital clocks until 2013.

4. Stop calling The Psychic Hotline.

5. Cut out Oprah and Dr. Phil for a while and watch nothing but war movies.

6. Get rid of that wristwatch and start asking complete strangers what time it is.

7. Stop reading the Fred Fortune blog.

8. Burn all your top hats.

9. Get a girlfriend.

10. Get a boyfriend.

11. Get a life.

12. Get lost.

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The poop and nothing but the poop.

OK, I just got back from "vacation" and found out that all hell had broken loose around here while I was gone. It took me a little while to figure out the truth because, like Earth, Mars is filled with nothing but lies and deception ever since the Grays and the Reptilians took it over. Before the bubble-heads and the lizards took over this section of the solar system, Earth was on its way to becoming a paradise and Mars was already one. But I don't want to talk about the Grays and the Reptilians. I'm always harping about the Grays and the Reptilians. And I don't want to sound like a broken record, either, so let's leave them both out of this. I want to talk about F. M. Mudd and the Illuminati and shit like that.

First of all, Farnsworth had my permission to post on my blog but he didn't have my permission to create and post an unauthorized video of me and Red Mouthpiece, using stills and audio from our gig in the Red Room. He was supposed to write about whatever he wanted to write about and then post it here but, like most people from Earth nowadays, he can't spell worth a damn and he knows virtually nothing about grammar. So, he did the video instead and posted only the video. That's OK. The Fred & Red comedy team got some free publicity and now we're booked at Think-A-Holic Lounge, if we can ever hop a roving wormhole again and learn to how steer it. I showed Red the promo and he laughed his ass off and I didn't even know he had one.

Continuing with this story, let me undo some more myths about what's been happening at the Cydonia Concentration Camp since early July. First of all, I wasn't "on vacation". I was busy bottling ancient sea water from one of the gorges here on Mars, for use on a gourmet cooking show that Liz and her buddy Farnsworth are putting together for American television, using the old Nazi TV studio where I did my five Martian Broadcasts. I gathered the salt water for Liz who promised to discombobulate my ass and cancel my time-travel ticket if I didn't. That would have meant pain and poverty and possibly death for me so, naturally, I grabbed a case of empty Coca-Cola bottles left over from World War II and headed for the salt water falls.

Furthermore, the Illuminati, who actually wrote the text of the last post here on a wireless laptop connection from the island of Malta in the Mediterranean Sea back on Earth, are full of day-old dog turds. How dare they edit and re-post a copyrighted item from my blog? The sonzabitches must have used Blog This! Anyway, Cydonia is not only big enough for me and Farnsworth M. Mudd, it's got plenty of room for my new pal Red Mouthpiece, too, whose on-stage insults roll off me like water off a duck's ass. So, F. M. Mudd and Red Mouthpiece and me, Fred Fortune, are the new Allies, if you will, versus the new Axis comprised of the Illuminati, the Grays and the Reptilians. World War III, here we come.

Additionally, Mars Broadcast #5 was ruined by my sudden inability to communicate. I've never been at a loss for words in my entire life but all of a sudden nothing came out. In fact, there weren't even any thoughts in my head. I've been told before that my mouth isn't always connected to my brain but I thought people were just being mean to me because they think I look like the love child of Groucho Marx and Charlie McCarthy. Boy, is that queer. Anyway, I did manage to cough and blink a lot before Farnsworth and Red told me it was time to find a hobo to pickpocket somewhere and call it a day. So, that's what I did.

In closing, let me state the fact that Farnsworth is a real human being from Earth, like me, not an astral body like Red Mouthpiece. But no one has a picture of Farnsworth and he refuses to be on camera. He said he's a "behind the scenes" person. I have virtually no social skills anymore and couldn't convince him to have his picture taken by the PC cam but he did allow me to draw him. When he saw the results, he tried to lay a haymaker on me but I sidestepped it without even thinking and pulled a fresh crueller from my cardigan pocket and offered it to him in exchange for being allowed to post his image here.

Farnsworth claims he's never, ever been to Think-A-Holic Lounge but I swear he looks a lot like somebody I've seen there before. I'll just assume he's lying his ass off because that's what he did for a living on Wall Street before he got dumped here by the Grays. Believe it or not, he looks a lot better pictured here than he does in real life or at Think-A-Holic Lounge and he damn well knows it. In real life, Farnsworth M. Mudd looks like the love child of Eleanor Roosevelt and Stan Laurel. Poor bastard.