Camels should be judged on what's inside

In Saudi Arabia, they don’t have beauty contests for women. Strict dress codes for women require them to be more-or-less completely covered when they appear in public. They definitely do not have a swimwear competition. So, Saudi men, not being able to observe the beauty of the Saudi women for fear of having sinful thoughts, must turn to the next best thing. Camel beauty contests.

The King Abdulaziz camel festival is to the Saudis what the Super Bowl is to us. The prize for having the most beautiful camel is 20 million Saudi riyals. That equates to over 5.3 million dollars. You can buy a lot of tickets to camel beauty contests for that kind of money.   

Apparently, some 30,000 camels compete in the month-long beauty contest. The judges watch the camels as a mounted camel trainer drives them around the stadium. The judges are required to view about thirty camels at a time.

OK, I’m not a math wizard, but that means that if the contest is held every day for thirty days, the judges must watch about 33 groups of 30 camels being driven by them every day.  These guys are supposedly judging 1,000 camels a day. That’s a lot of humping. So, to speak.  

Of course, there are criteria for what is considered a beautiful camel. The judges use a 100-point system to evaluate the camels. One-quarter of the points come from the head and neck. A camel is considered to have a beautiful head if it is large, has firm ears, long whiskers, a shapely nose and lips, and a long neck. The judges particularly like droopy noses and lips.

One has to wonder about the criteria. Is this beauty from the camel’s perspective or a Saudi man’s perspective? I guess if you live in a country where all the women are required to wear large black potato sacks in public, you will start to look at camels in a different light. It is important to note that most of the camel contestants are female.   

To be honest, I’m completely horrified by this whole concept. I prefer to judge camels by who they are as opposed to objectifying them because they have large, beautiful, dreamy, droopy lips… Ahem. I mean, gentlemen just don’t notice those things. 

Of course, you can’t have a beauty pageant without scandal. The latest news from Saudi Arabia is that twelve camels were disqualified from the contest because the owners had injected their lips and heads with Botox to make them look better. I have to tip my hat to the judges who can watch thirty camels run by them at once, be able to judge which one looks the best, and also be able to pick out the camels who have had Botox injections. Now, that’s a keen eye for detail.

I’m wondering what other kinds of “enhancements” the competitors can use to improve their look? How about false eyelashes, ear extensions, and hump falsies? If long necks are important criteria, one wonders if there is ExtenZe for Camels?

I’ve never been to a camel beauty contest, but I have watched the Miss Universe pageant on television. I’m assuming camel contests are run the same way. I think I’d really like to see the camel contest Final Question round where the camels have to answer questions are various social, cultural, and political topics. I’d want to know if the camel could articulate itself under pressure while sharing a thoughtful, well-informed response to an inane question from a Hollywood celebrity.

Or maybe I’d just like to see a camel spit on a judge. 

The weird state of Florida

Florida is one of those states that specializes in weird. I mean every state has its problems with drunken citizens causing mayhem in public places, but Florida always seems to take it beyond the level of simple bad behavior and turns it into something that makes you wonder if the state is inhabited by beings from a different planet. 

I’ve previously written about a 53-year old woman who was arrested last November in Lakeland, Florida while riding her horse down the highway with a blood-alcohol level that was twice the legal limit. She was reportedly weaving on and off the road as she rode her horse, Bo Duke, on the shoulder. She had been riding the horse for a distance of about ten miles before being stopped. I’m amazed that anyone that drunk could even get on a horse. I'm even more impressed that she could make the horse weave in and out of heavy traffic without being hit. My horse would have dumped me on the side of the road and gone home. 

During the same month, another Floridian was arrested in Port Saint Lucie for driving a riding lawnmower while drunk. The 56-year old man had a blood-alcohol level that was three times the legal limit, and he was carrying a case of Budweiser. I’m sure the beer was for a friend. Dilly, dilly. Police stopped him for erratic driving and noticed that a strong smell of alcohol was emitting from him. What do they mean by that? Just exactly how was the smell emitting? I’m guessing that the motor wasn’t still running while he was emitting these strong alcohol smells. 

A couple of years ago in October 2015, I wrote about a young fellow who tossed a 3.5-foot gator into a Wendy’s restaurant in Palm Beach County, Florida. I don’t know if alcohol was involved in this incident, but what else what else would prompt someone to throw an alligator through a drive-through window—I mean, other than mental illness. Was he expecting change? Maybe the employees at fast-food restaurants in Florida should have a box of lizards or snapping turtles they can give in exchange when someone gives them an alligator. It’s Florida, right? 

However, this month a new record for drunken absurdity was achieved when a 28-year old man in Spring Hill, Florida pulled up to a drive-through window at Bank of America and then promptly passed out. The bank manager reached out to the car and tapped on the young man’s window for a while until he woke up. Upon waking up, the man calmly placed an order for a burrito. 

Oh, come on. Who hasn’t accidentally tried to order a burrito at a bank-teller window in the middle of the day? I remember once being out late with a buddy who decided he needed a midnight snack before heading home. We drove up to a Jack In The Box window, and my friend tried to order an Egg McMuffin. Well, at least he didn’t try to throw an alligator through the window. 

In another story, a man in England called in a bomb threat to a pub to punish his wife for going out drinking while he was working. He was working two jobs to pay the bills, and she was out spending his money on booze. He called the bar she was drinking at twice to make bomb threats causing 130 people to be evacuated. The police quickly found him because he used his cell phone to make the calls. The man's name is Mo Ahmed.

I’m guessing he is originally from Florida. 

Don't touch the iguanas

As a former resident of Florida, I can attest to the fact that it is one of the most dangerous places to live in America—outside of California, that is. Florida is full of alligators, snakes, and sharks. I know the sharks are supposed to stay in the water, but I've seen enough Sharknado movies to realize that you aren't safe from them anywhere. 

Also, Florida gets hit by tropical storms just about every week. Hurricanes can spawn anywhere in the Atlantic, but will always make a beeline for Florida regardless of where they start. I think Florida is the only state where being a local TV weatherman is more dangerous than doing a night patrol in Afghanistan.

Now, Floridians face a new danger. Due to the recent freezing weather in the Sunshine State, people living there now must worry about being hit in the head by a frozen iguana falling out of a tree. Iguanas, being cold-blooded animals, don't do well in cold weather. Once the ambient air temperature drops below 40 degrees Fahrenheit, the iguanas stiffen up and lose their grip on the tree branch where they're sitting. Thus, it was raining iguanas in Florida this winter.

Many Floridians woke up after the freeze and found iguana-pops all over their backyards. Of course, they soon began to ask "knowledgeable authorities" what they should do. By "knowledgeable authorities," I assume that meant they Googled it. Knowledgeable authorities said don't touch the iguanas. They may look dead, but many of them are just waiting for some ignorant Floridian without internet to reach down so they can bite them. Iguanas are like that. 

There is a story of a man who thought he'd collect the frozen iguanas and take them home for a barbecue. He picked them up and threw them in the back of his station wagon like cordwood. Unfortunately, the iguanas thawed out and began getting frisky. The overpowered the driver and forced him to drive them to Cuba. Haha. Just kidding. They were really with the MS13 gang and forced him to take them to Long Island.

Iguanas are not native to Florida. They were relatively rare until the 80s when people started buying them as pets. Iguanas are cute when they are small, but they can grow to six feet in length and fifteen pounds in weight. If they aren’t socialized as they grow up, they start acting like wild, ferocious, hissing, razor-sharp-teeth biting hell-dragons. Thus, cute little Iggy the iguana gets booted out the back door and left to figure out how to survive in the jungle on his own. 

In Central America, iguanas aren’t kept as pets. Down there they are known as “tree chickens.” You can buy them at the local market. I’ve seen them at markets in Honduras, stacked up on a table with their legs tied behind their backs waiting to be someone’s dinner. Not the same as choosing a puppy at the pet store. 

The iguanas aren't welcome in Florida. The iguanas don't bother anyone; they just prefer to hang out in trees munching on leaves. Unfortunately, they have a fondness for Mango and Hibiscus trees. Floridians may be tolerant of illegal aliens in their state, but they draw the line at anything that eats their Hibiscus trees. 

Well, while living in Florida in the 80s and 90s I may have survived hurricanes and dwelling among alligators, but at least I didn’t end up being hit on the head by a fifteen-pound frozen iguana falling out of a tree. Next time I go, I’ll be sure to wear a helmet. 

Snail ranching

This article originally appeared in the Sierra Vista Herald on 8 February 2015. 

I think I've finally found the retirement job I've been seeking. I currently work with horses for a living which is fun but comes with some attendant risks. My body has parts in it now that weren’t there when I was born. I have to carry a card from my doctor explaining why the metal detector goes off when I walk through the scanner at the airport. Not getting any younger, I’ve been pondering a follow-on career that has fewer risks of getting stomped to death by twelve hundred pound animals. Fortunately, in last week's Herald, I read a story about a new beauty trend involving snail mucus that may present an opportunity for me. People are paying up to two hundred dollars a pop to go to spas where attendants put snails on their faces. The snails leave slime trails on their skin which is supposed to make them look younger. Too bad horse snot doesn't do the same thing, or I'd have the face of a teenager. Naturally, the practice of putting snails on your face started in Japan, the home of such exciting concepts as eyeball licking and bagel heads.

Whenever something like this comes up, I have to wonder how the concept originated. I remember a gardening tip I learned in Germany for keeping snails off of your plants. You just put a jar of beer out in the garden, and the snails would crawl into it and drown (just about every activity in Germany involves beer—one of the things I love about that country). I figure the snail-face trend began when some Japanese guy drank too much Sapporo beer one night and passed out in his rock garden. When his angry wife came out the next morning and found him laying on the ground with beer-loving snails all over his face, he quickly made up the story about snail mucus beauty treatments. “Honest, honey, the mucus removes wrinkles and plumps up your skin,” he explained, selling the concept by looking straight into his wife’s eyes and slowly wiping a snail across his forehead. Thus, a new trend was born.

According to the article I read, one of the snail spas gets its specialized face-sliming snails from a French supplier. Of course, they do. A couple of French dudes living in Thailand imported some snails from home and started up a snail farm that now boasts 30,000 snails. Ha! Anything the Frenchies can do I can do better right here in the good ole USA. I have already begun planning for my new state-of-the-art snail ranch here at home that will boast some 60,000 head. Of course, American snails would be bigger and slimier than French snails and would soon drive their puny rivals from the market. My snails would be as big as raccoons and produce slime by the gallon. 

It seems to me that snail ranching is less likely to result in me being trampled to death by the stock. In fact, it is more likely that I would accidentally squash the snails. Many years ago, while walking down a rain-wet road in Sicily with a colleague, we heard something crunching beneath our boots. My companion suddenly remarked that the crunching sound was caused by our stepping on tiny snails that were on the pavement and that we needed to get off the road. “That’s just gravel,” I said, looking at the ground as I crunched along. “THOSE ARE SNAILS, YOU FIEND!” He screamed, not at all sounding like a hysterical lunatic. I got off the road. As they say, there’s no defense against crazy.

There are some logistic concerns with snail ranching, I suppose. For one, how do you fence them? I figure one strand of barbed wire an inch above the ground would do the trick. I’m hoping that snails don’t dig or jump. I could build a beer moat to keep them corralled, but that would probably just result in me finding one of my neighbors face-down in the ditch with the snails using his body as a bridge to freedom. “Viva la escargot!” they would cry as they stampeded for Mexico.  

I’m also wondering about the branding process. A brand would be needed to prevent snail rustling. I guess the shell would be a good place to put the brand. Of course, if you leave the brand on too long, you’d end up with lunch instead of stock. Every snail wrangler would be instructed to carry a stick of butter, just in case. 

So, years from now, if you see some cowboys driving a snail herd across the prairie, please come over for a chat. We won’t be moving very fast. I’ll be the guy with the baby face.