September 30th
The News in Action, with your guest editorialist, Benjamin Johnson.

Bill Gates Ain't Got No Shit On Us, Beeyotch
You sicka playin' Whitey's games? Man got you down? Denn what you be needin' is da Malcolm X Box, a new an' innovated produc' usin' da latest mad ass techno… technolo…… shit, yo! We gots mad games like da Rosa Parks musical bus chairs, and MLK's I gots a mufucking dream, nigga! And if dat don't make you wanna bus' a cap, we gots Snoop Dogg's Roll da Blunt, Foo', whereas you be having to work da gamepad so's to make yo blunt smoke like a Whitey business in a LA riot. And if dat ain't got you sippin' on gin, denn you cans most certainly be lit up wit da Tupac target practice 'stravaganza, DON'T LET DAT NIGGA GET AWAY, YO (laser gat sold seperately)! So come on down to Uncle Tom's House Uv Dem Lectronics and get yo Malcolm X Box hea' today, fucka! Don't be tryin' to steal no shit, neitha, cause I pull mah piece and down yo ass like a 40, baby!

Newports on aisle 5, barbecue chicken next to dead man in aisle 7. Small hazardous parts may cause choking, not recommended for children under 4.

YMCA Bath House Water Causes Multiple Strange Reactions in Local Man
Timmy Smythe contracts multiple mental ailments since a recent visit to the community's newest YMCA this past Wednesday. "I have this uncontrollable urge to suck cock and wear my wife's panties around the house," says Tim, silently mouthing obscenities and licking his lips in a very unnerving fashion. "The guys at work avoid me now, and I think it might have something to do with the exclusion of my wallet and the donning of a purse," he adds while picking at his stockings and looking nervously at his Bette Middler show tunes collection. It just goes to show that the facilities need to be regularly fumigated and steam cleaned, as this case doesn't seem to be at all esoteric to this region of the country. Confirming the pandemic proportions of the problem, it was reported in Wisconsin only two weeks before of computer programmer Jonathan Eckel dry humping several men's legs at a local bus station in an attempt to "get himself off (sic)" after visiting one of the establishments. When asked the reasons for acting in such an improper manner, Jonathan stated "I just don't understand it anymore than you do. I take one visit to the 'Y' weight room, and, after a hearty shower, I all of the sudden felt really, really gay." The wife of either man could not be reached for comment. Let's just hope that, in the future, the establishments take assiduous precautions to get the harmful Fag Germs under control, as we will not acquiesce to this sort of widespread atrocity.

Dr. Seuss Character Comes Clean
In breaking news today, the Dr. Seuss character purported to have finally taken a liking to the green eggs and ham concoction refuted any and all claims that he actually did, in fact, like them. "Look, man, I know at the end of the book it says I tasted them and liked them and all, but it just isn't true. I mean, what would you have done in that situation?" he rhetorically asks. Continuing his sentence he further states that "It's like this; that goddamn Sam I Am just wouldn't leave me the hell alone. I couldn't even take a fucking train without him popping up with that stupid plate, for Chrissake. I mean I wanted to BEAT him to death with the damn thing, but I just didn't think it would have been appropriate for a children's book and all," he says claiming that he simply didn't entertain the idea of traumatizing anyone. "Trying to talk to him off-set didn't help either. Sam just couldn't break character for one second and act like a normal fictional creation. The bastard even followed me home dancing around like some kind of pixie shoving those awful smelling things in my face. At the end, I mean, yeah, I tried them, and they were awful. Just sort of half chewed them trying not to vomit and spit it all out when nobody was looking," he says shaking his head and reminiscing of his days of fame.

The character is reportedly trying to sign a deal with Nike, but can't seem to find any of their shoe styles that fit his feet.

In other news, Sally didn't really want to play with the Cat in the Hat.

September 24th
Wedding ring accidentally left in hooker.

The planets aligned today and I in my old-skool mad-styleness was sitting around, possibly fondling myself just as the blind child that lives across from me was getting home from new-skool. And I said myself "Self - Oh man, you dirty little slut, you know you want it. Yeah, you see something you like you naughty naughty little seeing eye bitch? Yeah, you've seen some major pipes in your day but have you ever witnessed the cavernous glory of this hot hot hot tamale I've got right here? Yeah, snakes like this should be rising in the east to devour the world, not making an appearance for one night only in you." And then, after some pathetic moaning and dreaming of the glory days when my vacuum cleaner worked, I figured that I should go play some wicked azz tenniz. Becuz when it come to bein a balla, there ain't a more pimpenest mofucker on the blizzy, in the hizzy, or in the backseat of his mama's Ford Tempo making kizzy. I been smackin' ballz since you pathetic bitches were just a date-rape dream in your mama's eye while getting nailed like a doorframe by my old man (god rest his soul: 5 feet long and 4 around, they had to put him 12 feet in the ground.) So I packed up my stone cold cop-killin' rackets and put on my dick-swingin'est sweater vest and into my hoopty I went to play a little round yellow ball. And this time I don't mean I went to see that asian man-whore that I like so much. And here is another-hyphen just to make all you man-bitches cream your cricket bats with wads of country club jealousy.

Every punk out there thinks he is Pete Sampras.

I get to the local tennis court. Playing on it are three jackasses. Total, milk-fed, homogenized, pasteurized, 100% pure jackasses that they grow on some secret government plantation that is run by a sweaty overseer that probably kills people while wearing a shirt with his name on it (that one's for Emily). So I sit down for a while to wait for these jackasses to get distracted by the sound of their faggot cell phone ringing or their faggot car alarm going off. Although I don't know why anyone would want to try and steal their Miada. Oh wait, you mean you got the Mazda Protege instead? Probably got it for a bargain, just cost you your manhood. But how much interest are you paying on it? (again - Emily). After a few minutes of waiting, a fourth jackass showed up. Which is good, because three is a man sandwich, four is a circle jerk. I read that off the last guy's bumper sticker.

Figuring there would be no end to this jackassery, I went to the local petrol distribution station to get cigarettes. Apparently this particular gas-station and the adjacent Arby's parking lot were the primary hangout for high-school kids and other kinds of food and cannon fodder.

Seeing such a high concentration of stupidity in one place made me wonder if it has always been this way. If in fucking olden times some dude would have a mule, and he would pile two of his stoned buddies on the mule's back and then hang out in the parking lot outside the coliseum until some Centurion came along and impaled them all one a single pike. Because shit like that just didn't fly. You try explaining to some monstrous Spartan that you ran out of gas, or that you swear "it's just a cigarette", or call him a "fucking pig baby-killer", or say that you are "the messiah" and you are "just out spreading the gospel" before he has you riding the pain pine on some hill. They didn't fuck around with these dumb kids and their loud music, drugs, spiritual vessels, or wearing a green translucent visor upside-down and sideways on your stupid fucking cracker head.

So I didn't play any goddamn tennis that night. I just drank until I started thinking about how I might look wearing the cowardly lion's costume.

September 22nd
Finding it difficult to choose an outfit, local woman kills her four children.

I watch the old ones.
Hello. My name is Sylvia, and I watch the old ones. I am their keeper. I protect them from the world. I say when they can watch golf. I say when they can go in the excersize yard, which is never. I make the women perform gross sexual acts on the parapelegic patients to earn their pills. You want the pain to stop grandma? Then sit on that vegetables face. I love them because you cannot. I know what is best for them.

The trick with the old ones, is they are like children. Children that do not heal after whippings. You must guide them, and you must show patience and an iron fist. Mr. Tandem didn't want to play checkers the other day. He came in the rec room late, and the checkers were all that was left. I could not bring myself to allow him to break the rules. First come, first serve. He knows this, he willfully disobeyed by taking the scrabble board away from Ms. Partridge. Once Juan had fully wrestled the scrabble board away from him, with the use of a clever rabbit punch to the kidney, we gave him the checkers. One at a time we gave him the checkers, he had to eat them. He will not steal from the others again. He will learn to enjoy checkers.

The old ones are also very dirty. They must be cleaned. You must bathe them. They are put into the shower once a day. We control the water, they cannot control the water themselves. They say it burns them, I say it makes them clean. Sometimes they scream, with their withered toothless mouths. Those that scream are given the hose. They learn too, they learn to love the hot.

Sunday is the good day. Early in the day I unstrap them from their beds and Juan takes the sheets to be cleaned. They stand in line to get their pills. Forming a good line is a sign of mental coherency, so to remind their feeble brains, I use a cane for sharp raps on the back of the knees of those that do not stand properly. They shape up, or they crumple in arthritic agony. So it goes, omlettes and breaking eggs. They are my geriatric army of decrepit little soldiers. If they do not take their pills then we lock them back up. They do not get to have their sheets cleaned for that week and must spend 7 more days in their own discharges and excrement.

We recognize that these fossils want to go to see the lord. But they are all foul sinners, so to help them, we give penance once a week. Everyone goes to the excersize yard and Juan whips them with a reed switch to prove their loyalty to a true path. This is for their immortal soul. They appreciate it, you can tell by their prayers for a quick death and repetitions of the the lord's name. Then they get healed by blood purification. We put the leeches on them to empty the toxins of life from their veins. It is beauty, a dance of faith and poetry of organization.

So that is my job. My obsession. I watch these sick old ones and try to be their sheperd. One day I will be allowed to watch the new ones. Mold their young minds and strengthen their young bodies. Make them good, keep them clean. Construct a beautiful generation to lead and watch when I am gone. For now though, I will keep these ones.

September 16th
Don't blame Burnz for what I write, just for letting me do it.

I got drunk last night and ate two cans of Le Seur brand early peas, seasoned with crushed red pepper and parsley flakes. I shit you not. I am not even sure why I did it as I don't normally like peas, and am similarly unsure why the goddamn things were in my kitchen to begin with. Perhaps there is a magical pea fairy that bestows a hearty bounty of them in my cupboards whilst I am in slumber. I would like to think there was. And I would also hope that he would have a matching handbag, because if you are a fairy and have no matching handbag, then just fuck you. Back to fairy school until you learn how to act properly.

In any case, I've gained the knowledge that I am a health-conscious drunk, at least. That is a definite plus mark on MY chalkboard of amiable traits. I could have gotten plastered and eaten a pizza or a dead cat, like Matt would more than likely do. But no, I had peas. I hope any other green vegetables in the cabinet are trembling with fear as I write this, because I know the empty pea cans are telling the spinach all about my ravenous appetite. My drunken state beats the shit out of your drunken state.

I know the thought has come in a little late, but I'm also starting to wonder why the hell I have parsley and other seasoning shit in my kitchen. This cabinet mystery is going to have to be looked into posthaste. And I am kind of scared. It will probably result in a story at the local news station, since their material has degraded to the point of "Breaking Coverage: Anchorman Jim Has Flashy New Tie, Camera Guy Sleeping With Wife."

The things we do while inebriated. My God, I can only try to imagine the things I DON'T remember. This, I think, is going to be the beginning of a nice dry spell for me, as my tendency to get fucked up after work is getting out of hand. My goal is at least a day.

In any case, I got shit to say right now. This is just a "hi" note that will hopefully give you a taste of my overall banality before you decide to read anything else I write.

Ugh, I should probably get back to work now, as I don't think the company's personal progress reports will look good with "Ben does nothing but fuck off all day" written in big, bold faggot letters on it. I hope they at least use a neat font when they're calling me a slacker, because goddammit, if I go out, it will be in style.

September 11th
Ribbons used to raise the dead. Failure ensues.

Well. It is our first annual necroversary. TV has been ruined almost worst than on christmas day with the neo-traditional bullshit. But that isn't what I am talking about today.

Nearly a year ago I posted my paranoid ramblings about the government's involvement in the 9/11 incident. And because I hate writing 9/11 I am going to hence refer to it as .81. Also, nearly a year ago, I put down a charming little piece on my feelings about the resulting backlash of the .81 scenario. I then translated that writing into arabic, because I figured that most people reading in english wouldn't appreciate my views. That was put (with a great deal of difficulty I should add) on an arabic forum in the first random website I found. My greatest regret is that I cannot read the replies that came from it. Probably most of them were just pointing out how appalling my arabic grammar was when my english words were run through a translation program whose ability I am unable to check.

I considered putting that material here. I figured it would result in chagrined readers, and that cannot be a bad thing. I discarded this thought with the intent of being less retro-active and more hip, with it, and up on the times. So I'm putting up what I think about today.

Today America is taking a moment from it's busy schedule to gently probe it's erogenous zones like a 14 year old boy or a fat female college freshman. America witnessed an orgy of violence and are now pointing every available camera at the metaphorical site of the incident. We are adding fresh semen to the 365 day old congealed mass of our humanity. And naturally we are renewing our zeal toward the war on terror with all the fervor of an abrasive dry humping. It is beautiful to see a people so powerfully united against an ideology. Brings back with teary nostalgia the quieter days of the red scare. Are you now or have you ever been a perpetuator of terror? I hear that the only way to fully expel terror is to be burned at the stake. The more things change...

So, it is a day to bask egocentrically in a patriogasm and become fully immersed in how good, and strong, and joined we are, not only as a nation, but as a people to have grieved with so much intensity, fought with so much heart, and bled as family under the great red white and blue. It would be laughable were it not so pathetically desperate in our cry for our countrymen to notice our tears and our immovable hatred and resolve. I've seen a country brought to it's knees, not by terror, but by it's own sad little pretense. So I am staying in today, to guard against the scampering of everyone to make their voice heard above the din. And I'm going to point out, the dead don't give a fuck. And you're fuel for the machine.

Today's quote: "More death for everyone: Cheaper than heroine and safer than sex."

And now for a little pointless inflammation: What do you call three-thousand dead new yorkers?
A. A good idea.
B. 50,000 too few.
C. National Redecoration.
D. A Manhattan Bar-b-que.
E. The best thing the Jihad has ever done.
F. Just what we deserved.

September 10th
Man at urinal unnervingly chatty.

Memo: To whom it may concern...
This memo has been issued to you as a preliminary disciplinary action in regards to your attitude and general method of work.

First, it is the policy of our office and all affiliates to have an implied dress code. We feel that our policy is more than sufficiently liberal for a professional atmosphere. We do not feel that your garb is up to our standards. We ask foremost that you wear shoes to the office and refrain from such articles of clothing as your bunny slippers, in that they are distracting and uncouth for any person in an official position. Please do not wear tattered pants, or those with strings of christmas lights interwoven in them. We also feel that your choice of shirts is overly flamboyant. We wish for you to be able to express yourself, but tee-shirts with sayings like "Professional nigger dragger" and "How much to go in the backdoor sweetheart" are offensive and demeaning. There have also been complaints about the coloration of some of the others, as well as the grotesque portrayals of sexual acts displayed on them. Finally, hats are to be removed upon entering the building, especially those with viking horns.

On another note, we are not even sure what you could possibly need a harpoon gun for, and find your explanation of "Last line of planetary defense" confusing as well as insufficient cause for carrying a weapon, particularly since you have used it on more than one occasion as pest removal. We would be willing to supply you with a flyswatter if that is what is required.

Tardiness is a serious issue. We expect you to come in on time, and take lunch at the alotted hour. Your erratic schedule is simply unacceptable, particularly when you log multiple hours of overtime whenever there is any kind of holiday, be it Arbor day, May day, or Groundhog's day.

Your relationships with your co-workers are also of great concern to us. How productive everyone is, as well as happy is the responsibilty of every employee. Insulting the race, color, and creed of everyone you come in contact with will not be tolerated. Also, do not take time just to make new secerataries cry. Any physical contact at the office is illegal, especially when you rub against another employee while muttering "you think this harpoon is impressive, we should find a nice corner and I can show you a torpedo"

While we would like to believe that your menacing the board of trustees with your harpoon gun and instructing them against the wall so you can "throw this shit down columbine style" was entirely humorous, it was still off color and dangerous.

We also want you to feel at home in your office, but the sharpening wheel on which you hone the ornamental swords which you have (usually) mounted on your wall, as well as the multiple crow and raven type birds surrounding your desk are too far above the expected level and the front 1/4 of the camaro is stylish, but too space consuming.

Naturally drinking is not condoned during working hours. Especially when it requires your pulling the security guard away from his post to help you roll a keg. We also find the empty syringes typically carried on your person to be highly questionable.

Company e-mail is never to be used to send hateful or pornographic material. The picture of our CEO represented in front of a swastica flag was slanderous, and it is only out of his kind nature that charges are not being pressed.

All greivances with management or your co-workers should be expressed through the proper channels, not displayed in banner form across the main hallway with gratuitous use of the term "Soul swallowing Pandora's" when referring to members of the management. And your supervisor should be treated with respect, refer to him by name and not as "The Godless Leash Master"

And it would be appreciated that you refrain from insisting that everyone call you "Das FunkBot".

If you find yourself unable to mend these behaviors, then dismissal will soon follow. Thank you for you time.

September 7th
Stupidity found to have contagious properties. Millions infected.

Jimmy died because God thought it would be funny.
Sammy, can I talk to you? Now I know how upset you are about your brother. But you have to understand that death is just a natural part of life. Just like being born. Do you remember when Jimmy was born? Came popping out of Mommy to be another millstone around my neck just like you? Yeah, that was how god brought Jimmy into this world, and that big fuckin' truck is just God's way of taking his ass out of it. There isn't any real point to it, God just thought it would be wacky as hell to see Jimmy catch that much air as an 18 wheeler turned him into a geyser of blood, and your mother collapsed helplessly.

You see Sammy, God is a mean son of a bitch. He gets his sick jollies off our pain and suffering. Sure, he calls it a test, but what it really is to him is like a cartoon. You know how you laugh when Daffy Duck gets shot and is all blackened? Yeah, God laughed like that when Jimmy tagged the grill of that Mack truck. That gun wasn't funny to Daffy, and that truck wasn't funny to Jimmy. Same kinda deal.

Oh, now don't start crying again. I know it hurts to think about, but do you really want to give that twisted bastard sitting up there on his cloud something else to bust a nut laughing at? No, every tear you shed is a guffaw God gets at your expense. You know what the best thing to do is? You have to really show God he can't fuck you around.... he can't treat you like this. Let him know you don't care. How about you and me go out and we piss on that hole they stuck Jimmy in. I am not sure if they even filled it in yet, so if you want we can pop that cheap casket open and do it right on his face while we chuckle our heads off. That would teach God he can't kill us just because it amuses him. Come on Sammy, one big wizz right on that money sucking, trash mouth, closet-fag-in-the-making brother of yours. Remember when he stole your truck? Yeah, think about that and how he deserves to be in that hole.

That is how you deal with life kiddo. You can't just take the Bubba-Lord’s wang in your ass. You gotta show him you can take whatever he dishes with a smile. You gotta be a stronger man so he doesn't get any satisfaction. Just grin and give that bitch the bird, put your finger in the air and tell God to suck a dick.

Look at the bright side; you and me can come up with some good plans for his old room. You mother wants to keep it just how he left it, but I think that you and me can draw up a few blueprints to change it. We’ll tell mommy that it is so “there are no reminders of Jimmy to hurt us.” She’ll think we are doing something nice for her. Maybe a big ass TV with a DVD. You and me buddy, T2 collector’s edition. I think Jimmy would have wanted it that way.

We’ll talk later. I better go before your mother realizes I am just trying to hide from her high-pitched sobbing. That whore is going to deafen me if she keeps this shit up.

September 5th
Immortal soul of average American currently valued at fourteen rubles, two bags of Funyuns, or sexual interlude with Roseanne Barr.

What the hell is vino? I know it is a kind of liquor, because I have some in an IV bag that I use for emergencies. But what the hell is it made of?

I like Beethoven. Because he was what I say epitomizes genius. He was tortured his whole life. He had undeniable talent thrust upon him. He was a martyr of ability. He spent his life pining for a woman that did not, and never would, love him. He could compose artfully even when stricken stone deaf. Tempted mostly by mediocrity. That is genius.

Romantic stroll by secluded lake prelude to Date Rape.
The shoreline of the lake in Jefferson Park, PA has been used by Stephen Graf as a cover area to lure unsuspecting females on a “romantic moonlit stroll” with the intent of attempting sexual intercourse, if and when refused Stephen then takes sexual advantage of them. The lake is also the site of picnics, rock skipping, and occasional beatings/muggings.

Stoner public service announcement airs.
In an effort to combat the governmental monopoly on marijuana information, The United Federation of Cannabis and Stuff released a public service announcement. The content of the announcement was comprised of two adolescent-looking males sitting in a dorm room reading textbooks. The phrase “Another missed opportunity to smoke a fat J” is then spoken while corresponding words appear on the screen. The announcement aired at 9:17 Friday on FOX.

Arson is a pussy crime.
According to Guard “Williamson” at the California State penitentiary, arson is a pussy crime. This was related to convicted arsonist Ray Paltredge during an exercise interval in “The Yard”. Williamson reportedly asked Paltredge what he was in for, upon receiving the answer of arson, Williamson scoffed and commented on the pussiness of the act. He went on to ask if Paltredge thought he was hot shit and / or a “badass motherfucker who is above the rules.” Williamson is also responsible for such contemporary statements as “What are you looking at?” And “I will knock that smile so far down your throat that your boyfriend will feel it next time he fucks you.”

September 4th
Chicken Soup for the A.D. D. soul.

I am watching TV. I keep flipping between Beverly Hills 90210, the movie "The Matrix,"
and some porno. I am sucking on a Popsicle, my bowl of cereal forgotten on the table. I like Popsicles they are good I…..is that new? I don’t remember.

Matches. I shouldn't touch matches, matches are bad. I light one and watch it burn. I get bored and throw it away. That is shiny, I need one of those shiny things. Look at it dangle, I should wear this on my belt. Maybe I could give it to.

Oh, man, gilligan’s island, I haven't seen this in forever, this show is so stupid. You have to laugh at it. I should tape it. I’m going to go get a tape.

I found my old yearbook in the closet while I was looking for something. This is from last year. Oh man, look at Gwen’s hair. It is amazing how much people change in a. And here is where Joey signed that thing about when we went streaking. Too bad he moved, Joey was the shit. O shit, I tore it. I need some tape. I'll go get some.

Oh, man, gilligan’s island, I haven't seen this in forever, this show is so stupid. You have to laugh at it. I should tape it. Fuck that, I have to do homework. Maybe later.

Blah blah blah, mom. Keep talking. That is a weird color of red on my sheets. Maroon, or whatever, I'll put some blue ones on there. “Clean this and….” Damn, she is still talking. When I get older I am not talking to my kid like this. I will let him. OH, there is the mail. I wonder if Sandy sent me anything. Hope so, I like her. Her and Joey man. Except I wanted to date her. I didn't want to date Joey.

Oh, man, gilligan’s island, I haven’t seen this in forever..

August 28th
For better or worse.

Well, I suppose I am back on the wagon and to prove it, I am making an update that started funny to me, and then degraded. We shall see how this goes. Welcome back, and I am just sorry in advance. Good times. And I will get new pictures for the middle section when I feel like, and not before. So fuck you.

August 27th
Notice to workers of The Red Cross.

This message is being generated to forewarn all members of the Red Cross of recent illicit activity in the country of Nigeria and the surrounding area. If this does not pertain specifically to your station, please read under advisement in the event that the person(s) perpetrating these acts are not strictly local.

The indiscretions are numerous, but mostly are the misappropriation of funds, the defacement of the red cross name, and the detrimental actions to the residents of the areas in question.

The primary perpetrator is an individual that refers to himself simply as "The Jaguar". He is also known as "Thrust-Thrust-Pull" and in the native Nicaraguan tongue"Mbusetraghtest Da" which loosely translates to "Big Fat Lover Man". His most noteworthy trait is the fact that he can most often be seen driving a light green 1977 Chevy Chevelle with a license plate reading "Gestate". He is often spotted wearing a large yellow hat with a purple feather protruding noticeably from it as well as driving goggles and a green ankle-length fur coat. Other than that it is generally reported that he is a tall, caucasian male between the ages of 19 and 25.

This fiend is wanted by the red cross for questioning in the following:

‡Distribution of narcotics and narcotic paraphernalia among village children.

‡A recent 12% rise in the number of illegitimate births. Most of whom are attributed to what the respective mothers generally refer to as the "white bed-devil".

‡Reports by natives that a high speed "Green Demon" caused several landscape disfigurements in the form of cryptic circles through the spartan crop growth.

‡The sudden implementation of prostitution.

‡The abduction of several young women, a scattering of young boys, and some livestock.

‡Raids on several towns by individuals dressed as Sand People or Jawas.

‡A severe outbreak of Gonorrhea.

‡Misappropriation of Red Cross funds for all of the following:

• Importation of Premium Petroleum Products (presumably for his car).

• The construction of a sacrificial alter" made entirely of tiles that one or more celebrities snorted cocaine off of.

• Breeding of "Riding Ostriches" as well as "Cock Fighting Ostriches".

• The purchase of a neon sign reading "Ladies Drink Free"

If anyone has any information about the whereabouts of this individual or anyone matching this description please contact your nearest Red Cross field office. Reports of other irreputable activity which this person(s) may be the direct or indirect cause of may be reported in a similar fashion.