Happy Thanksgiving

"The best thing about Thanksgiving has got to be cleaning up after everyone else has gone home." said Grandpa as he finished loading the dishwasher. "Well shit my pants!" he exclaimed, kneeling down in front of the sink. "We're out of dishwashing detergent. I guess I'll go to the store and get some more."

"What did you say dear?" asked Grandma.

"Nothing. I'm running up to the market. I'll be back in a jiffy."

"Ok. Did you finish the dishes?"

"I'll finish YOUR dishes..." he mumbled, walking out the door and fumbling while he shoved his arms through the sleeves of his heavy flannel barn shirt.

"What?"

"NOTHING!" he shouted. He walked out the the detached garage jiggling his unusually large key ring in his right hand. Grandpa had always been kind of a packrat, and his key ring served as a pocket-sized monument to his increasing reluctance to throw anything away.

The garage was a good 100 feet from the house, and on unusually dark nights such as this it was impossible to see your way on the unlit path. He'd made the trip a million times, and knew every detail that lay in the dark. He carefully stepped over the old rusted red wagon left in front of the garage door, reached into the doorway and flipped on the light. Nothing happened.

"Just my luck. What's next? My dick going to fall off?"

He flipped the lightswitch back to the off position and stepped into the garage. Just then he heard the sound of a pot hitting the concrete floor. "Must be the cat." he said aloud. There was a rustling sound. This time it came from the opposite side of the garage.

"Ain't no way that was the cat." he thought. "Anybody there?" He paused, waiting for a response. Nothing. He quickly made his way to the Chrysler and opened the driver's side door. Just then a shadowy figure lept from the dark corner in front of the car and tackled Grandpa to the floor. In the low light from the open car door, he saw a dreamy teenage vampire wearing a fashionable pea coat sitting on his chest, pinning him down. Grandpa tried to struggle, but soon realized it was useless.

"At least I don't have to finish the dishes." said Grandpa, as the charismatic young vampire flashed his fangs and leaned in for the kill.

"Gobble, gobble." said the vampire.

Marker

Do me a favor- if you see this guy, please beat the living shit out of him. Don't kill him, just beat him within an inch of his life. Also, if you could do it in front of a lot of people, that would be great.

Coincidence?

Steven Tyler + Joe Perry

equals

Tyler Perry



Coincidence? Or is God speaking to me?

Like a Movie

Why can't my life be fun and exciting... like a movie?

Tough Beef

After I dropped Andy off at school I drove down the side street towards the main highway. I had never been this way before, so I was paying more attention than usual. I noticed an unusual amount of manufactured homes that butted up against the narrow road. There was barely enough room for two cars, and there certainly wasn't a lane divider. Should another car come barreling towards me I would have to quickly veer off into the high grass that occupied the shoulder.

As I approached the highway I noticed a large group of cars parked off to the right. A few seconds later I could see a large, run down building sitting on a vast parking lot which was partially paved, and partially dirt, but completely dilapidated. The building was white stucco with dark brown wooden trim and featured a red tile roof. The roof line had been purposefully designed to look like some unholy American version of a Chinese temple. "This must be a Chinese restaurant" I thought to myself. I looked at the sign, which was posted on the East wall, as well as on a large post out front. It read "Tough Beef" in exotic, Asian sign calligraphy. I could see a neon sign in the window that flashed "Open" in red.

I was hungry, but not in the mood for Chinese food. For some reason I was compelled to pull into the parking lot, and park near a chain link fence that separated the restaurant's parking area from the storage facility located next door. There were so many cars in the parking lot I just had to go in and see what was going on. "This place must have been here since the early 70's" I thought to myself. Seeing that it had obviously not been updated, I guessed I would be in for a trip down memory lane. I walked in the dual oval doors and was greeted by a small Mexican lady with a toothy grin. "Bienvenidos!" she said as she rounded the corner, approaching me. It was almost as if she was expecting me.

"This is no Chinese restaurant!" I said to myself. "This is a Mexican place." I was ecstatic. The hostess sat me in a booth with a painting of the Virgin Mary hanging watchfully above. The wall was avocado green and the bench was sparkly red vinyl. Like most booths, the bench seat felt low, and when I put my hands on the table I felt like a muppet anchorman reading the news. I ordered chicken nachos, and they were the greatest nachos I had ever tasted. With each bite I noticed that every ingredient was represented in a consistently perfect ratio. And the consistency- the consistency was heavenly.

I listened in on the conversation between two ladies sitting at a table near my booth. "They catered my daughter's wedding." said the woman with her back to me. "It was good, but I don't think I would ever choose Mexican food for a wedding. It's just not very classy." She took a sip of beer. Her friend was nodding her head in agreement as she sipped on her Margarita. For a moment I felt sorry for the woman's daughter, as I imagined her mother's complaints during the wedding weren't limited to the food.

After my meal I asked the hostess about the restaurant. She informed me that she and her husband moved here from New Mexico in 1986 and bought the restaurant.

Summer With Grandma

"I'm baaaack" he screamed as he ran into the house, slamming the screen door behind him.

"Oh dear" his grandmother said. "How did you manage to get off the bus?"

"I bribed the bus driver with the $40 you gave me" he said proudly. "I told you I don't want to go to Summer Camp."

"You're a real Houdini" she sighed. "I guess its just you and me for the next 6 weeks."

"Great. I'm going over to Dave's house."

"I don't think so. You owe me $40. You're doing chores until you pay off your debt."

And so began his Summer of hard labor.

My Date With a Vampire

It's embarrassing to admit, but I have terrible luck with relationships. I mean, I've turned more women gay than softball. But lets be honest, finding love in today's romantic landscape is challenging. That's why I lowered my standards and signed up for Match.com. After sifting through the vast wasteland of cat ladies and shemales, I finally found Ms. Right. Her name was Samantha, and she was a vampire.

I saw her profile last week and I made first contact by sending a quick message that read "You're hot. I am employed and I speak English. Want to go on a date?" The next day I had an email in my inbox that said "You have a new message...". I frantically opened my web browser and navigated to the dating site to see who had responded to one of my many "feeler" messages. Samantha's reply came with just one word- "sure". Of course I had to follow up to get her phone number and address, but I won't bore you with those details.

She wanted to meet me at midnight out in the woods underneath the weeping willow tree on the night of the first full moon. "How romantic!" I thought.

The night of the big date I made sure to follow my standard pre-date ritual, which consists of making a trip to the ATM, changing into clean underwear, saying 100 Hail Mary's, drinking a Scope-tequila cocktail, and sticking an icepack down my pants for a good half-hour.

I drove out to the woods and arrived at the weeping willow tree 15 minutes early. I sat and waited nearly 2 hours before realizing I'd been stood up. With a deflated ego I walked back to my car and drove home, where I watched Twilight twice before falling asleep.

Once, Twice, Three Times a Bridesmaid

I've been to plenty of weddings over the years, many of which shotgun. Most of them are indistinguishable, as they all seem to follow the same general pattern. "Do you take this man, sickness and health, love and cherish, until death or financial trouble..." "Do you take this woman, sickness and health again, honor and obey, until something better walks along..."

The ceremony usually lasts a little too long and during the 30 minutes or so in which I can't talk or distract myself I am stuck in a folding chair examining my darkest inner-most thoughts. I look around and catch a tearful look on the bride's mom's face and I start to well up. But then I see the groom's nephew playing with his iPhone and my thoughts turn violent as I reach down and grab a nice, round river rock. I check out the bridesmaids and wonder why they avoid my efforts to establish intense eye contact. "The sun must be in their eyes" I think to myself.

After the ceremony I grab a plate of food and smuggle it out to the parking lot and eat in my car, so as to avoid eating with strangers and the awkward conversation that follows. I then take a few hits off the flask, dump some altoids in my mouth, and walk confidently back into the reception area, where I am met with an air of celebration, and people desperately trying to find segues for leaving.

I dance with a drink in my hand because I think it looks cool, and I loosen my tie for the same reason. In between slow dances I play the "mother-daughter" game in which I stare at a girl until her mother notices.

After the reception I go home by myself and leaf through the wedding magazines I keep in the bathroom as a single tear rolls down my face.

Is Everyone on Vacation? I'm Lonely

All this time I had been looking forward to Summer. I thought that the warm weather and the barbecuing would bring me everlasting peace. Instead the Summer brings restlessness and sorrow. Every day spent inside feels wasted, as does each weekend without a special Summer function. Each day that passes reminds me of the finite quality of the season, and in turn directs my thoughts towards my own mortality.

Summer is a time of abandonment. Friends and families pile into the station wagons and leave town. Even TV has packed its swimtrunks and went to the beach without me. All I have to do is wait another month or two and TV will return, bringing football with it. Thanksgiving and Christmas will loom on the horizon, and my life will have purpose again. However, I'm sure that while I'm unwrapping presents or carving a turkey I will be longing for Summer once again.

Circle of life.

Funny, Yet Relevant, Play On Words

... Fonzi Scheme ...

I'm sure somebody thought of it already. I know, I suck. Go to hell.

Michael Jackson's Doctor Implicated in Death

Newsflash ---

Dateline July 14th, 2009:

Los Angeles Police have officially ruled the death of Michael Jackson a Homocide. In a statement issued by Deputy Director Chief Commisioner Trevor Villaizquierda, Dr. Conrad Robert Murray, Michael Jackson's personal physician, has been named as chief suspect in the death of the late pop singer. This announcement comes in the wake of a search warrant issued by the 3rd District Court of Appeals in Los Angeles County for Dr. Murray's Silverlake Condominium.

The search turned up $500,000 in cash, a thank-you card signed by LiveNation CEO Michael Rapino (also in custody) and the alleged murder weapon (see file photo below).

Dr. Murray and his attorney have declined to comment.

There is a God

When I die, and go to heaven, Michael Jackson and E.T. will be there to greet me.

Summertime Comic Series

Part one -- Cher-iff:

From Here to the Bus Stop

It was 7:06 AM and it was still dark outside; not pitch black, but dark enough that you would turn your headlights on in your car. The rain poured down steadily without pausing to let him pass through as one might expect as a friendly gesture from a polite English gentleman. The rain was certainly no gentleman, no sir. Instead, the rain was a dear friend who at times would let you down by telling other people embarrassing things that he'd sworn he'd never reveal.

He walked down the dirt road behind his apartment complex somewhat slumped over, as if to say to anyone who might be watching "I give up, you won, now what?" He wondered why this dirt road existed in the middle of a major metropolitan city. The fact that it was smack in the middle of his immediate living surroundings was an incredible slap in his already swollen face. The cars that had driven down the dirt road over the years had carved large potholes which would fill with water when it rained, creating wet landmines that sat and waited for him to walk through without paying attention; which he often did.

He had an umbrella, but he rarely remembered to bring it with him. And when he did remember, he would usually leave it at work and be without it the next morning. He reached over his right shoulder with his left hand and grabbed the shoulder strap of his backpack to bring it down so that he could fish around inside the rear compartment, where he left loose change lying about. He felt around blindly for what he could tell were coins and removed a filthy handful, his fingers stained by the remnants of graphite from the various mechanical pencils who'd lived and died in the backpack. He picked out $1.65 and dumped the remainder back into the pouch. He noted that they were mostly pennies, which bothered him more than he cared to admit.

He made his way across the street after enduring the painful wait for the pedestrian green light. He wasn't in a hurry because he knew he still had a few minutes before his regular bus would arrive. He knew this because he woke a few minutes before his alarm went off. As he approached the bus stop he would try to avoid eye contact with the other passengers in waiting. He didn't want any bus friends, and he felt that the other passengers didn't want any either. He certainly did not want to impose, even if it would make the commute less painful and quite possibly his life a little more endurable.

He would notice certain 'usuals' on his bus. There was the short Asian guy who looked just like Lloyd from the show "Entourage". He knew this because his roommate watched Entourage, and he would join him in an effort to maintain a friendly environment within the two bedroom, two bath "dormroom". There was also the older black guy who looked kind of like Lionel Richie, who always wore tan pleated slacks and a lighter brown leather jacket; a very respectable early 90's outfit. The Lionel Richie lookalike carried an almost matching leather satchel slung over one shoulder which further enforced the image of an early 90's class act.

But most important was the girl who always sat in the aisle near the middle of the bus. She had medium length brown hair and kind of a snooty face. She was the kind of girl you would expect to let you get halfway through your conversation before she mentioned her boyfriend or fiance. She would derive a near sexual pleasure in knowing that she just temporarily crushed your soul. Her usual dress was a pair of tight pants, a peacoat of some sort and generally a pair of flashy boots. Her tight pants showcased a slightly large rear end that initimidated him, and he imagined that she was hiding a bountiful bosom underneath that peacoat. She usually sat next to an older woman and the two would talk non-stop during the 15 minute trip downtown. They were definitely bus friends.

Today he was feeling a bit down. The rain had been carrying on for several days now, and was starting to weigh on his otherwise optimistic spirit. For some reason, when he was 50 feet from the bus stop, he started hearing "Love Shack" inside his head. The sound of Fred Schneider's voice instantly put him in a good mood. He began to smile uncontrollably. Just then the bus pulled up. It was his lucky day. He stood patiently in line, trying desperately to conceal his smile from anyone that might be looking at him. He climbed the bus stairs, dumped his filthy mitt full of change into the change funnell, and started his trek towards the rear of the bus.

Still struggling to hold back his smile, he inconspicuously moved his eyes about the bus interior, searching for the girl. There she was, in her usual spot. He glanced away before she had a chance to look up. He was walking in slow motion down the aisle. Just when he thought it was safe he looked back in her direction. She was looking right at him. He couldn't look away, nor could he hold back his B52 smile. She smiled and continued to stare. His heart was racing. There was no one in the seat next to her. It was his chance. She seemed to guide him to the seat next to her with her eyes. He thought he could smell her perfume from 10 feet away. There were still two passengers walking in front of him. They might take the seat. Only a few more seconds and he would be there. "Just keep going" he thought to himself. "There are empty rows in the rear. Please. For the Love of God!"

The first of the two spotted a bus friend on the opposite side, and made a beeline to the rear to make friendly conversation. The second person was taking his time, but fortunately kept walking. "This is it" he thought. "This is my chance. Don't blow it." He took a big swallow, cleared his throat, glanced over his left shoulder and took a seat next to the girl. Just then he realized he wasn't wearing any pants.

The smell of fear, and other things

He was running as fast as he could, his legs felt like rubber. He knew they were chasing him, but he couldn't summon the nerve to look behind out of fear that the simple act of turning his head would slow his pace. The path that lay before him was a dirt road running between two vast cornfields. The corn stalks were 7 feet tall if they were an inch. It was dark outside, but somehow the path was lit from behind by car headlights. This was especially odd since his pursuers were on foot. Each step he took stirred up a small cloud of dust that was visible in the phantom headlights. He couldn't afford to take the time to question his surroundings. He only had time to run.

His pursuers had only one thing on their mind- hunger. They were acting out of instinct. They were carnivores, and craved fresh meat. He was the closest thing out there in the desolate acreage of farmland. His mind raced along with his body. His hopes of escaping were waning since there seemed to be no end to the cornfields. He thought of taking a sharp right, into the corn stalks, and trying to hide, but they would undoubtedly hear his every move; not to mention running through the stalks would slow him down. He considered that if he were to veer into the cornfield, he would clear a path for them, and they could continue less hindered than he, closing in that much quicker.

"Thump". His foot hit a rock. His body flew with the momentum he'd built. He dove head first in slow motion into the dirt. "It's over" he thought. He summoned the strength to claw his way from down on all fours back into an upright running position. But it was too late. He felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. His body gave out and he tumbled to the ground. They got him.

In what he thought would be his last act, he tilted his head up and looked at his would-be killers. As they stood over him all he could see were their silhouettes against the mysterious headlights that followed behind them. He opened his mouth to scream but only to let out a tubercular cough. He heard some laughter...and smelled mustard.

Just then he woke violently. "It was only a dream..."

Happy Birthday?

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!" they all yelled, as Dana walked into her apartment. All her friends had gotten together and planned a surprise birthday party for her. Dana was pleased, except she secretly wished that they had chosen a different place in which to celebrate.

"I would have at least lured my friend to a restaurant or a bar or someone else's house if I were to plan a surprise birthday party" she thought to herself. "My apartment is so boring."

Dana's roommate, Clarice, was in charge of organizing the party, which included calling all of Dana's friends and her two sisters that lived in the city. She even invited two of Dana's ex-boyfriends, with whom Dana was still friendly. Dana was currently single, but she had been on a few dates over the last few months.

As she mingled through her group of friends and well-wishers, Dana noticed someone out of the corner of her eye whom she didn't recognize. He was short, pudgy, with brown hair and large square framed glasses. He had big rosy cheeks and an impish grin. He wore gray corduroy slacks and a red polo shirt with yellow stripes that was obviously too small, showing off his buddha belly. He was over in the corner by the book shelves, rifling through Dana's CD collection. Suddenly Dana's attention turned to the kitchen, as her best friend from childhood, Debby, whom she hadn't seen for YEARS popped out and Screamed "HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHICKEN DUMPLINGS" at the top of her lungs. "Chicken Dumplings" was the nickname given to Dana by Debby's mother when Dana and Debby were kids. Dana had been a chubby girl growing up until the summer after her sophmore year in High School.

The night went on and Dana had a wonderful time. She caught up with everyone and most people stayed until the wee hours of the night. At first she was worried since the party consisted of a calico of friends from different points in her life, that no one would have a good time and people would leave early accompanied by lame excuses. Fortunately this was NOT the case.

Finally the last two guests walked out the door; Jan and Keith. Jan and Dana both worked at the bank together and had become great friends when they realized that they lived a block away from each other. Jan's boyfriend, Keith, worked as an auditor for an accounting firm. Dana had always thought he was too interesting to be in his line of work.

As Dana shut the door, she realized that she was all alone in the apartment. Her roommate, Clarice, had left 15 minutes previous to drive some other guests home. They had a little too much to drink and she offered to give them a ride. Just then Dana remembered the odd-looking character she witnessed rummaging through her CD collection at the onset of the party. As she turned to walk towards the kitchen she looked up and there he was, impish grin and rosy cheeks.

"Hi Chicken Dumplings" he giggled in an eerie child's voice.

Dana shrieked in terror.

Hot Fun in the Summertime

I ring in the Summer time with Orange soda. It's what I do. These days its diet Orange Soda, and I'm a little slower and hairier than I used to be (see picture below)
but the feeling is generally the same as its always been. The smell of pool toys fills my nose as I walk down the aisle looking for summertime deals in my local superstore. Normally my default footwear has been the "thong". At least "thong" is what I grew up saying. It has since come to my attention that no one calls them "thongs" anymore, and that they are now referred to as "flip-flops", an onomatopoeic term that I find ugly and crude. Be that as it may, this Summer finds me wearing a slip-on summertime Croc (pictured below):Let us rejoice and be glad.

Sexual Identity Theft

Week 1

Michelle: Uh. Have I told you how awesome you are? I mean it.

Kevin: I appreciate the fact that you think I'm awesome, I really do. I'm beginning to lose faith. Sometimes I wish I had Male-pattern-baldness... Are you watching Monday Night Football tonight?

Michelle: Uh, no. I hate football. Why?

Kevin: How can you hate football?

Michelle: I hate football for many reasons, but the top 3 are as follows: (1) Its dumb (2) Texas is way to obsessed with it (3) I don't like it.

Kevin: The reason I asked is that I was going to get you a Christmas present with an NFL theme, but now I guess I'll have to think of something else. I always employ "feeler" questions before I make any major decisions...

Michelle: Great way to approach things. I can appreciate that. I would rather just get "felt up". Are you inviting me over to watch it?

Kevin: No. I'll agree with you that sexual horseplay is better than Monday Night Football. However, football is rad, despite the fact that Texas is obsessed with it. And yes, you caught me, I was actually toying with the notion of inviting you over to watch the game. ...Packers vs. Rams... two teams with sexually suggestive names. It will be glorious!

Michelle: I’ll pass.

Kevin: Very well. Enjoy your hot bath and romance novel.

Michelle: Yes, I will take a hot bath and there will be a romance novel involved, but not reading; rather, reenacting- on live web cam. Oh, too bad your eyes will be focused on huge, ugly men in tights.

Kevin: My eyes will be focusing on naked ladies as I stuff money into their panties... would you rather join me there?

Michelle: Will there be sex in the champagne room? If so, yes.

Kevin: Sorry, I can't afford the champagne room.

Michelle: No champagne room, no boomshakalaka.

Kevin: Then I guess the only boomshakalaka you'll be getting is from your mochalakachakatata… lady marmalade.



Week 2

Kevin: What do you usually wear to work?

Michelle: Skirts. Pants. Button down shirts. Sweaters. Cardigans. Dress suits. Pant suits. Oh, and the shoes. The shoes are wonderful.

Kevin: I'd like to see you in your finest pant-suit... But first I would like to just see you... naked.

Michelle: You move fast.

Kevin: That's because the authorities are after me. Do you have roommates?

Michelle: Yes, I have three roommates. One is moving out in a week. She just finished her Masters. Now we have a room available for you. How perfect.

Kevin: What did she get her Masters in? Massage Therapy?

Michelle: No, she failed out of that program. Art History.

Kevin: Would you say that you're the Queen Bee of your household?

Michelle: Nope, not the queen. I would say it’s the owner of the house. She’s a power trip attorney.

Kevin: Does she wear short skirts like in Ally McBeal? I imagine living together you often see each other naked... How do you all handle those situations?

Michelle: We don't live in dorms. I have not seen any of my roommates naked.

Kevin: Hmmm... I appreciate the honesty, but I kind of expected you to go along with the whole thing. You must be under a lot of stress right now.


Week 3

Michelle: Uh... do you ever get turned on at work?

Kevin: All the time.

Michelle: What do you do about it?

Kevin: I take reverse Viagra.

Michelle: What is that...like a fat chick in a pink prom dress with pie on her face?

Kevin: Yes… in pill form.


Week 4

Michelle: What was the most romantic moment you've ever had?

Kevin: The most romantic moment I ever had? hmmm... Romantic? Jeez... That implies that I had feelings for someone that went beyond pure sexual lust. I'm going to have to get back to you on that one...

Michelle: Where was Happy Hour?

Kevin: Jakes on McKinney.

Michelle: How was Jakes on McKinney? I couldn't come.

Kevin: Oh really? I thought you were there. I must have mistaken the Golden Tee video game console for you. Jakes was fine. They had $3 you-call-its. They make a HORRIBLE gin & tonic. However, they make a great top shelf margarita. What was your most romantic moment?

Michelle: Um, not most romantic, but a romantic moment was during Henley on Thames when my ex, ex, ex blew me a kiss from the podium after they won gold.

Kevin: Wow, I'm impressed. I met Bea Arthur once.

Michelle: Not THE Bea Arthur? Is she as hot in real life?

Kevin: Yes.


Week 5

Michelle: I hope I never reach the top of the corporate ladder so these emails can never haunt me.

Kevin: I don't think you ever will, unless you sleep your way to the top. And if that's your angle, then you're wasting your time on me. I'm in no position to further your career. All I can do is get your rocks off... (sort-of). What are you doing?

Michelle: About to go to lunch. Sake time! What did you do this weekend? I was downtown, but didn't see you.

Kevin: I was volunteering at the homeless shelter. I figured our paths would cross there. I was hoping we could catch up while you took a shower and ate a hot meal.

Michelle: I’ve switched shelters. I thought I told you that.

Week 6

Kevin: I wonder what, exactly, you're getting out of our relationship... I imagine you recently saw some movie where there was an edgy female character of some sort and you wanted to see if you could be similar, but you were too scared to try it out at work so you cultured it into an alter-ego with me.

Michelle: I am so deeply offended. I get lots out of our relationship. I've learned what not to wear, how to make a mean squash casserole, better kissing techniques, and most importantly, patience- a virtue which allows us to get along with almost anyone. I did go through a Jeannine Garofalo attitude phase, but it didn’t last. Thanks.


Final Week

Kevin: So anyway... I've been listening to the Beach Boys Christmas Album. It's really good.

Michelle: How good? Sex in the rain good? Or the satisfaction of picking your nose after refraining from wanting to do so for the longest time cause you thought it was uncouth to do in public but then when you got in your car, just dug right in good?

Kevin: Are you watching Monday Night Football Tonight?

Michelle: You're asking ME if I'm watching football??? May the curse of Mary Malone and her nine blind illegitimate children chase you so far over the hills of damnation that the Lord himself can't find you with a telescope.

Kevin: Good Lord, Touchy, Touchy... I was just kidding Jeez. You slipped back into that Jeanene Garafolo attitude again... I was going to invite you over. Want to join me?

Michelle: Not for football. Thanks.

My Brain's Turned to Mush

Once upon a time a baby boy was born with a slight defect to his vision. This rare and unique condition is now known as "Miscreantopia". The condition results from a slightly twisted optic nerve and an enlarged Hylaloid Canal. The condition is impossible to detect at birth, and for the most part stays dormant for the first 12-14 years. The symptoms of the condition generally begin at the onset of puberty.

I know what you're thinking- "What are the symptoms? Does he need glasses? Is he colorblind? Can he see into the future?" No, no, and no. His condition gives him the ability to see through womens' clothing.

At first this was a novelty, but as time passed it became a burden. He eventually went blind from excessive nudity.

My comments to ESPN about their site redesign

The re-design is poor. It seems like you've significantly added to advertising content. The desired content is becoming lost in a sea of useless information and horrible advertising. ESPN has been turning into a mindless media sinkhole that cares only about short term profits. Shame on you all.

Honk

My favorite t-shirt is permanently tainted with the smell of sunscreen. It reminds me of fun times at the beach.

Weak coffee and memories of love lost

As I sip my weak coffee I am filled with memories of love lost. I am also reminded that I need to stop at the pharmacy tonight to get some shaving supplies. But now my mind slips back into the state of intense fear of being watched. Paranoid? Of course.

I think as I grow older I engage in less and less eye contact with strangers as I mill about on a daily basis. To make matters worse I grow more and more aware of what I am doing, which increases my level of paranoia and overall anxiety. Are there pills for this?

Boy, have I veered off topic. I apologize.

Bargain Hunting, and other crap

In this new age of economic distress I have decided to cut costs. First thing to go is my nightly bath. I figure that each night I waste $35 in water and energy costs. Next on my list is to cut down on the exotic food I normally eat. I am going to devise a new "recession" diet that consists entirely of baklava from gift baskets left over from various holidays. These can be purchased at a discount from any gift basket supplier.

Shifting gears I would like to discuss my recent experience in a taxi cab. I arrived in Chicago at 7:45 PM and hastily made my way to the airport restroom and then to the ground transportation area (in that order). I asked the cabdriver if he took credit cards and in a confident foreign tone he assured me that he did indeed. I cheerfully leaped into his cab and bounced my bottom on the seat cushion a few times before finally settling down for the long drive to downtown Chicago. I smiled at everyone I saw out the window as we sped away from the airport. I was happy to be alive.

After an eternity we arrived at my hotel. My bladder had already re-filled and I was anxious to empty it. I was also anxious to order room service and raid the mini-bar. The cab-driver took my credit card and whipped out his credit card processing kit (carbon copy receipt and a slider mechanism). After he made a carbon copy of the receipt I filled in the tip and signed and all that good stuff. He then told me "just a second sir, I have to call and get clearance on the card."

He slowly dialed up his dispatch agent and asked her to run the card and check its validity. He had her on speakerphone so I was able to hear the entire conversation. "...Please run the numbers."

"OK confirmation code 9...3...7...2...0"

"Wait repeat that please?"

"9...3......7.....2.......0"

"I can't hear you!" He screamed, noticeably annoyed.

"I already told you the numbers, quit yellin' at me"

"Why are you always so mean to me Goddamnit?!!"

"You know what? I'm not gonna give you the numbers." Click.

"Wait- I'm sorry. Just give my the numbers please!!! ........ Hello? HELLO??!!!"

Just then he set down the phone and slunk down into a seated fetal position. His spirit had been crushed." After a few moments of silence he handed me my card and my receipt and said in an almost heart-breaking voice, "have a good night sir."

"Thanks." I said and I jumped out of the cab with slightly lesser glee than I started with. Later that night I pigged out on room service and ordered an adult movie.

Quizmasters

Behold the new coven of secrecy and wit. We, the quizmasters scour the Earth for knowledge and truth and paltry prize money. We hold the secrets of the universe deep within our hearts and we test each other for merit on a daily basis.

To become a quizmaster write to:

quizmasters
P.O. Box 332
Mesa, Arizona 83321-1348

For a mere $5 entry fee you will learn our secret handshake, learn our sacred oath, and receive a vhs tape of rodeo bloopers. If your letter is received within 30 days you will be entered in a drawing to win cruise tickets.

Join us or else.

Lightning Rod

The other day I rode the bus to work like I usually do. With my current routine, my path crosses that of a crippled Asian college student who rides the same bus. I think his legs are missing or something. This kid is probably 20 years old or so- and has a funny mop haircut and a slightly neglected upper lip mustache (is that redundant?)

Given this kid's handicapped nature, he always gets on the bus first because he has to situate his wheelchair in the front where the row of seats lifts up to accommodate wheelchairs and the like. Also necessary is the ordeal of lowering the wheelchair lift to get him on the bus, which seems to take an eternity. The ordeal is repeated, of course, when he gets off the bus- not too far before my stop downtown.

I generally respond negatively to any disruption of my schedule, so you can imagine how my mood changes when I get to the bus stop and I see this kid waiting for the bus with a smug look on his face.

This week marked a new twist to my rivalry with the handicapped kid. After the wheelchair lift gently lowered the kid to the street and began to raise back up into the bus, it got stuck. Five minutes passed as the bus driver repeatedly raised and lowered the lift to try and unstick it and get us on our way. It wasn't until a passer-by helped secure the lift by pushing on it as the driver raised it that we were able to get going. I thought to myself... "a minor inconvenience, surely this is a one-time thing..."

Yesterday I drove to work, bypassing this process, and keeping my sanity. Today, however, there I was again, riding the bus with my handicapped nemesis. As soon as he was lowered off the bus I heard the grinding of the lift mechanism. "Here we go again..." I thought to myself. And during the 5 minutes that followed I decided that I was a lightning rod for inconvenience.

Always and forever...