The Cars Driven By Attractive Women

When you see an attractive woman it is okay to ask yourself, 'I wonder if she drives a nice car?'

Most people assume that attractive women drive nice cars. This is because they think that attractive women tend to be married to rich and powerful men, usually the heads of companies or small countries. People who think like this are sexist. Attractive women might also drive nice cars because they get promoted more often that homely women. They may also be singers or supermodels who, you may be aware, do not get out of bed for less than 10,000 dollars.

If you see an attractive woman in a parking lot, keep an eye out for a German vehicle. This is probably hers. Attractive women like German vehicles. This does not, however, mean that they like other German things like Schnitzel or heavy beer.

But not all attractive women drive nice cars. Occasionally you will see an attractive woman get into an American car and you will be confused. There are any number of reasons that this might happen, and all of them are bad. She might be an idealist, unwilling to trade on her looks. She might be philosophically committed to living a spartan lifestyle free of pretentious excess. She might like American cars. In any case, she should be avoided because she is crazy.

Judging people based on how attractive they are, what clothes they wear, or what kind of cars they drive is wrong in the same way that judging a book by the cover is wrong. However, bookstores have an awful lot of books and reading all of them before deciding if you should purchase one is time consuming and tends to result in your eventually being asked to leave. Therefore it can be helpful to eliminate books based on their covers, such as books with pink covers, pictures of buttons, or ones with the word diet on them. You will inevitably miss out on a good read about a pink buttoned diet, but life is made up of a series of tragedies.

The important point is that attractive women mostly drive expensive German cars and don't have much time for reading. If they did, they would only read from really sharp looking books. So if you see an attractive woman get into an American car, it's okay to assume that she's lonely and incomplete, and probably headed to the library, and that her suffering is in some way a penance for the sins of the world. This should make you feel better, and you are free to honk at her and roll down your window, and shout that 'God works in mysterious ways'.

Why I Can’t Go Back To Starbucks

As you know, Starbucks is an evil corporation that supports things like rape and murder, and also does not serve beverages that are smaller than ‘Tall’. I used to like them a lot. But now they don’t like me, and I think the feeling is becoming mutual, though I do still weep a little bit when I think about the times we had.

Starbucks and I had any number of arguments over the years. Nothing serious, just the sort of lover’s quarrels one would expect from a carnivorous coffee chain and an undercover neurosurgeon who likes to bathe in public restrooms and nap on comfy couches while enjoying an eclectic soundtrack and inhaling the intoxicating aroma of coffee that other people are paying four dollars a cup for. In the end, our mutual respect for one another was always enough to help us put our disagreements behind us and we ended each day as we began it, with my arms wrapped tightly around the closed and dark glass of the little building while I waited for it to open up again and welcome me.

But yesterday was different, and I think that everyday after yesterday, including both today and tomorrow, are bound to be different too. It started when someone asked if they could help me. The regular staff and I are well past this, and all of them know that the best way to help me is just to let me sleep it off, or in some instances, put more hand towels in the restroom so that I can get dry. But by now these are things we can communicate without speaking, so it was startling to once again hear a question I thought we’d settled long ago. I assumed that it must just be a new staff member, and I would have to train him like all the rest. I asked him his name and he said Jeff. I told Jeff that it would be very helpful if he could turn down the stereo because I needed to catch forty winks and then in about a half hour I told him that he could start running warm water in one of the bathroom sinks.

It turned out that Jeff was not a new employee, but a corporate stooge of some sort sent to investigate a case of persistent loitering and possible hobo like behavior. I assured Jeff that I’d be on the lookout and tried to get back to sleep, but he continued to pester me. He asked if I might like to order something and I explained that I did not like coffee, and that even if I did, just between him and me, I’d never be stupid enough to pay four dollars a cup. Jeff asked what I was doing here if I didn’t like coffee, and I told him that I enjoyed the ambiance while waiting for pages on my undercover neurosurgery pager. Jeff pointed out that my pager appeared to be a severely damaged garage door opener. I explained that that’s how I remained undercover.

We went back and forth like this for a half hour until the police appeared which at first I thought was incredibly handy. I explained to them that this man, this Jeff, was badgering me and preventing my nap and thus endangering any patients I might have to see later in the day. But Jeff turned out to have the police in his pocket, bribed with big jugs of complicated coffee. There were laws and regulations and some such and apparently I was in violation of them all.

Am I being evicted, I asked.

Jeff told me that I didn’t live there. He said that I was welcome to come back if I wished to purchase coffee, but otherwise I was banned from the premises, and if I failed to comply he would prosecute me. He asked again if I wanted to purchase any coffee.

Long story short, I ended up in the back of the police car after I tried to remove what I assumed must be a tumor in Jeff’s brain that was causing him to ask me the same questions over and over. Sadly, the utensils at Starbucks are all plastic and I was not able to penetrate Jeff’s skull cap before the authorities interrupted. After I was released I tried to go back and inform Jeff that without intervention his problem would only get worse, but I wasn’t even able to enter the building before I was in the back of another police car.

So apparently, I can’t go back to Starbucks anymore, and Jeff’s tumor will just go on growing unchecked until he dies. I don’t wish anyone ill, but if you won’t listen to reason, it serves you right. In any case, I won’t pretend that I haven’t cried a little over the injustice of it all. I’m crying right now. When I close my eyes I’m almost there, the scent of coffee beans in my nose, some inoffensive lite-rock in my ears, and the comfy embrace of a padded bench under my back. But when I open them it’s just this cell which smells faintly of urine and lacks all the aesthetic appeal of my former love. If these painful memories persist I’ll have no choice but to dig them out of my own head, and that’s not the kind of operation you want to take on unless you’ve had a good rest and a bath. Until yesterday I’d have known just where to I could find both.

Isn't There More?

If you strongly feel that you simply haven't had enough, you can always try this.

Excerpt of The Speech I Would Have Given Had I Been Valedictorian

If there’s one question I get all the time it’s, “Why can’t I be as smart as you?

This is a very good question. And one, given your inferior intelligence, that will require a good bit of explanation. However, given your short attention span and limited cranial capacity, I will try to simplify (aka dumb it down) for you.

I am extremely smart.

Some people refer to this as being gifted. This term is misleading. It implies that intelligence was handed to me like a present in a box that upon shaking feels like it might be a video game or the keys to a vehicle with a ‘thumping’ sound system, but which upon opening is just a sweater with an embroidered pussy cat on it which gets you beaten up when you wear it to school three days in a row. Instead, my intelligence had to be earned, fought for, spilled and cleaned up, and constructed through hard labor by foreign workers who were not as smart as me and thus didn’t know to look for better jobs. The blueprints for my genius can not be found in any textbooks or manuals, nor can they be described by the infantile ramblings of so called teachers, professors, or my many assigned and frequently visited parole officers. My brilliance is a tree that grows in the fertile soil of experience, and extends 74 miles into space where it catches passing satellites which not only hang from it’s beautiful branches like multimillion dollar Christmas ornaments, but also impart to my brilliant tree all of their satellite knowledge. This is how I know the license plate and social security numbers of so many young and attractive celebrities, and it’s the only reason, no matter what else you heard. It’s also why you get such great cell phone reception in my presence.

In short, unless your brain is a 74 mile tall tree that catches satellites, that’s the first reason you can’t be as smart as me.

Second, I know the answer to every question that has ever been asked and that can ever be asked. Each and every answer is written on a sort of cheat-sheet that I keep folded up under my watch band (which may sound like cheating, but it’s not because I memorized all the answers when I wrote them down so I don’t ever actually look at the sheet, I just like knowing it’s there). You may ask (and I knew you would because it’s on my sheet) how it could be possible to get such a wealth of information onto a piece of paper that could be folded up and put inconspicuously under my watch band. The answer is lasers. (Lasers are also the answer to almost all the other questions that have ever been asked or could ever be asked, so if you less intelligent folks out there find yourself facing a tough question, try just answering: lasers.) But these are not ordinary lasers, they’re special lasers, that I invented, potty trained, and put through school. And they write their information in a font that I also invented which can only be deciphered by people like myself whose IQ is an infinity symbol.

Some of you may think that you’ve heard me answer a question incorrectly, or you may have a court order that seems to show that from time to time I make a mistake. These apparent errors are not reflections of my lack of intelligence, but merely part of my carefully conceived plan to insure that no persons (or vindictive supernatural beings) ever discover my cheat-sheet. These ‘incorrect answers’, ‘failing grades’, or ‘insuffcient explanations for stalker like behavior’ are merely my fanciful and careless marks on the Scantron sheet of life that allow me to be the smartest person ever without arousing suspicion or incurring further beatings like the savage one visited upon me on day four of the pussycat sweatshirt marathon.

To summarize, unless you can read the infinity IQ font written by special home schooled lasers and happen to have made a cheat sheet containing all the answers to all questions which you keep in your watch band, that’s the second reason you can’t be as smart as me.

There are 847 more reasons why you can’t be as smart as me, but our time is short, and really, is there any point in dwelling on that which you can’t change? (The answer is: no. But if you said lasers you were close.) If you would like more information on your inability to be as smart as me, send a two liter bottle of Big Red, a Whatmacallit candy bar, and a self addressed stamped envelope to Smartest Man In The Universe. You don’t need to write anything else. They’ll find me. The law always does. Reason number 8 involves sticky buns, and reason number 612 details my nightly aluminum foil mummification ritual. They’re all good reading and well worth your investment in time, soda, candy, and stamps.

To conclude, there are 849 reasons you can’t be as smart as me, but you lack the wherewithal and I lack the time to cover all of them now. But my hope is that when you see giant trees extending into space you’ll think of me and my mind, and you’ll want to leap into the branches of those trees and begin to climb, reaching ever higher until you grow too tired and hungry to continue and eventually fall and wonder why you even tried to ascend to the heights of my genius.

If I could say one final thing to each and every one of you, it would simply be this.

Lasers.

Wednesdays Are New And Improved

The following are the guidelines for New and Improved Wednesdays:

The first D in Wednesday is no longer silent. The day should be pronounced Wed-nes-day. Also: Favre (Far-ve) will be pronounced Fav-re on Wednesday.

Wednesday may no longer be referred to as 'hump day'. Camels may still be ridden on Wednesday, but their humps must be referred to as 'animal mounds'.

Wednesday now has it's own special cocktail, 'The Wednesday'. It is delicious, invigorating, takes the place of a 55 minute workout, and costs 8 dollars. 'The Wednesday' is available exclusively at TGI Fridays.

All disagreements will be settled with rap battles on Wednesdays. This includes long festering geopolitical disputes (China v. Taiwan, Palestinians v. Jews).

The word 'whimsical' may no longer be used on Wednesday (unless it's tightly integrated into a rap battle).

All financial transactions must be completed in pennies on Wednesday. People who complain about this practice must
a) do so in rap form
and
b) purchase a 'Wednesday' from Fridays for the person to whom they are complaining at a cost of 800 pennies.

Conversations must be supplemented by charts and graphs on Wednesdays. This applies to conversations of any length on any subject. Even threats. And yellow must figure prominently in all charts and graphs because yellow's birthday is now Wednesday.

Everyone will walk, bike, or use a bulldozer on Wednesdays. Tanks and other treaded vehicles ARE NOT acceptable substitutes. Bulldozers must have a shovel shaped device on their front end. Violators in other types of vehicles may be bulldozed at any time. Also: Obviously all bulldozers should be yellow.

Wednesday now begins at noon on Sunday and ends and 8:37 p.m. on Friday.

Apology From Inside Locker #413

Hello,

Hopefully this note finds you well and standing somewhere in the hallway between the cafeteria and the library. If you look to the west wall you should find locker #413 about half way down. Likely, I'm still inside.

To the best of my knowledge I've been here eight days. I think there was a weekend in there somewhere. I've lost my voice yelling and I'm now too weak and tired to pound on the locker door. I suppose it's hard to hear me over the din between classes and every time the janitor passes by he seems to be running the floor polisher. If I get out I'm really going to take a moment to admire those floors, because I'm thinking they must be reflective by now.

Speaking of reflection, I've had a lot of time for that lately, and I want to apologize (particularly to those of you who placed me here last week). I know that my personality has rubbed some of you the wrong way . I petitioned to have the football program cut to provide money for mandatory Latin classes (it's a dead language for crying out loud). I fought to have the chess team recognized with it's own pep rally. I often refer to my umbrella a bumbershoot. And I've been told that I am both 'ugly' and 'smelly'.

For the first two or three days, none of these things seemed that egregious. Different strokes for different folks, right? But around day five I had a real enlightening conversation with my coat, which had a surprisingly great deal to say (can't rule out the possibility that this was a result of eating the plastic sack my lunch came in) and my coat suggested that I might spend less time in lockers if I were simply less insistent on being myself. As an object that spends a great deal of time in lockers, I feel like the coat can be trusted on this subject.

So here's my offer. If you'll kindly let me out, the combination is 45-12-33, I vow to fall into line. Haircut, shower, some appropriate attire, and an end to my push for a more challenging curriculum. And I dare you to try to demonstrate more spirit than me at the next pep rally for the football team. I plan to have a foam finger the size of a van (unless that's weird, in which case forget it, I want to fit in remember). What I'm saying is that you really won't be letting me out at all. The me you stuffed in here over a week ago is gone, set straight by starvation, ingested plastic, and a talkative fleece jacket with a broken zipper. So if you'll kindly just open up, you'll find my metamorphosis quite complete, and utterly permanent I assure you. As a bonus you may have all the non edible items that remain in here with me, including my talking coat, and my umbrella. It's just a plain old umbrella now, and I promise that's how it will stay.

Warmest Regards,
Locker #413

[ed. note - all words went into a hat and Amy chose one at random. Feel free to leave a new word for wednesday.]

Things I Heard Today Which Made It Hard To Maintain My Train Of Thought

Man: So, I don't understand why you suddenly think you're a liberal.
New Liberal: Because I hate Wal-Mart and I wouldn't have voted for Bush.
Man: And that makes you liberal?
New Liberal: I think so. (long pause) I guess I should sell my truck.

Girl: Would you guys rather be able to fly or read minds?
Boy and Other Girl: Read minds. Definitely.
Girl: Me too. (pause) And I'd also want to fly.

Teen: And I also got this calendar. It's a Spongebob calendar. I'm not big on Spongebob, but they won't be getting any more I Love Lucy ones until Monday and I'm going to need to know what day it is before Monday.

[ed. note - Experiment alert. Monday's entry is in your hands. Just put a single word in the comments and somehow that will become Monday's entry. Should keep us all from having to endure any more crap about 'bat people'. If there's no one reading and no one gives me a word I'll just hit myself in the head repeatedly with a dictionary Sunday night until I pass out and whatever word I see after coming to will have to do.]

Tips For Dining Out With People Who Are At Least Partly Bats

Dining out with people who are at least partly bats can be difficult. While they look much like the rest of us, people who are partly bats navigate mostly by sonar and thus tend to make loud and, to human ears, inappropriate noises, in order to assess their current positions. This can be awkward. Here are some of the ways you can minimize the discomfort and maximize your enjoyment when dining with these special people.

Bat people (not to be confused with Batman, who's just a rich guy with a gravely voice that might or might not annoy you, but which really isn't inappropriate) tend to screech or speak really loudly for the first ten or fifteen seconds of a conversation until they hear their own voices echoing off the walls around them, at which point they tend to realize that they're shouting in your face and begin using their 'indoor voice'. If however, there is a lapse in conversation, bat people will have to perform this recalibration all over again, forcing you to endure more fire alarm like screeching and shouting. Best to just keep them talking incessantly. This may force you to endure all sorts of discussions (bat people are suprisingly keen on talking politics) but it beats having them repeatedly hearing them get going from a cold start. When in doubt, ask for a detailed account of the weather in their area.

When ordering, bat people tend to talk to their waiter or waitress as if this person is deaf. Adding a new person to the conversational mix forces them to perform their sonar related screaming, and often the waiter or waitress is not around long enough to see that the bat person quiets down after performing this check. Instead, the bat person will often scream their order, possibly along with a lengthy series of clicks, and sometimes point animatedly to the menu. Short of ordering for the bat person in your party (they usually hate this, but you may find one amenable) there's little you can do about this. Best to leave the area and place your order separately if possible, thus minimizing the chances it will be dropped on the floor or spit on by a less that understanding server.

If they can be convinced to go the take out route, bat people are extremely well suited to ordering from drive thrus, where their handicaps prove to be strengths, allowing them to get orders through on the second or third try where it would take you or I seven or eight.

If you happen to be dining out with more than one person who is at least partly a bat, and you happen to be called away to say, the restroom, and upon return you discover that your companions have allowed a lapse in conversation to develop, the best thing is to run. With both bat people needing to recalibrate their voices, and a strong chance that their conversation will be political, the table is now a powder keg and you should get out of there before one of them starts screaming and clicking about republicans and the other about democrats.

Depending on the degree to which your companions are actually bats, they may also engage in other 'strange' behavior, including but not limited to, futile efforts at flight, attempts to eat inedible items from the table, attempts to eat condiments, yelling at condiments to determine their distance, and in the case of people who are partly vampire bat, attempts to draw blood from restaurant employees. Knowing these things in advance may not allow you to stop them, but may allow you to choose a more appropriate restaurant, for instance, a Chuck E Cheese, where these behaviors will not be so out of the norm.

Bat people have a lot to offer, and should not be confined to their homes simply because their particularities make them awkward dining companions. That said, it's your job as a dining companion to do your best to minimize the confusion and maximize the fun when in the company of these special people.

Yearly Letter From Editor To Both Readers

My advice would be to stop reading right - now.

I see. You're one of those types, too good to take a little friendly advice. Very well, then please sit still and try not to breath as we welcome 2006 and say goodbye to 2005.

This whole mess started a year ago when I resolved to make one million dollars and attain washboard abs. And to write a blog about it. I did that for about... a week and I realized that I'm horrible at talking about myself. Blogs are mostly like Entertainment Tonight about non famous people. I just didn't feel like anyone really needed or wanted to know about my non adventures. Often I didn't want to know, but my efforts at self induced amnesia have only led to higher insurance premiums. So I stopped mentioning anything that had to do with me and started chronicling the things I observed around me, conversations, actions, all of which took place while I was trying to work, and most of which were more interesting than what I was working on. That drew the interest of someone named Gone Away and some of his pals. Their attention and comments are the only reason I bothered continuing to add to the site. The format got a little stale for me, and since then I've just sort of used it as a place to deposit nonsense, much to the chagrin of those who've bothered to stop by.

But, I digress. The real issue on this one year anniversary is the million dollars and the washboard abs. I'll be straight with you. The ads you see at the top of the page have earned me six dollars and some change, much of that probably through my own 'inadvertent' click fraud. Add that to my other writing income and I achieved .005206% of my goal. As for the abs, sometime around July they were visible under proper lighting conditions and if I was flexed and bent in just the right way. Suffice to say they are less so now.

Many people have resolutions that work out this way, and I can't tell you how often I hear people say things like, 'I don't make resolutions' or 'Resolutions are a waste of time', their reasoning being that these are all just promises that we're bound to break, and after a time there's really no point in even making such promises.

But once you start the whole 'there's no point in this because of that' game, well you might as well just find a nice place to lie down and wait for someone to cover your body. Is there really any point to anything? We're all going to die, etc. etc. So yes, there's a strong chance that this year may end up like last. There's a chance I won't live to the end of this year and whatever I resolve will seem ridiculous and insignificant in light of the horrible plane crash that ends up doing me in. And there's a chance that this time next year I won't have the energy or enthusiasm to make new promises. But here's the key. On this day last year I honestly believed I'd make a million dollars and get washboard abs. It sounded ridiculous, but if you haven't gathered as much, I'm an idiot. It bothers me that it didn't work out, but it would bother me a lot more if the fact that it didn't work out meant that I didn't really believe the promises I was going to make for this year. Luckily that hasn't happened.

This year I only want to achieve two things. I want to dunk a basketball and sell a novel. I should mention that I'm 5'11 and my novel may contain a beaver and Matt Lauer, so feel free to start making your own odds. It sounds pie in the sky, but for some reason I'm sold. Don't expect much in the way of updates for the reasons mentioned above, but do feel free to stick your head in, say hi, and gorge yourself on the letters and sentences which I will continue to arrange for your putative enjoyment.

Until 2007,

Mr. Kyle

p.s. am I the only one who finds it odd that the Blogger spell check does not recognize the word 'blog'?

Paper Sack Lifetime Will Return

But not until after the first of the year. It's the holidays, and 'the holidays' is a good blanket excuse for not taking care of things, just like 'car wreck' and 'chicken pox'. Personally, I just write 'it's the holidays' on all bills that I receive in the month of December and I suggest you do the same. You may find yourself freezing in the dark with no phone service, as I often do, but I promise a general feeling of warmth in your heart which you can then use to toast marshmallows or those very small cocktail wieners.

Should you be so kind as to return with the new year I hope to bring you the same mess of words and poorly used punctuation that you've come to expect. Until then, I wish you all a very happy holidays and a completely non cynical, hope renewing New Year.

Man's Teeth Ruined By New Kittens

A man in a bookstore yesterday told his friend that he was having to get caps put on several of his teeth as a result of the two kittens he had recently adopted. He said that when he was petting them he unconsciously ground his teeth together because they were so 'damn cute'. After a couple months with the cats he said that he started noticing that his teeth were very sensitive to hot and cold. A visit to the dentist revealed that he'd ground an entire centimeter off his front teeth and nearly flattened his incisors. Not only was the procedure going to set him back significantly just before Christmas, the man said that his dentist had suggested that he wear a mouthpiece when playing with the cats in the future to protect his teeth.
The friend asked if the man was going to get rid of the cats.
The man seemed surprised and said he wasn't even considering it. He'd only hurt his teeth because he loved them so much.
No point in having a perfect smile, he said, if you don't have anything to make you want to use it.

Improvements To Our Debate Program

Parents,

We here at Public School 315 are always looking for ways to improve not only the inner city students in our care, but the opportunities that we have to offer those students. Thus, it is with great pleasure that I'm writing to tell you about some exciting changes we've made in our debate program.

Traditionally debate has lacked a certain cache among students in inner city areas, with interest lagging far behind other activities like basketball or football. And the disinterest is not just restricted to students, but their parents as well, many of whom have failed to show up for, or remain conscious through, our various debate events. And perhaps most importantly, even our most successful debaters have told us that on the whole, the experience has been less that positive. It seems they've been honing their argumentative abilities while other students are increasing their physical skills, and so when an 'argument' breaks out in the halls, debaters often find themselves winning the discussion and yet losing blood.

To address all of these shortcomings we've decided to take an 'if you can't beat them, join them' approach and are offering two new courses this year, Greco-Roman Debate and Lincoln-Douglas Boxing. These exciting new classes will offer students the opportunity to improve both their bodies and their minds, and train them for the types of 'debate' they're most likely to face in the real world. Not only will students be able to effectively take either side of difficult issues like migrant worker policies or nationalized health care, they'll be able to knock a few teeth loose while doing it. We're also hoping that this will greatly improve spectator appeal and help bring in not only parents, but allow us to build a paying fan base of people who might otherwise ignore educated discourse were it not fused with the bone shattering violence that seems so popular these days.

Should this approach prove successful, and we think it will, we're hoping to extend it to other unpopular subjects and activities that we think might benefit our students, such as Hip-Hop Calculus, Gang Sign Foreign Literature, and Professional Athlete Ideation Physics.

Sadly, because of the economic and cultural conditions in our neighborhoods many of our students see their options as limited and they lack the hope to truly aim high. It's our belief that by offering them new opportunities that combine familiar activities with beneficial content we can co-opt the violence and apathy that has marred our campus, and use it to educate students in spite of themselves. We'll be putting that theory to the test this Monday night with a fifteen round, bare knuckle exhibition that will see two of our best Lincoln-Douglas Boxing prospects try to deliver well thought out arguments before their opponent's blows impair their ability to form coherent sentences. We hope that you'll not only join us, but encourage your young ones to give thought to signing up for this exciting and change embracing new class.

Quantum Leap - The Never Seen Finale (w/ Ashlee Simpson)

So listen, Sam, Ziggy says you've leaped into a girl named Ashlee Simpson. Yes, I know, the voice is incredibly annoying. Try not to talk. We're still working out the details, but we know that she and her family were part of an ugly little period in history where completely vapid individuals with no discernible talent were successfully marketed to a brainwashed public. We're not sure exactly what happens, but Ziggy says it doesn't end well. I have no idea why her name is spelled with two e's. Ziggy says her father was most likely a complete jackass

Sam, Sam, just calm down okay? We have a plan. You're doing a show called Saturday Night Live this weekend and, what? Oh, apparently a show that was popular in the late 20th century until every decent member of the cast left. It was canceled in 2006. Anyway, you're supposed to perform live in front of the country. So? So Ziggy says that if we sabotage the performance and reveal your complete lack of ability then the country might finally wise up to the Simpsons and let them fade into obscurity before there's any harm done, and with any luck, you should leap. Ziggy says something called Milli Vanilli was successfully stopped when people discovered that they lipsynced all their songs, so we pull a similar stunt on this Saturday Night Live and Bingo! Ziggy says there's a 74% chance that you're out of here. How should you react? I don't know, just do the most ridiculous thing you can think of. Dance a hoe-down maybe. Just make sure that when you walk off that stage everyone knows you're a complete and total fraud.

*****

Well, we're not sure, but, ah, it looks like it might have backfired. Ziggy says that now, not only do you not fade away, but that your next album outsells your first. How? I have no idea. We've got the most sophisticated computers of the future working on this and we still haven't cracked it. Sam, please, just stop. That voice is like a drill in my temple. Besides, Ziggy says that maybe by showing people you're not only untalented but an incredibly awful person as well we can get them to stop paying attention to you and hopefully we stop Ashley from doing whatever this awful thing she's supposed to do is. Well, I know it sounds like a stretch, but we're planning to have you attack an employee in a Canadian Mc'Donalds and let the whole thing be caught on tape. Of course you can. Sam, Ziggy says this may be your last chance to leap, so go all out, really try to come across as the kind of person people would line up to hit over the head with a heavy object. I don't want to freak you out, but Ziggy says that if this doesn't work, well, a lot of people are going to get hurt.

*****

I'll be straight with you, Sam, Ziggy says it looks bad. You haven't made a dent in this girl's popularity. If anything, she's getting stronger. Apparently she runs for President in 2012, and shortly thereafter, well, everyone in the United States dies. No, no, it's not a war. This gets a little complicated, but Ziggy says that George Washington is brought back to life in 2011 to run against her. When she's elected in a landslide he renounces democracy and turns the country's nuclear arms on itself. No one in America survives and the fallout kills millions more around the world. I know, it's awful, but Ziggy says she's 99% sure there's no way to stop it. The people inexplicably love this talentless fraud. The 1% chance? Let's not talk about that. No. I can't. Fine. Ziggy says that if Ashley were to jump off a building that there's a small chance we could save the world. A small chance, Sam, so don't go getting any ideas. We'll come up with something else. Absolutely not. That's why I didn't want to tell you, I knew you'd try to do this. I'm not going to let you. You hear me? I don't care if it means saving humanity, we've worked too hard for too long to see it end this way. I don't know how, but you don't have to do it. It's not your fault Ashley Simpson destroys the world, and it's not your job to stop her. Are you sure? Really? Well Sam... what can I say? I'll miss you. You're more than a brilliant scientist who utilized his own time travel machine before it was ready, you're a friend, and most of all, you're a genuine hero. I'm going to make sure the people of the future know exactly who saved them from this horrible Simpson fiend. Goodbye, Ashlee. And goodbye, Sam.

Please Come Out Of The Bathroom

Please come out of the bathroom. If I made you think this was your fault, I apologize. This is my fault. Completely. I never should have let you pick the movie in the first place. I've known you long enough to know you'd pick something awful at that little place that has no parking. And I certainly know that you're completely incapable of getting ready for anything on time, so of course we were going to be late and miss the beginning and have to sit right in the front row and strain our necks to see a movie that I already knew was going to be bad before we left. That's on me. I should have been smarter, should have thought a little harder about the effects of leaving these decisions in your hands. But I didn't. I'm not perfect, and for that, I apologize.

Look, I don't want to turn this into a whole who-threw-a-scalding-pot-of-what-at-whom thing, because this is really not about that. And it's not about how I slave away at work all week while you watch soap operas and talk to your friends, because that doesn't bother me. I know I only get one night a week to really enjoy myself, and I should have known that I'd have to expend some effort to keep you from screwing it up. But I was lazy. You understand? I'm saying that I didn't force myself to ignore all the little annoying things that you do which can completely ruin an evening out, and guess what, it was ruined. That's my fault. I'm sorry.

And I should have known that as soon as I said something or threw something, that you'd come running to the bathroom like you always do. I should have just held my tongue because we both know that no matter how many times I point these things out, they never change. But, I'm slow. I'm thick headed. I guess I haven't given up on my hope that someday we'll able to walk out of this house without you embarrassing us. But I should, because it's obviously hopeless, and my pig headed refusal to accept that is really at the heart of the problem. So again, I'm sorry. I promise to accept you for just what you are, and to do a better job of being prepared for the inevitable problems and disappointments that come with it.

Honey? Well, listen, I don't know what else I can say. I'm not going to stand out here apologizing all night. I was wrong. I am sorry. If there's something more you need to hear you're going to have to use your imagination, okay? I'm going downstairs to clean up that mess and then I'm going to bed. I hope to see you there, but if you're not, that's your decision. You hear me? I've taken responsibility for my part in all this. I don't want to play the blame game, you understand, but, well, from here on out, whatever happens is on you.

Man Planning Wife's 30th Birthday At Chuck E Cheese

A man in a coffee shop yesterday told his friends that he was planning to have his wife's 30th birthday at Chuck E Cheese. His friends initially laughed, but the man said he was absolutely serious. His friends told him they thought that it was probably a very poor idea, and that he should consider taking her out to dinner at a nice restaurant, or hosting some of her friends at a bar or their home.

The man said that they went out for nice dinners every anniversary and Valentine's day and on a litany of other occasions, ditto with having friends over. It was his opinion that being given permission to 'cut loose' and act foolishly for an evening was the perfect gift for his wife's thirtieth birthday. If their friends were too 'mature' to allow themselves to act ridiculous in the pursuit of a good time, then he said they didn't have to come.

One of his friends predicted that while his heart was in the right place, the evening would be a disaster for everyone, his wife included. He said that no one was above being ridiculous and having a good time.

But when you're thirteen you do that with a ball pit, he said, and when you're thirty you do it with a bottle of wine.

Dealing With Father Issues While Getting A Speeding Ticket

Speeding? Is that really it? Or maybe the truth is, I wasn't going fast enough. Hmmm? There's always someone faster, isn't there officer? Someone you wished you'd pulled over. Someone who wouldn't be such an embarrassment? Someone who wouldn't be sitting here in his little hatchback on his way to his catering job, but driving a big truck on his way to the law firm or maybe back to the Marine barracks? Someone you could be proud of for once? But instead you got me. Well, I'm not responsible for that officer, you brought me to the side of the road, not the other way around, and at this point we both probably wish it had never happened, but I'm here, that's reality, and we have to deal with it.

And what comes next? You'll write me your little ticket and then you'll just disappear again and I won't see you for god knows how long until, once again, you just drop out of the sky to tell me about all the things I'm doing wrong and all the ways you know how I should fix them. Well, I have a news flash for you, officer, you're not so perfect yourself. Maybe I was speeding, but you didn't exactly look like you were out for a Sunday drive when you chased me down, so you might try getting off the high horse before you start talking about all the ways I've failed you.

And yes, I know I changed lanes without signaling. But did you see how many times I changed lanes and DID signal? How long I was driving UNDER the speed limit? Of course not, because you never see the good things I do, you just pay attention to the negative. And I'm sure when you get back to all your little friends, that's just the sort of stuff you'll tell them about me. You won't even mention that I was fifth in line for employee of the month last May, or that I'm applying to community college. You probably don't even know those things, do you officer? Of course not, because you never bother to ask, you just tell.

So fine, let's just get it over with. The truth is, I don't have the energy to hate you, officer. I've gotten to a pretty good place in my life by just forgetting that you exist. But you can't let it go at that, can you? It just burns you up to see me enjoying my life because I'm not doing it according to YOUR rules, YOUR hopes, YOUR dreams. And so you show up and make a spectacle out of things, just to remind me who's boss, just to try to bring me down. Well, if that's all you've got, then I feel sorry for you officer, I really do. Because I may be a speeder in a crappy car on my way to low paying job, but at least when I get there I'll be with people who care about me. And where will you be? Back in that little car. All alone. Waiting for someone else to fail so you don't have to think about the failure you've become. Mom was right about you, officer, you're are all the same.

Cynicism Suspended Indefinitely

As you may be aware, our team has been dealing with some internal issues, mostly stemming from one member’s increasing thirst for power and control, and declining interest in listening to opinions and concerns of other members. For these reasons I’m here to announce that I’ve suspended Cynicism indefinitely.

This was not a decision taken lightly, nor do I wish to undervalue the presence that a healthy Cynicism can have on the rest of the team. But as a team, we have rules, and Cynicism has been caught on numerous occasions in areas where he didn’t belong, including Love’s locker, and Hope’s gym bag. Further, his feud with Trust was something I’ve been willing to ignore as it seemed relatively harmless and good natured. However, the attack last week when Cynicism ‘accidentally’ hit Trust at high speed, and then backed over him while coming to his ‘aid’ has changed my mind. Trust is doing well, by the way, and expected to be back within days, but these actions have been detrimental to team morale, and cannot go unpunished.

Most of us have trouble remembering back to the days before Cynicism joined the team, and so it may be hard to imagine life without him. Rest assured, it is possible, and in fact, given the way that he’d become so vocal and dogmatic of late, many of you may find it a relief. Most of his responsibilities will be handed over to Belief, and I’d like you all to join me in cheering him on.

I would however ask that the rest of you exercise caution. I’ve compiled a brief list of things that I’m more likely to find reasonable as a result of this change, and I’d really hope that no one out there would take undue advantage of the situation.

I’ll believe I have termites, that I’ve won an Ipod, that this is the absolute most that I’m going to get for my trade in.
I will believe that you’re going to call me right back, that we’ll get together soon, that it was one of the best movies of the year.
I will believe that dreams come true, that good things happen to good people, that someone’s watching out for me.
I will believe the extended warranty is really a good deal, that you only had two beers, that this doesn’t make me look fat.
That I’m really going to lose ten pounds, that you really like my music, that I’ll start tomorrow.
That I really need four new tires, that my radiator needs to be flushed for just 59.95, that I can be anything I want to be.
I will believe the studies about drinking being good for me, and the ones about it being bad, and the ones that say all the other studies are crap.
That it wasn’t your fault, that you were only joking, that these things happen to everyone.
That this will really get ink and grass stains right out, that this smell really attracts the opposite sex, that there’s no obligation whatsoever and this free football phone it mine to keep.
I will believe in bunnies with eggs, fairies with teeth, and fat men with lots of presents and no cholesterol or diabetes concerns.
That I have nothing to lose, that there’s always tomorrow, that you really just have a headache.
That you can hardly tell it’s overcooked, that no one is looking at my lazy eye, that the worst part is over.
That you’re proud of me, that the slide show wasn’t boring, that people were laughing on the inside.
I will beleive that you really really love me.

This is obviously not an exhaustive list people, but I think you get the idea. I’m not so naive as to believe that we won’t suffer as a result of this suspension. Financially, I think this move may really hurt us. There’s a good chance we’ll end up with tons of crap we don’t need or want. But money is not the only thing that matters. This was a game once. It was supposed to be fun. Lately, I think I speak for the team in saying that Cynicism’s presence had taken most of the fun out of it. I’m hoping this suspension will help us, all of us, remember what we’re here to do, and enjoy it.

Thanksgiving In The ER - A Timeline

10:13am - Patient arrives complaining of headache. Says that today is his 46th birthday and that he has had dreams since he was five years old which have all indicated that he was going to die on his 46th birthday. Patient is afraid he's going to die today. Head CT, psych consult.

11:01am - Consult board for new patients, get hit in the head with an orange. Discover psych patient redistributing her lunch with the following commentary: "I don't LIKE bananas. I don't LIKE tuna." Dodge remaining food items.

12:47pm - Sew up art line for elderly female patient. Towards end of the procedure patient grabs hold of large section of hair on physician's head and begins to shake with the following commentary: "Today must be your day to hate WOMEN."

2:05pm - Patient arrives with steak knife in his chest, self inflicted. Patient also has freshly dyed, bright pink hair, traces of dye still on his skin. Patient complains that, "it hurts," to which someone asks just what he was expecting when he stuck a steak knife in his chest. Patient becomes deadly serious and delivers the following commentary: "I was expecting to be able to go into the 9th dimension and tell them to stop."

3:55pm - Psych pronounces 46 year old with headache and non stop death dreams to be of sound mind. Radiology still has not returned head CT.

4:05 - Eat small portion of turkey. Rubbery. Slightly undercooked.

4:10 - CT for 46 year old comes back. Giant glioblastoma.

4:30 - Deliver news to 46 year old patient, begin setting up neuro consults, patient interrupts, asks how long he has. Explain that it's not clear, more qualified specialists can tell him more. Patient repeatedly asks if he has less than a year, if in fact he's going to die at 46. Finally admit that the CT does not look good, that without effective treatment a year is probably optimistic. Patient strangely calm. Try to set consults and appointments, but patient says he's not interested and leaves with the following comments: "I've known this was going to happen my whole life. Nothing you can do about it now. I'd like to spend the rest of my last Thanksgiving with my family."

Letter To Calvin Klein Regarding Stovepipe Hats

Dearest Calvin,

You may or may not have heard, but I've recently been cast in an off off off Broadway production (technically it's in Bend, Oregon) called Lincoln: The Man They Named A City In Nebraska After (the title is still being debated, a little on the nose for my taste). I play Lincoln. And in doing so I've become incredibly familiar with an item the world of fashion has forgotten for far too long. The stovepipe hat.

I don't need to tell you that fashion is pretty much a ridiculous carousel of recycling, ridicule, and theft. One minute bell bottoms are a Halloween costume, the next Ashton Kutcher's got them on at a Laker game. It certainly doesn't take a genius to see that your industry is just pillaging the past, more or less in order, to keep the production lines humming. Not that I'm complaining. I happen to save everything, so I've simply had to dig into my old wardrobe to keep 'up to date' (very much looking forward to the day I can put on the old parachute pants again).

But instead of yet another look at the 60's, 70's, or 80's, I'm proposing you dig a little deeper when seeking your 'inspiration' for the spring line: the 1860's, a decade of real sophistication and casual elegance (even those rebel uniforms were pretty snazzy). And nothing says 1860 like the stovepipe, which I'm confident your branding ability could turn into the must have item for next year. Get Charlieze Theron to wear one to the Oscars, Fifty Cent to slap one on in a video and the next thing you know, Cha-ching!

But I'm not in this for financial reward. I want you to keep every penny. I just want to wear the hat. I've never really had a good head for hats: baseball and cowboy styles have always fit me like lampshades. So you can imagine my surprise when I first donned my Lincoln costume and discovered that the stovepipe looked like a majestic extension of my body. Sadly, the few times I've worn it out I think that people have been too distracted by its oddity to really notice how damn good I look while wearing it. I went to a bar the other night with some of the guys and though a couple of girls did make comments about the hat, they were generally not positive and I did not return with any numbers. But I'm telling you, if this were the 1860's I'm confident I'd be beating them off with a stick.

That's where you can make a difference. With your approval and energy, the stovepipe can become ubiquitous again, and rather than focusing on the hat, people will finally focus on me, looking amazing in the hat. I'm an aging man Mr. Klein. I've found the key to unlocking my potential late in life, but not, with your help, too late. The stovepipe can be the beginning of a revolution for us both - helping you add millions to the millions you already have (maybe not such a revolution for you) and helping me meet that someone special and finally move out of my old room at mom's house. All I ask is that you find one and try it on. If the site of yourself with this fabric cylinder, this halo for mortal men, this small portion of chimney coming out of your head, doesn't convince you that this should be the cornerstone of your upcoming efforts, I dare say not only the fashion industry, but America herself, will have lost her way.

Blog Entry Ideas For Monday That Ultimately Went Nowhere

1. What I Did Last Night Between The Hours Of 11PM And 7AM While Lying Horizontally In My Darkened Room

2. Reasons Jessica Simpson Would Make A Great Partner On The 100,000 Dollar Pyramid

3. Successful Pick Up Lines - My Experience

4. Scientology - A Logical Sounding Explanation

5. Places In Alabama I've Always Wanted To Visit

Teens Debate When They Were Most Drunk

Three teens were enjoying cigarettes outside a bookstore cafe last night while vigorously debating when they had been the most drunk. One of the teens argued that it had been in Los Angeles, when he'd had to be carried home by his friends and had vomited on one of their shoulders. Another countered that in fact, it had been on one of their trips to Phoenix. The third agreed, remembering that was the time they'd gotten into the fight with the host's friend and sent him to the hospital, something he said the host found 'hilarious'.

The second teen said that wasn't the time he was referring to, though that had been a good one. He said he was speaking of the time they'd gone to the party in Scottsdale.

The first teen said he didn't remember any party in Scottsdale.

The second teen said that was precisely his point.

The first teen's cell phone rang. He answered and then yelled at the party on the other end, saying that he had 'already fucking told' them that they were waiting outside the bookstore. He then hung up and snubbed out his cigarette.

I can't wait, he said, till I get my goddamned license.

Thanksgiving Fired By Mall

Thanksgiving, I appreciate you coming in. You've no doubt seen Santa and the candy canes all over the place, so I won't sugarcoat it. You're fired. Canned. Over. And if you ask me it's about time. How long has it been since you really moved product? I'm not talking turkeys and grocery store BS, I'm talking about something I can sell at the Gap. Something that brings the folks in, that gets the wallets open. You think we can do that with cornucopias? Not these days pal. The truth is you're in the way and me and the boys, we've decided not to take it anymore. We're giving November to Christmas. Yes, the whole thing. Because he's an earner, you understand? He shows up, the registers ring. No more people sitting on their hands waiting for you to clear your crap out, we're turning the whole place over to Christmas the day after Halloween, and that's all there is to it.

Don't cry. Look, you take your lumps, but it doesn't mean you're through. How many years have I been telling you about your potential? It's Thanks Giving. If you'd just get off the whole Mayflower and 'thanks' thing and focus on the 'giving' you could have something. You figure out how to work an Xbox in with the cranberry sauce, you could be golden again. To be honest, you might even be able to steal October. Halloween is still moving the costumes and candy, but overall he's ripe for the picking. Hell, they all are. If it were up to me we'd roll Santa's fat ass out the day after Father's day, forget the rest of you lazy bastards. But that's a conversation for another day. Right now it's time to take your colored leaves, your googley eyed turkeys, and your cornucopias and hit the road. That act might still work in the grocery stores. But the mall, the mall is for closers.

Voice Mails Which Did Not Result In Callbacks

Hey Dave, Tim here. I'm such an idiot. You know how I always play the dates of my mother and father's birthdays in the lotto? Well, damned if I didn't win. I know, it's like 280 million or something. Anyway, I left my jacket at your house on Thursday and I'm 99 percent sure that the ticket is in the left side pocket. I swear, if my head weren't attached... give me a call when you get in and I'll swing by to pick it up. The ticket. You can have the jacket. Talk to you soon.

Greg - Stan. Listen, when you asked if that bomb in the basement was armed and I said no, I hope that you understood I was saying no, it wasn't not armed, as in, it wasn't armed before, but it is now. In retrospect I probably should have just said yes, it is armed, but Katie's been getting my help with her grammar lessons this week, all on double negatives, and damned if it hasn't gotten my head all turned around. Long story short - yes, it's totally armed, do not, under any circumstances go down there. Sorry for the confusion.

Hi. You don't actually know me, but I saw you on running in the park the other day and I noticed that you dropped your water bottle. It fell right out of your hand as you went past that trashcan, but I was able to get in there and get it back. It's pretty nice, looks like an Aquifina, empty, but still, I figured you'd want it back. You seemed really sweet. You can tell a lot about a person when you follow them in a car for 56 blocks. Based on your movements, your silky black hair, your lithe frame, your glowing skin, I really felt like you were the kind of person I'd like to know. By the time you got back to your house I was so nervous I couldn't say anything so I looked up your number with your address, and... I guess I'm rambling... what I wanted to say was that I have your water bottle and I'd really like to give it back to you, and then if you're interested we might get coffee, and then... who knows. Wouldn't it be a funny story for a wedding, like giving a toast and talking about how we met because I dug your water bottle out of the trash. I don't want to sound weird. I hope this isn't weird. Anyway, the important thing is that I have your water bottle. Call me.

Look Clair, I've been thinking, and I feel like it's time for you to decide. I'm confident that you'll recognize, as I have over these last few weeks without you, that what we have is special. I understand your attraction to Steve, and I know that he's a famous male model from a wealthy family and that I'm still managing this Starbucks until my aluminum foil based sculpture gains the recognition it deserves, but it takes more than just endless fancy dinners and a few appearences in the society pages to win over the girl I know. It takes sincerity, honesty, and love (re: the ED, I'm going to look into some Viagra as soon as I get that raise, and until then we can always cuddle). I'm not wild about it, but we've been through a lot (remember when I cut your hair while you were sleeping and sold it to a wig shop so I could afford to bring you home to meet my folks?) and I think that even this infidenlity is something that we can overcome. But I can't continue to be the bigger man with you and Steve showing up in People every week. It's made it hard to explain to people that we're still together. Shit, I need to make a couple double mocha lattees, but I guess what I really wanted to say was I think I'm going to have to insist that you make a decision, once and for all. Him or me Clair? Him or me?




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52 Year Old Asks Son To Get Him High For Birthday

Last night in a coffee shop a man told his son that he wanted to get high for his 53rd birthday. His son, who appeared to be in his early 20's, laughed, but the man said that he was serious, that the only present he wanted from his son was his assistance in getting high. He said that he didn't know the first thing about procuring the necessary smoking equipment, pipes, bongs, etc, let alone where to find marijuana, and that while he didn't want to imply that his son was some sort of druggie, he had his suspicions that not only did his son know where to find such things, but that he had probably experimented with them.
His son asked if the man was having a midlife crisis.
The man said that he simply woke up one morning and realized that he had no idea what it was like to be high, and that this had struck him as extremely odd. He said he didn't really regret abstaining all these years or how he'd raised his kids, that he felt he was right to point out the dangers of drugs and alcohol and that he felt his kids had become responsible adults because of it. All the same, while he didn't feel his death was imminent, he said that after being around for half a century that one comes to look at time a little differently, and that it had been eating at him for some time that he'd probably missed his opportunities to enjoy this sort of experimentation. He pointed out that he could hardly ask his coworkers or neighbors for help. And then it hadoccurred to him that his birthday might provide just the right opportunity, and his son the perfect companion, for such an experience. He said he was sorry if his assumptions offended his son, and if he couldn't or wouldn't help, he said he would understand.
His son said he was simply surprised, but that certainly, if his father was serious, he could probably make arrangements. He asked if there were any other off the wall, long buried fantasies that his father wanted to act on. Dropping acid? Learning guitar? Following a band around the country?
Let me get stoned, he said, and I'll give it some thought.

Referring To Yourself In The Second Person: An FAQ

1. What is the second person?
The second person refers to the use of the pronoun 'you'.

2. Should I be referring to myself in the second person?
Absolutely. Traditional pronouns, I and we, have become tired and lame. Some have turned to the third person as an alternative, referring to themselves by their own name and the like, but this fad has run it's course and joined the first person as passe. The second person transcends the implied limitations of other forms of address allowing a degree of intimacy and urgency that would otherwise be impossible.

3. How do I do it?
Easy. When referring to yourself, simply replace the word "I' with the word 'you'. For example, if asked what you'd like for breakfast, instead of, "I'd like some pancakes", respond, "You'd like some pancakes."

4. Isn't that confusing?
Those who lack a certain level of cultural awareness and sophistication may become confused, which is all the more reason to declare your independence from these philistines as soon as possible.

5. So when you say 'your independence' are you referring to me or you?
Philistine.

6. I guess I'm just still not getting it. Or would that be, you guess you're still not getting it?
Imagine narrating a story so the audience is made to feel 'in the moment'. Ex. "You're walking down the street, you see someone, you feel them wishing they we're as cool and culturally aware as you." This way the audience is able to fully embrace the 'experience' of being the speaker and the speaker asserts that this experience is worthy of being experienced first hand (via the second person).

7. I just tried... Sorry, You just tried it on your wife and she told you to stop acting like a jackass.
Being on the grammatical bleeding edge and embracing emerging concepts ahead of the masses may have consequences for home and work relationships. Those worth knowing will adapt, and those who fail merely chain themselves to a lower societal echelon.

8. And you really don't think this makes you sound like an idiot?
Which you are you referring to? If you mean me, no, I sound incredibly sophisticated. If you mean you, then I can only recommend following the guidelines above as a means of elevating your speech.

9. But see, it's confusing. No one ever knows who you're really referring to.
You means you, and you is everyone.

10. Is there a place where I, I mean you, can practice until you're ready to try it in the real world?
There are weekly second person support meetings in most major cities to help deal with common issues that stem from embracing this evolution, i.e. beatings, firings, divorce. (You host the one in NYC if anyone wants to stop by)

You enjoyed answering these questions, and if there's anything you can do to be of further assistance, people should feel free to contact you.

You wish you all good luck.

Plans For Saturday?

We'd love to have you guys over. Feels like it's been a while. We were thinking about firing up the grill, bottle of wine, maybe a little scategories or hearts? Should be fun.

It's funny, Mary thinks you probably won't come. She thinks you were 'weirded out' last time. You weren't weirded out were you? I mean, I showed you guys those photos because I thought we were bonding. Besides, you're our neighbors, so it's not like it was anything you weren't going to see eventually, right? (BTW, appreciate the suggestion, but Mary and I just feel like drapes or blinds don't go with our design scheme) I thought the evening went well. So you guys aren't hot tubbers, big deal. Where is it written that neighbors need to get naked and hop in the bubbles together the first time they hang out? Like I told Mary, there's plenty of time for that down the road. You guys preferred cards, we played cards. You preferred keeping score with pad and pen, we usually have losers remove an article of clothing. Po-tah-to, po-taa-to, am I right?

I will apologize once more for mine and Mary's brief spat. When she threw the glass of wine, she was aiming at me, and I can tell you from prior experience that when she's not three sheets to the wind she's usually spot on. Once, I was on the couch and she clocked me from the kitchen, had to be like fifty feet. The point is, you only got hit because we were sitting right next to each other, and that was only because we were having such a good time, right?

And, I hesitate to bring this up because I feel like it's been beaten into the ground, but when I was giving you some dry clothes and I suggested that it might be a hoot to try wearing one another's underwear, I really just meant it as a gesture of friendship, nothing more. Sort of like blood brothers. Only different.

Regardless, since the evening ended shortly after that and we haven't heard from you since, I guess that Mary's a little worried that it didn't go so well. I told her that she's imagining things, that you guys have probably been busy, what with your house going up for sale and all (you sure don't stay put very long do you?). But they don't call us back, she says. When we knock on the door they don't answer, even if we just saw them go inside, she says. When we mail them invitations I just find them later in their garbage, she says. But I told her, you're a couple on the go-go-go. That's why I figured it was probably easiest to email you at work. (Mary found a business card in your garbage, she's quite the little treasure hunter. You wouldn'tbelieve what she's found in the Wilson's trash. I've got a box of things, I'll show you Saturday) And if for some reason you don't get this, I'll try heading up to your office later in the week. Don't worry, I'll make sure you guys don't miss the fun.

Festivities commence around seven. We'll heat up the tub just in case.

Your Pals Next Door

p.s. really ought to open your blinds once in a while, it's got to be like a dungeon over there

Please Do Not Hang Up

Please do not hang up.

Your call is important to us, otherwise, why would we be paying people in India three dollars an hour to answer it? Representatives are currently working with other customers who were unable to follow simple directions or consult our website which, while certified for reading comprehension levels down to the second grade, still proves 'confusing' for those with diminished capacity or a habit of drinking their breakfast. Rest assured that our foreign intermediaries will quickly hear and then dispatch with the trivial complaints ahead of yours through a carefully choreographed dance of heavily accented misunderstanding that reliably forces callers to question whether they should be wasting their time and ours on such non-issues when there are real problems facing the world (earthquakes, hurricanes, Tom Cruise is having a baby!). And then someone will be right with you.

While you wait we suggest you try the following remedies. Look at the directions again, bearing in mind that they've successfully been followed by monkeys, rats, and a tortoise named Bobo in our lab tests. If you're still having problems, try looking out the window. Isn't it a beautiful day? Do you really want to be inside talking about 'problems' when you could be out on a cholesterol and stress reducing walk? (In the event that it's raining or dark where you are, isn't now a good time to curl up with a book, or maybe a simple to follow set of directions?) If you're unable to match the wits of Bobo and can't convince yourself you have anything better to do, please remain on the line.

It's hard to say how much longer the wait will be, and when you think about, who can really say how much longer any of us has? It's entirely possible that you'll die of a massive coronary or stroke before our representative can reach you, and the lasting memory your friends and family will take away will be that you died while waiting for customer support. It's probably not the legacy you wanted but hey, you REALLY need an answer right? You REALLY can't follow those directions. So sit back, relax, and imagine them eulogizing your empty and untimely death.

Your call is very important to us.

Jack The Married Australian - Observations 10/29

10:35 Group arrives at bar to find Jack The Married Australian hitting on Female Friend
10:36 Member of Group (also female but sadly not as attractive as Female Friend) pulls Female Friend aside to alert her to fact that she's seen Jack in another bar earlier where he talked extensively about being married. Female Friend is skeptical.
10:38 Group member (female) asks Jack what happened to his ring. Jack laughs, makes comment about it being a costume, claims to spot friends, leaves.
10:39 Jack The Australian is trashed as slimy by assembled group.
10:48 Jack The Australian's wallet is located under group's table. Contents: Family pictures confirming married status as well as children. Also: 400$
10:49 Vigorous debate. Briefly: Jack is a slimeball. The money should be pocketed by the group and used for night of drinks at another bar. The wallet (empty) should be left with bartender so Jack can eventually claim it. Conversely: Jack is a slimeball. Keeping his money makes the group members no better. The wallet should be returned ASAP. Moving (and buzzkilling) speech by group member (male - also: has crush on Female Friend) results in decision to pursue second option.
10:55 Two group members (males) locate Jack in neighboring bar and return wallet. Jack is overjoyed and endlessly thankful. Insists on buying them drinks.
10:58 Jack The Australian returns with group members, thanks all, apologizes for prior behavior, buys round in thanks.
11:20 Another round on Jack
11:30 Shots on Jack
11:40 Third round on Jack
11:58 Everyone is speaking in Australian accents
12:25 Jack's oratory on why marriages don't count on other continents is surprisingly convincing.
1:04 Fourth round on Jack
1:05 Everyone loves Jack The Australian. Group members comment to one another about how they're getting to drink the 400$ despite having done 'the right thing'.
1:06 Group member (male - crush on Female Friend) notices Jack the Australian has arm around Female Friend.
1:30 Fifth round on Jack. Group member (male - crush on Female Friend) abstains.
1:55 Jack The Australian kisses Female Friend at table.
2:07 Jack The Australian offers Female Friend a taxi home. Group member (male - crush on Female Friend) tells Female Friend he'll gladly give her a ride. Female Friend leaves with Jack.
2:08 Group member (male - crush on Female Friend) excoriates group for allowing Female Friend to leave with Jack The Married Australian. Fellow group member reminds all whose idea it was to locate Jack and return the wallet.
2:12 Group member (male - crush on Female Friend) exits bar alone.

Best News For Park City, Utah, EVER!

Residents of Park City, Utah:

Incredible news! A once in a lifetime opportunity! I'm willing to be your neighbor!

As you may well know there are currently a number of fine American and international cities competing to play host to me and my entourage for the next few years, and I'm proud to announce that you're on the short list! And just between you, me, and the lamp post, I'm pulling for you.

Obviously at this point you're probably wondering what you can do to secure this incredible 'get' for yourself and your town. How can you, the average millionaire citizen of Park City, help your town compete with the tempting offers from places like Waco, TX, Pittsburgh, PA, and Little Rock, AR? Simple - buy my house!

That's right. Not only am I willing to live among you, I'm willing to let you, the community, be partial or total participants in owning my home. I've picked out a nice one, Frank Lloyd Wright inspired, 35 acres, 7.5 bedrooms (what exactly is a half bedroom?), 8 baths, and I'm sure I don't need to tell you about the views. It's on the market for about 8 million, and I'm willing to accept community participation to cover the present 7.8 million dollar shortfall.

Suggestions for raising this sum include but are not limited to: fundraising dinners (I'm willing to appear if someone wants to cover my airfare), sale of autographed memorabilia (my signature or yours, whichever you think is worth more), and the organization of some sort of pseudo-religious tax exempt entity in my honor (that's how they dragged L. Ron Hubbard out to LA). Bear in mind these are just suggestions and certainly are not intended to stifle your creativity.

I know that after the Olympics and Sundance you thought it was over for your little town, but here's the moment to transcend those minor 'happenings' and finally put your city on the map. So stop daydreaming about coming over to see me for a cup of sugar (actually the estate is gated and I'm sure there will be dogs, but leave your request with security and someone will be in touch) and make it happen. For you, your family, and your future.

Best of luck Park City.

Mr. Kyle

p.s. If you're a Tucson resident looking to hasten my departure contact Jill at the Run Him Out On A Rail campaign. Every dollar brings us one step closer to putting all this ugliness behind us.

Excerpt of Conversation That Resulted In Einstein's Reincarnation As Brad Pitt

E: So I was close?
G: You were in the neighborhood.
E: I knew it. So you're sending me back to finish?
G: Everyone goes back.
E: This is fantastic.
G: But you're not going to finish.
E: Oh no, I'm close, you said so yourself. A couple years I'll have it all sewn up.
G: Right, well, I'm guessing you'll be less interested in all that next go around.
E: Less interested? Are you nuts! I mean that with all due respect your... you know, God.
G: Al, I'm not going to lie to you. You're not getting the big brain next trip.
E: Oh.
G: But trust me, you're not going to miss it. Don't misinterpret this, but you're going to be incredibly hot. And you remember Jane Mansfield, Marilyn Monroe?
E: Sure.
G: Nothing compared to what I've got planned. And they're all going to be after you.
E: Thanks all the same, but I'd really prefer to get back to work.
G: I know you would, and technically I can't stop you. Once you're there it's all up to you.
E: Well that settles it. I vow to finish my unification theory. With God as my witness, I... what's my name going to be?
G: Brad. Brad Pitt.
E: Brad? Really?
G: You'll make it work.
E: Very well then. With God as my witness, I Brad Pitt will solve the puzzle that lies at the heart of our universe, I will answer the questions that underlie our existence, I will know the mind of... well, of you.
G: I'll be eagerly awaiting your conclusions.
E: I'm serious. I'm going to do it.
G: I'm sure you will. Best of luck.
E: You'll see God, you'll see.
G: Okay. Okay. Just wash your hair this time.

Notice of Breech of Contract Suit Filed By Person You Were On Night Of August 19th

Dear sir,

This is notice of a breech of contract lawsuit being filed against You by my client, The Person You Were On The Night of August 19th. As you may recall, after a lengthy internal discussion you and my client negotiated a set of acceptable goals and circumstances to be collectively pursued in the coming months, and, to insure their implementation, wrote down and signed the document containing the agreed to terms, what will from now on be referred to as 'the contract'.
The details need not detain us here, my client has contacted you numerous times in recent weeks regarding your failure to live up to the central clauses, i.e. the gym, the garden, the novel. He's been more than considerate in allowing you to shuffle and move deadlines. But your actions of the last week have dissolved all trust and made clear your complete lack of intention to meet the agreed to terms.
Putting aside the lawyer talk for a second, let me just say on a personal level that I'm not sure what gave you the idea that purchasing a 'minivan' rather than the agreed to 'red convertible' was remotely acceptable, but it's a mistake you will pay for dearly. As he expressed in no uncertain terms during your discussion, The Person You Were On The Night of August 19th was afraid of getting older and desperately seeking items and actions to assure his youth and vigor. Since you've attained this mammoth affront to vehicular taste my client has been subject to stares and comments that may have irrevocably damaged his psyche and youthful reserves. A coworker asked him if he drove that car to 'bingo' for christ's sake! You think a jury won't be sympathetic when they hear that?
So my client has given up hope that's you'll ever right this ship, and rightly so I might add. We've no other recourse but to seek damages, both compensatory and punitive, for your wanton disregard of the contracted terms. You may think you've moved on, but The Person You Were On The Night Of August 19th is not prepared to go quietly into past like so many of the other People You Were with whom you've made and broken agreements. You've crossed the wrong You this time.

See you in court,

Your Lawyer

p.s. you show up in that damn minivan and I'll shoot you myself

Agnostic Babysitter Faces Crying Eight Year Old

Last night a self professed ‘adamant agnostic’ babysitter was confronted by an eight year who came out of his bedroom in tears after having realized that his mother was eventually going to die. It was entirely unclear what prompted this realization. The young boy simply kept repeating ‘don’t let my mommy die.’ The babysitter assured the boy that his mother was fine and that she would be home very shortly. Once the boy stopped crying he began to pepper the babysitter with questions about life, death, the afterlife, the bible, vampires, zombies, ensoulment, and the current status of his grandfather’s remains which had been interred for about two years. The babysitter mostly claimed not to know or explained that these were questions best posed to the boy’s mother.
The mention of the mother once again got the boy worried about her eventual death. When he asked what would become of her the babysitter felt a sort of duty to her beliefs to tell the boy that she suspected that nothing would become of her, that her remains would be eaten by bacteria and insects, and that once her organs stopped functioning she would cease to exist save for in the memories of those who loved her. The soul was a myth, as was Heaven. She felt this was the real test of her lack of faith.
Instead, she assured him that there was a Heaven and that his mother would wait for him there. The boy asked if the babysitter would also be there.
Sure, she told him, why not.

Attempts To Impress Phrenologist Girlfriend Land Man In Hospital

A man in the ER for 'constant headaches' explained that he'd been taking a hammer to his own head in an effort to save his relationship with his phrenologist girlfriend. He said that she'd been talking about a trial separation and had referenced some of what she felt were the shortcomings of his personality, things she claimed to be able to sense by simply feeling the shape of his head. His Ideality area was apparently small while his Secretivness area was too large. She claimed to have noticed a very large Destructivness spot behind his ear, and most damning, she said the spot on the top left center of his head was almost devoid of Hope.
He said that over the last few weeks he'd been using a hammer to try to change the shape of his head, mashing in the troubling areas and swelling up the underdeveloped ones, in an effort to convince her that he'd really changed. He'd been able to mostly manage the pain though Advil and unexpected moments of unconsciousness, but when she'd actually moved out a day ago, he said that he'd really laid into himself and the pain had yet to subside.
The doctor said that it appeared that he did indeed have a significant lump and that a CT would be necessary to determine whether or not the skull had been fractured. He wondered what the man could have been thinking.
That's right in the Reasoning and Planning area, he said, I was hoping she'd feel I'd gotten smarter.

Note From The Dog You Sent To Live "On A Farm"

It's me. I made it. I know, I'm as surprised as you. Honestly, the whole thing sounded a little too good to be true. Big open fields to run around in? Lots of other dogs to play with? And coming right on the heels of that unfortunate 'biting Aunt Gwen' incident, I'll admit to wondering if the whole thing wasn't some sort of code for 'take the dog to the pound and have him euthanized'.
Boy was I wrong! I don't want to disparage my former home, but this place rocks. And it's not just about the scenery and the license to 'run around'. It's really about the relationships. The dogs here, well, they're just incredible. One of the Lassies lives in my barn. Some people say she's a snob. I say, who else is going to teach us to write letters home and use words like disparage?
Anyway, we're having a sort of doggie Olympics this weekend (it's not nearly as formal as it sounds) and I just thought I'd throw it out there in case you wanted to try to make it. I'm in the stick chase and the sock tug, and, not to brag, but I think I've got a chance in the first one (I've been running a lot and I'm SOOOO thin now! Not that you got rid of me for being fat, but if that was it, problem solved!). I know you're really busy, and even before the Aunt Gwen thing you seemed to be wondering if you really wanted a dog, but it would be great if you made it out. I'd love to give you a nice big kiss (or we can just shake, are you in a relationship? you don't have a cat do you?).
So, you know, if you can make it, awesome. And if you happen to be impressed by my showing in either event, or my new slender physique, or my somewhat prodigious vocabulary and writing skills, I already checked with the big guy and he says you could still totally take me home. But no pressure. Either way. This place is great.

Your dog.

Man Fears Genius Stifled By Blog Format

A man in a coffee shop yesterday told a friend that he feared his enormous talents were hamstrung by the format of his current blog in which he purported to summarize conversations that he may or may not have actually overheard. He expressed an interest in continuing to bring these sorts of moments to his infinitesimally small readership, while at the same time freeing up the format in order to more broadly define and share his vision, namely, a photoblog with no pictures. He suggested that he might put his site through some changes over the weekend and relaunch his digital utopia the following Monday. He then predicted it would probably end up being a disaster.
His friend then removed his headphones and asked if the man had said something.
No, he said, nothing important.

Man Torn Between Sex And Baldness

A man in a coffee shop last night explained to his friend that he'd been having good results with the hair loss drug his doctor had prescribed for him six months ago. At a recent checkup the doctor said that he's not only noticed a drop off in hair loss, but some regrowth in previously thin areas. However, he said, that progress had come at a price: his sex drive had taken a serious dive. While he doubted that the new hair was actually visible to the untrained eye, he said that the knowledge he was no longer thinning had seemed to help his confidence and allowed him to approach women. He'd dated one girl for a few weeks, and was now in a relationship with another who he'd begun seeing four months prior. And in both cases he said that he rarely found himself excited and in a few cases he'd been unable to perform when called on. His doctor said that this was a known side effect of the drug, and one that effected some men more than others.
His friend immediately said that he'd rather be bald than not have sex.
But the man argued that being bald might impact his ability to have sex just as much as the drugs. Not because he'd be unwilling, but because he might find the women less so.
His head, he said, was lumpy.

Husband Thinking Of Divorcing Vegetarian

A married man in a coffee shop told a friend last night that he was strongly considering divorcing his newly vegetarian wife. He said that at first he'd been in favor of it because he imagined that the dietary restrictions would help her lose some of the pounds she'd gained since their wedding. However, he said he hadn't considered how isolating their different eating habits would be. Each of them bought their own groceries because she now shopped in a special organic market, and each prepared their own dinners. Often they no longer ate together. Many of the resteraunts they'd gone to when dating were no longer acceptable to his wife because of their limited vegetarian options. And though she didn't often mention it, he said he felt that she was dissapointed when he ordered a hamburger or a steak.
His friend laughed and said surely the man wasn't serious. He asked if the man planned to put 'irreconcilable diets' on the divorce papers. Of all the reasons for marriages to end up in trouble he said that this sounded like one of the most trivial. What about sickness and health, death do us part, all those promises? Was there an out for 'stops eating meat'?
I made those promises to a carnivore, the husband said.

Student Haunted By End Of Vehicular Love Affair

A college student in a coffeeshop told his friend that his relationship of more than a year had just ended because he'd become obsessed with a girl he'd seen only once and never actually spoken to. He explained that last summer, while driving home from college on a two lane road, he'd found himself alternately following and being followed by a beautiful girl in a blue Honda Civic. He said that it had become sort of like a game, that when one of them passed a car they would wait and make sure the other got around as well before speeding on. At one point, while traveling through a small town they'd been stopped at a railroad crossing, and he'd watched in his mirror as she inched ever closer to his window in her traffic lane, only to have the gates go up just as she'd pulled even, an outcome he described as 'perfect'. As they neared his hometown the road split in two directions, and just before reaching the split the little Honda had pulled over, but for whatever reason, he was unable to justify it now, he'd pressed on, afraid to actually stop and make contact. And he'd regretted and obsessed over it ever since. He'd scoured the campus for the car, searched something called 'facebook' for her photo, and spent countless hours sitting in the center of campus just hoping to see her. Meanwhile, his relationship with his girlfriend had suffered. She said he seemed distant and uninterested, and last week when she'd discovered a posting he'd put on Craigslist regarding the experience, she'd decided to break up with him.
The friend asked him how he could possible let a brief experience with a person he never even spoke to become such a big deal. He stated that he passed lots of pretty girl in cars and on foot every day without letting it get to him. Further, he said he could almost guarantee that if the girl turned up tomorrow, she would fall far short of the ridiculous expectations that the student had built up for her.
The student said that maybe he wasn't obsessed with the girl at all, but with the opportunity and the fact that he hadn't taken it. He agreed that because he could not find her, their would be relationship now seemed to posses seemingly limitless potential, which was perhaps what he'd wanted to avoid ruining by pulling over in the first place.
Who'd have thought, he said, you could miss someone you never met.

Woman Upset Husband Will Not Accept Oral Sex While Driving

A woman speaking to a group of friends in a coffee shop last night said that it really bothered her that her husband had never allowed her to perform oral sex while he was driving. She said that she had offered on numerous occasions and that he always told her to stop, that driving was a serious thing and required his full concentration. She asked around her table to see if anyone else had heard similar arguments. They had not.
She said that just once she'd like her husband to quit worrying about everything and to be a little bit free. And if they hit an embankment and she died with her head in his lap, so be it. She said that was unlikely anyway. Her husband listened intently to the radio while driving and had never even had a ticket. She said this was practically the same.
If listened to the radio was just like receiving oral sex, one of the men in her group said, I'd spend a lot more time listening to the radio.

Girl To Good Looking To Be A Best Friend

A young man in a coffee shop was encouraging his girlfriend to spend more time hanging out with her friends so that he might spend more time with his male friends. The girl said that she didn't really have many really good friends because most of them were jealous of her appearance. She said that while she was sometimes invited out in big groups, none of the girls felt like hanging out with her by themselves because it made them feel bad about their bodies. On occasions when the girls went to the beach or did something that might call for revealing clothing, she said she was never invited because of the way she looked in her swimwear in comparison to the other girls. And at dinners she said she'd received glares from 'friends' for eating a normal sized meal while those not blessed with her metabolism picked at salads.
The young man asked if she was honestly saying that she was 'too cute' to have best friends.
I'm not saying I couldn't have best friends, she said, they'd just have to good looking enough not to be intimidated. That's why you always see hot girls in pairs.

Man Pleased That Girlfriend's Career Failures Force Her To Stay In Shape

A man in a coffee shop this morning was telling a friend that while many people had suggested to his girlfriend that it might be time to give up on her thus far unsuccessful attempt to be an actress, he said that he was more than happy to see her keep going because the demands of the job motivated her to keep herself in fantastic shape. He said that the pressure to keep pace with stars like Angelina Jolie and Cameron Diaz had sculpted and toned his girlfriend's body to near perfection, and as long as she had a desire to be part of the entertainment industry, he said he never had to worry about her letting herself go. Nor did he have to sound like a 'bad guy' for suggesting that she watch her diet or figure, because these things were all necessary for her to further her career. The fact that she had yet to land a part or make any money didn't bother him in the least. He said that he'd been the breadwinner in previous relationships and getting those girls to go on a diet had been like pulling teeth.
His friend asked if the girlfriend was still enjoying the acting or if she was giving serious thought to giving it up.
The man said that she'd been pretty depressed with her lack of success and had talked about wanting to move on.
His friend suggested that if she was unhappy, maybe that would be for the best.
Why, the man asked, then she'd just be unhappy and fat.

Man Attempting To Burn Son Out On Baseball

A man was complaining to his friend in coffee shop yesterday about how much he hated baseball and how he was anxiously awaiting the day that his son wised up and joined him. He said that he was taking the boy to practices four nights a week and sitting through at least two games on the weekends. Beyond that, his son had talked him into buying partial season tickets for the local major league club and together they'd suffered through eleven games which he described as 'professional paint drying contests.'
His friend suggested that perhaps he should lessen his exposure if he hated it so much.
The man said that exposure was the key, as it was only with exposure that his son would grow to realize what an awful game it was. At some point he'd see that it was mostly standing around and failing to hit things. Then he'd watch the coach's son throw a tantrum for the hundredth time when he was removed from the pitcher's mound and suddenly he'd get it - it's a horrible game played by horrible people, and he'd never want anything to do with it again. And if allowing his son to wallow in the game almost non-stop could help him learn this lesson sooner, then all the suffering would be worth it.
His friend said he doubted very much that such an approach would be successful.
It worked for my dad, the man said.

Woman Feels Friends Divorce Has Improved Her Marriage

A woman talking to a friend in a coffee shop last night said that she felt the ongoing divorce of a mutual acquaintance had drastically improved the state of her own marriage. She and her husband had been talking very little and arguing a great deal of late, but since news of the divorce had gotten out it was if they'd once again found something mutually interesting to discuss. Further, she felt that the emerging details of just how many issues the divorcing husband was having to deal with had led her husband to rediscover his appreciation of being married. They'd been out to dinner four times and had sex twice since the news broke. She said she was so pleased with the change that she was beginning to hold back the latest information regarding the divorce to dole it out more slowly.
Her friend asked why?
She said that it was similar to the way that people tended to drive more safely for a while after seeing a wreck, but after a time they'd simply return to normal.
If I want things to stay like this, she said, I have to keep spreading the wreck down the road.

Man Sees Potential In Not Helping Weak And Sick

A man discussing the aftermath of the recent hurricane with friends wondered aloud what, as a society, we might be able to accomplish if instead of diverting funds to help our weakest individuals, we applied those resources to improving the lot of the fittest individuals. He argued that in the rest of the animal kingdom this was precisely how things worked, that the weak and sick were abandoned if not killed and eaten by those around them. Therefore, he felt that the weakest members of the gene pool were sorted out and the strongest members pressed on, all of which helped those species continue to improve. He said that in essence, our desire to help the weak instead of get rid of them was keep us from evolving. He asked his friends to imagine a world in which we did not coddle the poor and jobless, but got rid of them.
One of his friends pointed out that he sounded a little but like Hitler.
The man paused a moment and then agreed that he kind of did.
Of course, Jews aren't really on the agenda, he said, I'm talking about people without jobs or money.

Computer Tech Told To Pretend He's Not In Middle Of Blackout

A technical support representative was having coffee with a coworker last night and explaining how he'd been forced to work through a blackout. He said that when the power went down everyone had initially celebrated, thinking that they might get a breather from answering calls or perhaps even sent home since none of the computers worked and without them they were unable to access any information about the customers or their computers. However, the blackout had not affected the phones and because the company he worked for was an outsourcer, they were paid by the manufacturer based on the number of calls they handled. Therefore, his manager had made them continue taking calls - in the dark. The manager had also stressed that they should not let on that they did not have power as this would make the customers suspicious, and instructed the support reps to continue acting as if they were looking up the customer's information despite not having any functioning computers.
His coworker asked how the manager had suggested that they get access to the information they needed to actually solve people's problems.
He told us to wing it, the rep said, and if we were wrong they'd call back.

Man With Screwdriver In Anus Feels Hospital Service Is Subpar

A doctor in coffee shop yesterday morning was telling a colleague about a patient who'd been complaining endlessly about the quality of care he'd received since being admitted to the hospital. She said that he'd come in with 'abdominal pain' but had failed to mention anything about the cordless electric screwdriver he'd inserted in his rectum. When they finally discovered the problem through examination, he'd been rushed to surgery where it was discovered that he'd perforated his bowel, something that could easily have killed him. But rather than being remotely grateful as he recovered, she said he'd been complaining about the quality of the food, the fact that he couldn't get his favorite program on the TV, and the lack of attention he felt he'd been receiving from the nursing staff. She said she felt like slapping him and reminding him that he was only here because he'd stuck an appliance into his ass.
Her colleague said it was cases like this that made him question the way medicine was practiced today.
Just in evolutionary terms, he said, should we really be saving the ones with screwdrivers in their asses?

On Vacation Through 9-9

Be back next week.

Driver's New Generosity Motivated By Puppy

A man conversing with a work mate at a coffee shop yesterday said that after driving to work by the same route for several years and passing the same man seeking change at the same stoplight every morning, he had for the first time actually felt motivated to give the man money. The only difference was the presence of a puppy. The driver said that the panhandler now held not only his sign, but a small and adorable dog which he smiled at and allowed to lick his face while waiting for change. The driver said that the scene has so moved him that for the first time he'd rolled down his window and given the man five dollars. Since then he'd been trying to figure out exactly what it was that had caused him to do so. He theorized that perhaps the presence of the dog made the man seem somehow more human or relatable, or his problems more real. Perhaps it made him seem less like a pariah who would use the money for alcohol and more like a father. The driver said he'd tried to convince himself that any of these was the real reason, but that they all felt as if they felt short.
His work mate asked what the driver felt the real reason was.
The man said he'd simply been concerned about the dog. He'd been worried that the animal might not get proper food or care, and that he'd wanted to be sure that wasn't the case. The driver said that upon reflection this thought had made him feel more guilty than generous.
For years it hardly bothered me that a man might go hungry, but the minute I saw that puppy, he said, I went for my wallet. What does that say about me?