The Most Important Thing
I was looking for some guidance recently, but couldn’t find my Bible. Luckily for me and for the rest of you who are lost and seeking answers, there’s Google. Having successfully completed a comprehensive search of what the internet considers “the most important thing to remember,” I am prepared to release my findings to the world.
Here are ten of the things that the Internet thinks are the most important thing to remember, each nugget blossoming with wisdom in its own right, as nuggets are wont to do:
–You simply cannot go wrong with flowers.
–You do not need to learn to throw the Frisbee very far.
–You must be able to carry your own luggage.
–Anyone who has accomplished more than you has no life, and anyone who has accomplished less than you is a noob.
–Swim only when and where guards are on duty.
–Never grab a lizard by its tail!
–Buy a collection of toys that will suit a variety of purposes.
–Wine was made to be enjoyed.
–Empty your bladder completely and regularly.
–You’re here to tell the jurors your story.
I’m thinking of basing a personal philosophy or small startup cult around these teachings, or at least cobbling together an email chain letter. Please forward this to ten people that you care about and also back to the person who sent it to you, for you are loved. If you do that, your crush will ask you out TODAY!
Also, I’ll show you how to throw a Frisbee really far.
1913 Ad of the Week — The Improved Eager . . .
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| I neither need nor want to say much about this frightful little invention, but I do want to point out: “When its simplicity of application is known they would have no other as a gift.” People gave this thing AS A GIFT?! Imagine the possibilities! Bridal shower — “Oh, it’s not for you, dear…it’s just, well, I know Millard, and I’ve tried your quiche…” |
Southern Baptists Identify Seven New Sins of Their Own
–ATLANTA, Ga.
Responding to the recent announcement by the Catholic Church of seven brand new sins, the Southern Baptist Convention today announced their own list of “Sins For A New Millennium.”
“All who share in the fellowship of believers are called to communion together,” said Dr. Frank S. Page, president of the SBC since 2006.
“The Southern Baptist church is willing to consider all divinely inspired ideas, even those originally espoused by unholy, fallen servants of the blood-stained Whore of Babylon.”
The two lists share a few sins in common — namely, abortion, contraception, and “pollution,” which many prominent Southern Baptists have recently decried in attacks on climate change skepticism.
The other items on the Southern Baptist list, however, may prove more divisive, as they include “speaking in tongues,” “being poor,” “liking Mary a little too much,” and “science.”
1913 Ad of the Day — Protone
| We’re trying something new here in our second year: replacing the jokes (at least sometimes) with real live (funny) advertisements from 1913! If it’s jokes you want, we have a year’s worth here and here!
Richard Nixon had just been born. World War I was on the horizon. And unlike today, nerdy guys like you and me were actually getting pushed around at the beach, in the office, and even inside our own homes. Just look at that poor guy. Let’s call him Millard. Lines on his face, shoulders slumped, eyebrows bushy and furrowed — without computers and the Internet to rely on for a social life and a source of badly-needed superiority, the desperation and despair is etched on his soul. He needed help. And so he turned — to pseudoscience. |
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There’s And besides, our friend Millard was desperate. And lo and behold — the stuff, it works! Two months pass, and he’s had to buy a whole new suit, his nose has lost its hook, and he just can’t keep his hands off himself! And who could blame him?! Rrrroowwrrr! Millard is smokin’! And probably literally, because everyone did then! Even children! Perhaps the caption on the comparison picture says it best: “Protone Will Make You Nice and Plump.” There’s a slogan I’d like to see return. Along with their free booklet of “astonishing facts” — “Why You Are Thin.” You can take a look at the entire advertisement here. Millard’s old legs MUST be seen to be believed. Note: In a fascinating history of patent medicine, the Animating Apothecary identifies the source of Pantone as Professor James Kellogg, known for sending an extra month’s supply of the product to those who ordered, along with a bill for $5. He later sought a divorce from his fourth wife, but the judge, finding both parties at fault, actually required them to remain married for two more years. |
Life in 1913 was rough. 
something vaguely Frankenstein-esque about this product. A “remarkable flesh builder,” eager to “prove what it will do”? With a name like PROTONe, I have visions of nano-robots or radioactive mutagen. But then again, this was 1913, when such things were still okay, before the FDA banned everything fun in the name of the Freemasons! Back to the Future
August 15th, 2008. Somewhere outside Hilldale, California, a man frantically dials a number into his cell phone, while sitting in a smoking DeLorean in a mall parking lot.
“Doc!!”
“Marty? Is that you?”
“Doc! Doc! Listen, you gotta help me…”
“Great Scott!! Where are you, Marty?? I can barely hear you!”
“Not ‘Where?,’ Doc — ‘When?’ I’m in 1996! You gotta help me get back to 2008 . . . back to the future!”
“Marty, Marty, calm down! What you’re saying is impossible! I destroyed the time machine and that car you have now has no flux capacitor. What makes you think you’re in 1996?”
“Doc, Clinton’s running for president, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s Hillary, not Bill –”
“Conservatives have tuned out, even though a true conservative had some great early success — Pat Buchanan, right?”
“Yes, but it’s Romney or Huckabee this time…”
“And there’s a weird guy from Texas with big ears and the initials R.P. acting all crazy, and some people are afraid he will run with a third party, right?”
“Well, yes, but it’s not Ross Perot, it’s Ron Paul.”
“And the Republican nominee is a moderate who moved to the right — what Reagan would have called a ‘cross-dressing conservative’…”
“But his name is McCain, not Dole –”
“And he’s a war hero…”
“Yeah…”
“In his seventies…”
“Yeah…”
“And Republicans have decided the way to win is to abandon the Christian right and reach for moderates and independents…”
“Yeah…”
“It’s 1996, Doc!! You gotta help me!!”
“Great Scott!! You’re right!! I’m on my way!”
Election Update
–Harrisburg, Pa., February 7
David has been traveling around the country with the Huckabee campaign, reporting on election events as they unfold.
The race for the Democratic nomination for president was all but secured on Super Tuesday, after Clinton and Obama both suffered a series of victories, tempered by uplifting defeats. When properly analyzed, these show that a clear winner has emerged and a clear loser has been uncovered.
According to the latest data from the Zaxbys-Chicken Interactive poll (see Figure 1), Clinton made great strides in her bid to corral the liberal-leaning conservative Democrats who registered Republican in the past, supported her husband in 1992 (although not in 1996), and listed immigration, economics and terrorism as their least favorite words to spell.
At the same time, Obama was able to garner the support of the much-coveted single-income soccer moms, listed as Democrats between 115 and 145 lbs. on their driver’s licenses, but identifying themselves this year as conservative liberals “looking for change” in their car seats and couch cushions. The importance of this development is especially troubling here in the Huckabee camp, as he was counting on that change to invigorate his campaign.
Much of the battleground will become clearer as the battle shifts to upcoming primaries in American Samoa, Disneyland and Canada, being held on “Monster Monday,” February 11th. One thing that has already become clear after Super Tuesday (see figure 2) is the edge Obama has picked up among independent white males who registered as Republicans in the 60s, refused to support Barry Goldwater at that time, but inexplicably admitted to buying Barry Manilow records in the 80s. 
This is a demographic no one is talking about, and one that will affect the outcome of this election in a way that will shock and dismay the Clinton camp, while at the same time depressing and deflating Obama and his supporters.
On the Republican side, John McCain suffered his first setback on Wednesday when a secret list of prospective running mates was leaked to the press, and found to include two fictional characters, Hannah Montana and Kim Possible. The Romney camp responded by releasing documents proving that Montana is not only fictional, but is also played by Miley Cyrus, daughter of Billy Ray Cyrus — author of “Achy Breaky Heart,” a 90s-era radio scourge which single-handedly spawned the Macarena dance craze. McCain weathered the storm, however, and seemed to maintain his dominance within his demographic fortress (see figure 3): octogenarians who identify health care, social security and “finding their car keys” as their top three concerns.
Undecided Voter Craves Attention
–ORANGEBURG, S.C.
Family and friends of local accountant Aaron Johnson, 54, describe him as a quiet, unassuming man, friendly and forgettable.
But then the South Carolina primary came around, and the tax code took a back seat to handshakes and barbecue. Now the mild-mannered number-cruncher is at the center of a fury of political activity — and friends and relatives suggest his motives are less than pure.
“My Aaron didn’t care a lick about politics as a boy, but now I see him on the Fox channel, spinnin’ dials and talkin’ about federalism or some such! I think he just likes the attention,” said Johnson’s mother Dorothy, 79.
“That handsome Mr. McCain is the cat’s pajamas,” added Dorothy’s sister, Ethel Jones, 84.
A review of public records appears to show the sisters’ accusations are true. Johnson’s pattern of vacillation apparently started at Orangesburg-Wilkinson High, where he refused to express a preference between Mary “Iron Legs” Carter and Elizabeth “Purty Grits” Burleson in the hotly contested 1971 race for prom queen, leading to a series of “private caucuses” with the candidates, hosted in the office of Sam, the one-eyed janitor.
Since registering to vote, Johnson has expressed little interest in current events, apart from brief periods every four years, when his unwillingness to commit to public support of any candidate makes him, for a time, the most sought-after man in all the Midlands.
Many South Carolinians seem annoyed by Johnson’s continued neutrality.
“The only reason I can see that someone wouldn’t know who to vote for is they was either stupid or dead,” said Frank Brady of Columbia. “They all been on the TV for months now, I reckon. I know Fred Thompson had me back in November, when I first heared him say, ‘Heeeeeeeeeelllllllllll—lllloooooooooo.’ ”
“I don’t even think A.J. votes,” offered his pastor, Apostle Sammy Smith of Grace Cathedral Christian Fellowship in Sumter. “Back in 2000, I seen him go from pollin’ place to pollin’ place, just chattin’ up the volunteers on the outside, pickin’ up T-shirts and fresh barbeque at every turn.”
Smith held his head in his hands and whistled softly. “Boy’s a wolf in cheap clothing.”
Attempts to reach Johnson at his home were made difficult by the crush of candidates and their aides pressed against his back fence, many shouting promises and offering gifts if he would “join the team” — although reports that he was offered the vice-presidency by Mike Huckabee remain unconfirmed at this time.
Reached by phone, Johnson stated, “I would love to refute these lowdown dirty lies, but I’ve gotta go — there’s a mole on my back I need Dr. Paul to look at, and then Mitt’s gonna stop by and help me paint my shed.”
My Year in Review (Part Four)
Read Part One, Part Two, and Part Three!
October arrives, but the weather stays hot in Alabama. The Yankees have played their way into the postseason with a superb September and now face the Cleveland Indians in the ALDS. They get blown out in the first game but Andy Pettite pitches a gem in game 2 to keep them in contention. Yankee phenom Joba Chamberlain is brought in to wrap up the game and even up the series, but he suffers a meltdown when he is swarmed on the mound by specially trained flying ants called Canadian Soldiers, kept for just such circumstances by the Indians staff. The Yankees lose the game and go back to New York down 2 games.
Wanting to inspire his team for game 3, George Steinbrenner takes a page out of Oral Roberts’ motivational playbook, drafting a press release saying that if the Yankees don’t win the next game, “God will take me home!” 
After leaking this to the clubhouse as a trial balloon, the front office urges George to reconsider, as it seems to have the opposite effect. Instead, he tells the media that if the Yankees lose the next game, Joe Torre will not be brought back as manager next year. They win that game, but not the next, and end up losing the series. Goodbye Joe — sorry it had to be you.
In the NHL, the Flyers pick up the pieces of a disastrous season by adding many character players and gritty veterans, and start the year 6-1, living up to their new motto — “BACK WITH A VENGEANCE!” A taste of what’s to come is seen in the preseason when 2 players are suspended for 20 and 25 games after hard hits. The Syracuse football squad continues its miserable string of gridiron failures, excepting a miracle in Louisville, and the basketball team prepares for its next season by adding the 2nd-ranked recruiting class in the nation, as rated by Athlon Sports. True freshmen Donte Green, Johnny Flynn and “Scoop” Jardine hold the promise of bringing the Orange back to the NCAA Tournament.
On a personal note, I spend the month exchanging emails and photos of my Sir Walter Scott books with a trio of rare book stores in Atlanta, only to find that although they are indeed a rare collectible, their physical condition does not meet the prevailing standards for collectors, and my best bet would be to sell them on eBay for “a few hundred bucks.” I’m actually relieved because I purchased them because I liked them, not for profit, and now I am free to keep them.
November arrives and brings with it the sternest test yet for the fledgling Bweinh! On November 5th, the Writers Guild of America East (WGAE) and Writers Guild of America West (WGAW) agree to strike, and both Hollywood and all of America are plunged into turmoil. Every Bweinh!tributor is faced with the same gut-wrenching decision — stand by their comrades in solidarity, or cross the picket line and risk ruining their careers down the road.
Everyone plays it close to the vest and no one actually refuses to write, but suddenly emails are not returned, deadlines are missed, people have “finals,” “jobs,” and “personal issues,” and the Clash of The Titans and music review features grind to a halt, as Steve Maxon struggles to round up replacement writers like “Hoss” to fill in.
The biggest blow comes when star blogger Job Tate marches into the executive suite and announces his intention to honor the strike. Suddenly the only Job Tate articles on the site are old material labeled as “The Best of Job,” and a ridiculous cover story circulates that Job has run off and joined the military. 
When that story does not suffice, another story circulates that he is seriously ill and confined to a hospital, recovering from surgery. Readership flags, interest wanes, and a nation turns its lonely eyes to Vermont for an answer…
In my personal life my wife has been smitten by Koopa, my daughter’s husky puppy, and she wants one of her own. We find one in the Thrifty Nickel for $200 and she names her Miranda, a nod to the Firefly sci-fi movie Serenity. Our house is now the romping ground for two old dogs, a harried and anorexic cat, and two husky pups.
December finally arrives and brings with it the much-anticipated Mitchell Report on performance-enhancing drugs in baseball. Although much has been speculated, no one is prepared for the shocking revelations in the document, which reaches far beyond big-name superstars and encompasses even the previously unmentioned news media.
Former ESPN intern Lawrence Wallace reveals that Stuart Scott, Kenny Mayne, John Buccigross, and others have been using the performance-enhancing drugs Ambien, Ritalin and Baclofen for years, to create the false sense of hilarity needed to make their shows appear entertaining and relevant. Their incessant obsession with hip catch phrases has been produced by a drug-induced stupor more associated with crackheads than journalists, explaining their bizarre behavior over the past few years.
Bweinh! holds its first Christmas party in the South conference room, but the mood is less than jolly. Steve and Tom flew to Vermont in the company jet earlier in the day to plead with Job to return, and brought him back, but no one is quite sure what the outcome will be. Connie, Erin and Chloe all stand around distractedly discussing the tepid catered food, while Djere, Mike, Josh and Tom clear one end of the enormous conference table and set up ping-pong to pass the time. Everyone seems to be waiting for an announcement about Job so they can collect their Christmas bonus checks and head home for the holidays.
Eventually MC-B has a little too much to drink and begins entertaining the group with a Japanese version of Here Comes Santa Claus learned while he served overseas in Okinawa during his Navy days. It is performed using origami figures made from the festive Wal*Mart Christmas napkins adorning the table, and it manages to lighten the mood a little. 
The ice really breaks though when Djere and Tom perform their rendition of the Wumpus and Sean Connery singing Silver Bells, and soon everyone is mingling, shaking hands and wishing each other a very merry Christmas.
Eventually Steve gives a speech about love, joy, peace on earth, goodwill toward men, and other stuff like that, and hands out the checks, but Job is still silent about his future with Bweinh! As Steve urges everyone to bury the hatchet, I find myself standing next to the Pope, and am overcome with an urge to shake his hand and make up. I find myself unable to do it, though, due to circumstances beyond my control that have still not allowed Hell to freeze over. Instead I hug him while surreptitiously placing a piece of paper on his back that reads “Kick me — I am the abomination that causes desolation.”
My Year in Review (Part Three)
Read Part One and Part Two!
July finally arrives and while The Bronx is Burning on national television, Alabama is burning too. After a long drought, many counties have banned certain types of fireworks, disappointing because we are traveling four hours to spend the 4th with our grandchildren.
Although my grandson had a hushed phone conversation with me (“Grandpa! Bring lots of fireworks! A big bag! You know the stuff!”), I check the list and find their county was on the ‘banned list.’ I am a little dispirited, but upon arriving, I find all the fireworks stores open, and only bottle rockets and a few other things on the “banned” list. I have always suspected that some type of work-release agreement exists between Alabama’s mental health facilities and the fireworks industry, since all the fireworks stands bear names like “Crazy Ken’s” or “Wild Bill’s,” and advertise “insane prices.” Five minutes into my visit to this particular store confirms that suspicion beyond all doubt.
While sitting around the living room, waiting for it to get dark enough for fireworks, I tell my daughter about the great books I found in June, and she asks me how much I think the Sir Walter Scott set is worth. “Who knows?,” I said. “Probably at least $600.”
I type in the publishing date (1903), size (48 volumes), and a few other criteria. We are all a bit amazed when the only match is selling for $6500. Not bad for a $60 investment. I am still staring at the screen in disbelief when I hear my daughter Teresa yell, “Dibs! I get those when Dad dies!” We are a practical family and, as the oldest, Teresa has always been good at outmaneuvering the other two.
The fireworks go off with just one small hitch (involving the neighbors’ porch and our daughters carport), and we return the next day with our grandkids. We decide to spend one entire evening inflicting as much damage as possible on a Cruella DeVille action figure using the leftover fireworks. We are dog lovers, and after what she tried to do to the puppies in 101 Dalmatians, she will be shown no mercy. After repeatedly assaulting her with Roman candles, sparklers, M-80s, flaming spinning things, exploding smoke bombs, and firecrackers, all we can find in the morning is a charred lump of melted plastic and two small yellow feet.
If only Michael Vick had been here.
The only other thing of note was a visit to Community Fellowship Church. The first hour was pretty good, but the next 90 minutes dragged a bit. It is a nondenominational church struggling to find itself, with the unfortunate combination of Pentecostal length and Baptist dryness (no offense, Mike). At least we eliminate one more possibility.
Ian and Rachel also get a full-blooded Siberian/Malamute husky from the Humane Society, and name him Koopa. King Koopa arrives and takes over the house…
In August, the incessant noise of swarming presidential candidates finally becomes unbearable, and I am forced to take notice. Democrats John Edwards and Dennis Kucinich actually announced last December, and in January, they were joined by Hillary Clinton, Joe Biden and Chris Dodd, as well as Republicans Duncan Hunter and Sam Brownback. All this a full two years before we will be swearing in — or swearing at — our next president.
In the months that follow, Rudy “the Red-Nosed” Giuliani, Mitt Romney, John McCain, Jim Gilmore, Tommy Thompson and Ron Paul throw their hats into the ring for the Republican nomination, while Mike Gravel, Barack Hussein Obama and Bill Richardson join the Democratic fray. Mike Huckabee comes aboard in August, and Fred Thompson, after looking good and ducking all the hard questions for several months, announces that he will be announcing something formally . . . maybe as soon as next month.
In sports news, Barry Bonds breaks the all-time home run record as the San Francisco Giants and all of baseball breathe a sigh of relief. Bud Selig reluctantly attends the ceremony, and Hank Aaron participates via pre-taped remarks played on the scoreboard, explaining he could not attend in person due to unforeseen circumstances that prevented hell from freezing over.
Our son Philip and his wife Katherine are coming to visit, so we purchase a new set of living room furniture to have a pull-out sofa to sleep on in the living room. We are tactfully informed that they are still newlyweds and will not sleep in the living room for a week. Either way, the furniture is here and has to be paid for in 90 days. We decide to borrow a queen-size bed to put in the library, and I begin reluctantly eyeing Sir Walter Scott as a potential source of income.
I also begin paying the devil his due at work. Earlier in the year my son-in-law, a die-hard Alabama fan, asked if I could get him into the Auburn-Alabama game, one of the most storied rivalries in college football. My company supplies copiers for the press box for all Auburn home games, so whoever works the game, clearing jams and such, gets a free press pass and parking tag. These are VIP accommodations, and although technically extra passes are given to our company, since tickets to this game go for $500, these are not made available to me. I make a deal with my boss, though, agreeing to work all eight home games free — in return for two press passes for the Iron Bowl. He usually pays $100 per game, so I save him $800, with which he can easily buy a replacement ticket. The season starts on Labor Day weekend…
September. All year long, a crisis with China has been growing. In May, the deaths and illnesses of thousands of pets were linked to Chinese pet food manufacturers; in July, it was discovered that personal care products from China, like toothpaste, vitamins and painkillers, were also tainted and subject to recall. Finally, in August, Mattel announced a massive recall of Chinese toys, after testing finds they were tainted with toxic levels of lead. This leads to two immediate backlashes in September, with China announcing a ban on all US meat products in retaliation, and the Federal Detention Center in Atlanta announcing a halt on incoming packages for inmates, due to a flood of Chinese products being mailed to Michael Vick.
Philip and Katherine come from New York, the Hodges and Hodglings come down from Huntsville, and we are all together as a family, for the first time since last Christmas at Phil’s wedding. In the midst of the revelry, though, I have to leave to go work the first football game, and it saddens me. I am struck with the irony of doing things for your family out of love, that actually end up keeping you from them at important times. It is an evening game, and I leave reluctantly but happy, knowing they are all together in one house, eating, laughing, playing with Koopa, and watching movies together.
I have to be at the game 2 hours early, I can’t leave until 2 hours after it ends, and I have to battle the remnants of 85,000 people when I do leave. I finally get back home about 1:30 AM, and I don’t think I can describe the joy I feel as I get out of the car to see light and laughter still spilling from the front windows of the house. Everyone has agreed to suspend bedtimes for the grandkids and stay up just for me. Gazing into the living room and seeing them all stretched out on the couch, chairs, hassocks and pillows, eating pizza, playing video games, and laughing, is one of the moments I will cherish until I die.
I grab some pizza and a game controller, and join the crowd playing Monkey Ball into the early morning hours.
Rules of the Road: Winter Edition
If you’re an honest, God-fearing American, you live someplace where winter means snow. Some place like New York, Missouri, or Canada. Here’s what you’ll need to know.
â”” Contrary to popular belief, snow is neither divine dandruff, nor the byproduct of an angelic pillow fight. Snow is actually a Venezuelan conspiracy to drive up oil prices.
â”” If on the road during a snowstorm, be patient. It’ll all melt eventually.
â”” Practice makes perfect! Practice handling your vehicle in snowy conditions in the nearest empty parking lot, or handling blizzard conditions at your nearest Dairy Queen. Better yet, kill two birds with one stone at your nearest empty Dairy Queen parking lot.
â”” Every other vehicle you’ll meet on the road will be piloted by morons. They’ll either try to drive 5 or 65. Don’t worry, you’ll pass their vehicles, immobile and abandoned in the snowbanks just a few miles up the road. Pointing and laughing comes at no extra cost.
â”” Always travel in a vehicle with all- or four-wheel drive unless a vehicle with six-wheel drive or tank treads is available.
â”” If you’re cursed with unsafe travel (read: motorcycle, car, minivan, or airplane), be sure to keep bags of sand in the trunk. It will help you gain traction, and, in a pinch, you can throw it in your enemies’ eyes and yell “NINJA VANISH!”
â”” If the unthinkable happens, and your vehicle goes off the road, above all else, REMAIN CALM! Think to yourself, ‘At least I’m not watching that godforsaken A Christmas Story . . . again.’
â”” If you want a snow day, turn your pajamas inside out and wear them backwards. It’s empirical data, verified by men in scientific-looking lab coats, that this will help. Light from the sun, in the form of photons, bounces off the moon and is transformed by… I don’t know. It’s science, and it works.
My Year in Review (Part Two)
In April, the 2007 MLB season starts, finding Barry Bonds just 21 home runs shy of Hank Aaron’s all-time record — and less than a week from matching Al Capone’s record of 187 days thwarting a grand jury investigation by refusing to cooperate with federal agents.
In Philadelphia, following a series of minor of run-ins with local police, including charges of drunk driving, drug use, carjacking and abusing elderly residents of a nursing home, Britt and Garrett Reid, sons of NFL coach Andy Reid, were caught invading a small Central American nation, deposing the president, seizing control of the three major drug cartels, and murdering dozens of innocent citizens. In a hastily called press conference, Coach Reid asked for “privacy” while dealing with unspecified “family issues.” “This stuff happens in every family,” he told reporters. “We’ll get it fixed.”
In my personal life, somehow, against all odds, our accountant got us a $2100 tax refund. Even more amazing, my wife turned down taking a trip to Scotland for our 25th wedding anniversary, electing instead to invest the money in a 42″ Plasma HDTV for the living room. 
Not only that, but since the TV was technically for her, there was still enough money left over to buy me a new Martin guitar for my anniversary present. I confess, I need a new guitar like my dog needs a new pen and stationery, but I didn’t argue.
Steve extended an invitation to me to join Bweinh! and I began writing and commenting on articles. This quickly caused a controversy when I bumped into the Pope (a frequent guest contributor) in the break room, winding up in a fistfight after I called him the “Anti-Christ” and pointed out a website where Tom pointed out his suspicious resemblance to Emperor Palpatine from Star Wars. Eventually, after a review by my peers, I was placed on 90 days’ probation and instructed to keep away from the Pope and stop referring to him as “the abomination that causes desolation” during staff meetings.
May came and ESPN broke a shocking story about Falcons quarterback Michael Vick, where an unnamed informant fingered him as a major player in the Internet campaign to return Buffy The Vampire Slayer to the airwaves. This was later found to be erroneous, but he was eventually accused of running a dogfighting operation in which he identified himself online as puppyslayer1@aol.com His new coach Bobby Petrino amends his earlier statement of “I’m looking forward to spending time with Vick” to exclude any possible prison time that may be forthcoming. 
In our personal life we celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary with our daughter and son-in-law who are celebrating their 1st. We dine at Olive Garden with this memorable exchange between the waitress and my son-in-law:
“Soup or salad with that?”
“Yeah, that sounds great.”
“What?”
“The Super Salad! That sounds good! I’ll have that.”
We spend the next day at Surfside Water Park floating along the lazy river on inner tubes for several hours; then we go home and grill steaks out on the front porch. It was by far the best wedding anniversary in recent memory.
June arrived and with it the high winds and balmy weather so perfect for setting the West Coast of our great nation ablaze. As California burned out of control Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger pledged to personally descend from a helicopter in true action hero fashion to battle the blaze if 100,000 people requested that option within one week’s time. His effort fails, however, when 70% of the ballots turn out to be write-in requests to dangle Michael Vick instead.
In entertainment, the Discovery Channel follows up its wildly popular show Dog Whisperer with a companion program called Cat Shouter. 
In this show, starring Sean Penn, feline discipline problems are solved by grabbing the offending creature, shaking it violently, and screaming at it until it runs away and hides. Problem solved. The show lasts only three weeks before complaints by PETA cause it to be replaced by Hamster Healer , where rodentia are treated for psychological issues using aromatherapy and deep muscle massage.
On a personal note, I find a complete 48-volume set of Sir Walter Scott’s Waverley Novels (Thistle Edition) in quarter-bound leather, published in 1903, for $60 at an estate sale. They are possibly the most beautiful set of books I have ever owned and I spend an entire day rearranging my library to accommodate them along with Plutarch’s Lives of Illustrious Men in thee volumes, a Latin edition of Julius Caesar’s account of the Gallic War (which I cannot yet read), and a book on Latin grammar to help me with Julius Caesar’s book.
Jobsquatch, Vol. 3
The question of Job Tate’s existence is far from settled. As morning broke, Tom thought he and Steve had enough evidence to prove it already, but Steve refused to go home when they were so close to possibly capturing the noble beast. Who was right? Was Tate toying with them? And can any man hope to see Job Tate’s face — and live?
On the day Americans celebrate as Job Tate’s birthday — we bring you this brave journey, captured on video.
Part one is here; part two is here, but now we bring you — the final chapter, right here!
Jobsquatch, Vol. 2
Some refuse to believe Job Tate exists, but Steve and Tom knew it was true. After spending a fitful afternoon failing to find any woman in Vermont that could serve as “Tate bait,” the brothers return to home base — only to find a surprise waiting at the top of the stairs. Is this enough? Can the boys go home?
On the day Americans celebrate as Job Tate’s birthday — we bring you this brave journey, captured on video.
Part one can be seen here.
Now — onto part two, right here!
Jobsquatch, Vol. 1
On the heels of the great debate over Job Tate’s existence, Steve and Tom traveled to Vermont last month to see if they could lure the great mythical beast out of hiding. They brought along a video camera, two leather jackets, their leftover fries from Wendy’s and a dream — a dream that they could finally capture the elusive Tate on film, to prove to the world once and for all that Job lives and breathes and walks among us.
Now — on the day Americans celebrate as Job Tate’s birthday — we bring you their journey, captured on video.
The first step? Part one . . . watch it here!
Countdown to America Electing Yet Another Self-Centered, Self-Serving Egotist 2008
There are more than three weeks until the official start of the Year of our Lord 2008.
Already there are over 7,100,000 hits on google for election 2008. Contrast that with fewer than 3.9 million for Britney Spears, and even a walrus can see that FAR TOO MUCH has already been written about an election over 300 days away.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy politics as much as the next guy who minored in Political Science (Poli-Sci, for those in the know). I’m just not a glutton for punishment. Not that the news media are going to let us off the hook. They’ll be all up in our collective grill, telling us either what we already know or what they want us to know, creating and destroying buzz words faster than Dan Rather can give a frog a handgun.
Flashback 2004
Djere is seated in JLM 319 – Editorial, Opinion, and News Analysis. The assignment was to inform the professor which Presidential candidate you support (thus splitting the class in half), and as editorial boards, write an endorsement for your candidate. After tallying the slips of paper a sigh, and a slight pause, Professor Karadjov speaks.
P.K.: “I’m going to need five volunteers. Contrary to national polling, Mr. Maxon here is the only student in the class supporting President Bush for relection.”
So clearly the *next* generation of Journalists is as liberal as you thought they’d be.
Thank God for democracy and all that, but if this election crap keeps up, it’s going to take more than Twiggy water skiing around a kiddie pool to keep from losing my mind.
Swiftboating, leapfrogging, gerrymandering… aww, crap for crap.
On the bright side, it was my (unbeknownst to me) Al Capone quote that got my endorsement voted best in the class.
“And remember: this election day, vote early, vote often, and vote for Bush.”
P.S. So far, only one reply… from the RON PAUL campaign!
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