Laughing Stalk Humor Columns by Erik Deckers

Britain Won't Air Sesame Street. Rest of the World Not Surprised

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 13:00:00 +0000

Sesame Street, the show that's responsible for nearly every American under 45 learning to read, is celebrating its 40th year in production.

It's a milestone so popular that Google has been running cute little graphics celebrating it.

It's also no surprise that the Nanny State won't air the program, believing it to be outdated, not very competitive in the pre-school market, and that puppets are just out of date, said an article on the BBC website.

Nick Wilson the know-nothing in charge of children's programming for a show called Over at Five, says there are other shows that have similar learning themes, so Sesame Street got squeezed out ~~because of xenophobia~~ in favor of having home made shows instead.

Because, says the BBC, "it's preferable to put British voices on imported programmes."

Oh really? So who's doing the overdub on BBC America then? I don't recall hearing Gordon Ramsay's F-Word show being redone so Ramsey sounds like a Texan. The show might be interesting then.

"The style of the programme is a tad out-dated - there are very few puppet shows around now. Perhaps LazyTown, but that's a very different tempo, although it does have the overt educational message," said Know-Nothing Wilson.

You know, the sheer fact that Sesame Street is on in 140 other countries tells me that 140 other program directors are smarter than you. The rest are just getting warmed up.

So you can keep your Numberjacks and Tikkabilla and other pap. The rest of the world and I will stick with the world-loved pioneer in children's educational programming.

Today's rant was brought to you by the letters "B B C," and by the number "can suck it."
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Phone It In Sunday: The Biggus Dickus Scene from Monty Python's Life of Brian

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 13:00:00 +0000

The Biggus Dickus scene from Monty Python's Life of Brian. One of my favorite scenes — although not my absolute favorite — from one of my most favorite movies ever.

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Drunk Scotsman Challenges Lamppost to a Fight and Loses

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 13:00:00 +0000

Several years ago, I was driving in downtown Mishawaka, Indiana with my wife, sitting behind a car at a stoplight. The two passengers in the car started hassling a teenager who was walking on the sidewalk, because he held his arms wide and shouted, "you want a piece of me? You want a piece of me?!"

Because he was glaring at those people so intently, he completely missed the lamppost until he ran face first into it.

Nothing deflates an ego worse than a face plant into a lamppost. Unless you challenge it to a fight.

David Robinson of Crieff, Scotland had been drunk when he was shouting at passers-by and challenging him to a fight. However, Robinson must not have been that threatening, because they ignored him, which made him more angry.

According to an article on STV, the police showed up and watched as Robinson, tired of being ignored by real people, turned on the lamppost and shouted at it to "come and have a go."

When the police moved to arrest them, he yelled at them to fight him.

Robinson later admitted his guilt in Perth Sheriff Court (in Scotland, a Sheriff is a judge), and was given 80 hours of community service.

After he completes his community service, fight organizers have arranged a bout between Robinson and a mail box. If he wins, he'll face a telephone box for the title.

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Justice is Blind, Not Very Smart

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 13:00:00 +0000

Justice is Blind, Not Very Smart

Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk syndicate
Copyright 2009

I'm a big supporter of civil rights and personal liberties. In this country, we're all guaranteed certain inalienable rights, and are allowed certain dignities, even when facing criminal charges.

For example, if you're accused of a crime, you have a right to not have your name dragged through the mud during the investigation. Of course, if you're found guilty, all bets are off. Let the name dragging begin. But until then, people deserve the whole "innocent until proven guilty" benefit of the doubt.

Look what happened to Richard Jewell, the security guard who saved several people from being blown up during the 1996 Atlanta Olympics. Rather than being hailed as a hero, he was accused by the FBI of planting the bomb, and all but found guilty by the news media. Despite some nasty accusations and rumors in the news, he was exonerated. So he sued several media outlets for a kajillion dollars, and won or settled every one of them.

Still, there are times when the criminals in question don't deserve sympathy or special treatment. I found two cases where I thought the criminals were getting special treatment, while the victims were being unnecessarily prosecuted or persecuted. And surprisingly, neither of them are in the United States.

In Toronto, Canada, David Chen, owner of the Lucky Moose store, was relieved to learn that some of the most serious charges against him were dropped related to a shoplifting incident this past spring.

Only Chen wasn't the shoplifter.

No, that was Anthony Benett, an apparently habitual shoplifter Chen caught trying to steal from his store for a second time in the same day.

Chen and two other employees caught Bennett and held him until police arrived. The police freed Bennett, and then arrested the three Lucky Moose workers. Bennet later pled guilty and was sentenced to 30 days in jail for his crime.

Meanwhile, Chen was charged with kidnapping, possession of a dangerous weapon (a box cutter he wore on his belt), assault, and forcible confinement. The first two charges were dropped, which means Chen goes on trial next June before a judge for the last two charges that stemmed from stopping a shoplifter from ruining his livelihood.

Many Canadian activists are wondering why Chen is facing the more serious charges, even though Bennett has a 33-year police record, and only spent a month in jail. Chen was trying to protect his store from further theft, and faces several years in prison for it.

One of Chen's customers, Marianne Chong, told the Toronto Sun, that the Canadian courts are being rather unreasonable. She pointed out that Chen has to work 16 hour days just to cover his court and legal costs, while Bennett was able to get a free legal aid lawyer.

This week, another tale of misplaced priorities comes from Cornwall, England, shop owners Dennis and Christine Lusby had all the windows in their village store smashed out by one Ben Hill. The 20-year-old troublemaker, who had been in trouble with the law before, admitted to breaking the windows, and spent 74 days in jail for it. In fact, he did over £3,000 ($5,000) in damage to the windows, as well as a farmhouse window, a car, and another house.

The Lusbys, tired of answering the same old "what happened to your windows?" question from customers, wrote "damage done by Ben Hill" on all the plywood.

Not a problem, right? Hill committed the crime, pled guilty to it, and spent over two months in jail for it. They're just reporting the facts of the case.

But the police told the Lusbys to remove Hill's name from the boards, because the mere stating of the truth was taking away his civil liberties.

In other words, the police didn't want the Lusbys to tell everyone that BEN HILL BROKE THEIR WINDOWS. Apparently, telling people that BEN HILL BROKE THEIR WINDOWS was somehow going to create problems for the poor lad, who already had a well-earned reputation for terrorizing the village of St. Breward.

Ironically, I saw the story about how BEN HILL BROKE THEIR WINDOWS in the (London) Daily Mail. It's ironic, because once the story hit the British newspapers, any civil liberties the destructive little punk might have had immediately flew out the window.

He probably got blamed for breaking that one too.

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Food-Related Assault Epidemic Spreads to Idaho, Condiments

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 13:00:00 +0000

The food-related assault epidemic is continuing to spread. This past June, it reached Idaho, and has mutated from food-only items to condiments.

That's when 18-year-old Tiffany Wallace of Boise rammed her pickup truck into another car several times, after throwing plastic packets of ranch salad dressing at an unnamed male driver.

According to the Idaho Statesman website, Wallace rammed a Kia sedan during a road rage incident that ended in the Saint Alphonsus Regional Medical Center.

The male driver of the Kia told police the conflict began after he was cut off by a woman driving a pickup truck on Fairview Avenue near Orchard Street. The male driver told police that the woman driving the pickup then began driving aggressively — cutting him off, tailgating, and pulling the pickup next to him, where she yelled at him and threw coins and small plastic containers of ranch dressing at the car.

According to the police report, not only had the rear bumper fallen off and taillights been smashed, but "the car's sides and trunk were also covered by spots of ranch dressing and there appeared to be dents from the coins."

And nothing gets out ranch dressing. I mean, you can spray Shout on it, but those little greasy spots will be there forever.

Wallace pleaded guilty to felony aggravated battery. Ada County prosecutors dropped a use of a deadly weapon during the in the commission of a felony charge (which is also a felony) in exchange for her guilty plea.

I know ranch dressing isn't good for you, but a felony? Isn't that a little excessive? I mean, they were only small packets, not the great big bottles you get at Costco.

Wallace will be sentenced on December 11th. She faces up to 15 years in prison, but prosecutors are recommending a 10-year-prison sentence with a nice raspberry vinaigrette.

However, prosecutors are also recommending that Wallace receive six months of treatment in an Idaho Department of Correction facility, before the judge decides if she should serve her prison sentence or be placed on felony probation for the 10 years.

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Confessions of a Know-It-All

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 13:00:00 +0000

Confessions of a Know-It-All

Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005

On Wednesdays, rather than rehashing a news story, I reprint one of my old columns. I've got 15 years' worth of the damn things, so there's no point in letting them sit moldering in a box in my garage. At least not the good ones. This one is from October 2005.

As a self-proclaimed Know-It-All, I am in the enviable position of being able to demonstrate my vast knowledge on a wide array of topics, like how Benjamin Frankton invented the kite, or how Ora and Wilfred Right were the first to fly an airplane across the Pacific Ocean to France.

And people enjoy hearing about these important facts. Oh sure, they may pretend to not be interested. But their eye rolling and shouts of "Would you just shut up?!" are really just good-natured jokes. I think they really appreciate it when I continue to lecture on about important fact that pops into my mind, like how Sir Isaac Newton invented the Apple computer.

But I hate it when other people do it to me. They do it in that smug way that just grates on my nerves, and correct me by asking a question in response to a statement I made.

"You mean Ben Franklin?" or "Haven't kites been around for centuries?"

Even those smarmy baristas do it at Starbucks, whenever I order a "large" latte.

"Venti latte?" they ask in a condescending way that both confirms my order and gently reminds me that they don't serve something as gauche and bourgeois as a "large."

"Yes," I respond. I refuse to say "venti." However, I have to salute their attempts at being Know-It-Alls, but it's obvious they aren't, otherwise they would recognize me as their king.

The benefit of being a Know-It-All is that I know the other people don't, in fact, know all; unfortunately, they don't. If they knew as much as they thought, they would realize that I did. As a result, they're unaware that Lewis and Clark were searching for the Fountain of Youth in Bend, Oregon, or that the United States fought Liechtenstein in World War II.

So it's my obligation to enlighten people about the gaps in their knowledge with interesting bits of trivia, like Alexander Graham Bell invented the graham cracker, or that "Inherit the Wind" is the sequel to "Gone With the Wind."

Unfortunately, some people don't take my pearls of knowledge to heart. They argue with me and say that I don't know what I'm talking about. If that's the case, then how did I get to be a self-proclaimed Know-It-All? These naysayers usually mumble something about how "self-proclaimed should be obvious" before stalking away in an envious huff.

It can be a lonely life at times. There aren't a lot of us Know-It-Alls around. In fact, in addition to myself, I only know two others: a kid from high school I used to play Dungeons and Dragons with, and a former psychology professor from Ball State University I met when I was a kid. However, that guy is not there anymore, so I guess he didn't know as much as he thought he did.

I first realized I was a Know-It-All when I was 12 or 13 years old and discovered I knew way more than my parents did. Most teenagers go through that phase, but they grow out of it when they reach high school and have it pounded out of them by their teachers. I, on the other hand, spent the next 15 years slowly educating my parents on things, until we were nearly on par. Of course, once I had children, it was like they had an educational growth spurt, and were much wiser and smarter than I had ever given them credit for.

Being a Know-It-All parent is a huge responsibility though. I only have a few short years to teach my children all the important facts of life, before the public educational system tries to drum it out of them. Important things like how George Washington crossed the state of Delaware to defeat the Confederate Army.

Sure, the teachers will tell me I'm ruining my children's education, but they're part of the problem, spouting off such nonsense as Canada is a country to the north of the United States, or fluoridated drinking water is not a government mind control plot. But I stand firm in my beliefs.

It's like Albert Einstein once said, "Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds." I figure if anyone knows what they're talking about, it's Albert. After all, he invented black holes and co-founded the Einstein Brothers Bagels shops.

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PETA Doesn't Want Wildlife Park Elephants Washing Cars

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 13:00:00 +0000

Animal rights ~~joke~~ organization PETA wants the Wildlife Safari in Oregon to stop using elephants to wash cars.

The group — which is also widely known for killing pets at its Norfolk, Virginia animal shelter — thinks the elephant carwash is "a gimmick that does nothing to foster respect for endangered species."

Gimmick? A gimmick?!

You're the same bozos who have started calling fish "sea kittens," wanted to open a "chicken empathy museum" in Louisiana, and wanted to whack a 6-foot bottle of Canadian maple syrup in Vermont with a club to protest seal clubbing in Canada.

Meanwhile, PETA's little gimmicks do nothing to foster respect for painfully-thin, faux-leather-Birkenstock-wearing granola munchers, but yet they keep doing stupid stuff.

In a story in the Roseburg (Oregon) News-Review, the PETA whiners believe the bullhooks, more commonly called an ankus, are being used to threaten the elephants with harm if they don't do their jobs.

But Dan Brands, the man who actually works with the elephants on a daily basis, told the News-Review that these bullhooks are used as an extension of the trainers' arms as guides, not hitting implements. Trainers actually give the elephants carrots or yams as treats.

"These are 2-ton animals," Brands said. "You can't force them to do anything they wouldn't want to do."

If PETA was truly concerned, they would put down their Starbucks soy half-caffe organic fair trade latte, leave their cushy air conditioned offices, and volunteer to wash these cars themselves. But until they're truly willing to step in and take over for the elephants, they need to stick to doing what they know best: killing Virginia's pets and making fools of themselves.

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What Peyton Manning Shouts at the Line of Scrimmage

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 13:00:00 +0000

Ever wondered what Peyton Manning shouts at the line of scrimmage? ESPN gives us a look at what goes through the mind of the QB genius.

"Now THAT'S next level."

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Southwest Airlines Removes Crying Baby From Plane, Millions Cheer

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

"I am sick of these motherf---ing kids on this motherf---ing plane!"

Southwest Airlines just endeared itself to the millions of adults who ride airplanes and know how to control their children. They booted Pamela Root and her 2-year-old son Adam off their flight in Amarillo, Texas, after he continually screams "Go! Plane! Go!" and "I want Daddy!"

In a story on MSNBC, Pamela said she believed her son would finally stop when the plane took off, but rather than take off, the plane returned to the gate, and they were escorted off the plane.

Root wants an apology and to be repaid for the portable crib and diapers she had to buy. Southwest Airlines should ask for compensation for the extra fuel and wasted time they spent in doing what Root was not able to do: make her kid shut up.

Before anyone accuses me of being heartless or not understanding children, let me say that I'm a father of three. And my wife and I never put up with wailing and screaming from our kids. Crying, yes. Being mad, yes. Screaming over and over? No way. Pamela Root needs to learn that the universe does not revolved around her kid, and that subjecting 100 people in an enclosed aluminum tube to your 112 decibel child is not the textbook definition of "considerate." Just be happy they're letting you back on another plane to try again later.

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The Dangers of the Couples Skate

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

The Dangers of the Couples Skate

Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk syndicate
Copyright 2009

I recently read a column by fellow humor columnist, Jenny Isenman, about one of her most humiliating experiences as a young girl. Since she doesn't have the global reach I do, I thought I would relate the story for her.

During a skating party in 1984, little Jenny was rolling around the rink during a Girls Skate, leg warmers pulled up over her jeans — no, that's not the most humiliating part. I know, that surprised me too! — when she tried to slap hands with an older boy.

Apparently this was a signal. During a Girls Skate, they would slap the outstretched hands of the boys they wanted to Couples Skate with. The boys would stand along the side and stretch out their hands to the girls they wanted to skate with, while the girls hoped the boys they liked had their hands out.

It was an exercise of mutually assured destruction in the self-esteem department.

If a boy stuck his hand out, he could be ignored and rejected, thus subjecting him to a drive-by ridicule; if a girl skated by the boy of her choice, he might keep his hand in, and she would have to skate on, pretending the other girls weren't skating over the tattered remains of her heart.

We never did this kind of thing when I was a kid, growing up in Muncie, Indiana. So I don't know if this was something they only did in Jenny's school, or if no one at my skating parties did it while I was there. Given my Couples Skate record — zero — either scenario is a possibility.

Instead, we received our rejections after asking a girl to her face. That way, she could laugh at you directly for several seconds, rather than giving you the opportunity to whiz by and avoid personal humiliation.

Not that I'm bitter or anything.

On this particular day, Jenny had her eye on an older boy, who was standing on the side, watching her skate. He caught her eye, threw out his hand, and she made her way toward him to signal her intentions. When she was inches away, he yanked his hand back and pretended to slick back his hair — the old "psych!" move.

However, her attempts to reach him threw her off balance, and she went careening off the wall crashing to the floor. She skated off to the bathroom, and cried in a stall, while the Couples Skate went on without her.

Personally, when I was a kid, I never saw the point of a Couples Skate. Of course, that's because I never actually had a Couples Skate. For the most part, I went to the skating parties with friends, and we would do what most 11-year-old boys did: farted around and pretended we didn't care if the girls didn't want to skate with us. But we showed off, secretly hoping our goofy antics would make them want to skate with us.

It was delusional optimism on our parts, since they never wanted to spend time with us during the rest of the year either. Why would a skating rink be any different?

So we body checked each other into the kiln-hardened 2 x 8 ledge that doubled as a landing zone for young skaters faces, and stood around during Couples Skates, making fun of the boys who were skating with girls.

We made fun of these boys partly because we were jealous of their successes, but mostly because we were still at the age this as a treasonous action against our gender.

We knew girls were supposed to be interesting, but we weren't quite sure why. So for the next year or so, we continued to goof off, show off, and get blown off by the girls in our class, never quite realizing they weren't as impressed by our antics as we were. We were happy to live our lives on Planet Boy, as humorist Stuart McLean calls it.

But we only had to face this rejection on wheels for a couple more years, up through middle school. That's when we started finding girls interesting, but didn't know any other way to get their attention than by goofing off, showing off, and writing awkward notes, still without success.

After that, came high school dances, and the embarrassing rejection most commonly found within a five foot radius of me, usually visited upon me by girls who derived sadistic pleasure from dashing the hopes of young men.

Not that I'm bitter or anything.

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British Police Can't Say "Evenin' All" Anymore; Might Confuse People

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

British police, the enforcement arm of the Nanny State, are now victims of the Nanny State. They have been told not to use certain everyday phrases, because they could cause confusion for some.

An article in the (London) Daily Mail says the Warwickshire Police handbook, Policing Our Communities, says the phrase "Evenin' All" could confuse people from different cultural backgrounds.

"Don't assume those words for the time of day, such as afternoon or evening, have the same meaning," says the handbook.

Right, because people have different diurnal clocks, and so don't tell time like the rest of the country? Because they're still operating on the time zone from home?

A Warwickshire police spokesman told the Daily Mail, "Terms such as afternoon and evening are somewhat subjective in meaning and can vary according to a person's culture or nationality. In many cultures the term evening is linked to time of day when people have their main meal of the day.

"In some countries, including the UK, the evening meal time is traditionally thought of as being around 5-7pm but this might be different, say, for a family from America who might have their main meal earlier and thus for them evening may be an earlier time."

Uh, no, here in the backwaters of America, we still eat dinner/supper at 5 - 7. You're thinking of senior citizens, who usually hit the Early Bird Special at Golden Corral around 4:00.

Officers are also told to not use the words "child, youth, youngster, boy, or girl," as they may be misleading or "cause offence." The want coppers to use the phrase "young people" instead. As in, "Late-in-the-day greetings, young people. Wot's all dis den?"

Marie Clair of the Plain English Campaign (and not the magazine) said, "Those writing these guides are overanalysing things. It's political correctness gone crazy. Is anyone really going to be confused by "evening"? And if you can't say what a lovely afternoon it is, what are you meant to say - what a lovely 3pm?"

Look, I understand the need for some updated language and concepts. Trying to use more inclusive language — "staffing" a station, rather than "manning" it, etc. — is important. But who is truly going to be confused by the word "evening?"

Rather than practicing "behalfism" (speaking on behalf of someone else, usually someone you have no clue about), focus on solving crimes, not offending some mythical group that doesn't know when the evening is.

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Is this a 'Misguided Column?'

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

Is this a 'Misguided Column?'

Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005

On Wednesdays, rather than rehashing a news story, I reprint one of my old columns. I've got 15 years' worth of the damn things, so there's no point in letting them sit moldering in a box in my garage. At least not the good ones. This one is from December 2005.

We're nearing the end of 2005, and I want to wish everyone a belated Merry Wintervale.

What's that? You don't know what Wintervale is? That's what some schools in the United Kingdom are calling Christmas. Apparently, "happy holiday" and "season's greetings" weren't soulless and sterile enough, so they came up with that little winter winner instead.

Apparently, the PC simps didn't like the fact that "holiday" stems from "holy day," and they didn't want to be "greeted" by anyone either. So school administrators kowtowed to them in an attempt to be inclusive, thereby excluding everyone.

You can find this, and more infuriating bits of Political Correctness, at the Global Language Monitor website. The GLM is a Political Correctness watchdog — excuse me, security animal companion — that keeps track of the linguistic decisions made by idiots — excuse me, bureaucrats — around the world. They recently released their "Top 10 list of Politically inCorrect Words and Phrases" to warn everyone of the creeping menace that is tightening its grip on the globe — excuse me, becoming more popular.

Before you think that this form of insanity is limited to UK school administrators only, consider the Anglican Church in Cardiff, Wales. At number nine on the list, they had their robes in a bunch about the Christmas — excuse me, Wintervale — carol "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen," because it excluded 50% of their congregation.

So they changed the song to "God Rest Ye Merry Persons" — or as it's sung, "God Rest Ye Merry Peeeerrrrrsons." Let's just hope the UK school system doesn't get involved, lest it become "Faith-Based Higher Power Rest Ye Persons of Varying and Independently-Chosen Moods."

It may be a little over the top, but you do have to admire a gesture like that from a church that a couple hundred years ago, wouldn't even allow women to speak or hold positions of power.

Topping the 2005 list is the British Broadcasting Corporation and their use of the term "misguided criminals" instead of "terrorists."

"The BBC attempts to strip away all emotion by using what it considers neutral descriptions," said the website. Apparently they didn't want to offend the terrorists who killed 52 people in the London bombings this past July by expressing outrage and emotion over it.

Two other UK entries on the list were also the subject of Laughing Stalk columns this past year. Number three: Ireland's use of the term "thought showers," instead of "brainstorm, "so it wouldn't offend people with epilepsy. And at number six, a British school teacher's attempt to replace the word "failure" with "deferred success" so as not to embarrass students who didn't pass exams. Luckily that one was deemed "deferred intelligent," and so was never implemented.

And despite my own best efforts, the use of the word "womyn" instead of "women" (number seven) has become more widespread. It's a way for anti-man feminists to distance themselves from their Y-chromosome counterparts. However, there is still no indication on what the pro-womyn faction wants to do about the word "menace," "manual labor," or "menstrual cramp."

Of course, if the use of the word "womyn" becomes more acceptable, I'll be "out of the mainstream" on that one, which is convenient since that's number five on the list. The phrase is used to describe anyone who disagrees with you politically or otherwise. But as GLM reminds us, at one point in history "having your blood sucked out by leeches was in the mainstream."

In fact, they used leeches as far back as the mid-1700s A.D, which is now called C.E. That's right, there's a movement to stop using A.D., which means Anno Domini (Latin for "Year of Our Lord"). They want to replace it with the less religiously charged C.E., which means Common Era (Latin for "bunch of whiny babies").

Since A.D. refers to the year Jesus Christ was born, the C.E. camp doesn't want to offend the non-Christians. What has escaped them, is that regardless of what you call it, we're still referring to the fact that it's now 2005 years since Jesus was born.

Some might say the C.E. people are just being a bunch of pathetic, knee-jerk malcontents — excuse me, activists — who are desperately searching for something to whine about — excuse me, a cause to support. If they were truly committed to the idea, they would stop using the Western calendar altogether. Let them use the Jewish, Chinese, or Mayan calendar instead. If they really want to remove Christian influences from the calendar, let them start writing 5766 on their checks and see what the banks say. Then we'll see who's committed.

You could argue the same is true for the womyn whyners: if they truly had a good argument about not using words with man, men, or male as the root word, they would change every single word they used that had anything masculine in the word, not just one.

I don't have all the answers. At least not yet. But don't consider me a deferred success. Just let me give them some thought showers, and with any luck, I'll have an idea by next Wintervale that will be not be out of the mainstream.

In the meantime, God Rest Ye Merry Peeeerrrrrsons.

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British Cemetery Officials Won't Let Man Put Too Many Flowers on Wife's Grave

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

Not only are the bureaucrats stupid in England, it appears the landscaping people are not much better off. At least that's what we're led to believe.

That's because the staff at Gorstage Cemetery in Weverham, Cheshire told Stanley Brown he could not put more than one bunch of flowers on his wife's grave, because they're obstructions.

Staff told Stanley that the flowers kept the landscapers from cutting the grass, and might cause them to trip.

Good old Health and Safety. We knew you could protect us from overly sensitive displays of lifelong love.

Brown was married for 57 years, and his wife died last December. He has tended her grave four times a day, every day.

"This has really upset me and the whole family. They all live within a three-mile radius and they all want to lay flowers at Violet's grave," Stanley told The (London) Times. "If I lay flowers, and one of my children or grandchildren also want to pay their respects and lay flowers, they can't because it's against the rules.

The problems started after Brown placed £20 of roses on his wife's gave one day. The following day, he found them stuffed in a landscaper's shed. A few days later, he received a letter from the Weaverham, Cuddington and Acton Bridge cemetery committee telling him they would ~~steal~~ remove the flowers if he placed more than one set on her grave.

Cemetery committee chairman John Freeman sniveled to the Times, "Plot owners are only allowed room for a single set of flowers due to the layout and upkeep of the cemetery. One or two people have built gardens in front of the headstones which is what breaks the rules and doesn't hep the gardener when he is mowing. We went up last week and removed a couple of obstructions and put them in a room."

"The committee go on about the gardener cutting grass at the cemetery but it has only been cut three times in the past year," Stanley said. "My sons and my granddaughter's boyfriend help out and cut the grass from the sides of the graves."

Sounds like the cemetery might be falling down on the job, although that may have just been a bouquet of flowers.

I would think that if the Weaverham Cemetery really cared about the safety of its workers, they would hire people who were a little more sure on their feet and were not immediately waylaid anytime someone left a bouquet of flowers for their loved ones.

Seriously? Seriously, Weaverham, Cuddington and Acton Bridge cemetery? Tripping is the best you can come up with?

You don't like that people show "too many" symbols of love and care to their family, so you come up with what may possibly be the dumbest excuse in the history of dumb excuses. "Our gardeners might trip on them." Is that the best you can do?

Or do you hire morons and the severely unstable? I'm all for helping people who need a break, but honest to God, if you're going to trust people to operate machinery that will chop off a man's foot at 100 miles an hour, you need to rethink whether you hire the ones who easily stumble over a bunch of flowers.

Otherwise, leave the man's flowers alone. Keep your rules for yourselves, and try to show the same honor and dignity to the living as Stanley Brown wants to show to his wife. Or at least pretend you still have a heart.

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Nanny State Takes Newborn Baby, 2 Children Away From Mother Because She's Obese

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 21:29:00 +0000

I didn't think it was possible, but Scottish social workers have brought the Nanny State to a whole new level of jack-booted interfering, hereto unseen except for books like 1984 or movies like THX 1138.

That's because they want to take away the newborn baby of an obese mother (300 pounds), and have already taken away her two youngest, because they were afraid the kids were at risk of becoming obese themselves.

According to a story in The (London) Times, the unnamed mother was told less than 24 hours of giving birth that she would not be allowed to keep the baby.

It's good to see the Scottish authorities acting for the welfare of the country's children, what with having solved the country's history of alcoholism, spousal abuse, drug abuse, and unemployment.

Apparently, the parents created their own problem when they asked social workers for some help managing their children. Rather than helping, the social workers found that two of the kids were already overweight. So the ~~Fascists~~ social workers warned the family they had to get the children's weight under control.

The father of the child (the parents were not named because of privacy reasons) told the Times, "My wife was told she could stay with our baby for another 24 hours but then she would have to go home alone. She got up out of her bed and left the hospital right there and then. I had to wait behind to say my goodbyes to the baby."

The father said social workers had told him they wouldn't visit the hospital, and that they were going to follow a report by Dundee Families Project that recommended family support. But instead, social workers went into the maternity ward and served papers on his wife during labor.

Tomorrow, there will be a hearing about whether the social workers can remove the family's remaining children from their care.

"Sorry, kids, we know your parents love you, but you're just too fat."

A representative from the Dundee City Council told the Times, "We have made it clear on numerous occasions that children would not be removed from a family environment just because of a weight issue."

Sorry Councillor, but you may want to check with your social workers, because it sounds like they didn't get the memo on saving stupid decisions for Head-In-Your-Ass Friday.

Apparently, keeping kids from getting fat more important than keeping them from following parents into abuse of alcohol, drugs, and their wives.

It's disappointing, frightening, and maddening the lengths the British government will go to in overstepping their bounds of good taste and appropriateness. But it is no way very surprising.

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Phone It In Sunday: Pixar Intro Parody from CollegeHumor.com

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

If you've ever seen any of the Disney/Pixar movies, you've seen the intro with the lamp that just stomps the bejeezus out of the letter 'I' in Pixar.

But do you know what really happened?

Then, Phil Collins sent the lamp front row tickets to a concert in the lamp's hometown, and put the spotlight on him, and sang "In the Air Tonight."

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High School Student Uses Video Camera to Catch Locker Thief, Snags Surprising Culprit

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

Tiana Rapp, a senior at Newfield High School in Long Island, had lost $190 in theft from her locker on two different occasions. After complaining to the high school administration, who believed it was a student, and said they couldn't do anything.

So Rapp took matters into her own hands. She and a classmate put a video camera in another locker and pointed it at her own.

That's when they caught Linda Cubano, an adult hall monitor, opening Rapp's locker and searching through her purse.

"They said there was nothing they could do and they were convinced that a student was doing it," Rapp told Newsday.com

Turns out Rapp is a big fan of CSI, and wants to be a forensic scientist when she graduates from college.

The school district said they had accepted Cubano's resignation, but they were not going to comment on the case. Cubano was also charged with three counts of petty larceny.

Rapp said several other students have said they were losing things from their lockers as well. My guess is that those thefts will come to a stop as well.

Rule #1 about being a successful thief: Never steal from people who are smarter and more resourceful than you.

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Family Fun Night is not Always Fun

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

Family Fun Night Not Always Fun

Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk syndicate
Copyright 2009

"Okay kids, sit down. It's family night. We're going to play a game. "

"Sweetie, come back here."

"No, we're not watching a movie tonight."

"No, we're not watching TV either. We're going to play a game."

"Not a video game, Buddy."

"No, Honey, we're not playing a computer game."

"Yes, I'll tell them. You need to respect the process. I'm trying to build suspense."

"Fine. We're playing Uno."

"It's a card game."

"Can you read the name here, Buddy?"

"No Buddy, oo-no, not you-know."

"Yes, Honey, that's it."

"Right, Sweetie, it's Spanish for one."

"You lay down a card that has the same number or color as the one in the discard pile. If you have one of the battle cards, you can make someone pick up two or four cards, skip their turn, or reverse the order of our turns. We'll figure it out as we play."

"Here we go. And the first card is a red seven. Honey, do you have a seven or a red?"

"Then you need to draw a card."

"Buddy, hold your cards up. We can see them."

"You don't want to let me see them."

"Because someone might cheat."

"By knowing what cards you have. They would know that they should play a certain card because you don't have it."

"No, I'm not cheating."

"No, your sisters aren't cheating either."

"No, Buddy, Mommy's not cheating either."

"No, nobody's chea—Honey, quit looking at my cards."

"Okay, Sweetie, do you have a three or a blue?"

"What do you mean, you have a skip? It's my turn next."

"Don't laugh."

"Thank you. See, Mommy has a reverse card, and now it's your turn, Honey. Do you have a nine or a yellow?"

"Skip? What is up with you guys? Don't I get a chance to play?"

"All right, when it's my turn again, I know just the card to play."

"Draw four?! Honey, I taught you this game, and you hit me with a draw four? That's a little harsh."

"Buddy, hold your cards up."

"Okay, will somebody please put down a card I can use?"

"Ha, draw two! Take that."

"What? I am not trash talking a 13-year-old girl. I just got a little excited, that's all. I'm sorry, Sweetie. I didn't mean to make you feel bad. Okay, thank you."

"Uh, nice reverse, Buddy. Heh heh, guess that means, uh, Sweetie, that means it's your turn...?"

"Draw four? Come on."

"I said I was sorry."

"Fine. Honey, it's your turn again."

"Oh sure, you give Mommy the red seven, and I get the freaking draw four?"

"Another reverse. Good job, Buddy. I'm seriously starting to not like this game."

"Honey, please? Please, I'm begging you. Don't hit me with a skip card. Look, I'll get you a pony for your birthday if you don't give me a skip card."

"I know your birthday was two weeks ago. Did I say birthday? I meant Christmas. That's coming up real soon."

"Great, a draw two. You don't get a pony now."

"That's all right. It's okay, we're still having fun as a family, and that's all that really matt—YOU DIDN'T SAY 'UNO!'"

"What? I didn't shout."

"I didn't."

"Okay, I got a little excited, but that's the rule. You have to say 'Uno' before your other card hits the discard pile. She has to pick up two cards."

"Oh, I think I can be forgiven. She has to pick up two cards, while I still need to get rid of the 37 cards, thanks to all the draw fours and skips, so I don't feel all that sympathetic."

"Well, it's like they're already experts. I'm trying to teach them the game, and I'm getting skunked."

"What do you mean, you guys have played this before? When did you start playing Uno?"

"But why didn't you say anything back then? Summer time is a great time for playing cards."

"No I'm not 'too competitive.'"

"I am not sulking."

"Not pouting either."

"Why don't you kids go watch a movie or something."

I could really use some voting help. I'm a contestant on two different sites for favorite blog. One is on Linking Indiana, and the other on Top 50 Indiana Blogs. If you could stop by and vote for me, that would be great. Thank you.

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Jon Stewart Hammers on Fox News for Not Covering Gay Rights Protest

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

My favorite line in the whole clip?

"Gay people aren't vampires. They show up on camera."

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

Queer and Loathing in D.C.

www.thedailyshow.com

Daily Show
Full Episodes

Political Humor

Health Care Crisis

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My Kingdom for a Curmudgeon

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

My Kingdom for a Curmudgeon

Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006

On Wednesdays, rather than rehashing a news story, I reprint one of my old columns. I've got 15 years' worth of the damn things, so there's no point in letting them sit moldering in a box in my garage. At least not the good ones. This one is from August 2006. If you have enjoyed my Karl the Curmudgeon columns, this is his introductory column.

Regular readers of former Chicago Tribune columnist Mike Royko will remember Slats Grobnik, a curmudgeonly character who espoused less-than-popular views on certain controversial issues. These views were somewhat, but not too far, out in left or right field, depending on which side Grobnik supported. He gave voice to the viewpoints you secretly agreed with, but knew better than to espouse in polite company.

Like non-smokers who secretly believe militant anti-smokers are taking things a bit too far. Democrats who think the Teachers' Union is whiny. Republicans who think Big Oil is greedy. Barry Bonds haters who still watch every pitch so they can see history being made.

Speaking of sports, sports writer and pencil mustache aficionado Frank Deford has his own sports curmudgeon called – what else? – The Sports Curmudgeon. This curmudgeon will growl and gnash his teeth about his less-than-popular views about the sports world that would otherwise generate a lot of hate mail if Frank wrote about these opinions himself.

Dave Barry may have his Astute Readers. Bruce Cameron may have his Eight Simple Rules. Robert Novak may have his anonymous White House sources who reveal confidential information that endanger the lives of other Americans. But none of them have a curmudgeon.

Unfortunately, neither do I. And I need one.

I recently began searching for my own curmudgeon, someone to growl their own opinions on everything wrong with the world today. So I placed an ad in my local paper.

"Wanted: Grizzled, opinionated loudmouth to express his views on controversial topics. No idea too outrageous. Free beer. Must supply own cigars."

I held the interviews in a local tavern so I could watch the curmudgeons in their natural habitat.

I started with the first candidate. "Is darts a sport, or just a game?"

"Just a GAME?" he bellowed in a strong Irish accent. "JUST a game?! Listen sonny, I'll take you over me bleedin' knee if you ever say darts is 'just' a game again! When I was yer age, I was killin' bears wit nuttin' more than a tin pot and a handful of darts."

Hmmm, a definite Maybe.

The next one: "Who's the worst of the last four presidents?"

"They're all terrible! We haven't had a good president since Grover Cleveland!"

True, but I was vigorously opposed to Cleveland's stance on the Pullman Strike of 1894, so this guy went into the No pile.

A third: "What comes to mind when I say Microsoft?"

"Freemasons! They're poisoning our water with fluoride to control our minds!"

Another Maybe. What about the next candidate?

"What do you think of Barry Bonds?"

"Anyone who's ever seen the guy play knows he's on the juice. If those morons running baseball truly cared about the sport more than the revenues, they would have booted him years ago. But they made their bed, so now they can lie in it."

Hmmm, looks promising. Let's try a follow-up question.

"So you think Bonds is hitting all those dingers because he's on steroids?"

"Nah, it's the hand signals I send him through my TV."

Uh-oh.

After several more hours of Nos and Maybes, I was ready to give up. Not one definite Yes in the bunch. I leaned back and closed my eyes, and considered the possibilities of hiring a Whippersnapper instead. I looked up again when I heard a chair scoot and a mug plunk down on the table.

The guy looked vaguely like Santa Claus with a full white beard, a fisherman's cap on his head, and a blue work shirt. Sort of Hemingway-esque.

"You look beat, Kid," he growled. "What's the matter?"

"I thought this would be a whole lot easier."

"What would?"

"Interviews. I'm trying to find a mature, experienced opinion leader who's willing to share his thoughts on current events."

"Oh, you mean a Curmudgeon."

I sat up. "Exactly."

"Heck, Kid, you're nearly old enough to be a Curmudgeon yourself."

"Watch it, old man, I'm half your age."

He cackled into his beer. "You're alright, Kid. You're alright."

I decided anyone who called me Kid couldn't be half bad. I explained what I was looking for and what I needed him to do.

"And you'll provide the beer?"

"Yep. You interested?"

"It's a deal."

"Great," I said, signaling for another round. "What do you think of the whole Brad Pitt - Angelina Jolie baby thing?"

"Someone needs to spay and neuter them both before they procreate again!"

This was going to be the start of a beautiful relationship.

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British Teen Forced to Give DNA Sample for Throwing Ketchup

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

Zach Cameron is in for it now. The 15-year-old British schoolboy was fingerprinted and forced to give a DNA sample for assault.

Assault with ketchup.

According to an article in the Daily Sun (official motto: "More boobs than the Times, Mail, and Express combined!"), Zach was out with the daughter of his pastor, when a 14-year-old girl was making "nasty" comments about the daughter. So he took matters into his own hands, and lobbed a small container of ketchup at the girl.

A few days later, Zach received a letter from the Medway Police, which summoned him and his father to the station. Zach went, expecting to be lectured by police. Instead, he was fingerprinted and had a DNA swab taken from inside his mouth.

Zach told the Sun, "It was crazy. I know I should not have thrown the sauce but it was only a tiny bit."

Dawn Cameron, Zach's mom, said, "This all started when Zach was defending the daughter of his church pastor who was being abused by this girl. He realises now it was a silly thing to do but it wasn't the crime of the century."

Dawn is bitter about the entire incident, since the police did nothing after she was the victim of a road rage attack, or after her husband, James, was attacked in a pub.

"This girl complained about having a bit of tomato sauce thrown over her hair and the police reacted as if someone had been murdered," Daw told the Sun.

The police told Zach that he had nothing to worry about, since he does not have a criminal record, and this will not be used against him.

However, if there are more food-related attacks in the area, you know who they're going to go after. Strikes me as condiment profiling.

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BBC Changes "Humpty Dumpty" to Make It Less Violent

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

The British Broadcasting Corporation, the world's most trusted source to not jack around with the news is now facing some controversy after jacking around with Humpty Dumpty.

They changed the end of the nursery rhyme for the CBeebies channel so it said all the King's horses "made Humpty happy again."

According to the story in the Daily Express, the Beeb said they made the changes for "creative reasons rather than trying to give a soft version of the rhyme for children."

An unnamed spokeswoman told the Express, "We play nursery rhymes with their original lyrics all the time and the small change to Humpty Dumpty was done for no other reason than being creative and entertaining."

Tom Harris, the Labour MP for Glasgow South, told the London Independent (official motto: "I can do it by myself!"), that this was "pathetic" that CBeebies rewrote Humpty Dumpty not to upset children. He believed CBeebies has begun sanitizing a lot of their content for young viewers.

"For goodness sake. Obviously children will find it far too violent, distressing and horrific that Humpty should not be put together again," he told the Independent. "This is what happens when adults try to make these kinds of judgments."

Harris recalled another episode where Little Miss Muffet made friends with her spider antagonist, rather than running away.

The unnamed spokeswoman said they made the same change for more creative reasons.

Photo: Aturkus
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Phone It In Sunday: That's Gay: Commercials

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

From Al "I invented cable TV too" Gore's Current cable station, the same forward thinking progressives that brought us Sarah Haskins (Target Women), Brian Safi produces the "That's Gay" segment on Current. A few weeks ago, he showed us the difference between straight versus gay commercials on regular TV stations versus LOGO and ~~the other LOGO~~ Bravo. And he's nearly as funny as Sarah Haskins.

With offerings like Sarah Haskins and Brian Safi, I really think I need to start watching Current once in a while.

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At Least I Didn't Pick a Tuba

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

At Least I Didn't Pick a Tuba

Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2009

Erik is out of the office this week, so we are reprinting an article from 2002. That'll teach him.

Every kid should learn to play a musical instrument.

I realize that's difficult, with all the education funding being viciously slashed by nearly every state in an effort to improve their students' abilities to take standardized tests. However, if we're not careful, this next generation of students will become musical illiterates.

Presidential Aide: "Bad news, Mr. President. We've just received the World Culture Report from the United Nations. It seems our country's orchestra is currently ranked below the Tarawa Symphony Orchestra of the island nation of Kiribati.

President: Who'd we beat?

Presidential Aide: It's a tie, sir. We are currently ranked higher than an Australian jug band and some crazy guy with two sticks and a toy xylophone.

President: Wow, that's a shame. Let's go play some tee-ball.

Luckily, my parents believed that a musical education was important, so I was expected to play an instrument. I started playing cello in the school orchestra in the fourth grade.

Since I had to walk to and from school every day, and had to lug my cello home twice a week that year, one would think I would learn a valuable lesson in instrument choice. But like any nine year old, I wouldn't learn my lesson if it were spelled out with baseball cards and candy.

So when I entered the fifth grade, I made a similarly stupid choice in choosing a new band instrument.

Ever since I was eight, I had developed a keen interest in one particular instrument. I had planned that once I reached the fifth grade, I could join the band, and learn to play the instrument that haunted my soul.

Finally, the big day came. Potential musical proteges marched down to the band room, were handed a card, and told to write down the instrument we wanted to play.

I clutched my pencil and carefully wrote each letter. I had one shot at this, and neatness counted if I wanted to achieve my dreams.

"A-L-P-I-N-E-H-O-R-N"

"Alpine Horn?!" Mr. McDaniel, the band director, nearly shouted. "Do you even know what an Alpine Horn is?"

"Sure I do. It's that 15 foot horn they play in the Alps." I had done my homework, and knew that Swiss and German shepherds used them. I also knew that Mozart had even written a composition for Alpine Horn. Turns out it was Leopold Mozart, but that didn't matter back then.

"I don't think there's an Alpine Horn anywhere in Indiana, let alone in Muncie. Just pick another instrument," he suggested. "Something a little more. . . sane."

Somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of my mind, I remembered something one of my parents' friends told me. This was very odd, because at ten years old, I never listened to my parents, let alone well-meaning strangers.

"Learn to play the French Horn," said the friend, "and you will be able to play anything."

"How about the French Horn?" I asked Mr. McDaniel.

"We've got one of those," he said, sealing my fate. I went on to become one of only four grade school French Horn players in the entire city that year. That number grew to five horn players in my high school, through a series of trumpet defections and strong-arm tactics from our high school band director.

As a result, my growth in fifth and sixth grade was severely limited, but my arms grew at an alarming rate. The rest of my body didn't catch up until I was 19. You see, the French Horn is not so much a brass instrument as it is a 120 pound concrete block with a mouthpiece on one end, and a big shiny bell on the other.

Three times a week, I would lug my instrument home, wondering if I could talk my parents into buying me a motorized cart, or even moving closer to the school. As I would stagger home, some mouth-breathing grown-up with delusions of cleverness would call out helpful things like "You should have picked the piccolo," or "Bet you wish that came with wheels."

I would usually fake a smile, wave, and silently wish I had gotten that Alpine Horn I asked for. Shepherds could nail a hungry wolf from 75 feet with one, and suburban dorks weren't much harder to hit.

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Food-Related Assault Epidemic Continues. Yes, It's In Florida

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

And the food related assault epidemic continues to grow. In fact, if it wasn't for an attack in Iowa this past July, all the attacks would have been in Florida.

This time, it was in Hernando Beach, Florida, where a South Carolina teen was arrested for hurling a deadly missile at a moving vehicle.

A burrito.

According to the story on WFTS ABC News website, John Addie — the victim — was driving his car when someone leaned out of a car and threw something.

"The next thing Addie knew his front windshield was cracked and he was covered in refried beans," said the WFTS website.

So Addie did what anyone covered in discarded Mexican food would do: he followed the car, and called the police.

Police arrested the unnamed burrito bomber, who confessed to hurling the burrito as a prank, and released him to his father's custody. He was charged with hurling a deadly missile, which is a felony.

Apparently burrito-related assault is a felony, as opposed to pelting your girlfriend with a hamburger, which is apparently only a misdemeanor. (It's Florida, what do you expect?)

The police report said Addie's

"vehicle, which was clean and in excellent condition, had a chip in the windshield where the hard object struck it. I observed the contents of a burrito to be on John’s person and his driver’s seat.

A portion of the burrito was on the window frame, on the exterior of his vehicle. I also observed the remainder of the burrito to be at the base of the driver’s seat. It should be noted that John suffered no injury as a result of being struck by the burrito."

View Florida Food-Related Assaults in a larger map

Past food-related assault articles:

Will You... Uhh... Do You Want To...

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

Will You... Uhh... Do You Want To...

Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005

On Wednesdays, rather than rehashing a news story, I reprint one of my old columns. I've got 15 years' worth of the damn things, so there's no point in letting them sit moldering in a box in my garage. At least not the good ones. This one is from October 2005.

Believe it or not, I wasn't always the suave, sophisticated, debonair guy I am now. So it's not too surprising that I never dated much in high school. It wasn't for lack of interest or even lack of trying. Believe me, I was very interested. And I tried as much, if not more, than any normal teenage boy did at that age.

I just didn't know the appropriate way to go about it. That, and I was a bit of a geek back then.

I know, I know, you're totally surprised to hear that. But it's true.

Apparently — and I wish I had known this back then — playing in sports nobody has heard of and being in the marching band can pretty much blow any chances of dating for the next 10 years. It wasn't until I quit the band and assumed a new identity that things turned around for me.

But knowing what I know now, I would like to offer some rules of dating success to the other quasi-geeky young men out there who find themselves alone on a Friday night. I do this partly because I want to spare them the same difficulties I had, but mostly because my wife won't let me date, and I want to see if this stuff really works.

These rules also apply to the complete geeks, although I can assure you I wasn't one. Because it's important to. . . no really, I wasn't. It's important to remember. . . seriously, I wasn't. I was just ahead of my time, that's all.

Rule 1. This is the biggie: lose the Star Trek gear. And Star Wars. And Babylon Five. And Battlestar Galactica. And anything else that combines the words "fiction," "science," and "I like" in a single sentence. Your friends may be impressed that you worked out a battle plan that shows how the Millennium Falcon could beat the USS Enterprise in a dogfight, but girls don't care. Trust me, this is the epitome of geekiness, and should be avoided at all costs.

Rule 2. Ditto for Dungeons and Dragons. For some reason, girls aren't wild about guys who play make believe about fighting dragons and orcs, and finding magical treasures. I remember this one time, I was playing an Elven archer and. . . never mind.

In high school, I only knew one girl who played Dungeons and Dragons, and she was geekier than me. (Despite this, she still intimidated most of the guys in our D&D group by virtue of her being a girl.) In other words, the odds in my school of finding a female D&D player were literally one in 1200, so don't hold your breath on finding one of your own.

3. Adopt an air of mystery. In other words, don't share things about yourself that make people roll their eyes and say "too much information" in that sing-songy voice that makes you want to smack them. Topics like "guess how many things I'm allergic to" or "the results of my latest stool analysis" are strictly off limits. You're better off showing her the three-hour PowerPoint presentation of your Enterprise-Millennium Falcon battle complete with animated explosions.

4. Avoid people who suddenly like you when they previously didn't. They're setting you up for something. I had the fortunate experience of watching this happen to a friend of mine when I was a junior. I say fortunate, because it happened to him and not me. Still, as a friend, it was my duty to support him and help him get over it.

We did this by showing the girl in question there were no hard feelings and delivered three dozen eggs to her house one night. We also left soap on the windows and toilet paper scattered throughout the yard to help with cleanup the next morning.

5. Stories about hobbies and extra-curricular activities are also off-limits. You may think the story about how you nearly came to blows with that jerk Hanson at the Chess Club banquet are interesting, but you're the only one. Save the stories for your grandkids.

However, for some reason, she will not feel the same compunction and will tell you all about what she heard from Sarah who heard it from Alissa who heard from Mandy that Melody and Stuart were caught in the Industrial Arts stairwell and blah blah blah. Just smile and nod and be happy that you're actually on a date with a girl, let alone in the same room with her.

Unfortunately, this is only the tip of the iceberg. Let's face it, being a quasi-geek is a pretty big iceberg, and your dating life is the Titanic. But there's hope. Just practice these five simple rules and you'll start to see small improvements which will lead to bigger and bigger successes. And if you're lucky, you'll have an honest-to-God real girlfriend who thinks your sci-fi obsession is "kind of cute."

It's like the Star Trek episode, "Trouble With Tribbles" where Captain Kirk. . . never mind.

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