“WHY THE SHEETZ NOT NOT PAIR SOME RED BULL WITH UR BREAKFAST PIZZA FLAT?”

• I never eat anything that skirts the border between parody and real life. It only encourages the fast food industrial complex.
  
  
• I prefer my breakfast pizza cold, slightly bacteria laden, and straight from the box on my kitchen island so I can further amortize last night’s dinner purchase after punting on making a healthy family dinner for the sixth consecutive night.
  
  
• I have mixed feelings about enticements that use possessive pronouns the same way my 15-year-old son texts.
  
  
• In the morning I have the tiniest shred of self-respect left which I would prefer to cash in on later in the evening when I utterly surrender by bingeing six episodes of Love Island before passing out in a pile of Cheeto dust.

Over the last two decades my love for new technology has been slowly whittled away to the point where I didn’t investigate any of the new features included with my own recently purchased phone. I just assume they’re mostly used for spying on me anyway. Meanwhile, my non-connected friend must have been slightly confused about why the rest of the world turned increasingly inward, got super-interested in cats doing stupid things, and decided they were angry about a whole bunch of things they were mostly uninterested in before. He hasn’t been worn down by our all-consuming phone culture, and this shiny piece of technology in his pocket seems to be sparking a tiny bit of joy.

Consequently, for someone who has been mostly incommunicado since we departed his wedding reception nearly thirty years ago, my friend has been on a bit of contact heater as of late. He’s sent numerous unprompted texts to our college group chat about his thoughts and opinions on various recent sporting events. I was never much of a sports debater, so I didn’t add much entertainment value to the ensuing back and forth. My takes are often nuanced and quite the opposite of “hot.” As it turns out, doling out shades of grey does not make for funny and engaging group texts.

To be clear, I still love watching sports, it’s just the never-ending dissection of them that I’m checked out on. And as someone who doesn’t even enjoy measured intelligent discussion about athletics, I can’t fathom why anyone would find “sports shouting” (the cable network sports discussion style de rigueur) enjoyable. Being of that persuasion, I am eternally mystified about the continued employment and inexorable rise of Stephen A. Smith in the sports shouting landscape. I would honestly love to meet a single human being who turns on a television in their hotel room (the only place I imagine people watch ESPN anymore) and willingly says, “All right, Stephen A. is on! Let’s go!”

 My friend’s most recent texting spree revolved around the upcoming NCAA men’s basketball tournament. He revealed his hot tourney picks, provided stray thoughts on the 1985 Final Four, and for good measure, offered up a trivia question to which I did not know the answer.

My lack of enthusiasm and knowledge for the topic at hand wasn’t all that surprising. Despite my deep-seated love for basketball, I haven’t caught a lot of America’s second tier professional basketball circuit over the past few years. I couldn’t even tell you who’s going to perform better or worse in their upcoming month-long income generation event. When compared to the other top-flight professional basketball leagues, the standard of play is worse and there are a lot more teams to keep track of.

Additionally, the deals given to its players are generally of the one-year variety, so if you root for one team in particular it’s kind of hard to get to know their contractors before they find other employment. As a result, if you didn’t attend one of these workplaces (or have another a personal connection, such as having sent all your spare cash to one in an effort to further educate your child,) it gets increasingly difficult to generate a significant amount of enthusiasm for a random assemblage of higher ed professionals just because you’ve traditionally admired the color of their uniforms.

I’m not saying these employees who generate vast amounts of wealth off their labor shouldn’t receive their fair share of it. I’m just describing an unfortunate by-product of this new reality: my waning interest in the whole damn thing. After a certain point you’re just trotting out a pale imitation of product that’s being produced better elsewhere. You can gussy it up with all the pep bands, face paint, and “tradition” you want. At the end of the day, all you have left is minor league basketball and the corpse of Rick Pitino.

He had an air of dead-eyed exuberance about him, like a person who had recently joined a cult. His physique was unremarkable for someone seemingly predisposed to athletic wear and, visor non-withstanding, his skin looked like he had spent the better part of the last decade directly exposed to an unhealthy amount of sunlight.

Suddenly, and without warning, the man thrust what looked like a miniaturized tennis racquet directly into my hand.

Pickleball Man: (With unrestrained glee) Here. You’ll be doing this now.

Me: (Curiously looking at the unfamiliar piece of sports equipment now in my possession) Hmmm, I’m not so sure. Isn’t this for the old people down at the rec center?

Pickleball Man: Have you seen your hair in the mirror lately?

Me: Fair point. But I still play basketball. Can’t I just keep doing that?

Pickleball Man: Can I counter your question with another question? Do you like having the ability to use stairs the day after you exercise?

Me: (Nodding slightly) Yes.

Pickleball Man: Then you’re going to want to replace basketball with this.

Me: Is it the same amount of exercise?

Pickleball Man: Hell no. But it gets tracked as two hours of zone 2 cardio, so all your Strava contacts will still think you’re crushing it!

Me: I guess I can try it. I used to play tennis. Will that give me a leg up on the competition?

Pickleball Man: (Taking a second to ponder the question) Initially, but once you start playing with more experienced players, it will not matter at all, and might even be a detriment to your success.

Me: How will I know who’s a more experienced player?

Pickleball Man: Oh, they’ll casually mention their DUPR.

Me: What’s a dooper?

Pickleball Man: It’s a number that indicates to other players how good you are at pickleball.

Me: And everyone knows their number?

Pickleball Man: Yes.

Me: And they’re accurate?

Pickleball Man: God no. They’re either wildly inflated or deflated depending on a variety of factors: ego, mood, tournament choice, and tiered play slots available on any given day.

Me: (slowly turning the racquet over in my hand) Do I need any other equipment besides this racquet?

Pickleball Man: First of all, never, ever call it a racquet unless you want to be laughed off the court. They’re PADDLES. Think of them like drivers for golf. There are a myriad of brands and attributes and they almost all look exactly the same. And unless you’re a high-level player, there’s probably an infinitesimal difference in how they affect your game.

Me: (Making the air quote symbol during the word paddles) So people aren’t that concerned about their “paddles” then?

Pickleball Man: Actually, they’re absolutely obsessed with them. They’ll talk almost exclusively about nothing else. “I’m not sure I like my current paddle.” “Have you seen the new Selkirk Elites?” “Do you think the grit on this paddle will affect my third shot drop.”

Me: Third shot what now?

Pickleball Man: You’re not ready for that yet. But in about two months you’ll be watching about 200 hours of YouTube videos exclusively dedicated to improving it.

Me:(Confused, but forging ahead) Okay… What if I don’t like this paddle? How much is a new one?

Pickleball Man: Some people spend multiple hundreds of dollars on them, swapping them out several times a year.

Me: Hundreds of dollars?! Oof. The balls must be cheap though right? They’re like wiffle balls.

Pickleball Man: You would think, but they’re surprisingly costly for plastic balls with holes in them. Also, they crack if you look at them the wrong way, so you’re going to need a lot of them. But forget about the cost. The main thing you need to know about pickleballs is that no matter what type of ball you bring to the court, according to your opponent, it will always be “the wrong kind” and they’ll insist on using theirs.

Me: Sounds… fun?

Pickleball Man: It is. You’ll talk about nothing else for the next six months. Eventually, your wife will probably have an intervention and afterwards, you’ll re-calibrate your enthusiasm to a more maritally sustainable level. Until then, get ready for a helluva ride.

Me: So, I guess I’ll see you on the courts?

Pickleball Man: Uh, no. See, I’m a 4.5 and I don’t play with beginners. If I have anything to say about it, we won’t cross paths in a game until at least four or five years from now.

 Me: (Incredulously) Five years? It’s going to be that long before I’m any good at this?

Pickleball Man: It could be sooner. Are you going to drill?

Me: You mean practice?

Pickleball Man: Yes.

Me: (Slightly annoyed) I mean, I’m an adult with a full-time job, kids, and a wife. I don’t see myself finding time to “drill.”

Pickleball Man: Well, five years it is then. Have fun, and one last thing, say “0-0-2” not “0-0-start.” That pegs you as a beginner.

Me: That means nothing to me.

Pickleball Man: It will my friend. It will.

Who thought “Tingly Ted’s” was the right way to go for the product name? I guess if you wanted to indicate the sauce itself made you “tingle” that might be okay. Unfortunately, the product indirectly implies that something about Ted is tingly, and I’m pretty sure no one wants to know what that something might actually be.

Questionable Design Choice

The cartoon bear on the bottle seems slightly enraged for unknown reasons. Perhaps he was tingled in a way he deemed inappropriate.

Unexpected Bonus

The hastily added “Try it!” in a different handwriting on the Post-it note clearly reeks of a stock manager who thought the endorsement of a certain singer songwriter from Suffolk wasn’t incentive enough to help move the five cases of this stuff collecting dust in the back of the storeroom.

Appropriately Priced?

For two bottles per measly buck, it’s certainly worth a shot. Because when you’re looking for complex, zesty, and varied flavor profiles, one always thinks of foodstuffs of English origin.

Just heard the news that Apple is releasing a Matchbox-themed movie starring John Cena and Jessica Biehl. With 40-year-old pop culture garbage like Transformers, G.I. Joe, and Masters of the Universe reaching their cinematic saturation points, it may be time to move on to our other “nostalgia-based” IP. It’s probably in all of our best interests if we maximize the returns on our existing 80’s rights portfolio before Gen X realizes how much college costs these days.

I dug into our holdings and brainstormed some utilization ideas. Read these over and get me full treatments on at least three of these by next week with a slated summer 2027 theatrical release in mind. Streaming would be our secondary distribution option, but if we go that route we would move the release date up to “Holidays 2026” because, well, quality doesn’t really matter as much then and Q4 is looking grim.

Speak & Spell

Elevator Pitch:
Heartfelt weeper about a grumpy retiree who becomes a teacher’s aide in an elementary school to make ends meet. He quickly realizes that screen time has utterly decimated almost every kid’s ability to read. His unusual implementation of a now ancient piece of technology in the classroom leads his rag tag wards all the way to the Scripps National Spelling Bee (Note: possible tension point in third act prior to bee: frantic search for D batteries!)

Casting Suggestion:
Paul Giamatti

View-Master

Elevator Pitch: An old child’s toy allows the protagonist to see the world “as it really is” when he peers through its binocular view and pulls down the lever. Now he must decide if he wants to use its magical power to follow his dream of becoming a crime scene investigator or use it to find true love. (Note: Maybe the first procedural rom-com? Netflix maybe?)

Casting Suggestion:
Finn Wolfhard, Olivia Rodrigo

Rubik’s Cube

Elevator Pitch: A mysterious man lures a group of teens into an abandoned toy factory where he forces them to solve a series of color and math-related puzzles to stave off increasingly grisly deaths.(Note: talk to lawyers about copyright re: Saw series)

Casting Suggestion:
Puzzle Master: Budget approved – Tom Hiddleston Unapproved – Johnny Galecki

Teddy Ruxpin

Elevator Pitch: Think Paddington meets M3GAN.

Casting Suggestion: (Voice) Christ Pratt

Cabbage Patch Dolls

Elevator Pitch: A successful businesswoman finds her carefully manicured life turned upside down when old friends from her childhood “orphanage” start to re-appear and awaken latent “green thumb” abilities. Her newfound powers threaten both her impending promotion and her upcoming nuptials.

Casting Suggestion: Jennifer Lawrence, Michale Caine (retired?) as the Patch Tender

Lite-Brite

Elevator Pitch: Fantasia for 2027. Framing device for each animation involves a cute vignette of a live action kid creating images on the Lite-Brite that are thematically tied to the impending short.

Casting Suggestion: (How old are Christ Pratt’s kids?)

Simon

Elevator Pitch: An adult man on the spectrum sees complex patterns of lights and colors and accidentally gets drawn into the world of international espionage where his quirky yet singular skill set becomes uniquely valuable.

Casting Suggestion: Timothy Chalomet

Rainbow Brite

Elevator Pitch: (Note: Put a hold on this property until at least 2028. Retain rights through a limited run, direct to streaming cartoon series. Tubi?)

Strawberry Shortcake

Elevator Pitch: A surreal allegory for capitalism and modern class structure set in an alternate universe (Note: think Barbie-Land.) Themes: Your standing in society is judged by the quality of your “pies.” and the Purple Pie Man is a stand-in for the ultra-wealthy ruling class.

Casting Suggestion: Emma Stone (or Sadie Sink, if we can’t pin down Lanthimos)

Koosh Balls

Elevator Pitch: This one just writes itself.

Casting Suggestion: Christ Pratt

Despite the paucity of “known waterbed users” among my immediate contacts at the time, we couldn’t have been the only household “sailing the seven seas” during their slumber based on the number of retail outlets available to the average consumer. I can recall a period when there were multiple places in the local area you could patronize that were dedicated solely to the sale of waterbeds. But much like stores that only sold wallpaper, I haven’t seen the equivalent of “Wavy Willy’s Dallastown Waterbed Outlet” for decades. Waterbed sales seems to be a niche sleep-related marketplace that has largely vanished from the retail landscape.

A quick google search for “waterbeds near me” did turn up a singular result within a 50-mile radius: one Dan’s Waterbeds in Dauphin County. In the Google Street View photo, Dan’s Waterbeds appeared to be a two-story shed sporting stained aluminum siding whose only marking as a place of commerce was a haphazardly affixed sign featuring a cartoon cow. How a cow properly imparts to potential customers the comfort and luxury of waterbed sleeping I’m not entirely sure.

On further inspection, it looked as though the decaying front steps of Dan’s brings you to a door composed of one half beaten up screen and one half unfinished plywood. Not being in the target demo for CNS stimulants, I’m not sure if this is the type of place I would expect to purchase meth, but I certainly wouldn’t be surprised if someone offered it to me while I was there. As a commentary on the current state of the waterbed in our culture at large, Dan’s Waterbeds is exactly the kind of place I would have expected to visit to purchase one. 

As for my sleeping experience growing up, for the most part I enjoyed my waterbed. It was warm in the winter time (thank you under-pad heater) and cool in the summertime. It did sort of suck you in a little bit, so you didn’t roll around a lot in the night. There were the leaks of course, but they didn’t manifest themselves visually like in a movie or a tv show where a fissure of water shoots straight up in the air in a comical fountain. No, most leaks were slow and occurred on the side or bottom of the bed and were difficult to locate and repair. Often, you only discovered them if your foot dug into a corner and found a wet spot, or a damp tucked-in sheet unfurled itself.

You were supposed to empty the bed entirely of water to dry-patch it, but that was a bit of a pain in the ass. In the instances when we had leaks, I think Dad usually did his best and tried to do a “wet” seal, but those fixes never seemed to last that long.

Eventually, just like the mural-sized Columbia Space Shuttle wallpaper in my bedroom, the Evans family waterbeds fell out of fashion. One by one, they all found their way to the curb. I don’t know what tipped the scales against them. Maybe it was the slightly damp smell your room acquired after one too many leaks. Maybe it was the frigid winter nights sleeping on a cold layer of plastic when your under-pad heater failed. Or maybe, we all woke up one day from our wavy slumber and realized the 70’s had ended more than a decade ago.

I don’t really get nostalgic for the time I slept on a waterbed. But today it just occurred to me that I had one as a child, and I did sleep on it for a really long time. Which, in retrospect, is kind of weird.

* I am aware that’s not how math works.

Burning Question

Who at the Boudreaux Company came up with the brilliant idea of calling their diaper rash ointment Butt Paste? If he or she has not since been promoted to the c-suite, there clearly is no rhyme or reason to how one can climb the corporate ladder.

Questionable Design Choice

The cartoon child in need of butt paste clearly is not old enough to speak, let alone of the age where one would know how to draw attention to a unique selling proposition through the casing of letters. Thus making his or her speech bubble utterly inane.

Unexpected Bonus

The butt paste container indicates that it has a “Flip Top.” I’m not sure if that makes it harder or easier for a caregiver to get their greasy hands in and out to retrieve said paste, but the good folks at Boudreaux Co. seem to think it’s a nifty feature.

Appropriately Priced?

At $2, this is one of the most moderately priced ways you can get your hands on a product that contains at least 16% zinc oxide AND is free from talc. Those looking to prevent and treat severe rash may want to pony up more.

Look, I think we need to have an honest conversation about how allowing the Man in the Yellow Hat to attend our annual Friendsgiving celebration could be uniquely disruptive to our plans next Thursday.

Listen, we all like the guy. I mean, he always comes off affable enough in a nondescript kind of way, but does he have to bring his pet primate with him everywhere? Some gatherings are just not monkey-appropriate. I mean, he doesn’t even ask if it’s okay. He just shows up with him. And Jesus, that monkey. That tail-less piece of work has quite the history.

Based on numerous well-documented incidents at every, single, major, holiday, and event in town, we can only assume that similar hi-jinks will occur at our upcoming Thanksgiving gathering. Let me be clear, I’m not here to simian-shame. We all know the blame for these “episodes” can be attributed to the trusting nature and (let’s be perfectly frank here) utter negligence of his canary-clad owner.

Some of you have tried to try to assure me that this time he’s promised he won’t leave the monkey unattended. But I guarantee you that within seconds after they show up, the Man in the Yellow Hat will make up an excuse to, “go check on Professor Wiseman,” or see “what that local paperboy’s up to,” leaving the monkey without the strict supervision he clearly needs.

Sure, there could be positives to their attendance. Again, based on his history, even though we can expect significant property damage and potentially introduce a serious threat to the completion of our annual Thanksgiving Day jigsaw puzzle, it probably wouldn’t be a complete loss. Through sheer coincidence and dumb luck, we might learn a few important life lessons (and perhaps some basic math) along the way.

Knowing this group, we’ll probably just end up forgiving the little scamp for whatever un-chaperoned mischief he causes, only further empowering his clueless handler to unjustly reward his furry ward with some apple cider, a trip to the ice cream parlor, or some other undeserved recompense for all the bullshit he was responsible for in the first place.

So, I’m sorry to say, my vote is an emphatic no.

P.S. Clarice, if I come out on the losing end of this vote, could you subtly let the MITYH know he shouldn’t add Professor Wiseman as his plus one. He seems to be the last person on earth that doesn’t know she’s just not into him.

Do you have ankle pain when you wake up in the morning, but don’t remember doing anything more strenuous than walking to your front porch to pick up a DoorDash order? Then Skyrizi might be for you.

Does your throat itch when you have raw bananas, but not if you eat them after they’ve been warmed up in a microwave? Then Skyrizi might be for you.

Do you get irritated when the person in line in front of you at the supermarket clearly doesn’t know how to use the self-checkout lane but forges ahead undeterred? Then Skyrizi might be for you.

Do you have to deal with a boss who has no idea how to relate to other human beings, so he ingests whatever snippets of conversation you initiate and clumsily equates them to an entirely unrelated story he wanted to tell anyway? Like that one time, how you started to tell him how your aunt was sick and he somehow compared her bladder surgery to how he got delayed at the airport and how it’s a shame that every single person at the airport, from the car rental guy to the skycap, is an irredeemable idiot? Then Skyrizi might be for you.

Don’t take Skyrizi if you are pregnant, thinking about becoming pregnant, or doodling a cartoon heart in your notebook that contains bubble letters spelling out your hypothetical new married name if Barry would just get off his lazy ass and propose already. I mean for crissakes Barry, your Mom can’t do your laundry forever!

Possible side effects include, upset stomach, skin rashes, having thoughts about how you lied to Meg Hondru in the third grade about whether or not you stole her favorite jelly bracelet (you did), repeatedly logging into your bank’s website to see if your co-pay has been refunded yet, watching Wings reruns on TBS, eating black licorice, and posting suggestive and inappropriate emojis in the comments section of your sister-in-law’s reels.

Ask your doctor about Skyrizi today.

Or don’t, because that would probably be a weird and awkward interaction and he’s already kind of pissed about you bringing up what you found on WebMD.

Burning Question

One has to wonder, is there requisite demand for “traditional” Jamaican flavors among south-central Pennsylvania grocery shoppers to necessitate the proffering of Home Depot bucket-sized quantities of this Caribbean cuisine staple?

Questionable Design Choice

As depicted on the label, a woman happily prepares what is unmistakably a delectable traditional jerk mixed grill in the foreground, while two children appear to be having a vicious slap fight in the background. No doubt a scathing commentary on the work life balance all parents have to navigate.

Unexpected Bonus

The side of the packaging clearly states that Walkerswood Traditional Jamaican Jerk Seasoning is, “For chicken, pork, fish, vegetables, and hamburger.”

It’s as if someone in the marketing department had initially submitted, “For chicken, pork, fish, vegetables, and beef,” and a guy in product development was like, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Beef? Let’s not get carried away Larry. Just dial that back to hamburger okay?”

Appropriately Priced?

While five dollars for nearly TEN pounds of loose seasoning may seem like a steal under normal circumstances, that price point does squarely cement this pail-o-spice as one of the most expensive (non-expired) items on the shelves