So, for this week’s Friday Four, I am going to list four more reasons I probably would be an excellent President of the United States. There will surely be many, many more reasons to follow in the future.

One

Since I’m not yet married, rulers of other countries will probably try to set me up with their daughters.

Mind you, I don’t say this because I think I’m a super great catch or anything. But, since I would be in a position of power, it is reasonable to expect rulers of other countries will want to “get in good” with me. And what better way for them to do that than getting me to become a member of their family?

Just imagine how much better our country’s relationship with Canada would be if I was dating the daughter or granddaughter of… whomever it is that rules Canada.

Two

I am frugal, organized and wise with money.

Our national debt is ginormous. As a country, we have more money going out than we have coming in. This simply will not do. America needs to live within its means. It needs to cut out excess spending. It needs financial peace!

It needs Dave Ramsey.

If I became President, I would require every member of Congress to enroll in Dave Ramsey’s Financial Peace University. These people will learn how to manage money. And every U.S. Citizen will be given a free copy of Ramsey’s book, The Total Money Makeover.

Those citizens who cannot read will be given one-way, business-class ticket to Canada. Why Canada? Because I’ll be pretending to date the ruler’s daughter or granddaughter, and he will owe me a favor.

Three

I would blog every day.

Can you imagine how enjoyable it would be to have a President who blogged every day about his life? You would be able to leave him comments, and he would visit your blog and leave you comments. Your voice would be heard. You’d be able to make a difference in the world.

Also, imagine how jealous your friends would be if the President of the United States had your website on his blogroll.

Four

I would change the driving laws so that 18 was the age where one could get their learner’s permit and 21 was the age where they could get their actual license.

Why? You know why, people. Teenagers cannot drive.

They don’t pay attention to what they are doing. They drive too fast. They don’t know how to break properly. They don’t know how to accelerate properly. They don’t know how to park. They don’t know what to do at a four-way stop. They talk on their cell phones while they drive. They text message while they drive. They play with the radio while they drive. They honk at people they know while they drive. They dress ridiculously and talk incoherently.

I know that last sentence really has nothing to do with their driving abilities, but it needed to be said.

And there you have it. Indisputable proof that I would make a wicked awesome President of the United States.

So, what do YOU think of these ideas? Should I seriously consider running for President some day? Who amongst you would support me, vote for me, and tell me I’m handsome and smart? Leave a comment or two or ten!

Humor-blogs would totally read my Presidential Blog.

The 5′2 tall singer of such hits as “1999,” “When Doves Cry” and “I am a Little T-pot” was playing on the merry-go-round at a local park when he was approached by an unidentified assailant wearing snake skin cowboy boots and tapered jeans.

“The guy looked like he was asking for his autograph or something,” said witness Lowell Mather. “Next thing you know he had picked Prince up by his feet and started spinning him round and round. I didn’t know what to make of it all.”

Other witnesses to the attack were equally baffled as to what they were witnessing.

“At first, I thought they were playing,” fellow witness Roy Biggins remarked.

“When he threw Prince in the air, I thought he was going to catch him. He had his arms stretched out and everything. But then he pulled his arms back at the last second and Prince fell to the ground head first. Then he began kicking him. It was awful.”

As the assailant pulled rubber bands out of his pocket and began shooting them at the helpless singer, bystanders began to wonder if they should break up the squabble.

“Hindsight is 20/20, but I honestly thought they were playing a game,” said Antonio Scarpacci, a taxi cab driver with a clear view of the attack.

“The guy kept saying something about how this would make a great post for his blog. I think he was, how do you say, smoking the pot.”

Asked for comment as he was leaving the emergency room, a bruised Prince replied, “I just don’t understand what took those idiots so long to get that guy off of me.

“What were they waiting for?! The guy was shooting freakin’ rubber bands at me!”

Police have released the following sketch drawing (left) of the unidentified assailant. He is described as a dashingly handsome, fashion savvy man in his late 20s. He can be identified by a very smug-looking smile, a boorish attitude, and his tendency to take pictures with his head tilted sideways.

If you have any information on this case, please contact the authorities at 1-800-555-KEVDIDIT.

The above is a repost (and slight revision) of the very first “fake news” story I ever wrote. It originally debuted at my old blog on May 31, 2006.

Humor-blogs is a big fan of Wings.

“You know, I know, and those who have been reading my blog for a while know the kind of person I am. They are in on the joke. But I’m amazed that someone hasn’t read a random post or two of mine, had no idea of the context or my style of writing, and left me a spiteful comment saying I am ’smug’ or something.”

I should have “knocked on wood” after saying this, because on July 17th a user at Stumble Upon had this review for my Friday Four: Things That Bug Me post:

“The website’s author is boorish and I fail to find any humor in his somewhat cruel, smug, and self important rants. A waste of precious stumble time.”

Had it not been for the 500+ new visitors who were referred to my site on July 17th from Stumble Upon, I would not have had any idea this review even existed. When the curiosity bug bit me, I discovered the review.

In the immortal words of Jerry Maguire: “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna do what you all think I’m gonna do, which is, you know, FLIP OUT!!!“

No, I’m not going to do that. As is my way, I am going to calmly and coolly address this person’s criticism in a mature and decidedly non-boorish fashion.

Dear Stumble Upon Guy,

You are a poo-poo head.

I know it wasn’t your intent, but thank you for referring so many new visitors to my site last week. For approximately 1/500 of a second, I questioned myself and asked if there was an ounce of truth to your review. Thankfully, I quickly realized that no, no there wasn’t.

You do not know me. You did not spend any amount of real time reading my archives to get a true sense of who I am and who I am not. You have no clue.

You say I’m boorish? Well, is it boorish to write about telling small children Santa won’t be bringing them Christmas presents this year? Is it boorish to write an open-letter to lazy parents telling them to teach their children proper etiquette? Is it boorish to eat spaghetti with your bare hands?

You say I’m smug? Well, is it smug to refer to yourself as “awesome” 84 times a day? Is it smug to write a blog post outlining reasons you’d be a good President? Is it smug to open a speech in front of an auditorium full of people with, “yes ladies, I’m single?” Is it smug to write how you actually look good when you sneeze?

You say I’m cruel? Well, is it cruel to threaten people with a bag of oranges? Is it cruel to tell a criminal he’s probably too stupid for a life of crime? Is it cruel to refer to someone’s laugh as “a laugh that makes me pray for the sweet release of death?” Is it cruel to punch kittens?

You say I write self-important rants? Well, is it vain to write about your wicked, awesome immune system? Is it vain to write about your great sense of fashion? Is it vain to write about your having one or more stalkers? Is it vain to think Carley Simon was singing about you even though you weren’t yet born?

I think I’ve proved my point.

Sincerely,

kev

Most all of you know the above letter is just me being silly. A few will swear I am being serious, and a few more will fail to find any of it funny. But that’s okay. This site is not for them. It’s for you.

Do I sometimes criticize celebrities and nameless idiots in my writing? Yes. And, when you’re sarcastic and have a dry sense of humor, some people will take offense to those criticisms. These are usually the same people who (*cough*) have no problems dispensing criticisms of their own, but that’s a topic for another day.

However, these criticisms do not make me boorish. They do not make me smug. They do not make me cruel, and they do not make me vain.

No, they make me a-w-e-s-o-m-e.

I’ll stick my neck out on the line and ask: Do any of YOU think my writing is boorish, cruel, smug or vain? Leave me a comment or two or ten with your thoughts. Please be gentle.

Humor-blogs had me at hello.

Are you job hunting? Perhaps, despite the fact you submitted a resume consisting of, “yo, fool, hire me!” written in crayon, you got that interview with the big Fortune 500 company. And now you are worried your social ineptness will hinder your chances of landing that job. Well, you’re in luck my friend. Even with your sub-par computer skills, you happened upon the one internet article written by the one guy who can help.

“What makes me qualified,” you might ask?

I just am, okay?

First, always start the interview with a joke about midgets. Everybody loves laughing at/about midgets, and this will surely endear you to the hiring manager at the beginning and possibly distract him from noticing any obvious character flaws because he is still amused by why the midget crossed the road.

If your interviewer happens to be a midget, you’re in luck. Pick him up, hold him like a baby, and make a bunch of baby talk about how he is a poop machine and you are going to change his diapy - he will think it is hilarious.

Also, don’t think any past experience is irrelevant. Remember, big companies want people with diverse backgrounds. Just try to shed light about how your past jobs built skill sets that are applicable to the job you are interviewing for. For example, your last job clubbing baby seals taught you time management.

Confidence is key. Even if you walk into the interview with your zipper down and toilet paper stuck to your shoe, be sure to act like you meant to do it and make fun of everybody else for being conformist pigs. The interviewer will respect your confidence and think to himself, “now this is a guy who will lead.”

While everybody else interviewing for the job will be talking themselves up, you can stand out and seem less pretentious by putting on a skit about your stronger points. Remember a picture is worth a thousands words, so sitting next to a cardboard box with a contemplating look will far better drive home the message that you can think outside the box than just stating so.

Lastly, just be yourself. That is, of course, unless not being yourself will give you a better chance at getting the job. If that is the case, then be anything but yourself.

Now, go. And land that job of your dreams.

Humor-blogs is scared of midgets. And cardboard boxes.

Because I am a giver, I suppose I should at least explore the idea of my someday running for President. So, for this week’s Friday Four, I am going to list four reasons I probably would be an excellent President of the United States. There will surely be many, many more reasons to follow in the future.

One

I was a teacher for three years, so I know how to deal with immature people.

The Senate and House of Representatives would be child’s play compared to a room full of 14 year olds. In school, half the students hate your guts. The same would be true with our partisan government.

Now, if Presidents had the power to give members of Congress detention, I’d be made in the shade…

Two

Interns don’t do anything for me.

With me in the White House, you wouldn’t have to worry about any shenanigans ala William Jefferson Clinton. In fact, I will go so far as placing a “No Girls Allowed” sign on my office and bedroom doors.

If that doesn’t keep them away, my water gun filled with hot sauce surely will.

Three

I would immediately declare war on France.

We’re all tired of them. Am I right? Who’s with me??

Four

I would begin drilling for oil in Canada.

Forget Alaska, we have a large resource immediately north of us. Gas prices haven’t gotten absolutely ridiculous. And, as the resident bully in North America, we shouldn’t be afraid of hurting Canada’s feelings. We should go in, tell the Mounties to step aside, and begin drilling for oil anywhere we please.

Frankly, Canada should be grateful we didn’t called dibs on their land years ago.

And there you have it. Indisputable proof that I would make an awesome, awesome President of the United States.

So, what do YOU think of my ideas? Should I seriously consider running in 2012? Who amongst you would support me, vote for me, and tell me I’m handsome and smart? Leave a comment or two or ten!

Humor-blogs wants to be my Vice President.

The other night, however, I was struggling with my usual insomnia and, after the late-night Good Eats re-run concluded, “Unwrapped” with Marc Summers came on. For those of you who don’t know, this show covers all the behind-the-scenes info on popular American foods, from the origins of French’s Classic Yellow Mustard to what’s really in Marshmallow Fluff (which we all know is nothing but clouds and cyanide).

Normally, this show is relatively entertaining. If you ever want to know the reasons the Lucky Charms marshmallows are the shapes that they are (I like the pots o’ gold, personally), this would be the show for you. But the episode I was watching – “Cheese Please” – may have just turned a normally cheese-loving awesome guy into, well, just a normal awesome guy.

This episode detailed the secrets behind making goat cheese, cheesecake, and Cheez-It crackers. Now, I love a good goat cheese as much as the next guy, but there’s something about seeing it in still-liquid form in a thousand-gallon metal vat that would turn even Joe Rogan’s stomach.

When referring to the process of making goat cheese, there’s something about the phrase, “Now we dump in the live cultures, and as soon as those start to work, the cheese will start to curdle – kinda like milky Jell-O!” that makes me never want to look at a goat again. Ever. Sorry kids, the petting zoo is out. I hate goats now.

Next up: cheesecake. I like cheesecake, I do. But in my mind, cheesecake is always made by hand, by a bunch of attractive, motherly-looking women with aprons and rolling pins, infusing their cheesecakes with love and blessings for all who may consume them. NOT by a giant machine that spits a big blob of filling into a pre-made crust in one gigantic squirt…200 at a time. Where’s the love? Where’s the blessing?

Finally, Cheez-It crackers. At first I was thinking that seeing little orange crackers in mass quantities – we’re talking feeding all of Africa here – wouldn’t bother me so much. And it didn’t…until they attacked my eyeballs with what the cracker dough looks like before it’s baked. Obviously, it doesn’t start off orange. It starts off white. Fine, it looks like bread dough. But seeing them dump a giant bowl of liquid ORANGE into the formerly normal-looking dough was too much. I don’t think I even heard what was in it. I was too busy contemplating injecting liquid Dawn into my ears in an attempt to wash my brain of the image I had just witnessed. I will never look at a Cheez-It the same again.

I think from now on, I’ll stick to Good Eats. I’ve come to the conclusion that knowing how the majority of my processed food is made is not a good thing. At least I know good old Alton infuses his food with love and blessings.

Now, if he could also infuse it with a little Giada DeLaurentiis, it would be on like Donkey Kong.

Humor-blogs is bitter because I called dibs on Giada DeLaurentiis.

“how to open conversation with a lady”

A big thanks to Google for referring this individual, and a bigger thanks to KathyF for writing the guest blog post that ultimately led him to SKOS. Thanks to you, this young lad is able to get the help he desperately needs and only I can provide.

Dear Reader,

Whether it’s a shy teenager or an awkward man in his forties who still lives in his parent’s basement, it warms my heart whenever I hear Cupid has struck someone in the buttocks with his pointy, rusty arrow. It brings out both the romantic and the doctor in me.

(By the way, you should probably go get a tetanus shot.)

Doug (may I call you Doug?), I am glad fate brought you to me. You see, I have never had difficulty striking up conversation with the ladies. In the first grade, I distinctly remember being tackled and held down against my will by virtually every girl in my class one day during recess. I don’t remember what I said to them, but it must have been very suave.

Because I am a giver, I’m going to help you. I am going to impart my knowhow to you, Doug. How does that sound?

The tears of joy inevitably streaming down your face right now brings me to my first tip, Doug: do not cry in front of the ladies. Television, movies, magazines and all that nonsense might have you believing ladies want a guy who is sensitive, but believe me when I say it isn’t true.

Ladies want a man who never cries. Ever.

If you are talking to a lady when three hundred bees proceed to swarm on you, you better not cry. It doesn’t matter if you are allergic to bee stings. If you cry, she will lose all respect for you.

If you are talking to a lady when an escaped lion from a zoo pounces on your back, you better not cry. She will go find a man who doesn’t cry when being mauled by zoo animals.

If you are talking to a lady when a senior citizen, mistaking you for someone she saw on America’s Most Wanted, sprays mace in your eyes, you better not cry. You better take the mace from her hand and spray HER with it just like a real man would do.

Another good tip is to make sure you have clean ears and fingernails. Girls pay attention to whether or not a guy has clean ears, Doug. Trust me. According to my own independent research, dirty ears is the number one reason for divorce in this country. It has surpassed financial issues, impotence, and Angelina Jolie for the top spot.

As for fingernails, well… that’s just sanitary.

My next tip would be to acquire some great skills. Girls only want boyfriends who have great skills, Doug. Take me, for example. I am awesome. That is my skill. Other guys might have nun-chuck skills, bow-hunting skills or computer-hacking skills.

These are just examples. The important thing, Doug, is to acquire some kind of great skill. Ladies, especially classy ones, are going to ask you about your great skill within the first two minutes of meeting you. You better have a good answer.

I normally loathe people who wear them, but I have to say wearing a bluetooth headset on your ear is great for when you’re starting a conversation with a lady. Nothing, Doug, and I mean NOTHING, makes a lady weak in the knees quite like walking up to her while talking to an imaginary friend on your bluetooth, telling said imaginary friend you “have to go,” and then telling her, “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m wearing a bluetooth headset on my ear.”

It will be on like Donkey Kong, Doug.

Finally, the best advice I can give for starting a conversation with a lady is to seem aloof and indifferent to her. If you have met her before, pretend you do not remember her name. If you are meeting her for the first time, ask her for her name, but then proceed to call her by the wrong name for the rest of the conversation.

It sounds cruel, but it’s all about remaining a mystery, Doug. Why do you think O.J. Simpson is still, to this day, able to get women to date him? Because he is a mystery. Women are intrigued by the “will he or won’t he (kill me)” aura he has around him. They can’t figure him out, but they want to. They are willing to put their LIVES on the line to figure him out.

Now, Doug, obviously I am not suggesting you mimic O.J. Simpson. For one thing, O.J. would hunt you down and kill you for mimicking him. But mainly, I just don’t think you can pull off the “possible murderer” vibe, Doug. No offense.

“Guy who can’t remember my name” is totally within your limitations, though. In fact, I bet you could also pull off “guy who can’t remember where he knows me from” and “guy who goes days without bathing.”

Mystery, Doug. It’s all about remaining a mystery.

Good luck, buddy.

Kev

I know what you all are thinking: “That is the greatest advice EVER, Kevin.” Yes, yes I know. Still, what advice would YOU have given our pal Doug here? Leave a comment (or two or ten) with your tips and advice.

Humor-blogs cannot remember its own name.

Anyway, on that upbeat note, brace yourselves for this week’s exciting installment of F4! That’s right, I abbreviated it. If Jessica Alba and the rest of the Fantastic Four want to sue me, they can go right ahead. I’m not afraid of you, Jessica. Not anymore! And FYI, that restraining order is still valid.

For this week’s F4, I am going to list four reasons “Casual Fridays” are wicked awesome. Long-time readers of yours truly (not just SKOS) may recognize these. Enjoy!

One

There’s something about wearing jeans and having my shirt untucked that brings out the kid in me. It’s freedom. I get in my car, pop in a Stone Temple Pilots CD, put on my Oakley’s and pull out of my driveway. I’m headed for work, but I could just as easily be heading out of town for a 3-day weekend. It’s Casual Friday. I’m wearing jeans and I have my shirt untucked.

And I look awesome.

Two

Casual Fridays bring out the patient person inside me.

I stop at McDonald’s to get some coffee Diet Coke. Twenty minutes later, I’m handed a bag with an apple pie in it. Do I throw my bag at the head of the employee and tell him to try again? Of course. But after three more attempts, when he finally gets my order right, I tell him to “have a nice day.” Why? Because it’s Casual Friday.

Three

There is something about Casual Fridays that calms me.

When I get to work, someone is parked in my parking place. I key the words “Is your name Kevin?!” into the person’s car, but I resist the urge to let the air out of the tires. Why? Because it’s Casual Friday.

Four

Even more so than usual, I am a nice, caring person on Casual Fridays.

During lunch, I visit Subway and cross paths with the person responsible for getting vegetable beef soup all over my car a long time ago. After setting her house on fire, I give her the name of a good real estate agent. Why? Because Casual Fridays are days for forgiveness.

And there you have it. Indisputable proof that if every day was Casual Friday the world would be a much better place!

So, what do YOU love about Casual Fridays? Leave a comment so we all can share your love.

Humor-blogs is being stalked by Leelee Sobieski.

That’s my mom for you. She does love the comedy…

Anyway, it is a very poorly-hidden secret that I am an Atlanta Braves fan. Even though they often frustrate me — and by often, I mean constantly — I just cannot get enough of those crazy guys. And so, partly because I am bored, but mostly because I wanted to write a tribute to the team I adore, I present to you all a small snippet of my yet-to-be-published (or written) book, 102 Reasons YOU Should Love the Braves.

A shiny, imaginary nickel to all who read the entire list!

1. They once had a pitcher named Joe Winkelsas. That is a funny name.

6. During home games, they often play Queen’s We Are The Champions and We Will Rock You. I could be wrong, but I believe no other stadium in any other sport plays these songs.

13. This guy is a manager in their minor league system. If Nazis or umpires ever invade the country, you will be glad to have him on your side.

34. Manager Bobby Cox holds the all-time MLB record for ejections. Old men who yell and curse are hilarious.

51. Thirty-six year old third baseman Larry Jones still goes by the nickname “Chipper.” Watching ballgames and wondering if Jones would still go by his childhood nickname today if his nickname had been “Little Snot” or “Stink” is a wonderful time killer.

66. Arguably the greatest sports commercial of all-time stars two members of the Atlanta Braves. If this commercial does not amuse you, you are not human. Also, you’re stupid. That’s right… if you do not like this commercial, you are a stupid alien. This is me telling it like it is.

70. Back in 1991, gorgeous actress Jennifer Connelly and the rest of the cast for Disney’s The Rocketeer came to a Braves game to promote their new movie. I was at that game. This probably shouldn’t have been included in a list of reasons why YOU should love the Braves, but it’s definitely one of the reasons a 13-year-old Kev began loving them!

84. The team’s stadium, Turner Field, offers TWELVE different hot dogs: They’ve got the Boston Italian Sausage, Chili Cheese Dog, Juicy Jumbo Dog, Jumbo Chicago Dog, Jumbo Georgia Dog, Jumbo New York Dog, Jumbo Southwestern Dog, Milwaukee Bratwurst, Jumbo Southwestern Dog, New York Dog, Southwestern Dog, and the plain old, generic Hot Dog. Personally, I feel bad for the generic Hot Dog. Why doesn’t it get a cool name?

90. The hilarious Alton Brown of the Food Network’s Good Eats is a Georgia resident. I’m not sure if he’s a baseball fan, but if he is he’s surely a Braves fan. The mere possibility of Alton Brown being a Braves fan boosts the team’s coolness factor by at least twenty points.

99. “Braves” spelled backwards is “Sevarb.” Obviously, Sevarb isn’t a real word, but it should be. In fact, I am coining it right now. The definition of Sevarb shall be “the act of spelling a word backwards for no reason whatsoever.” Cindy, go get Merriam Webster on the phone. Tell him it’s Kev with another new word for his dictionary. Wait, what do you mean there’s no such person?

102. If you’re a girl, and we go to a game together on a date, I’ll hold your hand and tell you the other 91 reasons.

Humor-blogs wants an autographed copy of my book.

I am a “learn from your mistakes and grow from them” kind of guy, but it is clear I have yet to fully learn my lesson when it comes to the moving process.

On May 29, 2005, at my old blog, I wrote:

A forgotten part of the moving process is you have to clean your old place. And right now, my old place looks like a garbage can exploded inside of it. Why is my brother such a slob? Why do I keep everything ever given to me?

An hour ago, I came across a November 2002 memo from (my former place of employment). Why did I hold onto it? Did it strike me as funny at the time? Did I keep it in case I ever wanted to spit out some gum? Was it a magic memo that promised to grant me three wishes? And if the latter, where are my millions of dollars, my Ivy-league educated supermodel girlfriend, and my ability to turn invisible?

On August 19 of last year, I wrote the following post here at SKOS:

You would think I’d have learned from my move in 2005 to do a better job of decluttering. But sadly, I did not learn my lesson. I have too much old junk. Graded exams and assignments from back in my teaching days fill cardboard boxes in my room.

Why do I keep them? I guess I have this paranoid feeling I will be “audited” someday. The principal of my old school will contact me asking to confirm the quiz grade of some random student back in 2003. I hate audits.

I have never considered myself a pack rat, but I clearly need to wake up and smell the numerous boxes of crap I should have gotten rid of years ago.

Thankfully, after writing that last post in August, I got rid of the boxes of graded exams and assignments from my teaching days. If the principal of my old school contacts me asking to confirm a grade of a former student, I’ll just make up something. If I liked the student, I’ll tell the principal he or she had a 100 in my class. If the student was an evil spawn of Satan, I’ll tell him the student had a 13.

Fair? Well, no.

Sweet karma goodness? Absolutely.

Anyway, despite the fact I have made strides to rid myself of old junk, my place is still packed with things I do not need.

Do any of you still have shirts from your freshman year in college? I do. In fact, I have ALL of them.

Snake skin cowboy boots I last wore in 1996 and are probably too small for me now? Still have them.

My baseball cleats from my senior year of high school? Still have them.

A Hootie and the Blowfish CD? Yes, I still have it.

It’s a good thing I am frugal and don’t buy something unless I really, really need it. Because, if I wasn’t like that, Lord help us…

Kevland would be FILLED with junk from 1996.

Are any of YOU pack rats? What sort of things do you still have that should have long, long ago been discarded? Let’s hear it, people. Speak now or forever hold your soundtrack to the Titanic movie.

Humor-blogs loved Mighty Ducks 2.

I hope they reserved the big conference room. The small conference room makes me feel claustrophobic, which is strange since I do not suffer from claustrophobia. Methinks it has something to do with the fact the small conference room is roughly the size of my freshman dorm in college, which was roughly the size of walk-in closet. Of course, this makes it easy for me reminisce about the “good ol’ days” in college. All I have to do is find a small space, hang an Alanis Morrisette poster on the wall, and then curl into a ball and weep.

That’s just great. They reserved the SMALL conference room. I hope everyone brushed their teeth and showered this morning. Wait, I know, I just need to get my allergies to act up. Then I won’t be able to smell anything. Where’s some dust…

I’ve got to hand it to our building’s cleaning crew. They might be slow, they might have poor people skills, but you can always count on them to leave the dust that has accumulated on my desk. I’ll just take a little of the dust, sniff it and…

This was a bad idea. Apparently, mixed in with the dust was some lemonade mix I spilled on my desk a few weeks back. Am I going to die? Lord, if You’re going to take me, please take me BEFORE this meeting.

Crap. I’m going to live.

Near as I can tell, everyone in the meeting has showered and brushed their teeth. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, they all smell like lemons. I like it.

Geesh, why are some people so enamored with their own voices? “Well, I think… blah, blah, blah, blah.” That’s wonderful, long-winded man wearing a thin tie. I have listened to what you have to say, and I think I speak for everyone when I say these chairs are incredibly, incredibly uncomfortable.

I can’t feel the lower half of my body anymore. My butt and legs have gone numb. This would be beneficial if I were to inadvertently sit on a thumb tack, but otherwise I don’t care for the sensation. I wonder if I can stretch my legs under the table…

Oh no, who’s foot did I just touch? It’s either the creepy guy with the toupee or the older woman who keeps asking me to help her fix the speaker cables under her desk.

This isn’t good. Cause a distraction. Hurry!

“Excuse me, everyone. My butt is numb. Could we take a short break?”

What’s that? We’ve only been meeting for seven minutes?

I think I’m going to die here.

My mind is too drained from the meetings to write anything clever. I would try to do something wittier than the above, but I’m just too tired. I just want to get my Alanis Morrisette poster and go home.

One

“If you wanna chat, take your hands outta my mouth.”

Two

“Phone stalking is very impersonal. I prefer the camp-outside-my-front-door-just-out-of-plain-view method. So much classier.”

Three

“Remind me to do the blinky thing as often as humanly possible.”

Four

“I pop my joints with a popsicle.”

Wait, we’re not finished yet! Here are four “bonus” Other People-isms. Best of luck trying to guess how the following quotes came about:

Bonus #1

“I will never, ever tie you to a chair and force feed you tuna at gunpoint.”

Bonus #2

“I’ve never asked a pony if it wanted to get bigger.”

Bonus #3

“An olive is too big to eat off a fingernail.”

Bonus #4

“If bears know how to throw rocks, the whole WORLD is in trouble.”

And there you have it. Proof positive the people who e-mail me are almost as insane as I am!

So, what are some off-the-wall things people have said or written to YOU lately? Leave a comment so we all can share your -ism.

Humor-blogs is scared to ask for the context to #1.

You might think I’m joking, but I assure you I am not: the contacts I’m wearing today are the same ones I wore approximately two years ago. To put that into perspective, Britney Spears was only half crazy when I last wore a different pair of lenses.

Unfortunately, within the past two years I have moved. Sometime during the move process, unbeknownst to me, I lost my box of backup contact lenses. And, since I haven’t worn glasses since I was 14, this meant if the contacts I’m wearing ever became lost or defective, I’d be in big trouble.

On Monday, trouble found me.

Apparently, the contact lens in my left eye had a shelf life that ended Monday around 2:14 in the afternoon. It’s been bugging me ever since then. In my right eye, it feels as though I’m wearing your typical soft contact lens. In my left eye, it feels as though I’m wearing a rusty bottle cap.

Of course, since it’s been over a year since my last annual eye exam with my doctor, I needed to make a new appointment. So, on Monday, I called them. The earliest they could fit me in? July 8th!

Yesterday, I called my eye doctor’s office to see if they could give me an emergency contact lens to get me through until my July 8th appointment.

“We can only give samples to new patients,” the lady on the other end of the phone explained to me.

“Really,” I asked. “It’s been a few years, but I know in the past you’ve been able to give me a sample when I’m on my last pair of lenses and I needed a new one before my appointment.”

“They have really cut down on the samples they give us, so we can’t do that anymore,” she explains to me. “We can only give them to new patients.”

I wasn’t sure who “they” were, but I quickly moved on.

“If this is a question of money, I don’t have a problem BUYING a pair of contact lenses to get me through. I don’t expect you to give me a free sample. Heck, forget a pair, I only need ONE lens.”

“Sorry,” she tells me. “Our lenses come in boxes. We can’t break them up to sell one to you individually.”

Everything she was telling me very likely was true. However, I wasn’t getting that warm, fuzzy “we will do whatever we can to help you” vibe. You know, the kind of vibe you would expect from an eye doctor you’ve been going to for over FIFTEEN YEARS.

“Hypothetically,” I asked, pausing for effect, “what would I do if I lost this contact lens before my July 8th appointment? I’d be blind as a bat for two weeks.”

“Do you have glasses,” she asks.

“No, not since junior high,” I respond. I said this polite response instead of what immediately popped into my head: “If I had glasses I could wear, would we even be having this conversation?”

“Oh,” she replied.

And that was the conversation. She was about as helpful as a bag of oranges at a knife fight.

So, I had to make a choice: Do I persevere for two more weeks, with a rusty bottle cap in my left eye? Or do I find a new eye doctor?

Well, I chose the latter. And this doctor was able to fit me in for an appointment THIS MORNING at 11:00.

So, assuming all goes well and they have my new prescription in stock, my agony will soon be over.

I look forward to wearing these new contacts for the next two to three years…

Humor-blogs practices ophthalmology on the side.

Dear Kev at SKOS:

After over two years of being a faithful reader of your blog, I wanted to take the time to write a letter to let you know just how awesome I think you — and your website — are.

It all began in the year 2006, when My Human (affectionately referred to from here on out as MH) discovered the “comedic gold” that is your writing.

One warm summer evening, I was in the window basking in the sunset, minding my own business, when my ears were pricked by the sounds of her mirth coming from the other room. Thinking perhaps she had been suddenly possessed by some obscure force causing her to make this unnatural noise, I meandered my way down the hallway to investigate.

Upon arriving in the area MH refers to as the “couch,” I immediately feigned concern and leapt fluidly onto her lap. MH loves this, for reasons unbeknownst to me. After taking a perfunctory sniff in the general direction of her face, I turned my attention to the source of her glee.

Little did I know that what I would see would forever change my nine lives.

Splashed across the top of MH’s laptop screen were the words I Am an Awful, Awful Actor. I began to read. The more I read, the more I laughed (on the inside). The more I laughed, the more I loved it. The more I loved it, the more I wanted to read. Next article? One Word: Gigli.

Amazing. Incredible. Addicting. A-List Stars Blacklist Mel Gibson. What Happened to the Dell Dude? Atlanta Braves Sign Charlie Sheen. I couldn’t get enough, I was hooked.

Ever since that fateful day in July of ’06, I have never missed a single article. Every time MH is on your site, I am on her lap, reading with fervor and absorbing every word. Your blog is my catnip. Sometimes, I read your site in the middle of the night, when MH is fast asleep. She does not know this.

I will admit, one of my all-time favorite entries is still 50% Fur, 50% Awesome. This cat you speak of, “Smokey,” sounds like a cat after my own heart. I have committed to memory all of the “Smokey Facts,” in case I am ever granted the privilege of meeting him whisker to whisker. I dream of such things.

Suffice all this to say, Kevin, you are one Awesome Human. Please continue writing for as long as you are able. I hope to continue reading SKOS for years and years to come. And someday, if I am so blessed, I hope to have my humble cat chin scratched by those talented, blogging hands of yours.

Sincerely yours,

DC

P.S. I have enclosed a photograph MH took one evening recently while I was reading your blog from my perch on her lap. She thinks I was keenly observing the mouse cursor skimming its way across the screen, but that is what all Humans think. In actuality, I was rapt with attention for your latest article.

Humor-blogs loves catnip.

One

“That’s the great thing about my world famous deviled eggs –- when they spoil, they taste extra devily.”

Two

“Are you having trouble getting the mental image of a man dressed like Papa Smurf distributing cheese samples out of your head?”

Three

“Most men ARE born with a compass in their forehead. But when God was handing out compasses, I asked Him for an extra helping of awesome instead. True story.”

Four

“I wouldn’t know how to give a backhanded compliment even if a compliment was written on the back of my hand.”

Wait, we’re not finished yet! Here are four “bonus” Kev-isms. Best of luck trying to guess how the following quotes came about:

Bonus #1

“I’m excellent at throwing rocks at bears who are trying to eat girls I’m hiking with. I’m very accurate. By that I mean I hit the bear more often than I hit the girl.”

Bonus #2

“Invisible bears would be significantly harder to throw rocks at.”

Bonus #3

“If bears know how to throw rocks, the earth is doomed. We each need to build a bear/bomb shelter.”

Bonus #4

“I’d make my bear/bomb shelter out of honey. They’d never expect it.”

And there you have it. Proof positive that I am insane and that bears will one day rise to power and take over the world.

So, what are some off-the-wall things YOU have said or written lately? Leave a comment so we all can share your -ism.

Humor-blogs dresses up like Smurfette.

How are you all doing? Great? Glad to hear it.

Look, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this for a while, but the time never seemed right. I appreciate the fact you all value my child-rearing skills. I know that when there is an awesome resource (i.e. me) out there in the world, the wise thing to do is take advantage of it. And all of you have been taking advantage of it big time.

I’m flattered. Really, I am. However…

I know you don’t want to hear this, but the time has come for you to no longer use me as your parenting crutch.

I know, I know. But you can do this, people. I know you can.

The next time your two children are running up and down the aisles of a grocery store, you be the one to stand in their path, look down at them and say, “if you do not stop this behavior, I am going to kill Santa Claus.”

The next time your teenage daughter leaves the house wearing an outfit one can only assume was found in a dumpster behind a strip club, you be the one to tell her, “you look like a cross between Christina Aguilera and Danny Devito, and I mean that in the least flattering way possible.”

The next time you take your 10-year-old son to the gym with you and he proceeds to play on all of the cardio equipment, you be the one to tell him the large man on the treadmill is hungry and will eat him if he doesn’t leave immediately.

Don’t wait for me to do these things, people. You do them.

It’s time to start teaching your children the proper way to behave in society. Stop waiting for good Samaritans like myself to do it for you.

Don’t wait for me to key the words “learn how to park” into the hood of your teenage daughter’s car. Teach her how to park. Teach her that it’s rude to her fellow drivers when she takes up two lanes with her car.

Don’t wait for me to throw an orange at the head of your teenage son when he doesn’t hold the door open for an elderly lady walking behind him. Teach him manners. Teach him to respect his elders. Teach him that oranges hurt if they are hurled at your head with great velocity.

Don’t wait for me to grab the cell phone out of your teenager’s hand and stomp on it so that the rest of the movie theater patrons can watch the film in peace. Teach him proper cell phone etiquette. Teach him that only inconsiderate jerks talk incessantly on the phone in public places. Teach him that people like to bring bodily harm to inconsiderate jerks.

Parents of the world, I have faith in you. I believe with my whole heart you can teach your children these things without my help.

You can do this, buddy! I know you can.

(And if you can’t, I’m going to beat you with a bag of oranges. I’m serious.)

Sincerely,

Kev

Humor-blogs lives in a dumpster behind a strip club.

Recently my darling husband made a run to the post office, planning to do the unthinkable: purchase a stamp. I know; an intervention may be necessary. Someone this delusional needs immediate help.

It was late in the day and traffic was draconian, and despite my husband’s best efforts at speeding and tailgating, both of which he does exceptionally well, he did not make it to the PO quite in time. As in, he entered the lobby at 5:01 p.m. according to the Official Government clock on the wall.

Now, I know the post office closes at five o’clock on weekdays, y’all. Everyone knows that. Even my husband knows that. So call him crazy (I often do), but since only sixty seconds had elapsed since quittin’ time and the “workers” were apparently all present and accounted for, fiddling around near their scales and cash registers and whatnot, and a few customers were in fact still being actually waited upon, he approached a “worker” and asked if he could buy a stamp.

One stamp.

The “worker” stared at him for several seconds before speaking. She gaped at him far longer than it would have taken her to sell him the single stamp, or even a whole book of stamps. He began to wonder whether perhaps a pair of lobsters had somehow landed on his head and were waltzing there.

“You have to buy it out of the machine,” she finally said, exhibiting a level of animation on a par with anesthetized algae.

Fighting a mighty urge to succumb to the aggravation he justifiably felt, my husband obediently turned and walked the ten yards to the stamp machine embedded in the lobby wall. He attempted to buy a stamp.

One stamp.

Only, the machine was empty.

He returned to the counter and the catatonic “worker.”

“The stamp machine is empty and I really need to mail this,” he pleaded.

She did not blink. She did not move. She did not speak. She simply stared. Time continued its inexorable march toward the far reaches of eternity. Fortunes were made and squandered. Tens of thousands across our great nation came of legal age to sit for the Civil Service Exam. The price of postage doubled. Then …

“You can buy a stamp from me, sir,” came a tiny voice from my husband’s left.

It was another postal customer. A little lady with a stamp she was willing to sell.

My husband gratefully paid her, accepted the stamp, stuck it on his piece of mail, and walked back out to the lobby to deposit the envelope in the “Stamped Mail” slot.

The motionless “worker” watched his every move. For all I know she is still standing there … keeper of mum, keeper of the eternal postal flame. Keeper of stamps.

Humor-Blogs should check out I’m Having a Thought Here.

One

People Who Talk on Their Cell Phones at the Gym

This one goes out to the woman at the gym who was wearing an outfit that could’ve easily passed for a handkerchief:

Look here, Britney. I know you think everyone at the gym enjoys to hear you talk loudly into your cell phone while you work out on the treadmill. However, I have to inform you that we do not. We hate it. In fact, we all kept hoping you would lose your balance, fall, and somehow swallow your phone.

Oh, sure, we would have called the paramedics for you. Of course, we would have been taunting you while waiting for the ambulance to arrive. Cruel? Perhaps, but it’s not half as cruel as what you put us through with your constant yammering.

Also, I don’t know both sides of the story, but I think I know why the “Greg” person you keep squawking about broke up with you eight weeks ago…

He has two working ears!

Two

Car Manufacturers Advertising $2.99 Gas

A big thanks to the awesome Karl (aka Frogster) of the (sadly) defunct Frog Blog for reminding me of this particular issue.

You have all probably seen or heard the television commercials advertising $2.99 gas for the next three years if you buy this or that new vehicle. With gas prices reaching ridiculous levels, car manufacturers are trying to lure in buyers who are leery of prices getting higher and higher.

There are many things about this program that hurts my head, but I’ll just leave it at this: If you are an individual so overly concerned by rising gas prices that you could be lured by $2.99 gas, why are you buying a brand-new car in the first place?

If you bought a three or four year old car in very good condition, you would save FAR more money on the price of the car than you would ever save on three years of $2.99 gas.

My head hurts…

Three

The Subway Employee with the Bad Attitude

I realize it probably isn’t fun making sandwiches for people all day. But lady, come on. You have a job that requires you to be three feet away from a line of customers. They can see your every move. They can see your “I am going to kill someone” expression when you ask them, “what kind of cheese do you want?” They can see the shabbily constructed sandwich you are making for them.

Look, we’re not asking for much. You don’t even have to smile. All you have to do is dial down the menace so that we don’t fear for our lives when you pick up the knife to cut our sandwich in half. That is all.

Four

Waitresses Who Touch Me

Look, lady, I don’t know you. Touching my shoulder when taking my table’s order will not make me think, “hey… I should leave this waitress a big tip.”

No, it makes me think, “hey… did anyone order a hand on the shoulder? I’m sorry, miss, but none of us ordered a hand on the shoulder.”

And there you have it. Proof positive that even nice, awesome guys come across things in this world that bug us from time to time.

So, what’s bugging all of YOU lately? Leave a comment so we all can share your rant.

Humor-blogs ordered a hand on the shoulder.

Long before gasoline reached $3, my brother vowed never to drive again if gas ever reached such a price. It was a bold statement since where we live has literally no public transportation. If you don’t drive, you either have to walk insanely long distances or become a shut in.

At the time, gas prices got close to $3, but never quite made it. Prices slowly went back down. With $3 gas no longer a threat, I thought it was an opportune time to agree with my brother’s earlier declaration and make a similar vow:

“If gas ever reaches $3 a gallon, I’m going to walk everywhere I go. I’m serious!”

Fast forward to about a year later. Gas reached and surpassed the $3 barrier. It’s now approaching (and has PASSED in other areas of the country) the obscene $4 barrier. Insanity has run wild.

In essence, the oil companies called my and my brother’s bluff. That is how I view it. Neither of us wanted to WALK everywhere, and I think the oil companies knew it.

“Kevin loves to sleep and he hates to sweat. No way he’ll get up early each day and walk to work in the blistering Georgia sun. Let’s call his bluff!”

Once they reached $3, I think they decided to go up to $4 just to rub it in my face.

Well, you can only kick a man so many times before he politely asks you to stop.

It’s time for me to show these oil companies who’s boss. And so, I’m going to get back into shape. I’m going to buy some comfortable running shoes. I’m going to make a new, ironclad vow.

“Here me now. If gas prices ever reach $100 a gallon, I am going to walk everywhere I go. No more driving for me!”

And this time… I’m serious.

As serious as the heart attack I will surely have while walking 11.1 miles in the blistering Georgia sun.

Humor-blogs promises to give me CPR.

Jeff Valentine knows promotion. The owner of two extremely successful night clubs, Valentine has perfected the art of turning something without value into something the consumer cannot do without. His secret? Tell people they can’t have your product.

Looking for a new challenge, Valentine is now using his skills in the real estate market.

“Look, babe, the secret to success is being aloof,” said Valentine as he smacked loudly on chewing gum.

“You’ve got to make it seem like you have numerous options. If you’re on a date and you’re too anxious or needy, what happens? That’s right. She goes to the restroom and sneaks out the window!

“You’ve got to play it cool, my man. The same is true when you’re selling a house. You want people to want to buy your home? Make them think you think they’re not good enough.”

Valentine’s track record suggests he knows what he’s talking about. His first club, “Club You’re Not on the List,” was a wreck when he bought it.

There was no air conditioning, no lighting, and the east-facing wall had collapsed. Also, there wasn’t a ceiling. But instead of paying money to fix it up, Valentine put a velvet rope out front and hired a bouncer. The bouncer’s job? Don’t let anyone inside.

“I didn’t let anyone inside for the first six months,” Valentine said. “Before, people walked on the other side of the street just to avoid the club. But once they weren’t allowed to go to the club, those same people would stand in line for hours hoping to get inside.”

Valentine now uses that same strategy when selling real estate.

“I put up a ‘For Sale’ sign in the front yard and then have Bruno, my bouncer, stand right beside it,” explains Valentine. “Whenever someone comes up to look at the house, Bruno puts out his hand, looks down at the clipboard he’s holding, and says, ’sorry… you’re not on the list.’

“I don’t believe there’s actually anything written on the clipboard. You’d have to ask Bruno. I think one time he told me he wrote down his hopes and dreams on it or something.”

Turned away, the interested buyer usually calls his or her real estate agent to inquire about the property. The agent then calls Valentine, who after a few seconds will put the agent on hold and make himself a sandwich or go take a thirty-minute power nap. Any agent still on the line when Valentine returns, or any that calls back later, is easy prey.

“At that point, I got them. They’re like my toys. I play with them for my amusement. And then I sell them a house for 10% above asking price.”

Because he is a giver, Valentine has written a book to help real estate agents and home owners sell their properties. The book, “No You Cannot Buy This House,” costs $19.95 and is steadily moving up the best seller ranks.

Among the tips offered in the book:

• Build a mote around the property. Any home requiring a prospective buyer to swim in order to get to it is certain to spark heavy interest.
• Promise to call a real estate agent or potential buyer back, but then don’t do it. When they call you, say something like, “I totally meant to call you, but I just have a lot on my plate right now.” Be sure to call them by the wrong name.
• Hire a second bouncer.

Valentine is already at work on his next book. It is tentatively titled, “No You Cannot Buy This Book.”

He expects it to be an all-time best seller.

Enjoyed it, didn’t you? Well, why not check out the other articles I wrote for Free Money Finance on April Fools Day? There was Government Steps Up Efforts to Assist “Stupid” Homeowners, a sarcastic take on what the government will be doing next to bailout those silly subprime mortgage home owners. There was John Bogle Punks World, Admits Index Funds Aren’t Real, a look at how Vanguard founder and notorious prankster John Bogle played a practical joke on the entire world. And my second favorite, Planning for Retirement in a Post-Apocalyptic World, which needs no explanation.

Humor-blogs should check out Free Money Finance.

Years ago, I worked with a socially inept fellow who used half these conversation starters on me. Usually, he was met with stunned silence.

He no longer works in our office, but oh, how we miss the fun of watching him get all twisted up in knots every time he opened his mouth. He was a one-man sideshow freak who gave us years of entertainment.

Here are some less than engaging ways to start a conversation. Use them at your own peril.

1. “I know you didn’t ask for my opinion, but…” Yeah, so shut it.

2. “I’m not a racist, but…” You sure about that?

3. “Long story short…” Long story to follow. (OK. I admit it. I’m guilty of this one.)

4. “Promise you won’t laugh?” No can do.

5. “Can I tell you something and you won’t get mad?” I dare you.

6. “I overheard your conversation. Can I just say …” No. It wasn’t a threesome.

7. “Don’t take this the wrong way…” Already there.

8. “With all due respect…” Doubtful.

9. “I was trying to wait for the right time to tell you this.” Wait longer.

10. “Can I have the last donut?” Not if you still need those fingers.

Humor-blogs loves The Junk Drawer.

One

Title: Single, Awesome Male Seeks Single, Awesome Female
Concept: An online personal ad — Special Kind of Stupid style.
My thoughts: eHarmony, eat your heart out.

Snippet of what I have so far:

I’m single and — let’s face it — not getting any younger. I’ve been making that old man sound when I get up from a chair for over a decade now. The words, ‘those darn teenage drivers’ have crossed my lips many, many times. And many days, I fantasize about leaving work early, going home and taking a nap.

Since this website receives several handfuls of visitors each day, I thought it might be a good idea to take advantage of its popularity and showcase myself to the single ladies of cyberspace.

Single ladies, this is for you. Married ladies, prepare to set me up with single friends, nieces or daughters. Men of the world, take notes.

Two

Title: My Office is Bigger Than Your Office
Concept: In celebration of my moving into a big, beautiful office; I am taunting lowly minions at work who do not have a similar big, beautiful office.
My thoughts: It has a great title.

Snippet of what I have so far:

I have written nothing so far. Absolutely nothing. Like all great works of art, I started with the title.

Three

Title: Hanson
Concept: I will write about the band as though they just recently hit the music scene (even though they really hit the scene a decade ago).
My thoughts: I started this draft well over a year ago. It is probably obvious why I never finished it.

Snippet of what I have so far:

As a tribute to my friend in high school who once asked if I had seen a “new” movie that had been released YEARS earlier, I am going to start a series of writings on topics that are well, well past their heyday. However, like my friend, I will talk about them as though they are brand new and fresh. Up first: The musical group, Hanson.

Four

Title: Chat with a Live Virtual Agent
Concept: I have an IM conversation with a “live virtual agent.” Does that mean I’m talking to a machine, or an actual person?
My thoughts: I was obviously bored when I started this.

Snippet of what I have so far:

Me: I am transferring a domain. How does that process work? Are you “live” or is this automated?

Grace Says: I am a live virtual agent

Grace Says: So do you want to take advantage of this great limited time offer?

Me: Yes, but I had a question or two. How does transferring my domain to you work?

Grace Says: Ok Great!! To sign up with 3 months Free Hosting CLICK HERE

Me: You really are automated, aren’t you?

Grace Says: I am a live virtual agent

Me: But what does that mean?

Grace Says: We offer 30 Day Money Back Guarentee, 99.9% Uptime, Free Setup, Free Domain For Life and Much Much More!

Me: You misspelled GUARANTEE.

And there you have it. Proof positive that even someone as totally awesome as yours truly can occasionally conjure up a less-than-awesome blog idea.

So, did ANY of them show promise? Let me know. The draft that sparks the most interest will be finished and published sometime in the coming weeks.

Humor-blogs is a live virtual agent.

It doesn’t really matter what I gain or lose on this earth because nothing compares to this promise He has given me. I am experiencing the sheer pleasure of once being lost and now being found. - John Smoltz

Normally, when someone asks you to name your favorite athlete, celebrity or role model; you have to give three different answers. I can give one answer.

When I was old enough to follow sports and know what was going on and why, John Smoltz was beginning his baseball career with the Atlanta Braves. In 1989, the team was awful. Smoltz, in only his second season at the age of 22, was the team’s lone bright spot. I remember walking down the driveway of our home to get the newspaper and reading how he had made the All-Star Team. In the years that followed, the team got better and became a dynasty. As I grew older, my love for the game grew. I followed the team religiously. Players came and went, but Smoltz remained a constant.

In high school, I found out he was a Christian. At that point, my admiration for him reached a new level. Smoltz did not fit the profile the world typically associates with a “Christian.” He was fiery, competitive and intense. He never backed down and he had no problems letting an umpire know if he should get a new job or a new pair of glasses. He had to be the best at everything — whether it was playing golf, a video game, or a contest to see who could blow the biggest bubble of chewing gum. The radio and television announcers for the Braves have groaned on several occasions over the years after Smoltz, a pitcher with mediocre hitting abilities, would get a base hit because they knew the plane ride home would be a long one. They knew John would be talking about his hit the entire trip.

In a sport where players are mired in scandal, are rude to fans, cheat on their wives and worse, John has been an exception. And he has never shied away from sharing his faith. This past Thursday, on July 27, 2006, Smoltz was the featured speaker for the first Faith Day in the history of major league baseball. After an afternoon game against the Florida Marlins, Smoltz shared his testimony to a stadium of fans.

Baseball is a sport where it’s often in a player’s best interest not to let people know what he thinks or believes. Letting people know whether you are a Republican or Democrat will alienate half your fans. Letting people know where you stand on the War in Iraq will have the same effect. In Smoltz’s case, unapologetically declaring you are a Christian and witnessing to believers and nonbelievers alike will be met with strong reactions one way or another. Smoltz doesn’t care.

Now 38, Smoltz’s time in baseball is winding down. He’s still a great player, but sooner rather than later his time will come. His retirement or — worse — his leaving the Braves to go to another team will be one of my saddest days. His career has spanned the childhood, teenage, and early adult years of my life. To me, he is the Atlanta Braves.

I’ll never look at them the same way once he’s gone.

If this is indeed the end, thanks for the memories, John. My apologies to everyone for the serious, humorless post. I will bring back the funny tomorrow.

“IF someone stole how long would they have to to to jail”

Now, I am painfully aware that approximately 94% of my readers are criminals. It goes with the territory. After all, criminals love me. However, I have always taken pride in the knowledge my readers — evil, immoral thugs they might be — are intelligent. But this guy? This guy is a bafoon.

Dear Reader,

You, sir, make me sick.

Let’s start with the obvious. You start typing in all capital letters, stop and then type the rest of your search in lowercase letters. Ever hear of symmetry, pal? Either make everything uppercase or everything lowercase. Google might not be case sensitive, but I am VERY case sensitive!

Next, what are you stealing? Is it a cookie out of your mommy’s cookie jar? Is it gold from Fort Knox? You have got to be specific here, friend, because what you steal has a direct correlation with how long you will have to go to jail for stealing it. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that you’re stealing a cookie. I’m right, aren’t I?

Also, do you have a stuttering problem? What’s with the “to to to” repetition? I almost want to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume the second “to” was supposed to read “go,” but I’m not so sure. I think you’re just that dumb.

Look, I’m not making fun of speech impediments here. As a youth, I had one myself. But just because I talked like Elmer Fudd, it didn’t mean I had to write like him! The words coming out of my mouth might have sounded like “west and welaxation,” but I WROTE it as “rest and relaxation.” But you? You write out your stutters. Brilliant.

And what irks me most is the inevitability that one day you will make the news for doing some truly idiotic criminal act, and then television cameras will catch you shouting, “I l-l-love Special Kind of Stupid d-d-dot com” as you enter a courthouse for your trial. And then my site will be suddenly become a hot spot for dumb criminals such as yourself.

You are a stupid, stupid man.

Stay away from me.

Sincerely,

kev

Boy, I’m grumpy when I haven’t had any caffeine…

What sort of advice would YOU have given this criminal wannabe? Leave lots of and lots of comments. Who knows — the guy might actually read them.

Humor-blogs thinks I was too harsh on the guy.

In Kev-speak, “cute as a button” is the highest praise a female can achieve for her appearance. It ranks just above “pretty” and “she seems like a very nice girl.” I hope this language doesn’t offend any of you. Kev-speak can be quite forward sometimes.

Anyway, to give you an idea how my brain works, the news of Kristen Bell being a hockey fan saddened me. Why? Because I don’t like hockey. It’s a sport that’s just never interested me. So, inevitably, I asked myself the following question:

“If dating Kristen Bell, would I be willing to embrace hockey?”

Yes, I realize such a question is silly. The odds of Kristen Bell and I ever dating are remote, at best. For starters, there is the geographical issue. She lives in California and I live on the east coast. And then there’s the issue of… um, actually, I can’t think of another issue. Geography is the only reason Kristen Bell and I could never date. Stupid geography.

All kidding aside, this brings up a great question: how far would you go for a girl or a guy? For example:

Would you give up meat if you were dating a vegetarian?

If you liked wearing your hair long but the other person liked it short, would you cut it?

If Republican, would you vote Democrat? If Democrat, would you vote Republican?

If your significant other liked to punch kittens, would you be supportive of the hobby?

If you were dating Nicolas Cage, would you tell him his acting wasn’t the least bit over the top and awful?

Would you go see the Sex and the City movie without gouging out your eyes beforehand?

Would you go antiquing?

As any ex would tell you, I have a mixed history in this area. I’m completely inflexible when it comes to religion or politics, but on the other hand I’ve actually broken my Keanu Reeves boycott and seen The Lake House for the sake of a date. If that’s not sacrifice, I don’t know what is.

How about all of you?

Let’s hear it, people. These questions were just examples. How far would you go? What sacrifices would you be willing to make? How much utter nonsense would you tolerate?

Humor-blogs would vote for Ross Perot.

One

Artist: Presidents of the USA
Video: Peaches (YouTube link)

I’m fairly certain this is the only video in history to feature a bald singer crooning about his love of peaches while being attacked by masked ninjas. In other words, the video is pure GOLD.

Like all great works, this video provokes numerous questions from its audience. For example, why does this guy love peaches so much? How does he feel about peach-flavored lemonade? Why are the ninjas attacking him? Do they hate peaches? Did peaches kill the ninjas’ parents? Or were the ninjas hired by jealous owners of apple orchards?

Two

Artist: Counting Crows
Video: Accidentally in Love (YouTube link)

This video has it all. A singing rabbit with bangs? Check. An idiot guy in boxer shorts setting a kitchen on fire, dropping eggs on the floor, picking up said eggs from floor and putting them in frying pan, and dancing (badly) to the aforementioned rabbit’s song? Double Check. A girl in her underwear, who had apparently spent the previous night with the aforementioned idiot guy, but who decides to dump him in favor of the singing rabbit? But of course.

This video is a wakeup call to idiot guys everywhere. If a singing rabbit is hanging around your home, ask him to leave. Otherwise, he just might steal your girlfriend.

Three

Artist: Live
Video: Freaks (YouTube link)

Imagine a high-class night club. On stage, the band Live, in heavy makeup, performs for the crowd. In walks a man. He sits down at the bar and begins to read the paper. A woman sits beside him. He notices she is drinking milk. He glances up behind the bar and sees bottles and bottles of milk. He looks around and notices that everyone is drinking milk. The bartender asks him what he would like to drink. He asks for coffee.

So begins a chain of events that ultimately leads to the man being held down against his will by everyone at the night club as he is forced to drink milk. All this while the band Live, in heavy makeup, performs for the crowd.

This video is the most haunting Got Milk advertising campaign yet. And that’s saying something.

Four

Artist: Stone Temple Pilots
Video: Sour Girl (YouTube link)

This video had so many great things going for it, it was essentially foolproof.

It had my favorite band, Stone Temple Pilots. It had a popular actress, Sarah Michelle Gellar, who was the star of one of my favorite television shows, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, as the co-star. It had a cool, “poppy” rock song with a catchy, melodic chorus.

And the final product featured… midgets dressed in evil teletubby costumes?!

Who are the ad wizards who came up with this one?

And there you have it. Informative? Not in the slightest. Entertaining? If you like awesome music, absolutely.

What are some strange music videos YOU remember? In the comments section below, share them with everyone. Feel free to provide YouTube links to the videos. If you dare (insert evil laugh here).

Gosh, I’m bored.

Humor-blogs once roundhouse kicked a kid dressed as a ninja for Halloween.

Well, this is me crying. Is this what you wanted, people? Are you happy? Look at what you have done. No, this photo isn’t actually me. But I do believe it accurate portrays the sorrow I feel. My tears taste bitter (and, not surprisingly, slightly awesome).