Fly Like An Eagle

If you haven't heard about it, some peeps who play the characters at Didneyland got arrested. They were protesting something or other. I don't really care what, but the pix they took as they were arresting the characters are the funniest things ever.

If you don't think a picture of a handcuffed Peter Pan being put into a squad car is hilar, you might want to find a tall, tall building.

And you'd better hope you have some Pixie Dust.

Sure hope Tink can bust him out of the joint.

Tutti Frutti

I apologize in advance for my descent in the mad vortex that is my darker half. Why did a hell trip to Boston evoke this?

I'm trying to put the dark thoughts out of my head without actually drilling a hole in my skull. So many bad ideas, but I think the one I like the best is rearranging all the strollers at Disneyland that are parked outside the rides. Imagine the chaos.

Or a stuffed albino alligator for the Thanksgiving centerpiece.

How about sending a copy of Enhance Your Self Esteem to Terrell Owens?

Matlock videos to John McCain?

Yeah, I didn't say they made sense. I just said they were evil.

Anyhoo, it was with slightly less evil inside of me that I drove to work today. That's before I saw the saccharine sweet couple driving next to me. She was feeding him fruit while they drove. With her fingers. Then they'd kiss at the stop lights.

Which is when they finally saw me sticking my finger down my throat and making gagging faces.

Of course if I could get the Wife to feed me bacon while driving to work, I'd totally be in for the carpool all of a sudden.

Come On People Now

I don't know exactly when I crossed over to the Dark Side. Maybe it was that final flight from Dallas to Salt Lake. The one where I was in the last row of the plane between the galley and the bathroom. Where the smell of ass combines with microwave chicken fajitas (available for the low price of $7) and the chair doesn't actually recline. And I got to sit next to a poor, poor mother travelling with a newborn.

And when Mommy saw me in the aisle attempting to wedge my ass into some semblance of comfort in the shiat seat I had been provided, she perkily chimed up with, "Hi, I'm in the corner."

So I countered with the only thing I could come up with after a day of being pummelled by the tragedy that is air travel in this country:

"No one puts baby in the corner."

Yup, a Patrick Fucking Swayze line actually came out of my mouth.

So I've decided to let go my anger.

And when the fine folks at Unicef sent me this while I was gone, I had only one response.

Oh, sure, they probably don't actually figure people are going to check the boxes and send it back to them. Maybe someone in their direct mail department will get a little chuckle out of this.

From now on, I only donate to cheerleader car washes.

Highway to Hell

Hi, kids. Long time no write. I know, I know. But I just got back from Boston but no my arms aren't tired. Just my patience. The next time Envirocon asks me to go on a trip for them somewheres, someone make sure to kick me in the ass. Hard. That'll prepare me for the experience.

So I have to leave God's Country to go amongst the heathen and bring them enlightenment about affiliate marketing. Yeah, go figure. But a gig's a gig. And when your former boss's boss asks you to go, you don't ask a lot of questions. Well, not if you're smart. And we all know I'm not, so I kept my piehole shut and booked my last minute reservations. Through JFK.

Now I've done enough business travel that I never go through two airports: JFK and Ohare. And Hartsfield Jackson may soon get added to that list. But I didn't have an option, the direct flights from SLC to BOS (Banish Our Souls) were full. So Noo Yawk it was. Except that when I got to the Big Crapple, my plane was cancelled.

But that's okay because those same swell, friendly, helpful folks at Delta were willing to put me on the next flight to Boston. Which left about 24 hours later. And since I was going to Boston for a three day conference and I was having to travel there the first day since I live in the mild, mild West (and who starts a conference on a Sunday?), blowing off the second day whilst I diddled my thumbs in New York didn't seem like a good idear.

So our intrepid reporter (man I love hackneyed cliches like that but know I should avoid them like the plague) acted rapidly like the seasoned, grizzled, beaten-down travel veteran I am. I hopped a train to Boston. And other than forgetting that Grand Central Station and Penn Station aren't the same thing, I was fine. I'm such a Country Mouse sometimes. Hey, a train's a train, right?

Anyhow I finally got to Boston only about 7 hours after I was supposed to thanks to the fine people at Amtrack. Unfortunately, my luggage was still in New York but the fine folks at Delta assured me it would be there when that next day's plane arrived. Except it wasn't.

Now I have been travelling enough that I always carry a ditty bag (not a P. Diddy bag) with extra essentials like toothpaste, contacts, meds (I needs my Thorazine or I get snippy), skin care products and the like. I've learned that the hard way. So when I was faced with three days in Beantown and some humid conditions, I was less than enthused. The fine Delta people assured me my luggage would show up the next afternoon. And by "afternoon," they meant before 6 a.m.

So I replenished my supplies of clothing in the hotel gift shop. Hey, I wanted to wander around the conference in a sweatshirt that said BOSTON anyway. Though on the streets of the rougher parts of town, I might as well have been wearing a sign that said TOURIST - TAKE MY WALLET.

And you have not lived until you've watched Sportscenter in high def while you wash your socks and shorts in the bathroom sink and dry them with the hair blower. Classy.

Luckily, my luggage finally came the last day of the conference just in time for me to leave. And though my flight out of Boston was delayed 7 hours, I managed to escape with my dignity battered but somewhat intact. And at least I finally had clean underwear on. And there's nothing like clean underwear to improve your disposition. Other than a quick tour of Fenway Park when you're supposed to be sitting in a seminar about the Top 5 SEO Strategies.

Just a bit of advice for you fellow Country Mice out there. Take the Green Line to Kenmore and walk away from the Citgo Sign unless you're lucky enough to catch the D then you can get off right at Fenway. The Citgo Sign looks a lot closer to the Green Monstah on tv but it's really a couple of blocks away.

Or so I've heard. As far as you, and my former boss's boss, knows.

Moondance?

Reason #107 to Love Utah

Naked Jogging

Seems down Sandy way, a naked jogger has been running by a women's health club at about 7:00 am.

Now I knew we had some business who were allowing the no pants in the office, but I think this may be a bit more than they bargained for.

The jogger is described as being is his 60's (sorry for putting that image in your head ladies) and sporting a green baseball cap worn backwards. I hope he's also wearing sunscreen. There are some things you don't want burned. Of course, I'm talking about his nose. As far as you know.

Quote of the Story: "Witnesses were not sure whether the man was even wearing shoes."

Hmm, wonder why they don't know if he's wearing shoes? You'd think they'd have gotten a pretty good look at him. A really good look as he came by and actually knocked on the window. "Hey, how ya doing? Doesn't this look more fun that running on a treadmill?"

And I can wonder is where do you keep your keys if you jog naked?

Penny Lane

Whilst my mind was still reeling from the most important news ever (and Chad, don't let the door hit you in the butt) on the drive in to work today, I couldn't help but notice the swell fire engine red Nissan Maxima next to me was drifting into my lane. Now as there are actually three lanes to choose from on this particular stretch of the highway to hell, I thought it odd that someone would suddenly choose my lane for their fine driving experience.

So I glanced over at my colleague in commuting and noticed that she appeared to be both texting on her Zeno and putting on mascara. What's that? A Zeno isn't a portable communications device, it's an acne treatment? I thought Zeno was just some crummy philosopher, so what do I know. Stupid liberal arts degree.

Anyhoo, because I noticed my fellow driver seemed somewhat distracted by her multi-tasking, I gave a friendly little toot of my horn to alert her to the impending predicament. Immediately realizing how helpful I was being, she responded by leaving my lane and the close proximity to my vehicle and veered across her lane and narrowly avoided a brush with disaster on the other side of her car. In all the impending excitement, I believe she may have even dropped her Zeno and mascara brush.

Because we were luckily soon stopped at the very next light (because the helpful people at UDOT like to make sure we have all the latest technology so that we never miss the opportunity to sight see at the latest flora and fauna development at every possible stop light on our commute), we all could collect our breath and have a hearty chuckle at our collective experiences which only made us enjoy every precious moment of life even more. Luckily, I love the wind in my hair so I had all my windows down and my fellow commuter could see me shaking my head back and forth as I had so greatly enjoyed our adventure together.

She must have been really having trouble finding that mascara brush she dropped as she responded by giving me the finger. Now this is not a gesture I am unfamiliar with as Michigan drivers are also very expressive. But as I had been driving in my lane only and not attempting to use two lanes where clearly one would suffice, I may have responded by yelling back at my fellow driver. Kids, don't try this at home. Because I have been trained in media relations and understand communications theory, I know the right thing to say to put fellow drivers at ease. Unfortunately, this was a morning commute and I wasn't fully engaged to respond with the appropriate amount of tonguefoolery to which you and I are typically accustomed.

Instead, I yelled out the first thing that came to mind:

"Sweet Baby Jesus loves you!"

My fellow driver was so stunned by this expression of love that she merely waved and smiled instead of pulling the gun which she surely had in her glove compartment.

And that's the moral of our story, kids. Just act like a crazy person and others will leave you the hell alone. As I soon have a plane ride in my future, I look forward to responding to the inquiry whether anyone is sitting here with the phrase, "Just me and the Lord."

Drive safe. And try to stay in your lane on the way home.

Rag Doll

I love bad marketing ideas. From New Coke to the Nova for Mexico they never grow old. So I give you Dominatrix Barbie.

Okay, that's not what they're calling her. Mattel Marketing Weasels are claiming that's someone called Black Canary who's supposed to be a superhero. If she's a superhero, how come she doesn't have a movie out this summer? Come on. I'm not falling for it and neither should you.

Zoom your Panasonic camera in on that outfit over there. Does that say "crime fighter" to you? All that outfit needs is a whip.

I'm sure the stilettos are great for chasing down evil doers. Although given the way she's dressed, at least the villains are going to have trouble running away from her.

And the black mesh stockings? Yeah, those will stop bullets. And how about a skirt for crying out loud? Barbie's going to get a little cold on those late night stakeouts. Maybe she can cuddle with Batman to keep warm.

Well, at least the new collectible Barbie isn't life sized. Dang, I just gave some Mattel Marketing Weasel another idea.

Personally, I can't wait for Obama Girl Barbie.

He's Got Legs and He Knows How to Use Them

Reason #258 to lurve Utah

We're not wearing any pants.

Richter7, an advertising agency in Salt Lake City, this summer introduced a no-long-trousers policy.

Because a swell look like that says "advertising edginess."

And douchebag, and asshat and punch me in the neck.

Hey, even the United Nations is getting in on the act. Of course with all that hot air, their probably generating all the greenhouse gas emissions in NYC anyway.

I'm sure while you're sporting those sexy shorts and your Bluetooth headset ensemble no one will be snickering at you. As far as you know.

Does anyone else remember when Dave used to get a bullhorn and yell out the window, "I'm not wearing any pants!" Man, I loved that. We thought that was hilarious and used to yell it out the window of a car while we were driving around. Because we were driving too fast (as teen scofflaws are wont to do) we had to shorten it to just "No pants!" Yeah, it loses a little something at 59 miles per hour.

Hot Chocolate

If you're offended by this, get over it. It's just a joke.

I don't know how the subject came up, but I suddenly thought that the phrase Chocolate MILF would be a good name for a rock and roll band (hereinafter "GNFARRB").

Then I thought a better idea would be a t-shirt of Michelle Obama with the caption Chocolate MILF would make a jillion dollars.

Until the cease and desist order arrived.

So I'll have to make due with this:

Chocolate MILF

And in the interest of equal time:

White Lightning

And if we sell both shirts, we can accurately predict who our next President is going to be to a margin of error +/- 50%. That's just slightly better than Fox News. Zing! See, I'm an equal opportunity offender.

Have a good weekend, kids.

My Brett Favre's Back And You're Gonna Be In Trouble

Bless you, Brett. Thank goodness you're here to provide the needed media distraction from the grind that is summer and endless highlights of the Sox and the Yankees. Because those are the onliest two teams in America. And when they win, America wins. Except when they play each other because then America only ties.


But if only I could get more information about Brett. I know he's unretired now because apparently he can't make up his mind just like that date who wasn't sure if she wanted to be friends, have a relationship or just get drunk and have sex with you. Sometimes all in the same night. Or even the same conversation.


And the ESPN ticker crawl isn't enough. Sure, it's fine to see FAVRE roll across the bottom of your screen along with a few words from someone tangentially related to someone who might know an actual fact, but that's not enough.


What? HE FAXED A LETTER TO THE NFL. OMG. How about a copy of the letter? Who got the letter? Did he call Roger Goodell and say, wait by the fax machine for me? No, it's not that cartoon. It's a letter. Why can't we actually see the letter? Did he hand print it? OMG, I'll bet Brett Favre writes in calligraphy just like a monk.


Brett is so talented he not only throws interceptions in overtime of playoff games, but he can also act, use the fax machine, waffle on career decisions, and balance the federal budget in his head.


Why can't we just have a Brett Favre tv channel? I'm sure there's going to be some cameras left over from the Olympics events we don't watch. You know, the ones the Americans stink at. Like Ping Pong. Sorry, table tennis. Like we're going to beat the Chinese at Ping Pong in China. Yeah, right. Who wants to watch that baby seal clubbing? So just take all those cameras and follow Brett Favre around ALL THE TIME. This would be great. I'd bet we learned all sorts of things about Brett we didn't know.


You knew we eventually would get here, didn't you?


Top Ten Unknown Facts About Brett Favre


10) Born in a manger


9) Diet consists solely of food cooked at tailgate parties


8) Has a big, blue ox named Babe


7) Is the Joker's arch nemesis and keeps Kiln, Mississippi safe from crime


6) Infertile women in Wisconsin who wear Brett's jersey during games have actually become pregnant


5) Speaks 4 languages: NFL babblespeak, English, Sanskrit and Spanish


4) Has a restraining order against John Madden


3) Once called Vince Lombardi a pussy


2) Refused to become Governor of Wisconsin saying "I will not run. I only pass"


1) Was the creative inspiration for Buckaroo Banzai


But maybe, if the Packers have to release Brett, we'll see the best thing ever. Him in a Lions jersey. Be still my beating heart.

She's a Man Eater

In Flint, Michigan, now that police have put a stop to the scofflaws that were wearing their pants too baggy, they've even got a more difficult case to crack.

Now I have been known to wear my pants baggy. Not because I'm a thugg, but rather because I'm a slack ass and know that spandex makes everyone look like a snausage. Except Micheal Phelps. Bastard.

But kids, do you know where the whole baggy pants thing came from. Okay, besides Charlie Chaplin. That's right. In prison. Wearing your pants baggy was a means of advertising that you were a pitcher. Now if that's the form of self-expression you wish to make with your fashion choices, so be it. And I know a great restaurant for you.

Back to Flint, figuratively speaking of course, we're lucky in that regard. Anyhoo because everything else good has been stolen, in Flint the scofflaws have resorted to stealing the manholes. And the grates. Over 600 manholes and grates have been stolen over the past year.

Now I don't want to say that the Michigan politicians have run the gas guzzling economy into the ground, but the average manhole only goes for about $20 at a scrap yard. So I've got to think that the physical industry that goes into a manhole caper isn't really paying off that much. You've got to have at least 2 guys to lift the thing and one of those pry bars to get it open. And a truck to getaway in. This is not a crime of spontaneity. You've got to plan your hole heist. Sewer line plans obtained at the library. Cover of darkness to make off with your ill gotten loot. A scrap man who doesn't ask too many questions. If he knows what's good for him....

Seriously Flint Holers, think about a life of white collar crime. You make more money, it's a federal rap which means a much better prison and you can network with your fellow inmates.

Besides, in Japan they have really awesome manhole covers. I'm just saying.

Greek Is The Word

Me: We're going out to dinner before the show?

Wife: Where are we going?

Me: A Greek place, but you won't need a passport. It's downtown -- Astra's.

Wife: Asses?

Me: Who names a restaurant Asses?

Wife: You said it was Greek.

Me: If I drop my wallet, I'll kick it to the door before I try to pick it up.

Wife: Will the plates be brown?

Me: No, but I'll bet the chairs are really uncomfortable.

Wife: I wonder if the dress code allows chaps.

Me: Only ass-less chaps.

Wife: I just hope Asses sells shirts.

Me: It'll be like Hooters but just the opposite.

Wife: I'm ordering the butt steak.

Me: Extra juicy.

Little GTO

Here's a headline I didn't think I'd see today:

Mayo Clinic Hospital Surgeon Takes Photo of Patient's Penis During Surgical Procedure

Dr. Adam Hansen took a picture of strip club owner Sean Dubowik's penis during a gall bladder operations. It seems that seeing the words Hot Rod tattooed on Dubo's ding dong was too much to resist. Apparently, Hot Rod Sean got the tattoo as part of a $1000 bet. Classy.

How much would it take for someone to shove needles into your penis? Let's just say it's probably more than $1000. And I've have gone with something clever like:

• Insert Tab A Into Slot B
• A lightning bolt
• Monica Was Here
• Don't Tread on Me
• This End Very Up
• Yes, I'll Respect You Even More
• Don't Pull on My Hips, I Know What I'm Doing.

But the quote of the story has to be:

"I feel violated, betrayed and disgusted," Dubowik said."

And I think we all know how much it must take to get a strip club owner to feel disgusted.

Now I'm not going to defend Dr. Hansen for taking a patient pee pee picture. That's preposterous. But if you've got a tattoo on your penis that says Hot Rod, you might not get up on your moral high horse in indignation. In fact, I'm willing to bet another $1000 that Sean has used the line, "Want to go for a ride on my hot rod?" on more than one occasion.

It's not a privacy issue though. There could be tons of people with penis tattoos that say Hot Rod out there.

Actually, it doesn't say Hot Rod. It says How Do You Like Alex Rodriguez Now Madonna? But, you know, he was sedated at the time.

And if these kind of shenanigans and hi jinx are going on at the Mayo Clinic, what do you think happens at the Hollywood Upstairs Medical College where you have to go because of your crummy health insurance?

Just remember when you get a tattoo on your hoohah, it might wind up on the interwebs.

So start practicing on your indignation, violation, betrayal and disgust looks in the mirror. Because you know this is going to result in a great big lawsuit.

And while I'm sure there's nothing that could be done to compensate my client, I do know that the only method you have to make him whole is to give him 4.6 million dollars in compensatory damages. Bless you, Cirroc.

Dazed and Confused

Reason # 328 to Love Utah

It's a state holiday today. Suck it, non-Utah monkeys!

Yes, this is the day approximately 161 years ago that Brigham Young came into Utah and said, "This is the place." They even have a monument.

In honor of the state's founding, we have no worky, a parade, a candy pull and leftover fireworks from July 4th. No word on whether we also get mattress sales. And we get two days of concerts from the Mormon Tabernacle Choir with the Entire Osmond Family. Sometimes the jokes just write themselves. Where do the stereotypes about this state come from? I know I've got a serious case of Puppy Love for this state. Well, for Guinness the Wonder Dog anyway.

Now while the whole This is the Place makes for good marketing copy, I'm a little skeptical. The pioneer trek was over 1300 miles. Do you really think at the end someone said, "This is the Place." I'm guessing it was a little more along the lines of.....

"You kids shut up back there. No, we're not there yet. Quit touching him then. No, we're not stopping for you to pee again. I am not either lost. No, I'm not stopping to ask for directions. NO! We're not getting a pecan log. Ugh, put your shoes back on. Quit almost touching him then. How 'bout we play The Quiet Game? No, I'm not lost! So help me if you kids don't knock it off, I'm turning this whole wagon train around. That's it. Trip's over. Now. Get out. We're done. Here. We're stopping."

At least that's how I remember a lot of our family vacations ending.

Wing And A Prayer

If you haven't heard, you aren't consuming your required daily dose of media pablum. So get to it. It's all the buzz. Batman was arrested.

Okay, he's not really The Dark Knight. As far as you know. But wouldn't a crime fighting superhero/actor who was really a crime fighter be the perfect cover? It's the classic zag.

Anyway, Christian Bale had to turn himself in to a British police station over allegations that he had assaulted his mother and his sister. Well thanks to this reporter's extensive network of police informants, I've got the real scoop.

Top 10 Reasons Christian Bale Allegedly Assaulted His Mum & Sis

10) Mom wondered why there were no awesome fight graphics

9) Sis's continued talk of the nuanced genius of Val Kilmer

8) Extensive criticism of lack of kissing scene in Brokeback Batman

7) Mom's insistence that Cesar Romero was a much better Joker

6) Christian once again pales in comparison to Morgan Freeman

5) When asked opinion of movie, Sis said, "Well, it's no American Psycho."

4) Not enough Michael Caine

3) Mom's claims that Katie Holmes really carried that first movie

2) No Batusi or Evil King Tut

1) It's all an insidious plot of the Penguin

Don't worry, kids. I'm sure Robin will come to Batman's rescue as always. It's always nice when two men can get along so well even though they live together in a cave. Just like Ace & Gary.

Rocky Mountain High

This never happened. As far as you know.

So whilst the Wife and I were in Aspen, we took public transportation everywhere. Because not only am I all about the environment, but there's actually no place to park in Aspen. At all. There's actually a gigantic dome at the end of the city and no cars are allowed inside. It's just like in the Simpsons movie. Which is even rendered more magnificent when you drive by the Aspen Airport and see all the private jets that are parked there. Right before they head off to the their St. Barts villa rentals. I always forget how private jets run on magic fairy dust and have no carbon footprint.

Anyhoo as we were walking in an altitude that is so high it actually contains no oxygen at all, I notice a black Hummer has somehow slipped through the security grid and is being allowed to roam the streets of Aspen. Because I live on Snark street, I couldn't let it go.

I notice the little blond "niece" has the window down.

"What's it like to hate the environment?" I opined.

This obviously hit a little too close to home because she turned bright red and just stammered. Before I could follow up with a comment about which double jointed sexual position she had to master to earn that car from her octogenarian patron, the light changed and she drove off.

This story is a lot funnier if that same little blond girl isn't the hostess at the restaurant you walk to.

Sarah Smile

Well it happened. America's Couple, Jimmy Kimmel and Sarah Silverman are no more. I will not dignify any rumors that I had anything to do with the separation. But if these two crazy kids can't make it, what chance do any of us have?

Let's just say that I have some inside information about why the couple is no more.

Top Ten Reasons Sarah Silverman and Jimmy Kimmel Broke Up

10) She really is effing Matt Damon

9) He's sick of being forced to watch There's Something About Mary whenever it's on cable

8) Adam Corolla won't get off their couch

7) She finally saw his show in HDMI (High Def, Massive Incompetence)

6) His long diatribes about how The Man Show was "misunderstood genius"

5) She keeps TIVO'ing Dave

4) He insists on asking Ben Stein for financial advice

3) When told she must laugh and laugh living with Jimmy, he answer is, "You'd be surprised."

2) Her 5th Anniversary Gift? The box set of Crank Yankers

1) She finally realized she was the funny one and the pretty one

Don't worry, Sarah. Smile. Matt will always be there for you.

Who Let the Dogs Out

Reason #682 to Love Utah

We've got restaurants where they let you dine with your doggy. (warning that's a PDF). Thanks to the Salt Lake City Weekly for clueing in this hound owner on the al fresco opportunity ala K9.

It's true. Up Millcreek Canyon at the Loghaven Restaurant, you can enjoy a pate on the patio with your pooch.

Now, I've had dinner with a few dogs before. But at least their acne wasn't too bad. And those weren't just prom dates. Hiyo. And I didn't really mind when she licked my face during the slow dances.

They also have a drink menu featuring doggy themed drinks: Poodle-tini, Irish Setter Coffee and Salty Chihuahua. Sounds pretty tame to me. If I'm going to go with a dog themed dining experience, go nuts with it. Because most of the dogs probably won't have theirs.

Menu Recommendations:

• Bichon Frise Bacon Burger
• Samoyed Salmon
• Havanese Jalapeno Halibut
• Duck ala Dalmatian (with Sour Cream & Black Olives)
• Labradoodle Lasagna
• Springer Spaniel Spanish Paella
• Mastiff Minestrone (for large appetites)
• Chow Chow Cornish Game Hen
• English Bulldog Eggs Bearnaise
• Jack Russell Jerked Chicken

I could go on all day with this list. But you knew that already.

Do you think the restaurant has a No Smoking and No Humping section?

This I Swear

If your get rich quick scheme to cash in big time so you can finally afford that Texas Gulf coast waterfront property, is to own a non-swearing bar, it's not going to work.

That's what a Christian couple found out the hard way.

John & Krista Fleming bought The King's Head pub in Inslington, North London, England. Then they promptly banned cursing. I swear to God they did.

The business promptly tanked. Hmm, people must like getting their curse on whilst getting their drink on.

The CC's soon lost their pub but continue to live in the apartment upstairs. How much do you think the King's Head regulars like yelling curses loud enough for the upstairs couple to hear?

There's a lot going on her. First, why'd the CC's buy the pub? Maybe they were going to change the name and go all Religious Right (who are neither) on the menu. Call it The Crucifix and serve stuff like Pontius Pilot Potato Skins and Jesus Jerk Chicken Sammiches and Luke's Luscious Latkes. And show lots of hockey games with good goalies. Because when Satan shoots, Jesus saves. What would Jesus drink? Cristal of course.

Second, when the brewery who ran the pub wanted to bring in new managers, the CC's barricaded themselves inside. In typical shoddy reporting, there's absolutely no mention of how this worked out. But then if I were going to be taken hostage, I'd certainly want it to be in a pub. "Hey, hey, hey, let's not just run off half-cocked and surrender at the first sign of a SWAT team. It's not even Happy Hour."

So what did we learn this week, kids?

People like to use the swears when they get their drink on. This I swear.

Don't name your celebrity progeny something stupid unless you've got pre-paid therapy arranged.

Always check your bra for bats or ask a helpful man to do it for you.

Wear long sleeves while you ride your hog at high speeds or the "bat wings" will slow you down. Not just the vibrating ones in your bra.

Batdance or Batusi?

In Norwich, England, 19 year old Abbie Hawkins discovered a bat in her bra. This is not made up. Bonus points to The Telegraph for featuring a gratuitous photo of a young lady in a bra with a fake bat.

Anyhoo, Abbie thought the vibrating she felt in her clothes was just her phone. Hmm, the women I know who are used to feeling a vibration, don't mistake it for their phone. Abbie went to work at 7:30 and didn't discover the bat until around noon! Apparently, that vibration had been going on for quite some time. If you find a bat in your bra, does that make you...wait for it....a B cup?

Abbie finally investigated in her snugglepuppy holder and discovered the tiny bat while she was at work at the Holiday Inn Norwich North. And the hotel GM set the bat free in the garden. While I do not often encounter the Holiday Inn in Norwich North during my business travels, I would check for bats very carefully before I got into bed or hopped on any treadmills in that hotel.

Now I have experienced a bat in my house (though not my bra) and that particular interloper was not set free. He was rather served with a tennis raquet out the door. An ace from which he did not recover.

I'm very amazed that young Abbie had the presence of mind to capture the bat alive. If I had been forced to investigate a vibrating undergarment and found vermin therein, the reaction would have been decidedly more active and vocal. And fecal.

If Abbie just went with the Cleavacious, she could have probably have just released the bat naturally.

The Telegraph does refer to this as a Bat Bra. Now, I'm no comic book geek, but wouldn't Batgirl have the Bat Bra? Or wouldn't the Bat Bra be what Batman used to capture his arch nemesis? You know, the Jiggler.

Yes, that was an extremely long way to go for a cheap boob joke. Mea culpa.

But the moral of the story kids is best expressed by Abbie. "I will certainly be checking my bras every morning from now on." And ladies, I'm sure there are plenty of men out there who not only will rescue you, but will willingly inspect your bra for vermin if you just ask nicely. And if you can't find a full fledged VIP (Vermin Inspection Patrol), it's probably best to be on the safe side. Never, ever wear an uninspected bra. Better safe than sorry.

Now rock out to the hardest working band in Guitar Hero Aerosmith, Commando Nipples.

Born To Be Mild

Dear Red-Hot Biker Momma:

I'm sure as you headed out on the highway this morning, you had your Sassometer set to 11.

You were working it in your leather pants. The company logo shirts of your accountancy firm carefully hidden by the sleeveless vest. And while I don't know a lot about the motorcycle lifestyle and the steel horses that you ride, I'm sure you're wanted, dead or alive.

You've got your hot little hands on the tall dresser handlebars that keeps them up so high by your eyes. Yes, we see your sexy, tanned skin. And so much of it. You're rocking to the big sound of your muffler and your blonde mane flowing in the wind.

But that wind also makes that extra skin under your arm flap in the wind like a trailer screen door in a hurricane. So, sexy.

Try to remember your sleeves next time.

Lurve,

t2ed

The Name Game

If you haven't heard, Nicole & Keith's new project finally dropped. She's named Sunday Rose and weighed 6 pounds and 7.5 ounces. Yup, just slightly heavier than Mommy.


Apparently it was a very difficult birth. Every time the mom to be opened her legs, the doc was blinded by the light. Hiyoooo.


But seriously, Sunday Rose Urban? That sounds like the name of a bad boxed wine that you'd find at the booth where they're handing our promotional pens.


After lots and lots of investigation (you'd be surprised how closed-mouth the Kiwis are about medical records, sheesh) and threatening to reveal the ending of Tintin and thus ruin Peter Jackson's next blockbuster, this reporter obtained the list of the names that Nicole and Keith rejected to go with Sunday Rose. Wow, was that a long way to go. But you knew this would eventually devolve into just another lame list didn't you?


Top Ten Rejected Names for Sunday Rose Urban


10) Urban Blight

9) Haughty Pretencia

8) Sid Kidman

7) Legend Urban

6) Sub Urban

5) Outfitter Urban

4) Suri Urban

3) Saturday Geranium

2) Cowboy Urban

1) Play 'N Kidman


Feel free to play along at home, kids.

Skyrockets In Flight

It's almost here. July 4th! Woo hoo. Time for every American to engage in their civic duty to blow things up and buy mattresses! It's Independence Day and although we actually signed the Declaration of Independence on July 2, nobody likes a snot nose who brings up history to try to rain on our no-worky parade. So, shut it, college boy.

I have a wistful view of fireworks. One Summer I worked in a fireworks factory. We unloaded the ugly, Chinese charactered, corrugated boxes and put them into fancy, schmancy colored boxes for the suckers consumers to enjoy purchasing from hastily constructed tents, trailers or shacks along the side of the road. By the end of the day, your hands would be black from all the powder that leaked out of the extremely high quality and obviously strictly safety scrutinized objects of destruction. Oh, and every now and then, if I was really lucky, I'd get to help fill a semi-truck for shipment to somewhere else. There's nothing more glorious than lifting boxes all afternoon in a tin can with poor ventilation while it's about 100 degrees outside. What? And give up show business.

Oh, that was also the summer that two fireworks factories blew up. That summer fireworks factory explosions were like shark attacks, dangerous tomatoes (a good name for a rock and roll band by the way but it's no Commando Nipples) and messy celebrity divorces.

So whenever peeps are going ooh and ahh, I'm probably thinking, "That's an x-150 with a 500 gram load and a scatter display." Because that makes for such fascination conversation, I usually keeps my piehole shut. Usually.

The best fireworks shows are those set to music. You know you're going to get Copland's Fanfare of the Common Man shoved down your throat with some big boomers. Maybe if you're lucky, they'll toss in some Whitesnake this year to keep the PBR & Nascar crowd from getting ugly.

So enjoy the 4th, kids. I'll be too lazy to post. But hepped up on barbeque sauce and coleslaw. And Leinenkugel's.

Remember alcohol and fireworks don't mix. So get your drinking out of the way before you start blowing stuff up. You don't want to spill your beverage when you're fleeing the mayhem. And if you're not causing any mayhem, you're not trying hard enough.

Stay Just a Little Bit Longer

In regards to this, I received the following note from my Inside Guy with the Packers.

Dear Brett:

STFU.

Love,

Aaron Rodgers

The Power of Good-Bye

It's the latest rumor. No wait, it's not.

Whatever you choose to believe, thanks to some great intelligence from our Man on the Inside, we have the real scoop.

Top Ten Ways to Tell Your Marriage To Madonna Is Over

10) Your last gift from her? Swept Away DVD

9) No longer sending dirty pictures of herself to your cell phone

8) During your last game of Prisoner & the Warden's Wife, she left you in solitary confinement for 48 hours

7) Your autographed copy of Sex now has black bars over all of her naughty bits

6) Took back the Kaballah bracelet she gave you

5) Took back the Malawi orphan she gave you

4) No longer leaving gap-toothed hickeys on your inner thigh while you sleep

3) She TIVO's every movie with Warren Beatty

2) No longer affecting faux British accent, now affecting faux Spanish accent sounding suspiciously like your poolboy Ramon

1) Simulated concert sex scene with her gay backup dancer keeps getting longer and longer

And a couple of bonus reasons:

• Won't get on the casting couch for a role in your latest underperforming movie
• Her PR people call your PR people to issue a release denying that your marriage is over
• Latest children's book is titled "Why Daddy is a Sumbitch"

Oh, Madge, we kid because we care. You're just as culturally relevant now as you were when you were writhing around on stage in a wedding dress and kissing female train wreck pop stars.

As far as you know.

Kris Kross

One of my acquaintances recently told me that he likes working with me because I've got my shiat together. This tells me the ploy is going well.

Because I really don't think I have my shiat together anymore than anyone else. I just try to minimize the number of people who see me do something stupid every day. Everyone is stupid at least once a day. You just have to make sure no one sees it. Then they mistakenly think you've got your shiat together.

You know. The spilling coffee all over the floor because you forget to put the pot under the coffee maker. The jamming the printer and winding up with toner all over your face so you look like Jolsen. Those every little day stupidity acts which let everyone in on the secret doofus inside all of us.

This is a story about that.

I was really tired this morning. So I'm on full zombie mode auto pilot all the way into work. Dump the dog, eat a couple of breakfast bars (candy disguised as health food), slog into work, plow through some email, look at the calendar, wonder why it's not already Friday, pine for luxury watches online, swill some Diet Coke.

I finally have to go to the bathroom. Now I don't know how many of you know about the plumbing of men. We always stand because it helps with the sword fighting. That's why there's always pee on the floor and the walls and the ceiling. So I'm attempting to get the lil flap open on my boxers. Can't find it. Not happening.

I finally realize that I've had my underwears on backwards for about two hours. And never noticed a thing. I had to slink off to the small bathroom and drop trou and get arranged properly. Because while it's the best look in the world, getting caught with no pants and shoes on in the men's room will get you asked some questions by HR.

Oh, yeah. That's having your shiat together. Except for your underwears.

Cult of Personality

I had my first run in with the FLDS this weekend. At the golf course. Seriously.

What else would you call a group of 24 people with no women anywhere in sight with lots of teenage kids who are suspiciously the same age? Oh, and all had slicked back hair with big ears and weak chins. And dressed completely in long pants and long sleeve shirts. Who had clearly never played golf before ever.

They even carried their bags. I don't mean carried like schlepped around. I mean carried in both arms like it was a sack of potatoes and not slung over their shoulder like you should.

And carried enormous jugs of water. I talking 2 gallon Coleman water coolers like they were going on some expedition to the Sahara. Of course if I were going to golf in long pants and a long sleeve shirt, I might bring a little extra refreshment as well.

I did overhear a couple of the kids talking about computer memory as it relates to being able to compile your family tree.

I'm just glad there was neither a raid nor gunplay during the round. I wish this lil anecdote had a better ending. But it was just golfing behind some folks that were a little different. Oh, and I cursed as often and as loudly as possible whenever I missed a putt. Also, they wouldn't gamble with us. I was hoping I could win another wife or two. Because with those weak chins they could use some good Midwestern breeding stock.

Ricky Don't Lose That Number

True Work Adventures

Me: *answering phone*


Wife: (in husky voice) What are you wearing?


Me: You know you're on speaker phone.


Wife: Dammit.


Eavesdropping Kubemates: *laughter*

Ain't No Mountains High Enough

In Germany, an American woman hiking in the Alps was stranded for three days when she fell off a ledge. Despite five helicopters and 80 emergency workers searching for her, Jessica Bruinsma wasn't rescued until she took matters into her own hands. How did she finally get rescued? Simple. She took off her bra.

Seriously, Ms. Bruinsma attached her sports bra to a cable used to move timber on the mountain. When the cable was finally operated, her bra rode the cable down the mountain where it was spotted by an alert lumberjack. Ms. Bruinsma would have been rescued sooner, but the lumberjacks were wolf-whistling and cat calling at the cable for several hours before they realized the cable would not, in fact, be showing them any more skin.

Just think if she'd have been wearing a Cleavacious bra. She'd have had lumberjacks, the German Air Force and the Greater Swiss Mountain Dog Rescue Squad there to help her.

The moral of the story: If you take your bra off, a man will soon be there to help you out of any situation. We're extremely helpful that way.

Summertime Blues

As we've finally had the solstice and concluded the longest day of the year, it's only appropriate that we revisit the genius of Heywood Banks and his hit "I Love Summer." If Heywood is ever in your nape of the woods, do yourself a favor and go see him live.

I don't know about the rest of you kids, but out here in the desert, it's mid 90's all this week. A big hunk 'o sugar like me just melts in weather like this. Check local listings.

I Love Summer

Sneezing from the pollen,
The chain caught my shoestring
Hit the center bar on my bicycle
And almost lost my bearings.

I love Summer
Good old Summer time
Got sunburned on the soles of my feet
And sand where the sun don't shine.

Sunburned at the beach
In pain the whole darn night
So much skin peeled off my back
You could make a set of Samsonite.

I love Summer
Good old Summer time
Got sunburned on the soles of my feet
Lotta sand where the sun don't shine.

Putting on a cold, wet bathing suit
Mosquitoes and bees and tetanus shot in the derriere
Something's crawling at the foot of my sleeping bag
Flaming marshmallows in my hair (drop and roll)

Caught a baseball with my face
Potato salad in the sun
Salmonella steps up the the plate
Listeria gets the run

Oh I love Summer
Good old Summer time
Got sunburned on the soles of my feet
And sand where the sun don't shine
I got sunburned at the back of my throat
And sand behind my eyes.

A Horse With No Name

Reason #568 to love Utah

We still have the Pony Express. And that horse's name is actually Thumper, but I couldn't think of any other horse songs. Except Wildfire and I didn't want to subject anyone to having that in their head all day.

Yup, if you were lucky enough to be driving around town yesterday, you might have actually seen this guy riding his horse down the street delivering the mail.

I just hope someone cleans up the bike lane before the commute this morning. Because you don't want to be trying to brake your 10 speed on that. It might have been nice to be able to use something like authorize.net to find out the exact horsey route just in case you had important errands to run and didn't want to get backed up behind a Bronco, a Pinto and an Appaloosa.

Please remember, pedestrians, bikes and horse have the right of way at all crosswalks.

I actually think my internet provider is so slow, that when I attach a file to an email, this guy rides out of a barn with a file folder in this satchel.

You can also track this swell historical re-enactment online. How cool would it be for some Indian Casino to ambush one of the riders? And remember, if they make it, so what?

And Then He Kissed Me

I'm continuously amazed how many people use one term in particular to find this little blog 'o stoopidity on a fairly regular basis.

Signs He Like Me remains at the top of the charts. Which really kind of worries me. First, I wrote that long, long ago. Second, I can't believe that the women-folk aren't able to tell if a guy likes her.

I've long considered the woman to the brains of most relationships. So if she doesn't know what's going on, that's not a good sign. Whether you've read it correctly or not.

No wonder all these people are having trouble finding that certain person who is their density. That person they want to drive crazy the rest of their lives. That person who they want to hate them in 6 to 8 months. That person they want to give half their stuff to.

So I'm starting this valuable service. Since people somehow can't figure out if others like them, I'll do it.

Just send me a dollar and I'll use a proprietary, highly scientific method involving involuntary muscular responses, the lunar phase, body language, and 17 other personality traits to make a determination. Oh, and I'll need their email address for this highly customized form.

Don't try this at home. Only a certified, professional relationship expert can do this type of highly scientific analysis. And if you're still not fully satisfied with this amazing service, I can also ask if he likes you likes you.

You can't get any more scientific than that.

Backfield In Motion

I swear on the tender limbs of sweetbabyjebus that whatever business is in the building across the street is out playing Dodgeball right now.

They even have cones and a ref.

Our office is looking out the window and just hoping someone gets hurt. They maybe we can sub in.

My money is on Average Joe's.

I wonder if you can file a worker's comp claim for a dodgeball related incident?

Brandy You're a Fine Girl

I don't care if they're just ripping off an idea that Brandy Chastain originally had.

They still can't trick me into watching football soccer even if they're doing it topless. That's still not enough to get me to watch.

Yes, continuing the cycle of the objectification of the female breast, Austria's Topless Women's Soccer Team beat Germany's Topless Women's Soccer Team 10-5. Hey, if actual soccer had that much scoring, maybe America would watch.

And the crowd was mostly male. You don't say? Men gathered in a group to look at women's breasts. How long has this been going on?

Apparently the players wore only thongs and had their jerseys painted on. That's not a bad gig for all you aspiring artists out there. Sure beats selling your crappy paintings at some hotel on the weekend.

If I had been in charge of the event...who am I kidding? If I'd have been in charge, there wouldn't have been a soccer game. But I'd have had them wear jockstraps instead of thongs. First, funnier. Second, they need some shoes. It's all about the safety. Some poor girl, a 29 year old bank employee broke her toe nail. And in the typical shoddy reporting we've come to associate with Reuters, they fail to give the name of the bank. How else are we supposed to approach Doris Fastenmeir (isn't German a lovely language?) and see if she'd be open to other "creative" opportunities. Like robbing her bank.

Got ya, didn't I? See that's a Zag. You thought I was going one way and I went the other. It wasn't a boobie joke at all. Don't you feel ashamed now? You'd better send a letter of apology to Doris and tell her how sorry you are.

Quote of the story: "I was supposed to hold the balls but I really have no idea how to do that," said German keeper Jana Bach."

Thanks, Reuters. It's not enough that you fail to provide any pictures (and trust me, we know photogs were volunteering to go cover this story), but you've got to go with a quote that has both a double entendre about balls and making the goalie out to be dumb. Nicely played. Because there's no way she could be gullible enough to be topless in a soccer game and smart. Don't worry Jana, I'm sure there's some nice German man who will teach you the finer points of goaltending and show you how to hold the balls. Maybe you can even bend his Beckham a time or two? Okay, now Reuters has me doing it.

Go put your shirts on, ladies and go play a real sport. Like softball or field hockey or basketball. You know, something we'd really like to watch and not one that ends in a zero zero...I'm sorry... a nil nil tie and then gets settled by penalty kicks. Can't we just go straight to the penalty kicks and hooligan rioting and wrap this up before happy hour?

Now I've got to go to the draft party for my Fantasy Topless WNBA league....

Just Another Brick in the Wall

A Swedish woman, Eija-Riitta Berliner-Mauer, has revealed that she's been married to the Berlin Wall for 29 years. Eija suffers from a syndrome called Objectum Sexuality which causes one to love objects. Now I'm sure this is a tragic medical condition. Which I'm going to make fun of. Get over it.

Eija-Riitta said she fell in love with Mr. Wall when she first saw it on tv when she was seven years old. Oh, so she's into the stars. That happened to me with Barbara Eden.

Now I've known a couple of women who loved inanimate objects. But they were normally just a bump on the couch. Or took batteries.

Riitta says, "I find long, slim things with horizontal lines very sexy. The Great Wall of China's attractive, but he’s too thick – my husband is sexier."

Hmm, she likes long things. Maybe she's not a lost cause after all. And I didn't think they could ever be too thick. The next time I hear, "Spread 'em and up against the wall" on a cop show, I'm going to giggle uncontrollably. Does this make graffiti make up? Or is this, getting a little work done?

Unfortunately, it never ends well in these celebrity romances. The Wall got torn down and Riitta is now hooked up with a garden fence. Oh, and he was banging the Brandenberg Gate. When this girl says she wants a house with a white picket fence, she really means...oh, never mind.

I've got some more bad news for you Riitta, this movie isn't porn.

Meaty Beaty Big And Bouncy

Reason #421 to Love Utah

Our festivals. For testicles.

Yes, in Woodruff, Utah it was the 8th Annual Testicle Festival. Specifically from bull bits. Rocky Mountain Oysters. Swinging beef.

My favorite part of the story:

"Some people have trouble with them," says Lori Cornia, a festival volunteer, adding that it is no different than eating other beef parts such as the tongue, heart or liver."

No offense, Lori, but those are the parts we call "disgusting." That's why we avoid them. Like the plague. And hackneyed cliches. Now I've never had testes in my mouth because I don't swing that way and I'm not that flexible. So I won't judge all the interns from out of state that the Utah Division of Wildlife Resources sent out to the festival. I'm sure it's not just some elaborate prank that we play on the rubes from Wisconsin and New York City.

But some 250 pounds of lamb fries were purchased from a Salt Lake meat packing plant for the festival. So we need to thank these nutty folks who consumed all those deep fried, succulent scroti. Because if they hadn't eaten them, you know those were going in to hot dogs.

Personally, if you're going to have a Testicle Festival, I think it ought to be held at Ball State University.

Once Bit Twice Shy or Stop In the Name of Love

I don't know what's going on in Sweden, but there are going to be a lot of men planning their trips soon if this gets the right kind of publicity.

In Stockholm, a woman is being held for raping a man. I'm not making this up. And while rape is a crime of violence, what this man went through doesn't sound violent in the least.

Let's examine this story in a little more detail....

A 41 year old woman and a 30 year old man met in a bar on Monday night.

Let's just start with that. First, cougar prowl. Rrraw. Go, kitty, go. Second, they're out at the bar on a Monday night. As it's not football season, some school-night shenanigans are clearly going on. And here's the first hint of some sloppy journalism. What's the name of the bar? Everyone is going to want to go there.

The two were hungry and under the influence of alcohol as they made their way home from the bar.

Well, duh. We call that Plan A. And she's getting a home game.

After the man came up to her place, the woman began to make sexual advances toward the man, which he resisted.

While the man isn't identified in the story, I think we can all pretty much agree it's Richard Simmons. "Don't. Stop. Let's not ruin this friendship. I have to go work on my diet pill reviews for my blog. Please, don't be so handsy. I'm not that kind of man. No means no, lady."

After the man refused to have sex with the woman, she then performed oral sex on him against his will.

Now because of the typical shoddy journalism reflected in mass media, we don't know what these folks were wearing. I'm guessing he must have been wearing those tearaway pants the guys on the bench at NBA games use. Because there are several very important steps that have to occur before oral sex is performed on you against your will. Unfortunately, I can't tell you what exactly those are. But this woman, this giver, after having her advances refused, still was able to talk the man into oral sex. Though her part of the conversation was probably pretty muffled. And she must have been fairly convincing as he needs an, ummm, "enthusiasm" shall we say for the act or else it's like pushing rope up a hill. I hope you get my drift. Because this has never happened before. It's not you.

Here's the kicker:

The man called police the next morning to report that he was raped.

Why would he wait until the next day? Might he have been sleepy and needed a nap. Hmmm, what could have caused that? Do you think he slept over or picked up his tearaway pants and ran out the door? Loser. I'm sure he's not doing this for any sort of publicity or notoriety. He just wants to protect other young men who hang out in bars on Monday nights from the forcible advances of older women.

The woman is being held by police while they are deciding whether to press charges. I'm guessing they're holding her very tightly. Maybe even with their hands in her hair. And they keep asking her if she wants a drink. You wouldn't want a dangerous criminal like this to be on the loose.

Now I gotta hit Orbitz and find out how much a plane ticket to Stockholm is.

Adventures in Public Mastication

An exchange between the Wife and I while we were out Sunday morning acquiring sustenance:

“Should we go to the Gay Pride Parade?”

“It’s today?”

“Yeah.”

“A Sunday?”

“You know we’re not gay despite your love of musical theater.”

“But we’re allies.”

“How do you know it’s today?”

“I overheard our waitress reference it while explaining her outfit to another table.”

“That’s just an excuse to wear purple spandex with green leggings.”

“Do you think the Utah Gay Pride Parade will suck?”

“We saw the San Francisco Gay Pride Parade and it was awesome.”

“But that was San Fran.”

“Yeah, but in Utah it’s only once a year to go nuts. In Saracisco, that’s just Tuesday.”

"Will the parade go by the churches downtown?"

"If I were in charge, it would go by precisely as church was letting out."

"Especially the float with the Priests on it."

Legging-bedecked waitress comes to check on us and touches me on the back whilst making her inquiry.

“I saw that.”

“Moths to the flame.”

“She must dig you.”

“And wants to take me to the parade in a strictly platonic way.”

“If she really dug you, she’d get you some free bacon.”

“I’d share it with you.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s keeping all that bacon for herself.”

Skyrockets in Flight

First it was rice. Now it's fireworks.

EVERYBODY PANIC!!!

If you think the global consortium that controls our minds by allowing us to consume in excess isn't monkeying with us now, you're just in denial.

You're going to have to get your ooohs and aaaahs on the sly this July 4th. Or on the web. Maybe you can get a best buy on lame sparklers or snakes. Is there any crummier firework than the snake? Oooh, ash. Wow.

For one summer I actually worked in a fireworks factory loading semi-trucks. If that doesn't encourage you to finish school, nothing will. That was also the Summer that two fireworks factories blew up. Hey, the union says we get smoke breaks, so we're taking our smoke breaks. Shut it, safety boy. That Summer my parents had one of the best fireworks displays our neighborhood ever had from all the leftover stuff I leveraged from my employer. And I only set one shrubbery on fire.

Utah has two, count them, two big fireworks displays. First is July 4th. Second is Pioneer Day on July 24th. It's when the State was founded after Brigham Young said, "Screw it, we're stopping here. I don't care if there isn't a Stuckey's, my dogs are barking." So that's technically another reason to love Utah even if it is just a tangent. Someone mark that down. And it gives us double the chance that someone will do something crazy with them. Bonus carnage, yes!

You'd just better appreciate those sparklers when they're $4 a gallon, young man. Maybe if you'd have earned those sparklers instead of just having them handed to you, you'd have taken better care of them. Back in my day we used to get sparklers for free. By the gross.

Does anyone else have "state line" fireworks? It always seemed like the best fireworks weren't in your state but you had to drive to the state line and then smuggle them back into your home state. And by smuggling, I mean putting them in the trunk. And these were often fireworks places that were more than just those crummy shacks they put up mid-June. These were real buildings that operated year round. Yeah, I've got the think the holiday season is a little slow for fireworks in the Midwest, but they were open.

For Michigan, Indiana was the sweet siren's call of illicit explosives. I don't know what kind of anarchy goes on in Indiana the rest of the year, but they've gone laissez faire in their approach to fireworks regulation. And if you're within 2 hours of their border, you're sneaking in to buy M80's, bottle rockets and other high profile projectiles.

Now I gotta get to the Nevada border and see what kind of explosives I can smuggle back into God's country.

Look at Me, I'm Sandra Dee

You're probably going to want to go ahead and mark your calendars for this one. Sandra Day O'Connor, yes, that Sandra Day O'Connor, is pimping a video game. I'll let your head catch up here. Yes, a former member of the Supremes is touting a video game to teach kids how courts work.

Sandy Baby said she's involved in the sure to be fabulous projects to show people that judges aren't godless activists. That's right. A lot of them are god-fearing activists. That makes it completely different. Just because some judges choose not to follow the law and instead make up the law and decide who will be the President, that shouldn't make people cynical.

You'll want to go ahead and bookmark the site. Because you're going to want to be playing Sandra's Day in Court as soon as its available. Luckily I know a little something about the interpipes and those darn webby sites so I was able to crack open some of that htemily code and find out all about the game.

• Under their robes, judges have no pants.
• Players have choice of lawyer avatars: sharks, weasels or rats.
• Game halts everytime an ambulance goes by.
• Latin terms used not just to confuse laymen but because it's "so cool."
• Gavels can also be used for cracking walnuts.
• The Scales of Justice should not be used to weigh weed.
• A donation to the Judge's Retirement Fund ensures the next objection goes your way.
• Free speech cases are cool because we get to use curses and watch dirty movies.
• The Supreme Court doesn't actually play any music by the Supremes.
• "Dissing" comes from the word "Dissent" which is Latin for "You're a tool."
• Any time the term Penal Code is used in court, Clarence Thomas giggles.
• Appellate briefs do not involve underwears.
• Not all bailiffs are named "Rusty."
• The Court Stenographer does not appreciate any double entendres using the term dictation.
• Scientific Opinion Witnesses do not like being referred to as "Whores."
• Once on the stand, Police should refrain from gunplay.
• When being sworn in, do not answer the oath with "As far as you know."
• Judge Judy is not on the Supreme Court. Yet.
• Crossing your fingers during testimony does not excuse perjury.
• Catching the Prosecuting Attorney in illicit activity with his Legal Secretary gets an innocent client and a bonus score.

Man I can't wait for this to come out. It'll be almost as good as Law and Order Health Code Violations. I'm out of order? This whole blog is out of order!

Have a good weekend, kids.

Black Dog

My dog, Guinness the Wonder Dog, has begun to criticize my driving.

It happened this morning on the way in to work. Oh, yeah, he's got a job. Apperently he applied for some jobs in Philadelphia and it turns out they have a Utah affiliate. What his job? He licks himself on a webcam. Hey, I think it's sick and wrong too, but if people are going to subscribe to doglicking.com, who am I to judge?

Anyhoo, we're on the way in to work and I hit a pothole. Hard. And the Hound stands up from where he'd been sleeping and looks at me. Yeah, I know.

He doesn't like sticking his head out the window and pretending to fly in the morning. He prefers to take a little cat nap to save up his energy for all that licking.


So the look. It wasn't the head cocked WTF luck. It was the full bore, dead stare, stop it look. The same look you get before the bath. The "Hey, fucko, I'm napping here." It had fingers, I know which one he'd have been showing to me.

I still think he's just pissed about this. I was trying to keep snow off his paws. It lasted about 2 minutes. Who knew dogs had such long memories? Jeez.

Reason #459 to Love Utah

Yet another reason to lurve Utah. We gots wild cougars! And not just the ones down at BYU.

I've seen them in the suburbs. Cruising by the high schools in their minivans and throwing candy at the boys' lacrosse teams. It's scary when they stalk their prey and then finally charge.






Then they usually take a young man captive and he never escapes. Right, Ashton? Look at those fangs. Man, that's scary.

The best thing about this whole story is you know that couple is never going to yell at their dog for barking again.

Top Ten Things You Don't Want To Hear At Your Prom

I got nothing today, kids. I stayed up too late watching the Dead Things gack up a lead to the Pigpens, so I'm stealing leveraging from Uncle Dave. Suck it, Gonchar. I hope the Pens need medical alert bracelets reading WARNING NO TEETH. At least I'm not bitter about the overtime loss at home.

Anyhoo, here's it is.

TOP TEN THINGS YOU DON'T WANT TO HEAR AT YOUR PROM

10) "This year's theme -- Midnight at Gitmo."

9. "For tonight I'm not the cafeteria lady, I'm just Kate."

8. "They were out of corsages, so I got you a mustache comb."

7. "Hope you don't mind the costume, but I have Iron Man fever!"

6. "Sorry I'm late. I was at lamaze class."

5. "Help... bow tie... too tight... can't breathe!"

4. "We're cancelling the rest of the prom to give you a taste of the bitter disappointment you'll experience in your adult life."

3. "I spent $400 on the tuxedo, $600 for the limo and $800 for the gasoline. You're putting out all right."

2. "Your carnation really brings out the red in your acne."

1. "Congratulations, Glen -- you're prom queen."