Dear Nathan

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This should not be your reaction to the thought of a dentist.

DEAR NATHAN: I am an educated, open-minded, well-spoken, well-mannered single man. I enjoy life and smile just about every waking moment.

My problem is that people — especially women — think I’m gay. I assure you, I’m not! One woman recently lambasted me, saying her “gaydar” is never wrong, so I should just admit it to myself.

This issue has prohibited me from dating, especially over the last few years, because ladies see me as a peer instead of potential partner. Also, people tell others that I’m gay, so there are preconceived opinions.

Please don’t think I am anti-gay. I have several gay male and female friends. I don’t think my speech inflections or mannerisms make people assume this. I don’t know what to do. Help! — STRAIGHT, BUT NOT NARROW IN ALABAMA

DEAR STRAIGHT: It seems that in this situation, there is only one thing you can do: act as manly as possible. Well, the other option would be to, each time you meet someone, say “Nice to meet you. By the way, I prefer the female anatomy over the male anatomy.” That would be awkward, though. They might not think you were gay, but they would probably still not date you because you’re a very awkward straight guy.

Think of every manly stereotype you can. Burp more. Scratch more. Fart more. You should probably start hitting on every female in sight just to prove that you are, without a doubt, a straight male. I would recommend walking around with dirt and grime under your nails, then when people mention it, just say you aren’t sure if it is from changing your Harley’s oil or the fight club you participated in last night. In case there still doubt, constantly reference articles from Maxim.

Yes, I know this does not necessarily equal a straight man. I’m sure there are many homosexuals out there who would rather wear their old sweat stained t-shirt while talking about the 1985 Chicago Bears than listen to Cher while getting a manicure. Clearly your friends are all about stereotypes, though, so play to that. If nothing else, it will give you an excuse to stop shaving.

 

DEAR NATHAN: I am a new bride. I love my husband very much, but I’ve encountered a problem I don’t know how to handle. My husband and I were together for six years before we got married and were engaged for three. We eloped to Las Vegas (it wasn’t planned) and had a “proper” celebration with friends and family later.

My husband makes comments that suggest I dragged him and tricked him into marrying me. I know he’s only kidding, but it’s very hurtful. I don’t know how to let him know his comments really hurt my feelings. It makes me feel like he’s ashamed of our marriage. — NEWLYWED IN CALIFORNIA

DEAR NEWLYWED: The troubles of being newlywed are very complicated. There are fights about literally everything. My wife and I fought about dishes, clothes, chores, whether we were doing chores too often, who did the most chores, etc. It is what marriage counselors like to call “the phase where everyone hates each other for a while.” Or something like that.

The next time he says something like this, I want you to read the following paragraph to him:

My dearest husband, after the years that we have been together, the joys we have shared, it’s great to know that we will be forever bonded as husband and wife. Why, it seems like just yesterday that we met. To think that it was almost a decade ago. My, how the sands of time fall! Speaking of falling, if you joke about me dragging you down the aisle again, you will be falling down the stairs after a nice swift kick to your behind. And it will hurt. A lot. Now, what do you want to do for dinner?

That should take care of it.

 

DEAR NATHAN: I am writing to you because I can share this anonymously. I am close to 60 years old and I’m terrified of the dentist. Every time I pick up the phone to make an appointment I get so anxious I feel like I’m going to die.

Do you think I will be able to find a caring, compassionate and nonjudgmental dentist? Are they out there? Sometimes I wish I could die instead of going to the dentist. Am I crazy? — MRS. ANXIETY IN THE U.S.A.

DEAR MRS. ANXIETY: Before I address your issue, is there a Mr. Anxiety? You really got the short end of the naming stick there. If I were you, I probably would have stuck with my maiden name, unless of course it was Apprehension. Then you probably made the right choice.

Dentists are all terrible human beings that are bent on destroying the world one tooth at a time. Therefore, I highly doubt you will ever find a caring dentist. You might find a sadistic dentist, but not a caring one.

Before you go to the dentist, you should just take a second to think about your visit. I mean, really, what is the worst that could happen? Sure, they could accidentally stab you in the jugular with that scratchy hook thing they always use. Maybe they accidentally remove all of your teeth, thinking you are Corporal Gum Disease in the next chair over. They could give you too much sedative. Their mechanical chair could malfunction, folding up and crushing you inside of it.

Aside from that, though, it’s fairly safe. Hope that helps!

 

DEAR NATHAN: I have a question regarding what to do when someone pays you a compliment. I was always taught that a compliment should be answered with a polite “thank you.” So when my husband compliments me on a nice meal, I say, “Thank you.”

He believes that you are not being humble enough when you say thank you, since it is recognizing that you did a good job. He thinks you should say, “I’m glad you like it,” instead of thank you. What is the correct response? — GRAMMATICALLY PERPLEXED

DEAR GRAMMATICALLY PERPLEXED: Can I point out that this isn’t a grammar issue? You aren’t ending sentences with prepositions. You are saying “Thank you.” Choose a better fake name next time.

I agree with your husband. You should be as humble as possible. When people compliment something I have done, I always say, “Psh. Like you really mean it. It wasn’t all that great. Don’t patronize me.” That way, people don’t think that I am being cocky.

Sometimes, I even take it one step further. If I cook something that people say they like, I’ll throw the plate on the ground, grab their food out of their hand and say “Look. You don’t have to keep rubbing in how awful it was, okay? I get it. Now GET AWAY FROM ME!” Then I proceed to break down and cry, slapping away the hands of anyone that tries to comfort me.

I think it has worked. People never think I’m being too arrogant now. They also never compliment me or, for that matter, talk to me. Modesty comes at a price, though.

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01000011 01001111 01000100 01001001 01001110 01000111 00100001 00100001 00100001 : A Letter to Mark Zuckerberg and Bill Gates

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Recently, several famous computer programmers like Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg, not to mention everyone’s second favorite Black Eyed Pea Will.i.am, teamed up to create a video urging people to learn computer programming. The video is nearly six minutes long, so I didn’t watch the whole thing. I have next to no attention span, so even the 30 second clips of adorable kittens I find on YouTube are testing my patience.

Nevertheless, I feel that this is very good advice. After all, it is much easier to become rich these days if you can write computer code. These people know. They are all very rich.

To prove that I am all about this, I have written a nice letter to the very very rich stars of this video in their native binary tongue.

(If you must know what is written, I have included a link to a translator below)

This is the link to the translator. Just copy and paste the following unless you are one of the people in this video who can read what I have written to them.

01000100 01100101 01100001 01110010 00100000 01001101 01100001 01110010 01101011 00100000 01011010 01110101 01100011 01101011 01100101 01110010 01100010 01100101 01110010 01100111 00101100 00100000 01000010 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01000111 01100001 01110100 01100101 01110011 00101100 00100000 01101111 01110010 00100000 01100001 01101110 01111001 00100000 01101111 01110100 01101000 01100101 01110010 00100000 01100010 01101001 01101100 01101100 01101001 01101111 01101110 01100001 01101001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01110111 01101000 01101111 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110011 01100001 01111001 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01001001 00100000 01110011 01101000 01101111 01110101 01101100 01100100 00100000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110010 01101110 00100000 01101000 01101111 01110111 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110111 01110010 01101001 01110100 01100101 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101101 01110000 01110101 01110100 01100101 01110010 00100000 01100011 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00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01110110 01100101 01110010 01111001 00100000 01100101 01100001 01110011 01111001 00100000 01100110 01101111 01110010 00100000 01101101 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110111 01110010 01101001 01110100 01100101 00100000 01101001 01101110 00111111 00100000 01010011 01101001 01101110 01100111 01110101 01101100 01100001 01110010 01111001 00100000 01100011 01101111 01100100 01100101 00101110 00100000 01001100 01101111 01101111 01101011 00111010 00001010 00001010 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 00110000 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00101100 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01001001 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 00100000 01110011 01100001 01111001 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101111 01101110 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01101111 01110110 01100101 01110010 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01101111 01110110 01100101 01110010 00101100 00100000 01100010 01110101 01110100 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101110 01100101 01110110 01100101 01110010 00100000 01110011 01100001 01101001 01100100 00100000 01001001 00100000 01110111 01100001 01110011 00100000 01101100 01101111 01101111 01101011 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01100110 01101111 01110010 00100000 01100001 00100000 01100011 01101000 01100001 01101100 01101100 01100101 01101110 01100111 01100101 00101110 00001010 00001010 01000001 01101110 01111001 01110111 01100001 01111001 00101100 00100000 01100100 01101111 01101110 00100111 01110100 00100000 01100110 01101111 01110010 01100111 01100101 01110100 00100000 01100001 01100010 01101111 01110101 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01100010 01101001 01101100 01101100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01100100 01101111 01101100 01101100 01100001 01110010 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01100111 00101110 00100000 01010100 01101000 01100001 01101110 01101011 01110011 00101110 00100000 01000010 01111001 01100101 00101110 00001010 00001010 01001100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01100001 01100111 01100001 01101001 01101110 00101100 00001010 01001110 01100001 01110100 01101000 01100001 01101110

(Just a note: I know there is more to computer programming then what I did here. If you are tempted to tell me it’s not that simple, save your keystrokes for something very stupid that I will most likely do in the near future.)

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If I Have A Son, I Will Call Him… Uhhhh…

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Newborn child, seconds after birth. The umbili...

Newborn child, seconds after birth. The umbilical cord has not yet been cut. A name, though, has most likely already been given to him. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There are a lot of reasons to be nervous about having children. From their graceless, teetering attempts to walk across the room all the way to their graceless, teetering attempts at become full-grown well-adjusted human beings, there are a lot of dangers that a parent has to watch out for. Suddenly, parents are responsible for a whole separate person, one that doesn’t seem to always be on the same page as them about what is socially acceptable or incredibly hazardous.

These dangers don’t even start at birth. They start the minute that the woman begins vomiting every morning. A quick trip to the bathroom to urinate on a stick and KAPLOW! You are now a parent.

That is when a very important decision in your child’s life comes into play. After the hyperventilating ends, parents say to themselves, “Well, I guess we’ll have to call this kid something.” They buy baby name books, scour their brains for any name they’ve ever heard, all in the hopes of finding the perfect name for a kid. After all, a name is forever.*

A name can shape a kid forever. If you name a kid Sherman, he will have a decidedly different life than a kid named Chet. I think the world would be an entirely different place if the Hitler’s had named their son Irving. No one named Irving would ever commit horrible crimes against humanity.

As happens at this age, my wife and I have begun to think of children’s names on the off-chance that we accidentally procreate. We want to be prepared and so many discussions have centered on that “perfect” name she had heard or her “perfect” naming technique. I have realized one thing through all of these discussions.

Naming a kid is hard.

My wife has a list of approximately 76,000 girl names that she finds acceptable. This is not the issue. Any daughter we have will be adequately covered in the name department. If the magical baby stork were to show up with a boy, though, we would be in deep doo doo.

The first rule for our name search is simple. Unfortunately, it makes this much more difficult. My wife has determined that common names are boring. I have agreed with her because, as a husband, I know my role in the relationship. This knocks out Thomas, Charles, Matthew, et cetera.

The next obvious choice is to scratch off any name that sounds like, rhymes with, or shares a name with a body part or bodily function. Following this, we have to remove names that our friends have used. Nothing is worse than a name thief.

Then we are left with…nothing. There are no good names in the world for a person.

At one point, my wife suggested Holden after one of our favorite literary characters. On the surface this seems like a good idea. Having read Catcher in the Rye a couple of times, though, will change one’s opinion. Teenagers scare me and naming a child after Holden Caulfield is asking for a very unpleasant, angst-filled period. As I do not want to spend a great deal of time having my child call me a “phony” over and over, I think we’ll have to pass.

I keep hoping that I will find myself in some sort of danger. Then, at the last-minute, a stranger will swoop in and save me. In return, I will promise to name my child after him. That is the definition of killing two birds with one stone: I survived a horrible ordeal AND I no longer have to look for any baby names. Knowing my luck, his name will be Fartrum Von Peepeepants, but if it means I never have to discuss baby names again, I’m okay with it.

Fortunately, I have a long time before I have to deal with this. I will not (fingers-crossed) be reproducing anytime soon. Plus, even after the birth, they can’t talk for another year or so.

That buys me a lot of time before they ask why I keep calling them “Hey you.”

 

 

*At least until they’re 18 and the kid can finally change their name from that creative, “perfect” name to something they can live with like “Steve.”

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Apparently “Law Enforcement” Needs a Stricter Definition

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I was standing in line at a gas station today. As I stepped to register to pay for a delicious and moderately priced beverage, a man walked up beside me. This is never what I want to happen. It means that the person next to me is about to distract the cashier from the pressing matter of allowing me to hand her money.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Does law enforcement get free drinks?”

He stood there in a crisp gray uniform. I looked at the picture of a badge emblazoned on his shirt.

“Yes,” she said.

“Oh good,” said the man, walking out of the store. If I had been drinking that delicious beverage, I would have done a king-sized spit take at what I saw. The man who had just taken a free drink for law enforcement was not a beat cop thirsty after a long day of chasing perps or reciting the Miranda rights. He was not a detective who had spent his day piecing together crimes by pinning pictures to a bulletin board and one by one crossing suspects off of his list. He wasn’t even a traffic cop who had handed out tickets for illegal parking.

No, this man was from a local security company. The company that patrols the local mall.

Law enforcement, in my opinion, should be entitled to a free fountain drink at every gas station. They do a very necessary job, working day in and day out to protect the good citizens of their jurisdiction. Local security cops, however, do a moderately necessary job of riding around a mall on a Segway, making sure youths do not give into their predilection for causing tomfoolery and shenanigans.

These are not the same level of job.

If I were a cop, I would be very offended by this. This cashier was playing pretty fast and loose with the term “law enforcement.” I mean, I guess by definition this man had enforced a law or two. He had prevented loitering. So I guess, by definition, he should be entitled to a free drink.

If we’re going to be that loosey goosey with the rules, though, I should get a free drink. I have personally enforced many laws. I have never allowed myself to murder anyone, maim anyone, steal anything. I don’t even let myself loiter. I exhibit all kinds of law-abiding self-control, mentally enforcing all of these laws.

By giving this drink to that man, the cashier has set a very dangerous precedent. She has basically said that Columbo, Dirty Harry, Walker Texas Ranger, Kojak, Crockett and Tubbs are the equivalent to Paul Blart: Mall Cop. They are not.

Maybe I am underestimating his job. Maybe he is a security guard for a local factory that houses plutonium and he spends every night having shoot out after shoot out with Russian terrorists bent on world destruction. I haven’t heard of a plutonium factory around here, but that doesn’t mean a thing.

The more likely situation, though, is he is taking advantage of the kindness of the gas station clerk. More importantly than that, though, is that he CUT IN LINE TO DO IT! IN FRONT OF ME! I JUST WANTED MY DRINK! People can’t be just jumping in front of people to ask the cashier for free things! Lines are what separates mankind from the animals! Well, opposable thumbs and speech separate us from the animals. But lines do too! There needs to be some sort of semblance of order in a gas station. They need someone there to enforce the rules of the line.

Someone like a security guard.

That security guard would for sure deserve free drinks.

Let’s Talk Paper Towels

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Paper towel roll on stand

 

Around ten o’clock today, I took my usual coffee break at work. My eight o’clock coffee had just begun to wear off, so to prevent any sort of unfortunate incidents due to a lack of caffeine, I headed to the break room for preventative caffeination.

As I poured a cup of mediocre but nevertheless energizing coffee, I witnessed a strange conversation. There, off to the side, stood the office cleaning lady along with another employee.

“I love Viva paper towels,” said the employee to the cleaning lady. The cleaning lady whole-heartedly agreed. The employee took it a step further. “Brawny is terrible compared to Viva!” Bold move on her part.

Fortunately for her, the cleaning lady nodded in agreement, alleviating any chance of paper towel-favoring awkwardness. “You know where you should go,” said the cleaning lady. “Sam’s. They have huge packages of Viva. That’s where I get all of my paper towels.”

Aside from the peculiarity of a paper towel related conversation, I was suddenly aware of something: everyone talks about their job all the time to everyone. Her job is paper towel related and, by golly, she is going to discuss it with anyone who will listen.

This shouldn’t surprise me. When I worked at a restaurant in college, people were frequently forced into conversations about kitchen supplies and proper cooking techniques. When I worked at a bank, I often got into financial conversations. It had never dawned on me, though, that people who empty trash and clean up messes throughout the day would talk about that. I figured they hated cleaning as much as I do and would be happy to never talk about it again.

My eyes were suddenly opened. People everywhere would have interesting job related stories that only the people in the know would truly appreciate. I could imagine the Drain Doctor from down the street getting together with the Drain Surgeon, the Pipe Proctologist, and all of his other plumbing buddies and talking about the new Mueller Streamline PVC elbow joint or the pain that 1/8” brass compression sleeve can be.

(Side note: If you call yourself the Drain Doctor, do you tell people you are a plumber at your high school reunion? It seems like the name would conveniently allow you to say you are a “doctor.” Of course if pressed on it, that could become awkward. I guess you could say something vague like “I make sure everything is flowing smoothly inside.” That’s what I would do. Maybe I should come up with a doctor related title for my job…)

Of course, this realization caused another issue. Why was my coworker speaking with such gusto about paper towels? Did she long to be a cleaning lady? Maybe she was jealous of the freedom that such a job entails. If I were the current cleaning lady, I would keep all of my paper towel related secrets to myself, lest this person try to steal my job.

I stood there drinking my coffee as the two finished their conversation. The employee returned to her desk to do whatever it is she does over there. The cleaning lady finished emptying the trash and replacing paper towels and headed on her way to another break room adventure.

Maybe I should do paper towel research in case one of these conversations sucks me in sometime in the future. I would look like a complete idiot.

“Uh…I like the paper towels that are on sale.”

This, of course, is the wrong answer and only an answer that a complete dolt like myself would give. The cleaning lady would laugh at me with all of her cleaning friends, talking about how stupid I am. They would probably call me mean names like “Cheap Paper Towel boy” or “Big Dumb Cottoneller.” I, of course, would not understand these were an insult, making me look even stupider. Eventually, there would be inside jokes like “that guy wipes up like Nathan.”

Paper towels come with a lot of pressure…

 

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Entry From A Dog’s Diary, February 26th

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Dear Diary,

Often times, I am a bit harsh on the humans. I am fully aware of this. I mean, they do an excellent job of making sure my food bowl is full and providing me with nylon bones, so I cannot say too much bad about them.

There are times, though, when all of the harsh words I have do not begin to describe how infuriating they are. It’s like living with two incapable nitwits whose brain functions operate lower than that of a cat. Just in case you do not know, that is pretty low.

The alarm went off this morning at six like it always does. As it blared, I did not move. I knew that it would be turned off, then loudly blare again at least 8 more times before it was time to finally get out of bed.

After the man had finally gotten bored of that fun little snooze button, we got up. I was excited. I had been lying there for seven hours and seven hours is a very long time. As you might know, lying somewhere for this amount of time can often leave one feeling a great deal of…uh… stress.

There’s no delicate way of saying this. I needed to use the restroom. A lot. I had eaten an entire bowl of whatever those dried disgusting pellets are last night and it was weighing pretty heavily on my insides.

“I’ll take you out in a second,” the man said. Then he has the audacity to walk into the bathroom. HE gets to use the bathroom while I am left out in the hall waiting.

Fortunately, I am very patient. I sat there and waited. I thought about the things I usually think about. What is that smell on the lamppost outside? If humans where those clothes all the time, how do they sniff each other? What exactly does chocolate taste like and shouldn’t the female be dead at this point? I mean, I saw her eat a big bite of chocolate yesterday but she seems to be okay. Maybe it isn’t that bad after all…

After all of this, he was still in the bathroom. I was beginning to grow desperate. I tried whimpering, but there was no way he could hear me over the devilish screech of that water monster he stands next to every morning. Seriously, does the fact that water is falling INDOORS not bug them?

“Hey!” I said. “Hurry up! I NEED to go outside pronto!”

There was no response.

“Seriously, I am quite uncomfortable right now!”

Nothing.

“HEY! YOU GOT TO GO TO THE BATHROOM AND NOW I AM OUT HERE JUST WAITING WHILE YOU TAKE YOUR MERRY LITTLE TIME DOING WHATEVER IT IS YOU DO IN THERE! You COULD just let me use the bathroom inside like you do, but NO!  The dog has to do her business outside! HURRY UP, YOU WORTHLESS, GOOD-FOR-NOTHING, IDIOT OF A HUMAN BEING!”

The man did not hurry. And that is why I pooped in the living room.

Hey, they can’t be too mad at me. If they would put the doorknob lower, I could let myself out.

Until tomorrow,

Charlie

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Chinese Food: The World’s Most Complimentary Food

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Photo of an open fortune cookie

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There are a lot of reasons to love Chinese food. There are very few types of food that offer up dozens of chicken dishes that, in essence, are pretty much the same thing but with a different sauce. There aren’t many types of food that name a major dish after historical figures like a general who spent a great deal of his life warring with Russians. Plus, you get to eat with sticks. No other genre of food would dream of using utensils that daring.

The main reason to love Chinese food, though, comes at the end of a meal. After shoving orange chicken and lemon chicken and pepper chicken and General Tso’s chicken in my mouth for an hour or so, a waiter will inevitably bring me a stale cookie. Inside that cookie, the keepers of the Chinese food have placed a piece of paper that inevitably will make me feel great about myself.

Chinese food is the world’s most complimentary food.

After dining this evening, I opened up that little cookie. There, on the piece of paper, was the nicest thing anyone or anything has ever said to me.

Printed in between two beaming smiley faces, it read, “You are admired by everyone for your talent and ability.”

Now, I have had complimentary fortune cookies before. They usually show a great deal of faith in me, saying that my kindness will lead to great wealth or that success is inevitable. These little baked treats really believe in me, it seems, and constantly are urging me forward towards some sort of world domination.

This is a far cry from the end of most other meals. If I were to enjoy a nice burger at Jack in the Box, my food wouldn’t tell me anything nice at the end of the meal. In fact, I get the feeling it is just saying, “Wait to go, tubbo! You just ate an entire day’s worth of food in one sitting. I hope you enjoy hardened arteries!”

There is no judgment from a fortune cookie, though. Just blind faith in me.

If someone were smart, they would create a type of fortune cookie for everyday life. Whenever someone is feeling down at work, a waiter would walk by, hand you a cookie and within seconds you would feel great due to a tiny baked good telling you that “a happy life is just in front of you.” It would be a great motivator for a company to have around.

Of course, this fortune seems a bit off. I mean EVERYONE? What are we talking about here? Do we mean everyone I know, everyone in the restaurant, everyone working at the fortune cookie factory? Surely we don’t mean everyone in the world admires me for my talents and abilities.

Don’t get me wrong. I have a lot of talents and abilities. I worked in a restaurant in college, so I am great at carrying multiple plates at a time. I’m very good at tying my shoes, having done it every day for at least the past 18 years. I can work a toaster like you wouldn’t believe.

These just don’t seem like admirable talents to me.

Who am I to question a fortune cookie, though? They are (I assume) created by magic men who can see into the future. Surely they know something I don’t.

I just hope that knowing about this admiration that everyone has for me doesn’t go to my head. It would be very easy to start feeling overly confident and cocky knowing that everyone feels this way about me. I don’t want to become one of those inaccessible geniuses that spends their life alone because no one believes that they can measure up to their brilliance.

I guess I could just go to Jack in the Box if my ego gets too out of control. That burger will knock me down a peg or two.

 

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Say It Ain’t So?! Rush Limbaugh Doesn’t Love America Anymore?!

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Rush Limbaugh as drawn by Rex Lameray in July ...

Rush Limbaugh as drawn by Rex Lameray in July 2004. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Rush Limbaugh is known for saying ridiculous things. This a man who called a college co-ed a prostitute because she spoke in favor of insurance covering the cost of birth control. He once said that an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico should be left alone because “the ocean will take care of its own.” He said the NFL often looks “too much like a game between the Bloods and the Crips but without any weapons.” These are just the things he has said on his radio show, not the ridiculousness I’m sure he says in private.

That’s why today, it was strange to hear him says something far from ridiculous. While talking about the government fighting over budget issues and the multiple crises, that the same arguments happen over and over, he said that it’s insulting that “the ruling class of both political parties play along with all of this.” He even went further, ditching his usual partisan rhetoric by saying that it doesn’t matter which party is in charge.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “For the first time in my life, I am ashamed of my country.”

It was a sobering thought to hear. America has lost the faith of Rush Limbaugh. That seemed like an impossible feat. I mean, maybe America would lose faith in Rush Limbaugh, but never the other way around. Still, Rush Limbaugh has fallen out of love with America.

With all of this focusing on the negative, it seems that Rush has missed some of the positives. There are a lot of reasons to not be ashamed of America. In fact, one could easily make the case that America is the greatest country in the world.

Did you know that each year, 1500 Americans win at least $1 million dollars in the lottery? That is 1500 new millionaires who did nothing but buy a piece of paper to get that money. Just in case you are sitting there saying, “But that’s only .0004% of the population!” just remember that this is the exact same amount of people who die in America every year from a diarrhea-related illness. In America, you are just as likely to be handed a million dollars as you are to poop yourself to death!

Also, America is the number two exporter of railcars. No one hates trains. And you know we would be number one if it wasn’t for those train loving freaks over in Germany. Trains are delightful. How can a country that is number two in railcar exporting be that bad?

As long as we’re talking rankings, did you know America ranks first overall in most threatened fish species in the world? Those glass half-empty people would likely say it’s because of our pollutants and mistreatment of nature. Me being the eternal optimist that I am, I would say it’s because those other countries didn’t care as much about their fish as we do. They just let those threatened fish species go extinct. Great job, world!

I could go on and on about how our number 3 ranking in juvenile crime suspects proves that our youths are creative, free-thinking individuals or how we have the most Miss Universes in history, meaning we are clearly the most beautiful country. The main thing that Rush needs to remember, though, is that no other country would let him say as many crazy things on the radio as he has.

That right there is enough for him to still love America. That and the fact that we eat 14 billion hamburgers a year.

Who doesn’t love a good burger?

 

Statistics provided by Ranking America and Answers.com

 

 

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Pillows: Man’s Best Friend

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English: A pile of pillows.

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

You know how people say that a dog is man’s best friend? That’s wrong. A dog is a man’s responsibility. A dog is a little poop factory that’s only goal in life is to eat food directly off of your plate the second you turn around. If anything, dogs are man’s neediest friend.

There is only one true friend that mankind has. That is the perfect broken in pillow.

It was walking through the store one day when I spotted my new friend. I was headed to the checkout in a hurry. There is no place less pleasant than Wal-Mart on a Saturday. I may be wrong, but I think many theologians have postulated that this is exactly what Hell is like.

As I neared the checkout, my wife stopped.

“Hey, why don’t we get new pillows,” she said. I turned, looking longingly at the checkout. Each second I was here was one more second of my life I would never get back.

Sensing my hesitancy, she furthered her point. “You REALLY need one.”

This is true. I am apparently a very rough sleeper. I don’t know what happens at night while I’m sleeping as I am, of course, asleep. Somehow, though, my pillows go from being extra-firm to being little more than a thin piece of fabric with one or two pieces of fluff inside. The only answer I can dream up involves me dreaming that I am in a professional headbutting league and the championship is on the line. I feel like I would remember that dream, though.

I desperately needed a pillow, so I headed down the aisle, longing to be one of those husbands I saw walking out of the exit into a world free of morbidly obese people riding scooters down the potato chip aisle. There were countless choices. Firm, soft, extra-firm, feather-down, faux feather-down. It would be easy for a simpleton like me to be overwhelmed here. I felt like I needed a guide to navigate the treacherous pillow aisle, lest I end up with a pillow that causes cancer or murders people in their sleep. Stranger things have happened.

Then, there on the end, sat a stack of pillows I had never seen before. The label gleamed in the fluorescent lights. “Never-Flat.”

“How could this be?” I wondered. There is no such thing as a never-flat pillow. My giant bulbous head could beat the stuffing out of any pillow on any day. Challenge accepted, pillow company.

That night, I opened my pillow. Slowly, very carefully, I placed it in its case.  I turned off the light and headed to bed for a nice night of sleep. I laid my head down…

On a rock. It was the hardest pillow ever. Apparently, the key to making a pillow never-flat is filling the inside with cement. It’s hard for a human head to flatten cement.

Determined to make this relationship work, I continued trying. Night after night, I lay down on my marble slab and drifted into an uncomfortable, neck-wrenching sleep. I thought about switching it out for a flat, but time-tested pillow, but my stubbornness would not allow it. I had paid perfectly good money for this pillow, not to mention had to stand in a line behind an extreme-couponer to pay for it. I will learn to love this pillow.

Then one night, something magical happened. It was no longer hard. It was soft, perfectly contoured for my melon sized head. The pillow had relented and we had entered into a perfect harmonious relationship.

That is how I know this relationship is bound to last forever. All of the work we put in on both sides of our sleeping arrangement, we can’t let that go for anything. Unless someone makes an even better pillow. Something that never goes flat and has that perfect softness. Maybe it smells like vanilla too. That would be nice. It would be the perfect pillow and I could never turn that down…

Please don’t tell my pillow I said that. I can’t handle another night of sleeping on a rock.

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Man Sets Record For Fastest Marathon While Dribbling Two Basketballs. Seriously. That Really Happened.

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As a kid, we are told we can do anything we want. Obviously, this is not true. If it was, everyone would be a doctor, astronaut, fireman, or professional athlete. We would be in real trouble if our pipes clogged because NFL quarterbacks are not known for their plumbing abilities.

As adults, our dreams are frequently crushed. The world is very rude to dreams, making it very difficult to accomplish the things we want.

Sometimes, though, a person is able to overcome everything. They are able to accomplish exactly what they want in life, defying all of the odds. They will throw on their neon green shorts and dribble those basketballs for all 26.2 miles of that marathon.

Sometimes, the Dr. Dribbles in the world succeed.

In Fort Lauderdale, a city known as “The Venice of America” (because of its canals, not for its many gondolas), a man dreamed up a goal. He came up with a plan to raise money for a local charity and 4.5 hours later accomplished that goal.

The personal trainer and motivational speaker took to the Publix A1A marathon with a plan to set the world record for fastest marathon run while dribbling two basketballs. His goal was to beat 4 hours and 58 minutes.

“I believe everyone has a talent and a gift and you’ve got to find a way somehow to use that talent — no matter how ridiculous it might be, like dribbling basketballs throughout a marathon — to impact other people in society,” Weissman said.

Dr.  Dribble set the world record for fastest time running a marathon while dribbling two balls. He did it for a good cause. There is nothing to make fun of there.

Except for one thing. This is a record that is really on the books?

Alongside genuine interesting tidbits in the Guinness Book of World Records, you will find things like most snails on a person’s face (43), most barf bags collected (5568), most eggs crushed with one’s head in one minute (80) and, yes, fastest marathon while dribbling two basketballs. Things that, for all intents and purposes, do not matter at all in anyway ever.

Who has the record for fastest marathon while dribbling three basketballs? I’m sure they read this news story and said, “Big freaking deal.”

If this can be a record, I would like to announce my record for most stairs walked backwards on a Tuesday in February today. I walked up three. Beat that, suckers.

Of course, this makes perfect sense for Weissman. As a motivational speaker, he can take full advantage of this situation. There are definitely people who would pick up a copy of “Dribbling Your Way Through the Marathon of Life: A Guide to Happiness and Simultaneous Basketball and Running Skills.”

I, for one, hope Weissman continues to succeed on this front. I really do. Anything to benefit a charity that helps foster children can’t be bad. Heck, I’ll even ghost write his book for him. I would do a great job.

“Remember, you can’t win the marathon of life, unless you take it one dribble at a time.”

See? That’s pure gold.

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