93 Billion Light Years

Time and space. They go together like peanut butter and chocolate. And if your mind is still boggled or at least semi-boggled by last night’s brainfuck then, Cousins, you’re in for another treat.

I was watching something once, a sci-fi movie or TV show I think, where a character was referred to as being 500 light years old. Or something like that. Right away we know that we’re dealing with a half-assed writer who needed to do a bit more research because, as anybody who ever took fourth grade science knows, a light year is not a measure of time but a measure of distance. And like eternity, it’s one more thing that our tiny brains cannot fully comprehend.

We all know the definition: a light year is the distance traveled by light over the course of a year. Quick, what did I leave out? That’s right: “in a vacuum.” Very good—give yourself a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. So OK, we can define a light year, but can we really even begin to comprehend what it means?

Yipee, you just got some unexpected time off from your job. No you didn’t win the lottery, you were fired. Good, because you were getting sick of that place anyway. And what better way to celebrate your new-found freedom than with a road trip? But this isn’t just any road trip—you’ve decided that you are going to drive non-stop at 100 miles an hour for an entire year. (No, I don’t know what you’re going to do for fuel. Maybe after you got your loser ass fired you purchased a car designed to run the on that stench of failure emanating from your body.)

So if you drive 100 miles an hour for a year you have to admit that you’ll rack up a good number of miles. In fact you’ll end up traveling about 876,000 miles. Why, you could have driven to the Moon and back…twice! Good for you!

OK, now imagine that you’re driving that car not 100 miles an hour, but at the speed of light. Which is what? C’mon, fourth-graders. Right, 186,000 miles per second. Not per hour, mind you, but per second. You click on a flashlight and count to one and that beam of light is already 186,000 miles away.

And for those keeping score at home, that works out to about 669,600,000 miles per hour. (Assuming no traffic.) So if at the speed of light you can travel that far in a second how many miles will you travel over the course of a year? This many: 5,878,625,373,183.

There are really two definitions of the Universe. One is everything that’s out there. And how much is that? As I mentioned last night, we don’t have a clue. Is the Universe finite or infinite? There may be some form of cosmic being somewhere that knows the answer to this, but guess what, Mortimer? It ain’t you.

The second definition of the Universe is a little easier for our monkey-type brains to handle. It’s conveniently defined as what we can observe; the known Universe. And this, of course, is the most fluid of definitions. We are extending our view into space more each year, and the further we see the larger our known Universe becomes.

The nearest known star to us (yes, yes, other than the Sun—god, you’re anal) is Proxima Centuri. It is a little over four light years away. In other words if you shine a flashlight at it right now that light won’t reach it until almost three years into John Edwards’ first term. And yes, that’s at 5,878,625,373,183 miles per hour.

And now back to the Universe, the known Universe. If you eat your Wheaties and jog on out to the edge of the known Universe and shine a flashlight across to its other side, it will take that beam of light 93,000,000,000 years to get to the other side!

Whew, these numbers are about to make my head explode. I better quit here and rest my brain for a while. After all, I have to drive all the way to San Leandro tomorrow.

44 Bonus Coupons

First off, let me congratulate the city fathers (or city mothers) of Santa Cruz, or whoever is responsible for the remarkable rebirth of the boardwalk. Spike and I went there on Sunday and it’s blossomed into a wonderful place that is a lot of fun for children and adults alike. And I’m not even getting paid to say this.

Each time I go it seems like the “casino” is more and more crowded with arcade games, from hundred year old claw machines right up to 21st Century laser tag. There’s skee-ball, pinball, air-hockey and dozens of other ways to spend your precious tokens. And of course there are coupons to be won and a prize counter where they can be spent.

I’m not very good at most video and arcade games. I’m enough of a man to admit that Spike will beat me at skee-ball nine out of ten times and I’ve never really understood the concept behind pinball. I even sucked at Pac-Man way back when, and at Pong before that. In fact there was only one video game ever invented at which I excelled, one game where I consistently entered my name on the leader board, often occupying the top five positions, or more. That game was the one that asked trivia questions.

There were a few of them around in the 1980’s, but they disappeared almost as fast as they arrived, probably to make room for flashier, more exciting games. I was in a Dave and Buster’s a few weeks back and I saw that there is a new trivia game out there, and this one is a monster. It’s not for one player, but rather can accommodate up to six. A wheel spins to select a category and then a question appears on the giant screen. Each player selects his answer by pushing the A, B or C button in front of him. There are six questions and the player with the most correct answers wins the most coupons. You would think this game was made for me.

There was a smaller version of the game in Santa Cruz. This one only sat four, but was the same game in every other way. Now I’ve watched a few rounds in Dave and Busters and I must confess the questions were not as easy as I assumed they’d be. Part of the problem for me is that the machines of the 1980’s would ask music question about the ‘50’s,’60’s and ’70’s. But today trivia questions about music can also include songs and artists from the ‘80’s, ‘90’s and even the aughts. What the hell do I know about them?

Finally I screwed up my courage, sat down at the game and inserted my two tokens. When the game started I realized that I would only be playing against one other player, the young fellow sitting to my immediate left. Right off I could see that he had two weaknesses working against him. One, he was young and two, he was there to have fun. What chance did he have against an old guy, especially an old guy who was there for one reason only: to win.

I think we might have been tied two to two at one point, but after that I left the punk in the dust. I knew things were going my way when the machine asked what type of bird Heckle and Jeckle were. I don’t know what the kid selected--penguins?—but as everybody over the age of fifty knows Heckle and Jeckle were magpies. Talking friggin’ magpies. My opponent was definitely on the ropes and when the next question was about the Beatles I knew he was about to hit the canvas. “How many holes are there in Blackburn Lancashire?” I swear this loser selected 23. “There are 4,000!” I wanted to scream at him. Sgt. Pepper! A Day in the Life! Come on, get a clue!” This, of course was incredibly unfair, considering the poor bastard wasn’t even born until 20 years after the album came out. But so what? I heard a guy in a movie the other say, “Yeah, well I was born in 1946 but I still know who Queen Victoria was.” Right on.

The final score was five to three. I had only gotten one question wrong, though I don’t recall what it was. Flush in my victory I decided to play another game. The guy next to me must have been thinking, “no mas” and so he gave up his seat to his equally young friend. “Bring it on, Junior,” I thought to myself.

When the new guy missed the William the Conqueror question I knew that he, too, was easy pickings. Don’t they teach 1066 in the schools anymore? I mean, this wasn’t some question about a singing group from my era, this was history for god’s sake. I may have been around for the Beatles but I certainly wasn’t there in 1066. And don’t you dare say it.

I was going along quite nicely when suddenly the wheel landed on the music category. C’mon, I begged. Ask me another one about the Beatles. Or the Dave Clark Five. Or Gerry and the Pacemakers. No such luck. The question asked us to complete a lyric by Jewel.

Uh-oh. Well to my credit I do know the name Jewel. And that’s pretty much all I know. And so I did the only thing I could—I guessed. And I got it right! I knew then that I was golden. I finished the game with a perfect six out of six. I would have been perfectly happy just basking in the joy of having humiliated the whippersnapper sitting next to me but the machine in its electronic wisdom thought I deserved more. And so as the words 44 Bonus Coupons! flashed on the screen the paper booty was spit out down by my knees, eventually forming a nice little stack on the floor, my reward for a flawless performance.

When the machine finally stopped honoring me I gathered the coupons, combined them with Spike’s skee-ball bonanza and we headed to the prize counter, where we discovered that this skee-ball/trivia power couple had just accumulated 89 tickets! Greed took over immediately as we scanned the prize shelf.

My first hope had been that we had acquired enough tickets to pay off our mortgage, but alas that was not to be. Then I asked the kid at the counter if we could get a big-screen TV and to his credit he laughed. And as you no doubt already know, the prize selection for 89 coupons is not what I had hoped it would be.

After much contemplation Spike eventually settled for the plastic change purse with the fishies on it. It’s cute. As for me I was content just knowing that I was undefeated in this new trivia game. A few minutes later I wandered over to the machine and debated whether to again put my title on the line. There I saw a father and son playing against each other, and I decided not to interfere. After all, it wouldn’t be right to humble the poor guy right in front of his adoring son. I decided to answer the questions from where I stood, without actually depositing the tokens.

The questions of this round were also difficult, but unlike the previous games I had played luck was not with me. When the game was done I had answered three correctly, as had the little boy. The father had answered four. But that doesn’t matter. After all, I hadn’t actually played so I didn’t really lose. And therefore I still remain undefeated. Am too.

...And Nothing But The Tooth

There are stockbrokers who will recommend that you sell a stock simply so that they can make a commission. There are doctors who will recommend a certain treatment just to enhance their fee. Real estate agents, magazine salesmen, health store clerks—they all have one fatal flaw: They are human, and because of that they are sometimes unable to remain entirely objective when by simply uttering an opinion they are able to further line their pockets.

And that’s why, when Spike came home from her dentist saying that he had recommended that she see a periodontist my bullshit detector went off like a fire alarm in Hell. First off, Spike is one of those unique people that simply was blessed with good teeth. You hear stories of these types all the time—the kids on some South Sea island that grow up munching on sugar cane and yet never have a hint of tooth decay. (Rickets, polio and scurvy, yes, but no tooth decay.)

Spike had not been to the dentist in ten years, and yet he had failed to find even the hint of a cavity. He had, however, measured the “pockets” of her gums and told her she needed to see a periodontist.

“Of course he told you that,” I said. “How else is he going to make money? He probably gets a ten percent kickback from every sap he sends over there.”
“But he said if I don’t do it I’ll lose my teeth!” Spike whined.
“Sure. What better way to scare you into going?”

My Mom, when told of the situation agreed that this was probably some kind of dental scam, which goes a long way in explaining why my Mom and I have not only cynical, suspicious minds but a total of about three healthy teeth between us. Spike, once again letting common sense win out, decided to go to the periodontist.

A few weeks later it was my turn to visit this same dentist. I wanted to bet Spike $100 that he would recommend that I too should see a periodontist.

“I’ll even bet you another fifty that he uses the words ‘or you’ll lose your teeth,” I boasted, but Spike wasn’t going for it. If nothing else I’ve taught her over the years to be a more selective bettor.

Yesterday I found myself sitting in the dental chair as the dentist described the damage. It turned out I had two small cavities and could use a couple of crowns besides. This came as no surprise to me—my mouth already contains more crowns than the Tower of London and I figured at some point I might as well go ahead, like some baseball card collector, and complete the set. I like crowns. I laugh a lot and when I open my mouth I want people to see nice even rows of shiny white, albeit fake, teeth rather than feel as if they’re looking into the entrance of a Nevada silver mine.

“OK, let’s check your gums,” said the dentist.
“Uh, oh, here it comes,” I thought.

So he spends the next few minutes sticking my gums with this pointy metal thing and then gives me the word.
“These seem fine. Your gums are in a lot better shape than your wife’s.”

Huh?

And for the rest of the visit the dentist never mentioned the word “periodontist.” Nope, not even once. I strained my brain trying to figure out why. After all, I had come to this exam convinced that this guy had some sort of dental quid pro quo going with the shady periodontist and now all the evidence suggested that no such scam existed. And if it didn’t exist, the only conclusion that I could think of was that I had been wro—wronnnn-wrrrrronn—well, not right. And how could this possibly be?

My case against this dentist was completely destroyed a short time later when he spotted the gap in my mouth where a tooth had been pulled from two years earlier.

“Had a tooth pulled, eh?” he said. “You’re probably better off leaving it like that, if it’s not giving you any trouble. With a bridge you’d have to cut down two perfectly healthy teeth.”

My head was spinning. I’ve often suspected that dentist who examine me for the first time look into my devastated mouth and hear ka-ching-a new boat! Now here was this guy staring at the biggest advertisement for some expensive bridgework that you ever saw and he was recommending that I leave it the way it was! Where had this guy come from?

This dentist has a very small office and as far as I could tell only one employee. And unless he changes the way he practices his business it’s very unlikely that his operation will be expanding anytime soon. When I got home that night I related the story of my visit to Spike and told her she should feel relieved. If this gentleman, my new dentist, had told her that she should go to a periodontist, then by god she should go to a periodontist.

I Remember The Bowery Boys

That’s the question I forgot to include on Tuesday night’s quiz. I had written down “Father/Son” on my post-it, but then forgot what it meant. Had I remembered I certainly would have knocked out one of the other questions (although I couldn’t say which—I love them all so) and replaced it with this one: What father and son actors have appeared in the most movies together? And, as you did with most of the other questions, you would have gotten this one wrong too. Even with that gigantic eighteen point type up there in the title practically screaming the answer.

I happened to click on AMC the other day and caught the last half of the classic movie, Angels With Dirty Faces. The blurb on the TV gave it four stars and with both Cagney and Bogart how could it be anything else? It also starred a group of young actors who went by the name of the Dead End Kids.

“Have you ever heard of the Dead End Kids?” I asked Spike.
“Nope,” answered Spike.
“How about the East Side Kids?” I tried.
“Nope.”
“The Bowery Boys?”
“Nope.”
“Leo Gorcey? Huntz Hall? Louie’s Sweet Shop?”
“Nope. Nope. Nope.”

Now how is this possible? True, Spike is a year or two (ahem) younger than I, but the Bowery Boys was a highly successful movie series, producing forty eight films, more than any other feature series. And even if they made their final film almost fifty years ago, we all still remember W.C. Fields, Charlie Chaplin and Abbot & Costello.

Well, I for one remember The Bowery Boys, as well as their earlier incarnations as the East Side Kids and the Dead End Kids. I remember the English language mangling of the gang’s leader Slip Mahoney and his bumbling and hilarious stooge Sach. And most of all I remember sitting in my family’s basement on a quiet Sunday morning enjoying a Bowery Boys comedy along with my grandmother, who loved them as well. In fact it might have been Grandma who first introduced me to them.

In all eighty-five feature length films featured the Bowery Boys or their earlier versions. Their career began on a stage in 1935 and ended with their final film In the Money in 1958, when most of the “boys” were now pushing forty. A search at NetFlix revealed just a few East Side Kid movies and none of the forty-eight Bowery Boy films. I can only assume that this is due to some copyright or availability glitch rather than a lack of demand. But who knows? Fame is fleeting and memories fade.

Oh, and Leo Gorcey, who played Slip, and Bernard Gorcey, who played Louie, appeared in forty-four films together, more than any other father and son in movie history.

ADDENDUM: I can’t let you go without relating this little tidbit: Leo Gorcey had been selected by the Beatles to be one of the people honored on the cover of their classic album, Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Gorcey requested a fee for the use of his likeness and was thus unceremoniously removed from the final version of the famous cover. Bad call, Leo.

I Remember Soupy

You all still remember Soupy Sales, don’t you? Sure you do. I got a chance tonight to watch some clips from his television program, and I have to tell you it was goofy and corny and I laughed through the whole thing.

These clips were from The New Soupy Sales Show, a program he did that greatly resembled his earlier classic show that began in 1953. In the newer show Soupy is an agile and energetic 52 years old and is obviously giving everything he’s got to make the jokes work. Unfortunately this show lasted only one season.

I have an old VHS tape that has two episodes of Sales’s original show, and have never found any others. It makes me wonder if they were recorded over or destroyed, as were so many classic shows of the ‘50’s and ‘60’s? I hope not. Here was a fresh freewheeling show that seems as original today as it must have when it began over fifty years ago.

Somehow Soupy Sales put together a non-stop show of gags, puppets, puns and skits, and moved between them with a high-speed yet effortless ease. He also was one of the first to break down the “fourth wall,” talking regularly with the unseen director and cameramen on the show. I remember as a teen watching the show one afternoon, and it was painfully obvious that the program has been timed wrong. Soupy calmly sat down at a table and asked the cameraman, “Did you see the game last night?” and they spent the closing minutes of the program discussing the previous day’s Mets game. Sure I was still a kid, but I recognized it then as one of the funniest most original moments I had ever seen on television, and I remember it to this day.

It’s a testament to the show that while watching tonight I could name all the characters, most of which I hadn’t seen in decades. There’s White Fang, the meanest doggy in the world, and Black Tooth, the nicest doggy in the world. And Pookie, the hip lion, who, although only a puppet, had more personality than many characters in live action shows. And the trademark routines still make me laugh; the mystery guest behind the door, the radio that spoke back, the clever use of vintage movie clips. And the brilliance of it all was you rarely saw the other characters on screen: White Fang and Black Tooth were represented by appropriately colored arms, while only the hands of the guests at the door were seen.

And through it all, there was Soupy Sales bouncing from one bit to the next. Some were funny, some were not, but all were given 100% of Soupy’s energy and attention. In fact, with the exception of Johnny Carson, I can think of no performer who could take a lousy piece of material and still have you laughing your ass off.

Soupy Sales was awarded his Hollywood Walk of Fame star in 2005 and turned 80 this past January, although I never heard anything about it on the news. It’s sad that there are so many people out there who have never heard of him or gotten a chance to see his wildly original show. Keep your eyes open and if you can find some copies go ahead and treat yourself. All I know is that forty years ago he made a kid watching TV in his basement laugh out loud and he did the same thing tonight to an AARP-eligible adult. Thanks, Soupy. Happy Birthday.

I Remember Pookie

I was thinking of Pinky Lee the other day. Lee, along with Howdy Doody and Arthur Godfrey are three of my earliest television memories. And by memories I mean mere wisps of consciousness; gossamer-thin recollections that are gone with the slightest of mental breezes. In fact I don’t recall actual specifics about any of these TV icons--I just have a vague notion of having watched them.

But thank God (or whichever fictitious character you choose to thank) for YouTube, eh? I recently watched some clips of Pinky Lee and, although they were hopelessly dated and childish, the man sure had energy. And why shouldn’t he be childish? It was, after all, a children’s show.

I also searched for children’s show host Sandy Becker, and although the results were sparse I was treated to a clip of Becker as Hambone. I didn’t really get the character when I was a kid, and am not sure that I do even as an adult, but there’s no denying that he makes me laugh. Maybe that’s all there is to “get.”

I also found an interview with Becker and Soupy Sales, and of course there were many more clips of Soupy’s legendary show. And what a brilliant, innovation program that was. The seamless mixing of live programming with video clips and sound effects, as well the breaking down of the “fourth wall,” was years ahead of its time. And incredibly funny. Sales created his own universe and peopled it with the likes of Pookie the Lion, White Fang, Peaches and a host of other characters that make me laugh as much today as they did when they first aired. More, actually. And what a mistake it would be to dismiss this classic show as simply a “children’s program.”

The tragedy is that very little of the work of Pinky Lee, Sandy Becker and Soupy Sales still survives. The shows were created in the days of live television and were not recorded on video tape. And so while it’s possible that every episode of, say, Jerry Springer is on tape and may be preserved for a century or more, most of the creative genius of the men above, the bulk of their life’s work, is gone forever.

Except in the minds of those who remember them. And how long will we be around? I read an article that claimed that the songs of the Beatles will survive for hundreds of years. They will be assimilated into the culture much like the nursery rhymes of today; that is a mother may sing Yellow Submarine to her sleeping baby but may have no idea where the song came from or who wrote it. Which is still nice for the Beatles--to leave that positive and indelible mark on the culture. But I can’t help but wonder, who will remember Pookie?

I Remember Leon

A few nights ago I made a reference to Leon Russell, a singer-songwriter who was quite popular for a while back in the ‘60’s and ‘70’s, at least among my crowd of doped-up pseudo-hippies. I even heard from my old college pal and roommate who remembered Leon well and admitted to always liking his music. And let me be clear that this old college chum of mine was definitely not part of that doped-up hippie crowd. (He’s currently got about two years to go before retirement—we don’t want to fuck it up for him at this point, eh?)

Because I possess one of the most curious of minds, and also because I don’t have anything better to do, I searched for Leon Russell on the Internet and am happy to report that not only is he alive and well, but he is still touring. And I think the most surprising fact I discovered is that Leon is only 64 years old. For some reason I pictured him in his trademark long white hair and beard mumbling aimlessly on the porch of some old age home, well into his 80’s and boring his fellow octogenarians with endless stories about George Harrison that they’ve already heard about ten thousand times. Oh, and there’s another sign of aging: referring to someone as being “only” 64.

Did you know that Leon Russell has the honor of being the only rock star I saw perform with my parents? (No, I mean I was there with my parents, not that he actually performed with my parents, you idiot.) We had gone to a racetrack and performing after the races were both Johnny Paycheck and Leon Russell. What I remember most about the concert was that my Dad recognized immediately that Leon was a much more seasoned performer than was Paycheck and it showed, and also that my Dad didn’t really pay too much attention to the music because he couldn’t stop from swiveling his head around like an owl on meth as he spotted, commented on and imitated a dozen or so pot smokers in the audience.

I always wonder how much of an artist’s work is remembered as the years go on. I’d venture that there are damned few members of any post-sixties generation who know of Leon Russell or can name any of his tunes. Still I think one or two of his songs might be familiar to some if you heard them. You might not recognize the title “A Song for You” but you may well know it if you heard it. Like maybe in an elevator. Sigh. Too bad—it was big stuff in its day. Andy Williams covered it, for godssake! (One thing about Andy Williams—he had the ability to recognize some of the greatest songs of the rock era. Sure, he sucked the juice out of them and flattened them with a hammer before he recorded them for your droopy old granny’s listening pleasure, but he did recognize them.)

I had the chance to talk about music with a seven-year-old the other day, and she told me two or three of the current singers that she liked. To my credit I had actually heard of them. Of course I had to ask her if she liked the Beatles, and she said she did, sorta. I asked her who she thought was better, Kelly Clarkson or the Beatles, and she said Kelly Clarkson. And then she added “Easy,” so that I would know that she knew what she was talking about. And why should that be a surprise? After all, we all grasp at the musical heroes of our own youth and readily dismiss those of others. “Every generation throws a hero up the pop charts,” as Paul Simon sang. So maybe this seven year old girl is right and history will show that Kelly Clarkson was indeed better that the Beatles.

What bullshit! Of course Kelly Clarkson isn’t better than the Beatles! I can say that without hesitation and without knowing anything about Clarkson or ever having heard her sing. I’m not even sure I’ve spelled her first or last name correctly and I’m not going to make the effort to look it up either. The Beatles are better than Kelly Clarkson and here’s the proof: Walk up to a seven year old child forty years from today and ask her if she likes Kelly Clarkson. I guarantee she’s never heard of her. Now ask her if she’s heard of the Beatles, a band which broke up the same year her grandfather was born? Perhap, perhaps…

I Remember Daniel Brown

When I awoke this morning the only dream I could recall involved two older, but not unattractive, women who were trying to coerce me into returning with them to their apartment. I suppose the fact that they were both older than I and yet neither used a walker was also memorable, but whether I took them up on the offer I can’t say. In addition to this dream snippet I also found myself waking up with the memory of Daniel Brown in my head.

In case you haven’t read the last 537 posts, let me tell you I have a head stuffed with useless information, obscure facts interesting only to me and endless memories, happy and otherwise, from long ago. I can remember the names of every one of my elementary school teachers, including the two women who taught my kindergarten class: Miss Weissglass and Miss Glasner. I even remember quipping to them that we had “two glasses” teaching our class. Hey give me a break, I was only five. Besides I still contend that my “glass” comment is no less funny than Lou Costello’s “We have a couple of ‘days’ on the team,” and millions roared at that.

And while I do remember many of my classmates from second grade I do not remember a single one from first grade. And yet, oddly, I remember one, and only one, of my fellow students from kindergarten. His name was Daniel Brown.

No, he was not a friend. I suppose at some point during the year we might have spoken to each other (although I’m not sure that kids in kindergarten in the 50’s were even allowed to talk) but if we did I don’t recall it. In fact I only remember Daniel Brown for a single incident, one which, I must tell you with equal parts of embarrassment and awe, happened almost exactly half a century ago.

Let me be honest and tell you that I’m filling in some of the gaps here, but as best as I can recollect a group of students were seated around a large table, which was actually made up of four desks that had been pushed together. I don’t remember what activity we had been involved with, probably making misshapen mooses out of construction paper or some other bullshit project that was specifically designed to keep us out of our parents’ hair for six hours.

The “fun” had come to an end, and one of the Glasses instructed us to clean up the floor underneath our desks. Like the good little boy I was, and continue to be, I immediately dropped to the floor and began to pick up the tiny bits of colored paper that were the jetsam of the moose project. And while on the floor I glanced over at the kids on the other side and couldn’t believe what I saw.

There was Daniel Brown, a pudgy, curly-haired kid (and who wasn’t?) on his hands and knees. But Daniel Brown was not picking up the tiny pieces of paper like the rest of us. Daniel Brown had his palm spread open on the floor and was brushing the paper and other bits of debris over to my section of the floor!

I have no other memory of this event except that I know I felt a white-hot sense of outrage by the unfairness of what Daniel Brown was doing. This morning I was still congratulating myself for at least not snitching on the fat little bastard, but after more thought I cannot absolutely swear that I didn’t. Those files, I’m afraid, are permanently erased.

I’m a big believer that the traits exhibited in children will often be with them for the rest of their lives, and I think you’ll find that science will back me up on this. For example, although I never would have committed a crime as heinous as Daniel Brown’s, there is also no way I can guarantee you that I didn’t use the opportunity of being under the desks to sneak a peek up a dress or two. I don’t remember doing it, but I can’t promise that I didn’t.

I occasionally wonder whatever happened to Daniel Brown. I firmly believe that anyone capable of such a deceitful and self-centered action, and at such an early age, has no doubt become outrageously successful in life, but as what? So Daniel Brown, if you’re out there reading this drop me a line and let me know in what field you achieved your monumental success. I’m guessing you’re my congressman.

Bits and Pieces Vs. Gamera

If you’ve been dying to know what the number one song was on the day you were born why not hop on over to www.JoshHosler.biz? I did, and discovered that on the glorious day of my arrival the country was singing Don’t Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes by Perry Como. That’s Como, Perry Como. OK, maybe it was some time ago, but at least it wasn’t some thick-browed caveman beating on a hollow log. I also checked on my somewhat younger than me, and nearly as lovely, wife Spike and found that The Beatles’ I Want to Hold Your Hand was topping the charts on the day she was born. And so I began to wonder if there was some connection between a person’s personality and the number one song on their day of birth. I mean, people find fortunes in the stars, numbers, Chinese cookies, auras and bumps on the head, so why not this? I, of course, believe this to be total nonsense. Or at least I did until I decided to check the birthday of a friend who spends a good part of her life puffing the magic drag in, if you know what I mean and I think you do. The number one song on the day she was born? Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.

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Do you know what I think the most American of expressions is? “I could eat.” I’m sure you’ve heard somebody say this over the course of your life. Perhaps you’ve even said it yourself. I know I have. You’re walking along with a friend or relative, usually bored out of your mind. “You hungry?” asks your companion. “I could eat.” Only in America is the cue to eat not hunger, but simply the lack of feeling completely stuffed.

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I was in the local pee-oh the other day when a humming Muslim man walked in with his wife. The wife was wearing the traditional head covering, and the man looked somewhat uncomfortable and maybe even paranoid. Uh-oh I thought, profiler that I am, that we all have become in this foul century. Sure this was only a small town post office, but it was a government installation. Maybe these were underachieving terrorists with low self-esteem who were content to blow up only small post offices in towns with populations of fifteen thousand or less. I walked past the man as I was leaving and then laughed, mostly at myself. The man had obviously already been well assimilated into American life and culture. What he had been humming was the opening theme to the Looney Tunes cartoons.

***************

I still hear a lot of people using the expression, “I respect your opinion, but…” (Not to me, of course. Nobody seems to respect my opinion.) I used to say the same thing myself, until I thought about it. What you mean, in most cases, is not that you respect somebody’s opinion but that you respect their right to their opinion. If somebody told you they believe that a warthog would make a fine president you might respect the person’s right to believe that, but you certainly wouldn’t respect the actual opinion. (Yes, yes, I know—a warthog would, at this point, be an improvement. Can’t I take one night off from Bush-basing?) But now I’m discovering that not only do I not respect some peoples’ opinions but I’m moving into a mode where I no longer even respect their right to have that opinion. And I want them silenced. Or arrested for being stupid. Am I getting crotchety, or what?

***************

Let me proclaim once again that I don’t particularly care for scatological humor. It’s cheap, it’s crude and in my 530 postings I doubt that you could find a single use of the word “fart” unless I am referring to someone as an “old fart.” (Except of course for my classic tale, Having a Blast at the Winchester Mystery House. No, I don’t know what date it’s under—look it up yourself.) Still, I was sitting in the hot tub the other day and not coincidentally I thought about how absolutely surprised I was years ago when I first discovered that when you fart in the bathtub you could smell them after the bubbles had risen to the surface and burst. Before then I would have bet anything that something like that was impossible, sheer foolishness comparable to the old Popeye cartoons where Olive Oyl would yell underwater and as the bubbles burst you’d hear, “Help! Popeye! Help!” But now I’m older and I know better. Live and learn, eh?

Bits and Pieces Conquers the Martians

I watched a few minutes of Rescue Me the other night, just waiting for Artie Lange to come on, and suddenly Dennis Leary was getting slapped by some woman, three, four, maybe even five times. Does it bother anybody else that when a man slaps a woman he’s considered the worst kind of animal and should be hauled off to the hoosegow immediately and permanently, but when a woman slaps a man it is often seen as a perfectly justified, and even heroic, response? In truth I have to admit that almost all of my slapping knowledge comes from TV and the movies. I personally have never been slapped by a woman (Yeah, I think that’s pretty incredible too, considering.) and only remember seeing one slap administered live, and that was from a thirteen year old girl who had reddened the chubby cheek of my nine year old friend Tommy as we stood in a movie line. We had somehow begun talking to these girls, although with a four year age gap at that time of life we might as well been living in different centuries. The talk was mostly joking and teasing, what we used to call “ragging,” until Tommy made a comment that I only faintly remember had something to do with the girl “playing with her toes.” And then, to Tommy’s, my, and maybe even her own surprise, the girl slapped him. That was the end of if, and I doubt that Tommy ever again teased a woman about playing with her toes. Still, the attack was out of line. Say what you will about the parental clichés of the ‘50’s, but I still believe that when parents yelled at us to “keep your hands to yourself!” they were really onto something.

**********

There’s a little place in downtown Nairobi called The Thorn Tree Café. It’s a nice place to sit, people watch and get a little something to eat. The most famous feature of the Thorn Tree, however, is the message board. It’s a four-sided structure where people post notes and letters for others who they know, or hope, will eventually be passing through. If Nairobi is the hub for travelers in Kenya, then the Thorn Tree is the hub of Nairobi. I had spent a week on the Kenyan coast, just south of Mombassa, and one night I met a wonderful girl from New Zealand named Rachel. We talked for over four hours (her dweeby boyfriend sitting patiently and obediently by her side) and then we said goodnight. The next morning she walked past me as I ate breakfast, heavy pack on her back. She was leaving that day, right then in fact, and I only had time for a quick goodbye. I later kicked myself (I was more flexible in those days) for not getting her info. A week later I was back in Nairobi and, without much hope, posted a note to Rachel on the Thorn Tree message board. I left Nairobi and returned about a week later. Stopping by the Thorn Tree I was overjoyed to find that Rachel had found my note and left one of her own! I suspect that the Thorn Tree Café still thrives today, with a new generation of travelers making connections as they explore East Africa. I’m tempted to look it up on the web, but I fear that I’ll discover that today the Thorn Tree is filled with people talking loudly on their cell phones or banging away on their laptops. And if that’s the case I’d rather not know; it would take away some of the adventure.

**********

Sometimes when I’m swimming in the local pool, usually between laps when I’m desperately gasping for air, I’ll spot a bug of one type or another who has crash-landed in the water and is struggling to escape. I’ll almost always cup him in a handful of water and place him down on the side of the pool to dry off. Why? Because I’m a superior human being and a lot nicer than you, that’s why. Not really, of course, but I reason that if I was drowning in the middle of the ocean somewhere and some vastly superior being from another dimension looked down and saw me struggling I would surely appreciate it if he took the time to give me a hand. Wouldn’t you? So last Saturday I’m swimming and there in my lane is a drowning bee; a big one. Now this time I know that the cute lifeguards can see me, so I figure this is a test of exactly how big a hypocrite I am. Do I let the bee drown just so the ladies don’t think I’m some weird old bug-saver? I’m proud to report that I scooped the bee out of the water and placed (Well, tossed. It was, after all, a bee!) him onto the dry pool deck. And it was no more than five minutes later when one of those cute lifeguards walked by me and suddenly started to scream in pain. OK, that last part is a lie. Nobody stepped on the bee. It would have made a great story, though.

**********

In case I had any delusions about the passing of time I saw Sally Field doing a TV commercial the other day. Many years ago when I was just a kid (probably about the time Tommy got slapped in the face) my family went to see a movie. Perhaps I was a bit older than nine, because now that I think of it those hormones were definitely starting to flow through my awakening and disgusting body. It was a movie about pioneers crossing into the west and all I remember about it was a scene with a teenage girl sitting in the back of the covered wagon with her bare legs dangling. (I could look up the name of the movie for you on IMDB if I wasn’t so lazy but, alas, I am.) I doubt that I was much into the plot of the movie but one thing my young and horny mind knew for sure: that teen-aged girl, who somehow seemed to be radiating both youthful innocence and smoldering sexuality at the same time, was just about the cutest thing I had ever seen. She was, of course, a very young Sally Field. Fast forward a whole lot of years. The commercial I saw the other day featured Sally Field hawking Boniva which is, in case you don’t know, a medication for the treatment of osteoporosis. I thought I’d pass this along just in case you, too, had any delusions about the passing of time.

**********

Has it really come to this? Is it true that the only thing Americans care about these days is being safe? Sure, bug our phones, install video cameras everywhere and make us wear a helmet each time we leave the house. We don’t mind, just as long as we’re safe. For years, wherever humans gathered for major events, there you could always find the trusty port-o-potty. And we used them too, no matter how offensive the odor, no matter how disgusting a sight awaited those who dared to look into the pit. Because when you have to go, you have to go. We’re made that way. I’ve been to two fairs in the last week, and at both there were the expected, and much appreciated, rows of port-o-potties. (After all, Sally Field isn’t the only one getting older.) But now another portable appliance has been added: a plastic sink complete with running water, so you can wash your hands after you go. And worse, today they had one of these things outside the livestock exhibit so you could wash up after petting one of the bunnies. I mean people, really, why don’t you modern day Lady Macbeths just stay home? I saw one lady outside the petting zoo scrubbing her kid down like it was life or death. Listen, give the kid a break. All the kid did was pet a goat for God’s sake, not pick up a block of plutonium.

Bits and Pieces Walks Among Us

There are so many Post-It notes piling up on my desk that they’re beginning to look like prescriptions at Elvis Presley’s house, and you know what that means: It’s time once again for Bits and Pieces! Oh, if you’re curious, Elvis’ personal physician Dr. George Nichopoulos prescribed thousands of pills for the King in the year and a half before he died. The drugs prescribed included, but were not limited to, amytal, biphetamine, carbrital, hydrochloride cocaine, demerol, dexamyl, dexedrine, dilaudid, hycomine, ionamin, leritine, lomotil, parest, perodan, placidly, quaalude, tuinal and valium. Whew, my spell-check nearly blew a fuse there. At his malpractice trial the full list of prescriptions prescribed by Dr. Nick for Elvis filled eight pages of a legal-sized pad. Just say no!

********

I was in a bookstore the other day and I heard some guy come up and ask if they had The South Park Diet. The clerk and I had a good laugh over that, but it’s fun to imagine what such a weight-loss program might include. Go ahead—send me your ideas. I got nothing. And be sure to use the phrase, “I’m not fat, I’m big-boned!”

********

Same day, same bookstore and I decided to get a chocolate chip cookie to go with my over-priced cup of java. “I’ll heat this up for you,” offered the young girl behind the counter.” I told her thanks, but I’d prefer my cookie at room temperature.” “No, these are gourmet cookies, so I’ll heat it up.” I swear, I thought it was going to come to fisticuffs. I mean, I have no problem with her calling it a gourmet cookie—I know she’s just trying to justify the two and half buck sticker price. But I really prefer to eat my cookies at room temperature, especially when I’m pairing them with a hot cup of coffee. I actually had to look her in the eyes and use my command voice, as if I was trying to repel a threatening mountain lion, but finally she handed me the cookie as is. It tasted OK, I suppose. It probably would have been really good heated up.

********

In light of recent events you know I just had to look up the history of presidents who threw out the first ball on opening day in Washington D.C. In 1910 William Taft was the first president to throw out the ceremonial first pitch. Since then the Washington team has had 63 home openers, and a president was there to throw out the ball 45 times. Washington went through a period of 33 years when it did not have a major league baseball team, but that drought ended in 2005 when Bush threw out the first pitch for the new Washington Nationals. Last year Cheney did the honors and was roundly and embarrassingly booed. Last month Bush failed to show for the second year in a row. When asked if perhaps our hapless and doomed president turned down the invitation because he feared being booed, a Bush spokesperson replied, “Certainly not.” Too bad he wasn’t there on Bat Day.

********

I was watching a game show the other day when the question was, “Which one of these could hold all the blood in an average human body?” The choices were a quart container, a two-liter soda bottle or a two-gallon jug.” “You gave away the answer!” I yelled at the screen. Do you see how they gave away the answer or would you like me to explain it to you?

Revenge of the Bits and Pieces

Could I possibly be the only human alive who is grossed out by those Charmin toilet tissue commercials with the animated bears? I admit that they’re cute and well drawn, but the commercials never for a minute let you forget what they’re selling or, even more disgustingly, what it’s used for. There are always a few bears shaking their fuzzy asses at the camera and you might even see one squatting behind a thin tree. It’s not particularly graphic, of course, but it’s very suggestive. You know what that bear is doing and personally I’d rather not think about it. But I can’t help it, and then my brain automatically conjures up revolting images of bear poop and how it must get all stuck in their fur, even on the cutest of bears. I tell you it makes me sick. Bring back Mr. Whipple!

**********

I recently read that the name “George” is becoming a less popular choice for newborns. Now I wonder why that should be? I mean, George is a perfectly good name—after all, it was even the name of one of the Beatles! So why would it suddenly become so unpopular in the last, say, four or five years? You know, I believe that the name Adolf also suffered a similar dip in popularity right around 1945. How curious.

**********

Do you know there are still men debating about how many animals of each species Noah took on the ark? And I’m talking about grown men here. Did you say two? Don’t you ever get tired of being wrong? OK, the Bible does say that Noah took two of each of the unclean animals on his little houseboat. But in regards to how many of each of the clean animals came aboard the Bible is ambiguous. A translation from the Hebrew indicates that the animals were either chosen “by sevens” or “seven by seven,” meaning that there were either seven koalas on the ark or there were fourteen. Yes, fully grown men debate this. I wonder if they also argue over how many Easter bunnies were there?

**********

I could meditate for the next thousand years and I’d never be as Zen-like and in the moment as Ellsworth my turtle. He could be asleep for two hours in his tank, but if I walk into the kitchen and turn on the light he immediately starts playing with his rubber ball. And then when I turn off the light he immediately goes back to sleep. I can’t imagine myself going to sleep at midnight and then if Spike turns on the light at two a.m. I jump up and start doing exercises until she turns out the light off, at which point I go back to sleep. Actually, to be honest I can’t picture myself jumping up and doing exercises at any time of the day.

**********

And now yet another way to divide people into two groups: Are you a Runner-Outer or a Non-Runner-Outer? In other words, do you wait until you fully run out of something before you buy a new one, or do you always have a backup already on the shelf? Spike is a Non-Runner-Outer. To her the worst crime (OK, maybe not the worst.) is to finish the ice cream or the mayo or the three-bean salad without already having purchased its replacement. Me, I believe it’s good for the soul (if I had one, which I don’t) to occasionally run out of granola bars or catsup and do without for a few days. Yes, even if you run out of the toilet paper that those disgusting bears up there are selling there’s always an alternative you can use in an emergency. Take a good look around the bathroom as long as you’re just sitting there. Be creative. Be resourceful. Look, there’s a copy of my book!

Bits and Pieces

Today I went against everything I believe in and went to see a mega-blockbuster on its opening weekend. Normally I’ll avoid the crowds and wait until all the hubbub simmers down, but there wasn’t much else out there that I wanted to see so I saw King Kong. It would be easy to dismiss the movie as little more than a state-of-the-special-effects demonstration, but that would hardly be fair. Or accurate. Heck, the film was over three hours long and I found very little of it to be draggy.

And of course the special effects were spectacular. Do you know what I always thought would be a cool thing to do, just as soon as they invent a time machine? I’d love to go back to a movie house in 1933 and show the 2005 version of King Kong to the unsuspecting audience. Can you imagine the reaction? There would be screaming and fainting and heart attacks—why our poor grandparents and great-grandparents would think it was the end of the world! Yeah, I sure hope I can do that sometime.

* * * * *

Did you hear that they’re going to have to manufacture longer needles in order to make them more effective. Why? For the same reason they’re thinking of widening the seats on airplanes—to accommodate fat-assed Americans. In a recent study it was found that in 23 of 25 injections given to American women the medicine failed to reach buttock muscles and was thus rendered less effective. To me having to create millions of new needles is a waste of time and material. If the Ex-Lax people have been able to deliver their payload through chocolate for a hundred years why can’t the rest of the medical field catch up?

* * * * *
In my wallet I keep a list of every book ever written by the late Lawrence Sanders. Sanders is a very entertaining and original writer, and is most famous for his first novel The Anderson Tapes. I don’t know exactly how many books are on the list, and I’m too lazy and it’s too late for me to track down my wallet to check, but I’m sure it’s well over thirty. When in a second-hand bookstore whenever I’d come across a book by Sanders I’d whip out the list to see if I’d read it. A few months ago I crossed off the last unread book on the list. It’s sad in a way, because I know there are no new ones waiting to be discovered. I did a little research on Sanders and discovered that this incredibly prolific writer didn’t write his first book, the afore-mentioned The Anderson Tapes, until he was fifty years old! It reminds me of that line by Walter Matthau in one of the final Matthau/Lemmon films: “It’s never too late as long as long as you’re still breathing. That’s why they call it dead!”

* * * * *

Q. Why did the Siamese twins go to England?
A. So the other one could drive.

* * * * *
OK guys, back me up on this one. Have you ever gone to a movie and the couple on the screen end up making love for the first time and the woman keeps her shirt on? Or occasionally you’ll see a variation of this when the woman takes off her shirt but wears her bra through the entire scene. I’ve been witness to this charade a bunch of times now and I’m here to tell you it’s absolutely absurd. Oh, I understand that the actress has an ironclad clause in her contract that states that she doesn’t do topless and that’s fine. (Well, it’s not really fine, but we’ll save that discussion for another day.) But in real life it’s never going to happen this way. Ever. There’s not a man on Earth, except for the ones who would never be in bed with a woman in the first place, who, when blessed enough to find himself in this happy situation, is not going to want to get a real good look (at least). After all, these are not some familiar ol’ breasts that he’s seen a thousand times before. Oh no, what our hero has stumble upon here is something much, much better. He’s found new breasts and they are not to be ignored! So listen actresses and directors, if you want to keep those body parts private that’s certainly your choice. Shoot the scene under a sheet or blanket showing only bare shoulders and we’ll get the idea. But please don’t ever again show us a man making love to a woman for the first time where the woman keeps her shirt on. It’s unrealistic and it insults our intelligence.

Guess Who #13

Who says all the Guess Who subjects have to come from the world of entertainment? Not me, and I’m the clown running this carnival. It’s a big world out there, and there are a lot of famous folks who never starred in a movie or had a TV show. There are writers and scientists and painters. (Oh my!)

So let’s begin. Tonight’s subject is a well-known person. His career path is somewhat different from most of our previous subjects, but that’s what makes a horserace eh? So think of tonight’s exercise as broadening our horizon a bit, as well as a fine example of creating an image through the presentation of selective information.

Damn, I hope I’m not giving too much away already. OK, I’m going to shut up now, except to tell you that tonight’s Mister X is male. Which of course you already knew, seeing that he is called Mister X and all. OK, who is he? And no, you may not use the Internet so don’t even ask.

Months before his birth Mr. X had a brother who died of cancer at age 13.

Mr. X’s mother became depressed and tried to abort Mr. X through suicide.

Mr. X has written four novels, including The Fortified Castle and Men and the City.

Mr. X was imprisoned in 1964 but escaped in 1967.

Mr. X established the “National Campaign for the Eradication of Illiteracy.”

For his work in modernizing public health systems Mr. X received an award from the United Nations.

Mr. X was sent to live with his uncle when he was three.

Mr. X’s favorite movie is The Godfather.

It is believe that Mr. X was born sometime between 1935 and 1939.

Mr. X married his uncle’s daughter in 1957

In 2000 Mr. X was ranked #55 on Forbes’ World’s Richest People list

Mr. X was presented with the Key to the City of Detroit in 1980.


OK, that’s enough clues for you. So put on your thinking caps, as my fifth-grade teacher used to say, and tell me: Who is Mr. X ?

Guess Who #8

With my newly honed-down schedule of producing only five blogs a week you would think I’d no longer have to resort to cheap tricks such as, say, oh I don’t know…Guess Who? Well, once again you are wrong, my little mooncalf. (A word so nice, I used it twice!)

And the beauty is I don’t even have a good excuse for resorting to this flimsy excuse to get out of writing a blog. It’s not particularly late and no, I didn’t just get off the phone after a two hour phone call with a childhood chum. I have a stack of post-its in front of me, each with a lovely idea for a topic to write about. In fact, as I write this I have no idea who our subject is going to be tonight. Is it possible that I’m just in the mood to play Guess Who? Why not?

OK, you remember how it goes. Your job is to figure out the identity of Mr. or Ms. X. See, I told you I hadn’t picked out the person yet. Uh-oh I’m starting to get some ideas, and I suspect that tonight I won’t be selecting a giant of the entertainment industry. Maybe I’ll get real obscure. Wouldn’t that be fun? OK, here we go. Wait, I just thought of someone. OK, here we go.


Mr. X has a bachelor’s degree in psychology.

Mr. X has a pair of webbed toes on each foot.

Mr. X was a lieutenant on Safety Patrol in sixth grade.

Mr. X speaks one language fluently.

Mr. X doesn’t want to admit the age at which he lost his virginity.

Mr. X has never been to South America.

Mr. X once hiked 25 miles in 24 hours.

Mr. X once visited 4 countries in 25 hours.

Mr. X could have slept with 3 women in 24 hours. But chose not to.

Mr. X has climbed Half Dome more times than he has voted.

Mr. X buried a Sandy Koufax baseball card in a time capsule 40 years ago. He hadn’t anticipated eBay.

Mr. X once played blackjack for 14 straight hours.

Mr. X believes that most people, despite their claims to the contrary, are atheists.

Mr. X once had a dog named Muttsie.

Mr. X thinks it’s time to go watch The Daily Show.

Guess Who #14

I learned a long time ago that you can’t fight the power of the holiday season. At my job I found that the closer you got to Christmas Day, the more difficult it was to get any work done. Clients weren’t into it, co-workers weren’t into it and if the truth be told I wasn’t much into it either. Then again I never was particularly into it, no matter what the time of year.

And then there’s that magical, half-speed week between Christmas and New Year’s. Sure you still go to work but there’s a slower, more relaxed atmosphere. For these four or five days in late December there’s less work that needs to be, or can be, done and for once your job is almost…not horrible.

Some of my co-workers would take vacation days during this week, but not me. I could never understand why anyone would waste his precious vacation days on a week when you would probably end up doing very little anyway. For me this was often the most enjoyable workweek of the year. I’d generally stroll in when I felt like it and make up for it by leaving early. And once I was there most of the day was spent talking to co-workers or on the phone to friends, and roaming around the office looking for boxes of See’s candy or festively decorated cookies that had somehow survived the initial holiday onslaught. I used to call these magical times “touch-your-desk” days.

And then one year the company got wise. Perhaps they even heard of my quaint holiday office practices. And so they shut down for that week and I was forced to go through the holiday season without a single touch-my-desk day. It was then that I thought that perhaps the powers that ran the show just might be a tad smarter than I had given them credit for. (Later events would show, repeatedly, that this was simply not the case.)

Obviously I no longer work for that or any other company, but I do spend a fair amount of time and energy writing this column. And as I look back at my last few entries I see that I have continued to give you, my dear reader, the top-drawer reading material that you have come to expect every day. And I’m proud to say that there has certainly been no slacking off in quality just because it’s the holidays. For me there has been no touch-your-desk day.

Until now. And what do I always do when I feel in need of a break? That’s right! And so it’s time once again to play the game that is catching on virtually nowhere: Guess Who. And I’m not going to explain how it works for a fourteenth damn time. You’re not an idiot—figure it out. I’m on a break.

Dammit, I just realized I’m already at almost 500 words. I could have made this the column and saved the stupid game for another time. Just for that I’m going to make this the toughest Guess Who yet.


Ms. X’s real name was Loretta Mary Aiken.

Ms. X was born in 1894 in Brevard, North Carolina.

At the height of her career Ms. X earned $10,000 a week.

Ms. X was billed as “The Funniest Woman in the World.”

Ms. X began her career at the age of 14.

Ms. X once said, “There ain’t nothing an old man can do for me except bring me a message from a young one.”

Ms. X played Carnegie Hall in 1962.

Ms. X died in 1975.

It was often rumored that Ms. X was actually a man.

Ms. X recorded more than 20 comedy albums.

Ms. X was nearly 70 years old when she finally became popular with mainstream audiences.


OK, who is it? Wrong! Guess again. And no Internet!

Guess Who #5

So here I am, stuck again. It’s getting late, The Daily Show is coming on soon, and I need to knock out a blog quickly. And so, as I have so many times is the past, I again resort to that tired old stand-by, The Guess Who Game! It’s fun, it’s challenging and it’s so easy to write.

As always I have a good excuse for beginning tonight’s writing later than usual. You see, today is my wife’s birthday, and so I spent a good part of the day occupied with the preparations for tonight’s celebration. What, you ask, has that got to do with writing a blog? Well, nothing really, since she rarely stays up later than 9:00 anyway. Yes, even on her birthday.

But the traditions are strong and must be observed, and so they were. I cooked dinner. (Why should tonight be any different?) It was quite good really, starting with some delicious clam chowder. (OK, so I just opened the can and put it in the microwave. It’s still effort, as Seinfeld said under similar circumstances.) Then I made some oven-fried eggplant (This didn’t come out too good, but certainly tasted better than Brussels sprouts. See appropriate blog.) and some yummy potato boats with sour cream and cheese. (Excuse me, I’m going to stop typing here until my squeezing chest pains diminish. Ah, there we are.)

And then there were the two boiled crabs. Boy, they turned out to be really tasty. Of course the half-gallon of melted butter that was dripping from them certainly helped. (Ow, there go those chest pains again.)

So, quite a nice meal, eh? And then there was the cake and candles thing, followed by the opening of birthday presents. So you can see how all this can be somewhat time consuming and cause me to be late to my nightly writing session. Still, wasn’t that nice of me to do all that? You must be thinking that my wife is some lucky woman to be blessed with a guy like me, right? Well someday I’ll tell you the other side of the story, or better yet I’ll have my wife do it. You’ll most likely end up running away screaming into the night, calling the authorities or frantically attempting to drive a stake through my evil heart. And trust me, nobody would fault you for any of these actions.

It suddenly occurs to me that I am approaching 400 words in this introduction explaining why I’m not writing an article tonight, but rather copping out with another lame Guess Who Game. Another hundred words or so and I’ll have the blog written, and won’t even have to do the research and write the stupid game. Then I could save it to bail me out another night. Like maybe tomorrow. But that would be wrong.

And so may I once again present The Guess Who Game? Below are some less well-known facts about a very well known person. Your job is to discover the identity of Mr. X. My job is to finish this nonsense, watch The Daily Show and sit in the hot tub with some leftover birthday cake and count stars as the crumbs float by.


Mr. X’s middle name is McLaurin.

Mr. X studied acting with Christopher Reeve, and they remained good friends until Reeve’s death.

Mr. X enjoys cycling and has trained with Lance Armstrong.

Mr. X hit #104 on the Billboard Singles Charts in 1980.

Mr. X was voted Least Likely to Succeed in high school.

Mr. X was overweight as a child and so had few friends. He started talking in different voices to amuse himself.

Mr. X is of Welsh and Scottish heritage.

Mr. X co-owns a restaurant with Robert De Niro and Francis Ford Coppola.

Mr. X is an only child.

Mr. X has said that cocaine is God’s way of telling you you are making too much money.

Mr. X has done the narration for several rides at Disney World.

Mr. X won a Grammy in 2003.

Mr. X wrote the forward to The Far Side: Gallery 4

Mr. X enjoys playing paintball.

Mr. X has been outspoken about his opposition to the war in Iraq, but has become the most consistent entertainer of U.S. troops.

Mr. X saw two of his films reach the $100 million mark during the same week in 1996.

Guess Who #1

I was going to write about a particular famous person and deliver my annual plea asking that he or she receive a well-deserved honorary Oscar while still alive to enjoy it. Then I thought, Hey, let’s make a game out of it! See if you can identify our mystery icon. My only hint for you is that this person will turn 80 next year. From here on we’ll call him Mr. X., so there’s another hint for you—it’s not a woman. So good luck and remember, if you use the Internet to get the answer you’re only cheating yourself!

Mr. X had open-heart surgery in 1983.

In 1995 Mr. X became the highest paid performer in Broadway history when he played the Devil in Damn Yankees.

Mr. X was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in 1977.

Mr. X refuses to wear a pair of socks more than once.

Mr. X is referred to in both The Simpsons and Seinfeld.

Mr. X’s first marriage produced five sons.

Mr. X was the top box office draw in 1957, 1959 and 1961-1964.

Mr. X underwent surgery for prostate cancer in 1992.

Mr X is known as “Picchiatello” in Italy.

Mr. X has diabetes.

Mr. X’s actual first name is “Joseph.”

Mr X loves baseball and for years trained with the Los Angeles Dodgers.

Mr. X has pulmonary fibrosis.

Mr X has recorded a record that to date has sold over four million copies.

Mr. X taught a film class at the University of California. His students included Steven Spielberg and George Lucas.

Mr X. encouraged the seven-year-old Christopher Walken to become an actor.

Mr. X reportedly has an I.Q of 145.

Geez, how many clues do you want? Did you finally figure out who it is? Well, it’s about time. Don’t you agree he deserves an honorary Academy Award?

Death: The Quiz

There’s a great scene in the great movie Unforgiven where this little punk who had pretended to be a hardened killer actually does kill a man in a gunfight. (Or he sees a man get killed. I forget which. Whatever.) Anyway, he’s pretty shaken by the incident, and as he sits talking about what happened he looks up at ol’ Clint and says, “Well, I guess he had it coming.” To which our squinty-eyed hero slowly replied, “We all have it coming, kid.”

And we do. We all have it coming and, unlike all the other animals around us, we all know it. And we can make up stories of a paradise in the sky or fountains of youth or scientific breakthroughs that will make us immortal but deep inside we all know it’s just a cover, don’t we? The truth is we’re all doomed. Doomed! Yes, that includes you, and you and even you. And possibly even me.

Ah, but you’re reading this now and I’m writing it so that means we’re alive. So what do you say, let’s celebrate and enjoy life while we can. And what better way than by taking one of my famous quizzes. And what better subject for the quiz than that annoying old bugaboo, Death itself! So have a good time with this little quiz and don’t take it too seriously. After all, it probably won’t be the last one you ever take. But it might be.


1. About how many people died worldwide in 2002?
a. 12 Million
b. 26 Million
c. 57 Million
d. None. It was a very strange year.

2. There have been two documented cases (1975 & 2003) of people dying from this.
a. Attack by spirits.
b. Laughing.
c. Housecat attack.
d. Choking on a pretzel.

3. According to Wikipedia.com, most drownings occur in what?
a. Water
b. Snow
c. Industrial liquids
d. Alcohol

4. What is the #1 behavioral cause of death?
a. Firearms
b. Motor Vehicles
c. Tobacco
d. Sexual Practices.

5. What is the number one cause of accidental death?
a. Fires
b. Surgical Complications
c. Motor vehicle accidents
d. Falling

6. Which statement about suicide is true?
a. Sweden has the highest suicide rate in the world.
b. Men attempt suicide more often than women.
c. Suicide is more common during the winter.
d. Most suicides in the U.S. are by firearms.

7. What is exsanguination?
a. Death from total blood loss
b. High altitude death
c. Frightened to death
d. Death by banishment to the wilderness

8. In 2004 90% of the world’s state sponsored executions occurred where?
a. Iran
b. China
c. United States
d. Texas

9. Which country has the highest (1995) motor vehicle death rate?
a. Italy
b. United States
c. Portugal
d. Guam

10. Which increased by 1200% as a cause of death from 1979 to 1998?
a. Hypertension
b. Homicide
c. Diabetes
d. Alzheimer’s Disease


Well that was a cheery way to pass a few minutes, eh what? OK, Gloomy Gus, let’s see how you did.


ANSWERS:

1. 57 MILLION of your fellow humans left us in 2002. And yet the lines at Safeway don’t seem any shorter, do they?
2. LAUGHING. The phrase for this amusing exit is called Fatal Hilarity, and was first recorded in 1596.
3. Did you actually pick anything besides WATER? You’re such a dope.
4. TOBACCO. Haven’t you noticed that doctors now ask you if you smoke even before they ask you your name? (Of course, the name of your insurance company still comes first.)
5. MOTOR VEHICLE ACCIDENTS. By far.
6. About 55% of suicides in the U.S. are accomplished with FIREARMS. Sweden actually has an average suicide rate while most suicides occur in the Spring and Summer. And while more women attempt suicide men succeed more often. Just like we do in everything else.
7. DEATH BY TOTAL LOSS OF BLOOD. And you should have gotten this one. Sanguine? Sangria? C’mon, pay attention here. By the way, it’s how animals are killed in the meat industry. I just read a lovely description of it but I don’t want to write about it and you sure don’t want to read about it. Trust me.
8. CHINA. And they have now switched from firing squad to lethal injections. You probably think they’re being humane; I think they’re preserving organs.
9. PORTUGAL. Why? Who knows? I know I’ve driven in Greece and Italy, so if Portugal is worse than that I don’t want to know about it.
10. ALZHEIMER’S DISEASE. And when you realize that Septicemia (blood poisoning) had the second largest increase with 91% that 1200% number is quite dramatic. But not so much so that I’m going to take the time to find out the cause. Look it up yourself.

I refuse to get involved. I absolutely refuse to talk or write or even think about this diabolical “War on Christmas” that has so outraged all these headline-seeking, talking empty-heads. We’ve all known for some time that there is a dumbing-down of America going on, but didn’t you honestly believe that at some point we’d reach a bottom?

Well, there’s not a religious bone in my body and still I love Christmas. I like the lights and the music and paying forty bucks to cut down my own tree. (And I don’t like hanging it upside down; not because it’s Satanic, but because it’s non-traditional. And stupid.) I like going to the mall and I like both the hustle and the bustle. I like cold air and hot chocolate. I like receiving Christmas cards without having to send any, because that’s my wife’s job. I like not going to church and wasting valuable time that could otherwise be spent eating cookies and drinking eggnog.

I like Christmas now and I would have liked it 3,000 years ago when it was called Saturnalia, celebrating the return of longer days, and so of life, and included much hi-jinks and debauchery. (Did you think you put a pine tree in your living room because Baby Jesus had one in the manger? Decorated and with an electric train?) So enjoy the season, have fun, be kind and have a very Merry Winter Solstice!

Meanwhile, here’s a jolly Christmas Quiz just for you!

1. Who was Saint Nicholas?
a. An 11th Century Pope
b. A 4th Century Bishop
c. Son of the apostle Peter
d. Your parents, you dope.

2. How many ghosts visited Scrooge?
a. 1
b. 2
c. 3
d. 4

3. Quick! On the fourth day of Christmas, what did my true love first give to me?
a. French hens
b. Turtle-doves
c. Calling birds
d. A rash

4. Which is not one of Santy’s reindeer?
a. Blitzen
b. Vixen
c. Mincer
d. Dancer

5. What did Saint Nick smoke in The Night Before Christmas?
a. A pipe
b. A cigar
c. Virginia Slims
d. Nothing

6. What was Frosty’s nose made out of?
a. Coal
b. An icicle
c. A carrot
d. A button

7. What is the most popular topper for a Christmas tree?
a. An angel
b. A star
c. A nativity scene
d. A pointed ornament

8. In We Wish You A Merry Christmas, what kind of pudding is demanded?
a. Cherry
b. Figgy
c. Hasty
d. Jello

9. In A Charlie Brown Christmas, who wants to be the Christmas Queen?
a. Lucy
b. Peppermint Patty
c. Sally
d. Linus

10. What popular snack started out in 1902 as a Christmas tree decoration?
a. Cracker Jack
b. Pretzel twists
c. Cheese Doodles
d. Animal Crackers


ANSWERS

1. A 4th CENTURY BISHOP. Nick was reported to be one helluva nice guy who was famous for giving gifts to the poor.
2. 4. Not all of you forgot to count the ghost of Jacob Marley, but I bet a lot of you did!
3. FOUR CALLING BIRDS. Give yourself only half-credit if you had to sing out loud to get the answer.
4. MINCER is not one of Santa’s reindeer. Not yet, anyway.
5. Yeah, it was a PIPE. Hope you didn’t over-think this one.
6. A BUTTON. His eyes were coal and his ass was snow.
7. AN ANGEL. This one was really a toss-up. I mean, how many Nativity scenes have you seen on top of a Christmas tree?
8. FIGGY. Damn, I almost got this one wrong myself. Then I would have had to suffer the slings and arrows of the Comments section. I thought it was Hasty Pudding at first, which I found out is made from corn. Then I remembered the song actually said Figgy Pudding. Still a pretty demanding tune though. “We won’t go until we get some!” What’s up with that?
9. LUCY of course. We all have out doubts about Linus, but he’ll become Christmas Queen about the same time Mincer is allowed to pull Santa’s sleigh and Nathan Lane becomes president.
10. Barnum ANIMAL CRACKERS. Didn’t you ever wonder what that string on the box is for? To hang on your tree, silly!

Famous Last Words: The Quiz

It might surprise some of you to know that a good deal of what you read and see on the Internet simply isn’t true. I know, it’s shocking. For example, there is a story going around about Julie Andrews singing a funny parody of My Favorite Things during a concert on her 69th birthday. Unfortunately Andrews hasn’t been able to sing for years. And that picture of Bush reading a book that he is holding upside down is also a fake. No matter how badly we all want it to be true.

So naturally when I did my research to find the last words of some famous people I was a little dubious. I mean, it’s not everybody that can shuffle off while cracking wise or spouting high ideals. I suspect that some of these were later attributed to the late and great after they were gone. I’m sure that in reality many of them went out in the same manner that I expect to: crying and whimpering and screaming, “I don’t wanna die! Mommy! Mommy!”

But as we are all limited by the information that is available to us, I’ve used the research I came up with to create the quiz below. It’s easy—I’ll tell you the famous person and you choose his or her famous last words. Also, I think it would be a fun game to come up with funny or ironic last words of famous people who are still alive. I’ve come up with a good one for Bush, but I’m too cowardly to write it. I don’t need Rumsfeld attaching electrodes to my precious jumblies, thank you very much.

1. Humphrey Bogart, actor
a. Cut!
b. I should never have switched from Scotch to Martinis
c. Today seems shorter
d. Here’s looking at you, kid.

2. Gaius Caligula, Roman Emperor, party guy
a. I go to join the Caesars
b. I am betrayed!
c. I am still alive!
d. Attus, my sword!

3. Winston Churchill, British statesman
a. Mostly I’ll miss my cigars
b. We have accomplished much, my friend
c. And so, night
d. I’m bored with it all

4. Lou Costello, comedian
a. That was the best ice cream soda I ever tasted
b. Hey, Abbott!
c. I see my son
d. It’s ending too soon

5. Princess Diana
a. We’ve had an accident
b. Where are my children?
c. My God. What’s happened?
d. Camilla, you bitch.

6. Amelia Earhart, aviator
a. Can anyone hear me?
b. Gas is running low
c. What’s the vector, Victor?
d. Controls are not responding

7. Terry Kath, rock musician, Chicago
a. We’ll be back again next year
b. He’s not slowing down!
c. Don’t worry, it’s not loaded
d. Hit the water! Hit the water!

8. Dylan Thomas, poet
a. I’ve had 18 straight whiskeys. I think that’s the record.
b. Burn them. Burn them all.
c. I suddenly find myself at a loss for words.
d. A pen. Quickly.

9. Pancho Villa, Mexican revolutionary
a. I die, but Mexico lives
b. Viva la revolucion!
c. Viva la paper towels!
d. Tell them I said something

10. Luther Burbank, horticulturist
a. It’s very hot in this room
b. I don’t feel good
c. A daisy lives but a week
d. Tomorrow I blossom again


ANSWERS

Yuck. Remind me to never again create such a gruesome quiz. Not only is it depressing, but I had to come up with thirty fake last words for you knuckleheads. And frankly, I think I did pretty damn well. So how did you do on the quiz? This one was tough—if you got more than five or six right you are a remarkable fount of knowledge and a morbid son-of-a-bitch to boot. OK, let’s go.

1. I SHOULD HAVE NEVER SWITCHED FROM SCOTCH TO MARTINIS. Good old Bogie, cool to the end.
2. I AM STILL ALIVE. Caligula was killed by his own bodyguards. Sure, those are some pretty ironic last words but to be fair it was true when he said it. And I made up the name Attus. Fell for it, didn’t you?
3. I’M BORED WITH IT ALL Wow. And you thought it was the French who were nonchalant and the British more, uh, chalant.
4. THAT WAS THE BEST ICE CREAM SODA I EVER TASTED. Did you really think his last words would be Hey, Abbott? Really?
5. MY GOD. WHAT’S HAPPENED? And if you even so much as snickered at the Camilla line you will surely burn in Hell. See you there.
6. GAS IS RUNNING LOW. If you picked “c” head straight to Blockbuster and rent Airplane!
7. DON’T WORRY, IT’S NOT LOADED. He was playing Russian roulette at the time. What a loss. Had he lived Chicago might have made 200 albums instead of the scant 178 they recorded. This is my second favorite Famous Last Words of all time.
8. I’VE HAD 18 STRAIGHT WHISKEYS. I THINK THAT’S THE RECORD. I know. It’s hard to imagine a writer being so fucked up.
9. TELL THEM I SAID SOMETHING. And that, folks, is why the world needs writers. Fucked up as they may be.
10. I DON’T FEEL SO GOOD. Simple. Honest. And incredibly accurate. And since you’ve stuck with this all the way to the end here’s a treat for you: my very favorite Famous Last Words of all time. They were uttered by Union General John Sedgwick during a Civil War battle. His last words? “They couldn’t hit an elephant at this dist—.” Classic!

A Yummy Candy Quiz

I was thinking about how to open up this discussion about candy, because I felt it would be rude (and lazy) of me to just go ahead and drop the quiz on you, which is probably the only reason you’re reading this anyway. These damn quizzes always seem like an easy way to knock out a column and they turn out to be the most difficult, what with the research and coming up with credible fake answers and especially trying to line up those goddamn numbers and letters. Who needs it? But, as always, I do it all for you.

I reflected on the number of times in the last week that candy has come into play in my life. For their anniversary I sent my parents a five pound chocolate bar. No, it’s not a Caribbean cruise but at least I know it’s something that they’ll use. I looked up on the Internet to find out how to get to the PEZ Museum, which is here locally. (Really, isn’t PEZ a crappy candy? It’s the only one where the container is more fun than what’s inside.) Regular reader(s) will remember Harry, the cute little neighborhood kid that I ordered candy from last week. I notice I’ve been starting to get a little antsy about the delivery date. (I want my candy now!) Spike and I went to an Open House a few days ago and helped ourselves to the M&M’s that were offered. (Yes, even though we were just looky-loo’s with no intention of buying that overpriced pile of cracking stucco. So sorry, Mr. Agent, if the ten cents worth of candy we filched cuts into your $40,000 commission.) Spike mentioned that her school will be selling See’s candy this Christmas. Wow, that’s a lot of candy references in just a few days, and I’m not even taking the time to really think about it.

I was in Weight Watcher’s years ago. I’m not saying I didn’t belong there, but I had also thought that since I had just broken up with my girlfriend it might be a good place to meet women. Pudgy women who might appeal to my encoded Italian genetics. It didn’t work out quite that way, but that’s a tale for another day. The instructor at one particular meeting announced a change in the eating plan. Previously you could eat all the vegetables you wanted, but there were limits on fruit. Now they were removing those limitations.

“How many of you are here because you eat too much fruit?” she asked.
No hands went up.
“I thought so,” she said.

Exactly. It’s no secret that I and all my new chubby lady friends were there because of cookies and cakes and pies and ice cream. And many of us were there because of candy. If I might steal one of my brother’s most famous lines, “It’s not my fault that Snickers tastes better than broccoli.” Snickers, by the way, is the best selling candy bar in the world. I forgot to put that into the quiz. (See, contrary to what you may have believed, I do take the time to re-write these damns things.)

There is a small percentage of you who could care less if you ever had another piece of candy again. I have no scientific evidence but I suspect you are the same folks who don’t watch television. Well, good for you. You know what? Why don’t you do us all a favor and go grab an apple and a book and hit the old StairMaster for a few hours. This is a quiz designed for we humans.


1. George Smith, who trademarked the name “lollipop” in 1931, claimed it was…
a. Named after his hometown
b. Named after his daughter
c. Named after his favorite racehorse.
d. A variation of “lollygag.”

2. Forrest Mars invented M&M’s after watching soldiers eat sugar-coated chocolate in which war?
a. World War I
b. Spanish Civil War
c. World War II
d. War Against Drugs

3. The origins of the Candy Cane go back how many years?
a. 50 years
b. 150 years
c. 350 years
d. Over 2,000 years

4. Where did cotton candy first appear in 1900?
a. The Ringling Bros. Circus
b. The Paris World’s Fair
c. Loew’s Picture Arcade in New York
d. The World Series

5. What are Peeps?
a. Chick-shaped candy
b. Marshmallow candy
c. Just about the worst thing you can find in your Halloween bag.
d. All of the above

6. The name PEZ comes from what?
a. The initials of the inventor’s children.
b. The German word for peppermint.
c. The initials of the company’s owners
d. The name of the inventor’s pet dog.

7. What is inside the candy coating of Good and Plenty?
a. Caramel
b. Licorice
c. Chocolate
d. The missing WMD’s

8. Which country has the highest per capita consumption of candy?
a. The United States
b. Switzerland
c. China
d. Denmark

9. Nearly three-quarters of American chocolate lovers prefer what kind?
a. Dark chocolate
b. White chocolate
c. Milk chocolate
d. Free chocolate

10. On average, Americans each eat about how much candy per year?
a. 2 pounds
b. 6 pounds
c. 14 pounds
d. 26 pounds

Time’s up! Pencils down! Eyes straight ahead, Mister!

ANSWERS:

1. Smith claimed he took the name from his FAVORITE RACEHORSE, Lolly Pop. Others point out that in Northern England another word for tongue was “lolly” and the word was created there. Who the hell knows?
2. SPANISH CIVIL WAR. This allowed soldiers to eat chocolate without it melting in the hot Spanish sun. M&M’s did, however, gain widespread popularity during the War on Drugs. At least in my smoky dorm room they did.
3. They started as a white candy stick about 350 YEARS ago, and were shaped into canes to represent a shepherd’s staff shortly after.
4. At the CIRCUS of course! Did you know that cotton candy is 100% sugar? That’s even better than Captain Crunch!
5. I wouldn’t eat these hideous things if they were the only candy in the house. And that’s saying something.
6. PEZ comes from the German word Pfefferminze, meaning PEPPERMINT. They started out as a cigarette substitute.
7. LICORICE. Not my favorite and you don’t see them around too much anymore, but they beat the hell out of Peeps. And PEZ.
8. DENMARK. And if you guessed China it simply means you don’t understand the phrase “per capita.”
9. MILK CHOCOLATE. Easy one.
10. TWENTY-SIX friggin’ pounds a year. Does that seem like a lot to you? That’s over two pounds of candy every month! That seems impossible. I better put down this Hershey’s bar and recheck my research.

Your Filthy Body: A Quiz

What an incredible machine is our human body. Is there anything on Earth that is so wondrous and so disgusting? From the internal mush of our slimy organs, putrid liquids and fetid gases to the vile and offensive waste that we each excrete into the Earth every day we all ride around inside this big flabby sack of goop and offal and there’s not a damn thing we can do about. Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that you were still eating your breakfast.

Sure the human body is an amazingly complicated bit of apparatus that has developed over millions of years or was created overnight by a grumpy old man with a beard, depending on how much thought you actually want to put into it. But how much do you really know about this remarkable living structure that you will call home for eighty years? Well, in addition to providing you with your daily dose of yuks we also try to educate here. And so may I present our latest and undoubtedly most repulsive quiz to date? Ladies and Gentlemen prepare to open your minds and suppress your gag reflexes, for I give you…The Human Body.

1. What’s the fastest a sneeze can travel?
a. 5 mph.
b. 40 mph
c. 100 mph
d. 250 mph

2. How many hairs are on the average human scalp?
a. 10,000
b. 100,000
c. 1,000,000
d. 10,000,000

3. About how long does it take a blood cell to complete one circuit around the body?
a. One minute
b. Ten minutes
c. An hour
d. Twelve hours

4. About how many people worldwide are inhabited by blood-sucking hookworms?
a. There have been no cases since 1952.
b. A million
c. 5-7 million
d. 700 million

5. About how many bacteria are on a square inch of human skin?
a. 100
b. A million
c. 32 million
d. None. Bacteria aren’t found on human skin.

6. By the age of 70 about how much skin does the average human shed?
a. Eight ounces
b. Ten pounds
c. One hundred pounds
d. Are you getting sick yet?

7. What is one out of every 2,000 babies born with?
a. A tooth
b. A tail
c. A third nipple
d. A shitty attitude

8. About how far would your small intestine stretch?
a. Five feet
b. Eight feet
c. 22 feet
d. 100 yards

9. What is 85% of the human brain composed of?
a. Gray matter
b. Nerves
c. Water
d. Dirty thoughts

10. Where are one-quarter of all of the body’s bones found?
a. Knees
b. Feet
c. Ears
d. Yeah, you wish.


ANSWERS

1. 100 MPH. So trying to duck a soggy sneeze blowing out of that fat guy in the IT Department is like trying to avoid a speeding freight train that is five feet away. Good luck.
2. 100,000. And don’t go looking for any bald jokes here. My brother used to make fun of my curly hair when we were kids and then he went bald. Hair Karma: it’s a bitch.
3. ONE MINUTE. Although yours probably stop a bunch of times along the way to catch their breath or grab a snack.
4. 700 MILLION. How friggin’ disgusting is that? And you’re worried about a fat guy’s sneeze?
5. 32 MILLION. More if you’re Canadian.
6. ONE HUNDRED POUNDS. Yes you shed one hundred pounds of dry, flaky crusty bacteria-ridden skin in your lifetime. You’re like some disgusting slithering reptile and that’s probably why you never get invited anywhere.
7. A TOOTH. I don’t know the stats on the nipple or tail and at this hour I’m not about to look it up. Do your own damn research and if it turns out to also be one in two thousand I’ll print a correction. Sure I will.
8. 22 FEET. You picked 100 yards because you’re sure you heard somewhere that they stretch as long as a football field, didn’t you? Ha, you’re such a sap, and putty in my hands to boot.
9. WATER. Because all those dirty thoughts need something to float in, right?
10. FEET. Which makes it even more amazing that you still trudge down the street looking like some barely-evolved knuckle-dragging baboon.