Okay, so it's been a while since something has gotten me to the point of actually wanting to write something. Get off my back.

So, why today? Because of this:

http://www.thedenverchannel.com/news/18637190/detail.html

For those of you who may be clickably challenged, this is a link to a news story out of Colorado Springs, CO, that covers the crime spree of that most sinister of intergalactic species, the Klingon’s. Time to get your kids behind locked doors and warm up your Warp Drives and dilithium crystals, folks. Worf and the boys have come to town and they mean business.

Essentially, a man attempted to rob two 7-11 convenience stores with a mask and a Batleth, a double edged Klingon sword used in the Star Trek series. Now, this itself is very funny…if you didn’t laugh right away, I’m afraid your WTF bone needs replacing, please see your practitioner at your earliest convenience. Run, don’t walk. But, this is one of those heart warming tales that just continues to give. I’ll list a few of my favorite musings generated from this slice of heaven:

1. How bad is the economy when Trekker’s have to hold up convenience stores to pay for all those conventions? Oh, and it’s not Trekkie’s; I’ve read that they find that a demeaning term and seeing what lengths they will go to, I don’t want to piss ‘em off.

2. How cute is it that at BOTH stores, the clerks not only knew what the bandit was brandishing as a weapon, but also what is was CALLED?

3. There are actually comments by the readers of this Nobel Prize winning article that are actually written in Klingon-ese!

4. He got an undisclosed sum from the first store. He got nothing from the second store because “the clerk refused and the robber ran off”. Can’t you just picture the first clerk saying, “What, I could have just told him ‘No’? Damn!”

You just can’t make this stuff up, people. Oh, well…as they say in Colorado Springs, “yIn tIq 'ej chep”.

Check, please?

Hello again, readers! While I know it's been almost a year since I've written, you all have been very close to my heart and I'll always cherish our time together. I just really haven't had much to write about...until now.

Is it just me, or has society lost it's mind? I have had just about enough of this country and it's continuing attempts to "save us from ourselves". Did I miss the mass exodus to Capitol Hill to plead with the government to make laws regarding my personal choices and beliefs? 'Cause I really woulda said something. Seriously. Let me show you a prime example.

It was reported on CNN.com today that a criminal has been exonerated. While this man went way out of bounds and his crime spree was well documented and witnessed, the authorities, in the spirit of leniency, dropped the charges and let him off. His crime? He bought a bag of Skittles.

Yep, you heard it right.

"An eighth-grade honors student who was suspended for a day, barred from attending an honors dinner and stripped of his title as class vice president after he was caught with a bag of Skittles candy in school".

Oh. My. God. As an avid low-carber, I agree that candy can do bad things to you when eaten in the extreme, but this was an eighth grader. Have we gone so far to the Bizarro side that, as a society, the concept of a kid eating candy is tantamount to them throwing themselves off a cliff?! What's next? "Bobby, time for school! Make sure you zip your Haz-mat suit all way up this time..."

How about concentrating on educating the kids and not so much on whether Suzy is having a handful of Whoppers? Just food for thought...as long as that food is determined to be healthy for you by the powers that be.

Although I did find it funny when the student said, "that he didn't realize his candy purchase was against the rules, but he did notice that the student selling the Skittles on February 26 was being secretive." I'd like to think the student was being a smart-ass. It gives me a little hope for the generation.

For you unbelievers, here is the link:
http://www.cnn.com/2008/US/03/13/skittles.suspension.ap/index.html?iref=mpstoryview

Psst! Hey buddy...

From time to time, life deals you a “what-the-hell” moment and it is my opinion that we should savor these like fine wine…if for no other reason than to laugh at life and shake your fist at the doom-sayers.

The other night I was dealt just such a moment.

Many studies have been done with regard to the makeup of the criminal mind. Never has behavioral science met such a conundrum as the multi-tasking ability of a wrongdoer in action. How they plan, how they implement, seeing all angles, cover upon cover…it’s staggering how the successful thief relies on his keen intellect to stay one step ahead of law enforcement.

…and then there’s Greenville, Mississippi.

While watching my local news, they began to report on a story that was shocking in its magnitude and “what-the-hell”ishness. It seems there has been a rash of burglaries in the city. These were robberies that affected all residents with equal fear and trepidation. This was no simple string of break-ins. Nor were the crimes perpetrated against jewelry merchants or pawn shops.

No…these Crime Lords were stealing speed bumps. Yes, I said speed bumps. As in bumps in the street to reduce the speed of vehicles. Yeah, those.

Apparently, a group of dastardly criminals (I’m assuming it’s a group, which makes this even more sad) has been using a crowbar to PRY these speed bumps from the road and taking them away. After I stopped gawking at the screen and closed my mouth, I began to ponder the impact of such a heinous crime, and the questions came immediately:

1. What is the street value of a used speed bump?
2. Why haven’t I heard about the speed bump cartel in Greenville until now?
3. How are we going to stop the unnecessary speeding NOW?
4. Why were the stripes left in the road? Aren’t they are a valuable accessory?

Please feel free to comment on this masterful crime to help me understand better and make some sense of this evil world.

He Touched What?!

Hello again, friends and neighbors!

Today's episode: on the road to vasectomy.

After many years (and just as many children), I finally decided to take the first steps towards neutering. Now, I know there are some of you who think this is a drastic step and somehow makes me less of a man...au contraire, mon frer! I'm done with populating the world. Kaput. Over. Finito.

I met my urologist today, the somewhat grandfatherly Dr. Daly. Waiting for his arrival, I spent the obligatory 1.5 hours in the patient area, thumbing through magazines. Once called back, I did my thing in a cup (no, not THAT thing you perverts) and waited some more in Exam Room 1. As I sat there, I pondered the deeper meanings of vasectomy. Is this really the way I wanted to go? Do I really think this is my only option? What in the world does Lindsey Lohan see in that shlub she's currently dating?

My thoughts were abruptly ended upon the entrance of "The Doc". Since I haven't really ever started a conversation about my reproductive system with another man before, I opened with a jovial, "How's it hangin'?" In hindsight, I can't help but chuckle at my cleverness.

We talked for the better part of 30 minutes about the procedure in general; what goes where, which utensil does what, paper or plastic. All in all a good talk. I thought everything was going smoothly until the doctor asked me to drop trou so he could make sure...and I quote..."all the parts are there."

I assured him that, while not necessarily impressive, everything was intact, but he wanted to check any way. Making some uneasy comment about not even buying me a drink first, I obliged.

...was it wrong of him to ask for my phone number afterwards?

Red Bottom's and Red Hat's

Hello, all you non-existent readers out there! I’m back with my quarterly update, and man is it a doozy. Sit back a spell while I stoke this fire, pour the wine and wax nostalgic...or my legs.

As many of you know (okay, who are we kidding...no one’s reading this), Lynn and I had a baby girl in January. Well, Lynn actually HAD the baby; I just kinda stood around saying, "Hey, are you sure we should be bending her THIS far?!" See picture of referenced baby for cuteness.

Now for those of you considering a baby late in life, here’s a tip from your Uncle Dave: DON’T. I am now 38 years old and should be enjoying my twilight years. God knows, I deserve them. Until Samantha (that’s the aforementioned daughters’ name) came along, I had visions of Geritol, Depends undergarments and the occasional pinch of my waitress’s tush at the local Huddle House. I certainly had no plans to have another child. Let me tell you, 3:00 am feedings was not that big of a deal when you are 24, but at 38? They kinda suck.

But she is cute, huh?

Oh, just got back from a series of "conventions" in Nashville. We stayed at the beautiful Gaylord Opryland hotel which, if you decide you want to stay in a hotel that will eat up that second mortgage, I heartily recommend. We were there at the same time the Red Hat Society was having their International Convention. Over 5,000 women above the age of 50 in the hotel. Drunk. Without husbands. Do the math. The last time I felt that violated was during a TSA strip search. At least that time was suprisingly gentle in comparison.

I was officially adopted by the Queen of the Springfield, Illinois chapter affectionally know as the "Red Hot Momma's". Ms. Beverly, wherever you are, thank you for a lovely time with you and your ladies, tell "pinky" I said hello, and I honestly can't wait to start a career at your son-in-law's McDonald's.

Turkey on Fire

So, it's been a while since I've written. Sue me.

I'd like to spend some time today talking about the flash point of peanut oil. But wait...I'm getting ahead of myself. First, some background. Yeah, that's right. Strap on in.

The Thanksgiving holidays this year were something else. It seems every time I have some days off, I end up working for some other company. This time was no exception. I was in the middle of helping a company migrate their wide-area network onto a Metro E so decided that Thanksgiving day would be a good time to finish up, what with them being a bank and being closed and all. My original thoughts were to spend maybe 2 hours on this and then be freed up for the rest of the holiday.

As I have no real family in the area, it was decided that we would spend turkey day with Lynn’s Aunt Eleanor, a very lovely and gracious lady that I met last year. The “plan” (note the quotation marks) was for everyone to get together and eat at 11:00. Since I usually fry a turkey for Thanksgiving, this would involve me getting up at around 6:00am to fry turkeys, get everything packed up, drive two hours to Eleanor’s and have dinner. Then, go to my client’s and fix the network. Perfect! Except that on Wednesday night I was told the time had changed to 4:00pm.

At this point, I should have heard the Gods begin to snicker and known more fun was coming. I ignored them. Stupid mortal.

So, Lynn and I drove down Wednesday night, I changed my network plans to 8:00 am Thursday morning, and carried all of my turkey frying paraphernalia with me. This includes pot, burner, propane, tongs, lifters, injections, turkeys, oil, and assorted and sundry spices and what-nots. Oh, and the dog. Ain't he cute?

Thursday morning. Or as I like to remember it as “The Day Hell Came to Flora”. I won’t even go into how things went with the bank. Suffice it to say, I got there at 8:00 am and left at 4:30 pm. Get the picture?

So, I’m rushing to Aunt Eleanor’s house. I arrive, and everyone is there. I hurredly setup my fryer because I, stupidly it seems, believe that everyone is waiting on my delicious fried turkey. Naturally, I was wrong. Again, that tell-tale snicker from the heavens.

I measure the oil, light the flame and of course, I'm short on oil. For those of you who are not from here, Flora is in the country. I don't mean "Liberty Land is right up the road" country, but "oh my God, what is that man doing to that poor animal" country. But John, erstwhile bud and Lynn's bro-in-law, offers to go get more.

In the two hours he's gone, I decide to go ahead and heat the oil I have in anticipation of his return with the goods. Of course, there is a huge spread already in place so I go in and out of the house, alternating between snacking on the yummy's and checking my oil temperature.

Back to my original thought: the flash point of peanut oil. For you groovy science type people, you'll remember that the flash point for peanut oil is around the happy temperature of 670° F. With too little oil, a 54,000 BTU burner and no wind, this apparently was obtained in very short order.

My last check of the oil presented me with a fire. In my pot. Of oil. In the country. All I could do was turn around, go back inside, help myself to more ham and let folks know that the turkey frying had been postponed. Right about that time, John showed up with the extra oil. Oh, goody.

Ever been presented with three gallons of burning oil? It's amazing how fast your brain shuts off. At least ten adults stood around this thing, thinking "How the hell do we put this out?" So, we did what any rational person would do: we tossed powdery things at it. Salt. Baking Powder. Someone suggested flour, but I thought that would just make a roux, and it would only make us want gumbo or something.

Someone came out with a fire extinguisher. As an aside, I'm always amazed at people who have these in their house. I don't think I'd ever remember to pick one up along with my Coco-Krispies and bagels. Anyway, we spray the thing. Fire gets bigger. And now stinks to no end. The Gods are laughing so hard they're crying. Bastards.

Finally, Matt (family member) suggests a lid. Damn him.

Lid goes on, fire goes out. But there's more to this story...but I'm out of time at the moment. More later.

Ode to Arkansas

Disclaimer: I never took the SAT; I only took the ACT. And on the ACT, everything was multiple choice and you used a #2 pencil and a scan-tron sheet. So for those of you who are as over-analytical as I can be, I don't know how true to form this may be (i.e. I can't imagine a standardized college entrance exam to be open-ended like this makes it appear), but just read it for the humor value. The names have been excluded, because they're stupid.

S.A.T. TEST QUESTIONS

The following questions and answers were actually collected from SAT tests given in Springdale, Arkansas in 2000 to 16-year-old students! (Don't laugh too hard----one of these kids may be the President someday.)

Q: Name the four seasons.
A: Salt, pepper, mustard and vinegar.

Q: Explain one of the processes by which water can be made safe to drink.
A: Flirtation makes water safe to drink because it removes large pollutants like grit, sand, dead sheep and canoeists.

Q: How is dew formed?
A: The sun shines down on the leaves and makes them perspire.

Q: What is a planet?
A: A body of earth surrounded by sky.

Q: In a democratic society, how important are elections?
A: Very important. Sex can only happen when a male gets an election.

Q: What are steroids?
A: Things for keeping carpets still on the stairs.

Q: What happens to your body as you age?
A: When you get old, so do your bowels and you get intercontinental.

Q: What happens to a boy when he reaches puberty?
A: He says good-bye to his boyhood and looks forward to his adultery.

Q: Name a major disease associated with cigarettes.
A: Premature death.

Q: How can you delay milk turning sour?
A: Keep it in the cow.

Q: How are the main parts of the body categorized? (E.g., abdomen.) A: The body is consisted into three parts -- the brainium, the borax and the abdominal cavity. The brainium contains the brain, the borax contains the heart and lungs, and the abdominal cavity contains the five bowels, A, E, I, O, and U.

Q: What is the Fibula?
A: A small lie.

Q: What does "varicose" mean?
A: Nearby.

Q: What is the most common form of birth control?
A: Most people prevent contraception by wearing a condominium.

Q: Give the meaning of the term "Caesarian Section."
A: The caesarian section is a district in Rome.

Q: What is a seizure?
A: A Roman emperor.

Q: What is a terminal illness?
A: When you are sick at the airport.

Q: Give an example of a fungus. What is a characteristic feature?
A: Mushrooms. They always grow in damp places and so they look like umbrellas.

Q: What does the word "benign" mean?
A: Benign is what you will be after you be eight.

Q: What is a turbine?
A: Something an Arab wears on his head.

Q: What is a Hindu?
A: It lays eggs.