Safety First

In order to be more healthy, I've decided to start taking the stairs at work instead of the elevator. This isn't some rinky-dink commitment, either, like getting a colonic before the Oscars. I work on the eighth floor, so when I go upstairs there are a lot of them for me to climb.

I've also started eating healthy lunches. For example, today I had a ham sandwich, an orange, some potatoes, and a bottle of water: nothing but health food for me. Okay, it is true that the potatoes were fried and salted, the ham sandwich was a foot long and covered in mayonnaise, and the orange had chocolate on it, but it was healthier than my usual lunch eating spoonfuls of sugared lard out of the container.

After I was finished, I decided I wanted a chocolate waffle. So I grabbed some change out of my desk and headed down the stairs. Since I didn't know how much the waffles cost, I decided to grab 1.50, which was a fifty-cent piece, two twenty-cent pieces, and six ten-cent pieces.

For reasons not entirely clear to me, I decided to toss the handful of coins up in the air and catch it as I walked out into the stairwell. I caught eight coins, but the ninth (a ten-cent piece) got away from me and went "Ching!" on the stairs and bounced up into the air.

Plonk! It hit the handrail and went vertically.

Whack! It hit the wall on the other side, and then in a totally improbable bounce it ricocheted off the stairs again. I couldn’t have done it if I wanted to. So now the coin was on the landing for the 7th, and I was on the 8th.

Ching! Plong! Whack! It ricocheted again, dropping another flight of stairs, and was on the 6th. I couldn't see it any more, but I could hear it echoing through the stairwell.

Ching! Plonk! Whack! Fifth floor.

Ching! Plonk! Whack! Fourth floor.

Ching! Plonk! Whack! Third floor.

Ching! Plonk! Sploink!

"OW! Dammit, my eye!"

That didn't sound good. I waited a moment and heard no more coin bouncing, but I did hear a great deal of cursing from the bottom step.

"Hey, asshole, you just hit me in the face!"

I held my breath, saying nothing. I didn't recognize the voice, but it was one of those voices that sounded like it might be coming from somebody with hairy knuckles. And statistics show that hairy-knuckled people are both prone to violence and typically bigger than you are, probably because they're more closely related to gorillas.

"That's it, fucker, I'm gonna come up there and kick your ass!" the hairy-knuckled, overreacting, angry man said.

I heard heavy treads on the steps far below, which is no mean feat since they're made of concrete. This was definitely somebody I didn't wanna meet in the stairwell.

"There's no way you could make it all the way up ten flights of stairs!" I used the huskiest voice I could muster up to try to sound tough.

He continued to climb. "Bastard! You're gonna be shitting shoe leather for a week!"

That really didn't sound good. "Yeah? Well, you'll be making change from your eyeballs!"

And I threw the entire handful of coins down the stairwell, trusting in luck that at least one would hit its mark. Preferably the fifty-cent piece, since it was the biggest.

Ching-ching-ching-ching-ching-ching-ching-ching! Plonk-plonk- plonk- plonk- plonk- plonk- plonk- plonk! Whack-whack- whack- whack- whack- whack- whack- whack!

And so on and so forth, until around floor four I heard the sound I'd been waiting for:

SPLOINKSPLOINKSPLOINKSPLOINKSPLOINKSPLOINKSPLOINKSPLOINK!

Followed quickly by "Son of a biiiiiiiiiiitch!"

CRASH! BANG! POW!

Then silence for a few seconds, followed by an ominous groaning.

I decided I didn't need a chocolate waffle after all and went back to my office.

And I also decided to go back to eating sugared lard.

Clinton Simply Following Obama Pattern?

New York's Junior Senator Hillary Clinton may have ended her 2008 presidential campaign last night by encouraging her supporters to acclaim Barack Obama the nominee, but make no mistake: she's following a template forged by the master politician himself.

"Think back to the 2004 convention, when the Democrats nominated their weakest candidate in a half-century," said a source at Politico. "Who delivered an electrifying address that catapulted him onto the national stage? An unknown Illinois politician with thin credentials and a far-left background named Barack Obama, that's who. Is there any reason to think that 2012 won't see history repeat itself?"

Though many were sad to see the end of what has been called "Donna Reed meets Cinderella meets Mr. Smith goes to Washington", Clinton Supporter Evelyn Millbanks put the loss into perspective. "Four more years of seasoning and accomplishments will definitely put her on the short list for 2012. After all, a dream deferred is still a dream, right?"

Pundits said that, while few rated her chances late last year, her campaign success has opened eyes to just how far a woman can go. "To come this far, and almost grab the brass ring, really shows you how far this country's advanced," said one commenter. "There's no shame to losing out to two political heavyweights like Barack Obama and Joe Biden, that's for sure. She can be proud of what she did."

These Things I Believe

It's platform season, so I thought I'd supply a list of things that I believe, because one of the things I believe is that people who believe differently from me are wrong.

And I'm not afraid to say that.

1) I believe that stupidity is both hereditary and catching, so if you have stupid parents or consort with lots of stupid people, it's almost certain that you'll be stupid, too.

2) I believe that when my wife painted my son's fingernails last week, that was wrong, and if we were to divorce that should be grounds for me getting custody of the children.

3) I believe that paper clips should only be stored in a small bowl, and never in one of those mock-guillotine-radiation chambers so you have to stick your finger down in there and worry about getting erectile dysfunction.

4) I believe that the government shouldn't subsidize art or sports, except for the activities I enjoy, like football and musical theater.

5) On the subject of governance, I further believe my taxes should be lower, but that your taxes should be higher.

6) I believe most art is crap and artists are stupid, which can be proven by listening to them explain their crappy art using stupid, meaningless phrases. I think this correlates to my first belief.

7) I believe caring people don't let their loved ones get degrees in sociology.

8) I believe that it should be legal to wedgie people who use Latin phrases in arguments.

9) I believe the plural of platypus should be platypi, because platypuses looks like the name of an STD that you hope your girlfriend doesn't have.

10) Also on the subject of language, I believe the plural of moose should be meese.

11) I believe that when you discover that everyone else thinks you're wrong, you should suspect a global conspiracy to hide the truth. Anything else would be irrational.

12) I believe that monkeys in the zoo should be required to wear pants, because they make you look bad in front of your date, and their libertarian nudism and wanton scratching is further demoralizing to those of us who chafe within our Dockers on a hot summer day.

13) I believe that we should set aside a Hawaiian island and allow people to hunt criminals who have received the death penalty, and film it, and then we'd have a hit show on our hands.

14) I believe we were wrong, as a people, to stop putting ne'er do wells in the stocks in the town square and pelting them with garbage. We were also wrong to stop wearing the great big black hats with gold buckles on them. We were not wrong to do away with the dresses that went from chin to ankle, though, because ta-tas are meant to be enjoyed, not bundled away like flatulent relatives when visitors come over.

15) I believe that you can't buy love, but you can buy hair and vodka, which should get you pretty close.

16) I believe that if you work hard, stay out of trouble, pay close attention to your investment portfolio, and treat people right, you'll end up paying far more taxes than the slovenly drunkard who has repeat appearances on 'Cops' for beating up total strangers, and in the end you'll both be dead and he'll have been on TV a lot more than you will have, unless you do something crazy like die in some seedy motel room while having a sexual tryst with a B-list celebrity.

17) I believe it's impossible for us to say which person in the preceding statement led the fuller life without knowing which B-list celebrity it was.

18) Speaking of has-been celebrities, I believe the biggest problem with shows like Dancing with the Stars is that it leads people to believe that would-be porn stars like Kim Kardashian are stars, whereas they are in fact skanks.

19) I believe you've spent more time reading this list than was probably justifiable.

20) I believe that kids these days are wrong, and it was better in my day. I didn't use to believe that, but then I turned 30.

Grammar Not Included

This is a pathetic statement:

Sea ice is the primary habitat of polar bears. They depend on it to hunt their primary prey, ringed seals, which create lairs on ice for breeding maintain breathing holes with powerful claws.

Not because I feel bad for the drowning white agents of icy death, but because it makes no sense whatsoever. Try reading the damn thing a second time! Who's maintaining breathing holes with their powerful claws? The bears? The seals? The Leviathan waiting to be released by Gaea to destroy us all for our crimes against Earth?

Sheesh. And I still labor to get over 20 hits a day. I must really suck.

First National Bank of Love

It's not on accident that I have been married for fifteen years. For most of those years I was married on purpose. And fifteen years is a long time, especially once you consider that the average celebrity is only married long enough to cheat at their reception.

Friends sometimes ask me what it takes to stay married for so long. Or at least, they would if I had friends. But I don't have friends, which is one of the secrets of staying married for a long, long time.

I'm kidding. If you're a man, then the real secret to staying married for a long time is realizing that your marriage is like a bank. It works like this:

When you get start dating someone, you open a "Love Account" with them. From then on, everything that you do is either a deposit or a withdrawal from this account.

Surprise her with flowers? Deposit. Run over her dog in the driveway? Withdrawal.

Take her to a chick flick? Deposit. Get caught opening an account in another branch? Big withdrawal, both from this account and possibly from the blood bank.

And so on and so forth.

If at some point you bounce a check (by, say, sleeping with her best friend and her sister in the same night) then the relationship is over, and your account is closed without further penalty, except perhaps her making disparaging comments about your male adequacy to everyone that you know.

This problem can be easily solved through relocation.

On the other hand, if you build up a large enough account at a particular branch, you can purchase a Diamond-Backed CD. Every CD is unique because they have various rates of return, depending on the branch, and their lifespan is not fixed. But some points are common to all Diamond-Backed CD.

Your branch will, on some routine basis, credit your account. Rates and periods vary by branch, but you can generally figure out the rate and frequency of return before purchasing your CD if you pay close enough attention.

With this periodic payment, you can begin to make routine withdrawals without worrying about zeroing out your balance, such as adopting the habit of sitting around in the living room every Sunday afternoon in your underwear watching Baywatch and scratching yourself with the remote.

Remember, though, the principle of deposits and withdrawals still holds. Only now if you bounce a check it's a big deal, and will end up costing you massive bank fees and penalties (generally half of what you have, plus a monthly fee until you die).

It's also worth noting that the exchange rate from when you first opened the account has changed. Things that were valuable before are worth less after purchase, and what was worthless before may now be highly valuable. The exchange rates will not be posted, nor can you find them online.

For instance, let's look at flowers. When you first open your account, buying flowers is a big deposit, like when you used to find five bucks in college and knew that tonight you'd eat something other than uncooked Ramen noodles.

Once you've bought a Diamond-Backed CD, buying flowers represents a much smaller deposit. It moves the account up some, true, but it's not going to buy you much more than an evening in a bar with your friends. If you want to go to a strip club, or if your friends are women, you'll have to either make a bigger deposit or accept that your balance will drop.

Luckily, new revenue opportunities do arrive when you purchase the Diamond-Backed CD. You can make a deposit by, for example, scrubbing the toilets or changing the baby. You will also receive a substantial insurance payment if you receive a spider-related injury. Before, these opportunities didn't exist.

Unfortunately, most branches do not offer a routine statement of account beyond giving you general signs of your fiscal well-being, such as slapping you every time you touch them when your balance has almost dropped to zero. Investors are advised to carefully monitor their branch for signs that their account is critically low before making any serious withdrawals, such as buying a sportscar with their children's college funds.

What most men do not realize, though, is that the Diamond-Backed CD also offer rewards for maintaining a high balance (some branch offices do not offer this, which is why many men choose to sell their Diamond-Backed CD at a loss of half their net assets in order to open a CD at a more appealing branch). These rewards far surpass a mere 1% cash back on travel to the continental 48 states on weekdays in the winter.

Your branch may give you such exciting gifts as a free pass on forgetting things, control over the TV remote, private modeling of lingerie, and a wide variety of sexual diversions delivered to the privacy of your own home (or office) in a completely legal and cost-free fashion.

How's that for fringe benefits?

Democratic VP Candidate Shocks Nation!

[Until we have a democratic VP candidate, I'm running one of these each day.]

Registrants on the Obama Warning System have just received the following text message, shocking supporters and opponents alike:

"VP: Ashton Kutcher!"

"It's a perfect choice," said an Obama strategist. "We need somebody who makes Obama look coherent without a teleprompter, and Ashton can certainly fit this need. Plus, he helps us shore up the youth vote, becuase kids love a good Ashton Kutcher romp."

Movie critics look forward to the convention video, which will doubtless be titled Dude, where's my bounce?

Democratic VP Candidate Shocks Nation!

[Until we have a democratic VP candidate, I'm running one of these each day.]

Registrants on the Obama Warning System have just received the following text message, shocking supporters and opponents alike:

"VP: Scarlett Johansson!"

Reporters swooned over what was quickly dubbed "the most beautiful ticket in generations" and "a match more perfect than Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers."

"They'll dance their way out of the convention and into our hearts," said a hard-bitten, cynical, New York Times reporter. "Finally someone has come to sweep away the cobwebs of bitterness and replace them with sunshiney rays of wholesome happiness."

A feeling of euphoria spread over the land, resulting in a major poll bounce for Obama, bringing him within 4 points of John McCain, or just outside what might be considered within the margin of error for the poll.

I Turned Over My Testicles, Too

The other night I was playing a video game with my children. We were all having a lot of fun: it’s a cute little game where you have a little farm and you run around doing stuff like growing vegetables and whatnot. Well, you can also go fishing.

Since I’m all about fun, I went fishing. I spent the equivalent of twenty days in the game fishing. All my crops died. All my animals wandered off. My barn burned down. I lost everything except my shanty, which is how I understand that all farms turn out anyways.

What did I have to show for it? One fish, that I caught on my very first try. Every other attempt I caught nothing. Zilch. Squat.

So along comes Wifey, who plays a lot of video games, if you count the self-checkout aisle in the grocery store. Without that, not so much. She did play Galaga back in the day, but after that she stopped.

The phone rings, and I handed her the controls. “Here,” I said. “You can go not catch fish if you want.”

You know the rest of the story: she caught sixteen fish in ten minutes. It’s like they’re mesmerized by her tits or something and they just can’t help but jump up on the bank with her. Sure, I feel the same way, but damn! At least let me have a shred of pride here, all right?

So I came back from the phone and took the controls away from her, wrestling them out of her hands. “Now that the game has fixed itself, I’m sure I can catch fish!” I declared.

“No you can’t,” said the girl. “It’s mommy’s speciality.”

“Yeah, dad, you suck,” said the boy. “You’re too much of a dork to catch fish.”

An hour later, I hadn’t caught anything. Hell, she’d even caught a pair of boots. Me? Nothing.

I would like to officially note that this cheeses me off.

So I took the children outside to jump on the trampoline, leaving her to angle alone. Hey, it’s not like she doesn’t make me do lots of stuff by myself, too.

We were bouncing, having a grand old time. I was watching the kids do flips and drops and stuff, and I had the worst idea ever for an out-of-shape over-thirty guy on a trampoline with his kids.

“Hey, watch this!” I said. “I’m gonna drop on my butt, then spring back up on my feet!”

“Do it!” said the girl.

“Yeah, do it!” said the boy. “Can I sleep on your side of the bed with mommy after you kill yourself?”

“Oh, ye of little faith!” I said. “Watch me!”

“Make sure you keep your hands behind you,” said the boy.

Listen, I’m not going to trust little Oedipus on anything, so I just scoffed at him. “I don’t need your help!”

I got up a good bounce, about four feet in the air, and then I pulled my legs up and prepared to triumphantly spring back onto my feet.

Only, I got twisted a little: after my butt hit the trampoline, I began to rotate backwards, and soon I was headed back towards the ground head-first. So I did what any normal person would do: I yelled a swear word and panicked.

I landed head first, wrenching my neck, and I got my feet tangled up in the net. I ended up hanging there for a few seconds as the children paddled my butt and yelled “bad daddy!” because we’re not supposed to touch the net when we bounce.

Finally, I extricated myself and crawled inside.

“I think I’m crippled!” I said. “Help me!”

“Just a minute,” said Wifey. “I’m pulling in my sixty-eighth fish!”

If I wasn't so afraid of her, I'd call her a dirty name right now.

Things Your Coworkers Don't Want to Hear

Most coworkers exist in a different place in your life than your family and friends. They're acquaintances, but not particularly close. After all, the only reason that you and they are together is mere happenstance and not any particular desire to spend time with one another.

Some coworkers, though, don't really understand this and will often transgress the bounds of propriety. Below is a list of things that I think every coworker should understand are just not typically acceptable.

"Can you look at this rash/mark/mole/lesion?"
Unless your colleague is a doctor, don't go to them for medical advice. If it can't be pulled off with a staple remover, odds are that they won't know how to help you. An extreme no-go is anything you have to disrobe to show to somebody. Remember: whatever ugly thing is growing on you will be discussed around the coffee machine for the rest of your career.

"Let me tell you about my children…"
There's a chance that your coworkers want to hear about your children. It's about 0.5%. If they're curious, they'll ask. Otherwise shut your pie-hole.

"I'm leaving early to go to the hospital for an operation."
This only counts if nobody knows why the hell you're going, and you don't tell anybody anything other than this. It's a big gray area: do we ask what you're having done? Is that too intrusive? Does the fact that you told us mean that you want us to ask? Thanks for ruining my whole day worrying about the appropriate response to your potentially grave health problem that might actually be getting botox injected into your ass.

"This girl was so freaky!"
As impressive as your sexual conquests are, remember that you're at work, not in the gym locker room. Keep your speech appropriate for the occasion. By all means, blow off some steam with your male colleagues by regaling them with your freaky girlfriend stories. Just do it outside work hours. And remember that nobody likes a braggart, so even if it's true you might want to soft-peddle it just a tad.

Anything that involves crying
When a woman cries in your office, and nobody died, you really don't have any idea what to do. Run away? Hug her? Kill yourself? Even worse is when a man does. Call me an overmasculine creep if you will, but it's all I can do not to say "man up and stop your bawling, dude."

"I'm having trouble at home…"
Good, keep it there. Unless your homicidal husband is on the way to the office with a gun right now, I don't want to hear about it. My wife bitched me out over the way I do dishes last night, but I'm not dumping that in your lap. This is a double no-no because it always ends in tears.

"You look so sexy. If I wasn't married/dating/working with you/whatever…"
It doesn't matter how true it is, how innocently it's said, what the reason is, or anything else. It's creepy. It's super-creepy if she works for you or is a lower level than you. As Confucius so wisely said, "Never stick your dick in the cash drawer."

"It's that time of the month…"
LALALALALALALALA! I can't heeeeeeeaaaaaarrrr you! Here's a quick tip for women: the only time a guy cares about your monthly cycle is when he wants to have sex with you and this information is pertinent to your availability. Otherwise, we don't wanna know. It's not like I'm jogging across the hall to tell you that my balls itch really bad this morning. Show some consideration, okay? Please? For the love of God, think of the children!

Democratic VP Candidate Shocks Nation!

[Until we have a democratic VP candidate, I'm running one of these each day.]

Registrants on the Obama Warning System have just received the following text message, shocking supporters and opponents alike:

"Prez: Hillary, VP: Obama!"

Hillary Clinton quickly swooped to make it official, declaring that "I am pleased to have finally taken the proper position atop the ticket, where I so truly belong. The democratic party is now unified, and any attempt to modify this arrangement should lead to riots and bloodshed that will destroy the tattered remnants of this once-grand political mainstay."

For his part, Obama calmly accepted his demotion to vice president. "It's where I belong, really," he beatifically told supporters. "I just got outmaneuvered, again, by somebody who spent eight years worrying about keeping the Israeli and the Saudi Arabian delegates seated at separate tables. Do you really want me as your president?"

John McCain, out of great respect for Hillary Clinton, announced that he plans to withdraw from the race. "I said it'd be the politest race in history, and what is more polite than a gentleman stepping aside for a lady?"

In related news, John Edwards mentioned that his wife still has cancer and that, for her sake, he should be considered a viable candidate for an important post in the Clinton-Obama cabinet.