ANYTOWN, GA – Local man Kyle Davis can breath easy after narrowly avoiding a “chick flick” his girlfriend wanted the two of them to watch this past weekend.

Davis, 28, was hoping to spend a relaxing evening with his girlfriend Laura Childress, 23, by renting an action-comedy at the local video store. His plans were quickly put into jeopardy when Childress suggested they rent the insanely-awful Failure to Launch.

“My life flashed before my eyes when she said that,” Davis remarked. “My friend Mitch warned me about it. ‘Worse than Titanic and Beaches combined’ he told me.”

Ultimately, the two compromised and rented 1988’s Willow, a movie featuring a shirtless Val Kilmer for Childress and a midget who fights trolls for Davis.

I am not going to see The Da Vinci Code. My reasoning has nothing to do with the completely ridiculous plot or the fact it’s as sacrilegious as a Madonna music video directed by Rob Zombie.

No, my boycott stems from the flack Tom Hanks’ hairdo is receiving from critics and fans.

His hair in this movie is awesome. To sit in a movie theater and have to endure the taunts audience members will undoubtedly throw at it will be too much for me to bare. You see, I have had a hairdo similar to this one in my lifetime. When critics hurl insults at Tom’s hair, they are hurling insults at me. Tom might be too nice of a guy to defend himself, but I would have no problem slapping people around at a movie theatre if they messed with “the do.”

Why is this hairdo catching so much flack anyway? It’s not like Tom hasn’t sported some questionable haircuts in the past.

Remember Forrest Gump? Not once in that entire movie did someone walk up to Forrest and say, “what is up with your hair, dude?” Isn’t that the logical question to ask someone with that hair when they are offering you a piece of chocolate?

What about his hair in Big? Wasn’t that weird, curly thing he had going on in the front just begging to be mocked?

And what about his movie Joe Versus the Volcano? The man had a curly mullet in that film. A curly mullet!

And don’t even get me started on Castaway. Being stranded on a island is no excuse not to comb your hair. Gilligan was stranded on an island and his hairdo was glorious.

I seem to have gotten off track…

Summary

Rating: 5 Mullets (out of 5)

The Good: Tom’s hair looks magnificent in the previews. Gilligan had wonderful hair. Slapping people can be fun. Free chocolate from strangers is great.

The Bad: People mock what they don’t understand. Curly mullets aren’t becoming. Not making yourself presentable when stranded on an island is just plain lazy.

Final Thought: Don’t mess with “the do.”

The Olive Garden is to Italian Food as 10 Things I Hate About You is to William Shakespeare. – Me

I do not remember the above being on my SAT (possibly because I took the SAT before the movie was released), but if it had been on it I’m certain I would have gotten it right.

My mom, Lauren and I went to The Olive Garden in Macon last night. They both seemed to enjoy their food. I, on the other hand, wanted to set the place on fire and roast marshmellows over the open flames as I danced in my snake skin cowboy boots and sang “la la la.”

The chef who made the spaghetti with meat sauce I ordered should be tarred and feathered. He should be forced to make a blueberry pie and then throw it in his own face. He should be forced to rent Gigli, In the Army Now, and Glitter from Blockbuster. He should be forced to watch me dance in my snake skin cowboy boots as I sing “la la la.”

Until last night, I had never in my life asked a waitress to take back my food. When I order a steak, I ask it to be cooked medium-well. If a waitress brings me back a medium, I suck it up and eat it like a trooper. Inconveniencing a hard-working waitress is just something I do not do. But last night…

I descibed the sauce to Lauren and my mom as an unholy mixture of ketchup and oregano. But in hindsight, my saying that is a disservice to ketchup, oregano, and all things unholy.

If science worked as quickly and efficiently as the DMV, the Hair Club for Men president would still be bald. Also, he’d probably be dead from a head cold.
- Me, silently to myself, this morning

Lauren finally has her Georgia driver’s license, but not without us both having to endure the infected toe nail of the galaxy, the DMV, for 45 minutes.

The DMV truly is a magical place. And by magical, I mean mind-numbingly horrific. I look around at the people Lauren is in line with and I’m terrified by the thought that these people are about to be behind the wheels of thousand pound vehicles.

One man, who was wearing – I kid you not – a shower cap on his head, had to have the DMV worker explain to him three times that he could not get his license reinstated until he had paid his seven – count ‘em – seven tickets.

Another man, who was wearing overalls and hair down to shoulders, went to counter #5 when he had been told to go to counter #1. Upon being told of his mistake, I overheard the man say, “I always get them two mixed up.”

Allow that to soak in for a moment.

The next time you’re driving, make sure to periodically glance in your rear view mirror to see who’s behind you. If you see a man with a shower cap on his head or a guy with long hair and a “Lynard Skynard is #5″ sticker on his bumper, drive as fast as you can.

I am looking for a woman with a pouch like a kangaroo, so she can store my car keys and other nic-nacs. If I can’t find such a woman, I guess one with a purse will work, but I won’t be happy about it.

While I was going to graduate school, I taught high school computer for three years. During that time, I accumulated numerous amusing and/or mind-numbing stories. Here’s one of them.

Towards the end of one school year, I assigned an optional research paper for extra credit. Students did not have to do it, but if they chose to it could really help them. However, I did have a few ground rules:

1) The paper had to deal with technology.
2) I had to approve the paper’s topic.
3) The paper had to be turned in before the beginning of semester finals. Late papers would not be accepted.

Sounds pretty straightforward, right? Well, semester finals began and I received only a handful of papers. As was usually the case, students who did not really need the extra credit were the ones to do it. Funny how that is. Anyway, on the last day of finals (also the last day of the school year), I entered my classroom to find a paper had been slid under my door. It was an extra credit paper. It was also five days late.

A regular assignment turned in late, in most cases, would be accepted and points would be taken off the top. Since this was extra credit and I had announced on numerous occasions it could not be turned in late, I knew right away I wasn’t going to be rewarding any points for this paper. Still, out of respect for the supposed time put into writing it, I sat down to give it a read. I knew right away by the paper’s title it was going to be special:

“The History of Ronald McDonald and Hamburgers”

That’s right. In my hands was a four-page paper on McDonald’s hamburgers. It did not mention anything even remotely related to technology. It talked about Ronald McDonald…and hamburgers…and more Ronald McDonald.

When I saw the student who submitted what I could only assume was a love letter meant for Ronald McDonald (but was somehow given to me by mistake), I let him/her know it wasn’t going to earn any credit since it was turned in late. I gave no other reason; although, I was tempted to shout, “why did you write a paper on hamburgers for a computer class?!”

Later that day, after finals were over, students went home for the summer and teachers began preparing for post-planning; I received a phone call from the student’s father. He wanted to know why I had not accepted the research paper.

I tell him about the student’s knowing for several weeks about the submission deadline, but he asks for me to make an exception because his child really needs the extra points. I tell him about the student’s having to have their topic approved by me and that his child’s topic had not been approved. He asks that I overlook the fact his child never bothered to ask for approval and grade the paper as is. I tell him that even if I wanted to do those things I couldn’t because his child’s paper had absolutely nothing to do with computers or technology.

“What do you mean,” he asks. “What was (my daughter’s) paper about?”

“The paper was about hamburgers,” I tell him. “It was about Ronald McDonald and hamburgers.”

Long pause.

“Why did you write a paper on hamburgers for a computer class,” I hear the father ask his child.

An excellent question.

ATLANTA, GA – Desperate for relief pitching and in the midst of a five game losing streak, the Atlanta Braves have signed actor Charlie Sheen to a major league contract.

The star of Hot Shots! and Scary Movie 3, Sheen is no stranger to the game. As a boy, he played in Little League. As an adult, he participated in a Celebrity All-Star Game at Dodger Stadium in 1986. And in 1996, he took batting practice with the Seattle Mariners before a game. However, it was his work in three films – Major League, Major League II, and Eight Men Out – that caught the eye of the Braves.

“In those movies, Charlie proved he had a real talent for the game,” said Executive Vice President and General Manager John Schuerholz. “At one point in Major League, he was throwing 101 MPH. That’s what we need right now – someone who can come in and get strikeouts.”

“I like his gutsy attitude,” said Manager Bobby Cox. “In Major League II, when he intentionally walked that guy just so he could face the other team’s best hitter, I got goosebumps. He didn’t give a crap.”

The signing has not been without its critics. ESPN’s Peter Gammons called the move “the stupidest thing” he had ever heard. USA Today’s Bob Nightengale asked, “have the Braves lost their minds?” And The Sporting News’ Ken Rosenthal asked incredulously, “they do realize those were movies and he wasn’t really throwing that hard, right?!”

However, after fifteen years of unmatched success, the Braves feel they have earned the benefit of the doubt.

“There will always be critics,” said Schuerholz. “Frankly, I don’t understand how anyone could have seen Charlie Sheen in the those movies and yet question the wisdom in our signing him. What movies were they watching? The man was throwing freakin’ 101 MPH!”

Sheen, currently starring in CBS’s hit comedy Two and a Half Men, is excited about the opportunity. “To be honest, excited isn’t the right word. I’m shocked. I mean, I’m 40 years old. I’ve never played professional ball. I’m an actor. But, come on, how could I say no?”

Even with Sheen in the fold, Schuerholz is determined not to rest on his laurels.

“Our scouts tell us Kevin Costner is quite the athlete.”

Originally posted on June 6, 2006 at my Xanga.

While it originally debuted on my blog, I revised and later published this article at Associated Content on July 24, 2007. You can go read it here.

This was also republished, without my permission, by <name omitted so that I do not give the site any referrals>. The site does give me credit, way down at the end, but it did not ask for my permission and it posted the entire article rather than just a snippet. Boo <name omitted so that I do not give the site any referrals>. Boo.

Smokey is the son of the kitten I had when I lived away from home my first year in college. Smokey had a brother named “Bandit” and a sister named “Cannonball Run.” Yes, we had a Burt Reynolds’ movie theme going on. Both his mom and siblings have passed, but Smokey lives on.

He loves sleeping on top of my computer monitor. If there is ever something new in the house (a box from the Post Office, a new table, a bag out of place), Smokey immediately claims it as his own by sitting on it. If you bring a laptop to my house and set it down, Smokey will sit on it. It’s the law. Smokey’s Law.

Smokey’s an inside cat, but he’s always trying to escape to have what my mom describes as “an adventure.” While I freely admit Smokey is probably saving lives and fighting evil when he escapes, I still prefer for him to stay indoors where it’s safe. Let the cops catch the bad guys. You stay inside so I can scratch behind your ears.

Smokey Facts

He is 50% fur, 50% awesome.

Smokey’s like Garfield, but without all the attitude.

Smokey’s meow has the ability to heal – I once put a dead plant in front of him, and it came back to life. True story.

At birth, God offered Smokey the ability to fly, but he turned it down in favor of extra furriness.

If Smokey was President, Osama bin Laden would cower in fear and surrender.

If Smokey was in your college English class, he would ruin the curve for you.

The letters in Smokey’s name can be rearranged to spell “awesome” in 15 different languages. French is not one of them, but only because Smokey fails to recognize it as a legitimate language.

If Smokey was on the Titanic, Leonardo Dicaprio would still have died, but much sooner. Also, the iceberg would have been too scared to hit the ship.

I have heard people sometimes describe another person’s laugh as “infectious.” I’ve never given the expression much thought until this week when I overheard one co-worker, referring to another co-worker, say “(she) has an infectious laugh.” I assumed this meant the woman had the kind of sweet laugh that made others want to laugh, too. But then I heard the woman laugh.

Like “nails on a chalkboard” was the first thought that came to my mind. “Please, Lord, take me now” was my second thought. Imagine an annoying sound. Now multiply the annoyingness of the sound one trillion gabillion times. Now drop a 10 lb. weight on your foot. Now drink a glass of orange juice immediately after brushing your teeth. Now repeat. That is the pain I feel from hearing this woman’s laugh.

Her laugh immediately brought back memories of the teacher I had when I was younger who warned of hearing loss. “If you play your music too loud, you’ll be deaf someday.” Why oh why did I have to heed his warning? If I had not taken his advice to heart, I would not have to hear this woman’s laugh booming down the hall of my office day after day.

You know, I think the “infectious laugh” description was pretty accurate (though misleading). An infection is described as “the detrimental colonization of a host organism by a foreign species.” That sounds about right. Although, to avoid confusion, I think the phrase “infectious laugh” should be replaced with “a laugh that makes me pray for the sweet release of death.”

Thank the good Lord for Advil.

Denis was my dorm mate my freshman year in college. If you have ever met someone boring, stupid, and/or borderline psychotic, the person was very likely related to Denis in some way. Here’s one of our stories:

The first few weeks of my freshman semester in college, I would go see a movie whenever I was bored. We did not have a television and my dormmate’s idea of lively conversation was him saying “yes” when I asked him, “so you’re eating tuna again…that’s 32 days in a row isn’t it?”

As you can imagine, I went to the movies quite often.

One day after my classes, I came back to the dorm to get ready for baseball practice. Denis was sitting on the edge of his bed staring at the wall with a goofy grin on his face. In other words, he was doing what he did every afternoon.

As I was about to leave for practice, Denis looks up at me and asks, “are you going to another movie?”

My hand was reaching for the door knob as he said this, but it paused in mid air. Denis knew I played baseball and, at the time, I was wearing full baseball attire. I had baseball pants on. I was wearing a 3/4 length t-shirt. I had a baseball hat. I was wearing cleats. I was holding a baseball bag with a bat sticking out of it. Short of holding a sign around my neck that said “I am on my way to baseball practice”, I’m not sure it could have been more obvious where I was going.

“Yes,” I replied. “Yes I am.”

That night, I slept with my baseball bat next to me. Just in case.

By Every Bad Driver in the World

It’s almost as if other drivers on the road are there for the sole purpose of giving me a headache. Why, just the other day I was daydreaming at a stop sign. I couldn’t have been asleep more than ten seconds when the guy behind me starts honking his horn. The nerve. I’m a better and safer driver when I’m rested, but try telling that to Mr. “My Wife is Having a Baby.” The world doesn’t revolve around you, buddy.

Yesterday, I was behind someone going 50 in a 45 mph zone. Much, much too slow. Statistics show that the more time you spend driving, the more likely you are to be in an accident. So by driving faster, you get off the roads sooner. I don’t drive fast because I’m impatient, I drive fast because I’m worried for my safety. Mr. 50 MPH was endangering my life! With these facts in hand, can you really blame me for running him off the road?

A few weeks back, I was in the far-right lane of a four-lane highway. As I approached a mini van that had the audacity to drive the speed limit, I decided to get over into the far-left lane. To save time, I opted against using a turn signal. Also, rather than move over one lane at a time, I chose to move all the way over in one fell swoop. Sure, there were a few close calls, but I made it over in one piece. Anyway, a few seconds later my cell phone started ringing. Since I know it’s dangerous to drive and talk on the phone at the same time, I slowed down to 30 mph before answering. Next thing you know the car behind me starts honking his horn and flashing his lights. How does he expect me to drive, talk on the phone, change the radio station, and eat my sandwich all at the same time when he’s causing all that commotion? It’s distracting – not to mention rude.

It’s gotten to the point where I can pick out bad drivers almost immediately. I’ll be behind a car at a red light and I can tell by the back of the driver’s head that he or she is not going to go when it turns green. Sure enough, half a second after the light turns green the car is still motionless. I honk my horn, but do I get a thank you? Of course not.

Seriously, why am I the only person who knows how to drive?

Every few days, I get a phone call from the same number. I don’t answer, but I know who it is based on voice messages. Is it an ex wanting to win me back? No. A former student playing a practical joke? Nope. Jessica Alba? No, her number has a different area code. It’s Visa; specifically, the brain trust for the Visa account I closed several years ago. The back story:

A few months ago, I contacted this brain trust asking if my interest rate could be lowered. I got their credit card during my freshman year in college and the rate was very high. How high? A normal man would consider it high. A frugal man such as myself would consider the monthly interest on par with giving up his first-born son. Anyway, the brain trust tells me that they could not lower my interest rate because I had closed my account. If it was still open, they could lower it for me.

In short, they were trying to trick me into reopening my account. Thanks, but I closed the account for a reason. The one credit card I have now is plenty.

I explained to them that I could pay off the entire balance in the next few months with extra payments, but my preference would be to keep that money for a rainy day. If they lowered my interest to a modern, normal rate; I would continue to pay off my debt each month at a normal pace (edit: not true…I was going to double time my payments anyway) and they could continue to acquire money from me via interest. However, if they continued this “we cannot lower your rate because your account is closed” foolishness, I would pay off my entire debt ASAP and they would cease to earn money from me.

“Sorry,” they say. “We can’t lower it if the account is closed.”

I ask them if they were aware of the two options in front of them. If they do not lower my interest rate, I’ll wipe out the debt and they’ll get no more money. If they lower it, they’ll keep getting money each month. I thought about drawing them a diagram and faxing it, but I didn’t want to be rude.

Perhaps they thought I was bluffing or perhaps English wasn’t their first language, but they insisted there was nothing they could do. Now, they are calling me with an “exciting new opportunity.” What’s this exciting, new opportunity? Reopening my account with a lower interest rate.

Be still my beating heart.

I switched offices at work this week. I moved from an office that had a lot of traffic and noise (directly between two restrooms and 10 yards away from the kitchen) to an office tucked away where few travel. The peace and quiet was my reward for being such an outstanding employee.

However, there is something odd about my new office. There’s something unworldly afoot. I am directly under an air vent and a noise I can only describe as choo-choo train-ish rains down on me 24/7. The rational person that I am, I have come to the only logical conclusion available:

My office is being haunted by The Little Engine That Could.

You all remember The Little Engine That Could, right? “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can,” the little engine repeated to itself as it climbed a hill the larger engines could not. The optimistic, never-say-die train was capable of doing anything.

However, like many American heroes, the Little Engine felt the need to rebel (see Powers, Screech; Simpson, O.J.). He was tired of being looked up to, tired of all the accolades awarded him. He wanted to break free from the image he had been tied to for so long. Rather than make a sex tape or murder someone, the Little Engine decided to rebel in a much more subtle way. He decided to haunt my office.

Crazy you say? Fine. But I don’t want to hear any whining when he begins haunting one of you.