Well, I’m back from my Internet-less, four-day excursion. Did you guys miss me? I ask because I couldn’t help but notice my last post received only 17 comments while I was away. “I expect to see lots and lots of comments when I get back,” I wrote in that post. “Anything less than 50 comments will make me curl up into a ball and cry.”

Well, this is me crying. Is this what you wanted, people? Are you happy? Look at what you have done. No, this photo isn’t actually me. But I do believe it accurate portrays the sorrow I feel. My tears taste bitter (and, not surprisingly, slightly awesome).

Did all of you enjoy your long weekends? What did you do? Where did you go? More importantly, how did you handle the immense feelings of guilt I am sure you felt due to not leaving me fifty comments?

What did I do this weekend? Oh, I didn’t do much. I just traveled with some friends from church to Louisville, Kentucky.

It was a great trip with a lot of great stories to share. That is, assuming I had a worthy audience. But since I don’ …

Ah, who am I kidding? I can’t stay mad at you guys. You are all just too adorable. You’re like adorable lil’ kittens playing with adorable lil’ balls of adorable string.

So precious.

I think the story from the trip I shall share is the one that involves an apple, a girl, poison, and yours truly. If that’s not a great teaser line, I don’t know what is.

“The Poison Apple”

My friends and I were getting our luggage out of the trunk of our vehicle. Next to us, a SUV full of several 20-something females were doing the same.

I was doing what I do best: supervising my friends as they unpacked. “Don’t forget my bag,” I told them.

I’m really good at supervising.

Just then, one of the girls in the SUV next to us dropped a paper bag. I am standing ten yards away, and an apple from the bag begins to roll towards me. A former baseball player with excellent hand-eye coordination, I played a tricky hop and fielded the apple cleanly.

While walking the apple back to the group of girls, I inspected it. It had a single bite taken out of it. This warranted a comment of some kind on my part.

Now, I am usually humorless with complete strangers, but I’ll occasionally blindside someone with my dry wit. For example, later in the weekend, when a guy and and his girlfriend stopped my friends on the street and asked them if they had ever heard of the game hacky sack (she had never heard of it; he was trying to prove to her it existed), I chimed in with the following comment while my friends and the boyfriend were explaining the game:

(To the girl) “Hacky sack players really like it when you run into the middle of their game, grab their ball and run away.”

I’m pretty sure she knew I was joking. But in my head, I like to think she tried my tip later that day.

Anyway, I debated whether or not to make a reference to the apple being poisoned (apple + single bite = poison in numerous fairy tale stories). But as I was about to hand the apple back to the girl who dropped it, I decided to play it normal.

“Here is your apple,” I say. “It’s got a bite taken out of it. Do you want me to throw it away?”

The girl smiled and responded with something along the lines of, “Thanks. Oh yeah, it’s poisoned.”

Now, my response should have probably been, “marry me.” Any cute girl with that kind of quick wit should be proposed to on the spot.

But alas, I didn’t.

I also didn’t respond with, “that certainly would explain why the apple is burning my hand,” which was the first witty response to pop into my head.

Instead, I once again played it normal. I don’t even remember what I said — it was that unmemorable.

In short, I missed a golden opportunity. That very well could have been the future Mrs. Kevin Awesome.

Or it could have been a psychotic who actually poisons apples. But even so, she was cute.

Such a shame.

So what should I have said? Thoughts?

Partly because I am bored and mostly because I have writer’s block, I am starting a new Friday tradition here at SKOS. I’m calling it the Friday Four. Why Friday? Because today is Friday. Why four? Because it starts with the letter “F.” I am all about the alliteration.

For today’s Friday Four, I’ll ask four random questions and then answer them as seriously as I possibly can, which probably won’t be very serious at all.

One

Q: If you were stranded on a tropical island, what one item would you want with you?
A: After recently seeing Tom Hanks’ movie Castaway on TV, I would have to say a volleyball. Unless I completely missed it, the moral of the movie is all will be well if you have a trusted volleyball by your side.

Two

Q: On a first date, who should pay for dinner?
A: Call me old fashioned, but I think the guy should pay using money he stole from the girl’s purse when she got up to “powder her nose.” It’s just the gentlemanly thing to do.

Three

Q: Boxers or briefs?
A: Why not both at the same time? Oh sure, it looks funny. And yeah, it can make going to the restroom an adventure. But when you have a job that requires you to sit down eight hours a day, the extra cushioning is sweet.

Four

Q: Favorite tactic to woo someone of the opposite sex?
A: Calling them by the wrong name. It works like a charm. Sure, they might appear to be angry when you do this. But what they’re really thinking is, “this mysterious individual must be really important with a lot going on in his life.”

And there you have it. Insightful? Hardly. Funny? If you’ve been drinking, absolutely.

In the comments section below, leave your own answers. Your answers can be serious, funny or some unholy combination of the two. After today, I’ll be out of town with no Internet connection until late Tuesday, so I expect to see lots and lots of comments when I get back. Anything less than 50 comments will make me curl up into a ball and cry.

Seriously.

Idiots everywhere were shocked to hear that Todd Davis, the pitchman and CEO for fraud-prevention company LifeLock who has been daring criminals to steal his identity for over two years, has had his identity stolen. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the guy is now being sued.

Don’t know who the heck Todd Davis is? Sure you do.

Davis is the guy who was so certain LifeLock could protect your identity he began freely distributing his own Social Security Number to the entire world just to prove it. He’s given it out in newspaper ads, billboads and radio commercials. A television commercial, which features Davis broadcasting his SSN via a bullhorn in the middle of a city, has taken on cult-like status.

Well, as you would expect, there have been numerous attempts by unscrupulous individuals to use Davis’ SSN for their own evil deeds. All but one attempt to open a line of credit — by a Texas man who used Davis’ information to acquire $500 from an online payday loan operation — has failed. But it’s this one individual and the twenty plus driver’s licenses fraudulently obtained using Davis’ information that have him in hot water with certain LifeLock customers.

These revelations have given a certain dirty segment of our society an opening. Since LifeLock didn’t work for Davis, it must mean it doesn’t work at all. And so, it’s lawsuit time.

Putting aside my belief that LifeLock, freecreditreport.com and the like are semi-scams because they charge people money for things people can do on their own for free, I hate lawsuits like this one. Why? Because this class-action lawsuit isn’t being filed on behalf of LifeLock clients who have had their identities compromised. No, the lawsuit is being filed on behalf of individuals who felt they were “misled” by LifeLock.

Call me crazy, but unless you have had your identity compromised while using LifeLock’s service, you have no real reason to sue them. Suing because someone else has had their identity compromised while using LifeLock makes about as much sense as me suing the Ford Motor Company because some other Mustang owner had defective brakes on their vehicle.

Society has gotten so litigious it hurts my brain.

Have a 27-year-old son who drowned after climbing into a killer whale’s tank at SeaWorld Orlando? Sue the theme park for portraying the whale as huggable and human loving.

Tired of people mistaking you for Michael Jordan? Sue the former basketball player for emotional pain and suffering.

Did your son’s youth league baseball team have a bad season? Sue the coach for being incompetent.

Find out you’ve been paying $10 a month for a less-than-perfect service you could’ve done yourself for free if you had taken two minutes to research it? Sue the company providing the service for misleading you.

Sometimes in life, you should just admit defeat. You say LifeLock convinced you to give them money for a service you could’ve done yourself for free? You say their service doesn’t 100% protect you? You say their “$1 Million Guarantee” has so many disclaimers in the fine print that it’s essentially worthless? Well, sucks to be you. They got you. They got you good. Deal with it. Cancel the service. Take responsibility. Be glad you weren’t one of the ones to have their identities compromised. Move on with your life. And here’s a refreshing idea — don’t sue.

I wish I could sue people who file frivolous lawsuits.

I have superb culinary skills. It’s true. No, I’ve never received formal training. But I have watched The Food Channel for ten years. Thanks to it, my brain is packed with gold nuggets of culinary wisdom.

For example, did you know you shouldn’t add salt to water until it has come to a boil? The salt raises the boiling point of the water, so if you add salt at the beginning you have to wait longer for the water to boil.

Did you know that adding a little oil when you’re melting butter will keep the butter from burning? It’s true. I’ve ran experiments.

Did you know that Rachael Ray is pure, concentrated evil?

Pretty fascinating stuff, right?

For all the knowledge Alton Brown and the rest of the FoodTV crew have given me over the years, I must say all they really did was help me reach my untapped potential. These culinary skills have been inside me all along. It’s about time I began sharing them with all of you, my devoted reader(s).

First up is an oldie but goodie — the first thing I ever cooked for myself back when I was in junior high school: Ramen Noodles with Hot Dogs.

Now, I know what you’re thinking.

“That sounds absolutely delicious, Kevin. It can’t possibly taste as delicious as it sounds.”

You would be wrong, my friend. It DOES taste as delicious as it sounds.

Ramen Noodles with Hot Dogs

Ingredients:

1 Pack of Ramen Noodles (chicken or beef flavor)
1 Hot Dog

Directions:

You need to bring two cups of water to a boil. While this is happening, cut your hot dog into quarter-inch slices. Here is where it gets complicated. Once your water is boiling, add your noodles and diced hot dogs to the water. Don’t burn yourself. Set your timer for three minutes. You can add your chicken or beef seasoning now, or you can wait until later. Once the three minutes are over, your Ramen is ready. Eat the Ramen.

Once you’ve mastered these steps, you can spruce up the meal in all sorts of ways.

Like onion? You can add diced onion to the hot dog and noodles.

In the mood for something different? Well, skip the chicken or beef seasoning altogether and drain the water from your hot dog and noodles once cooked. Then add your favorite BBQ sauce.

Want more hot dogs? Add more. Want more noodles? Add a second or third pack.

If you really want to get crazy, add some black pepper to the Ramen.

Now, I know all of you are just dying to get a chance to make this meal at home. I don’t blame you. But I must warn you: a culinary treat such as this one is likely to spoil you.

You’ve been warned.

For better or worse, I view the world as one big chess board and my life as a semi-complicated game of chess. And as a chess player, it behooves me to always be looking three, four or five moves ahead. A byproduct of my viewing life as a game of chess is I tend to psychoanalyze people.

This way of thinking has both advantages and disadvantages.

For example, when I drive, I’m constantly anticipating possible acts of stupidity by my fellow drivers. By anticipating stupidity, I’m able to quickly react when an act of stupidity, inevitably, occurs. This “watch out for stupid” method of driving has helped keep me, knock on wood, safe.

However, on the flip side, this also partly explains why I am so bad with directions. Because I’m preoccupied with my fellow drivers, I’m not paying attention to things such as street names, landmarks or where the heck I’m going.

The latest example occurred this past weekend. I can’t tell if my psychoanalysis is an astute observation or the rambling thoughts of a madman. Maybe you all can give me some feedback.

For lunch on Saturday, I stopped by Wendy’s drive-thru. After giving my order, I drive up to the first window to pay.

Early 20s, female employee: “Nice car. That’ll be $8.62.”
Me: “Thanks.” (hands her my credit card)

Most guys — okay, every guy except me — would view the employee’s “nice car” comment one of three ways:

• “It was an idle comment that meant nothing.”
• “She must be a fan of Ford Mustangs.”
• “She digs me.”

How did I, Mr. Psychoanalysis, take the comment?

• “She is a gold digger.”
• “Get your food and run.”
• “Don’t look back.”

Look, I realize it is hypocritical to think negatively towards someone who has the audacity to like my car when the sole reason I bought the thing in the first place was because I liked it.

This is just how my brain works. I hear those two words — “nice car” — and I analyze them. Those words, spoken by a complete stranger, give insight into what she values: material possessions. It was her tell.

We all have tells. A poker player might let you know he’s bluffing by nervously tapping his finger. A crazy person might let you know he’s crazy by jumping up and down on your couch. And a gold digger might let you know she’s a gold digger by having “nice car” be one of the first thing she says you.

The problem, of course, is that in this instance there simply isn’t enough information for me to make this kind of snap judgment. If the girl wanted to say something to me, it’s not like she had a ton of options:

• “Nice…upper torso.”
• “So, you like hamburgers?”
• “I have a Visa card, too.”
• “What kind of conditioner do you use?”
• “Think it will rain tomorrow?”
• “What’s your sign?”
• “What’s your take on the subprime mortgage crisis?”

With the evidence at hand, I’ve decided to give the girl a break. She’s not a gold digger — she’s just someone who complimented a vehicle owned by someone who may or may not be insane.

I think the “why am I still single?” puzzle is slowly coming together.

The bird flu hit me hard. I’m not going to lie. It knocked me out of commission for almost three full days. But as I sat home yesterday, bored out of my mind after calling in sick to work, something dawned on me.

I’m better than this. A wimpy disease named “bird flu” cannot get the best of me. I’m Kevin.

So as I’ve done numerous times in my life, I decided to stop being sick. Instead, I decided to be awesome. And you know what? It worked. It always works.

When I was eight, everyone in my class at school got the chicken pox. I started to get it, too. But then I decided I didn’t want to get the chicken pox. And so I didn’t. I did, however, give them to my brother.

When I was eleven, I took a pretty hard hit during a football game. My coaches told me not to go to sleep just in case I had a mild concussion. “The heck with that,” I said to myself. “I’m tired.” And so I healed my brain by thinking happy, awesome thoughts. And then I took a nap. True story.

On numerous occasions during my life, I’ve cut my face while shaving. Miraculously, a few minutes later, the bleeding will stop. Methinks Vitamin K, which helps blood coagulation, was given its name as a homage to yours truly. In related news, methinks Vitamin C was given its name because “C” and “K” are so similar.

Back in my teaching days, I once lost my voice. Two days later, it came back. Some will tell you my throat simply got better with rest and that my awesomeness “had nothing to do with it.” These are the same people who will try to convince you there’s no such thing as Keebler elves or gorilla dust.

A big “thank you” to all who wished me well yesterday. Time seems to stand still when you’re home alone, sick and bored. Your comments brought me brief moments of joy and entertainment.

On a final note, I believe I now know why being in a relationship is better than being single. When you’re in a relationship and you’re at home, sick and bored, there is always someone there to put a new Scrubs disc into the DVD player when you’ve watched all the episodes on the current disc. When you’re single, you’ve got to get up and do it yourself.

Guys, be sure to remember that next Valentine’s Day.

Call me overly dramatic, but I think I’m dying. For only the second time in my adult life, I called in sick to work. Back from a week’s vacation in Florida, my brother brought back something with him. It might be the bird flu. Or maybe it’s that disease the monkey in the movie Outbreak had. Whatever it is, he brought it with him from Florida and gave it to me.

I’m worried whatever it is I have is something that’s never before been recorded in medical history. If that’s indeed the case, they could name “it” after me. This is bad. I don’t want a disease named after me. It’s only a notch or two above having Britney Spears name a kid after you.

The worst thing about being home sick is I am completely bored out of my mind.

Well, that and the dying.

Alex Rodriguez, the highest paid player in major league baseball, is a wimp. Or so newspapers all over the country this morning would have you believe. Apparently, when his wife was giving birth to their first born in 2004, Rodriguez fainted.

“The one nurse had a cold cloth on his head. The other nurse had the blood pressure on his arm. And my mother was like rubbing his back. And he is passed out on a couch. And I am there, in the middle of labor,” his wife, Cynthia Rodriguez, told the YES Network.

The shame does not end there. There’s more.

“And really, I am not being paid much attention to besides the doctor and a couple of nurses,” continued Cynthia Rodriguez. “And he is there moaning. In between pushing, I am going, ‘Honey, are you OK?’ and ‘Are you breathing? Are you OK?’”

And more.

“As tough and big as he seems, he is real wimpy around doctors or any type of medical situation. I don’t know why I thought the birth of our child would be different. In the middle of the night, I realized that I needed to go to the hospital. I wake him up. The first thing that comes out of his mouth, ‘Can we call your mother?’”

And, sadly, even more.

“The color came back to his face when I told him he could call my mom.”

For all his money and talent, Rodriguez is disliked by most fans outside New York. They say he is a phony. They say he “chokes” in pressure situations. They say he is greedy and doesn’t care about winning — his signing with the last place Texas Rangers in 2000 simply because they offered the most money is an often cited example.

And now, all because he passed out and moaned during the birth of his first born, they say he is a wimp.

Won’t you people leave the guy alone?

So what if he passed out while his wife was giving birth. Maybe he was sleepy. Did you ever consider that?

So what if he stays up until 3 AM every Friday night to watch Steel Magnolias and cry his eyes out. It would take a rock not to cry at that movie.

So what if he exfoliates his entire body twice a week. Some ladies like a guy who has softer skin than they do.

So what if he carries around a purse. It can hold all of his essentials. Besides, you try fitting eyeliner in a man’s wallet. It isn’t easy.

So what if he has A-Teen’s Dancing Queen on his iPod. The song is catchy.

You want to call A-Rod a wimp? Fine. Do whatever you like. I, for one, will not take part in such hurtful slander.

Alex Rodriguez is not a wimp. He is sensitive.

Also, he’s possibly a woman.

Last week, a man by the name of Charles Ray Fuller was arrested for attempting to cash a $360 BILLION check. Here are the moronic details of the story in all of their idiotic glory:

• The 21-year-old North Texas man was arrested last week for trying to cash a $360 billion check.
• Fuller said his girlfriend’s mother gave him the check to start a record business, but bank employees who contacted the account’s owner said the woman told them she did not give him permission to take or cash the check.
• In addition to forgery, Fuller was charged with unlawfully carrying a weapon and possessing marijuana.

As is usually the case, what jumped out at me in this story was something that will likely go unnoticed by most people who read it.

This guy has a girlfriend?!

I don’t want to go off on a rant here, but I have been single for roughly 13 months. I am good at being single, but I admit there are elements of being in a relationship I miss. For example, having someone navigate while I drive so I don’t get lost is something I enjoy very much. I’m sure there are other elements I enjoy, but that’s the only one that jumps to mind at the moment.

How is it that Charles Ray Fuller has a girlfriend and I do not?

I am educated and moderately intelligent. Mr. Fuller, based on the evidence at hand, is a moron.

My handwriting is exquisite. Mr. Fuller, based on the scanned image of his forged check, has very poor penmanship.

Mr. Fuller goes by his full name — middle name included. This tends to express a “redneck” vibe. I, on the other hand, use my middle initial. It’s classier.

I have a moderately good sense of humor. The funniest thing Mr. Fuller has ever done, based on the evidence at hand, is try to cash a $360 billion check. Granted, that is funny. But is it “ha ha” funny?

Mr. Fuller was unlawfully carrying a weapon. I have never unlawfully carried a weapon, unless you count these two fists of fury attached to the ends of my wrists.

The natural nickname for “Kevin” (my first name) is “Kev,” which is very cool. The natural nickname for “Charles” is “Chuck,” which sounds similar to “chunks,” which is another way to say “vomit.” Not cool.

I just don’t get it.

Maybe Mr. Fuller looks like a male model? (Update: So much for that possibility. See mugshot to the left. He does have that Renee Zellweger eye thing down pat, though.)

Or maybe, since he is obviously a dishonest thief, Mr. Fuller has that “bad guy” thing going for him? Yes, that must be it. Girls like bad guys. I’m just too nice of a guy. I must do something to change that…

Excuse me, ladies. I need to go cash a check.

How many zeros are in $360 trillion?

The following is one of four guest articles I wrote on April Fools Day for the awesome Free Money Finance website. Of the four, this one was my personal favorite. And so, on its one month (and one day) anniversary, I will republish it here so that those of you who were too lazy to go to Free Money Finance to read it may enjoy its wicked awesome goodness.

On the heels of his plan to freeze interest rates on subprime mortgages for responsible homeowners who simply needed a helping hand, President Bush announced today he is ready to shift his attention to assisting the “stupid, irresponsible homeowners who knowingly bought houses they couldn’t possibly afford at variable interest rates only a slow-witted monkey would accept.”

If put into law, the plan, tentatively titled Operation: I’m With Stupid, would assign a government agent to every homeowner who fits the above criteria. The agent would assist the homeowner with cutting their food, walking their children to school, dressing them for work each day and other remedial tasks that are likely too much for the homeowner to handle alone.

“These people obviously need our help in areas beyond their ridiculous home mortgages,” Bush told reporters.

“How are they getting to work each day? Are they driving themselves? That’s a scary thought. And who buys their groceries? Who helps them calculate tips at restaurants? Who stops them from running around in open fields with aluminum baseball bats in the middle of lightning storms?”

The plan is not without its critics.

“Why are our tax dollars being spent helping these people,” asked Omaha resident and homeowner Shelly Anderson. “They got themselves into this subprime mortgage mess. They should have to pay the consequences.”

Delaware resident and homeowner Clive Johnson agreed.

“The government shouldn’t reward those who make bad choices. It penalizes those of us who have done things the right, smart way.”

When informed this plan would, among other things, prevent these homeowners from driving, holding up lines at grocery stores, malls and banks, and reproducing, Anderson and Johnson changed their tunes.

“This is the best idea I have ever heard,” remarked Anderson. “You have restored my faith in the government,” replied Johnson.

To those who believe this plan is simply a band-aid approach to a much larger issue, Bush sympathizes.

“Look, if it were possible to round up all these people, put them in a rocket and send them to the moon, we’d do it. Unfortunately, NASA hasn’t invented a rocket big enough. This is the next best option.

“We can’t make these people any smarter, but we can have a government agent watching their every move. If they try to stick a fork in an electric socket, our agent will be there to stop them. If they try to rent a Paris Hilton movie at the video store, our agent will be there to take the movie out of their hands.

“And if they try to buy another home with a variable-rate mortgage that would comprise over 80% of their gross salary, our agent will be there with a rolled-up newspaper to hit them over the head and firmly say, ‘NO.’”

Enjoyed it, didn’t you? Well, why not check out the other articles I wrote for Free Money Finance on April Fools Day? There was How to Sell Your Home in Any Market? Be Aloof, a gem that teaches you the proper way to sell a home. There was John Bogle Punks World, Admits Index Funds Aren’t Real, a look at how Vanguard founder and notorious prankster John Bogle played a practical joke on the entire world. And my second favorite, Planning for Retirement in a Post-Apocalyptic World, which needs no explanation.