Category Archives: Blog

“The Blog.” Musings and meandering thoughts on whatever strikes me as amusing or interesting at a particular moment. There is no rhyme or reason to the posts you will find here. Trust me.

First Rachael Ray, Now This

As many of you may be aware, I am a fan of Alton Brown’s show on the Food Network, “Good Eats.” The man is a genius, really. If you combined his wit and knack for all things food with Giada DeLaurentiis’ looks, you would have a child that could potentially take over the world.

The other night, however, I was struggling with my usual insomnia and, after the late-night Good Eats re-run concluded, “Unwrapped” with Marc Summers came on. For those of you who don’t know, this show covers all the behind-the-scenes info on popular American foods, from the origins of French’s Classic Yellow Mustard to what’s really in Marshmallow Fluff (which we all know is nothing but clouds and cyanide).

Normally, this show is relatively entertaining. If you ever want to know the reasons the Lucky Charms marshmallows are the shapes that they are (I like the pots o’ gold, personally), this would be the show for you. But the episode I was watching – “Cheese Please” – may have just turned a normally cheese-loving awesome guy into, well, just a normal awesome guy.

This episode detailed the secrets behind making goat cheese, cheesecake, and Cheez-It crackers. Now, I love a good goat cheese as much as the next guy, but there’s something about seeing it in still-liquid form in a thousand-gallon metal vat that would turn even Joe Rogan’s stomach.

When referring to the process of making goat cheese, there’s something about the phrase, “Now we dump in the live cultures, and as soon as those start to work, the cheese will start to curdle – kinda like milky Jell-O!” that makes me never want to look at a goat again. Ever. Sorry kids, the petting zoo is out. I hate goats now.

Next up: cheesecake. I like cheesecake, I do. But in my mind, cheesecake is always made by hand, by a bunch of attractive, motherly-looking women with aprons and rolling pins, infusing their cheesecakes with love and blessings for all who may consume them. NOT by a giant machine that spits a big blob of filling into a pre-made crust in one gigantic squirt…200 at a time. Where’s the love? Where’s the blessing?

Finally, Cheez-It crackers. At first I was thinking that seeing little orange crackers in mass quantities – we’re talking feeding all of Africa here – wouldn’t bother me so much. And it didn’t…until they attacked my eyeballs with what the cracker dough looks like before it’s baked. Obviously, it doesn’t start off orange. It starts off white. Fine, it looks like bread dough. But seeing them dump a giant bowl of liquid ORANGE into the formerly normal-looking dough was too much. I don’t think I even heard what was in it. I was too busy contemplating injecting liquid Dawn into my ears in an attempt to wash my brain of the image I had just witnessed. I will never look at a Cheez-It the same again.

I think from now on, I’ll stick to Good Eats. I’ve come to the conclusion that knowing how the majority of my processed food is made is not a good thing. At least I know good old Alton infuses his food with love and blessings.

Now, if he could also infuse it with a little Giada DeLaurentiis, it would be on like Donkey Kong.

How to Open a Conversation With a Lady

Today’s installment of Dear Reader goes out to a shy lad from Huntington Beach, California. At 11:32 pm PST on July 14, 2008, this special visitor stumbled upon this site after typing the following into a search engine:

“how to open conversation with a lady”

A big thanks to Google for referring this individual, and a bigger thanks to KathyF for writing the guest blog post that ultimately led him to SKOS. Thanks to you, this young lad is able to get the help he desperately needs and only I can provide.

Dear Reader,

Whether it’s a shy teenager or an awkward man in his forties who still lives in his parent’s basement, it warms my heart whenever I hear Cupid has struck someone in the buttocks with his pointy, rusty arrow. It brings out both the romantic and the doctor in me.

(By the way, you should probably go get a tetanus shot.)

Doug (may I call you Doug?), I am glad fate brought you to me. You see, I have never had difficulty striking up conversation with the ladies. In the first grade, I distinctly remember being tackled and held down against my will by virtually every girl in my class one day during recess. I don’t remember what I said to them, but it must have been very suave.

Because I am a giver, I’m going to help you. I am going to impart my knowhow to you, Doug. How does that sound?

The tears of joy inevitably streaming down your face right now brings me to my first tip, Doug: do not cry in front of the ladies. Television, movies, magazines and all that nonsense might have you believing ladies want a guy who is sensitive, but believe me when I say it isn’t true.

Ladies want a man who never cries. Ever.

If you are talking to a lady when three hundred bees proceed to swarm on you, you better not cry. It doesn’t matter if you are allergic to bee stings. If you cry, she will lose all respect for you.

If you are talking to a lady when an escaped lion from a zoo pounces on your back, you better not cry. She will go find a man who doesn’t cry when being mauled by zoo animals.

If you are talking to a lady when a senior citizen, mistaking you for someone she saw on America’s Most Wanted, sprays mace in your eyes, you better not cry. You better take the mace from her hand and spray HER with it just like a real man would do.

Another good tip is to make sure you have clean ears and fingernails. Girls pay attention to whether or not a guy has clean ears, Doug. Trust me. According to my own independent research, dirty ears is the number one reason for divorce in this country. It has surpassed financial issues, impotence, and Angelina Jolie for the top spot.

As for fingernails, well… that’s just sanitary.

My next tip would be to acquire some great skills. Girls only want boyfriends who have great skills, Doug. Take me, for example. I am awesome. That is my skill. Other guys might have nun-chuck skills, bow-hunting skills or computer-hacking skills.

These are just examples. The important thing, Doug, is to acquire some kind of great skill. Ladies, especially classy ones, are going to ask you about your great skill within the first two minutes of meeting you. You better have a good answer.

Wearing a bluetooth headset on your ear is great for when you’re starting a conversation with a lady. Nothing, Doug, and I mean NOTHING, makes a lady weak in the knees quite like walking up to her while talking to an imaginary friend on your bluetooth, telling said imaginary friend you “have to go,” and then telling her, “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m wearing a bluetooth headset on my ear.”

It will be on like Donkey Kong, Doug.

Finally, the best advice I can give for starting a conversation with a lady is to seem aloof and indifferent to her. If you have met her before, pretend you do not remember her name. If you are meeting her for the first time, ask her for her name, but then proceed to call her by the wrong name for the rest of the conversation.

It sounds cruel, but it’s all about remaining a mystery, Doug. Why do you think O.J. Simpson is still, to this day, able to get women to date him? Because he is a mystery. Women are intrigued by the “will he or won’t he (kill me)” aura he has around him. They can’t figure him out, but they want to. They are willing to put their LIVES on the line to figure him out.

Now, Doug, obviously I am not suggesting you mimic O.J. Simpson. For one thing, O.J. would hunt you down and kill you for mimicking him. But mainly, I just don’t think you can pull off the “possible murderer” vibe, Doug. No offense.

“Guy who can’t remember my name” is totally within your limitations, though. In fact, I bet you could also pull off “guy who can’t remember where he knows me from” and “guy who goes days without bathing.”

Mystery, Doug. It’s all about remaining a mystery.

Good luck, buddy.

Kev

I know what you all are thinking: “That is the greatest advice EVER, Kevin.” Yes, yes I know. Still, what advice would YOU have given our pal Doug here? Leave a comment (or two or ten) with your tips and advice.

Friday Four: Why Casual Fridays Rule

After taking off last Friday for the 4th of July, the Friday Four is back and better than ever! Well, it’s back at least. I think it’s pretty obvious to everyone Friday Four peaked at week one and it’s been all downhill since.

Anyway, on that upbeat note, brace yourselves for this week’s exciting installment of F4! That’s right, I abbreviated it. If Jessica Alba and the rest of the Fantastic Four want to sue me, they can go right ahead. I’m not afraid of you, Jessica. Not anymore! And FYI, that restraining order is still valid.

For this week’s F4, I am going to list four reasons “Casual Fridays” are wicked awesome. Long-time readers of yours truly (not just SKOS) may recognize these. Enjoy!

One

There’s something about wearing jeans and having my shirt untucked that brings out the kid in me. It’s freedom. I get in my car, pop in a Stone Temple Pilots CD, put on my Oakley’s and pull out of my driveway. I’m headed for work, but I could just as easily be heading out of town for a 3-day weekend. It’s Casual Friday. I’m wearing jeans and I have my shirt untucked.

And I look awesome.

Two

Casual Fridays bring out the patient person inside me.

I stop at McDonald’s to get some coffee Diet Coke. Twenty minutes later, I’m handed a bag with an apple pie in it. Do I throw my bag at the head of the employee and tell him to try again? Of course. But after three more attempts, when he finally gets my order right, I tell him to “have a nice day.” Why? Because it’s Casual Friday.

Three

There is something about Casual Fridays that calms me.

When I get to work, someone is parked in my parking place. I key the words “Is your name Kevin?!” into the person’s car, but I resist the urge to let the air out of the tires. Why? Because it’s Casual Friday.

Four

Even more so than usual, I am a nice, caring person on Casual Fridays.

During lunch, I visit Subway and cross paths with the person responsible for getting vegetable beef soup all over my car a long time ago. After setting her house on fire, I give her the name of a good real estate agent. Why? Because Casual Fridays are days for forgiveness.

And there you have it. Indisputable proof that if every day was Casual Friday the world would be a much better place!

So, what do YOU love about Casual Fridays? Leave a comment so we all can share your love.

102 Reasons YOU Should Love the Braves

As my regular readers know and loath, I am a baseball fan. Occasionally, I like to blog about the sport. This is another fact known and loathed by my readers. As a regular reader once e-mailed me, “I came here for the funny, not for the baseball.”

That’s my mom for you. She does love the comedy…

Anyway, it is a very poorly-hidden secret that I am an Atlanta Braves fan. Even though they often frustrate me — and by often, I mean constantly — I just cannot get enough of those crazy guys. And so, partly because I am bored, but mostly because I wanted to write a tribute to the team I adore, I present to you all a small snippet of my yet-to-be-published (or written) book, 102 Reasons YOU Should Love the Braves.

A shiny, imaginary nickel to all who read the entire list!

1. They once had a pitcher named Joe Winkelsas. That is a funny name.

6. During home games, they often play Queen’s We Are The Champions and We Will Rock You. I could be wrong, but I believe no other stadium in any other sport plays these songs.

13. This guy is a manager in their minor league system. If Nazis or umpires ever invade the country, you will be glad to have him on your side.

34. Manager Bobby Cox holds the all-time MLB record for ejections. Old men who yell and curse are hilarious.

51. Thirty-six year old third baseman Larry Jones still goes by the nickname “Chipper.” Watching ballgames and wondering if Jones would still go by his childhood nickname today if his nickname had been “Little Snot” or “Stink” is a wonderful time killer.

66. Arguably the greatest sports commercial of all-time stars two members of the Atlanta Braves. If this commercial does not amuse you, you are not human. Also, you’re stupid. That’s right… if you do not like this commercial, you are a stupid alien. This is me telling it like it is.

70. Back in 1991, gorgeous actress Jennifer Connelly and the rest of the cast for Disney’s The Rocketeer came to a Braves game to promote their new movie. I was at that game. This probably shouldn’t have been included in a list of reasons why YOU should love the Braves, but it’s definitely one of the reasons a 13-year-old Kev began loving them!

84. The team’s stadium, Turner Field, offers TWELVE different hot dogs: They’ve got the Boston Italian Sausage, Chili Cheese Dog, Juicy Jumbo Dog, Jumbo Chicago Dog, Jumbo Georgia Dog, Jumbo New York Dog, Jumbo Southwestern Dog, Milwaukee Bratwurst, Jumbo Southwestern Dog, New York Dog, Southwestern Dog, and the plain old, generic Hot Dog. Personally, I feel bad for the generic Hot Dog. Why doesn’t it get a cool name?

90. The hilarious Alton Brown of the Food Network’s Good Eats is a Georgia resident. I’m not sure if he’s a baseball fan, but if he is he’s surely a Braves fan. The mere possibility of Alton Brown being a Braves fan boosts the team’s coolness factor by at least twenty points.

99. “Braves” spelled backwards is “Sevarb.” Obviously, Sevarb isn’t a real word, but it should be. In fact, I am coining it right now. The definition of Sevarb shall be “the act of spelling a word backwards for no reason whatsoever.” Cindy, go get Merriam Webster on the phone. Tell him it’s Kev with another new word for his dictionary. Wait, what do you mean there’s no such person?

102. If you’re a girl, and we go to a game together on a date, I’ll hold your hand and tell you the other 91 reasons.

Was Emilio Estevez a Pack Rat or a Brat Pack? I Get Those Confused…

It was a hectic week in Kevland (that’s right… I have renamed the city where I live “Kevland”). At work, I had to endure numerous, long, boring meetings. And, at home, I have been busy packing up my stuff in anticipation of my moving to a new place.

I am a “learn from your mistakes and grow from them” kind of guy, but it is clear I have yet to fully learn my lesson when it comes to the moving process.

On May 29, 2005, at my old blog, I wrote:

A forgotten part of the moving process is you have to clean your old place. And right now, my old place looks like a garbage can exploded inside of it. Why is my brother such a slob? Why do I keep everything ever given to me?

An hour ago, I came across a November 2002 memo from (my former place of employment). Why did I hold onto it? Did it strike me as funny at the time? Did I keep it in case I ever wanted to spit out some gum? Was it a magic memo that promised to grant me three wishes? And if the latter, where are my millions of dollars, my Ivy-league educated supermodel girlfriend, and my ability to turn invisible?

On August 19 of last year, I wrote the following post here at SKOS:

You would think I’d have learned from my move in 2005 to do a better job of decluttering. But sadly, I did not learn my lesson. I have too much old junk. Graded exams and assignments from back in my teaching days fill cardboard boxes in my room.

Why do I keep them? I guess I have this paranoid feeling I will be “audited” someday. The principal of my old school will contact me asking to confirm the quiz grade of some random student back in 2003. I hate audits.

I have never considered myself a pack rat, but I clearly need to wake up and smell the numerous boxes of crap I should have gotten rid of years ago.

Thankfully, after writing that last post in August, I got rid of the boxes of graded exams and assignments from my teaching days. If the principal of my old school contacts me asking to confirm a grade of a former student, I’ll just make up something. If I liked the student, I’ll tell the principal he or she had a 100 in my class. If the student was an evil spawn of Satan, I’ll tell him the student had a 13.

Fair? Well, no.

Sweet karma goodness? Absolutely.

Anyway, despite the fact I have made strides to rid myself of old junk, my place is still packed with things I do not need.

Do any of you still have shirts from your freshman year in college? I do. In fact, I have ALL of them.

Snake skin cowboy boots I last wore in 1996 and are probably too small for me now? Still have them.

My baseball cleats from my senior year of high school? Still have them.

A Hootie and the Blowfish CD? Yes, I still have it.

It’s a good thing I am frugal and don’t buy something unless I really, really need it. Because, if I wasn’t like that, Lord help us…

Kevland would be FILLED with junk from 1996.

Are any of YOU pack rats? What sort of things do you still have that should have long, long ago been discarded? Let’s hear it, people. Speak now or forever hold your soundtrack to the Titanic movie.

Meetings: Where Joy Goes to Die

Oh, wonderful. Another meeting at work. There goes my afternoon.

I hope they reserved the big conference room. The small conference room makes me feel claustrophobic, which is strange since I do not suffer from claustrophobia. Methinks it has something to do with the fact the small conference room is roughly the size of my freshman dorm in college, which was roughly the size of walk-in closet. Of course, this makes it easy for me reminisce about the “good ol’ days” in college. All I have to do is find a small space, hang an Alanis Morrisette poster on the wall, and then curl into a ball and weep.

That’s just great. They reserved the SMALL conference room. I hope everyone brushed their teeth and showered this morning. Wait, I know, I just need to get my allergies to act up. Then I won’t be able to smell anything. Where’s some dust…

I’ve got to hand it to our building’s cleaning crew. They might be slow, they might have poor people skills, but you can always count on them to leave the dust that has accumulated on my desk. I’ll just take a little of the dust, sniff it and…

This was a bad idea. Apparently, mixed in with the dust was some lemonade mix I spilled on my desk a few weeks back. Am I going to die? Lord, if You’re going to take me, please take me BEFORE this meeting.

Crap. I’m going to live.

Near as I can tell, everyone in the meeting has showered and brushed their teeth. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, they all smell like lemons. I like it.

Geesh, why are some people so enamored with their own voices? “Well, I think… blah, blah, blah, blah.” That’s wonderful, long-winded man wearing a thin tie. I have listened to what you have to say, and I think I speak for everyone when I say these chairs are incredibly, incredibly uncomfortable.

I can’t feel the lower half of my body anymore. My butt and legs have gone numb. This would be beneficial if I were to inadvertently sit on a thumb tack, but otherwise I don’t care for the sensation. I wonder if I can stretch my legs under the table…

Oh no, who’s foot did I just touch? It’s either the creepy guy with the toupee or the older woman who keeps asking me to help her fix the speaker cables under her desk.

This isn’t good. Cause a distraction. Hurry!

“Excuse me, everyone. My butt is numb. Could we take a short break?”

What’s that? We’ve only been meeting for seven minutes?

I think I’m going to die here.

My mind is too drained from the meetings to write anything clever. I would try to do something wittier than the above, but I’m just too tired. I just want to get my Alanis Morrisette poster and go home.

Friday Four: Other People-isms

On the heels of last week’s Friday Four, where I shared some unusual statements I have written to people in e-mails recently, a colleague suggested I share some of the unusual statements people have said to me in recent e-mails. And so, for this week’s Friday Four, I am going to share four unusual comments I have received. These might be funny, they might be completely off the wall, they might be things that make sense in context, or they might be things that wouldn’t make sense in any context. I’ll let you all decide!

One

“If you wanna chat, take your hands outta my mouth.”

Two

“Phone stalking is very impersonal. I prefer the camp-outside-my-front-door-just-out-of-plain-view method. So much classier.”

Three

“Remind me to do the blinky thing as often as humanly possible.”

Four

“I pop my joints with a popsicle.”

Wait, we’re not finished yet! Here are four “bonus” Other People-isms. Best of luck trying to guess how the following quotes came about:

Bonus #1

“I will never, ever tie you to a chair and force feed you tuna at gunpoint.”

Bonus #2

“I’ve never asked a pony if it wanted to get bigger.”

Bonus #3

“An olive is too big to eat off a fingernail.”

Bonus #4

“If bears know how to throw rocks, the whole WORLD is in trouble.”

And there you have it. Proof positive the people who e-mail me are almost as insane as I am!

So, what are some off-the-wall things people have said or written to YOU lately? Leave a comment so we all can share your -ism.

It’s Hard Being Awesome With Only One Eye

It may sound inconceivable, but my eyesight isn’t perfect. As such, I wear contacts. Now, frugal cat that I am, I try to get as much wear and use out of my contacts as I can. Disposable contacts you use for two weeks and then throw away? Nonsense. Those puppies can last for months if not years.

You might think I’m joking, but I assure you I am not: the contacts I’m wearing today are the same ones I wore approximately two years ago. To put that into perspective, Britney Spears was only half crazy when I last wore a different pair of lenses.

Unfortunately, within the past two years I have moved. Sometime during the move process, unbeknownst to me, I lost my box of backup contact lenses. And, since I haven’t worn glasses since I was 14, this meant if the contacts I’m wearing ever became lost or defective, I’d be in big trouble.

On Monday, trouble found me.

Apparently, the contact lens in my left eye had a shelf life that ended Monday around 2:14 in the afternoon. It’s been bugging me ever since then. In my right eye, it feels as though I’m wearing your typical soft contact lens. In my left eye, it feels as though I’m wearing a rusty bottle cap.

Of course, since it’s been over a year since my last annual eye exam with my doctor, I needed to make a new appointment. So, on Monday, I called them. The earliest they could fit me in? July 8th!

Yesterday, I called my eye doctor’s office to see if they could give me an emergency contact lens to get me through until my July 8th appointment.

“We can only give samples to new patients,” the lady on the other end of the phone explained to me.

“Really,” I asked. “It’s been a few years, but I know in the past you’ve been able to give me a sample when I’m on my last pair of lenses and I needed a new one before my appointment.”

“They have really cut down on the samples they give us, so we can’t do that anymore,” she explains to me. “We can only give them to new patients.”

I wasn’t sure who “they” were, but I quickly moved on.

“If this is a question of money, I don’t have a problem BUYING a pair of contact lenses to get me through. I don’t expect you to give me a free sample. Heck, forget a pair, I only need ONE lens.”

“Sorry,” she tells me. “Our lenses come in boxes. We can’t break them up to sell one to you individually.”

Everything she was telling me very likely was true. However, I wasn’t getting that warm, fuzzy “we will do whatever we can to help you” vibe. You know, the kind of vibe you would expect from an eye doctor you’ve been going to for over FIFTEEN YEARS.

“Hypothetically,” I asked, pausing for effect, “what would I do if I lost this contact lens before my July 8th appointment? I’d be blind as a bat for two weeks.”

“Do you have glasses,” she asks.

“No, not since junior high,” I respond. I said this polite response instead of what immediately popped into my head: “If I had glasses I could wear, would we even be having this conversation?”

“Oh,” she replied.

And that was the conversation. She was about as helpful as a bag of oranges at a knife fight.

So, I had to make a choice: Do I persevere for two more weeks, with a rusty bottle cap in my left eye? Or do I find a new eye doctor?

Well, I chose the latter. And this doctor was able to fit me in for an appointment THIS MORNING at 11:00.

So, assuming all goes well and they have my new prescription in stock, my agony will soon be over.

I look forward to wearing these new contacts for the next two to three years…

Friday Four: Kev-isms (aka Kevin Quotes)

For this week’s Friday Four, I am going to share four unusual things I have written in e-mails recently. These might be funny, they might be completely off the wall, they might be things that make sense in context, or they might be things that wouldn’t make sense in any context. I’ll let you all decide!

One

“That’s the great thing about my world famous deviled eggs –- when they spoil, they taste extra devily.”

Two

“Are you having trouble getting the mental image of a man dressed like Papa Smurf distributing cheese samples out of your head?”

Three

“Most men ARE born with a compass in their forehead. But when God was handing out compasses, I asked Him for an extra helping of awesome instead. True story.”

Four

“I wouldn’t know how to give a backhanded compliment even if a compliment was written on the back of my hand.”

Wait, we’re not finished yet! Here are four “bonus” Kev-isms. Best of luck trying to guess how the following quotes came about:

Bonus #1

“I’m excellent at throwing rocks at bears who are trying to eat girls I’m hiking with. I’m very accurate. By that I mean I hit the bear more often than I hit the girl.”

Bonus #2

“Invisible bears would be significantly harder to throw rocks at.”

Bonus #3

“If bears know how to throw rocks, the earth is doomed. We each need to build a bear/bomb shelter.”

Bonus #4

“I’d make my bear/bomb shelter out of honey. They’d never expect it.”

And there you have it. Proof positive that I am insane and that bears will one day rise to power and take over the world.

So, what are some off-the-wall things YOU have said or written lately? Leave a comment so we all can share your -ism.

Please Stop Asking Me to Teach Your Kids Proper Etiquette

Dear Parents of the World,

How are you all doing? Great? Glad to hear it.

Look, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this for a while, but the time never seemed right. I appreciate the fact you all value my child-rearing skills. I know that when there is an awesome resource (i.e. me) out there in the world, the wise thing to do is take advantage of it. And all of you have been taking advantage of it big time.

I’m flattered. Really, I am. However…

I know you don’t want to hear this, but the time has come for you to no longer use me as your parenting crutch.

I know, I know. But you can do this, people. I know you can.

The next time your two children are running up and down the aisles of a grocery store, you be the one to stand in their path, look down at them and say, “if you do not stop this behavior, I am going to kill Santa Claus.”

The next time your teenage daughter leaves the house wearing an outfit one can only assume was found in a dumpster behind a strip club, you be the one to tell her, “you look like a cross between Christina Aguilera and Danny Devito, and I mean that in the least flattering way possible.”

The next time you take your 10-year-old son to the gym with you and he proceeds to play on all of the cardio equipment, you be the one to tell him the large man on the treadmill is hungry and will eat him if he doesn’t leave immediately.

Don’t wait for me to do these things, people. You do them.

It’s time to start teaching your children the proper way to behave in society. Stop waiting for good Samaritans like myself to do it for you.

Don’t wait for me to key the words “learn how to park” into the hood of your teenage daughter’s car. Teach her how to park. Teach her that it’s rude to her fellow drivers when she takes up two lanes with her car.

Don’t wait for me to throw an orange at the head of your teenage son when he doesn’t hold the door open for an elderly lady walking behind him. Teach him manners. Teach him to respect his elders. Teach him that oranges hurt if they are hurled at your head with great velocity.

Don’t wait for me to grab the cell phone out of your teenager’s hand and stomp on it so that the rest of the movie theater patrons can watch the film in peace. Teach him proper cell phone etiquette. Teach him that only inconsiderate jerks talk incessantly on the phone in public places. Teach him that people like to bring bodily harm to inconsiderate jerks.

Parents of the world, I have faith in you. I believe with my whole heart you can teach your children these things without my help.

You can do this, buddy! I know you can.

(And if you can’t, I’m going to beat you with a bag of oranges. I’m serious.)

Sincerely,

Kev