A Mutually Shared Secret

Maybe one day, words won't be needed.

8 Hour Girlfriend With Lots Of Dirt!

It was "Bring Your Kid To Work Day" or "Bring Your Brat To Work Day", whatever you want to call it. Although it can be distracting with a bunch of 5-10-year-olds running around an office, I welcome the stir. Sure I may of goofed off more than worked today, but in the end, it was worth it. Worth it because in the span of 8 hours I accomplished many things. I photocopied the side of my face, both hands and a stapler. I colored my own hair blue with green poke-a-dots and I found myself a new girlfriend. Girlfriend not in the romantic sense, but rather in the dirt spilling sense. Here's how our initial encounter occurred. (Dialog may be slightly off. Written to the best of my memory from our conversation and the surrounding events.)

Me: Hey, are you the new hire?
Her: (girly giggle) No.
Me: (pretending to act surprised) No? Then who are you? Do you have a name?
Her: (another girly giggle) Yes.
Me: Ahh, you do? Let me guess...
Her: (more girly giggling, she's easily amused by me apparently)
Me: Sarah?
Her: (shaking head no)
Me: Sally?
Her: (another no head shake)
Me: Steve?
Her: (boisterous girly giggle) That's a boy's name!
Me: Ok, well I give up.
Her: My name is Libby.
Me: That's a pretty name. Well, it's nice to meet you Libby. My name is Libby too. (she looks baffled) I'm kidding. I'm David. Do you shake hands or high-five?
Her: (smiling and shrugging her shoulders)
Me: How about a high-five? I like to high-five a new buddy.
Her: (slaps me a high-five) Buddies!
Me: Hey, what's your Mom having you do up there?
Her: Nothing. (she pauses looking a little sad) I have a coloring book.
Me: Cool! Want to color together later?
Her: (big smile, nods head yes twice)
Me: Alright! But hey, we have to do some work first. And according to my schedule, it's time to photocopy faces!
Her: What's that?
Me: This machine here, it's called a photocopier. You open this lid and you put the side of your face on the glass and hit that green button. It takes your photo and prints it out! It's super cool!
Her: That's not what it's for. (the kid is too wise, she may rat me out)
Me: Sure it is. Come on. I'll go first.
Her: You're going to get in trouble.
Me: Only if you tattle. We will do black and white photos so we can color our hair blue later!
Her: You're funny.

After goofing around for awhile, I go back to work and she goes back to coloring at her Mom's desk. Later, I bump into her again...

Her: Do you have a girlfriend?
Me: Do you have a boyfriend?
Her: How old are you?
Me: You ask alot of questions. How old are you?
Her: Don't you want to guess?
Me: (laughing) Sure, I'll guess. Hmm...25, 30, 40?
Her: (shrieking loudly) NO! That's old! I'm only 7!
Me: I don't believe you. Let me see ID.
Her: How old are you?
Me: I'm 102.
Her: Nutuh. Do you want a girlfriend?
Me: Only if her name is Libby.

She smiles, but I'm not sure if she really gets it. 30 minutes pass and...

Her: HI! I'm back.
Me: Thank goodness. I was beginning to miss you.
Her: (out of nowhere) I know someone who likes you.
Me: You do, do you? (I'm thinking this will be cute and she will tattle on herself, saying she has a crush on me.)
Her: Yeah. I know more than 1 girl that likes you.
Me: Umm, what?
Her: When you were in your meeting, "insert 3 real names", were talking about you...

She blabs pieces of the "girl talk sessions" that apparently take place when I'm out of hearing range. It's good to know that it's all complimentary. Bits of dirt I'm sure these women would just die if I knew. Dirt that I'm feeling a little modest about sharing, even though I should be gloating. However, I will spill how it ended...

Her: (at this point she has babbled for nearly 5 minutes straight with me just listening) That one tall lady with the red shirt on.
Me: Megan?
Her: The one that gave us the M&Ms.
Me: That's Megan.
Her: She told me and my Mom that she only dresses up on Tuesdays and Thursdays, the days you are here. (she starts to get that girly giggle going) She says you're yummy.

Just as little Libby is telling all, Megan walks around the corner. I'm left speechless. Libby looks busted and Megan's face is turning 3 shades of Crayola Crayon Crimson Red. Megan quickly spits out "here is that folder, have a good weekend". The girl looks mortified. I feel bad, but it's kind of funny and I don't know if anyone has ever described me as yummy before. I'm sort of liking it. I am left standing with a smirk. A yummy smirk?

Dark Secrets Given The First-Class Treatment

At one time, a secret was something that you kept to yourself, or if you did share it, you did so in a whisper. Discretion was the name of the game. Today, secrets are being spilled out on postcards. Free for public eyes to see. Naked truths from anonymous voices that are overflowing boxes in one man's Washington, DC home. His name, Frank Warren. He is the safe haven for your dirty little secret. The blogger behind PostSecret.com It's an amazingly addictive fusion of old tech (snail mail) and new tech (the Internet) that produces something never seen before. The result - brilliance! People are drawn to his blog because it's something powerful and raw. The real speaks to them. The objective is to keep it ideologically neutral and just expose the cards in a way that's balanced and non-judgmental. To me, they are mini works of art.

At last estimate, he had 30,000 secrets! Hundreds of new ones pour in every week. Collecting America's secrets have become Frank Warren's life and in the process, has made him famous. He has become an award-winning blogger, a first-time author, an artist with a traveling exhibit, a possible documentary subject, the inspiration for a music video and the all-around media "it boy" of the moment. PostSecret started out as Warren's temporary community art project. Now it's where thousands of people go to anonymously post their deepest darkest secrets and where millions go to read them. Just a year after its launch, PostSecret was named "Weblog of the Year". It's the 3rd most-popular blog in the blogosphere with 2.3 million unique visitors a month! Warren's book, "PostSecret: Extraordinary Confessions from Ordinary Lives", a compilation of 400 postcards, is selling well enough that he's planning 4 more books.

It's such an incredible blog, that this is the 2nd time I am plugging it (07/12/05 Post A Secret, An Outlet For Anonymous Voices). The secret-tellers/confessors send their secrets in via a decorated postcard. Warren reads them all and then picks 10-20 to post on his blog every Sunday. Some are shocking. Some are heartbreaking. Some are touching. Some are thought-provoking. Some are silly. Some are hilarious. Some are even repulsive. However, all of them are riveting. Eembrace PostSecret because it's about the human heart exposed.

View my secret here.

Kiss It & Make It Better...Or Just Snap It So It's Straight

I hate to admit it, but I will. A Mom is always, usually right. Nobody likes to hear "a Mother knows best", especially when it's true. I am often reluctant to heed my Mom's advice. Although for the most part, it is good sound advice from a wise woman. A source I fully trust. However, if you know my Mom, you know how she overreacts. How she freaks out even over a paper cut on me. How she quickly breaks out her Magical Mom Medical Book and begins diagnosis. (Note: She is not a licensed MD, but she plays one in real life...at least on me she practices.) According to her, the usual diagnosis for a paper cut would be to clean the wound, sew the wound, wrap the wound and keep elevated. Then go thru physical therapy for the next 6 months so you can return to normal finger to paper mobility. Fine, I exaggerate. It's more like 3 months of PT. I tell her to keep it simple and just amputate my entire limb! I hear the pirate hand-hook look is making a comeback anyway. She shoots me a disapproving look.

My Mom needs to relax here because I'm no Mamma's Boy. If she had it her way, she would lovingly cover me in bubble wrap on a daily basis so I could never get hurt. Of course, this is the real world Mom. No matter how ideal of a cure that would be for you, you can't seal me up like fine China. Besides, you know I'm addicted to snapping those little bubbles! Protection level - nada. Seriously though, I know she has my best interests in mind. She's doing what Mom's do best. She's continuing to protect and nurture her little boy even though I've long since outgrown sitting on her lap. Even when I was small enough to be scooped up and cuddled, she couldn't keep me from harm. I was a daredevil. There was nothing you couldn't double-dog-dare me to do. Actually, forget the double-dog-dare, I just needed a good old fashion plain "dare". A bet. Raise the stakes. Put my life on the line if need be. It is all in the name of fun to me. Perhaps that sounds a little crazy, but I'm a competitive freak who loves an adrenaline rush. It's what pumps blood thru my veins. There is nothing I won't try at least once...well minus engaging in gay acts. I have to draw the limit somewhere.

Last month I was playing basketball with some friends and I go up for a shot. The ball doesn't even get to leave my fingertips before another player comes over my back with a giant block. (Which by the way is a foul - over the back.) Yes, I got stuffed and so did my finger. My knuckle busted under the force and my finger was left pointing 90 degrees in the wrong direction. It wasn't pretty. I quickly popped it back into place and although it was sore and began swelling immediately, I figured it was just a really bad sprain and continued to play. Over the course of the next 24 hours, it looks disgusting. Not only is it huge, but my hand turns purple, all the way down to my wrist from the bruising. I switch back and forth between heat and ice like a good boy and pop an Aspirin. I think, no big deal, I'll live.

Today, nearly a month later, it is still swollen and I'm not really able to bend it. It's still in pain somewhat and has just become annoying since it's my right hand, my writing hand. My finger grew crooked and that's a sign to me that perhaps I should of had it looked at long ago. I think I did in fact break it and didn't properly reset it. My Mom was probably right when she said I broke it. I had a friend of mine look at it and she said it was broken too. Of course I was a smartass and said "what do you know, you aren't a doctor, you're just a nurse". Lucky for me she knows I was joking and wasn't offended. I say "lucky for me" because a statement like that may of called for a swift knee to the groin. Not much you can do for a broken finger, but if you let it heal crooked, then the only way to straighten it is to break it...again! That is what I'll be doing tomorrow. Having my finger broke on purpose. Sounds like fun! I bet it will tickle.

I'm going to ask them to smash it with a sledge hammer! That way it's really exciting to blog about. Ha.

On Any Given Day, It Can All Be Taken Away

You may not want to read this post. It may upset you. In a way, I want it to shake you. It needs to rock you to the core. To hit home. Like being struck by a bolt of lightning, followed by a thunderous boom of thunder. Pain that rains down on top of you like an unrelentless storm. Only then would you truly feel it. To really get the message. A message sent that is so powerful, it absolves your mind of whatever problems, small or big, that are ailing you at this very moment. The message that on any given day, it can all be taken away. A message that may not reach inside you with just my words, but perhaps sharing this story will be enough for you to visualize yourself in someone else's shoes. Crisp white tennis shoes. You squat down, sinking into the thick green grass. The warmth of the sun shines across your back. You are happily working in your front yard planting flowers. Sowing the seeds of life. You don't have a care in the world. Life is good. Life is happy. Life is perfect.

You married your college sweetheart. Your best friend. You built a life together. Together, you endured the good and the bad. Together, you struggled with trying to have children. Finally thru In Vitro Fertilization, together you conceive. Not just 1 baby, but triplets! Three seeds sown. Together, you are ecstatic. Together, you feel blessed. Three beautiful children emerge in this world. A daughter and 2 sons. Together, you now have a family. Together you promise to always care for, love and protect one another for life. Together. Forever. The way it was meant to be.

The only thought on your mind is if it's too early to be planting flowers. You question if a late frost will emerge in mid April. You would hate for your beautiful flowers to die. You hope they will be safe so you can watch them grow each day. So you can admire the work you put into caring for them. See them bloom before your very eyes. Bask in the smile that emerges on your face when the thought of them crosses your mind. What joy they have brought to your life. A simple pleasure. Life - a precious gift.

A car pulls into your driveway and everything that follows is just a blur. A nightmare you can't bare. You collapse to your knees in disbelief. The shock. The overwhelming grief. It's just too much to handle. This can't be happening. There has to be a mistake. Surely you must have the wrong family. The reality, there is no mistake. This is the right family. This isn't a sick joke. It's all real. It happened. You can't wakeup from a nightmare when you aren't sleeping. You are living it. A future that once seemed so full and bright, is now very bleak and black. Someone has come to tell you that every life you hold dear to your heart has been ripped away from you. A horrific accident has taken place involving your husband and all of the 4-year-old triplets. Your husband, your only daughter and one of your sons were killed instantly. The only family member you have left is the one boy. However, he is in critical condition. He suffered major injuries. Head trauma that will require extensive surgery. If he is to pull thru, he may have to live with brain damage for the rest of his life.

It's hard to fathom what this must be like, but I know this family. I watched the story play out on the news like a bad movie. I listened to reporters recount the events. I saw the police cover the family's van with a giant tarp. The scene was that gruesome. A freak accident as a 5,000lbs wood chipper dislodged from a truck, striking the family's mini van with such force, it was severed in two! It's remarkable that there is a sole survivor. When I hear things like this happening, it makes me question if there is a God. I'm not a deeply religious person, but if there is some type of higher power, how could he/she let this happen? There is a saying "God will never place upon you more than you can handle". Well if that is true, God must think this Mother is the strongest person on Earth.

I pray that her sole surviving son pulls thru. I can't even attempt to comprehend the unbelievable pain she must be facing right now. Her entire family is gone in an instant. Her world turned upside down in the blink of an eye. Blindsided in every sense of the word. The only thing more heartbreaking than to see a casket accompanied by 2 small childrens caskets, is seeing a sole casket, knowing both 4-year-olds are tucked on either side of their father. I have the utmost compassion for the Mother. Sometimes terrible events need to take place for us to appreciate life. To realize that the people we love can be here today and gone tomorrow. If you take nothing else away from this story, please learn this...

Make sure you have no regrets because you or someone you love may leave this Earth at any given second. Tell them how much they mean to you. Hold nothing back. Because one day it could be too late to tell them. One day it will be too late to kiss their forehead and say I love you. One day you may have to hold it all inside. A down pouring rain that never succumbs. I hope her pain washes away, but I fear that she may drown in her own tears.

Related Posts Of Interest

• 01/19/06 1 Second Added To Your Life, What Will You Do With It?
• 02/21/06 When Words Seem Generic
• 04/19/06 Why Me? Why NOT Me?

Feeling Good In The Pants

Most people live and die by their cell phone. For many, it's as vital to their existence as the air they breathe. Some people seriously can't function thru the day without their cell...cell as in phone, not as in "prison" or "padded room". They feel naked if it's not tucked into their purse or pocket. Phones aren't just for chatting anymore. It's become our central communication, entertainment and information portal. Text messages, voice mail, e-mail, games, photos, video, the web...it's all shrunk down and crammed inside your little cell mate. Everywhere you turn, everyone has the Razr glued to their ear. I am not one of those people. For the most part, I do actually use my cell alot, especially for work. However, there are times when you have to turn that sucker off or put it on vibrate. Umm, vibrate. It's like getting an unexpected 5 second cheap thrill in your pants pocket - hellooooo! Of course, who says you need to answer on the first ring? Prolong the tease by letting it ring until it hits voicemail. Nice.

Fluff your afro and grab your roller-skates, it's time to boogie down!
There's a party in my pants and you're invited! Lucky you!

Yeah, yeah I know. I can be a big sicko, but you've done it before too. If not, then you are considering it now. Fess up. If the naughty vibrate feature doesn't catch your attention, then surely that custom ringtone you downloaded will do the trick. Or perhaps it will just embarrass the shit out of you when you least expect it. I suppose there could be worse things than having your phone blast out that custom ringtone during a business meeting. The scenario would be much worse if it started playing The Backstreet Boys, AKA The Backdoor Boys - "Larger Than Life". Don't even pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. You know that song. You probably busted a move to it a few years ago. Or maybe you are retro and you are cutting a little rug to it in 2006. Don't lie. That queer scream at the beginning. It's sooooo gay. It screams make fun of me. It actually begs for it! How were they even considered a boy band? Those dudes were like 30-years-old when they came out! Anyway...

As far as my custom ringtone goes, I'm kicking it old skool. 2005 baby! Yes, I still have The Gorillas - "Feel Good Inc" giving me a shootout when anyone calls me. I still like that song. It makes a good ringtone, the beat with just the laugh and feel good chorus. Although I will remember in my next meeting, to turn the phone OFF. It's a little awkward when your pants start singing "feel good" while you are preparing to give a presentation. It was a friendly/embarrassing reminder. So now you get to sound off and tell me what your ringtone is. Why? I don't know. Why not? Do you really have something better to do on a Friday? I doubt it or you wouldn't be reading my blog - ha! Also, feel free to suggest a new ringtone for me, something that isn't too monotonous.

Why Me? Why NOT Me?

It's a familiar phrase people use whenever something goes wrong...why me? In other words, why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this? It's also not uncommon to hear people say...why not me? Why does everyone else get all the breaks? Why does she get him and not me? I could say these cliché phrases are my reply...the grass always looks greener on the other side and nobody said life is fair. However, forget cliché. Forget the common way of thinking from a pessimistic mind. I like to think positive. I like to look at the bright side. See the good. Outshine the bad. Instead of saying the negative "why me", how about doing what I do and say "why not me"? Really, why not me?

Aphrodite/Venus de Milo - Greek goddess of love and beauty.

When I was in college, I met this girl. At the time I thought she was way out of my league. She was smart. Beautiful. Came from an affluent family. The way I saw it, I figured she could get any guy she wanted. So why would she want me? I was a guy that had no direction. I hadn't even selected a major. I spent most of my time playing basketball, boxing in the gym or doing keg stands. I had nothing to offer - I believe those were her parents exact words at the time. (Seeing that last sentence written out, brings to mind these song lyrics that express exactly how I felt.)

So what was it about me that made her smile like that? What did I do that was so right to deserve her? More importantly, what did I need to poses to hold onto her? These were all questions, unknown to her, that were racing thru my mind. I couldn't get them out of my head. The doubt. The wavering confidence. The fear that at any moment, this dream would end. That she would wakeup and wonder why she was with the silly frat boy. If you are like me, you can be your own worst enemy. It's that little voice in your head that on occasion says you aren't good enough. You aren't smart enough. You aren't attractive enough. You aren't this. You aren't that. Stop. Silence that self-destructive little voice within.

She helped me silence that voice. It wasn't really what she said or what she did. It was how she made me feel. It was how I wanted to better myself for her. How I wanted to give of myself and show her things inside me that were never exposed. It made me mature. It made me confident. It made me fall in love for the very first time. I thank her for all those things. All that she has given me. How she changed the way I saw myself. How she bettered my world, not just back then, but for a lifetime.

These days the self-doubt only creeps in on occasion, but for the most part I am confident. I can be a realist, although I tend more often to be a dreamer. I tend to romanticize something that has yet to take form. At times I may get my hopes up, but I find that I'm rarely disappointed if I hope for the best, but prepare for the worse. Instead of placing self-doubt on myself, I'm capable of placing my feet firmly on the path before me and making things happen. Being a dreamer is not always a bad thing, IF you can make your dream come true. And really, why not me?

It's Not What It's Chalked Up To Be

There is an artist in the streets of New York City that uses chalk to capture sunlight. In a busy city where graffiti is common place, Ellis Gallagher's artwork is often overlooked and unseen. He takes something as mundane as a garbage can and casts a different light on it. He traces it's shadow - literally. Gallagher turns trash into something of beauty. His drawings can be seen one day and gone the next. Although if you are lucky, you may catch his shadow, just before the night fades to black or the rain washes it away. His work may be short lived, but once you see a piece, it will make a lasting impression on you. A somewhat similar chalk artist by the name of Julian Beever has left an impression on me. It's not that his work "speaks to me" as they say, but it will definitely have you taking a double-take in disbelief!

Julian Beever is an English artist who's famous for his art on the pavement here in the States and abroad in England, France, Germany, Australia and Belgium. He gives to his drawings an amazing 3D illusion that is super realistic looking. Some look so life-like that people actually walk around the "hole" he drew thinking it was real. It's like a Bugs Bunny cartoon came to life. It's not that his artwork really moved me as some art can do, but it did catch my attention. I suppose for an artist, that is half the work - catching one's eye. I do appreciate his rather unique approach and if you've ever drawn with chalk before, you know it's not exactly easy...let alone using large sidewalk chalk. After viewing some of his pieces, my first thought was "I'm seeing and not believing". It just goes to show you that it's not always what it's chalked up to be.

View more of Julian Beever's work on his website.

Take The Black Off A Crow

I don't want to come home at night. It makes me awfully sad. The sound of my keys hitting together, followed by silence. I hate it. I'm still not use to it. How much longer does it take before it gets better? Truthfully...will it? Can someone please speed this along for me? I have to shake this. I have to shed the weight that lays heavy on my heart. I have to free my mind from the thoughts. The missing. The reminiscing. Memories are good to have, but right now I only think of memories that hold pain. When I force myself to think of the good times, I feel even worse.

I have days like these. Moments in time when I enter a melancholy state of being. I guess that's normal. They come and go. I wish they would go more often than come. I'm exhausted. I can't be "super happy fun guy" 24/7. I don't know why one day the emotion is stronger and another day it's not so bad. Like taking 1 spoonful of horrible tasting medicine instead of 2. Today, I must have drank the entire bottle. Now I'm sick with sadness.

Where is my sea of red? My color of happy? I want that forecast. Instead, there is a gloom in the sky. An ache in the wind. A sorrow in the grass. A chance of a lonely rain shower. Funny thing is, the weatherman is telling me it's calm, warm and sunny with not a drop in sight. I see it, I just don't feel it beneath my skin. If I could drink some magic potion and feel better, I would. Then I could carry a smile. Although sometimes I think it would be easier to take the black off a crow.

Peep Show

Finally, someone has found something else good to do with those nasty tasting marshmallow Peeps besides blowing them up in the microwave. This photo was taken for a college student's midterm photography assignment at UNCG. If I was her professor grading this, I would take into consideration 2 important facts...

• #1 She is nude. That's worthy of high marks right there.
• #2 More than likely she had to "lick-n-stick". That gets you more points, easily.

So after carefully studying the photo, I'm giving her an A+. Job well done! Now if you are looking for extra credit...see me after class. I'm sure we can work something out.

Convince Me Easter Isn't Lame

I'm not a fan of Easter. I think it's a lame holiday. What's up with a big bunny bringing chocolate? How does that tie into Jesus dying? Perhaps the bunny is more Springtime related than religious related? In that case, why is he so freaking big? To intimidate kids? Why is he hiding eggs and hopping around with a basket? What is that suppose to mean? I don't get it, but he couldn't be any gayer if he was wearing a pastel bowtie around his fuzzy neck. Besides, bunnies don't lay eggs. Chickens lay eggs. So then where is the chicken? He's a Springtime related animal too - spring chicken. Hello, duh. So why don't we have a big chicken in a basket? Wait a minute, we do! It's called KFC. Did KFC come before Easter? Is that why we don't have a chicken in a basket for Easter because the idea was already taken by Kernel Sanders? Or is it the fact that an oversized bunny, although kinda scary, it's still less scary than say a chicken getting it's head chopped off?

Is this post getting really weird? Yeah, I thought so too. The point is, Easter is lame. You will be hard pressed to convince me otherwise, but you may try to do so. In fact, please do. I'm feeling disgruntle about the Easter holiday. I'm not even excited about Easter dinner. The entire Easter weekend just sounds dull to me. I think I'm an Easter Grinch. I don't feel like driving 2 hours to have dinner at my Grandma's. I don't feel like reprimanding another idiot dressed in a bunny costume trying to hi-five my 2-year-old niece when she is obviously freaked out by his enormous, unrealistic bunny being. She is a toddler of logic. She knows there is no such thing as a 6 foot bunny. So stop playing head games and freaking her out. Talk to her like an adult Focker. Didn't you hear her? If not, then pull the hair out of your ears because she said very cleary "no bunnies and no chickemths". (I love that - chickemths. You have to hear her say it to fully appreciate the cute factor.) She repeated it about 10 times, but the dumb bunny didn't seem to get it as he continued to inch closer. Close enough to her that she finally had it and broke into tears. Dumbass bunny. She was so shaken that she couldn't even calm down to do the Easter Egg Hunt. Bunnies piss me off.

Perhaps my Easter Grinch attitude was carried down the bloodlines to my niece. She doesn't seem to be jazzed about the Easter holiday either. That reminds me, I know something gayer than a bunny in a pastel bowtie. Using the word "jazzed". Actually, if I say it WITH the use of "jazz hands", then THAT would be the gayest of the gay. (Ok, that's enough gay talk from me.) I have an idea. I'm going to make the most of this lame holiday we call Easter. I'm going to make the most of it by heading out to Iowa where the only thing exciting to do there is watch corn grow. Then just when I am about to stab myself in the ear with a cob of corn from sheer boredom, I will come home. Then and only then will I find a new appreciation for this thing called Easter. Perhaps while I'm in Iowa I can pickup a t-shirt that says..."I went to Iowa and the only thing I got was this lousy t-shirt and a case of the mumps." Hey, we already know Easter isn't exciting so at least catching mumps would give me something riveting to talk about as I'm sucking out the slime of a Cadbury Egg on Monday.

This concludes my Easter ramble. Have a Good Friday and enjoy your holiday weekend...or lack thereof. By the way, I forgot to mention my deep hatred of those God awful marshmallow Peeps. Those and stale jellybeans are a few more reasons why Easter sucks. Now is the time you attempt in convincing me why you feel Easter isn't lame. Feel free to use "jazz hands", if need be, to convey your message full of excitement. Make me feel it baby.

Teasing A Nerd Will Cost You $300,000+

On his Canadian birth certificate, his name reads Ghyslain Raza, but on the Internet, he is know as the infamous "Star Wars Kid". That nerdy and overweight teenager whose Star Wars lightsaber fighting moves were captured on video and downloaded online by over 15 million people! If for you never saw this video, then you MUST watch it. It's hilarious! He obvious took alot of time setting "the stage" with a black backdrop and positioning the camera just so. In lue of a real lightsaber, what appears to be a shower curtain rod is twirled repeatedly (and often out of control) in Jedi Master fashion. Between random bursts of intense lightsabering action, he calmly collects himself. Takes a small breather, repositions and then continues on with a flurry of spins, kicks, chops and even jumping...or an attempt to jump. The show is complete with sexy face poses and extreme close ups. To top it off, even a little ass crack is included. All of that is accompanied by his own swooshing sound effects. It's truly priceless.

Watch The Video Here!

In 2002, three schoolmates snatched the 2 minute long clip and posted in on KaZaA as a joke. It got laughs from around the world and is STILL circulating! However, it looks like the Star Wars Kid may be getting the last laugh, or at least a hefty court settlement by cutting a deal with his tormentors. According to Ghyslain, whenever he walked by his high school's common areas, other students would jump on tables and chant "Star Wars Kid! Star Wars Kid!" There would be a commotion as they shouted and poked at him, trying to get a reaction. "It was simply unbearable," he said. An otherwise ordinary teen in a small town, Ghyslain had become a worldwide object of ridicule when the accused boys posted the video of him clumsily pretending to be a Star Wars character. Now 3 years later, Ghyslain's parents are suing the boys on his behalf. It is said to be the world's first and most publicized cases of cyber-bullying.

Even though I hate Star Wars and most sci-fi stuff in general, you can't help but feel a little bad for this kid getting picked on. Have a little heart. I'm sure he knows he isn't cool, so no need to point it out to him. We've all had our dorky private moments, but this poor kid is living the nightmare of having his private dorkiness projected across the world. Every teenager does something they live to regret. It's part of adolescence. Ghyslain simply made the additional mistake of recording his moment of infamy on video. The result made him an Internet sensation. Everyone seemed to be laughing, except him. So due to the humiliation factor he suffered, an out of court settlement is making the 3 pranksters pay over $300,000 out of pocket - ouch! It looks like Ghyslain may finally be laughing now. Perhaps The Force really is with him.

(Did I use that phrase right? I really don't even know what "The Force" is. I just know it has something to do with Star Wars nerds.)

Here's To You Mrs. Robinson

It's 10:00AM. Do you know what your stomach is doing? It may not be out carousing with that questionable teenager smoking refer and sucking face behind a dumpster, even though that is what those scared straight TV commercials want you to believe. But your stomach does have a problem - it's grumbling. Because you were running late for work, you've deprived it of it's morning breakfast fuel. Now you are suffering the consequences as it strikes up ill mannered chit-chat in your AM meeting. These aren't the type of pleasantries you wish to exchange with your boss or co-workers. However, don't fear...Mrs. Robinson is near! Yes, she is my office superhero. A woman bearing baked goods. A woman who wears "Mom jeans" and spends countless hours smoothing out her "bingo hair". Don't know what bingo hair is? Well, then it's obvious you need to work with me for a day and experience a slew of new phrases.

In the case of Mrs. Robinson, the way to my heart
really was thru my stomach.

Mrs. Robison is my hero, seriously. She saves me nearly everyday. Ok, she doesn't save me, but she does rescue my stomach. She is there to aid it's grumbles in a time of need. She magically appears around a corner wall as if she has Superman x-ray vision that foresees a hungry boy crying for help. She is there to nourish my innards like no other woman before her has ever done...except my Mom. She is there to give me that loving motherly advice, warn me about safety and nag me about such things like getting to a doctor to see if I really broke or fractured my finger last weekend. (Long story short, I dislocated it at the middle knuckle playing basketball and had to pop it back into place. It tickled.)

In offices across America, women are making work a better place to be. Every single business I've ever worked for, the girls always bring in goodies. You never see a dude with a candy jar on his desk, but women ALWAYS have them. Take a look around your office. Maybe you are that girl! If you are, let me know because I want to be your friend! (hee-hee) Guys I can't stress this enough. At work you must, must befriend a woman who brings in treats. Do it immediately, if not sooner. You will thank me for it. Trust me. She will be your lifeline when hunger strikes and it strikes me pretty much all day long. If you are lucky like me, then Mrs. Robinson is just a few cubicals away. I think I have a hollow leg or maybe tapeworm because I can eat and an hour later I'm hungry again. Maybe I'm just a growing boy, still? No big deal though because I burn it all off. Then all I need to do is refill the tank and thanks to Mrs. Robinson, I keep her topped off.

Today marks the end of an era. Sad news - Mrs. Robinson is retiring. Yes, I'm heartbroken to see her go and believe me, my stomach will mourn the lose for some time. I want to say thanks once again to my office superhero. She can bake brownies like nobody's business. She can mix that batter with one arm tied behind her back and the other placing a little marker over G-15 on her Bingo card. The passing down of the tourch/wooden spoon is inevitable. However, I don't think anyone can master such a tool like she did. She will be sorely missed. As a final tribute, I wanted to give Mrs. Robinson a departing gift since she has given me so much. I thought about baking something for her, but then there is no need to punish a good woman. She need not be tortured by my caveman-like cooking skills. So I will spare her the pain and suffering. Instead, I'll sing her a song. Yes, I know I can't sing either, but I can write the lyrics and hum! So here's to you Mrs. Robinson. A rewrite of a Simon and Garfunkel song from your era. I hope you enjoy your retirement time and my tummy will never forget your double chocolate chunk brownies. Still gooey and warm, baked with love that you could taste in every bite. Even the tiny crumbs I cherished.

And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson,
David loves you more than you will know.
God bless you, please Mrs. Robinson.
My stomach holds a place for you today,
Hey, hey, hey.

The Kid Has Heart & A Killer Right Jab

Here's a helpful tip. If you ever find yourself in a situation where you want to "savor the moment", capture it via photographic lens, then don't put your buddies in charge of the photo snapping. They will become too distracted and fail miserably. Or in my case, they will photograph the wrong subject - the ring girl's ass between rounds instead of my match. This is what happens when you hand your cell phone to your friends and instruct them to "get a couple good shots". Sure, they got good shots alright...good shots of all the ring girls! Needless to say I have few fight photos to share, but I do have a ton of thong images. So in a way, it's not a total waste...at least not to me. However, they did manage to capture a couple of me in action, but they aren't nearly as crisp as the zoom in shots of an unknown hottie holding the Round 2 card. (Ignore the moblog photo below for right now. I'll explain who that is shortly.)

I know all of my loyal blog readers are disappointed. A) You either wanted to see half naked shots of me all sweaty (hah) or...B) You wanted to see those ring girls in their thongs! I could very well upload a few images from both categories, but A) you won't be able to even tell that's me boxing because they are taken from far away and...B) The thong images may cause a problem for some who read my blog at work. I say that because there are alot of "flesh tones" which may cause your network to block my blog URL, thinking it's a porn site. So until I decide how I want to handle this (to post, not to post, to edit, ect), I am going to leave you with a short tale of my mini apprentice you see photographed above. Meet Evan.

Evan is just 10-years-old. He's a shy kid with a good sense of humor and a very big heart. He's a fighter. Not just inside the ring, but outside the ropes as well. There's only one problem. Evan has a hole in his heart, literally. He was diagnosed with the medical condition at birth and I don't know all the details, but I do know that his situation is not life threatening. Although that is good news, Evan still struggles with his illness. However, I feel this struggle has made him stronger - emotionally, psychologically. Back in November I noticed him hanging out at the gym. He would watch the boxers train and on one occasion I saw him mimicking combinations, shadow boxing. A skinny kid in baggy sweats. He stuck out like a sore thumb. He looked nothing like a boxer, nor athlete. Physically, everything about him was wrong for the sport. Mentally, he was the perfect fit. Someone with courage and strength to overcome the odds. To fight thru tough times and never give up even when he's backed into a corner.

It wasn't long before I picked up on the fact that Evan was absorbing the atmosphere around him like a sponge. It was obvious he was eager and willing to learn. More importantly than skill or talent, you could see the passion in this kid's eyes. He found something he loved. Something he had not yet done, but was ready to embark on. That is when Evan walked towards me. For such a shy kid, I was surprised that Evan was the one to first initiate conversation with me. He approached me to ask if I could teach him how to box. I've never coached anyone before, but I thought this might be a good challenge for myself. In the process I would be helping someone experience what it feels like to overcome the odds outside of a doctor's office. To never get discouraged and quit. To encourage his competitive drive. To show him that hard work and dedication does pay off. To show him how to triumph in victory and be humble even in defeat. Boxing can teach you so much about yourself. Your character. Your heart. It brings out things inside you that you didn't even know existed. Good things. Positive things. Things a boy like Evan could really use.

The moblog photo you see above is not Evan's first fight, although this was taken from his first win! I'm really proud of the kid. He's come a long way in just 6 months. He very well could be a diamond in the rough. Maybe one day he will grow to be a great fighter. Maybe not. One thing is for sure, he will get to grow-up. The most important fight is the fight Evan has battled since birth - the fight for his life. A fight he is winning and I'm confident he will continue to win. Ropes or no ropes, I'll be cheering from his corner. Evan has found his passion. He is filling that hole in his heart with boxing. When the doctors look at Evan's heart, I wonder if they see it the same way I do. If they see what I see. What shows up on a hospital scan is not a true picture of Evan's heart. Evan's heart is truly seen when he boxes. It shines thru his eyes. Nothing short of brilliant.

***UPDATE***
Last week in the comment section I was asked about my fight and I replied there, but for those that didn't see it and are wondering, here is the scoop. It was scheduled for 6 rounds and I won with a TKO 1:12 into the 3rd round. Not too bad of a performance for not having a fight for sometime. Although I think I was more excited about Evan winning awhile back than I was about my own match.

Book Made Of Human Skin!

The part of my Blogger profile that reads "You will never see my name embossed on a fine leather book." Well pretend I get published. Imagine the cover. Tanned and polished. A smooth golden brown, like fine leather. Beautiful right? Oh yeah, by the way...that supple leather you are admiring, it's made of human skin! I know it sounds disgusting, but books made out of human skin are not just factious horror props from Hollywood. They are real. They exist. Recently in Leeds, officials recovered a 300-year-old ledger (containing mostly French) that is bound in human skin! It is suspected that it was dropped by someone who may have been burglarizing homes in the area. It is handwritten in black ink and appears to date back to the 1700s. West Yorkshire police have posted 2 photographs of the book on their website, but are unable to answer any questions about it, including the book's subject matter. Although this finding may shock some, it's not that rare. You can find human skin bound books in a number of the nation's finest libraries, including Harvard's!

When I read this news story, I thought it sounded like some twisted Jeffery Dahmer sh*t. Perhaps I am ignorant to the fact that human skin books have been around since the 18th century. I was completely unaware that these books are STILL being checked out in libraries around the world. I find it a little disturbing. Ok, alot disturbing. Anthropometric bibliopegy, as it is scientifically known, was used during the French Revolution to cover ledgers used to record murder trials using the killer's own skin (payback is a b*tch). Cadaver skin has also been known to be used to cover anatomy books. In World War II, Nazis were accused of using the skin from Holocaust victims to bind books. (Now I'm really repulsed.)

The practice of binding books in human skin was not uncommon in centuries past, even if it was not always discussed in polite society. At the time, the best libraries belonged to private collectors. Some were doctors who had access to skin from amputated parts and patients whose bodies had gone unclaimed. In other cases, wealthy bibliophiles acquired skin from executed criminals, medical school cadavers and people who died in the poor house. Nowadays, libraries typically keep such volumes in their rare book collections and do not allow them to circulate. However, scholars can examine them.

Usually universities and other libraries acquired the books as donations or as part of collections they purchased. It is not clear whether some of the patients knew what would happen to their bodies. Most likely the skin came from poor people who had no one to claim their remains. The practice took place well before the modern age of consent forms and organ donor cards. While human leather may be repulsive to contemporary society, libraries can ethically have the books in their collections if they are used respectfully for academic research and not displayed as objects of curiosity. Historical or not, I think it's disgusting!

Proof That God Hates Me

They say even God has a sense of humor and at times I think I am at the butt of his jokes. Sometimes I wonder if I'm cursed. How do I manage to have dumb accidents or put myself in precarious situations? It's not like I'm always making an ass out of myself, but when the mood strikes God to make an ass out of me, he doesn't hesitate to indulge. Perhaps when Murphy's Law was written, they did so with me in mind. They could foresee the future. Foresee me and my Yoplait Strawberry Yogurt. How is it humanly possible to get a "Monica stain" on the front of your pants on not only 1 occasion, not only 2 occasions, but on 3 occasions! Why do I continue to repeat such a stellar performance of embarrassment? And why does God have to be so sick, twisted and evil to wait in pulling the tri-peat prank at the very moment I am about to meet a very powerful and well known female political figure? I think he does so for that added "zing" affect. That moment when the look of "wanting to crawl under a rock and die" hits my face. It's a look he must really love. A look I must wear well...or so he thinks.

It's lunch time and I'm sitting with a bunch of stiff suits trying to fit into a world of straight laced 50-60-year-old men. I often find that I don't have alot in common with people when there is a 30 year generation gap. They all have a wife and kids, I do not. They all have worked in the field for 3 or 4 decades. I on the other hand wasn't even born. My outside interests consist of things like playing basketball, boxing and racing my motorcycle. Their interests surround a good Cuban cigar and 18 holes of golf. I don't think I mesh too well. In a few years I can see myself settling down - getting married, having kids. In a few years, they see themselves retiring - kids are grown, time to travel. The reality is, they are old enough to be my father. For that reason, I don't feel they take too kindly to the fact that I'm even there, competing at their level at a much younger age. I can understand that. I can sense the resentment. However, what they don't realize is that most of the time, I'm the one "in awww" over them. If I were to admit that, they would think I was kissing ass/brown nosing.

With any job comes meeting new people. Meeting new people means making a good first impression. A lasting impression. Leaving your mark. As I'm sitting around a table finishing up lunch with these guys, I reach for my yogurt. I begin spooning up the creamy treat of strawberry Yoplait. I think to myself "this hits the spot" - figuratively...and literally. I notice that I accidentally dropped a rather heaping spoonful of the yogurt onto my lap. You do know what yogurt looks like on your crotch right? If not, then take a generous portion of some yogurt, sling it across your crotch and glance in the mirror. Yes, it looks like you came in your drawers. Another "Monica stain", but unlike the 1st time I posted about a similar story, this one was just yogurt. Of course it's difficult to tell the difference between semen and yogurt on pants.

No big deal, right? It was an accident. I began to wipe up with a napkin, not realizing that I was actually pushing the yogurt deeper into the fabric, making it worse! It was now more noticeable. It got underneath the flap of my zipper. I attempted to wipe just underneath the flap, when I realized it would be best to go into the Men's Room where I could use a little water and unzip if need be. I now looked like some kid took his SuperSoaker 9000 gun, filled it with man juice and soaked it on me. Not pretty. Just as I began to ask the guys to excuse me while I go to the Men's Room, I hear "hold on a minute, I want you to meet someone first, she just came in". I look across the room and there she is, smiling and walking towards our table. (Sorry, I am withholding her name for several reasons.)

I can feel my blood temperature rising because I know I am going to have to stand and shake hands with her in my look-a-like cum coverings. If that wasn't bad enough, now I had the flap of my pants open! I might as well been unzipped too because it looked that bad at this point. What could I do? She was rapidly approaching the table. I could reach down and adjust my crotch, but that would look inappropriate and perverted. Besides, having your flap open with what appears to be semen shot all over the front of your pants is less inappropriate and perverted right? In hindsight I see that reaching down to adjust would of been the less of the 2 evils. Unfortunately for me, I choose to stand and greet this woman with my flap open and a questionable looking substance oozing by my zipper.

I don't even remember what I babbled to her. I think I did mention I spilled something on me because she surely noticed and wondered. I could hear that little voice inside my head saying "you idiot!" It was both humbling and humiliating to meet this woman. I wonder what she thought? I also wonder what God must think, that he took the practical joke a little too far? Do you think God was giggling? I'm sure he was busting up. I think it's his form of payback to me since I ate meat on Good Friday. Oh well, I'm a sinner and yogurt crotch is my hell. Maybe it's just classified as karma. Either way, I'll wear a bib next time...around my waist. Yes, a first impression lasts a lifetime, does it not? I'm sure I've left my "mark".

***UPDATE***
My business trip to DC this week has been quite eventful, that is for certain. I'm sure everyone saw the news, heard about U.S. Department of Homeland Security spokesman Brian Doyle being arrested for the solicitation of a 14-year-old girl (really an undercover officer) over the Internet. These charges coming just a week after a NASA employee was arrested under similar circumstances, allegedly of course. I know nothing more about either incident other than what CNN is reporting, honestly. So when I was told to say "no comment" if anyone from the media asked me to talk about what had happened, I did just that. I remained "tight lipped" - the don't ask, don't tell policy. I know OF Doyle, but I don't really know HIM on a personal level. Therefore I can't and won't answer any questions on Doyle, but feel free to comment on the strawberry yogurt surprise part of the post.

Fashion Of The Future, It May Get Fugly

I must admit, when the weather warms up, my eyes begin to wonder a bit more. All the cute girls are finally shedding those bulky winter clothes for light, low cut, high cut, barely there clothing...and that makes me pretty damn happy. Ladies, it's time to breakout the skirts and stilettos! Well, almost. With every new season comes a new collection of clothes and Springtime is the perfect time to update your wardrobe with the latest fashion trends. (Wow, I sounded really gay there.) Maybe you will go futuristic this year in your selection. If you're a girl who is into fashion, you will like this post. If you are a guy who is into tech, you will like this post. If you are into clothes and technology, then you may want to reach for a cigarette and take a nap after this because it will be THAT good to you! You decide whether they are "smart clothes" or just plain "dumb wear". Think of it as George Jetson meets Oscar de la Renta...well almost.

"Spray-On Clothes" by Manel Torres of Fabrican
This temporary dress, consisting of a cloud of non-woven cloth, is made by spraying a chemical formula directly onto the skin. Basically, it's a cotton-fabric that comes in a can. Once sprayed onto your body, the pressurized liquid turns instantly into a fabric. Each squirt from the can sends thousands of cotton fibers splattering against your skin. The fibers then bend together to form a disposable garment that peels away when you undress. Since the fibers are delivered in a diffused form, other elements can easily be added, like perfumes, pigments or treatments. The web of cloth is obviously quite thin, but if you spray more lavishly you can get a rather dense fabric. My suggestion, spray it on light like this woman did and then stand in front of your freezer to get that nice nippley affect.

"Heartbeat Hoodie" by Diana Eng
The hood has a built-in camera linked to the wearer's heart rate and adrenaline levels. If the wearer becomes excited, causing the heart rate and adrenaline levels to increase, the camera automatically snaps a photo of their surroundings. The reason for this would be...? I'm guessing some women need a photo snapped to let them know whether or not they are turned-on and to document exactly what made them swoon? Well, if you are a guy, all you have to do is look down and see if something aroused you. Actually, you don't even need to look, you just know. Men are more visual creatures, but most men don't need an actual image to turn them on. We have good imaginations. Just trust me on that. So in that sense, men are ahead of women in terms of technology. We have a natural built-in arousal detector that points north to let us know something is on the radar screen.

"Sweaty Coat" by Kuuchoufuku
First off, should I say "bless you" or "f*ck you too" after a name like Kuuchoufuku? Now to the coat...
Made from grey nylon, these long-sleeve jackets have 2 built-in fans connected to a battery pack on either side of the jacket. If you are a fat sweaty bastard, may I suggest NOT wearing a coat, period. Ahh, duh.

"Anti-Aging Wear" by Kanebo Spinning
The Nano Dew (hee-hee, the name makes me giggle) shirts and blankets contain vitamin E and special enzymes to reduce signs of aging and protect the wearer's skin from ultraviolet rays. Hmm, I wonder what would happen if you put on one of those tan thru bathing suits and then this sun-safe tee? I always wanted to see my clothes duke it out.

"Wearable Skin" by Marta Iwin
This jewelry is made from epithelial skin cells cultured in a lab and grown in a test tube. Forget diamonds, nothing says "I love you" like some stranger's cultivated skin around your girlfriend's neck. This is very disgusting and disturbing...and now I think I'm going to hurl.

"Hug Shirts" by Francesca Rosella & Ryan Genz of Cute Circuit
(previous/related post of mine - huggable PJs for kids) The hug shirt allows people to exchange the physical sensation of being hugged over distance, through sensors and actuators embedded in the textile. Since the shirt is a Bluetooth accessory for mobile phones, the hugs arrive thanks to the mobile network. It's a sad, sad world when you have to settle for a virtual hug over a real one. Sometimes you just can't improve on the original.

"Fugly Boots" by Amanda Parkes
These Muk Lux Flux boots change shape depending on the speed and motion of the wearer. If you know what the abbreviation "WTF" means, then it fits well here. Really, what the f*ck? I've always hated Ugg Boots. To me they were just ugly, no fugly (f-ing ugly) I think the new term is. I may breakup with a girl if she wears Uggs. Yes, it's shallow but I hate those boots that much - huge turnoff for me! Give me a girl who can wear some nice pointy toed boots with a thin heal, umm. I'll take her any day over the Ugger.

"Airplane Dress" by Hussein Chalayan
The "airplane dress" is made from glass fiber and uses a remote control to change shape. It was introduced back in 2000 as part of their Spring/Summer Collection, but apparently no one was collecting it. Gee, I wonder why. Perhaps it would of gone nice with those Fugly Boots.

All this and more coming to a mall near you...or not.

Porn 101 - Grab Your "Pencil", Class Is In Session

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Statue Of Britney Butt Naked On Bearskin (Giving Birth)

Rewind time a few years and if I heard the words "Britney Butt Naked On Bearskin", you better believe my attention would be caught. She has a cute face, but it's not that I think she is that pretty, rather it's her body that I loved. It was perfect from every angle. I like to remember Britney back when she was hot. Back when she did the "I'm A Slave For You" video. Now THOSE were the days! Beads of sweat dripping from her breasts all the way down to her navel. We watched her grow-up and get all slutty right before our very eyes, aww. Now fast forward to present time and date and we are left with a not so hot Britney. So forgive me if I'm not all excited about Britney baring it all on a bearskin rug. These days I rather she keep her clothes on. Unfortunately, for the city of New York, Britney is going to let it all hang out!

In just a few days, artist Daniel Edwards will unveil his sculpture entitled "Monument to Pro-Life: The Birth of Sean Preston". It will be located at Capla Kesting Fine Art in Brooklyn's Williamsburg gallery district from April 7 - 23. There you can get up close and personal with the nether regions of Britney Spears. She is depicted nude, sprawled out on all fours and giving birth to her firstborn atop a bearskin rug. Umm, do I need a refresher course in Sex Ed or is this out of the ordinary for a woman to give birth on her hands and knees...and on a bearskin rug of all places? Now conceiving in that fashion would be normal and actually encouraged, but giving birth like that? Hmm.

Dedication of the life-sized statue celebrates the recent birth of Spears' baby boy, Sean and applauds her decision of placing family before career. The "act of giving birth", is purportedly an idealized depiction of Britney in delivery. The statue spares no detail. Natural aspects of Spears' pregnancy, like lactiferous breasts and protruding naval, compliment a posterior view that depicts widened hips for birthing and reveals the crowning of baby Sean's head. The squirmish need not look. The monument also acknowledges the pop-diva’s pin-up past by showing Spears seductively posed doggie-style. Her back is arched and pelvis thrusted upward as she clutches the bear's ears with water-retentive hands. They had me at...doggie-style with back arched and pelvis thrust...but then lost me at...the water-retentive hands.

In related hot chick celeb news, a sculpture of Jessica Simpson passing gas is said to rival the Britney Spears birthing exhibit. (No, I'm not making this up, too bizarre even for my imagination.) VaFa, a trendy art gallery in New York City's Chelsea section, will unveil a sculpture of Jessica Simpson on a couch being flatulent. Sculptor Christo is the creator. So what inspired this "art" and why should a depiction of Jessica Simpson farting even be called "art"...or should it be called a work of f-art? Well, the artist had this to say..."I can't truly take credit for this since the flatus is Jessica's. The inspiration came to me while I, myself, had gastric upset in my studio. During a particularly vile salvo, my eye was caught by a rose on a table. It made me think how the beautiful and the ugly are so intertwined. I then thought of Jessica on Nick and Jessica, looking so beautiful…freely emitting and poof…or poop. There is was!" It definitely gives new meaning to the term arsty-fartsy.

So there you have it, 2 fine asses on display. Ok, 1 "once fine ass" and 1 "still fine ass". Now someone sculpt "The Best Ass Of All-Time Statue", JLo!

A Fool For Romance

Just because April Fools Day landed on a weekend, it didn't mean that Google would miss out on the opportunity to mess with people's heads...and perhaps their hearts a little. If you were one of the many that fell for the new Google Romance online dating service, then stamp the word "Loser" on your forehead. Google enticed the severely love challenged in by making the bold statement...Pin All Your Romantic Hopes on Google! Forget Match, eHarmony and all those other online dating services, just use Google to search for the love of your life! Google will then help you find "the one" by using their patent Soulmate Search, complete with the "I'm Feeling Lucky" button. They will even call upon a psychic to help match you up with that special someone of your dreams!

With Google Romance, you can:

• Upload your profile – tell the world who you are. Or more to the point, who you’d like to think you are. Or even more to the point, who you want others to think you are.
• Search for love in all (or at least a statistically significant majority of) the right places with Soulmate Search, our eerily effective psychographic matchmaking software.
• Endure, via our Contextual Dating option, thematically appropriate multimedia advertising throughout the entirety of your free date.

Even at first glance, it was so blatantly obvious that it was a joke, but I'm surprised to learn that many people actually fell for it. I suppose they finally caught on to the prank when they tried to create a profile. If you attempted to upload your photo, you were called a "sleaze". Google finally let the clueless in by informing them that they just fell for an April Fools Day joke...."Wasn't that amusing and harmless and mostly in good taste and not all psychologically damaging under various and sundry aspects of contemporary tort law, please don't sue us."