Diabetes Medication Commercials Are Biased

A Typical American Family Watching Television

A Typical American Family Watching Television

I read books. But I also watch television, and plenty of it. To say that I actively monitor and follow 46 television shows during the usual Fall to Spring television season would be no hyperbole. Forty-six! Do you know how much of that can be classified as hour-long? Seventy percent!! I track shows broadcast on network TV, cable, pay channels, and specialty package cable! So when it comes to having a finger on the pulse of America and a hand in a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, let’s just say I’m the freaking best. And being the best means navigating the entertainment world with a sharp eye, keen button-pushing reflexes, and the stamina of a Golden Glove winner. Seriously, try keeping up with even 10 shows a season and you’ll realize how much work it really takes.

Anyway, some of these shows I watch live, so I can’t perform the now-classic DVR Commercial Skip Maneuver™. It’s like I’m watching TV in 1999, and I get to experience television commercials the way the sponsors intended. Quiz me about Five Dollar Footlongs, Biz Stain Fighter, and soda swilling Ursus maritimus, and I’ll have your head spinning with my lightning-fast recall of advertising factoids. One thing I’ve gleaned from my incredibly obnoxious intake of television is that ads can come off a little biased against one group or another. Sometimes it’s a gender bias, like the AXE Body Spray ads where they depict hot women as complete nymphomaniacs who have somehow contracted Group Rapemind™ when they detect some layabout wearing AXE. On the flip side, commercials for almost every household cleaner, banking service, frozen meal, and color printer feature a shlubby guy ignorant about something and his attractive, smart, and confident wife comes in and teaches him a lesson and reminds him who really wears the pants. Just imagine an ad with ten dudes ripping off a woman’s clothes because she smells nice, or imagine a husband talking down to his dolt of a wife who didn’t know one doesn’t have to make appointments at Jiffy Lube. There would be rioting in the streets! Bias, and sometimes even extreme prejudice, can seep into the media messages.

Let’s not forget that famous 1997 vacuum cleaner spot where the one guy calls the other guy a faggot in front of his mother. By today’s standards, it’s hard to believe that ran for 6 months and won a CLIO.

Another thing I’ve noticed while giving in to my disturbing habit is that all diabetes medication commercials are extremely biased against people without diabetes. None of these ads talk about how the medication could affect individuals who have no need for it, which makes it feel like only certain people are targeted in these ads. Some spots talk about how you can get free blood sugar testers if you have diabetes and are on Medicare. What about the folks who don’t have diabetes, you say? Is there an avenue for them to get free testing equipment? You’d never hear about it in these commercials!

Of course, advertisers have certain demographics they want to reach. That’s why you normally won’t see Fruit By The Foot commercials during CSI: Miami and you won’t often see Cialis spots during reruns of iCarly. However, diabetes affects nearly 1 in 10 Americans, plus the 1 in 6 who are basically pre-diabetic, so I think everyone has a stake in folks getting all the facts. Something must be done against these biased commercials. You might say that if I don’t like the commercials, then I can turn the channel or not patronize the companies, but that sounds defeatist.

USA!The truth is racism in America isn’t going anywhere. In fact, it’s only growing and there is nothing we can do to stop it. But one thing we can do is get the word out to make everyone understand there is bias in our diabetes advertisements. I think we can agree all Americans deserve to be addressed in the spots, not just the ones with the illness. Once everyone is on the same page, we can begin to move beyond the dark age of diabetes medication commercials. So let’s all do our part make this country great again so I can get back to the newest episode of Burn Notice.

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Gov. Bobby Jindal Offered Role in Local Production of “Bus Stop”

After viewing Louisiana Governor Bobby Jindal’s response to President Barack Obama’s speech to Congress on Tuesday evening, the members of the Baton Rouge Community Theatre (BRCT, for short) found themselves floored. Last week, the group held auditions over two evenings to fill the roles in the William Inge masterpiece Bus Stop, but they failed to find just the right actor to play Bo Decker. Most members of the play group thought it was impossible to fill a role usually reserved for grossly untrained actors who have no idea how to work a crowd or a camera. But all of that changed with Jindal’s stilted and forced speech admonishing big government and the end of the temporary tax cuts put in place by former President George W. Bush.

“He’s an absolute star,” said Barbara Toyleston, president and 27-year veteran of the theater group. “His charisma and youthfulness just blew me away.” Citing his clean-cut look and off-putting folksiness dominant throughout his speech, Toyleston said he had everything the part required, and she could not help but imagine Gov. Jindal in the role of Bus Stop‘s Bo Decker. “Usually with the important roles, we’ll just cast [local high school senior] Dan Longsmith nearly sight-unseen, but Bobby just outshone Dan in every way. I mean, just watch the first two minutes of his speech, and you will see just how well he fits in with the rest of the terribly unprepared performers in our little community.”

Dan Longsmith, local actor

Dan Longsmith, local actor, does not hold a candle to Jindal in horrible regional theater acting ability

Toyleston and director Johan Colczyski wasted no time in composing and sending out a formal offer letter to the Governor’s office, and they hope to hear a confirmation within the next week. But time is of the essence; rehearsals start March 2nd, and the first of six weekend performances begin April 17th.

Colczyski is confident that author William Inge, dead for well over 25 years, would undoubtedly praise the Baton Rouge Community Theatre group for offering a part to Jindal. The Indian-American governor’s style harkens back to the raw community theater of old, where completely untalented teenagers and local citizens, who had no stake in art’s progress in a disaffected republic, could take on a role to express commentary on the state of local affairs. Jindal, without any effective media training for national-level speeches, clearly relied on the oratory techniques he picked up giving oral reports in middle school, and Colczyski says that’s what makes him perfect for their production of Bus Stop. The Governor attempted to undercut President Obama’s message of hope and change and American perseverance, which was validated by 9 million more votes than Senator John McCain, but he aptly demonstrated he was ready to take the community theater scene by storm. His artificial intonations of particular phrases as he talked about family life, tax cuts, and the welfare of all Americans mirrored the performance director Colczyski would expect of a local actor portraying Bo Decker. “If the lead doesn’t sound phony in a sing-songy delivery of his lines, then he’s not really doing his job,” Colczyski said. “But Bobby could pull that off in a hot second.”

Witness Jindal’s vocal inflections that bounce up and down to relate to the average American’s confusion with and condemnation of government’s role in everyday life. Just like fellow Republican Governor Sarah Palin, his flagrant rural American accent demonstrates that he could be tremendously out of touch with the rest of the United States’ populace and be a perfect addition to community theater. “He gave a performance just like a poorly prepared high school outcast who never delivered a monologue on a stage,” said Colczyski, “He is exactly who we want as our Bo Decker.”

Without a doubt, it is the folksiness that has attracted the attention of regional theater groups across the state. Baton Rouge Community Theatre hopes to recruit Jindal first, since they are a local entity with strong ties to the immediate theater scene, but they admit it will not be easy. “The big problem is the some of the larger theater groups offer greater incentives for the raw talent to perform with them,” admitted Toyleston. “It’s difficult to compete with an extra $15 per performance and free street parking before 9pm during rehearsals. And you know those better-financed theater companies who can offer such lavish riders in their contracts will be after him.” But BRCT skews to a younger audience and it generally appeals to the young, talentless, would-be actors in town who couldn’t land a Pizza Hut commercial if their lives depended on it, so Toyleston isn’t terribly worried.

“I feel like I’m watching a kids’ show on Nickelodeon when I watch this speech,” said Jan Hackett, a sophomore at Baton Rouge Univeristy. “But I’ll be damned if I wouldn’t watch Governor Jindal in Bus Stop! He’s perfect for Bo Decker!!”

The BRCT hopes to use examples like Jan Hackett’s excitement to attract Jindal to this Spring’s production, as he is trying to appeal a new generation of young voters. “It’s a win-win for everyone if he agrees to play Bo,” admitted producer Toyleston. “He will learn how affect his speech and applause lines like a proper individual in front a large crowd, and we will bring in new potential theater-goers for the up-coming season. In June we are putting on Our Town and The Lion in Winter; we do hope Bobby and everyone else can make it to auditions.”

Slumdog Millionaire: A Touching Fairytale

Warning: This review contains extensive spoilers!! So if you have not seen the movie and you don’t care if you find out about major plot developments, like who lives, who dies, and that head-scratching twist ending, READ ON!

Run, Latika, Run!

Run, Latika, Run!

Well folks, it’s that time of year again, Academy Awards Season. And while I’m sitting here at the 1-hour cleaners getting my tuxedo dry cleaned for my big Oscars viewing party that I host every year, I thought I’d whip out my brand new MacBook and put together a review of the film I saw yesterday. Because I’ll be honest, since seeing Slumdog Millionaire, I can’t stop talking about it. I’ve been going on and on about it to my friends, co-workers, and doorman. Sha’nandra, the checkout girl at the A&P, also got an earful from me today about how amazing this movie is.

Never before has such an uplifting and beautiful tale been presented on celluloid. Without a doubt, it is a masterpiece that pulls at the heart strings and reminds you about the best parts of youth and humanity.

Slumdog Millionaire is about a young Mexican man’s battle with poverty, sibling rivalry, love, and game show hosts. It opens with a ringside seat to a young contestant’s final trivia question on a particularly popular game show. How does he win the big bucks? How did he get here? What will he do with those winnings? But before we learn the answers, we are whisked away to a Mexican jail, where the same young man is, how would say…exposed to enhanced interrogation techniques. Superstar director Danny Boyle isn’t afraid to get right in your face immediately with some inhumane acts. Fine, you think to yourself, you’ve got my attention, Mr. Boyle. Now impress me. And for the next 117 minutes, he does just that.

The jailed victim is Jamal Malik, a young man being held on suspicion of cheating on Mexico’s most popular game show, “Who Wants To Be Un Millonario?” We learn that even the brightest minds in the country — scholars, philosophers, and scientists — never make it past a handful of questions. But Jamal has made his way to the top, one final question away from 20,000,000 rupees. The police sergeant has some questions for Jamal about how he could know the answers to such a wide range of questions. What is so odd about Jamal defying all the odds? He comes from the poorest area of Mumbai, Mexico, which is not known to produce geniuses with extensive world knowledge or the technological know-how to cheat on a game show in this day and age. As Jamal and the sergeant watch the show taping from the night before and go through each question, Jamal describes how he knows about famous actors in India, Native American poets, ingredients in a Shepherd’s Pie, the original members of the Justice League, and so on. Many amateur storytellers forget the sage advice passed down from their creative writing professors and acting coaches, “Don’t tell me, SHOW ME,” but not Boyle, who neither forgetful or an amateur. He shows us exactly how a young Mexican ‘slumdog’ knows so many amazing disparate trivia questions by taking us back to events in Jamal’s childhood where he picked up this information. (Slumdog, by the way, is a Spanish word imported from the British term “slimedigger,” which is — as we all know — a term commonly used to refer to poor street urchins who used to scrape the slime from underneath roadway cobblestones to sell to soapmakers for 2 bits and a slap in the face.) Each answer in Jamal’s mind is not simply a trivia fact he picked up on the back of cereal box or a discarded New York Times; each bit of information has its own backstory, replete with drama and explosive character development. Boyle uses the flashbacks, in a tip of the hat to TV’s LOST, to weave together a complete picture of our protagonist.

Lens Flare, or something else entirely?

Lens Flare, or something else entirely?

We see Jamal as a young child and a preteen, growing up on the streets with his brother Salim and their companion Latika. Like thousands of other poor Mexican youths, they must survive with only a few tools at their disposal: one part cuteness, three parts wit, and probably a dash of health insurance with a presumably high deductible. Boyle keeps the tone mostly light, but with a hastened pace. The kids grow before our eyes and their inner natures become heightened. Latika always does what’s necessary to survive. Jamal enjoys more and more the companionship in his life. But Salim derives too much pleasure from manipulating strangers and his younger partners. In one pivotal scene, after a hard day taking advantage of ignorant American tourists, they celebrate the spoils of their work, enjoying burritos and nips of alcohol. Now older and enjoying the taste of greed, Salim, once his brother’s rescuer, betrays Jamal’s desires and sends him away.

You root for Jamal and Latika to reunite after being split apart twice by Salim’s machinations. Salim’s actions were once to protect his hermano and they later devolve to only protect his own interests. But Jamal is unable to not love his brother, and the power of his optimism and capacity for compassion is what brings Salim to finally act in Jamal’s interest. After the hardships they all endure, each of them finds redemption, whether in becoming a game show champion, or in the arms of their soulmate, or in an artistically over-the-top death in a bathtub full of cash.

We Can Dance If You Want To

We Can Dance If You Want To

It’s a fairytale about young love, set against the backdrop of the Mexican streets where survival means taking advantage of all opportunities as they come along. Well, for as long as they have the means to beam it onto a giant screen, you will have the opportunity to see this uplifting story for anywhere from five to twelve dollars per viewing. Please do yourself the favor and run, don’t walk, to the theater!

And yes, it’s not a perfect movie. Like any work of art, it has its problems. For example, the uniquely designed narrative structure lifted from the popular television show LOST that I mentioned earlier is cheap, but forgivable. The utterly strange native dialect that I couldn’t pick one word out of, despite four years of high school Spanish, takes you out of the story a little bit. Oh, and the big twist ending that had everyone in the theater texting WTF? Turns out, they were all ghosts.

Anyway, my tux is ready. After the Oscars, be sure to come back to check out my wrap-up special and sign my letter of petition to get Paul Blart: Mall Cop onto IMAX screens. See you next time!

Our Warp Drive Problem Requires A Sexy Engineering Solution

Sorry, is there a problem I can solve for you?

Engineering problems? How about I give you a hand?

Being an engineer on a starship is at once an extremely difficult and incredibly fulfilling profession. Interstellar travel requires you to know so many levels of physics and math and mechanics that go way beyond the standards for inter-atmospheric propulsion. We’re talking about traveling at multiples of the speed of light through space! It’s no easy thing. I’m not even qualified to be Chief Engineer; I’m still years away from being good enough for that level of responsibility. So I spend most of my days monitoring, cleaning and calibrating plasma manifolds and anti-matter injectors and power relays. But do you want to know the best part of the job these days? Whenever there is a major engineering problem, especially with our quantum warp drive, it usually requires a sexy solution.

Last year, a consultant joined our crew after one of our more harrowing adventures through this vast frontier. She has made a tremendous impact in all areas of the ship, including Engineering, Communications, Navigation, and Astrometrics. Also, one hundred percent of all major Engineering problems she has worked on required some sort of sexy solution. She is utterly brilliant and extremely attractive, and she has this grace about her that reminds you of a ballet dancer. She moves so calmly and smoothly, never with any unnecessary movements. When she solves problems and saves the ship from near disaster, she practically glides through the ship, fluidly entering rooms with unmatched poise. Her brains and beauty and crisis management skills are so damn sexy.

Our Consultant

Would you like to see my scans?

Take last month, for example. We made a detour from our original course to travel through a Class 2 nebula and get some sensor readings because our goofy captain just looooves to do scientific exploration at every turn. To our horror, the nebula turned out to be a sentient being that quickly enveloped us and completely shut down our systems by draining power from the ship. We could not communicate with the creature at first, and everyone in Engineering was scrambling to figure out how to escape before we lost life support. But then our cool-headed consultant fired up a console and noticed a pattern in our sensor readings. She correctly determined that the creature was trying to communicate through minute radiation bursts off our port side. She recommended that we manually adjust the frequency of our shield harmonics to simulate the same patterns to tell the creature we meant no harm. I went with her deep into the narrow conduits with my portable phase inducer to make the proper adjustments, but those trips always require unusual contorting body movements, forcing us to reach and stretch deep into the panel to make any changes. The way she had to bend over the neutrino collection tube and twist her torso to reach the power nodes was beyond sexy.

Listen, I’m not just some perverted grease monkey.  Just about everyone on the ship agrees with me on this. No one has any illusions about her skills and intellect, but she has other assets that get the job done. She is the most intelligent and analytical person the ship, but there is more going on with her. And I swear, I think I once heard our female captain say to her over the communication system, “Report to the bridge. We have a problem and we need your sexy expertise. Your sexpertise.”

There was an incident two weeks ago where the characters on our holographic simulation theater became self-aware for, like, the tenth time in three years. They basically held the Commander, our Captain’s second-in-command, hostage. We were locked out of all hologram systems and time was running out to save him. Well, Engineering powers the entire ship so our department had to come up with a solution. We couldn’t cut power to the holo-systems without frying the circuits on half the ship because our feedback redundancies were turned off. But our consultant was monitoring the situation and determined the leader in the holo-sim, a character called Al Capone, was directly linked to all system interfaces. If we deactivated him, we could restore control to all ship systems and save our Commander’s life. But how do you kill a hologram? She said a magnetic field inverter placed on Capone would destabilize his program and destroy him, but it was impossible to get close to him without Capone killing the Commander. Fortunately, Capone had one weakness: “foxy dames with killer gams.” Enter our consultant in heels and a slim red dress with a slit that went all the way up. Some playful banter and two holo-tinis later she was able to slam the inverter onto his chest and deactivate him, saving the Commander. The sexy solution wins again.

Ready to consult for you.

Reporting for duty

She really has got it all, but even she is not perfect; every now and then she loses her mind and tries to kill everybody on board. But I suppose one would have the occasional psychotic episode after being disconnected from a hive mind of billions and have to explore your humanity while serving on a starship that is nearly destroyed every few days by astrological phenomena and aggressive weirdo aliens with proton cannons. It’s fortunate our captain can talk her down from the ledge when necessary, because our brilliant life-saving engineering maneuvers wouldn’t be nearly as sexy.

I don’t even have time to describe what happened last week, but let’s just say this. In saving the ship from some photonic-based lifeforms that invaded our infuser coils, she ended up drenched head to toe in warp coolant, and I had to hose her down with decontamination fluid to make sure she did not suffer any ill-effects.

Yes, life on a starship can be both hazardous and monotonous for a low-level engineer, but the excitement and sexy problem-solving that comes with the territory makes the job all the more worthwhile.

50 Things To Do Before I Go Splat

It may sound so trite, but the recent assassination attempts on my life have really given me time to realize that life is a precious gift. I now understand that we have limited time on this earth and that we should strive to do new and exciting and unique things every chance we get. Upon reflection, I see that I haven’t done much of anything noteworthy with my life. This is not counting my highly successful humor blog or my 1141 lbs. prize winning pumpkin at the county fair last year (Take that, ol’ man Weatherspoon!) which came in 2nd place (I’ll get you next year, Farmer Todd!).

After considering that, I spent a good deal of time on the Internet and I became inspired some of the brilliant goals people set for themselves in their lives. I decided that I should also make a list of the things I need to accomplish before I die. I don’t want to be an old man and have a bucket list that I race to complete before the end. I want a huge motherfucker that should take years to finish. With any luck, I should be able to get most of it done before I turn 40, the age where I will be long overdue to be dead and buried. Many of these are more like chores, but others satisfy my impotent sense of adventure and personal curiosities. I would not doubt that some of you would have a few of these crossed off your list, but these are things I feel I need to do. I will cross them off as they are completed.

Here are the first 50 items in my soon to be extensive list (in no particular order):

  • Tour through Europe
  • Acquire a passport
  • Grow a handlebar mustache
  • Attend the Source Awards
  • Master the rock the cradle move with that damn Yo-Yo
  • Read War and Peace
  • Throw myself from a plane, float gently to the ground
  • Slay a wolverine (rabid or sleeping)
  • Adopt a highway
  • Run for City Dogcatcher
  • Spit on Derek Jeter
  • Make a hole-in-one
  • Sit through an entire poetry slam without leaving early
  • Get a tattoo
  • Attend a Beck concert
  • Build, treat, later burn down a deck
  • Visit a nude beach
  • Support the troops
  • Eat 50,000 49,983 chocolate chip cookies (cumulative)
  • Watch, review the entire Jim Carrey oeuvre
  • Maintain ant farm for 2 weeks
  • Meet Jared Fogle
  • Have my portrait painted
  • Sink a hole-in-one (mini golf)
  • Witness sunset from the highest natural point in Kansas
  • Buy 10 shares in Google
  • Shame first born in front of his/her mates
  • Get back hair lasered off
  • Mail a chain letter
  • Count the number of licks to the center of a Tootsie Pop
  • Meet Internet girlfriend face-to-face
  • Build 1:3 scale model of St. Louis Gateway Arch out of Lego
  • Interview Maya Angelou
  • See “Cats”
  • Bowl a 295 or better
  • Listen to own heartbeat with stethoscope
  • Have a Napa weekend
  • View all Academy Award Best Picture winners
  • Learn how to make my own pasta
  • Perfect butterfly stroke
  • Attend a World Cup match
  • Determine once and for all if I am allergic to clam chowder or just clams, if either
  • Befriend a Jew, black guy, and a fireman, walk into a bar together
  • Visit all Major League Baseball stadiums in one season
  • Judge a beauty or talent contest
  • Go 365 364 363 362 consecutive days without accidentally biting my tongue
  • Participate in guerilla marketing for a cell phone company or oatmeal product
  • Study and master the Waltz, Lambada, Charleston
  • Visit the pyramids in Egypt
  • Have a fight set to techno music

And there we are! The first 50 of many great things I will accomplish before I die! Keep checking in on the list over the years to see how I’m doing with it. I am adding to the list as time goes on, but I’m not posting them right away. If any of you have some amazing and unique experiences you think I should do to further expand the fullness of life, your suggestions would be very welcome!

I Was A Target Of Assassination!

Not My Wife. Yet.

Not My Wife. Yet.

So, after my startlingly successful post over a month ago about Sarah Palin’s MAXIM cover, it seems like I dropped off the face of the Earth. No new posts since August 29 and barely a peep out of me otherwise. Speculation has been running rampant through the blogosphere, and as each day passes, the rumors get more and more outrageous. I thought I’d set the record straight on some of the more plausible, but still completely false, rumors. I did not, in fact, decide to retire after my highly successful 7-week run at humor blogging. Nor did I run off and elope with model/actress Gemma Atkinson. I did not, in fact, get a job with Carnival Cruiseline as a Morale Officer. I did not, in fact, return to college as president of the Delta Gamma Beta sorority (more specifically, I am not a 20 year old co-ed).

I should just leave it at that and be on my way, but it seems that the masses will never stop clamoring for more Free Soup With Purchase. So even though doing so may cause me to relive some emotional stress, I have decided to let everyone know where I have been. I will tell you in six words or less: I was a target of assassination! And while I survived, I have not done so without some scars to show for it. These past few weeks have been mentally and physically brutal, but I would say I am stronger for it. Without exaggeration, this has been the most harrowing and stressful time of my life!

The first attempt on my life begins six weeks ago this past Friday. While I was hard at work scanning and retouching my completely legitimate MAXIM issue that featured a sexy Sarah Palin on the cover, I enjoyed a hearty sandwich piled high with extremely American ingredients, including but not limited to delicacies such as orange cheese slices, Oscar Mayer bologna, and mayonnaise. It wasn’t until a few hours later on the racquetball court that I realized something was wrong. I doubled over in sudden pain after a particularly good volley, confused and worried that I was in my final moments of life. Fortunately, I was with my good friend, Broadway actor Anthony Rapp, who dialed 911 and got me to the hospital in time for an emergency surgery. Little did I know just how hearty that sandwich was; it contained a foreign substance that would have easily removed all stability in my digestive system. The staple of what keeps my health together was put in jeopardy, and I could have experienced a painful death. Luckily, the surgeons took care of me and said I would be back on the court in no time. Like with all of my celebrity friends, I do not mention Anthony on my blog, and he has always asked that I keep our association off the blogosphere. But I think it is more because I handily beat him in racquetball nearly every time we play.  Either way, I owe the man my life, and I must give credit where credit is due. He is my hero and I would not be here if not for him.

Assassination Attempt #1

Assassination Attempt #1

Now, you might think that the poisoning of my sandwich was an accident. I mean, it happens. How many times have you accidentally put some sort of office supply between a few slices of lunchmeat? “Enough,” you might reply, and so would I! That’s what I thought; this was just a simple mistake that turned deadly. I didn’t suspect assassination until days later, when attempt #2 occurred!!

I was released from the hospital after a few days to recover and I took a cab home. I stopped off for a quick walk through the park to take in the fresh air and reflect on my renewed value for life. Satisfied that I took in enough nature and annoyed at the stupid chirping birds everywhere, I set off for home. I arrived at my apartment on the second floor and unlocked the door. As I pushed it open, I noticed a few small twigs had become entwined in my shoelace during my walk. So I bent forward to pull them out and I pushed the door open wide to make room. That’s when I heard a click and suddenly three large arrows plunged into the door right where my face would have been. Now, I knew I hadn’t set that booby trap since Christmas ’04; someone else had to put that together when I was in the hospital!

Shaken, I called the police and they investigated but could not come up with any clues. I mentioned the sandwich incident and they said I may have become a target. It made some sense, but I couldn’t think of why. I had no known enemies, I hadn’t angered anyone recently who might seek revenge, and with my mounting debts I’m technically worth more alive than not. It was reasonable to assume no one stood to benefit from my demise!

I decided I would be cautious and more attentive, just in case the theory was true. And for two solid weeks it seemed like everything was fine. Nothing was different about my life. My highly successful part-time dog walking service was steady, all the regular gals showed up at Bingo night, my whore ex-wife was still dead. I managed to convince myself that maybe I really did set up the flying arrows booby trap before the sandwich incident. I’ve been known to sleepwalk and sleepdance, why not sleeptrapmaking? Finally after a few weeks, I could unclench and relax. Everything else was normal, so it was time for me to get back to my life without constantly looking over my shoulder.

Turns out, I was wrong. Dead wrong. After a particularly hazy night full of Midori Sours and LSD, I woke up early to start the morning walks. No matter how hard I party, my customers come first. Spot and Miss Periwinkle certainly can’t walk themselves! Hungover and with only one eye open to guide me, I made it into the bathroom. I reached though the shower curtain to turn the shower faucets on, looking forward to a hot scrubbing. Then I turned and took a look in the mirror and suddenly felt a cold gooeyness under my foot. I leapt backward in shock, remembering that I firecely vomited there after I got home the night before, and at that moment a large arm with a huge knife swung out of the shower. Had I not jumped backward, I would have been adding my own warm gooeyness to the bathroom tile.

Seeing only red, I leapt at my attacker and pinned him to the tub floor with the curtain between us. I pummeled him with the might of half a man in my blind frustration and anger. I began hearing a thumping beat as I swung wildly, and the noise became more and more melodious as I suddenly recognized it. It was the old A-Team theme song, and I realized it was coming from me. I was humming it to pump myself up as I laid waste to my assassin. Once he stopped struggling, my humming stopped and I peeled back the curtain to reveal a huge and unconscious German-looking man. I covered the tub drain and put some water in the tub. When he woke up, he saw me standing over him holding a hair dryer, which was plugged in the wall.

“One false move, and you’re fried,” I said with an added bit of gravel in my voice. He nodded that he understood. “Now start talking.”

He explained in his German accent that he was hired by some so-and-so crime boss in Latvia to come kill a man with my name. This man had stolen a ton of cash from the Latvian and now he was to die. One strong piece of intel he had was the target had once attended Lincoln Community College in southern Iowa. Well, I did in fact go to that school, but there was another guy with my exact name and we went there at the same time. Class registration was always a problem for us, let me tell you! Me in his Physics class, him in my Music Appreciation class, etc. I told Mr. Assassin that he screwed up his research and he had the wrong guy. I showed him an old yearbook, my bank statements, and my hilarious blog, trying to convince him of his error. He considered it, glanced around my apartment, and he concurred he made a mistake.

I told him that if he still intended to kill me because I saw his face, I was ready to defend myself. He quietly said he would not attempt any harm. When I asked him why he would let me live, he glanced over at my computer monitor and then looked back at me. There was a small sadness in his eyes. He patted my shoulder and slowly walked out the door without saying a word. Over on the monitor, the Sarah Palin MAXIM picture on my highly successful blog stared at me. Then it made sense. But when I recount this story to others, they tell me it was out of pity, and not the prospect of robbing the world of my incredible humor and talent, that the German spared me. I choose to believe my theory, and not the one of my bastard friends and family.

So, my friends, this last month and a half was especially tough, and you have all been great just hanging in there waiting for me to return. I am alive and well, and I will likely be spending much more time here to continue giving you the only gift I can.

You can thank the German for that.

Sarah Palin – MAXIM Cover

Good luck, Barack Obama. The race for President just took an interesting turn. I don’t have to remind people of McCain’s stunning Veep pick today. It was out of left field, but then again John McCain has been known to defy conventional wisdom and buck the system. That reflects well with his choice of Gov. Sarah Palin, who has also often played by her own set of rules in fighting corruption and running the state of Alaska. Even during her campaign for governor in 2006, she decided to appeal to the young voters by giving an exclusive interview and pictorial with MAXIM Magazine. See the cover below. I’m sure McCain’s people took this into consideration when they vetted her.

Sarah Palin in Maxim

Sarah Palin in MAXIM