The Exploding Dirigible

The Secret Lives of Pregnant Women

2006-11-23T10:20:00.000-06:00

Pregnant women have all the fun. This occurred to me after several visits to doctor appointments with my very pregnant wife. At seemingly every opportunity, doctors, nurses and various other medical professionals offered stern admonitions against sex, horseback riding and the inserting of objects into one’s vagina. Which objects, specifically, were never made clear, but I was left with the impression that they meant pretty much everything.

Having ridden shotgun on two pregnancies now, these warnings seem highly unnecessary. In my experience, pregnant women think of sex mainly as the root cause for every ache and ailment currently associated with their condition. Even when they do feel up to it, the sheer logistics of the act require well considered plans of attack at the least and, ideally, full scale schematic drawings.

I’ve also never known my wife to partake in any kind of horseback riding while pregnant. Given her difficulty getting up stairs, I doubt mounting a horse would start or end well. As for the vaginal objects…all I can say is that it’s never come up in discussions at our house.

Strange warnings, however, are generally rooted in reality. It may strike you as insulting that your bottle of Softscrub feels the need to remind you it’s not intended for human consumption. But somewhere, sometime somebody was cooking up a batch of cinnamon rolls, ran out of icing and thought a good bathroom cleanser would do just the trick.

Knowing that, I started wondering about the source of these pregnancy warnings. Pregnancy, as I know it anyway, is all about senseless yelling, weeping and sheer irrationality. With all the emotional outbursts and ensuing naps, where would your average pregnant woman find the time or energy to run a good steeplechase?

My mind instantly turned to thoughts of a massive conspiracy. It makes perfect sense when you consider that all the people who gave the warning to my wife were women. Never once have I heard a man tell my wife not to stick things in her vagina or avoid sex. No man would ever say something like that with another man around. Those two activities are hard enough to make happen without someone in the medical establishment coming out against them.

The frequency of the warnings also raises my suspicions. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I swear my wife’s doctor makes an extra effort to repeat these warning forcefully every time I’m in the room. If I hadn’t nodded my head in understanding, I probably would have been subject to some guerilla female communication campaign to further drill the notion into my head.

Watching a horse race on TV, the crawl at the bottom of the screen would read “keep your wife off of these.” I’d pick up a candle, or a spoon and a text message would appear on my cell phone reminding me not to stick either of those things into my wife. Pausing for a moment to reflect on how long it had been since I’d had sex, a disembodied voice from behind the couch would whisper “don’t even think about it, pal.”

All this, naturally, leads me to the conclusion that there must be some secret place pregnant women go during their down time when there husbands or boyfriends aren’t around. A theory made even more plausible given that many pregnant women, such as my wife, are on various forms of “bed rest” – giving them ample free time to do whatever they please. Perhaps this “bed rest” is, in fact, a scheme cooked up by the pregnantistas to provide plausible cover for an exciting double life filled with sex on horseback and vaginal insertion.

Can’t you just picture a couple of seven-months-pregnant women galloping across a sun-dappled, daisy-filled meadow astride magnificent stallions, hair flowing, bellies protruding, farting with complete impunity.

“Oh Stephanie, isn’t this magnificent?”

“It sure is Lisa. And to think, we’ve convinced our husbands that pregnancy is nothing but misery and pain! Let’s stay pregnant forever!”

“I agree Stephanie! My lips are a little chapped from all this sun, though. Can I borrow some lip gloss?”

“Sure Lis, I keep some here in my vagina next to my hand lotion and laptop.”

My wife, of course, claims no knowledge of such a place or anyone who’s heard of it. But the growing anger in her voice at my frequent accusations tells me she knows more than she’s letting on. It’s just a matter of time before she cracks in the face of my repeated and vehement inquisitions and tells all.

But even if I don’t break her, I can be comforted knowing that, as the partners of pregnant women, we have a secret little place of our own to ride out the pregnancy. My wife and all those other happy pregnant people can have their sexy horseback riding. We men will be down in the basement drinking alone.

Iranian Letter: The White House Response

2006-05-10T23:44:00.000-05:00

Though White House officials insisted there would be no American response to Monday's letter from Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the Exploding Dirigible obtained this copy of a response sent from the White House to Mr. Ahamadinejad Wednesday.

*********************

The White House
Washington D.C.

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad
Tehran, Iran

May 10, 2006

Dear Sir or Madam,

I want to thank you for your kind letter to President Bush, dated May 8, 2006. As you can imagine, the President receives many cards and letters and, unfortunately, cannot respond to each one himself. He asked me, however, to convey his thanks for your kind words and wanted me to tell you he always enjoys hearing from patriotic Americans like yourself. He asks that you continue to keep him in your thoughts and prayers as he works hard to make America stronger and safer from terrorists and rogue states like Iran.

As a small token of the President's gratitude, please accept this photo of the President and Mrs. Bush and the First Dog, Barney. I hope you will display it with pride and continue supporting our President.

Sincerely,

John P. Cocktosten
Assistant Deputy of Public Relations

The Olive Garden of Eden

2006-04-25T20:18:00.000-05:00

Ladies and gentlemen of the Stonebridge Pines neighborhood association covenant enforcement committee, I’m here as a concerned neighbor to testify against the Campbell family in these proceedings and urge you to take all measures within your powers to eliminate this dark cloud from our otherwise sunny subdivision.

The Campbells have painted themselves as normal suburban people like you and me. But look deeper and you’ll see a family that is not, in fact, like you and me. They’re different. And not in the way Pier 1 is different from World Market. No, it’s a sinister kind of different, one that threatens us all.

Yes, Mrs. Campbell – as any petite woman should – purchased an SUV despite rising gas prices and a lack of nearby mountainous terrain. But her Grand Cherokee hardly gives her claim to suburban credibility. It’s large and fuel inefficient, but where is the third row seating so necessary for a family of three? Where is the DVD entertainment system? Where is the V-12 engine with the ability to tow a semi-truck – a basic necessity here in the suburbs?

Mr. Campbell also stated that he owns a set of golf clubs. But he didn’t tell you he paid $60 for the set (including bag) at ShopKo eight years ago and hasn’t been on a course in five years. The guy doesn’t know a Ping G5 hybrid from a Big Bertha Fusion FT-3 driver and, what’s worse, he doesn’t even care. I’ll let that sink in for a moment.

Let’s discuss their yard. Mr. Campbell mows it weekly and applies dangerous chemicals to the grass. But in five years of ownership, the front yard is still overrun by crabgrass. And the back yard? The only place you should see that many shades of brown is in a J. Crew catalog. What true suburban man wouldn’t sacrifice everything he had – friends, family, etc. – for a lush, weed-free lawn? For that matter, what true human wouldn’t do the same?

And yes, the Campbells recently purchased a ridiculously gigantic backyard play system for their daughter, even though the neighborhood playground is only a half-mile away. But their daughter actually plays on the system regularly. These people should know, as you do, that these play systems are intended largely to assuage the guilt of detached parents trying desperately to buy their children’s affection and obedience. Rarely would true suburban children actually use these things.

Sadly, there’s more. The Campbells don’t drink white zinfandel. Their daughter doesn’t play soccer. And what’s more, they make regular forays into other parts of town for dinner even though there are perfectly good chain restaurants like the Olive Garden five minutes away.

Ladies and gentlemen of the committee, I ask you. Are these the kind of people we want living among us? Among our children? Of course not.

So tell the Campbells we’ll no longer tolerate them, or their disinterest in making banal small talk over the fence about the transgressions of other neighbors. Stand up for what’s right. Preserve and protect our way of life and ensure people like this no longer disturb our perceptions or threaten our illusions.

Find them in violation on all counts and remove them, ladies and gentlemen, or may God have mercy on your lawns.

Love Thy Neighbor

2006-04-17T23:14:00.000-05:00

Good morning my brothers and sisters of the Church of the Vengeful Christ.

We’re here on this glorious day, filled with the warmth and compassion of the season of Resurrection. Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who died so that our sins may be forgiven, has risen! His love lifts our hearts to the heavens. His compassion fills our souls with brotherly love.

And so it is fitting in this Easter season that we gather at this funeral to thank God for the death of another American soldier and to celebrate His smiting this nation because our godless leaders and their nearly 300 million sinful sheep are marching lockstep into a vile pit of filth and wickedness. Into a den of iniquity lined with the blackened souls of heathen homosexuals.

It is too late for those heathens, but those who accept the Gospel truth will share in the saving grace of our Lord, Jesus Christ. As our holy brother Fred Phelps and his ministry at the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas, have shown us by popularizing these righteous funeral protests, we who are to be saved are called upon by our Lord to spread His word and rid His world of the heathens and all those who sympathize with them.

But this mighty crusade cannot stop at the cemetery gates. We at the Church of the Vengeful Christ must do more to advance this cause from our Almighty.

Our ministry will not limit these godly protests to the funerals of soldiers. From this point forward, we commit the full spirit and energy of our ministry to demonstrating God's awesome hatred at every conceivable opportunity. We will let no misstep or mishap that befalls the family or friend of a dead soldier go uncelebrated.

Whether fatal injury or mere inconvenience, we will be there, our sails filled with the winds of God’s mighty fury. Our path lighted by God’s fiery wrath. As it is written in Gospel, so it is: all the people of the earth might know the hand of the Lord, that it is mighty: that ye might fear the lord your God forever.

So when a dead soldier’s brother forgets to pay his electric bill and incurs a $10 late fee…we will be there in front of his house reminding him of the true reason for his mistake: God's hatred of homosexual America.

When a dead soldier’s aunt turns on the television only to find her favorite program has been pre-empted by a golf tournament that ran long…we will be there.

And when a dead soldier’s neighbor leaves the milk out on the counter, causing it to spoil…we will be there rejoicing over every joyful curdle.

For every parking ticket, every difficult bowel movement, every ice cream headache is a swift and just punishment from God and a living sign of His hatred for the homosexuals and all those who fail to condemn them. Fiery death to them as the Gospel prescribes! And may the hounds of hell feast on the flesh of all too weak to oppose this homosexualization of America.

Praise Jesus! Our blessed Savior has risen and our sins be forgiven!

State of the Union

2006-04-12T23:47:00.000-05:00

You might of heard about the trouble GM is in these days. I know their high priced spin doctors have been doing a good job making people think GM's problems are all thanks to the union folks like me. They say there's too many of us or that our work rules are too strict or that our insurance and benefits are too good. Or maybe the $500 million a year (that's only about 100 bucks tacked on to the price of every GM car) they're paying idled workers like me in the Jobs Bank program are driving GM into the ground.

All this chaps my ass real good and I think it's high time someone stood up and set that story straight right fucking now.

We ain't the bad guys in this. We're the victims. Imagine one day you’re doing wiper assembly on the #3 line – same as you've done every day for the past 23 years. Next day the suits come in, bend you over and don’t even leave no money on the dresser when they’re done with you. You gotta watch your ass in this world today buddy. They shut down this plant couple months ago just like that. No warning. Nothing. You spend your life bustin' your hump just to make most of your child support payments and what do you get? Fucked up the ass, that’s what.

Course, we still show up for our regular shift. And they pay us full wages, health insurance and retirement thanks to the Jobs Bank. And they can't take it away from us neither. But those dickless GM Nazis got ridda the goddamned Mountain Dew in the break room. And, I heard some talk they’re cutting off the cable too. Can you believe that shit? I’ll tell you, you treat a man like an animal and he’s gonna act like an animal. Simple as that.

I'm not looking for no pity here. Me and the other guys in the Local are getting by. We spend the shift sittin’ around bullshittin’ and playin' poker. Frank over there – used to be a frame welder – he brings in a couple cases of Old Mil when he can and we make the best of it.

We were getting along pretty good until one of them tight ass corporate motherfuckers came by the plant to tell us about some buyout plan. The prick told me GM'd give me half my monthly salary for three years just to walk away. Bullshit! A man's work is his dignity. People like us, we built this fucking company off our blood, sweat and tears. Gus over there gave both his thumbs to GM for chrissakes. And these pricks think they can just sweep us under the rug? Fuck that. I'll be here every day until I drop. Long as I'm walking, I'm working. That's some Union fucking pride those douche bags didn't count on.

Now I gotta take off. Lunch break’s over and I gotta get back to the poker game.

Your Huddled Masses

2006-03-27T22:18:00.000-06:00

America is facing an immigration crisis. A recent study found that roughly 7.2 million illegal immigrants held jobs in the U.S., making up nearly 5 percent of the entire labor force.

While politicians debate myriad ways to address this, including legislation that would make providing food or medical care for immigrants a felony, we present an even more sensible six-point plan to solve this issue once and for all.

I. Stopping the Flow
First, we must stem the massive tide of immigrants. We can accomplish this with three programs:

Big Ass Immigration Prevention Wall (BAIPW) – We will construct a BAIPM around the American border, including coastlines as many illegal immigrants are very good swimmers. Texas will be walled off also, as it considers itself another country and therefore cannot be trusted. Construction costs will be in excess of $320 trillion, though costs can be reduced significantly by hiring illegal immigrants to do the construction.
Make America Less Appealing (MALA) – Illegal immigration is the symptom; America’s abundant opportunities are the disease. Through MALA, we will make America less desirable for all tired, poor and/or huddled masses yearning to breathe free. This program will start by eliminating industries like construction and agriculture that offer ways for immigrants to make small wages for extremely hard work. In support, an advertising campaign with the theme “America: Not as Great as You’d Think” will be launched worldwide and word will be spread that America currently allows only well-rested, prosperous masses through its golden door.
Proactive Deportation Program – Studies show that foreign countries are the top source of illegal immigrants in America. A proactive deportation program will fight illegal immigration at its source, deporting citizens of countries like Mexico, and Haiti from their own countries. These citizens will be moved to countries farther away from America that offer fewer transportation options and higher mortality rates.

II. Draining the Pool
Next, we must turn our attention to the resident illegal population. This can be addressed in three steps:

Limited Amnesty – Citizenship will be granted to a limited number of resident illegals (not to exceed seven) who agree to strict terms, including: (a) must swear loyalty to the United States and to the reigning People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive, promising to think of no others as sexier until a new man has been declared most sexy; and (b) agreement to reside in their country of origin and to never again set foot in the United States.
Non-Native Deportation – As a precautionary measure, all people not born in the United States will be deported to their country of origin. Native Americans will also be deported because it is hard sometimes for white people to tell them apart from Mexicans.
Supplemental Deportation – Additionally, we will deport anyone who owns an ethnic restaurant (e.g. Chinese or fried chicken) and anyone who has ever eaten at one to the country of their choice. Tex-Mex restaurant owners/patrons will be deported to Texas. They will not be allowed to petition for a better placement.

We believe this six-point plan is a practical and reasonable way to end America’s illegal immigration crisis and ensure that no one takes a job from an American, no matter how bad that job is or how little any American even wants to take it in the first place.

Wilford Brimley for Genital Herpes

2006-03-23T21:50:00.000-06:00

Hello friend. If you’re in the market for a sexually transmitted disease, I’d like to tell you about one I recommend to my own family: genital herpes. It’s done well by me and it can do well for you too.

Genital herpes isn’t just for cheap Asian prostitutes and Kid Rock. Most of the movie stars you’ve admired for years have it too. Jessica Tandy and Hume Cronyn, my co-stars in the movie Cocoon, had genital herpes – got it in a drunken three-way with Frank Sinatra. Brian Dennehy didn’t have it then, but does now and tells me he wishes I’d given it to him sooner. I was in The Natural with Robert Redford. You may have heard of him. Well, Redford has had genital herpes since 13 and believes in it so much he’s spent a good part of his life spreading it to others.

Genital herpes is more common than asthma (and more fun to get). In fact, more than 45 million folks across our country – that’s one of every five people 13 and older – have genital herpes. It’s as American as apple pie and backroom cockfighting. You may even have it already. Just read that 90 percent of people who have it don’t even know it.

I know I have genital herpes. Glad to. Have been since I first got it back in ’68. To this day, every time those love bumps make a return visit to my privates, it takes me back to those perfect young days in Utah, driving cattle and sodomizing young migrant ranch hands under big blue skies so pretty they make you want to cry.

Now, some people, especially those slick suits at the drug companies, will tell you genital herpes is something you don’t want to have. They’ll tell you it’s painful. Sure, sometimes it feels like I’m pissing fire and my crotch is being gnawed by an angry swarm of fire ants. But it’s a small price to pay for something that gives so much peace of mind. And how bad can it be if 1 million people every year choose to get genital herpes. Before long, you’ll be a social outcast for not having genital herpes.

So if you’re ready to join the millions of Americans who’ve already made genital herpes their sexually transmitted disease of choice, call my friends at Liberty Medical Services. They’ve got experienced folks who will come right to your door and won’t leave until you’ve got genital herpes too. And they’ll even take 20 percent off the cost of your diabetic supplies. Let’s see gonorrhea or syphilis promise that.

Genital herpes has done a lot of good for me. See what it can do for you. Call the good people at Liberty. You’ll be glad you did.

Standing Pat

2006-03-17T17:30:00.000-06:00

The story of St. Patrick has become largely mythical. Little was known about the true life of the man who would become patron saint of American alcoholics -- until now. Scholars at Trinity University in Dublin recently discovered an ancient text that sheds new light on St. Patrick's legend. Here, made public for the first time, is that priceless document.

* * * *

Standing Pat: My Life on the Emerald Isle
By "Saint" Patrick
With Dave Andersen

Review by Daniel O'Shane, Co. Down Stout-Examiner, March 15, 450

The Irish value a good story near as much as strong drink and accommodating women. In his new memoir, Irish legend "Saint" Patrick -- as he has taken to calling himself -- offers a good story poorly told.

Patrick, best known for spreading the word of the Christian God across Erin with his seminal funk band Patrick McMurphy and the Christian Shamrock All-Stars, delivers a maddeningly shallow account of a life that certainly offers more material than covered in this slim volume. Rather than reflection or revelations, the reader is subjected to basic accounts of well-worn tales and frequent forays into self-importance -- carried through with writing that is dry as the timbers of the Gaelic bonfires.

Patrick was born in Briton and came to Ireland seeking work in the burgeoning mid-20's Antrim music scene. Signed to a songwriting contract by despotic Irish King and record promoter Niall of the Nine Hostages, Patrick worked in the famed Slemish Mountain Building, penning hits for legendary bands like The Michael McTartendougal Experience and Strawberry Leprechaun.

Three years hence, Patrick met God, who told him to leave Slemish Mountain and strike out on his own. While career advice from the Creator should be rich narrative territory, Patrick disappoints the reader by glossing over the incident, offering few insights other than noting God was "shorter than[Patrick] thought he'd be."

To show his gratitude to God for divine direction, Patrick formed several Christian bands, struggling on the potato circuit for years. Finally in 433, at King Laoghaire's annual battle of the bands, Patrick and the newly constituted All-Stars exploded with a revolutionary brand of progressive folk-funk, dooming the pagan contemporary style then in vogue.

Patrick, again, misses an opportunity to cover new ground. The formation of the All-Stars, for example, rates barely a paragraph. The reader is left wondering how notorious bassist Chieftan McFunky came to join, or what inspired such All-Stars hits as Funky Clover or Corned Funk and Cabbage. The rest of the book follows this path, providing little you haven't heard before. Patrick concludes with a list of miraculous deeds he claims to have performed -- an attempt to frame his pretentious candidacy for beatification by the Christian Church.

In short, Standing Pat is a disappointing self-examination by one of Ireland's most treasured personalities. Patrick's story offers so much possibility; we can't help but label this as a great artistic miss in an otherwise impeccable career. Nevertheless, the book will appeal to a narrow band of Patrick fanatics, but if you're not in their ranks, don't waste your screppals.

My Fellow Smithtownians...

2006-03-13T21:35:00.000-06:00

Voters of Smithtown, I, Fred Freederhoffen – owner of Freederhoffen Motormart, just off highway 12, home of sign and drive for $105 -- announce my candidacy and humbly submit myself for consideration for Smithtown City Council Member-at-Large.

My opponent in next month’s primaries (who may or may not be a member of whichever group you're most against) has been vocal in the Smithtown Shopper. He says I don’t have enough experience. He says my regular public drunkenness and criminal record (no felony convictions, by the way) should disqualify me from this historic run.

But my very good friend Jack Thompson forgets what truly makes the difference in an election: I will tell you exactly what you want to hear. There is no issue large or small that I won’t not take a firm stand on.

Is a liberal application of eminent domain threatening your home? I think it’s time the government got off the backs of the little guys and stuck it those greedy land developers. Eminent domain proceedings not going fast enough to get your development going? Well, we can’t let a few nuisance homeowners get in the way of progress!

Concealed weapons: some say we have a constitutional right to bear arms and protect ourselves. Others say this is a ludicrous folly propagated by right-wing nut jobs. What do I say? Whatever you say!

Friends, I’m so committed to bringing your voice into government that I’ll even take multiple stands on issues the Smithtown City Council has no say in. If elected, I’ll pass a resolution condemning foreign management of American ports. Too isolationist for you? I’ll pass another one saying we should disband our federal government and submit to the will of the U.N. Fred Freederhoffen is a man of the people, by the people and for the people – each and every one of them.

Friends, I’m not doing this for me, or the $85 monthly stipend, I’m doing this for all the citizens of Smithtown who never get their voices heard by those fat cat incumbents down at City Hall. By taking as many stands as necessary to get the job done, you can count on this fat cat to tell it like it is – or at least how each of you thinks it is.

Of course, my opponent will try to confuse you with accusations that I’m a flip-flopper, or worse, a Democrat. But I won't go negative (unless you like negative campaigning, in which case I'll mention that my opponent possibly tortures small animals on a regular basis).

A new wind is blowing across our town, a fresh and mighty wind ripe with truth and justice that’s going to carry us all the way to City Hall. So join me and together we’ll tell that puppy kicker Jack Thompson that Fred Freederhoffen is coming. And he’s bringing every single voter with him.

God bless you. God bless Smithtown. And don’t forget to stop by Freederhoffen Motormart, just off highway 12, where we’ve got a great selection of quality used cars at prices you can afford!

Public Service

2006-03-06T22:25:00.000-06:00

Liberal media types and their bleeding heart ilk are on a crusade against one of America's most vital social tools: stereotyping. They say making generalizations about someone based on race, gender or religion is a hurtful, shameful act that undermines the greater good. That's about as farfetched an idea as a black president.

What stereotyping really does is give busy people like me an efficient way to get to know those around me without having to actually get to know those around me. I won't waste time asking the lady in the next cubicle if she'll drive to lunch because she's Asian (you don't want to get into a car with those people). And I never worry what our Native American delivery guy thinks of our shipping process because I can assume he's too drunk to care.

Yes, some lesser groups – like gays, blacks, Hispanics, women, Jews, Muslims, Catholics, Southerners, Midwesterners, Canadians and so on – may experience, at times, a slight inconvenience or minor loss of income potential because of stereotyping. But the overarching societal benefits far outweigh any drawbacks to a few people on the fringes.

Take the TV programs and movies we all enjoy so much. Without placing stock characters in stereotypical situations with highly predictable outcomes, would today's writers be able to come up with the high quality, thought-provoking work they're known for? Not likely.

And stereotyping greases the squeaky wheels of commerce. If advertisers stopped, for example, portraying seniors as happy, vibrant people and showed them to be the angry, bitter stoop-backs they are, sales would plummet and corporate resources would be drained averting Preparation H boycotts and responding to strongly worded letters. You know what that would mean for the rest of us: higher prices. And who can afford that these days with all those Arab terrorists making it so expensive to fill up the Hummer?

So the next time someone gives you a dirty look just because you said a Jewish guy was cheaper than a Vietnamese whore, remember that by stereotyping people, you're really doing them a favor – and doing us all a public service. Because when you point out that a Polish guy is too stupid to perform simple household tasks, or that a woman is too emotional and too busy having her period to run a company, you're reinforcing and strengthening the traditional assumptions that keep our society moving like a deadbeat dad.

Oscar Fever

2006-03-02T17:54:00.000-06:00

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

ATLANTA (March 2, 2006) – The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) has issued a global pandemic alert for the deadly virus feverus academius ridiculous – commonly known as Oscar Fever – which has already infected millions. CDC officials believe the outbreak could be reclassified as a pandemic by tomorrow, with potential infection levels approaching 1 billion people worldwide.
Dr. James Fritzenhorst, CDC Director of Frivolous Diseases, notes that while Oscar Fever outbreaks have occurred annually for the past 77 years, scientists are puzzled about this year’s particularly aggressive strain.

“Typically these kinds of blockbuster outbreaks are fueled by one or two organisms that deliver near universal exposure to the population and serve as catalysts for mass infection,” Fritzenhorst said. “This year we just haven’t had that optimal breeding ground. Exposure to the host organisms has been limited to small segments of the population and the organisms themselves are of much lower quality than those we’ve seen in many previous outbreaks. Frankly, we’re at a loss as to why this is spreading at all.”

Symptoms Hard to Diagnose, Treatments Few
According to Fritzenhorst, early symptoms of Oscar Fever may be confused with normal behavior, which makes diagnosis a challenge. Infection may show initially as nothing more than scanning a copy of Entertainment Weekly or watching a few minutes of Access Hollywood. But as the disease progresses, symptoms rapidly get worse.

With second-stage onset, patients often experience an insatiable need for information about celebrities and Hollywood in general, with less and less interest in issues that may actually impact their lives or the real world around them. If left untreated, the disease can ultimately be fatal for a patient’s grasp on reality and substance.

What makes the looming Oscar Fever pandemic particularly troubling, experts say, is the lack of effective treatments after contraction.

“There are some radical options like actually viewing nominated movies, but we advise against that,” said Dr. Jacqueline Van Hauten-Lewellenberger of the University of Georgia Medical Center. “A person’s best option, truly, is to ride out the disease and hope it passes. In best case scenarios, outbreaks abate in less than a week.”

Avoiding Infection
The only real treatment for Oscar Fever is to avoid getting it at all. The CDC has released a list of ways the public can protect themselves from infection:

Abstain from Hollywood/celebrity themed Web sites and programming.
Do not engage in office pools or other gambling schemes in which you predict winners of various categories.
Avoid congregating with others to view the Academy Awards. Particularly avoid parties that serve appetizers named after nominated films/actors.
Remind yourself that George Clooney doesn’t know you, will never know you and would drive over a crowd of legless orphans to avoid talking to you.
Do something productive.

For more information about Oscar Fever, visit the Centers for Disease Control Web site at cdc.gov or consult your mental healthcare professional.

The Pink Menace

2006-02-27T19:36:00.000-06:00

Through 13 years of marriage, my wife Bonnie and I have had some hard times, but our marriage has never been threatened like it is today. True, Bonnie and I haven’t ever really cared about each other that much, and I’ve been sleeping with that cashier girl from the Cracker Barrel for a few months. But our marriage is under attack from something much worse than indifference and infidelity: the homosexuals.

Maybe you’ve heard the homosexuals are trying to get married. Now, I’ve got no problem with some hot girl-on-girl action on Cinemax every now and then – but we’ve got to draw the line somewhere. Gays say they just want the legal protections that people like Bonnie and me get. They say they’re in loving relationships and want to be able to formally recognize them. Well, I’m not buying it.

You see, the gays are a sneaky bunch. It seems like they only take over our most worthless industries, like fashion and movies, but don’t be fooled. These people are everywhere and they’re quietly organizing a vast conspiracy to bring down one of our most sacred institutions. They’ve already ruined cowboys with that Bareback Mountain movie – just think what they’ll do to marriage if we let them sink their well-manicured claws into it!

Bonnie and I are victims of this attack on marriage. Thanks to homosexuals like Elton John and SpongeBob SquarePants, our vows are dangerously close to collapse. Bonnie and I can barely speak to each other. We don’t have relations much anymore and when we do, we don’t even turn off the races.

Well, a man can only be pushed so far before he pushes back. Unlike these homosexuals, I pay my taxes and I go to church and I think it’s high time we sent them all a message by passing a U.S. constitutional amendment to make it official that marriage is between a man and a woman only. No exceptions. Not even for hot women.

Write your senators! Write your congressmen! Write your legislatures and tell them you’ve had enough of the pink menace! If we let these gays get married, who knows what they’ll do next. Inherit property from each other? Not on my watch!

Amending our constitution is the only real way to show these people just what they can do with their gay marriage and civil unions and whatever. This crap may fly in Hawaii, but not here in the U.S.A.! I mean, our national anthem doesn’t call this the land of the free to marry a dude. We’re not just defending marriage. We’re defending America!

If you think this is someone else’s problem, think again. The homosexual threat has already crippled my marriage. Will yours be next?

Coming Clean

2006-02-22T22:47:00.000-06:00

They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. Well, I have a problem. Like most addicts, I told myself everything was fine. Only lately have I begun opening my eyes to my shameful situation. I am ready to lay bare my flaws and begin the healing process. Ready to admit publicly what I’ve denied privately these many years.

I take baths.

I’m not proud of my behavior. There’s no legitimate reason for a man to take a bath that doesn’t also involve a naked woman (even that allowance is questionable). I consider my manhood to be well settled. I'm proficient with a wide variety of power tools. I kill the spiders. I say the dumbest things imaginable at the most inappropriate times. And yet, I can’t resist the bathtub’s siren song, constantly luring me to the rocky shallows of my masculine demise.

Like any addiction, mine began innocently enough. Our new house had a whirlpool tub in the master bathroom, which I ignored for the first few weeks of ownership. But then I got my first taste. I was sore after a run one day, so I decided to take a bath – just once wouldn't kill me. Right? A couple weeks later I helped someone move. Sore again so another bath. Before long, I didn't even bother with the justifcations.

Tuesday nights. Saturday afternoons. Sunday evenings. Fifteen minutes. Then 20. Then 30. It didn’t matter. I had to have it. But the tub-induced high became more elusive. So I started dimming the lights, started drinking a glass of wine. Then came the bath salts. I don’t even want to talk about the bath salts.

I continued down the slippery slope to addiction. I understood what I was doing wasn’t right, but it didn’t seem wrong either. I mean, it wasn’t like I was lighting candles, or playing soothing music during my baths. I still had things under control. And I could quit any time I wanted.

It’s the grand illusion, of course, the lies we addicts tell ourselves to keep from facing up to the shells we’ve become, to the humiliation and pain we’re inflicting on friends, co-workers and loved ones.

Every time I sink down into those boiling bubbles of wrong, a little more of me dies. If I don’t get help soon, it’s surely just a matter of time before I’m completely dead inside, taking evening-long baths by scented candlelight, soft jazz playing as I sip white zinfandel and read the latest issue of the Oprah Magazine.

The first step is admitting you have a problem. My name is Scott Campbell and I take baths. Stop me before I soak again.

The Denial-Driven Life

2006-02-20T21:51:00.000-06:00

Good morning ladies and gentlemen. My name is Chip Babcock and I'm so happy to be speaking with all of you at the Plasticorp Dynamic Solutions Sales Team Offsite 2006. Your managers tell me you've had a challenging year. Well, I know a bit about challenging times in business. When my polite crime scene tape business folded, I thought I would never recover. But you know what folks? I discovered a little secret that I'd like to share with you today.

You know, it seems that every day someone is getting in the way of where we want to go, what we want to do, who we want to be. Life’s obstacles can be numerous and daunting. But hear this: the only things that can get in the way of your dreams are the things you let get in the way of your dreams.

That’s right, it’s all in your hands. How’s that for empowerment? Sure, your lazy eye and snaggleteeth could thwart your modeling ambitions – if you let them do that. And your 59 IQ may keep you from helming a Fortune 500 corporation – but only if you give in to that “reality.”
The only one with the power to stop yourself from believing your dreams can actually come true is you. So stop stopping yourself! And start believing true happiness is just around the corner. You never know. It just might be.

The true secret to a better life? Denial. Simple, old-fashioned denial. Once you stop acknowledging all the “realities” that keep you shackled to an unsatisfying life, those things lose their power over you. Then the possibilities are endless!

Now, I know what you’re saying. “Chip, I thought denial was a bad thing.” Yes, for years the “experts” have preached the "gospel" of acknowledgement, urging "people" to face up "to" their "problems." They "use" fancy terms like "accountability" and "ownership." Ridiculous! The only thing acknowledgement does is remind you just how inadequate you really are. And they call it self-improvement?

I set out to chart a course for the millions of others out there like me who just want to feel good about themselves and their prospects in life, without the discomfort of actually dealing with their problems and/or shortcomings.

Through careful observation, personal experience and many hours alone with nothing better to do, I have developed an easy-to-follow, denial-based way to live the life of your dreams. Today I'll share Seven Habits that can dramatically change your life for the better, or at least help you think that it’s possible.

Now, I realize the world needs another self-help guru like it needs Olympic ice dancing or the rock band Nickleback. And if you're like me, you've been burned by plenty of these things before. So I understand if you're all a bit skeptical at this point. But believe me, this system is absolutely foolproof. How's that? It's all in the power of denial. If it doesn't work, just tell yourself it did. See, you're already on your way.

So let’s get started with a high-level look at the Seven Habits…you'll see them on the screen up front. What follows is not a chronologically ordered list. No one Habit is more important than another Habit and no Habit depends on the completion of a previous Habit. I've still chosen to number the Habits because numbered lists look far more credible than bulleted lists.

Seven Habits of Highly Deluded People
1. Set easily achievable goals
2. Reinvent yourself until you forget what was wrong in the first place
3. Surround yourself with dumber, less successful people
4. Be decisive, even when you’re about to do something incredibly stupid
5. Every day, do nothing that scares you
6. Delude yourself with the power of positive thinking
7. When all else fails, act like you're insane

Now we're going to take a 10-minute break here. When we get back, we'll go through each of these habits in depth. I'll fill out the hour by answering some planted questions and shamelessly plugging my Web site, book and the system of tapes that, for only three easy payments of $29.95 will change your life forever. We'll see you in ten.

Love Her to Death

2006-02-11T01:05:00.000-06:00

My roommate Stephanie, I love her to death, but sometimes she just gets on my nerves. I mean does she think I really want to keep talking about her loser boyfriend Brad? Last night I had to pretend to fall asleep to get her to stop telling me – for like the umpteenth time – how much of a bastard he was. I could have told her he was a jerk that first night they hooked up after the bar. God, she can be such a slut.

She is such a sweet girl, we've been friends forever, but have you seen her in those new pants? Last week I was this close to breaking down and telling her the pants made her ass look like a Burberry purse swallowed a hippo. And who told her those glasses were a good idea? It's not like we live in Des Moines or some other backwoods hick place like that. This is Wichita for God's sake! Get with it!

Don't get me wrong, Steph is so nice, I mean, she is the greatest girl in the world, but she can be such a backstabber. Leslie told me that Shelley told her that Alexis heard Steph tell everyone at the bar that I made out with Shelley's boyfriend Zach after our Halloween party last year. I mean, yeah, I did, but we were totally drunk and Steph swore she wouldn't tell anyone about it. When she came back to the apartment a couple nights ago, I chewed her big fat ass over that.

Stephanie is just such a sweetie, I love her to death, she is the perfect friend and roommate, but God, why doesn't she get her nasty teeth fixed? Last night she came out of the bathroom and I smashed her face in with a book – hit her like 10 times and knocked that big snaggle tooth right out of her big mouth. She bled all over those stupid goddamn pants.

Steph is so wonderful, and such a great girl, a cutie, we're like lifelong best friends and she's, really, the living embodiment of all that is good and decent in this world, but she has got to be the most vindictive person I've ever met. Can you believe that this morning she actually came up to me screaming through that fat swollen face of hers about me knocking her tooth out? I did her favor knocking that thing out and she's telling me she's going to do this and that to me. So I clubbed her on the back of that big fat head of hers and knocked her out. Then I dragged her down stairs, tied her to the back of my car and drove her five miles down the gravel road that runs by our building. Then I untied her, backed over her a few times, lit her on fire and rolled her down the hill onto the interstate. Then I drove to her boyfriend's house and had sex with him, went back to the apartment, smashed up all of Stephanie's stuff, called her parents and told them she joined the Peace Corps and wasn't coming back. That will teach that bitch.

My new roommate Amy is moving in next week. I just love her to death.

Breaking News, Changing Lives

2006-02-06T23:01:00.000-06:00

An open letter of gratitude to my local Action News team…

Dear management of Action News 8, the Area’s Breaking News, Weather and Sports Leader:

I want to express my gratitude for the great work your talented staff does every day. Whether it’s Daybreak, First at Four, Live at Five, 8 at Six or the Nightside, I know I can count on your team to provide the news I need to make my many of my minor decisions.

I’d like to single out a few areas here, but please share my thanks to your entire staff.

The Most Trusted Anchor Team in the Tri-County Area
Lisa Kim and Jeff Dean are absolutely fantastic. They cover our local community like a blanket, warming up stories no matter how many days before they ran in our local newspaper. I also admire the fact that, as your promos say, "They report, I decide." I'll tell you, though, with Jeff and Lisa at the desk, I won't complain if you start deciding what I think too! (It would be a lot easier and I could stay fresher for Wheel of Fortune at 6:30.) Oh well. What I appreciate most is how good your anchors make me feel about myself. Unlike those network snobs, watching Jeff and Lisa read the news reminds me that I’m not the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on. Thank you!

The I-Team Investigative Reporters
Your nightly I-Team consumer reports have opened my eyes to the hidden dangers that lurk around us. I never knew Tupperware could be such a safety threat…but I do now! You promise stories that will keep my family safe and you deliver! Just the other night, my daughter Sam was about to grab some leftovers out of the fridge, but SHE DIDN’T KNOW HOW OLD THEY WERE! Well, that story your pleasant looking reporter Michelle Daniels ran about how spoiled leftovers may put you at risk for salmonella came to mind. I immediately grabbed the leftovers and threw them away. If only I’d listened to Michelle’s advice and dated the Ziploc bag when we put the leftovers in the fridge, I wouldn’t have to worry about my Sam getting sick from some expired killer tuna casserole! From now on, I am putting my family’s health and safety fully in the hands of the Action News 8 I-Team!!!!

AccuWarningWeather Super Doppler Storm Center
Bob Grey and his team of meteorologists all get my AMS seal of approval. Some of my friends complain about how many times Bob breaks into prime-time programming to let us know there’s a thunderstorm in the northern part of our viewing area. But I know that Bob only does this because he cares about his viewers, no matter what part of the viewing area they live in. Bob should get a medal for his work! When my friends criticize Bob, it makes my blood boil! If it weren’t for Bob, how else would we know what the barometric pressure was? Bob, if you read this, keep up the good work! And your hair is terrific!

Channel 8 Sports Team
What I appreciate most about "Diamond" Dave Kent and the Channel 8 Sports Team is that, unlike the other sports teams in town, they aren’t trying to sound like those idiots on ESPN. There are none of those over-written, over-practiced highlights. Dave and his team just let 'er rip. Sometimes it seems like they've never even seen the highlights before, a lack of preparation and knowledge I find refreshing. And I'd like to see ESPN get exclusive footage of our high school girl's softball semi-finals. Nobody covers local sports like Dave Kent and the Channel 8 Sports Team! Take that Stuart Scott!!! Booyah!!!

Well, I could write all day about how great your station is, but I don’t want to get Carpet Tunnel Disease (Thanks I-Team!!!!!!).

Local TV news gets a bad rap from some people. They say you don't offer fresh analysis or deep coverage of the events of the day or that you're all a bunch of vapid morons so caught up in hyping every non-story you stumble over that you couldn't cover real, hard news if your life depended on it.

But know that there are many of us out here in the viewing area who are proud of the work you do. We know how tough it is to get us our PowerBall numbers and make sure we're up on all the terrible things that happened to other people today and/or may happen to us too. You're not just covering news, you're changing lives. Or, at the very least, giving me something to watch before my Seinfeld reruns come on.

Sincerely,
An Appreciative Viewer

The Big Comeback

2006-01-30T22:44:00.000-06:00

Late Thursday night I got a phone call from Jesus. Yes, the Jesus, not a Mexican guy. Though maybe he is Mexican. I never thought to ask. Anyway, it had been a long time since we'd talked, so I was startled hear from him.

Jesus had something on his mind and for whatever reason, he wanted to discuss it with me. Considering you’d see me in church about as often as you’d see George W. Bush at a midnight showing of Brokeback Mountain, I was confused. Surely there were others out there more deserving of the call. But Jesus assured me he’d dialed the right number and, after a somewhat awkward reintroduction, we exchanged pleasantries. Jesus asked me if I ever got that bike I prayed to him for as a kid (no). I asked how his dad was doing (still omnipotent). Then he got to the reason for the call.

JESUS: Scott, I've been thinking about making a comeback, but lately I've had my doubts. After all this time, I'm not sure I'll make that much of a difference among you or find a receptive audience.

ME: Get the right producer, like Rick Rubin. Have you heard those last Johnny Cash albums? Rubin knows how to make older artists relevant for today’s audiences.

JESUS: Seriously. It breaks my heart to see what you do to each other every day down there. So much hatred. So much energy wasted on imposing yourselves on others. So much wasted on demanding your differences be accepted and celebrated while you go on hating other people for theirs. Is this a world that will take my message to heart?

ME: I’m not sure. These are the same people who nailed you to a cross the last time you shared that message and, I’ll tell you, the world hasn’t gotten any nicer to people who get in its way. But you've got a bigger following than you did last time around. Can't you build off that?

JESUS: Do I want to? I know there are millions of Christians, and most of them are well meaning and good. But too many seem to think that calling yourself a Christian gives you the right to do anything you want as long as you do it in my name. I'm not sure I can count on the base if you get me.

ME: So we’re not walking the walk?

JESUS: If you truly follow me and accept my teachings, you can’t limit your compassion only to the people you believe deserve it, who see things like you do. You can't just decide for yourselves who's worthy and who's not.

ME: No, we need a constitutional amendment for that.

JESUS: How can you claim me as your savior when you treat your brothers and sisters – many of whom also claim me as their savior – so terribly. I’m not saying you have to enjoy, appreciate or even understand someone else’s life, but it’s not your place to condemn them for it either. And you certainly have no right to invoke me when you do it. I promise you that God loves all his children – not just the ones you do.

ME: But as long as we stick to the Bible, we're in the clear, aren't we? I mean, it solves the origin of life debate right up front, for example.

JESUS: The Bible is a wonderful interpretation of my teachings and a record of the word of God. But it’s a book, written by many people through many thousands of years. As such, it’s subject to more than a few authorial biases and perspectives. I stand behind it as a good guide for living your life, but it’s not intended to tell you who it’s okay to hate. And it can’t answer every moral question you may have. You’ll find all that out when you die.

ME: It sounds like you’re leaning against a comeback.

JESUS: I don’t know. Even if I can make a difference, coming back is no easy feat. There are so many preparations to be made.

ME: But the people on that cable channel said that for just 10 percent of my gross annual income I can bring you back myself.

JESUS: I know what you make and I can tell you it would take a lot more than that.

ME: Okay. You called asking for my advice; here it is. Staying away could be the best thing for you. Being gone almost 2,000 years has done nothing but build up your reputation. Absence makes the faith grow stronger. Give it a few more years and if we haven't completely destroyed the place (a big if, I'll grant you), you come down, make a big entrance and set us all straight.

JESUS: Yes, maybe you're right. Besides Johnny Cash is up here now and I can tell you the stuff he recorded with Rubin doesn’t touch what he’s doing now.

ME: Yeah, well, it’s hard to top God as your producer. By the way Jesus, am I going to hell for writing this essay?

JESUS: Of course not. God has a much better sense of humor than people give him credit for. You’re going to hell for entirely different reasons.

O Cap'n! My Cap'n!

2006-01-25T22:18:00.000-06:00

If anything good came from America's Vietnam debacle, it's in how we treat our soldiers. We may not agree with the rationale for putting them in harm's way and we would never let our own children enlist, but we’ll damn sure stick an American flag magnet on the wife's Honda to show our support!

And yet, there remains one soldier our nation has sadly forgotten. One selfless patriot for whom no prayers have been offered, no parades have been held, no magnets have been affixed.

I am speaking of the honorable Cap’n Horatio Magellan Crunch. Since first setting out in 1963 to rid our well-balanced breakfasts of the dreaded Soggies and all others who would destroy our right to a lasting crunch, the brave Cap’n has tirelessly patrolled our milky seas. Ever vigilant. Ever valiant.

In his more than 40 years at the helm of the S.S. Guppy, the steely Cap’n has never lost a battle in his one-man war on mush. Sure there were dark moments. Like when the rapscallion Jean LaFoote, the barefoot pirate, absconded with the Cap’n’s golden cargo. Or when our Cap’n journeyed deep into Volcania to save the Earth’s supply of precious Crunchium (clearly above and beyond his prescribed duties). But the plucky Cap’n has always prevailed, ensuring there will be one cereal that stays crunchy– even in milk.

But this heroic commander remains largely unsung. Where, I ask you, are those parades? Where are the statues? The monuments? The yellow ribbons calling our sugary protector home to safer harbors?

Do some question the rank? (Is Cap’n, after all, even an official designation, or has he merely dubbed himself as such in an attempt to bring legitimate military standing to his brand of sweet, crunchy vigilante justice?) Perhaps. But some of our most celebrated cartoon heroes – like Batman and Ross Perot – have been on-the-margin fighters, operating without official sign-off from the establishment.

Maybe there’s discrimination at play. Our finely mustachioed bachelor Cap’n is far jollier than your average Navy man, what with his bouncy step, exaggerated voice and jaunty waistcoat. Could it be that we as a nation aren’t ready to allow room in our pantheon of idols for a homosexual animated seaman?

Whatever the reason for this sad neglect, the time has come for us as a nation to pay overdue homage to one of our greatest American heroes. To right this unforgivable wrong. The time has come for us to sing his praises.

O Cap’n! My Cap’n! Rise up and hear the bells. Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills.

And keep our cereal forever crunchy. Even in milk!

The Big (Standing) O

2006-01-24T23:13:00.000-06:00

Like many forms of recognition – from school achievement awards to U.S. presidential elections – the standing ovation has been significantly de-valued over the past decade.

Once reserved for truly breathtaking performances or the introduction of a recently handicapped legend, the standing ovation is now routinely awarded by gullible audiences everywhere to all manner of public display. The result isn’t important any more as long as the performers try really hard and mean well.

I smacked into this cold truth one Saturday night in college. The theatre department was putting on a light romantic comedy called something like 5,000 Years of Bastard Male Oppression: The Destruction of the Female Soul. Still laboring under the belief that college girls were really looking for a sensitive, open-minded guy, I agreed to take a girl I’d been seeing casually to the performance, hoping it would cement an improvement in the terms of our informal social contract.

Settling in among the roomful of short-haired women in flannel (and one man) I realized my plan may had been ill conceived.

Lest you think I’m anti-women – flannel clad or otherwise – let me pause here to say that I readily acknowledge the ongoing difficulty of the female experience and more than supported these performers’ right to express that struggle through art, no matter how awful that expression ended up being.

The play actually started out fine. Some men-aimed satire and mildly witty commentary. I could appreciate that. And had it followed its initial course, I could have enjoyed and appreciated the new perspective it shared. Unfortunately, the actors put on their pretentiousness hats and sharply turned to delivering a Message of Righteous Indignation that their abilities weren’t up to conveying effectively or even entertainingly.

As I recall, at that point the rudimentary plot was given ballast by a few interpretive dance numbers, punctuated by random screaming and other varied outbursts. At one point a cat was brought on stage, then quickly ushered off. The messy affair ended with a 20 minute (!) video montage of hardcore pornography, set to the kind of light instrumental music you’d typically hear in a tire store waiting room.

After the cheery montage ended, I gathered my things, expecting to get out after some polite applause (which I was happy to give, because the effort, no matter how misapplied, was worth some recognition). I turned to my date. She was sobbing. Then I looked around the room. More sobbing. Everywhere. My lone Y-chromosomal compatriot was sobbing so hard two of the sobbing flannel women were consoling him.

Then the real trouble began. The group sob subsided and the applause built. Growing by the second. One person stood up. Then another. Then another. Until the entire audience was on its feet, except for me and an elderly woman across the aisle who, though wheelchair bound, seemed to be trying.

My date urged me to stand too. When it was clear I wouldn’t be pressured into a hollow display, she distanced herself from me like one would drop a stick she was holding upon discovering it was radioactive.

Like most people of principle in this world today, I stood, or rather, sat alone. The standing ovation rolled across the room but I sat motionless. Ducking the hissing, the jeers and the occasional wadded program.

Needless to say, the relationship I was stoking by attending the play in the first place ended before the lights came up. My date left with one of the sobbing, flannel clad women who, I believe, she lives with to this day.

I left secure in the knowledge that, while I may had set male/female understanding back a generation or two (and certainly wouldn’t be touching anyone’s breasts that night), I had stricken a mighty blow for my lonely cause. I also left secure in the knowledge that I would never attend one of the college’s horrible plays again – considering the department’s director would officially ban me from doing so in a letter I’d receive the next week.