WEDNESDAY'S WORD 5-31-06

Today's word is "commonplace" as in "The troubles you are experiencing as a writer are commonplace." Which, in a way, is reassuring.

I'm a writer. I don't make a living doing it, but I do it a lot. I've had pieces produced on stage, recorded and played on screens, printed in newspapers, published in compellations and, of course, the internet.

In September I have my first ever solo play performed. It's... not quite done. It's not even a solid 2/3's done. And it opens in September. And I don't know a LOT about the play world, but I'm pretty sure they need a script a day or two before the first show. Actors are real prima donnas that way.

So it was nice today to find out while shooting the breeze with two other writers that the problems I've been having are the same problems all writers have. "I have too many ideas all trying to get out at once." "I want to write, but when I sit down all of my ideas leave me." "I owe the mob $5,000 and a baby!" We all, in the brotherhood of writers, share these problems. And that's good to know.

It doesn't make me any less certain that my show will suck hard and the poor actors will be booed off the stage shortly before the theatre is burned to the ground, but hey, at least my concerns are not unique.

IN THE SHADOWS OF THE ARCHES

I caught dinner at McDonald's tonight, because I am, if nothing else, discerning about what I eat, and a trio of questions popped into my head. Maybe you, the loyal, ad clicking readers could help me answer them.

Question Number 1: What's with Mayor McCheese?

I realize that McDonald Land, or McDonia, or The United Socialist States of McDonald, may not operate on the same governmental model as the United States and therefore not need to adhere to our 2-, 4- and 6-year term structure, but has he EVER faced opposition? I mean ever? I'm 26, and while I ate little to no McDonald's growing up, I am a wealth of worthless pop culture knowledge. I remember the multi-part commercial saga of Lucky Charms adding purple horseshoes. I remember the M&M commercial where the boys discuss the hit enhancing power of green M&Ms. I remember Pac-Man the CEREAL. But I never once remember Mayor McCheese having to defend his sash in a democratic election. Doesn't that seem like too sweet of an ad campaign to pass up? Ballots could have been stuffed inside of Happy Meals, election results could have been announced during ABC's TGIF line-up. Kids could have learned that voting IS important, as well as directly tied to special interest groups spending billions of dollars to get their message out to the public.

Is "Mayor" just a misnomer? Is it his Christian first name and I've just been in the dark all of these years? Or is this a monarchical society where Mayor is no more an elected position than Baron or Duchess? And if that is the case, who actually runs the government? They have no Burger King to sit atop the throne, no scion named Wendy to replace their fallen ruler, no big star to light... up the... you know, I don't know how Hardee's works either. But that's besides the point. If Mayor McCheese is just a puppet, who runs the government? Is it a parliament? If so, is it funkadelic? Who sits on it? The Fry Guys? Please, like the Fry Guys own any land.

Question Number 2: What's with the Sea Captain?

I don't even know the guy's name, and I would have forgotten he even existed if I hadn't seen an old Cookie dispenser with his face on it. What has become of the Sea Captain? Was he a pirate? Did the law, in the guise of Big Mac, finally bring him to justice? Did he and the cresent moon piano man open a karaoke bar along the Gulf Coast? No one knows. One day he was there, the next day he was gone. Was he Irish? He promoted the Filet O'Fish sandwich, but does that mean he called The Emerald Isle his home? Not necessarily so. My father is Polish-Italian but his radio name is Austin. Maybe the Sea Captain was South African, always dreaming of his homeland and the barmaid he left in that harbor town. You know the one, she wears the braided chain with a locket that bears his name: Captain O'Fish.

More frightening than what has become of the Captain's future is what has become of his past. There are no commercials with the Captain, no toys, even the cookies aren't in his shape. It's as if someone was purging him from McDonald's history like some sort of Fast Food Trotsky. What goes on behind the scenes at McDonald's? How far do these power plays go?

Question Number 3: What is Grimace?

Seriously. Is he supposed to be the shakes or something? Cause I don't remember any purple shakes.

NOTE TO SELF

If you're going to run 6 miles, don't do it an hour after drinking two margaritas and four beers. Your body is not going to play along and you will end up walking much of the distance.

P.S. If you ARE going to try and run 6 miles an hour after drinking two margaritas and four beers, do it on a day when you're leaving your house, going 3 miles and turning around, so that if your body craps out on you, you can cut your losses. Do not do it the one day in your entire training schedule where you are dropped off 6 miles from home and have no choice but to go the entire distance.

P.P.S. If you ARE dropped off 6 miles from home and you ARE trying to run 6 miles with 6 drinks in you, make sure it's ACTUALLY 6 miles and not, say, 7. Because that last mile is really just insult to injury then.

P.P.P.S. Remember to stretch.

GENTLY ROCKING THE VOTE

So, Taylor Hicks is the new American Idol.

Will someone please tell me why I should care about this?

Then please tell me why speculation as to who would win was all over the news, the legitimate-not-anchored-by-Mary-Hart news.

In the 5 years American Idol has been on the air here in America it has given us ONE legitimate star and it took Kelly two years to even catch on. And then? It was off of songs co-written by Christina Aguilera (Ms. Independent) and Avril Lavigne (Breakaway). You know, legitimate artists. Yes, legitimate, Avril is a trained opera singer and at least she didn't win a glorified call-in show to get where she is.

Carrie Underwood is fine, but her two big songs are country tunes about God. That's like handing free beer to an alcoholic, of COURSE they're going to like it, even if it's Coors.

Other than that, what is there? A couple of one hit wonders and a resurgance in Paula Abdul's career. Yet this Karaoke Nightmare pulls in more voters than government elections, and I'm not talking about county comptroller, but Presidential Elections. People are more concerned about who's CD they'll be able to pick up in the Best Buy Bin o' Bargins in four months than the people deciding who they can marry, how clean our air is and where our tax dollars go.

Maybe in 2008 each candidate can belt out some show tunes, maybe that'll get things back in line. Cause right now? This is just ridiculous.

Seriously.

WEDNESDAY'S WORD 5-24-06

Well I'll be the nephew of a monkey, Worzala's Wednesday Word actually ON a Wednesday? The only thing more amazing than this is that candy bar that the Mars Company makes with M&M's in them. Which segues nicely into today's word, "coitus". As in "Is that bar of chocolate having coitus with those M&M's? Cause it sure looks like it."

I can't be the only person to pick up on this, right? I mean, they're AT MAKE-OUT POINT and then "poof!" the M&M's are IN the chocolate bar. We're supposed to believe that happened by them just shaking hands? Or worse, what about the one by the fireplace? One minute it's two separate God-fearing confections. Next thing you know you've got M&M's dancing to the music of their torrid passion through chocolate melted by the heat of its own desire. Janet Jackson lets a still covered nipple slip for a billionth of a second and people react like the world is about to fold in on itself. Chocolate has SEX with more chocolate and there's not a peep about it. Priorities people, priorities.

Do you want to have to explain to your 6 year old what the candies are doing in the back seat of the car? Of course you don't. You want to wait till they're 10 and you rented Big and suddenly, whoops, there's Tom Hanks cupping Elizabeth Perkin's breast cause you forgot that scene was in the movie. THAT'S the time to explain the Birds and the Bees, like God intended. Why do you think they made Big?

The only positive? At least the M&M's are using protection with that thin candy shell of theirs.

TRYING TO BE A GOOD FELLAH

The Don ain't gonna be happy with me. But it ain't all my fault neither, you know? I mean, I'm dealing with a lotta stuff her. For starters, I wanna go somewhere? I gotta steal a car. You know what kind of pick-up a '43 Ford has? I can measure my 0-60 time with a sundial. Then it’s all the way across town to a mission, right? You ever try to drive across New York when you're in a hurry? Let me tell you, there's a reason the subway is so popular. And everyone is sooooo touchy! They're all "stay in your lane" or "we have to swap insurance information" or "you just murdered my wife with your vehicle!" Is it my fault I’m a bad driver? I don’t think so. It’s genetic I tell you. My dad used to be called Jackie Pinball because of how bad he drove. Well, he was until he ran over the guys that called him that with a Deuce Coup. And of course the cops gotta get all in your face every time you "borrow someone’s car for an extended period of time." I got a news flash for you John Law. Extra! Extra! Read All About It! Entire New York Police Department Invited To Take Long Walk Off Short Pier! Extra! Extra!

Oh, and stop shooting at me when I'm trying to leave the scene. You're only making me nervous, leading me to run into more pedestrians, ergo you are the real menace, not me. And you get your salary from the tax payers? Shame on you.

But that's just starting out. You finally reach your destination and it's a whole new diner of crap. And this place is all you can eat, baby. First, there's the barricades. Everyone’s so paranoid in this town. What? A rival gang member can’t just drive by your warehouse for a casual joyride? Just because I HAPPEN to have a loaded gun in the car doesn’t mean I’m looking for trouble, I’m just aware of my Second Amendment rights to bear arms. Okay, okay, okay. I’m here to murder you and take over your territory, fine, I admit it. But that doesn’t mean you gotta be jerks about the whole thing.

Great, another car just burst into flames on me. I swear, I gotta get one of those Kraut jobs, I hear they’ve got the engine in the trunk. Isn’t that something? Oh, but don’t tell Tommy I called the German’s Krauts, he’s half German himself, so he might get a little touchy about that.

So now I gotta spend the next twenty minutes moving cars back and forth like I’m a valet at the Ritz, ducking gun fire from men much better equipped than me. No offense to the Don, he’s a great guy, but his hands must be white knuckled from the pennies he’s pinching. No bullet proof vest, no back-up against an entire battalion of thugs and oh, yeah, his ammo policy is “if you pick it up, it’s yours”. Thanks for nothing boss, I’d have taken a soup kettle to wear over my head even.

Now what the hell? Will someone tell this lug to stop shooting me in the groin while I’m reloading? Didn’t he ever hear of the Geneva Convention?

And great, now I’m lying in a pool of my own blood. Back to the doctor’s office for me, all the way back in Brooklyn, and it’s rush hour to boot. The Don is gonna be pissed.

Maybe Momma was right, maybe I should have just been a tailor.

GUN RUNNER PT. 3

WHEN THE POLICE HAVE NOWHERE ELSE TO TURN...
THEY TURN TO THE LOOSEST OF LOOSE CANNONS...
THE CRACKEST OF CRACK SHOTS...
THEY TURN TO...
GUN RUNNER

"AND ANOTHER THING!" shouted the Chief. He was hot and not in a good "Jessica Alba in cotton shorts and a baby tee" sort of way. The Chief was hot in a bad "5-alarm chili and you've got acid reflux and IBS" sort of way.

"What the hell were you thinking taking a semi-truck full of crack on a high speed chase through downtown?"

"Well the guy wasn't too eager to have a slow speed chase. Next, I'll just tell him he's free to go," replied Gunther Ruettiger, cooler than the waterside of the pillow. A pillow made of justice and steely blue eyes.

"That's not what I mean and you know it Ruettiger! You think just because you're a cop with a badge you can go around like some sort of vigilante? With a badge?"

"So a cop then?" replied Ruettiger, leaning back in his chair.

"That's not funny. You buried that semi in the side of a school for the gifted. You took out their entire gymnasium! You're lucky it's summer. Just think if it had been winter!"

"Maybe instead of yelling at me, you should be yelling at that old lady that stepped out in front of the rig. That's jay walking you know."

"AND ANOTHER THING!" Outside the police station dogs and small children were running in the other direction of the Chief's voice, not knowing quite why.

"Do you mind telling me what on earth possessed you to shoot an old lady? We've got her laid up at Holy Christ right next to the drug dealer we fished out of the harbor."

"She was fleeing the scene," said Ruettiger, rising to his feet. "I couldn't chase her down and leave a semi-truck of crack just sitting half way out of a school. So I shot her in the leg to slow her down. It did the trick."

"Fleeing the scene? She was running for her life!"

"From the Scene of the Crime. Look Chief, we're two sides of the same yo-yo here and I don't know about you, but I'm getting tired of Walk the Dog. I want to put the Baby in the Cradle and by Baby I mean Dante Rasputin and by Cradle I mean jail."

Sighing the Chief looked at his watch, he had 4 more hours till he could take another blood pressure pill, and he'd already taken 3 as soon as Ruettiger stepped into the office, so it'd probably be even longer then. Loosening his tie the Chief sat down at his desk.

"The Mayor wants your badge, your gun on my desk and your butt in an orange jumpsuit. I can buy you till tomorrow morning, after that, my hands are tied."

"What you do in the privacy of your own home is up to you Chief. 10 hours. Looks like it's time for Big Trouble in Little Russia." Grabbing his jacket, the head wolf of a one-man pack exited the office, slamming the door behind him.

"And try not to blow anything up this time!" yelled the Chief.

"Sorry Chief, I can't hear you through this door."

WHILE I'M HERE

Do yourself a favor and check out my friend Tani's blog, if you're not already. You can find the link -----> over there, "I'll Get You My Pretty..." It's good, it's fun, it's entertaining and I occasionally write for it. So check it out.

Oh, and also go check out http://onenjenifer.blogspot.com/ which I just stumbled on today. I've only read a little, but what I've read I like. You should really give her a try, because some day Jenifer and I are getting married and if you don't, well then it's just going to be weird between us.

... you PROBABLY don't need to mention that whole "getting married" thing to her though. She might think that's a little weird. To say nothing of what her current husband, Roth, might think.

WEDNESDAY'S WORD 5-17-06

Yes, I knooooow it's not Wednesday. "Wednesday's Word" is just an honorary title, like "Duke" or "the Christ" or "Bono", okay?

Today's word is "baseball" as in "Even Castro loved baseball." Which is true, the whole of human history could have been drastically altered if the New York Yankees had just let a young Cuban hurler play on their team. No Bay of Pigs, no Cuban Missle Crisis, no puppet leaders in Central and South America, no bomb shelters, no Dallas motorcade, no Star Wars program, no ketchup as a vegetable, no Taliban, no Rambo III or Rocky V, no Steven Segal, no Al-Quida, no September 11th, no Spanish train bombing, no "Axis of Evil", no Patriot Act, no library, phone or firearm lists compiled and tracked, all because the game of baseball took a man with a dream into it's loving arms.

Or maybe Castro slums in the minor leagues for four years before being traded to Kansas City where he grows bitter and fat on KC BBQ. After a miserable end to a mediocre career he goes home to Cuba, takes over and presses The Button ending the whole she-bang-a-bang.
That's not good for anyone. Except the apes. Damn, dirty apes.

THE REASON IS YOU... AND ALSO...

When I became a web journalist (a "wernalist", if you will) it was for two main reasons. One, to educate and entertain you, the loyal reader. Two, to win handfuls of web journalism awards. In these few months I have completely fulfilled my second objective, which is quite outstanding considering how big my hands are. The Rick Romano Cutting Edge Award, The Yahoo Award for Creative Journalism and The Al Gore Honorary Best Use Of The Internet April 2006 trophy to name a few. I was actually already in the running for the first ever Nobel Prize in Journalist Excellence, but when I learned that the fascits in charge of the dress code demanded all male recipients to wear tuxes I politely bowed out. I mean, if the man who wrote "Brokeback Mountain" can show up to the Oscars in jeans and cowboy boots, why can't I show up to the Nobel Awards in a polo shirt and khakis? I mean, that's the OSCARS for crying out loud, and it's not like I wasn't going to tuck the polo in. Seriously.

But let the Swedes have their formal dress and their "most supreme commendation in the world today." It was, as always, just an honor to be nominated. And besides, winning awards was a secondary motivation to me anyway. At least, it was.

That's right, I have decided to no longer use the pursuit of accolades and awards as motivation for my writing. It's a natural progression really, for I have been to the mountain top and when one reaches the mountain top one does not say "Hey let me pile another five feet of dirt on top of this mountain so that it's a little bit taller and I can climb even higher." For starters, where would one get the five feet of dirt? Do you realize how much dirt is required to increase a mountain's peak by five feet? Because I don't. And who's going to haul it up the mountain? The Sherpas? Good luck with that pal. All that is is a quick and easy way to learn the Sherpian phrase for "He wants us to do what? Forget that noise, let's just toss him off the mountain."

So I now need a second secondary goal to pursuit. Through a painstaking and mystical process I have narrowed it down to two options. Money or Women.

Money seems at first to be the hands-on winner. But, I can not, with a clean concious, make money my number two goal. After all, you, the loyal reader, are already doing your best to make sure that I am well compensated for my work by clicking on the ad link above this article when you stop by to visit. You ARE clicking the link right? Cause I've got twins in desperate need of braces and well, to be honest, the The Al Gore Honorary Best Use Of The Internet April 2006 trophy, while a great honor, doesn't come with free dental insurance.

This leaves women then. Which normally I'd be all for. But ever since I opened a Myspace account, the women have been flocking to me like bees to my journalistic honey. And the pictures they send? My goodness. I won't get in to detail because this is a family website, but I will say This. Where ever the pictures were taken it must be Very Warm. *wink*

So, hmmmm, money and women are off the list... what does that leave me with? OH! WAIT! Can you do this job for beer?

Because that would be AWESOME. Excuse me, I need to get my agent on the phone with the Pabst people.

A MUSING

When Aerosmith wrote "Don't Want To Miss A Thing" for "Armageddon", what do you think the conversation with Joe Perry was like?

"Hey Joe, come over here."

What's up Rob? (We'll call the guy in question Rob)

"Now, we all know you're a great rock guitarist."

Darn right.

"And you're probably one of the finest guitar players of your generation."

I like where you're going with this.

"And as you know, Aerosmith is doing the sure to be hit single 'Don't Want To Miss A Thing' for this soundtrack."

RIKIK-KIKI-KIKI-KIKI-KIIIIII!!

"See? Steven's excited about it. You tell him Steven! Anyway, anyway, well, here's the thing... there's actually not a guitar part in this song."

Pardon?

"Yeah, see... it's mostly an orchestra behind Steve. So Joey and Tom will still have things to do, but well, we don't really have anything for you."

What about Brad?

"That's a good one Joe, what about Brad? Ahhhh, you crack me up pal. Anyway- hey, you're not still on drugs are you?"

Nooooooo.

"Cheat on the wife at all?"

No.

"Nuts. See, cause when you guys take the song on tour, you're going to need to have something to do. If you still did drugs or needed a little of the old Pelvis Pushcart Race, you'd be set. Hmmm..."

What about a rocking guitar solo mid-song? Like Slash did in "November Rain"?

"Yeah... look, let's try and stay away from anything Guns n' Where Are They Now did, okay? Oh! Wait! Genius- wait, no- yes! Rob you are a genius! Bells. You're going to play bells."

You mean like a gong?

"No, like, you ever go antique shopping?"

Not since I stopped using drugs.

"Okay, well you remember the little bell that rings when you come in the door? Ding ding, ding ding?"

Yeahhhhhhh....

"That sort of bell."

.....

"Okay, good talk. You're a trooper Joe, this one's going to make you guys Superstars."

We're already superstars.

"Yeah, but with a capital 's'. TWO capital 's's, even. Yeah, I like the sound of that. Ding ding, ding ding. That's the sound of a hit Joe."

WEDNESDAY'S WORD 5-10-06

Because you, the faithful readers demanded it, Worzala's Wednesday Word has been lifted out of the grave like E.T. to treat you once again. Much the same way E.T. treated himself with tasty Resse's Pieces. Man, those things are good.

Today's word is "Hey-oh!" As in, "Ed McMahon sure says 'Hey-oh!' a lot."

Why? Because I met Ed McMahon today.

He came in to work on part of a media tour for this show he's doing at a casino about two hours north of here. I didn't even know he was coming in, I was standing by the front desk and then I turned and it's an old man in a suir and a green dress shirt and before you can say "old man in a green dress shirt" my brain went "Holy. Nuts. That's Ed McMahon."

How can you not think Ed McMahon is awesome? If for no other reason admire him for being drunk more times on national television than you probably have ever been even just drunk in your entire life. Or Star Search. The man hosted Star Search! Probably while Drunk!

So Ed F. McMahon was at work today and it was pretty awesome and everyone was stopping down to see him. So when it was time for him to leave, of course everyone wants to have a picture with him. And Linda says "Have a picture with Ed." And I'm like "Uhhhh no. Cause it's Ed McMahon, I shouldn't even be looking at him for fear of bursting into flames." But she shoves me into him anyway. (Not literally of course, he's an old man. Can you imagine that? How'd Ed get hurt? Some dude was shoved into him trying to have a picture taken.)

So I'm standing there, trying to figure out where to put my arm. First it goes around him and then my brain says "IDIOT!! You don't throw an arm around Ed McMahon like he's a frat brother at a Kegger!" So I drop my arm real quick and wait for the picture.

Nothing happens.

Try again.

Me refering to the book he's holding: Ummm... you're really going to like that book.

Ed: ....

Nothing happens again. The camera's batteries were dead and so were my chances of having my picture taken with Ed McMahon.

But still, that's almost a better story, because I have on file at work OTHER people with Ed and I can show those to people and say, see that? That's Ed McMahon live and in person and I was next in line to have my picture taken but the camera didn't work.

Hey-oh!

THE DEVIL DON'T DANCE

*note: I was hoping to save this for some other day, but I don't want to keep you, the loyal listeners hanging. This is a story I entered into a writing competition up here that wound up being selected. So, enjoy!*

Down in Georgia there's a place called Creedy's Swamp. Legend has it during the War of Northern Aggression a pair of Confederate soldiers deserted their posts during Sherman's assault and tried to hide out in Creedy's. Before the war was over they was caught by the army and hanged, right there in the swamp, for treason. The tree where they was hanged is still there, with the two ropes still hanging from the branches.

It's under these branches that the Devil lives, and I do mean the Devil hisself. I ain't never seen him myself, but that's cause I don't go down into Creedy's Swamp, not during the day, certainly not at night, and never, not ever, not even to save my own life, would I go down there at night when the moon is waning. That's when it's going away from full to new, if you didn't already know. Anyways, I don't go to Creedy's Swamp, on account of Lester Brighton.

Lester had two left feet, which might not mean much to you or me, but this was especially bothersome for the man because he loved nothing more than dancing. Nothing he tried could change the fact, however, that God had not given him the grace, or the skill, or even the raw talent to be a dancer. Now, I don't know what goes on in another man's head, but something inside of Lester's said that if God didn't make him a dancer, maybe the Devil could.

Now everyone knows the Devil don't dance. You gotta have something in your heart in order to dance. Dancin' without feelin' is like eatin' without swallowing. Why on earth would you do it? And the Devil, he ain't go no feelings. They all been burned out of him by the fires of Hell a long, long time ago. But just cause the Devil can't do something, don't mean he can't arrange it so someone else can. Devil can't bake a cherry pie to save his life, but don't nobody doesn't like Sara Lee, you hear?

So Lester goes down to Creedy's Swamp, under the light of a waning moon, and he finds the Devil sitting under that hangin' tree, dropping a line in the swamp. Now Lester, up close and personal like, is starting to have second thoughts, but before he can back off, the Devil's lookin' him in the eye and asking him to sit down. Well, Lester ain't got no choice now but to sit and see where his cards lie. The Devil asks Lester his business and Lester informs the Devil that he wants to be a dancer. Lester says he's even willing to trade his soul for the right moves. The Devil just laughs at that, says he's got enough souls already and he'll give Lester his dancin' talent if Lester comes back in ten years to provide him with some company.

Lester was so eager, he didn't even stop to think. Quick as a blink the two shook hands and the deal was done. The moon disappeared behind the clouds and when it came back, the Devil was gone.

Lester woke up the next morning and sure as spit he was now a dancing machine. You name it, he could do it. Rumba, lambada, fox trot, waltz, pop and lock, cabbage patch, two step, line dance, if was accompanied by music, Lester could do it and he did it better than anyone else around. With his happy feet Lester traveled first to the capitol, then to New York City, and then around the world. He won dance competitions, he had the lead in Swan Lake on both sides of both oceans, he formed his own dance company. He even had his face put on a Wheaties box. It was just a Christmas present, but for a boy like Lester it may as well been the real thing.

Well, ten years pass might quick when you're jet settin' 'round the world. Lester was living in London at this point, going by the name L'Bright and he was married to the prettiest little thing you could imagine. But an obligation was an obligation, so on the tenth anniversary of that night with the Devil, Lester found himself back in Creedy's Swamp, bathed in the light of that waning moon.

"How ya been, boy?" asked the Devil, pole still dipping into the water.

"I've been doing well, thank you," replied Lester.

"And the wife?" asked the Devil?

"She's also doing well," replied Lester. He didn't know how the Devil knew about his wife, but the Devil knows a lot more than he ever lets on. Everyone knows that.

The Devil then flips his line out of the water and looks Lester right in the eyes. I'm lonely, says the Devil. Well that's why I'm here says Lester. To provide you some company. The Devil just grins, and flips his line back into the water. You certainly are, says the Devil as he pulls the line back up. Rising out of the water at the end of the Devil's hook was a cradle. Well Lester looks at that, and looks at the Devil and he puts two and two together with his wife's week long streak of morning sickness and he begins to feel a little ill himself.

"Now hold on a minute," says Lester. "I thought you just wanted me to come visit you every now and again."

The Devil just snorts at this as he finishes pulling the cradle out of the water. Settling it next to the tree the Devil looks Lester right in the eye. "In nine months I'll be coming for what's mine."

Lester pleaded with the Devil. Got right down on his knees in that swamp and outright begged the Devil not to take his unborn child. He offered money, he offered things, he offered his own soul once again. The Devil was unimpressed. At his wits end Lester sputtered out a challenge to the Devil. "I challenge you to a dance off!"

As we all know, the Devil doesn't dance. Not a lick. And here was Lester, the greatest dancer the world had ever known, challenging him. Strange as it might seem, the Devil actually smiled. "All right," says the Devil. "You go first."

So Lester danced, and he danced and he danced some more. His feet flew across the swampy ground as he twirled and twisted and spun as hard as he could. His body was sweatin' and his lungs burned and still he danced till finally leapt in the air, backflipping through the night, his legs spread in text book example of the splits and landing on his feet.

The Devil was duly impressed. Clapping his hands in appreciation the Devil set down his fishin' pole and rolled up his sleeves. "And now," said the Devil. "It's my turn." And with that, he ripped Lester's soul right out of his body.

You see, the Devil learned a long time ago not to challenge anyone, especially in Georgia, to anything if the Devil wasn't absolutely sure he was going to win. So the Devil did the only sensible thing, he cheated.

Lester never did leave Creedy's Swamp and 9 months later his pretty little thing of a wife died in childbirth. The baby itself was lost. Not that it died mind you, it was just there, and then it twern't. No one knows what happened to it, or at least no one wants to say.

But I'll say this, braver folks than myself have gone down to Creedy's Swamp, and they've gone at night, and they've gone when the moon is waning and they've told me what they've seen. They say they've seen the hangin' tree shining in the moon light, and underneath the tree are two figures, one big, one not so big, dipping their fishing lines in the water. And even though there's never any wind, they swear they can see the two ropes hangin' from the tree swinging and swaying in the air, like legs dancin'.

Cause the Devil doesn't dance. But he sure likes watchin'.

A TALE OF TWO SAUSAGES

"Honey, my head is killing me, be a darling and make me a Bloody Mary."

....

"Yes, I know what time it is. That's why I'd like a Bloody Mary. It's like breakfast in a glass. You've got tomato juice, celery, olives-"

.....

"And vodka, yes, I know. Oh! And sausage links! How about two sausage links? And a pretzal rod."

.....

"It's not weird. Well, no weirder than what you used to eat when you were pregnant with Paul."

....

"Different or not, chocolate sauce covered deli pickles is still not something most people would think of eating."

....

"Just patties? Hmmmm... Bloody Mary and Jimmy Dean sausage patties... sounds good."

....

"Of course I eat Jimmy Dean. They're my favorite."

....

"Johnsonville? I thought it was Jimmy Dean."

....

"The one with the spices?"

.....

"Well what have I been eating all these years?"

....

"How do you know I don't like Jimmy Dean?"

....

"I thought they just cooked them wrong. Well this is... I told Paul at work I like Jimmy Dean!"

....

"But he said he hated Jimmy Dean and I said, well just try the ones with the spices. I told him that's the only kind I eat! Now I've got to go to work on Monday and tell him I don't even LIKE Jimmy Dean."

....

"He's going to call me a liar! You're darn right I'm getting worked up. He'll point right at me and say 'LIAR!' In front of the whole AR team."

....

"Well I can't keep this a secret. I can't... wow, this is a lot to take in... how could you keep this from me?"

....

"I very obviously DIDN'T know."

....

"I think that's for the best... if I'm not back up in a couple of hours... just let me sleep longer."

R.I.P. Wednesday Word

In case you haven't noticed yet, and I'm sure you have, the Wednesday Word (2/22/06-5/3/06) is dead. It caught a tragic case of chronic lateness, like many young blog ideas. Doctors from the finest of condiment named hopsitals were consulted and remedies were prescribed. One involved a complete content transfer, from Wednesday Word to Thursday Tirade, but it was feared that even with the content transfer it would still be too weak to fight off chronic lateness if it once again reared its ugly head.

In the end Wednesday Word decided to die as it had lived, short and sort of random.

Memorial services were held yesterday during Survivor commercial breaks. If you wish to honor the Wednesday Word please scroll up and click on the ad.

Heck, just click on the ad anyway.

Seriously.

ZAGFAN82 "TOTALLY CHEATING" SAYS THOMAS

-Raleigh, NC

Corey Thomas, 15, isn’t sure how ZagFan82 is doing it, but Thomas is positive he’s cheating.

“I’m losing 45 to 7, that’s just not possible!” exclaimed Thomas, known on-line as Thug4Life715. “He’s got to be cheating. He’s a hacker, I know it!”

Since accepting Thug4Life715’s challenge to a game of Madden Football 2006 earlier this afternoon, ZagFan82’s New York Jets have done nothing but dominate Thomas and his Carolina Panthers, racking up 300 yards passing and 4 interceptions.

“I read on the internet,” said Thomas. “That this guy in Sweden configured a Game Genie so it worked with the Playstation 2 to give your players unlimited sprint and also it let you see what plays your opponent was picking.”

“It’s so cheap it’s not even fair,” stated Thomas as yet another pass was intercepted by ZagFan82.

When asked about the potential use of a Game Genie by ZagFan82 to humiliate Thomas and his “leet skills”, Magnus Magnusson, Sweden’s Secretary of State, was skeptical.

“I’ve heard of this rumor since Madden 2004, but this such flagrant cheating is not in the nature of Sweden’s people. This sounds more like something the Danes would attempt,” said Magnusson. “That’s even if it were possible, which I highly doubt. The Game Genie was built to work with cartridge games, not discs, such as the ones that run on a PS2. If someone was able to make this item work they should be working for NASA.”

Thomas, meanwhile, has alternate ideas about what ZagFan82 should do with his life. Suggestions included being forced to sell his PS2 so that he could no longer cheat, being incarcerated and even possibly “falling down a well and dying.”

ZagFan82 is not the first person to have resorted to cheating in order to beat Thomas. Currently Thomas’ block list totals 400, a fantastic number considering Thomas has only been playing PS2 on-line for the past 16 months, meaning he has banned someone at a rate of almost once a day. The blockable offenses range from “constantly starting before [Thomas] said [Thomas] was ready” to “running the same cheesy play over and over.”

When questioned on what could be categorized as a tendency for “knee-jerk blocking”, Thomas remains unapologetic.

“They’re cheaters. Plain and simple. I’m really good at this game, I beat my brother all of the time and I beat most of my friends, except for Eric but that’s because he just plays as the Falcons and all he does is scramble with [Quarterback Michael] Vick. So if I’m good enough to beat everyone I know, how can KillBill420 beat me 35 to 3 as the Chargers, unless he’s cheating. He just keeps pitching it to [Running Back LaDainian] Tomlinson. You can’t do that in a real game. That’s cheating. So I quit after the third quarter and added him to my block list.”

ZagFan82, a 24-year-old teaching assistant at Reed College in Portland, has his own explanation for his dominant performance.

“Thug4Life715 just isn’t that good. He blitzes every down on defense, so all you have to do is anticipate it and then pass over the linebackers. And on offense he always runs the same slant route on third down. I even told him after my second interception that maybe he should change up his play calling. But he just called a homo and threatened to report me to Sony. How old is he anyway? I’m guessing 13, maybe 14 at the most.”

ZagFan82 then left for a date with his girlfriend of 2 years, a political science major who models on the side.