It's Good to Be King...

until you gets the AIDS. This guy is a piece of work. I mean 50,000 topless women dancing for you is cool, but I think I'd also ask them to bring the report from their last trip to the clinic.

My favorite part is where he put a ban on having sex with a virgin. Then he promptly broke the law and fined himself "one cow". Now I have to ask, is this a real cow or just his way of referring to one of his older wives? Because if it's the latter, he may have finally found the holy grail of marriage, the thing that all men have considered nothing but a myth. The trade-in for a newer model deal. The bastard probably won't let anyone else in on the secret. Not that it's hard to figure out. If you rule your own country, make your own laws, and break them whenever you like my guess is he don't have much to worry about; except the AIDS. He thinks he's really smart, but he'd be better off taking no wives (okay maybe a couple once he's 45 so he can father an heir), having sex only with virgins, and then giving them a nice parting gift (but no BMWs, that's just wasteful. Give 'em a Hummer. I mean, eye-for-an-eye right?)

I have to correct the young woman quoted at the end of the article. She stated, "He is not a good leader because multiple wives can spread HIV." No I'm sorry, multiple wives can lead to chaos, mental illness, and ultimately death but not usually a sexually transmitted disease. When she gets married she'll understand.

Luckily my wife is kind, thoughtful and forgiving, I have no need for a Reed Dance. She also realizes I'm usually out of my mind when I write these things. Love you sweetie!

Boom Goes His Career in Broadcasting

If you felt bad for Ben Stiller's character in Meet the Parents then I suggest you don't watch this clip. For everyone else, this is one of the funniest things I've seen on the internet recently.

The College Sports Reporter

Did you see that kids ears light up like a cross between Dumbo and Rudolph? They were almost as red as the Colonel's stomach after that 30' belly flop (video coming soon).

I mean how could this guy not do well, he obviously has all the basic broadcasting skills:

• Sweaty palms....check
• sweet teleprompter skills....check
• quality segment to segment transitions....check
• solid paper shuffling skills....check
• catchy highlight phrases....check (or should I say "Boom")
• willing to express his attraction to professional atheletes....check
• Shatner-like dramatic pauses....check
• ability to talk in a way that makes viewers believe their media player is skipping.....check
• no problem apologizing for on the air suckitude....check
• look of complete and utter hopelessness....double check

In a related story, a Ball State college sophomore was found dead, hanging from a camera boom. Although it appears to be a suicide, police are not ruling out foul play. College officials were not available for comment.

Annoying Tread #17

Wow, it's surprising how many of the things that annoy me fall into one (or more) of these (unranked) categories:

• Advertising/Marketing
• Entertainers
• Michael Moore (he's large enough to warrant his own category)
• Bad Drivers
• Bad Food
• Smokers
• Blondes
• Bad photographers (focus and framing really do matter)
• Mint flavoring
• Radio morning shows
• People who believe that have some status in life which automatically demands respect/attention
• The Oxygen network
• Work
• Sore losers
• People who can't perform their jobs at an average level
• All people who work in food service
• Good TV shows that "jump the shark"
• Nascar
• Bad Tequila (e.g. As the Colonel says, "anything with the word 'Jose' in the name isn't good tequila.")
• Anything labeled as 'cute'
• Cell phones
• Baggy pants with visible underwear
• The Three Stooges
• The French
• "Irregardless"
• Artificial flavors
• Country music
• Rap music
• People who make lists about crap that annoys them
• software that doesn't easily allow the entry of umlots

All of these, of course, fall into the über-category of Stupidity.

So here's beef #17. Automated telemarketing. Can someone please tell me when this started. The idea that I could avoid talking to another telemarketing person is a nice idea, but not being able to figure out what they're selling or how to actually order it is annoying (and somewhat comical). Not that I'd really buy anything over the phone, but I want ability to say "No." Whether it's to a live person or a machine. I get a call the other day pitching satellite TV. So I listen to the recorded babble and then want more information. But I don't get any instructions. So I push 0. Then 1. It starts ringing. Then I get put on hold. I push more numbers. It starts ringing again. After about 3 minutes (yes I had nothing better to do), a live person answers the phone. I say hello. Pause. I hear them breathing. "Hello?" And then the male voice responded with "Hello? hello, hello......hello, hello, hello, hello........hello, hello, hello, hello....." Until, realizing that his attempt to annoy me isn't working, he hangs up. Oh, you can't out-annoy me you sausage-guzzling phone jockey. I've got mad skills.

Media of the Week

I mean, other than the potential of leaving a floater for someone else to mistake for a water-logged candy bar, I couldn't agree more. Nashua Telegraph

The French would just let this one die if Armstrong drove a tank and spoke German. But no they have to get all pissed off over a bicycle race. Interestingly, the average Frenchman might want to try steroids. I hear a cocktail of 'roids and stem cells has been shown to create spines in lab animals.

Hey Jean-Marie did anyone ever tell you that you have two girls names.

And finally, from a movie that doesn't suck.

People Are Sick: Epilogue

A while back I wrote about a software tester that used talk about herself in the third person and required us to perform "phone saves" for each other to avoid painfully long discussions with her. Here's a very funny tidbit.

One day she walks up to me and says, "Hey, I think you know my brother Scott." Hummm...Scott. I can't think of any Scott I know. Really, where would I know him from? "Oh, I'm not sure but I have a picture of him in my cube." This is were I got nervous. Getting trapped in Tracy's cube was as good as clinical brain death. Alright, let's see this mysterious Scott.

I walk into her cube to look at her wedding picture, and there he is in all his rotund glory. That crazy bastard with the Coke bottle and $600 of my money. Click. One more piece of the galactic jigsaw puzzle falls into place. A whole family of crazies. I quickly checked the floor for any signs of a two-liter Fresca bottle with used sponges in it. Phew! She must keep that at home.

So I did what any caring co-worker would do. I told everyone I could find that Tracy came from a long line of whackjobs. By the end of the day everyone in the office had heard the story of the 2-liter Coke bottle. The next morning Tracy sent out an email letting everyone know that she had made cookies, that they were in her cube, and to stop by and have one. I replied to all, "Let me know if you want any Coke with your cookies."

Interestingly enough, Tracy took a bunch of cookies home.

Where Did the Soap Go?

It used to be that when I was done doing yard work, fixing something, or simply relieving myself that I could go to the sink and find a bar of soap to wash my hands. Now my house has been invaded by Washes, Sanitizers, and crap with names I can't even pronounce.

When I stand there preparing to wash my hands I have this pump staring at me. It's filled with Mango Splash Tone Foaming Hand Wash with Cocoa Butter. Yeah, that's how I want to smell. Like I've been fondling fruit. Then there's the stuff in the other bathroom, Melon Berry Hand Sanitizer with Exfoliating Beads. I want to find the numb-nuts that started using the word "exfoliating" as a marketing tool so I can exfoliate him with my wire grill brush. This crap just looks expensive. I'm afraid that if I use more than a drop my son is going to have to get a scholarship in order to go to college. I don't need that kind of pressure. Not after I just relieved some.

What happened to man soap....bar soap. It's messy but effective. Just like men. Zest, Irish Spring and the father of all man soaps....Lava. You want to exfoliate you little marketing bitch? Here try some Lava. That crap'll even get the mustard stains off Michael Moore's face. That's soap. But we don't have soaps anymore. There's specialty goo for body parts; hand wash, face wash, foot wash. You marketing people really want to open up a new market? Start making sack wash. Make is smell like chocolate. In fact make it taste like chocolate. Then you'd be making something I guy would buy. My new rule of thumb. If glycerol isn't a by-product of making it, I'm not using it.

Men, this is a call to arms. Go to the store and buy a real, honest-to-goodness bar of soap. Actually make it two. Go home unwrap one, wash your hands with it, and then lay the sudsy bar on the counter. Scratch your crotch. Reminder yourself you're a man. Put the other one in your coat pocket. The next time you're at a dinner party and you meet someone new find out what they do. If they make, market, or sell Smelly Anti-bacterial Ass Wash with Aloe and Ginseng, take them into a corner and dry wash them with that extra bar of Lava. It'll be a liberating experience.

People are Sick!

Have you ever had that one defining moment in your life that clearly and firmly lowers your opinion of the human species? I've had several, but none so powerful or so disturbing as the one I'm about to share. This is not a story for the weak of heart (or stomach). Continue reading with caution, you have been warned.

Shortly after college I was stuck looking for a roommate. Now, as many of you know, this is worse than looking for a date. You end up with a friend of a friend of a friend that you meet and realize that a lot of those that people call friends are just drinking partners from whom they can't find a way to escape. Needless to say, I'm not friends with that person anymore.

So I get a new roommate, let's call him Scott (because that was his name). Scott was, and I put this kindly, not attractive. This unattractiveness was due in large part to his uncleanness. He looked like a cross between Drew Carey and Conan O'Brien; a red-headed porker with oily skin and a stink. Better yet, picture fat bastard with a little less weight and a central New York accent. He also had unspeakable foul habits. On top of these issues, he never seemed to have his rent or bill money on time. Ultimately the bastard ended up owing me about $600. If I thought I could track him down and beat the money (plus interest) out of him without catching a communicable disease I would stop typing and going hunting right now. But he was my only option.

Scott was a hog's man. I can't, in good conscience, use the term ladies because they were barely identifiable as human females. Most losers with even a little self-respect would have found other ways to satisfy their man-needs. But not Scott. I could count on Scott to bring home about 500 lbs. of pork a week. And he'd be all proud, "She's hot isn't she?" Yeah, hot like someone took an iron skillet to her face. Big thumbs up Scott, enjoy. You've got your hands full there. One time he stumbled out of his room early on a Sunday morning with nothing but his sheet wrapped around him. "We didn't wake you up did we?" Ahhhhh...imaginary stimulation of the visual cortex reaching critical levels. Vent the thoughts...vent the thoughts!

One day I was looking for a book, I believe it was a Physics textbook, and remembered that Scott had borrowed it. As I think back now I can't imagine why he wanted it, other than to either A) Impress the hogs, or B) disprove Newtons theory of a universal gravitation constant through empirical research with massive objects. My guess is the former.

Scott wasn't home and I really needed the book, can't remember why and you'll soon understand my memory issues surrounding the event. I opened the door to his room. It was littered wall-to-wall with garbage; dirty clothes, empty pizza boxes, and the like. Like Arthur casting his eyes upon the holy grail, I spotted the book across the room on a side table. I began to traverse the disaster area, hopeful to get in and out of the room as quickly as possible. This desire to move with speed may have been my biggest mistake. Almost to the book, my foot kicked something solid. I looked down and saw an empty two-liter Coke bottle. Or is it empty? This is the old school black plastic bottomed bottle and it looks like there is something in the bottle, but it doesn't appear to be Coke. I looked closer...that's strange. So, like the curious dumb-ass that I am, I picked it up and took an even closer look. What the hell? Are those....? I froze. Confounded. I can't really be seeing that can I? Finally instinct kicked in and I dropped the bottle faster than Palmeiro's chances for the Hall. The bottle was partially filled with used condoms.

(This is where I give you moment to recover, hope you weren't eating.)

Yes, I said USED condoms. In a two-liter Coke bottle (one-quarter filled). I grabbed the book and ran. I took a shower. I scrubbed my handed. I scrubbed my hands some more. I ate prepared foods for a week (okay I would have done that anyway). What sick f$^% thinks putting his used condoms in a Coke bottle is a good idea. Was he keeping score? Did he not understand how sperm banks work? Think about the process required for getting them in there through that little opening.

I moved out a month later. People are sick.

Movies I Couldn't Finish Watching

I've watch, at least to their credits, movies such as Ishtar, Hardware, and War of the Worlds (2005). I avoided vomiting, homocide, and acquiring a severe case of Tourettes Syndrome by trying to find some redeeming quality that will help me feel like I haven't lost two hours of my life. There are very fews movies that I've walked out of or turned off. But damn it, didn't Lucas show me new ways to make a movie suck.

We rented THX 1138: The Director's Cut. I was asleep within the first 20 minutes. I never fall asleep during movies. Can anyone guess how Lucas was allowed to make another movie after this one? I've got two words for you: Coppola and hummer. Yes I understand this was a student film with a small budget. Clerks was low budget yet somehow Kevin Smith was able to make it not suck, in fact, it's one of the greatest comedies of all time. Now there's a thought. What if Kevin Smith had written and directed the Star Wars movies. At least Return of the Jedi would have shown us what happened to the Death Star contractors.

Anyway, Lucas deserves to be beaten soundly for even releasing a Director's Cut. Seriously, how much did this movie suck before he started his dabbling. The robots look like rejects from the 2020 CHiPs academy. The dialog is vintage Lucas; stiff...like Michael Moore watching The Black Widow pound 44 lobsters in 12 minutes. I haven't cared less about the characters in a movie, since...well...Revenge of the Sith. "Oh Anakin." Damn, I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. Hey is that a refried bean? Oh and the "artistic" soundtrack. Minimal (but crappy) dialogue, and a bunch of background noise made of partial airport voices, and pre-R2D2 computer beeps. I think I even heard the sound of someone putting on knee pads.

I went to Amazon to see what other people thought of the movie. Not that I care what other people think but to find more material. Most of those nut sacks give the movie a 4 or 5 star rating and explain it away with stupid statements like "if you consider that this was Lucas' first actual feature out of film school, you got to give him a lot of credit for it." Um...no I don't, the movie blows. Gee, that meal tasted like ass...but given that it's the cooks first night it wasn't really that bad. Giving a rating based solely on the skill of the Writer/Director is retarded. People are such Lemmings. And then there's the tard who says, "This is a great movie!" but gives it a 1 because it's not out on DVD yet. Head shaking alone cannot convey my amazement.

What movies have you turned off/walked out of? Not that I care. I'm just looking for more material.

Deliverance

"You sure got a pur'ty mouth!"

That's right, we'd headed for the mountains and all the dangers therein. Locals, bears, and drunken stupors. I may be able to sneek a post in before we leave but if not have a good week and work on getting yourselves to Level 5.

Level 5

Continued from Level 4.

So you walked the hot coals of corporate incompetence. You've been engulfed in the flames of ass-hattedness. You've snatched the golden Idol of Sanity from the tomb of upper management. You've seriously considered starting a fight club at work and inviting a few special people. But you haven't been able to bring yourself to end the relationship.

Flipping off [insert asinine co-worker here] would be deeply satisfying. Emailing the entire company with all the stupid decisions you've seen (and would change) seems like a brilliant idea. But you can't seem to bring yourself to add your John Hancock to a document stating all the reasons that your job and employer sucks and why you're going to begin your online professional poker career. There's something that keeps you. Maybe it's the people (the non-stupid ones anyway). Maybe it's the money, security, or the hot girl in logistics. Something prevents you from "burning your bridges" and walking out the door. [Editors Note: "Burning bridges" is a stupid metaphor. If I was going to burn anything before I left a job it would be the people I couldn't stand.]

So, there you are at level 4 (or maybe 2 or 3). Trying to make sense of it all. Unable to find any level of satisfaction in the job you used to enjoy. It's time to take action. Problem is, you've got to find your own way to Level 5. You're not going to find it on Google Maps, even though it looks like they've got everything else. Unlike some of the transitions between other Levels, attaining Level 5 is not automatic. You have to work at it. Someday I might write a book about the transition. I'd call it "Sacred Level 5: Spirtual Lessons of a Cubicle Warrior." (I stole that idea from Phil Jackson. The only thing better than stealing from Phillip would be kicking him in the genitals.)

Level 5 is a state of mind that is hard to explain. In fact, it may be something different to each person. No, none of that Zen crap. Just a different way of viewing the drudgery of your daily work life. Level 5 is about being able to look at the idiocy around you without it adversely affecting you. I say "adversely" because ideally you'll be able to look at the situations, which at Level 4 you were thinking WTF, and respond with "Wow, that's messed up....but funny". Then you laugh. You laugh at the situation, at the people, and about how none of it really matters.

Find the humor in everything. If you get stuck cleaning up someone elses' mess don't get mad at him. Just laugh and think, "Man, at least I don't have man boobs like that tool." Humor is the great equalizer and is the critical component to a successful life at Level 5.

So although I can't tell you how to get there. I can give you an idea of how you can tell if you've made it:

• If anyone mentions HR your first thought is that Derrick Lee hit another one


• You want to be involved with the new project because you want to witness the carnage from the inside


• You're disappointed each morning you swipe your security card and the door actually opens...maybe tomorrow


• You no longer complain about work to your spouse or friends


• You're spouse or friends ask you if you've gotten a new job


• You are no longer annoyed by slackers, in fact, you start checking out their techniques


• Rather than stewing over stupid work crap you spend your free moments blogging


• When asked why you're still working here, you response simply with, "If I leave, who's going to turn off the lights and lock the door when this place goes under." or "Are you kidding me, THIS is reality TV. Hey where's my video camera?"


• You watch Office Space and laugh. Not because you empathize, because it's funny

And speaking of Office Space, the attitude that Peter had after his encounter with the hypnotherapist is what you should strive for. Level 5 has gotten me through a lot of tough situations. So much so that when people ask how I'm doing, pretty much the only truthful response is, "Well, I haven't been arrested."

Level 5: Gone are the feelings of helplessness, anger, frustration, and utter disillusionment. In is a calm, matter-of-fact, "what crazy sh$% am I going to see today" attitude. You desire to experience work from a higher place as if the building were a giant habitrail. Many will take your attitude for a lack of caring. But it's really more that you're resigned to the outcome that fate has determined; satisfied with the front-row seat that's been gifted to you. Humor is cog to the Level 5 machine, without which there is no outlet. The simple things at work keep you going, bad decisions, faux pas [damn, I used another french term], and other people's pain. These are the things that keep you going. Consume them like Michael Moore eats Little Debbie Snack Cakes, but without all the crumbs.

Netflix is Cool, Vegans are Not!

"Did you find the movies you were looking for? Great. Oh, I see you have a late fee, the total with your movie and late fee is $3824.15. We could avoid this charge in the future, would you like to sign up for a no-late fee program? It's only $900 a year?"

Screw Blockbuster and all the pimply-faced morons that never seemed to be able to scan in the returns prior to their due date. Don't get me wrong. We had our fair share of late returns but there were many that we know were in the drop box on time. F' them. Blockbuster and their asinine late fees drove me sign up for Netflix and we've never looked back. We get new DVDs in a couple of days and we've always got something to watch. Even in the summer, when I expected that I might cancel the subscription, it's nice to have something around for those evenings that are either too hot or too wet to be outside. So props to Netflix and I hope they give it to Blockbuster. Right in the ear.

I was reading the letters to the editor of a local newspaper the other day and there's this woman (I say woman because my desire to generalize and stereo-type categories of people in order to flame them is important to me) that writes a letter regarding summer BBQ cookouts. You know the kind where an organization like the Rotary Club or American Legion hosts a cookout to raise money. Well this woman is writing to complain to these people, at large, that they don't serve food for vegans or vegetarians. She suggests adding BBQ tofu and Boca-burgers to the menu. She hypothesize that it would be good financially because vegetarians and vegans would come to the cookouts. Yeah, okay. What a dumb be'atch.

Generally I think she fails to see the bigger picture:

A) Most importantly, people really don't give a rat's ass about your self-imposed dietary constraints.
B) Cookouts are for getting together and having fun...vegans aren't fun.
C) There is a BBQ culture, it often involves charring dead animals, eating beans, drinking beer, and making fun of vegans. I just don't think you'd fit in.
D) Next thing you'll want is Perrier, cloth napkins, and dyke-only cookouts.
E) The rest of us don't want to see you eating your Boca-crappy Tofu patties.

(Now you're thinking, but Uncle Jimbo don't A and E contradict each other. Wow, very astute. Maybe I should clarify, we don't give a rats ass unless we're reminded of how annoying the vegans are. So go whine somewhere else I'm trying to enjoy my pulled pork.)

F) If you want a vegan-friendly BBQ, then HOST YOUR OWN. Stop telling other people how they should run their events. My guess is, in this great free-market economy, that if there was a market for it you'd see them. But you don't. So STFU.
G) If you're currently in a relationship with a man, you're probably not a vegan...if you get my meaning.

I had a manager that was a vegan, and a woman (gasp), and we got into it one day as she was spouting off about why we shouldn't be consuming animals and animal-based products. At one point she said, "Humans are the only mammal that drink milk after infancy."

Yeah, big deal we're the only ones that drive cars too. WE DO IT BECAUSE WE CAN!

Hun and Karen, the Hacks

Who are Hun and Karen you ask. Hun is the soon-to-be-unemployed chef from the soon-to-be-out-of-business Bay Tree Cuisine. Unlike most restaurant reviews I'll give you the ass-kicking summary first and then bore you with the painful details. But I'm not going to use gay adjectives like delicate, pastel, or harmonious.

My Review of Bay Tree Cuisine

Overall rating: -2 (out of 5)
Atmosphere: Thin, like SR-71 thin
Service: I've had better service at a narcoleptic whore house
Menu: If you can look past the boring stark-white paper, black text and minimalistic descriptions it only sucked a little
Food Presentation: Yawn
Food uality: (Notice there's no 'Q' in quality...you get my point)
Food Taste: Slightly above what you'd get from the buffet at the downtown Hyatt

And Karen is...Karen Deyle a freelance restaurant critic who writes for the local paper. Hey, you stupid b!^*$, people do actually read your reviews. Being so far off on this one cost us $160 for four people. I'd rip apart your lazy, ass-hatted review but it's not worth my time you prissy little skank. I think I'll just put it on my personal life checklist to kick you and your companion in the head should I ever have the pleasure of meeting you in person.

The ordeal began with a casual get together on our friends porch with a couple glasses of wine. Next we walked to the crime scene and looked at the outdoor menu. "Lamb in sauce with vegetables". Wow, that sounds great. What kind of lamb? What kind of sauce? So many questions. Like being vague is a good marketing technique for anyone but a politician. But, some people on the street said they enjoyed the place, and of course Karen thought it was "delicate". Who can argue with a powerful statement like that.

As we weighed our options we noticed that there wasn't a single person in the place. Not a single occupied chair. Note to self and others, if you ever think about eating at a restaurant at 7pm on a Saturday and there isn't a soul inside. Walk away. Either it's a front company of some sort of illegal activity or it sucks. This place sucked so much it may have been both. But in we went, dying to find a new place.

As we were seated near the window I half expected a stage prop canvas, with a mural of a busy restaurant, to fall from the ceiling behind us. "See look at the nice people enjoying our food, come in, come in." We received our wonderfully lame menus and asked for a drink menu. "We only have wine and beer." Okay fine, no liquor license. I guess we can get by. Swing and miss, strike one. Let's see the wine list....okay, California Cab, California Merlot. If we order a Merlot I'm leaving. California, California, France, California, California. If we order a California wine I'm leaving. So we settle on this completely uninspired Cab (from California) with a twist off top. Oooh, very sheik. Then the server asks us for IDs.....enough said. We had a good laugh. My wife ordered a ginger ale. "Sorry no ginger ale, only Coke and Diet Coke." So....you sell Coke products but only those two. Ingenious. What a very progressive idea. Fewer drink options means more focus on the food. Brilliant. How about you run your ass over to the Wilson Farms, buy some cans of ginger ale and drop one in a glass. Hey, batter, batter, Strike two. Then he spent five minutes trying to articulate why we would really rather have their tea. All without a single adjective. It was linguistically amazing, but not very compelling.

So we went to order, but the wonderful menu with very little description leaves us with a few questions. "What cut of lamb is this? Rack? Shank?" We get sort of a blank-stare response. "Wow, that's a good question. Umm....I'll have to ask the chef." Let me get this straight. You have a shitty menu with almost no descriptions, only about 10 entrees, and you don't have the details for all of them in your head? Have you even tried the lamb before? Do you know what a rack of lamb is? Strike three looking.

On to the menu. Let's see no soup. Strike four. Only the same lame "vegetables" side for all the entrees. God forbid you, as a culinary artist, try to match your sides with you main meal. Hey zucchini goes with everything right. Strike five. For our appetizers we orders the "fried shrimp with salad" and "lobster something-something with salad". These actually didn't suck as much as everything else. The shrimp were warm, lightly breaded jumbo shrimp with good flavor. Amazing. Hun the Hack took a pitch. Ball one. The lobster was passable, but the salads were romaine and sliced grape tomatoes in a light vinaigrette. Very original.

And then the main course. The duck was cold, the beef tenderloin was tenderized and small. What about the lamb? Sadly, the lamb was simply lamb tenderloin, which if we hadn't been told it was rack of lamb wouldn't be a big deal. Except for the fact that we ordered it medium and got it rare. He can't hit, he can't hit, he can't hit, sa'wing batter. Strike five, strike six, strike seven. To top off the wonderful evening when we explained our issues with the meal, they tried to make us feel better about spending $160 by giving us two (there were four of us) craptacular chocolate mousse deserts. All I'll say is that they were chunky and flavorless...and that's being nice.

Hun you are a hack in the same mold as Dave Kingman, but without all the home runs. Maybe you're more like Bob Uecker. You must be in the front row....of the unemployment line.

Karen, I'll be looking for you.