I know all of you out there are law abiding citizens. You'd never want to break the law, right...? "I once got a ticket for jaywalking. Does that count?" Okay, but you didn't end up in the "Gray Bar Hotel," I bet. Go to the Dark Side for a quick moment, imagine getting thrown in jail with a bunch of hardened criminals. Pretty heavy stuff, right? All eyes are on the new guy, everybody's tense. Even the toughest of the tough are a little bit nervous as the newest inmate settles in. You could hear a pin drop... Finally, somebody dares to ask: "What ya in for, son? First degree something, right?" That's when the new guy admits: "Uh, I stole a 2-year-old's piggy bank." Huh? "¿Qué dice este vato?" Don't believe me? "Don't believe you." Yes, this actually happened. Look it up... I understand the judge even tried to give this genius a second chance: "You sure you don't want to give it another go, rob a bank or something?" Sources tell me the inmates didn't beat this guy to a pulp for one sole reason: They couldn't stop laughing. "You stole WHAT from WHO?! You're killin' me!" People on the inside tell me some lifers were really insulted by the Piggy Bank Bandit's actions. "He'll ruin our reputation!" Why, Al Capone's ghost was so upset, he put in a call to Geraldo Rivera: "What's next, a 6-month-old's pacifier?" In the end, let this be a reminder to us all: Crime doesn't pay. "But what about politics?" That's a different story...
I found an interesting e-mail in spam the other day... (no, I didn't open it) Somebody took time out from his/her busy schedule to write me this question: How's your nose? It caught my eye and I got a little nervous. I mean, is my nose in some sort of danger? Is somebody picking on me -- or my nose? Usually, I'm asked, "How's the family?" or "How's the car running?" But now there's inquiries about my nose? Is there a rhinoplasty bill I forgot to pay in a previous life? "We're taking you to collections!" Thanks to that e-mail, I'm really concerned about my nose. I hope somebody doesn't come in the middle of the night and try to steal it (I have a nice nose, at least I think so). "Hey, give me back my nose!" Then there's a side of me that really regrets deleting that e-mail... What if it was a well-meaning person, and I cavalierly dumped their positive thoughts... How insensitive of me. "I'm sorry, whoever you are." I really, really am... Maybe a Good Samaritan noticed something about my sniffer that nobody else is willing to tell me. "You cowards! -- spit it out!" Not that I'm obsessed or anything, but... I can't stop thinking about my nose... I keep looking at my nose... "Your eyes are going to stay that way!" Yeah, ever since that question, my nose is all I think about. It's still there, from what I can tell. But what if I'm in denial... "What's wrong, nose? I hate when you don't talk to me..." I just wish somebody would come forward with the truth... Is my nose growing? Is it shrinking -- my nose, that is... Why would somebody e-mail me about my nose? I have a right to nose -- uh, know... Please, whoever tried to contact me about my schnozz, please write back. "Let's communicate, let's debate. Heck, I'm willing to go nose-to-nose if I have to..." But enough about my nose! I have to get back to more pressing issues in my life. Yes, I most certainly do... But first, "Anybody got a mirror?"
I tell ya, I thought I'd heard it all. Then I stopped the Disco mix and removed my ear buds long enough to hear this: There's a woman who actually eats sponges and bars of soap. Yes, she eats them! "¿Cómo? -- Hasn't she heard of mouthwash?" Let me explain, please. "It's a whole lot easier on the trachea." Okay, so at first the news left a bad taste in my mouth. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it's no big deal, actually. "Live and let live, no?" Still, I have to wonder if this woman's "soap thing" goes back to when she was a kid... "We're gonna wash that mouth out with soap, young lady!" (no word if her parents have any regrets) On the bright side, the woman's mouth is clean -- and she's obviously a cheap date. "Waiter, I think I'll have a small soap, with a touch of natural oatmeal..." Nice... On the other hand, sponges are a different story. They can be unsanitary if not totally clean. "What's that on her teeth?" This woman's setting herself up for an awkward dental visit if you ask me... "I see you've got a thing for Staphylococcus..." Yikes... But getting back to the soap, it is a whole lot easier on the pocketbook. "Have you guys seen the price of shrimp lately?" Yeah, now that I think about it, having soap as part of a well-balanced meal doesn't sound so bad after all (no, I didn't just glance at the sorry checkbook). Just for fun, I'll consider shredded soap someday. But not now, not anytime soon. There's no need to resort to such desperate meas -- "Don't forget to buy a dozen soaps!"
Meanwhile, back at the ranch... Awhile ago, I heard of an abandoned horse in the Midwest. "Are you lost, horsie?" Its lousy owner should've faked it and posted 'Lost Horse' signs around town -- for appearance sake, no? But that would've defeated the purpose: "Hey, we found your horse!" Oh... Which leads me to ask: How exactly do you abandon a horse? How do you pull that off? Do you park it on somebody's porch, hang a sign around its neck that reads "Surprise!"? My paternal -- and cowboy -- instincts kicked in and I figured that poor horse needed a loving owner. "Hey, that could be me..." Why not? I can't get bowlegged at age 30, right? (that's my story and I'm sticking to it) There are lots of positives to owning a horse... "Bye-bye, gas station!" From what I understand, it's the closest thing to riding in a convertible... Now, if I were to turn 'cowboy,' I'd have to wear boots -- again. But that's okay, as people close to me know I have a special relationship with boots (stop snickering -- immediately!). I wish I could share my boots story with everybody, but I just can't... I really shouldn't. I -- OKAY, I'll CONFESS: I WAS 'SMART' ENOUGH TO WEAR BRAND NEW BOOTS TO DISNEYLAND FOR GRAD NIGHT, OKAY?! -- SO SUE ME! IT WAS THE MOST MISERABLE NIGHT OF MY LIFE! YEAH, I PRODUCED MORE CORNS THAN THE ENTIRE STATE OF IOWA! I -- okay... there, I feel a whole lot better... Now, where was I...? Oh yes... the abandoned horse. Maybe I'll start off slowly... Good idea, yes... I'll take my time, try the merry-go-round first... "Giddyup! -- faster!"
Psssst... you. Yeah, you... "Why are you whispering?" Well, I have this little secret... I need to share this secret with somebody -- anybody. If I don't, I'll probably burst. "You mean it'll be our little secret?" Yes, that's right. But you can't tell anybody, okay? "Fine, but the whispering, I can barely hear you..." Sorry. Okay, here's my deep, dark secret: I... I... I can't help my kids with math homework anymore! And I feel really, really bad about it. "Oh, you shouldn't feel bad." I know I shouldn't feel bad, but I just feel plain... bad. Really, really bad... "That bad, huh? That's too bad." I don't know but, since when did counting on my fingers become obsolete? I remember when the kids were little and I took great pleasure in helping them with their math when I got home from work. "Daddy's so smart!" Yeah well... Now, I get the shakes just thinking about getting home (and no, it has nothing to do with my wife's cooking). "Dad, can you help me with this problem?" That's become a problem. "Pops, what's an anti-derivative?" (Great, how 'bout an anti-depressant, instead?) One day, I simply froze. "Dad, can you help me with this convex polyhedron?" Huh? I didn't know how to tell the kids that I didn't understand their math. "What's wrong, Dad? You used to help us all the time." Then, I came up with a solution -- at least I thought I did. I began to lie. I came up with excuses to avoid the nightmarish math. "I can't find my glasses." (I don't wear glasses.) "I'm a Peruvian spy --- and Peruvian spies don't do simple math..." (where is Peruvia, anyway?) Finally, "Figure it out yourself, kids -- it builds character." How sad... I better tell them the truth. In the meantime, I have to go to the market, buy a couple of items. "Hey kids, you know how to figure out the sales tax...?"
Mike Tyson, is not alone. As you may all remember, there was a time when the former champ had a thing for ears (ink to the face came years later). "My, what juicy ears you have..." Well, along with Girl Scout cookies, I'm pleased to announce that a certain thing for ears isn't going away any time soon. Not too long ago, I put my own "orejas" to good use and heard about a guy who had nothing better to do. So, instead of going out and feeding the homeless -- or helping the elderly -- he used his time and energy elsewhere. That's right, the guy went out and bit off a buddy's ear -- over a gambling argument. "With friends like that..." Ouch! At the cost of some cartilage, I'd like to put a positive spin on the unfortunate incident. Yes, I'll try to turn this into a teachable moment (maybe I'll be an educator in another lifetime). Be sure to take notes, boys and girls: 1.) Think twice before you gamble. "I bet ya anything I can get a date with Kate Upton before you can..." 2.) Cover your ears with duct tape if you're going to upset a friend. "That hurts, ya know?" And 3.) Be sure to know what you're going to do with the ear once it stops bouncing around and settles in a pool of blood... "I'm not going to pick that up! -- You pick it up! -- you did it!!!" Oh, and whatever you do, folks, don't share these succulent ear stories with Mom -- especially if you're Mexican. Before you know it, she'll be hard at work in the kitchen... "Anybody want menudo?"
Did you hear about the high school student who attacked an assistant principal over a bag of chips? "You're not getting back these -- Ugh! My solar plexus!" It's true, ladies and gentlemen. The incident happened somewhere in Ohio. "That's in Canada, right?" Not the last time I checked... It's no wonder so many people want out of the Midwest... "Our minors are not allowed to eat chips without a license." Obviously, Ohio's a very strict state. And from what my sources tell me, there's not much to do there, either. "We know how to have plenty of fun." Sorry, but football in the frozen tundra and watching things rust aren't enough. Then again, there's always the opportunity to fight over a bag of chips... "That bag of sodium's mine!" Even though I believe in our Constitution and the Freedom to Stuff Face, I have to side with the school administrator on this one. "Why's that?" Well, surely the school's trying to promote healthy eating... "How 'bout a celery stick instead?" It's a shame today's youths have to resort to such measures when they get the munchies. "Give me back my chips!" I guarantee you, someday this kid's going to return to school and thank the assistant principal... "Thank you." I can already hear it. "Hey, guess what? I don't eat junk food anymore. Nope. I turned to cigarettes instea -- Hey, give me back my smokes!" Oh boy...
