Hey, Joe, whaddya know?

How to run for Congress, apparently.

Copyright laws on the Joe the Plumber brand prohibit me from using an image of him, so here's basic cable television star Michael Chiklis.

Yes, Samuel Wurzelbacher, who played the part of “Joe the Plumber” on the 2008 sitcom “The Presidential Election,” has filed papers to run as a Republican in Ohio’s Ninth Congressional District.

In the interest of capitalizing on the “Name, followed by the definite article ‘the,’ followed by an occupation” (it’s kind of fun like a Mad Lib, isn’t it?), I have a slate of candidates of my own.

Mack the Knife – Tough on crime, but his foreign policy skills leave something to be desired. “Nice country you have here, Mr. Karzai. Be a shame if something happened to it.”

Knows where Jimmy Hoffa is buried.

Bob the Builder – Solid work ethic, although his union ties may be a problem with conservative voters.

Jimmy the Greek – Postive: He’ll lay you odds on a matchup between the U.S. military and any other country in the world. Negative: He’s dead.


Oscar the Grouch – No wife. No kids. No nonsense. Also, probably the greenest candidate around.

Alice the Camel – For when those meetings of the House Subcommittee on Whether to Charge by Column Inch or by the Word get so dull they need a musical pick-me-up that only a Cub Scout singalong can produce.

Darth Plageuis the Wise – Not sure, but I think Dick Cheney killed this guy in his sleep.


Bill the Cat – Hairballs on the floor of the U.S. House. It would probably compliment the manure that has been collecting there since time immemorial.

I’m sure there are others, but my brain is shot. Feel free to supply them yourselves in the handy-dandy comments section below. And subscribe if you haven’t already.

Two tickets to the gun show

If I have to listen to another McCain ad disguised as a radio commercial for “the big gun show,” I’m gonna puke.

Let’s be adults. The existence of future gun shows is not in jeopardy, and most certainly is not hanging in the balance. So saying that “this might be the last gun show you ever get to go to if the wrong guy gets elected president,” as the ad suggests, is disingenuous at best and outright fear-mongering at worst.

I’ve been to a gun show before, and the guy I was there with bought an AK-47. Let me say that again: A-K-4-7. To say that an AK-47 is a “reasonable” weapon with which to defend your home is akin to telling someone standing in the path of a hurricane that they might experience “a slight breeze.” I’m telling you, these shows are less about upholding the second amendment than they are about folks who just like guns, and they’ll be damned if the gummint is gonna tell them they can’t go hunting with a machine gun. Unless what you’re after is venison jerky, in which case a machine gun is totally appropriate.

And I’m not entirely sure that these gun show managers aren’t breaking some kind of Federal Election Commission regulations by “slipping in an endorsement” for the pro-gun candidates in their show advertisements. Those of you who are more knowledgeable about this than I should feel free to comment.

I.B. Puffnstuff

Seems there’s been a little bit of controversy surrounding the latest stoner film “Pineapple Express.” The question has been posed: Are movies like “Pineapple Express,” “How High,” and “Half Baked” encouraging kids to embrace the mari-ju-wanna?

I’d like to answer this with a resounding “What the #&%@ are you parents doing sending your kids to see these movies in the first place?”

That said, I’ll admit I haven’t seen any of the movies listed above, at least not in their entirety. I did, in my younger days, watch a few Cheech and Chong movies without managing to turn myself into a pothead.

I’ve never been stoned. I tried once and although I did inhale, any beneficial effects must have been lost on me. I can’t even get high correctly, which means my short lived pothead days are over. That’s a good thing. Studies show that most people who overdose are drug users.

I’m just gonna let that one sink in a bit before moving on. Everyone ready? Okay.

At the very heart of it, folks who are high or hopped up are just funny, and that’s all there is to it. I’ve got some vivid memories from college, but one of the most bizarre was from one night walking home from a party at the fraternity house. My roommate and fraternity brother had taken a hit of acid and as we turned onto one of the residential streets that led back to campus, he was suddenly taken with the notion that the trees were going to eat him.

And the kicker is that he was legally blind. Yeah. Helluva punchline, ain’t it.

You couldn’t make this stuff up. If he’d just done it more often (around me anyway), I’d be able to string a screenplay together from the experiences.

Just so there’s no mistake, drugs are bad. Mm-kay? But high people are a good source of comedy, and pretty much are a walking anti-drug commercial. I think they deliver the message a lot better than “From you, Dad! I learned it from watching you!”

So, please America, lighten up.


Don’t you think a good name for the stoner set at Hogwarts would be the Harry Pott-Heads?

Another travesty

When I can no longer be served a double latte pretentia mokachino by a bikini-clad barista, then the terrorists have won.

Actually, I don’t even drink coffee. Frankly, there are vices out there that are a lot more fun. I’m not going into detail; just use your imagination.

You have to admit, though, that crossing the pretension of Starbucks with the cultured nuance of Hooters is a novel concept that could definitely have reached an untapped niche market: awkward teenage boys who want their first experience with frothy milk to be special. Because that’s what every hormonally-charged adolescent male needs—a quadruple shot of caffeine. Hopped up and horny is where it’s at.

This place could also have been a great boon to the Belfair local economy, but I doubt it’s the kind of economic stimulation that President Bush had in mind.

One wonders what kind of health plan the owners of Espresso Gone Wild offered its employees. The combination of exposed skin surface area and the use of products that spout scalding hot steam must have made for some high premiums.

Alas, unless the idea of barista babes catches on in more progressive areas of America like….well….oh, gee…let me get back to you on that.

This is a dramatization

As some of you know, I’ve been on stay-cation for about two weeks, and in my copious free time I’ve been watching some television. Mostly it’s back and forth between CNN and Comedy Central. On occasion I watch the local stations to catch the local news.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Lexington area personal injury law menu, there’s a guy out there who bills himself as “The Heavy Hitter.” If you watch his commercials, you’ll know why. They guy doesn’t miss too many meals. But it isn’t his girth that I’m going to take to task here. It’s the complete idiocy of his latest commercial.

It opens with him approaching a jail cell. Behind bars are George Washington, Ulysses S. Grant, and Benjamin Franklin. They all have this green cast to them; green like, say, money. For those of you playing at home, Washington, Grant, and Franklin are the faces on the one, fifty, and hundred dollar bills, respectively. The whole point of the ad is to say that the nasty insurance company is locking up YOUR money. I’m not disputing that insurance companies are nasty, so let’s move on.

So we’ve got Green Washington, Green Grant, and Green Franklin behind bars in some television jail cell. And while we are treated to this site, the following offensive word appears at the bottom of the television screen.


Let me say that again.


Are you #$%@% kidding me?! Really? Because for a moment I thought that The Heavy Hitter™ (he gets a quarter every time someone says that) had somehow used his demonic powers (that he got in one of several deals with Satan, along with a passing grade on the bar exam…it’s a bundle plan) to not only bring the dead back to life, but to also turn them green. I’d love to have been in the advertising board room when that decision was made. I had thought about writing a fake script as to how that conversation went, but my mind can’t wrap itself around the fact that it happened at all.

Plus, I’m just lazy today. But I think we can all agree that if you watch that commercial with the aim of calling this guy for legal help, and you need the visual cue to tell you that the three dead statesmen with the greenish hue are just pretend, then you’d probably be doing yourself a favor if you went outside and beat yourself in the head with a sledgehammer a few times.

And if you die, just get him to bring you back to life. Minus the greenish hue would be preferable.

I never…

Walked on the California coast.
Aided and abetted streakers.
Got busy in a Burger King bathroom. (“Is he joking? Is he?“)
Told you what happened to your father, Luke.

Watched a six-year-old kid light up.

Where’s that black Sharpie when I need it?

Yeah. Last night, Julia and I were at a nice gathering at one of the community parks. Friends of ours were performing at an informal fundraiser for the park’s community center. Folks from the surrounding neighborhood turned out in force. It was not our neighborhood, but I felt a great swell of civic pride.

Until I saw this kid walk past puffing on a cigarette he had just gotten from his dad.

I still have a bruise on the bottom of my chin from where my jaw dropped to the pavement.

To the kid’s credit, he lit his own smoke. I marvel at the idea of what might become of a lighter in the hands of an industrious young man with a can-do attitude like that. I’m sure one day he’ll go as far as the hose on his oxygen tank will let him.

So let’s do this…

Watched a six-year-old kid light up.

And we’ll move on to the next item…

I never paid more than four dollars per gallon for gasoline.

Stay tuned.