Okay, So It's Not a Pulitzer

 Before I get into today's post, we have a quick order of business to take care of.  Lest any of you dare to question my scientific genius, let me direct you to this post from a couple months ago:

Predicting This Year's American Idol

Suffice it to say, "neener, neener, neener."

Moving on.

After years of slogging away in literary obscurity, I've finally been given the recognition and accolades that I so richly deserve.  That's right, I've been named one of seven recipients of the coveted Lesa's Creative Writer Blogger Award as presented by the one and only Nonamedufus (that's "No Name Dufus" to those of you who prefer spaces between words).  The Dufus is a talented writer himself, as evidenced by the fact that he is a recent recipient of, well, the Lesa's Creative Writer Blogger Award as presented by somebody else.

You know how those things go.

Anyway, in the storied tradition of acoustic guitars and feminine hygiene products, this award comes with strings attached.  I'm supposed to write seven things about myself, one of which is true, the remaining six shall be outrageous lies.  I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you which is which, but since that wouldn't be any fun anyway, I'll leave it to you to figure out.  Feel free to make your guess in the comment section as to which of my seven tales is truthful.

1. When I was five years old I was addicted to Pixy Stix, those paper straws filled with flavored sugar.  This stuff was much closer to being a narcotic than it was candy, and I went through them like a ravenous wolf through a chicken ranch.  And when I discovered that they were also available in three-foot long plastic tubes ("Junkie-Sized" I think they were called), there was no stopping me.  I spent the second half of kindergarten in a self-induced sugar coma.

2. In the late 80's, I worked for Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus as a stunt double for the guy that got shot out of a cannon.  The guy, Boomer McSplosion, billed himself as a human cannonball, but due to a fear of heights and loud noises, he didn't want to do his own stunts.  Each night during the show, right after they loaded him into the cannon, the lights went down, Boomer crawled out through a secret door, and I replaced him.  The pyro crew then lit the fuse and I was blasted fifty yards into a net. 

After a few months, Mr. Ringling (or maybe it was his brother) discovered that I'd been diddling the female contortionist and decided to fire me, making me the only person to ever get fired from being fired.

3. I once owned a pet porcupine named Prick, and his name had nothing to do with his physical characteristics.  When I was fourteen I was a bit of a loner.  I spent almost all my free time sitting by myself in my bedroom eating Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (I'd moved on from Pixy Stix) and listening to the KISS solo albums.  In an effort to get me to come out of my shell (or more likely, because he got tired of hearing Peter Criss blaring from my speakers), my father decided to get me a pet.  Why he decided on a porcupine, I'll never know, but from the minute Dad turned Prick loose in my room, it was bad news.  First of all, the little bastard ate all the peanut butter cups.  Then, his chocolate binge complete, he plopped his spiky ass on my bed and refused to move.  And it's not like I could just pick him up, either.  I was forced to sleep on the floor for the next six months until Prick eventually died of natural causes (or maybe from listening to Peter Criss blaring from my speakers).

4. Bette Midler thinks I'm an asshole.  When I was in my early 20's, I worked as a movie theater manager in Pasadena, California.  Every so often, we would host a private screening of an upcoming film, where a test audience would fill out a survey to help the producers make changes before the film's eventual release.  Anyway, one evening we were screening Beaches and after it was over, some of the film's stars and production team came into my office to discuss the surveys.  I was sitting at my desk working on payroll, completely minding my own business, when all of a sudden Bette Midler says, "Are we just going to discuss this in front of the asshole over there?"  I looked up, and wouldn't you know it, the bitch was talking about ME!  Stunned, I walked out of the office.  A while later, though, the producer came up to me and apologized for "Miss Midler's rudeness."  Whatever.  When the film was released, I went through it frame by frame, drawing mustaches on her friggin' face.

5. I am the only living person who knows who shot JFK.  I was barely a year old in November of 1963, and my family was visiting relatives in the Dallas area.  On the morning of the 22nd, we all went to Dealey Plaza to wave to President Kennedy, who was my father's hero.  I was seated in my stroller, near the Grassy Knoll, and I overheard the following conversation between two Cuban thugs:

Carlos: Say, Jose, I think we should go over behind that fence and take a few shots at that Kennedy guy.

Jose: Great idea, Carlos.  After that whole Bay of Pigs thing, I'd say he has it coming.

Carlos: You got any guns?

Jose: Of course.  I have two rifles in my car.  Let's do it!

As the motorcade passed by in front of me, I heard two shots ring out from behind me, from the very spot Jose and Carlos were talking about earlier.  So there you have it, mystery solved.  Oswald was a patsy, Jose and Carlos from Havana were the real killers.

6. I once tried out for the Cleveland Browns as a placekicker.  It was 1988 and the Browns starting kicker, a diminutive Scandinavian guy by the name of Grlz Rbnkskn, was mired in a horrific slump.  He'd missed twelve field goals in a row, including one embarrassing attempt where he missed the ball entirely and buried his kicking cleat in the ribcage of holder Bernie Kosar.  The Browns scouting department went to great lengths to find a suitable replacement for Rbnkskn, and their search naturally led them to the Jazz Studies Department at Riverside Community College where they found me, an up-and-coming trumpet player.  The Browns paid my expenses to Cleveland for a tryout where I managed one field goal in ten tries, which was of course pathetic, but then again, it was better than ol' Grlz had been doing.  Coach Marty Schottenheimer bought me dinner, and broke the news to me that they'd decided to go with Matt Bahr instead.

7. Sometimes, when the mood strikes me, I dress up in an evening gown and perform My Fair Lady in front of the bathroom mirror.  It's really quite relaxing.  I take a hot shower, spray on some cologne, slip into one of Theresa's finest sequined dresses and burst into a rousing rendition of "Wouldn't it Be Loverly".

Don't judge me, the Bible says not to.

Again, take your guess in the comment section as to which of these seven tales is true.


Okay, next I'm supposed to list seven blogs for you to visit.  I've done this before, and I always end up pissing someone off for not mentioning them.  Last time, for example, I carelessly neglected the blog Mental Poo, and ever since then I've been getting boxes of bull testicles, incoherent hand-written letters from semi-literate parents of kindergartners, and piles of dog crap delivered to my house by the UPS guy.  At least, I'm assuming it's dog crap.  It's crap, anyway.  So, as not to incur the wrath of anyone else, I'm going to limit this to blogs I've selected completely at random.  Visit them anyway, you might be pleasantly surprised.

1. The first blog I randomly selected was an obscure yet very diverse and informative site called Google.  When you first go to the site it doesn't look like much, but if you type something into the box on this guy's home page, it takes you to thousands of related links.  It's kind of like a search engine.  Why other bloggers haven't jumped all over this concept is beyond me.

2. For those of you who are into wiggly dessert treats, you'll want to pop on over to Jello.  As one would guess, this is a blog devoted entirely to Kraft Foods' most famous gelatin-based snack food.  Here you'll find recipes, distributors, and detailed instructions on how to use this product to create a titillating wrestling venue.  "Bikinis, rasslin', and lots of hos, J-E-L-L-O!"

3. When it comes to really cold, mostly English-speaking countries that invent exciting and sometimes incredibly stupid sports (I'm looking at YOU, curling), Canada is right at the top of my list.  From the gritty shores of Prince Edward Island to the majestic beauty of B.C., our goofy-sounding northern neighbors provide a constant example of what the good life is all "aboot."  To get just a slice of what it's like to be Canadian, check out the great blog from the Medicine Hat (Alberta) School District.  Medicine Hat.  What a great name for a town.  It's right up there with Moose Jaw.

4. Does your Uncle Jim believe that he's Napoleon Bonaparte?  Do the voices inside your head argue with one another?  Have you ever wondered where Agoraphobics Anonymous holds its meetings?  If you answered yes to any of these, or if you're just an everyday, non-specific sort of nut job, Psych Central is just the blog for you.  Why pay an expensive pseudo-scientific bozo to figure out what's wrong with you when all your answers are right there online?  Go check it out today, and merge back on to the highway to normal.

5. If you sleep all night and work all day, if you cut down trees and eat your lunch and go to the lavat'ry, well then, take a visit to the great blog Lumberjacks.  Not only will they help you with all your woodworking needs, they can also set you up with high heels, suspenders and a bra.  Enjoy!

6. If your company or organization is looking for a great fundraising opportunity, why not set up a basketball game against a team of midgets?  Over at Tiny Trotters, pint-sized ballers like Micro Jordan, Minute Bol and Scotty Pipsqueak would love to go head-to-thigh with you and your co-workers.  Pay them a visit!

7.  Suldog.  Just because I know he hates awards.

So there you have it.  Thanks once again to Nonamedufus for honoring me with the whatever-it-was-called blogger award.  I'll cherish it always.



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