Curveball Hitter

Anyone can hit a fastball.  Fastball hitters are a dime a dozen... well, they do get paid a bit more than that. Ok, "anyone" is probably a stretch as well, but I sense you see my momentum.

Since the dawn of time, kids have learned to play baseball and when they learned to pitch most of them were striving to throw the ball faster than the other kid could hit it. The kid who teams coveted was the one who could hit the fastest ball.

As the kids matured they were taught how to throw a curveball or 'breaking ball' of some kind. Screwballs and sliders were also taught. I hesitate to digress into spitters and knucklers, but there is nothing quite like the knuckleballer and the catcher who can handle him. With a veritable arsenal of pitches, batters were baffled by location, speed changes, and movement.

The evolution of the hitter was always slightly behind the pitcher, so the first kid to master the breaking ball was the MVP. The next MVP was usually the kid who could hit the breaking ball.

I won't be the first faux-genius to tell you that life imitates art, or in this case sport. If we were kids, we'd want the fastest and strongest. We aren't kids anymore and the appeal of the fastball, though not lost on us, has waned. We've watched as the guy who could handle any situation in High School, could date any girl he wanted, was the star athlete now asks if you want fries. Sure not all situations are so dire, but by and large, the heroes of the High School can't continue their legend after. Now the guy who had to work hard to ride the bench and progressively succeed, the one who had a chip on his shoulder, the one who watched the pitcher while others were at bat, his chances of success are better. He learned to hit the fastball by knowing when the pitcher might throw it. He also learned to hit the breaking ball by studying the throwing angle and hand position.

One of the best hitters of my lifetime was Tony Gwynn. He was called Captain Video as he often studied videos of his own swing as well as opposing pitchers. This gave him an edge. He made a habit of base hits between 3rd and shortstop, but he was always dangerous. While pitchers worried about guys like Barry Bonds and Jose Canseco, Gwynn went out and did his thing, building a lifetime average of .338. That's a little better than a hit on every third trip to the plate.

Some of my readers will think I've become a sports blog, but this my friends is a lesson on life, wrapped in pine tar. Do what you do, don't rest on your laurels, be in it for the long haul, don't search for accolades, be prepared...

Be a curveball hitter.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Now here's something you'll really like!

I'm not trying to go all sporty spice on you, and this may look like a cop out of a blog, but sometimes in the endless stream of internuttiness, we miss some cool and fun stuff. I would love to see you share links to some of your favorite YouTube videos. The caveats to that request are that they be Germaine to the topic I seem to be doing, and they have to be fairly clean, this is not family unfriendly.

We start with a fairly routine punt. Note that anything you might miss is down below the last video.

Now we have a fairly common restart in a lacrosse match.

A penalty shot at this level is usually accurate and favors the shooter.

Some of you will remember this swim.

Video #1: the guy who blows up he returner is in fact... The punter! He is currently the punter for the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Video #2: whoa, did you catch the trickery on the first go around? Total fake out! This is like lacrosse ventriloquism!

Video #3: I can't begin to tell you how hard that is? With the lean, the keeper has to believe the ball is going left, and it would be almost impossible to go right with the right footed shot while leaning like that. But it wasn't the right foot!

Video #4: Phelps has a great swim, but it just isn't enough to give the Americans the win. The final leg is truly David vs. Goliath.

So tell me, what are some good sports related YouTubes that I (and the great unwashed masses) missed on the first go around?

Winged Dental Warrior

The Tooth Fairy is a curious being...
Conversation with my 7 year old...

She: Daddy, I lost my tooth last week but the tooth fairy hasn't come and left me a gold dollar.
Me: Baby, I helped you get the tooth out, I remember.
She: But where is the tooth fairy and why hasn't she taken my tooth and left my dollar?

About this time, I'm seeing her channel the paperboy from Better Off Dead.

I want my TWO DOLLARS!

Me: Well Baby, can the tooth fairy find your tooth in all that mess?  I bet she can't find the pillow.
She: (she now channels a much older married woman) Daddy! Of course she knows where my pillow is, it looks like a pillow.
Me: well, it would be hard for her to make her way across the acres of toys scattered on your floor.

Wait for it...

She: Dad (sigh) the Tooth Fairy can fly.

Oh man am I in for it.

Now I've spent my fair share of time as a kid trying to catch the dental pixie, with about as much luck as the next guy/gal. I think the Tooth Fairy is really the Tooth Ninja. That has to be a hard job, knowing which kid lost which tooth on what day, getting to each kid's house, avoiding the dogs, not setting off the alarm, reaching under the pillow to find the tooth among the Legos and Doritos crumbs, all while not waking the kid. If I were going to do the job, I could at least be pretending to "check on" or "hug" my kid all the while palming a dollar and praying she doesn't ask why I'm hugging her AND the pillow.

Legend has it that the tooth fairy needs the teeth to build her house. That thing has to be a mansion by now, or does tooth decay require constant replacement? She should spend more time brushing her house obviously than coating it in soda and candy (right before bed)! And how exactly does the Tooth Ninja earn all this money for these teeth? It stands to reason that if she can sneak into houses, not waking anyone, reaching under pillows to find a friggin' tooth, she could just as easily be reaching into the pocket of my pants wadded up on the floor, into my wallet and removing a few small bills. That is just one of the reasons I don't keep cash in my wallet. But, what if she has been watching me use the ATM and knows my pin?!

She must be stopped!

Social Media or the Ten Circles of Hell

Forget the Dislike button, Facebook needs an Acquaintance button. How many of us have friends on Facebook that we hadn't spoken to in years. Like seeing classmates at a reunion that we swear we will keep in touch up with, Facebook is that momentary "hey, I know you!" that never ends.

I've begun playing with Google+ a little bit and they do have some stuff right. I'm not ready to switch, but you know, when Facebook starts charging us for all the services rendered over the years, to the tune of "firstborn" or "arm and a leg," I won't be caught with my social pants down. So Google has a lot going for it into Google+ with all the other services that they offer. In their words here are "circles":

You share different things with different people. But sharing the right stuff with the right people shouldn’t be a hassle. Circles make it easy to put your friends from Saturday night in one circle, your parents in another, and your boss in a circle by himself, just like real life.

Ok, let's recap:

1. Friends from Saturday night
2. Parents
3. the Boss, unfortunately not "The Boss"

4. Friends from Friday night
5. Friends from Thursday night (oh you knew it was coming!)

6. Friends of the hobby or sports team that you spend the rest of your non-Googbook time on...
7. Co-workers that circled you and bugged you unmercifully until you reciprocated.
8. Former girl/boy friends that won't go away!
9. people you could stand just enough in High School to not avoid at the reunion
10. Beelzebub, Satan, and other minion-like friends

So it stands to reason that if you survive past the 10th circle, you're at acquaintance level. Follow me when I say that your real friends are not on the computer (or "IN the computer")

So with all this fanciness, why is it so hard for Blogger, a Google product, to integrate with Google+? I write this blog and I feel like it is 5 copy and paste operations before I can make my Google circles know how prolific I am.

Perhaps I will stick with Facebook for now, you know circle the wagons if you will.

I can do THAT!

Ever have that feeling, glorious feeling, of "knowing" that you can do something others are daunted by? (there I go dangling my preposition again, just one of the many things I excel at (oops I did it again (better than Brittany Spears at that (I also (clearly) excel at nesting parentheses))))

"Britney and K-Fed have two kids,  talk about 'OOPS! I did it again!'"

"Britney and K-Fed have two kids, 
talk about 'OOPS! I did it again!'"

I know I'm not playing offensive line for the Redskins, well probably not anyway... but kicker? Oh yeah, that I can do. I'm money inside the 30 and not half bad inside 40, and given a little HGH, I could probably crank a 50 yarder or two. Then I see little Wes Welker playing wide receiver and I think, I'm pretty fast and I run good routes, I could do that.

Wes Welker, yeah I'd let him play on my team...

Then I have those moments where I realize I am out of my league... I'm not going to serve as a translator for anyone, I can't even remember the French curse words that Madame Sielecki taught us. Singing is a no, but I can channel some Vanilla Ice with enough liquid confidence. Oh, and don't pop the hood on any vehicle. It looks shiny but tight spaces and things that go vroom make me nervous. I can add line to the gas trimmer but beyond that, scary!

Do I need this?

But plumbing, oh yeah that isn't hard. Oh and acting? Leo, Brad, and Tom may make you think it's about looks, but what about Woody Allen, Willem Dafoe, and Ron Perlman. You recite some lines, find a spot on stage and you get to kiss some pretty hot actresses! Of course, Brokeback Mountain changed a few of those aspirations. I doubt I could kiss another guy, I'm certainly not making it look convincing.  I could have been Joey, but I think everyone would agree I'm more Chandler (I married the Monica for sure).



Who thinks this blogging is difficult? Nope for me... effortless! Maybe I'll knock out a novel tomorrow. I have been working on a novel for about 20 years now. In fact, anyone commenting on this blog will receive a free signed copy when I finish it. Your grandchildren will love it when my progeny's progeny, the one who is a prodigy, finishes it.

Of course, I jest about all of this because like going over the middle when Ray Lewis is in coverage is way more difficult than it looks, I am sure that every task has its pitfalls.  I can't tell you the blogs I've started, edited mercilessly before they turned out ridiculously funny. (except this one of course).  I'm sure being on talk radio is hard as well with all the preparation and the talking.  Wait, I can do THAT!

How about you?

Don't be Cliche

Someone: (insert random statement here) 
Someone Else: "I know, right?"
Me: ugh...

Borrowed from Cognitive Design blog

Why you gotta be so cliche?  Who started this hideous fad?  My kids are doing it now.  My co-workers are doing it, albeit because they know it bugs me. Yeah, real mature.  "Like totally!"

I am a product of the 80s and there were some real winners back then. Like everything had to start with "like" and totally had to include "totally" with an occasional "so" thrown in for good measure. "Like, totally gag me with a spoon" and it was "so totally rad!"

I was never a "Totally" guy.  I prefer and have always preferred "indeed."  Like "dude" it can convey the subtleties of the human language merely by the way it is said. 

The 90s weren't much kinder as we ghettofied everything. "Coolio," "You got SERVED," and "Chill Out!"  I particularly enjoy breaking out a gang sign whilest saying "Worrrrrrd" (he just got all crazy up in here and all you saw was the "whilest"... that's Whack)

Coolio

That leads to one of my all time other pet peeve favorites.  You're trying to talk to a nice young lady in the library to determine if it is possible to carry her books home from school.  She declines by simply saying "As If!"

So what is the deal with "I Know, Right?" that irks me so.  I'd say part of it is delivery.  It is the hanging chad of the younger generation now.  It is a question that isn't.  It's like the preposition you end a sentence by. Laughably, aren't you asking a question that has no answer?  Don't answer that.  How can I affirm if you had forethought or foreboding or foreknowledge of a situation, statement, or scenario.  Who cares if you did?  Who cares if I agree?  Your divine quest for affirmation has led you down a path that has snakes and wolves and zombies.  The best I can give you is "Umm, No."  what you really need is a "Sphincter says what?"

I am not alone in the chariot of craziness, there is a Facebook group that hates this very thing.  Of course, there is a Facebook group for every possible thing to hate including kittens.  Saying that Facebook is an indicator of good or evil, is a bit like doing a research paper and only citing Wikipedia.  In looking around, I have found a few other bloggers tackle the Whys of our annoyance.  Nobody can put a finger on it other than to admit annoyance.  Perhaps I need a 12 step program, but to free myself of what?

Random annoyance, don't get me started about "Cloud Computing."
Thankful thought of the moment: Charlie Sheen and "Winning" has gone away.

I know, right?

Totally.

Man Card Rules

Most of us know what a "man card" is, but for those that do not, the premise is simple. At a point in a boy's life when he becomes a man, he is issued a Man-Card which is good for one lifetime. There are a myriad of rules depending upon who you ask governing the issuance, clipping, revocation, and restoration of said card. There are entire websites dedicated to the subject as if it were scientific phenomena.

So the idea is that if a man does something less than manly, he gets a corner clipped. In order to avoid his man-card becoming clipped to the point of looking like a communion wafer, he must avoid similar activities. Examples of activities that are clippable:

• Knitting or sewing activities
• Suggesting watching Steel Magnolias, The Notebook, etc.

"The Notebook, where I write down the Man-Cards I have taken" - Ryan Gosling

• Being disrespectful to any woman
• Hiring another man to do any job in his castle that he is capable of, but too lazy to do

Now, man-card restoration is not easy, but it is not impossible. Some professions lend themselves to more restoration possibilities. Examples of activities that will restore a man-card:

• Anything from Rambo, such as jumping off a cliff and catching yourself with a tree, or sewing up your own bullet wound with no anesthesia!

 

Impossible bow shots must be fully documented

• Being compared positively to Chuck Norris to include anything that would make Mr. Norris jealous. Being better at backgammon or braiding would not!
• Running into a fire
• Running into a firefight

Some axioms to the rules: anything that has a direct one-to-one correlation between an action (no matter how unmanly) and getting lucky has no bearing on overall man-card status, enough said!Unfortunately, alcohol is no excuse for any behavior that could lead to clipping.

Now, on to the subtle points where I believe much research is due.

My first question is at what point does something become such a removal of a man card that it could fully restore said man card? I have to believe that synchronized swimming of any kind is going to be cause, for at a minimum, some severe clipping. What if you won the Olympics for it?

Is there a point at which not caring about the man-card implications is so bold as to be restorative? If Chuck Norris decides to do some Needlepoint, are you going to take his man-card? (you're talking all tough now to the blog, but we know you'll wilt like LeBron in the clutch!)

Roundhouse kick to the man-card!

On to the unreasonably insane:
What if you used a wood chipper to cut up a man card? Would that break the chipper, the card, or would time just stand still?

This just in, I'm caving to the pressure of using an older post or two over at Dude Write. You should check it out.

 

YouTube Sunday

I'm sure I will decide that a different day should be the day for YouTube sharing, but since this is a first, I thought I would start sharing some of my favorite YouTube videos. I'm going to start with Tim Hawkins - My favorite Bible verse.
"He touched my hand!". Epic! While you're there you should check the Chick-fil-A song and the Things You Don't Say to Your Wife song.

I feel like a girl

We've all heard about some women who buy a nice dress and leave the tags in it, all for the simplicity of returning it after wearing it once.

With that said, my wife thought I needed a new wedding ring for our anniversary. 18 years is supposed to be Porcelain. I got Cobalt and my wife got perfume. We're just lawbreakers like that. I didn't get her furniture last year either. But as usual, I digress. My current ring had been sized once as all those finger reps had bulked up the muscles I suppose. Still it was snug, as I like it. Apparently no oils should be involved in the removal of the ring and there should not be a semi-permanent indentation of the skin. Who knew?

So after some shopping we found a ring that I liked and that she liked. Here it is:



So the ring arrived on Thursday and here is the ring with the attached tag, destined to make me feel like a girl:




Seriously? "Not Returnable If Removed" Do they know this is a man's ring? So in the spirit of the tag, I decided to wear it all that evening without removing the tag. Why? That's just me, being me!

As I contemplated whether I would return the ring after my first night wearing it, I harkened back to those wonderful words that my lovely bride said when she placed the first ring on my finger some 18 years ago. She looked at me all doe eyed and innocent and said the words that warmed my heart:

"if you ever come home without this ring, you'd better have lost the finger!"

Talk about don't return if removed!

- rudely screwed up by using BlogPress from my iPhone

Qwitter: the new (anti) social sensation

Coming to a PDA, Computer, Phone near you... Qwitter!

Qwitter is like Twitter only with a cooler icon. Forget the non-angry bird, give me Napoleon Dynamite taking a Siesta. Ditch the little 't' that is really struggling to become more like the Qwitter 'f'

I Qwieted. It's like Tweeting only you don't say anything in a non-existent post. Qwiets never appear on Facebook, which is part of the reason for the gain in popularity. I have over 17 million Qwiets already.

                           Photo courtesty of iStockphoto

The heck with followers, now there are Qwitters or people who've Qwit you. My mom and dad were some of my first Qwitters. Don't worry, I'm not like that... I Qwit them too. The cool thing about Qwitter is there is no Qwit process, so you could already have people who've Qwit you that you and they're just waiting for you to Qwit them too.  I've been working hard to get all the people I went to High School with to Qwit me, but they are more Twit than Qwit.  My kids REALLY want to Qwit, but I told them they have their whole lives to live before they waste time on Qwitting me.

Not to be confused with a growing social fad that is catching on in the Amish community, QUILTER.

I was Jung once

Good Evening, the part of the Korean blogger will be played by a slender white dude. I'm the accidental occidental!

Seriously folks, my name causes much consternation for folks.

When I was in high school, I had to live through the embarrassing "bus chase" scene that most of you thought you'd only see in the movies. I attended a private school, so my bus stop was just me. First day of school, bus pulls up, driver opens the door and stares at me for all of 2 seconds, then closes the door and starts to pull away!

Incredulous, I had to run after it, pounding on the windows as I ran all the while the kids inside we're laughing "with me." Fortunately, my torture ended within a block, but the words would haunt me forever... "I'm sorry, I was looking for a Korean boy." I was never right after that, but in fairness I wasn't right before it either.

I can hardly expect everyone to have read any of the SWISS psychiatrist Carl Jung's many books, but this was the 80's! He was featured on a Sting album! (Synchronicity) I suspect the overwhelmingness of one of the most popular Korean names was too much for that poor bus drivin' woman.

Fast forward some 20+ years and I am traveling for work. I've been at the client site for an hour and one of my co-workers from our west coast office is just arriving. I've spoken to him many times and we've worked separately together on more than one contract. Zero face-to-face interaction. So he comes up to us in the hall and is introduced to the client. There isn't any need for my being introduced because we "know" each other. A few hours pass and he catches up with me at lunch. So now he wants to apologize for staring at me this morning, but "I thought you were Korean." Yeah, I thought you were a chick, so call it even.

Believe it or not, I have never met a Korean guy named Jung. Sure I friended a guy with my same name, because I thought it would make me look mysterious, but I never met him and for all I know he isn't Korean either. Maybe he's just trolling for Korean girls?

Senseless tragedy of this whole thing is that other than being able to use Jung like young in many sentences, my name isnt that magical. Sentences such as:
That's me, Jung MC the ninja DJ.
Forever Jung, I want to be forever Jung.
I even had fantasy football teams named The Jung Guns and The Fine Jung Cannibals.

I am constantly asked how I pronounce it. "Should I call you Jung or Young?" to which my typical reply is "I don't care what you call me so long as you call me to dinner." It doesn't take a bad phone line to seriously botch it either. "Was that Jones?" "Was that June?" From as early as I can remember, I've always had a bondesque name reference, J-u-n-g... Jung. Ok perhaps it isn't bondesque, but spelling your name is sexy, except in this and all other cases. The worst was when I started getting the junk mail for Scott Jayuengee. Maybe worse than chasing that bus!

Speaking of the 80's, who remembers Sixteen Candles? Molly Ringwald was cute and actually mattered and Jon Cryer had interesting fashion sense and pined for girls he couldn't have, wait not much changed there. Anyway, how about the "Donger", Long Duc Dong. Now THAT was an Asian name!

Pity my male children who carry forward the Jung MC name.

- rudely screwed up by using BlogPress from my iPhone

Spam Wars: The Hairline Grows Back

"Pay Off Your House completely in 5 to 7 Years!"
"Refurbished Laptops for GREAT Deals."
"You've won" < useless or unrealistic opportunity here >
"Brittany takes her top off" (like who hasn't seen that already)"

I am amazed at the drivel that (fortunately) bypasses my inbox daily. It is a struggle not to click to get those bigger and at the same time smaller boobs I have always not realized I can't wait to not want... Yeah. My email makes me feel like Steve Austin, the Six Million Dollar Man. I could get new hair, new junk, a free college education, all by taking my Nigerian Uncle's money.

"This is your final notice." (Who's Who Registry drivel) here's a hint, don't send me 11 final notices in an hour!

I gotta know, am I really an intellectual elitist snob? Does anyone actually fall for this? I grew up in the 'you can't get something for nothing' suburbs of the big city of Kick You in the Pants. I look in the mirror every day and realize... I can't possibly have a Nigerian relative.

So I get an email today saying I got a traffic ticket in New York City from back in July. It looked pretty darn official and for a half a second I was convinced that maybe my Nigerian cousin borrowed my car... Or Bumblebee (my Transformer car) had to go north to fight the Decepticons. But wait, I haven't moved in 4 years. Are you telling me that the NYPD has my email address? I realize that just because it isn't on my Driver's License, my vehicle registration, or my insurance card doesn't mean they couldn't have it, but please!

On a slightly similar, no transmission dropping subject, I saw a bumper sticker that said 'I hate it when I don't forward the chain email and then I die!' I love that and want to get a copy of it. Can someone please forward that to me... Without the obvious 'forward or die' ultimatum, of course. Why do you have to wish such good fortune and at the same time add the pressure of bad luck to emails? It makes me want to not forward them when they have the forward or die ending. Thankfully I am a man in control of his delete button. Want proof? I added the 'forward or die' to this blog post, but then to spare all of you (all 7)... I removed it!

Spam is the Jarjar Binks of the email world. It might even be the Star Wars II of the email world. I know that some of you believe it is the Darth Vader of the email world, but come on you would read it if you could imagine James Earl Jones saying it... Jarjar Binks on the other hand, had no idea how stupid he really was and sadly wanted to be taken seriously. That is almost the definition of Spam.

I would love to say that spam will go away, but some of you people keep on clicking it. If you're going to mindlessly click things, there are I am sure ads on my blog page that will bring me untold riches at a rate of micro pennies on the click, it is doubtless I will be quitting my job soon to blog full time. We all know that isn't a good thing for anyone.

These are not the two boobs you are looking for.

-Provided by Insanity Incorporated.

Self-licking ice cream cone

I am perhaps the most humble blogger alive! Remember when you were a kid and your parents would say "you're just talking to hear the sound of your voice."

No? So it was just mine? Unique and humble, I keep getting better and better all the time. Anyway, the point of it was that sometimes you gotta toot your own horn, and I mean that in the not-creepy way. Sometimes we take it a bit too far. Enter the Self-Licking Ice Cream Cone, again... NOT creepy. I can't even take credit for the phrase as it was coined by Jamey who was a coworker.

Imagine when you take self-aggrandizement to the point of tooting your own horn, to people that you know will toot your horn too. Think, 'I got 1540 on the SAT!!!!' posted on Facebook where your family and friends will see.

Now, further imagine that you only joined Facebook so that you could seek the adulation of others.

Now imagine you are in Congress.

Self

Licking

Ice

Cream

Cone

The preceding message was paid for and acknowledged by me, Awesome guy that I am!!!!

The speed limit or the Son/Sir Continuum

It's been a while since I was pulled over for speeding... by an actual officer. It is frightening that like using a credit card in a store and not having to sign anything, the police can simply take a picture of your car on a road and tell you you were going too fast. In the picture, it's my car all right, but it looks like it is standing still? And how do they know it was me driving? Perhaps my car is a Transformer and not only was it out driving by itself, it was saving the damn planet! What was on the stereo? Was it REM "End of the World as We Know It" or Europe's "Final Countdown" or perhaps Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger"???????

I did get pulled over about a year ago going to work... and doesn't that make for a GRAND day. All in all the experience wasn't as bad as it could have been. He was friendly, I was friendly. They had complaints about speeding and running a light on the UMBC campus, he got me for 37 in a 25... down a hill from a major highway where the speed limit was 55. He as much as told me to take it to court to avoid the points. Ended up he didn't show up and that's right I was "OFF" and "Scott FREE!" So unlike one of my first tickets down in South Bowie at Rt 3 and Pointer Ridge Drive. There is that median strip and two lights that are timed to maximize traffic sitting between them. The conversation went something like this:

Officer: Good afternoon son, do you know why I pulled you over?
Me: No idea.
Officer: Sure you do, son.
Me: Really I don't.
Officer: Come on, son, you know why I pulled you over.
Me: (thinking, if you know that I know, why bother asking me, DAD) Well, you might have thought I wasn't in the intersection when the light was yellow.
Officer: That light was red, son and you weren't in the intersection.
Me: We're going to disagree about that.

The fact that he wanted me to admit some guilt was almost as ridiculous as his repeatedly calling me son. I mean, what would have happened if I'd called him Dad? What would his attitude been?

These days, I've crossed the Son / Sir Continuum of space and time (for you ladies that is the Miss / Ma'am Divide) and officers are either my contemporaries, or they are little snot nosed kids I would have babysat for and now they have a badge and a gun. Good Lord!

One of these days, I am going to become crotchety (yes, I still have that journey ahead of me) and be pulled over for speeding. You all know I won't be the one pulled over for going too slow! Here is how I envision that conversation going.

Officer: Sir, do you know how fast you were going?
Me: I hadn't looked down, but I assume you know.
Officer: I clocked you going 67 in a 45.
Me: 67 what?!?
Officer 67 miles per hour.
Me: Well, that's just impossible, I have no plans to be driving for an hour, and my destination isn't 67 miles away.
Officer: That's not really how it works, sir. The Speed Gun tells me how fast you are going.
Me: so, your talking gun, that you pointed at an innocent man, says it thinks I am going that fast.
Officer: Just give me your license and registration.
Me: Have you been following me for my entire journey? I have been on 4 roads so far. Speed "Limits" I believe were 25, 35, 55, and 45. With kids playing, obscene numbers of traffic lights, and other idiot drivers, I believe the amount of time I was on those roads and what your Speed Gun would whisper in your ear as my magic number, I feel that I have been on the road for about 30 minutes and have gone roughly 13 miles. that roughly equates to a mathematical reality of 26 miles in 60 minutes, which means I was actually going too slow. That isn't counting all the time I have wasted here with you teaching math...

 

 


Me: Honey, do you have any money to bail me out of jail?

 

I'm hooking up something older for the Dudes over at DudeWrite this week. This post seems close to the theme of 16 and Licensed to Thrill. If you haven't clicked over there, you should do so soon. How about now? Click on the link or the picture and check out some really fantastic writers. On Sunday, you can even come back and vote for your favorite. I suspect it will be mine, but give the other writers a chance and a vote. You'll have four more after voting for mine.