My GPS Is Stupid And Bossy! And It Smells Like Poop.

I don't know what it is with kids these days. They think they know everything. Lately my 2 1/2 year old has taken to shouting driving instructions at me from the back seat. Like some always inaccurate, drooling GPS.
   Last month I was driving down the road and he shouted out, "That way!" (Idiot.) That way was a pond. It cost me like $400 to get my car pulled out of the water.

   Then a couple of weeks later I was getting onto the freeway and he screamed, "This way daddy, this way!" He just doesn't understand that freeways are strictly one way. And yet when the cop was writing out my ticket, he totally let me take the fall. Selfish stupid toddler.
   Finally, yesterday, we decided to go to McDonalds to get some delicious chicken pieces-parts for lunch. That's when he noticed the playland and demanded I go, "That way." He is SO bad at this. We totally drove right through the window. I can't believe that this moron is the fruit of my loins. His every decision is tragically, incredibly wrong.

Some Little Known Facts About Vampires

With all the disinformation about vampires that is out there right now, (see Twilight) I just thought the time was right to set the record straight. Here are some lesser known facts about vampires.

Vampires HATE Geometry!

Vampires are the original creators of the SnuggieTM

I Wouldn't Change Much.

If I ever unexpectedly became rich, by way of winning the lottery or becoming a world famous author or inadvertently robbing a bank or two, I don't think I would change much. I would just travel more. Yes, I am pretty content with my life. I would just like to see some of the world I haven't seen.

   And I would like to see those parts of the world without having to commune with the dregs of humanity. I would fly in a private jet and have a ridiculously large yacht, but other than that, I would pretty much stay the same.
   And I would upgrade my house a little. I don't have nearly enough indoor bowling lanes in my current house. And I would need a heliport for my new helicopter. And a flatscreen TV so big that it would make me puke. And a moat. And a gold plated toilet. But that's pretty much it.

   And it's high time I start referring to myself in the third person. As in, "Flip is going to go for a drive in Flip's Bugatti Veyron Super Sports and then Flip is going to take Flip on a Flip movie date, and then Flip is going out for ice cream because, gosh darn it,  Flip deserves it." But Flip would still be the same old Flip, Flip always was.

   And  I would wear clothes made from silk and gold, weaved together. And shoes made from the leather of baby seals. And all the famous designers would make me fancy shirts and jackets and underwear... but not pants. Because I would force congress to pass legislation outlawing pants. (Damn you, pants.) But again, I wouldn't really change much.

   And after watching Downton Abbey it is clear to me that I don't have enough staff. I need maids and butlers and valets and snobby bossy... British people. I need people to help me get stuff done, like I can't believe I have been dressing myself, for practically my whole life. But I will still remain the same down to earth guy.

   Oh and I would get my eyes fixed, So I don't have to mess with contacts or glasses anymore. And my teeth. I would get them straightened and whitened. And my nose has always been a bit largish, I would just get that shaped a little. And new hair. And a chin implant. But I would still be the same old me. Except for the pec and buttocks implants. But other than that, just the same old modest me.
   And I would carve my name in the moon with a gigantic laser. In a nice tasteful font, mind you. Nothing too garish. More subtle, than anything. It would just read "FLIP" in a nice Papyrus or possibly Comic Sans. 'Cause I am a man of the people, if nothing else.

   And I would surely need weapons to protect my stuff. A TOW missile system would be the ideal home security system. I would form my own militia. I think the time is right to hire some of my friends from my Marine Corps. They would be a crack squad of trained killers who enforce my word as law, authorities be damned. But wielding supreme power over my minions wouldn't really mean I had changed any.
   And I would buy the Louvre and have it relocated to my basement, so I could look at that fancy pants art whenever I wanted to, without having to travel all the way to France. And the same goes for that leaning Pisa Tower and the Greek ruins and Hawaii. I could just go down to my basement and see all the wonders the world has to offer. Then I wouldn't have to travel, and my life would essentially be the same as it is now. I would just be me, plain old ordinary Flip.

   No. I don't think money would change me one little bit.

My Letter Opener Is Malfunctioning.

Hello, yes. Is this the authorities?
This is the 911 emergency dispatch, sir. What is your emergency?
Well, it's rather embarrassing really. It's my letter opener, you see. It's gone a bit wiggy.
Sir. What was that?
My letter opener, it's malfunctioning, you see.
Did you say your letter opener is malfunctioning, sir?
Yes, that's right.
Sir. This number is for emergencies only.
Quite right. The thing is, my letter opener went a bit dodgy and has gone off and killed quite a good little number of people, you see.
Is this a prank sir?
I suspect not. Unless horrific death is considered a good laugh in this part of the world.
Sir, did you say death, sir? Has somebody been killed?
Oh yes. Quite a lot of people, I should think.
Do you know how many?
Oh, most of them I suspect.
Sir. Have you murdered someone?
Me? Oh heavens, no!
So somebody else committed a murder?
Well... something. As I told you earlier, the letter opener is a bit off.
Sir, letter openers don't kill people, people kill people.
Normally, I would agree. But this is no ordinary letter opener, you see.
Oh really? Why don't you describe this murderous letter opener to me.
Oh, I should think it is about eighteen to twenty-four inches long, razor sharp and made out of rhinoceros horn.
So this eighteen inch razor sharp rhino horn is the murder weapon?
Undoubtedly.
Why don't you tell me what happened, sir.
Well, it all started when I visited Edmond Winslow-Carrington last month. We were in his study having a brandy, sharing our dot com investment nightmares, and then he opened up some of his business correspondence with an platinum rhino horn. It was simply elegant. I decided to procure one. So...
Did this Wilson Carrigan do it?
If by do it, you mean get murdered, then yes. And it is... it was Winslow-Carrington.
Who is the murderer, sir?
Good Lord woman! The letter opener killed them! Haven't you been listening?!
Not this again, sir. What you're telling me doesn't have anything to do with murder, sir.
That is only because, young lady, you didn't allow me to reach the point in my narrative that would ultimately shed some light on our current situation. 
Hurry up then, sir. By definition, an emergency takes place quickly. And this one is dragging on. And on.
Oh yes, I see. I'll skip ahead to this very afternoon; shall I?
That would be fantastic, sir.
This afternoon our bridge club had assembled in the sitting room ostensibly to play cards, but in reality everyone had gathered to view my new prize possession. We were having a lovely Malbec and listening to Tchaikovsky.
Tchaikovsky? Wasn't he the cannon guy?
The Overture of 1812 has cannons in it, yes.
Are you almost to the murders, sir?
Yes, quite. Just as I had the letter opener brought out, the music swelled and the cannons boomed. The room exploded in a flurry of grey thunder, flashing horn and torrents of blood. So much blood.
What does that mean? Could you please use less figurative language, sir?
The rhinoceros gored and stomped and generally destroyed everything and everyone in sight. Possibly it wasn't a good idea to startle a live rhinoceros with the sounds of cannons, albeit recorded ones.
You had a live rhinoceros in your house?!
Young lady, it is illegal and socially reprehensible to cut the horn off of a rhinoceros. What am I? Some kind of monster?
Some kind of idiot if you ask me. How many ambulances should I send, sir?
I would think, a couple of custodians with a large basket would be sufficient.

The rhinoceros was drawn by my friend Michael Cronce. He is amazing. I wish I had a tenth of his artistic ability. 

Over The Top: The Criterion Collection.

If only they would give Over The Top, the Criterion collection treatment it deserves. One of the truly greatest movies ever. 

The Fable of the Author.

There once was a man who decided to be a writer. But, he wasn't sure what to write. And he couldn't find the time. The TV and the internet always called for his attention. He had dozens of book ideas floating around in his head, but he never started any of them.
   Soon he lost contact with his friends because he had to write, (even though he never did.) And his family didn't want to be around him because he was always miserable because he wasn't an author yet. And he started to drink because that's what writers do. Alone and miserable, he died.

And the moral of the story is: Don't be a writer, you'll end up DEAD!