In August of 1976, Tom Miller of the United States, spent 4 days, 23 hours, 47 minutes, and 3 seconds, pushing a peanut to the summit of Pike’s Peak, with his nose.
In 1910 there was an organization in the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania called The Anti-Automobile Society of Pennsylvania and they really hated automobiles.
They complained automobiles traveled too fast, frightened their livestock, ran over their chickens, and that Pennsylvania motorists were inexplicably unable to properly use a turn signal.
Note: I made up the part about the turn signal, the Anti-Automobile Society of Pennsylvania didn’t say anything about the turn signal, but I’m saying it. Use your damn turn signal!
The point is: The Anti-Automobile Society of Pennsylvania really hated automobiles, almost as much as I hate mimes, other peoples children, and any TV show with the words the real housewives of in the title.
They developed a set of guidelines for automobiles operating in rural areas of Pennsylvania:
I’m not making that up.
Admittedly, they had very little to say about the fact that automobiles don’t leave disease spreading horse crap everywhere, but no system is perfect.
After a recent trip to the DMV, I have become convinced that the Anti-automobile Society of Pennsylvania was deeply involved with the development and current state of the Pennsylvania Department of Motor Vehicles. Their grubby little fingerprints are all over it.
The current procedures of Pennsylvania DMV are only slightly less convoluted, but they still involve rockets and horse crap.
I leave you with a photo of a 1910 automobile offender.
Some of you out there may think our country has spiraled into an Orwellian nightmare of oppressive governmental control where citizens inform upon each other to the State over the slightest infraction, resulting in the jackbooted stomping our of civil liberties into the mud like we’re the kulaks of Stalinist Russia.
Of course you are correct.
But let’s look at the bright side: with everyone wearing masks, you don’t have to look at ugly people anymore. Let’s be honest: most of the people you know are not comely. Plus, bad breath is no longer an issue with the masks and social distancing. All those people in the Gulag labor camps never had that luxury.
When your neighbor, beedy-eyed Betty, reports you to the authorities because she knows for a fact you don’t wear a mask when you’re in the shower, you can take solace in the fact that you can’t see beedy-eyed Betty’s gargoyle-like face. (That is of course, after the waves of terror and revulsion stop pulsing through your body.)
Remember: it’s a better world when most of the people you know are more than six feet away from you.
I’m just trying to keep it positive.

Not only did the kulaks suffer immeasurably, they had to do it without masks and in black and white.
I’ve recently encountered some individuals who said they hate Christmas or they can’t wait for the Christmas season to be over.
What is the matter with you people, don’t you know it’s the most wonderful time of the year? Andy Williams told us so in song form. Are you going to contradict Andy Williams? Andy Williams was a national treasure you heartless goons.
I had a friend (not the one with genital chiggers) tell me he couldn’t wait for Christmas to be over: the obligations, the expense, the forced family get-togethers with people he really didn’t care for.
It’s a crying shame.
But I had another friend (the one with the genital chiggers) tell me how much he loved Christmas: the decorations, the songs, the eggnog (the best of all nogs), the gifts, and the general spirit of giving.
I would have shook his hand, but he had been doing a crazy amount of groin itching due to the chiggers. I told him there was a powder he could get, but he said he had used the powder and the chiggers thought it was Christmas, formed a big circle, and sang Christmas carols like the Whos in Whoville.
Speaking of the Whos in Whoville: don’t you Christmas haters remember when the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes when he finally understood the true meaning of Christmas?
Note: if your heart grows three sizes, you have a pretty severe medical condition–you’re probably going to die. You should definitely seek medical help as quickly as possible.
But that’s not the point.
Don’t you Christmas haters remember when Scrooge McDuck awoke on Christmas morning to discover the spirits had done it all in one night and he hadn’t missed Christmas. He took a bag of toys and a turkey to the Cratchit’s home.
It does seem strange: a duck eating a turkey. Some kind of weird fowl cannibalism going on there. Still, Scrooge kept Christmas from that point forward and he kept it well.
Note: if you’re a young couple about to have twins, I implore you to name them Ignorance and Wont. They’ll hate you for it, but it’ll be a great conversation starter every Christmas.
Don’t you Christmas haters remember when Jimmy Stewart’s character thought he had killed Lee Marvin’s character, but it was in fact, John Wayne’s character who had killed Lee Marvin’s character and…
Sorry, that’s the wrong Jimmy Stewart movie. That’s from The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, a great movie, but not very Christmassy.
Don’t you Christmas haters remember when George Bailey realized he was the richest man in Bedford Falls because he had friends and family and had made a difference in so many lives? Do you not remember that! It was so freaking heartwarming!
And don’t all you Christmas haters remember when Charlie Brown asks, “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about.”
Linus replies, “Sure, Charlie Brown, I can tell you what Christmas is all about.”
Linus then moves to center stage and says this:
And there were in the same country shepherds abiding
in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them,
and the glory of the Lord shone round about them:
and they were sore afraid.And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold,
I bring you good tidings of great joy,
which shall be to all people.For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour,
which is Christ the Lord.
It’s only one of the most iconic moments in television history.
I hope all you Christmas haters shoot your eyes out.
From the outset of this post, I want to make to make one point abundantly and unmistakably clear: I am not making this up. (Apologies to Dave Barry.)
In 1910 there was an organization in the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania called The Anti-Automobile Society of Pennsylvania, and they really hated automobiles.
They complained automobiles traveled too fast, frightened their livestock, ran over their chickens, and that Pennsylvania motorists were inexplicably unable to properly use a turn signal.
Note: I did make up the part about the turn signal, the Anti-Automobile Society of Pennsylvania didn’t say anything about the turn signal…but I’m saying it!
The point was: The Anti-Automobile Society of Pennsylvania really hated automobiles, almost as much as I hate mimes, other people’s children, and any TV show with the words the real housewives of in the title.
They developed a set of guidelines for automobiles operating in rural areas of Pennsylvania:
Isn’t that Awesome?
Admittedly, they had very little to say about the fact that automobiles don’t leave horse shit everywhere, but no system is perfect.
I leave you with a photo of the offender.
In August of 1976, Tom Miller of the United States, spent 4 days, 23 hours, 47 minutes, and 3 seconds, pushing a peanut to the summit of Pike’s Peak, with his nose.I’m sure you’ve heard of the Infinite Monkey Theorem. It states the following:
If you’re having a child’s birthday party, don’t hire a clown, or a pony, or a big sweaty guy in a SpongeBob SquarePants costume. Get a monkey in a cowboy hat on a unicycle; your children will have infinitely more fun.
I’m joking, that’s not really the Infinite Monkey Theorem. (But seriously, go with the monkey in the cowboy hat.)
Wikipedia describes the Infinite Monkey Theorem this way:
The infinite monkey theorem states that a monkey hitting keys at random on a typewriter keyboard for an infinite amount of time will almost surely type any given text, such as the complete works of William Shakespeare. In fact, the monkey would almost surely type every possible finite text an infinite number of times. However, the probability that monkeys filling the observable universe would type a complete work such as Shakespeare’s Hamlet is so tiny that the chance of it occurring during a period of time hundreds of thousands of orders of magnitude longer than the age of the universe is extremely low (but technically not zero).
So, I acquired a couple of monkeys, (don’t ask how, it involved unsavory behavior and a yak) I gave them a couple of typewriters and let them go nuts. I wanted to see if there was anything to this Infinite Monkey Theorem. Plus, monkeys are fun.
We got off to a rocky start: there was some feces hurling and some disturbingly lengthy (and quite frankly, hurtful) obscene gesturing, but eventually they got to work.
While they didn’t reproduce any of the works of Shakespeare, they did type the phrase: Hamlet smells of cheese and Denmark multiple times.
Then something bizarre happened: the monkeys began to reproduce most of the contents of this blog and in shockingly less time than it took me to produce it. They even corrected some of my grammar errors.
And these weren’t the smart type of monkeys that do sign language; these were the type of monkeys eat their own poop and smoke cigarettes and one of them was really drunk at the time.
They rewrote several Curious George books, except every book ended with George violently attacking The Man with the Yellow Hat.
Then they started writing limericks about me that were really filthy.
After that they peed on the typewriters and mocked me with their superior verb tense usage.
It was all very disheartening.
I think I’m going to read Hamlet and pretend it was written by a drunken monkey.
Better yet, I’m going to read Curious George books and pretend they were written by a drunken Shakespeare.
Addendum: the monkeys rewrote this post too and it was better than this crappy version.