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’ve been working on a ballot initiative for the upcoming election.
Excitingly, if my ballot initiative passes, I will become king of the great state of New York.
I must admit, there have been varied reactions to the prospect of my becoming king of New York.
The reactions have ranged from mild laughter to hysterical laughter.
But I would be a kind and benevolent king.
Sure, I’d have some people put to death, but nobody that would be missed:
Opponents of my initiative have put forth a myriad of reasons why they think I shouldn’t be king of New York.
They throw around phrases like wildly and maniacally unhinged or dangerously and horribly unbalanced.
(Also, people who overuse adverbs need to go.)
They offer the following proofs:
While some or most of these points are valid, who cares, I want to be king.
I’m feeling very optimistic.
Addendum: while my previous ballot initiative (slap-an-idiot-in-the-face-day) was a failure, I’m hopeful this initiative fairs better.
I still don’t understand why slap-an-idiot-in-the-face-day failed; it’s clearly needed.
Everybody who voted against it is an idiot who should be slapped in the face…and there should be a specific day for it.
Imagine you’re listening to the following story:
So Ron was just standing there, and suddenly this llama bursts out of the brush, ran right past the whole group of us, and bit Ron on the testicles. It was like the llama singled him out. I mean, Ron is a giant prick, but how would the llama know that?
Now the llama is just shaking Ron by his crotch, and Ron is screeching in agony because that llama had some nasty jagged teeth. So then the llama lets go of Ron’s crotch, and it turns around really quickly, so we’re all thinking it’s over and the llama’s just going to run away, but instead, it kicks Ron in the face. Now Ron has nasty jagged teeth too.
At this point, Ron’s just lying there on the ground in a crumpled, whimpering mass, and the llama stands over him and pees on him. Then the llama just gallops away and back into the brush like it’s proud of itself.
Then someone exclaims, “holy shit, why is there even a llama running around Jamestown, New York?”
The person punctuates the story by saying, “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”
But you’re thinking to yourself: I would definitely wish that on my worst enemy. I’m a little bit happy it happened to Ron.
You giggle a bit as you imagine it happening to your worst enemy.
Then you start to think: I wonder if I could find that same llama and make it happen to my worst enemy.
It can’t be that hard to find: a stray llama in Jamestown, New York.
Then you start wondering why the word llama is spelled with two l’s at the beginning, but you quickly refocus to planning a llama attack upon your worst enemy.
You could record it and put it on YouTube; that would be awesome! Now you’re starting to get a little excited at the prospect of your worst enemy being the victim of a vicious llama attack.
You realize there’s almost nothing you wouldn’t wish upon your worst enemy.
You’ve wished bad things on people who mildly annoy you. Like that time you got stuck on an elevator with that mime; no invisible wall will stop a kick to the face from a llama, you stupid mime.
You giggle a little, imagining it.
You start wondering if the whole llama thing with Ron wasn’t planned all along; Ron really is a prick.
Now you’re wondering if you’re a terrible person.
Then you stop wondering things because you’ve got a llama to find.
Everybody has one of the drawers in their home that is a repository for anything and everything:
I recently happened upon this story at metro.co.uk about a citizen in Los Angeles who witnessed a brawl that was breaking out and tried to report it to a robot police officer:

“Cogo Guebara rushed over to the motorized police officer and pushed its emergency alert button on seeing the brawl break out in Salt Lake Park, Los Angeles, last month.
But instead of offering assistance, the egg-shaped robot, whose official name is HP RoboCop, barked at Guebara to ‘Step out of the way’.
To add insult to injury, the high-tech device then rolled away while humming an ‘intergalactic tune’, pausing periodically to say ‘Please keep the park clean.’”
Isn’t that awesome?
The person who programmed the robot is either tragically incompetent or a genius.
I choose to believe that person is a genius.
I have no idea what ‘intergalactic tune’ the robot was humming. I can only hope it was the theme song from Cops: “bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do?”
Commit their crimes around HP Robocop, that’s what bad boys are gonna do.
HP Robocop is going to ignore the crime being committed and tase the concerned citizen reporting the crime. I envision the concerned citizen lying on the ground in puddle of their own drool and urine as HP Robocop rolls away humming the tune to Shock the Monkey.
At least that’s my hope.
Do I actually hope an innocent person gets tased?
Yes. Yes I do.
I’m only assuming HP Robocop is armed with a taser, but I don’t want to live in a world where HP Robocop isn’t armed with a taser. I also hope he’s programmed to aim for the groin.
There have also been reports of a second HP Robocop running into a child and a third HP Robocop falling into a fountain.
It just keeps getting better!
We need armies of HP Robocops in every community.
After scouring the local news reports here in Jamestown, NY, I found exactly zero stories about a child being runover by a robot or about a robot falling into a fountain.
I didn’t find a single story involving a robot police officer tasing someone in the groin.
It’s like I’m living in a third world country.
I just watched the latest press conference with Governor Hochul: there wasn’t a single mention of HP Robocop, it was just a big wad of useless political gibberish.
The Governor is wasting all this time on gun control when she could be bringing us HP Robocop.
Priorities!
Sure, HP Robocop probably wouldn’t stop any crime and he might even exacerbate the crime, but that’s a chance I’m willing to take.
It’s time to get a ballot initiative going.
It’s time to bring HP Robocop to every community.
“It was horrifying,” the victim said, pausing to catch his breath, “it was probably the single most horrifying thing that’s ever happened to me.”
It seems Mr. Chadwick P. Arachnid was innocently spinning his web when a Miss Muffet began creating a disturbance.
“She was screaming hysterically and waving her arms around like a crazy person,” Mr. Arachnid said. “Then she threw a bowl at me. Now my web is filled with curds and whey; it’s completely ruined the dead flies I had stored there.”
Miss Muffet claims it was Mr. Arachnid who frightened her. “That ugly thing scared me so badly I fell off my tuffet,” Miss Muffet told us.
“I’m ugly?” Mr. Arachnid said in disgust. “I thought that screaming giant pink bulbous face of hers was the last thing I was ever going see…and what the hell is a tuffet anyway?”
The authorities have cautioned Miss Muffet and Mr. Arachnid to keep their distance from each other.
“No one has to tell Little Miss Muffet to stay away from that awful thing,” Miss Muffet asserted.
“Did that gargantuan thing refer to herself as little,” Mr. Arachnid said in disbelief. “She should call herself Behemoth Miss Muffet.”
It took several officers to restrain Miss Muffet after she came after Mr. Arachnid with a rolled-up newspaper.
Mr. Arachnid survived the attack but is recuperating with three broken legs.
When you’re having a reflective moment and you’re pondering the greatest invention in human history, what springs to mind?
Is it fire? The wheel? The combustion engine? That little plastic thing that keeps the top of your pizza from being smeared on the box? All very important.
Perhaps it’s the written word. (Although that’s certainly not reflected here.)
You probably think it’s an advancement in medicine or technology.
Wrong! The answer is Mad Dog 20/20.
I know what you’re thinking: why am I wasting precious moments of a finite lifetime reading a bunch of drivel written by a person who is clearly unstable and who probably spent far too much of his youth eating paste and crayons.
Wrong Again! I still eat paste and crayons.
I’m going to provide five specific reasons for my assertion that Mad Dog 20/20 is the greatest invention of all time.
Reason #1
It’s not just wine–it’s a flavored fortified wine.
It’s fortified!
Fortified wines have a higher alcohol content than regular sissy wines.
Anything with the word fort in it is inherently superior to anything without the word fort in it.
Example:
Fort Worth, Texas: thriving metropolis populated with the highest caliber of people.
Worth, Illinois: total shithole filled with mimes.
Enough said.
Reason #2
If you’re anything like me, (my sympathies if you are) you are dazzled by things that are bright and shiny. Mad Dog 20/20 is available in a myriad of brightly colored flavors. There are so many brilliant colors it’s dizzying. And if you’re into to dizziness: consuming Mad Dog 20/20 can help you with that too.
Reason #3
The medical applications of Mad Dog 20/20 are practically endless.
Reason #4
Applications apart from drinking it.
Reason #5
Mad Dog 20/20 is produced in my hometown of Westfield, NY. It’s a wonderful small village in western New York that has produced many brilliant people…and me.
It’s surprising the word fort isn’t in the name of the village. Strictly speaking, somebody dropped the ball on that.
I think at this point you probably agree with me that Mad Dog 20/20 is the greatest invention of all time.
So, drink up.
Addendum: my apologies to the citizens of Worth, Illinois, I’m sure you’re fine people.
What do these movies have in common?
One has mobsters.
One has ghosts.
Two are set in universities.
Two have groundhogs.
Four have Bill Murray.
All of them are classic comedies.
Most importantly: they are just some of the movies that owe a writing credit to the great Harold Ramis.

Here’s a bit of information: there are more than 500 official phobias.
If you have Epistemophobia, the fear of knowledge, learning that just freaked you out a tiny bit.
Some phobias are quite common:
Chiroptophobia: the fear of bats. Many people perceive bats to be terrifying, blood-sucking, winged creatures of the night. Some people may wildly wave their hands and scream like a little girl when a bat flies past their head. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this. Nothing!
Acrophobia: the fear of heights. Some people scream like a little girl if you put them on a tiny stepladder. This behavior is ridiculous–unless there’s bats up there.
Genophobia: the fear of sex. This is an extremely common phobia; every girl I’ve ever dated has suffered from it.
Other phobias are a little more unusual:
Automatonophobia: the fear of ventriloquist’s dummies, animatronic creatures, wax statues – anything that falsely represents a sentient being. (This explains my fear of the Kardashians.)
Walloonphobia: the fear of Walloons. Walloons could burst at any moment making a loud popping sound and startling you.
(My apologies, I thought this was the fear of balloons. Walloons are the French-speaking population of Belgium; it’s perfectly normal to be startled when Walloons burst and make a loud popping noise.)
Chionophobia: the fear of snow. Snow is lovely, how could anyone be afraid of snow? Unless of course you’re referring to Jon Snow the British news presenter–he’s freaky.
But I found this list to be horribly lacking. I suffer from a myriad of phobias that are not officially recognized:
Sonny-Bono-phobia: the fear of being haunted nightly by the ghost of Sonny Bono. I fear he’d hang out all night singing I’ve Got You Babe, openly questioning Cher’s life choices, and warning me of the dangers of downhill skiing.
Potato-salad-phobia: the fear of the potato salad your aunt brings to family picnics. The Salmonella is the least offensive thing in it.
Old-hag-phobia: the fear of your aunt whether she’s bearing potato salad or not.
Decimal-phobia: the fear of any number containing a decimal point. While many people have a fear of the number 13, I find numbers like 24.7, 44.6, or 58.758 to be horrifying. When I found out the average body temperature was 98.6, I stayed in a broom closet for days weeping inconsolably.
Broom-closet-phobia: the fear of broom closets. I developed this phobia after being trapped in a broom closet for days where I wept inconsolably.
Oikos-phobia: the fear of anything Greek (especially Greek yogurt) or any product that John Stamos is a spokesperson for.
Pi-phobia: fear of the Greek letter Pi. Pi represents 3.14: the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter. John Stamos frequently uses Pi when he is determining the volume of the circle on the top of a Greek yogurt container. (Pi is a bucketful of issues for me.)
Ticking-time-bomb-phobia: the horrible fear that masked intruders will break into my home as I sleep, kidnap me, lock me in a room with a ticking time bomb, and bind my hands so that I must diffuse the bomb with my tongue. If they’re particularly sinister, they will slather the bomb with my aunt’s potato salad. (The potato salad really is crap.)
Kool-Aid-man-phobia: the fear that the Kool-Aid man will come crashing through the side of my home, leaving a gaping hole in the wall, and damaging the structural integrity of the entire house. He will then yell “Oh Yeah” with his big bulbous face, and behave as if the act of pouring me a glass of Kool-Aid makes up for giant mess he’s created.
Humor-blog-phobia: the fear of wasting precious moments of your life reading the moronic ramblings that some witless stooge has posted on WordPress.
While any phobia can cause issues and have ill-effect on one’s well being; it’s the last entry on the list that is especially debilitating. So watch out for it.