August Quotes, Police Calls & Pictures of the Week

Quotes of the Week
"Check out this Teamsters pen. It was made in China. I don't think there's no Local 120 in Tokyo." -- Rocky's geographically challenged co-worker.

"These taste different. Are they saltwater or freshwater?" -- Rocky's sister questioning the featured food at the Rocky Mountain Oyster Fry in Bismarck, ND.

Police Calls of the Week
TRIMONT, MINN.
Oct. 13: 1:03pm - A skunk had his head stuck in a mayonnaise jar in Trimont.

NORWAY/WIND LAKE, WISC.
Apr. 2: Animal complaint. A 60-year-old Franksville man was ticketed April 2 for animal at large after a witness reported a chicken wandering in the 3900 block of N. Raynor Lane. The man admitted the chicken was his and took it home.

Pictures of the Week

DO YOU FEEL HORNY?
When someone tells you to grab the bull by the horns, you should never try to do it with your ass cheeks.


MONKEY TROUBLE
Instead of worrying about North Korea and its potential nuclear weapons programs, we should actually worry about South Korea. They taught this orangutan how to water ski!

Behind The Cereal Box, Part One

Ever wonder what happened to so many of the breakfast cereal mascots we saw growing up as kids? Some still appear on boxes of their signature brand of cold cereal, but many have completely vanished. Only a select few still appear on TV commercials, confirming their existence.

What happened to all of them? Where are they now? Are the rumors true, or just part of breakfast Urban Legend? We need to go Behind The Cereal Box to get some answers...

Cap'N Crunch
The Cap'N has been on shore leave ever since that fateful night at the helm of the Quaker Valdeez when it ran aground in Alaska's Prince William Sound. Some say the Cap'N fell asleep at the wheel or had been drinking, others contend he was trying to break up a fight between the Crunchberry Beast and the Peanut Butter Elephant over who was his first mate.

We may never know what really led to the shipwreck, which ruptured the cargo hold and spilled 600 tons of Cap'N Crunch and Crunch Berries into the Bay of Alaksa. Miraculously, the cereal stayed crispy, making cleanup much easier than say, an oil spill. However, environmental groups were upset that local marine life - including seals, killer whales and sea otters - consumed too much of the spilled cereal, making the roofs of their mouths sore.

The Cap'N's heavy use of profanity when answering reporters' questions at the news conference further tarnished his image and overshadowed his apology.

"I don't get it," The Cap'N said. "I'm a sailor. We're supposed to swear!"

Since then, the Cap'N thwarted an attempted identity theft (remember the who's the real Cap'N campaign?), and recruitment by the Village People to replace one of the group's members.

"At first, I naturally assumed I'd be the sailor, the 'In the Navy' guy," Cap'N said. "But they wanted me to be the cowboy. They said they were on a time crunch and my hat was close enough. I told them to shove off!"

The Trix Rabbit
The Trix Rabbit bowed out of the public eye following the big Trix election scandal of 2000. It all started in 1976, as part of a promotional campaign coinciding with the presidential election of the same year. Trix encouraged breakfast eaters to vote if the Trix Rabbit should be allowed to eat a bowl of the cereal, or if it should remain exclusively for kids. The Rabbit nabbed 99 percent of the vote and was given a bowl of Trix. He asked for seconds, but was told by bitter bully kids to wait four years for the next election.

Then the losses piled up. All the campaigning in the world could not score the rabbit another bowl of Trix. The Rabbit's opposition slogan "Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids!" just carried too much influence with voters.

With help of celebrity endorsements from Bugs Bunny and Roger Rabbit during the 2000 campaign, The Trix Rabbit received 51 percent of the popular vote. However, in the 1990s, a cereal electoral college was set up, and the Trix Rabbit had not carried enough states to win another bowl of his favorite breakfast.

Controversy erupted and many claimed the vote was rigged, possibly by Elmer Fudd, a known rabbit-hater. The ballots, found on the back of Trix cereal boxes, were supposed to be simple "Yay!" or "Nay!" checkboxes with dashed lines around them. This way they could be cut out and mailed into the General Mills offices in Minneapolis for easy counting.

However, the Trix cereal box ballots in Florida were apparently more complicated with a little more design flair and "punch card" balloting, potentially misleading kiddie voters into saying "Yay!" for the Rabbit when they actually wanted him to end his obsession with the cereal.

"Why does that Rabbit want Trix so bad?" one opposition mother asked. "I thought rabbits were only obsessed with sex and carrots!"

It took months for auditors to examine the Florida Trix ballots and inspect all the hanging chads. The resulting investigation and tax dollars spent on recounts didn't conclusively prove the Rabbit carried the state. However, his public image was forever tied to the scandalous election and a vote was not allowed again, resulting in continual denial by kids to share their Trix.

"With four rabbit's feet, you'd figure I'd have better luck," moped the Trix Rabbit, his ears hanging floppily alongside his head. "I'm through with those kids. Too many mindgames. I saw them feeding Trix to a goat once, and was like, hey you little pricks, what gives? If the goat gets some, I want some, too. Then they started giggling and said 'Silly Rabbit, Trix are for kidds.' Bastards!"

Although the Trix Rabbit still appears on the cereal box, he has given up his political pursuits for a budding career in magic. He hopes one day to be pulled out of a hat by David Copperfield.

Mr. Mini Wheat
Initially thought to only have a split personality - one side wheat and the other side sweet - Mr. Mini Wheat was diagnosed to have multiple personality disorder. He backs the finding by claiming to have a chocolate side that can turn the whitest milk brown, and even has a fruit-flavored side.

He posed for a recent box cover holding a Star Wars light sabre, demanding to be called Darth Frost. Thankfully, that personality didn't stick around as long as the movie.

"I've changed my name to Sybil, but the cereal company won't acknowledge it," he complained. "The name Mr. Mini Wheat no longer has any meaning to me."

Count Chocula
Count Chocula was one of two victims (the other - The Count of Sesame Street fame) at a charity event when Wesley Snipes accidentally murdered the lovable vampires as a publicity stunt for his upcoming Blade movie.

"I had no idea what the little brown and purple dudes were there for," Snipes testified at the trial in which he was acquitted of double homicide. "One just kept babbling about cereal and the other kept counting the cereal's marshmallows. I saw a wooden stake lying nearby and it just sort of happened."

Around the same time, other Monster Cereals met similar fates by cereal killers. A mob carrying pitchforks and torches chased poor Frankenberry to his doom; BooBerry was shown the light by a psychic and crossed over to the other side; and Yummy Mummy was put in a glass case and paraded around the country as a sideshow to the King Tut exhibit.

Quisp
This little guy is currently rumored to be at Area 51 north of Las Vegas in a tank of formaldehyde. Some conspiracy groups claim the government kidnapped Quisp so scientists could ascertain whether the propellor on his head is a part of a hat, or an actual alien appendage. Apparently, the project ran out of funding, so he's still sitting in his tank getting soggy.

Toucan Sam
This lovable bird has endured many false rumors over the years, including one that he was a cocaine addict due to his "follow your nose" slogan used in commercials.

The most recent birdshot has come from Jerry Falwell's group of religious censors, who have outed him along with Teletubby Tinky Winky and other muppets and mascots as being "gay." The Falwell group points to the rainbow color of Sam's bill and the fact that his cereal has the word "Froot" in it as the smoking guns to hidden homosexuality.

"Of course I have a rainbow bill, I'm a fucking Toucan!" Sam said. "Any basic birding book will tell them my bill's color isn't 'Nature's Gaydar.' I don't even want to hear what filth this cult is spreading about the innocent titmouse, blue-footed booby or pileated woodpecker.

"But most of all, I hope parents don't think eating Froot Loops will 'turn' their kids gay."

Sugar Bear
Many rumors had been circulating about the Sugar Bear, including one that he was dead and currently being used as a rug in the Honeycomb Hideout.

Well, the bear is not there. He resurfaced on the entertainment scene when he was spotted at BALCO labs with Barry Bonds, then outed as a steroid user in former Major League Baseball player Jose Canseco's hit book Juiced.

"Sugar Bear did kind of puff up in his later years, really filling out that sweater," Canseco said. "At the beginning, he was just eating a lot of Super Sugar Crisp and doing a lot of weight training. But then he started to worry he was losing a step to the other big animal cereal mascots like Tony the Tiger."

Sugar Bear started asking around the gym if there were alternative methods to staying strong besides sugar-coated puffed wheat cereal. That's when Canseco told him he needed to get on "the juice."

"At first he thought I meant he should be drinking orange juice with his cereal," Canseco laughed. "But then Mark McGwire, Sugar Bear and I all shot each other up in the Post locker room before a charity softball game against Kellogg's. We kicked their asses 17-2. Sugar Bear went 5 for 5 with 3 home runs."

Cookie Crisp Thief
At first, the Cookie Crisp Thief's attempts to steal Cookie Crisp cereal were viewed as silly, sometimes even adorable. This led him down a dark road of crime that has landed him in jail for a 17th time.

His latest stint in prison is a result of trying to shake down someone for, you guessed it, some Cookie Crisp cereal. But he also was convicted of making terroristic threats, telling one terrified family if they didn't pony up the cereal, he "would make the Cookie Crisp Wizard disappear."

He has been seen on the TV show COPS three times, each time busted prowling in an unsuspecting family's kitchen, ransacking their cereal cabinet. Despite his attempts to escape, he is always tackled by authorities and hauled away drunk and shirtless with cookie cereal crumbs stuck to his chest hair.

Despite his "bad boy" image that tends to sell, Nestle decided to drop the Cookie Crisp Thief from the cereal's box cover.

Cornelius, the Corn Flakes rooster
This barnyard bird was probably more known for his commercial voice crowing than his image. Still, he has graced the Corn Flakes cereal box for decades. But the banty rooster has lost much of his cockiness and refuses to pose for an updated cover shot.

"Cornelius was pecked beyond recognition in a cockfight last year," his promoter Colonel Sanders said. "I've raised and trained a lot of chickens, and despite this setback, he's still worthy to be sprinkled in all eleven of my herbs and spices, then broasted. I didn't have the heart to do that when we can cash in on a rematch. But if he loses again, he'll be washed up, then plucked and will be moving from the cover of that cereal box to the inside of a KFC bucket to go."

The Apple Jacks Kids
This pair of youngsters were missing for years despite being on the front of Apple Jacks cereal boxes.

The cruel irony is that while the nation focused on the sides of milk cartons to try and find missing children, the Apple Jacks kids were always overlooked on the front of the cereal box sitting right next to the friggin' milk jug.

"All me and Jill did was go up the hill for a bucket of water," Jack said. "The next thing you know, we're forced into slave modeling labor for cereal box covers. It could have been worse, though. At least we didn't have to work in the Kathie Lee Giffordesque sweatshop to make cereal box prizes. I heard that really sucks."

To be continued - Stay tuned for Behind The Cereal Box, Part Two coming soon to a blog near you!

You'll Only Get Sugar High From Pot Suckers

P.T. Barnum once said a sucker is born every minute. I wish he were still alive to get a load out of Pot Suckers, an idea that sounds half-baked.

Pot Suckers are lollipops flavored with hemp essential oil, but they do not contain the hallucinogenic compound found in real reefer. Still, the candy features advertising slogans such as "Every lick is like taking a hit." Due to such bold statements, many stores pulled the pot product from candy shelves across the country amid accusations Pot Suckers glorify drug use to children. Six states threatened to ban Pot Suckers.

Since they are just regular candy, I assume the dope lollipops will probably have the same effect regular sugar-heavy suckers have on kids - make them overly giggly, sometimes hallucinagenic (Example: imaginary friends), and work up a killer appetite (usually making them hungry only for more candy).

ICUP, the Jersey-based "dealer," suspended distribution of the Pot Suckers and has held up plans to release a hemp-flavored chocolate Buzz candy bar. The company president said the novelty candies were not meant to target kids, but the adults who make up 70 percent of candy consumers in the U.S.

Lawmakers should just chill, dude. Let parents do the parenting. JUST SAY NO if you don't want your kid to lick a pot sucker. Maybe they need to run those Just Say No drug commercials again with the eggs. The guy holds up an egg and says "This is your brain", then cracks the egg and fries it and says "This is your brain on drugs." All they would have to do is add a side of bacon and say "And this is your tongue if you lick a Pot Sucker!"

I also don't understand why these people are focusing on just Pot Suckers when Big League Chew, a shredded bubble gum kept in a zip-lock bag like it's Redman, glorifies chewing tobacco. Go to any little league baseball game, and I guarantee you'll see some 7-year-old stuff a wad of Big League Chew the size of a baseball in his mouth and proceed to suck on it and spit it out over the next 6 innings (when he isn't scratching his nuts raw to try and imitate his favorite Major League ball player).

Candy and its resulting sugar highs can be just as dangerous as drugs. Some people claim to be choc-o-holics. I believe it. Somewhere right now, there is a meeting at a community center and someone is saying "Hello, my name is Linda, and I'm a choc-o-holic. I'm here because I made out with a bushel bag of Hershey Kisses in the back seat of my car last night. My husband made me come in here as soon as he rubbed off the brown ring around my mouth with a washcloth."

Believe me, overcoming chocolate addiction is a life-long battle (that I still haven't won). Anyone who thinks quitting chocolate cold turkey is a cakewalk is lying (and anyone who hates cakewalks because they combine your addictions to cheesy music, gambling and eating cake, I am starting a support group called Cakewalkers Anonymous).

Take it from me, I am a recovering candy-used-to-promote-adult-activities addict. I chain smoked candy cigarettes for 7 years until I was 12. I had to quit cold turkey because I couldn't find them at stores anymore. I wish they would have had some sort of patch available to lessen the blow. Maybe if I taped a pack of Sweet & Lo to my arm, it would have done the trick. Instead, I turned to Fruit Stripe as my candy cigarette nicotine gum alternative.
But then I discovered bubble gum cigarettes, and I was hooked again. These were rolled in paper and had powder inside so when you blew inside of them, bubble gum "smoke" would come out. Unlike regular cigarette smokers, bubble gum cigarette smokers' lungs get pinker, misleading doctors on how unhealthy their habit has become. And don't even get me started on the dangers of second-hand bubble gum smoke, which my sister inhaled for at least 2-3 years (especially on one car trip when she bitched to our parents that I wasn't on "my side" of the back seat, so I'd blow "smoke" in her face from behind the line the whole 10-hour drive from Bismarck, N.D., to Iowa).

We're probably lucky Pot Suckers were weeded out from candy shelves. It would only lead to some kid being disappointed when he buys Blow Pops. There's no cocaine inside the suckers, only bubble gum, but the name implies a helluva lot more street value than a quarter.

What about Tootsie Pops? Apparently no drugs are encased in those suckers, either, just a tootsie (not quite enough in there for a roll). But it does make you wonder if it's really just Tootsie in there. In the old advertisements for this sucker, a kid goes into the woods and asks different critters how many licks it will take him to get to the center. This insinuates the kid is on something before even taking a lick of the Tootsie Pop.

The first critter, Mr. Turtle, speaking like a true snapper, admits he can "never make it without biting." He advises the little sucker junkie to talk to Mr. Owl. But instead of just answering the kid's question, Mr. Owl snatches the sucker away and says "Let's find out. Ah-one, ah-two, ah-three" before deep-beaking the whole thing. Then he hands the poor little bastard his sucker stick back with no candy on it and no concrete answer to his question. How many licks does it take? The world may never know. But one thing the world does know is that hooty fuck can never make it past three licks, so there must be some really good shit under that hard sucker candy.

If Pot Suckers weather the storm and return to the market, think of the floodgates this could open for products with drug-themed names and marketing campaigns. It's downright scary to think your snack aisle might be filled with the following...

GUMMI SHROOMS - It started out with bears, but now about anything can be turned into a gummi including dolphins, worms, spiders, and many different kinds of fruit shapes. Eat one Gummi Shroom, and who knows what shapes the rest of your gummis will take.

METHY WAY - There's nothing like the nougat and caramel mixed with household cleaners cut with a hint of baby formula to make these bars, which are produced in mini labs across the nation.

7-UPPERS - These are the old wax bottles that contain liquid uppers to give kids that extra boost of energy that Red Bull just can't deliver.

BEER BOTTLE CAPS - Catch the flavor of all your favorite suds including Killians, Budweiser, Foster's, etc.

POP ROCK COCAINE - Pop rocks are back with more punch. Just don't mix inside a can of Coke because some kid died when he did that.

JUJUPCP - What's better than fruit flavored bits of angel dust?

BIT O HEROIN - This heroin is processed until it is hard and chewy, then formed into bit chunks. The good news: No more track marks!

ECSTASY CREAM EGGS - Inside this egg shaped candy is a wonderful ecstasy pill surrounded by a creamy "yolk." Great for raves.

$100,000 BRICK - The makers of the $100,000 bar now make a 2.2-pound brick of chocolate hashish worth a cool 100 G's. The problem is, the rich kids who can afford it view the brick as only one serving and typically OD.

SPEED GUMBALL - The most dangerous gumball, which mixes cocaine with heroin in scores of flavors.

CRACK JACKS - Some smooth sailor will say there's a surprise inside every box, goldilocks! Not any more, you cracker jack whore!

LITTLE DEBBIE POT BROWNIES - Leave it to Little Debbie to cash in on the drug snack cake market in an attempt to show up Hostess cornering the prostitute candy consumers with their Ho-Hos.

Scotty Gets Beamed Up

I was saddened to hear that Scotty got beamed up Wednesday.



Scotty - AKA actor James Doohan - was chief engineer Montgomery Scott in the Star Trek TV series and motion pictures. He died from complications from pneumonia and Alzheimer's disease, not trouble with Tribbles.

The Alzheimer's had really started to take its toll. One night before his hospitalization, Scotty was seen cavorting with a Klingon. He had mistakenly thought it was his old bridge buddy Chekov.

Many Trekkies brushed that off, thinking Scotty simply might have gotten into some Romulan Ale. But then the mix-ups - like not knowing what dilythium crystals were for - escalated.

"We were out for a drive and saw Picard and Geordi next to us at a stoplight," Captain Kirk reminisced. "They were being cocky, revving their engine trying to egg us on to race."



"When the light went green, Geordi started burning rubber and took off," Kirk added. "I told Scotty 'Warp speed now!' Usually, he would totally gun it. But Scotty just let those Next Generation punks leave us in a cloud of star dust."

It got worse. Scotty swore he saw Sulu on a new TV show called The Iron Chef. He met Dr. Spock and asked him what happened to his pointy ears. Then, he claimed he saw Uhura's picture on a bottle of pancake syrup.



"I heard he walked into Enterprise and demanded to see the engine room," Kirk said, choking back tears. "But it was just the rent-a-car place and they gave him the keys to a Ford Taurus instead. At this point, we knew something was wrong with Scotty."



The last straw was when he didn't even recognize Captain Kirk.

"Bones, do something," Kirk was overheard pleading with a physician who looked nothing like Dr. McCoy (or actor DeForest Kelley), in the final days before July 20.

When the doctor didn't respond, Kirk shook him and said "Where's the comeback? You're supposed to say something like 'Dammit, Jim, I'm an actor not a doctor.'"

After questioning the medical care at the hospital, Kirk asked if they had one of those metal box wheelchairs with two lightbulbs on the front - like the one used on Captain Pike - to keep Scotty going. Kirk (pictured below in his Star Fleet graduation picture) also kept harassing the female staff, asking if there were any green alien chicks he could bang.



The hospital staff tried to have security remove Captain Kirk from the room, but he would not acknowledge them since they weren't wearing red long-sleeved sweaters or Federation badges.

At this posting, Scotty's funeral arrangements were pending, most likely to be held in about 5 or 6 days.

"I don't have 5 or 6 days, it has to be in 2," Kirk demanded.

Steelers Fan Gets Sudden Death Wish

Leave it to a football fan to make the most of a "sudden death." I read a bizarre story about the funeral arrangements of a diehard Pittsburgh Steelers fan the other day and I just about died laughing.

After James Henry Smith died from prostate cancer last Thursday, his family thought it only fitting to turn his wake into a Pittsburgh Steelers shrine. Smith was laid out in his favorite recliner with a continuous loop of Steelers highlights playing on the television.

Funeral director Roland Criswell, of the Samuel E. Coston Funeral Home, arranged furniture and other football props in the same fashion it would have been on game day in Smith's home.

Smith's corpse was kicked back in the recliner with a pack of cigarettes and a six-pack of beer within reach. He had the television remote in his hand (this proves point to you ladies that you can't get the "flicker" from some men, even when they're dead) and a Steelers blanket across his legs.

This was a short but sweet story and a very inventive way for a Steelers fan to have his funeral service. But there seems to be a lot missing here. If you are going to go crazy with a funeral like this, you have to go all out.

Here's what was missing from the story (and what would have happened if I had chosen the career path of funeral director and lived in the Pittsburgh area):

Fans of Smith showed up for the funeral service 4 to 6 hours early to "tailgate" in the funeral home parking lot. Mostly, they drank beer and ate hot dogs and brats. Some even painted their faces in Steelers colors. Five of Smith's former co-workers were shirtless, each sporting a letter of his last name in gold paint on their chests.

At noon, a referee appeared and performed a coin toss, which determined which end of the funeral home the service would take place.

Al Michaels and John Madden were on hand to deliver the eulogy. The duo was also the reason the funeral was scheduled for Monday night. Michaels started out with the facts of Smith's life and Madden added goofy banter like why Smith was part of his All-Madden dead fan team.

Franco Harris was on hand just in case any props fell from the corpse's lap, like a plate of nachos or a bowl of popcorn. The funeral director didn't have NFL-caliber reflexes and would have only deflected said dishes as they fumbled their way to the floor. With Harris in the backfield, he would certainly make an immaculate reception and save the 12 X 12 piece of astro turf placed under the recliner from any salsa or nacho cheese stains.

Terry Bradshaw would call for a huddle every couple of minutes to call plays. "Inez, take a fake handoff of this sympathy bouquet of black and gold roses," he'd say. "But Ethel, you go deep. During the Hail Mary, I'll toss them to you in the end zone behind the altar. The count will be on two. Ready, break!"

If you wanted to view the body up close you had to make it by the current Steelers offensive line. Initially funeral goers would only try to rush the stage one or two at a time, resulting in double and triple team blocking. But eventually they figured out a few could break through by blitzing several weepy old ladies.

During "halftime" of the service, the funeral goers were split into two groups and brought to separate locker rooms in the basement. There, coach Bill Cowher bitched them out for what they did wrong in the first half and tried to give them advice on adjustments they could make for the funeral's second half. Confusing plays using X's and O's were drawn up on chalkboards to try and explain how to go through the buffet line.

Around the 2 minute warning, Smith's body was loaded inside of a football shaped leather casket that said Wilson in huge letters. Once inside, the "coffin" was laced up and then signed by NFL commissioner Paul Tagliabue.

Former Steelers defensive tackle Mean Joe Greene insisted on being the only pallbearer and dragged the football coffin on his back out of the funeral home and made the 100-yard trek to the burial site in the end zone. After Green crossed the goal line, he spiked the leather casket, and did a small celebration dance to the delight of funeral fans.

After the service, Greene limped down a basement hallway at the funeral parlor, his black suit jacket off and slung over his shoulder. Greene was exhausted, possibly injured and sweating profusely. A little kid tried to offer encouragement to the Steel Curtain's anchor and asked for his autograph, but Greene blew him off. Then when the little squirt offered Greene an ice-cold bottle of Coca Cola. Greene guzzled it, then tossed the kid his sweat-drenched suit coat as a token of thanks.

Something tells me James Henry Smith would have loved these additional options added to his Fantasy Funeral playbook. These ideas will not completely go to waste as I have a hunch one of my wife's old co-workers would want his funeral exactly as listed above, with the only change possibly being asked to be buried at "sea" in one of the 3 rivers that flow through Pittsburgh by the old stadium site.

I'm a diehard Minnesota Vikings fan, but a purple pride funeral would be a hard sell to my wife (Even though she wouldn't have to worry any more about Red McCombs threatening to move my funeral to Los Angeles or San Antonio, or the potential of Randy Moss taking a funeral off).
I'd be cool with former QB Fran Tarkenton scrambling to the event, but wouldn't think it was that incredible to invite John Davidson to croon a funeral hymn (although I might be fine with Cathy Lee Crosby doing a scripture reading).

My wife also wouldn't fulfill my request to have Jim Marshall be a pallbearer because she'd worry he would haul my casket off in the wrong direction.
I don't think she'd allow all guests to wear helmets with horns coming out of them, or any type of animal fur outfits. I did talk her into having one of our wedding photos taken on the pirate ship in the pool area of Fargo's Holiday Inn while we all wore eye patches, but my final idea would not be ship-shape with her: Something tells me she'd never warm up to the idea of my corpse being set afloat on a burning Viking ship on Lake Minnetonka.

July Quotes & Police Calls of the Week

Quotes of the Week
"Have you ever seen ant shit? That's the size of a hummingbird egg." -- Kenny, the birder.

"Ellie, you shouldn't ever kick sharks in the nuts." -- Grandpa Kenny, scolding his little 4-year-old granddaughter after she buried her right foot in the groin of Sharky, mascot of the Mall Of America's Underwater Adventures Aquarium.

Police Calls of the Week
BURLINGTON, WISC.
May 30: Lewd and lascivious. Two 34-year-old Burlington women were warned when they were found topless in the back seat of a car in the 100 block of E. Washington St. When an officer asked the women why they were naked, one answered, "We're not naked, just topless."

HOPKINS, MINN.
June 20: Strange incident. Somebody knocked on the door of an apartment in the 1000 block of Westbrooke Way and left a box containing a large stuffed horse. Police checked the horse and discarded it.

Whore-O-Scopes

I’m no Miss Cleo, but I do consider myself quite the ass-trologer. Most of my vision would be beneficial to the working girl.

Gemini (May 21-June 20) – You will ball twins and get paid double for your trouble.

Cancer (June 21-July 22) – You will get some guy to come out of his shell for $200, then go to the pharmacy to get medication for crabs.

Leo (July 23-Aug. 22) – Some lion tamers will make you the middle of a Sigfried and Roy sandwich, then pay you a magical amount.

Virgo (Aug. 23-Sept. 22) – Your hymen will finally get busted. Look on the bright side: At least you’ll get paid for it.

Libra (Sept. 23-Oct. 22) – The scales of justice are not leaning your way. Chances of getting busted by the vice squad are very high. Watch out for cops!

Scorpio (Oct. 23-Nov. 21) – You’ll get pricked by a stinger for a stash of cash.

Sagittarius (Nov. 22-Dec. 21) – Don’t act like such a horse’s ass if you want to attract ritzier Johns.

Capricorn (Dec. 22-Jan. 19) – Some say goats will eat anything. You will screw anything as long as you get paid for it.

Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18) – You are known as the zodiac’s humanitarian, but don’t give it up for free or your pimp will bitch-slap you. Be a cheap whore and offer a discount instead.

Pisces (Feb. 19-March 20) – There are plenty of fish in the sea. To catch them, wear leather and 6-inch heels for bait. Let the feeding frenzy begin.

Aries (March 21-April 19) – You will get rammed, and then get rewarded.

Taurus (April 20-May 20) – You will grab a bull by the horn, then find out where the beef is.

Stamp Collection

I've never known a Subway as a mode of transportation. It's always been a sandwich place to me.

"Taking the Subway" has been a quick, convenient meal hundreds of times. But unlike Jared, the 435-pound geek turned 190-pound geek thanks to deep-throating 12 inches twice a day the last 7 years (makes you wonder if he's getting the itch to start going to Quiznos), I never lost any weight eating their subs. The only things I lost on my Subway diet were 3 shirts due to heavy honey mustard stains. In addition, I gained about 100 pounds in the last 15 years and have amassed a staggering Subway stamp collection.



Some skinny pricks wonder if Subway is solely to blame for my lard-assedness. What about McDonald's, Burger King, Hardees, Wendy's, Arby's, KFC, Taco Bell, Taco John's, Pizza Hut, Domino's Pizza, etc. Shouldn't they share the blame, too? I'm not about to join a class-action lawsuit like those tobacco freaks. They didn't know it was bad for them? What exactly were they smokin'?

I don't need a warning label on a 12-inch sub loaded with 4 different kinds of meat, a quarter pound of cheese, and a pint of mayo. I already know it's going to kill me before it hits my lips. The only thing I do worry about is if a footlong smoked ham and a bag of mesquite smoked BBQ potato chips are harmful to my lungs, especially when I inhale the whole .33 yards in about 2 minutes. If it is, maybe I'll join a class-action lawsuit against smokers (not the ones who use cigarettes, but the ones who smoke sides of bacon).

Am I bitter that my Subway addiction has probably peeled 10 years off my life expectancy? Hell, no! I'm pissed at Subway for 2 other reasons.

Number one, they are discontinuing their stamp program effective July 1. They are no longer giving out stamps and they will not honor redeeming stamps for free subs after June 30. Consider this your PSA, if you didn't already know.



Why? Apparently some crazy fuckers got bored making funny money and have been counterfieting stamps to snag free subs. And I thought I had a Subway problem!

Anyway, now I have to hurry up and redeem my stamp collection before it's worthless. This is a huge problem, as I have stockpiled more stamps than my local post office branch. If my Subway stamps were Green Stamps, I could buy Bill Gates' house. My wife says I'm exaggerating the number and that my stamp collection would only net 26 feet of free subs.



Whatever the number, I didn't get those stamps the pussy counterfieter way. I had to eat 208 feet of sandwiches to earn those sub stamps! Licking the 416 stamps and putting them on the little cards was quite a meal in itself, and would have even worn out Jenna Jameson's tongue.



It's going to be tough to stuff 26 footlong Subways in my belly between now and June 30, but I'm up to the challenge. If that runty Japanese guy can eat 50 hot dogs in The Glutton Bowl, I can eat 26 feet of subs in two weeks.

An even bigger concern, one of my female co-workers will no longer be bringing subs into the break room. "Six inches has never been a problem with me," she usually starts out bragging, oblivious that my mind is totally submerged in the gutter. "I can almost fit the whole thing in my mouth. But 12 inches is another story! I have to really work to cram one that big into my mouth!"

My second issue with Subway: Why is Jared still the Subway spokesperson? Isn't it time for a change?

If Subway wants to really up the advertising ante, they should invent a sub that is so tempting and fattening that it would make Jared gain all of the weight back. But maybe Jared's willpower will keep him ordering that tasty 6-inch lettuce sub on wheat (he does double lettuce on Fridays).

Sure, Subway wants to target the health nuts. But what about the rest of us lard asses? We can't relate to skinny Jared. We want to see commercials with fat Jared, Big Boy and Grimace.

Subway shouldn't insult our intelligence like Carl's Jr. We know that even though Paris Hilton made out with that Spicy BBQ Six Dollar Burger and may have even fucked it, my guess is after the director said "cut," she played tonsil hockey with her index finger and barfed on the sound guy.



Subway can keep Jared. But they should hire me to be their fat spokesperson. Sure, Jared lost 100 pounds, but equally impressive is that I GAINED 100 pounds eating their subs. They are so damn good I couldn't control myself. Now that's truth in advertising!

June Quotes & Police Calls of the Week

Quotes of the Week
"All there is to a hummingbird is a beak, a few feathers and an asshole." -- Kenny, the birder

Police Calls of the Week
SHOREWOOD, WISC.
March 30: A 50-year-old man was taken into custody at 5:45 a.m. March 30 after police responded to a call from his apartment building in the 1700 block of E. River Park Court. The man, who answered the door naked, caused a flood in his apartment by leaving a faucet on. The man was arrested after he became combative and refused to dress.

SOUTH PORTLAND, ME.
March 26: A 15-year-old daughter who would not come into the house on Nonesuch Cove Road when her mother asked her to received a talking-to about disrespect from the responding officer. She was reminded that as a minor her parents had rights and responsibilities regarding her well-being.

Love is a Battlefield

I got a call from the St. Paul Police Department today. A recorded message broke the news to me that a “level 3” sex offender was moving into the neighborhood, and there was an open meeting about it tonight.

I wasn’t really sure what level 3 meant, but I figured sex offenders don’t have as many levels as a Pac-Man game. I thought there were probably 5 or 10 levels of these weirdoes, but I called my wife, who is an attorney, so she could fill me in on how perverted/dangerous this guy probably is.



She broke the news to me that a level 3 is the worst rating you can get. She told me level 3 means he is the most likely to re-offend and that he ranks right up there with the creep who killed UND college student, Dru Sjodin.

My wife and I went to the meeting. About 100 people crammed themselves into a small church on Selby Avenue to get more information on one James Larry Love. When we walked in the door, we picked up an informational sheet about Mr. Love and a booklet about sex offenders that should have been titled “There Goes The Neighborhood.”



One page of light reading told us more than we wanted to know. On one day in 1985, Mr. Love broke into a woman’s apartment and raped her. He also beat the woman’s 7-year-old son with a tire iron when he tried to intervene. Later that day, Mr. Love broke into another woman’s home and raped her, then fled to a nearby city park and raped yet another woman.

Mr. Love had a longer rap sheet than that, and we’re not talking hip hop music. This guy has been in and out of the big house most of his life. Even after being released from prison in 1998 after serving his time for the rape bender, Mr. Love has been in and out of jail due to violations of his probation, including failing to properly register as a sex offender (he registered as “homeless” even though he had a residence so he would be more difficult to track). He did not complete any offender treatment program despite being in prison and on probation since 1985.

A majority of people at the meeting were horrified and outraged that this monster was moving into the neighborhood, akin to Godzilla terrorizing Tokyo. My anger intensified at the stupid questions people asked and some of the ridiculous answers.



One lady expressed concern that there was an elementary school just a couple of blocks from Love’s new residence. Love’s probation officer said his victim pool was adult females, not kids, and reassured the woman and the rest of us that kids were not in his crosshairs.

He could have just as well said: “Don’t worry, he won’t cornhole your kid. He might beat the shit out of him with a tire iron, but he won’t fuck him. As long as your kid steers clear of Love raping someone, your kid will be fine.”

Another woman expressed concern about the school bus stop a block away from Love’s new residence. “Who will be watching our kids?” she demanded, apparently thinking the St. Paul police’s job includes parenting and babysitting on the side.

One person took this as her chance to change subjects. After all, 100 people hadn’t shown up to hear info about the sex offender. We all wanted to hear how she had left her door unlocked, and her apartment had been broken into. They had thrown a lot of clothes around and took a VCR. Apparently, she had never watched CSI and was stunned to hear police can’t dust for fingerprints when you’ve had your hands over every square inch of whatever evidence may have existed.

It kind of spiraled out of control after this point. The questions kept getting more and more stupid.

One man told the group how he had just met Mr. Love while walking to the meeting and we should feel sorry for him. The poor guy was in prison for nearly the last 20 years. He has to wear a big black box on his belt that holds a GPS device so probation officials can track him the next 3 months. Also, he seemed really nice and remorseful for what he did.

At this point I would have hijacked the meeting if three of St. Paul’s finest hadn’t been in attendance. The answers to said stupid questions were too polite (Minnesota Nice should not be reserved for perverts), and too many people tried to sway the whole “scary” tone of the meeting to a “warm and fuzzy” feel.

“Of course he acted remorseful,” I would have told the violin player. “What’s he gonna’ say? Hey buddy, you better lock up your wife and hide her in the laundry hamper because I’m on the loose again! I’m about to start my second crime spree, just as soon as I get a hard-on and find a tire iron.”

Here’s my rendition of how the rest of the meeting would have gone, with actual questions asked and what my answers would have been (I’m tempted to send this to the St. Paul police as a script for future meetings)...

Lady #1: “Was Mr. Love addicted to drugs or on something when he perpetrated these crimes? Was he just drunk at the time?”

Me: “Yeah, he was just drunk. You know how it is. Some people have too much to drink and order a six-pack and a pound at the Taco John’s drive-thru; some miss the toilet when they barf; or some flash their tits to a video camera and end up on Girls Gone Wild. Some even wake up next to someone they had mutual drunken sex with and regret it. Then there are the ones who rape three women and beat the snot out of a 7-year-old with a tire iron. Yeah, just “normal” drunken behavior like urinating in public.”

Lady #2: “How did he break in the homes? Should we do more than lock our doors?”

Me: “Who the hell cares how he broke into the homes? Locking the doors might be a good idea and just remember… screens on the windows are only good for keeping bugs out.

You could also watch the movie Home Alone a few times and get some great home defense ideas like tying paint cans to strings and hitting home intruders in the head when they try to come up the stairs.

Or give them a bit of a challenge. Leave an extension ladder in your front yard. Lock everything except the window on the second floor and then spend a lot of time in front of it topless. When he props the ladder up and starts climbing, have a bunch of heavy shit to drop at him on his way up like an iron, a TV, a sewing machine, a suitcase full of horseshoes, then an anvil.

But you might not want to sunbathe nude while wearing a blindfold. That might not be safe.”

Lady #3: “Does he have a mental condition of some sort?”

Me: “What the hell do you think? This guy raped 3 women and beat a 7-year-old with a tire iron. In one day! We’ll never know if this guy’s elevator goes to the top floor, because the cable snapped and the elevator has been free falling down the shaft since 1985. He’s nuttier than a Pearson’s salted nut roll!”

Lady #4 (aka Church Lady #1): “I came into this meeting feeling scared and frightened, but I leave here rejuvenated. We need to be ever vigilant, but I do believe that it’s best for Mr. Love to live in the light, not in the shadows of darkness. We need to have faith that the Lord will guide Mr. Love down the chosen path of righteousness.”

Me: “Listen, Toots. We’re in a church, but it’s not Sunday. What is this "live in the light, not in the shadows of darkness" bullshit? You sound like that creepy, old midget woman from Poltergeist. Run to the light, Mr. Love!”



To make a long story short - No matter what this guy’s last name is, he’s getting no lovin’ from us.

Runaway Bride

Julia Roberts has got nothing on fellow Georgia native Jennifer Wilbanks. The latter's version of The Runaway Bride is a real peach.

I'm not going to really recap much of the actual news story since that has been airing around the clock the last 72 hours. But one question keeps popping up. Why did she really do it?

I find it hard to believe she'd go through all that trouble just to say "I Don't." Why didn't she just start off by telling him, "It's not you, it's me." That's worked for thousands of other people.

Maybe her fiancé, who seems like a better egg than Clark Kent, did something "crazy" during his bachelor party like smoke a bubblegum cigar, go on a skeeball bender at Chuck E. Cheese or watch "stag" films on the Outdoors channel. Maybe he and his buddies went to watch a stripper get down to business taking the varnish off of some kitchen cabinets.



Maybe she bolted because she found out they were going to be married and weren't even cousins! That would be enough to derail a few weddings in the Deep South. Or maybe she wanted to elope but didn't know that meant you take your spouse-to-be with you.

I was going through excuse after possible excuse in my mind when I heard on the news today that Wilbanks' fiancé still wants to go through with the wedding. He forgives Wilbanks and says, "Isn't everyone allowed to make a mistake?" Well, there was more than one mistake here, including making this sappy fiancé a murder suspect in the time she was gone.

Maybe that's a clue. If he's not going to be pissed about this, he's not going to be pissed about anything. He's always prancing around like Mr. Rogers, happy to be in his cardigan and sneakers, chatting with the mailman Mr. McFeely, and watching his puppets and toy train go by. She just wants him to go off on her just once so she knows he's normal. But she tried everything, and nothing worked, so she had to go Greyhound.



Another thing that makes me wonder: Why do girls like Wilbanks and Audrey Seiler (that wacky broad from Wisconsin who hid in a swamp in Madison to get attention from her boyfriend last fall) go through all that trouble to get attention? It used to be a girl could wear a low cut blouse and a short skirt and get more attention than she could handle.

Now they fake their own abductions and disappear for days on end, creating mass man hunts by law enforcement agencies and peeling years off their loved ones' lives due to the stress of it all.

Wilbanks went out for a "jog" the day she disappeared. It was quite a run, undoubtedly inspired by a Forrest Gump marathon. She went from Georgia to Vegas and back to New Mexico before she stopped running. She called 911 from a 7-Eleven convenience store in Albuquerque - the same city where that kook dumped coffee in her own crotch and then sued McDonalds - but kept the charade going. After taking the last bite of her roller hot dogs and last swig from her Big Gulp, she told a terrifying tale of being abducted by a Mexican man and a white woman in a blue van. That implicated at least half the state's population.



A few hours later, she finally admitted she made the whole thing up because she was scared about her wedding day, which had a guest list of 600. No shit. You could tell from that "deer in the headlights" look in all the pictures with her fiancé that she wasn't ready to take the plunge. The last time I've seen eyes bug out like that was when I was fishing and reeled in a walleye too fast from 40 feet underwater.



True, that many guests for a party can be overwhelming. When I was in high school in Bismarck, N.D., 600 uninvited guests crashed my house to party when they found out my parents were in Hawai'i. Did I take the first bus out of town to Vegas? Hell no! But I did contemplate throwing myself under a bus a few days before they came back rather than face the wrath of Poppa Bear.

If I ever planned my own disappearance, there's no fucking way I'd go by bus. Georgia to Vegas would be a long haul by Greyhound. I'd peddle a tricycle all the way there before I'd get on the bus, Gus.

Why Vegas? Maybe she figured she wouldn't be charged with faking her own disappearance because she saw all those commericals that said "Whatever happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas." Maybe her first choice in a husband was Wayne Newton and she wanted to give him one last crack at her before her big day. We may never know.

I think her motivation was bigger than Vegas, bigger than fear of a 600-guest wedding day. I think she did it to cash in. Think about it: America is a sucker for stupid shit, especially when it's on TV. Ask any shirtless trailer park idiot who has scrape marks on his beer belly from being gang tackled in a parking lot on COPS.

Maybe Wilbanks, who had a wedding shower the Saturday before her disappearance, felt slighted by the number of gifts that came in, specifically cash. Sure, they got a blender, a couple of toasters, some dish towels, an oven mitt and a bundt cake pan. But the cash haul was short for a 600-guest party coming up. She panicked, worrying she'd get more oven mitts and bundt cake pans at the gift opening after the big day, so she went to Plan B.

Plan B was hatched the week before when she bought a bus ticket to Vegas. If there was any chance the cash haul would not be big, she would fake her own abduction and then reap all of the benefits when she surfaced - endorsement and entertainment deals. Think about it, it makes sense.

First, companies that make running shoes will be tripping over each other to get her endorsement deal for the Runaway Bride shoe.

Next, why would she spend all that time on a bus between Georgia and Las Vegas? No other reason is as reasonable as she wanted the endorsement gig. The Greyound dog logo could be modified to leaving a wedding gown and bouquet in the dust. New slogan? "Want to ditch your fiancé? Go by bus! Leave the driving to us!"

Why did she cut her own hair during her "ordeal?" Not to disguise herself during the disappearance. She wanted an endorsement deal from Great Clips or Cost Cutters, some place that would encourage folks looking to "change their appearance" to come to them instead of doing it on their own. Even better, she could be the pitch-woman for the infomercials for the do-it-yourself hair cutting machine, the Flo-Bee.

Maybe her goal was her own Mastercard commercial. Round-trip bus ticket to Vegas: $89. Wedding party for 600 guests that gets "postponed": $60,000. The media circus created by faking your own abduction: Priceless.

Throwing a rainbow blanket over her head in recent public outings, she's hardly doing it to hide herself from shame. She's doing it hoping to land a deal with some bedding company. Think how popular Martha Stewart's poncho was after her release from that Club Med called "prison."



If real desperation settles in, she could always sell this story to the tabloids: Wilbanks and Seiler are lesbian soulmates.