Teenage Nightmare

If ya'll have a couple of minutes (well, okay, maybe about 10), I'd like to tell you a little story of how a teenage dream became an instant nightmare while a student at Peralta Junior High School in Orange, CA back in the 70's. I'll do my best to try and keep it short. Sometimes, we all have a tendency to dream bigger than we should. As an anonymous ninth grader, I had a huge secret crush on Cindy McDaniel, a blonde beautiful cheerleader, just like probably all the other boys who knew they didn't have a chance with her. Anyway, I made the horrible mistake one Friday after school of telling a friend about it who then, without my knowledge, promptly told her. My friend immediately called me back and said, "Guess what? She just broke up with her boyfriend (who was the quarterback on the football team, I was the statistician) and she likes you too!" My first thought was, "Oh great! What do I do now?" I started having an anxiety attack thinking about having to call her and discussing my first course of action as her new boyfriend. I finally gathered up enough courage and called her and told her I would see her at school on Monday before classes started. Well, needless to say, Monday arrived way too soon. I'll never forget the looks on the other kids' faces as they saw me, a virtual nobody, walking hand in hand with the most popular girl on campus. My feelings were mixed. I was proud yet terribly embarrassed at the thought of what they all must have been thinking, "How the hell did HE end up with HER?" In conclusion, I guess, much to my relief, she only liked me for the rest of the day and then it was on to another football player who ended up playing in the NFL.

24: Post Another Day

If I need someone to save the world at a minute's notice, you can forget Superman, Batman, Spider-Man, Iron Man, Captain America and all those other superhero clowns, I'm calling Jack Bauer. 

Prez: Hello, Jack, how are you? Listen, hate to trouble you as I know you're a very busy man but we've got a little problem here. There is a meteor heading for the earth which, if not intercepted, will destroy all life and civilization on our planet. Can you help us?
Jack: I'll get right on it, Mr. President, as soon as I break out of this maximum security prison in Russia which should only take a few minutes... Chloe, I need an ETA on this meteor.
Chloe: Jack, I'm on it... Jack, you only have 30 minutes!
Jack: Chloe, is that with or without commercials? 
Chloe: With. 
Jack: Dammit!

As the meteor continues to hurtle toward earth threatening the entire human population, Jack Bauer has just broken out of the Russian maximum security prison when he receives some valuable intel from Chloe.

Chloe: Jack, I've just received some valuable intel. 
Jack: What is it, Chloe?
Chloe: Jack, the producers have you die in the final episode. 
Jack: Dammit, Chloe! I don't have time for this. What's the destination of the meteor and how much time do I have?
Chloe: Sorry, Jack. I guess this is finally it. We're all goners (pouty face).
Jack: Dammit!
Chloe: Jack, we've had a nice run. I mean, we were fortunate to come back for one more season. 
Jack: Don't they know that I am Jack Bauer?! That I am invicible! That I cannot be killed! THAT I AM A GOD!

As Jack Bauer contemplates his next course of action with time quickly running out before the meteor arrives, he gets an idea which could possibly save the earth and all mankind.

Jack: Chloe, I need one last favor. Are you still with me?
Chloe: Jack, I've been with you since the start of Season 3 and I'm not going to abandon you now. 
Jack: Good. I knew I could count on you. Chloe, I need you to get me the address of the writer for the final episode of 24. 
Chloe: I'm on it, Jack. 

The meteor is running a little late due to some heavy space traffic buying Jack and Chloe some valuable additional time... Jack soon breaks into the home of the writer and confronts him. 

Jack: Sir, you MUST rewrite the ending of the final episode ASAP!
Writer: I can't. I've already submitted it to the producers. 
Jack: Do you realize that millions of innocent people will die all because of your script?
Writer: I'm sorry. It's too late. They've already... AHH! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU JUST SHOT ME IN THE LEG! YOU'RE INSANE!
Jack: DO IT NOW!
Writer: ALRIGHT! PLEASE, JUST DON'T SHOOT ME AGAIN!

And, once again, folks, Jack Bauer has proved that in spite of seemingly insurmountable odds, he was the right man for the job as we all posted for another day.

How Grasshopper Became Jiminy Cricket

Master: Grasshopper, you have successfully completed your basic training and are now ready to fulfil your destiny. 
Grasshopper: Yes, Master. 
Master: Your first mission will be to serve as a conscience to a little wooden puppet named Pinocchio. 
Grasshopper: Huh? 
Master: The Blue Fairy will explain. Oh, and you will now be known as "Jiminy Cricket." 
Grasshopper: But, Master, I am a grasshopper. 
Master: Close enough.
Grasshopper: Master, what is a conscience? 
Master: I was afraid you were going to ask me that. Let me just put it this way. You will be responsible for telling Pinocchio the difference between right and wrong. Now, try to get him to do the right things or else you will start to burn to the point of eventually becoming a fried, crisp and tasty little grasshopper. 
Grasshopper: Master, I am not sure if I want this particular mission. Are there any others?
Master: Nope, I'm afraid not, old boy. 
Grasshopper: Is there a way to get his mistakes erased so that I don't burn and die a most terrible death? 
Master: Yes, Grasshopper. Have him read "The Miracle of Forgiveness" and have him call and make an appointment to go and talk to his bishop. 
Grasshopper: Master, who is the Blue Fairy? 
Master: Ah, most fortunate winged one! Wait till you see her! She is smokin' hot! 
Grasshopper: Is she a conscience too? 
Master: No, Grasshopper, it's a different kind of hot. You will see. Oh, and a word of advice. Try to stay out of Pleasure Island. I've been there a few times myself and was lucky to escape with all of my legs and wings intact. 
Grasshopper: Master, I will miss you. 
Master: Aw, me too, you little runt.

"THERE'S A MOUSE IN MY HOUSE!!!"

Helpful Employee: Eek! There's a Mouse in my House Exterminator Service. Can I help you?
Distressed Woman: HELP ME PLEASE!!! THERE'S A MOUSE IN MY HOUSE!!!
Helpful Employee: Don't worry, Ma'am. You've called the right people. We've got a special going on right now. Three exterminations for the price of two. Would you be interested?
Distressed Woman: I DON'T CARE!!! I NEED HELP NOW!!!
Helpful Employee: Okay, I'll take that as a no. Ma'am, could you please describe the perpetrator?
Distressed Woman: HE'S 10 FEET TALL WITH LONG VICIOUS FANGS DRIPPING WITH BLOOD!!! YOU MORON!!! HE'S A DAMN MOUSE, FOR PETE'S SAKE!!!
Helpful Employee: Ma'am, I know this is difficult for you, but, please, try to calm down. Now, we have a number of experienced professional exterminators on our staff. We have Omar the Persian Prince of Darkness who will have his head off before you can say, "Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves." Terrible Tickle Tom Tabby who delights in sadistic torture and cruel mayhem. Hannibal the Cannibal Kid Calico (who thinks he's a mouse) who will also dispose of him by having him for lunch...
Distressed Woman: ...though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil...
Helpful Employee: Okay, I'll send over Omar.

Misfit Toys v. Santa Claus

In spite of all the happiness that Santa Claus has brought to the millions of children throughout the world, there will always be a black chapter in his long, illustrious career. Many do not remember (or wish to remember) his inhumane treatment of the Misfit Toys who were banished to the Island of Misfit Toys for no fault of their own. If it wasn't for 60 Minutes who exposed the violation of their civil rights they might still be living in squalor and shame. Of course, Gloria Allred immediately seized the opportunity to defend them and promptly filed a multimillion dollar class action lawsuit on their behalf against Mr. Claus, which basically would have shut down all toy building operations at the North Pole. The case was eventually settled out of court and the Misfit Toys were all delivered to semi-good children. A quality control department was also set up by the Elves to ensure that all toys would forever be created equal. Who knows what led Santa to resort to such despicable behavior? Perhaps, he thought that the delivery of "misfit" toys would cause unnecessary whining from ungrateful children who would then begin to question his ability to satisfy their Christmas wish lists. Whatever the reasons, it is a chapter that hopefully, will never be repeated in the annals of yuletide history.

Stupid Cupid

A man who is accused of trying to get marijuana into a Washington state jail by attaching it to an arrow he shot onto the roof has been identified. The suspect is none other than Cupid, the chubby little cherub who is responsible for causing so many of us to fall hopelessly in love. When questioned of his motive for shooting an arrow with marijuana attached to it into the jail, this was his response. "I've been having quite a bit of trouble these last few years with getting men to fall in love. With their fantasy football leagues, video games, lack of responsibilities, etc., they just don't seem to have an interest in love anymore no matter how potent my arrows are. In fact, these "man-boys" seem to have almost become immune to them. So, I decided to try something just a little different. Granted, it probably wasn't the most ideal place to start but I just wanted to see if, by perhaps, altering their state of minds would somehow allow my arrows to once again produce their desired effects."

The Diabolical Brain Brothers

I have just been informed by my friend and closest ally, my heart, that the long standing feud between my right brain and my left brain has reached a permanent ceasefire. After years of non-stop bickering which often times has left me virtually brain dead, "The Diabolical Brain Brothers" as they now call themselves, have torn down the wall between them and are now united as one, all powerful, Superbrain. Unfortunately, however, in the process of their reunification they became corrupted and now seek control over every member of my body, including my heart, who had many times tried to intervene and negotiate a peace treaty. I refuse to allow my beloved friend, who had already suffered so much from their constant feuding, to fall and become subject to their total domination. The war has begun.

Horsefeathers!

Ever since I started using The Original Mane 'n Tail Shampoo I've noticed a more shiny, manageable and fuller mane, er, I mean, hair. My appetite has also curiously changed. I eat like a horse now. It's funny because I've never really liked carrots or apples before but now I eat them by the basketful and find myself chomping at the bit for more. In fact, I think I'll prance over to the kitchen, uh, make that walk over to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Tomorrow, I've got plans (hopefully, before it rains) to go to the equestrian park to throw some horseshoes with my neighbor. Okay, this is really starting to get annoying, plus, now there's a big horse-fly buzzing around the room. I think it's about time to call it a night and hit the hay.

BW in Celebrity Speech Rehab

The day after her television interview with K.L. Denney, Barbara Walters checked herself into "Celebrity Speech Rehab" where she has been working with world renowned speech therapist, Dr. Yul Tokbetter.

DYT: Barbara, I would like to hear the assignment that I gave you yesterday.
BW: Doctow Tokbettew, I'm not suwe if I'm weady yet but hewe goes. Womeo, Womeo, whewefowe awt thou, Womeo.
DYT: Okay, this time you think of something a little more modern and simple.
BW: Wain, wain, go away. Come again anothew day.
DYT: Hmm, interesting. Who's Wayne and why did you tell him to go away?
BW: No, no, Doctow! I said wain, not Wayne!
DYT: Yes, of course. Was Wayne ever abusive to you?
BW: Well, only once when it came down so hawd that it pwactically wuined my little "Gucci-Guccis."
DYT: Your what?
BW: Oh sowwy. That's my little pet name I gave my favowite paiw of shoes. I bowwowed it fwom Chawo.
DYT: Barbara, it's "cuchi-cuchi." Trust me, I know. Charo was a former client.
BW: That's what I said, "gucci-guccis." What's wong? Awe you hawd of heawing?
DYT: Oh, yes, I forgot. That's why you're here.
BW: Doctow Tokbettew, am I cuwed yet?
DYT: We'll continue this tomorrow but I really think that this Wayne could be the source of your speech problem.
BW: But Doctow, I love wain! It makes evewything pwetty and gween!
DYT: Then why did you tell Wayne to go away?
BW: I DIDN'T! IT'S A STUPID NUWSEWY WHYME, YOU DUMB *** SHWINK!

BW Interview with K.L. (Part 2)

BW: Hello, I'm Bawbawa Waltews and welcome back to pawt 2 of my intewview with K.L. Denney, facebook postew extwaowdinaiwe. How awe you tonight, K.L.?
K.L.: I'm good, Barbara, and thanks so much for having me back particularly after what happened last night.
BW: No pwoblem. Now, in the fiwst pawt of ouw intewview, we discussed the souwce of youw inspiwation. If I wemembew cowwectly,  you said you weceive inspiwation fwom genewating gasses in youw alimentawy canal which awe then expelled out youw poopew chute in the fowm of deadly toxic fumes causing sewious nose and eye iwwitations. And, in some extweme cases can wesult in pewmanent damage ow complete loss of vision and smell.
K.L.: Well, I guess you could say that but still very impressive. You've really done your homework well, Babs.
BW: Please don't call me that. That name always weminds me of a sheep. My name is Bawbawa.
K.L.: Okay, Bawbawa Black Sheep. Sorry, I couldn't resist. Can I ask you a personal question? Have you always had difficulty pronouncing your "r's"?
BW: Evew since I can wemembew. Is it weally that bad?
K.L.: Yes, it weally is that bad.
BW: Well, many people call it my twademawk but they also say that Elmew Fudd is my twin bwothew.
K.L.: I'm vewy sowwy, Bawbawa.
BW: Awe you mocking me, K.L.?
K.L.: No, no, weally I'm not! Fow some stwange weason I can't seem to talk stwaight now! I think I need to see a speech thewapist wight away!
BW: And that's the end of ouw pwogwam tonight. Thank you vewy much fow allowing me to intewview you, K.L. Denney.
(Off-air) GET THIS JEWK OUT OF HEWE! I DON'T NEED TO BE INSULTED BY SOME CWAZY *** FACEBOOK POSTEW!

BW Interview with K.L. (Part 1)

BW: Hello, I'm Bawbawa Waltews and welcome to my special. Tonight my fiwst guest is the wowld wenowned facebook postew, K.L. Denney. It's a pleasuwe to finally have you on my show, K.L.
K.L.: Thank you Barbara. The pleasure is all mine.
BW: Now, K.L., let me stawt off by asking you whewe in the wowld do you weceive youw inspiwation fwom?
K.L.: Bawbawa, oops, I mean Barbara, I don't exactly know where it comes from. All I know is that at any given moment a spark of inspiration will strike causing me to smile no matter where I am, who I'm with or what I'm doing.
BW: K.L., you happen to be smiling on my show wight now. Awe you weceiving a spawk of inspiwation as we speak?
K.L.: Uh, actually, Barbara, no. I can't believe that I just tooted on national television with millions of people watching!
BW: Weeelax, K.L. I toot my own hown all the time. But, tell me, do you still considew youw toot as a spawk of inspiwation?
K.L.: Well, in a sense I guess I do. My wife and kids don't think so but, hey, you gotta get your inspiration from somewhere, right?
BW: Veeewy intewesting, pewhaps that is why my own hown is tooting all the time. Well, folks, now we all know whewe the gweat K.L. Denney weceives his inspiwation fwom and, dawe say, myself. We'll see you all tomowwow night fow the conclusion of my intewview with the man who has litewally weshaped the wowld of facebook. Thank you, K.L.
K.L.: You awe vewy welcome.

In Therapy with OJ

OJ Simpson reports to parole board that he has been counseling other inmates. Let's drop in on one of his sessions, shall we? Shhh, I think this one is already in progress...
Thug 1: OJ, first of all, let me just say that I am your biggest fan and the proud owner of much of your sports and crime memorabilia...
OJ: And just how did you obtain my memorabilia?
Thug 1: I stole it. How else do you think I got in here?
OJ: Anyway, what is your question, my good man?
Thug 1: OJ, tell us how you got away with murder and we didn't?
OJ: Good question. I was going to cover that very subject next week but since you asked we might as well jump into it. Money, my friends, and lots of it. Well, gentlemen, I'm afraid that we've run out of time for today. Okay, now that that's over with let's get back to business. I have in my hand here a genuine autographed piece of my old toilet paper. Who shall begin the bidding?
Thug 2: I'll give you one cigarette for it, no, make that half a cigarette.
OJ: Do I hear one cigarette? Half a cigarette going once, going twice, sold to the man in the black and white striped jumpsuit!

The Lost Tribe of Phollicle

The other night my observant better half remarked how tanned my forehead was. In my attempt to explain the reason how this originally came to be, it will necessitate our travel to a distant time and place, the pre facebook era, when a post was part of a fence and a wall was part of a building. Come take a fascinating journey with me tonight as we attempt to uncover the mystery of "The Lost Tribe of Phollicle." Check local cable listings for time and channel.

Many years ago upon the ancient Scalp Denney there lived a little tribe who prospered and multiplied exceedingly. "The Tribe of Phollicle," as they were known, were a happy, peaceful tribe and loved to spend hours dancing with the wind. As the years went by, except for an occasional bad cropping, they continued to live in peace without any conflicts. One summer, a terrible drought and ensuing famine overtook their homescalp and threatened their peaceful civilization. Many tribal members eventually fled to the north and were never seen again. The few that stayed vowed that they would never leave their beloved homescalp regardless of the lingering drought or any other adverse condition. However, notwithstanding their steadily diminishing population, eternal hope still exists in an old prophecy that "The Lost Tribe of Phollicle" will someday return in all their splendor to once again dance with the wind.

Planes, Brains and Automobiles

Continuing the subject of brains (which seem to occupy my mind lately), although my body has been showing signs of wear and tear for some time now, I always reassure my wife that my Vintage 1959 Custom Model Brain is still operating at maximum efficiency. In fact, every so often it will overheat and shut down due to excessive brilliance and have to cool down in order to regain standard levels of extraordinary genius. I'm even amazed at how I... AHHHH!!! Dang, that one REALLY hurt! Why can't I ever get a slipper or at least a tennis shoe thrown at me instead of those deadly pointy high heels! Now, where was I? Oh yeah, just talking about myself again...

Civil War

The following conversation takes place several times a day within the convoluted confines of my brain.

Right Brain: Wow! I've got this killer idea for a new post!
Left Brain: Oh no, here we go again.
Right Brain: Stick it, Lame-o! I don't see you making any contributions to his wall.
Left Brain: That's because I have better and more important things to do with my gray matter.
Right Brain: Yeah, like trying to come up with better ideas of how to make his life more boring than it already is.
Left Brain: Listen, Mark Twit. If you think you're so creative then how do you explain the fact that he only has 2 followers on his blog?
Right Brain: Hey, it's not like we're trying to start a cult or anything. These things take time.
Left Brain: Well, that's part of the problem. You have too much of it on your hands.
Hands: Hands, reporting for duty, Sir!
Left Brain: Hands, you weren't officially summoned for duty but since you're here, could you please give him a good whack on the side of the head. You know which side.
Hands: Yes, Sir!

Dear Diary

I can understand to a certain extent the government's intrusion into our private lives in order to provide us with better national security. As a brother with two teenage sisters I felt it was my solemn duty to infiltrate their "imbalanced worlds" so that I might identify potential threats and thus avert another emotional crisis. Now, the only way that I could obtain the intel was by reading their diaries (the ones that had those useless little locks and keys). Trust me, I did not particularly enjoy reading about all their little magical romances (the cat fights were entertaining) but I did what I felt I had to do in spite of the dislocated shoulders, broken teeth and fractured ribs that I suffered from their ungrateful fists.

God and Moses

God: "Hello Moses. I see you forgot the wheelbarrow that I had asked you to bring."
Moses: "Sorry Lord. I had to hightail it out of there. I can only put up with their shenanigans for so long. They act like such children sometimes." 
God: "Nice one. Anyway, it's probably best that I don't give you the whole kit and caboodle at once. Somehow, I have a feeling that those little party animal heathens down there are going to mess up big time with the ten that I'm going to give you."
Moses: "Right, Lord. Like they say, Father knows best!" 
God: "Yes, it makes my job a little easier. Now, I want you to notice something. I did not write these on papyrus. They are written in STONE which means they CANNOT be changed or altered in any way, shape or fashion regardless of what might be considered popular at the time. There will be those who will eventually say, 'These need to be updated or even deleted because they no longer fit with the times.' Moses, always remember and tell them, I DON'T change my mind." 
Moses: "Um, these here are good ones but do you have to give us these?"
God: "MOSES!"
Moses: "Right, Lord. I'm on my way!"

Two Gloves Or Not Two Gloves?

My neighbors occasionally ask me, "K.L., we see you every Saturday working in your yard like a mad man and yet you never wear work gloves. How do you do it?" I tell them, "Friends, I know that my refusal to wear work gloves to protect my soft, delicate, office hands seems totally irrational but, you see, I am "old school." Did Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig wear batting gloves? Did the gridiron gladiators of yesteryear wear gloves while battling it out on the frozen tundra? I must have dirt under my fingernails, rose thorns pricking my flesh and blood blisters on my palms!" Maybe I should try "new school" at least on Saturdays.

Hair Today Gone Tomorrow

When looking at old, blurry pictures of myself (okay, so I have absolutely nothing else better to do), I can't help but ask myself, where have all the follicles gone? Perhaps, I neglected to fertilize and reseed my scalp sufficiently over the years or maybe they (follicles) just sought out greener pastures like the ears and the back (I know, ewww). Anyway, your hair was much like an old boyhood pal that was with you through thick and thin and then as the years went by, you began to notice that the attachment was not quite as close as it once was. You tried desperately to find alternate ways to recapture those wonderful, carefree days but knew that in the end they were always nothing but cheap, phony substitutes. And, you painfully realized that your old boyhood pal and you would remain forever separated at least until the glorious resurrection!

From Sloth to Superhero

After Winter's long awaited thaw, something quite extraordinary happens to the dormant, cave dwelling, remote control possessive sloth. He is once again rejuvenated and transformed into the Live Action Superhero that his family has come to know and love. Upon releasing the pull cord of his trusty grass cutting sidekick, he can be seen practically flying across his lawn with the speed and agility exhibited only by those who don masks, tights and capes. His neighbors all wave to him as they drive by, equally impressed at the grace and command at which he maneuvers his menacing mowing machine. Yes, our Superhero is back and more than eager to confront and engage his lawn for yet another Spring, Summer and Fall!