Freedumb....oh sweete freedumb...

Im soo dange tried of editting copie and making surre that al the wordz are spelt corectily that Im seinding this psoting this two my blog in protesst.

So there.

Paper comes out tomorrow.

Where else would she be, Ferguson?

I got a book called the Big Book of Questions and Answers to go over with the kids at night. It's written by some guy named Sinclair Ferguson. The only Ferguson I remember is the Ferguson on "Clarissa Explains it All," which I never watched, but since it was on every 15 minutes during my Nick at Nite years (I was watching Get Smart and Rocky and Bullwinkle re-runs, but Clarissa was ALWAYS coming up next or tomorrow or something) I do remember Ferguson. But since Clarissa was the one explaining it (I assume) I doubt this is the same guy. (I've also been told this Sinclair Ferguson fellow speaks with a Scotish or English or Welch accent - which means when he was a kid he said, "Well, its me name, yew don't need to be hitting me fer it," a lot I assume.)

Anyway...the second question in the Big Book of Questions and Answers is "Why am I here?" (Last night was "Who am I?")

Now this "Why am I here?" question is one that has caused many a man to ponder, dissertate and/or do recreational drugs or play golf or a lot of things. I had a whole class on it in college. It's really in the big question category and while I am pretty much at peace with the answer, it still was something I gave a lot of thought to, in order to bestow wisdom on my children, so they'd think I was smarter than Dora the Explorer.

So I asked, "Why are you here?"

She thought for a second and replied, "Because I live here."

Hmm...Ol' Ferguson hadn't anticipated this one, I bet.

Tomorrow we'll ask, "Why don't you like to clean your room?"

Man Impaled on Cemetary Post

Scoop went down to the local cemetary to take a photo of a tombstone of a famous citizen of the county, only to find the cemetary locked. Investigative journalist he was, scoop immediately phoned the local Funeral home to ask "how do you get into the cemetary."

(I should have also asked if he had Sir Walter Raleigh in a can, or how to get to Carnegie Hall)

After a guffaw or two, he was advised to go to a house down the street where the caretaker would let him in.

But, he decided to take a different approach.

Deadline U.S.A.

With the newspaper looming in eight days, the editor in chief took time to watch the 1952 movie of the above title about couple of days in the life of a newspaper and a newspaper editor that takes on a local mobster and makes things right with his wife all while running the paper and drinking about a fifth of liquor.

He's got 1500 employees, which may account for his having time to woo his wife, wear an ironed tuxedo to a party and go to the bathroom without having to make a few calls during the process.

Here in 2009, the editor in chief took a break from the 75 hours a week by watching the movie, dranking a glass or two of champagne and falling asleep in front of his computer about twenty minutes after the passing of the new year.

The guy didn't even have a blog, for pete's sake.

The 80 year plan to save the planet...

I've finally heard a plan that will save mankind from the horrors of global warming.

It will take some education and committement from the citizens of the earth, but if carried out, the plan is guaranteed to eliminate mankind's effect on the global temperature.

The problem of overpopulation will be solved, which according to the experts, is the cause of the greenhouse gases that is about to ruin the earth.

The plan is to get every couple to commit to limit the number of children they bring into the world to NONE per family.

This ought to solve it.

Maybe it was a "you gonna buy something or not?" sign...

The first sign I saw said, "You break it, you buy it." Then after the "$25 for all returned checks," was the "shoplifters will be prosecuted to the FULLEST extent of the law," "no refunds without receipt" and one other I can't remember, but it was no less forbodding than the other four.

Meanwhile, I heard the owner complain that business was terrible and he'd tried everything to get it going, but nothing worked. Nobody was shopping there, the economy was terrible, the weather was bad, he hadn't seen it this bad in the last 25 years.

"No matter what, these people...they got money...but they aren't going to spend it around here," he said.

Hmmm....

I couldn't operate heavy machinery anyway, Mr. Know it all...

One job I don't understand is the Surgeon General. Everyone makes a big deal out of it and there are hearings and vetting all so that when the guy gets the job he trots out his esteemed opinion that cigarettes and alcohol abuse MIGHT be hazardous to your health.

This is also the opinion of your parents, your AA sponsor and the Southern Baptist Convention.

Oh, and if you're pregnant, it's not a good idea to smoke or drink. Brilliant.

But this guy gets to have it written on all the packaging like he was the first one to think of it or something.

Oh, that sounds like fun...no wait, what did you say?

Today Gracie told us about a new game she learned at Bible Study...she doesn't study per se, but goes with Holli to the study where they have classes and things for the kids to do.

The game, according to Gracie, is called Jesus, Jesus, God and the rules are the same as duck, duck, goose.

Now, I'm no theologian, but something about this isn't right. Now I doubt that there is a direct ratio, such as Jesus is to duck as God is to goose, intended, but what's wrong with duck, duck, goose that it needs a religious twist?

When the kids play tag, is it "Laying on hands tag?" When they play dodge ball, is it "predestined to be struck with a red rubber (dodge) ball?" (I guess if you are really reformed you just stand there and wait for the ball to hit you...after all if you're going to get hit by the ball...)

Red Rover, Red Rover, let John the Baptist come over?

I'd write more, but Holli wants to tell me about the Singing Christmas Tree.

Coming out of the closet...

I hate Christmas. I hate buying presents for people just because it is the last week in December. If I want to buy a nice gift for someone, I'll decide WHEN that is, thank you.

I hate Christmas trees...but so do all other men I've every discussed this with. It's a waste of time, money and if you have a dog...well, good luck. I hate figgy pudding, whatever that is.

I hate hanging garland, I hate getting the ornaments out of the attic. I hate sending cards to people. I hate having to explain why I still haven't grown up since last year in my yearly report. I hate photos of us smiling when two minutes earlier I was trying to convince Grace to PLEASE put on her (horribly ugly, she says) brown shoes and trying to get John to stay still long enough to put on pants.

I don't want to go over hills and through the woods on a sleigh. I don't want to sing for the neighbors wondering if I'll ever get full use of my left foot again. I don't want to exchange gifts with almost strangers. I don't want to explain to Grace and John why a fat guy in a red suit ISN'T in the nativity scene.

I do like egg nog, though.

I'm not a scrooge. I'm a man.

However, if by "Christmas" you mean the celebration of the birth of the Messiah, then count me in...

To whom it may concern at ESPN...

Scores, games and highlights.

I want scores, games and highlights. I don't want stories on the personal lives of the people in the games or highlights. If I want something other than scores, games and highlights, I'll tune into Access Hollywood or watch The View. But as it is, I can't tell you apart from Oprah right now.

Scores, games and highlights...

***

P.S. I'm retiring from golf. If being the best golfer in the world isn't enough to keep you from a public spectacle, then why am I trying to be the 1,000,000th best?