With Heston Gone, Move to Update 10 Commandments Grows

PHILADELPHIA.  For Bob Delmark, a mailroom employee at the American Law Institute, April 7th was different from a typical Monday at the offices of this organization dedicated to the improvement of the law.  “Usually we get one plastic container that’s about half full,” he says, ”but when I walked in that morning I had two duffle bags of mail to sort through.”

The reason for the unusual volume of correspondence?  “Charlton Heston died the Friday before,” says Michael Traynor, ALI President.  “A lot of people were just waiting for him to kick off so they could propose amendments to the Ten Commandments.”

According to his entry on the Internet Movie Database (imdb.com), Heston wrote the Ten Commandments, the fundamental principles of the Judeo-Christian tradition, in 1956 during the filming of the Cecil B. DeMille classic of the same name.  Prior to that time, society had been governed by a code of “Anything Goes”, a 1934 song written by Cole Porter that was made into a movie starring Bing Crosby and Donald O’Connor.

“In olden days an alligator was considered a lousy mate, now heaven knows–anything goes!”

“The Ten Commandments were fine for their time, but frankly, there’s a lot that could be cut, like the stuff about coveting,” says Arthur Marty, a professor of religion at Duquesne University.  “Who gives a rat’s rear-end whether you have lust in your heart for your neighbor’s wife?  It don’t matter where you get your appetite as long as you eat at home.”

Anatomical gift-giving:  “A spleen!  You’re so thoughtful!”

The ALI agreed to take on the project because they had just finished their best-selling “Restatement of the Law of Suretyship” and were looking for their next big hit.  “We considered a revision of the Uniform Anatomical Gift Act,” says Traynor, “but too many people on the drafting committee got grossed out by the thought of it.”

The new Ten Commandments is already being criticized as “Decalogue Light” by fundamentalist ministers, who object to the elimination of commandments 9 and 10, the “coveting” commandments, and the substitution of the Google motto “Don’t be evil” for the first commandment, “I am the Lord thy God, thou shalt not have strange gods before me.”  “That was a real turn-off for a lot of people,” said National Football League president Roger Goodell.  “Frankly, who’s to say whether you get more from a Arizona Cardinals-Cleveland Browns game on Sunday or a boring sermon about the eternal fires of hell?”

The ALI says that despite the criticism it doesn’t consider its decision to get involved in the revision of a religious text to be sacrilegous.  “I don’t know what everybody’s getting so upset about,” says Traynor.  “It’s not like they were carved in stone.”

Copyright 2008, Con Chapman

Suicide Hot-Lines Find Teen Girls Make Best Volunteers

BOURNE, Mass.  Like many high school juniors, Cyndi Cahill faces long odds as she looks ahead to next year, demographically the toughest in American history in terms of college admissions.  “My guidance counselor told me I’d either have to get my GPA up or do something nice for somebody,” she says.  “After I bombed my pre-calc mid-term, I opted for community service.”

 

“You could study harder, or you could do a walk-a-thon–it’s up to you.”

So Cyndi volunteered at the Cape Cod Suicide Help Line, a round-the-clock service that distraught individuals can call when they are contemplating a leap from the Sagamore Bridge, the most active suicide site in the Northeast.  She was surprised to find the work fulfilling–and that she had a natural aptitude for it.

Sagamore Bridge, Cape Cod, Mass.

“I thought it would be like really depressing,” she says, “but I enjoy talking to people about their problems.”

“Don’t jump–we’ll come over and make brownies!”

Cyndi and other teenage girls across the country have in fact become the highest-volume producers in the suicide prevention industry, according to Larry Kaplan, editor of Eleemosynary Review, a journal devoted to non-profits.  “This is the one type of call center you can’t outsource to Bangalore,” he notes.  “Indian operators tend to view Americans as spoiled, and often end calls by saying ‘Go ahead and jump, you whiner!’”

“You’re depressed?  How’d you like to share your bedroom with a grandmother, two brothers and a cow?”

Volunteers receive three hours of training before they are allowed to handle incoming calls, and psychologists who listen in during a two-week probation period say they are impressed with the speed at which teenage girls become proficient at the delicate art of counseling mentally disturbed individuals.

“Whenever I’m depressed, I buy a new bathing suit.  Maybe that would cheer you up!”

“The temptation is to patronize people who feel they have nothing to live for,” notes Dr. Margaret Kidder, “like, ‘You think you’ve got it bad?  My forehead broke out the night before the junior prom!’  But in fact, teen girls are capable of a great deal of empathy,” she says as she plays a tape made this past Saturday night:

TEEN GIRL VOLUNTEER:  Cape Cod Suicide Hot Line, Amy speaking.

SUICIDAL CALLER:  I . . . I’m going to end it all.  Tonight.

TEEN GIRL VOLUNTEER:  No way!

SUICIDAL CALLER:  Way.

TEEN GIRL VOLUNTEER:  Don’t even think about it!  You’ve got so much to live for!

SUICIDAL CALLER:  Like what?

Miley Cyrus, a/k/a “Hannah Montana”

TEEN GIRL VOLUNTEER:  There’s a Hannah Montana special on the Disney Channel tonight!

SUICIDAL CALLER:  That’s it?

TEEN GIRL VOLUNTEER:  Well, that and I get my driver’s license next week!

SUICIDAL CALLER:  (Silence)  Tell my mother she’s not to blame, okay?

 

Copyright 2008, Con Chapman

Climatologist Says School Science Projects Cause Global Warming

DOWNERS GROVE, Illinois.  The fifth-grade science fair at Nellie Fox Middle School is always a competitive event in this high-achieving suburb.  “Many of our brightest kids will go on to become Ph. D.’s in the hard sciences,” says principal Wallace Forstmann proudly.  “Other, less fortunate students will actually make money.”

Nellie Fox Middle School:  Plenty of good parking spaces still available.

Last year’s runner-up, Adam Waxman, thinks he has a chance to win it all this year with a depiction of how, if people like his mom and dad would only stop driving SUVs, dinosaurs might make a comback and roam the earth again.  “My favorite is the triceratops,” he says as he points out a model of the three-horned herbivore climbing a miniature volcano.  “I’d like to see him trample the lunch ladies the next time they serve fishsticks.”

“If we could get a triceratops in the double doors where they make deliveries, it might work.”

But Adam may be cruelly disappointed tonight because his school, in an effort to promote “green” thinking among its budding scientists, has added a new assessment category for judges; the amount of carbon dioxide released into the atmosphere by a project, with higher scores going to those that are carbon negative or neutral.

“Bake sale!”

Armand Wilson, a professor of climatology at the Illinois Institute of Technology, takes notes on a clipboard as he strolls through the fair, nodding with approval when he arrives at Adam’s exhibit. 

Wilson: ”Adam, I’m afraid you’re an environmental juvenile delinquent.” 

“This is most impressive–albeit horribly naive,” Wilson says with a friendly grin.  “Let’s see–Plaster of Paris volcano.  That means fossil fuels were used to mine gypsum, then used to heat it to 150 degrees centigrade,” he says.  “Not good.”  Adam’s face registers concern, but Wilson moves to reassure him.  “It’s just ten points off–but you should have just used mud.”

“We need to shut this exhibit down right now!”

Wilson next examines the paint used to give the volcano its grey-brown color, and a bright green hue to the surrounding “jungle”.  “Hmm,” he says.  “Latex paint–acrylic polymer emulsion,” he murmurs to himself as he checks a box on the evaluation sheet.  “You’ve got vinyl and polyvinyl acetates there, young man.  You should have just mushed up some berries or grass, the way subsistence cultures do.”

The fatally-flawed volcano.

Adam is close to tears as Wilson picks up the plastic triceratops to examine it.  “Polyvinyl chloride,” he sniffs.  “Do you know how hard this stuff is to recycle?” he asks with a withering tone as he totals up the score–19 out of a possible 50.

“Do you know how hard I–I mean he–worked on that stupid volcano?”

Adam’s mother, Cheryl, can stand it no longer, and rises from her folding chair to confront the scientist.  “How dare you give my son such a low score for a project that I–I mean he–worked so hard on!” she screams at Wilson, who is taken aback by the force of the woman’s anger.  “You’ve ruined his dream!”

“Ma’am,” Wilson begins evenly, “not every child is cut out to be a top-notch, environmentally-sensitive scientist.  For those who aren’t, there are plenty of jobs mixing paint in hardware stores.”

Copyright 2008, Con Chapman

Metaphor Mixers Seek Cure, Compassion and a Chance

BOSTON.  Tom Salerno has been a Boston Bruins fan since he was a little boy, which means he’s hated the Montreal Canadians for over three decades.  “They’re the ones who always stand between us and the Stanley Cup,” he says with disgust, and indeed, “les Habs”, as their fans refer to them, once again lead Boston, three games to one, with a chance to clinch a first-round playoff series tonight.

As Tom sputters on about lucky bounces and bad calls by referees over the years, his face takes on a vacant look and he launches into stream of consciousness tirade that calls to mind glossolalia, the phenomenon known as “speaking in tongues.”  “Our backs are on the ropes up against the corner of today’s wall because there’s no tomorrow,” he says, then bursts into tears as he realizes he has once again lapsed into metaphor-mixing, a neurological ailment that causes a speaker to confuse and conflate multiple and conflicting figures of speech.

“You can’t fish or cut bait between a rock and a hard place, now can you?”

“Metaphor-mixers live lives filled with shame and self-hate,” says Dr. Joan Storrs of the Center for the Study of Figurative Language Disabilities in nearby Cambridge, Mass.  “People giggle behind their hands at mixed metaphors, and if a smart-aleck New Yorker writer happens to hear what you say, it ends up in one of those little ‘Block That Metaphor’ squibs.”

“If you’re the sun, I should probably put on some SPF 50 lotion.”

A metaphor is a figure of speech in which one thing, for example Shakespeare’s Juliet, is equated with another, the sun, suggesting aspects of resemblance between the two, such as the fact that Romeo’s world revolves around both objects.  A metaphor differs from a simile, which is like a comparative figure of speech that like uses “like” or “as” and is like commonly employed by poets and like inarticulate teenagers.

“Now Timmy, I don’t think you meant to say ’split the baby and throw it out with the bathwater’.”

Metaphor-mixing can be corrected if caught early enough, say speech pathologists, but school administrators say they have no room in their budgets for figurative speech impediment therapy.  “We need more federal government funding to solve this problem,” says Earl Byrum, assistant principal at Everett Dirksen High School in Centralia, Illinois.  “Otherwise we’re just rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic and we’re going to hit the tip of the iceberg.”

Copyright 2008, Con Chapman

Alicia Keys Says GOP Started “Gangsta” Rap

NEW YORK.  Recording artist Alicia Keys refused to back down today from comments attributed to her in a Blender magazine interview, saying so-called “gangsta” rap was the result of a 1980’s conspiracy by successive Republican presidential administrations.

Alicia Keys

“You look at the explosion of deficit spending because of Reaganomics,” Keys told the magazine.  “It happened right alongside the development of ’gangsta’ rap as a hip-hop subgenre.  Call me crazy, but I don’t think it was a coincidence.”

“I don’t know, Ron.  Betty tells me a lot of rap is very misogynistic, whatever that means.”

“Gangsta” rap is often derided by urban music aficionadoes as a commercially lucrative but artistically deficient off-shoot of hip-hop music aimed at teenagers, women and old people, according to Professor Michael Grogan, Professor of American Culture at Fordham University.  “Rap is by far the most popular music at nursing homes and assisted living facilities,” he points out.  “When you’re eighty years old you can’t hear high notes, only bass beats.”

Grandmaster Flash:  “We don’t need co-ed dorms, or campaign finance reform!”

The Republican Party controlled the White House from 1981 through 1993, a period that saw rap develop from a parochial party music popular in the Bronx and Brooklyn into a world-wide phenomenon.  “There’s no question the Republican Party aided and abetted the rise of gangsta rap,” says Alan Borden, a political consultant whose clients include a number of current and former GOP officeholders.  “The ‘Up With People’ show they put on at the 1976 Republican National Convention in Kansas City was just a prelude to the hard-core lyrics you hear nowadays.”

Lambchop presents “Up With People!”

Blender magazine is read primarily by young music fans and countertop appliances, and is known for its revealing photoessays on female celebrities.  “I consider them an unimpeachable source,” said Eastern Michigan Young Republican President James Henderson III.  “If you’re looking for bodacious ta-ta’s, it’s a must-read.”

Copyright 2008, Con Chapman

Black Bluesman Sees Green by Singing Brown-Eyed White Pop

EAST ST. LOUIS, Illinois.  T.J. “Crawdaddy” Poindexter is a long-time guitar player and singer who looks at least a decade older than his 46 years.  “It ain’t easy making a living singing the blues,” he says.  “You go into one of the good juke joints, man will cut up for lookin’ at him the wrong way.  Go into one of the bad ones, they’ll cut you up for lookin’ at ‘em the right way.”

T.J. “Crawdaddy” Poindexter

A few years ago Nordica Buckner, his long-time girlfriend, began to urge him to find a safer career that would allow him to spend less time on the road.  “I’d go into a nice home furnishing store and hear them blue-eyed soul singers on the stereo,” she recalls, “and I’d say ‘TJ–how come you can’t get a gig like that?’”

Michael McDonald:  King of Pottery Barn Soul

After a particularly hair-raising set at Lynette’s Chicken Shack during which he was hit by a beer bottle thrown by an audience member, Poindexter decided to follow Buckner’s advice.  “As long as they were throwing light beer bottles I could take it,” he recalls.  “Once they got over 4 grams of carbs and 100 calories per twelve-ounce serving, I was outta there.”

Pottery Barn:  “I keep forgettin’–we’re not on sale anymore.”

So Crawdaddy wrote a song about the Pottery Barn shopping experience and took it to the home furnishing giant known for comfort, style, quality and pre-packaged collections of bland but tasteful dinner music.  “It was a blues about a guy who’s down on his luck, and the Pottery Barn man–he comes down hard on him,” he says as he strums his guitar and begins to sing:

“You break it-you buy it.

I saw you drop it-don’t you deny it.”

In the studio:  “Put some more feeling into it–like they’re only going to give you store credit for a return.”

Pottery Barn turned him down, but Director of In-Store Shopping Atmosphere Gerald Stotsky suggested he contact Bruce Carter, a friend at MCA Records.  “When I heard Crawdaddy it was like a light bulb went on over my head, even though I already had the lights on,” says Carter.  “I could envision a whole new genre–reverse blue-eyed soul.”

The Doobie Brothers:  Not actually brothers. 

So just as McDonald and other white “blue-eyed soul” singers such as Michael Bolton have made a comfortable living recording songs by black artists for white audiences, Poindexter re-branded himself by recording “A Tribute to the Doobie Brothers”, a collection of hits by the pop-rock band of the ’70’s where McDonald honed his lock-jawed singing style.  “It ain’t easy getting the sound down right.  You gotta purse your lips together, which ain’t natural for me,” he says, as he performs a take of McDonald’s solo hit “I Keep Forgettin’.”

 

“I keep forgettin’ we’re not in love anymore-

Yeah, baby-ooowee, now!”

 

 

Loggins:  “The IRS seized my yacht cause I couldn’t pay the tax.  I played a benefit concert–I want my 57-footer back!”

 

The sound developed by McDonald, his sometimes collaborator Kenny Loggins and other soft rock singers of the ’70’s and ’80’s has been derided as “yacht rock”, and there is even a web site–www.yachtrock.com–that sends up the smooth, soulful music.  Poindexter says his style–which he prefers to call “brown-eyed white pop”–is more authentic.

 

“Anybody seen my harmonica?”

 

“Man, I ain’t got no yacht,” he says as he signs an autograph for Marci Cook-Lester, a housewife from suburban Ladue, Missouri who buys his CD for an upcoming dinner party.  “But if I sell enough records, I will someday.”

 

Copyright 2008, Con Chapman

NASCAR: Popemobile Ineligible for Craftsman Truck Series

KANSAS CITY, Kansas.  NASCAR officials today informed representatives of Pope Benedict XVI that he would not be allowed to compete in the O’Reilly Auto Parts 250 to be held this month at Kansas Speedway because his vehicle, popularly known as “The Popemobile”, violated a number of mandatory specifications.

“Sorry–I was trying to find St. Columbkill’s.”

“Craftsman Trucks must have four-speed manual transmissions and minimum 650 horsepower engines,” said NASCAR Rules Chairman Wade Bennett.  “The Popemobile is a two-door Mercedes ML 430 with an automatic tranny, a 272 horsepower engine and an illegal air scoop–end of story.”

The Popemobile, fueled by divine power.

Pope Benedict expressed disappointment with the ruling, and indicated he would appeal.  “Eesa notta fair they no letta me ride witha 2007 Rookie of the Year Willie Allen and thee other toppa-flite Craftsman Truck Drivers,” the German pontiff said in the bad Italian accent that all popes are required to use under Roman Catholic canon law.  “Letta me tella you, I was ready to whup Ron Hornaday like an ugly stepchild.”

Hornaday:  “You just try it, Benny-boy.”

The NASCAR Craftsman Truck Series is a season-long competition in which modified production pickup trucks race for points that may be redeemed for plastic model kits or credited against time in Purgatory, a place of temporary punishment where those who die with venial, but not mortal sins on their souls are made ready for heaven.  In December of 2007, NASCAR announced that the manufacturers of Craftsman tools would terminate their sponsorship after the 2008 season, fueling speculation that the Roman Catholic Church series would step into the breach.

St. Peter’s Drag-a-Way, Vatican City

“We view NASCAR as a great tool to reach a demographic where we have trouble drawing parishioners,” said Vatican Director of Membership Services Antonio d’Allessandro.  “It is hard to recruit from socio-economic groups who believe you are the Anti-Christ.”

“Why don’t you turn that goofy-looking rig around and git the hell out of here.”

The truck series is the only NASCAR division that does not permit “pit stops”, instead using a ten-minute “halftime” break during which teams can make any changes they want to their trucks.  “It eesa mucha better for an old man like me,” Benedict said.  “I like to take a giant grape Slurpee along to keep cool, and there’s no way I could make it through the Goody’s Cool Orange 500,” a NASCAR Sprint Cup Series race, “without a restroom break.”

Copyright 2008, Con Chapman

Your Dream Advisor

Your dreams are a window into your soul.  No wait–that’s your eyes.  Your dreams are the stain on your subconscious left by all the smegma you have to wade through during the day.  Puzzled by a dream’s meaning?  Ask Your Dream Advisor!

Dear Dream Advisor:

I frequently have dreams in which I see a coin on the ground, then another, and I stoop down to pick them up, and then see even more coins.  I become consumed with picking them all up, even if it’s only like fifty-seven cents.  I keep doing it even though people I know–some of them very upstanding citizens whom I want to have a good impression of me–are passing by.  Can you tell me what these dreams mean?

Charlotte Wirth, White Plains, New York

Dear Charlotte:

Not for free.

 

Z-z-z-z.

Mr. or Ms. Dream Advisor:

Last night I had a dream that I had attracted a cult following.  They thought I was God, or some kind of being sent to save them.  They wore white and did a dance with their arms linked around each other’s waists.  I do not travel a lot, and I can’t recall seeing any Hare Krishnas the last time I went to Kansas City International to pick up my Aunt Jean, who was flying in from Tacoma, Washington.  Please help–I woke up in a cold sweat.

Myrna Lee Holland, Lone Jack, Missouri

Dear Myrna Lee:

Dreaming of cults is often a reflection of a compliment received at some point during the preceding day.  Did you win a prize for “Best Pansies” at your garden club?  Was a poem you wrote about your pet dachsund published in a local newspaper?  Was your outfit the subject of a favorable comment by a traveling salesman making a call on a local ladies ready-to-wear shop?  If not, you may be the reincarnation of the Indian goddess Shri, a deity whose breasts were described by the god Vishnu as “blooming lotuses.”  Send your followers out to beg each day and start your own in-home business!

Shri:  Kowa-bunga.

Dear Dream Advisor:

I am twelve years old and like to sleep with my head at the foot of my bed.  My mother says this is unhealthy, I will catch cold from the breeze coming in my window.  Every night I dream I am flying, and every morning I wake up with my head back on my pillow.  Is something supernatural going on here?

Tommy Espinosa, Racine, Wisconsin

 

Dear Tommy:

Did you tell your mother you were going to stay up late and write to an advice columnist?  I’ll bet you didn’t, and I’ll bet she’d want you to go to bed.  Flying dreams are usually inspired by someone picking you up and rearranging you for a healthy and restful night in the position adopted by 92% of American sleepers.  A disproportionate percentage of America’s criminals sleep with their heads at the foot of their beds, and I’d like to think that you’re not emulating this anti-social element of society.

Mmmmmmm–

Hey there Dream Advisor–

I have been engaged to Nae Ann Peters, who works at the Slurpee-Freez in Tipton, for a year now.  She still lives with her parents, and they won’t let her move in with me until we get married.  Every night when I say goodbye to Nae Ann I say “I dream about you all the time,” but the truth is I don’t. 

 

Mazda RX-8 GT:  One bitchin’ hunk of car.

I have dreams about stupid crap at work like I can’t find the right kind of air filter for a 2006 Mazda RX-8 GT, or weird dreams about giant carp giving me the hairy eyeball when I see them around Bagnell Dam.

Giant fish caught at Bagnell Dam, Lake of the Ozarks, MO

What do you think?  Should I get married to Nae Ann, or do my dreams mean I’m not in love with her?

Roy Carrill, Knob Noster MO

Dear Roy:

Remember, dreams are not reality, although giant carp at Bagnell Dam are.  The high ozone content of the air around the dam, a by-product of the generation of electricity, may cause the fish you see in your dreams to appear to have “hairy eyeballs”, but they are in fact just looking for bait fish that pass by.  Dreams often mix up sensations from our daily lives, however, and if Nae Ann is just a tad bit overweight from the malted milks at Slurpee-Freez, you may in fact be dreaming about her and not carp.

Copyright 2008, Con Chapman

Keep Your Man “Crazy In Love” the Redbook Way!

The people at Redbook magazine, not willing to stand idly by while American men break up with their wives and girlfriends at an alarming rate, this month published a list of thirteen tips to keep your man from dumping you like a fifty-pound bucket of do-it-yourself driveway sealer.  While I applaud their good intentions, I feel compelled to issue a dissenting opinion on several strategies they suggest to keep your man “Crazy in Love” with you.

Play Poker With Him:  On its face, not a bad idea, assuming your man plays poker.  If, on the other hand, he spends his evenings dusting his collection of My Little Pony figurines, your suggestion may be met with bemusement, which does not mean he will think you’re funny, except in a strange way. 

My Little Pony:  “Hey–who emptied out My Little Cash Register?”

If you must play poker with your man, make sure you understand the rules and strategies of the game.  Here is the value of the various poker hands in ascending order:  one pair, two pair, red pair, blue pair, three of a kind, straight, gay, flush, put the seat down after you flush, “Full House” starring Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, straight flush.

Full House

Players can win either by having the hand with the highest value, or by “bluffing” other players into thinking they do.  Here is the bidding in a husband-wife poker game aired on ESPN16’s “Family Poker Feuds”.

WIFE:  Who goes first?

HUSBAND:  You do.

WIFE:  Do the colors of my chips have to match?

HUSBAND:  No–just bet, would you?

WIFE:  Sor-ry!  Okay, I bet–all of my blue ones, all of my red ones, and all of my white ones.

HUSBAND:  Sheesh.  I’m out–too rich for my blood.  What did you have?

WIFE:  I had the King of Spades and the Queen of Hearts–I thought they made a cute couple.

“I’ll admit, it is effective as birth control.”

Give Him a Backrub:  This man-keeping strategy is doomed to fail for reasons that Redbook writers would understand if they had paid attention in biology class.  The human male does not have erogenous zones on his shoulder blades.

Wake Him Up in the Morning.  The newstand price of Redbook is $3.50 per copy.  You would think for three and a half bucks you’d get better advice than this.  There are two reasons a woman will wake a man up–he’s snoring, or he needs to get to work to make enough money so they can re-do the kitchen.  Neither is recommended if you want to start the day in a lovey-dovey mood.

“So you’re saying my husband’s incompetent?”

Have a Conversation with His Boss.  Call the Drug Enforcement Agency–somebody’s putting LSD in the water coolers at Redbook.  How exactly is this supposed to help your relationship?  The strategy as outlined by Julie Dolan, “wife of a company exec” according to Redbook, is to let the boss shine, let your husband shine, then–and only then–let yourself shine a little.  “Be ready to talk about something–perhaps a nonpolitical event in the news, maybe a book you’ve read,” she says.  Something like this:

BOSS:  We have a three billion dollar market cap!

HUSBAND:  I just won the Nobel Peace Prize!

WIFE:  Did you hear the Dark Ages ended?  I read “My Friend Flicka” once.

My Friend Flicka

Dolan goes on to say that “You need to know what’s going on” so you won’t launch into a discussion about your big shopping spree the day the bottom falls out of the company’s stock.  On the other hand, she says not to show you know too much.  There’s no pleasing that woman!  Here’s some model dialogue provided by Redbook.

BOSS:  Well, it certainly has been an interesting week.

WIFE:  I guess.  What did it mean in the paper when they said you’d been “indicted”?

Leave Him a Sexy Voice Mail at Work:  Unfortunately, due to outdated federal laws that impose “community standards” on national magazines such as Redbook, the article did not go into much detail as to what you should include in your “sexy” voice mail.  Here is a sexy voice mail approved by Redbook editors for distribution to first-time subscribers to the magazine’s adults-only on-line edition:

PHONE:  You have one new message . . .

WIFE:  Hi hon–it’s me.  Could you pick up Courtney at field hockey after work?  Also, we need cat food–the low-cal kind.  Fritzi’s gut is starting to drag on the ground.  Let’s see, what else.  There was something I wanted to tell you.  Oh, right–you are like gasoline on the fire of my desire–you send me higher and higher into paroxysms of earth-shaking erotic explosions.  Remember–the “light” catfood is the kind in the turquoise bag, not the orange bag.  Have a good day.

Copyright 2008, Con Chapman

As Lead Shrinks, Clinton Prepares 11th Hour Bombshells

WILKES-BARRE, Pa.  She’s thrown everything at him but the kitchen sink, most recently allegations that he can’t win the big states, and yet Hillary Clinton finds her lead over Barack Obama in this critical primary state dwindling to four percentage points in the most recent polls.  “It’s time to go nuclear,” said Ann Lewis, senior advisor to the former First Lady.  “Expect a bombshell.”

“I would never accuse my opponent of having big ears, but I have no evidence that he doesn’t.” 

Sources close to Clinton say she will unveil a three-pronged attack against her rival at a news conference tomorrow in a last-ditch effort to achieve the goal she’s been aiming for since she finished second in a race for Park Ridge Elementary School third-grade class president in 1955.  An internal white paper prepared by ousted campaign strategist Mark Penn outlines talking points for the stretch run to the Democratic National Convention:

Think about it–have you ever seen these three in the same room together?

1.  With those big ears, he looks like Alfred E. Neuman, or maybe Shrek.

In a general election, Senator Obama would be subject to embarassing comparisons to Shrek and Alfred E. Neuman, two fictional objects of ridicule in American popular culture.  Senator Clinton does not have green skin, and has never appeared on the cover of Mad Magazine.

“And what exactly are you going to do about it?”

2.  He can’t be trusted on the environment because he throws cigarette butts out his car window.

Senator Obama is a unreformed smoker who has been caught on videotape throwing cigarette butts out his driver-side window.  He will be attacked by Republicans accusing him of hypocrisy, littering, contributing to global warming and “smoker’s breath”.  Senator Clinton has never smoked, never inhaled, and never had any alcoholic beverage stronger than white wine, although she has had lesbian love affairs with the Radio City Music Hall Rockettes, the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders, and Princess Leia in an upcoming “Star Wars” pre-quel.

“Hey B-Bama–give up the damn ball, man!”

3.  In addition to being a lousy bowler, Senator Obama is a “shoot first” point guard in pickup basketball games, and not a team player.

Senator Obama’s turnover-to-assist ratio is the highest of any federal elected official, and he often excuses ill-advised moves to the basket as “creating opportunities”.  Contrary to his campaign biography, he is the illegitimate son of Norm Van Lier, a Chicago Bulls guard of the 1970’s, known for his slashing drives that resulted in turnovers rather than field goals or foul shots.

Norm Van Lier

“If you want a hair-trigger finger on the nuclear suitcase they bring you at 3 o’clock in the morning after they’re through watching ‘Best Damn Sports Show Period’,” Senator Clinton said to a group of Democratic superdelegates, “vote for my opponent.  But vote for me if you want a ‘pass-first’ president who will make the other players around her better.”

Copyright 2008, Con Chapman