INDIANAPOLIS.  Indiana State Police say they have arrested two computers assigned to Bowl Championship Series details following a “sting” operation in which undercover agents offered to trade sex and additional memory for improved BCS rankings.

 

“Oh yes, that’s it, right there . . .”

“This is a direct assault on the integrity of the Bowl Championship Series and the NCAA,” said NCAA Interim President Jim Isch.  “And by the way, I do not like people who say ‘jimisch’ sounds like an adjective.”

Eat your heart out

According to investigators, BCS computers were approached by “cheerleaders” from slumping Division I schools who offered to “service their hardware” and “give them some memory”.  A transaction was arranged in which the computer’s four kilobyte random access memory would be expanded to 48 kilobytes by an ”Expansion Interface” in exchange for the creation of loopholes comparable to the “Notre Dame Exception” for big college teams on the bubble.

“This baby’s hot!”

A complicated set of rules is used to determine which teams compete in the BCS bowl games.  Certain teams are given automatic berths depending on their “bad” cholesterol, average miles per gallon (highway), and SAT Biology test scores.  After the automatic berths have been granted, the remaining “at-large” berths are filled from a pool of teams whose alumni reserve the most hotel rooms in BCS bowl cities.

“Can’t you do something about Penn State?  My mother-in-law went there.”

Computer-generated rankings are supplemented by human polls, which are viewed as immune to the sort of sexual favor-swapping that was the downfall of the BCS computers.  “If a guy’s really into college football,” said Sergeant Dan Hampe of the Indiana State Police, “he won’t be interested in sex until after the National Championship Game.”

BOSTON.  Molly Yardnal is a temporary stocking clerk at the Borders book store in downtown Boston who’s finding it hard to do her job in preparation for the crush of Christmas shoppers.  “I guess people are buying books because big-ticket items seem too extravagant this year,” she says as customers squeeze by her.  “Either that or they’re cheap.”

Today, Molly is working the humor aisle as she rips open cardboard shipping boxes filled with copies of “The Big Book of Presbyterian Humor”, the latest in a series of similar titles by Minoz Press.  “Next to the Big Book of Jewish Humor and the Big Book of Catholic Humor, it looks kind of small,” she notes.

“If I told you you had a nice body, would you hold it against–never mind.”

“It’s really intended as a stocking stuffer,” says editor Morris Korkin of his latest release, which runs to 24 pages, the last of which is blank and can be used for taking notes during sermons.  “Actually, you could fit two copies in your typical Christmas stocking.”

 

“I’ll be here all week.  Be sure and tip your elders and deacons!”

American Presbyterians have been known as a humorless bunch since colonial times, when Founding Father Thomas Jefferson first noted a dour streak in the Scottish immigrants.  “The Puritans put a man in the stocks this morning,” Jefferson notes in his diary at one point.  “The Presbyterians came by later and criticized his outfit.”

“He hath not got those breeches at Brooks Brothers!”

The book is being hailed by the denomination’s ministers as a helpful tool in defusing the tensions that naturally build during the frantic holiday season.  “Say the two daughters get in an argument over whose David Yerman bracelet was more expensive,” says Rev. Scott Lee of the First Presbyterian Church in Duxbury, Massachusetts.  “Nothing gets people in a good mood again like a joke that begins ‘A priest, a rabbi and a lady snake charmer walk up to the Gates of Hell’.”

David Yerman bracelet:  “Haven’t you got something a little more expensive?”

The age-old question–Is there such a thing as a dirty Presbyterian joke?–is answered with an emphatic “Yes” by the collection, with a knee-slapper involving a first-class airline passenger who “poops his pants” after a particularly bumpy flight, notes Korkin. 

“But seriously, folks.  Our annual Osgood-Schlatter telethon raises hundreds of dollars to fight this dreaded knee ailment.”

“That’s the only one we found,” he says.  “For years we’ve heard rumors there’s another, about a grandmother who farts when her family visits her at a nursing home, but like Bigfoot it may turn out to be a hoax.”

LAS VEGAS.  As the World Series of Poker has grown from a small-scale event to a nationwide phenomenon with a top prize of $12 million, it has attracted critics in the non-profit sector who say it does much less than other major sports to assist their work.

“Where is the WSOP at Christmas or Thanksgiving?” asked Ted Synnar of the Dream Come True Foundation.  “In the past, we never saw them.”

But tournament organizers say they’re determined to change that, and are encouraging the big players in the no-limit Texas Hold ‘Em tournament to give back to those who are less fortunate through a program called “WSOP Kinda Kares for Kids”.

  

Raymer:  “Beat it kid.”

Greg “Fossilman” Raymer, the 2004 champ, appears to have taken the WSOP’s mandate to heart as he sits down for some high-stakes poker with five terminally-ill children referred to him by the Dream Come True Foundation.

“Lot of these kids, they can barely pull the arm on a slot macine,” says Raymer.  “Poker’s a job for me, but for them, it’s all they think about once they get bored with Old Maid.”

Across the room Cyndy Violette, who busted out of this year’s tournament early, is playing a hand of Texas Hold ’Em with a group of testicular cancer survivors.  “Guys,” she says as she deals two cards face down to each of them from the “button” chair, “I’m living proof that you don’t need balls to be good at poker.”

Meanwhile, Johnny Chan allows little Tiffany Germond, who is confined to a wheelchair, to try on one of his ten diamond-encrusted WSOP championship bracelets.  “Mommy, look what the nice man gave me!” she squeals as she wheels off towards the blackjack tables.  “Hey–come back here!” Chan yells as Tiffany finds a hole and breaks through the crowd of fans that surrounds a table of nine top-notch players.  “Aw, let her go,” says Phil Hellmuth, Jr., but Chan calls for security and Tiffany is escorted off the premises.  She will be banned from Harrah’s Casinos world-wide for her impulsive act.

Back at Raymer’s table, the Fossilman is trying to steal a hand by brow-beating his younger opponents.  He is sitting on an ace and a jack, and the flop produces two jacks and a five.  Raymer raises.  “Daddy, that man’s glasses are scaring me,” says Billy Nobles, Jr., and the boy’s father asks Raymer to drop his trademark protection.  “No way,” says Raymer, “the eyes are the number one poker ‘tell’,” or physical sign that reveals the strength or weakness of a player’s hand.

“Please, Mr. Raymer–he just wants to win one hand,” Nobles Sr. pleads.

“No can do,” Raymer replies.  “I’ve got an endorsement deal with David Steele Sunglasses, Newport Beach, CA 10937 to wear the Greg Raymer Cat Eye Sunglasses throughout the tournament.”  Billy Jr. folds, and Raymer rakes in a pot of 3,500 chips.

As the charity event breaks up, a little boy on a respirator approaches Johnny Chan with a special request.  “Mr. Chan,” he begins weakly.

“Yes?”

“Could you–could you hit a home run for me.”

Chan considers the request for a moment.  “You mean go all in before the flop holding a pair of aces?”

“Y-yes,” the little boy says with difficulty.

“And have somebody beat me with a 7-9 off suit when they hit their straight on the river?” Chan asks incredulously.  “I don’t think so kid.”

DULUTH, Minnesota, AP.  Walter “Bug” Bujkowski, a football innovator credited with the invention of the shovel pass and the tackle-eligible play, died in his sleep last night of congestive heart failure. He was 97.

Proper shovel pass technique

One of the game’s early visionaries, Bujkowski developed the shovel pass in a 1927 game against the Pottsville Maroons. 

“Bug was at tailback for the Duluth Eskimoes,” recalled Jim “Popcorn” Brandt, a Maroons’ lineman, “and he took a direct snap.  Bug sorta flipped the ball to the wingback, Johnny ‘Horse’ Hampton, and hit him right in his nickname.  I pounced on it but Bug started yelling ’shovel pass, shovel pass’ and convinced the referee it wasn’t a lateral.”

Pottsville Maroons

Bujkowski’s quick thinking saved the day as Duluth went on to beat Pottsville, 12-3, the only bright spot in a 1-8-0 season for the Eskimoes.  He had developed his shoveling skills as a youth working in the hard-scrabble, rough-and-tumble Owl Creek Mountains of Wyoming, where life-threatening avalanches of hyphens are an unfortunate fact of life.

Earl “Milk Train” Poindexter

Bujkowski would later improvise another pigskin innovation, the tackle eligible play, when he coached the Providence Steam Rollers.  “We had an end that year who was real lazy,” recalled Earl “Milk Train” Poindexter, the Steam Rollers’ wing back.  “He’d lean on the defensive lineman and grunt–just go through the motions.”

Bukj–I mean Bujkowski, with Duluth Eskimos

“Bug finally had enough one day and pulled the guy out of the game.  One of the assistants asked who they should send in to replace him.  Bug said, ‘We’re better off with nobody at that position than somebody who’s going to dog it.’” 

Mike Varbel, I mean Vrabel

Two plays later Bujkowski forgot that he had removed the end and called for a pass play.  Providence quarterback Ed “Thunderbolt” Thompson threw it to the tackle at the end of the offensive line, paving the way for modern-day uses of the formation such as Mike Vrabel’s touchdown for the New England Patriots in the 2005 Super Bowl against the Eagles.

Bujkowski was a self-effacing man who wanted no credit for his pioneering inventions.  When asked by a reporter at his 1993 Pro Football Hall of Fame induction how history would view his contributions to the game, Bujkowksi replied “Who gives a rat’s ass–where’s the buffet?”

Tige

His eyesight failing, Bujkowski lived out his declining years in a double-wide trailer with his chihuahua “Tige”.  When interviewed by this reporter shortly before his death, Bujkowski said “I have no regrets.  I’ve lived a full life, and I–JESUS, GET THIS DAMN SQUIRREL OFF MY–oh wait.  That’s Tige.”

In lieu of flowers, the family asked that contributions be made to the Bemidji Institute for the Study of Sports Head Trauma.

KNOB NOSTER, Missouri.  Pro basketball scouts and agents have been flocking to this small town in central Missouri for months now, making for crowded conditions at the Motel 6 on State Highway 50.  “I’ve had to put two guys into the same room with a rollaway bed,” says owner Gene Ray Hampton.  “They complain they don’t have any privacy.”

Clell “World” Furnell

What the scouts come to see is the man who is expected to make donkey basketball, a variation of the American indoor game played on the backs of Equus asinus, the domestic ass , as popular as the NCAA’s Final Four tournament.

Driving to the hoop.

“Donkey basketball is the next major sport, and Clell ‘World’ Furnell is going to be its George Mikan and Michael Jordan rolled into one,” says David Nurvine, a one-man promotional whirlwind.  Nurvine has bankrolled the Missouri Mules, who will begin play in January of next year as part of the National Donkey Basketball League.

 

Mikan:  He changed the way the game is played, without using a donkey.

For smaller cities across America who clamor for the glamour and excitement of major league sports but don’t have a local billionaire who can front the money for a baseball, football or NBA franchise, donkey basketball is seen as the next best thing.

Twenty-second manure time-out.

“We’ll have eight teams to start,” says NDBA President Horace Schuster, ”Chicopee, Mass., Troy, New York, Birmingham, Alabama, Paducah, Kentucky, Hot Springs, Arkansas, Scranton, Pennsylvania, Cairo, Illinois” and the Missouri entry.  “We hope to go global by 2012,” he adds.  “There’s a lot of donkeys in Mexico.”

Kevin McHale

What has the scouts salivating is Furnell, who has a low center of gravity combined with an extraordinary reach that is drawing comparisons to Kevin McHale, the Celtics forward of the ’80’s who could tie his shoes without bending at the waist.  “Clell has the perfect body for donkey basketball, and he’s going to revolutionize the game,” says Schuster.

“The Mules are on the clock with the sixth pick.”

With the league’s first draft approaching fast, there are rumors of teams trading a bundle of picks to get at Furnell, who says he is looking to buy his mother her first double-wide house trailer with a signing bonus that is expected to be in the high four figures.

Home Sweet Home–at last.

“We been livin’ in rented trailers as long as I can remember,” says Furnell.  “If I have anything left over, I’m goin’ out to the QuikPik and get a Big Gulp Slurpee.”

TERRE HAUTE, Indiana.  In this most typical of Midwestern cities, Bob Elmore faces a dilemma as November 30th approaches every year.  “It’s time to renew my insurance,” he says, “and believe me it’s never easy.”

Ernie . . .

Bob plays golf with Ernie Thompson, who brokers his current coverage, but he’s getting pressure from Sue Ellen Spinorkle, a 43-year-old mother of two who took over her husband’s agency when he was killed in a hunting accident last year.

 . . . or Sue Ellen?

“The rates are pretty much the same,” says Elmore, “and the promotional gifts”–a coffee mug from Thompson Insurance and a mouse pad with the slogan “Don’t be a dorkle–insure with Spinorkle!”–”sorta cancel each other out.”  When the time comes to put pen to the premium check, however, one factor stands out.  “Sue Ellen was willing to come over here personally wearing a low-cut blouse and a push-up bra and lean over seductively while she explained the advantage of higher deductibles,” Elmore says.  “That attention to service is something that’s very important to a small business owner.”

Price insensitivity plotted against cup size

That small victory is part of a growing trend referred to by business school professors as the “Hooters Effect”, so-named after “Hooters”, the “delightfully tacky yet unrefined” restaurant chain that features scantily-clad women serving mediocre food at premium prices. 

The wings are lousy–try the breasts.

“Generally speaking, you will find that a male purchaser’s price sensitivity is inversely related to the cup size of the female goods and service vendor,” notes Anthony Pavlick of Purdue University’s Lipshutz School of Business.  “For reasons that we don’t fully understand, in both wholesale and retail sectors a man will focus on non-price related variables when he is faced with a ginormous set of bozangas.”

“You are not allowed to handle product samples freely . . . that comes extra.”

In small to medium-density markets where personal relations are key to sales, business owners say it’s worth the expense to scrap existing marketing campaigns to focus on mammary glands in tough economic times.  “We were really struggling,” says Mary Kate McKelvey, owner of McKelvey’s Funeral Home in Newburgh, Indiana.  “We turned to exploitive use of female morticians’ bodies on the recommendation of the fellow from SCORE,” the Service Corps of Retired Executives, a federal agency that puts former business owners to work helping small companies.

Drop-dead cute!

The outcome of a “business makeover” was total re-branding of the business that had been in the family for four generations.  “‘Funeral’ has a very stuffy connotation,” notes Bob Dorthcutt, a former tool-and-die manufacturer.  “We re-branded the company as ‘Mary Kate’s Death-Mates!’”

NEW YORK. Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade will for the first time feature living personalities this year as Rush Limbaugh and Al Franken were added to list of colorful ballons that bring joy to children as they float through the streets of Manhattan in the traditional start to the holiday season.

“I love you, you love me.  Right or left we’re family!”

“Interest in politics is at an all-time high,” said Amy Kuehn, Macy’s Vice President of Marketing. “We thought it was time to harness the excitement of partisan bickering in support of the Macy’s brand.”

Franken:  Over-inflated?

Franken and Limbaugh will join favorites such as Garfield, Barney and Snoopy as they make their way from Central Park West to Broadway. The two have sparred over the years with Franken penning a best-selling book titled “Rush Limbaugh is a Big, Fat Slob” and Limbaugh responding with “So What? You’re an Undersized Twit!”, a twenty-page monograph that he wrote as his thesis for a master’s degree in culinary arts.

Limbaugh:  “I could squash that little twit like a bug!”

The two are the leading overweight figureheads of their respective political persuasions, with Limbaugh tipping the scales at approximately 300 pounds and Franken “not missing any meals,” according to FBI agent Floyd McDaniel, who has been “tailing” Franken since his first appearance on Saturday Night Live in the early 1970’s. “Someday he’s gonna slip up, and I’m gonna get him,” McDaniel said. “Not that I’m obsessed or anything.”

Leaner times

Balloons that are used in the 80-year-old parade are filled with gas and guided by volunteers who hold wires attached to the gigantic figures. Wind-whipped balloons have injured pedestrians in recent years, and company officials said they would take appropriate precautions to ensure that parade spectators are not injured in a political melee.

Pikachu:  A “swing” voter.

“Filling these two with gas won’t be hard,” Kuehn said. “It’s the noise they make when it escapes that’s the problem.”

News item: A Boston-area radio station began playing Christmas music on Veteran’s Day this year, the earliest date ever. 

Holiday people, being too cheerful.
I’d like to give one or two a good earful.
Jolly like Santa, talking too loud-
I can’t avoid them, I’m stuck in the crowd.

 

 

It’s Christmas time-
Bah, humbug to you.
No man is an island, but I’m going to try, man.
At least for this Christhmus I’ll stay on my isthmus.
Or better, if we get shut in by the snow
I’ll be on my own archipelago.

 

It’s Christmas time-
Bah, humbug to you.

 

We’re gathered round the Christmas tree-
Enflaming my misanthropy
Call it Chanukkah, call it Kwanzaa
Whatever the name, I just don’t wanzaa!

 

 

 

Holiday sentiments flow much too cheaply
For me to feel mine very deeply.
So just in case you think I’m a snot–
I hope you’re happy this Christmas, even if–I’m not.

As a condition to an appearance at a London shopping mall, Mariah Carey’s list of required items included 20 white kittens, 100 white doves, pink butterfly confetti and a wand to wave.  Wonderwall, msn.com

“I am so-o-o precious!”

Dear Diary:

Just got back from my knuckle-hair waxing session, so can’t bear down too hard on this pen!  People think it’s easy selling more records than any female singer in the history of the world–but it’s not!  I have to look like totally glam all the time–it’s exhausting!

I could use some white kittens right about now to snuggle up to, but those mean mall people say if they give me one they have to give everybody one.  Hel-lo . . . I didn’t ask for one–I asked for twenty! 

“You go with Mimi–I’ll stay here.”

People say I have a diva-tude, but I like totally disagree!  I just want my mall appearances to be the most fabulous in history!  Somebody told me this singer named Billie Holiday was supposed to be great, but I looked her up on Wikipedia–and she never did a mall appearance in her life!

 

Billie Holiday

G2Go–my limo is here, and it better be a white Rolls-Royce with a pink interior, like I asked for–nicely.

Mimi (my “altar ego”)

Lucky dog!

Dear Diary–

What is daylight savings time?  Somebody told me I was supposed to turn my clock back a few weeks ago, but I said no way!  I’m on MST–Mimi Standard Time, all the time!  I find it’s more convenient, but some people just want to argue!  Like Phillip Schofield, host of ITV’s “This Morning”.

Schofield:  “Mimi, or Mariah, or whoever you are–you’re late.”

He said I was like an hour late for his show, but he was wrong!  I checked my watch and by Mimi Standard Time, I was like four hours early–so there.

Have to put my pen down now–I need to text the mall to make sure the carpet is pink, not red.  Red’s for everybody but Mimi!

Smooches.

“Ooo–you startled me posing seductively!”

Diary dearest–

Well, I’m here at the mall and I do not like what I see.  The confetti is supposed to be butterfly shaped, but it looks like a bunch of stupid turkeys or something!  I know it’s Thanksgiving and the Pilgrims didn’t eat butterflies because the Indians hadn’t invented them yet, but I’m the best-selling female singer of all time–I can handle butterflies in my stomach!

Somebody told me they like me ok but they like Ella Fitzgerald better–that hurt Mimi’s feelings.  I Googled her–Ella, not Mimi–and boy is she fugly–made me feel better.

XOXOXO

 

Chick Webb and Ella Fitzgerald

Diary–

I am so mad my nipples are bursting with anger!  They don’t have any white doves to release in my honor!  Mimi can’t just walk into a shopping mall without 100 white doves–it’s unheard of!

And I am not being a diva, dammit!  I’ve seen real extreme divas before and I am so not like that.  I try not to be a jerk, I really do.  It’s just that Mimi has needs, and she is the most popular female vocalist of all time.  Somebody mentioned a singer named Alberta Hunter and–well I’m trying to be nice.  I went on iTunes and not only does she hardly have any CDs out, she looks like somebody’s grandmother!  Somebody other than Mimi, that is.  Mimi’s much too good looking to be her granddaughter!

Alberta Hunter

I borrowed a big book called the Encyclopedia of Jazz, just to make sure I had my facts straight–which I did.  Alberta Hunter, Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald–none of them ever had a magic wand–but Mimi does!

The holidays are a stressful time of the year, straining both long-term relationships and brief flings that begin as drunken come-ons at office parties.  How does one cope with competing and often conflicting demands of “significant others” that clash with family obligations, year-end business demands and last-minute shopping?  Ask your Holiday Relationship Advisor, that’s how!

“Mmmfffttthngg!”

Dear Holiday Relationship Advisor:

For eight years I have been living with a man named Darren Fletcher, who I will refer to as “Bud” to preserve his anonymity.  Bud is a homebody and does not like to travel since he is on the road so much for his job as a saleman for Arch Pneumatic Fasteners.  This year Bud surprised me at Halloween by announcing that he wanted to go see the Grand Canyon for Thanksgiving.  I was overjoyed and I told him so, but he said “Uh, Earleen, I want to go by myself.”  I was hurt, but I realized if I am ever going to talk Bud into marrying me I have to be tolerant of his “quirks”.

“You’re right–there is some kind of beetle in your ear!”

Anyway, the night before Bud was going to fly out of KC International a woman shows up at our door and asks is this where Darren lives and I said yes, who are you?  She says she is Judith Marie Oehrke and is going to the Grand Canyon with Darren–I mean Bud.

Well, I was polite and told the woman to have a seat and I went in and gave Bud “what for”.  He says calm down, it’s a charter flight and Judith Marie has driven up from Camdenton, we’re going to ride to the airport together to save gas.  Okay, I says, I understand, although I was a little bit “put out”.

After dinner, which was Pork Chops Hawaiian Luau-Style with Kraft Miniature Marshmallows on top, Bud says he’s tired and is going to get a good night’s sleep, and Judith Marie says me too, so I says “You two go pack your bags I’ll clean up,” which I did.  When I was finished I went into the bedroom to get some sheets for the pull-out couch and what do I see but Bud and Judith Marie under the covers together big as life, she’s reading a Southern Home magazine from my nightstand!

“We’ll buy you a souvenir at the Grand Canyon gift shop, okay?”

Well, there was probably smoke coming out of my ears by then, but Bud just looks up at me and says “What?”, as if he can’t understand why I’m mad.  I nodded my head at the “interloper”, and he says “There’s plenty of room and you wouldn’t want Judith Marie to sleep on the couch–she’s gonna be stuck on a plane all day tomorrow.”

 

Take care of your spit curls, and they’ll take care of you.

I didn’t want to make a scene, so I brushed my teeth and put on my nightgown and Scotch-taped my spit-curls to the sides of my head and climbed over Bud and got in the middle.  I was not going to let my two “vacationers” turn my bedroom into a “bridal suite”, if you know what I mean.

Next morning I get up and fix them breakfast and say goodbye in the driveway, but now I am haunted by the fear that I may be losing Darren.  Am I wrong to be suspicious?

Earleen Walters, Knob Noster MO
Dear Earleen:

I’m afraid I’m going to have side with Darren and Judith Marie on this one, Earleen.  If we as a nation are ever going to end our dependency on foreign oil, car-pooling is a must.  Don’t let your feelings for Darren get in the way of energy conservation–or we’ll all be the losers, not just you!

Dear Holiday Relationship Advisor Lady:

A few months ago a new fellow started working in our mail room, his name is Keith.  I will be right up-front about this–I have a gigantic crush on him, and I think the feeling is mutual.

Keith delivers our mail every morning around 11:30, although he is actually supposed to get it done by eleven under his job satisfaction goals.  He is very “social” and likes to talk to people as he makes his rounds, this slows him up–or down.

Yesterday Keith came by my cubicle and handed me an inter-office memo, the goldenrod-colored kind with the holes in it.  He was giggling when he gave it to me, and said “Here’s something for you from the guys in the supply room.”  I squished it in a couple places to see if I could figure out what was inside, but I gave up after a while and unwound the string.

Office supply room:  Men go mad from the tedium, if not the pressure.

Holiday relationship lady, I nearly fainted when I unwrapped the white tissue paper inside and a white mouse with a red ribbon around its neck jumped out at me!  I squealed but by then “Keith” was gone and Jim Ray Houchens and Ernie Bott from the supply room came out from around the corner and started laughing at me.

Needless to say, I filed a grievance with Human Resources and now Jim Ray and Ernie have named Keith as a witness.  Do you know any way I can avoid dragging Keith into this mess?  I don’t want to spoil my best chance at romance since that stupid fishstick Ray West dropped me for the hostess at the Round-Up Steakhouse.

Maureen Eberly, Paducah, Kentucky

Dear Maureen:

Jim Ray and Ernie have a constitutional right to a fair trial, and they did use an envelope with holes in it so the little animal could breathe.  I see no way out for the “object of your affection”–perhaps you and Keith can set up a “deposition date” where you prepare for your testimony while you share a late-night dinner of take-out Chinese!

Living the dream.

Hello Holiday Relationship Person:

I have a question for you.  Last month you told “Confused in Chillicothe” that he should not give a Best Buy gift card to a woman on their first Christmas together because it was “impersonal”.  I beg to differ–giving a woman a gift card lets her know exactly where she stands with you, she can see it right on the card.  She gets to pick out whatever she wants and doesn’t have to waste time returning something she doesn’t like.  She also doesn’t have to lie to you when you go over to her apartment and say “Hey, where’d you put that print of the tiger and the reflecting ball I gave you for Christmas?”

I don’t know where you get off trying to run people’s lives.  Maybe that’s good advice in the “ivory tower” where you live, but not for regular folks down here on the ground.

Clint Weller, Jr., Stillwater OK

Dear Clint:

I certainly didn’t mean to offend you or “Confused in Chillicothe”.  All I meant to convey is that women appreciate it when a man puts a little thought into a gift, instead of just plunking down his credit card at the check-out counter of a soulless, big-box retailer.  If you have had success with pre-paid gift cards by all means continue to give them to your girlfriends.  Or you might just use cash, and get yourself a real hooker.