Holy cow! I just went to pour myself a bowl of delicious Rice Crispies and guess what? A friggin Nobel Peace Price came plopping out of the box! Ca CHUNCK! What do you know…I guess they’re just giving these things away like candy nowadays.

The crazy thing is the back of the box said if I save up three nobelies that I can send away for a free replica model of Guantanamo! I could have a small scale version of one of the most controversial prisons of my very own! What a great day for me. What a great day for America.

LAME

So, a strange man came to the door yesterday.He was tall and lean and reminded me somewhat of a broom with eyes.  With him he had a small box with a red button in it. I was curious so I let him in.

He told me that his red button was a magic button. If I pushed it, a million dollars would be instantly transferred into my bank account. Hmmm…sounded like a good deal. I reached quickly for the button, already planning what I’d do with my new fortune.

He pushed my hand back. There was a catch. You see, by pushing this button, I would in fact be granted an instant million. But somewhere in the world, somewhere unknown to me, someone would be forced to listen to one full hour of the latest Nickleback CD.

I shuddered and pulled away. There was no way I could do this. It was unthinkable. Ethically, morally, no way. Regardless of the….

Well…a million dollars was a lot of money. And with a baby on the way, and the state of the economy, maybe I could handle the guilt of knowing I caused the suffering of another human being for the gain of my own welfare.

After all, at any given time there were people all over the globe being forced to listen to Nickleback arbitrarily. On buses, in carpools, waiting in line at the grocery store. I’d never have to know the person my push of the button affected.

So I did it. I pushed the red button. I am now a millionaire. And I will never look back….never.

Wow. Am I still pregnant? Really nature? This was your plan all along? Screw you.

I’ve decided being pregnant is like waiting inline  at Disneyland to ride Splash Mountain. You’re pretty nervous about the end result, and the wait is long and strewn with animatronic rabbits. Well, maybe not that last part, but you get the idea.

With all our technological advances, you’d think we could have come up with a way to safely speed up the baby process. I mean, we can now eat yogurt that comes in a tube for Pete’s Sake! Why on earth can’t we make the whole pregnancy dealy last like…say….ten minutes…with a hint of strawberries at the end?

I like my origional proposal. Grow the baby in a fish aquarium until he is fully ready to join us non-aqatic life forms. You could feel him, watch him grow-it’d be like having a sea monkey, but one that will eventually grow to resent you and wreck your car.

Out Baby! I say. But when you do come out, could you please do it quietly and with as little pain to your host as possible? I didn’t sign up for hours of pain and swearing. If I’d wanted that, I’d have just gone to a Micheal More movie. BLAM.

There’s a lot in the news these days about health care and who has the best plan. Some go for a public option, some want to keep things private. For me, I’ve finally found a health care model that I believe would work for everyone. After months of careful observation and research, I can safely say the best option for health care is to do it doggy style. Allow me to explain.

As many of you know, we own a dog. A crazy, zippy, wonderfully obnoxious border collie named Indi. This dog has the best health care in the U.S. Here’s why. When she gets sick she is immediately transported to the doctor by an in-house care giver. She gets, almost always, same day care and always receives a treat at the end. Her preventative care, like grooming and dental care, are done at her house on site.

Here’s the best part: Indi pays ZERO for this level of care. She pays no co-pay, no deductable, no fees or charges. Her health care is private and free.  I see no downside to doggy care. I’m going to draft up a proposal now and send it on over to the President.

Second to my dog health care proposal would be my model based on bunny health care. Drawing from my rabbit experience, I’d propose that if a patient were terminally ill, his or her care giver would have the authority to take him or her into the shed and shoot him/her in the head. A death panel? You might say. No sir. No panel here. Just a quick and painless way to solve a major health care problem; things that won’t die on their own.

So there you have it. I’m a genius. Now I’ve got to run dislodge the foxtail from Indi’s paw and give her her daily dose of heart worm medicine. That smug bitch has it all.

The other night I was making jam in the kitchen. Dan came in to keep me company and set up his computer. He commenced in playing a video game called “Call of Duty 5″ where deranged mutant Nazi zombies came at him with numerical force, each meeting his or her demise with a blood curdling scream and a splash of red pixels.

As I sat, stirring my jam, I reflected on what the world would be like if video games were real-that is, if society mirrored blow for blow what we saw behind the screen. Here’s what I came up with.

Walking down the street would prove problematic for the following reason; a regular game character seems to me to have an un-ending arsenal of weaponry. I’m not talking hip shivs either. I mean grenade launchers, gatling guns, AKs, flame-throwers, and like and such as. I have a hard time managing my purse and the dog on most days when I walk around. I have no clue where I’d stash, say, a full-auto nail gun with added scope and night vision.

Health care would be an easy fix in the vid-game real world. Instead of complicated HMOs and nasty government debates, we’d all just have a health bar that followed us around above our heads. When our health got low, we’d walk over a pile of boxes with red crosses on them. If video games have taught me nothing else, it’s that a few red crosses can solve pretty much anything that ails me. A few gun shots to the head? No problem-find your box pile and away you shall go-up at least %20 health.

I do see a great problem that would have to be remedied before the world could go “live” as they say. To reload a weapon in a video game, you just shoot off screen. Well, most of the time, in our world, there are people standing somewhere in range at all times. Shooting up in the air, especially while duel-wielding, might end up in a small massacre. This might be your goal if your bystanders look zombie-like. But if your wife, or your mom, or your dog happen to be just “off screen”…you might have a bit of a mess on your hands. We’d have to retrain ourselves to actually load a gun properly and not shoot into the air at inappropriate times.

Lastly-in a video game reality we’d all have to prepare ourselves for the continuous onslaught of bad guys popping up at any given time. Trying to eat dinner with the fam? Hold on, here come some undead Russians. Looking for a quiet evening out with the spouse? Have to kill at least ten Nazis before making it to the movie theater. This could get a little tiring.

But man, think of what your score would be by the time you made it to heaven? God would have to let you in based on your perfect kill record and most-zombies slaughtered in a single shot title. I can see an upside to all this. Judgement Day would just be a matter of checking your game stats and rankings. So make sure you enter your full name next time you play. This could be bigger than you think.

So…I woke up this morning to find I’d written a new blog post sometime during the night. I have no recollection of writing this post…nor so I remember even turning on my computer.

I think we need to enable a type of software for computers like they’ve designed for drunk drivers to use before getting in a car. You’d have to pass a series of coherency tests before the machine would boot up. Many of my life’s woes would be fixed if I wasn’t allowed near anything that plugged in after, say, 11:oopm.

I remember once in high school I was at a sleep over with a bunch of friends. I found out the next morning that around midnight I had stumbled upstairs from the basement where I was sleeping, grabbed my car keys off the counter and mumbled something like “you guys are all bastards. I’m going home”. Apparently they all followed me outside, where I stumbled around in circles for a few minutes crying, and then fell down on the grass and went to sleep.

So, as you can see, if I can’t even remember where I parked my car after midnight, I should not be allowed near a computer with the capacity to reach hundreds (alright, on my blog I’ll be honest and say 3) readers. Someone want to design my anti-Roby-crazy-post eleven-software? I’ll give you a dollar.

Hookers and Ernie from Sesame Street are really quite similar. One sells sex for money and the other sails ducks for funny. Zing.

So. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. And if you’re in congress right now, you do things you’re proud of that most people think you should be arrested for. But I digress.

I recently had a great idea for a website where I would publish one startling personal confession a day for public pondering. Being lazy, I thought I’d just turn it into a blog post here and save us all the trouble of having to register a URL, design it, and promote it. And by “us all”, I mean Dan.

So here are a few things I’ve done in my life I think the public should know about.

Being cool nowadays is hard. It used to be, in my youth, all I needed to keep up with my peers was a new unicorn pencil from the vending machine and some pogs. Now, with all the internets and whatnot, cool changes every day. I can’t hardly keep up. As soon as I think I’ve mastered a new catch phrase or idiom, another one is born from the depths of YouTube or College Humor. So, here’s a primer for any of my less “in-the-know” friends, gathering from what I know about ‘Internet speak’.

Pwnd. verb. po>ned. This means you’ve won. If you’ve “pwned” your opponent, you’re the new Commander in Briefs and you should be proud. Word origin? I think it came from that 80s movie about the alien. You know “E.T. pwn hme”? Other uses: pwnage, pwneriffic, pwner, etc.

LOL. verb. lu>hl. To find something funny or otherwise diverting. You might say “I lol’d when the cat got hit by that bucket”, or “I totally lol’d myself after watching last night’s Colbert”. Be careful, however, not to lol at something unfunny. You can be mocked and shunned by your cooler, more lol-sensitive friends. Other uses: lul, lulz, lollercopter (very popular with the kids these days), and lolleriffic.

H4wt. adjective. h>aht. Well…this is where coolness transfers in to the realm of the completely bazaar. If you look at the word I have typed above, you will notice the “a” has been changed into a “4″. You might say to yourself “but 4 is a number! Not a letter!” I know. I know. I don’t get it either. I think it was born sometime during the last decade when Steven Hawking was giving a discourse and saw an attractive lady in the audience. He must have made a typo on his screen when coming on to her i.e. “Hi there…you are so h4wt. Crap.”

Now that you know a few key Internet vocabulary words, be careful that you use them correctly. I don’t want to hear any “that was so pwnercopter” or “I l4l’d my head off”. These terms are non-transferable. Now go-be cool. I know I am. And that’s fantasmigorical.