Hey there, ya filthy varmint! How the hell are you doing? Oops, I get ahead of myself.
Welcome to Tom’s Stakes. The world’s greatest stakes! The stakes have never been higher. That’s why I’m raising the stakes!
That don’t even make sense, ya idiot!
Tom’s Stakes are truly a rare find.
I used to live in a small rural conservative town. Against impossible odds a few dozen acres of prime real estate were somehow exempted from feverish development for a “sports park.” The community took understandable pride in what they had built: a crowning jewel featuring baseball diamonds, fishing ponds, soccer fields, tennis courts, volleyball and more.
Finally the local amateur sport leagues had a place where they could shine and participate in the time-honored activity of athletic competition. The facility was promptly used as a means of gender-based oppression by giving all the best time slots to the boy leagues. Girl leagues were relegated to sloppy seconds.
Thanks for playing.
I don’t have a family tree. The family systematically broke it down into small pieces. And smoked it. Now it’s all gone. So much for my roots.
Rich, smooth flavor. A tad barky and leafy, perhaps. But lungs has gots to be choked to the max. Our family motto is apparently “smoke whatever you can improvise.”
My entire family smokes its guts out and yet, perversely, I’m the black sheep. Oh, the irony. That’s rich. I’m also pretty much the only non-smoker around.
Continue reading →
I am proud to be an American.
Whoa! What the fuck was that? And, more importantly, who’s going to help me change my diaper?
So let me get this straight. You love America, too. And to prove it you’re going to make something go boom boom. Do you mind if I get some background information? Are you the same guy from elementary school who got paper towels wet and threw them into ceiling lights until they blew up? Are you the one who was so fascinated with fire that he set his junior high school locker ablaze? Do you think shooting a gun up in the air is good clean fun? No, no, don’t tell me. Let me guess. All the same guy, right?
Just in case you doubt my cred to discuss this topic, please know that one time I visited the game store where
my son the gerbil liked to hang out. Staff regaled with me with stories of my son’s exploits in the back parking lot shooting bottle rockets using his ass as the launch platform. So I think I’m qualified!
In 2012, 60-percent of the year’s fireworks injuries occurred between June 22nd and July 22nd, sending an average of 200 people per day to the hospital. … All six fireworks-related deaths that happened last year involved illegal or homemade fireworks.
–Source: All the Amazing Facts About Your Fireworks Injury (Gizmodo)
Fireworks are a product. I know for a fact that those who make them have a profit motive. What I secretly suspect, however, is that they also hate America and are out to conquer us one body part at a time. Yes, it’s a theory, but it fits the available facts, dammit!
There’s no such thing as a zero error rate in the manufacture of products. Stay with me here. I’m building a logical proof piece by piece (if you’ll pardon the expression). That means some percentage of fireworks legally sold in this country are inherently flawed. Use of those products is, therefore, a calculated risk. Fuck that. I’ll stick with the craps table. I deem that to be an acceptable level of risk, but hey, that’s how I roll. Your mileage may vary.
Some, like me, might argue further that just the existence of the product is an intentional design flaw, but I won’t go there.
I’ll just say, like I am often wont to do, “What could possibly go wrong?” Life is dangerous enough. Why do we deliberately go out of our way to do nonsensical things that have no logical purpose that increase the odds against us? That makes absolutely no sense to me.
At ease, people. Blow ’em up if you got ’em.
BTW, the fireworks we give to youngsters make a lot more sense. Sparklers. So pretty. And what are they? Pieces of metal burning at temperatures up to 2,000 degrees or about as hot as a blow torch.
What could possibly go wrong? (Oops. There I go again.) I can’t understand how sparklers are responsible for 12 percent of reported fireworks-related injuries.
As a man of science, you think I’d be comfortable with a microwave, a device handy for exciting my molecules.
I placed my mug of cold coffee in the microwave and closed the door. Using my trusty slide rule I calculated the optimum time. As the seconds ticked down I watched through the meshy window just in case things came to a boil.
Thankfully they did not.
The microwave chirped a friendly beep beep beep so I opened the door and took out the mug. I examined the dark fluid closely.
All seemed well. I stroked my chin thoughtfully. “Hmm,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a flat calm.”
I put the mug on the counter, ensconced the sugar bowl in my loving arms and cued up a teaspoon of sweet heavenly goodness.
As the sugar cascaded into the mug it exploded I was knocked on my ass by a shock wave of exactly 1.21 gigawatts. Covered in burning liquid, I staggered to my feet. Only a crater remained where my mug had been moments before.
I realized I was crying. “Hot water burn baby!!!” I yelled.
Experts later determined the blast was equivalent t .42% of the nuclear device set off my North Korea just last week. So I’m in good company.
I can admire the “can do” spirit. I usually do it from afar. I, of course, am a master practitioner of the “no can do” spirit. You may have seen the fictionalized version of me in the movie Aliens. I’m talking about Pvt. Hudson of the Space Marines portrayed spot on by Bill Paxton.
I’ve long extolled the virtues of negativity. So much so that I’ve achieved guru status.
Today I wish to bring you news of a story you may have missed. It wasn’t exactly the top story of the latest news cycles. But it does offer a rare glimpse into the murky and mysterious world of positive thinking.
Continue reading →