Serious Thinks Thought Here

In this week’s episode, Dave discusses:

~ Centipedes. Household pests or cool-looking hair berets?

~ The best food selections from prison menus.

~ Why Wheel Of Fortune is actually devil worship.

PLUS an interview with Pete, the creepy old guy from down the street

Excerpt -

Dave: So, Pete. What really happened to ol’ Mrs. Messerschmidt?

Pete: I ain’t sayin’.

That one day when I became so fed up at work I quit. My wife snorted that there was no way I could just lounge around all day. No, I would have to find a way to contribute to the household once more.

But I had a very narrow skill set. What could I do if the only thing I knew how to do was put numbers into small boxes in an Excel spreadsheet, hoping the they would somehow add up to a number close to 100?

I would become a pirate.

Not a software pirate. But a Blackbeard, Johnny Depp kind of pirate. Three-cornered hat, eyepatch, parrot-on-the-shoulder pirate. I knew of very few firms that were hiring pirates at this time, so I figured I would freelance at first.

So on my first day on the job, I woke up and showered—realizing too late that cleanliness is NOT next to pirateness. But old habits die hard. My wife, who has been nothing but supportive during this formative time, made me a brown-bag lunch, including a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (the go-to meal of pirates everywhere). After adjusting my sash and peg leg, I kissed my wife and left for work.

By the time I reached the end of the block (which took a half hour—YOU try to walk on a peg leg), I realized that I didn’t know where to go. Or what to do. So I sat down on someone’s stoop and strategized. In between answering questions from gawking passerbys, of course.

My first thought that raping and pillaging, although celebrated in pirate culture, was OUT. Who needs that kind of notoriety, particularly so early in my career? No, I had to start with something less controversial.

I then thought that perhaps digging up buried treasure would be sort of safe, not to mention somewhat lucrative. But unfortunately, I did not know where any treasure was buried. So I settled on BURYING treasure instead. Not only was this a sanctioned pirate activity, but it ensured that I would have something to do the following day when I dig it up.

So, I came home looking for a suitable chest I could fill with treasure. Two problems immediately surfaced: One, I did not have a chest and Two, I did not have any treasure. So, I did what any modern pirate would have done. I improvised.

I took down a piece of Samsonite luggage I had in the closet and filled it with some unused Best Buy gift cards and some coupons from the local supermarket circular. I then wheeled the thing (far more efficient than dragging, you should know) to a local city park to bury.

The only patch of bare land in the park was in a section set aside for walking one’s dog, which made digging a little treacherous. Particularly because I forgot to bring a shovel (rookie mistake) and had to use my hands. The work was slow and a little bit tedious (not unlike putting little numbers in boxes in Excel spreadsheets) but at least I was grateful to finally be doing something meaningful.

It was then that I was paid a visit by the local authorities. I was asked several questions, to which I replied “Arrrrr!” and “Belay, mateys!” and other examples of appropriate pirate vernacular. Unfortunately, police officers do not take too kindly to appropriate pirate vernacular, particularly when they are wondering what you are up to.

So, in the end, I actually worked late on my first day on the new job. And by late I mean consulting with my attorney prior to arraignment.

Some people enjoy writing or talking about their siblings.

I prefer to wait until they become full-grown sibles.

By Dr. Seuss

Five young people were holed up in a shack,
They let out some demons they couldn’t put back.

Where to put them? Let’s lock one under the floor.
We can slice them and dice them; hand me that chainsaw.

Oops, one has an ax. Another a knife.
Oh what a night! Oh what a life!

The walls are now bloody and starting to smell gamey,
It’s Bruce Campbell’s fault, I tell you. Well, him and Sam Raimi.

So, I’m leaving this theater. Give me my hat and my scarf.
No, give me that bucket. I now have to - - - -