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Happy Halloween!

It’s amazing how quickly the time flies by.  It seems like only a year has passed since the last time I saw this many jack-o-lanterns on display.

The weak are meat and the strong do eat.

Halloween is my least favorite Holiday.

It is only rivaled by “Imperialism by White Europeans is Awesome!” Day. Also, Christopher Columbus knew from hats.

So I will be celebrating by anxiously awaiting November 1st, which is another significant day on a much smaller scale.

A small scale. What? Too literal?

No, I’m not talking about All Saints Day…

Sorry, Drew Brees.

But rather the two year anniversary of this blog.

Embrace the excitement. This guy sure is.

It’s been a good run.  There have been some laughter.  Some tears.

Some robo-urinal jokes.

And now, two years, nearly 150 posts and 13,000 page views later, I think it is time to bid this blog adieu and start off fresh on Blogger.  Thanks to all of you who have liked, followed, commented and silently chuckled over the past two years.  I appreciate it.

And now I leave you with one last image to remember this blog by:

In my nightmares, this is what Satan’s face looks like.

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If you can’t be great, be interesting

As I waited for my coffee and bagel this morning, the thought occurred to me that the world is filled with a great many mediocre people.

The one standing in front of me was NOT a natural green-head.

I was the sixth person in line at the register and the five people in front of me all ordered coffee.

Sadly, no one was drinking it in this manner.

Now, I was not at Starbucks…

Because Starbucks Starsucks? No. Because Starbucks is two blocks further away and makes much poorer bagels than an establishment that has the word “bagels” in their name.

But there was a solid selection of coffee types available to these five persons.  And they all went with one of two options: regular or pumpkin-flavored.

In October, this gourd becomes 500% more delicious than in any other month. For real.

Now, I know that this is a classic case of small sample size, but I was greatly disheartened that this morning, the selection of coffee became a two-party race.

In this metaphor, Romney is a gourd. Which might be the nicest thing he is called by a registered Democrat in this election cycle.

It struck me that this seems to be happening more and more often: people artificially limiting themselves to two options.

You aren’t limited to just McDonalds and Burger King. You can, for example, inject fat directly into your veins.

Whether it be two parties, two dresses, two television shows, two vacation destinations…

…or two finalists in The Bachelorette.

… too often people seem like they are limiting their scope prematurely.

Consider: wouldn’t the Presidential Debates have been a billion times more interesting if this man had been included?

Which is probably bad in a sociopolitical way, although that is not my objection to it.  My objection is that it fails to be interesting.

Not you, Flavor Flav. Never you.

Now, I’m not a child.  I know that the world doesn’t exist simply to entertain me.

This guy has that 100% covered.

But even a black and white world deserves some color.

What’s the nicest part of this picture? The rainbow. The rainbow-colored rainbow. (That, my friends, was a verbal “double-rainbow“)

So, do me a favor.  When you go out to shop today or tomorrow and you find yourself choosing between two things, take a moment to take stock, quietly mutter “to hell with it” and pick a third thing instead*.  Times being what they are, it might be the best decision you make all day.

*I did my part.  I went in intending to get regular black coffee.  I ended up getting The Grass Hopper, a quad shot of espresso with refreshing steamed vanilla-mint milk & chocolate syrup. It was the most delicious decision I’ll make today.

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“Hey, Honey, I found a nice seashell here!” “That’s nothing, Dear. I just found a humongous eyeball.”

I’m not a huge beach person.  I was born pale and grow more translucent with each passing year.  I burn more easily than tissue paper.

This happens to me when I check the mail.

So it’s not at all surprising that when someone found a giant eyeball on the beach, that person was not me.

It’s all hypodermic needles and doll legs when I head to the coast.

But, boy, do I wish it had been.

Unfortunately I blew my last childhood wish on this fiasco. You’ve never seen so much vomit.

You see, the guy who found the eyeball reported it straight away to the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission.

That’s right.  He didn’t try to freak out one single beach-goer.

Seriously. The guy found a giant eyeball and didn’t ask a single person if they could help him put his contact lens back in. Opportunities like this don’t come every day.

There aren’t many opportunities in life in which you know, with absolute certainty, that you were the right person for that situation.  And this was mine.  And some humorless yokel stole my perfect situation.  It is a tragedy as large as the iris in that eyeball.

“You don’t love me? Look me in the eye when you tell me that.”