Monday, October 31, 2011

The Hazards of Halloween

This is a humor column I wrote back in the late 1990s. In honor of the 2nd most commercial holiday of the year, I'm republishing it here.

As October draws to a close, there is an excitement in the air. The leaves are changing color, the days are getting shorter, and parents are racing around, helping their kids through another annual identity crisis. That can only mean one thing:

Halloween is coming!

Or, as Uncle Albert called it, Dress Up Like A Goofball And Go Begging For Candy Day.

For children, this is one of the most exciting holidays of the year. What other time can a kid boldly march up to someone's house and demand candy? Sure, they can do it the other 364 days of the year, but this is the only time the police won't be called.

But for parents, Halloween is one of the least enjoyable holidays. They're constantly bombarded by their children's demands about what they want to be for Halloween, and it's usually the latest, hippest, trendiest, and most expensive costume available.

Child #1: Mommy, I want to be Pokemon for Halloween.

Mommy: But those costumes are $500. Why don't you go as a hobo instead?

Child #2: Mommy, I want to be Sporty Spice for Halloween.

Mommy: Um, Billy, are you sure you don't want to be a cowboy or something?

I realize I may be opening myself up to all kinds of geek jokes by admitting this, but when I was a kid, one of my hobbies was collecting beer cans (empty ones, of course). By an amazing coincidence, my best friend, Eric (no relation), also collected beer cans. And, being the geeky 11-year-olds we were, we got it into our heads that we wanted to be BEER CANS FOR HALLOWEEN!

We were such geeks that we thought dressing up as giant cans of liquid amber refreshment would be the coolest thing ever.

Of course, children today couldn't get away with this, because it would send the wrong message about alcohol. Never mind that nowadays kids dress up like witches, mass murderers, and Britney Spears. But, this was something we could get away with during the hip, cool late 1970s.

Our mothers put their creative minds to work, and came up with the costumes. My mom is a decent artist, so she created a big beer can out of three pieces of white poster board, and a lot of colored markers. She fastened all three of them together into a big cylinder, and came up with an elaborate suspension system made of staples, tape, and an old bed sheet. This way I could wear the costume, and keep my arms free for ringing doorbells and holding my candy bag.

When it was finally finished, I was so proud. I looked so much like a real beer can with an 11-year-old boy sticking out of it, it was uncanny. I beamed with pride as my mother lowered my crowning glory over my head, and I marched down to Eric's house so we could begin our candy gluttony at the spooky hour of 4:30 in the afternoon.

I rang the doorbell, waiting to be greeted by cries of adoration and amazement at my mother's inventiveness. But, when the door opened, I seethed quietly in a helpless rage. Grotesque images of death and maiming raced through my head when I saw what my so-called friend, Eric, had done.

His parents had gotten him a big 55 gallon heavy-duty cardboard barrel, the kind used for high-volume paper disposal. They cut out two small holes for eyes, and painted it to look like a can of Budweiser.


I was so disgusted. Eric looked like a real beer can, while I had suddenly been transformed into some dork wearing a poster board barrel around his stomach.

I quickly shook off these feelings and remembered the reason for the season: to gorge ourselves on candy.

However, my jealousy squelching failed miserably when I noticed something else about Eric's costume:

There weren't any arm holes!

The stupid jerk didn't even have to suffer the indignity of arm holes. He got his little sister to carry his bag for him, then she would just ask "Can you put some candy in my brother's bag? He can't get his arms out of his costume." The neighbors would rave over Eric's costume, then as a polite afterthought, they would ask me what the heck I was supposed to be.

"I'm a beer can too!" I would say with as much pride as I could muster.

"That's nice," they would say in a condescending tone and throw an old carrot into my bag.

Still, greed drove me on. The thought of having a bag full of candy by the end of the evening kept me ringing doorbell after doorbell. But it was getting dark, and time was running out. We still had two more blocks to cover if we were going to beat last year's take.

We decided to jog between houses, and cross the lawns, rather than going back out to the street, so we could cover more ground.

Simple logic dictates that when an 11-year-old kid wearing an upside down 55 gallon heavy-duty cardboard barrel with no arm holes suddenly trips, there is no way he can stop himself.

As we were running across a yard, I heard, "Hey, wait up!" and turned around in time to see Eric trip on the edge of a driveway, say a word most 11-year-olds shouldn't even know, and slam face first onto the driveway.

And as any concerned friend would do, I laughed so hard I cried.

Needless to say, Eric didn't think the incident was very funny and told me so in so many four-letter words as soon as he crawled out of his cylindrical death trap.

Then he said that first word again, and announced that his nose was bleeding. Since we weren't too far from his house, we walked back so he could get patched up (I made him carry his own stupid costume), and then we set out again.

We lost nearly 15 minutes of our candy harvest, and fell short of last year's take, but it turned out to be one of the best Halloweens ever. And I came away feeling a lot better about my costume.

I might have looked less like a beer can than Eric, but I wasn't the one doing half-brainers in driveways because I was too vain to have arm holes.

My book, Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), is available on, as well as at Barnes & Noble and Borders bookstores. I wrote it with my good friend, Kyle Lacy.

My NEW book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing is also out. You can get it from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million in October, or get it for the Kindle or Nook.

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Friday, October 28, 2011

Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Campers

Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Campers

I think I hate camping.

I say that after having spent one night — 16 hours — camping with my brother this past weekend. I haven't been camping in years, and have been wanting to go for some time, so we scheduled a night in the Moraine View State Park in Illinois.

We figured the fall would be the best time to go, because we would avoid the mosquitoes of summer and the rains of spring. Plus, snakes are out more in the spring and summer, and I hate snakes with a white-hot passion.

We arrived at the park at 4:30, two hours before sunset. I had my sleeping bag, a couple extra shirts and heavy socks. It had been in the 60s, so I figured I was overpacking, especially when Andrew showed up with a big giant backpack and an extra change of everything, plus thermal underwear.

"Oh crap, I forgot my sleeping pad," he said when we got to the campsite.

"Wuss," I thought. Who brings thermal underwear and a change of clothes, let alone a sleeping pad? It's 60 degrees out, we're only going to be here for one night, and we're roughing it for a reason. You don't use a pad to rough it.

Famous last words.

Everything about camping is intentional. Everything we do is for survival. Of course, it's not really that dramatic, since we were only a 10 minute walk from the car. But I began to see how camping is a callback to our ancestors and what they did to survive.

Everything is geared toward surviving to the next morning: setting up a tent to have a safe place to sleep. Starting a fire so to keep ferocious animals at bay. Cooking dinner to have the strength to find more wood and food the next day. And so it goes.

Camping is like the survival sports that became Olympic sports — archery, fencing, winter biathlon, cross-country skiing. We have turned into recreation those things that we used to do just to eat or sleep somewhere safe.

I remembered my young camping days when my dad would set up a heavy canvas tent that was old when Genghis Khan used it while invading Asia, and how we had to get rid of any pebbles and sticks so we didn't sleep on them. We prepped the site and set the tent up in an hour — an eternity if it's cold or raining. Only 90 minutes before sunset, and we still needed a fire.

Since this was a state park, we had to go find firewood that wasn't too soaked from the night before, and chop it to firewood sized pieces. We couldn't cut down any trees, and could only use the wood on the ground. After six tries, Andrew finally got the fire going, and we cooked the bratwursts we had brought with us.

The other problem with camping is that since it gets dark early, and there's no TV, you tend to get bored easily, and bedtime sometimes can't come soon enough. Of course morning can't come soon enough either, especially when you discover that the sleeping bag you bought for your kids truly IS a kid's sleeping bag.

The bag fit my 11-year-old daughter perfectly, but for a 44-year-old grown man, it wasn't even a suitable blanket. I could wrap this thing around my shoulders and it barely made it past my arms. Even wearing two t-shirts, two long-sleeve shirts, and a pullover fleece, I was still cold.

I found that if I stuck my legs in the sleeping bag, and put the sleeping bag under one arm, I could keep the other side on my other arm. Then I pulled my brother's windbreaker over me to keep me warm enough. It wasn't much, but it was enough that I could catch some sleep and not die from exhaustion.

I could have slept like this all night, except the ground was hard, and my hip started to hurt after about an hour, and I had to roll over. Then I had to readjust the sleeping bag and pillow (which was otherwise too small), and then pull the jacket back over me.

The whole process took five minutes, and I had to do it every hour.

This went on for about 10 hours, until I couldn't take it anymore, and I made my brother get up so we could go find something warmer and more comfortable, like underneath an iceberg.

But now, nearly a week later, as my hips slowly heal, the pains of sleeping on the cold ground are fading, and I think I may not hate camping as much as I did on Saturday morning. I may even be willing to give it another try early next spring.

I just need to talk my wife into letting me take our mattress. And the TV.

My book, Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), is available on, as well as at Barnes & Noble and Borders bookstores. I wrote it with my good friend, Kyle Lacy.

My NEW book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing is also out. You can get it from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million in October, or get it for the Kindle or Nook now.

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Friday, October 21, 2011

A One-Sided Homecoming Conversation

A One-Sided Homecoming Conversation

"Quit whining. I know it's early."

"We needed to find a spot for the parade."

"Because otherwise we would be stuck behind a bunch of people and you wouldn't be able to see anything."

"It's when all the alumni 'come home' to their school. I always try to come to Ball State's Homecoming every year. And I try to bring you kids to the parade too."

"Because everyone loves a parade."

"You don't mean that. You're just tired."


"It'll be here in a few more minutes."

"Look, Honey, I didn't want to get up at 6:00 either, but that was the only way we were going to get to Muncie in time."

"It started at 8:00."

"Because they started a couple miles away, in the high school parking lot."

"It will be here in about 30 minutes."

"There's no where else you can gather an entire parade all at once."

"Absolutely, Buddy. Lots of floats with girls who throw candy. And marching bands. And horses. And people no one has ever heard of riding in convertibles waving to the crowd."

"I don't know. They're local politicians and celebrities and radio personalities."

"Hey, Muncie has a few personalities!"

"I don't know. I haven't lived here in almost 19 years. But we do have famous people."

"Yes, Sweetie, Muncie famous."

"Hey, this is my hometown you kids are talking about. And my alma mater."

"It means the college I graduated from."

"Twenty-two years ago."

"It's not that long."

"Yes, we had color TV."

"And cable."

"No, we really didn't have the Internet then."

"Because Mommy said she wasn't feeling well."

"No, I didn't know she was going to the mall."

"When did she and Grandma plan that?"

"I didn't make you do anything. I strongly urged you to come with me, especially since Mommy wasn't feeling well."

"Now that I think about it, it was more her idea anyway."

"Because I want you to see where you're all going to go to college."

"I don't care if she said you could go anywhere. This is where I went to school, and so I want my children to at least consider going to school here as well."

"I said, I want you to consider going to — I can't hear you over the marching band."

"That's the Ball State Marching Band."

"The Cardinals."

"Because it's Indiana's state bird."

"Because the robin just isn't as interesting."

"That's the Ball State Marching Band. They're called the Pride of Mid-America."

"I don't know. Maybe they picked the name themselves."

"Look, the first float."

"I know, that is a creepy looking guy."

"Because he's made from papier-mâché."

"It's French for "messy paper.""

"No, I'm sure it is."

"Papier means paper, and mâché means messy."

"I don't care what your French teacher said."

"No, I've never been to France."

"They build a wire frame and then cover it with glue-coated newspaper. That's the papier-mâché."

"I don't know who that is."

"Or that one."

"Or that — wait, there's a sign on the side of the cars. That tells who they are."

"Yeah, I still don't know either."

"Equestrian means horses. So that's a horse team."

"That's the guy the horse team doesn't like."

"No, the marching band loves him. He keeps them from stepping in what the horses leave behind."

"I think the parade is about to end."

"Because that last float was three people standing in the back of a pickup throwing candy."

"Okay, let's go get some breakfast."


"The game starts at 2:30."

"You can sleep in the car, after we take a quick tour."

"Of your future college."

"Well, if she had come with us, she might have had a say in the matter."

My book, Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), is available on, as well as at Barnes & Noble and Borders bookstores. I wrote it with my good friend, Kyle Lacy.

My NEW book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing is also out. You can get it from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, including on the Kindle and Nook.

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Monday, October 17, 2011

Pippa Mann and JR Hildebrand Released From Hospital [RELEASE]


A statement from IndyCar:

LAS VEGAS (Monday, Oct. 17, 2011) -- IZOD IndyCar Series drivers JR Hildebrand and Pippa Mann were released from University Medical Center in Las Vegas on Oct. 17.

Mann had surgery last night to clean and assess a severe burn injury to the little finger of her right hand sustained in an accident at Las Vegas Motor Speedway. She will need a subsequent surgery in 2-3 weeks to fully repair the injury but is expected to make a full recovery.

Hildebrand had a severely bruised sternum in the same accident and was held overnight for observation.


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A Small Dan Wheldon Tribute — 2011 Post-Indy 500 Press Conference

I had the chance to sit in the post Indy 500 press conference, after Dan Wheldon won his 2nd race. He sat with team owner Brian Herta and crew chief Steve Newey, and I loved their stunned surprise that they put together a victory out of a team that was only coming together for one, maybe two rides.

I remember being annoyed that such a fine young driver couldn't find a regular team to give him a full-time ride. I was also more than a little pleased that the one-off rider won the entire race, beating the two Death Star teams of Penske Racing and Target Ganassi. I always cheer for the underdog, and this was one of the underdoggiest stories of the year.

So when I saw that Dan Wheldon died doing what he loved, I remembered this footage. I think it represents him at his very best and shows him after the biggest win of his career, achieving the one thing that most of us would never even dream of doing: winning the Indianapolis 500.

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Friday, October 14, 2011

Australian Clothing Chain GASP Hates You

Australian Clothing Chain GASP Hates You

GASP Clothing hates normal-sized people. They hate you so much, they don't want you shopping at their stores ever. Unless you're a size six or smaller and have more money than brains, then GASP doesn't even want you setting foot in their store.

(We'll forget for the moment that they're in Australia, and you're probably here in the United States. If they were an American company, they would still hate you.)

GASP has made international news after Keara O'Neil, who wears a size 12, was insulted about her size by a male sales assistant, Chris, after saying she wanted to think about whether to buy her bridesmaids dresses at the retail chain.

Keara was in the store last month looking at a particular dress, when Chris said "With your figure, I really think you should buy it." After that, she decided to leave, so Chris called after her, "Have fun shopping at Supre. I knew you were a joke the minute you walked in."

Keara went home and emailed a complaint to GASP managers — GASPholes, I call them. Her email was a valid complaint, expressing her shock and displeasure at the way she was treated.

The response from GASP area manager Matthew Chidgey — the head GASPhole — was so stunningly awful and rude, Keara shared it. Chidgey's response was so terrible, it went viral and spread throughout the entire world.

In his email, Chidgey told Keara that they worked to appeal "to a very fashion forward consumer." He also said that Chris was a "retail superstar" whose "only problem is that he is too good at what he does."

What he does, apparently, is to be a big GASPhole to customers. And if he's a superstar at it, I'm sure he's one of the biggest in Australia.

Chidgey continued to excuse Chris' behavior as "people whom are talented generally do not tolerate having their time wasted, which is the reason you were provoked to leave the store."

Just like the "Australian for Beer" commercials, the phrase "you were provoked to leave the store" is apparently Australian for "we're too scared to admit our guy was a reprehensible little twit, so we're blaming his childish approach on some misguided attempt at long-term strategic thinking by a wanna-be fashion prima donna whose choices in life have led him to selling women's dresses at minimum wage in an also-ran retail chain."

GASP has even said they received a lot of publicity from their elitist attitude, and that they have had to cancel all vacation for their sales staff to deal with the crowds.

You mean publicity, like being bombarded with so many negative comments on their Facebook page, that they had to shut it down? Publicity like Australian model Ruby Rose writing on her Twitter page, "I am actually laughing. I can't believe gasp called themselves fashion forward. Sweetheart you sell polyester dresses u ain't no Prada" and "This can't be real hahahaha gasp sells the most cheap tacky clothing in Australia."?

You mean that kind of publicity?

GASP, who must truly want people to hate them, also said in their email "our product offerings are very, very carefully selected, so to ensure that we do not appeal to a broad customer base" and "we only carry products which appeal to a very fashion forward consumer."

I was not aware that fashion forward meant being a dress size that can only be achieved by eating one carrot per day and sticking your finger down your throat afterward.

GASP prides itself on selling products that "are priced such that they remain inaccessible to the undesirable" and and that they only appeal to celebrities like Kim Kardashian, Selena Gomez, and Katy Perry. I hope they also pride themselves on their sycophantic suck-up attitude that's found in most celebrity lampreys who think they'll somehow be showered with affection and attention because said celebrity bought a $700 bra from them.

I've been around enough retail fashion people to know that the ones who are "all, like, ya know, rally super-serious abaht it" are nothing more than fashion designer wanna-bes who will never understand why their amateurishly scribbled sketches of "dresses" that look like a peacock on steroids will never be shown during New York Fashion Week.

Still, I have faith that many of them will come to their senses and find their way out of the fashion world, and enter a career that really needs their people skills and bright and sunny disposition they bring to the world around them.

After all, somebody has to pick up all the animal poop at the petting zoo.

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Friday, October 07, 2011

Goofus and Gallant: Where Are They Now?

Goofus and Gallant: Where Are They Now?

Erik is out of the office this week, so we are reprinting a column from way back in 1999.

Anyone who visited a doctor's office as a child knows "Highlights" magazine, and the zany moralistic adventures of Goofus and Gallant. Just mention their names to any adult, and they will smile in remembrance, even if they haven't read it in 30 years.

Goofus and Gallant are two boys who provide moral and ethical lessons on how to, or how not to, live life. In the everyday events they found themselves in, Gallant would do the kind, noble, and right things, while Goofus was a total screwup.

"Goofus leaves a pile of clothes on the floor," and "Gallant offers to help his mother fold the laundry." Or "Goofus grabs the remote so he can watch his favorite television program; Gallant says 'That's alright, Mother, I like Lawrence Welk too.'" or "Goofus takes 30 minute showers and uses all the hot water/Gallant keeps a box of wet-naps in his room, and cleans himself every night before bed."

Many scholars (i.e. no scholars at all ever) argue that Goofus and Gallant were a metaphor for Cain and Abel ("Abel works diligently in his fields to feed his family; Cain kills Abel with a big stick"). But there was really only one lesson to be learned from Cain and Abel — "don't kill your brother, even if you really, really want to" — while Goofus and Gallant teach children new life lessons month after month.

When I was young , most of my friends and I thought Goofus was a big jerk and would never even dream of acting the way he did, although a couple friends thought Goofus was cool and funny.

They're in prison now.

But while we thought Goofus was a jerk, we also thought Gallant was completely unreasonable and a panty-waisted sissy boy.

Growing up, Goofus was actually one of the popular kids in school. He brought gum to school, told great dirty jokes, and had the answer key to the teacher's math book.

On the other hand, Gallant collected for UNICEF every Halloween, thought gum was for bad your teeth, and knew every song in the hymnal he kept by his bed.

But that was 35 years ago. They've grown up and carried on with their lives since then. I caught up with the pair at a signing of their latest book, "Who's Goofy Now?" and found out what they've been up to.

"Well," Gallant said, "my good friend Goofus is the VP of Sales at a large software company."

Gallant clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder. Goofus just looked down at his hands and smiled.

"That's nothing," he said. "Ask Gallant about his big promotion."

"Oh, I hate to brag," Gallant smiled, "but I was just promoted to assistant night manager at the local pizza parlor. Finally, after 11 years of hard work, I'm moving up in the world. I realize I don't get to travel around the world as much as my buddy Goofus, but I do get to meet a lot of interesting people."

"What about families? Are you guys married?"

Goofus spoke first. "I just got married for a second time. Her name is Sophie, and she's from France."

"Oh don't be so bashful!" Gallant laughed. "He's too modest to say anything, but she's a big-time supermodel in Europe. She's been on fashion shoots all over the world, and consults for some of the biggest fashion designers in the world."

"But you're still married to the same great woman," said Goofus.

Gallant's smile faded. "Yeah. The same woman. The exact same woman for the past 27 years." He sighed heavily. "And she loooooves the pizza, know what I mean?"

A slight head shake from Goofus kept me from pursuing that one any further. "How about kids?" I continued.

Gallant brightened up again. "I've got two wonderful kids. Sheila's 18, and just finished her first semester at college. Her school just started a new policy that did away with their entire grading system, but she said she passed her classes. She also moved off campus and has a new roommate named Slither, which is an odd name for a woman.

"My son, Jason, is a sophomore in high school, and is really good at computers. He's on his constantly. He must be working on some important job for the government, because I just got a message from the FBI about him yesterday. I think they want to offer him a job!"

Goofus looked startled, then shook his head. "Poor Gallant," he said. "Poor optimistic, misguided, trusting Gallant. We really need to talk."

I could tell that things were going to get uncomfortable, so I said good-bye to the dichotomous duo. It's always painful to be around when this kind of things happens, so I needed to get a safe distance away and hoped I had a strong enough zoom on my video camera.

My book, Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), is available on, as well as at Barnes & Noble and Borders bookstores. I wrote it with my good friend, Kyle Lacy.

My NEW book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, or get it for the Kindle or Nook now.

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Tuesday, October 04, 2011

Beloit College Makes You Feel Old?

After I wrote the Beloit College Makes Me Feel Old column, Phil and Ted from the High School Humor Blog contacted me to see if they could write a followup response to my post.

Always the supportive mentor to budding humorists, I thought, "Sure, why not." Here's their response, Beloit College Makes You Feel Old?

The semi-recent release of Beloit College’s Mindset list, listing many interesting facts about this year’s college freshman, raised a few issues with the general public.  For instance, apparently, it made some of you feel old.

That’s the whole purpose, though, isn’t it? Let’s see what the website says:

“[The list] was originally created as a reminder to faculty to be aware of dated references, and quickly became a catalog of the rapidly changing worldview of each new generation.”

Oh, that makes sense, because it’s really important to avoid dated references.  To the point where it becomes worth the amount of effort needed to actually compile the list in the first place.

We’re just joking.  Obviously, that quote from the website was in code; you’ll notice, if you read between the lines, it says, “…was originally created to make you feel old, dated, aged, out of it, uncool, not hip, and without swag (and if you think we just misused half of those words, then you might as well start digging your grave right now).”

But, being teens, we can tell you there are some vital things that the mindset list neglected to mention.  For instance, the fact that today’s generation will be so used to political scandals that if a congressman doesn’t resign every six months, we would call for a congressional investigation.

Without further ado, here are some vital components that were left off the original mindset list:

Today’s generation can type faster with their thumbs than most baby boomers can with all ten fingers.

A black and white movie is practically not even worth watching, unless our teacher asks if we want to watch one in class (read: waste class time) in which case, “YES! I’ve always wanted to see that one so much!”

Snail mail is not a recognizable phrase.  There has always been email.  Mention it to us and we will imagine a snail carrying a letter.  

If we find a palm planner in the junk drawer, we assume it is a calculator.  

When we visit nature, we find that birds are no longer allowed to make noise, as the rights to the word ‘tweet’ were purchased by Twitter.

Computers are ‘old tech’ for us; now we’ve got tablets, smartphones, and snuggies.

We google the correct spelling for ‘snuggies’.

The famous ‘Pet Rock’ must be the name of some silly teenage band.

We keep track of holidays by looking at the Google logo of the day.

So many animals are supposed to be extinct by 2050 that we have brought back the ‘collecting beanie babies’ fad just in case.  

Nobody has ever used Yahoo.  Both the search engine and the exclamation.

We have had to constantly worry about falling satellites, the economy, and various flu outbreaks.

Sea Cucumber mail is also not a recognizable phrase, mostly because it was never a phrase to begin with.

We keep track of our news by going to Google.

The environment has always needed saving.

We go to Google to figure out how to save the environment.

If we find a walkman in the junk drawer, we call the police with a possible bomb situation.

We go to Google to figure out how to dodge falling satellites.

We throw up when watching old movies if the main character eats airplane food (we don’t believe those who say it was better back then-there’s no way the industry could have gone from ‘edible’ to ‘your flotation device/seat cushion tastes better’ for food quality in only 30 years).

We know that Google controls the world.  

End of the world predictions/movies are so commonplace that we wouldn’t notice if the world actually ended.

As you can see from this list, times have definitely changed from the days of good ol’ family values to an information-driven society bent on innovation.  Now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to go Google “what are family values.”

This list was brought to you by the teen writers Ted and Phil, who write High School Humor Blog. © High School Humor Blog. All Rights Reserved.

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