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Showing posts from June, 2014

Don't Tell Mom: A One-Sided Conversation About Dinner

"Dinner's ready!"

"Bacon."

"What do you mean, what else? We don't need anything else tonight."

"It's a superfood."

"Uh, in an article."

"Online."

"I did."

"Just because it was something I wrote in a humor article does not negate the fact that I found an article that said bacon was a superfood."

"Vegetables?! Why would you want vegetables?"

"But Mom's not here, is she?"

"Get some fruit then."

"Does she let you complain about what she makes?"

"Then quit griping about the bacon."

"No making faces either."

"Do you want me to eat yours?"

"Nothing. You'll eat in the morning."

"Fine, I'll make some vegetables. How about this?"

"French fries are too a vegetable."

"They're made from potatoes. Potatoes grow in the ground, just like carrots and Brussels sprouts. Therefore, French fries …

AYFKMWTS?! FBI Creates 88 Page Twitter Slang Guide

TFBIHCAEEPTSD.

Did you get that? It's an acronym. Web slang. It's how all the teens and young people are texting with their tweeters and Facer-books on their cellular doodads.

It stands for "The FBI has created an eighty-eight page Twitter slang dictionary."

See, you would have known that if you had the FBI's 88 page Twitter slang dictionary.

Eighty-eight pages! Of slang! AYFKMWTS?! (Are you f***ing kidding me with this s***?! That's actually how they spell it in the guide, asterisks and everything. You know, in case the gun-toting agents who catch mobsters and international terrorists get offended by salty language.)

I didn't even know there were 88 Twitter acronyms, let alone enough acronyms to fill 88 pieces of paper.

The FBI needs to be good at Twitter because they're reading everyone's tweets to see if anyone is planning any illegal activities. Because that's what terrorists do — plan their terroristic activities publicly, as if they were…

Diary of a Reluctant Single Man

I've had the house to myself for a couple of days, as my oldest daughter is at camp, and my wife took the other two kids to Chicago. So I've been hanging out with the dog, and keeping a diary of what has been happening.

7:00 am: Said good-bye to the family. I did a bunch of work earlier this week so I could sleep in, so I'll just stay in bed for a while.

7:05: Poop. Now I can't get back to sleep. Maybe I should just get up and do some work on my—

9:25: That's better. Nice to see my old high school tricks still work.

9:30: Walked around the house, hollering, just to make sure no one is here. Last time I thought I was home alone, I had a less-than-appreciative audience for my Dave Matthews Band retrospective.

9:31: It's finally happened. I have the whole house to myself for two days. That means I can do anything, eat anything, and leave a grand mess, because I don't have to answer to anyone. What should I do first?

9:36: JUST TAKE THOSE OLD RECORDS OFF THE SH…

A Professional Communicator's Confession About Small Talk

As a professional communicator, I'm supposed to be good at all types of communication. I've been a writer since I was 20, I'm completely at ease meeting new people, and I'm one of those weirdos who loves speaking in public. You could stick me in a room full of complete strangers, and within an hour, I'll meet five of them, arrange coffee meetings with three more, and introduce two people who can help each other with a new project.

I'm good at almost any kind of communication, but to my great embarrassment, I have one glaring deficiency, one weakness that keeps me from being an all-around player.

I suck at small talk.

Not the "get to know you" chit-chat between two people who have just met, or the catching up talk between two friends who haven't seen each other for a while. I'm awesome at that. Just ask my kids. "Daddy can't go anywhere without talking to strangers." I've done that since I was three.

No, I'm terrible at th…