Did you ever walk down the halls of school or work with your
umbrella open? Neither have I, but I would imagine it would be a fascinating
endeavour. Just imagine all of the stares you would get from people. First of
all, you would have all of the people who are superstitious about such things.
They would helpfully remind you that it was “bad luck” to open an umbrella
indoors. This is all hogwash, of course, as his views would likely change if
the fire alarm sounded and the sprinklers activated. The other stares garnered
would come from others in said hallway. If the umbrella used was a fairly large
one, like the umbrella I possess, people would be jostled out of the way to
avoid losing an eye. I do not want any of this sissy talk about “holding it
over peoples’ heads”. If it’s high enough for me to hold comfortably, then
by-golly it’s high enough for people to duck under. It could happen that a
particularly negative person would attempt to wrestle the umbrella from you
just to free up the flow of traffic. Do not let such actions succeed. Throw him
to the ground and continue on your way. Never compromise your principles. There
is a silver lining, however, as many of the local rebels may cheer your
absurdity. Do not interact with these people. Give them a simple nod and wave
like a visiting monarch and continue on your way. Oh, and there will be none of
this parasol nonsense. It is to be an umbrella and nothing less.

Let us have three cheers for writer's block! Hip hip? ... Alright fine. Don't cheer. Here's a YouTube video:

Hello, and welcome back to "Go and Shoot
Yourself," the hit new radio advice show here on Hawt 99.9. I'm Karen and
I'm here for you to give me your problems, and I'll give you real world
solutions to help you cope. Here we go on line one. Hello, who is this?

The name's Tim, and I have a bit of a problem you might be
able to help me with.

Absolutely, go ahead.

Welp, I've been married to my wife for almost fifteen years.
I love her more than anything in the world. She's a great person. We have so
much in common and I love talking to her. I want to have kids with her, but
there is a huge problem.

And what's that?

The sight of her makes me physically ill. I don't know what
it is, but every time I glance at her, a chill runs down my spine and I want to
throw up. Seriously, this one time she came into the bedroom with only a
negligee, and I started coughing up blood. I just don't know what to do. Should
I see a doctor about this?

Doctors don't know what they're talking about, Tim. Here is
my recommendation to you. I have given your problem a lot of thought, and I
think the best thing you can do for yourself, your wife, and the whole world...
is to go and shoot yourself.

Wow, thanks a lot Karen! That helps.

My pleasure. Now then, I have a call on line two. Hello,
you're with Karen on "Go and Shoot Yourself."

Hi Karen, thanks for picking up. I've got a big problem at
work.

Sure, what's up?

Well, let me backtrack a little bit. Before I started
working here, I was a childcare provider. I was, well... I guess I was a little
strict. The kids didn't care much for me. Anyway, now I have a decent
accounting job at Douglas & Sons. I've been here about five years, and a
few days ago my boss quit. To replace him, they hired one of the kids I
babysat! After the replacement, I've seen my work quadruple, seen my bonuses
cut out, and last week they "lost" my paycheck. I-I-I I just d-don't
know what to do. (sobs)

Calm down, ma'm. I didn't get your name, but I think I can
help you with your problem. Listen to me for a second. Calm down. Okay, I want
you to know that you can easily solve this problem. I want you to go into the
office of this boss of yours... then go and shoot yourself.

A-All right. I'll do that, Karen.

I'm glad I could be of some help to you all. Let us take a
quick commercial break. We'll be right back with "Go and Shoot
Yourself" in a few moments.

Disclaimer: This post in meant to be humorous. I do not, in any way, endorse or condone the act of killing or mutilating yourself in anyway. I mean, I suppose you could slice off your leg if you were bound to a mountainside to have your liver eaten by an eagle everyday, but there should be no other reason.

My name is Howard Stein, and I am a happy citizen of J-Town. I am happy because I know that wherever I go, Jimbo is watching over me. I see his smiling face on all of the state telescreens, printed on banners on the side of buildings, and on the front page of every state issued copy of The J-Town Tribune. If Jimbo did not put a blanket ban on that horrendous thing called religion, I would probably pray to him. The greatest thing about living in J-Town, is that Jimbo does all of my unnecessary thinking for me. I have occasionally seen people who try to think, but they always look so angry. Some of these “thinkers” were, for their own safety, taken away to the reeducation facility on the outskirts of town. It always makes me feel warm and fuzzy to see Jimbo’s Equalization Forces take these rogues to a place where they can become happy again like me.

My life is much like everyone else’s here in J-Town. I was born on the thirty-ninth floor of the Department of Health building and given an appropriate name and registration number. I was raised with the other children on the forty-first floor and was sent to a nearby military school at five to begin my education. It was during these years that my eyes were opened to the world that lies ahead of me. The world that is completely controlled by Jimbo and the Party just for us. At sixteen, I graduated the class with all the knowledge I needed for my job. I was assigned my state housing apartment and given a position in the Museum of Party History. It is so close, that I do not even need a car. I also live near the state redistribution center for when I feel like shopping and the state cafeteria for when I get hungry. It is all so convenient. About once a week, I go to the city square to listen to a public address from Jimbo himself. He appears on the large, public telescreen and gives me news on J-Town’s campaign to make every person on the planet as happy as I am. He also gives a list of all the “thinkers” that have been trying to slowly destroy my happiness. I might add that I live conveniently close to a police callbox, so I can get some of the JEF to me in a matter of seconds. Jimbo always has them nearby to keep me safe. Oh, you need to leave? Alright, it was nice talking to you. Be sure to tell Jimbo, if you see him, that I love everything he does for me.

Don't forget that today is the day that many fine retail establishments put their unsold Easter candy on sale. Act now to stock up on a plethora of marshmallow Peeps ^®™©. If you are so inclined, a pantry full of jelly beans might be handy. Act now, because the next mass consumer holiday isn't for a while!

Ah, it is that time of year again. The commonwealth of Virginia (that's right, we're not even a state) was kind enough to send me my tax refund. Let me just go ahead and crack it open to see just how much moolah they're giving me to bolster the economy...

Wait a second... a dollar? That can't be right. Where's my tax paperwork?...

...
...
I'm movin' to Canada.
Still, at least I have the safe knowledge that my federal refund will be significantly greater. I might just be able to buy something with it. The best part about this state refund is that they actually paid me with a check. It probably cost more to print the thing than it was to pay me. I wonder which will be more entertaining: going to the bank and getting it cashed or going to the bank and depositing it. Maybe it's high time to invest in some very low cost stock. I can attend a share holder meeting with just one share, right? Perhaps I should use this to try and determine whether a vending machine will accept a check. The government paid for it, so I may as well get a Kit Kat out of it. Wait, I got it. I will use some of my federal refund to have the state refund check framed. It will make for a great story.

Not too long ago, I noticed something on the cover of Cosmopolitan magazine that caught my attention. It was, of course, the prostitute gracing the front cover, but there was also an article title located carefully next to her right breast. It supposedly told women "4 secrets men keep private". I was half-way tempted to pick up the magazine just to find out what these secrets are for myself. "Men" and "secretive" are words that seldom go together. We may act mysterious in an effort to attract amate, but our secrets at such time are probably close to "I haven't brushed my teeth in a week." I guess these secrets must be heavily lockedaway in the subconscious. Big, huge secrets that no one but guys should know. This begs the question of who-the-hell the snitch is. If the readers of Cosmopolitan (women, and certain men who know the difference between pink and fuchsia) are going to find out these secrets, then some guy must be blabbing. I propose that we launch a nationwide campaign to find and eliminate this traitor to the cause. Only the gods know how many more "secrets" he will spread before we catch him, so time is of the essence. But first, let us take a pitstop at Taco Bell. I have a hankering for a Grilled Stuft [sic] Burrito.

A Thought that Would Not Fit as a Pulse: I wonder how many jumbojet pilots think it's clever to have a "Jesus is my Co-Pilot" bumpersticker in the cockpit. I wonder what the co-pilot thinks about that.

Last night, I took a little pit stop after work to rent Atonement. Don't look at me like that. The only reason I watched it was because of the cast.

• Robbie - No one important
• Briony - No one important
• Cecilia - Keira [freakin'] Knightley
• Lolita - No one important
• Paul - No one important

The movie itself was gripping, emotional, and nominated for seven academy awards (for the record, it only won one). I, however, thought it was one of the funniest movies I've seen all year. I laughed until I thought I was going to piss my pants. You see, the whole movie is basically based around a certain four-letter word that men use to describe certain women that ends with "_unt" (hint: it isn't "aunt"). The beginning of the movie took place at a manor in England where there was much frollicking, playing, and hot, steamy library [baby-making]. Then, in one of the silliest scenes in filmdom, the word reared its ugly head. Frankly, the rest of the movie is rather dull after that up until the very end that held me in stitches. I guess the best way to describe it is in a recycled joke.

Okay, I have some good news and bad news about the ending. Wow, what's the good news? The good news is that Keira Knightley and What's-his-face got together in the end. They made it through difficult times to finally be together. It's rather heart-wrenching, and it seems they finally forgave Briony. Aw... that's sweet. What's the bad news? I'm just joshin' ya. They died.

Priceless. My only sticking point with the movie is that most of the background music seemed to be ripped from "The Best of Typewriters." Other than that, I would totally recommend the movie.

I just read an article from the BBC that claims there is a link between happiness and religion. A poll seems to indicate that people who are generally religious seem to find things such as job loss, crumbling marriages, and other life problems more bearable. I think this might be a perspective thing. A person cannot quantify happiness. No matter how “religious” a person is, he or she will still think that getting fired sucks. How long they mope about it depends on the person, and not their belief in a god(s). A little later in the article, Terry Sanderson pointed out that a religious link to happiness is meaningless. He says that "non-believers can't just turn on a faith in order to be happy. If you find religious claims incredible, then you won't believe them, whatever the supposed rewards in terms of personal fulfillment." I think this was one of the smartest things written in the article. I am an atheist. I am also a Pastafarian, but for all intents and purposes I do not honestly believe in a god. I find all of these things about religion to be utterly ridiculous and I simply cannot make myself believe just to make myself happy. Anyway, I would not even need to believe anyway. I may be overworked and constantly tired, but I'm as happy as can be. There is probably no purpose to life whatsoever, but I don't let that get me down. I am happy doing what I am doing, and hope to continue doing it. I'll probably have a significant number of gray hairs by the time I turn twenty-five, but my brain will probably be so fried that I wouldn't notice.

Super Mario Bros...
Corset?