Hit Me Baby One More Time: Britney Spears Explains the Tenure of Andy Reid (125 days)

On January 11^th, 1999, Andy Reid was hired as head coach of the Philadelphia Eagles.  Nineteen days later Britney Spears hit number one on the Billboard Hot 100 for the first time in her young career with the single “…Baby One More Time.”  Over the past thirteen years both Andy and Britney have seen their share of ups and downs; triumphs and failures; moments of glory and sheer embarrassment.  While on the surface, the two seem impossibly alike; their shared emotional journeys through identical periods of time will forever be linked in song and action.  While unintentional, Britney’s lyrics tell the tale of a man on a conquest for greatness whose fate would ultimately end in failure.  This is the story of Andy Reid told by the voice of a decade. 

Stronger (1999-2000 Seasons)

The once proud franchise of the Philadelphia Eagles had sputtered through the last two seasons under Ray Roads, and was still trying to scrub clean the stench of previous coach Rich Kotite.  Andy Reid was hired in January of 1999 after successfully coaching quarterback Brett Favre to a Super Bowl win, despite Brett’s constant off the field distractions of pain killer abuse, frequent infidelity, and incessant Wrangler Jeans promotions.  In April of 1999, Andy smartly made the correct draft choice of Donovan McNabb, despite the fan’s and media’s obvious hope for Ricky Williams.  After years of working with Favre, Andy could clearly spot a selfish junkie like Williams, and his choice of McNabb would prove to catapult the Eagles to a playoff birth within his second season.  Though in their first year under Reid, the Eagles would finish 5-11, it was an improvement over their 3-13 finish from the year before.  Clearly the Eagles were stronger than yesterday.  Now, it was nothing but Andy’s way.  In a classic Reid maneuver, the Eagles started the 2000 season against the Cowboys with an onside kick that was recovered, in a game that would henceforth be referred to as the “Pickle Juice Game.”  The Eagles stole the game away early from the Cowboys and the season went the same way.  The Eagles finished 11-5 with a playoff win against the Bucs before losing to the ill-named NY Giants, who neither played in New York nor were giants.

Oops I Did It Again (2001-2003 Seasons)

For a three year span in the early 2000’s, the Eagles were one of the best regular season teams in football.  They won the NFC East in all three seasons and managed to make it to the NFC championship game each year.  Some of the highlights of these seasons included the on field murder of Jim Miller by Hugh Douglas in a road playoff game; a four touchdown game by McNabb while playing on a broken ankle; a 4^th and 26 completion to future hall of famer Freddie Mitchell; and a last second punt return for a touchdown by Brian Westbrook to beat that blue team from New Jersey.  However, when it came to the NFC championship, Andy Reid and the Eagles continued to make the same mistakes, and break fans’ hearts again and again.  When it came to the NFC Championship, to lose all his senses was just so typically Andy.  He played with our hearts while he got lost in the game.  We were so enamored initially, that we were unable to see that he was a fool in so many ways.  However after an embarrassing defeat by the Buccaneers in the last game ever at Veterans Stadium in 2002, and an anemic offensive performance against the Panthers in 2003, Philadelphia began to realize that Andy was not sent from above. 

…Baby One More Time (2004 Season)

“Oh baby, baby how was I supposed to know that my offense wouldn’t perform against top flight defenses in tight playoff games?”  Well, Andy, perhaps in an offense that throws the ball 97% of the time, there should be players on the team that can run fast and catch footballs.  Maybe, Todd Pinkston and James Thrash aren’t the answer.  “Show me, how you want it to be.  Tell me baby ‘cause I need to know now.”  Dude, Andy, we just want you to get a wide receiver.

The Baltimore Ravens had just acquired the best free agent wide receiver on the market: Terrell Owens.  However, Terrell had decided that he didn’t feel like playing there, and the NFL made up a new rule that only allowed top tier wide receivers to play for high powered offenses not coached by Brian Billick.  To the Eagles luck that ruled out the Ravens, and the Eagles were able to sign T.O. and nobody even remembers if Baltimore ever complained.  With the new addition, the Eagles started the season 13-1.  The Eagles once again found themselves in the NFC Championship.  However, their brightest new star had been previously injured by the biggest coward that ever played professional sports, Roy Williams, who later had a rule made in his honor to prevent people from tackling like him.  Prior to that there had simply been an unspoken rule not to play the game like a total A-hole.  Regardless of the fact that the Eagles had lost the previous three NFC Championships, and they were missing the dynamic T.O., we still believed…mainly because we were up against the most overrated professional athlete of all time, Michael Vick (FORESHADOWING!!!).  Michael Vick dogged it, was held on a tight leash, and was eventually put down by Brian Dawkins, Hugh Douglas, Jeremiah Trotter, and the rest of the Eagles defense.  The Eagles won and would go on to play Super Bowl XXXIX against the New England Patriots, whose fans has just discovered they had a football team three years earlier.  Though T.O. made a magnificent and courageous return, and though the Eagles led at the half, they found themselves down by two scores late in the game.  Suddenly, without all their time outs, and without a sense of urgency, a flood of memories came back to Philadelphia fans everywhere.  The last five minutes of play was like a slow motion punch to the stomach.  Despite getting one step closer, the fans of the Eagles were hit one more time. 

Toxic (2005 Season)

Terrell Owens had been spectacular in 2004.  Some, including T.O., would even say that he out-performed his contract.  Others, including Eagles brass and McNabb, disagreed.  Philadelphia had fallen in love with T.O. in the previous year, but they soon learned that guy like him should wear a warning.  We had a taste of poison paradise and had become addicted.  In the weeks leading up to the 2005 season, T.O. had the most epic hold out in recorded history.  The hold out included a work out session on the front lawn of his Sough Jersey home.  Clearly, T.O. was well ahead of his time, showing off his abs while television cameras rolled in Moorestown, NJ years before the birth of Jersey Shore.  While he ultimately reported for duties by the time the season started, his constant bickering with his quarterback and coach caused much unneeded on and off field drama.  The Eagles got off to a poor start, and T.O.’s antics were not helping.  Despite racking up six touchdowns and over 700 yards in seven games, T.O. was suspended for the remainder of the season by Reid.  Things got even worse when McNabb got a sports hernia while attempting to prove he could pick up Andy Reid.  The Eagles finished 6-10 and lost every game within their division.  We had become addicted to the Eagles, but found out that they were toxic.

I’m a Slave 4 U (2006 Season) 

What would you call someone who continually commits a large portion of their time and energy to something that never pays off?  A slave?  Yes, that’s what we had become.  I won’t deny it.  I’m not trying to hide it.  The Eagles started slow and McNabb got hurt again.  Now Jeff Garcia would take the reins of a sputtering offense.  Would we watch to see what happened?  What the hell, who cares?  However, somehow Garcia played like an all pro and wound up taking the Eagles to the playoffs where he helped beat the Giants in a first round playoff game.  Suddenly, we forgot who McNabb was, and had our sights set on a Super Bowl.  We couldn’t hold it.  We could not control it.  We were back to committing our emotions to a team that had repeatedly broker our hearts.  Of course, they did it once again in a loss to New Orleans.  Inevitably, we would return with the same commitment the next season.  We were slaves to the Eagles and Andy Reid.  Incidentally, I’m thinking that texting must have reached massive popularity by the time Brittney’s “I’m a Slave 4 U” was released.  Either that or she was conforming to the popularity of Nu Metal which felt it imperative to misspell the names of their bands in order to show how incredibly bad ass they were.  This, however, is a debate for another blog entry. 

Sometimes (2007 Season)

“Sometimes I run, but mainly I just like to call passing plays.  Sometimes I hide, but I generally leave that to my quarterback who disappears at the end of tight games.  Sometimes I’m scared of being fired, but all I have to do is put together a playoff run now and then and I’m pretty sure my job is secure.  Baby all I need is time, but I usually waste all of my time outs early and can’t manage the clock at the end of the game.”  This is essentially how the 2007 season went.  Brian Westbrook was one of the best running backs in the NFL, but was consistently under utilized.  McNabb continued to come up small in the end of close games and got injured once again.  Andy’s clock management once again was atrocious.  The Eagles had an 8-8 season and finished last in the division, but Andy’s job was still secure from the playoff runs of yester year.  In the background however, something unusual was occurring.  The Phillies had won their division for the first time in 14 years.  Slowly the grip that the Eagles had on the city was loosening as a young Phillies team was beginning to gel. 

You Drive Me Crazy (2008-2009 Seasons)

In 2008 the impossible happened.  The Philadelphia Phillies broke a 25 year citywide championship drought by beating the Tampa Bay Rays in the World Series. Look it up.  It actually happened.  Even if you believe me, look it up anyway.  It’s way fun.  Either way, the city suddenly had the confidence that if the Phillies could win a World Series, then maybe Andy Reid could possibly coach the Eagles back to glory.  For much of 2008 and 2009 Andy drove us crazy.  In typical Andy fashion he would bring the city into a rage, and then would go on a run of four or five straight wins to bring the city back into frenzy (rage and frenzy are the only two collective emotions the city of Philadelphia has).   He drove us crazy, but it felt alright.  Andy, thinking of you kept us up at night.  At times, it was worth the lack of sleep.  In 2008, he coached the team back to the NFC Conference Championship.  “Tell me that I’m not wasting my feelings on you”, we all asked once again.  Ultimately, we would get the same answer in return.  Larry Fitzgerald, the pride of Ireland, blew us up like a British state building, and the Eagles lost their fourth conference championship under Reid.  Between the 2008 and 2009 season, Eagles defensive coordinator Jim Johnson passed away and Eagles failed to resign the soul of the Eagles defense, Brian Dawkins.  The feared Eagles defense would never recover.  Despite making the playoffs in 2009, the Eagles lost in embarrassing fashion to the Cowboys in the first round.  This would prove to be the last game Donovan McNabb would ever play as an Eagle.  While Andy and Donovan had a good run, Andy appeared to have to make a change if he was going to keep his job.  As the Phillies continued to succeed, failure was no longer an option. 

Lucky (2010 Season)

In 2010, Andy Reid was prepared to start a new era of Eagles football with Kevin Kolb.  However, it wasn’t long before Kolb was sacked into a concussed, drooling zombie.  At that point the Eagles were stuck with former dog murderer and walking commercial, Michael Vick.  For years in Atlanta, Vick was able to fool millions of Americans into thinking that he was an elite quarterback by running, not throwing the ball.  ESPN devoted thirteen hours a day showing highlights of Vick running down the field and no one noticed that he couldn’t accurately through a football.  Now that Vick was fresh out of jail and was widely hated he could no longer rely on ESPN to cover his flaws.  Instead, he spent much of 2010 learning how to throw a football and actually looked like a competent passer for stretch of eight games.  He especially shined when the Eagles were able to somehow convince the commissioner to schedule a game against a high school football team called the Washington Redskins.  As the world kept spinning, he kept on winning.  When he found himself down by four touchdowns against the NY Giants in mid December, he helped engineer what is probably the greatest comeback in NFL history.  Unfortunately the city of Philadelphia was lost in his image, in a dream.  When the playoffs came, fans found out what Vick truly was.  Lucky.

Hold it Against Me (2011-2012 Seasons)

“Hey, over there, please forgive me.”  No Andy, not anymore.  “If I missed the playoffs two years in a row with a team that analysts picked to make it to the Super Bowl, would you hold it against me?”  Yes Andy.  Yes we will.  In the words of Britney’s former boyfriend, bye bye bye!

Whatever Happened to the Transylvania Twist? (181)

October has long been my favorite month of the year.  The weather begins getting cooler.  The Philles start the post…oh, wait.  The Flyers begin the start of the regular…never mind.  Well, at least it becomes socially acceptable to hang fake human body parts from your porch.  In a country where a split second shot of a boob on television causes a national uproar, we have no issues celebrating a holiday that glorifies gruesome murder and evil.  If I had my pick between murder and nudity, I’d probably pick nudity, but honestly I can see how this can go either way.  When I was in middle school, long before ironic and campy Halloween costumes were all the rage, the kid with the most horrific costume was generally the most respected on October 31^st.  I used to put a lot of thought into what type of awful monster I wanted to be.  More recently, I started thinking about which monster I would like to be if I could actually be a monster.  Not just on Halloween, but forever.  This is not a decision I took lightly.  Below, I have ranked the categories of monsters I would least likely want to become to the ones I would love to become. 

#7: Ghost

Patrick Swayze is not a monster…though I guess he could be a ghost in real life now as well.  Either way, friendly, ripped ghosts are off the table for the purposes of this installment as they aren’t really monsters in my opinion.  Even still, ghosts are probably the lamest of the monsters.  From my experience, they just scare people and never murder them.  What’s the point of being a monster if you can’t disembowel people?  I can scare people without being a monster.   All it takes is a ghost story, a couple cans of fruit cocktail and a giant generator and you can scare the living hell out of a half dozen college freshman girls (ask me about it).  In Ghostbusters, ghosts were let loose on the most populated city in the United States and they didn’t kill one god damn person.  They couldn’t even manage to kill Rick effing Moranis.  And after giving people the willies for about two weeks they were promptly busted.  The only reason I would want to be a ghost is so that I can say, “Why it’s yours Ebenezer,” and then laugh maniacally.  Other than that, I’m out. 

#6: Frankenstein

I realize that Frankenstein is not a type of monster, but rather a specific monster.  I also realize that the monster is actually Frankenstein’s monster and not Frankenstein, but really, that’s just too long of a name.  I blame this on Mary Shelly.  She should have given him an actual name like Killberg to create less confusion and prevent literary snobs from correcting the general population.  Although Frankenstein didn’t want his “monster” to be evil, so he probably wouldn’t have named in Killberg.  Maybe Kenneth would have been a good choice.  I feel that’s probably a creepy enough normal name to still make people uneasy.  Would you want Kenneth babysitting your kids?  The answer is no.  So, while it would be cool to be super tall, strong, and dumb as a brick like Brian Urlacher, I’d still prefer to have a name.

#5: Zombie

I’ve shared my thoughts on zombies in a previous blog, but this doesn’t mean they’re a favorite of mine.  Gates told me he got drunk at a BBQ in Long Island and ate part of a pig’s brain.  He said it was gross and he almost vomited.  I can’t imagine human brains taste much better.  If zombies were hell bent on eating burritos instead of brains I’d become a zombie tomorrow.  However, as it stands I’d rather not spend all day walking around groaning, looking to crack open Murphy’s big dome.  Side note: Juan Pierre would last pretty long in the Zombie apocalypse (speed plus undesirable head size).

#4: Werewolf

While I enjoy the idea of having perfect hair and going van surfing one or twice a month, ultimately I feel like the wolfman’s heart is never completely in it.  In reality, you’re only a monster when there’s a full moon.  Being a monster only once every four weeks must be tough to deal with.  I imagine this is what Dominic Brown feels like.  Additionally, they have one of the worst weaknesses of all monsters.  The only thing that can kill a werewolf is a silver bullet.  Most other monsters require close range termination, but you can snipe a werewolf from long range and have 28 days to prepare yourself for it.  I’m sorry, but if I’m going to be a monster I want to be committed to it.  Also, if I’m going to die from precious metal, have Bruce Dickinson kill me at close range.

#3: Mummy

Now we’re getting somewhere.  Most monsters have a very specific, widely known way to kill them.  As far as I know this does not apply to the Mummy.  If a mummy was chasing me I would only have one option.  I’d try to unravel his bandages.  If the unraveling the bandages did not reveal that the mummy was, in fact, old man Mr. Clarkson who runs the carnival, I would be dead.  Other than not having a widely known way to kill a mummy, there are several other perks.  Ever run out of toilet paper in someone else’s bathroom?  This is no longer an issue.  You’d kill at parties doing that Charlie Brown dance.  You would get to live in a sweet, palatial pyramid surrounded with all your bestest dead buddies.  Plus, I’ve already had sinus surgery, so getting my brain pulled out through my nose shouldn’t be a big deal.  The only real downfall is that if you’re carrying bombs, they will be easily spotted by Link.  I’d sacrifice that in a heartbeat. 

#2: Devil

This was almost my number one.  When you think about mythology, I mean religion, other than God, the devil has more power than anyone.  Since God stopped being a monster after the Old Testament, this means the devil is the most powerful monster in the monster universe.  Beside the awesome power that comes with being the devil, coming up with ironic punishment for evil doers has to be a blast.  For instance, I would make Rick Santorum learn about math and science FOR ENTERNITY!!!   Although the most ironic punishment for Santorum will likely actually occur when he dies…and nothing happens.  Also, I could force JD Drew to live with Phillies fans and throw batteries at him whenever I’d like.  The only downside is the heat.  Like I said earlier, I like when the weather starts getting cooler. 

#1: Vampire

I understand that vampires are hot right now, but they’ve been getting chicks since Bela Lugosi.  They’re the only monster that consistently scores points with the ladies.  I love Karly and everything, but vampires live forever, and there’s that whole “until death do us part” clause.  I’ll mourn for a couple hundred years, but after that it’s time to move on.  Speaking of which, why isn’t there a vampire movie where the vampire is married to a non-vampire.  They’ve been married for like 50 years, and the vampire is way ready to move on, but he’s waiting for her to pass away because, you know, he has morals.  However, the catch is that when she’s on her death bed, the torch wielding, stake toting villagers surround his house, and he needs to feed.  The only way to quench his thirst is to drink the blood of his wife, which would then make her a vampire, who would also live forever.  Does he risk death by not drinking her blood, or does he cave, ruining his dreams of being a bachelor?  I need to get working on a screenplay.  Either way, I think I’d make a pretty smooth transition to vampire.  I have Croatian lineage, which is pretty close to Romania.  I live in Pennsylvania, which sounds kind of like Transylvania.  I would imagine vampires are typically good investors, since they can afford to be patient.  This is why they’re always rich.  I’d love to be rich without working and live in a spooky gothic castle.  Sleep during the day and party all night?  Sure, college was awesome.  I guess the only downside would be that I love garlic.  However, I hate the heat more than I love garlic so vampire it is.  If you need me I’ll be hanging out with Nick Vendito’s grandfather. 

Get Out of My Dreams and into My Car (262)

I had to make my first car payment in almost seven years today.  This got me thinking about my first and only other car I have ever owned.  It's been over a year and a half since the passing of the beloved Focus, but I still think of it frequently.  For an $11,000 hatch back, I got a lot of mileage out of it.  I made it as far north as Boston, as far West as Chicago, as far south as DC, and as far east as the Atlantic Ocean (I should have sprung for the submarine sport option).  Over the course of ten years and 180,000 plus miles, we had a lot of adventures together, but the following five may be the most memorable.

They Just Do Not Stop Having the Mafia in Providence

After having driven north of Connecticut for the first time shortly after the conclusion of my freshman year at Fairfield, I headed to a suburb of Providence, whose name I have since forgotten.  I met up with five other Fairfield friends to crash at Allie's family compound complete with a pool and tennis courts.  I didn't know actual people played tennis, let alone owned tennis courts.  After a day full of feeling insignificant in the presence of true wealth, it was time to drown my lack of worth in cheap draft beer.  Being that none of us were older than 19, our options were limited.  The six of us piled into my car, which although it was the smallest, could fit one living person in the trunk.  The trunk was actually quite spacious since it was a hatchback.  You could see out of the rear window and the back seat opened up into it, so you could still smack the heads of those sitting in front of you.  This had since been dubbed "the drunk trunk." We made our way into Providence and got into the only bar that would let us in without carding us, thought I think a few of us had Maine IDs that said we were born in the Ford administration.  After entering without incident we promptly began celebrating.  After a short time, Adam, being Italian, found other seemingly underage Italian patrons and struck up a conversation.  Before long he was inebriated and must have said something to offend his partners in conversation because we had to pull him away from them as they shouted obscenities back and forth.  I'm not sure exactly what was said, but apparently the other two said they had mob connections, and Adam disagreed.  It seemed very plausible to the rest of us that they might, so we did what any other group of friends would do.  We continued to feed him shots so he would pass out and cease attempting to explain to his Italian brethren that they were full of shit.  The plan backfired as Adam's brain was set to "vomit" instead of "pass out."  After managing to get him out of there, the only sober person among us grabbed the keys to my car and proceeded home with me in the drunk trunk.  After pulling over several times to allow Adam to evacuate his stomach, we noticed we were being followed.  Also, we were lost.  Also, we were drunk.  Also, we were probably listening to the Weezer blue album.  The car following us pulled ahead of us and stopped.  The guys in my car ran out to meet the guys emptying out of the other car.  I, naturally, was locked in the trunk.  I was yelling for someone to let me out as I saw the two masses of dudes converge.  When they met it seemed to me like the scene in Braveheart when the Irish and Scottish charge each other in battle.  They suddenly stopped and started shaking hands.  In silence, I watched as they laughed and all walked back to their respective cars.  I quickly learned that the car was being driven by Allie's boyfriend who thought we were the car full of the other Italian dudes from the bar that Adam was screaming at.  Apparently they said something about Allie and he was out for blood.  He just followed the wrong car. He had to be drunk because what group of guys claiming to have Mafia ties would ever drive an orange Ford Focus hatchback?  We all had a good laugh, and Adam proceeded to throw up all over Rhode Island.  Good times.

Let it Roll Baby Roll
The same summer as my trip to Rhode Island, I was working with my aunt doing catering jobs.  One particular weekend we were catering a private party at somebody's house in South Jersey.  I was tasked with picking up 12 dozen rolls (which I recently learned is called a gross) early in the morning and taking them to the party.  Of the 144 rolls, maybe 50 were actually eaten.  I threw the rest of the rolls back in my trunk after the party was over with the intention of maybe eating a few and tossing the rest.  However, my procrastination proved to be highly beneficial in this case, for after three weeks of convincing myself that I would get the rolls out of my trunk tomorrow, I discovered that they had become rock hard.  In most circumstances, this would prove to be insignificant but the timing of the discovery came at an opportune time.  I had been hanging out one night in front of Bunn's house, and when Bunn and I went to drive off somewhere Polsky said something to irritate us both.  I told Bunn to grab one of the brown bags from the trunk and not ask any questions.  When he reached into the bag he didn't have to.  As I cruised by Polsky while he tried to impress a local young strumpet, Bunn winged a roll at Polsky.  When Polsky turned to see what the hell hit him, he was hit by several more.  One or two may have missed and hit the young lady, but this was a casualty of war.  There were around 90 rolls in my trunk and for the next month, when someone heard the words "Roll 'em," they knew to run the hell away.  Towards the end they were so rock solid that when I broke one over Joe Face's head it sounded like I broke his skull with a bat.  This sent him into a rage, causing him to steal my car and drive away with it.  I had one of the brown bags on me and threw a roll as hard as I could through what I thought was an open window.  To my surprise Joe Face had the foresight to roll the window up and the roll struck the glass.  How the window didn't break, I'll never know.  The sound echoed for about a minute and a half.  At this point Joe Face and I knew it was time.  We had gone too far.  The rolls were put in the trash never to be used as a threat again.  The disarmament has resulted in a more peaceful time, but every summer I think of heading back down to the Black Horse Pike to buy a gross.

First, We'll Make Snow Angels for Two Hours

In February of 2003, Fairfield County got hit with about 10 inches of snow overnight and into the morning...on a weekday.  This had been the greatest thing to happen to Fairfield University class of 2005 since the cohabitation of Regis Hall.  Gates had an early class that day, and woke me up like an eight year old on Christmas morning.  After hearing class had been cancelled we began dancing around the room with a whiteness that matched the precipitation.  Although it was only 9:30 in the morning, we celebrated the news with a cold Busch Light.  Shortly after completing our first Busch Light of the morning, we celebrated our completion of our first Busch Light of the morning.  This cycle repeated itself for several hours until the fear hit us.  We had rushed through the beer at an alarming rate.  The beer in the fridge was enough to get us through a few sleepy weekdays, but not an all out two day snow load.  The situation had become dire.  It was before noon, there was almost a foot of snow on the ground, we were too inebriated to drive, and we were going to run out of beer.  Then suddenly, like an angel from heaven, Adam entered the room sober as a bird.  This was clearly a sign from god, as Adam had not been sober since April of last year when he had accidentally slept through an entire day after celebrating his birthday.  Though the odds of any stores still being open were slim, we charged Adam with a task of incredible magnitude.  Though he had no car of his own, he gallantly volunteered to take the Focus into the blizzard though its control in the snow was known to be less than awful.  After laughing in the face of danger, he enlisted the services of his trustworthy co-pilot, Duni.  Gately and I gave Adam and Duni all the cash we had and wished them good lock and godspeed.  Once the money had been distributed, Nolan showed up as well to assure us all that he would bravely wait with Gately and I to guard the remainder of the beer.  We watched the two drive off from our dorm room window knowing full well, that we may never see them again.  They were gone for nearly three hours.  We were down to our last beer and were already reading the ingredients to the Febreeze to confirm if it would be a apt substitute.  Then we heard a voice.  As the voice grew nearer we noticed that the "r"s in every word had gone unpronounced.  It was Adam, that beautiful Bostonian son of a bitch!  Adam and Duni burst through the door bearing three duffel bags full of beer and Christian Brothers Egg Nog.  Nobody asked what horrors the two had to entail to get the four cylindered machine up the icy hills and through the mountains of snow.  When the snow melted a week later, there was not a scratch on the Focus.  They had driven it, against the odds, through a snow covered hell I don't even want to imagine and came out clean on the other side.  And that children, is how Adam and Duni saved Christmas...I mean Tuesday.

Run to the Hills

What the Focus lacked in horsepower it made up in heart.  It was like the David Eckstein of automobiles.  The first time I ever went camping in Northeastern Pennsyvania, I volunteered to drive Gates and King from Teeling's parents' house.  This would be the one of only two times the Focus made it camping.  I loaded my car with eight cases of beer, two extra bodies, a handle of Jager, a water bottle half full of gin, and a few duffel bags full of water shoes, cut-off t-shirts, combustible objects, tents, toga sheets, and ping pong balls...you know, the essentials.  I had probably never had that much weight in my car before, and was unaware of the steep hills the Focus would have to climb.  In the first half of the trip, I encountered a hill that would have been the demise of most four cylinder compacts filled to the brim with booze and hung over undergrads.  The cars that I followed made the ascent without delay, but the Focus was not as adept at mountain climbing.  The hill was probably only a quarter mile long, but it felt like it took me about ten minutes to will the car forward with the RPM dial stuck to the right and the mph dial stuck to the left.  When I made it to the intersection at the top of the hill, the drivers behind me and those waiting at the intersection stopped where they were and appluaded.  Nobody thought the Focus would make it.  I never doubted her.

Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '04

I remember waking up stuck to a brown, beer-soaked couch in some god awful smelling townhouse living room.  I thought to myself, "What a fowl hour to be woken by some strange, pale faced lunatic shouting something about politics."  I'm certain now it was Nolan, but at the time I wasn't sure.  After eating a handfull of Anacin, I managed to slide into a gray canvas coat and hide my eyes behind a pair of somebody's sunglasses.  It was the winter of 2004 and Nolan and I, along with various other members of Fairfield University's less desirables, were spear-heading Paul Duffy's underground campaign for class president.  Duffy was smart enough to enlist a real campaign manager to put up campaign posters, talk to the papers, and make sure he didn't show up drunk for debates, but we were the ones who weren't afraid to get shit on our hands.  Earlier in the month, through a series of covert operations, we were able to block the names of Duffy's compettion from appearing in bold letters accross a series of dorm hall and townhouse windows.  Duffy was the first candidate ever to run for president against someone running for reelection.  That's because the year before a sophomore was elected for the first time in school history.  If Duffy was going to win, he needed our help.  We had planned to concentrate our energy on the Freshmen vote that day.  Freshmen weren't permitted to have cars on campus, so a team of us were going to drive from dorm to dorm giving freshmen rides to and from whereever the hell it is that freshmen need to go.  Nolan and I spent over six hours in the Focus mentioning Duffy's various political stances, such as the deconstruction of the judicial counsel, weekly visits from the Super Duper Weenie food truck, and the expansion of the student body's existence on Fairfield Beach.  We also happened to mention some of his competitor's goals for 2004-05, such as the creation of a dry campus, forced triples in the dorms, and the mandatory completion of advanced calculus III for all students.  Also, didn't anyone find it strange that Duffy's rival's grandfather fled from Germany in 1944 and was sending him gold bars from a PO Box in Argentina?  Nolan and I certainly did.  After six long hours of delivering truth to the masses, the Focus could bare no more and one of my tires exploded like one particular candidate's hopes and dreams of reelection.  I drove on a donut for two weeks before I had the money to buy a new tire, but Duffy won the election and evil was defeated.



RIP Ford Focus: 9/2000-2/2011

Somewhere in the Swamps of Jersey (293)

Below are the contents of a letter that I will be sending to Governor Chris Christie this coming Monday morning.  Enjoy. 

Anthony Bachich

432 Markle Street

Philadelphia, PA 19128

6/16/2012

Christopher Christie
Governor of New Jersey
Office of the Governor
PO Box 001
Trenton, NJ 06825

Dear Governor Christie:

I am writing to inform you and the state of New Jersey that I am entitled to the amount of $9,322.40, and expect to receive payment within the next 30 days.  A check can be mailed to the address listed in the header above.

I am currently a citizen of Philadelphia, PA, but travel to Basking Ridge, NJ twice per week for work.  While in New Jersey, I generally take advantage of the lower gas prices, and fill my tank approximately 3 times every two weeks.  However, The Retail Gasoline Dispensing Safety Act of 1949 prohibits me from pumping gas myself.  This has led to a longer gasoline purchasing transaction time from pull in to drive out, which averages approximately four additional minutes per visit compared to the average gasoline purchasing transaction time I have experienced in Pennsylvania, and other self-pumping states.  As I am sure you are aware, Governor Christie, time has an associated monetary value.  I have concluded, and will be happy to provide you with an appendix if requested, that my time is currently valued at $0.56 per minute.  This means that every time I fill my gas tank in the state of New Jersey, I am losing $2.24 as a direct result of The Retail Gasoline Dispensing Safety Act of 1949.  I do realize that on average gas has been close to $0.16 cheaper in New Jersey than in Philadelphia over the past several years as noted by a 2012 GasBuddy.com historical price chart.  I generally use 12 gallons of gas when filling up, which means I am saving a total of $1.92 every time I choose to purchase gasoline in New Jersey compared to Pennsylvania.  However, this still results in a net loss of $0.32 per fill up.  As previously noted, I fill my tank approximately 78 times per year, which is resulting in a $24.96 loss over the previous year.

Using the same calculations for the previous six years since I have been living in either New Jersey or Pennsylvania, I have concluded that I am owed an additional $364.04.  This includes a lower value of time per minute as my wagers were less, but it also excludes the price difference between Pennsylvania and New Jersey gas prices in years where my primary residences was in New Jersey.  This was excluded as it would not make logical sense to drive further for higher prices.  This brings the total to $390 over the past seven years.

The additional compensation I am demanding is for future lost wages which will result from the continuation of the Retail Gasoline Dispensing Safety Act of 1949.  I have recently received my MBA from the Fox School of Business at Temple University, which has, as a result, increased my earning potential, thus increasing my value of time per minute.  Therefore, each additional minute I spend at the pump as a result of the Retail Gasoline Dispensing Safety Act of 1949 is costing me more money.  I have extrapolated my value of time per minute through the age of 65, in the hope that I will, at that point, be able to retire.  I have used an average value per minute of $1.36 for the next 35 years and assumed a similar difference in between gas prices in New Jersey and Pennsylvania.  This results in a net loss of $8,954.40 which I deserve compensation for, and brings the final total of what the state of New Jersey owes me to $9,344.40.

While $9,334.40 is a small amount of capital for the state of New Jersey, the time wasted at the pump also has a certain opportunity cost.  To use yourself as an example, Governor Christie, every time you have to pull into a gas station and wait an additional four minutes to have your gas pumped, you are wasting valuable time that could be spent on other important activities pertinent to the well being of the state of New Jersey.  I believe it is safe to assume that you, on average, travel much more than I do to fulfill your occupational duties.  In addition, I can not even imagine how much additional time must be wasted waiting to re-fuel a helicopter to travel back and forth from your children's little league games.  Clearly the minutes wasted by the Retail Gasoline Dispensing Safety Act of 1949 hinder your opportunity cost more than any resident of the state.  If you spend twice as much time at the pump as I do in a given year, which I believe is a fair assumption, then you are wasting over ten hours per year waiting for your gas to be pumped for you.  In that amount of time it would be easy for you to close at least two public schools and lay-off dozens of teachers to help cut the New Jersey budget, hence making room for tax breaks for your noble constituents, in turn aiding your re-relection.  It seems foolhardy to allow the money hungry teachers' union to continue their stranglehold of the state budget when there are wealthy state residents in need of tax breaks.  By allowing the Retail Gasoline Dispensing Safety Act of 1949 to continue you are encouraging the socialist doctrine of public education and tax payor equality, something your most avid supporters would surely disapprove of.

If these previous two examples have not persuaded you to reconsider the Retail Gasoline Dispensing Safety Act of 1949, then perhaps my final, more simplistic example will help convince you.  Both you and I are very attune to matters of business, but I am sure you, like myself, also enjoy those occasions on which we are able to spend our free time doing what we love.  As I had previously mentioned, the amount of time wasted at the pump for yourself over the course of a single year is likely over ten hours. In this amount of time, Governor Christie, you could eat an additional 40 Wendy's Baconators (R) each year.  This is assuming a 15 minute time on average from entering the drive through, purchasing, and consuming said Baconator (R).  I did not take into account that you might bring the Bacondator (R) to a third party location for consumption.  I understand you are a busy man, so I assumed the Baconator (R) would be consumed while in the vehicle, while it is in park of course.  Over the entirety of your four year term, that is 40 pounds of fresh, never frozen beef, 640 pieces of Applewood Smoked Bacon, 320 slices of american cheese, and about a tub of mayonnaise and ketchup each that you are missing out on.    Please Governor Christie, the next time you consider the Retail Gasoline Dispensing Safety Act of 1949, just think of the delicious Baconators (R) you are cheating yourself out of.

I am happy to say that if you do decide to repeal this unjust law, I would immediately retract my demand for all previously lost compensation.  However, if this has not persuaded you otherwise, I will be expecting my check within the coming weeks.

Sincerely,
Anthony Bachich

Math! (not included in my letter)

Time Out! (330)

So a few months ago (the last time I had any time to think), Jackson told me he’d be willing to illustrate some of my blogs when he had free time.  When I sent him my idea on time travel he came back with a Zack Morris “time out” drawing idea that sounded pretty funny, but didn’t really fit my time travel patents and currency conversion theme.  However, this did get me thinking about another topic that had been festering in my brain for about, oh…two decades.  Like the dude from A Bronx Tale said, there’s nothing worse than wasted talent.  Zack Morris happens to finish in the top three of my biggest violators of wasted talent.

It’s Good to be the King

The late Kim Jung Il, ranks up there among the most deranged tyrannical dictators, which is a difficult task since most dictators are deranged, and I think by definition, tyrannical.  Despite the fact that he ruled an entire half of a country, he still felt the need to make people understand how great he was, even if he had to lie (gasp).  There were stories in the press of his first golf outing, in which he shot around a 36 with four holes in one.  I guess when you control everything your countrymen watch, read, and listen to, you can convince them that you’re a pre-sex-crazed Tiger Woods and Super Man poured into a tiny old man frame with giant women’s sunglasses.  Although he had the power to make his people believe anything, he did a sub-par job in convincing them that their international sports teams were decent.  When the women’s soccer team lost in the Olympics, the paper reported that the entire team was struck by lightning, leading to a sluggish performance.  While understandably believable, this was lazy on the part of Il.  When you have the power to make the people believe anything, why not just tell them the Olympics is going to be held in North Korea that year.  An entire fake Olympics could have been staged, and every team/athlete from South Korea would win the gold.  Shit, Kim Jung Il would take home the gold for boxing, the long jump, and the floor exercise.  This was extremely disappointing on the part of Il.  Clearly we all should have known his health was deteriorating when he wasn't wracking up fake gold medals in the fake 2008 Olympics.  We were blind.  But at least our country is good at stuff…sometimes.

I’ll Stop the World

Zack Morris could stop time!  He could stop the entire effing universe from progressing forward!  And what did he do with this power?  He made witty asides to television audiences.  That’s it.  Really, that’s pretty much all he did with this.  He never once called a time out to get every single answer to every single test he ever took throughout his entire high school career, to graduate with a 4.0 GPA, 1600 SAT, and a scholarship to Stanford.  At no point did he ever drive the lane, call a time out, reposition the defense, and score an easy lay-up to win the state championship and break an all time scoring record.  He never once made a bet, and when the time was running out and his team was losing, go to his bookie’s notebook and change his pick to win 18 grand.  Never, not once, did he call a time out to put some jacked dude’s leg out so that it would trip a hot chick, then call series of time outs so that it would look like he beat up said jacked dude, thus making the hot chick want to make out with him. WHY?!?!  Was this guy the dumbest 20 year old high school kid in the history of bad daytime young adult programming?  I honestly could never watch the show for more than ten minutes without getting furious, and I was 11 years old.  What a waste. 

He’s a Maniac

Dr. Wiley spent his entire lifetime building evil robots for one reason or another.  From what I could understand Mega Man was pretty much the only half man/robot that could stop him.  After all the hours put into conceiving, designing, manufacturing, and implementing these robots, he then had to be the architect of a multitude of layers and fortresses.  Much to his dismay, no matter how difficult he made the layers, and no matter how strong he made his killer robots, Mega Man always triumphed.  While I give the Doctor major props for being able to escape at the end of each game, or at least in the period between sequels, there has always been a major flaw in his strategy.  At times Wiley made some very difficult jumping sequences in several of his levels.  One that comes to mind is the Heat Man disappearing block sequence.  It took a good deal of time to master the order of disappearing and reappearing blocks.  Many lives were lost to the lava.  However, a few hours on a rainy Saturday and you could get through it.  Even better, if you had that rocket dog, you could just jump on his back and ride if straight to Wiley’s skull shaped fortress.  So, the question is: If you designed the level, WHY THE HELL DID YOU PUT IN DISAPPEARING BLOCKS?!?!?!  How about, oh I don’t know, no blocks at all!  Make the lava gap long enough so that that dumb rocket dog can’t reach the other side, and then you’re safe from Mega man forever.  That could have been it: Mega Man 2 (The Final Chapter).  Now of course, that would have robbed us all from experiencing Pharaoh Man, but really this stupidity just undermined all of my Mega Man accomplishments in the long run. Where did Dr. Wiley get his PhD from anyway, the University of Phoenix? 

1.21 Jigawats (410)



Now that we’re less than three years away from hover-boards, flying cars, and a drastic realignment of Major League Baseball enabling the Marlins to beat the Cubs in the 2015 World Series, mainstream access to time travel can’t be far behind.  Despite charging my crack team of scientists with inventing time travel over eight years ago, results have been sparse.  Lead scientist Dr. E. Pimpinella has yet to produce a single hypothesis that has proven useful.  Frankly, I’m thinking of reassigning him to work on Dr. Hammer Jones’s matter transportation device, which has met similar pitfalls.  I’m beginning to think that I may not be able to make my fortune off the patent of this device, despite my relentless funding.  However, this does not mean that there are not profits to be made from time travel.  I have developed several potential ventures that are ripe for profit once the time travel market gets off the ground.  These ideas should prove to be much more fruitful, largely due to the fact that I won’t have to prod my way through particle physics equations.  It gets tricky with all them numbers.  Below are some of my better ideas to date.  Investors are wanted.

Who Gives an F about an Oxford Comma?



Mike Jackson

For decades, high school and college students alike have been forced to read E.B White’s Elements of Style.  Who the hell made E.B. White the spokesperson for correct grammar?  His claim to fame is writing a book about a talking pig.  I know Orwell did it too, but at least his book was a metaphor.  Regardless, E.B. White’s grandchildren are likely rolling around in cash like that glutton Templeton rolls around in carnival garbage due to the copyright on a 90 year old grammar guide.  This must change.  Once time travel is commonly used, there will be a need for a new tense.  A tense that Professor Nolan and myself have formulated and socialite Jon Kelly has helped champion: the futient.  The futient tense solves an obvious gap in the post time travel lexicon.  Let’s say you traveled five days into the future.  While there, you punch Rick Santorum in the face.  After bowing and reveling in your standing ovation, you hurry back to your time machine to elude the authorities.  When you get back, you want to tell all your friends about your adventure.  What do you say?  Do you say, “In five days, I will have punched Rick Santorum in the face?”  That would be the future perfect tense.  This means that after five days passes you will have punched Rick Santorum in the face.  While this is true, it can easily be confused.  The future perfect is already used to mean you will have accomplished something at some point in the future.  However, this does not assume that you have actually  already completed the task in the future.  For instance, I could say, “By tomorrow night I will have gotten over my hangover.”  However, I have not traveled through time and gotten over my hangover.  I am simply assuming  by that point I will have gotten over it.  The futient eliminates this assumption and confirms certainty.  The futient is constructed by simply adding “will” before the past tense of a verb.  Unlike the future perfect it would not include “have” or “had” between “will” and the past tense of the verb.  For instance: “I will punched Rick Santorum in the face.”  I am not planning on doing this.  I have actually already punched him…in the future.  Needless to say, the development of this tense will become increasingly useful, and since I am one of only three experts in the matter, I stand to make a great deal of money off of A.W. Barlich’s Components of Sounding Pretty Sweet.  I’ll even throw a few dollars in Nolan and Jon Kelly’s direction.

Lawyers, Guns, and Money…and Copyright Infringement



The more I thought about my style guide, the more worried I was that Nolan would simply travel back in time before I had it copyrighted, and copyright it for himself.  Then, in turn, I would go back and do the same thing.  This would go on and on until one of us got eaten by a dinosaur.  This would likely be the case with most inventions and works of art.  This brings about an entire new post time travel market: Forensic Patent Law.  Patent attorneys tend to be dry, monotone melvins, but in the future I picture them more akin to Indiana Jones.  Picture a team of time traveling investigators with briefcases full of blueprints, solving mysteries.  America’s best and brightest will be lining up to get into Forensic Patent Law.  Who really invented the Burrito Shotgun?  If you want legally binding proof, call the law firm of Barlich, Barlich, Barlich, and Barlich, and also Barlich.  Sure, I may not have a law degree, but as far as I know you don’t have to be a lawyer to own a law firm.  I won’t need to practice.  As long as I get my firm on the market first and lock up the top talent, I should be able to coast off of reputation alone.  And if I need a law degree, I’ll just go back in time to 2005 to take the LSAT.  Then I’ll just time travel three years into the future when I’m done with the bar.  I’ll be back just in time to see the Phillies win the 2008 World Series again. 

Brother Could You Spare $1.8 Billion US



Another one of my initial plans was to save up all my money for one year, travel back to 1841, and buy the United States.  It would have been great.  My face would have been on all the money, our National Anthem would have been the theme from Team America, I would ban sports in the state of New York (and Northern New Jersey just as a precaution).  However, again I realized that there would be many others with the same idea.  Next thing I know The Republic of Nolania is firing nukes at me, and now I’ve got to buy Canada.  Nobody wants that.  That’s when I realized all of this inflated currency can’t make its way through time.  There has to be a financial institution that can covert your cash into the currency of the time period to which you are traveling.  The new currency would be called Time Travelers Checks.  You’ve got $4,000 in US2012?  Here’s $0.03 in US1841.  Enjoy typhoid.  Is that $10 in US2012?  That will be $3 billion in US2083.  You’ll look great in silver.  There are plenty of financial institutions that already deal in currency futures.  My plan would be to recruit the top executives to head the board for Time Travelers Checks.  All I need to do is raise capital and I’m essentially a billionaire within a few years of the first time traveler.  How will currency smuggling and fraud be enforced you ask?  I’ll leave that to Jean-Claude Van Damme.  He’s the only one I know with the credentials.

He Was Lying to Me: Things Nicky V. Told Me (442)

In a magical time called the early 90's, before the dawn of the Internet, cellular phones, and reality television, I used to wander down the block donning my Starter pullover jacket toward the Pimpinellas' house.  There I would pass the weekends playing Rad Racer, watching The Naked Gun, pretending to be Fred Barnett, and listening to the elder of the Pimpinella brothers read mayonnaise ingredients off the Hellmann's label as we attempted to repair the Ninja Turtle blimp from another crash landing.  As fun as this all may seem, we still felt the need to leave the house and play outside, usually when we wanted to pretend to be Fred Barnett.  If we were outside for more than a few minutes we would often be joined by the Pimpinellas' neighbor, Nicky V.  I will refer to this individual only as Nicky V. to protect the accused from the all-knowing Google machine.  Nicky V. was a year older than me, which at my age meant he was one cooler.  Apart from his age making him cooler than me in my mind, it also gave his words weight.  When Nicky told me stories, which is what Nicky specialized in, I believed every word.  Some of my other friends who also frequented the Pimpinellas valued Nicky's word as much as I did.  However, looking back twenty years later, I am beginning to think that Nicky V. was full of shit.  I will now make an attempt to disprove several of Nicky's most bold claims.

Nicky V.'s Grandfather was a Vampire
One day, while Turtle and I were riding the bus back from school, Nicky V. approached us and handed us a tattered, yellow piece of paper.  He told us that we could read it so long as we never told anyone what it said.  Don't worry, I'm not breaking my oath now.  I broke it about ten minutes after reading it when I told the Pimpinellas.  The letter was allegedly from Nicky's grandfather.  It explained that he was a vampire, and that if Nicky got rid of any garlic, crosses, wooden stakes, and holy water from his house while he came to visit, Nicky would be spared.  Now at first, Turtle and I laughed behind Nicky's back.  We boasted that we didn't believe in vampires and were sure that Nicky wrote the letter himself.  However, the weekend that Nicky's grandfather visited, and every weekend every year after that, you could be damn sure Turtle and I weren't hanging at the Pimpinellas house after dark.  Now common sense would say that this had to be a falsification, but I am a scientist at heart and would need solid evidence to disprove a theory.  I remember Nicky saying the letter was some sort of old scroll and noted the discoloration to authenticate its age, but even an 6 year old knows what legal stationary looks like.  That's one strike against him.  Secondly, I don't think vampires bite their family members.  I'm pretty sure that's like vampire incest.  That would be like your grandfather threatening to make out with you if you didn't clean your room.  This of course is not hard evidence though.  Nicky was weird.  Maybe his grandfather was too.  One piece of evidence that Nicky does have on his side is that this was before the whole vampire fad.  This may have even been before Interview With a Vampire.  For a 7 year old to come up with this story with zero media influence would be impressive.  It looks like the case is still open on this one.

Nicky V. Was Making Super Genetically Enhanced Crickets
This, according to Nicky, is how you make crickets super human...or super-cricket:
1. Trap cricket in jar.
2. Pour motor oil onto cricket.
3. Let motor oil soaked cricket sit in the summer sun all day and then over night.
4. Crack open motor oil shell and release cricket back into jar.
5. Inject cricket with Nicky's magic serum.
6. Release super cricket back into the wild.
There are several holes in this procedure.  The biggest hole being that I never saw an in tact cricket step out of the motor oil shell.  Sure I saw the motor oil get pured on the cricket, and I saw a live cricket in the jar the next day, but how could I tell if it was the same cricket?  If only Dr. Joe Face had lived near us back then.  Surely he would have developed a more detailed method for tracking the crickets.  Also, I'm fairly positive that Nicky's magic serum was cologne, and the syringe was a sewing needle.  Ultimately, this now sounds like something a serial killer would do as a child.  Hopefully, I stayed on his good side.  Speaking of which, Nicky V. totally turned these crickets into super crickets.  One of them is now the Mayor of Washington Township, NJ.

Nicky V. Was Going to Get Turtle and I Mega Man Suits
OK, this one was total horseshit.  I can easily prove this one wrong.  Nicky told us he knew someone from Japan that was giving him three Mega Man suits.  Naturally, he would keep one of them, but he said he would give the other two to Turtle and I.  I never got my god damn Mega Man suit.  I couldn't sleep for almost six months as the promise continued to be delayed.  All I could think about was tossing aside the clothes my mom laid out for me on the bed in the morning and stepping into my kickass Mega Man suit to get on the bus.  "No talking in the hallway, you say?"  Proton Blast!!!  "I before e except after c, you say?"  Proton Blast!!!  "I talk too much in class Mrs. Rotberg?  Well, how fortunate for you because you won't be able to hear me when your ears have melted along with the rest of your old dumb head from my deadly effing PROTON BLAST!!!"  I'm still livid about this.  I want my Mega Man suit.  I'm sure Turtle will tell you the same thing.

Nicky V. Told Us Nintendo Had a Stealth Jet That Followed Us Around and Stole Our Ideas
Whenever we talked about ideas for a video game, or a movie, or a terrorist plot to high-jack the president's airplane, Nicky always told us to keep it down, and then would look up at the sky.  "They're listening to us," he would say.  Apparently we were the most creative children on the planet.  Nintendo knew this so they had a plane follow us around and tap our conversations.  Any good idea we had would turn into a Nintendo game, or an action figure, or a breakfast cereal.  It was kind of creepy.  I think this story has more validity than any of the others.  I've had many ideas stolen from me.  Futurama stole my surprise funeral idea.  Daniel Tosh stole my falling down an up escalator joke.  South Park stole a myriad of ideas that the Pimpinellas, Geno, and I had come up with about two years before it even debuted.  Most recently, a Christmas card stole Turtle's idea of Human Santa-Pede.  If there's a "Nicky V: The Movie" within six months of this post, don't be surprised.
..............................................................................................................................................

So, after carefully analyzing Nicky's stories, I was only able to disprove one of them.  One, I'm sure is true, and the other two I couldn't prove either way.  Maybe Nicky V. wasn't full of shit.  Maybe he's just a understandably paranoid, scientific genius, grandson of a vampire.  I just wish he would use his abilities to make me my god damn Mega Man suit.

The KKK Took My Baby Away (458)

The KKK is a repugnant organization that is a symbol of American ignorance.  For years they have been spreading their disgusting doctrine to the masses, and to my surprise their popularity has recently continued to grow.  However, I could have never imagined that they would have made their way into my life.  Not only have they infiltrated my home, but they have brainwashed my poor wife, to the point that they are now her only focus.  They must be stopped.  Kim, Kourtney, and Khloe are a menace that are destroying the fabric of American society.  If you truly care for those you love, stop the KKK from destroying them before it is too late. 

Detecting the Early Stages of KKK Brainwashing
Early symptoms of KKK brainwash include, but are not limited to:
1. Referring to any of the Kardashians by only their first name in normal conversation as if they are mutual friends of those speaking.  Example: "Can you believe Khole has to leave LA to move to Dallas?  Where will she find a good Thai fusion restaurant?"  When you start asking yourself, "Do we have a friend named Kourtney/Kim/Khloe that I am forgetting about", your loved one may already be infected.
2. Persistent talk about buying boots, how cute someone else's boots are, or the actual purchase of boots outside one's practical purchasing power.  Example: My wife took out a $20,000 home equity loan to buy a pair of super cute boots, wore them once, and then starting talking about buying more boots.
3. Slurring of words, slowing one's verbal pace, and gradually lowering the pitch of one's voice while talking behind someone else's back.  Example: "Oh my god, can you believe Sarah bought thatuglyeffingscrafandworeitwiththoseawfulpairofblippityblopblahblah?"  As the pitch and pace grow lower and slower the words eventually become inaudible to those uninfected. 



From left to right: Khloe, Kim, and
Kourtney at a Miami KKK rally in 2011



Preventing Full Infection



The most common forms of treatment for early stage KKK infection are:

1. Switching your DVR cable box for a normal cable box without recording capability.  An uninfected patient could easily tell the difference, but those with early stage KKK will only be able to make high pitch whining sounds.

2. Assume all grocery shopping responsibilities.  If the infected patient is unable to access tabloid magazines the infection will eventually weaken.

Symptoms of Full Infection

Patients displaying any of these symptoms should be immediately treated:

1. Watching the Kim and Kris wedding on repeat and sobbing uncontrollably.

2. Changing one's first name so that it begins with a "K" when it should clearly begin with a different letter.  For example, spelling Carly as Karly.

3. The inability to form multi-syllabic words and drooling in between noises. 

Treatment for Advanced KKK

Though not 100% effective there are some treatments for advanced KKK that have been known to result in remission. 

1. Cutting off all media access.  Cable and Internet service must be shut off, and tabloid magazines must be avoided at all costs.  The infected patient will no longer be able to provide these services for themselves as they have spent all of their income on boots. 

2. Re-train the infected brain.  Start by reading children's books to the infected patient.  Pop up books work especially well for early stimulation.  As the patient begins to comprehend what is being read, they may be able to advance to young adult material and eventually may learn to read again. 

Wiping Out the KKK for Good

The KKK will continue to exist in this country as long as we allow our friends, family, and significant others to be exposed to them.  Be proactive and have your cable provider block the E! Network.  Practice safe media.  Avoid morning radio shows on top 40 stations.  Stay away from long super market lines that may contain enticing photographs of the KKK in their new boots.  And most importantly, be there for the ones you love.  If someone you love mentions the KKK, change the god damn subject.