Funny Class Notes

Life Tip #95

2009-07-15T09:24:00.000-07:00

Don't steal.

If you are going to steal, don't hold up the security guard of a parked armored car.

If you are going to steal from the security guard of a parked armored car, don't burn your getaway vehicle before you have committed the crime.

If you realize you have set your getaway vehicle on fire before stealing from the security guard of a parked armored car, just don't commit the crime instead of taking the money and burning it as the police arrive.

Notice to Employees #2

2009-07-14T06:22:00.000-07:00

Note: The following is a personal email I received. I republish it here with very few edits:

Hope you and the family is in enjoying the vacation. Everything is going well. We have the Wednesday screening in morning. I have coordinated with everybody involved. Ch, Personnel Operations is having a division Mtg at 1500 tomorrow, just wants to be updated and what's been happening. I was going to have Kay update the slides that you briefed a week or so ago. RM SGM called yesterday wanting to talk to you about adding new initiatives to their finance briefing for the Course. Will not cause any work on our part. He wants finance to come over twice for about 5 minutes each to make sure they're making progress on completing their vouchers on DTS/Virtual before the class ends to make sure they get everything they're entitled. I told him that we are having the computer divisions have our NIPR lines go hot, so they can down load the documents we need from them for the course. He says that a finance software program needs to be added before they access they're finance system back at their unit(AF). Do you want me to try to coordinate with the computer people? It may push what you're trying to do back if they try to get this software added. How do you want me to proceed? I will check with the computer and see if they have the program first and see if they do have it will it push our work order back. If it would not I will go ahead and have them add the finance software the RM is talking about. SOP is good to go. Security wanted a few things added and it was accomplished. The question is who do you want to sign it in your absence (The Director) or (Ch, Personnel Operations) or someone else? The other section of security is handling the back ground check form. She told me she will probably have the forms back by Thursday. We have forms on everybody that's authorized by you. Those people that's the background check is being done on, we can just create an access roster, which is the only missing piece. The NCOIC will walk everybody through the procedures once we get everything back signed and approved. At this time no major emails have came up in your inbox. Enjoy your vacation.

Life With Brothers

2009-07-10T06:06:00.000-07:00

I'll go ahead and admit it right now. If it weren't for my brothers, I'd have no clue how to relate to guys. I'd also be much more uptight and organized. But let's face it... they've changed my life. I'd like to give you a little picture of what my life is like.

Note: These are all true incidents. I did not find this list online somewhere. It comes from actual events I have witnessed. In fact, the White-Out one happened yesterday.

White-Out is, in fact, quite permanent, but can be removed from skin with a generous amount of gasoline.

When inserted into a light switch, bobby pins can cause large sparks to appear, but will cause a minimal amount of damage to your person.

Sleeping bags can create large amounts of static electricity when they are ridden down a flight of stairs.

When children are given handcuffs, even play ones, it is wise to keep one of the keys in a safe place. Chances are, you'll need them later, and you'll be glad you kept them.

Do not tie a rope around your waist when jumping off a roof. Your mom will freak out about possible strangulation hazards.

"Magic Erasers" (Thank you Mr. Clean!) can usually remove permanent marker artwork from glass and antique wood. However, walls and carpet are a completely different story.

Even washable markers love flat paint.

Moms don't like silly putty. Carpet does.

Never forget to put flour in your cookie dough. Ever.

Regular table salt will stay in your hair for a while, it sticks to your scalp and can get a little itchy.

When launching water balloons out a second story window using a heavy-duty two-person slingshot, (boy is this fun!) make sure you clear the house of the across-the-street neighbor. That way, even though your mom will be mad, your dad will be so impressed that you'll get off pretty easily.

Stuffed animals placed on the blades of a ceiling fan can fly for long distances. It really is fun, just make sure you secure any breakables within a 30 ft. radius.

If all the kids in your family change places at a restaurant, the waitress really won't appreciate it.

Especially if you repeat the process every 5 minutes.

Don't keep a journal. No matter how often you change the hiding spot, it WILL be found.

If you try hard enough, it is possible to convince certain siblings that a major holiday has been cancelled for the year. Don't do this in front of your parents.

Large stereo systems and cranky neighbors do not mix.

Do not use anything living as a football. Especially a sibling.

"Lifetime" plastic folding tables make great slides, and also make you a walking talking shocking machine. Beware of touching any metal objects for at least 15 minutes.

When using Nerf guns:

Do not shoot your mom while she's talking on the phone. Especially when she's on the phone with your dad.

If you decide to shoot chandeliers, and the bullet sticks, don't worry. It will come down in a few days. Don't bother shooting other bullets at it to knock it off. And don't make a smiley face with the bullets either.

If you lick the bullets to make them stick better, they will leave a smudge mark on glass.

War movies are 10 times better when you can use a Nerf gun to shoot the enemy on the screen.

When having a Nerf gun war, ask younger siblings (the ones that aren't allowed to participate) to spy for you. This will make your enemies mad, so only do it when you have little risk of getting caught.

The bullets that come with the "Sniper" Nerf guns leave a mark on skin even when used from a distance, and at close range, it can be quite painful.

Never aim a Nerf gun at your own face. I have seen many people make this mistake. You never know when it is loaded, and apparently it really hurts when you get shot from 6 inches away. Not only does your face hurt, your pride is severely damaged.

Life Tip #94

2009-07-08T09:22:00.000-07:00

Don't drink twice the legal alcohol limit.

If you are going to get drink twice the legal alcohol limit, don't drive.

If you are going drive after drinking twice the legal alcohol limit, don't keep doing it after your 8th DUI ticket.

If you are on your 9th DUI ticket for drinking twice the legal alcohol limit, it's probably easier to just pull over instead of slamming into several parked vehicles, destroying neighborhood yards, and fleeing from a police officers before crashing into a tree.

The mushy date

2009-07-07T06:22:00.000-07:00

Unlucky in love, I decided to revamp my dating approach. I needed something that would bring my style more in line with the famous schmoozers of TV and movies. I needed to be Cary Grant or even Hugh Grant at the height of their studliness (to clarify, not in car in Los Angeles or any other compromising location). Ever notice how movies always show the most romantic lines? "Here's looking at you, kid." "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." Could it get any sexier?

After enduring several hours of chick flick research, I discovered a common thread behind every Matthew McConaghey or Bryan Goesling character: They turn every comment into something sweet and flattering about their date. "How are you doing?" is answered "Great, now that you are here." Your favorite number is always two, "because that's what we are together -- a couple." It's not a dream about the future, it's a dream about our future together.

It takes practice to be mushy, but if a two-bit street performer turned Hollywood big shot can do it, I can give it a try.

Grethel and I met at a race. She and I had both run relaxing first miles and I caught up to her about midway through the second. She was taking the race easy, treating it like a "B" competition. I was planning on setting a season mark when I spotted her a few hundred yards ahead of me. You guys know what I mean by "spotted." I sprinted to catch up and was out of breath by the time I reached her.

I was huffing too heavily to get out anything comprehensible, but she glanced my way as I slowed into her pace. It took one look -- one simple glance -- and I surrendered my race objective. I didn't care anymore how fast I ran. Maybe, I thought ruefully, my favorite number is one. Then, thinking of the implications of a slow pace on my final placing, I figured it wasn't.

"Hey....hey..." She removed her headphones. "Hey..." I had a hard time getting the words out. How far had I sprinted? This wasn't very flattering.

"Hey." Her emotionless response didn't seem tired at all. How was she so fresh? I huffed more for a few seconds before she started to replace her headphones. NOOOO! Had to beat the buds.

"Can I have your number?" I gasped. She smiled and increased her pace. I wouldn't be able to keep up. "Can I? Can I?" I called after her.

After the race I saw her again. She gave me her number with a weird grin so I checked to make sure it wasn't the rejection hotline while she was still in sight. It wasn't. When she answered, I set up a date to a calorie-laden Italian food joint on our town's main thoroughfare.

Grethel came through the door at Oreida, a family diner with excellent french fries, wearing a light blue blouse fastened above her stomach to give the appearance of a maternity garment. As she approached my table, I bit back a comment comparing her to Katherine Heigl.

"Did it hurt?" I began.

"Did what hurt?" Grethel bit!

"Did it hurt when you fell out of heaven?" I felt pretty smug. Grethel's strained smile told me I wasn't the first person to try that line. I would have to be more creative.

Grethel started talking about another runner on her team who did something or other and before she got through all the details I had zoned out and was watching Sports Center reruns on the TV in the corner of the dining room.

"C?" Grethel called me back to reality. Be mushy, I remembered.

"Sorry, I just keep getting lost in your eyes. See, Grethel, your eyes are blue like the ocean and I just keep getting lost at sea" This was working. After I told Grethel that if I could rearrange the alphabet I would "put I and U together," that I was a "thorn by a rose" and "found" her smile in my back pocket, I ordered another side of fries.

Before we left Oreida, I asked for Grethel's hand. She gave it to me and I marked a line down the center with my finger. I explained that this line was a river and that there was a bunny on one side of the river who wanted to cross over to the other. Grethel asked why he didn't just swim across. I explained that the bunny couldn't swim, that the river was too big to jump and the bunny was a "she." Grethel nodded and asked what the point was. "I don't know," I answered, "I just wanted to hold your hand."

Grethel explained she had to return to work and thanked me for lunch. I wished her an excellent afternoon. It had been a lot of work, but Grethel seemed to be digging the mushiness.

More Reasons We Hate America

2009-07-04T16:06:00.000-07:00

It's taken us two years to do, but we finally have two more reasons why America is not the bomb.

Military Spending

The USA spends more on its military than any other nation in the world. In fact, it spends more than nine times more than the runner up, China (Woo! Go China!). That's appalling. It demonstrates a brutality and naivete that is second to none.

First, it says: America is the good guy, so it's justified in spending money on guns. But that doesn't logically follow. You know what we call countries that love war enough to spend six hundred and fifty trillion dollars on it each year? War mongers. And war mongers shouldn't be allowed to have guns. The only people who should are the ones who don't.

Second, it says: America has lots of enemies. Which is also something of a chicken and the egg. How many foreign soldiers are positioned in or threatening America? Probably somewhere between zero and none. How many American soldiers are positioned in or threatening foreign countries? Hundreds of thousands, bro. No wonder everyone hates us, which is why we convince ourselves we need a big army. Maybe if we spent less on tanks and more on flowers, people would suddenly stop hating us.

Government Structure
America is divided into fifty states; each of those states have counties and those counties have cities. Except for LA. That city has counties. Anyway, millions of dollars are spent on each election (in campaigns and administrative costs), but Americans can't seem to stop holding them. They vote on all kinds of things. There are thousands and thousands of elected officials in America, and thousands of thousands of voter-approved laws.

The whole country is enslaved by popular opinion, caught up in this democracy fad that's been taking off over the last few centuries. Everyone has an opinion about something, and precious time is wasted making sure everyone gets their say. What a waste! Consider a form of government that has been far more popular historically - in fact, it's been somewhere on the planet for thousands and thousands of years. Despotism is hyper efficient. It tosses out all these stuck-up notions of equality in favor of a system where accountability goes in just one direction: from the top down.

Now go enjoy your fireworks. But not too much.

Baby Showers: The Bane of Single Women

2009-07-03T05:45:00.000-07:00

If you are reading this and you're a man, be grateful, because that means you will never have to go to a baby shower! I think to most men, baby showers are mysterious events and they secretly wish they could someday attend one. But showers are really quite simple and not that much fun.

The concept is similar to that of a birthday party - bring a present and eat food. But the atmosphere is much different. For the young, unmarried lady, baby showers can often be torturous.

For the first half-hour or so while the guests arrive, everyone will sit around and just chat, subtly - and sometimes not-so-subtly - inquiring into the romantic lives of the unmarrieds. Regardless of whether or not the young lady's state of singleness is by choice or necessity, she will be the object of pity and advice will come flowing in so that she, too, can one day be in the same happy, 8-months-pregnant condition of the guest of honor.

After the greetings are dispensed with, food eaten, and more advice given, it is finally time to open the presents. At last, the single young lady thinks, I will be left in peace.

But she finds no relief during this activity, either. As the expectant mother unwraps gift after gift, the other mothers in the group will ooh and aah, exclaiming over the usefulness of each gift.

"Boppys are the greatest! You can use them to prop up the baby while nursing or while sitting on the floor and a bunch of other stuff!"

"I love my Diaper Genie! My nursery used to reek from all the dirty diapers, but the Genie totally hides the smells!"

"A Hooter Hider! That thing is awesome! I wish it had been around for my first 3 kids, but for the last one it was great. I could totally nurse anywhere in public and no one could complain."

"Diapers...yeah, you'll be using a lot of them!"

"Awww, what a cute onesie! You'll definitely need a lot of those! Between spit-up and the rest, they get dirty all the time!"

"A baby booger sucker! You're going to want one of those with you all the time. It works great on adults, too!"

By this time the young ladies in the group will have a look of horror on their faces. TMI, people, TMI! The variety of presents and accompanying comments is enough to make anyone uninitiated in the ways of motherhood lose her breakfast.

Typically, present opening will be followed by a mediocre chocolate-with-raspberry-filling cake. The kind hostess will serve each of the single ladies a particularly small piece. After all, they're not eating for two and must maintain their figure if they're ever to get married!

A Morning Walk.

2009-07-01T11:30:00.000-07:00

Welcome! Thank you for joining us on today’s jog. Please keep your hands and feet close to your body at all times, as excess motion may result in collision with passing objects. Begin by sending action potentials to your left leg muscles. Your appendage should flex so as to boost itself from the ground. Use the liquid in your ears to balance on one lower limb - you don't want to collapse on the concrete. Now set your shoe down a few feet in front of where you lifted it from.

Proceed with the same method for the second leg. Repeat. Speed up the process and continue to reiterate the system. Use your upper limbs to maintain equilibrium, swinging them back and forth like pendulums.

So now you need to breathe.

Open your mouth and take care that your tonsils are not in the way. Use your lower diaphragm muscles to expand your lungs, creating a vacuum and sucking atmosphere into your chest cavity. Be careful not to inhale any passing insects. After the oxygen has been absorbed by your lungs, use your abdominal muscles to exhale.

Congratulations! You have crossed the street. Please join us next week when we eat a cheeseburger!

Notice to Employees #1

2009-06-30T05:08:00.000-07:00

Due to an unprecedented increase in complaints, spurious comments and threatening emails, the We CareTM hotline is no longer responding to employee complaints. The firm still cares deeply about its labor force and wants nothing more than to see you healthy, at work and not scaring the customers. We still care; we just don't care as much. This message is being posted in all public places to remind you of your rights as employees and encourage active and safe labor participation. And we want to keep you from abusing your rights and harassing others. We understand that you may experience unpleasant conditions periodically. Our human resources department routinely informs our legal department via lengthy memoranda of the dire plight of our employee welfare policies. We are fully aware of the impact the abysmal work conditions have on your aptitude and general humor. We are so aware, in fact, that we do not need a barrage of self-esteem depressing emails like the record 189 we received last Wednesday, several of which were from obviously made up emails like "xyackzee@gmail.com." How would you feel, xyackzee@gmail.com, if your inbox were inundated with deprecating messages of spite and hate so torrid they burned your eyes. How would you like it if were were unable to find the RSVP notice for the CEO's birthday bash at the best Penthouse Suite in The City? Because that's what happened to me on Wednesday night after I spilled coffee on my tie and forgot my directions in the hurry to leave and couldn't locate them up because they had been moved out of my "quick list" by your incessant complaints. I realize you don't get coffee during your breaks and your income doesn't suffer you to afford the sort of communications technology that allows others (me!) to check my "quick list" on the go, xyackzee@gmail.com, but these differences would not exist if you had worked a few more years in school and earned your MBA like me. Junior executives are allowed to attend the CEO's party wearing coffee stained ties, carry expensive PDAs and date other Junior executives. And Janet is an excellent reason to hang on to school for another year. Salespeople in their third year are not able to do those thing. And, after this notice, you will not be able to complain either.

Would anyone who sees and reads this notice please send a spam email message to xyackzee@gmail.com? Please complain about his health insurance policy and question the merits of his marketing strategy. Tell him you don't like his logo and want to get a new mouse pad. Let's see how that makes him feel. Or, you can sign up his email for various spam online. Lot's of news sites ask for your email address. Give them his. Apparently, he likes to email. A lot!

Etiquette Monday: How to Never Leave the House

2009-06-29T05:00:00.000-07:00

Some days, you just don't want to get up out of bed. And if you must get out of bed, you just want to sit in front of the TV or the computer and chill. Eat some junk food, read some FCN, take a little nap. Don't do laundry or dishes or open the shades.

And sometimes, this urge can stretch on into the next day. And the next week.

There's nothing wrong with that. But unfortunately, your friends and relatives will start getting concerned about you and/or try to make you "snap out of it and start living again." Here are some handy tactics to keep that from happening.

The Power Surge

Update your Facebook status to: "[Your Name] lost cell phone and computer in power surge. Everything is down until my next paycheck!" It is imperative that you do not sign into chat, answer email or your phone, or text until you're ready to resurface.

The Family Emergency

Engage in luxuriously sporadic online/communication activity. When you do, preface every email with "Sorry about the delay. I'm in the middle of a family crisis." Preface every text with "cant talk family issues." Be prepared to explain yourself to any family members that ask what's up. The two easiest explanations: it's personal, i can't tell you yet.

The Dutch Hermit

Go off the radar. If anyone asks, say you have asthma. If they say that's no excuse, get indignant and ask if they have asthma. If they don't have asthma, point out that they couldn't possibly understand what you're going through. If they do have asthma, say they must not have a severe case like yours or they would know better than to say such things.

The Decepticon Attack

Send a strange, out-of-character email to everyone in your address book with a link to a suspicious website. A few hours later, send out another email apologizing. Say that you've been hacked and you're not sure how bad it is yet. When you subsequently go off the radar, no one will wonder why.

The Picasso

Lock your doors, shut your windows. Set your Facebook status to: "[Your Name] is having a burst of GENIUS!" Play classical music as loudly as possible by your front door. When you leave your hermitude and people ask you what happened, say it's not quite ready to reveal to the world yet but you'll show them in due time. Eventually everyone will forget it happened. This method can be repeated but not too often, or people will demand proof of your genius.

The Charitable Vacation

Lock your house up firmly. Tell everyone you're going to Congo to help dig wells to help send starving impoverished african children with cancer and AIDS to college. Don't ever leave your house or move near an open window until your "return."

The Sesame Void

Invite everyone you know to a Sesame Street Marathon at your house. With more than four solid months of programming that none of your friends want to watch, you won't have any trouble explaining your following absence.

The Silent Treatment

Use gmail. Program the following autoreply, to be used on all incoming emails:

"It's obvious this is going nowhere. I'm not speaking to you until you sort yourself out."

When you come out of hiding, act as if nothing has happened. If anyone asks about it, raise your eyebrows and say: "Let's not discuss it right now."

There you have it! Your very own passport to your very own undisturbed backyard. Got any more ideas on how to stay away from society? Comment away!

The Ultimate Do It Yourself Post

2009-06-26T06:47:00.000-07:00

Hello, class. Today we’re taking the do it yourself post to a whole new level. First things first. Go grab a writing utensil and a piece of scrap paper. Number it from 1-10. All you need to do is think up some random words to fill in the blanks to create your own personalized post. Don’t scroll down and read the rest of the post until you are completely finished making your list of words. I mean it. Good luck.

Here are the words you need:

1. a verb ending in “ing”

2. an adjective

3. a verb

4. a noun

5. a verb

6. an adjective

7. a noun

8. a celebrity name

9. a unit of time

10. a celebrity name

Now that you’re done, scroll down and put your own creative words into the appropriate blanks.

Today when I was __1___ with President Obama, we had a/an ___2___ conversation. He asked me what I thought he should do about the economy. I said, “Well, Mr. President, if you want to ___3___ the people, you should ask the ____4___ what the best option would be.”

“Uh, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll ___5___ with that idea and see what happens.”

Little did I know that the ___6___ future of the economy now depended on my advice. President Obama whipped out his cell ___7___ and called his right hand man, ___8___. After a brief conversation, he hung up the phone.

“Ok, that does it. In 5 ___9___, the world will do what I like best… change. I have just given all power to ___10___.”

Oh brother.

Violin Recital

2009-06-23T05:55:00.000-07:00

Reginald plays violin. When most people say that, they mean the subject of their sentence saws away at the strings of their instrument with sophomoric gusto, creating a sound that is reminiscent of the squeak of nails on blackboard. They are being nice and calling the violin's abuse and subsequent screams "playing." Reginald is, if you will indulge me a moment of pleasantness, really quite good. He left the chalkboard stage some years ago and is now very proficient at his instrument. In fact, he's on a trajectory to land somewhere between Haendel and Bell.

It's an acknowledged risk that if you play violin, you may be asked to perform in front of others. This is less of a risk with the accordion, banjo and harmonica; most players of those instruments perform in private or not at all. Reginald chose the violin fully aware of the fact that he would have to perform at recitals and other musical functions and inadvertently committed his relatives and friends to accompany him. I was one of the committed.

The recital was set in a darkened, dank and unheated church building in the bowels of town. Tucked away between S-Mart and Best Buy, the church's traditional stained glass and stone steeple seemed out of place. The church's bulletin tried to preemept questions about its location with a trumped up tale of ancient placement. If the faux fading on the program were credible, the church was put in order by an old priest who's only claim to religious relevance was a relic consisting of a piece of wood from the boat that wrecked with Paul off the island of Malta.

I think the pews were crafted from that wood. I sat carefully down in one of the rows, cautious not to disrupt the kneeling prayer board at my feet. I motioned for Frankeda, my date, to take a seat next to me. She giggled at the prayer board and moved it into its active position, pinning my feet to the ground. I think she meant to apply the board as a prank, but was unwilling to replace it, despite my hushed remonstrations. Another couple sat down at the other end of the pew and rested their feet on the cushioned board. There would be no relief. Frankeda mouthed "I'm sorry" and I tried not to think about the 2,000 year old splinters being shoved into my foot. I checked the program, estimated the time remaining and resigned myself to an impromptu, post-recital surgery on my podal tendons.

A little girl from the front row was the first musician up. She was as cute as a button and knew it. She was dolled up in the sort of poofy dress that would get negative reviews from the editorial board of People after the Academy Awards. Her mother, a gangly woman with the body of a vegetarian, moved purposefully to the aisle where she began snapping pictures with a disposable film camera. CLICK! tsk tsk tsk tsk tsk CLICK! tsk tsk tsk tsk tsk CLICK! She frantically advanced the 35mm film after every picture as if worried that her daughter would sprint from the stage and leave the scene without proper documentation.

Poofy Cutie started playing. Her soft scratching noises were interrupted by the loud CLICKing and tsking of her mother's journalistic efforts. I rather think the performance was improved because of that.

When the last tired notes of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star With Slow Stops (or "Twinkle" as it's known in the business) emitted from the stage, the audience erupted in an applause that was much too raucus for the song to which we had subjected ourselves. I don't know how Vegetarian Mom was able to keep taking pictures as she applauded.

Reginald was last, so Frankeda and I waited through several more performances. The musicians slowly improved and became less cute as time went on. A pimply youth with over-gelled and undercombed hair did a piece from "Fiddler On The Roof." He was too fat to do the dancing, but he tried anyway. I whispered something about Tutte Lemkow to Frankeda. She nodded appreciatively. I'm pretty sure she got it.

When Reginald took the stage the audience hushed. Someone coughed and the pause became awkward. I thought about getting up to go to the bathroom, but remembered by foot situation and the spliters from Malta and crossed my arms instead.

Reginald's song was really long and he played it without notes. A man in the third row moved his head appreciatively to the music in the Classical music headbang. An elderly woman behind Headbanger smiled with a faraway look as if remembering the world premier of Gone With the Wind. I thought about whispering something about Vivian Leigh to Frankeda, but thought better of it. A six year old slept in her father's arms in the back of the room. Of anyone in the room, she was probably the most appreciative of Reginald's talents.

Then the song ended. The audience clapped -- less vigorously than for Poofy Cutie -- and people got up to attend to the American tradition of calorie laden post-event refreshments. Frankeda lifted the prayer bar and blood rushed back into my hooves.

Reginald smiled appreciatively when I complimented his playing. "I always enjoy Vivaldi," I said guessing at the composer. I was wrong, but Reginald didn't correct me. Vegetarian Mom gave me an awkward look, though.

And that was that. It took an hour, three disposable film cameras, eight young performers and impromptu surgery on my podal tendons, but Reginald recited and I performed my duties as a faithful audience member.

Ettiquette Monday: How to Start a Conversation

2009-06-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

Nothing is more awkward than an awkward moment.

Whatever. You get the point. You know? When you meet someone new and shake hands, and then stare at each other awkwardly? Or when you're in the middle of a conversation and everyone laughs heartily, and the laughing dies down and you all stare at each other awkwardly? Or when you're at the dinner table and someone says something that shouldn't have been said and you stare at each other awkwardly?

Fortunately, FCN has the cure. In what follows, we'll give you a non-comprehensive catalog of nifty conversation starters. Just pick one that suits the situation and run with it until the conversation sputters, then grab another and keep going.

The Empathy Volcano

Suddenly shout: "I'm bored!" This will capture what everyone else is feeling and make it clear that you are in touch with the group. In addition, many people respond to this outburst by volunteering things to do that will curtail the boredom.

The Free Shrink

Open up the conversation by confiding your deepest, darkest secret. Ask your conversation partner (CP) for advice and opinions. Ask if you're a terrible person. It's okay to cry a little.

The Free Shrink (Canadian Variant)

Ask your CP what's bothering him or her. Don't take no for an answer. Insist that you can tell something is wrong and you won't let up until you hear all about it. Offer tissues and a shoulder to cry on. Say things like: "It's okay to be vulnerable sometimes," and "There, there."

The Human Cookbook

Everyone appreciates some new information. Talk about a gourmet recipe or an unimportant tidbit of news. Your CP will appreciate your efforts to expand and educate.

The Cold Shoulder

Ignore your CP or make a few rude comments. This will create mystery in you; your CP will be fascinated and begin casting about for ways to keep the conversation going in order to learn more about you.

The Warm Shoulder

Sigh and nod your head slowly, as if to say: "We're really great friends who don't have to say anything; we just hang out for hours and hours listening to the wind." Eventually someone will think of something to say.

The Hot Shoulder

Burst into emphatic expressions of affection for your CP. Make sure there's no doubt in anyone's mind how happy you are to be present in this conversation. This should loosen everyone up and make them feel more comfortable and open.

The Fountain of Advice

Tell your CP about various ways you've noticed that he or she is "doing it wrong." Chide the CP for throwing his or her life away and offer a bulleted list of ways to improve.

The Deflector

Stare at your CP and raise your eyebrows, indicating that it's up to him or her to make the next move.

The Amusing Deformity

Comment on an odd feature on your CP's face. Ask if it's natural or the result of a childhood accident. Talk about how much your CP must have been ridiculed by the other kids at school.

Got any conversation starters to add? Comment with your suggestions! And while you're at it, we accept requests for future Etiquette Mondays.

Siblings Who Play Instruments

2009-06-19T06:57:00.000-07:00

Have you ever lived in a family with multiple people who play instruments? If you haven't, let me tell you right now, you're really missing out. On a lot of fun AND a lot of headaches!

With 5 siblings who play instruments - 1 pianist, 2 violinists, & 2 guitarists - and practice daily, I've listened to my share of musical cacophonies. It seems that no matter what we do, two or three people always end up practicing at exactly the same time. That's why my family owns about 4 orchestral music stands and 2 folding ones.

We used to make up a schedule of practice times but it never worked. Inevitably something would come up that would prevent one person from playing at their scheduled time, forcing them to practice at the same time as another sibling. It was worse when the violinists were just starting out.

Talk about fingernails on a chalkboard! I think there must be no worse sound than that of a beginning violinist, beginning to practice. Not only is every note out of tune, each one screeches. And how many times can a person listen to variations on "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" without going insane? I think I might have reached that number.

And then there was the time when my older sister - the pianist - was learning her audition pieces for college. Her teacher at the time had the wonderful idea that she should play Bartok. I think Bartok could easily win the prize for ugliest piano compositions ever. Anyways, she had to practice 3+ hours a day and on one particular day she was having trouble with a 3-measure passage of Bartok and played it over and over and over and over and over and over again. It was torture!

But then there are the fun times too. Like playing our instruments at our neighbors, who respond by blasting on their trombone. Or having rythm contests on family roadtrips, trying to guess the meter of whatever song we're listening to. Or just playing all at once and trying to be the loudest. And, of course, purposely singing off-key at the top of our lungs!

Cowboy boots

2009-06-16T08:51:00.000-07:00

I wear cowboy boots to class. So sue me. I am a resident of the Central Valley of California. My dad is a farmer. I voted for John McCain in the last election (the cowboy boot-toting Sarah Palin was on the ticket). I drove a tractor before I drove a car. My favorite author is Louis Lamour. I have ridden a horse. To me cowboy boots are footwear, just like sneakers, sandals or those cork soles I purchased at a flea market (great for the locker room, my swollen big toe!).

Location defines appropriate attire. I learned this at the age of five when I attended my best friend's birthday party in a onesie pajama. Did I say five? Actually I was eight, the onesie was light red (not pink, you insensitive self-esteem destroyer!) and I completed the outfit with a white sleepy cap that had closed eyelashes painted on the front.

That said, I have recovered substantially. With a few notable exceptions, I no longer wear sandals to weddings or butterfly shorts to church.

Cowboy boots are appropriate attire in many college classes. They can be worn to mathematics or advanced science courses without raising an eyebrow. I had a soil science instructor who wore nothing else (on his feet). Boots are even okay in some history and economics classes. You won't be the most popular kid, but you can get by.

Boots are, however, implicitly prohibited in my French classes where the footwear shouts "Bush-supporting-redneck-hick-whose-only-ties-to-the-ivory-tower-are-non-inherited-wealth." To me, boots are emblematic of masculinity and strength. It's what Chick Bowdrie would wear as he narrowly escapes dry gulching on the way to capturing the outlaw rustlers. It's what Batman modified for his flying getup as he rid Gotham City of human filth. But strength -- at least the strenght of the boot -- is frowned on in the enclave of French represented by the 18 females and me in my French class.

French males are to be thin, wafty human beings with the resolve of a Benjamin Kunkel novel. They are to wash down their croissants and pain au chocolat with piping expresso and an air of superior "leger." Venerable, cultured and European. Not strong, manly and booted. The French man cries, wimpers and grovels. He is a good runner and a poor fighter. And everyone knows that boots are made for walking, not running, so the French male avoids that genre of footwear.

The ironic thing is that several of the girls in class regularly wore boots. Boots are okay for them, but interdit for me. Can anyone explain that? The comment section awaits...

When I first entered French class with my boots, several of my classmates stared. They looked at me as if I were attending Red Hat Society meeting at Carrows wearing a blue hat. I was a piranha in a gold fish bowl. Soon their awkward stares turned into stifled smiles and then giggles as they realized that, of course, this was some kind of joke. I was pretending to be a red-blooded American male with two fully functioning cajones (that's Spanish). I was playing the tough-guy, non-emasculated vaquero as a jest, to poke fun at those too unsophisticated to be real French males.

They understood, so they laughed. That made me the popular, jocular character in the room. I earned my thespian chops just by selecting the right wardrobe accutrements. So I kept on wearing the boots. Afterall, they are a heck of a lot more comfortable than those cork sandals.

Adventures in Overnight Babysitting

2009-06-13T06:17:00.000-07:00

My parents have been waiting for me to get out of school. Why? I am the designated overnight babysitter. Not that they don't trust anyone else... it's just that few people are up to the job, or willing to do it for free. So that leaves me. Last week, I was left alone with my 5 siblings while my parents took a week to travel to St. Martin. While they were off jet-setting, we got busy.

Day 1: Ah... the sweet taste of freedom. We did no housework, and watched TV for hours on end. I was voted "Best Babysitter of the Year". Three of my brothers went to the neighbors' house to camp out in the backyard while I had the neighbors' sister over for a sleepover. My friend and I sneaked out late to TP the boys' camper while they were inside the house watching TV. We left them a creepy note for good measure. Job well done. We stayed up until 2 a.m. watching the long version of Pride and Prejudice. It put us to sleep.

Day 2: My friend and I woke up and called the boys. They came over and we played a good game of Ultimate Frisbee in my backyard. We live in a housing subdivision, and our yard is tiny, so it's more like Extreme, or Arena Ultimate Frisbee. My brother almost got his eye knocked out, but we didn't worry too much about it, we figured that's why God gave him two eyes in the first place. He's OK now. I spent the rest of the day hopping from one graduation open house to another with one of my cousins. We decided that if we were really motivated, we could go a whole month without buying food if we spaced out our open house attendance and took home leftovers.

Day 3: Almost fell asleep in church. I was so tired, the rest of the day went by in a blur.

Day 4: Too tired to remember. I basically sleep-walked all day.

Day 5: We decided to throw a party. Isn't this breaking the number one "what not to do while your parents are away" rule? Movies like Yours, Mine, and Ours and The Pacifier show this quite plainly. We had a modest four guests over. It started raining cats and dogs while we were playing Frisbee, so we ran up and down the street playing tag and screaming like tortured banshees. Our neighbors must love us for that.

Day 6: My siblings, with the exception of my darling little sister, accused me of being cranky. They told me I was the worst babysitter ever. I said, "No, I took second. I'm going for FIRST this year!"

Day 7: Nothing big happened. We developed some serious cases of cabin fever. I sent my siblings to a friend's house.

Day 8: We babysat 3 more children under the age of three. I figured I was already babysitting 5 kids, why not 8? Then we cleaned the house. Yeah, that pretty much took all day.

Day 9: My parents got home. I found out that sibling number 5 hadn't brushed his teeth since my parents left. My parents thanked me for babysitting and asked if they could schedule me for next year. I'm still thinking about it.

My Pumps

2009-06-12T06:21:00.000-07:00

What I gonna get to match these pumps?

These cute little classy high heel pumps ?

I'ma gonna get get get these shoes,

Get these shoes I love so much.

My pumps, my pumps, my pumps, my pumps, my pumps,

My pumps, my pumps, my pumps, my lovely high heel pumps.

You may call me lazy,

Stillettos drive me crazy,

I just can't dig those flip flops,

Designer's such a rip off,

Mizrahi and J Lo,

Gucci, Ferragamo,

Coach, Dolce, Sarto,

they cost way too much dough.

Sister, I ain't fakin',

my bank account is breakin'

Open toe, closed toe

I try to stop but I can't help it

So I keep on spendin'

An' this is the beginning

I feel like I'm winnin'

Payless BOGO now I'm grinnin'.

My pumps (pumps), my pumps, my pumps, my pumps (pumps)

I love my high heel pumps (pumps)

My pumps, my pumps, my pumps (pumps),

My pumps they got me

Lookin' for clearance,

(Oh) lookin' through those outlet shops, and hitting auctions online

Lookin' for clearance,

(Oh) lookin' through those outlet shops, and findin', those savings

What I gonna do with all those pumps?

All those pumps I bought last week?

It would make make make you freak

To see the pumps I bought last week

My closet ain't near big enough

To hold all of my shoes and stuff

It would make make make you jump

To see my pile of high heel pumps

My pumps, my pumps, my pumps, my pumps, my pumps, (what!)

My pumps, my pumps, my pumps, my lovely high heel pumps.

A note from Helen Kumba

2009-06-10T08:33:00.000-07:00

FCN recently engaged in the following email correspondence (republished here in its splendid grammar and spelling original):

Hello,

my name is Helen, i am 25 years in search of a man who understands love as trust and faith rather seeing it as a way of fun always but a matured man with scence of humor. so after reading your profile i derive special interest on you so contact me with this email address (helen.kumba**@*****.com) I believe we can start from here. awaiting to hear from you soon so i can send photos for more introductions.

Kisses
Helen

Hey, Helen. So nice of you to email. I am sure that if we were to read your profile, we too would "derive special interest on you." But what profile are you referring to? Of course, we have a "scence" of humor, we're humor writers! But you want to put trust in us? That might be problematic. You are looking for matured men? You'll find we are well seasoned. Yes, please send the photos...

Hugs
FCN

P.S. Kisses on a first email? You might want to reconsider that.

Hello,

its Helen again. you write like Gollum. Okay. here are the photos:

Kisses
Helen

Hey Helen. My, those photos are candid. They communicate with a clarity and grace that is rarely seen in today's digital photography. You don't look 25, though. Were these edited? Did you fall into an aging pit during a tragic theme park accident? Are you wearing a mask? Does your work stress you severely? That's a gorgeous necklace you have on...we like green. Your smile is very ... powerful. Thanks for emailing your photos to us.

Hello,

Helen again. i lied about my age for introductory purposes. I'm actually 42.

Kisses
Helen

No you're not!

68?

Maybe...

well, I sent you pictures of me. you need to introduce yourself. tell me about your so we can get to know each other. that's how this thing works...

You are Helen Thomas, aren't you?

Well, yes...

Why weren't you honest with that up front?

Because when I tell people that they get all weird. Sometimes people wear an expression that is a combination of revulsion and fear. Other times they just stare. It isn't pleasant. I think it's best if I just keep my identity secret. It gets me further in the dating world. That's why I love the teh web.

Goodbye, Helen!

Ettiquette Monday: How to Panhandle

2009-06-08T07:00:00.000-07:00

We've all been panhandled. Most of us have given money. Most of us have also refused to give money. The difference between a successful beggar and an unsuccessful one is a fine one, and when you're in a pinch and need dough fast you don't have time to get good. This is a critical skillset to the modern human being; so you really ought to start practicing panhandling right away, using the techniques and methods described below.

First, what is panhandling exactly? According to the interwebs, panhandling is "to request a donation in a supplicating manner. Beggars are commonly found in public places, such as street corners or public transport, where they request money such as spare change. They may use cups, boxes or hats to receive the donations."

Panhandling is about getting money from people and getting nothing in return. Pretty sweet deal, right? Right. But less than 5% of people do it properly. Learn these methods, carefully perfected over many years of incredibly tacky poverty:

The View Blocker

Get up in the prospect's business and beg loudly and insistently for money until they give it to you. Do not attempt on men with tattoos or women with large purses.

The Passive Invite

Walk up to the person and stand about ten feet away, then stare at them so sadly that they ask you how they can help you. This method is much more effective on women.

The Vietnam Vet

You don't have to have ever been in Vietnam to be a Vietnam Vet. Just pull on a dirty green jacket, boots, and don't shave for a few days. Talk about how you can't find work because of wounds you sustained serving your country.

The Gulf War II Vet

If you're panhandling someone with an Obama bumper sticker, say you were wounded in Bush's illegal attack on Iraq.

The Public Charity

If you see a young couple on a date, tell the guy that he looks like the sort of upstanding charitable person who can spare some money for the poor. Without waiting for a response, compliment the gal on how lucky she is to have such a generous guy.

The Rehab Rat

Tell the prospect you need five bucks or they'll take you back to rehab. Surprisingly few people question this logic.

The Presumptive Close

Immediately thank the person for the five bucks they are about to give you. This is most effective on people who have just been in a car accident or are having an asthma attack.

The Matter of Great Urgency

Run up the prospect frantically and say you need five bucks. Be jumping up and down. Panic. Communicate that it's a matter of life and death. Clap your hands quickly and motion at the wallet or purse. Remind the person to hurry before it's too late. Then - and this is important - run like heck.

The Soon-to-be Dad

In a popular twist on the Matter of Great Urgency, tell the prospect that your wife is having a baby and you need gas money to get her to the hospital.

The Honest Abe

Tell the prospect that you're going to be completely honest with them, and that you'll use the money to buy drugs.

The Dishonest Abe

Tell the prospect that you're going to be completely honest with them, and that you won't use the money to buy drugs.

The Spy

Hold one hand to your ear. Tell the prospect you need them for a matter of national security. Lead them around a corner. Then peak around and say: "Rats! They followed me. Okay, quick - give me five bucks." When finished, tell the person to wait there because They didn't see your face yet. Then run like heck.

The Counterfeit Checker

After watching someone exit a store, tell them that a lot of counterfeit fives circulating in the area. Offer to to check theirs to see if they're okay. Then run like heck. This tactic is ill advised for prospects who can run faster than you.

The Concert Violinist

Tell the prospect that you're a world-class violinist who hit harsh times. You had to sell your family heirloom violin and now you're on the streets, but with a few more bucks you can get your violin back.

The Faux Lottery

Print out erroneous lottery tickets and sell them for a dollar each. Remind suspicious prospects that direct selling is "the old fashioned way."

These are, of course, just a few methods to get you started. Now go out and practice! Got your own ideas and methods? Comment below and help out your fellow washed-up readers.

Summer: Part 1

2009-06-01T02:45:00.000-07:00

After several grueling months of the stressful partying, socializing, and procrastination that we college students call school, it is always a welcome relief to enter the period of non-stressful, non-illicit partying, socializing, and procrastination that we call summer. The primary difference between school and summer is that in the summer, no excuses are necessary. However, there are several other differences as well, which is why this post is the first in a series. Each part will describe one difference. Sort of like a compare/contrast essay, but without the compare.

Perhaps the least pleasant difference between school and summer is living at home. In school, pizza crusts are meant to be on the floor. If you didn't have any pizza crusts on the floor, your roommate would eye you warily, like a deer who has just realized that your antlers are fake and you have a gun under your coat. Unlike the deer, however, he wouldn't run. He would simply supply the pizza crusts from his own generous stock.

At home, things are a bit different. The first time you leave pizza crusts on the floor, you wake up to find that they have mysteriously disappeared. The second time, you wake up to find that your mom's hand is slapping your face and pointing to a trash bag intended for your use. The third time, you wake to find the same thing. And so on.

This experience causes many college students to be wary of their moms. After all, what sort of mess might she take a disliking to next? But beware of such attitudes—moms are actually a very valuable part of life. They love you, they are always there for you, and they usually do your laundry. At least one day of the week every summer, you may wake up to find that your floor is visible. This is because at some point in the night (say, 10:00 AM), your mom has cleared all the dirty laundry out and washed it for you. You can reward her with a smile and a kiss, which is a bargain compared to the laundromat.

Apart from moms, though, home has its drawbacks. For one thing, night time starts at an ungodly hour there—usually only a little while after sundown. For another, you are expected to do chores and keep clean. Somehow, your family isn't as understanding as your professors are. Try saying something like, "Hey, I was up till three in the morning last night getting ready to mow the lawn because I totally put it off till the last minute. Do you just have a copy of last year's lawnmow that I can tweak?" and chances are, you'll get a kick in the pants instead of the pity you deserve.

But what can you say? The goods, the bads, the ups, the downs—those are what summers are made of. Procrastination and laziness are the

[We apologize that the author could not be contacted to finish this post. It is believed that he is asleep at this time.]

24th Do It Yourself Post

2009-05-29T07:28:00.000-07:00

Never __________ until you __________.

Awkward Situation #7

2009-05-28T06:00:00.000-07:00

Picture this.

You're in a stall at a public restroom, minding your own business, doing your business.

You hear the door open, and someone says, "Hey, how are you, man?"

Cautiously, you reply, "Ok?"

"Great. What are you doing?"

"Um, I don't think I should answer that question, it should be obvious."

"No problem. Hey, do you want to go hang out with me later? I'll treat you to dinner."

"You don't even know me, dude..."

"There's a first time for everything, babe... let's call it a date."

You finish your business, open the stall door, and head to the sink (because you decide you'll actually wash your hands this time, because someone is watching and all). Trying very hard not to make eye contact with the creeper, you sneak a glance at the mirror to see what you're up against.

He turns around and you realize he was talking on his cell phone.

Fail.

23rd Do It Yourself Post

2009-05-27T16:27:00.000-07:00

My phone is a __________.

Note to Self #13

2009-05-27T07:10:00.000-07:00

Avoid brothers who ate three large burritos for lunch.

A Dangerous Snack

2009-05-26T05:08:00.000-07:00

They say that the early bird gets the worm, but nobody ever mentions what follows from that statement: The early worm gets eaten. If I were a worm, I suppose I would be pretty intelligent, because I am never early. And so it happened that I was up very late last night.

Of course, one of the most important parts of staying up late is snacking. Traditional meals were not designed with night owls in mind—three o'clock in the morning can be eight hours after dinner. The trouble is, if you live with other people you can't use the microwave at three o'clock. Doing so leads to some pretty grumpy housemates (if your family's normal), or to almost getting shot by a paranoid gun freak (if your family's from Texas). The oven has the same limitations as the microwave. That leaves you with only two options: 1) Eat cold, packaged junk food, or 2) eat ice cream. I always choose the latter.

At three o'clock last night I was creeping up the stairs, trying to remember which one creaked. I decided it was the third, and stepped over it onto the fourth. I was wrong—the fourth one creaked. I stopped cold for a minute, listening to crickets chirping and hoping the gun freak hadn't heard anything. Apparently he hadn't, so I finished my ascent and shuffled toward the freezer. There were twenty feet between me and it and only a few obstacles in the dark, which I could generally remember and avoid. The red chair was to my left, so I sidestepped it. The table had been moved that afternoon, so I spotted it with my hand as I got near. But there were also a few obstacles that I wasn't aware of. A plastic grocery bag—those things were designed to be noisy. And, horror, an audible toy.

If you have ever lived with kids, you know what kind of toy I mean. It could be a a firetruck, a doll, a stuffed animal, or anything. What makes it horrible is it's unpredictability. When you bump the firetruck, step on the doll, or kick the stuffed animal, they all break into a thunderous, ear-splitting jangle of some kind, whether a song, a siren, a roaring noise, or a recorded speech just for kids. And no matter how gingerly you step, how sharply you watch your feet, you will trigger it. When the audible toy begins to speak, it usually goes on for ten or twenty seconds, and there's no earthly way to stop it. If you try to press the button or tweak the limb that will silence the noise, you will invariably invoke another twenty seconds of torture. Once it starts, there is nothing to do but stand deathly still and let the beast have it's way. And hope that it doesn't wake up the gun freak.

I hit one of those toys on my way to the freezer, but it fortunately had a short and muffled sound—a few gruff lines of dialog in a deep male Bronx accent. Thanking my stars, I edged over to the door, opened it, grabbed a spoon, and began to stealthily scoop the leftover ice cream out of a little paper bucket. It was a sticky job, and each bump in the night made me jump in apprehension that I'd be caught red-handed by someone who was saving the ice cream for another time.

In the mean time, unknown to me, a conversation was taking place. It went something like this:

A: Psst. Honey. Do you hear a noise?

B: No, you're hearing things. It's three in the morning. Go back to sleep.

A: There it is again. I think you should go check it out.

B: It's nothing. Maybe someone got up to go to the bathroom.

A: That's not what I heard. It sounded like someone talking.

B: Yawn.

A: There! Do you hear it?

B: You're right! What could it be? By gosh, if someone's in my house...

A: Just check it out. It might be nothing.

B: I think I'll take the Colt.

This last proposal suited both parties—to A it made things seem safer, and to B it made things seem more adventurous.

After a couple of minutes of industrious scooping, I filled my bowl. I picked it up, closed the fridge, and turned around to wend my way through the obstacle course again. As I turned, I found myself staring into a Colt .45. My hands found my head. The ice cream found my toes. And the gun freak spluttered in embarrassment.

The result, of course, was a shameful wast of ice cream. And on top of that, I had to clean up the mess. After all, I was not the one with the gun.