Maine politician makes stuff up. Stephen King gets pissed. What happens next will blow your mind.

As if the six month winter of Snowmageddon wasn’t enough, now us Mainers have something else to bitch about. Our resident prolific bullshit artist, Governor Paul LePage, made national headlines last week by waging a battle of wits with our resident prolific horror writer, Stephen King.


When I say wits I’m only talking about one man. You guess which one.

Here’s how the brouhaha went down: Gov. LePage recently stated in his radio address something like, “Hey! Mainers don’t need no fricking income tax! Look at Stephen King!  He lives in Florida! Yeah, that’s right! He’s an asshole!”

To which Stephen King responded with, “Say whaaaaat?”

Apparently, not only does King pay his share of Maine taxes with a million and change every year, I could have sworn I saw him last week at his part time gig selling Bean boots and maple syrup.


In typical political fashion, LePage immediately had his comments erased from the transcript and admitted to nothing on his part. Because clearly it was the news media’s fault for spinning their magic voodoo words to make him look bad. Oh, those pesky news reporters! Always inferring and assuming and hearing words come out of someone’s mouth and attaching meaning to those words.

The next day, Stephen King gazed out at the palm trees, took a long sip from his margarita, cranked up his a/c and responded with, “Be a man. Apologize.”

Instead LePage said in his standard “let’s make a lame joke and this will all fade away” way:

“Just make me the villain of your next book and I won’t charge you royalties.”

Oh! Oh ho ho ho! Oh man! You are such a riot, Paul! But I have news for you, I’m pretty sure all of Stephen King’s villains were based on you.

While we wait for King to unleash the homicidal sewer clown let’s have some fun. I love it when people make stuff up to fit their agenda.

Here, let me try… (keep in mind I am clearly not saying what I am saying. If you infer something, that’s your fault.)

**Local statisticians are stumped as to why Maine’s population is steadily declining. Governor Paul LePage lives here.

**In a recent poll, Maine ranked as the number one state full of idiots. Governor Paul LePage was elected. Twice.

Please, America, I’m begging you to realize these facts:

  1. We did not elect Paul LePage. Eliot Cutler did.
  2. 51.8 % of us would rather suffer through ten more winters than one more term with Paul.
  3. Next election? I’m writing in Stephen King.

Liar Liar … is it getting hot in here?

untitled (3)Last week I provided you guys with four short stories about my life and asked you to figure out which one was the lie.

Story #1 — I hit a moose with my car but was saved by some kind of divine intervention? True. Snicker all you want but I actually did hear a voice cut through my own thoughts and it told me to slow down and brake right before impact. I don’t really care if you believe me or not because I was there and it happened. Have I “heard” any voices since then? Sadly, no. I kind of wish that voice would have come back last week and warned me not to wear leggings out in public but you can’t have everything.

Story #2 — Our house was haunted by some old farmer so I basically told him to kindly get lost (and go toward the light blah, blah etc.) only to find out instead he started haunting my mother who lives right next door? True. Yes! If you don’t believe it ask my mom or my husband. Or the ghost farmer. Although, he’s not around at all anymore, he must have found his tools in the hereafter. Or he grew tired of my mom’s constant bitchin’ at him to take out the trash. (By the way, this wasn’t my first ghostly encounter, I grew up in a haunted 100 year old house. Apparently, I’m a ghost magnet.)

Story #3 —  Twenty years ago my mom and I were flashed by some bizarre serial flasher terrorizing the coast of Maine by exposing himself to women on isolated trails near the ocean? True. Oh, dear god how I wish it were false. (shudder) He was captured not long after our encounter but we had nothing to do with it, mainly because we couldn’t remember any details about this creep’s face. (shudder, retch, shudder) And here’s more proof Amy Poehler and I lead eerie parallel lives, she also was flashed once by a guy asking for the time. Must be a thing? Maybe these guys should come up with a new line, like ask, “Would you lovely ladies like a coupon for a free Starbucks Tiramisu latte?” That might get our undivided attention.

Story #4 — And so that leaves Paul Newman. Sweet dearly departed Paul.

Hot damn, I'm good-looking.

Hot damn, I’m good-looking.

No, he was not an asshole. But Kevin Costner is, I’m sure of it.

Thirteen of you clever people guessed story number 4 was the lie, so in bitter defeat I inhaled a box of Paul Newman’s Butter Boom popcorn, smothered my pasta with a jar of his marinara sauce, chugged down a bottle of his Pinot grigio and spun my magic random wheel generator and …

Life With The Top Down

you are the winner of Amy Poehler’s book, Yes Please! Please email your mailing address through my contact page and I’ll hop on my snowmobile and get it to you asap. Right after I finish reading it myself. So far, it’s a very good read.  I take it you don’t mind wine glass stains and Cheetos dust in the pages?

I’ll leave you all with a fun factoid to cleanse my soul: I have never seen a single episode of Parks and Recreation in its entirety and probably never will. Don’t care for it at all.


Man, that felt good to get out! Ahhhhhh! Any lies you’d like to tell me in the comments? Or truths? TV shows you don’t really like?

Let’s Play the Lying Game!


I am such a good liar!

…or am I?

As a writer, I’ve got a good imagination so I like to make stuff up. I’ve been known to elaborate a little when I remember a past story from my life. If I were to give a rough estimate, I’d say about 99.99% of my posts are complete BS. Yep, I made it all up.

Nah, I’m kidding! It was all true! See how good I am at lying?

So do you think you can spot a lie? Time for the misremembering game that’s sweeping our nation –



I lied. It’s really time for three truths and a lie. Damn, I’m good.

The following are a few short stories about things that really happened in my life. Really, I swear!

Your job is to figure out which one of the following tales is a lie. Give your answer in the comments. I’ll reveal the lie one week from today.  If you get it right you’ll have a chance to win a signed copy of Stephen King’s latest book Revival!

I lied again.  (Sorry but I’m not on speaking terms with good ol’ Steve-o anymore, ahem.) But you WILL win the right to sing “liar liar pants on fire” at the computer screen — just as good, amirite?

OK, fine — I’ll randomly pick from the winning guesses (who reside in the US, preferably within 5 miles of the nearest snowmobile trail) and mail that lucky person a copy of Amy Poehler’s book, Yes Please.* (and yes, I’m being serious now)


One foggy summer night back in 1997, I was driving home from work on a desolate country road. Suddenly a voice sliced through my thoughts:


I sat straight up in my seat, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. I switched off the radio.


I peered out at the road, my headlights illuminating a blur of dark pine trees racing past as I zipped along the curves of route 136. Before I had a chance to process why I was hallucinating, another demand:


Without questioning, I did as I was instructed.  While rounding a sharp corner, I braked and slowed down to 50 mph. Suddenly a dark mass filled my windshield. I slammed on the brakes, my car skidding for several yards into the oncoming lane.  But it was too late, the sudden impact crushed the front of my little Ford Fiesta. I violently slammed forward then backward in my seat, severely twisting my back and neck.

I had hit a moose.

Somehow I managed to drive a short distance to find a phone and call the police (I didn’t have a cell phone back then). Sadly, the moose didn’t survive. But everyone from the cops to the mechanics to the insurance agent told me I was lucky to be alive at all because most people are killed instantly when the moose sails through the windshield. If I were going any faster, I wouldn’t be here right now telling you this story.

Was the voice I thought I heard my own intuition? Or God? A guardian angel? Whatever or whoever it was, there’s no doubt it saved my life.


Our current house was haunted for a time. Lights would turn off and on, TV channels would change by themselves. I’d put something down in the kitchen only to turn around and find it missing. Once my entire family watched as a glass bowl slid straight off the kitchen counter by itself and onto the floor, shattering into pieces.

Sometimes at night I’d feel the faint sensation of someone sitting on the edge of my bed. Once while I was still wide awake,  someone tapped my feet. I thought it was one of my kids so I sat up to peer into the darkness only to find no one was there.

I decided to ask a psychic friend of mine to “channel” the spirit for me. According to her, he was an old farmer who had lived in the 1950s near the very spot where our house now stood. She said he was searching for his tools because he used to fix tractors out in his shed, and this is why we’d find things misplaced. Why did he insist on haunting us? Apparently while alive he wasn’t a spiritual man and therefore wasn’t accepting he was truly dead.

She suggested I politely tell the ghost to “go outside because his tools weren’t in our house”. As silly as it sounds, I did this several times out loud. “Hey, farmer man!” I yelled in between giggles to the empty room. “Sorry, but your tools aren’t here! You can go outside now! Oh — and go towards the light! Thanks and good luck!”

A few days later it seemed to have worked. The air was clearer, no longer heavy with a spirit’s presence. The strange electricity occurrences and creepy nighttime visits disappeared. Our farmer was gone. Maybe he finally found his tractor tools outside in the shed? I chuckled to myself.

The following week my mom who lives right next door called me on the phone. “It’s the oddest thing,” she said. “I think my house is haunted. Someone moved all of the utensils around in the kitchen and the lights keep going on and off!”



Back in my 20s, I used to hike at Wolfe Neck State Park off the coast of Freeport, Maine. One overcast day, I invited my mother to come along. We parked our car and started down a long winding trail in the woods that led to the ocean.

We heard a car pulling in, so I glanced behind me and noticed a man jogging in our direction. As he passed us further on down the trail, he took off his shirt and disappeared around the bend. An unsettling feeling washed over me but I shook it off. My mother and I continued our walk, admiring the stillness of the forest and the soft crashing of the waves in the distance.

We rounded a corner and there was the man again. Only this time he was holding his clothes in his hands — all of them. Standing there completely naked, he held up his hands, revealing a very sad and direct view of his nether regions.

“Do you ladies know the time?” he asked, like it was perfectly normal question.

My blood ran cold. I panicked, unsure of what to do next. Was this really happening? Is he going to do something else now? Should I scream or run?

Thankfully, I didn’t have time to figure out my next move because my mom disarmed the entire situation by bursting into incredulous laughter. “Time? TIME?” she yelled.  “I think time is the least of your worries, buddy!”

Suddenly appearing embarrassed, the man covered himself up and looked down at the ground.

My mother and I hustled down the path past him unsure of what to do next. When he was out of sight, we quickly make our way back to the parking lot using another path which turned out to be the longest hike of my life. We immediately told the park gatekeeper what happened.  A police officer soon arrived to take down our names and all the details.

“Can you describe the suspect?” he asked.

“Well, we sure as hell weren’t looking at his face, if that’s what your asking!” my mom sneered in disgust.

A few days later, I opened the local newspaper and gasped. Apparently, The Mid Coast Flasher was nabbed, his reign of terror finally over. For months he’d successfully flashed several other women at various spots up and down the coast. His signature move? Asking for the time.  Studying his mug shot, I had only one thought.:

Oh, so THAT’S what he looks like!



Around 1998, the movie “Message in a Bottle” starring Paul Newman, Kevin Costner and Robin Wright was filmed off the coast of Maine at Popham Beach, not far from where I lived in the tourist trap outlet town of Freeport.

My house was right next to L.L.Bean’s main retail store,  so most summer nights my younger brother, Chris and I would sit on a park bench downtown to eat a Ben & Jerry’s cone and people watch.

One muggy night in August, we bought our cones and sat down on the bench next to an old man wearing a NY Yankees baseball hat. He responded to our presence by grunting under his breath and pulling the cap down over his eyes.

Minutes ticked by as Chris and I giggled and chatted, both of us noticing the tourist growing more agitated by our conversation.

“Holy shit!” the old man suddenly growled. “Isn’t there anything to do in this godforsaken town but sit and eat goddamn ice cream? Jesus!”

I turned my head and looked straight into a pair of unmistakable baby blue eyes now glaring back at me from underneath the baseball cap.

No, it couldn’t be him! …could it?

Before we had a chance to respond, another man walked up holding two cones. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?” he smiled at us.

“Um….y-yeah….” I stuttered.

The man then turned his attention to the crabby codger on the bench. “Chunky Monkey, right, Paul?”

“Just give it to me for chrissakes,” he grumbled, grabbing his cone. We watched in disbelief as the two men strolled off into the night.

And that was the day I met both Kevin Costner and Paul Newman.


Okay! Wow. I’ve lived quite the exciting life, huh?

So what’s the lie? Is it

1) The Voice Saves Darla
2) Ghost Farmer Relocates
3) Flasher Needs A Watch
4) Paul Newman Was One Grumpy Chunky Monkey

If you guys all guess correctly, well then…maybe I should practice lying more?


*If no one guesses correctly I reserve the right to read Amy’s book myself while gloating about how I’m such a good liar.

Five Things About This Winter That Will Blow Your Mind

1. Big snow is bad. Me no likey big snow.

Hey look everybody! It's fifteen feet of snow! Time to bust out the ol' snowshoes and hike to the barn for the Christmas gifts! YIPPEE!

Hey look everybody! It’s fifteen feet of snow! Time to bust out the ol’ snowshoes and hike to the barn for the Christmas gifts! YIPPEE!

We’ve received approximately four feet of snow in a span of two weeks. This is the weather pattern we seem to be locked in until kingdom come: Big snowstorm, followed by 40 mph wind gusts then plummeting wind chill temps of minus-20. Two days later? Well good golly! Another big snowstorm, 50 mph gusts, plummeting temps. This weekend’s forecast? Endless snow until summer.

Conclusion? Clearly, Pa Ingalls was on crack.

2. Driving in big snow is bad. Me no likey driving in big snow.



Yesterday was a breather for us Mainers. Instead of the usual foot or so, we only got about five inches of sloppy, heavy, slushy snow. And because the teachers here don’t want to be stuck in school until mid-August, they kept schools open.

This meant I had to fire up my little tin can on wheels (Prius) and make my way down unplowed back roads that would make Vin Diesel shit his pants.

On the plus side, now my driving skills are spectacular. I managed to pull my own Tokyo drifts at every intersection and narrowly missed being crushed by a city snow plow who apparently mistook my car for a roller skate.

Sadly, I survived to face another day trapped in the Antarctic Circle. Help me. Send hard liquor.

3. The only reason we still have a shred of sanity left is because the Patriots won the Super Bowl.

Unfortunately, I didn’t watch the game. I was too busy suffering from a monster sinus/ear infection that rendered me incapable of lifting my head off my pillow. I did manage to listen to the score in between my moaning and groaning.  But when I heard the Pats were down by 10 points in the fourth quarter, I threw a few more balled-up tissues at my husband and shut off the TV in disgust.

The next morning my 81-year-old mom called me (she’s a huge Patriots fan and never misses a game):


“Did you see the game?  BEST GAME EVAH! BEST SUPER BOWL EVAH!

Tom Brady got MVP and he sure does deserve it! What with all that crap about him deflating balls. Tsk! Tsk! Good lord! How ’bout the Seahawks stick a deflated ball in their pipes and smoke it? Huh? Deflated balls!

But that halftime show! Oh god! That was terrible! Just awful! Katy Perry was out there prancing around with some sharks! So stupid! And her chest is just too big! Way too big! She needs to cover herself up more. Hello! We don’t care that you have a big chest! And then she sang a bunch of songs and just floated away! Well guess what Katy Perry? You sure ain’t no Lady Gaga, I can tell you that!”

 4. Getting around town is like navigating the maze in The Shining.


Selfie I took this morning.

With all this nonstop snow,  just venturing outside for a walk or a short drive is a hazard. In some places the drifts are taller than I am. I went downtown to pay my oil bill and had to park three blocks away and hike through the snow because they closed down the entire town for snow removal. Yes folks — the snow here is so bad, they close towns. This was my town’s main street this morning:

downtown lisbonAs you can imagine, trying to drive around corners when the snow banks are this high is loads of fun. Is there a car coming my way? Will I pull out onto the road straight into the path of a tractor trailer truck? Who the hell knows! So every stop sign I come to, I just say a prayer and gun it.

5. My kids love the snow.


I suppose I should give up and follow their example, huh? Tomorrow I’m installing a hot tub and mini-bar.

So maybe I’ll get back to blogging more once I can take a break from all this shoveling and snow blowing and heavy drinking. I have faith one day it’ll all melt and form one giant tsunami so we can finally begin our Mud Season From Hell.

Hopefully by August if we’re lucky.

Complications of the Flu May Include Extreme Deflation

I’ve been sick as a dog this past week. First my son was socked with a “flu-like virus” (which is apparently our pediatrician’s polite way of saying “you’ve got the flu”) Then he kindly passed it onto his little sister and she promptly responded by coughing directly into my mouth 150 times so I wouldn’t miss out.  Near the end of my week-long Influenzapallooza I also had the added bonus of developing bronchitis.

My husband? Not even a sniffle.

It all started when I felt a death rattle in my chest during halftime of last week’s Patriots/Colts game. I went straight to bed eager to begin spending my days writhing around in a delirium of fever, body aches and hacking cough. But at least I got to practice my moaning and groaning. I’m very good at it now.

Just yesterday the fever broke and I felt almost half-dead again. The mental brain fog lifted and I suddenly realized I had missed the ending of the Patriots game.

Did they win? Did I miss anything?

My mind still swimming in a delicious Nyquil-induced daze, I shuffled out to the living room, snuggled down on the couch in my bathrobe and clicked on the TV just in time to see my old boyfriend up there answering questions at a press conference.

635575448407943902-tom-brady-conference Aw, gosh darnit! Isn’t he adorbs in that hat? And oh wow! His chiseled dimplicious chin seems to be breaking news on every channel! Everyone must be super excited about the Pats going to the Big Game!

Then I turned up the volume.


“…when I pick those balls out… I don’t want anyone touching the balls after that. I don’t want anyone rubbing them.”

I looked down at the empty Nyquil bottle on the coffee table. Hmm….did I accidentally double the dose? I rubbed the cobwebs out of my eyes and tried to focus harder on what my Tommy Boy was yammering about in his super-cuddly gray sweats.


“Everybody has a preference. Some guys like them round, some guys like them thin, some guys like them tacky, some guys like them brand new, some guys like old balls. They’re all different. … It’s a very individual thing.”

Okay. Well. Time to head back to bed. Maybe when I wake up tomorrow things will be back to normal? Or at least, less tacky-ball-ish.

That was when my 81-year-old mother (her birthday was just yesterday!) called me on the phone to give her expert take on things. (Needless to say, both of us are huge Pats fans and have been since the pre-Doug-Flutie-On-The-Wheaties-Box days.)

angry_old_woman “Did you see that damn ball thing? Jeezum crow! I mean, just who on the Colts team suddenly said, ‘Hey! I’m gonna start checking their balls!’ Yeah, like just out of the freaking blue he’s suddenly fascinated with their balls! ‘Here, let’s touch the balls! Everyone squeeze their balls! I bet their balls are soft! That’s why we’re losing!’ Why not squeeze your own gol-darn balls, huh? Why not leave the Patriots’ balls alone? We all know it’s the cold air that did it! Cold air makes them shrink! What, are they gonna have to touch every friggin ball before every friggin play now? I’d like to see that! Balls? Balls my ass!”

And there you have it, folks. Balls my ass. The final authority on this whole shrinkage catastrophe. My mom does know her balls. After all, she raised five boys.

Planting the Seeds of Change

“An eye for an eye is just wrong, Mom.”

My 12-year-old son was explaining his feelings on law and order from thousands of years ago. His homework was to determine if justice involved cutting off a person’s hand if he were caught stealing food.

“Why is it wrong? Wasn’t he wrong to steal?” I asked him.

“It’s wrong because violence is never the right thing to do.”

Sadly, his opinion would seem to be rare if watching TV is any indication. We live in a world where violence is entertainment.

News channels repeatedly spew out the same horrifically violent videos 24/7. Popular video games and prime time television shows glorify senseless violence. Social media rewards people who commit crimes by posting their images until they go viral.

We sit there glued to our screens like desensitized robots and eat it up, but we never fully digest it. We let it consume our psyches, allowing the anger and fear fester inside of us, eventually planting seeds of overwhelming sadness until we become the news we are watching.

Newsflash: we are each other. Nothing is isolated in this world. Everything and everyone is connected. Every human has a story, his or her own personal tragedies to overcome. How do we break the chain of negativity? How do we grow to become the respectful, loving souls we are all destined to become? Anger and sadness are genuine emotions but it’s how we transform that energy that matters in the end.

Every day we each have to dig deep inside ourselves to make a simple but powerful choice. Love or fear. The truth I know in my heart? Love is the only thing that will save us.

A few years ago, a holistic doctor was helping treat the anxiety and depression I’ve suffered off and on all my life. I’m an emotionally sensitive person so I absorb all energy, the good and bad. Unfortunately, my own mindset began to change to one full of fear. I started to view the world as full of evil, disrespectful, misbehaving people. It’s an eye for an eye, it’s a hellish, cruel world. It’s hopeless.

My doctor offered a simple suggestion that I immediately scoffed at: Stop watching the news. Stop watching the news? But then I wouldn’t know what was going on in the world! I need to know! I can’t be ignorant of the problems people are facing every day, can I?

Now that I’m getting older I’m finding he was right. For me the key is balance.  I do stay informed of things, of course, but I turn off the news more and more. I’m finding I’m less anxious or sad. Now I go out into the world more positive, more accepting, more open to trust. People pick up on my energy and they feel it too.  Small changes make a big impact in your life.

I still know what goes on in this world, I’m not turning a blind eye to injustice.  Of course things need to be brought to light in order for change to occur. But what are you doing in your life to make that change? Simply watching the news is not taking positive action. But how you act toward everyone you meet? That is how you make real change.  It’s not found in buzz phrases or tweets. It’s getting down to the basics of how we treat each other as human beings.

Now I focus on the good things that are happening and I let them feed my soul. I make it a mission to water those seeds. Contrary to what the news tells us, every second of every day people are doing good. They’re loving, helping and respecting each other. They’re listening to each other’s viewpoint without jumping on a bandwagon just to be popular. They’re showing the courage to actually practice what they preach on a daily basis with no fanfare, no immediate reward, no viral story blowing up on the internet.

Why can’t this behavior be the norm on TV? Because these stories don’t get the best ratings.

There are millions of respectful, loving people on this planet. I remind myself the news media is in the business of getting us to watch. They figured out a long time ago, humans are drawn toward violence — we love drama, we crave conflict. News outlets seek it out and they zero in on it. They replay the worst of human behavior for our endless consumption until it slowly poisons us.

Hope is not lost with me because I’m blessed to be able to tap into a deep well of boundless love and positivity. It’s found within my own kids. I raised them to treat everyone they meet fairly, to try not to judge anyone based on differences. To listen. To understand. To empathize. To respect. To accept. To love. These aren’t mere words, these are actual concepts we practice every day. As a parent, I’m cultivating in them the notion of honoring all life.

My son is now my teacher. I watch how he acts and I relearn how to behave myself. He shows me that talk is cheap. He stands up for people that are considered “different” because he is different himself. He is respectful, loving, and compassionate to everyone he meets. Everyone. I know he will be brave enough to do some good in this world. He will make a real change.

He chooses love over fear, so why can’t I?

Maybe someday, this will be considered popular behavior. Maybe someday, this will be the news.






The Rotten Avocado–January 2015

Welcome to another edition of The Rotten Avocado!

Bringing you fake news that’s never perfectly ripe, hard to crack open, and filled with green slime.

Proud dad Ashton Kutcher recently gushed about his new baby with partner Mila Kunis, remarking they want to be hands-on parents and therefore do not employ a nanny. “We want to be the people that know what to do when the baby’s crying to make the baby not cry anymore,” Ashton said, and then a nanny changed Ashton’s diaper and fed him a bottle.




Popular exercise product Fitbit — a wristband that displays time, distance, and calories burned, or as I like to call it, “The World’s Ugliest Bracelet” — has received complaints from consumers stating the band produced an angry rash on their skin after they worked out. The company recommends removing the Fitbit periodically after exercising to prevent irritation. Upon hearing this, millions of women looked down at their Fitbits and yelled, “What? I’m supposed to be exercising with this f—ing thing on?” then finished inhaling their chocolate-glazed donuts and took a nap (or maybe that was just me)



Mark Zuckerberg recently put to rest any rumors of adding a “dislike” button to Facebook posts saying, “I don’t think there needs to be a voting mechanism on Facebook about whether posts are good or bad. I don’t think that’s socially very valuable or good for the community to help people share the important moments in their lives.” Then he sat down at his gigantic desk, lit up a cigar, and cackled maniacally as he turned his attention back to the giant wall of monitors depicting live surveillance footage of every man, woman and child in the entire world.


Us Weekly

Us Weekly

The movie Wild is getting lots of buzz not only for the incredible acting, but for the fact Reese Witherspoon appears completely makeup-free during filming, even foregoing her hairbrush. Because as we all know, statistics show the shittier you look, the better your chances at an Oscar.  In one scene, a disheveled Reese is depicted hiking down a desolate country road, all of her worldly possessions strapped onto her back as her mental state teeters between hope and despair, solace and anguish. Or in other words, just another typical day in the life of every woman in Maine.


Former “Saved by the Bell” child star Dustin Diamond will face trial in the alleged stabbing incident of another patron at a bar on Christmas Day. While pondering why Diamond’s life has taken such a dark turn, I think I speak for everyone when I say, “For god’s sake — he was Screech on Saved by the Bell.”

Why I Would Rather Try To Find The Funny Than The Meaning Of Life

She's a Maineiac:

What the world needs now is more humor and positivity. For me, finding the funny in life is like discovering a beacon of light in the darkness. It’s something we all desperately need these days. Thanks Peg for reminding us all to lighten up!

Originally posted on Peg-o-Leg's Ramblings:

Sir Loin of Beef Sir Loin of Beef

Some look at life’s journey as a pitched battle, and some as a noble quest. Either way, a smart knight should be prepared for the dragons he or she is bound to encounter along the way. My weapon of choice is a feather duster.

It has only snowed once so far this weird winter.  I took advantage of the unlooked for boon of ice-free roads here in the country last week and went for a walk.  My mood was somber as I set off down the road, well bundled against the bracing cold.  I needed the lift that nature always gives me because I felt lower than I have felt in a long time.

I was thinking about my dear cousin, Moe. She’s experimenting with multiple chemo treatments, locked in mortal combat with the cancer that has spread despite her efforts. We recently learned that her…

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Blog Review 2014

Like most of us, I’m obsessed with meaningless numbers. Sadly, I tend to let them define my self-worth. I was born in 1970. I’m 140 pounds. I need to workout for 6,000 straight minutes to burn off the 3, 786 calorie doughnut I just inhaled.

Somehow I think these numbers mean something.

Yet no matter how much these numbers fluctuate (and believe me, my birth year is not set in stone) deep down I am still the same ol’ me. Numbers aren’t so important in the grand scheme of things.

For instance, I used to get excited that I have nearly 10,000 blog followers.

Until today when I realized my son also has a blog.

He’s twelve.

His blog is on Mario Kart Wii U.

He just started it yesterday.

His entire blog profile?

Hi!!! My name is C. Do you like pie? Good day.

He already has over 500 followers.

So I looked over the past year’s stats for my blog this morning (because I admit I do love numbers) and noticed a few things. When I write about blogging, I get the most views. My post Is Blogging Dead? got close to 1,500 hits. Yet oddly enough, posts like “Yes, but how high does a flea jump while farting?” get only one view. Crazy.

As for countries, I had over 26,000 hits from the US, but only one hit from someone in Madagascar. What gives? It’s a mad mad world.

Thank you all for hanging out and reading my blog, I do appreciate it. Happy New Year!

Oh — and do you like pie?


The stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 37,000 times in 2014. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 14 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

Seth Rogen and James Franco (Almost) Save the World


Setting: Seth Rogen’s apartment last week around 3 am.

Rogen [sitting on couch in underwear watching CNN]: Oh shit! OHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHIT! Oh man! Oh holy crapballs! [inhales smoke] Oh god. Just hold it in, Seth, hold it in….. [exhales sharply, puts giant bong down on floor] This is nuts, this is crazy. I gotta call Franco.

[phone rings at James Franco’s place]

Franco [answers phone, two women asleep on either side of him]: Yeah?

Rogen: Dude! Turn on CNN!

Franco: Do what? Naw, man.

Rogen: JUST DO IT!

Franco [scratches head] : Huh? Do what, man?

Rogen: Turn….on…. [screams into phone] THE. F—-ING NEWS!

[silence for several minutes]

Franco: Oh shit.

Rogen: Yeah, “oh shit”. You got that right my friend. You got that right!  [laughs like an asthmatic stuttering donkey]

Franco: Well, what do we do? I mean, this can’t be good. Right?

Rogen: [shouts] No man! No it’s not!  I would think pissing off the entire country of North Korea can’t be good! I mean, Kanye West is one thing, but….this. This is f—ing insane as shit!

Franco: Calm the f— down, all right? I’m coming over.

Rogen: Okay okay. Yeah, that’s good. We can figure this out. I mean, we’re actors!

[Thirty minutes later. Franco and Rogen are sitting on couch together in a cloud of smoke watching CNN]

Franco [exhaling smoke]: Dude.

Rogen [exhaling smoke]: Dude.

Franco: I mean seriously….dude.

Rogen: Duuuuuude.

Franco: I mean, this is really f—ed up.

Rogen: You think?

Franco: So he should be here any minute.

Rogen: Who? The pizza guy?

Franco: No, Clooney, man. He’ll take care of it.

Rogen: What — are you a moron? Clooney? What the hell’s he gonna do?

Franco: Just trust me all right!

Rogen: Trust you! Trust you! Wasn’t that what you said right before you told me to rub your nipples on that motorcycle?


Franco: Clooney’s smart, okay! He’ll know what to do! He infiltrated the Bellagio! He’ll fix this!

[Both sit silently for several minutes]

Rogen: So did you order extra cheese and pepperoni?

Franco: Yeah.

[Someone knocks at door, both yell simultaneously]

Rogen: PIZZA!

Franco: CLOONEY!

[Several minutes pass. More knocks at door.]

Rogen: I thought you were gonna get it.

Franco: I did get it…didn’t I?

Rogen: No man! You get it!

Franco: Why should I? You get it.

Rogen: C’mon dude! You get it!

Franco: No you!

[Someone bangs on door.]

Franco: Did you hear that?

Rogen: What?


Clooney: Hey guys. I let myself in. Look – you two chowderheads better tell me what’s going on right now. I’ve got the missus waiting in the limo downstairs and she isn’t happy, threatened to subpoena my ass.

Franco: Dayum! [makes sound of whip]

Rogen [pointing at TV]: Things are bad, man. Real bad.


Clooney [smirks]: Now c’mon. I’m sure things aren’t that bad guys.

Rogen: No, they are. They, like, wiped out PlayStation! PLAYSTATION!

Franco: We did this. Us! Why didn’t we stop at Pineapple Express?


Clooney: All right, this is what we’re gonna do. Seth, you’re gonna dress up as a rich guy, drop a few Gs at the craps table as a distraction. James, you’re gonna cram yourself into a tiny box and we’ll wheel you into the vault, where you’ll bypass the infrared lasers and steal all copies of The Interview and replace them with the entire season of Freaks and Geeks. Then we’ll all pretend this never happened. Got it?

Rogen/Franco: Got it.

Rogen: But wait a minute….what about freedom of speech? What about every American’s right to watch The Interview?

Clooney [scoffs]: Guys. C’mon. Have you seen the movie?

Rogen/Franco: Yeah.

Rogen: Well…parts of it.

Clooney: Look — think of it as we’re doing everyone in the entire world a huge favor here.

Rogen/Franco [thinking intently, slowly nodding heads]

[Several minutes pass]

Franco: You saw him, right? Clooney? Here in your living room?

Rogen: Who?

Franco: Never mind. Let’s get pizza.

Rogen: Yeah. And order mine with extra pineapple.