Ho-ho-ho!!!

Driving home from a Christmas party around 3:00am up on Sunset Friday night I yelled this toward three women standing on the corner. One of them threw a brick at my car. Guess some folks just don’t have the holiday spirit.

BILL

My Failed Business Venture

I am saddened to report the demise of my website: Pie-In-The-Facebook. It proved astoundingly unpopular and we are, in fact, mired in litigation. My deepest regrets to all who invested and to our super sales department.

BILL

My Reality TV Audition

NBC called, asking that I audition for “The Biggest Loser.”

“But I don’t have a weight problem,” I replied.

“We know.”

BILL

The Insanity of The Temporary Insanity Defense

If people indeed went “temporarily insane,” the resulting madness-induced acts would fall randomly along the moral spectrum, spanning from the altruistic: “It was weird, I went out and raked the leaves of all my neighbors, most of whom I can’t stand to begin with. I don’t know why I did it. I guess I just went temporarily insane!”

To the innocuous:

“It was weird, I went to the store and bought as many Vlasic pickle jars as I could find, then laid the pickles out end to end from my bathroom door all the way to the nearest Chuck E Cheese pizza parlor. I don’t know why I did it. I guess I just went temporarily insane!”

To of course the outright evil:

“It was weird. I grabbed one of my five AK-47s, sprinted from my cabin, went into town and killed all those people. I don’t know why I did it. I guess I just went temporarily insane!”

Alas, the acts induced by “temporary insanity,” without fail, always fall into this final category.

I rest my case.

BILL

The Insanity of The Temporary Insanity Defense

If people indeed went “temporarily insane,” the resulting madness-induced acts would fall randomly along the moral spectrum, spanning from the altruistic: “It was weird, I went out and raked the leaves of all my neighbors, most of whom I can’t stand to begin with. I don’t know why I did it. I guess I just went temporarily insane!”

To the innocuous:

“It was weird, I went to the store and bought as many Vlasic pickle jars as I could find, then laid the pickles out end to end from my bathroom door all the way to the nearest Chuck E Cheese pizza parlor. I don’t know why I did it. I guess I just went temporarily insane!”

To of course the outright evil:

“It was weird. I grabbed one of my five AK-47s, sprinted from my cabin, went into town and killed all those people. I don’t know why I did it. I guess I just went temporarily insane!”

Alas, the acts induced by “temporary insanity,” without fail, always fall into this final category.

I rest my case.

BILL

Bummer

My line of Disgruntled Employee Gift Baskets has sunk like a stone at fine stores everywhere. The real bummer is my understandable reluctance to let go my highly enthusiastic and dedicated staff.

BILL

If you are what you eat, I'm a vegetable

On my doctor’s suggestion to consume more vegetables, I have increased my daily allotment of French fries, jelly beans, onion rings, carrot cake and pumpkin pie.

BILL

I Quaker at The Thought

While I assure you I am not remotely the type, I’m nonetheless still quite certain that Wilford Brimley could actually talk me into taking my own life. Don’t believe me?

“Now listen up fella, ‘cause I got something that works when it’s supposed to work and never fails. That’s right, never fails. Let me ask you straight out. Are you troubled by life’s inequities? Foiled by the fickle whims of fate? Does it bother you when those less talented than yourself reap life’s rewards while you go lacking? Do neighbors take advantage of your kindnesses both small and large? Well, have you considered suicide? That’s right; I’m talking about ending it all. Wave goodbye to life’s unending sorrows and greet the sunshine of a lifeless new tomorrow. Take it from me, Wilford Brimley, it’s the thing to do."

BILL

I Quaker at the Thought

While I assure you I am not remotely the type, I’m nonetheless still quite certain that Wilford Brimley could actually talk me into taking my own life. Don’t believe me?

“Now listen up fella, ‘cause I got something that works when it’s supposed to work and never fails. That’s right, never fails. Let me ask you straight out. Are you troubled by life’s inequities? Foiled by the fickle whims of fate? Does it bother you when those less talented than yourself reap life’s rewards while you go lacking? Do neighbors take advantage of your kindnesses both small and large? Well, have you considered suicide? That’s right; I’m talking about ending it all. Wave goodbye to life’s unending sorrows and greet the sunshine of a lifeless new tomorrow. Take it from me, Wilford Brimley, it’s the thing to do."

BILL

ESSAY: Love is Blind

Love is blind, or so Lester had heard. Which was fine by him seeing how he actually was blind. Totally. Ever since the explosion. He'd lost sight in both eyes and had been biding his days the last few years literally in the dark. And it was in the confines of his hospital bed when he felt, for the first time ever, the wispy breath of love, arriving to him in the pleasant voice of Lexy, his day nurse at Shakely Memorial Hospital.

It took little time at all to find himself falling for her. The warm, gentle sound of her voice. The playful sense of humor. The disarming ways she had about her and the way, in her every utterance, he found himself so utterly comfortable in her presence. It was a feeling he had never encountered before in his life. Certainly never around his now ex-wife Candace. What a four-year waste of time that was, he thought. Matrimony only led him to spend more time at work and, sadly, that wasn't time spent at the office. It was time spent defusing bombs.
Ever since Columbine, it seemed Lester had spent more and more time defusing crude, explosive devices cobbled together by the conniving hands and minds of disgruntled, acne-scarred teenagers and, wouldn't you know it, one of the nasty contrivances went off, the blast effect stronger than predicted and making such a mess of his eyes that he had lost sight in both of them.

Now, due to a radical surgery that he himself, could barely pronounce, Lester found himself on the precipice of including himself among the sighted. Sure, this is what he dreamed of but it now thrust upon him what he could officially deem a "quandary," for he was now married a second time and his bride of the last nine months was Lexy. Positive he would never see again, Lester did what anyone would: followed his heart's desire. Marrying her in spite of the frequent times he had heard by the many who had met her what a "fine personality" she had and what a "delightful spirit" she carried with her amidst her walk through the world.

Their sex life had been satisfying and abundant and Lester cherished the feel of his roaming hands as they glided over her body during the throes of sexual abandon. Still, the thought flitted about his mind time and again: what did her face look like? Now that thought was all that coursed through his mind as the big day arrived and the bandages were finally being slowly unwound from his head and he would finally see. Or not see. And if he did, what, pray tell, would Lexy look like? Was her name an omen, rhyming as it did with "sexy" or would it become the most cruel of taunts?

"We're almost done here," he heard Dr. Radcliffe say as he slowly undid the bandages.

By now Lester's eyes were capturing faint traces of light creeping through the thin gauze still wrapped around his head. Yes! It was light he was seeing. There were shapes ahead and he could nearly make out the steady motion of the doctor's hand as it wound the last of the bandages away from his eyes.

Lester could see Lexy standing in front of him.

"Well, hello there, Mister," she said as Lester's eyes blinked and adjusted to the near blinding light of the room.

"Oh, my God" were the words that, on impulse alone, dribbled forth from Lester's startled lips.

BILL

ESSAY: BlueBerry? BlackBerry? It's All The Same...

In 1983, the reason now escaping me but probably having to do with the IHOP pancakes I was downing while reading my morning newspaper, I decided that, from that day forward, I would refer to my daily Los Angeles Times as my “BlueBerry.”

Now for the last decade, I have relied solely on public transportation, meaning of course that I am rarely if ever not in possession of my BlueBerry and sometimes even the latest book I am reading.

Being the gregarious sort, I frequently meet friends for breakfast, lunch or dinner and, without fail, am always accompanied by my trusty BlueBerry, resting quietly atop the table, ready to serve me at a whim’s notice with its 24-hour cycle of the information so critical to my day.

Lately, however, I have been troubled – nay aggravated - by the peeved looks from those with whom I am dining whenever they happen to catch my furtive – OK, sometimes blatant - glances down at my BlueBerry sports section. Inveterate gambler that I am, I am often snatching quick tidbits of information key to my next wager: injury reports, game field conditions, lineup changes, whatever. It’s important to me. Get it?

One recent conversation with a friend of many years went something like this:

“My doctor says it might even be inoperable. Oh, Bill, I can’t tell you how frightened I am, what with three kids and another one on the way. I have no idea what I’ll do if—”

I glanced down at my BlueBerry, the thought having struck me that quarterback Brett Favre’s play is spotty indoors. Was the next Vikings game in The Metrodome or on the road outdoors? Unfortunately, that page was not in my direct view, so I held my BlueBerry aloft with both hands, fully obscuring Wanda from my line of sight as I ruffled through its pages until I found what I was looking for. Aha! It was an away game. And on grass at that! Sorry Brett. I’m taking the points.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” I inquired, lowering my BlueBerry and placing it back onto the table, perfectly situated to accommodate my reading glasses. “Something about a tumor was it?”

I thought I caught a quick look of annoyance come over Wanda’s face but I couldn’t be sure. There was a petulant rolling of her eyes though, of that I was certain, but seeing how I do that myself on occasions, especially when someone is babbling on while I’m trying to sneak another peek at my BlueBerry, it was entirely forgivable.

“I was telling you about what my oncologist had to say.”

“Oh right, the cancer thing! Go on. You were saying.”

Wanda continued, at length - as always she does - and I could feel myself being drawn once again by the seductive pull of my BlueBerry, its silent but hypnotic allure drawing me in against the noisome tide of Wanda’s incessant babbling.

Blah-blah-blah. On she went about her ailment while I found myself wondering if the point spread for the Giants game had changed in the last day or so. It was time for another downward glance. Lucky for me I was on the correct page, folded perfectly to the handicapping for the weekend’s games. Yes! The Giants were still favored. “Yes!” I said a tad too loudly.

“Have you even heard a single word I’ve been saying?” Wanda intoned with evident frustration.

“Well I heard that well enough, thank you very much,” I said, feigning offense. “Big game this weekend,” I started in, before letting it trail into a barely audible mumble. I leaned forward and folded my hands, my face a veil of genuine concern for whatever Wanda had to say. “OK,” I said, implying that she now had my undivided attention.

“Anyway, it’s looking very much as if—”

I held up a finger. “Just one thing. Real quick.” Didn’t the Ravens quarterback injure his throwing finger against an opponent’s helmet last Sunday? I again turned to my BlueBerry.

Wanda crumpled her napkin, tossed it onto her half-eaten plate, picked up her purse and stormed off.

Some people can be so rude.

BILL

"Bill Hits a New Low, Even For Him" claims The NY Times

In light of the fact that, in the last fifteen years, two films (“Schindler’s List” and “Slumdog Millionaire”) have won the Academy Award for Best Picture, each containing a scene where a small child intentionally hurls himself into a vat of solid human waste, I have commenced work on my next screenplay: “Intestinal Fortitude: The Amazing Escapades of Lester Tulane, Septic Tank Repairman.”

BILL

Unchained Memory

I formed a rock and roll band in high school. The Self-Righteous Brothers. Nobody liked us.

BILL

The Dear Hunter

In the wayward days of my youth, I would bring to school for Halloween homemade "animal crackers," in reality the fire-charred remnants of chipmunks, squirrels, and whatnot, filleted with wild-eyed abandon by my seven-year old hand in the dark, lonely woods of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. My "meat treats" - as I called them - proved immensely popular with both my fellow students and, soon thereafter, my fellow patients.

BILL

A Little League Memory

My idol growing up, Baltimore Orioles third baseman Brooks Robinson, was nicknamed the “human vacuum cleaner,” so adept was he at catching ground balls.

My Little League teammates also called me the “human vacuum cleaner,” but only because – in their words – I “sucked.”

BILL

I want my babyback-babyback-babyback...

After a lifetime of refusing to eat baby back ribs – for moral reasons – the other night I finely caved in, the menu’s succulent, sauce-bathed ribs luring me in. Hey, I’m sorry. Baby back ribs are delicious! Go ahead. Call me a cannibal. I don’t care.

BILL

My Bus Ride in Today

In the far back row, to my right, a young man was reading the Bible. To my left, a young lad had successfully lured another into helping him cheat on his homework. Imagine! One person using a perpetrated fraud by which to advance in the world. Another cheating on his homework…

BILL

"Laughter is the Best Medicine"

I used to think this as well but as I swigged cough syrup the other day a co-worker uttered the punch line to a really funny joke, causing me to laugh so hard I did a spit take, spraying cough syrup all over his newly pressed white shirt. Enraged, he slugged me, shattering my jaw and knocking out four of my front teeth. Neither my health nor dental insurance covered it, as – per adjuster’s paperwork – “injury self-inflicted by verbal actions of the insured.”

Clearly, I am no longer laughing, but that’s because my jaw is wired shut. No. It is not the best medicine. It is, in fact, the disease.

BILL

If one does NOT believe South Carolina Congressman Joe Wilson is a racist...

… than simple logic dictates that what one does believe is that, despite hundreds of speeches by the President of The United States to Congress for well over two centuries, wherein we have never had such an accusation hurled, when finally we have a black President and a 62-year old - not 32-year old - white man born and raised in the deep south who voted against removing the Confederate flag from the South Carolina statehouse yells out "You lie!", racism played absolutely no part in his having yelled what he did.

BILL

Don't Go West, Young Man!

The time has come to enact “three strikes you’re out” legislation for jerks, similar to the one for career criminals. That is to say, if you have had to publicly apologize three or more times you can be officially deemed a “jerk.” (A committee could adjudicate matters wherein no apology was offered despite unquestionably egregious conduct.)

We could call it: Kanye’s Law.

BILL

Comfortably Dumb

When the British schoolboys chorused in with their seething cockney “We don’t need no education,” in Pink Floyd’s 1979 song “Another Brick in The Wall, Part II,” they clearly proved that, indeed, they did need an education.

Grammatically speaking, they should have sung: “We don’t need any education.”

BILL

"I'm Hearing Voices"

Ever notice when anyone “hears voices” it is never anything like “Go out and pick up the trash along the highway?” It tends to be more of the “Kill ‘em all! Kill ‘em ALLLLLL!!!!” variety.

The other thing is: even if they hear a voice, why do they always feel compelled to obey it? For example, I’m absolutely positive these people would pay no heed whatsoever to my voice if I walked up to them and uttered: “Hand me five bucks.”

Look, either I’m crazy or they are…

BILL

Andy Kaufman should have done this bit (Latka Gravas voice)

“Dere was dees farmer, and he had a very lovely daughter. She was so pretty you see. And one day a traveling salesman came along and said “My car has broken down. I would like to stay here for dee night. May I stay at your farm?”

Dee farmer, he say, “Yes, you may stay dee night but… (wagging finger) keep your hands off my lovely daughter.”

Dee sales mon agrees to not touch dee mon’s daughter, but dee next day, after dee tow truck feex hees car, when he leaves he waves to dee farmer and says “By dee way, I made love to your daughter.”

(Audience titters.)

No, don’t you see? He said he would not touch dee mon’s lovely daughter but instead he slept with dee farmer’s daughter.

(More titters. Befuddled, Andy tries to explain.)

You don’t get dee joke. Dee sales mon – remember? – remember he said – he PROMISED he would not touch dee farmer’s daughter, but instead he went to sleep with her. See? Don’t you get dee joke?

(Etc. etc. Trust me; it would be funny….)

BILL

Thank You Coors Light!

For your new temperature-sensitive logo that changes from a silvery/white to a vibrant blue when the can’s contents have reached perfect drinking temperature. In the past, “when is my beer cold?” proved quite vexing and the cumbersome hand-touch method* was not only time-consuming but, if the beer was overly chilly, could cause one’s hand to retract dangerously fast, often resulting in spillage or possible injury. Moreover, for those occasions when I simply could not determine whether or not my beer had reached an appreciable level of frostiness, I felt compelled to consult “The Brew Crew,” my trusty cabal of beer-quaffing associates, helping me decide whether or not my beer had attained optimum frosty temperature. Your new can has proved a much-welcomed relief to all of us, obligating me to convey, with heartfelt gratitude, my sincere appreciation.

Thank you again.

*an archaic method wherein the consumer reaches out to touch the can

Thank You, Coors Light!!!

For your new temperature-sensitive logo that changes from a silvery/white to a vibrant blue when the can’s contents have reached perfect drinking temperature. In the past, “when is my beer cold?” proved quite vexing and the cumbersome hand-touch method* was not only time-consuming but, if the beer was overly chilly, could cause one’s hand to retract dangerously fast, often resulting in spillage or possible injury. Moreover, for those occasions when I simply could not determine whether or not my beer had reached an appreciable level of frostiness, I felt compelled to consult “The Brew Crew,” my trusty cabal of beer-quaffing associates, helping me decide whether or not my beer had attained optimum frosty temperature. Your new can has proved a much-welcomed relief to all of us, obligating me to convey, with heartfelt gratitude, my sincere appreciation.

Thank you again.

*an archaic method wherein the consumer reaches out to touch the can

When I Run For President...

… my platform will include a promise to do away with the terms “brouhaha” and “gobbledygook.”

My campaign posters will read: “Bill in 2012. Because Nobody Needs Brouhahas and Gobbledygook.”

BILL

You had me at "Unsquint your eyes"

I would find Renee Zellweger a more comely lass if she didn’t always look like she was staring into the noonday sun.

BILL

"I'll Meet You Halfway"

In my youth, I wanted badly to resemble “Partridge Family” teen heartthrob David Cassidy, mired as I was in my spot on match for doofus bassist Danny Bonaduce.

BILL

My Long Term Prognosis

I have made a full recovery from my operation. Long story short, I had to have 20% of my brain removed. My mood is fine, thank you, my spirits renewed by an intense and sudden interest in NASCAR and rap.

BILL

An Announcement From The Founder of Rube Wear America

Due to the high volume of telegrams and pitchfork-wielding protesters amassing outside our Jackson and Vicksburg stores, we are announcing today that all of our Mississippi locations will remain open. We are, however, discontinuing our 'Johnny Reb' Bib-Overalls line.

Thank you for your continued patronage and, remember y'all, there is a "reb" in "rube."

CEO
Rube Wear America

Focus!!!

Why is it that the only time we really need a clear, sharp, high resolution video image we don’t have it? Hi-def is everywhere! In restaurants, bars, theatre lobbies, even elevators, and we’re usually not even watching it, but if a thief puts two into the chest of a liquor store owner and I’m warned by the local news media as to the graphic nature of the crime caught on tape, shown to me solely in hopes that I can identify the culprit, every single time I see the footage my reaction is: “Good God, Neil Armstrong came in with more clarity than this!”

BILL

You Think YOU Have Problems?

I met this girl. We hit it off. I asked her to move in. I inquired about her not going out for auditions, having informed me she was a method actor. “No, you idiot,” she replied, “I said I’m a meth addict.”

BILL

I'm gellin' Are you gellin'?

I wonder what those who settled the American West or fought Hitler would think of a generation that actually uses gel-filled keyboard wrist rests.

(Speaking of which, my cats are doing fine….)

BILL

"Facts Are Stubborn Things" - John Adams

I sing and dance better than Michael Jackson.

BILL

I coined the word "Duh!"

For decades, people were always saying this to me in response to my questions and one day I thought: “Hey! That would be a cool saying to use!”

(I’m a pretty sharp guy…)

BILL

“Quiet as a Church Mouse"

As a former altar boy, I am roundly familiar with said beasts and can assure you that, diminutive though they may be, church mice are a most sordid lot. Devoid of comely manners and unchaste in their wanton lust for all things cheese, they are prone to both excessive libation and the hurling of vulgarities one would only expect to hear in slurred tongues from the upper windows of the most lowly frat house late on a Saturday night.

BILL

My Fourth of July Memory

Don’t ask me how but somehow I got invited to a bigwig Fourth of July barbeque up in the Hollywood Hills. (Friend of a friend; what can I say?).

Anyway, being the good guest, I offer to man the grill and soon I’m the master chef it seems, spatula in hand, my baggy apron flapping in the mild breeze.

I hear a low feminine voice behind me. “You have got a smokin’ body.”

I turn and – sure enough – Angelina Jolie is staring at me, cryptic smile adorning that gorgeous face.

“Well thanks, beautiful,” I say, oozing debonair. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“No,” she says, the smile now edging toward mockery. “What I mean is: you’re on fire.”

BILL

A Wise Man Once Said:

“The secret to happiness is not having what you want, but wanting what you have.”

Unfortunately, I have a migraine….

BILL

Failsafe Inebriation Test

If you suspect someone of excessive drinking, simply ask them to say “Chrysanthemum” three times. If they can manage this feat with little difficulty, they are duly inebriated.

BILL

Some People Are Soooooooooo Stupid

Saw on the news authorities using cadaver dogs to look for victims in earthquake rubble. Man! Haven’t they heard that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? Let ALONE a dead dog!

BILL

Reports Had Been Contradictory

First reports on Michael Jackson were that he was pale and unresponsive’, to which paramedics replied: "Well, we're gonna need a littlwe more than that."

BILL

"World War II for Dummies"

Saw this in a bookstore and mentioned to the clerk that the mere title is nothing short of obscene. Considering the lives lost, the cause for which we fought, the ultimate sacrifices and victims, etc. for a business to practically belittle such history with its afterthought title makes me want to kick my mother’s handed-down moralistic self-righteous gene into hyper-drive, accord the publisher their due session of vomit, and point out to them that the next stop on this pathetic choo-choo train is “The Holocaust for Dummies.”

BILL

I told my true love...

“I need you like the Donner Party needed a cell phone.”

(Yes, I’m single again.)

BILL

Karma Apples?

The woman who pleaded guilty to the felony of selling to a tabloid magazine tumor-ridden Farrah Fawcett’s private medical records died prior to sentencing, succumbing to… cancer.

BILL

Oswald COULDN'T Have Done The Shooting!!!

After all, he was only a trained Marine.

BILL

ESSAY: The Garo Yepremian Gaffe - A Study in Failure

It has been said that true failure requires the involvement of at least one Cypriot, if only for the simple reason that the term itself flies awfully close to "idiot.” OK, I’m lying. This has never once been said and I’ll admit to casting a shamelessly derogatory slur upon the inhabitants of this tiny eastern Mediterranean island, all for a cheap laugh.

But if it’s cheap laughs one desires, one need venture no further than the film vaults of NFL Films, namely color footage of one of pro football’s most colorful gaffes: that of Cyprus' own Garo Yepremian and his blocked field goal attempt at Super Bowl VII, played in the Los Angeles Coliseum on January 14, 1973.

Sure, other football failures abound through the years: hideous throwback uniforms, Deion Sanders' tackling, the league's scandalous penny-pinching when it comes to furnishing sufficient material in which to clad its cheerleaders, but these pale in comparison to Garo's inimitable moment of athletic gaffe-dom.

Allow me to set the stage. With just over two minutes remaining in the biggest game of the year and holding a two touchdown lead over the Washington Redskins, Miami Dolphins kicker Garo Yepremian lines up for a (very doable) 42-yard field goal, success of which will - barring the intrusive hand of the Almighty himself - assure an insurmountable 17-0 Dolphin lead with scarcely any time remaining.

Here is what makes Garo's Gaffe so memorable. Ready? It is not one gaffe - breathe easy Jim "Running The Wrong Way" Marshall - but rather four! All in one play! Here we go:

Gaffe number one: The kick is blocked. Garo would later state that, during warm-ups, his kicks were sailing low and, sure enough, such proved to be the case when it came to the actual game, the ball being easily blocked by a defender's arm.

Gaffe number two: The ball slips from Garo's hand. After the botched field goal, the ball bounces to the little kicker who catches it, then draws his arm back to throw it to… well, we're still trying to determine who that may have been. Alas, the aptly-named pigskin slips from his hand, floating harmfully into the air just above his helmet.

Gaffe number three: Incompetence. In truly Keystone Cops fashion, Garo quickly decides to bat the ball toward the sideline. This he does, straight into the waiting hands of Redskins defensive back Mike Bass, who scampers--

-- But wait!! We have not gotten to gaffe number four, one that can only be deemed - and allow me to summon the spectral voice of Howard Cosell - "ignominious cowardice." As Bass sprints down the sideline, Garo has the angle on him! In fact - watch closely now - he doesn't even have to engage in anything remotely resembling a tackle. All he need do is throw his body in front of the six foot, 190 pound - medium sized by football standards - defender. Even if he should not bring Bass to the ground, his effort alone will slow the ball carrier up, allowing Garo's teammates to converge upon Bass, tackling him and thus preventing a score. But with the game - excuse me - the Super Bowl on the line, what does Garo do? He feints a move as if trying to tackle him, shattering any and all dreams of ever winning an Oscar. Bass easily eludes him, scampering 49 yards unmolested for a touchdown. With the extra point, Miami's lead has shrunk to 14-7. And with an onside kick in the offing, a successful Washington possession could tie the score, sending it into sudden-death overtime, where it is certainly possible - coin flips being what they are - that a Washington score could snatch victory from the undefeated Dolphins. (Bear in mind, Washington was favored by odds makers, and their Marv Levy coached special teams were the best in the league. Oddly, Head Coach George Allen chose not to try an onside kick.) Dolphin safety Jake Scott was said to have walked up to Garo at the conclusion of this Hindenburg-like play and muttered, glaring at his teammate, "Garo, if we lose this game, I'm going to kill you."

But the Dolphin defense indeed held and Miami went on to win 14-7, maintaining its perfect season, culminating in a 17-0 record, with Garo himself surviving to kick another day. Forget it, Jake, it's Los Angeles….

So there it is. Four gaffes in a single play, with a dollop of cowardice to boot. Surely football's most memorable gaffe(s). And in case you think I'm being too hard on Garo, let me state - for the record - that I am fairly sure my own performance would have matched if not surpassed Garo's ineptitude had I suited up that January day. Surpassed, you ask? Certainly! For had I been the one to pull that stunt, I would have immediately trotted over to the Redskins sideline and remained there for the duration of the game, adding "traitor" to my well-blemished resume simply because: "They like me more." However, I'd prefer to think that I never would have even been on that football field in the first place, surrounded by eighty adrenaline-charged behemoths. You see, Mama didn't raise any fools. Well, she did, but we drowned them when they were young.

"Gilligan's Island"

Maybe this is rose-colored glasses on the part of someone as yellow as me but the passengers aboard the Minnow had to have been seeing red or been pretty blue about being marooned. And on gray days green with envy for the comforts of home while things grew increasingly black.

BILL

When I'm Governor...

… I will ask the State Assembly to enact legislation mandating that anyone marrying for the third time respond to all questions pertaining to wedding vows using these words: “Well, for what it’s worth, sure, I guess.”

BILL

This is, like... crazy!

The smoking gun of our nation’s mounting illiteracy is the ever-increasing use of the word “like.”

Now I’m not saying I don’t use it from time to time, but some folks - yes, you small fry mostly - can’t get through a sentence without it.

Why “like” as opposed to, say, “defoliant?” It’s because one is trying to express oneself but is incapable of doing so, so they instead describe not what something “is” but rather what it is “like.”

Kinda scary. (Yes, “kinda” is a word….)

BILL

"Even a Broken Clock is Right Twice A Day"

I simply do not “get” this oft-quoted expression. And I’ll have you know I even own a broken clock, both hands of which fell completely off some time ago.

BILL

Your Guide to Better Movies

Few aspects of filmmaking are as critically important as casting. Think “Braveheart” starring Gilbert Gottfried.

BILL

My Favorite Stupid Moment From a Movie

In the film “Jurassic Park,” when the T-Rex attacks the car, one of the two children trapped alone inside frantically – and I mean frantically – searches about for a flashlight, yes, a flashlight, because it goes without saying that, when attacked by a T-Rex, it most certainly helps to have one handy.

Upon finding it, the girl hurriedly turns it on and points it directly into the ornery beast’s massive eye, surely filmdom’s equivalent of clanging the triangle on a cattle drive and yelling “Come and get yer grub, fellas!!!” As it dawns upon their feeble minds that they are in fact drawing attention to themselves, the boy – lesser idiot of the two – repeatedly implores her to turn the light off, an act which, while involving the same simple flicking of a switch, is evidently rendered infinitely more difficult than was turning it on, as the girl simply cannot turn the flashlight off.

It is with only the wispiest guilt that I confess: Never have I wanted to see two children devoured whole as I did in that moment. Alas, only the lawyer was downed like a toothpick-skewered olive, ignominiously perched as he was atop the porcelain throne.

BILL

"Monday, Monday"

It’s a little known fact that record producer Lou Adler fought long and hard with songwriter John Phillips over the lyrics to The Mamas and The Papas hit “Monday, Monday,” insisting that the words “Monday, Monday, so good to me” be changed to “Monday, Monday, boy that day sucks” on the basis of, in Adler’s words, “if we don’t they’ll think you’re a bunch of idiots.”

In the end, as in so many cases, a compromise was reached with the addition of the line: “Monday, Monday, can’t trust that day.”

BILL

Sloganeering 101

I coined the phrase “the horses have already fled the barn” in 1968, responding to Ma’s inquiry “Billy Paul! What in tarnation happened to all the horses!?”

BILL

Wacko Jacko Pt. Deux

Five years ago, I correctly predicted - mere hours after its woefully insincere debut - that the phrase “wardrobe malfunction” would infuse its way into the American lexicon.

I was wrong, however, in my similar prediction regarding “hamburger tray insertion apparatus.”

BILL

Ah what an innocent time it was...

In the 1983 film “War Games,” the computer controlling the launching of all of our nuclear missiles was hacked by a teenager who correctly deduced that the system’s designer might well have used as his password the name of his deceased child, Joshua.

Not: Joshua1 or joshU1a or josh#Ua1 Just plain old simple… Joshua.

Now my passwords are mandatory alphanumeric, mix upper and lower case, contain some wacky symbol, and must be changed every 45 days. And if I don’t do this, I am taken out and shot. (OK, I lied about that last part but you get my point….)

BILL

Honest, Officer, It Just WENT OFF!

I’m noticing a pattern. Whenever a gun just happens to “go off,” two things tend to occur at the exact same moment. One: the person holding the gun is in a fit of spitting, blind rage. And two, of the 6.77 billion inhabitants of the planet Earth, the one at whose head the gun is directly pointed just happens to be the very same person fueling that rage.

What are the odds? (I know in one regard they’re approximately 6,770,000,000 to 1.)

BILL

Swine Flu

Frankly, I’m concerned. I was born in the Year of The Pig, every woman who knows me has at one time or another called me a chauvinist pig, my ex calls me a “swine,” and, if you’ve seen me at the dinner table, well… ‘nuff said.

On the other hand, maybe everyone who knows me should be worried.

BILL

Shocked, SHOCKED I Was When I Read THIS!

In 2001, the 9/11 terrorists spent every waking moment of their day doing two things and two things only:

1) Spent 20% of their time preparing for the 9/11 hijackings.

2) Spent 80% of their time teaching Americans how to text-message while driving.

BILL

Experience has taught me that...

… anytime someone resorts to “C’mon, it’ll be a good experience,” you can pretty much strap yourself in for a lousy time.

BILL

(If and) When I Get To The Promised Land...

… the first thing I’m going to do is ask: “Hey, fellas! Where’s the peanut brittle?” And if they don’t reply: “It’s right next to the Kate Beckinsale clones,” I’ll know I’m in Hell and they haven’t broken the news to me yet.

BILL

PS – As stated previously, this is a big “If.”

The Lie Test!!!

Tell me five things about yourself, one of which is a lie. Here are mine. Can you find the falsehood?

1) My father is a retired mining engineer.

2) My father studied mining engineering in college.

3) We had a lot of copper in our home.

4) I would often yell at my nosy father: “Mine your own business!!!”

5) I’m dating Freida Pinto of “Slumdog Millionaire.”

BILL

ESSAY: Paid My Dime But(t) Only Farted

"Here I sit, so brokenhearted.
Paid my dime but(t) only f*rted."

(Anonymous)

Has ever a poem - like no Shakespearean sonnet ever dared - braved to touch upon so much of what it is to be human, yet captured it so succinctly? Eleven words. One shy of the dozen mark yet striking that most resonant chord of crushing disappointment, foiled monetary calculations and bitter irony. And that apropos soupcon of vulgarity, spicing it oh-so-unpretentiously!

And yet so much, so very much left unsaid! Can our mind's eye not capture the poet's frantic dash to the commode? Perhaps preceded by an equally frantic attempt at garnering coinage by way of trading his last crumpled dollar, all to hasten him to the much sought privacy of the men's room stall? Then seeing this hurried chap fling his pants downward in a near seizure of anxiety, as too his underwear - boxers? briefs? who is to know? - while at the same time his aching knees plunge him into the seated position.

Able at last to heed nature's most implacable demand, he sets free the coiled muscles of his p*sterior, loosening the very girders of his backside and then, in near orga*mic relief - and much to his shock and surprise - he merely f*rts instead of relinquishing forever to the sewers (like Jean Valjean beneath the streets of Paris in "Les Miserables") the fetid contents of his b*wels. Has disappointment ever been so aptly worded? Surely I doubt it.

And yet there is more to this polished gem of a poem. So much more!

True, all of us face disappointment from time to time, some more than others, fate being touchstone to fickle. But how many of us pay to be disappointed like the beleaguered hero of Anonymous's epic scribbling? To pay for disappointment! To spend one's hard-earned money in search of relief, only to discover that one has been trumped by fate. Yes, cruel mistress that she is, she seems to be taunting him, for there is nothing poor Anonymous can do! Beseech his b*wels to obey you say? Sorry, they speak a language unto themselves, their untoward dribbles emulating the stretched mouth of a deflating balloon governed by the mischievous fingers of an unruly child. Abide patiently upon his porcelain throne and stubbornly wait her out? Sorry, the surly demands of one's day await no man! He instead is obliged - nay is forced - to haul up his trousers and be on his way, leaving in his wake the stench of disappointment to commingle with the malodorous gasses from his duly humbled p*osterior.

The poor man is powerless to do anything - anything! - but hoist said pantaloons and call it a day, consoled only by the tidbit knowledge that when the biologic urge deigns to revisit him, at least then he shall be prepared to duel, armed with a fistful of dimes.

For now, however, he departs in a state of wretched despair, lending a tragic air to our tale. With mere coins in pocket, he heads for whatever pains await him. And who can resist imagining what pains he might already have suffered over the course of his troubled life? A scold of a wife? An absent or drunken father? Siblings who cared for him not a whit? Schoolyard bullies who daily taunted a weakling youth? Carried like sackcloth burdens over uncaring years, these pale in comparison to his current plight, for none of these have ever cost him one red cent! Unlike this his most recent pain, which sears him still like some retracted fireplace poker. The cause of the pain removed, the pain nonetheless abiding. Truly, a most bitter and callous defeat!

But, alas, as every dog has its day, so shall this man! As surely as day follows night, he shall soon enough prevail over his recalcitrant b*wels. And when he does, he shall cr*p away with unshackled exuberance, savoring the pleasant smile that breaks like dawn across his face and finding within it the same welcome peace that arrives on the wings of children's laughter from a playground far, far away.

BILL

Try This; It's Fun!

When downing aspirin in front of others, pop open your eyes, point to your temple, and declare: “The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side!”

BILL

Maybe I'm Missing Something Here

But having seduced the federal government into handing over 170-billion tax-payer dollars into company coffers, has there ever been a group of executives more deserving of company bonuses than those clever rascals at A.I.G.?

BILL

My 9/11 anecdote

We all recall the horror of 9/11, however my tale is a unique one I am sure.

It seemed horrifying enough seeing two airliners slam into the twin towers of the World Trade Center. The fires. The smoke. The plunging suicides. Then, just when no one thought it could get any worse, the nightmare grew before our very eyes as, floor by floor, girder by girder, the 110-story South Tower crumbled to the ground.

Like much of the nation, I was in shock, but as I stared at the smoke-billowing remains of the now felled tower, I turned to a friend and said, "You know what my concern is now, don’t you?"

"The second tower falling?"

"Oh please - hell no - I'm concerned as to whether or not a completely unknown member of the Illinois senate is wearing his flag pin or not."

BILL

A Bright Side

The other day I awakened and just didn’t feel like myself. A few moments later, the phone rang. It was my local bank branch, informing me that I had been the victim of identity theft.

BILL

Non-Marital Bliss

If over fifty percent of marriages, after couples have vowed – I’ll say it again: VOWED - before family and friends, in a church, and with the sanction of the state, “till death do us part” – STILL FAIL, how does that bode for the grim, white-knuckle ride of the remaining fifty percent?!?

Happily single,

I am,

Yours Truly,

BILL
Cat Lover

Ledger Domain

As an Oscar devotee, I took great offense at Heath Ledger’s cavalier snub of the Academy Sunday night by not showing up to receive his Best Supporting Actor Oscar, marring an otherwise pleasant evening and rendering it, if I may be so bold, a dark night for all who bore witness to this graceless gesture.  Perhaps he thought he was above it all; I don’t know.  Either way, it was the height of crassness.  Who does this joker think he is?!?  Trust me: as Hollywood has a long memory, I can safely state that he will never work in this town again.

BILL

If Slim Pickens were still alive, I'd pay him to say:

“Shoot, fellas, we’ll be safer than a stack of Playboys in Frisco.”

BILL

The Two Bills

The other day I was beside myself with anger. Sure enough, I glanced to my left and there I was.

BILL

Siskel my Ebert

Considering its cast includes Scarlett Johansson, Jennifer Aniston, Jennifer Connelly, and Drew Barrymore, I can only conclude that “he’s just not that into you” is set in the world of fashion design.

BILL

Question

Does anyone else find simply standing on a street corner and screaming at the top of their lungs “STOP!!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE STOP!!! to be an effective means of ceasing the voices you’ve been hearing?

BILL

My Hollywood News

I’m pitching my new screenplay, Hundred Stories of Terror, as “Die Hard in a high-rise.” Wish me luck….

BILL

My Hollywood News

I’m pitching my new screenplay, Hundred Stories of Terror, as “Die Hard in a high-rise.” Wish me luck….

BILL

"My Wife Has Left Me" (An Age Test)

I bought her Mimeograph by Estee Lauder and she grew sick of my picking her up and smelling her every time she walked into the room.

BILL

What's In A Name?

In an attempt to improve morale, Kenya today announced that it is renaming itself: “Kenya-dig-it?”

BILL

"You're all heart"

Friends and family have told me this forever. Only now did I deduce that for decades they have been calling me a mindless idiot.

BILL

Marital Bliss

Key to any marriage is that lone exception to otherwise steel-encased fidelity. You know the one. The “hypothetical” should by some remote chance such an opportunity arise. My wife’s, of course, is Brad Pitt. Mine is her younger sister Lacy.

BILL

"Slumdog Millionaire"

I just found out this is a movie! I thought it was just another posthumous rap album from Tupac Shakur.

BILL

Great Quotes in History

January 1, 1959


Fidel Castro to Che Guevara: “New Years resolution?!?!? I thought you said New Years revolution!”


BILL