I had dinner with two of my three brothers last night.  I thought for sure I’d have a fantastic blog this morning because those fuckers are hysterical, right?  RIGHT?

Denied.  It’s like they’re TRYING to thwart my aspirations to have one single coherent and mildly amusing post this week.


I don’t think they said two words the whole night.  So now I have to recycle a conversation we had earlier in the week.

That’s right, this post is their fault.  It certainly has nothing to do with my having spent the last two hours learning how to play “Happy Birthday” on the ukulele so I could play it on my dad’s answering machine.  (*waves frantically*  Hi Dad!!)

I have mad time management skills, Interwebz.

Also, I may or may not have a giant zit on my ass that makes my desk chair miserable uncomfortable.

As I understand it, my brother Mike is in Newark with some of his co-workers for some sort of Emergency Preparedness-ification Training Conference Symposium Convention-a-thon.  Ish.  As per usual, he tried to explain the point of his visit.  As per usual, it all went over my head.

Mike:  Blah, blah, technical gargon.  Blah, blah, flux capacitors and formaldehyde.  Do they have any beer on tap?

Me:  Yes on the beer.  And what?

Mike:  Blah, blah, hazardous materials, blah, blah, crisis, blah, blah, emergency response.

Me:  *blink, blink*

Mike:  Really?

Me:  I have no idea what you’re saying.

Mike’s Coworker:  You see, we come up with possible reaction plans for bad things that might happen at the school.

Me:  Bad things?  You mean like zombie uprisings?

Mike’s Coworker:  That is one possible scenario but I don’t remember seeing it listed on the agenda.

Me:  That’s too easy anyway.  Everyone knows zombie’s hate Listerine.  What about alien invasions?

Mike’s Coworker:  Only if we can confirm they’re hostile.  Today’s scenario involved a lost poodle and a microwave explosion.

Me:  You guys should really work on a plan just in case pole-dancing velociraptors take over the cafeteria and force the entire student body to eat chocolate covered shrimp dipped in rotten mayonnaise.  That’s gotta create a bio-hazard or two.

Mike’s Coworker:  *blink, blink*

Poor Mike must have eaten something that didn’t sit well (probably bad mayonnaise – it’s always bad mayonnaise) because he canceled our plans for the following evening.  Then again, maybe he’s just plumb worn out after working through all those other scenarios we came up with over dinner.  I like to think I’ve made those students just a little bit safer.  My work here is done.


  1. Zombies hate Listerine?!? Dammit – I knew I was going wrong somewhere.

    p.s. replies don’t have to be in Latin do they… I mean, I’d have a go but…

  2. Who’s protecting us from the school kids? Does he have a plan for that? Does he have a plan to thwart toilet paper espionage and egg bombs? I tried planting little cups of listerine around the perimeter of my property, but know what? Kids aren’t slugs. They aren’t attracted to listerine. Wait….was it beer? Was it beer I was supposed to use?

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