My book signing, a pit bull, Mom & big bag of cash

(899 words)

Yesterday was a day of many highs that would have all one way or the other been eclipsed had I stopped in the middle of Interstate 79 to see if the abandoned pit bull needed help.

I was the luncheon speaker at the Ohio County Public Library in Wheeling, West Virginia. They have the best author/speaker program in the tri-state area and I was delighted to have been invited. They pay a stipend, mileage and promise a lively crowd of about 60 book lovers.

How many books do I take to a talk with 60 people? They advise authors the average is 10 percent of attendees will result in sales, but I’m an optimist and always expect at least 25 percent of the audience to buy.

Yesterday, I took 40 books.

Sold 37.

“That’s the new record,” the organizer told me afterwards. “All I’m hearing is raves. They loved you.”

And I loved them!

My last two talks — one to 8th graders, one to Pennsylvania travel industry execs — were off topic for me. This was my reliably entertaining talk based purely on “Use All The Crayons!”

Message, in short: “Try and do something each everyday that’ll ensure parking at your funeral is going to be a real bitch.”

It went over really well. People lined up afterwards to buy books, shake my hand, take my picture and tell me how much what I had to say meant to them.

The best part?

Walking out with a great big bag of cash.

I’ve done many more lucrative talks where I’m paid with a tidy check.

But it’s such adolescent rush to fill my little bag up with all that cabbage just for telling my stories.

It feels like you just pulled off a bank heist.

I was in such a jubilant mood, it didn’t even bother me to see the traffic backed up on I-79 near Washington, Pa. I was detouring to pick up my Mom to bring her back for Josie’s choral concert that evening.

I thought maybe there’d been a fender bender.

I was mistaken.

There was a pit bull. Tiger-striped and robust, it didn’t appear to be injured.

My instinct when seeing an endangered animal is heroism. I feel like I should pull over, secure the animal and wait with it until the proper authorities arrive.

Or maybe a news crew. Imagine what it would do for book sales if they broadcast a story about the self-help author who saved an abandoned pit bull in hazardous circumstances.

Or if the pit bull tore me to shreds right there in the median.

Pit bull owners are fierce in defending the breed as cuddly, loyal and playful. And I’m sure many of them are.

But there are plenty of stories of pit bulls causing devastating mayhem or eating a neighbor's horse.

That happened in 2006 when two pit bulls owned by Pittsburgh Steeler linebacker Joey Porter escaped their enclosure and ate a horse. A horse!

It’s true. It was a horrific story. Decent people were sickened.

Me, I wrote a letter to Steeler team announcers suggesting anytime Porter sacked a quarterback they should exult, “And he was all over him like pit bulls on ponies!”

So yesterday was a very odd scene and I think other animal lovers were equally circumspect. A loose pit bull on the interstate median is something you just don’t see every day.

I wondered if it had been planted there by ISIL. A canine terrorist would be a diabolical new wrinkle.

So I did nothing. I went and picked up my mother, whose dementia progresses unabated.

I love her, but dealing with a failing parent can be exasperating.

She wasn’t in the car 10 minutes when I impulsively thought about returning to the abandoned dog, pulling over and saying, “See that dog, Mom? His name is Sparky. Go grab him by the collar while I park the car.”

No matter what would have happened, the content of today’s blog would be vastly different.

I’ll share one story from our hour-long conversation, which ranged from joyful to bewildering.

I like to ask Mom what she thinks about heaven.

“I wonder. What's it going to be like? What’ll we do? I’m sure it’ll be wonderful.”

I asked if she was sure she’d be going to heaven and not the other place.

“Oh, yes! I’ve had a very good life. I’ve loved and been loved. I’m sure I’ll go to heaven. Aren’t you?”

I didn’t tell her that 10 minutes ago I’d considered slathering her in steak sauce and shoving her out the car door to meet Sparky the pit bull.

“Well, I don’t care where it is, I know I’ll be happy as long as you and I are together.”

I told her I guess that meant I was going to Hell.

She roared with laughter. As lost as she can be about life’s minutia, she still gets a good joke.

So it was a very happy day for me, capped off by Josie’s star turn in the concert. I was very proud.

And after what happened at the library, my path has never been more illuminated.

To have so many people react with so much euphoria over my talks is both exhilarating and humbling.

It makes it crystal clear what I need to do next.

I’m gonna start robbing banks!

Related . . .

Pit bull loose in my ‘hood

Loose pit bull down the road less traveled

I speak: some laugh, some cry, some snooze

Mom’s coming to my Lebo book signing

The Great American Banana Split Festival & Bank Robbery

Choose Cheerfulness! Could be year's best week

(778 words)

I woke up today believing this could be maybe the best week of the whole year. I encourage you to indulge that feeling right along with me.

It’s a helpful Monday mindset because the alternative is likely to depress.

First of all, it is indeed Monday. The weekend will never be more distant. That’s very unfair to Monday. When I run the world, we’re going to rotate the weekends throughout the week.

Either way, Monday will be out of the way soon enough.

One of the reasons this could be the best week of the year is it heralds the reemergence of Arnold Palmer. His Bay Hill tournament begins today and runs through Sunday.

After a long cold Latrobe winter without Palmer, it just feels better knowing he’ll soon be back in Pennsylvania.

Palmer’s 85. That’s old in me and you years. Not in Palmer years.

Anytime I hear anyone say no one lives forever, I point we won’t know that for sure until the final stories of Palmer and Keith Richards are told.

The two have never met. But every day that passes increases the chances that they one day will. I think they’re really going to hit it off. I think Palmer will teach Richards how to golf and Richards will teach Palmer to play guitar.

Richards will tell Entertainment Weekly if he’d have known Palmer in ’64, it would have been Palmer rather than Jagger singing “Satisfaction.”

Another reason the could be the best week of the year?

March Madness!

It is maybe our greatest and certainly our most unifying sporting event on the entire calendar.

The Super Bowl is watched by more people, but the Super Bowl is very divisive. There’s only two teams and one of them usually inspires national hatred.

Most of America went into this Super Bowl hating the Patriots for being arrogant cheats. I was fine with that right up to the last minute when it looked like they were going to suffer a heart-breaking loss and that made me very happy.

Then the Seahawks blew it on an inexplicably bone-headed call. So I woke up a godforsaken Monday near the middle of bitter winter hating two teams. 

March Madness features 68 college basketball teams. It’s harder to hate college players because most of them are still a few years away from having fully realized rap sheets. So they’re easier to root for.

Sure, there’s a few villainous teams, this year it’s undefeated Kentucky, but when they lose — and I think they will — it’ll be like a national holiday. Everyone will be happy, even those who have their brackets blown to bits.

That’s the beauty of March Madness. Just about every body has a stake and it’s usually minor enough and the odds long enough that losing does not devastate. And the upsets and Cinderellas add real romance to the tournament.

So having near-round the clock meaningful basketball on for four days at the end of this week adds to the luster of what could be the best week of the year.

And the weather continues to improve! The sights, sounds and smells of the sweeter seasons are everywhere. That’s wonderful.

What else?

Well, for me, there’s this: I’m getting paid to talk to 8th graders on Wednesday!

I’m very excited about this. Nervous, too, because I want it to be spectacular. If it goes well and supervising adults recommend me to their colleagues it could open up a whole new revenue stream.

I usually lean on a podium, but for this one I’m going to try and stroll around and just talk for the full hour. No notes.

The only thing that could be more brave than talking without notes to 250 8th graders would be talk to them without pants.

I think I’m so excited because I believe I have an opportunity to make a difference with a message that really resonates.

And what is that message?

Choose cheerfulness! I want them to know that most adults confuse emotions with decisions. 

Being cheerful is a decision. So is pessimism.

I believe both the optimist and the pessimist will each be right 50 percent of the time, but the optimist will be cheerful 100 percent of the time while the pessimist will be the dour reverse.

So, sure, this week could suck. The weather could turn nasty, bad news could spring out of Washington, Iraq, Ferguson or right here at home. Arnold Palmer could trip over a putter and shatter a hip.

(Note: Palmer could break both hips and he’d still have hip to spare).

Yes, this week might really, really suck.

But it might not!

Related . . . 

Arnold Palmer gave me noogies on Monday

Yesterday, Arnold Palmer watched me golf

Stones 50 best? ForGRRRRt it

March Madness

Good news from a bad decade (2008)

I'm getting paid to talk to 8th graders!

(748 words)

Got some great news Monday: I’m getting paid to talk to 8th graders!

The caller was an Allegheny County middle school principal. She said she’d seen my name on a list of uplifting and entertaining speakers.

“Kids in 8th grade really struggle with confidence,” she said. “We’d like you to come in right before the PSSA test and really encourage them. Can you do that?”

Absolutely.

She asked what I charged.

I told her in the last six months I’ve been paid in a range that runs from $5,000 down to one free Rotary coffee mug that came empty of coffee.

The negotiation concluded closer to the coffee mug, but it’s still a swell payday for a carefree hour of happy yapping — and, being a shrewd negotiator, I insisted she throw in a free cafeteria lunch. 

That’s what the rock stars call “a rider.”

I am excited about the March 18 engagement for many reasons.

One, it’s an unbidden payday. It sailed in out of the blue and landed right in my lap.

Two, it means my name is circulating on a list of people who can be counted on to be lively and entertaining speakers.

Three, because it’s an entirely new demographic, I am forced to write a whole new speech. I love that. Doubtless, much of what I say to 8th graders will fit perfectly in with what so many adults really need to hear. It’s always good when lazy writers like me are forced to write.

Four, I’m getting paid to talk to 8th graders!

This is great because the world is full to busting with 8th graders and the only way we’ll run out of 8th graders is if the world stops producing 7th graders.

So it’s all very promising. If this goes well, and it will, it could lead to a entirely new revenue stream.

Why am I convinced this will go so well?

It’s my custom to host an open bar before every talk to soften up the audience.

What could go wrong?

Actually, I think it’ll go well because a big part of me never left the 8th grade. 

That’s been a professional hindrance. Adults in supervisory positions tend to frown on the guy most prone to interrupt a slow meeting with a fart joke that simply can’t wait.

But, if I recall correctly, the ability to tell a really good fart joke among 8th graders is a quality to be revered. It can make you a leader of men.

Or at least a leader of 8th grade men.

Plus, I’ve been taught since college that the average reader reads at an 8th grade level. And that to that exemplar of scholarly hierarchy I’ve long been perched.

Er, I mean that’s what I’ve done did!

But I’ve never tailored my topics to actual 8th graders. I can now see if I’m more engaging by talking to open-minded youths who are free of grown-up things like prejudicial opinions and armpit hair. 

So this upcoming address will allow me to test drive the theory by bringing up relevant topics like, “Jello or roll: What’s the sensible food fight first strike?” And, “Turning the substitute into a psycho: Advantages vs. disadvantages.”

Those topics always fall flat with your typical Rotarian.

In all honesty, the biggest reason is I am truly thrilled that someone thinks my message can be beneficial to young kids. 

That kid that’s feeling hopeless about his future? I can help him.

Those girls who think they’re worthless? I can assure them they most certainly are not.

I can look every one of those 250 kids in the eye and tell them each something wonderful is in store for each of them.

I say this because I truly believe it.

“Never forget for even a single instant how many happy colors your life is forever adding to the lives of those you love. And remember, together we can all brighten the whole world!”

That’s the essence of my entire message. It’s why so many adults have said they enjoy my book and are making “Use All The Crayons!” their mantra for colorful living.

For whom does a universal message like that have greater resonance, an adult or a 14-year-old kid who spends the day feeling lost?

My money’s on the kid.

Now, my job for the next few weeks is to find a clever way to marry that soulful message with at least one really good fart joke.

Related . . .

Exposing myself to high school students

I speak: some laugh, some cheer, some snooze

“Use All The Crayons!” A 10-star review

New record “Crayons!” book order! 270 copies to . . .

Fame & the night Bruce Willis & I owned the red carpet

Saturday, my most humiliating book signing ever!

Chasing Facebook "likes" on Z-Berg's B-Day

( 785 words)

 Mick Jagger sings the words “I like it” 40 times during the 5 minutes and 6 second song, “It’s Only Rock ’n’ Roll (but I like it).”

If I could get Jagger to like this post on Facebook it would be the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me.

Today is Mark Zuckerberg’s 29th birthday and a good time to consider how Facebook likes have become the new currency of cool. It’s that way at least for those of us who are assured a gaudy accumulation of likes will lead to commercial success.

I wonder.

Are likes a true indicator of worth?

Do you like my book? Do you like this blog? Do you like me?

Did answering in your head those questions make you feel as awkward as I felt asking them in mine?

See, it’s like the Facebook birthday boy’s sent the whole adult world back to the Fourth Grade.

Likes are on my mind this week because as many of you know I’ve been doing some unseemly yet vain groveling for them.

A friend said starting a Thunderclap campaign might lead to a welcome burst of publicity for my book. It seemed like a good idea.

All I’d need to do was get 100 people to share my pitch for “Use All The Crayons!” and the Thunderclappers would make a PR ruckus on its behalf. Needed likes would surely ensue.

Of course, the results have been humiliating. They always are.

It’s like the time back when I had 97 Twitter followers over at @8Days2Amish. I’ve seen this done successfully by others so I thought I’d give it a try. I tweeted: “Get your friends to follow me and I’ll give you and the 100th follower a free crayon-signed copy of my book!”

Know what happened?

Over the next 12 hours five once steadfast followers bolted and I was back down to 92.

Let’s break that down: I had 97 people who “liked” me on Twitter. I asked these “friends” to introduce me to friends of theirs on the belief that we had common interests in 140-character wit.

I offered these friends a free copy of my book for their trouble.

And just like that five of these friends vanished into the e-ther.

Can someone explain the psychology of that? Was my request offensive? Were they afraid I’d actually follow through on the book offer? Did I got too far too fast?

It wasn’t like we were on a first date and I tried to steal second in the darkened movie theater.

And that’s a salient example. I remember actually doing that back in, I think, Ninth Grade.

I had a date with a lovely little girl. We went out for pizza and a movie. We were having a great time and I remember feeling like a real swashbuckling puberty pirate. I was poised to plunder. I can’t remember the movie, but after we’d finished the popcorn I thought, okay, I’m going for the breast.

And that’s just what I did.

Well, she was furious. She shoved my hand away and turned right to stone. She refused my fumbling apologies and didn’t say a word to me the rest of the night. Ever again, in fact.

I was dumbfounded. She’d given me all the signs. I thought I was cleared for takeoff.

I wonder how much worse it would have gone if I’d have told her that one day I’d give her a crayon-signed copy of “Use All The Crayons!”

It’s like that with this Thunderclap thingie. I thought, man, 100 shares should be a cinch. I have 380 Facebook friends, many of whom are among the 227 friends who’ve “liked” my book on its dedicated page. And I now have 260 followers on Twitter.

Just do the math.

Here’s what happened:

I put out a general note on Facebook asking people to share the Thunderclap link. I put a note on the book’s page asking the same. I tweeted the request. I contacted a handful of supporters and asked them to share it and dupe just two friends into doing the same.

I quixotically thought I’d have 500 in five days.

Wrong!

As of today, I have a measly 15 shares and two people who once “liked” “Use All The Crayons!” bailed on me and I’m back down to 225.

It’s like everything that happens in my promotional life is destined to wind up messin' with Sasquatch.

So Happy Birthday Mark Zuckerberg! We thank you for your gift to a world that now enjoys a simple, yet complexly layered way to measure our worth and that of all we cherish.

I like it. I like it.

Yes, I do.

Related . . . 

“Follow me, men (and women)!”

When Facebook becomes Fakebook

Mark Zuckerberg’s amazing weekend

Mick Jagger: An appreciation

On old girlfriends and great pizza

May ’12 twitter storm

I'm accused of lying about my credentials

(748 words)

 The invitation to the most important speaking engagement I’d booked this year was withdrawn as a result of scandal. The organization, which said I’d be addressing about 80 attendees, accused me of lying about my credentials.

I was incredulous. Me? Lie?

Why, I haven’t told a real whopper that didn’t involve me trying to get laid since, gee, late 2013.

This story has — for now, at least — a happy ending so try and pull yourself together.

I’m going to obscure some of the facts to keep from embarrassing anyone involved, but here’s the crux of the inflammatory charge: Officers for the organization said I never taught at Point Park University.

Teaching creative non-fiction there from about 2007-2011 is one of my most proud achievements. I earned glowing student evaluations and am still honored to serve a mentoring role to some students with exemplary accomplishments.

Alleging I never taught there is like alleging I’m not a Steeler fan.

It’s a core part of my existence.

So who would dare charge I never taught creative non-fiction at Point Park University?

It was a professor who taught creative non-fiction at Point Park University and she’d never heard of me.

Clearly, I was going to need someone like Perry Mason to defend me.

Or maybe local attorney/TV star Edgar Snyder. Remember, he doesn’t get paid unless he gets money for you!

With impeccable credentials like my accuser’s, I began to wonder if maybe I’d imagined the whole thing. And although she’d never admit it, I’ll bet the same thoughts flashed through Val’s mind, too. 

She’s seen enough Lifetime movies to know some simple-appearing lives can explode before the second commercial break when it is revealed a straying husband is leading a double life. He has another wife, two more kids, a dog here, a cat there — and the cheating bastard is always more successful and handsome than the schlep Val married.

But I don’t have a double life, I swear. Heck, add it all up and I barely have a single life.

And she’s met some of my students and heard them praise me. Happened just last month. One of my best students and the only one who’d earned an A+ came to visit for a night in Latrobe.

We had a real ball and I was gracious enough to let her sleep on the bed in my office.

Now, hold on.

That’s a titillating little lie planted just to get your mind racing. My student was a guy. I just dropped the wrong pronoun to see how many of you watch Lifetime chick flicks.

Val even came out for drinks with Matt and I.

If I was leading a double life it was an elaborate one, going to the trouble as I did to have an “actor” come out posing as one of my former students.

And imagine for a moment just how creative and duplicitous a guy I’d be if I could pull that off. Val might even approve of such self-starter chutzpah in a guy she’s  long believed to be lazy and ambition-free.

Still, I was stung at the chance I would lose this speaking opportunity over a baseless charge. I responded with the names of the people who hired me, the colleagues with whom I worked and the name of the River City Inn bartender who’d inebriate me and my students on the nights when I got tired of talking.

And I prevailed. They realized I had, in fact, taught creative non-fiction at Point Park University.

It’s just that I did it within the journalism discipline, not English, as my counterpart does.

She wrote me a graciously apologetic note explaining the misunderstanding and assuring me that all was well.

But the flap has for me been inspirational.

I really ought to include some colorful lies in my humble bio (see below).

It always pisses me off to see many of our renown plagiarists and resume fibbers do so much better than I, a no-account blogger with irrational integrity.

Maybe I ought to swap Point Park for, say, Harvard.

It would certainly eliminate the possibility that many of the people with whom I’m dealing would have “Gotcha!” moment regarding my credentials.

And I have been to Harvard. I got lost on my way to Fenway in 2003.

Yes, if I can get into trouble about my history with creative non-fiction, maybe it’s time to try some creative fiction.

Bio:

Chris Rodell is the Latrobe, Pennsylvania–based author of “Use All The Crayons! The Colorful Guide to Simple Human Happiness." He has taught creative nonfiction at Point Park University in Pittsburgh. He’s written features and essays for Esquire, Cooking Light, People, Maxim, Men’s Health, Playboy, Golf, Details, and Arnold Palmer’s Kingdom magazine. His travel stories have been published by more than 100 top newspapers including The Chicago Tribune, The Dallas Morning News, The Miami Herald and the London Independent. He blogs at www.EightDaysToAmish.com  He has written for many of the most prestigious magazines in America and been rejected by the rest. He will write for anyone who’ll pay him. He is a PROSEtitute. 

Related . . .

Chutzpah? Audacity? What’s the word for Lance Armstrong?

Mandela sign language impostor: A babbling tower of sign language

Fraudulent address labels working out for Rev. Rodell

Fatherly fibber stirs skepticism

R.I.P. Tim Russert? F.O. unctuous media mourners

April tweets of the month

Some good ones here and my twitter numbers are up. I have 257 followers at 8days2amish and follow 113. So my numbers could be higher, I’m sure, but I’m odd about whom I decide follow. First, you need to tweet regularly, but I don’t like it if you tweet too much. I follow some people that only have four or five other followers, but shun some for having tens of thousands.

I put a priority on following people who issue coherent thought and tend not to follow people who only retweet news found elsewhere.

It’s all very enigmatic.

Much like the following 63 April tweets . . .

• Can’t prove it and I'd never dream of trying it, but I'll bet I'm friends with many 50 year old men who'd fall for the "Got yer nose!" gag.

• I wonder if in the Three Stooges scripts when it called for Curly to laugh it actually spelled it out, "Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk.”

• If you're anything like me, it's probably been years since you've gone into what's commonly referred to as a bathroom to take a bath.

• New prisons are the only structures that require occupants break in before they can break out.

• Call me old-fashioned, but I preferred the world when there were fewer than 15 types of Pringles and just one type of Coke.

• I’m proud to say I've spent past 22 years living by my wits, but acknowledge I'm often so broke I've come to believe I'm not all that witty.

• Shakespeare succeeded without the services of a press agent. Go ahead and check the history books. There's no such thing as Bard publicity.

• Saturday was my most humiliating book signing ever. Not a soul showed up. What'd I do? Thought about having seance! http://tinyurl.com/me23lcz 

• Artistic people often settle disputes by drawing straws.

• I wish no ill on any being but I hope for the sake of Earth's collective cool that Paul outlives Ringo.

• Next time you hear anyone dramatically pronounce "the worm has turned!" Be sure to ask if it was considerate enough to use its blinker.

• Reaction to new phone greeting - "Hello! You have reached the wick-ed-ly talented Adele Dazeem!" - so negative must change back to old way.

• Some men succeed by digging deep into earth for precious medals. Me, I hope to succeed by having dug many tiny holes and sprinkling seeds.

• #VanceMcallister wife says straying GOP congressman "wrecked her life." Not fair. If he's a GOP congressman he's wrecking all our lives.

• It would be deliciously news to ironic historians if Joan of Arc ordered steak for her last meal.

• John Doe is a pseudonym for someone lost and unidentifiable, often for medical reasons. Someone who's lost and just stupid is a John D’oh!

• If malicious hackers spread computer viruses, then what kind of person spreads computer allergies?

• I sometimes fear my Odor Eaters will forget their benign mission and begin consuming parts of me I’m casual about washing.

• Make your every interaction with your fellow man like your life's goal is to ensure parking at your funeral will be a real bitch.

• Soon "dodged a bullet" won't be a quaint phrase about evading a challenge. It'll be the answer to the question, "So, what'd you do today?”

• Driver safety tip: I turn off the stereo and roll down the window in parking areas so I can be more aware. Unless it's a really good song. Then all bets are off.

• I’m going to spend the weekend developing a fruity superhero who shoots apple juice out his wrists. Yes, watch out! It's CiderMan!

• There’s so much noise I hope to one day evolve ear lids. Like eye lids, I could just close them in the presence of something unpleasant.

• It says a lot about our cultural confusions that caffeine free is as popular an option as free caffeine.

• Shrewd fortune tellers probably greet every new customer with, “I've been expecting you.”

• Almost every game -- golf, baseball, basketball, etc. -- would be more difficult if the balls were square.

• No excess yeast is used in the making of pita bread. No animals were harmed in the making of PETA bread.

• Hunger will end when scientists discover way for chickens to lay softball sized eggs & will resume when they realize what's killing chickens.

• Tonight’s Apathetics Anonymous meeting has been canceled indefinitely due to lack of interest.

• I’d like to see Billy Joel fall in love with another top supermodel just so I could hear him sing he's in love with an Upton girl.

• The word clusterf*** is very misleading. Sounds like something we should all enjoy. "We're having a big clusterf***! Bring a casserole!”

• Can anyone explain why in San Francisco there's a big orange bridge right where everyone told me to look for a golden gate?

• I remain incredulous that "2 and 1/2 Men" is approaching 250 episodes and Arnold Palmer only got 3. Where's the cultural justice?

• My dark gift is an ability to compose texts so compelling unwanted drivers steer themselves straight off cliffs. I am for hire.

• Not sure  if shoe salesman would be criticized or praised for audaciously telling potential customers to "just put a sock in it.”

• Asked daughter, 7, how long and thin her finger will need to be if her brain ever gets itchy. Brain may not itch, but it's now busy.

• Just heard Mike Tyson describe a beaten boxer as "comatoast." Say what you want about his education, but his way makes more sense.

• For some still-bitter Beatle fans, an otherwise beautiful love song like "Woman" is ruined knowing John Lennon's singing it about Yoko.

• If marriage is so great then how come there isn't a Mrs. God?

• If we've learned anything from watching today's "Three Stooges," it is to never say, "Here! Take mine!" whenever Moe asks for a hammer.

• Another great thing about watching The Stooges: takes mere seconds to say what happened anytime someone walks in & asks what've I missed.

• For a guy who became famous singing "Born To Run," I'll wager Bruce Springsteen doesn't even own a pair track shoes.

• I’m a writer. I write. I know a baker who bakes and a banker who banks. But can anyone tell me what the hell an usher does?

• On this Easter I salute Pope Francis and wish him long life. But I think it'd be just super if the next pope were Father Francis Mulcahy.

• Advances in meteorology mean Weather Channel forecasters will soon be able to pinpoint brainstorms, sure to change the way employers hire.

• I agree any job worth doing is worth doing right. Also true it's worth me putting it all off for months until wife gets fed up & hires a pro

• Has anyone ever researched if the CAPS key on e.e. cummings's typewriter was busted? That might explain a lot.

• I’ve never seen a duffel bag full of duffels & I’m okay with that. If it ever happens I’d never again have the guts to peek in a handbag

• If that were my kid who stowed away in a wheel well of an Hawaiian-bound flight, oh, he’d be so grounded.

• I’m delighted church Making Pope John Paul a saint, but won't be satisfied until Popes George and Ringo sanctified, too.

• It’s fun imagining how great historical figures would have looked had they worn big, militant afros. Try it with Jesus, Hitler, Mitt Romney

• Wish I could take driver's ed so when teach said, "Depress the brake," I could look at the pedal and say, "You're a brake. We step on you.”

• I don't see many other advantages, but if I were Jim Bob Duggar I'd have at least 19 more followers than I do now. #8days2Amish

• I absolutely can't stand this about myself but sometimes I find myself sitting here thinking, man, I wonder how Kate Gosselin's doing?

• I’ve cut my nose off so many times to spite my face it's no longer physically possible for me to stop and smell the roses.

• News says #ClivenBundy is from Bunkerville, Nev. More like Archie Bunkerville.

• Loud bulimics make the worst neighbors. They can never keep it down.

• If NRA's Wayne LaPierre had a male child with Sarah Palin it would be a son of a gun and a son of a . . . former Alaskan governor.

• Sometimes when I'm pumping gas and feeling really naughty I remove my credit card really, really slowly just to stick it to The Man.

• Given publishing trends, I can envision a day when angry judges bent on bestowing severe punishment will throw the Nook at miscreants.

• Springsteen flies home on a private jet after every show. Tramps like him, baby they were born to skip long TSA security checkpoints.

• Avid spankers are the only people on earth whose ambition involves repeatedly hitting bottom.

• So billionaire racist #DonaldSterling and I have 1 thing in common: neither of us will attend another NBA game for the rest of our lives.

• I don't recall ever once seeing a gentleman in what are routinely called "Gentleman's Club." They should be called "Horny Dude Clubs.”

• Fotogs trained to snap when subject is using hands, so most news stills look like someone is bragging about size of fish he or she just caught.

Related . . .

November, my best tweet month ever

My 1,000th tweet (October ’11)

One word answers to many vexing questions

Wit confetti: My July ’12 tweets of the month