Babies are from … the Other Side of the Universe

I was on my way to bed the other night when I looked down on the coffee table and noticed a book: “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.” I shook my head and walked on. But it did make me think. As father of a 3-month-old girl, where do babies come from? The answer, I’ve determined, is the outer rim. The farthest reaches of the universe. Beyond the solar system, out in the galaxy and several more away … plus three miles. A place that can only be called “Strangeus Unusualia.”

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Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Bird Flu?

I’ve been thinking about the avian flu recently, and it’s not for the reason you might expect. I’m not in the least bit afraid of it, which is exactly my concern. I’ve read all the stories, and how there is the potential to infect vast swaths of society. Chicken sneezes can wipe us off the face of the planet, and it’s no joking matter. People around the world are dying. Sure, we can debate whether it is as serious a threat as it’s being made out to be, or that in comparison to other viruses and diseases, it is a flyspeck on the windshield of what we should be worrying about. But one point that can’t be argued, and this leads to my real concern, is that no one will ever take seriously something called the “bird flu.”

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Rodents in the Roof Rafters

No bats in the belfry — I have squirrels in the attic. Thought it was trolls for a while there, but it’s the bushy-tailed, nut-eating rodents who have invaded my rafters. At least one that I know of, and boy can he make a racket. Apparently he has a crash derby set or a jackhammer. I know it’s a squirrel because I climbed up there the other day and spotted him. There he was, not at all frightened to see me. In fact, he looked more offended by my presence. “Who the heck are you?” he seemed to be saying. “What are you doing in my house with shoes on?”

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A Brother’s Wedding Planning Blues

… and then a giant crack tore through the land, ripping across the earth like a slithering snake, swallowing everything in sight. The sound was thunderous, and people ran while it swallowed houses and convenience stores. But one man did not have time to react. He stood there unaware, eating a smoked sausage, and lost his footing before toppling into the abyss, never to be heard from again. My brother had been swallowed by the wedding planning chasm of doom. Sadness swept the land. My, it’s mighty good to have been married so long ago, and so far removed from wedding planning. Not that I didn’t enjoy getting married. Who doesn’t enjoy an infinity of planning and spending more money than the GDP of Paraguay, all so you can say, “I do”? Then you stare mouth-watering while guests devour food you won’t have time to touch.

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Attack of the Taxasaur

Taxasaur — A prehistoric beast who comes every spring to devour your money after chasing you through a twisting maze of complexity and impossible-to-understand bureaucratic legalese. The Taxasaur is tedious and tenacious, taking no prisoners and wearing a thick armor made up of forms called the “1040ES” and the super protective “Unrecaptured Section 1250 Gain Worksheet.” Wo! “Unrecaptured” doesn’t even make sense.

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