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Liverpool’s below par form saw them make an uncharacteristically early exit from Europe’s premier competition when their single goal victory was rendered irrelevant by Fiorentina’s success over group leaders Lyon by the same score. Benitez’s men have lived a notoriously charmed life in the tournament since his arrival, but with no poor refereeing decisions apparent, no dubious goals awarded and no outrageous 30 yard thunderbolts from the right boot of Steven Gerrard, Liverpool fans were forced to come to terms with their own mortality… that and the mediocrity of their squad.

This is not something the Liverpool faithful are very good at however, spoiled by years of cooing from elder statesmen who are all too willing to regale stories from the glory days of eras gone by, the red army of Anfield have believed themselves a breed apart for so long that all this not being very good has stirred up some fantastic theories on the terraces. The Corridor of Uncertainty has taken a look at some of these theories and their plausibility:

1.  “The Yanks don’t like each other.”

The much publicised spat between Liverpool co-owners George Gillette and Tom Hicks has caused as much consternation in the Liverpool dressing room as it has in the director’s box where frantic seat swapping has been a feature of every Liverpool home game since the fallout. Seen as a measure of how well the two American businessmen (affectionately referred to as “those fucking Yanks” by nine tenths of the ground) are getting along that particular week, the varying number of seats between them is thought to have had a direct influence upon Liverpool’s performance. Such a division in what has been a historically harmonious club, united in their delusions of grandeur, has had consequences previously unthinkable happen upon their Melwood training ground. Cooperation between the players is at an all time low as they side with their preferred American, the first signs of this becoming apparent at the Hawthorns last year when Alvaro Arbeloa was thought by Jamie Carragher to have insulted his favoured Yank George Gillette with an exclamation of “his razor’s are fucking shit!” as Marc-Antoine Fortuné (a renowned user of Gillette’s products) narrowly placed a shot wide of Pepé Reina’s post. More recent examples of this division have been noted this season with Martin Skrtle having fallen out with the match ball since Tom Hicks began to sponsor it, this is widely thought to have been the reason for his refusal to approach it on various occasions at Anfield this year.

2. “Karma”

Liverpool’s only goal against Debrecen was scored by French cheat David Ngog. The youngster has looked much more spritely these last couple of weeks, this is thought to be because the Batman to his Robin of footballing con-artistry, Thierry Henry has shown himself to be the orchestrator of global injustices whilst Ngog remains and the unsightly dive merchant and somebody who Lee Carsley would like to punch. Such is the belief in fate, karma and deity that is Fernando Torres (“A child born unto us”), on the Kop that Liverpool fans are starting to wonder whether the latest foul play on behalf of Ngog (full name: Ngogdownlikeashortscotchatafuneral) and his recent alignment with Henry (full name: Henryplaysicanbeseentakingthelaceout) is bringing about bad Karma for Liverpool in what is normally their most charmed arena, the Champions League.

3. “Who are you and what have you done with Benitez?!”

Rafael Benitez’s demise from tactical mastermind to hapless enforcer of bizarre substitutions has come as such a mystery to Liverpool fans that the only explanation left unexplored before they admit they are now rubbish, and therefore the obvious explanation to their woe is… Rafa’s goatee. A clean shaven Benitez is immortalised upon many oversized flags waved bi-weekly on the Kop, showing him in his famed ‘sitting down to win the Champions League’ pose and accompanied by some tenuous James lyrics. Whilst the difference in managerial ability of that sitting champion compared to the floundering fact finder that frustrates the Anfield faithful today is incredible, the only physical difference to be found upon that enigmatic mask of Hispanic calm is a tidy goatee beard, cultivated just around the time of his demise! Benitez is clearly suffering from what has until now been known as Phil Brown Syndrome, condition in which an ageing man develops a malignant brain addling growth on his face that, fully formed, arrives in the shape of a goatee beard and renders the sufferer unable to make any educated footballing decisions. Benitez is thought to be in the early stages of his condition and the Anfield DJ is on standby to cut short any attempt by Rafa to seize the microphone and make an idiot of himself by giving the incredulous fans a version of ‘Ring of Fire’ over the PA system, assistant Sammy Lee is also locking the dressing room door at half time in case of any sudden decision by Benitez to give his half time team talk on the pitch. These are all symptoms only normally found in long-term sufferers and they follow a suspicious tanning of the skin, Benitez seems to only have been affected by the loss of managerial ability thus far.

close up of a goat with a smirk

close up of a goat with a smirk

animals,goat,farms,horned,white,domestic,goatee,mammal,head,nature,rural,portrait,standing,one,animal nose,animal ear,looking at camera,looking,male,hair

Riyadh, Saudia Arabia

My mom tore up my picture last week.

Or at least that’s the word I hear from my genial stepdad. He didn’t present the news in a threatening or censuring way. He was “just letting me know.”

Now, when your mom tears up your photograph most people would be all shaken up, like, “OK now what did I do?”

But in this case I had a pretty good idea why.

It’s the goatee.

I’m not generally a big fan of personal facial hair on my personal self but since I’m now living in a land where a bare face is like a bare bottom — wait, that metaphor didn’t work out quite like I planned — I thought I’d give it a try myself.

Saudis typically do sport some form of goatee.  The King himself has an amazingly black one. And when I say amazingly, we’re talking shoe-polish- black.  It’s good to be the king.

Frankly, part of my motivation is simply to present a somewhat more fierce look to my students. I think it’s working — I recently got a comments that I look like Bruce Willis or Hulk Hogan.

But mom isn’t quite so intimidated.  She refused to hang up my brother’s picture on the family wall of fame in the spare bedroom for the past two years when he had his beard. She often complained “I just don’t have any pictures of  your brother!”

Of course she saves all my writings in some kind of binder, but I’m thinking my days are numbered as Number One Son if she gets any more hirsute pictures via e-mail.

I try to call her about once a week, even though the connection via my VoIP phone is spotty so our conversations don’t last very long. The first thing she wanted to know this week was: “Do you still have that…thing on your face”?

I’m tempted to post both pre-beard and beard pictures here, but I’m a little afraid you might agree with my mother.

It’s coming in here and here, but not so much here, here, and here.  Should we tell him that it’s not quite as full and luxurious as he believes?  Maybe that moustache comb as a gift is a little premature.  By the way, Johnny Depp called and he wants his facial hair back.

Lose the goatee. It doesn’t look good with your suit.

Some faces are better left hinted at, hidden behind a beard and a oft-broken nose …kept in the shadows and presented in low light.

There are a few things that I am thankful for.

1) The Turner/Moen combination that I have mixed into my DNA.

2) The lack of dates in October.

3) The batteries in my trimmer which didn’t die while weedwacking through the forest that was once planted on my face.

Because of these, I feel like Jim “The Anvil” Neidhart.

This is me. Minus the man boobs... well... maybe the man boobs.

No, it’s not because I wear pink spandex. No, it’s not because I’m part of the Hart Foundation. I was given the opportunity to grow out my beard for a whole month. For some single men like myself, you aren’t usually given that amount of time to let the stubble grow out.

Just yesterday I trimmed my beard so that the brissels on my chin are long — it’s nowhere close to being like The Anvil’s triangle. But he was the first person I thought of when I clawed my fingernails into my chin and scratched around.

So, I’m offering this. Who’s willing to go as The Hitman and The King of Hearts next year for Halloween? And if you don’t know who I’m talking about, you have missed out on some great wrestling  moments in the late 80’s and early 90’s.

Now that I am bald, sometimes I find myself missing my old hair.  When I was in the eighth grade I had an afro.  I planned to grow the fro long enough to eventually get dreadlocks or micro-twists.  In hindsight, both of those were terrible ideas, as neither style matches my personality.

Anyway, since I am bald, I cannot reconcile having a beard and a bald head.  The two seem mutually exclusive.  I have a strong opposition to ’staches, goatees, and other facial hair that isn’t a (full) beard.  Being a black bald guy, I feel having a beard is too “Black Panther(ish)”, too Isaac Hayes-like, too Drew Gooden….

For a week, I grew a beard (got really good coverage).  But that nagging feeling returned when I saw myself in the mirror.  So, this morning I shaved.  I shaved down to a stache to see how it looked.  TERRIBLE!!!  Aside from my eyebrows, am I doomed to a hairless existence from the neck up?

What do you think?  What facial hair jives with a bald head?  Leave comments.

Enjoy this collection of manly ammenities:

But be careful about the manly book, he’s ever so sensitive about his goatee…

♫lauren

My face & I have been together for over 29 years now. In that time we’ve got along pretty well. It’s got holes where my eyes go, an opening for me to insert food &, apart from a few tough years in my teenage period when it decided to be completely repulsive to the opposite sex, I’m quite pleased with it. The problem is it’s all rather familiar. Since hitting the age of 18 my face hasn’t changed all that much & I’m getting rather sick of looking at it. They do say that variety is the spice of life, so I’m changing it up a little bit.

In the RN there are some archaic rules & regulations about beards & the growing of said facial fuzz. To grow a beard you have to raise the required paperwork & obtain permission from your Divisional Officer & the a member of the Service Police, I kid you not. If the permission is forthcoming, you are issued a piece of paper that you carry on your person & can present to someone if they challenge your stubbly appearance. Then the beard growing can commence. After a period of around a month, your whiskers are assessed. If you have managed to grow a suitable covering of fur you are allowed to keep it. If not, then you are forcibly made to shave.

Needless to say, whilst in the service I never bothered to go through the hassle. Instead I have shaved nearly every day for the past 11 years. That is until last week. I was off work for a while on a course down in London & for some reason just didn’t go through the daily routine of scraping a sharp piece of metal over my grid. My wife actually said she liked me with a little bit of stubble. That was over a week & a half ago & the stubble has continued unabated.

I’m getting scared that, what is rapidly turning into a beard, has developed a life all of it’s own. Like Skynet, it has become self-aware & will do anything to protect its own existence. I have purchased a stubble trimmer that promises to sculpt my facial hair into all manner of eye pleasing shapes but so far have been too afraid to use it. The one advantage is I find stroking my chin whilst pondering the meaning of life, love & in what series Red Dwarf became an epic fail to be an immensely pleasurable experience. This has the dangerous side effect though of being overcome by an urge to sow leather patches onto the elbows of my jackets & take up pipe smoking.

I fear that no matter what I decide, it’s all going to end in tears. My wife appears to be on the brink of issuing the ultimatum that I can have a beard or I can have sex. I can’t have both. Hmmmm…….much beard stroking ahead me thinks.

"Often immitated, but never duplicated!"

RIP Captain Lou.. I am almost thinking that I should grow my goatee out and put several elastics or even scrunchies in that bad boy in memory..

SHAAAAAAAAAAAAAVVVVVVVEEEEEE!!!!!!

-GRIZZ

I’m growing a beard. My girlfriend is away on a research trip, and I’m growing a beard. It’s pretty fantastic, though I’ll probably be shaving it off in the next few days. I’m not (completely) whipped; I just like growing facial hair every once in a while. It’s manly. There was this guy in middle school who had a beard and drove to school. He was manly. And scary. I mostly stayed away from him. But I, too, grew facial hair in middle school.

It was a mustache. I didn’t really mean to grow a mustache. It just kind of happened. The peach fuzz on my upper lip slowly darkened into a whispy ’stache. I asked my parents for a razor. My Mom didn’t think her baby was old enough to shave. Then I mentioned people were commenting on my mustache. I got a razor.

I probably only shaved once a week at first. Then it became a biweekly ritual. Eventually, I was shaving every day before school. Unrelated to the shaving, I stressed out too much in high school about little things. One day in particular, I was freaking out about something or other after school, and my Mom told me to relax. She pulled some old Halloween face paint out from above the washer and dryer, and gave me a “hip” and “go-with-the-flow” goatee and sideburns.

It was ridiculous. I looked like a Doonesbury comic strip character. But it made me feel better. And the sideburns weren’t that bad. My younger brother had a little goatee—why couldn’t I grow sideburns? So, I did. They came in soon enough, and I’ve had them (at varying lengths) ever since.

In college, my facial hair got thick enough to grow a beard. I’ve always thought goatees are kind of silly, so my options have always been: sideburns or beard. I would try the beard out about twice a year. Generally, it did not work out well. I had a good beard, and I had a good mustache, but I just didn’t have any connectors. My beard and mustache wouldn’t meet up. After about two weeks, I would shave.

But then March Madness rolled around my senior year. I decided to grow a “Victory Beard” for my school’s basketball team. As long as my team was in the tournament, my facial hair would keep growing. The nice thing about a Victory Beard is its simplicity. My friends would worry about what underwear they had on or would complain about not being able to wash their socks. I just grew a beard. This time, with connectors between my beard and ’stache. And it worked. My Victory Beard helped take my team to the Final Four. We probably could have gone all the way if anyone else had been growing one.

After basketball season, Easter’s right around the corner. My beard had served its purpose, and I was going back home for the holiday, but I was attached to my beard. I decided to bring it home with me. This was a difficult decision to make because of an old family story:

When my Dad went off to college, he grew a hippie mustache. My Grandpa had been in the Marines. The first Thanksgiving my Dad came home from school, my Grandma was going to pick him up at the airport. She saw him, screamed, and ran away. A couple hours later, my Grandpa drove the car back to the airport. He didn’t say a word to my Dad, and they both got in the car.

Then my Grandpa asked, “You know what Confucius say about man with mustache?”
“No, Dad. What did Confucius say about man with mustache?”
“Confucius say: “Man with mustache look like one big asshole.””

Neither one of them spoke for the rest of the car ride. To his credit, my Dad kept his mustache. My Mom actually hadn’t seen him clean shaven until about a decade into their marriage. But the story worked its way into my family’s lore, so I wasn’t sure what would happen when I got home. My Dad didn’t mention anything. My Mom thought I looked appropriate for the season and called me “Jesus.” I kept the beard for the visit, but shaved it off shortly after returning to college. It was getting warm outside, anyways, and I figured being clean shaven would help me at the bars. Right…

And that’s how it was. I figured I would spend the rest of my days growing a beard every now and again just to see how it looks. But I haven’t grown a beard for a long while. My girlfriend doesn’t like beards, and I like kissing my girlfriend, ergo, I haven’t grown a beard with her around. I did manage to grow some pretty righteous sideburns one time, though.

I was hankering for some new facial hair and watched the movie “Babe”—the one with the pig who herds sheep— with my girlfriend after a long week. I’ve always liked the farmer in the movie, Farmer Hoggett. But seeing the movie for the first time in over a decade, I noticed something I never noticed before: Farmer Hoggett has some amazing sideburns. And so, inspired by a children’s movie, I grew my sideburns down to the bottom of my jaw line. They lasted for about a month before I realized it’s just not the same without a farm to take care of. Luckily, my girlfriend is patient and didn’t make fun of me at the time—at least, not in front of me.

But now she’s gone. She’s in another city, and I can grow facial hair to my heart’s content. In all honesty, my heart’s pretty content at the moment. I don’t think I’m cool enough to pull off the “young guy with a beard” thing. So, I’m waiting for my girlfriend to get back and give me an excuse to shave. I just can’t go ahead and shave right now. I’m too busy expressing my independence and manliness.

Some additional observations regarding the Fall 2009 issue of the BJU Review…

First – It appears that the interracial dating regulations have not been the only rules to have been changed.

Actually, I noticed this change before I received my copy of the latest BJU Review. While doing some reading for the “BJU Beer Summit” , I discovered a photo on the official BJU.edu website of the University’s president, Dr. Stephen Jones, with a goatee. Naturally, I thought it was a joke, so I stumbled around inside the BJU website and found videos of Dr. Jones speaking to potential students – and he still had the goatee.

Now I’m thinking, this is no joke – BJU has lifted the ban on male facial hair.

Evil Twin?

Facial hair (beards, moustaches, goatees and any combination of the three) was forbidden at BJU. Why? Well, not because of any Biblical reason – it was because facial hair was associated with a sloven appearance and with beatniks, hippies and those who were rebelling against society. Several times during my illustrious educational career at BJU I was called out for not shaving – even on weekends. “It’s not a school day,” I used to sarcastically reply, but the answer was always the same: “Doesn’t matter. Every day is a school day at BJU.”

Quick story – there were some staff members who were allowed moustaches. I remember one fellow who worked in the bowels of the University’s computer room back in the late 70’s. His moustache was allowed because he had some sort of malformed lip. (Yes – I asked.) During the shooting of the BJU/Unusual Films motion picture Sheffey (this was back in 1976-77) many students, staff and faculty were asked to be cast members and extras in the feature length film set in the late 1800’s. Naturally, real facial hair looks more realistic than fake, so these extras and cast were asked to “grow their own.” But – these bearded exceptions to the “no beard” rule were asked to wear large badges (like political buttons) identifying them as Sheffey cast members. Got a Sheffey badge? Your beard is okay.

Inside the BJU Review 2009 fall issue, I counted three – yes, 3, goatees, all sported by BJU employees. Strangely though, the picture of Dr. Stephen Jones was sans goatee. I can only speculate as to why. An old picture? More conservative (i.e., cleanly shaven) individuals still read only print media? He only wears the goatee for the BJU web presence?

Dr. Stephen Jones should wear the goatee with pride – a lot of men do.

Second – Inside the latest BJU Review, two recent Cinema grads are mentioned. One, Sarah Nevius (2009 MA Cinema) won 3rd place in a film festival with her film on grief called Solace. Always good to see a fellow cinema grad do something with the major, but the award came from Fireworks International’s Redemptive Film Festival, which, at the same 2009 ceremony, gave religious huckster Paul Crouch of TBN fame a “Lifetime Achievement” award.  Yikes.

The other Cinema major is Darcy Faylor who entered a screen writing contest and won $10,000 for her script Moody Field.  The article in the BJU Review describes her winning script as this:

Darcy’s script recounts the story of a family in World War II America…the family hires German prisoners of war from…a nearby prison camp in Valdosta, Georgia. The family learns to embrace German prisoners of war as equal members of society. The script, with its themes of love and forgiveness, contains a strong salvation message. “This story…is based on actual events,” Darcy said.

Yes – the “actual events” sound very much like the novel and the movie (the two, as usual, are slightly different) Summer of My German Soldier.  The novel by Bette Greene, was first published in 1973, and later adapted into a TV movie starring Kristy McNichol and Bruce Davison in 1978. (Kristy McNichol retired from acting over a decade ago, but you probably remember Bruce Davison as Attorney Wyck Fayer in Seinfeld.)

Here’s a short synopsis of the TV movie Summer of My German Soldier:

Patty Bergen (Kristy McNichol) is a teenager in a Jewish family living in the American South (Arkansas) during World War II. Her town eventually becomes host to a prisoner of war camp. A young German soldier (Bruce Davison) escapes from this camp and Patty finds him hiding in her “secret place” in the woods outside of town. After getting to know him, she ends up harboring him from his captors, and falls in love with him. Patty knows what she is risking to help him. In the end, his regard for her lifts her self-esteem and helps Patty face life and its heart breaks.

Short of the “strong salvation message”, the two stories sound eerily similar. Remove the Jewish girl (Patty) and substitute a Christian one. Instead of making her a loner (like Patty), involve the whole family. Move the locale from Arkansas to Georgia. Add Biblical salvation and take out respect and self-esteem.

An original script?

On the surface, they appear to have the same source material – with a few Christian “tweaks” thrown in.

Is it plagiarism?  Maybe – I don’t know.

It may not be a full beard, but it’s definitely a goatee.

“Dress Information” Excerpts, from top to bottom: BJU Student Handbook 1979, 1982, 1984, 1986.

[Goatee Panorama, from left to right: Rick Warren, V.I. Lenin, Philip Yancey, Evil Mr. Spock (Mirror, Mirror), Nathan Bedford Forrest, T.D. Jakes, Bart Ehrman, "The Master" (Dr. Who), Satan (South Park)]

I decided to shave my goatee Saturday night after the men’s retreat. My wife likes a clean shave and I thought it might be a nice gesture after caring for our daughter solo while I was gone on the retreat and while I was gone for some business travel earlier in the week.

But I also remembered something my theater prof had said years earlier. I don’t remember the context, but he said he thought facial hair on men can be a way of hiding. I really don’t know that I agree. In fact, I know I don’t. I plan to grow a beard back for the winter and it has more to do with wanting to be warm when walking to work than with hiding. Besides, Jesus had a beard, right? Even so, I think there’s something to my prof’s sentiment. Having a beard or goatee can be a kind of barrier between me and the world, something for me to hide behind.

This year’s annual retreat was great, and great for me in particular. The teaching from Father Kevin was right on. Very much what I needed to hear in this season. The time I’ve been investing in my male friendships has been shrinking since our daughter was born and as I try to figure out how to juggle family and work and steps toward the job I wish I had. I also find myself referencing that pyramid Kevin worked out when thinking how to deepen the relationships I already have, or in developing new ones. I am armed with tools to grow and I’m starting to use them.

But the part of the retreat that I’m remembering most as I write this first blog post (Go ManBlog!!) is the time I spent in Confession with Father Kevin and the time I spent sharing what I confessed about with a friend I’ve had since we went through Redeemed Lives together back in 2001. Going through Redeemed Lives that first time was an intense experience for me and sharing in that small group has been a great point of connection. It’s been great to grow with him as we plunge deeper into redemptive suffering (Go Redemptive Suffering!!).

But talking with him on the retreat reminded me how important it is to have that brotherhood to support me. I left our conversation, and the Confession that preceded it, feeling renewed and hopeful. And for someone who really struggles with despair (what, you mean everything isn’t horrible?), that’s not an easy feat.

I think shaving my goatee was part of expressing that new-found lightness, or perhaps it was a physical manifestation of stepping more completely out of isolation. Or maybe it was just about making a change. Either way, I’m investing more fully now in the brotherhood. Thank you, men, for going on this journey with me.

If you missed the retreat, I’m working on getting the audio available here and perhaps we can even have that short documentary about Kevin’s roots. We’ll see. Stay tuned.

whoa whoa whoa, you can criticize his lack of job and ruining relationships, but he draws the line at making fun of his goatee.

I Will Have Limited Access to Phone and Email

Over the past week, I burned some vacay time on a staycation.  Hey, use it or lose it.  During that time, I came to a very harsh realization: I am one sad excuse of a man.  Seriously, aside from standing up while peeing, and a half-assed interest in sports, there is very little separating me from some of the big-bone women you see hanging around Fudruckers.  Below, by date, at least one encounter each day that challenged my manhood.

9/27/09 7:25 PM

Mrs. Butcher, the little ones and I go to Target.  Mrs. Butcher suggests we get some accent pieces for the bedroom.  I get all sorts of excited.  I see a couple about our age wheeling a cart down the aisle.  The man looks SO miserable as his wife/girlfriend just piles stuff in.  Me, I’m practically skipping.  We end up in the bedroom section.  The next time I see the miserable man, I’m holding up a throw pillow trying to match its pattern with a pinstripe in a curtain.  I freeze as the miserable man and I lock eyes.  I bow my head, quietly apologize, and then take off running as fast as I can to find my wife and children.

The Kicker: I grab People’s 50 Most Beautiful People while waiting in line to pay.

9/28/09 8:30 AM

I Had the Time of My Life on My Staycation

I wake up, and come downstairs in my boxers. Here’s the plan: eat my cereal, while watching the news, then shower, and get started writing.  While scrolling through the television channels, I see Dirty Dancing playing on a station called “Love Stories.”  It starts in six minutes.  I quickly realize that I won’t have time to go put pants on and that writing will have to wait for 100 minutes.

The Kicker: I think to myself how much courage it must have taken Baby to go to her father and ask for the money for Penny’s abortion.

✓

9/29/09 3:22 PM

I’ve been out of work for a day and a half so I decide to call some of my coworkers.  Recently dialed calls look like this:

Joy 3:22 PM

Sarah 3:27 PM

Laura 3:39 PM

Joanne 3:52 PM

Adrianna 4:02 PM

Jillian 4:11 PM

Either I’m the world’s biggest player, or all of my friends are girls.  And you know I’m married with kids, so…

The Kicker: During all of those phone calls, I was on AIM chatting with Kendra about the different pet names we called our babies when they were first born.

9/30/09 7:41 AM

Butcher's Goat Gruff

I look in the mirror to check on the progress of the mustache I was trying to incorporate into my goatee.  I’ll be 32 in less than a week.  My beard and my mustache will never connect.  Ever.  Thirteen-year-old boys are growing better facial hair than me.

The Kicker: I took Mrs. Butcher’s eyebrow pencil and filled in the gap.  Hot.

10/1/09 11:54 AM

I’m at the mall picking up a few pair of jeans.  I’ve got that Beyonce song in my head.  Unbeknownst to me, I’m actually softly singing the lyrics out loud.  “If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it.”  The guy ahead of me turns and looks at me like I’m some kind of punk.

The Kicker:  I took a picture of a top I liked for my wife and texted it to her.

10/2/09 4:28 PM

We arrive home following a day at IKEA.  Mrs. Butcher gives me the ultimatum (yeah, that’s manly): I can start putting the furniture together or I can cook dinner and put the kids to bed.  Before I can answer, she says, “Their pajamas are in the dryer, Mary Poppins.”

The Kicker:  The wife calls from upstairs, “honey, check in my tool box and see if my Phillips is in there.”  I have no idea what that meant.

10/3/09 7:40 PM

Staring at a blank computer screen, I think about reposting an older entry for the blog (wait, does writing for a blog cancel out the other stuff and reclaim my spot at the urinal?  What’s that? I’m even more of a bitch for blogging?  Oh).  I look through my files and realize I have seven potential entries on 90210, three on Full House, and four on My So Called Life.  I read through each of them and bring myself to tears with an essay comparing Jordan Catalano’s struggle with dyslexia to the no-child-left-behind program.

The Kicker: I wrote this entry instead.

Just when you thought the Flowbee Home Haircutting Kit had cornered the market forever in made-for-TV crap, along comes this…

Grooming Tool? Not wrong there…

Thanks to Why, That’s Delightful