An open letter to the ice cream truck

Dear Ice Cream Truck,

As you can likely tell by my waistline, I'm a huge fan of your product, in more ways than one. You and I have always had a special bond - that shrill musical number you play could wake me from the deepest slumber and immediately send me scrambling for cash.

With that said, I'm finding it increasingly difficult to connect with you. You were designed to attract children playing outside, but my increasingly sedentary lifestyle makes it less and less likely that I'll be outside when you're in the neighborhood. Of course, when asked why I'm not outside getting exercise, I'll cite factors like an increased skin cancer risk, but really I just can't miss tonight's extra special episode of Obnoxious Housewives of Wherever, the opening segment of So You Think You Can Wretch, or three innings of a 9-2 baseball game. Without them I'll have nothing to discuss with my co-workers tomorrow.

As I slowly work my way towards getting too fat to leave the house, the concept of a magical vehicle that delivers ice cream is increasingly attractive. You have saved me a five minute walk (Who am I kidding? I drive there.) to the store for sugar and fat many times. However, your business model is now hit-and-miss with me, as I'm not always in a position to gather cash and waddle out to the street before you drive by at five miles per hour.

As such, I'd like to offer a suggestion: Next time, just pull in my driveway and honk the horn. If I don't answer, the key is under the mat - please put ice cream in my freezer and take the cash on the counter. If you could be so kind as to check and make sure I haven't had a heart attack or gone into a diabetic coma, that'd be great. If you're too busy to check on me, no big deal...the Schwann's man will be here tomorrow.

Sincerely,
America

The NFL Draft Drinking Game

This is probably the simplest drinking game you'll ever play, but before you start, this disclaimer: If you play it for the full two days of the draft, you might die, and I'm not responsible for it if you do.

The rules:

Every time a player's height and weight or 40 yard dash time is mentioned, drink.

Passionate fetch

I have a dachshund. Like a light switch, he is either on: infinitely active, playful and destructive (mostly destructive), or off: asleep on the couch. All of his 13-month lifespan has been spent in one of these two states. Simply put, Gorman doesn't half-ass anything. He's either all in or all out.

And when he's all in, fetch is where it's at. If you're hanging around and he wants to play fetch, there is no acceptable excuse not to. A toy will be set near your feet. You will notice it, because a barking dachshund quickly draws your attention.

But then he makes sure you're all in too. If you make a weak effort to pick up the toy, he'll pick it up before you get to it. Absolutely no inferior effort will be tolerated. If you're making a pedestrian effort to get the toy, he'll take it and work on destroying it somewhere else. Then, he'll give you a moment and come back to see if you've learned your lesson. If you're quicker this time, you might get the toy, assuming, of course, you can win the tug of war for it and escape with your fingers in tact.

Suddenly, you are the center of Gorman's world. He will watch you until the first time you fake a throw. Then, he'll turn and watch intently in the direction the toy will eventually fly, like you're showing a fascinating movie on the wall across the room. Finally, the toy takes flight and Gorman is off with lightning speed, cruising around the corner into the kitchen and sliding across the tiles. With luck, the toy stopped harmlessly in the middle of the floor and is accessible. If it landed on a counter or in a cupboard, Gorman will inform you of that by whining and barking incessantly until the errant throw has been retrieved. If you forgot to close the pantry before playing fetch the target might be buried in there, but rest assured, Gorman will guide you to it.

The game can continue for hours, in fact it will, because you'll get barked at again if you're trying to stop. A few lame throws, though, can end the game quickly. Eventually, you'll make a weak effort and Gorman will just stare at you, like an enthusiastic lover who can't understand why you're just not that into it. Then it's back to the couch, to wait for someone more interesting to come home.

Maybe Linens After Midnight?

Here's today's joke. I'm on the road this weekend, and my fiancee is working on wedding plans. We're pretty close to done, so it's just minor stuff remaining. This morning, for example, Laura and her mom are off looking at linens.

Here's the problem, though: Their linen place has a boring name. Special Memories or something similar, I've already forgotten it. I feel like I can help. As a service to you, the occasional reader who may be thinking of starting a linen store, here are the eight sure-fire success linen store names I've come up with this morning:

Linen Rome
Linen Let Die
Pickin' and Linen
Napkins and Not Much Else
Linengrad
Enlinenment
Linen on a Prayer
Workin' Hard For a Linen

I haven't copyrighted any of them, so they're all yours.

Trying something new.

Ok, let's try this.

I'm not really doing politics anymore. I do write a lot about baseball over at Brew Crew Ball, but, as one might guess, it's pretty much exclusively baseball.

The original name of this blog was Stuff I Don't Put On Snowbaseball.com. The concept was pretty simple: I put my baseball-related thoughts on my baseball site, and everything else here. It's always amazing to me when life comes full-circle. Years later, here I sit, with a different website for posting my thoughts about baseball, but with something left to write: jokes.

I don't know how often I'll post here - probably whenever I think of something funny. At any rate, thanks for reading and enjoy.

KL