Cool TV Jobs That Aren't

OK, so lately, it seems like most of my writing inspiration comes from 2 things. 1) Being unemployed and 2) Sitting on my fat ass on the couch all afternoon, watching Maury. And I think I am probably boring all of you to a slow painful death with my lack of job situation, so I should let that go (for now). But then I thought why not combine my two favorite topics? Here’s the topic; TV jobs that seem pretty cool, but I wouldn’t do them.

Cash Cab
I cannot in a million year ever see myself doing this job. You’ve seen the show, right? Unsuspecting people get in a cab and are asked questions on the way to their destination. Ben Bailey is the host, and I know he was a comedian, I’ve heard him on Raw Dog and he does have a Comedy Central special. It’s a shame, because I think he can be funnier on the show. I just don’t think it’s an easy job. I don’t know how I would interview to be the driver. Them: “Ok, we’re going to throw you in a cab and you will drive people all over NYC. You have driven in NY before, right?” Me: “O dear Lord, no. Driving in NY would scare the hell out of me. There’s enough motards where I live, I can’t imagine the level of motardity in the city.” Them: “Well, it’s not like you would be alone. You would wear an earpiece where we would give you the questions to ask.” Me: “So let me get this straight. Not only will I be driving in NYC, but I will have an earpiece, too? Are you just asking me to crash into something?”
Them: “No, of course, not. Remember, you will have to talk to your fares, too.” Me: “Can I ask them questions like Taxicab Confessions? Find out who’s cheating on who, maybe have some hot, drunk chicks dyke out on each other? Now that I would do.” Them: “Get the hell out of here.” Seriously, I can’t imagine that’s a very easy job.

Mythbuster
Yes, I know that’s a surprise. Any show where they fast forward through hours and hours of tedious work is not for me. Sure, some of the myths are pretty cool, as is any job where you can blow stuff up. But do I really want to fold a massive piece of paper over 8 times in an airplane hanger? Hell, no. But I would gladly volunteer to personally shower off any silver that would get on Kari.

Dirty Jobs
Duh. Sorry, but not even for TV am I doing any of that shit. The concept is funny, and Rowe can be a pretty funny guy. Search YouTube for Mike Rowe QVC to see some of it (animated love is my favorite clip) But it’s getting kinda repetitive by now. Anymore, it seems they throw Rowe into the same 2 basic things; animals and food. And both seem equally disgusting, which says a lot.

Ghost Hunters
Again, another show where they edit out all of the monotonous work. If you’ve ever watched the live Halloween shows, you know what I mean. I think I would do OK, usually nothing scary happens. Wander around in the dark on TV calling out to voices is called ghost hunting. Do it in my neighborhood on the way back from the pub, and they call it ‘disturbing the peace’. Plus, I would be too busy trying to act all macho for the camera. But I know I would probably do something like this guy instead http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ok1HBWF2ofo

Christina Applegate’s Underwear Inspector
OK, that’s a blatant lie. I would do that job. Plus, I think I’ve figured out that when I put pictures of hot chicks on here, the hits seem to go up. It’s an ancient Internet equation; hot chicks = hits. And who am I to disappoint you, loyal readers? Enjoy

Man Against Nature
Because I don’t know when the next time my plane will crash over the Ugandan desert or some such shit. Has TV really gotten to the point we’re just dropping people in hazardous places and watch them make their way out? It should be riveting, I know, but it isn’t. Where do you even go to learn this stuff? At least get the guy who played MacGyver and throw him in Antartica.

I could go on, but I have to go, Maury's coming on. It's another great white trash/who's the daddy episode. Those always make me fell better about myself.

Heroes

The term “hero” gets thrown around a lot these days. Super hero. Hero sandwich. Heroin. It’s one of those words I try to stay away from because it’s lost a lot of its power. But yesterday?

Yesterday, me and Bauer were heroes. If just for one day.

Against my warmer wishes, I took Bau out for a walk. It seriously felt like it was 15 fucking degrees out. But Bauer doesn’t care. So we’re on the swing back to casa de Theory. As I’m walking along the street, on the other side I see a guy next to a van. He looks a little shady. No big deal, I have my shades and iPod on; I’m in my own little world. As we approach, he yells out to me, “Hey, be careful, there’s an unleashed dog on the corner.” Now I can see there is a dog just sitting on the corner across the street. “I tried to get him in the van, but he won’t come.”

I walk a bit closer. It’s a mangy looking mutt. Clearly a bit older, scruffy and ruffled rust colored fur. It’s a short breed, but the guy is squat. He looks like he can do some damage if he gets a hold of you. I’m still across the street. I take the ears out and sit Bauer. “OK, buddy, we gotta do something here. Be a good boy. Wanna go say hi? Wanna go say hi to him?” Bauer is generally a social dog, and rarely passes up the chance to sniff a new ass. I put Bau on a tight leash and we slowly approach.

Walking Bauer for four years now, I have a pretty good idea which house has dogs and who those dogs might be. Nothing gets a dog barking like when he’s inside and sees a dog walking outside. They bark their heads off, I guess it’s a jealousy thing. And this mutt does not look familiar to me at all. He is a little stand-offish as we approach. I crouch down so as to not appear threatening to the small dog. I can’t tell if he has a collar on yet, and it looks like his left leg might be hurt. I’m no fool and try to keep Bau between me and the mutt. I don’t think Bau has a protective bone in his body, but at least it might buy me a bit of time to turn tail and run like a frightened little girl.

I have big winter gloves on. I call them my Emperor gloves because they are so big and run up my arm well past my wrist. I don’t think it will be much protection if this guy takes a bite. I rationalize that they will, though, and continue with the slow approach. “Hey guy,” I say in a calm tone, “how you doing there? Can we say hi?” Bauer goes up and sniffs about. Both dogs do the dance. Neither one is moving fast at all and it’s a calm scene. I slowly put my hand out and pet the mutt. “Yea, you’re a good boy,” I continue in a calm tone like I’m the fucking Dog Whisperer or something. The guy is still standing back as me and Bau carry on.

I pet him, and he’s very calm. His fur is kinda thick, and my gloved hand is having a hard time trying to see if he has a collar on. Thankfully he does. I slowly wrap my hand around it as Bau noodles around. The guy comes up to us. Yea, like now he’s all brave and all. Bauer is doing a great job of keeping the mutt occupied. My hands are full; Bauer leashed in my right hand, my left hand is around the collar of the mutt. It takes me a while to find the tag, and when I do I see MING and a just a phone number. Shit, I don’t have my phone. Luckily, guy does and he calls. “Yes, hello? Do you have a dog named Ming? Yes, well we have him here at the corner of so and so. OK, we’ll see you.”

OK, this is good news. “He sounds like an older guy,” he tells me. I see now that Ming does not appear to be hurt, it was just his fur. But he is shaking. I don’t know how long he’s been outside. Maybe he’s cold, he’s probably very nervous. “Don’t worry, Ming. Daddy’s on the way.”

Another guy emerges from the community center across the street. “Yea, he’s been out here for a while, I am glad you guys were able to get a hold of him.” And there we are, 2 dogs and 3 guys on the corner. I am sure it would have been a touching Rockwell painting. Bauer is kinda over it at this point. The guys pet Bau, and he is very calm. I feel bad, I don’t carry treats or anything to give Ming. “The new guy asks, “Does anyone have another leash or something?” Yea, douche, like I carry 2 leashes in my Superhero utility belt. The first guy was delivering food to the community center, and doesn’t have anything in the van. “He looks cold. We can take him inside. They have a dog training class on Monday nights, so we can bring him in.” Time has gone on a bit, I guess his owner must not be very nearby. A car alarm is constantly going off, and I think that is rattling Ming. “Aw, it’s OK, Ming, everything’s all right. Daddy will be here soon.” Bauer is looking at the shaking Ming as if to say, “Ppfftt, lightweight.”

If we take him in, we will have to call the guy back. The number was clearly a landline number, and he’s on the way. We won’t be able to tell him we moved inside. Ming is shaking, and it’s not a bad idea. I look at Bau. He’s sitting, being very good. Shit, if we move Ming, he really should be on a leash. Do I trust him enough that he won’t runaway loose on an intersection? “Sorry guys,” I tell them, “if there’s one lost dog here, it’s not gonna be mine.” I am crouched down, and Ming is between my legs. He is shaking.

Finally, a blue SUV drives up. Out the passenger side emerges an older guy. “Ming, look it’s Daddy!” Ming gets up, and I keep my hand on his collar as he walks to his master. He thanks us and we all carry on with life.

I am immensely proud of Bauer. He was great, and I feel like we did make a difference in at least one guys’ world today. We walk back, and I give Bauer a big treat.

Now, certainly, there are far more heroic things going on every day. And I’m not saying someone should start a petition to rename the streets of the intersection to Bauer & Kev. Because I already filed that motion with the township, now I just need signatures. It made me realize how much I would fucking freak out if it was Bauer in that situation. And it also made me feel good that we were able to reunite a dog with his owner. It showed me I have a lot to learn. Here was a guy I thought was shady, and it turns out he was just trying to help the dog out, too.

It feels good to have done a little bit of good in the world. Now, if, you will excuse me, I see the hotline from the commissioner is going off. I guess our services are needed again. Damn, being a hero sure is hard work.

"Those Sooners Boys Sure Can Play Football"

Watching the Bowl game last night reminded me of a story about my mom. And by watching, I mean having the game on while I dozed in bed and shut it off after Florida was up by 10. There’s so many of these damn Bowl games, I’ve lost track of the name. I think it was the Last of 43 Bowl Games over 3 Weeks Bowl Game Brought to you by Southwest presented by Ford with a grant from The Chubb Institute. Damn, wish I got a grant from the Chubb Institute….

I need to preface this by saying my mom is a total sports noob. She’s a trooper, she just wants to spend time with my old man. She watches sports with my dad. She tries to understand shit like the “infield fly rule” and horse collar tackle, while dad just yells at the TV. You ask her who her favorite Eagle is, and she will reply in the most innocent way “I like the big black one” without a racist tone whatsoever. This story took place about 20 years ago or so. It’s become one of those legendary family stories that we trot out from time to time to bust her chops. And shit, I totally forgot to include this story when I had to give the toast at their 50th wedding anniversary. Instead I went with the time when she took home movies (Super 8) of us opening our Xmas presents and had the camera backwards the whole time. So we get the reel back, and it’s 20 minutes of her nose. The sneeze was a nice touch, though.

All of us were watching some college football game, where the Sooners were playing. For the sake of this story, the front of their jersey looks like this. There are no player names written on the back:

I recall at the time that there were no players’ names on the back of the jersey. I noticed last night that now they do have the players’ names on the back of the jerseys. I suppose if I wasn’t so lazy and a better writer, I could look up all the historical facts of this. But that is too much work, and I ain’t making a dime off any of this stuff (yet), so we will all suffer in my ignorance and lack of investigation. So where was I?

By the way, I am half Irish, and half Polish. After this story, can you guess whose side is whose?

For some reason, we’re all watching this Oklahoma Sooners game. They have the ball, and their QB makes a good throw. My mom pipes up, “Wow, that quarterback sure made a good throw! What’s his name?” We’re all silent, and she’s clearly just trying to sound like she fits in. She continues. “What’s his name? What’s the name on his jersey? Sooners? Well, that Sooners kid sure made a good throw. Actually, that was a good catch, too? What’s the name of the guy who caught the ball?” Again, all us kids are silent, we want to see just where this trainwreck will end up.

“Wow,” she continues, “his name is Sooners, too! Wow, that’s pretty neat. Are they brothers or something? Those Sooners boys sure can play football.” We’re all quiet as the screen now shows the team in a huddle. You can see the wheel in my mom’s brain turning. The next play is a running play, and when the running back gets up, my mom goes, “Wait a minute. He’s Sooners, too! Are there a bunch of Sooners brothers playing for this team or what?” When he returns to the huddle, my mom clearly sees that all the jersey names say Sooners. She is clearly confused now. We all wait to see where the queen of our gene pool will say next.

“Hey! Their jerseys all say Sooners! Is there just one family that plays for this team?”

There is a stilled silence in the room. Possibly the sound of a palm slap to the forehead.

Someone finally says, “No, mom, Sooners is the name of the team.”

“Oh.”

Ok, so maybe you can give her a pass since a lot of college teams don’t have the player names on the back of their jerseys. But my family has never given her a pass. Nuh-uh, that’s not how families work. Just a quick little memory that popped up last night.

And can someone tell me just what dafuck a ‘sooner’ is? Is it similar to a ‘quicker’? Or ‘faster’? Yea, if I didn’t do the research above, I’m not doing it here, either. Anyone got an answer for me?

Marley & Me (Complainary re-edit)

The gist was I thought it was a great book. It took me only a weekend to plow through, which says a lot. You can tell I write at about a fourth grade level-doody-so reading any book written higher can be somewhat a challenge. Plus, there were only a few pictures, and just a few words containing 7 or more letters.
I should warn you now, that this post does contain spoilers. So if you haven’t read the book or still want to see the movie, please stop reading now. I will go off topic for another paragraph or so, but then the cat will be out of the bag. You’ve been warned.
I need to state up top that I might not be the most objective reviewer on this one. Well, geez, that’s really no way to entice you to read on any further, now is it? First, I am in the odd position of seeing a movie of a book that I already read. The few books I do seem to manage to read never get made into movies. I feel that puts me into the snobby class of having read the book, and now will compare it to the movie. Like everyone else in the theater is a dullard who can’t read and decided to just drag their lazy, illiterate ass to the theater. I will also be undoubtedly biased as well. You see, my precious Bauer is a yellow Lab that looks a lot like Marley. So it’s damn near impossible to not see a lot of Bau in Marley’s actions.
OK, seriously, you’ve been warned. If you don’t want to know about the book and movie, stop reading now. Sure, you can make the argument why I have to give away key plot points. But I think it’s vital to my story. Plus, I am sacrificing Bauer time to write this, and I am sure he would be pretty pissed if he knew I was writing about seeing a dog movie, and not playing with him.
The book chronicles a couple from marriage to having kids, jobs, moving, dreams, heartbreak, etc. The lifecycle of the dog allows this to happen. And by lifecycle I mean from adoption to, well, yea, that…. I remember reading the book. I had gotten further ahead than my wife. As the pages wound down, it was clear what was going to happen. I was reading it in the living room. I knew I wasn’t going to make it, so I discreetly excused myself to our bedroom, where I could finish the book in peace. And also because my wife wouldn’t see me cry. Yes, I admit it, I cried (and snotted) at the end. Because it hit me as a dog owner, a Yellow Lab owner, that, God one day I will be in this situation. I just cannot imagine it (there’s a lump in my throat as I write this now). And to read this guy so eloquently describing it was devastating. Here was a book that not only made me laugh out loud, but now made me cry. It’s pretty fricking powerful for the written word to do that. Yea, OK, so I give away Marley buys it. But it factors in later on for me.
It was mixed emotions that I had when I found out it was going to be a movie. Now I can live with Jennifer Anniston. I don’t think she’s horrible. I did see one movie she did where she worked at a cosmetic counter in a small, dumpy department store. It was one of those real quiet, could be happening anywhere/to anyone kind of deals. Well, the first half was, but then she ends up sleeping with like 3 different guys or something. But she was very watchable in it. But when I found out Owen Wilson was going to the main character, o man.
I don’t like Owen Wilson. Maybe it’s because I think he is a bad actor. Maybe because in the thankfully few movies I’ve seen him in, he plays the exact same character. Maybee it’ss the wayyy he seemms to slowllly roll outtt hiss speechhh that annoys the crap out me of. Maybe it’s his nasty gnarled up nose. Maybe it’s because I’ve never seen him and Ellen Degeneres in the same room at the same time. Maybe it’s because he tried to kill himself after dating Kate Hudson. Kate Hudson! I was not enthused to hear him screwing up the movie.
The previews start to come out, and lo and behold it looks watchable. The clips look funny. Again, maybe it’s because my dog looks and acts like Marley. (And yes, I know every dog owner will say that now.) I decide to stay away from it. I want to go see it and decide it’s worthiness for myself. I tried to stay away. But I would read something online (stuff like if they are running this many commercials for it, it must suck), or Howard would talk about it (Beth seeing it and saying it was just OK.) Who knew ignorance would be so damn hard? But like I said, I liked what I saw in the clips I saw. And when it makes $51 mill in its first week, there must be something to it. So on a Tuesday afternoon, we went to see the flick.
I only have one goal for the entire duration of the movie. Two, actually. 1) Don’t drink so much of the bucket of Diet Coke that I will have to pee in the middle of the movie. And 2) and MOST IMPORTANT do NOT freaking cry in a movie theater.
It opens up with Wilson drawling his monologue over the scene. Yea, I’d be Marley running away, too, if I had to listen to this dolt all day. Already, I find myself comparing the movie to the book. Which is funny, because I have very little memory of much of the book. I mean, I can identify the parts that are clearly movie, and the parts from the book.
Halfway through the movie, I fail in one of my 2 missions. I have to pee. At least I could have drank all my Diet Coke and whizzed in the cup, but I couldn’t even do that. At least I pick a scene with no Marley.
It becomes clear that we hit a point that the end will start creeping in. GODDAMN IT! I am sniffling! But this is the fake-out, there is still life left! What a wuss I am. I start snotting too. I disgust myself.
OK, we’re really hitting the beginning of the end now. And why o why, does the movie theater pick this time to send someone through the theater? There is the guy, walking around with one of those glowing orange cones like he’s trying to land a plane. I fully expect him to come right up to me and yell, “Are you crying? There’s no crying in my movie theater. Get yer pansy ass out of here, you disgust me.” I think it’s dawning on people now that Marley will not make it out of the movie alive. We’re getting to a key scene where it is spelled out for the Neanderthals.
It is about here I fail at my second mission. Damn, I can feel that tear slowly leak from my left eye. I am sniffling. I know this is coming. I try to choke down more soda so I won’t be sniffling and tearing as much. It’s a pretty dramatic scene, between John taking him to the vet, making the decision and being there for the result. Goddamn, did something get into my eye here? I will give the movie credit, as they made up some stuff to make the scene more dramatic and heartfelt.
John tells Marley that he was never the world’s worst dog. “No Marley,” he tells his fading buddy,” you’re a great dog.” I often tell Bauer that, too. I just don’t call him Marley, because that would confuse the guy.
My sleeves are now covered up in the various goo leaking from my facial area. I really feel for the John character, not because Owen is slightly less cardboard here. I really identify with the guy as dog owner. They use music here excellently, a bunch of strings that slowly arch higher and higher until Marley shuts his eyes for the last time.
Sniff, and the sound of a few tears falling. Wow, pretty powerful. There’s a few more scenes, but this was the first movie I can remember in a long time that when the movie was over, actually got applause from the crowd. Of course, while they were clapping, I was making sure it didn’t look like I was affected at all. Black heart, man, black heart. Man, all the death I’ve seen in movies, all the notable, historical, iconic deaths didn’t touch me, but this Marley one makes me sniff and stuff.
So I would give this movie a solid thumbs up. It’s a fair representation of the book. I think it works, even if you haven’t read the book. It’s one of those rare movies where I don’t feel like I got ripped off for seeing it in the movie theaters. Even if you don’t like dogs, I’d imagine you would like this movie.

DVD Bonus Material
Commentary
OK, so again to follow up to the Leap post, I joined a new site, Complainary.com. I know, sounds right up my alley, right? For my first post, I re-edited an older entry Bus Stop. Within a few days, I already got a positive comment, which is pretty flattering. They were looking for a review of Marley, so I re-edited my previous Klog. I am still feeling my way around Complainary, so I took out a bunch of personal stuff, and cleaned it up a bit. So don't feel as you have to read these re-edits all over again, but I will try to comment on what I did, and why. Also, KevTheory serves as my archive, so this is another way to show how I can tighten up and 'mainstream' my stuff.
Thanks for reading. Again.

Shoveling

When I was looking for a new house, I had a few, simple necessities. Must have central air. Check. Must have big enough yard for the dog. Check. Must have the least amount of space to shovel. Check. Must be next door to bikini-clad sorority house. Well…3 out of 4 ain’t bad.
I hate the cold. I don’t enjoy scraping, snow or ice. In fact, the only ice I enjoy is either in my drink or at the rink. While you might look out and enjoy your snow covered front lawn, I’m thinking, “Geez, I gotta shovel this thing out.”
There are two schools of thought when it comes to shoveling after a big storm. The first school says to shovel every few hours. Why shovel a heavy load, when you can break it down to smaller more manageable amounts? Then there is the second school that stays in the house and laughs at the first school. I am firmly in the second school. In fact, every season, I look forward to my neighbors who shovel 3-4 times during a storm. I just don’t see the sense in dressing up in multiple layers multiple times to shovel. Hot chocolate never tasted so good as when you’re drinking it watching your neighbors shovel mid-blizzard.
Here’s a tip to help you shovel just once. If the snow is too heavy, then shovel it in layers. You don’t need to move the whole thing at once, just take a layer, then another layer. That’s the easy way to do it. I think that’s how they do it in Alaska.
The night before a snow, I move my car into the driveway. That’s less of the driveway to shovel. Then I wake up, clean off the car, shovel around the car, move it, shovel the rest and I’m done. That is until the township sees fit to send their plow out, and it plows the driveway back in. It’s almost like they planned it that way…
Like I said, I looked for a house with no sidewalk. All I have to do is the driveway. Well, I also do the 8 feet between the driveway and my front porch. I do that because my mailman is pretty cool and I have a lot of magazine subscriptions. I also clear the path in the vain hope that the Publishers Clearing House people will one day show up. Which explains all those magazine subscriptions.
No one enjoys shoveling, but I at least try to have fun with it. I let the dog out, and we hang while I huff and puff. Dogs just love snow. If you ever wanna make your dog work, make a snowball, then throw it up in the air and tell him to get it. It plops down into the snow, and my dog will look hours for it. So when I shovel, I try to throw some in his general direction, and the poor guy is entertained. At least one of us is. Shoveling is hard work; they say it’s one of the best forms of exercise. Then how come there isn’t a “shoveling machine” at the gym? You know why? Because no one would want to use it.
It doesn’t help me that I am a tall guy, over 6 feet. While that means I may never get lost in a blizzard, it doesn’t mean I enjoy shoveling out of one, either. It’s just further down to bend, and heavier snow to throw. For some reason, I just can’t find a shovel that fits my height. They all seem to be more for Smurfs or Ewoks. It’s great how all the shovels nowadays are angled, or have funky handles. But I don’t need a shovel designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, how about one designed for someone over 5”9’?
You can say I should get a snowblower. And that is true, but the fact is by the time I drag the thing out, fill it with fuel and undoubtedly crank it 30 times to turn it over, I could have been done just by shoveling it. Besides, my pesky, elderly neighbors would expect me to do their houses, too.
Give me summer any day. Like I say, “No one ever got a stroke shoveling heat.”


DVD Bonus Material
Commentary
So persuant (look it up) to the Leap post on MySpace, is my second attempt for a contest on Helium. They just started a humor contest, and most of the topics seem to center around cold and winter. So I re-edited the old Snow Day entry. For a day it was #1, but now it rests at 4 of 8. Honestly, I read the rest of the articles, and, well, they suck. So they have another category for shoveling, and this is what I wrote. Again, I read the 3 other entries so far, and they suck even more. I think this is funny in a mainstream, "cutesy" kinda way. I could see the local columnist in the Penny Saver writing shit like this. Although I really do like the Publishers Clearing House jokes; kinda witty and a good recall joke. Not my favorite thing to write, but a fair attempt. Let's see how this one does.

Mooseknuckle

There are 2 kinds of people in this world. There are those who know what the term “mooseknuckle” refers to. And there are those who do not know what the term “mooseknuckle” refers to. What group do you belong to? I am firmly in the first group. Until recently, my wife was firmly in the 2nd group.

Ever since he was a pup, one of Bauer’s favorite treats is what I have been referring to-somewhat tongue in cheek, somewhat innocently, somewhat not so innocently-as mooseknuckle. In all reality, it appears to the joint end of a femur bone of something like a rhino or hippo. It’s the end of a bone that appears to go into the hip socket. It’s sawed of, and then I guess smoked with all kinds of bits of God knows what on it. I termed it mooseknuckle, because it really does look like the hoof of a moose.

In fact here are some pics of Bau working on a mooseknuckle.


Mooseknuckle became the default treat he would get whenever we would be away for a few days. T would cheerily say, “I’m off to PetSmart to pick up some mooseknuckle for Bauer.” It wouldn’t be uncommon for T to be on the phone, and the caller would ask how Bau is. “O, he’s fine, he’s just here munching on some mooseknuckle.”

In her class, she has a pet board, where all the kids can bring in pics of their pets. Of course, Bau is front & center. There are descriptions, too, and Bau’s proudly says “loves eating mooseknuckle”. I would see this when I would be in her class from time to time. When kids would ask what Bauer likes to do, T would say, “He loves playing with mooseknuckle.” She would even tell her parents about mooseknuckle, a bridge even I haven’t crossed yet with my folks.

Mooseknuckle, mooseknuckle, mooseknuckle.

So this is all well and good for four and a half fucking years. I would hold my sly smile in check every time she told the neighbors that Bauer was inside working on a mooseknuckle. Recently, T was on the phone with her best friend Andrea. And I am sure she said something to the effect of Bauer was chewing on mooseknuckle. Innocent enough comment that she has made hundreds of times before. Not too soon after that call, Andrea is talking with her boyfriend. In order to protect the moronically stupid, I will not use his real name, but instead refer to him as D. You know, D as in dickhead, dumbass, dunce, dork, dullard, and doofus. Now, I never actually met D, but he sounds like a cool dude. You would think he would know when to just play along. Yea, you would think….

Andrea and D also have a dog, Westie, I believe. And somehow in casual conversation, Andrea says something like maybe they should get a mooseknuckle for Westie. D looks at her funny. “Um, Sugar Lips,” he says, using his pet name for Andrea,”do you know what mooseknuckle is?” “Yea, it’s like a bone, but there’s stuff on it…” “Not really, there, Sugar Lips. How do I put this? Mooseknuckle is slang for, well, you know…stuff like camel toe, monkey chin…” “What the fuck are you talking about?” “Mooseknuckle is slang for pussy. You know, hair pie, vertical smile…”

D should have known better. He should have been my brother here, instead of totally ruining a brilliant 4 & half year running joke. But no, he rolls over on me. He shoulda kept his Goddamn piehole shut. He should have seen this was a masterful plan that had been going strong for over 4 years. He should have just politely nodded his head yes and let it go. But no, dipshit can’t do that. He lets the pussy out of the bag. Uh, cat, cat out of the bag.

T’s cellphone rings. It’s Andrea, clearly flustered that she had been hoodwinked all these years. “T, do you know what mooseknuckle really is?” “Yea, it’s like a bone but there’s stuff on it…” Ah, she’s so sweet and naïve. “No,” Andrea interrupts, continuing to piss in my Cheerios,” it’s slang for pussy.” Next thing I know T is right in front on me, still on her phone. “Hey, what does mooseknuckle really mean?”

Shit, busted. 4 & half years.

I try to hold back my sly smile. But I can’t. “O my God!” she continues, “You knew! You knew! And all this time I was calling it mooseknuckle! I even told the kids Bau eats mooseknuckle. I asked my parents to got one for him! O my God, you knew! You knew! I even have mooseknuckle written in my class!” I see behind her that Bau also has a sly smile on, and giving me a wink.

I scramble to rationalize amidst the crumbling debris of a 4 year masterplan. “What! No, honey. It’s called mooseknuckle because it looks like the hoof of a moose. I didn’t know.” I am not a good liar, and she knows it. Game over.

So, to be clear, here is what mooseknuckle looks like

And here are visual examples of what the real mooseknuckle looks like

It’s always sad to lose a running joke like this. I will still call it mooseknuckle, though, and I am sure I will get yelled at every time I do. Now if you will excuse me, I have to send T out to pick up some fur burgers.


O, and you’re a douchebag, Deke.