Not Really News

Today, in the tradition of "Saturday Night Live" and "Not Necessarily the News," I bring you news and commentary from our mainstream media... Evan-Style

You're NOT Fired! (But it'll cost you)

Tara Conner, this year's Miss USA, has been the subject of speculation after being spotted frequenting bars while underage. Rumors have been circulating for days that she may be stripped of her crown, but such talk has been laid to rest today.

Donald Trump emerged from his office with his infamous combover slightly disheveled, accompanied by Miss Conner, who wore a blue dress with white stains. "I've always been a believer in second chances," said Trump as he zipped his fly.

A sperm tear-choked Conner thanked the Donald for the second shot.

Cannabis Cash-Crop

Jon Gettman, former head of the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws (N.O.R.M.L.) released a report on Monday claiming that U.S. growers produce nearly $35 Billion (yes, with a "B") worth of marijuana every year. This makes the ganja America's biggest cash crop, worth more than corn and wheat combined.

"If this is so profitable, why don't we legalize it and tax the shit out of it," asked Gettman?

Tom Riley, a spokesman for the U.S. Office of National Drug Control Policy retorted by stating "Uhhhh... because it's illegal. Duh!"

Alcohol Can Help People Survive Traumatic Head Injuries

Researchers in Toronto examined over 1100 patients who were treated for severe brain injury caused by blunt trauma and made a startling discovery. Patients who were admitted with a blood-alcohol level up to .23 percent were 24 percent more likely to survive their injuries than patients with no alcohol in their system when admitted. "Maybe this was because the patients were too pickled to realize that they were supposed to die," mused an anonymous E.R. nurse.

I wonder if hospitals are going to start serving shots to these patients. And if they charge $10 for a single aspirin, how much will a jigger of Jack run?

Speaking of Mind-Altering Substances

Some stupid crackhead in Hawthorne, FL complained to the cops that her crack cocaine "wasn't very good." Eloise Reaves walked up to a Putnam County deputy, told the cop that somebody sold her "bad crack" and dropped the rock on the deputy's car for inspection.

What's this world coming to when you can't trust a random crack dealer to give you good shit, and you can't trust a cop to help you get your five bucks back?

If You Think That was Stupid...

Cornell University researcher Valerie Reyna and Frank Farley of Temple University did a study to figure out why teenagers do stupid things. At the end of their study, they had spent a lot of money, produced a lot of psychobabble and justified their existence in their respective ivory towers for another couple of years. I must be one smart motherfucker, because I came up with the same conclusion within five second... It's because teenagers are stupid!

Nerdy Christmas

Take a little Christmas Spirit, throw in a dash of ingenuity, add a few spare computer parts, and here's what you end up with... the perfect Christmas Tree for geeks. This tree was entirely conceived and decorated by yours truly.

If you click on the picture, you will be taken to a larger version of this picture, courtesy of Flickr.

Gang Activity

Like many areas of the country, my little corner of the world has criminal activity, and these hooligans need to be stopped. The senselesness started several months ago, and things have continually escalated since then. The community is frustrated, resources are being wasted, law enforcement officials are ineffective and children are focusing on revenge instead of what really matters.

Like many parents, I once thought this sort of thing happened to others... that it couldn't happen here... that my children couldn't be involved in something so heinous as... I can't even bring myself to say it. How could they? After all, I've done everything right. We've had the "just say no" talks. We've given them discipline with love, guidance with affection, and respect with limits. This shouldn't be happening!

In retrospect, I guess I should have seen it coming. It all started with the kids staying up late. Next thing I knew, they were cranky in the morning. Then they started wearing black, especially late at night. They would occasionally leave the house after sunset, dressed like cat burglers and speaking in hushed voices. Before I knew it, things were starting to disappear from our bathrooms and kitchens. But I refused to see what was happening to my children before my very eyes.

It's too late for us. Our kids have already started down that slippery slope from which there may be no return. Under the best of circumstance, therapy and rehabilitation may be required. I hope that you can do better for your sons and daughters. Please, before it's too late...

Talk to your children about the dangers of harmless teenage pranks. Toilet paper can be thrown too high. Soap can be applied to windows too thickly. Cars can be plastic-wrapped too tightly. Please, stop the insanity before someone is truly inconvenienced.

I had a Dream

I had a dream. It was an unusual, quirky dream with feats of derring-do, celebrity encounters, cops, bad guys and in keeping with true dream form, lots of unexpected plot twists. The dream started with an announcement that the Eagles were doing another tour - "Hell Freezes Over, Again." To make matters even easier and better, they were playing a concert right here in my home town, so sexy wife and I decided that it was too good of an opportunity to miss.

True to dream form, the concert started immediately after we bought the tickets, and we got front-row seats. The venue was a dream-combination of small theater and convention center... a small, intimate setting with seating for only 500 or so. Before long, the concert began, but we didn't really have a chance to get in the flow. The second or third song (Pretty Maids all in a Row) was interrupted by the sound of police sirens. I had a bad feeling about things and told the wife to duck. We ducked just as two women came bursting into the room with guns a-blazin. True to Hollywood form, people panicked and the stampede began. The women, focused on killing one another for God-only-knows what reasons, kept bustin' caps at each other, coming toward the still-concealed Mr. and Mrs. Evan.

When they got about a foot away from me, I siezed the momentary opportunity to take control of the chaotic situation. One of the women ran out of ammo, and the other tripped. I grabbed the gun from the woman who ran out of ammo while the other woman was off balance, and before anyone knew what was happening, I had the other woman in a choke-hold, with the (empty) gun at her temple, screaming for her to drop her weapons. My bluff worked. Either she didn't know that I had taken the other woman's gun, or she didn't know that said gun was empty, because when I put the gun to her head, she dropped her guns and raised her hands in surrender.

The dream takes a brief fast-forward here. The women are now gone (ostensibly in jail) and we are sitting in a hotel lounge at a table next to Glenn Frey and Don Henley, who are talking to a couple of guys who were in high school with me. (I didn't really like either of these guys in high school... they were both pretentious pricks, but that's another story.) Hot Wife and I walked up to the band members, thanked them for their shortened performance, told them that we understood why they were cutting the concert short, and I said that I hoped today's incident didn't permanently drive them away from our town.

We all finished our drinks and left the hotel, and that's where the dream ended. When it ended, it was almost like a spoof on a movie or TV show. As we walked off into the sunset, I asked my wife why the cops never barged in, possibly mistaking me for one of the bad guys. I noted that my blood pressure never went up, even when the bullets were flying, and that nobody was injured. I observed that nobody gave a second thought to the fact that I managed to subdue both of these villainesses. The cops never asked for a statement, nobody thanked me, and nobody told me that I was an idiot for what I did. Everyone knew that this isn't something that happens every day, but everyone looked at this as if it was something I was perfectly equipped to do, almost as if I did it on a daily basis. It was as if my subconscious figured out that I was dreaming and then decided to spoof itself.