Quite a Conundrum

Consider this: you are driving down a very steep hill in a large pickup truck. The street is very narrow and there are cars parked (poorly) on both sides, so there is barely room for two cars to drive in opposite directions at the same time. On your right hand side, there is a little old nun, who looks like she is about 107, carrying a bag of groceries, no doubt to feed the children at the orphanage. She is about 300 feet ahead of you. Suddenly, on your left hand side, a car full of 4 young, beautiful women, whose combined age could not be more than 86, darts out of their driveway. The nun and the car are both the same distance away from you now, about 20 feet. There is no way to go around, since there are cars parked on both sides of the street (and for the sake of this "puzzle" those cars all happened to be filled with infants). You are traveling at a rate of about 50m.p.h. and you are driving a full-ton pickup (do the math). You only have a split second to made a decision, either to swerve right and completely dismember the nun, spewing gore and body parts all over the road, or to swerve right, plow into the small Suzuki Esteem, causing it to roll down the hill several times, horribly disfiguring all the the girls, damning them to live the rest of their lives as hideous creatures, and guaranteeing that none of them will ever be loved by anyone besides their own mothers.

My question to you, dear readers, is: Which is worse?


Another point to ponder: Is it worse to kill one 400-pound man, or two 200-pound men?

They All Got fat

Has anyone else noticed that Aretha Franklin has gained an obscene amount of weight lately? She sang the national anthem (I think it was the national anthem- I couldn't really hear it that well because the sound was sort of distorted by a superdense mass). So did Al Gore. I mean, come on. The reason he is so worried about global warming is because he doesn't want to sweat through his sports jackets so much. He used to be cooler. In more ways than one.

On the other hand you have Al Roker who has actually lost (and this is my estimate) 6.4 billion pounds. That means that he would actually be able to give one of those pounds each to every living human. Pretty impressive, no? And the guy has kept the weight off (is stomach-stapling cheating?) despite his having his own show on the Food Network. (Move over Alton Brown).

Rum Runners and Moonshiners

Were snow globes around during Prohibition? I don't think so, because it seems blatantly obvious, to me, dear readers, that one who was very determined would have painstakingly drained the water from snow globes and replaced it with moonshine. I mean, c'mon. Who is going to check a shipment of 12,000 snow globes bound to Chicago? That's right. Scruff McGruff. But besides him, who? Or what if it was going to New York or Philadelphia?

You people need to use your heads.

To Kill a Classic

You know, I was thinking. I read the book "To Kill a Mockingbird" in school sophomore year and I think I really nailed what Harper Lee was trying to tell us. It's not a bout Tom Robinson, maaan, it's a metaphor.

Think about it. Think back to when you read it (if you did). Think about when Tom goes to jail. Remember what happened? He tried to escape, he tried to jump the fence to freedom. But just as he got to the top, the guards shot him down. Well, dear readers, that fence is not just a fence. That fence is a metaphor. It's a metaphor for the racial tension between blacks and whites. And Tom, good, old Tom, he was a sort of catalyst. Sure, Tom was sent to jail, but he sure gave that just a run for their money. Nobody thought a black man accused of rape would even get a second look before being carted off. But that jury was deliberating for six hours about that man. Him and his those damn chiffarobes.

That's right. twelve white men, white farmers at that, didn't immediately say that Tom was guilty. That's saying something about what people were beginning to think. Maybe it was a turning point. Maybe.

Well, think of the fence as the racial tension between blacks and whites in America. Especially in the south. Well, Tom, he scaled that fence, both literally and figuratively. But just as things were getting to a turning point, he had an appeal and everything, he went and got himself shot. And then things regressed again, and something great that could have been wasn't. Not at least until the 60s.

Rhinoceros Pimples

Did you ever have one of those pimples that was so big it was like a rhinoceros horn? And the thing with those is that they're always like, right in the middle of your forehead. Why? And don 't even think about trying to pop them, oooh no. That just makes it worse. You know why? It pisses them off. Then the next day they're like twice as big, and you're walking around with a fucking appendage sticking out of your head.

When you get these Rhino pimples, you're not sure about them at first. You're laying in your bed in the middle of the night, and your head is itchy, so you go to scratch it and OH, SWEET JESUS WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? You don't know if it's like, a spider bite or something. And it freaks you out because you're thinking to yourself, "Oh my God what the hell man, what the HELL? Is that a bug bite?" And you know if it is a bug bite you're gonna make two calls: one to the hospital and one to fucking animal control because anything that makes a bump that size has got to be HUGE.

The next thing you do, is walk- CAREFULLY- into the bathroom. Because, if it is some kind of 37-pound gorilla-spider you don't want to see it. So it's pitch black, the middle of the night, and you're trying to get to the bathroom without waking up the demon from hell. For all you know it's eating your cat right now.

So you finally get to the bathroom and flip the light on to examine yourself in the mirror. "Holy shit. This is bad. I'm gonna die for sure." And then you take a step back, and your eyes adjust to the light. "Well, it doesn't look terminal. Maybe it's just a pimple." Hah. Just a pimple. Just a fucking pimple. You try to pop it for like, an hour and a half, and nothing happens except your arms get sore.

Finally in about three weeks the beast goes away, but it's always in the back of your mind. You're like, "Oh shit. What if it resurfaces?. It's tough livin' with that kind of fear.