WE'VE GOT A PROBLEM

"17,000 whales missing off the coast of Canada"

The title instantly grabs your attention, jerking you out of your seat, demanding answers.
Where are they?
Who could have them?
Are they real?

Usually I don't weigh in with my own opinion on trendy current events like this one but tonight, I make a special exception.

Where are the whales?
Try in your own back yard.
They're already there and they've been there for years, some underground, some in trees. The thing about whales is, when they get up and go to a new habitat, they spread like wildfire. So if you haven't seen a whale at your birdfeeder yet, they will be within hours. Also, if you see any suspicious whale costumes this Halloween...there's a reason little gordon is slicked up and spouting out his blowhole for candy...he's a real whale. Get your head around it. And get the harpoons ready.

He

Do you dream in color? Helium does. Red, White, and Blue. Helium was born just two minutes after the big bang and one minute later, full on ELEMENTAL. Two protons, one or two neutrons, and two electrons. Simplicity is beauty. The babes love it. But what really separates the wheat from the chafe is helium's bomb status as a noble gas. Boiling point 4.22 K. Helium's charge makes him neutral (except for that one time in WWII when Nitrogen made the mistake of bombarding him with an e- after that inertness be damned, valence style), electron location probability? Ψ=Fn (Nl, l, Ml, Ms) Bam. Helium all up in your vectors.

Helium's big moment came early one morning on December 5, 1905, or sometime in May 1903, no one can really say for sure. An oil drill hit a vein of gas that wasn't flammable. Who could it be? Often imitated, but never duplicated.

And who has the most of him? Right here in the U. S. of A. Its no secret. All men are created equal, but not elements. Helium is the boss, that's the truths I hold to be self-evident. Life, Liberty, Helium.

ANOTHER DIVORCE

See that picture? That's me at the club. All decked out in my orange vinyl jumpsuit. That's where the tragedy occurred. The DIVORCE. Well the fight leading up to it at least. For those of you playing the home game this is my seventh divorce. You think that they would get easier with practice. But no, every one seems to be like a train hitting a bunch of baby cows and derailing into a field and then rolling into a lake...and then fighting the gators in the lake as you try to make it to the surface...and then losing to the gators in the final gator war between man and gator. Gator.
Anyway so here I was, at Club Sexuality with my good friends and my girl Beconah (in the picture, yelling at me) when this hot girl starts getting all up ons while they're playing that new Nick Lachey track. I try to tell her that I'm married but the music is too loud...then the lasers start going and I can't focus and next thing I know things are getting pretty inappropriate. Let's just say touching...of regions. So Beconah comes over from the bar and finds me like this and I know I'm in some serious trouble. It's bad enough that this happened but get this. Two days earlier I accidentally threw away her dvd collection of Grey's Anatomy. And a week before that I forget to buy her herbal essence. This was the last straw for her. She starts yelling at me in front of everyone "You scoundrel...you dog...I can't even look at you...you make me want to turn away...I can't even speak...I'm divorci..." was the last thing I heard as the next track came on.
So here it is. Another year, another divorce. And it's not even that I mind. I've got enough money in the real estate market.
It's the kids.
They always lose.
When Hector asks his papa, when will momma Beconah be home and all I can do is feed him more wonderbread...my tears never fail to flow.
So please, next time you go out to the club with your girl...don't wear vinyl tracksuits...you'll end up losing that lakehouse.

C.S. B.S.

For years critics have over looked the lies told by C. S. Lewis in his fabricated dreamland, Narnia. In typical British style Lewis maliciously takes advantage of the child naiveté. Talking Lions… Don’t exist! Half man, half goat… Sterile! Witches without broomsticks… Never! Climate change due to political leadership … well maybe. But certainly no rational person believes that walking into a wardrobe will take you away to a magical world.
Everyone knows I keep it real, so I asked C. Dog why he was tripin’. Shrooms? Acid? X? The H Train? Turns out he was just strung out on pure Jesus, baby style. Right in his nai-a-zo. Bumped it.
Drug testing for children’s fiction authors? J. K. Rowling’s clean. The B sample cleared Tolkein. Gary Polson got busted for amphetamines, his b**** of a wife framed him. Try reading “The Giver” backwards, should have had his Newbery Medal revoked.
These are the people we give the keys to our children’s minds. Blame the system, go into “Fahrenheit 451” mode. W.W.J.D.?