Not a huge Billick fan, but I gotta respect this move.

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Take a close look at that snowman on the left. Kenny Albert had to not notice or know, right? But how could somebody, anybody, not notice this before going live? Or did they simply not care? You can’t wear this on live television, though, right? In any event, comedy gold Kenny. Comedy gold.

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Apparently I’m supposed to see something here? Yeah, I got nuthin’.

So a lot of you know I’m color blind. I often read where being color blind is a handicap, and I suppose it is to a certain extent. Still, on a scale of 1-10 I’d give it about a .3 at the most.

So, handicap schmandicap. Ain’t no thing as they say.

Color blindness is carried by females and passed to males, so my grandfather had it. He gave it to my mother, who passed it to me. My sisters have both given it to their first-born sons, so my nephews Josh and Brett are both color blind too. Good times.

I distinctly recall the very first time I knew I was color blind. I was in 3rd Grade and we were looking at our science books. The teacher was saying something about color blindness and was telling us to look at one of those pictures with dots on it like the one you see above. She was saying that, if you were color blind, you couldn’t see the number in the middle.

Uh, what number? I even looked at the books on the desks around me to make sure I had the right page.

Nuthin’.

With my type of color blindness, pink looks light blue, purple appears to be navy blue, lime green looks yellow, blah-blah-blah.

It’s presented some minor problems in my life, nothing more, nothing less. For example . . .

I was once coaching junior high football on a Saturday morning up in Washington Court House and told the other team’s coach they needed to turn the scoreboard on. After looking at me like I had a 3-toed sloth on my head, he informed me that the scoreboard was, in fact, on. They had those orange lights and for whatever reason they were completely invisible to me in the daylight. Weird.

I’ve never been able to find mushrooms in the woods. They just blend right in with the other foliage. Can’t see ‘em.

And during the fall when folks point to the hills and talk about how beautiful the colors are? Yeah, they all sort of look the same to me. Not a lot of contrast, so to speak. I usually just nod and pretend it’s a gorgeous sight to behold.

I also can’t find an orange golf ball in the green grass for the life of me, so there’s that.

When I was in high school I bought some school clothes for the new year. I brought everything home and although they deny it now, I remember showing my sisters the stuff I bought and they approved. Then even picked out a particular pair of blue jeans they liked and I wore them the first day back to school.

They were purple.

That was a fun day, lemme tell ya. My purple jeans were quite the hit that day. Good Lord.

After a while I just learned to wear a lot of black or khaki pants when I had to dress nice since just about everything matches those colors. Makes things a helluva lot easier.

I’ve also learned other facts along the way, such as the green traffic light is on the bottom and the red on the top. It’s this way so you can see it from farther away. That way if you’re cresting a hill you’ll see the red light quicker. Also, I look for clues. For instance, if somebody has a dark Ohio State shirt on I’m pretty sure it’s red, and if I see a light Michigan shirt I know it’s chickenshit yellow. You learn after awhile.

And don’t ask about matching my ties and shirts. Let’s just say I ask a lot of questions when I buy clothes or give my sister a call before leaving the house. I’ve also taken a lot of selfies and sent them to friends just to make sure things matched.

It’s also pretty amusing when people compliment me on a certain color shirt I might be wearing, such as, “You really look nice in purple.” Or, “It takes a lot of confidence to wear that pink shirt.” Not really, because I can’t comprehend why pink would be associated with being feminine. Totally foreign concept to me. If it matches I’ll wear it. End of story.

And it always amuses me when people find out I’m color blind (especially kids), because the first question is invariably, “Really? What color does this look like to you?”  Then they point to their shirt or their pants or something they’re carrying. Sometimes just to amuse myself I say something outrageous. For instance, they’ll show me a red shirt and I’ll say it looks yellow. Or if I’m feeling really ornery I’ll say plaid. That usually shuts them up.

People always seem amazed that I can’t see pink or purple, but how do they know the purple they see is the purple somebody else sees anyway? I mean, if you’ve been told your whole life that something was purple how would anyone know the difference? Am I making any sense? Am I asking too many questions? What is the meaning of life? What is truth? Who put the ram in the rama lama ding dong?

I’m pretty sure I’m losing my mind.

Bottom line, although it causes the occasional complication it’s not that big of a deal. It’s hard to explain, but how can I miss what I’ve never seen?

I can’t, right?

Right?

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Yeah, still nuthin’.

As adults we’ve all faced it at some point, right? The dreaded question? That instant when we had to come clean and admit the massive untruth, the ultimate deception of our youth?

The moment we had to admit the BIG LIE?

The lie our parents had told us and that we’d passed down to our children?

Yes, the moment when we had to say those dreaded words . . . there is no Santa Claus.

Seriously, isn’t it the biggest fabrication ever? Even as we watch our children as they get that first glimpse of the presents Santa left, even then, aren’t we sort of shaking our heads and thinking, “Boy are you gonna be surprised someday.”

It’s sort of depressing really.

So this brings me to the moment when I had to make THE DECISION. To tell or not to tell?

It happened when my son was perhaps 7 or 8-years old, I can’t be certain but I know he was around that age. It was a few days before Christmas and he and I were returning from Chillicothe after some shopping . I believe we’d gone to town to buy something for his mother, who I had divorced a few years prior. She and I had a good relationship, still do, and I’d helped him pick something special out for her. We were on our way to meet her when it happened. Out of the blue came the question . . .

“Dad, can I ask you something? You said you’d always be honest with me.”

“Sure, anything buddy. You now that. Shoot.”

“Alright. Is Santa Claus real? A couple of the kids at school said he isn’t.”

Boom! The dreaded question. What to do? OK, let me think. Well, I’d read somewhere that if they were old enough to ask you should tell them the truth. In addition, I didn’t want my son to look like a fool to his friends. And there was that “I’ll never lie to you” thing, so . . .

I proceeded to tell him the truth, making sure to explain the whole “Santa is the spirit of Christmas” song and dance in great lengths. When I finished my spiel, he nodded his head, seemed cool with it, and even said:

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

Well, that went well. But then . . .

“But I asked mom yesterday and she said he was real.”

Oh, Good Lord. I’d really gone and done it now. Not only had I told him Santa Claus was a phony, I’d basically called his mom a liar. Not a good combination.

Well, at this point we were pulling up to meet him mom, so I told him to give me a second, that I had to talk to her privately for a minute.

There was no way this was going to go well.

I walked up to her car, leaned over, and we had this conversation:

“Well, I may have really screwed up this time.”

By the way, I’m sure this came as no shock to her.

“What happened?”

“Well, he asked about Santa Claus and I told him the truth.”

“You told him there was no Santa Claus?”

“I did. He asked and I told him.”

“Oh, thank God. He asked me yesterday and I wanted to tell him the truth but wasn’t sure how to do it.”

Whew. Crisis averted. I guess honesty is the best policy, even when involving old Saint Nick.

But man, that was a close one.

Listen, I don’t know what the hell this thing is nor do I want to know. All I know for sure is I would have hightailed it indoors, locked the doors and covered all the windows with plywood. Maybe thrown a 911 call in there to boot. Why? Because WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING THAT FLEW THROUGH THE FREAKING WINDOW?

Note: I’m thinking bobcat.

Good Lord almighty.

Gorgeous.

I see you, Monsey.

I see you, Monsey.

A Sterling man redeemed his $1 million Virginia lottery ticket four days before the prize money was set to expire.

Virginia lottery officials said Aaron Monsey, who works as a carpenter, bought the winning ticket nearly six months ago at Sterling Park Exxon in Sterling. He returned to the gas station Dec. 15 to receive his check from the Virginia Lottery.

Monsey’s ticket matched the first five numbers of the June 21 Powerball drawing. He discovered the next day he had purchased the winning ticket.

“There wasn’t any yelling or screaming,” he told Virginia lottery officials, according to a press release. By law, Virginia lottery tickets expire 180 days after each drawing. Monsey’s ticket was set to expire Thursday.

When asked why he waited so long to redeem his prize, Monsey told lottery officials, “Just because…”

Powerball drawings are held at 10:59 p.m. Wednesdays and Saturdays.

Wait. Just because? JUST BECAUSE? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Hey Aaron Monsey, did you ever worry about losing your ticket or maybe, you know, dying? Is your carpentry business booming so much that you can leave a million large laying around without claiming it?

No, something is amiss here. Something sinister is going on. I haven’t figured out why you waited, Mr. Monsey, but there’s a reason, and it’s a reason you don’t want us to know about.

I’ll figure you out, Monsey. Count on it.

Note: Then again, I suppose there’s always a chance he’s just dumb. Never mind.

Well done.

Love this one.

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No. Just . . . no.

Posted: December 18, 2014 in Funny Photos, Humor, WTF?
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Wrong on so many levels. This guy knows that public restroom floors are never, ever clean, right?

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People who abandon animals should be thrown in jail. Sickening.

The North Pole – Yep, apparently Santa’s Helpers got into a huge brouhaha over an unknown cause and threw down on the streets of Santa Claus Village yesterday. Several of Santa’s helpers and elves have been suspended without pay, a few suffered concussions and other injuries, and seven were charged with public eggnog intoxication. As a result, Christmas may actually have to be cancelled this year. Sad news. Sad news indeed.

Update: Apparently the fight began after 8-year old Bobby Lumpert of Garden Grove, Iowa, was rude to Santa Claus. While sitting on Santa’s lap, it seems little Bobby pulled Santa’s beard, a cardinal Christmas sin. One of Santa’s Helpers intervened, Bobby’s dad took offense, and all hell broke loose. Way to ruin it for everybody, Bobby Lumpert.

Exclusive video captured by off-duty, foul-mouthed and drunken elves:

Stellar.

No words.

Interesting strategy.

Wow.

Wait for it. W-a-i-t for it.

When you have it, you never lose it.

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Seriously. He told me.SparkSnowman3

Listen, I expect approximately 9-people who read this to believe me, and those are all dog-loving freaks such as myself. I could literally name the people right now who will respond and say as much. As for the rest of you, I know you’ll think I’m batshit crazy, and I won’t blame you a bit.

As anyone who lives alone with a dog can tell you, after awhile you begin treating your dog like a human. By the way, is that an oxymoron or what? You can’t live alone if you have a dog. Anyway, most of the stuff is normal, like, “Do you want to go outside?” or “Do you want a treat?” You know, regular  things you say to a dog.

However, when it’s just you and the dog I think you sort of take your communication up a notch.

For instance, I’ve actually made the following comments to Sparky with a straight face:

“Stay here Spark. I’m going to go throw a load in the washer.”

“Spark, can give me your thoughts on the European Debt Crisis?”

“Well, what did you think, Spark? Should I ask her out again?”

You know, stuff like that. I respect Spark’s opinion, especially regarding that last one.

Keep this in mind as I recount my latest Sparky Experience. This morning I was in the bedroom getting dressed. The TV was on, a commercial came on that for some reason reminded me of Christmas. Just making conversation, I said, “Christmas is in a couple weeks Spark. What do you want this year?”

Sparky then looks at me, cocks his head, and runs over to a basket on the other side of the room where we keep his toys. Then he digs to the bottom and pulls something out. The next thing I see in front of me is this:

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Look into those eyes. He knows.

That’s the snowman toy I gave Spark for Christmas last year. This actually happened. I just sat there with mouth open, looking at him.

Like I said, he told me what he wants for Christmas.

I know there are a lot of people who scoff at us dog lovers and our stories of how smart our pooches are, but I’d like one of the skeptics to step up and explain this one. Did the word “Christmas” set off something in his brain? Had to, right? Somehow, he made the connection.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go do some Christmas shopping.

Scenes from famous Christmas movies. Pretty cool.

Stellar.

Good grief. Also, great quote by Capt. Johnny Brotherton there, also known as Capt. Obvious. Yes, Captain, it’s “kind of ironic.”

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Nice job, Nebraska.

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Yeah, what the title says.