Archive for February, 2016

Kids, man.


Yearbook Quote for the Win!

Posted: February 29, 2016 in Humor

Man, I like this Sean guy. Really put Stephanie on blast for all-time, huh?





House in forest

Don’t let the shy look fool you.

So I’m on my way to the bank after school yesterday, just cruising down West Main minding my own business and enjoying the beautiful weather. I had the passenger window down so The Spark could stick his head out, sniff the air, and bark at birds and hobos. After his going airborn incident a few weeks ago I thought it would be prudent to wrap his leash around the gearshift. You know, in case he spotted another squirrel or something.  Anyway, as I approach the Gazette Building I notice an attractive, nicely dressed middle-aged woman leaving and coming around the front of her parked car. She was wearing one of those power suits, really dressed for success and all. She had a briefcase in one hand, a bag slung over the other shoulder, and she was holding with both hands what looked like a stack of papers on a clipboard in front of her.

You know how the lanes on West Main are a little tight, right? Because of this I was sort of close to her car so she had to wait for me to pass, and as I approached I got a stone cold stare that seemed to ask, “What, you can’t stop for a lady, you low-life male chauvinist scumbag turd?” The answer was I probably could have, but hey, I wasn’t really paying that close attention.

By the way, you know exactly where this is heading, don’t you?

What happened next is really sort of hard to describe. In my mind Sparky saw the smug look on the woman’s face and was simply doing what I would have done. You know, if I were a dog. Anyway, to say he barked at her doesn’t come close to what actually happened. As we passed her, very closely I might add, he leaped as far as his leash would let him while emitting a feral, ferocious and terrifying combination snarl/roar/howl. For a horrifying second I thought he got a piece of her throat or maybe her nose, but by the grace of God he air-snapped. Then I looked in my sideview mirror and saw a bunch papers floating from the heavens and onto the street. I swear it looked like 9/11 back there, sheets just fluttering everywhere.

And there, in the midst of the document shower stood an angry businesswoman, hands on hips, glaring at my departing car and the savage canine contained within.

Sparky? He was wagging his tail and smiling at me like, “Heh-heh. Got her good, didn’t I dad?”

Oh yeah, Spark. You got her alright. Good.

I probably should have rounded the block and gone back to apologize, but the look on the woman’s face told me that might not be a good idea. I turned on Paint Street and finally hit a light, just sitting there shaking my head at my crazy-ass but extremely loyal and lovable dog. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see a guy pull up beside me. It’s a 30 ish dude and there are tears in his eyes from laughing. He pounds the steering wheel and says, “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve never seen a woman in heels jump that high in my life! Papers everywhere! I gotta get me a dog like that!”

Sorry buddy, but you can’t. There’s only one dog like that, and I got him.

Just another day in my life with Sparky.

Angry-KidYears ago we used to have ½-Day Kindergarten at our school. Some kids came in the mornings and others in the afternoons. Anyway, there was a tough little Bainbridge kid named Chucky who went through kindergarten doing the morning schedule, then returned the next year for 1st grade.

On his first day of school for 1st grade, Chucky’s class broke for lunch but he went to his locker and began packing his stuff to head home. A teacher (my sister actually) walked up, saw what he was doing, and the following conversation ensued:

Hey Chucky, where ya goin’?

“Heading home. School’s out.”

“Uh, Chucky, you have to go full days this year.” 

First, a stunned look. And then . . .


Apparently Chucky’s mother had neglected to inform him of the whole schedule change thing.

Tough day for Chucky. His whole life changed in the blink on an eye.

Man, do these two videos bring back memories . . .

So this guy decided to take a photo with a squirrel. Apparently the dude was out with his mother, who actually holds the camera in these two scintillating snapshots. This first photo is sort of cute, the second downright hilarious. Perhaps the best part is that mother kept taking pictures rather than help her assclown son. Priceless.



England’s Oxford University is older than the Aztec Empire, and it’s not even close.


Oxford University, England – Founded 1096


Tenochtitlan, Aztec Empire – Founded circa 1428.

So I was subbing the other day and I was letting some junior high students go lifeto the gym for their Science Project interviews. As one of the kids, Ray, was walking by we had the following conversation:

“Ray-Ray, are you ready for your big interview? All prepared and whatnot?”

“Nah. I’m just going to wing it and hope I get lucky.”

Ah, Ray-Ray. Unwittingly, you just described so many people’s lives in a nutshell.

Kids, man.


This house has survived several intense storms. Cool.

river house

I thought Ohio would be a LOT higher.


Years ago I had a junior high kid named Carly who didn’t like me very much.

Not Marley's mother.

Not Carly’s mother.

For some reason there was a personality clash between us and I don’t really know why. Hey, it happens from time-to-time.

Anyway, her mother called and asked for a conference and I said sure, come on in and we’ll try and figure this out. Well, mom shows up without Carly and she was angry. She was really worked up, man.

And then she said this:

You two had better work this out, and soon. I want you to sit down and talk with her immediately.”

I don’t know, something about the way she was ordering me around maybe, but it didn’t sit well with me. Plus she hadn’t been real respectful from the minute she walked in. Anyway, I responded thusly:

“Number one, I’ve already talked to Carly. Several times. I’ve praised her, cajoled her, been stern with her, everything I can think of. Nothing has worked. Number two, ‘we’ don’t have to work out anything. Carly does. I have 160-students to deal with, and students only have a few teachers. I can’t adjust to every single one of them. Students have to adjust to their teacher, just like they’ll have to adjust to their college professors or their bosses someday.”

For a few seconds, silence and and a cold stare. And then, this:

“You know what? You’re right. I never looked at it that way. I’ll have a talk with her.”

Then she got up, shook my hand, and walked out.

Well hell, that went better than expected. And you know what? I never had a problem with Carly again. I guess reason sometimes does work.

And having an open-minded, understanding parent helps too.

Cats are sneaky, man.


Think it through, idiot.


We’re here to entertain and inform, people!


When I first came back to the high school game a few years ago, one of the first things I noticed was the change in certain coaching philosophies among somesad-basketball younger coaches. Nothing really earth shattering, just a few unwritten rules of coaching that seem to have disappeared over the past 15-20 years.

Yeah, I know I sound like the old guy yelling, “Get off my lawn!” but hey, just because we did it that way back in the day doesn’t mean it was wrong.

So without further ado, let’s discuss a few of the unwritten rules that seem to have faded into the mists of time . . .

  • Who comes out first? Well, it used to be that the visiting team always ran onto the floor first, followed by the home team. It was simply a show of respect to run out, then let the home team come out to cheers from the home crowd. Today? Not so much. It doesn’t seem to be thought about much, if at all. We, however, adhere to the old rule as much as we can.
  • Surrendering. When I first started coaching I was told by a pretty damn good hall of Fame coach that, in a blowout, the team that’s way behind substitutes first as an indication that the game is over. Then, the leading team’s coach subs and that’s the way it stays. In the past few years, however, I’ve seen coaches sub, wait for the other team to sub, then put their starters back in in an attempt to get back in the game. Unbelievable. You also have these guys who believe themselves to be super coaches who will never sub, calling time-outs when they’re down 27-points with 12.3-seconds left in an effort to show people they’re not giving up and will pull off a miracle through their amazing coaching abilities. Sigh.
  • Throwing up a 3-pointer at the buzzer. I’m talking about the team that’s ahead. It used to be sacrilegious to take a shot at the buzzer if your team had an insurmountable lead. It was considered selfish to attempt any shot at that point if it wasn’t needed. Today you see it all the time. Bush league.
  • Running it up. I hear this argument all the time from a coach who has just won by 50-points. “What? I can’t tell my subs not to play!” or “If you don’t like it stop us!” That, my friends, is flawed logic. Can’t see it, won’t ever see it. In professional sports I can see this argument. The players and coaches are getting paid a ton of money to do a job so there are certain expectations. High school? Totally different situation. In high school, coaches basically have to play the hand they’re dealt. Sometimes a team is simply outmanned, and you can’t have a circus without the elephants, as they say. I mean, what’s the point? To embarrass a bunch of kids? Make yourself feel like a tough guy? Show your superiority? Prove you’re a man? Newsflash: Nobody needs to work on basic fundamentals more than your younger players or 2nd Teamers. They learn nothing by throwing up 3-pointers with a 57-point lead. Slow it down, burn the clock, work on the basic stuff, try and get better, all the while saving the other team from humiliation. Is that too hard to comprehend?
  • Laughing with the opposition after a game. Who in the world wants to joke around with the guy who just whipped your ass? I can’t imagine laughing with a guy who just beat me, not right after the game. Everyone seems to be friends now during competition, especially in the pros, and it didn’t used to be that way. I remember back in 1999 when George Brett and Nolan Ryan were inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. A reporter asked Nolan if he and Brett were friends when they played. Ryan said, “Friends? He wasn’t my friend. He was on the other team.” Loved it.

Listen, I know times change, cultures change, but I’ll keep fighting the good fight, damn it. There are just a few of us dinosaurs left, so we have to keep raging against the dying of the light, ya know?

PS – Another thing I don’t understand is having seven “coaches” on the bench holding clipboards. I swear I have zero idea what they’re doing. Hell, I couldn’t think of seven things for them to do. I have my assistant and a couple stat girls in the bleachers who hand me statistics at halftime and after the game. And during a timeout, the last thing I want is to hear seven people talking to me at once. One coach you trust is plenty, believe me. Then again, maybe it’s an ego thing. Good Lord.


Way back when I was in college I volunteered at a soup kitchen, or a food handpantry if you will, one of those places where homeless folks would stop in for a much-needed sandwich or bowl of soup. The whole experience sort of opened my eyes to the homeless community. These weren’t just men and women who were lazy and refused to work, they were people who’d been dealt an extremely bad hand in life. Some were even former professionals. I remember a retired teacher and an attorney in particular.

However, one guy stood out to me.

He was old, looked 90 but was probably much younger, all hunched over, long-haired and dirty. He wore an old raincoat and pushed a shopping cart everywhere he went. His hands shook a lot, sometimes almost uncontrollably.

His name was Matthew, or so he said, and I believed him. As far as I knew nobody knew where he stayed on nights that were cold or rainy. I often wondered about that.

He’d walk through the line getting his ham sandwich or whatever, and then he’d go back to his shopping cart, which he’d parked by a cafeteria table, usually in the corner. I noticed that he’d check often to make sure nobody bothered his cart, which was full of what appeared to be odds and ends, nothing substantial or valuable I was certain.

It took him awhile to open up to me, but eventually he did.

It happened one day when I was leaving, and there sat Matthew. He nodded as I walked by, and for some reason I decided to sit across from him. He looked at me a bit warily as I attempted some small talk. I’d noticed some rolled up papers in the corner of his cart, and when I asked him what they were his eyes lit up.

Seems Matthew was an artist, and the papers were some of his work. I asked if I could take a look, and to my surprise he happily got up, unrolled them, and lay them flat on the table.

I was stunned. They were really good. Most were paintings of city scenes and street life, but a few were of a little girl. She was beautiful, and it was obvious all the drawings were of the same child. I remember she had wide eyes and a sad, faraway look in her eyes.

Sort of like Matthew.

I told him his drawings were beautiful, and I asked about the little girl. He just shook his head and said it was somebody he used to know.

Something told me not to push it any further, so I didn’t. Who knows what leads people to the situations they find themselves in?

It was a week or so later that I was in the corner store near my apartment just off campus, and I noticed a sign advertising for work there. The store was named Jan & Mark’s after the owners, two young married entrepreneurs. The sign explained that they were looking for somebody to paint the front door of their store. Like I said, it was on the corner and the door was sort of the centerpiece of the place. Seems Mark needed somebody to do some artwork on the glass door, some lettering and maybe a logo of some sort.

Hmmm. I wondered. Would it be possible?

I’d come to know Mark a little since I did a lot of my shopping there, so I thought what the hell? The least he could do was say no, right?

I told him I knew a pretty amazing artist named Matthew that might just do a pretty damn good job on his door, and after a little encouragement he agreed. Yeah, I made sure to explain that this was not your ordinary artist, but who cares? He could always clean it up and start anew if things took a wrong turn or it turned out badly.

A couple days later I ran the idea by Matthew, who surprisingly agreed rather quickly to do the job. A date and time was set and it was on.

The day arrived and myself, along with Mark and Jan, waited for our artist to show.

Well, he arrived right on time, and to say that the couple was petrified would be an understatement. Matthew walked up pushing his cart, sort of shuffling and shaking as he went.

At this point I was having reservations myself. Still, I gave Mark a look and a wave that said, “No worries. It’ll be fine!

Did I believe in Matthew? Uh, sort of. Like I said, reservations.

After a few awkwards introductions, the work was set to begin. Matthew pulled out some old brushes, and few little cans of paint, and an old rag. No stencils, no outlines, nothing. As we all watched, Matthew kneeled in front of the door, hand shaking, and dipped his brush into the can. Then he pulled it out, hand continuing to shake almost violently as it approached the door.

There’s no way this was going to go well.

But then . . .

Just as the brush touched the door, the shaking stopped. Matthew proceeded to free-hand the most beautiful capital “J” that I’d ever seen. Then, just as he finished the letter and he pulled his hand away, he started to shake again.

We were dumbstruck.

The ritual kept repeating itself. Matthew would shake, dip the brush into the can, continue to shake, but as brush touched glass he became the smoothest, most sure-handed artist I’d ever seen. And the result was a gorgeous “Jan & Mark’s” perfectly semi-circled on the door.

Then, over the next couple hours or so Matthew proceeded to draw a beautiful little girl under the letters, a child with a smile, walking and carrying a bag of groceries in her arms.

But this time, the eyes looked a little more hopeful and without the sad, faraway look.

Needless to say, Jan and Mark couldn’t have been more pleased.

Matthew was paid for his work, thanked me with a nod, and went on his way. I only saw him a couple more times after that, and I always wondered what happened to him.

I drove by that address a couple years ago, and of course the store, and beautiful door, were gone. Matthew had to have passed away years ago, but to this day I think about that little girl and what she must have meant to him.

Whoever she was, I think it was she who was behind his situation, she who caused him to live the life he’d led.

But I also think it was that little girl who gave him the determination and focus to paint, especially on that day.

Because when Matthew painted, something very powerful gave him a steady hand.

Many of you have read about my serendipitous encounters with rock stars and monkees_leadtheir ilk, most notably David Crosby, Todd Rundgren, Jeff Lynne, and Beck. Hey, I even shared a cold brew with Steven Tyler and Joe Perry of Aerosmith on one memorable occasion.

There’s another encounter I had, however, that didn’t occur face-to-face, but rather over the phone. Here’s what happened . . .

Back in the late 70’s I was perusing the back of Rolling Stone magazine and came across an interesting little ad. It was in regards to The Monkees, the wildly popular band from the 60’s that had pretty much disappeared over the prior decade or so. Hey, but at one point Mickey Dolenz, Peter Tork, Davey Jones and Michael Nesmith were household names. They even had a TV show and everything.

Anyway, the ad basically said something along the lines of, “Wonder what the Monkees have been up to? Call this number to get a rundown on their latest activities!” It then explained that you’d be connected to a recording that would fill you in.

Being a big 60’s music guy I was sort of interested to see what the boys had been up to, so I thought what the hell? I’ll give the number a call.

Remember kids, this was before the internet and to get information you had to, you know, work for it and whatnot.

I dialed and was listening to the phone ringing on the other end when I got a surprise – somebody answered! What the hell?

Being the witty guy that I am, I said the first thing that came to mind:

“Who is this?”

“Who’s THIS?”

“Well, I was trying to call the Monkee’s hotline to see what was going on. I found it in an ad in The Rolling Stone.”

“Oh yeah. You called the right number. The recording is down so I went ahead and answered.”

At this point I figure I’m talking to some secretary or something and am ready to hang up. But then . . .

MikeNesmithmikenesmith2954698312801623“What do you want to know? This is Michael.”

Wait. Michael? As in Michael Nesmith?

Yep. Sure enough was. The one who always wore the skull cap, or toboggan if you will. Long story short he filled me in on everything, from Davey Jones and his work on Broadway to Peter Tork’s addiction problems. But what has stood out over the years, though, was what Nesmith told me he was doing:

“Yeah, I’m really into making music videos. That’s going to be the next big thing.”

Huh? Music videos? Why the hell would anyone want to watch that? I had no idea what he was talking about. Of course, MTV started a couple years later and everything became clear to me.

And Michael Nesmith? He ended up producing, among others, the music video for the Lionel Richie single “All Night Long” and the Michael Jackson single “The Way You Make Me Feel”.

Music videos? Who knew?

Turns out Michael Nesmith did.

I’ve posted something similar to this before, but this map is animated. Woot! Enjoy.


Shoe: Untied. Nothing if not educational. Sort of.


Oh boy. Not a good look, bro.


I have no idea who this is or where it was taken, but it is awesome. Just an apparently disinterested kid floating in the air as his teammates battle for a rebound. Nothing more, nothing less. On a related note, what the hell is happening here?


Let’s face it, Facebook has some inherent and obvious weaknesses that need fixed.untitled I’ve tried to lend my advice to the powers that be at the social network, but since that assclown Mark Zuckerberg won’t return my calls I’m taking another approach.

After much thought I’ve decided to start my own, infinitely better social media site, and I shall call it Shoebook, mainly because for the life of me I can’t come up with anything better. Suggestions welcome.

Admittedly, Shoebook will be similar to Facebook in many ways. However, there will be differences, some subtle and some not so subtle.

Let me explain.

On Shoebook, the “Like” button will only be one button option for reactions to posts. Isn’t it weird that your only option is to “like” a post? Because of this we have somebody posting about their Aunt Martha dying and it will have 12 “likes”. So you like the fact that Aunt Martha kicked the bucket? What’s up with that?

With that in mind, here are some other buttons that will available on Shoebook:


Of course there should be a Dislike button. How many time have you wished for one? I know I have. Often.


Oh, if I only had a dollar for every time I wished I had a Shut The F**k Up button. Now, instead of yelling it at the screen you can simply hit the button.


The Too Much Information button shall be used for those folks who insist on telling us every single tidbit of information about something, usually some disgusting illness. Example:

“Anyone know anything about cysts? I have a walnut-sized swelling in my groin area that is oozing puss like an over-ripe kumquat.”

Yep, TMI.


The Nobody Cares button is for people who constantly give us random, useless facts, such as:

“Having a Dr. Pepper and a Twizzler on my lunch break.”

Uh, O.K. Thanks for the update. On a related note, nobody cares. On Shoebook, you can simply hit that NC button.


The What the F**k? button is for those weird, confusing things people occasionally post, often late at night when they’re loaded. Here’s one:

“I wonder if woodpeckers get headaches?”

Or . . .

“My parakeet is looking at me funny. I think he’s planning something.”

On Shoebook, you can express your feelings with the WTF button!

Random thought: Perhaps all computers should come equipped with breathalyzer technology, and if you blow a .10 or over your computer will shut down. That way people wouldn’t wake up in the morning horrified at that selfie they took the night before at 3:00am, posing shirtless in front of their bathroom mirror. I’ll get my crack staff here at Shoe: Untied working on this ASAP.  

Random thought #2: Why is it always the bathroom mirror?


No, I’m not referring to the tasty treats from Dairy Queen. I’m talking about the Drama Queen button! We all know the Facebook Drama Queens and their ridiculous posts, correct? Those people that are always hemming and hawing about something or other, throwing every little problem they have in our face? On Shoebook you can let out your frustrations by hitting them with the DQ button!

By the way, I can live with the hemming but I really hate the hawing.


On Shoebook, the BM button shall be the Brag Much? button. This is for the Humblebraggers who post things like this:

“Seriously, why should Valentine’s Day be so special? I get my wife flowers every week.”

Oh, I’ll use the BM button liberally. Trust me.

In addition, on Shoebook your account will automatically be deactivated for 1-month after you receive any combination of 250 Dislikes, STFUs, TMIs, NCs, WTFs, DQs, BMs. You know, because if you’re not getting the point after a hundred or so, well, you’re an idiot who can’t take a hint.

Shoebook will also have a limit on selfies, ducklips, food, and children. I’m thinking one photo of little Ernie per year is sufficient.

Perhaps the greatest innovation Shoebook will have is an alternative to the Poke button, which I’ve never understood. I never know how to take a Poke. Is it a playful elbow to the ribs? A soft fist-punch  to the shoulder? Is it flirting? Is somebody mad at me? What is a Poke? Anyway, on Shoebook you will have the option of hitting the Slap button. This is for any post you consider slap-worthy. You’re welcome.

So in the future when you’re on Shoebook you might see something like this after a post:

3 Likes, 23 Dislikes, 179 STFUs.

If you do, you may want to think twice before hitting the Post button next time, re-evaluate your posting philosophy, take a hard look at yourself and consider quitting life altogether.

So there you go. Brilliant, amirite?

Look out Zuckerberg. I’m coming for you.

O.K., I’m about to piss several people off, but please don’t take anything you’re 1about to read personally. You know, unless it applies to you directly, in that case take it totally personally. What I’m about to do is describe several types of Facebook people as I see them. Please understand that I realize I fit several of these descriptions myself, so hey, I ain’t mad at ya.

Without further ado, I give you my 21 Types of Facebook People:

The Workout Gods

God bless these people. They stay in shape, work out daily, and inform us all of every single minute of every single workout they complete. Dude, we don’t care how many minutes you spent on your glutes today, OK? Nor do we have to hear how many miles you ran or what 5K you completed. We get it. You’re in shape. We’re not. Don’t rub it in.

The Humblebraggers

Everyone knows what a humblebrag is, right? It occurs when folks pretend to be modest but are really telling everyone how wonderful they are. Here are a couple examples:

“A family on our street is really struggling. I felt so badly I took their kids to lunch twice this week.”

“A man was short on cash at the gas station today and everyone just stood in line staring at him, so I gave him $10. Come on people!”

And the response is then 20-people telling the guy how amazing he is for taking the kids to lunch or giving the guy $10. See, Humblebragger, it’s like this – if you were really a good guy you’d do a good deed and not brag about it. Humblebraggers, man.

Note: Pretty sure I’ve humblebragged before.

The Fishermen

These are the guys that are constantly looking for online hookups, casting out lines and hoping for a response. They usually toss out stuff like this:

“Well, a pretty girl like you will find somebody soon enough” or “Why is a beautiful girl like you so unhappy?”

And they’re hoping for a response like this:

“So you think I’m pretty?”

At that point he zeroes in for the kill.

Ladies, this is also the guy that “likes” everything you post. You have been warned.

The Beggars

These are the people who are desperately seeking compliments. They’ll usually post something like:

“I feel so ugly today”

“I wish I was  better looking”

“I’m such a stupid person”

They’re literally begging for somebody to correct them and tell them how wonderful they are, and somebody usually does.

The Sympathy Seekers

Similar to The Beggars, these guys are the ones who usually post something like this:

“That’s it! I’m done with Facebook! I’m going to delete my account!”

And they do this about once a month. They’re always in such desperate straights and need constant stroking. But then again, who doesn’t?

The Campaigners

These are the people who are always asking for help, and they’re usually raising money for their son’s or daughter’s projects. It usually goes something like this:

“Hey guys! Seth’s Traveling Soccer Tots Team is raising money for new uniforms! We need $27,892.17 so we can have the best uniforms in the tri–county area! Please help!”

Or maybe:

“Hey Facebook friends! Erin’s Tumbling Team, the Fabulous Tumblebugs, are selling solar-powered ceiling fans to raise money for new mats. We need your help!”

And so on and so forth.

The Ranter

Ah, The Ranter. The Ranter is entertaining and horrifying at the same time. Here’s a sample rant:

“Listen bitch, you know who you are and I’m about to get real all up in your ass. You think you can f*ck with me? If you can’t say it to my face, blah-blah-blah . . .”

You’ve read these posts before. Fun as hell to read. You feel as if you’re about to witness a homicide. On the other hand, 99.9% of these morons are hiding behind their computer screen and wouldn’t dare say it to the person’s face, so there’s that.

The Insomniac

You’ve all read this, posted at 3:00 A.M.:

“Why am I still awake?”

I don’t know, maybe the glow from your smart phone is keeping you awake? And why do you feel the need to tell us?

The Sickly and They Want You to Know It

These folks feel the need to tell us every detail of their medical problems:

“I’m going in for my colonoscopy tomorrow! Wish me luck!”

Listen, I don’t wanna hear about the pus-oozing boil on your butt-cheek, alright? A simple “I have a medical problem, keep me in your prayers” will suffice. Thank you.

The Sickly and They Don’t Want to Spend Money on a Doctor

These people usually post something along these lines:

“Anybody know what causes tiny, red, painful lumps in my groin area? It’s not for me, it’s for my Uncle Bernie.”


The TMIers

These guys think we want to know where they are every waking minute and give us way too much information. It’s like they use FB as a diary. Some samples:

“At Walmart buying diapers”

“Ironing clothes. Yuck” or maybe . . .

“Can’t stop picking at this scab on my armpit.”

Yeah, you get the picture.

The Excited Person

The excited person is very excited. They use a lot of exclamation points and all caps:

“Going to King’s Island tomorrow!!! CAN’T WAIT!!! WOOT!!!”

On a related note, I’m still not clear on what “woot” means.

The Recipe Posters

This seems to be a fairly recent occurrence, the recipes for Mom’s Mississippi Mudcake and whatnot. Not sure why, but they seem to dominate some people’s Facebook pages. Relatively harmless unless the recipe is something along the lines of “Uncle Dwight’s Mystery Log” or something like that. Yes, I went there.

The Inspirational Quotes Poster

I put these people in the same category as the recipe posters. Every day we have a different inspirational quote such as, “I’m not the best but I’m trying my best” or “Sometimes all you can do is laugh to keep from crying.” Stuff like that. The ladies also seem to enjoy posting quotes that usually rip men in one way or another. Stuff like “A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.” Burn!

The Perfect Family

These are the folks who are constantly telling us how wonderful their husband and children are, always posting happy family photos ad nauseum.  I admit I’m skeptical, but NOBODY’S family is that perfect, people. When I see these pictures I usually make a mental note to guess which kid is going to suffer from heroin addiction or go on a killing spree. Hey, I told you I was skeptical.

The “My Life is Better Than Yours” Posters

These Facebookers are the people who want to make sure we all know they have more money than you do, always posting pictures from their trip to the Dominican Republic or some other exotic location. Their Facebook cover photo is usually a shot of the beach in front of a Sandals Resort or maybe a pic of the happy couple ziplining through the rainforest. Precious.

The “What the hell are they saying?” Posters

These are usually young people who write in textspeak that I can’t understand. It usually looks something like this:

“I knw u wld rather spk 2 evr1 lk thiz n stead of rglr tlk cuz it mch ezr.”

Huh? And is it just me or is it more difficult to type incorrectly than correctly?  Prolly, rite? But maybe I’m being a h8ter. Woot!

The Lurker

The Lurker never comments, never “likes” anything, never posts a thing, but . . . they’re always there. You know who you are, Lurker.

The Gamer

The Gamer is the person who constantly sends requests to play games – Farmville, Petville, Mafia Wars 2, Bejeweled Blitz, blah-blah-blah. I’ve never played a Facebook game nor do I plan to, but that’s just me. Nevertheless, it seems that’s all a lot of people do. God bless ’em.

The Posers

This person posts daily selfies. Young girls doing the ducklips thing seem to be a popular move, but sometimes it’ll be a middle-age woman who still looks good in a bikini so she’ll put a photo up with the caption, “Hanging out at the pool with the kiddos!”, ostensibly to show her happy family but in reality to advertise how good she looks with her store bought boobs and plastic face. I swear I’m not thinking of a particular person here. Or am I?

The Shameless Self-Promoter

These are the arrogant jackasses with their own websites who use Facebook to shamelessly post links to their site, which is usually full of inane, mindless drivel. Wait. Never mind.

So there you have it. My 21 people of Facebook. I’m sorry if I offended anybody, but not really. As they say, if the shoe fits . .

PS- You know who my favorite Facebook people are? Those who post photos of their dogs.