The main problem is this: I’ve dreamt about meeting Jerry Rice no less than 7 times, and it happened again quite recently. Sometimes in these dreams we talk about football, sometimes we talk about family life. There is never any kissing. Being the analytical sort, I ask myself, "What does it mean that I'm so concerned about meeting someone who doesn't know or care about me?

Indeed, these are the types of questions which may seem interesting, but that we ultimately do not have time for, as the most important thing is to meet Jerry Rice. Something of a Catch-22, I think you’ll agree. I think you’ll also agree that creating a geometry proof to resolve this issue is the only reasonable course of action available.

Assumptions:

1. I created a Jerry Rice scrap book when I was 15.
   
   
2. Jerry Rice does not care about my scrap book.
   
   
3. The scrap book was a rectangle shape.
   
   
4. Jerry Rice is also a rectangle, in that he is void of all human compassion.
   

As you can see, I still have the touch.

Perhaps some of you have already met Jerry Rice. Good for you. Perhaps some of you don’t care to. Again, congratulations--maybe you would like a medal of honor. Perhaps some of you don’t know who Jerry Rice is. In this case, you will likely pay for your ignorance with an extended bath in the lake of fire.

If you were my eldest brother, you would meet Jerry Rice at the Seattle airport, as if meeting Jerry Rice at the airport is something that people do in their free time. To give you an idea, this is the sort of brother who follows hockey—-to my knowledge, he’s not even technically an American citizen. And after my timely call to US Immigration Services, he’s not even technically in the United States. It's not that I'm still bitter about him meeting Jerry, it's that I was bitter then.

Before anyone accuses me of not taking the proper steps to make my dreams reality, I submit the following evidence, which would easily hold up in a trial setting, it’s that good. I once drove 2 hours to a football-celebrity golf tournament only to have my hero skip out on the meet and greet portion. Why he would have no interest in meeting hundreds of other sycophants like myself is confusing, but then many of the things he does to hurt me are confusing. I have been to training camp, I have been to 49ers games. In two hours from now, I will have been to the hardware store for the purposes of purchasing “materials” which can be helpful when “kidnapping” someone, for lack of a better term.

I don’t want to give the impression that I’m some weirdo. The abduction scenario is still in the development phase, and may or may not happen. Is the man who plots to poison his wife and take her money considered a weirdo? Most would say no, because all of the thoughts are still inside his brain. They have not resulted in anyone being poisoned, such as the picture below, which shows one possible scenario:

Whatever happens, show this post to the District Attorney so he will know that my mind is normal, and I mean no harm. Plus, remember that some people poison themselves. It’s very common. Thank you.

Have You Recently Been Impregnated Or Impregnated Someone Else? Read This.

Let me begin by saying I don't think there's anything wrong with being pregnant in the strictest sense of the word. The problem lies in the unsatisfactory way that some people choose to relay this news. By contrast, the way that people become pregnant is mostly the same, and I think it would be inappropriate for me to criticize any specific technique.

Let's get right to the heart of it. I'm not a big fan of the method where your friend calls you for the purpose of relaying the baby news, but first asks you 20 questions about this that and the other, apparently to emphasize that you haven’t accomplished anything meaningful recently. Because if you had, you would’ve made a baby during the time interval in question. Sometimes they make me go on and on, too, like, "That’s it? Nothing new?"

Backed against the wall without answers, I almost never come through. “Uh...I just went to Baja Fresh…I think I ordered the combo meal…I can't even remember what I ordered now!"

Pregnant friend: "Well I made a new human being, like in the Miracle Of Life. I think you’re probably familiar with that movie. Yeah, made our own miracle is what we did." And they know it's the ultimate trump card. You can't beat that.

My sister recently became pregnant, but she wasn't coy about it. This is to her credit. She does a lot of other things wrong, so I'm glad she got this right. If you’re reading this, no harm, no foul homegirl. Hang in there, and try not to puke all over everything.

Maybe my friends who choose to share their news this way are just making sure I didn't recently contract a terminal illness that could threaten to put a damper on the proceedings. I can almost understand that. And believe me, I'm truly happy for them. I just wish they would tell me at the beginning of the conversation, so I could hurry up and be happy for them. It's like they're ashamed—what, now I'm gonna know you have sex with your wife? In some cases I guess that could be embarrassing to admit, but I have attractive friends, so that's not a valid excuse either.

If I ever impregnate someone, here’s my plan for sharing the news. When they answer the phone, I’m not even going to identify myself. I'll say, “Here's the situation, we made a zygote. The zygote has been genetically enhanced as well, you can’t touch that. I plan to teach it my best basketball moves. Questions? Boom, I didn't think so. Father Abraham out!” Click.

This method will allow me to open and close the conversation with some flair, without drawing attention to the fact that my friend hasn't managed to spawn even one sentient being since last we talked, whereas I have.

As a side note, I can just hear my mom right now as she’s reading this. “Well at least your friends know how to HAVE babies. You sure have a lot to say about it for someone who hasn’t managed to produce any offspring. Maybe you should have a kid first and then talk about what you might talk about when it actually happens, which I doubt it will.”

She can be a sardonic old bird when she's inspired. She’s top-drawer though, let’s be clear. Quick shout-out to mama lion: Breast feeding! Poetry! (she likes that stuff)

In closing, I’m not nearly as petty as this writing might indicate and I realize that having babies is not a competition. Unless you're Mormon, then it's game on. Finally, I want to emphasize that I'm not blaming the babies themselves—they're mostly unwitting bystanders in this whole thing. Most of the time they can't even see what's going on, because it's so dark in there. So don't try to turn the blame on them. I'm not saying you are, just watch yourselves. Thanks!

Monday at work I kicked my shoe off into the wall, leaving a rather noticeable divot. Let me give you some background on this one, so it doesn't sound stupid. Deal is, I was attempting to kick a wadded up piece of paper off the wall and into the wastebasket, ricochet-style. The wall was at quite a distance, so I had to do my power kick. At this point my shoe separated from my foot at a speed that can safely be described as mach 3.

Spectacularly unsuccessful, yes. But I also learned something. I learned that a considerable amount of damage can be inflicted by someone with ostensibly full control of all motor functions, which led to Musing #1 below. What good is an experience if it does not give rise to new musings?

Musing #1 What if you had a disease where one of the symptoms was lack of muscle control? One of the immediate downsides I can see is that you probably wouldn't want to walk through Walmart or other low-income neighborhoods, as these areas are often associated with gang life and poorly-planned pregnancies. If your arms were spazzing out all the time, you might throw inadvertent gang signs, and they would likely be the wrong ones, odds are. If so, see you on the other side, because now you have bullet holes in your lungs. Worse still, when some gang member steps to you, you can't even take it back–you're just flailing around flashing signs that are making his blood boil. It would be like "no uggh...urgh..I'm not a Crip, I swear (throws perfect Crip sign) ow! stop shooting me!" and so on. If you think a hard core rider like that will go easy on you because you're disabled, think again. He didn't get to be a gang member by giving disabled people a free pass.

No, the only conceivable option is to join 5 or 6 gangs at once to avoid the possibility of getting shot. I think that would work.

After that thought, I got on a roll and started to muse without limits or regard for social constraints. For example:

Musing #2 What if you were an Iraqee with only a small transistor radio, and no dial-up internet. Then let's say your radio cuts out in the middle of the latest news report, so all you hear is the newsman saying "There are apparently going to be no... bombings and death from now on in Iraq", but really he was saying "There are apparently going to to be no-thing but bombings and death from now on in Iraq." Talk about getting your hopes up for no reason. I think there's a lesson there about not counting your chickens until they hatch. And verify all news reports.

Musing #3 What if you were a single mother and you were scheduled to have dinner with the Dalai Lama on a mild summer evening. That would be interesting in itself, but there's more. What if by coincidence, that night was also your baby sitter's prom night. No one cancels on the Lama, so you try to make the best of it. And that’s a good call because maybe chilling out in a state of Nirvana would help you with your muscle control problems, if applicable.

Anyway, then your baby starts to cry. What now? Well, I didn’t come up with a good solution. It would be a very uncomfortable situation, I can tell you that much.

#4 Now for my grand finale musing: What if the entire earth was just a speck of dust on some giant’s shoe? No one’s thought of that before, so boom–more inventive thinking. If you have any musings of your own that are helpful and productive, feel free to share them. On the other hand, if all you can think of are references to wars or gang life, you can keep those to yourself. Show some class. Thanks!