Quirkee.com

Records are meant to be broken. Just last month, a guy in Southern Chicago broke the record for eating the most hot dogs in an hour. I don't know if this is true, and it probably didn't happen at all. It just seems every weekend a contest is held to see who can shove more wieners down their throat than the last guy. Who will be crowned the king of gluttons? These kinds of records belong to Ripley's, and should not even be made a public event, in my opinion.

Other records are more legit. Take for example, all the swimming records being shattered at the Beijing Water Cube by Michael Phelps and Team USA. "I believe that boy is part fish," my wife commented after Phelps won his 9th Gold Medal. I added, "He's like the Shaquille O'Neal of the swimming world. He's 6 feet 7 inches tall, for Pete's sake! By the time he jumps in, he's halfway to the other side of the pool. That's like throwing a shark into a living room aquarium!"

You know how some people are unflappable? I'm not one of them. I'm very flappable. I'm flapping all over the place thanks to incidents that occurred during my sexy hot trip to Southern California, which turned out to be a one-day jaunt to the teeming and ever-busy Chicago O'Hare airport and back again to Cleveland, which I was trying to get out of for a fun, relaxing trip to sexy hot Southern California, if you follow me so far.

I had scheduled a trip to Los Angeles, to stay four nights and three full days. This was a rare and exciting thing for me, not to mention expensive. I left my home early on May 20, hopping on the rapid. The ride to the airport was fine; indeed, it was the best part of the trip. I gazed at the glum scenery and felt a wave of affectionate condescension. "I'm going to be on the beach of the Pacific Ocean tomorrow," I thought, "and these people are going to be grousing around on Triskett Road, which is too bad. Heh, Heh."

A friend of mine recently got Wii^TM. Don't worry, it's not terminal.

Okay, you haven't been living with a family of technophobes under a rock for the past five years and you know that Wii^TM is an interactive videogame that is only slightly less popular than Barack Obama. In fact, I hear that the Wii^TM people are planning a new game that simulates voting and tells you how many calories you burn every time you pull the lever. (Don't you just love the little ^TM ? I'm going to start including^TM on everything, including my name^TM just so I feel important^TM.)

As I was getting in my car the other morning, I noticed a most distressing sight. The oak trees lining the parking lot were displaying a palette of greens, and various shades of yellows and reds. “Seriously?,” I thought. “That early?”

Indeed, it was true. I closed my eyes, and in the time it takes to blink came the stark realization that Summer is coming to an end, and Fall is just around the corner. I do love Fall – it’s my favorite time of year; but I haven’t even stepped foot on a beach or – otherwise truly enjoyed the Summer. How can it possibly be the dog days already? Ya know?

I remember when my medicine chest was full of fun stuff like perfume, eyeliner, and Rolling Stones concert tickets I was hiding from my parents. Today though, it's mostly full of lotions and creams with the phrase "anti-aging" somewhere on the label (usually it's the only thing in a type size I can read).

There in the right hand corner next to my hair mousse (I use mousse instead of spray because saying "mousse" makes me feel hip) are two bottles of stuff, one that guarantees to "reduce the signs of aging by 61% in one week" and one that guarantees "84% more youthful skin in three days." The question is: if I mix the two, can I actually turn back time and look like I did in a previous life? Maybe when I was Cleopatra?

As I was getting my hair cut recently I looked down at the tufts of silver hair on the barber's bib and thought in disgust, "They could have shaken that old man's hair off before they put this thing on me."

Then I saw the hair falling from my own head matching the scorned tufts. So this was it. The beginning of the end.

I thought about having to get brown hair coloring, like the guy on the Grecian Formula commercial, who after dying his hair kept an unsmiling picture of himself with gray hair on the mantle for comparison purposes. Where was I going to get a picture like that? Did I have to get a mantle, too, or was it all right to put the picture on an end table? And how gradual was the hair re-browning process? Would my entire head turn an unnatural, Ronald Reagan copper-brown, and look like I was wearing some dimestore wig.

To Whom It May Concern:

Happy Independence Day from Guantanamo Bay! Tonight, the folks in charge of pyrotechnics get to strut their stuff! I am here with three other comics, and as of our third and final show last night, our work is done. Word has it that according to the big brass (commanding officers) our stand up shows were such a success that the C.O. of GTMO, Captain Mark Leary has invited us on a rare tour of Camp X-Ray. Not to sound corny, but not many people can say, "Independence Day, Guantanamo Bay, Camp X-Ray." I think I will someday write a song.

As a treat, the event coordinator loans us a van for the entire trip. We come and go as we please and take turns driving each other to our shows or to run errands and whatnot. Today, Scotty K drives us to the detainee camp. He snaps one last picture of a sign that says, "All Cameras And Video Equipment Will Be Confiscated Beyond This Point." Nice one, Scotty! We are cleared at the gate, and are led to a bus where we meet up with the rest of the tour group.