March Madness: ESPN Used Actual Lunatic To Predict 1st Weekend Of Tournament

*This is one of my satirical news articles for the website Newslo.com which was never published due to content, space, timing, or political intrigue. So, enjoy! And remember: THE BOLD PRINT = TRUE FACTS...

BRISTOL, Conn.—In an NCAA tournament that has seen an 11^th seed, three 12 seeds, and a 14^th seed advance, you would have to be crazy to have predicted it all correctly. That is why ESPN, the self-proclaimed “worldwide leader in sports,” enlisted the help of 87 year-old Osiris Caulfield, noted West Virginia lunatic, snake wrangler, and coot.

ESPN’s Executive Vice President for Programming Norby Williamson has already seen his network use rats in a maze that went an impressive 15-1 on the first day of the 2014 tournament but has his money on Caulfield.

“The rats were impressive. They called Harvard’s upset of Cincinnati. They even called North Dakota State’s shocking upset of 5^th seed Oklahoma,” Williamson noted. “However, nothing could have prepared us for Osiris predicting the whole 1^st weekend correctly. He uses a method he devised that involves some sort of a divining rod, his glass-eye, and loads of tobacco juice.”

It was slow going for the noticeably deranged Caulfield in the beginning. When ESPN producer Chet Stevens first put the bracket in front of him, he began to cackle maniacally and pick winners that had not even made the tournament.

“Well, the first sign of trouble was when he had Duke losing their first round game to the Confederacy,” Stevens said. “But after we told him he had to choose between the two teams playing, he threw an old prospector’s pan at my production assistant and picked 14^th seed Mercer to beat them… We all thought he was crazy until Mercer actually beat Duke 78-71.” Adding, “Then, he bit off a small piece of my left hand and we remembered he was, in fact, insane.”

Billionaire Warren Buffet has been impressed by Caulfield’s forecasts as well. Recently, Buffet partnered with Quicken Loans to give away $1 billion to anyone who can correctly predict the entire NCAA tournament. He confirmed in a conference call that since no one would win the competition this year, he would give the award to Caulfield if he remained perfect in his predictions.

Upon hearing the news, the irrational prognosticator demanded the prize be paid in whiskey and squirrel meat. He then paused thoughtfully, sighed, and offered Buffet himself $1 billion for a single night of passion. As of Monday, March 24, 2014, Caulfield’s and ESPN production assistant Grant Woodward’s whereabouts were unknown.

 

Childhood Obesity Falls 40% in Decade, Adjusted for Inflation

*This is one of my satirical news articles for the website Newslo.com which was never published due to content, space, timing, or political intrigue. So, enjoy! And remember: THE BOLD PRINT = TRUE FACTS...


ATLANTA—According To the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, obesity among children 2 to 5 declined by 40% in the last decade when adjusted for inflation. The data was published in the Journal of the American Medical Association this past week and shows a steep decline in childhood obesity rates from 13.9% to 8.4% after factoring in the steadily increasing CWI (Consumer Weight Index).

While many are viewing this as a significant step in the fight against childhood obesity, some are concerned with how the numbers were calculated. Dr. Hans Fleischer of the CDC defended the findings.

“We used standardized data collection and adjusted the numbers with societal trends,” said Dr. Fleischer. “We do the same thing with height. For instance, you wouldn’t call a 5’9” man tall in 2014. However, he would have been giant just a short two or three hundred years ago.”

Dr. David Ludwig of Harvard School of Public Health in Boston was cautiously optimistic stating, “Nevertheless, if real, the lower prevalence among young children would be an encouraging sign that national pediatric obesity prevention efforts – though still grossly inadequate – may be having some impact.”

While childhood numbers may be going down, 2/3 of Americans are still considered overweight. The CDC warns this is a double-edged sword when considering the dangers of both heart disease and having to consume more alcohol to find someone sexually attractive.

Still, epidemiologist Cynthia Ogden told Reuters Health, "The rapid increase in obesity we saw in the '80s and '90s has definitely slowed. There's some glimmer of hope in the new data in relation to the 2 to 5 year olds."

Dr. Fleischer of the CDC continued, “The raw data may be troubling, but it really starts to shape up after the inflationary adjustments. We also use a method borrowed from the Department of Labor. They don’t count someone who ‘gives up looking for work’ as unemployed. So, we don’t count a child who is no longer ‘looking to lose weight’ as obese.” Adding, “Peter Pancakes can go back to eating seconds at the dessert bar and my data looks better. So—win/win.”

 

Bill Nye And Creationist Ken Ham Debate True First Day Of Spring

*This is one of my satirical news articles for the website Newslo.com which was never published due to content, space, timing, or political intrigue. So, enjoy! And remember: THE BOLD PRINT = TRUE FACTS...

 

LOUISVILLE, Ky.—Bill Nye “The Science Guy” squared off in another highly rated debate with creationist Ken Ham grappling over what should be considered the true first day of spring. Nye supported the commonly held March 20^th as the vernal equinox while Ham’s biblical interpretation contended spring actually began over 247 years ago.

Nye recently argued evolution’s case in a debate at Ham’s own Creation Museum in Kentucky. And while Ham advocated a literal interpretation of the story of Genesis, he also insisted the earth was only 6,000 years old. In this second debate, Nye stated the first day of spring is the point where the sun crosses the celestial equator as expected. However, he was noticeably shaken when Ham firmly maintained that spring began in the year 1767.

“The old testament is very clear on this matter. The glorious season of spring, earth’s rebirth, began almost a full decade before American independence,” Ham said to a supportive audience. Adding, “—Just after the extinction of the dinosaurs.”

Nye failed to regain the audience’s attention with several diagrams of the earth tilting on its axis. He explained that while spring begins at 12:57 pm EDT on March 20^th in the Northern Hemisphere, the Southern Hemisphere is just entering its fall. And that is when Ham pounced.

“I’m more interested in the ‘fall of man’ then when a ‘man thinks it’s fall,’” Ham rebutted to thunderous applause. He also argued that, at the time of the debate, there was no compelling evidence that the Southern Hemisphere even existed.

Nye admitted later that he found it difficult debating the creationist, “Whenever his argument falls apart, he just says ‘God works in mysterious ways’ or ‘Uh—it’s magic!’ How are you supposed to argue with that?”

Many in the scientific community have condemned Nye for giving Ham a platform for his beliefs. And it seems that the global media coverage helped Ham’s Creation Museum actually secure funding for his Noah’s Ark theme park featuring a 510 foot replica of the vessel and a “begetting booth” where brothers and sisters can “repopulate the earth.”

“It was a challenging time, one that on a human level required a miracle to overcome,” Ham said of the near collapse in funding of his “Ark Encounter.” “And God in His providence supplied our needs—in the shape of a bowtied nerd.”

 

 

 

Dutch Prostitutes Finish First At Olympics

*This is one of my satirical news articles for the website Newslo.com which was never published because of content, space, timing, or political intrigue. So, enjoy! And remember: THE BOLD PRINT = TRUE FACTS...

SOCHI, Russia— Dutch Prostitutes are demanding the same retirement benefits afforded professional footballers in the Netherlands and used the recent Olympic games to prove they are every bit the athletes. It was revealed this week that the Dutch juggernaut that dominated Olympic speedskating was comprised solely of these prostitutes.

The Netherlands won 23 of 36 medals in the speedskating events in Sochi. Andre Bolhuis is the President of the Dutch Olympic Committee. He confirmed Monday in a conference call that this was accomplished by exclusively using prostitutes and supported their cause.

“Holland hookers proved they are world class athletes and deserve the same retirement considerations our footballers get,” said Bolhuis. “At first, we thought we couldn’t afford to bring them to Sochi, but their patriotism allowed for some discounted overnight rates.”

Wil Post is an attorney and advocate for the retirement reforms. He added, “Footballers and prostitutes both do a difficult physical job that they cannot do their whole life. Therefore, they would like to be able to save as much as they can.”

ESPN got to the bottom of why these racy racers make such excellent speedskaters. Their show “Sports Science” uncovered that the saucy skaters had developed abnormally strong core, thigh, and gluteus muscles from years in the sex-trade in a segment entitled “Whore-Able Skaters.”

Prostitutes in the Netherlands already qualify for unemployment benefits and a state pension. These reforms would also allow them to put up to 5,000 euros a month into a tax-free pension account like Dutch footballers. Their skills, stamina, and explosiveness on the ice and, reportedly, back in the rooms at the Olympic Village support their case.

The Dutch even considered using the prostitutes in the sliding events, but they knew they would be no match for the Americans. The US dominated luge, bobsled, and skeleton with 7 medals. These events have been gaining popularity in the US as more Americans demand sports that allow you to sit or lie down.

The Dutch Coach Jillert Anema, however, was more than satisfied with the team’s performance in just the speedskating events. He watched as the Netherlands swept the women’s 1500m race and had another threesome of medals.

He exclaimed in solidarity, “These whores are the pride of our country! Tonight, the Red Light District shines gold!”

 

Overtime

            It’s been said that nothing turns a smart man stupid like action movies or a beautiful woman. Add sports to that and you’d have what physicists call a “Grand Unifying Theory.” So, you can imagine how happy I am, that it’s time for the greatest sporting event that only comes once every four years! I’m, of course, talking about the Presidential Election.

 Americans love being proclaimed winners and that extends to elections. For many, this means avoiding thinking about policies, choosing the side that most angers their parents, and checking in on Election Day to see the score. They are like the fan that doesn’t tune in until the Super Bowl but still somehow finds the passion to scream at the TV. Perhaps, it’s apropos that they’re also the ones who accost me in the beer line and ask me which team I’m “voting” for. It’s “rooting,” dammit. But, despite their lack of careful reflection on the issues, they still view their politics with the same blind zeal usually associated with bare-chested, face painted men whose telescoping nipples remind you that it’s below freezing in Green Bay.

I see thoughtful discourse replaced with foam “We’re #1” fingers across the political spectrum. You see, I spend my time between New Braunfels, Texas (a quaint town that still refers to its mayoral administrations as “Reichs”) and “The People’s Republic of Austin.” So, I’m always the liberal or the conservative in the room depending upon my latitude. And, sadly, I’m not immune to viewing the race as some sort of sport myself.

Recently, I was playing with an electoral map online. I was able to see polls and hypothetically give states to candidates. While I predicted each state’s winner, I saw the candidates’ totals percolating up to the required 270 Electoral votes. Then, I realized my first attempt had produced a 269-269 tie… Oops.

I quickly tried to recall the tie-breakers from high school government class. I had to go back that far because my college assumed I already knew this stuff. Lamentably, I did not. Well, if we as a nation are going to view our politics as a sport, the least I could do is know the overtime rules. So, I looked them up.

As many of you know, it would be decided by the House of Representatives. I’ve already seen a Presidential election decided by the Supreme Court. So, it’d be nice to give another branch a try. Now, for extra credit, it would be decided by the newly elected House of Representatives but by a state-by-state vote. Each state’s delegation would vote with a needed 26 states for the win. If a delegation ties, that state’s vote doesn’t count. If no one has the 26 state majority, the Vice President that the Senate chooses will serve as President until the House comes up with a winner.

Now, it gets interesting. Democrats only have 53 votes in the Senate if you ostensibly include the independents that caucus with them. However, many expect them to lose seats. If there is a 50-50 tie, guess what. It goes back to the House! With no President or Vice President, the Speaker of the House would be elevated to the post. So, President Boehner?

As college football analyst Lee Corso might say, “Not so fast, my friend!” If John Boehner accepts the job, the House immediately elects a new Speaker. When the deadlock is broken, he’d go back to Congress as just another congressman from Ohio before he even had a chance to change the White House drapes.

So, if he refuses, it goes back to the Senate. Is it the Senate Majority Leader? Nope. The Majority Whip? Double Nope. It’s the Senate’s President Pro-Tempore, which is Latin for “What the hell?!” The Pro-Temp is a meaningless position- the miss congeniality of Congress. It’s usually given to the senior ranking senator of the majority party (because that chair is closer to the bathroom). This person would be elevated to the most powerful position in the world, while he sits on the White House porch yelling, “Hey, you kids! Get off my mall!”

But why not? Sports are about the underdog. Just remember that you heard it here first, when our next President is 88 year-old Senator Daniel Inouye. Maybe, Donald Trump will believe he’s from Hawaii? Regardless, we demand a winner and need some way of breaking a tie… I mean, besides counting the actual popular votes of course. That’s just crazy talk.

Diamonds Are Forever

     The other day, I made the mistake of paying attention while a friend of mine was talking. It’s an error that I commonly make with her. Now, she isn’t boring or wanting of intellect. And she’s not annoying either, for the sake of this conversation. The trouble is that she is quite the opposite. She can be pretty hilarious while recounting various tales. However, these yarns will inevitably involve any number of themes from beheadings to hospital mix-ups. At their cheeriest, you’re going to hear about a man with big-toes for thumbs.

     Anyway, she calls me and begins to tell the story of a poor woman whose deadbeat husband decided to smoke, inhale, ingest, and inject their savings in a manner resembling Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Leaving Las Vegas, and any number of other movies filmed in Las Vegas. Considering the amount of narcotics involved and the fact that he wasn’t a blue whale, it shouldn’t surprise you that the husband died. At first, I reacted to the woman’s plight but became uneasy when I took into account the messenger. This was too pedestrian a tale of woe to be worthy of the horror stories of ironic misfortune and just plain weirdness I’ve grown accustomed to. And that’s when she dropped the bomb. “So, apparently, in his will… His last wishes were to be cremated and made into diamonds for his relatives.”

     Pardon me?

     Yes, you read that right. Apparently, there is a service that will take your remains, purge the carbon, and make “tasteful” diamond jewelry out of you… After all, nothing says “Final Resting Place” like a tennis bracelet or a tasteful anklet. The thought of this was so foreign to me that I did a little research on the subject and the company LifeGem. According to their website, they need a good 8 ounces of hair or ash to get the ball rolling. After they have the needed hairball or ashtray full of the dearly departed, they can capture the carbon from the remains with technology “pioneered by GE in the 1950’s.” I assume they made these breakthroughs during the heated, but lesser publicized, “Turning-Your-Aunt-Into-Cufflinks-Race with the Soviets.

     After they have the carbon, they must “purify it.” I dropped out of Chem II in high school so I can only speculate this is to get out “the cat smell.” Once that’s done, it’s off to high heat and enough pressure to crack even the most stubborn of Brazil nuts. Then, just sit back and take in the compliments. One person wrote, “I had earrings made of my husband’s 2 Princess cut diamonds and have been offered money for them!” Now, the woman went on to write that they are not for sale, which is big of her, but you made your husband into Princess cuts? I like how that’s the part that jumped out at me. Linda in western Australia was given the continent’s first LifeGem on TV and became a “town celeb.” I’m sure her late husband would wish her to capitalize on this fame before Kangaroo-Boxing season begins.

     As I went through the countless testimonials, I really found myself getting used to the idea of doing this. I began to wonder how much it would cost to have someone close to me, who was obviously more loved than alert at busy intersections, made into one of these keepsakes. You can get any size between .1 and 1.5 Carats. However, this could range anywhere from $2,500 to $20,000! Of course, I am the youngest of a very large family. If money were no object, I could fashion one giant ring and take them with me wherever I go. Sure, onlookers would often mistake my great love for something gaudy or perhaps that I defeated the Buffalo Bills in a Super Bowl, but I would have my family with me.

     The company says that “LifeGem diamonds are molecularly identical to natural diamonds found in any high-end jewler…” I thought, “Except that they’re made from your slightly racist Uncle Lou who smelled of pastrami and cigars and didn’t buckle up.” You can also get your pet made into one too, you know. Just think, your dead pet ferret “Ferrets Bueller” would be molecularly identical to diamonds in any high-end store that wouldn’t be caught dead letting you in, much less your stinky ferret. I found it ironic.

     Apparently, there is a bigger market for this sort of thing than I thought. More research discovered a company in Alabama that promised to let you “Continue to protect your home and family even after you’re gone…” This is done by turning your ashes into fully-functioning bullets. This is not a joke. The company is called Holy Smoke… I’m going to pause here, while you climb back into your chair and wipe your beverage off the computer screen… Yes. Holy Smoke puts your loved one’s ashes into ammunition so you can blast would-be intruders with Grampa. Although, I’m not sure how you would react after you’ve defended yourself. Would it be in poor taste to ask for the bullets back from the hospital? What if your dead relative has just become evidence in a home invasion? I don’t know. I’m just happy that a region, often chided for its homophobia, has no problems with pumping a few rounds of Uncle Bill into another man.

     Well, I’m not big into guns. So, I guess I’d stick with the diamonds. Although, I’d never really want to own something that precious. While my relatives’ graves are not always near me physically, who they are is always with me… Plus, there is little chance of accidentally dropping one of their coffins down a strip club sink. But if I sound jaded, I apologize. I do have to admit that there were a lot of heartfelt and touching messages on that website. Truly. The more I read, the more I could begin to see where having a nice pair of Auntrings may help you through the grieving process. Having lost a parent years ago, I really don’t want to judge how anyone copes with their grief… For instance, for me, it’s thinking about people turning their relatives into jewelry. But seriously, I never knew how chemically accurate the old country song was. As it turns out, I AM an old chunk of coal! And, depending on the actions of my beneficiaries, I may just be a diamond someday…

A Breath of Fresh Chicken

     Austin is many things to many people. And whether you believe it to be an exciting town full of possibilities or a chamber pot filled with patchouli and unwashed hippies, everyone seems to agree we have some pretty good places to eat. The city is awash in aioli, racked with ribs, and glazed in ganache. For heaven’s sake, it’s the town that gave me my first taste of foie gras. And if you haven’t had it, imagine the logical conclusion of butter and bacon- where butter is an ignored housewife and bacon is home on shore leave after a long deployment. It is because of this bounty, I sometimes feel ashamed, or at least ungrateful, when the baser elements of Austin’s menu makeup my periodic table.

     With this admission, I recently found myself taking advantage of Wing Tuesday at one of the chain restaurants in town. Alone with my thoughts and man’s instinctual need for hot wings, I eagerly began to devour my order. Now, if you ask me, wing places should only be allowed to serve wings. This, or have a special room where people who aren’t eating wings are not allowed. This would be the male equivalent to those “women only” rooms at fitness centers. It would be a place where wing-eaters can be themselves without the judging eyes of someone nibbling on a wrap. Without this refuge, I had what many addicts refer to as “a moment of clarity” when I was slathered in barbecue sauce, looked up, and saw a pretty woman, eating a Cesar salad, and looking at me in horror.

     After hurriedly wiping the sauce/clown makeup off my face, I thought, “It’s a Goddamn wings place, lady!” Although, to her, it must have been like turning on your headlights on a dark country road and interrupting some wild-eyed predator in mid-possum. I shook this image from my mind and thought the “Whatever” of a recalcitrant teenager that doesn’t have a better retort. Besides, I had other things on my mind. While I was dealing with Judgy McSalad, I had literally inhaled a small piece of chicken. Now, I assure you, it was far more innocent than the picture I must have just painted. However, the fact of the matter was that I took a deep breath and a miniscule piece of chicken was sucked down.

     It’s truly remarkable how such a minute piece of chicken, when inhaled, feels like a 1964 Buick Sport Wagon in your throat. As I grabbed for my water, my mind actually debated if someone could drown from inhaling chicken and the probability of that person being me. It came back with “Maybe” and “100%…” When the cold water rushed down my gullet, it seemed to immediately do the trick. My heart slowed, and it was like the moment after an ice cream headache vanishes. You can’t believe that something that caused you such consternation just a moment ago was gone without a trace.

     This is why wings are best eaten alone or, at the very least, in the company of people you’ve heard fart. You can’t just go ordering them willy-nilly. In fact, they should be avoided at any number of situations from first dates to state dinners. Unless you’re dating a wolverine or hammering out a treaty with “Sven the Dismemberer,” you’ll be at a great disadvantage. I mean, if Reagan had wings during the START negotiations, it would have most likely invited a Russian invasion.

     By the time things had settled down a bit at lunch, I began working on my smart phone. “Working” is what I call looking very busy and important to the world while I play a game of Scrabble against the computer. While I did this, it began to occur to me just how difficult it was to eat wings with one hand while your other typed out the word “leper.” So much so, I eventually had to put the phone down altogether. I realized just how time-consuming it must be for a one-armed man to eat hot wings. I’m not kidding. I value these moments of perspective. Often, they’re wasted on my myopia, but not this time. And no prosthesis is going to be much help either- not with slippery hot wings. I imagine if The Fugitive’s wife’s assailant had wings for dinner, she’d still be alive today. Anyway, it’s an outrage. They should amend the Americans With Disabilities Act to force wing places to exclusively give drumsticks to one-armed patrons.

     Of course, there are other foods that I find difficult with the use of both arms. Crab is a great example of this. Now, I love crab the way Paula Dean loves saturated fat. However, I rarely order it. I’ve even been known to ask waiters about the crab, let out a dreamy moan of pleasure, and say, “That sounds great… I’ll take the Grouper.” It’s because it’s too damn hard to eat. It’s particularly frustrating when you look at the table next to you and a small, Vietnamese lady expertly pulls out about a pound-and-a-half of crab meat while talking about her window treatments. Despite it’s allure, I just don’t have the patience for it. I once read that morality was a sustainable system of determination between two competing desires. In these cases, my Gluttony is squared off against my Sloth in a middle-weight bout of Dante’s deadly sins. Sloth-1. Deadliest Catch-0.

     I feel the same way about Crawfish. I love it, but I’ll always eat something light before going to a crawfish boil. It’s more of an activity than a meal. For any reader who has never eaten crawfish out of its shell, imagine having to solve a side of a Rubick’s cube for a thimbleful of meat. Oh, and that meat may have a turd on it, but somehow, it’s okay. The way I figure it is that crawfish is the perfect diet food. You’re standing up at the table, cracking it open, using your right knee to keep a Labrador’s snout off the table, and consuming about 1/86^th of a pound of meat. You’re actually burning more energy than you’re consuming. Science has proven that you get over 97% of your calories at a crawfish boil from drinking a twelve pack of beer. For the uninitiated who thought this would actually be a lunch or a dinner, they throw in whole potatoes with the crawfish. Tell me, outside of Ireland, what other meal do people feverishly eat whole potatoes like apples?

     That being said, if you are invited to a crawfish boil, I wholeheartedly encourage you to go. It’s a wonderful experience. You’re outside, there’s music, you’re having fun with your friends, and did I mention the twelve pack? It’s also totally different from the wing situation. First of all, I’ve never seen Cesar salad served at a crawfish boil. And men, while it’s messy, it’s more of an activity. Apparently, that makes you “fun” and not like a honey badger ripping into a squirrel.

     Maybe, I should take the same approach to crab. One time, I was at a buffet in Vegas and they had a mountain of crab. It looked as though someone had cut it length-wise on a table saw, and all you had to do was scoop out the delicious meat with a Lilliputian fork. That was it. To me, it was a triumph of American ingenuity unequaled since the moon landing. It was such a beautiful sight, I imagined it being promised to on-the-fence suicide bombers after the 72 virgins didn’t seal the deal. After the initial euphoria, I made sweet love to the northwest face of Mt. Crustacean and spent the next hour regretting it in my hotel room. I guess, certain things are better off being hard to get. And perhaps, if I just learn to enjoy the journey, I’ll wind up enjoying the entire experience more. Then, the next time I catch the judging eye of someone at a wings place, I can just smile back.