Crazy Like a... Cow?

Sometimes you see a story in the news that makes you want to flick yourself in the eyelid to make sure you haven't drifted off to the land wacky dreams, where chickens eat people and cliffs that people stumble off lie around every corner. This is that story.

For those of you too lazy to click on the link, the gist of it is that a woman apparently decided to celebrate All Hallows Eve a bit early. She dressed up in her finest holstein costume and took to the streets. Unfortunately, instead of going door-to-door soliciting for Sugar Babies, she decided to chase real children. In other words, she whiffed in the pursuit of treats.

Oh, but there was a trick involved. In apparent effort to fully channel her inner bovine, she showed no regard for personal privacy and urinated in a neighbor's front yard. Thankfully, the lawn received no fertilizing.

As one who often attempts (and fails) to conjure up humorous stories, this serves as a reminder that sometimes fiction just can't compete with reality.

The whole situation is extremely bizarre, but I implore you to go back and read the story linked above again. Pay particular attention to the final line...

...

...That's right. A woman wreaks havoc in a neighborhood by chasing children around and peeing in a neighbor's yard, yet the big unsolved mystery in this report is the motivation for her wardrobe.

Honestly?

It's Witchcraft

In the eyes of a sports fan, there are many things that might seem evil. The ever-increasing price of tickets, the deep pockets of the New York Yankees, and the management decisions of Al Davis are all fine examples. Yet, none of them can really top this.

I realize I'm a little slow in getting to this story (I blame the economy), and for that I apologize. Nonetheless, it seems that the teachings of Hogwarts* have finally transcended the magical competition of Quidditch* to influence mainstream sports.

*I use these terms with severe trepidation. As one who has never read the tales of young Mr. Potter, I don't really have any clue what I'm talking about. Of course, this has never stopped me before.

Although the ensuing riot was certainly no laughing matter, the idea that world of Bedknobs and Broomsticks** may be merging with the world of non-animated sports has me intrigued.

**Yes, I'm hip to Academy Award winning Disney musicals from the 1970s. Hello, icebreaker.

Imagine if the Chiefs signed a safety that could cast a spell to turn opposing players into animals.

Announcer 1: Here's Rivers back to pass, he spots Tomlinson open in the flat, but, ohh, the ball bounces right off of him. It seems he turned into some sort of sheep as the pass was in the air.

Announcer 2: You're right, Jim. And while he may now be enjoying the abundance of grass on that field, those cloven hooves sure aren't much for catching passes. Oh mercy.


Perhaps a Royals pitcher could inflict temporary blindness on an opposing batter, forcing them to swing at anything they throw.***

***I'm fairly confident this spell would be conjured by saying, "abra-cadrez bat like Neifi Perez."

Then again, I guess I cannot be entirely sure that certain individuals in the world of sports are not already suffering from something brought on by combining eye of frog, toe of newt, and tongue of toad. (Please note: I'm referring to a spell... not indigestion.)

Surely the San Francisco Giants were suffering from some sort of curse when they signed Barry Zito to a seven-year, $126-million contract. Perhaps someone ought to double-check the ingredients of the cream and the clear for newt toes.

Furthermore, with witchcraft apparently becoming commonplace in the world of organized sports****, can the introduction of other mystical abilities into athletic competition be far behind?

****Does one rumored case of attempted witchcraft mean it is "commonplace"? For the purposes of this Writing, absolutely it does.

Will the World Series be decided by the pitcher that is stronger in the force? Or will the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl be scored by a running back that picked up Super Mario's invincibility star (or just the strength of the NES Nigerian Nightmare). It seems that only time will tell.

...Well, time and mystical fortune tellers.

 

The People in Your Neighborhood - At a Car Show

When one heads to a car show, one expects to see classic cars (that, or talking cars doing a comedy act of the Abbott and Costello variety... Who's Shifting From First, anyone?). If such were not the case, we would probably be dealing with a massive case of false advertising.

Thanks to this past weekend, I can attest that the number of unique, visually stunning vehicles parked at such a show can be overwhelming. However, there is another aspect - an unadvertised draw - that these automotive showcases feature. It's the attendees. The folks scoping out everything from engines to spoilers can be as different as the Model A and a '71 Stingray. Naturally, they're a crew prime for examination.

These are the people in your neighborhood...

-The guy with an uncomfortably warm belly
As someone who may be quicker than most when it comes to reaching the point of perspiration, I don't normally scoff at new ways to keep cool, but Mr. Warm Belly has taken things to a rather creeptastic level. When the temperature reaches the mid-80s but there's still several classic V8s to see, he fights off sweat by pulling up his grimy t-shirt and tucking it so that it stays snugly above his protruding gut. (The fact that there is actually somewhere to tuck his shirt above his gut tells you something about his physique.) I guess the basic premise of the idea seems close to conventional. After all, if your arms are warm you roll up your sleeves... But, the end result looks like something that would have most drivers shifting into reverse.


-The members of ZZ Top
Unfortunately, I cannot confirm that the actual members of ZZ Top were in attendance at this motor carriage extravaganza, but their look was popular enough that it left all those who are folically challenge in the face feeling inadequate.. I am pretty confident you would struggle to find this many chest-length beards at the World Beard and Moustache Championships.
The forest of facial hair was so thick that I fully expected to hear the familiar chords of "Sharp Dressed Man" and see the signature guitar flip as I searched to find some sort of purchasable sustinance that did not have grease as the primary ingredient (mission: failed).


-The power-walking guy with great fashion sense
Some people come to car shows for the cars. Some come for the company. Some come to ignore all else and power-walk laps around a park, all while sporting the latest in early-90s fashion: the fanny pack. What treasures lie inside this zipper-bound representation of all that is hip? (The Writings.. Your source for horrible puns.) Only this man knows for sure. However, my guess is that it's some sort of shoe in-sole, because he just started another lap.


-The multitasker
Being a father of three young boys would be no easy task. Of this, I'm very confident. Simply keeping the kids entertained would be a continual challenge. However, taking the youngsters on a bike ride around the park would be a good start. The kids would get the opportunity to be outside on a lovely day, and you would be able to get some exercise at the same time. And what is the logical way to get the most out of a healthy cardiovascular workout like a bike ride? Naturally, it's by enjoying a cigarette as you pedal along.

That's right, the multitasker gets his nicotine fix while cruising on his Huffy. Unfortunately, reports that he shotguns Budweiser while jogging or eats deep-fried Oreos by the handful while jumping rope remain unconfirmed.


-The fool who falls victim to a ridiculous sunburn that leaves his nose redder than a certain reindeer's and provides a farmer's tan that would have Old McDonald saying "e-i-e-i-oh crap"
This fool normally follows up such an event by writing about it in self-depricating fashion in his blog... Yes, I'm an idiot.

Quick Thought on an Ad... Well, Quick for the Author

Often, at some point in the course of an automobile commercial, you'll see the following text quickly flash on the bottom of your television screen: "Professional driver on a closed course. Please do not attempt." In most cases, this is an outstanding advice. Granted, that Saturn zipping through the winding roads on the countryside with no regard for traffic lanes or rules of the road may look to be enjoying itself, but if you go out and mimic this in your 1994 Ford Tempo odds are you may wind up flipped over in ditch or embedded in the grill of an 18-wheeler.

Recently though, I noticed a car ad that I feel should not put forth this message, no matter how small the text is. It features a large arena that appears to be some sort of 21st-Century Colosseum. A crowd of thousands pounds its hands in unison as some sort of motor carriage wheels out on the arena floor. Like Maximus Decimus Meridius on his way to another gladiatorial victory, the car moves slowly, as if it's absorbing the cheers of the crowd. (As best I can tell, the crowd does not refer to the car as "Spaniard.")

It is at this point that the "Do not attempt," message presents itself, like and unwanted magazine salesperson.

Honestly? This message is seen as necessary in this commercial?

Call me crazy, but if someone has the time, resources and motivation to:
1) secure a plot of land large enough for an arena that seats thousands;
2) design the arena;
3) acquire the materials necessary for arena construction;
4) construct the arena, following proper building ordinances;
5) hire thousands of people to sit in the arena;
6) have the crowd practice their uniform clapping and cheering;
7) and slowly cruise out to the center of the arena while the crowd does their part on cue;
I think they should be encouraged to follow their dreams. Granted, it's a pretty odd dream, but aren't those the basis of pretty much every reality show on television?

Something is Missing Here

Quick, think of the phrase you would least expect to hear while at a fast food restaurant.

I'll even offer up some examples:
- "Thanks for coming in, sir. We really appreciate your business."
- "Wow, that's an unbelievably clean restroom!"
- "So many healthy options. What do I choose?"
- "Well, time to go work out."

All are fine options, but try this one out: "Sorry, we're out of hamburger meat."

Alas, this very sentence - word for word - was spoken in my direction today, at an establishment that claims to be royalty in the court of processed bovine, no less.

Right now, you're probably asking yourself one thing (hopefully, it's not, "Why is he writing about fast food again?").

How does a fast food dining establishment that is known primarily for the hamburgers it serves run out of "hamburger meat"*? Has the king been too busy filming commericials to pay his bills? Did Ronald McDonald finally convince The Hamburglar to go after the competition? Maybe the capersome Chick-fil-a cows are moving their act to larger pastures.

*Something I like to refer to as "ground beef." Call me crazy.

This whole ordeal kind of threw me off, as an anti-Atkins diet just did not seem appealing. I quickly glanced around for hidden cameras, thinking I must have been in the middle of some commercial doomed to be ignored by millions. Seeing none, and noting the no-nonsense look on the register attendee's face, I realized that the events of this story were true, and my name was not being changed to protect the innocent. A menu with an abundance of options had now been cut down to offering chicken and salad**.

**Isn't going to a fast-food burger place for a salad kind of like going to Wal-Mart for a haircut? Think about it...

Fighting all notions of screaming in the inevitable terror that comes from a world without flame-grilled beef patties, I ordered a chicken sandwich meal and moved aside.

I was cooperative. Others were not. One man, upon hearing of the burger drought, declined the opportunity to place any sort of order and walked directly out the door. Where he was headed, I have no clue. But I hope it was someplace with so many greasy patties lying around that he could practice his butterfly stroke in them.***

***This sentence brought to you by the Awkward "Picture This" Moment Foundation. The APTMF - making you wish you couldn't read, one sentence at a time. 

With the fateful sentence running zig-zags in my head like a squirrel with no sense of direction, I walked home and ate my meal. The chicken assuaged my hunger, but my mind remained unsatisfied. My head swiriled in curiousity.

Would other businesses allow themselves to run dry of the very product they're name for?

Would Staples ever run out of staples?

Would a clerk at Blockbuster Video ever be put in the position of having to tell someone, "Sorry, we're out of movies. But you can still buy some of that outrageously overpriced candy"?

Could the folks at Ticketmaster get away with saying, "Believe it or not, we ran completely out of tickets. For everything"?

What if a store like Christian Books & Gifts ran out of Christian books... and gifts? It would be pandelirium.

As best I can tell, the situation is unprecedented and I'm still perplexed. I'd think about a Dairy Queen run to ease my worries with a bit of ice cream, but monarchs who rule from castles with drive-thru windows haven't been having the best day, it seems. They're probably fresh out of anything with milk.

Things I Don't Understand - The Return

It's true. The series near and dear to so many (or perhaps just two) hearts is making its return. My streak of unblemished clearheadedness has reached its inevitable end, and I'm back to my befuddled state (at one time thought to be my default setting). It's almost like I have come home (to a house with no door).

So, what events have left me feeling like a third grader from the Midwest trying to read Swahili? Read on...


One of these things is not like the other...

If you're like me (I realize that's a very dangerous qualifier, but stick with me), you grew up watching Sesame Street. Sesame Street, in its efforts to teach impressionable children with crazy puppets, occasionally featured a game called One of These Things is Not Like the Other. In celebration of Big Bird's upcoming winter migration (think of the mess he could leave on your windshield), it's time to play our own round.

One of these things is not like the other. One of these things just isn't the same. Please identify that thing now...
1. Pepsi
2. Pepsi
3. Pepsi
4. Diet Pepsi

Please, I encourage you not to feel rushed. Take as long as you need to weed out the black sheep.

... Got it?

If you picked Diet Pepsi, I would like to congratulate you. Sure, you may think this exercise was pointless, but I've got news for you... This test has proven difficult for a few of our friends in the fast food business. Twice in the past two weeks, I have ordered a Pepsi at the drive-thru of a Mexican fast food chain (hint: it features a device that rings in its name... No, Burrito Phone is not the answer), only to receive the inferior diet version of the soft drink in its stead. If dramatic music of the 'dun dun dunnnnn' variety was ever called for, this is the case.

Why does this soda switcheroo happen? Have I lost my Pepsi-drinking rights? Do the soda servers of America think I need to be even skinnier? Is the fast-food industry trying to feud with me? (You're not getting near the Fast Money round, Colonel Sanders!)

Obviously I'm perplexed, as the title of this very Writing implies. Granted, I have never worked in the fast food industry, but last I knew the buttons on soda dispensers featured colorful labels that clearly state what carbonated beverage will reach its mobile transport (e.g., cup) should the button be pressed. Alas, the only conclusion I can reach is that there is an unwritten code for those in the Society of Soda Servers (a surprisingly tough group to get into... I can't even get anyone to admit it exists) that every third drink must be dispensed with the server's eyes closed as he or she hums the theme song to Mission: Impossible.



Weather forecast? I'm sorry, I'm unfamiliar with the term...

When you live/work next to a college campus, you witness many things. Some might be ridiculous. Some might be funny. Some might be utterly mystifying... in a very foolish way.

Imagine, if you will, that you're a college student. Somehow you've lucked out, and your first class today is not until 1:30 p.m. This means that, if you really hustle, you don't even need to leave your apartment for class until 1:21 p.m. Not too shabby. Even if you had a late night, you can still sleep until noon.

My question for you, oh future valued member of the American workforce, is: At any point in the hour and 21 minutes that you're awake prior to your departure, do you turn on the television to check the weather? Or check it online? Or on your phone? Or do you walk by a window through which you can view the outdoors?

Forgive my inquisitive nature, but this hypothetical was reality around here recently, and I was not exactly impressed by the results. If it is post-noon and precipitation has been continually plummeting to the ground from the clouds above since the previous night, I am the type of person that expects people to be somewhat prepared for the weather. Umbrellas seem to be effective in such situations. If you're anti-umbrella, wearing something with a hood is a decent alternative. Even a jacket, sans hood, will be better than nothing.

Yet, the number of students seen sprinting through the rain in their t-shirts and shorts as if the storm had materialized within seconds was mind-boggling. Even if one exits their home unprepared for the rain, wouldn't they make note of the current weather conditions once they're out the door?*

*Possible inner monologue: "Hmm, there's precipitation falling on me in a repeated manner, yet I exited the shower an hour ago. If this continues as I trek to class, my clothing could be quite waterlogged by the time I sit down for Physics. Perhaps there's some way I can combat these basic liquid droplings from above."**

**I think I pretty much nailed the vernacular for the majority of college students today. It certainly wouldn't be simplified to something like, "Dude, it's raining. Where's my @#%#@$ hoodie?"

Maybe I just misundersood the reactions. Perhaps being drenched when you arrive at class is the "in thing," and the sprinting was actually a physical representation of their unsupressed joy to be conforming to popular style brought on by the ever-growing popularity of Michael Phelps... That makes more sense that just being ignorant of the current weather conditions, doesn't it?

Making Chicken Salad

When tasked to think of a name for a fantasy football team* yesterday, I was reminded of a quote that came about last summer. The Chiefs were featured on the HBO program Hard Knocks, as producers had yet to realize how horrendous their season would be. When it came time to cut a quarterback, Casey Printers - who called signals for TCU and Florida A&M in his collegiate career - was on the chopping block. The situation was unfortunate (especially considering the face that the Chiefs did not really have another decent quarterback), but his conversation with Chiefs' Director of Player Personnel Ray Farmer proved to be an entertaining one. Citing the talent (or lackthereof) of the players he had been taking the field with, Printers said it was difficult to be too successful when he "had to make chicken salad out of chicken s#!%."

Why am I bringing this up? If this blog had an editor who had to sort through all my random thoughts, he'd probably feel the same way.

*Derek's total number of fantasy football teams will be withheld, as he'd rather not have a concerned reader suggest he join a support group for those addicted to the ... uhh... sport.


Oh well, let's make some chicken salad...


- Occasionally (read: far too often), I'll come across something so bizarre, that I'm certain I have seen the depths of human stupidity. This should not surprise you, as I usually follow that up by writing about it. Tonight's example comes in the form of the TV show, Greatest American Dog. From what I gather, the show takes all the idiocy of every reality competition that has ever appeared on television and drags a bunch of poor, innocent dogs into the mix. Past episode titles include "Dancing with the Dogs," "Top Dog Model," and "Dog Swap." Thankfully, they decided against imitating Flava Flav's show. I think the title, "Flavor of Dog" may have received some backlash.

Currently, a woman is being interrogated about her relationship with her canine, and tearing up while answering questions. I enjoy dogs as much as most normal folks, but at no point in this interview were tears warranted. The pup never cried. In fact, the pup looked like he had realized that he's appearing on a version of David Letterman's Stupid Pet Tricks stripped of all (intentional) comedy, inundated with overbearing dog owners and judges, and dragging on weeks too long. Does PETA come to the rescue when psychological issues are involved.


- Speaking of dogs (of sorts), how does one go about becoming a bounty hunter? What's that job interview like? I like to think the interviewer is a corporate type, handling the situation solely as a manager of personnel, leading to the following:
Interviewer: So, are you willing to push the limits of the law to hunt down the dregs of society?
Interviewee: Dregs?
Interviewer: You know, bad guys.
Interviewee: Yeah, I'll whoop those $#%@$^@#%$!
Interviewer: Alright then, I'll just write "yes." Now I notice you are currently sans facial hair and sporting a shaved head. Are you willing to grow some sort of whiskers on your face and grow out your hair so it can be braided or crimped?
Interviewee: Crimped? Like bloods and crimps?
Interviewer: Uhh, just say yes.
Interviewee: You betcha', brotha.


- Speaking of reality shows, is it a bad sign that 70-percent of the shows on television seem to be of that genre. When I show up for my 25-year high school reunion, will "So, have you been on a reality show yet?" be a common question?


- I sometimes wonder what life would be like if I used the same logic as Netflix. According to their "Movies You'll Love" section, I will really enjoy the British TV drama series, State of Play because I enjoyed the American comedy series Arrested Development. Isn't this kind of like saying that I should love the taste of lamb hooves because I enjoy hamburgers? I guess if I ever buy a girl an antfarm because she likes flowers, I'll know I'm suffering from netflixation.


- I don't claim to be knowledgeable when it comes to the world of physics, but if you're currently reading this writing from the inside of a black hole, this is probably why. The Big Bang Theory may be a controversial topic (along with a mildly funny TV show), but I'm not sure anyone - be they a subscriber to the theory or not - should anticipate the recreation of anything that involves the phrase "primordial fireball." I'd rather have all flaming orbs on this planet limited to the Mushroom Kingdom, thank you.


- In my book, it's not officially an election year until a quote about a farm animal adorned with cosmetics has been completely overblown. Let the race begin!


- For the K-Staters out there, it's rough that there's no game this week. How does one fill the void? Hopefully this will help a little...

Mario Smith Hit

The Reason TVs Have Mute Buttons

Before I go anywhere with this Writing, I must make one thing as clear as your grease-soaked napkin after eating a slice from Pizza Shuttle: I would be an absolutely horrendous football play-by-play announcer. When it comes to the spoken word, I often wonder if my mind has a personal vendetta against my mouth; if my mind is secretly thinking "you'll feel like an idiot after this one, sucker" when providing the script for regular conversation.

That said, the return of football season has quickly reminded me that some play-by-play announcers occasionally seem to suffer from the same ailment (I refer to it as cranial-oral loathing). Even if you don't consider football personalities that have their own series of video games, there are still several things stated over the course of football games that either: a) don't make sense; b) are so obvious that they don't bear mentioning; or c) are completely inaccurate. It seems that the first Sunday of the football season is an opportune time to discuss these very verbal follies.


- "The pass is intercepted, and then dropped."
My two ears (that's right, despite my cartoon-sized head I still only host two ears) played auditory witness to this statement just minutes ago. Unfortunately for the announcer that dropped this bit of knowledge, "interception" means that actual possession of the "pigskin" by the defender occurred. Therefore, a subsequent drop would then be ruled a "fumble." This would mean, pending the recovery of the fumble, two potential turnovers on one play (i.e., something pretty exciting). Meanwhile, what actually occurred on the field was a near-interception, but ultimately a play that amounts to nothing more than an incomplete pass.

To put this in more scholastic terms for the students out there, this is kind of like saying you aced your quiz, but then misplaced it on your way to turn it in, when in all actuality you failed the quiz because you spent the previous evening watching Top Chef instead of studying.


-"It's an end-over-ender" (in reference to a kickoff)
My problem with this phrase does not deride from the fact that it sounds like a description of a hefty man falling down a hill. It's the fact that the statement is obvious. When kicking the ball down-field off a tee, it's pretty much a guarantee that the kick will travel end-over-end... It's common practice.

Imagine if you had dedicated your life to the study of pterodactyls and then someone began trying to capture your attention by sharing that the winged reptiles lived in the late Mesozoic and were known to have wingspans up to 40-feet. You'd probably wish to hear a member of the pterosaur family screech as it materialized out of thin air and whisked you away to someplace where you'd be away from such basic knowledge.** It's the same basic principle.

**The fact that the carnivorous pterodactyl would probably be taking you back to the nest to be fodder for its kin is ignored for this particular illustration.


-"He's out with a (insert body part here)"
Someone I have great tolerance for has covered this point already.


- "Nothin' doin'."
Thanks to the today's technology, this one is an actual reader suggestion (yes, people do apparently read this... I'm stunned, too). Thanks to Mr. Quatro Seis for the suggestion.

The problems with this phrasing go far beyond the fact that it renders the letter 'g' useless. It is also a blatant disregard for the usage of meaningful verbs. "Nothin' doin'" will commonly be uttered when a running play goes for little-or-no gain. Yet, even if no yards are gained, there still is, in essence, "somethin' doin'." Someone carried the ball. Someone was credited with the tackle. Someone in the stands probably looked like a fool reacting to it. These are "somethings" in my book (Derek's Chronicle of Determining Somethings... look for it on bookshelves soon).

The only time I want to actually hear that there is nothing doing, is if it's a true statement. If, through some unexplainable disturbance in the space-time continuum, time actually stops on the football field, but continually progresses forward in the announcing booth, then I'll accept "nothing doing"*** as a valid description.

***I won't compromise on giving the letter 'g' it's due respect. Without it, farmers who have both goats and oats would get pretty confused.

Ouch, my freakin' mind!

What do you get when you combine the mysticism of David Blaine, the wonder of David Copperfield, and an odd desire to pretend to be some sort of gothic figure? Nope, it's not the latest rumor of political scandal. It's the subject of tonight's writing.

In effort to satisfy a readership thirsty for an examination of the closest thing prime time television has to Houdini's Transylvanian cousin (Draculini?), it's time for an examination of Criss Angel's Mindfreak.

The show opens with a theme song that makes me feel as if I'm about to be trampled in a mosh pit, only to have people spit on me afterward... Fun start to the show.

The big event on tonight's episode is the "safe prediction." Apparently the so-called Mr. Angel makes some sort of prediction, locks it in a safe, only to have it shown a week later to a stunned crowd.

I have a different sort of "safe prediction." I can safely predict that this show won't become part of my regular viewing schedule.

Apparently, one of Criss' big tricks is the ability to grow a full Grizzly Adams beard on demand, as he did not have such an overbearing amount of facial hair in the previous camera shot. Sure, they're editing clips from different time periods in the same episode, but I like my imagination better.

Following the first commerical break (featuring the cartoon bears that advertise toilet paper... I've heard the phrase "Does a bear poop in the woods?" but the folks at Charmin taking things a bit too far), it's time for Criss (back to no beard) to demonstrate some telekinesis. The trick features a glass box, a pepper shaker and a pencil. Unfortunately, it seems that telekinesis requires more grunting than a U.S. Open tennis match. After he makes more noise than a grizzly settling for a non-Charmin brand, Criss finally gets the pencil to spin atop the shaker... Ooooh.

Commercial break two has passed, and now beardy Criss (who looks a bit like the Macho Man in his nWo days) is back and is looking for some viewer interaction. He gives some instructions, which end with the viewer touching the screen. Apparently those who touched it when he said to were supposed to feel something. I'm much to dedicated to my typing (read: lazy) to go up to the TV, thus the only feeling that struck me was the desire to change the channel.

Back to Criss* sans giant patch of velcro on his face, and we're nearing the conclusion of the "safe prediction." In the shock of the century, his prediction was correct.

*Wouldn't Criss Cross have been a better name than Criss Angel? Then the show could have a better theme song.


Because people love nothing more than creepy magicians, another episode follows. He begins by hanging out with The Girls Next Door and making the type of cheesy puns one might expect from a guy overwhelmed by large... personalities. Unfortunately, he kind of comes off like the guy who would hit on your girlfriend even though you're standing right there... Yeah, that guy.

One segment later, he performs a slight-of-hand with some business cards in a restaurant. The result leads one diner to say "Criss Angel for president"... Apparently he didn't realize Duck is campaigning.

The new president of the Beard Club for Men is now back performing a card trick. He's also sporting some sort of handcuff necklace and more rings than the sixth planet from the sun... Interesting presidential garb to say the least.

For his final illusion, Criss made actor Melvin 'Shorty' Rossi appear out of seemingly nowhere. Then again, where else can you come from when one of your film credits is All Babes Want to Kill Me?


Fighting all notions of logic in this world, another episode of Mindfreak has just started... Unfortunately my mind simply cannot handle any more "freaking." I'm off to work on my own illusion... I call it, "getting the last hour back."