By the time you read this, our annual day of taxation will have come and gone, and you'll have already kissed your money bye-bye as you mailed the government your "fair share" of sweat and tears. But instead of dwelling on the rising tax rate or the marvelously insane tax code, let's try to do something fun with this annual nightmare. Let's imagine where our money is going!
I bet you haven't gone a month in your life without hearing someone ask, "Why did the chicken cross the road?" People love jokes – the cornier the better – and that old poultry joke just keeps popping up. But I think this yuk-yuk might finally be reaching the end of its shelf life.
"What would a perfect world look like?" This seems like such a simple question, doesn't it? We think we know what "perfection" means, but let's play a game just to see how difficult this concept really is. We'll start with a simple test: "Would a perfect world have termites?" My wife used to joke about termites "cranking up their little bulldozers" and starting to work. We laughed about that, but we had no problem spraying the little buggers silly when they invaded a spot in our garage. In my perfect world, I wouldn't have to worry ...
An officer of the law asked if he could share the table where I was chowing down on a mound of North Georgia BBQ. It was a big table, and the joint was packed, so the other diners and I scooted over and let our new guest settle in. "Y'all aren't carrying guns, are ya?" asked the man in uniform. When we assured him we'd left our firearms at home, he said, "I feel naked if I don't have my gun with me." We ate, enjoying our small talk and the best BBQ I've eaten ...
People who work around radioactivity wear those little gadgets called dosimeters to detect if they've been exposed to an unsafe level of radiation. I think it sure would be helpful if we had dosimeters for other uses in our lives. For instance, wouldn't you like to know that you've been exposed to an excessive level of shopping on any given weekend? And what if a dosimeter could warn you when you've ingested a near-lethal dose of AM talk radio? I think we could find about a million uses for these little gadgets. ... or at least enough ...
You probably know by now: I'm a complete rabble-rouser who can't stand traditions that get in the way of a meaningful life. Today, I'm going to eviscerate the holiday where we're supposed to be "thankful." Yes... I know we just celebrated Valentine's Day, and Thanksgiving isn't until November, but I want us to look at how we're being manipulated by this holiday. We're told to "Be thankful on this special day," but we're bombarded with sales, sports, parades, and all manner of distractions. Do you remember what you were thankful for ...
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"Why did the armadillo cross the road?" is a trick question, if I judge armadillo road crossing skills by what I've seen on the interstate this summer.
I'm not trying to move in on Heloise's turf, offering snappy "household hints" to my readers, but we're chasing dust bunnies and candy wrappers with our vacuum cleaner, and I wanted to share a few of my own cleaning tricks.
I had a bit of time to burn last week and wasn't totally sure what I'd do with my short taste of freedom, so one of my friends asked, "Don't you have a 'Honey Do' list?"
She was a beauty, resting just a few feet away from me on the main drag that goes through downtown Athens, sitting there soaking up the warm summer rays.
As I write this, it's raining in Conyers and Covington.
As I write this, it's raining in Conyers and Covington.
I overheard something funny as I was munching on a sweet snack last month. I didn't catch much of the conversation, but I did hear, "I need hot fudge." I thought it was hilarious.
Editor's note: Columnist David McCoy is on vacation. This column was originally published in 2011.
Do you remember that 1970s movie called, "The Way We Were," with Robert Redford and Barbra Streisand? I didn't see the movie, but I remember the title because Streisand sang the theme song on the radio, over and over and over.
Have you ever encountered incompetent handymen? Maybe you wanted a few damaged roof shingles repaired, and instead, your hired hands installed new toilet seats in your bathrooms because they were too afraid to scale the roof.
Last week, while out of town and staying in a hotel, I had a most exasperating experience. I was snoozing away in my fluffy rented bed, and when it came time to wake up, I didn't quite make it all the way. I woke just enough to see a little bit of sunlight, and a glimpse of the walls, but nothing looked familiar, so my brain stayed closed for business. That's when I had the notorious, "Where am I?" experience. I didn't know where I was. I didn't know the state, the country, the day, the ...
Last week, while out of town and staying in a hotel, I had a most exasperating experience.
If you're a man who's been invited to a wedding, you need to heed my advice so you know what to do at these alien affairs.
As a kid, I hated Sunday mornings with a passion I now reserve only for unimaginable evils such as genocide and raw onions. Sunday - "the day of rest" - was far from restful for me, and I blame it on a weekly ritual, "dressing up for Sunday school."
Let your mind wander back to kindergarten, and think about those simpler times and all the fun you had. It doesn't matter where you come from; you have to admit that kindergarten was fun. You played with toys, sang songs, colored pictures of fire trucks, and learned radically new concepts like sharing and the letter Q.