MADRAS, India — C. Manoharan Snake Manu practices with a garden snake by running it through his nose and out his mouth in an attempt to create a Guinness Record. Manu plans to set the record by using a live cobra.

Seeing this picture is so funny, because it totally reminds me of when me and my friends get together!

We’re always makin’ sass and joshing each other. It’s not that we don’t like one another, it’s just that it’s sometimes more fun to poke fun and giggle than be serious. We’re like a barrel of apes on laughing gas, my friends and I.

Of course, when we aren’t making funny, we mostly spend our time pulling cobras through our sinuses.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve taken a poisonous, deadly cobra, inserted it into my nostril, and forcibly manipulated it until I was able to pull it out through my mouth. For me, it’s about the same thing as eating pizza. Now it looks like ol’ C. Manoharan Snake Manu from India has also found out about this trick. He’s stealing our thunder, and crying with joy about doing so, by the looks of it. That snake-snorting bastard. I oughta punch him in his genitals until he pukes cobra venom.

I suppose this just means it’s time for my buddies and I to come up with a new pastime to whittle away the hours when we aren’t out pullin’ some hilarious mischief. Maybe we could lop the tail off a rhino and try to run it through our nose while managing to elude the furious beast hell-bent on impaling us. Maybe we could try squatting naked into a vat of lime green jell-o. Maybe we could crush our thumbs in a vise. Hell, I don’t know. Whatever we do, it sure ain’t gonna be nearly as cool as cobra snorting.

Oh well. Times change. Hopefully C. Manoharan Snake Manu’s girlfriend won’t be horribly killed by a deadly cobra bite like mine was.

Greetings, young fools.

I apologize about the lack of entries recently. I’ve been occupied with job-related business as well as some new Welmore Mile recording. Aside from the fatalities, each have gone remarkably well.

A while back, I enjoyed an afternoon visit to the Minnesota State Fair. The fair is a wonderful place to observe the greasy, mulleted underbelly of the humanity, eat and drink until you’ve had your fill of gluttony and watch a performance by the Allman Brothers. Though I had to sadly miss out on my southern rock, I did enjoy the first two activities. I particularly enjoyed the foods offered at the fair, which consist primarily of cheese and meat variants, mostly deep fried, and preferably on a stick.

I came in and got started with some corn on the cob on a stick. Then I concluded my round of appetizers with a foot-long corn dog on a stick. Then I was on to the main course. Within 25 minutes I consumed a hamburger, a beef-kabob, and a turkey leg. For dessert I had a root beer float and a deep-fried Snickers. The weather was hot and muggy, I was surrounded with thousands of sweating, mustachioed mouth-breathers, and I was bloated and from massive grease intake.

Perfect.

I collapsed beneath a picnic table for nearly an hour, my breathing labored due to a 4-inch turkey bone lodged in my esophagus, as well as the 14 pounds of food now making its way through my intestines. I knew that I would have to be leaving shortly, and I didn’t want to waste my $9 admission fee, so I slowly waddled back into the fray, looking for more foods to engorge myself to death with. I eventually purchased a deep-fried pelican and ate the entire thing, pausing only to nibble around the spine, where the tastiest pelican meat tends to hide. The sea bird was tender and juicy, redolent of duck but with the added tangy crisp of a Butterfinger bar. By this point my shirt was stretched to the point where it now tore in two, and my hair was now slick with sweat and meat juices. As I was about to leave, I stopped at one last food stand where I deep-fried my left arm and ate my own skin and muscle off the bone. The man-flesh was succulent and moist, and I ingested my fill of myself…

Man, I can’t wait to go back next year…

After so many of you enjoyed my last children’s book, I’d thought I’d take the time to share another one with you. Again, these were done while I was in high school on a wonderful piece of software called Dreamweaver.

Today’s story is entitled: My Weekend Adventure

As I write this, I’m sitting at the computer a bit bleary-eyed and preparing to go out for a 2.5 mile run. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I do enjoy running and I do it with some degree of regularity.

I just wish I could go back in time and get another crack at the Presidental Fitness Awards.

Back in the day, the 1-mile run was the bane of my existance. I used to be able to do sit-ups and pull ups like a fiend - I often frightned my instructors and classmates with the intensity of my performance in those particular excercises. While doing pull ups, I would scream “GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!” at an alarmingly loud level. Once I completed the required number of pull-ups, I would drop from the bar, and crush concrete blocks with my bare hands before finally eating a crisp, delicious nectarine.

The shuttle run was another area of dominance for me. Back and forth I would run, while I and the tape-covered wooden block became as one. The other phy-ed students looked on in awe and wonderment as I effortlessly weaved between the lines as easily as taking a dump. On some occasions, I selected one special classmate and rifled the block at their temple after I had finished, knocking them unconscious and often causing permanent brain damage. What can I say? I’m a crowd-pleaser.

Don’t even get me started on the sit-and-reach. I’ll share only this with you: I’m able to reach almost 4 feet beyond my toes. Medical science has yet to be able to explain this.

I’ve written numerous letters to actor Christopher Lloyd, who portrayed Doc Brown in the Back to the Future trilogy to ask him about the possibility of developing another time machine, that I might go back in time to 8th grade with my newfound cardiovascular fitness and receive the Presidential Fitness Award that I so richly deserve. I am also hoping that Huey Lewis will accompany us. My advances have thus far been rebuffed, but next week I’ll be travelling to Lloyd’s Beverly Hills home and performing the shuttle run in his driveway until he relents. Soon enough I’ll be back from 1992 with my fitness award in hand and ready to enjoy the spoils of my life which has been infinitely enriched.

This is going to be so fricking sweet…

The other day I woke up at my regular time to get ready for work, and I noticed that I was a lot more tired than usual. I glanced again at my alarm clock and shrugged it off - I had been sleeping for over eight hours. I took my shower (for a detailed description of my showering habits, please send me a personal email and I’ll be more than happy to oblige), and grabbed breakfast before getting in my car and zipping off to work. About 15 minutes into my drive I happened to glance at the clock in my car and noticed that I was an hour early. Somehow, the time on my alarm clock must have been set ahead an hour, and now I felt like an idiot.

After vomiting with fury, I continued on the road to work, stopping briefly for a donut and newspaper to help fill my time. I don’t know how my alarm clock got ahead an hour. However, initial indications are that Lucifer, the Prince of Lies, physically manifested himself in my bedroom that night and caused mayhem with my stuff. It appears that he may have also re-arranged my shirts and rummaged through my junk drawer. After doing this, he returned to his unholy dwelling and resumed torturing the damned with searing hellfire and pointy sticks.

This is not the first time that Mephistopheles has thwarted me. Last November, he sent one of his demonic knaves to hide my keys from me for over 30 minutes. I had the last laugh though, because they were in my other jacket pocket. Beelzebub won’t be so easily outwitted the next time. If I show such disrespect to him again, he is likely to use the skull of my father as his goblet.

So touché, my archfiend. Touché. You have outfoxed me with your darstardly clock-trickery. You win this time, but I’ll be back with some holy water and a crucifix and then we’ll see who’s eternally torturing who.