The Baby Jesus has done it again!

Joe Mauer hit a home run with two outs in the bottom of the 9th to send the game into extra innings! YES!!! HE IS FROM ST. PAUL!!!!! 5-TOOL CATCHER!!!!! 5-TOOOOOOOOOOOOLLS!!!!

Although he leads the team in double plays hit into, he is above all criticism!!! SIDEBURNS AND CHISELED JAWLINE!!!!!!!

ARARRRRRRGHGGHGGHGGHGGHHHHHHHGG! *tearing pillow to shreds with teeth*

Have you heard anything about these guys, the Beatles? Apparently they’re a rock band of some repute. The blogosphere is atwitter with the latest buzz about them.

They’re supposed to be really good. They have two lead singers - Paul McCartney and John Lemon, and their drummer is named Bingo Start. What a unique name - I’ll bet with a name like that he must be the most frenzied, proficient drummer ever!

I’ve been told that they recently appeared on something called “The Ed Sullivan Show” and played their hit song, “I Wish to Hold Hands With You.” I guess their sound is a blatant ripoff of the Monkees and Oasis, but that’s okay with me.

I looked all over online and couldn’t find any recordings of their songs, “Greetings Judith”, “Mellow Submarine”, or “Strawberry Fields For Now”. What’s the deal? Are these guys so underground that there’s no information available about them online? It feels cool to finally be so far ahead of the curve!

My friend told me that John Lemon married some Japanese witch who totally corrupted the vibe of the group and who medicated him into a heroin-glazed stupor. That’s awesome! I’ll bet those two have some really down-to-earth, practical ideas on how to make the world a better place.

Hooray!

Shhhhhh…I know a secret!

It is a delicious secret - one that others are dying to know! I am keeping it deep within my noggin for safekeeping. Nothing you can say or do could get me to tell you my secret!

I learned of this secret from Dusty, one of the older boys. He entrusted it to me with the understanding that I would not tell a solitary soul. He said that if I told anybody, I would be “dead meat”, and he would “rape my corpse.” Dusty is really nice. He knows a lot of curse words and has to sit in the front seat of the bus every day!

I like to sit and think about my secret sometimes. It makes me happy that I know something all of you don’t. Another thing that makes me happy is when the cafeteria serves Italian dunkers for lunch - delicious! (I also like sloppy joes)

Okay, if you insist on hearing my secret, I will go ahead and tell you. But first you have to promise not to tell anybody. You can’t even tell your best friend! If you do, Dusty will get you too!

All right, are you ready? Here it is - Dusty likes me! Yesterday after school I went over to his house and we hugged for an hour! He isn’t as tough as he pretends to be, although he did punch me several times.

Who are you calling? No! Why are you telling them my secret?! What’s so funny about it!? Why is it now being broadcast over the school’s PA?! That occurred improbably quickly!

I’M SORRY DUSTYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!

Who here loves the Periodic Table of the Elements?

What’s the deal? Why aren’t all of you super into the elements of our universe? Think about it - thallium, carbon, and cobalt, how awesome are those? I’d argue that they’re better than grandparents and the NBA Finals combined!

Why does everybody have such a lousy attitude about the Periodic Table of the Elements all of this sudden? By the look on everyone’s face when I brought it up, you’d think that I’d just clubbed a kitten to death with an aluminium (Al) bat. Would it cheer anybody up if I told you that Db is the abbreviation for dubnium?

Apparently not. Wow, tough crowd.

Fine then. I’m through trying to fire all of you up about our natural world. So sue me if my pulse quickens at the mere mention of polonium (Po). I don’t particularly feel the need to apologize for the fact that I want my first two children to be named Bromine and Cadmium, regardless of their gender. I’ll admit it - I love almost all the elements of the Periodic Table (except barium, who stole my girlfriend in 9th grade).

Screw you guys. I’m going to go make a huge batch of homemade butterscotch pudding and eat it all, and then you’ll be sorry!

Bad news: this weekend I had to go to a wedding. Good news: the service was sublime in its overwhelming awkwardness.

I don’t really know how to begin to describe the strangeness of this particular ceremony. Suffice to say, the priest involved was greatly pleased with his own singing voice. As he was delivering the homily (a quite generic, “The bride and groom met each other at [fill in the blank] and felt an immediate attraction”-type deal), he would finish a thought and then pause. The silence would linger in the air for a moment until he began to sing unaccompanied. His song of choice was a particularly saccharine country song by Lee Ann Womack called “I Hope You Dance.” He would sing three or four lines at a time with a soft, pleasant smile on his face. Meanwhile, the congregation averted their eyes in horror.

The third or fourth time he started in with the singing, I leaned down to Bridgette and whispered, “This is going on my blog…” At this point she began giggling uncontrollably. As others looked on disapprovingly, Bridgette’s shoulders spasmed and she buried her face. The priest sang on and on, blissfully unaware of our cynicism. Surely in his head, he was positive that he was absolutely nailing this message.

As the service mercifully ended, and we were filing out of the pews, my brother Brian leaned in and commented, “I bet he’s planning to send in a videotape of this mass to American Idol.”

“I hope you dance… I hope you dance…”

Worst wedding ever.

It’s all dark and moist outside this morning, like being inside the mouth of a giant. As the rain drizzles down, the experience is initially comforting and womb-like. However, after a few moments it is as if I can feel the slicked glands of the giant’s tongue sliding across my belly while filthy corn residue slips between my resisting lips. After being tangled in the enormous tongue for a moment, I suddenly become aware that my ankle is resting betwixt the giant’s molars. In a horrifying instant, the giant bites down and my ankle pops into dust. My screams of agony are muffled by the fleshiness of the giant’s tongue as I begin to gurgle his bitter saliva. My final frantic moments are spent being torn in two and chewed up by the nefarious giant, and as I am swallowed I finally lose consciousness and die in misery.

That’s exactly what it’s like out there this morning.