He won 8 gold medals! He won his races by a combined 1/100th of a second! He has nearly exposed his pubic region to millions of adoring viewers on multiple occasions!

And now, he must marry Sasha Cohen.

Think of the greater good that would be brought unto the greater number of people by their gloriously unholy union. Those two could swim, skate, dance, and crabwalk circles around the rest of us while we would lift up their names in song and kneel before their graven images.

Think of how many Americans would pay premium money for a pay-per-view event televising a night of their precise, patriotic procreation! Their union would be the marital incarnation of America’s manifest destiny, and the world would bow in subjugation!

Barack Obama, let’s make this happen!

I’ve got a tall glass of delicious orange juice right now. I just had a sip. It was tart and sweet, like a compliment from a hated ethnic rival.

You want to take a drink from my glass of orange juice? You’re welcome to it. I’ve drunk about a dozen full glasses of orange juice today, so it’s a safe bet that my bowel movements are pure liquid by this point.

It’s probably time for me to lighten up on the ol’ orange juice, but that ain’t gonna happen. You’d have better luck asking a stray dog to stop licking its filth-encrusted anus than getting me to set down my tall glass of refreshing orange juice.

I used to call it OJ, but then there was some unpleasantness surrounding that name in the mid-90’s. Do you remember that? It was the moment when it became clear that a substantial percentage of our nation’s people are basically insane.

Anyway, I still like orange juice.

This video pre-dates my involvement in Rock TV, but it was always one of my favorites. I remember particularly enjoying the pumpkins arbitrarily setting on fire after they’ve been run over.

For those of you wondering, regular posting will resume next week!

Tomorrow through Friday, I will be working shifts at my second job, and my weekend is already filled up with various endeavors sure to leave me wracked with shame and ill-cheer. On Monday, I return to school for teacher workshops, the most pointless, needlessly cheerful exercise known to man.

This is it. It’s all over.

As you regular readers may be aware, it has been an epic summer for the wife and I. Our house was broken into, our car was stolen, no fewer than five calls to 911 were made from my cellphone, I formed intimate relationships with our insurance adjustors, and various financial benefits ultimately found their way to us. Our house was re-painted, a new door was installed, along with new windows and a new backyard fence. We visited family, were visited by old friends, and spent a lovely weekend with some close friends at the cabin. Also, I did my twirls for Mumsy.

All things considered, it’s been a good summer. There are many other good things that God has done in our lives over these last few months that I don’t have the time or the inclination to delve into, but suffice to say, we’re in a much better place in August than we were in in June. I’d also like to note that we are currently in a better place than sharecroppers were during the 1930’s dust bowl famine, though I suppose that goes without saying.

And so, in conclusion, I have scabies now.

Is this what Bridgette and I really look like when we’re standing together? Can that be right? Is our marriage a sin?

Brent escaped in the early morning hours a few times during our stay to fish in the cozy hamlet of Federal Dam, MN (note: not the Federal Dam, just Federal Dam). On Monday, he came back with this mammoth pike-beast, with the wiggling ability of the late James Brown and the eyes of Satan himself. Then he killed it with his knife.

After our propane grill broke, we had to improvise and cook over the campfire. In this photograph, Brent is wantonly watching the fire cook our burgers into tender brown patties of dripping loveliness. His grilling was supple, his smile was charming, and eagerness was inviting.

Todd was somewhat less thrilled, however…

They made our sun room all dusty and banged on things. Then they installed new windows!

The one with the leathery skin and chewing tobacco did most of the work. He used loud machines to cut things and put them in our walls. Then he increased the energy efficiency of our sun room many times over by installing glorious windows that do not facilitate easy entry by teens wearing oversized white t-shirts and black do-rags!

We did not have to pay for these new windows - the cost was covered by our insurance company. They compensated us after we were robbed. The police let the boys go. Now they spend their days loitering outside a house on our block where marijuana is being grown in the basement. On an unrelated note, I’m glad that Minneapolis mayor R.T. Rybak is holding press conferences to announce that the city is spending $500,000 on designer water fountains.

Our new windows are the best! Thanks, dirty window installation men!

In addition to the photographs that Ted has already shared, here are several images from our time in Bena, MN. They are awful.

In this picture, you can see a group of friends relaxing at dusk and watching the sun set over Lake Winnibigoshish. Also you can see Adam’s truck in the distance, moments before we slipped it into neutral and pushed it off the cliff into the lake in a flawlessly-reasoned practical joke.

On Sunday, Todd broke out his scuba gear for a thorough search of the Winnibigoshish lakebed. In a completely unexpected development, apparently there are a bunch of rocks down there.

Here you have a snapshot of life inside the cabin. In the foreground, people are playing Ticket to Ride, a strategy game of railroad ownership while plowing through a bag of specially seasoned pretzels prepared by my wife. In the background, a bunch of women are probably gossiping about me.

Here, Ted sniffs deeply from the noxious fumes emanating from the unknown contents of this container of canned turkey. It appeared to be a sludgy, congealed grease of some sort. My point is that I cannot understand why my wife doesn’t find meat more appealing.

A few years back, Rock TV did a video called The Viewmaster, a collection of short sketches that didn’t really turn out as well as we’d hoped. For a long while, the talk within the ministry was that this was a fertile concept that we just failed to execute properly. This video is our attempt to correct that missed opportunity. I’m still not sure whether we were totally successful, but I do feel that we did a better job this time around.

The advantage to a video like this is that it gives us the opportunity to get silly and run with ideas that would otherwise be immediately dismissed. A great example of this is the “Mumsy” sketch. Kevin pitched this at a number of meetings, and I still can’t honestly believe that it ended up getting shot. In the end, though, it makes me laugh more than probably anything else in the video.

I’d also like to note that the running gag of Todd and I explaining pre-1995 pop culture to Jordan comes right out of a number of conversations we’ve had with him. This video became a fun way of playing with those real-life discussions.

Some other bits I enjoy:
-Todd’s hinted-at depression surrounding Ms. Pac-Man, which was an ad-lib.
-The rapture insurance bit is a really solid concept and features footage of my cats, which is probably my wife’s favorite part of the video.
-The ambiance in the antique shop during the headband sketch is great. Kudos to Ted for the Sean Connery voice he used for some reason.

Enjoy!

P.S. Sorry about that ending. We didn’t really know where to go with it.

Travelling with a few ill-chosen companions, my wife and I will make my way down the wandering road of despair to the cabin on Saturday morning and return at some point on Monday. It is sure to be an unpleasant, dispiriting weekend riddled with awkward pauses and remorseful silences. It will be like listening to the live studio audience during a taping of “Just Shoot Me”.

Once there, our time will be filled with frolicking in a filthy lake ringed with dead fish, throwing darts at an obnoxiously verbose electronic dartboard, and sucking on limes to stave off scurvy. Also, we will consume approximately 9,000 calories per day. There is literally nothing good that can come out of this.

If you could, please refrain from telling the three teens wearing oversized white t-shirts and black do-rags who wander through our neighborhood with a basketball shouting at passing females of our weekend absence. They might get the wrong idea and decide to rape our cats or something.

Hurry up, the pool will be closing soon! Together we can laugh and shout in the splish-splashing sunshine!

If we get there soon, you can sit atop my shoulders as we glide through the pool and delight in the summertime sensations! Then we can all come crashing down into the cool, renewing water. Our frowns will be washed away down the rivers of chlorinated eternity!

Come, slather my torso with suntan lotion that I might avoid the sun’s forbidden rays. Be sure to use a lot, because my upper body is substantial, and I don’t want any part of my skin to escape your lotion-soaked palms.

Hold my hand as I jump into the pool! We will enter the 9-foot oasis together! I don’t ever want you to leave me, do you understand? Never leave me.

The pool is fun!

Now slip below the surface with me and shout out underwater secrets that you would otherwise not tell a soul! It will be a slippery tickle-treat! Ready? Here goes!

Could you understand me? You could? Really? What did you hear me say?

Uh, no, that’s not what I said. I would never say that – that’s really gross! What I actually said was “lollipops can come true.”

Yeah, I know that doesn’t make any actual sense. I guess I was just surfing on the emotion of the moment.

I love the pool!

I cannot recommend this book strongly enough. It moved me to tears on a number of occasions, and I came away from it with a deepened appreciation of the political and literary gifts, as well as the moral goodness of Abraham Lincoln, whatever his flaws. It’s a realistic, yet inspiring read.

Here are some selected tidbits from the text you might find interesting:

-Lincoln had a naturally melancholy temperament, and in many ways seemed to internalize the unbearable weight of the nation’s struggles. At the same time, he was a gregarious storyteller with a sharp, lively sense of humor. An illustrative passage from the book reveals an intimate portrait of Lincoln from the perspective of a visiting French ambassador:
“On first impression, he ‘left you with a sort of impression of vague and deep sadness.’ Yet he ‘was quite humorous,’ often telling hilarious stories and laughing uproariously. ‘But all of a sudden he would retire within himself; then he would close his eyes and all his features would at once bespeak a kind of sadness as indescribable as it was deep.’”

-Abraham Lincoln’s best friend was a blue ox named Babe.

-Lincoln was regularly criticized by Radical Republican abolitionists for his perceived hesitancy to press the slavery issue. Goodwin takes great pains to paint the political deftness needed to assuage the Radicals, keep the slaveholding border states like Maryland and Kentucky in the Union, & pacify conservative Democrats, and even Southerners (with eye toward eventual reunification). In the end, Lincoln moved on the slavery issue as he did with all weighty problems – with great deliberation and wisdom. He said that while he could be criticized for being slow to make a decision, he never wanted to be known to go back on a promise. The promises made by his administration – the Emancipation Proclamation and the Thirteenth Amendment (abolishing slavery) - were as powerful and hard-fought as any ever made by this government.

-Lincoln once instigated a barroom brawl before getting away in a rusty pickup with his loyal orangutan sidekick.

-Among Lincoln’s many nicknames were “Honest Abe”, “The Railsplitter”, and “Old Muttonsleeves”

-Lincoln exasperated Stanton, his Secretary of War, by making regular use of presidential pardons when it came to military punishments for cowardice or desertion. He made a point to offer clemency in all cases, except “where meanness or cruelty were shown.” Perhaps reflecting the same character elements, he spoiled his children, allowing his young son Tad to constantly interrupt important cabinet sessions.

-Abraham Lincoln really enjoyed Brokeback Mountain, except for that one part…

-I share many similarities with Lincoln; namely, we are both 6’5”, bearded, and quick with a joke. However, Abraham Lincoln never had a blog. How do you like me now?

-Lincoln very nearly lost the 1864 election. Peace Democrats (then known as Copperheads) ran on a platform of seeking immediate peace by ending the war on terms agreeable to the South. Though some Democrats differed on what those terms might be, they would certainly have involved repeal of the Emancipation Proclamation and a return of slavery to the Southern states. Their charges were laden with racist claims that what once had been a noble war for Union had become a “war for the negro.” I would offer that their near-success is a healthy reminder that while peace itself is a worthy end, the costs of such compromise must always be considered.

-Lincoln invented holding your breath.

-Lincoln disliked butterscotch candy and slavery.

-Lincoln showed an extraordinary ability to disregard the many offenses and attacks he faced as president. Time and time again, he extended forgiveness and favor toward those who maligned him (particularly Salmon Chase, his Treasury Secretary, who essentially ran a presidential campaign against Lincoln while in Lincoln’s cabinet). While some historians have claimed that this represented some flaw of passivity in Lincoln’s character, Goodwin effectively argues that these acts instead reflect his ability to set aside his feelings for the good of the nation. Salmon Chase was, after all, an excellent Treasury Secretary.

-Lincoln’s likeness appears on the penny, the five dollar bill, and thanks to my new branding iron, my cat’s anus.

Looking into the mirror this morning, I strained in search of signs of my body’s increasing decrepitude and infirmity. With some chagrin, I noted the dark areas and wrinkles beneath my eyes, as well as the budding harvest of gray hairs that crown my head with shame. Certain images came to mind as I pondered my body’s inexorable march toward physical decay…

I have to say that, in all seriousness, my 30th birthday finds me in a healthy, happy spirit. I am married to a beautiful, insightful, loving woman who shares and reinforces the values I live by. I am a part of a dynamic, committed church community that rewards and enriches my life in many ways. God has blessed me with a stable career that I love (this is a particularly sweet blessing, given that the first half of my twenties was marked by failure and unhappiness in my professional life). My relationship with God is peaceful and renewing these days, and my intellectual pursuits challenge and inspire me. I love being with my family, I deeply enjoy the company of my friends, and, somewhat less importantly, I have two cats.

Having said all that, it’s important to note that none of that means a thing without this blog. The John Larroquette Project is indisputably the most important thing in my life, without which I would have driven into a ravine years ago.

Seriously people, without this website I am nothing.

Here are several photographs he shared with me. I will now show them to you, using the internet.

This is fire, one of the most powerful elements in the natural universe. Terrorizing wildlife, and destroying habitats, fire has long been used by man to establish his just dominion over the earth. Also, fire is hot and makes things smaller and black. At any rate, my point is that this fire is George Bush’s fault.

Here is Patrick, after having faced the terrible menace of fire. Note the sturdy courage in his eyes and the soiled qualities of his undershirt. Behind him lies a path cleared out of the brush, as well as another man, believed to be actor Tom Berenger.

The brush in question was anywhere from 8 to 15 feet high, and teeming with poison oak. As a result, Patrick, along with all the other members of his crew were covered with red rashes and sores that were irritated by the heavy duty clothing and heat. On the other hand, my job involves occasional meetings that run long, so we’re both no stranger to hardship.

In the midst of working 18 consecutive 16-hour days, moments of rest were cherished by Patrick’s crew. He can be seen in the foreground, the back of his shirt blackened with sweaty iniquity, while two of his comrades relax in bizarrely identical repose.

Fine work, Patrick. I’m proud of you, mostly!

It’s been a great four-and-a-half years for the John Larroquette Project. I’ve lived for the challenge of getting up in the morning and coming up with an idea to write about. The creative writing process is one that I’ve always found rewarding. I can honestly say that I’ve loved every minute of it.

Unfortunately, as I sit here this morning, I’ve come to the realization that while I know I still can blog, I just don’t have the desire to anymore. I’m just burnt out. While I know I’ll miss the daily challenge, I won’t miss those mornings where I’m going through the motions, or the feeling of posting drivel just because I spent 20 minutes writing it. I’m just going to take some time off, and spend more quality time with my wife or with a good book.

It’s been fun, and thanks for reading.

…

You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I’m not retiring. I want to come back.

You see, I didn’t really want to retire in the first place. Adam pressured me into it. If you go back and re-read my retirement address, you’ll see that every word of it was honest, except for the parts that Adam forced me into.

What’s that? You’ve already moved on? First of all, that seems improbable, given that I retired only a few moments ago. Secondly, who are you going to replace me with? Ben? Ben’s a nice guy and all, but he’s not ready for prime-time - he still needs more seasoning and tutelage under the master (i.e. me).

Let me put it to you this way, who gives the John Larroquette Project the best chance to succeed on a daily basis? Me, right? So let me back. If you won’t let me back, I demand that you release me from any affiliation with the John Larroquette Project, and let me blog elsewhere. As a matter of fact, I’ve been having a few behind-the-scenes conversations with Kevin’s blog, and they seem very interested in bringing me on board.

What do you mean, “blog tampering”? I’ve never heard of such a thing.

Look, I don’t want to get into some bitter squabble with all of you. All I ask is that you allow me to retire and unretire in peace, and bend over backwards to meet my increasingly fickle demands.

I just wish all of you hadn’t put me in this position.

As I type this, the morning rain falls lightly on my sunroom awning, like a dwarf tossed from a blimp. The metallic percussion delights my ears, but has proven a fright to my cat Ben Franklin, who otherwise spends his mornings sprawled across the floor like a beached raccoon.

Softly, the rain lands upon my lawn, restoring my grass and replenishing my dreams. With each splashing droplet, my soul rejoices and my abdomen gurgles with merriment. O that you were here with me to share in this sweet moment! I confess that I yearn to hold your hand ‘neath the weeping willow with warmest affection.

Also, we would suck down some Coors.

Do you remember the night when you tickled my belly-skin with your fingers? Do you remember how the rain washed all remorse away, like Scrubbing Bubbles bathroom cleaner? That evening’s enchantment has relived itself many times in my memories since then. I can scarce forget the fondness of your calloused fingers, thickened by hard prison labor.

I hope these words find you well, Richard, and fully recovered from the dreaded pox. I have enclosed a package of maple custard, prepared tenderly for you. May its sweetness remind you of my most tender devotion.

P.S. Say hi to Carl for me.

This weekend, I built a fence for our backyard. It is a white picket PVC fence that would cause Tom Sawyer to defile himself with its beauty.

Behold!

Did you just defecate yourselves with envy? Do you need to pause to find appropriate cleaning supplies in order to salvage the chair you are sitting in? Is your poop permanently ground into the fabric due to the sheer shocked velocity with which it exited your anus? Yeah, I thought so. It’s my new fence. Believe it.

I was aided in this fence’s construction by my soft-spoken father, and my oft-speaking father-in-law. Watching them together was something akin to an Abbott and Costello routine. Meanwhile, I dug holes with the strength of Sampson, the hair of Absolom, and the wisdom of Kissinger. Today, my arm muscles are weary and fatigued with overuse, and my brain-muscle is strained from thinking about digging. I fear I am as useless as an iPod in the palm of a thumbless Amish man.

The pain in my upper extremities is great on this day, my friends. With each excruciating keystroke, I bring my body closer to the brink of utter oblivion. Like Lance Armstrong pedaling up the slopes of Mount Everest, I punish my body for the glory of something greater – in this case, another entry in a middling blog to be read and instantly forgotten by several hundred people. It is a cause that makes the life of Abraham Lincoln look like a weak-chinned SuperAmerica employee.

Also I did the dishes.

It appears the people who broke into our house and stole our car, having been witnessed by at least three people committing the crimes in question, will be walking away freely. I’m glad to see accountability and personal responsibility are alive and well in North Minneapolis.

—

On the other end of the spectrum, I actually have to hand it to American Family insurance. They’ve really done a nice job in handling our situation. After some minor arm-wrestling with various adjustors, they are paying to replace our iPod, repair our car, and covering the cost of installing all-new windows for our sunroom. This will mean that our favorite room in the house will go from being a two-season luxury to a room that we can use year-round (with a space heater in the winter). Maybe this winter I can invite you over to our newly energy-efficient sunroom for some diet beverages and stilted conversation.

—

For the first two weeks after the robbery, I woke up a few times a night after being startled by some innocuous sound or another. I would then wander our darkened house with a knife, searching for evidence of an intruder. As you can guess, this was in no way emotionally draining. Eventually, I traded my knife for a wood Louisville Slugger. I call it Bonedust, and with it, I can connect with black do-rags like the sweet-swinging Joe (Baby Jesus) Mauer.

—

We finally got to pick up our car on Monday. It had a smashed windshield, a few small dents, and it was caked in powder that the police use to find fingerprints. It looked chalky and ashen, like John McCain. When I turned the ignition, the stereo suddenly began blasting hip-hop from a disk they left in our stereo. Apparently the new Coldplay disk I had sitting on the passenger seat didn’t do it for them.

The individuals wearing white t-shirts and black do-rags left our CDs and iPod paraphernalia, but took with them our Happenings coupon book as well as a Mad Libs book we use to kill time on road trips. Needless to say, these were odd selections. Do 15 year-old thieves use coupons for Greek restaurants? Do they value frugality? Why our Mad Libs book? There is virtually no chance these clowns know what an adverb is.

—

On a completely unrelated note, here is a snippet of last night’s dinner conversation with my wife:

WIFE: I bought you some underwear at Target today.
ME: Do they have Taz on them?
WIFE: No.
ME: Then I don’t want them.

The video was posted on YouTube when it first came out, and over the last year, it managed to collect just over 12,000 views and become the most watched Rock TV ever. Unbelieveably, the video was featured on the front page of YouTube yesterday, and has been viewed over 100,000 times in the last 24 hours. That is completely nuts.

The most interesting facet of this recent spotlight is the comments the video has garnered - a mix of positive and negative. Generally speaking, the positive feedback seems to have come from Christians (which makes sense, given that the satire would only really hit home with somebody familiar with today’s Christian landscape). Much more amusing are the negative comments, a few of which I am happy to share with you now:

ducktill writes:
I didnt laugh once , how come?

I don’t know, ducktill. Did your cat get run over recently?

–

oXxBENNYxX0 writes:
Be very care folks !!
joking about Gods stuff/PPL is like playing with a mad viper !!
trust benny !!
and ya NEVER really know ,Sometimes who IS real/Really Gods !

Eloquently stated, sir. I shall indeed trust Benny in the future, because ya never really know who IS real/Really Gods, whatever the hell that means…

–

AznElf1 writes:
Boo, this is completely painting another view on us. Is this what America has gone to? I think so.

I can’t make heads or tails of this. Who is “us”? What view have we painted on them? Why is an Asian Elf watching Rock TVs?

–

TJZA1986 writes:
what a sh*t. My time was wasted watching this.
you clearly don’t have anything good to be done out of your meaningless lives.

Excellent point, and quality insight. Hopefully my honorable suicide can still set things right.

–

koreaboi6 writes:
i found this very offensive…as i’m sure many other people did
some of it sounded like a weak imitation of dane cook to me. anyway, they didn’t have to involve pastors and christianity. pastors really have a rough time in the increasingly secular world today. i find comedy that doesnt aim for a larger audience and that offenses a large population very inefficient

Thanks for paying attention to the video, koreaboi.

–

And finally, supershroom164 writes:
no wonder America is sucking so much.
America wastes money on stupid offensive productions that arnt even funny.

This video cost our ministry about $60 to make - it was spent constructing the Beaker puppet. Apparently this money tipped the scales toward our nation’s cultural demise. On behalf of Rock TV, I would like to apologize to supershroom and the world.

The hidden secret to this vehicle (which I will henceforth refer to as Pepper) is the button on its formidable dashboard labeled “XM”. That’s right, my friends, Pepper comes equipped with XM Satellite Radio, the most coveted item in the western world since the exotic spices that Vasco da Gama rounded Africa and mutilated the lesser peoples of the earth for.

Now, as you know, Bridgette and I are not curious, risk-taking people by nature. It is not our style to spend money on exploratory endeavors or change radio stations once we have found one to our liking. For this reason, Pepper’s radio has been tuned to XM channel 23 (The Heart) for a week and a half. All love songs, all the time (not unlike our local Love 105). Whether it’s Foreigner’s “I Want to Know What Love Is”, or Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart”, the Heart plays songs that are bombastic and familiar, like Sean Hannity.

Perhaps most impressively, on XM 23 (The Heart), Bryan Adams and Phil Collins never really went away. Listen for any 30 minutes at a time, and you’re going to be greeted with the epic strains of “Please Forgive Me”, “Hold On My Heart”, “Everything I Do (I Do It For You)”, or “One More Night”. It’s almost as if the musical zenith these two creative giants reached in the late 80s and early 90s was never shat upon by the likes the Nirvana, Radiohead, and the 90s ass bands. The Heart is an alternate pop cultural history, where Bryan Adams and Phil Collins proudly stand at the right side of Elvis and the Beatles on the Throne of Musical Genius.

Also, they play a lot of Peter Cetera.

In what is believed to be the greatest development in human history since the invention of books about Abraham Lincoln, AMC is showing the 1985 smash hit Teen Wolf.

In case you’re unfamiliar with it, this feature film is loaded with Stiles’ welcome comedic mugging, Michael J. Fox’s utterly inept basketball dribbling, and this scene - perhaps the greatest expression of teenage angst and vulnerability ever captured:

Best morning ever.

Now I will tell you about this party. Read it.

Ted served as our party’s sturdy grillmaster. Manning two propane grills with the deft dexterity of a circus performer on meth, all the meat in the viscinity was filtered through him and rendered unto him. From raw slices of bloody red sloppiness to charred husks of gray loveliness, he served as the sun to our universe of birthday shame.

Here is an illustration that Christine made of him. It captures his vitality and triumph with the skill of Michelangelo and Jackson Pollock combined.

At this time I would also like to note the contribution made by our friend Allen (fiancé to Bridgette’s best friend Tami) to our evite invitation. In his late reply, he wrote:

I’m in. Shall I bring a Piñata dressed in an oversized white t-shirt and black do-rag? Maybe Three? Great Way to: 1) Get out Frustration. 2) Send A Message. 3) Potentially get arrested for a Hate Crime.

If only we had read his message in time, the party might have been an unmitigated success, rather than the sullen, bloated exercise in pointlessness and discomfort it proved to be.

As usual, the aftermath of this gathering was marked with remorse and slurred resentments. This is, of course, the way of things in North Minneapolis, where gun ownership is discussed among my neighbors with increased sincerity.

And by the way, the three kids with oversized white t-shirts and black do-rags rode past the house a few times during the party. We forgot to offer them a burger and soda to go with my iPod.

WIFE: Do you hear that overhead fan? That hum is really annoying.

ME: Yeah, I hear it.

WIFE: Is there a way to fix it?

ME: No, but check this out. *begins to hum a harmony tone along with the fan*

WIFE:…

ME: You should hum the third part. Here, like this. *hums the third part harmony*

WIFE:…

ME: C’mon!

WIFE: It’s too high for me.

ME: Fine, but I’m blogging about this.

You’d think that after everything we’ve been through over the past few days, Bridgette could find it in her heart to sing three part harmony along with me and the kitchen fan, but I guess not. Marriage isn’t like in the movies, folks.

—

The cops have, in fact, located our Toyota Camry. They found it on 35th and Logan, smack-dab in the middle of the most pleasant neighborhood in Christendom. It is still considered evidence in an ongoing investigation, however, so we aren’t able to go check it out. I’ll just go ahead and assume that it still has a stereo in it and that it doesn’t reek of weed.

—

The police department seems extremely hesitant to give out any information about my case, presumably to avoid citizen-led, Charles Bronson-esque vigilante missions of street justice. I can report, however, that we haven’t seen the three 15-16 year old kids in oversized white t-shirts and black do-rags wandering the streets for a couple days. Hopefully they committed ritual suicide to ease the burden on those of us choosing to live in the civilized world.

—

While our car waits patiently for us at the Minneapolis impound lot, our insurance company has given us a loaner car – a 2008 Hyundai Elantra:

She is a steady steed, and drives as true as the Gospel of Mark (considered the oldest of the Synoptic Gospels, incidentally). Its acceleration is formidable, and the breeze from it’s A/C unit is like a blast from the cheeks of Santor Klaus himself. It is the perhaps finest Japanese export since the Tamagotchi virtual pet.

—

A contractor came out to our house on Tuesday afternoon to give an estimate on the costs to fix our broken sunroom windows. He looked at the old window slats that were probably installed in the late 1950s and just laughed, saying he hadn’t seen parts like that for sale in 20 years. He said we’ll need to install a set of new windows for that room.

The insurance company is probably not going to be happy with this news…

—

A new security system was installed in our home on Monday. Various beeps can be heard at different times in the house, which bring with them a vague sense of satisfaction and security. Also, they startle the cats, which I find pleasing. The yard signage ain’t so bad, either (particularly for stabbing burglars with).

—

Thanks so much to all of you who have left us voice messages or emails over the last couple days checking in on us. They have all been very much appreciated, and I’m sorry if we haven’t gotten back to you yet. Ted’s offer of an evening of compensatory Wii-playing was thus far the most generous, for which he will be rewarded tenfold in heaven.

On Saturday afternoon, while we were out, some lovely individuals broke into our house. They shattered the window slats on our sunroom, cut the screen, and wandered through the house. They rummaged through drawers, and took my new 80 gig iPod. Bridgette was working an overnight shift, so I was alone to deal with the mess and call the police. After the cops left, I realized that they had also taken the spare keys to the house and to our Toyota Camry, along with an extra garage door opener. I called the police with this information, but they got annoyed and told me to call back on Monday so they could file it in the report.

Saturday night was an anxious time. Thankfully, Todd and Adam came over to keep me company, and after securing the house as much as I possibly could, I went over to Kevin’s to spend the night. It sucked, but I read the Bible a lot and talked on the phone to my wife pretty regularly. We were both exhausted from stress, crying, and fear.

I spent Sunday morning working on re-programming the garage door opener and calling around to get quotes on security systems. Around noon, as I was on the phone, I peered out my window and noticed that our garage was opened. Running out the door, I saw that the Camry was gone. In a blind panic, I called 911 and saw that two of my neighbors were already outside on the phone with the police, having watched the whole thing happen themselves. They said three 15 or 16 year old kids with oversized white t-shirts and black do-rags managed to get the garage door open and peel out of the driveway achieving heretofore unknown speeds down the alley with my 2001 Toyota. Stunned, I waited for the police to arrive and we all gave our reports.

(Incidentally, that police officer apologized profusely for taking 10 minutes to get there – he said he was working down near Plymouth and got called up to us because of how drastically undermanned they are. Thanks, Mayor Rybak.)

All things considered, the afternoon was actually pretty cool. My parents showed up, along with my brother, and together we put in new locks to the house, put in a new secure door between the kitchen and sunroom, and made a number of other helpful improvements. It seemed like our whole neighborhood was out and about, talking with us about what happened. I had a hugely encouraging phone conversation with Mark, the pastor at the Rock, who seemed to know just what to say.

Sunday evening around 9, just as we were trying to settle in for a routine evening, our doorbell rang. It was Maria, a 10 year old girl from our neighborhood to tell me that she had seen the three boys break into our house on Saturday and she asked them what they were doing, but they yelled at her, so she was too scared to do anything about it. The whole time we were talking, she was nervously looking over her shoulder down the block. Eventually, she told me that the kids with the oversized white t-shirts and black do-rags were playing basketball down the street. We thanked her, and called 911 again. They said they’d send out a squad car, and we figured that was it.

20 minutes later, the doorbell rang again, and this time it was a police officer. He told me that he had ID’d the three kids, but there wasn’t a ton to hold them on (Maria apparently clammed up in front of the police). He told me they’d get taken in for questioning that night, and that I should call the precinct every day to keep bugging them about my case – the squeaky wheel gets the grease. This didn’t seem very encouraging, so I asked him about the car. He said he’d read a report earlier in the evening that it had been recovered after a brief chase, but that the kids inside scattered. He didn’t know if it was trashed or not, but he didn’t seem particularly hopeful.

I went inside and hugged Bridgette, thankful that at least we were each safe and with one another. Also our cats had not been mutilated beyond recognition.

We’re each feeling a million things right now, and I think it will be a long while before we feel really comfortable about the situation. We know that God allowed this to happen, and we know that ultimately, a ton of people (including Mark) are going through much worse than the expenses and emotional craziness we went through over the last 48 hours. We know we’ll be okay, and that God is good.

Let’s just hope that those three punks in the oversized white t-shirts and black do-rags who like to play basketball at 5315 Fremont Avenue see justice. Maybe I’ve been reading Kevin’s blog too much, but I’m not very optimistic.

Take my brother Brian, for instance.

He recently graduated from the University of St. Thomas, with a degree in mechanical engineering or sandwiches or something. My sister Julia and I did our best to encourage and support him, though we wished to do neither. Our brother Patrick wasn’t there. I’m not sure where he was - I haven’t seen him since he wandered into the woods two years ago. That guy was nuts.

At any rate, one of the challenges of this transition period is the fluxuation between worlds. One is no longer a part of the college community they so cherished, yet they are also not fully ingratiated into their professional lives. What is a young person to do?

During times like these, one can only hope to find a true friend to be there for them.

Sometimes these friends come from unlikely places. Sometimes their capacity to lend an open ear and a tender heart causes a young man to hold these people in an entirely new regard.

Together with these new friends, the young college graduate can gaze steadily into the future, confident that their dreams will be slowly whittled down to size, and that their now lithe, nubile bodies will eventually plumpen and swell.

This is the circle of life, my friends. What was will be; what is will be no more. All these lessons and more I have tried to impart not only to my brother, but to all of you, as well.

At the risk of sounding too philosophical, that beautiful tiger captures the distilled essence of what it means to be a friend, nay, what it means to be human.

This morning, I wish you all the same level of inanimate companionship that has so fulfulled my brother.

A few noteworthy items from the text:

-This destructive 27-year war, which brought an end to Greece’s cultural apex, had its roots in Athenian arrogance. Though Athens was undoubtedly the hearth of Greek culture and art, the home of its most famed intellectual heroes, and the most powerful of all the city-states, its domineering attitude toward other Greeks proved to be its downfall. The so-called Delian League of city-states was actually little more than an Athenian Empire that Athens used to (somewhat ironically) enforce its democratic ideals against the will of monarchical or oligarchic city-states. Sparta, sensing that the Athenians were corrupting traditional Greek ideals of autonomy and a balance of power, launched an invasion against the Athenians. This history is a good warning for we as Americans to heed.

-Socrates approved of the modern world of San Dimas, CA.

-The Peloponnesian War was an utterly destructive one for the Greeks. It featured civilian deaths on a scale unseen- in classical history, a terrifying plague that ravaged Athens, scattered civil wars across the countryside, and sea battles that killed tens of thousands in minutes. All in all, about a third of the population of Athens and Sparta was killed – in modern America, the equivalent would be over 100 million people.

-Historians agree that if the ancient Greeks had ever tried a Pop-Ice, they would have shit themselves.

-The Athenian national anthem was actually “Walk of Life” by Dire Straits.

-Athens’ famed democracy played a complex role in the long conflict. While the democratic virtue of civic involvement made all men feel invested in the war and willing to personally take up arms, the people of Athens were also grossly impatient for ultimate victory. All citizens were valued, so the loss of any in a battle was considered a grave offense that Athenian generals were to be held accountable for. In an excellent example of cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face, many of their best military leaders or tacticians were banished or executed.

-Bush lied, Athenians died.

-Greek men had cool names like Aristarchus, Xenophon, Demosthenes, and “The Million Dollar Man” Ted DiBiase.

-Greek triremes (pictured above) were brutally destructive, yet cumbersome weapons of war. They operated like a javelin on the water, designed to build up great straight-line speed and ram into enemy ships. Over 200 men were crammed into each ship, with three levels of rowers working like clockwork. The men on the bottom rowed in sitting water in excruciating heat below decks with sweat, urine, and worse draining from the men above them. When triremes received a direct hit, they could sink in a matter of moments, which usually meant that nearly all the men aboard would be killed.

-The Greeks, like all ancient societies, had slaves, but slavery isn’t really that bad if you think about it.

-In addition to their innovations of democracy, philosophy, and theater, the Greeks invented kissing with tongue.

Of all these sometimes frustrating, often silly trends, there is one that I continue to be puzzled by. Reading through nutjob websites like DailyKos or MoveOn, or the comments posted after articles on CNN, one comes across a bizarre trend over and over - the need to create unfunny, uninsightful puns on candidate names. On the Democratic side, you can find “Nobama” (or “Gobama”), but most of the nonpunning I’ve noticed is coming from the left with tortured twists on John McCain’s name. I’ve seen “McSame”, “McBush”, “McLame”, “McInsane”, and this morning I came across “McShame”.

Now, setting aside the question of what John McCain should feel ashamed of (or is it his supporters who should feel shame?) I actually think McShame is really a really funny name. I plan on proposing it as a name for a dog, should Bridgette and I ever get one.

Now, this is ostensibly an attempt by those on the left to “brand” John McCain as a warmongering demagogue marching in lockstep with George Bush. No big news there - conservatives make the same attempts to “brand” liberal candidates (as effete, arugula-munching naifs, for instance). I don’t take offense to the mischaracterization of McCain, it just bugs me how freaking dumb the puns are.

In the spirit of bipartisan comraderie, I now offer these clever, equally insightful spins on John McCain’s readers for my friends on the left:

McDraino
McValeriePlame
McTrainingCamp
McMakeItRain
McAnalLeakage
McNavalAviator
Mc1Corinthians13
McJawClenchy
McFlame-EngulfedBuddhistMonk

Any other suggestions?

There it was. Katie Kittenheart.

Do you see that girl? Look at her again. She is absolutely precious. Do not spend time looking at the can of Diet Barq’s Root Beer - instead, look into the eyes of Katie Kittenheart.

Do you want to hug her yet? If not, you are a cold, cold bastard.

What is Katie Kittenheart doing? Is she at school? Did she get an A? What do the shadows behind her represent? Peers? The fear of failure? The specter of genocide in Sudan? Whatever the answer, I’m sure Katie Kittenheart will win out in the end. Look at her little cheeks!

Isn’t her little outfit just precious? She looks like a little porcelain doll, except not creepy in any way!

I wish she would speak to me.

I wonder if she would approve of the choices I have made in my life…

What would she think if I showed her who I truly am. Not the Peter that all of you see. Not the blogger, not the jokester, not the Rock TV guy, not the teacher - the true Peter.

What would she think? What would she say?

Would she still love me…?

Here are a few bits of insight gleaned from this fine book:

-In the defeats at Long Island, the Battle of Brooklyn, and Fort Washington, George Washington was indecisive and, at times, timid to act. During the second half of 1776, a chorus of disapproval rose against the previously unassailable general, including voices from his own inner circle of military leaders. However, experience proved a fine education, and by the end of the year, Washington proved able to pounce on fleeting windows of opportunity.

-George Washington enjoyed tickling the rotund John Adams, but John Adams didn’t like it. One time, when Washington was tickling him in front of the guys, Adams swore at him really loud and suddenly everybody got really quiet. Washington never tickled anybody again.

-The audaciousness of the American hopes in 1776 is remarkable given the string of defeats suffered at the hands of the British. The Colonial Army was routed in its defense of New York in the Battles of Brooklyn and Long Island, and over 2,000 Americans were taken prisoner in the defeat of Fort Washington. Furthermore, thousands of soldiers were incapacitated by smallpox and other illnesses, and desertion was commonplace. Meanwhile, the British were offering generous terms of political forgiveness to all those willing to come forward and pledge loyalty to the king (which many thousands did). From August to December of 1776, only a fool would have held onto much optimism in the American cause.

-The Battle of Trenton was exactly like the final 30 minutes of Rambo, except without any Asians.

-The famous painting of Washington crossing the Deleware (seen above) though certainly a bit too melodramatic, portrays a major turning point in American history, and a moment of unlikely triumph for the Washington’s army. It was Christmas night, 1776. His troops were physically exausted and mentally beleaguered by defeat. Washington chose to launch a suprise dawn attack on the city of Trenton, which was held by 1,500 Hessian mercenary soldiers. Aware that most of his mens’ enlistments were going to run out in a matter of days, and that morale across the colonies had reached a low point, he felt that a dramatic move was necessary to avert a total American collapse. Washington’s men crossed the icy river at dark, marched through blizzard conditions through the night (at least two men died of hypothermia), and suprised the Hessians with an attack about an hour after dawn on December 26th. The attack was a rout - the Hessian commander was shot and killed, and over 900 were taken prisoner. Some accounts claimed that the Hessians were drunk or hung over that morning, though this is contradicted by a number of other soldiers. Suffice it to say, this victory gave renewed hopes to the army, the congress, and the Americans, and kept alive the dream of an independent United States.

-BRING THE TROOPS HOME!

-One time, George Washington rode into Philadelphia on a donkey and everybody cried out “Hosanna in the highest!” as they laid down cloaks and palm leaves in his path, (though palm trees are not indigenous to the region and nobody knew where the leaves came from).

-Regarding the dramatic, emphatic reversal of fortune Washington led between Christmas day and January 3rd, McCullough cites British historian Sir George Otto Trevelyan, who wrote, “It may be doubted whether so small a number of men ever employed so short a space of time with greater and more lasting effects upon the history of the world.”

-Washington was probably the finest horseman in the colonies and an elite athlete, having won the 1771 Slam Dunk Competition.

-Commanding British General William Howe was a decorated soldier with an occasional predilection for inaction. He also smoked crack.

-Washington’s great strength, emphasized again and again by McCullough, was in his steady perserverence, and his ability to see things exactly as they were, not as he wished or feared them to be. These qualities blessed him with an uncommon mildness and strength that his men clearly drew inspiration from. He also got to wear an awesome uniform while a lot of the soldiers were lucky to have shoes.

-After achieving victory at the Battle of Princeton, General Nathanael Green remarked to Washington, “Sir, one day your face will be printed on the dollar bill,” to which Washington replied, “What the hell is a dollar?”

Let us pause now, to remember those who could not be with us today: the insolent, the insular, the insatiable, and the insane.

Join hands with me and genuflect in solemn reverence toward those accursed souls who must now spend the next two months writhing in summertime torment.

For just a moment, let us grind our faces into the sharp, dusty gravel in preemptive penance for the shameful way we eject students and staff from our institutions of learning just to allow the custodians to buff the hallway floors. Like the faithful flagellants of old, we must purify ourselves through the shedding of blood alone.

And finally, faithful readers, I invite you to place these cyanide capsules in your mouths. They will bring sweet death to you within seconds, stopping your heart and causing your bowels to empty with formidable velocity. Also, they are grape flavored.

It’s the last day of school, everybody.

It’s all over.