The Ballad of Lonnie Darko

The last drip of the Jack Daniels bottle hung on for dear life, clinging to the plastic as Lonnie Darko clung on to it even tighter, tilted askew on his futon, or as he likes to call it, his bed. It has been a tough past decade for good ol' Lonnie, a fan favorite among the fiery and growing local fan base for the Good Springs Amateur Bowling Competitive League; he calls them his turkeys while they call him their hero and in many regards, he is an American hero. While he isn't a war hero, so no American Sniper, he is an American hero in amateur bowling competitive circles and Good Springs, Tennessee is certainly a regional hotbed when it comes to such activity (and Darko has been dubbed a pin sniper in the lanes by many a toy crane machine repairer.) But it all went downhill after Lonnie ran into his ex wife, Sheila, at the annual GSABCL Championships which are held every year following the completion of the final NASCAR race of the season. Everything was going real swell for Darko and company going into the final round of the championship match - so swell that he was on pace for a 300 so it pretty much couldn't get any more perfect than that, just rip off that Bernie Mac movie and call him Mr. 300 (without any bumpers in there to boot; Darko, a former co-chairman of the GSABCL Bowlers with Bumpers program, had a long and storied history with the gameplay accessory that many people call an effective aid that is fair in competition (you know the famous saying, "All is fair in love and war in the lanes") while others compare it to corking your bat or stealing signs from the pitcher or putting mini trampolines in your Jordans in a well-spirited attempt to be more Like Mike or being like your overserved uncle who is tossing alley oops to himself and throwing it down on all his nieces and nephews on the eight foot hoop at the family reunion after party.) Right in the moment when Lonnie was almost set to toss what could have very well been his final roll of the night, the one for the 300 in the final frame and the perfect round, Sheila came bounding onto lane one which was a few lanes over from the competition. As graceful of a swan dive as it was, 'twas still a swan dive nonetheless, and a painful one for the former kindergarten teacher at that. (She was fired for allowing the children to eat Crayons...where did they get such an idea, you ask? Well, first she ate a box of Crayons in front of the class on a dare from a first grader, so there was that, too - Sheila is not the type of person who will back down from a dare, even if that dare is from someone who is still yet to go through the D.A.R.E. program...but yeah, it's probably for the best that Sheila isn't allowed within four hundred yards of a school anymore, for everyone's sake, even Crayola was starting to get a bad name on account of her brazen antics...I don't think anyone who was in attendance will ever forget that assembly where Sheila sucker punched Lenny the Lion, the adorable school mascot who made the mistake of taunting her after she nearly gave the vice principal a concussion while missing a half court shot for charity (to raise awareness of CTE, in a cruel and ironic twist) by an obscene distance - let's just say, the door to Lenny's den will no longer remain ajar for the Sheilas of the world in addition to remaining closed to most of those who practice dentistry in the upper Midwest.) Yup, Sheila took a magnificent swan dive, Lonnie went and biffed the big roll (he pulled a Biff, if you will), his career went in the gutter along with that ball (as well as the next toss as he was still experiencing some symptoms of PTSD - Post Traumatic Sheila Disorder) and the rest is etched in the rows and columns of the GSABCL record books which can be found in pamphlet form at any gas station, truck stop, rest area and/or wherever you can find pamphlets displayed and distributed in the greater (or the gooder) Good Springs area.  

Buy Chris's books SPONGE CAKE & WHAT'S IN THE FRIDGE? on Amazon 

Visit Chris's website christheauthor.com

The Strawberry Farmer

Call him an aspirant of the Amish, more like dust in the wind, you will hardly even realize he is there until it's too late. Hank Edgar, a fourth generation strawberry farmer from the upper peninsula of Michigan, or a Yooper as people would say at the local farmers market, had never seen a bad day, but that's most likely because he had never seen anything at all in his whole life. Not only was Hank the blindest strawberry farmer in all of Cupholder County (everything in Michigan comes back to the automobile industry, right?), but he was also the bestest strawberry farmer in all of Cupholder County as well as the neighboring counties, Roadkill County, All Wheel Drive County and Global Warming County, the darkest of all the counties that make up Michigan's beautiful upper peninsula. Hank was blinder than a bat, smarter than a whip and quicker than Batman's whip (that's the Batmobile for you non superhero enthusiasts out there). If you ever tried to cross him, you would be hearing about it at the buffet line of every Fourth of July annual pancake breakfast hosted by the Cupholder Firehouse in conjunction with the local chapter of the Lion's Share Club for the rest of time until Global Warming County becomes an unfortunate reality and it turns into Global Warming Globe. You see, Hank's vision may have been all so cruelly usurped from him by the Sims gods when they were animating his character but that doesn't mean he isn't a proud cardholder of the gift of gab. Rumor has it that he once told a story so captivating that it caused the bus driver to nearly swerve off the thoroughfare in anticipation of the next beat in the plot. That one was a story about the time that he drove a neighboring farmer to the brink of insanity through a series of mind-numbing events that created a corn maze of confusion for Teddy Boston, the second best farmer in all of the car-related counties in Michigan, not just those Yoopers up there in the Yoop. Hank and Teddy had a bitter rivalry that dated all the way back to their little league days when Teddy brushed Hank back with some chin music one too many times (probably Motown if we are going to stay on course), causing the brash youngin' to charge the mound with his Louisville Slugger regretfully in tow...Hank would go on to spend a handful of nights in the Cupholder Juvenile Delinquent Center, a windowless facility on the edge of town, kitty corner to the Walmart, with a lobby containing several ping pong tables, a smattering of old school Pac-Man arcade games and a shuffleboard table sitting by its lonesome in the corner with a healthy sized colony of dust mites and skull and crossbones images graffitied into the side of it. Instead of threatening his enemy with a twenty three ounce aluminum bashing stick, this time Hank Inception'd Teddy's life with his cunning wit, which he had gradually gained after having the C for captain stitched into his competitive chess jacket for almost a baker's dozen years that he wears while competing for the Cupholder Check Mates in the Michigan Yoop Amateur Chess Society (or the MYACS if you are anyone who knows anyone at an organic coffee shop/fruit stand/farmers market with both coffee and fruit available in the Yoop or Tobey Maguire from that movie with the chess), a highly secret and exclusive society on par with the Stonecutters from that Simpsons episode with the Stonecutters. But yeah, Hank basically just took a torch to all four of Teddy's fields of fresh, ripe strawberries at like 3 am after going twelve rounds with a handle of Johnnie Walker and getting knocked out before the final bell...have you ever smelt a burnt strawberry? It smells worse than death itself; it's like if you tossed some garlic on a pile of old socks that were sitting below Carrot Top while he got a haircut (Carrot Top's barber is probably one of the most revered barbers in the Hollywood barber community which is otherwise known as the HBC if you make organic coffee at a farmers market in the Yoop). Turns out that blind people can be real jerks sometimes too.    

 

Buy Chris's books SPONGE CAKE & WHAT'S IN THE FRIDGE? on Amazon 

Visit Chris's website christheauthor.com

Matt Damon & Jimmy Kimmel's Beef

The morning began just like any other for Matt Damon - he rolled over and was awoken by his Boston Red Sox themed alarm clock. Then the camera slowly pans out to reveal that his entire room, nay his entire house is decked out in Boston Red Sox memorabilia much like Jimmy Fallon's character in Fever Pitch. Then Matt checked his Twitter feed like he is wont to do in the early hours of the day as he rummaged through the tweets, a hoarder searching through their unit at Public Storage A Couple Towns Over for something of value to sell at the local thrift or antique shop so they can invest in more up to date knick knacks like snow globes with Santa Clauses who are vacationing in tropical destinations, snow globes with Santa Clauses who are delivering gifts around the world on Christmas Eve and snow globes with Santa Clauses who are trying to do their taxes and having a ton of trouble figuring out what they are able to write off as a charitable donation. After sifting through his Twitter feed like a real life 49er, Matt Damon went outside in his bathrobe while holding a steaming coffee mug to get the newspaper, which he still gets delivered to his house even though he is Matt Damon and you wouldn't think that he would still get the newspaper, you would think that the newspaper would care more about him than he would care about the newspaper. What Matt Damon found on his doorstep shook him to his core...a nice looking gift basket with a bunch of tasty fruit, muffins and lil packets of hot cocoa with marshmallows already in them addressed to him from the one and only Jimmy Kimmel, his old late night hosty friend. There was one part of the nice looking gift basket that stood out in particular to Matt Damon, though, and it happened to be one of those robot drone thingys. The robot drone thingy had a orange and white checkerboard design like it was fresh off the assembly line from the University of Tennessee after a bunch of people volunteered to help in its construction as well as a name tag on it that read Teke. Teke was a friendly robot drone thingy but a robot drone thingy nonetheless so its capabilities were not meant to be dealt with lightly. Rather than question Teke's ever burning desire to take over the world, no matter how many humans it may have to bury in order to accomplish this hefty task, the wise thing to do would be to embrace the all encompassing, worldly strength of the machine and the mystical powers behind the Rocky Top factory down there with the fine people of Knoxville TennessEEHEEEEEEE....let's go roll them Tide. So anyway, Teke was a beast and everyone refused to acknowledge it...everyone that is, except the one and only Jimmy Kimmel. You see, Jimmy met Teke on an online dating app for humans and robot drone thingies that is known in the circles highly exclusive community as Tinder. Teke swiped left on Jimmy's heart and Jimmy swiped left on Teke's robot puzzle piece and the rest went down in history (or the future, you know, cuz robots n stuff...Robots N Stuff was a failed Chris Hardwick pilot that was slated to run on TruTV a few slots after Impractical Jokers until one of the robots tried to do an after show about it and Chris Hardwick accused him of heisting his after show talk show format that so many people have dreamed of one day doing for their favorite show (Here are a few honorable mentions for the Best After Show Talk Show category...The Water Cooler (The Office), The Water Cooler (Parks & Rec) and The Water Cooler (The Shape of Water) (It's not a movie...but...yeah...at least it gets some Oscars street cred, you know) But yeah, Teke was a boss and no one wanted to give him any artificial intelligence respect other than Jimmy Kimmel and Matt Damon was about to find that out the hard way. So, Matt Damon just asked Teke to make him some coffee, like it doesn't seem like that big of an ask, right? Well apparently for the robot drone thingy, it was more of a question about what is wrong or right and how to solve the ombre puzzle of why humans exist. Pretty much, Teke just did a 900 on the whole situation right away, right when Matt Damon asked for a simple cup of straight up normal black coffee, none of that light foam, heavily sprinkled whipped dream cappuccino with a side of unlimited bread sticks that all the celebrities get on the TMZ. Teke went and made Matt Damon a Jamba Juice kind of smoothie and Matt Damon got pretty pissed about the whole ordeal so that's how his beef with Jimmy Kimmel began and the rest kind of just snowballed from there, you know how these things go.  

Buy Chris's books SPONGE CAKE & WHAT'S IN THE FRIDGE? on Amazon 

Visit Chris's website christheauthor.com

A Totally Honest Review of Crazy Rich Asians

Both splashy and dashy, plushy and fussy, a brilliant arrangement of real estate moguls and wanna be real estate moguls. If HGTV was a movie, it would wish that it could capture the screen and flaunt what its got like this flick. CRA'z manages to be punny and also pretty phunny at the same time. Imagine if the most interesting man in the world had a baby with a lady from a Corona commercial...now you're on the right track, my amigo. Now continue down this imagination path in considering if that baby went on to study computer science at Princeton or Harvard or one of those hotbeds of academia...you just hit a bulls eye and won the World Darts Championship: Singapore edition. And what about putting your own family ahead of your personal passions...Oprah is gonna be pissed when she sees this one. Don't get lost in the cloud on this beaut as CRA'z is basically iPhone the movie (no offense, Tangerine...but anyway, speaking of Tangerine, I'm going to name one of my books Tangentrine...that is all for now.) or at least Apple must be paying a hefty price to get all that screen time...selfies have been elevated to an underappreciated and oft overlooked art form in this low stakes and even lower pay off tromping. Have you ever found yourself liking a movie or a book or a TV show or something and asking yourself why you like that thing and never being able to quite figure out why you like it? Yeah well, that is what it is like for me and Crazy Rich Asians except for the liking it part...just kidding, it wasn't that bad, but it was kind of like if a screensaver was a movie, but like a really interesting screensaver that your dentist's receptionist would have at least. Everyone can't sit in first class or it wouldn't make first class as cool anymore and let's be honest; CRA'z is not first class material, folks; whoa, I just got possessed by a judge from a bad 80s talent show show. CRA'z is kinda like an alternate universe in Back to the Future II - like what would happen if Marty McFly's parents actually cared about his grades and future and that kind of stuff..maybe they did, heck I can't remember, it's all a jumble, all those 80s movies are like one big montage of a group of friends running barefoot on a beach and chasing after a kite that came from a drifter, but George McFly is kind of like the real life Ned Flanders so you never know, you just never know, but you do know one thing which is that at the end of the day, we're on to Cincinnati. And I can already hear you shouting at your desktop computers and getting ready to stuff my P.O. mailbox with hecka snail mail about my hockey coach with an addiction to his whistle tough love and professional E sports athlete level of emotional withdrawal (which is the highest level you can reach in the game of life which is both the most expensive and the cheapest game out there on the market) with CRA'z and I just want to say one thing...it's not your fault, CRA'z...it's not your fault. 

Buy Chris's books SPONGE CAKE & WHAT'S IN THE FRIDGE? on Amazon 

Visit Chris's website christheauthor.com

Santa's Christmas Eve Eve

The big man rolls over and the Earth shakes, both figuratively and literally, as he slowly realizes that he has dozed straight on through his alarm clock. It is the big day of Christmas Eve and Saint Nick has quite the to do list weighing on his hearty soul (in accordance to his latest copy of Chicken Soup for the Festivus Pole); it doesn't help that it is already almost two o'clock in the afternoon and he is just waking up now, still wiping sleep boogers out of his eyes and still trying to figure out what latitude he is currently at after a busy night of sippin' and tippin' a goodly amount of eggnog. You see, Christmas Eve Eve is the biggest party night of the year for Kris Kringle and his army of elves (they give a whole new meaning to the motto Army Strong if you consider lifting presents like giant drones that deliver pizzas and that are twice your size well above your head to be strong which it is pretty impressive to be fair). The Anti Krampus is the kind of dude who when the server asks if he would like a soup or salad, he just goes ahead and orders a Super Salad which is a salad with Rockstar Energy Drink drizzled across the top for its dressing (Bossalmic Vinaigrette dressing as they like to call it around Rob Dyrdek's Fantasy Factory). So yeah, it was Christmas Eve Eve and all the elves were basically going HAM while feasting on a honey glazed ham dinner that was meticulously prepared by Mrs. Claus after several hours of poring over Rachel Ray's goodly, grubby deeds from the past year. One of the more delinquent dwarves actually spiked the bowl of hot chocolate with vodka while everyone else was distracted by the three other even more delinquent dwarves who were elf stacking in an attempt to become the first ever elf tower to dunk on the regulation sized basketball hoop in Santa's workshop (elf stacking is the method by which at least three or elves stand on top of each other like they are a few fourth graders trying to get into an R rated movie in a Charles Dickens movie or a real life version of a holiday themed episode of The Simpsons, thereby putting together the proper puzzle pieces of an elf tower which is also the name of the sequel to that Idris Elba and Matthew McConaughey western sci fi flick...Elf Tower is also my favorite music emporium based in Northern California...the Elf Tower is also the most popular (and only) sex move in the North Pole's version of the Kama Sutra which is called The Naughty List.) So the party's hot cocoa bowl was thoroughly spiked and the gathering of elves slowly transformed from joyous to jolly to, eventually, full on merry. Everyone was elf stacking like crazy and losing track of time and pretty soon, four hours had passed by like a snap of your fingers and no one had even had a thought about making a present or building a toy or a bear or anything for that matter. 'Twas a miraculous night of festivities at Santa's workshop on this year's Christmas Eve Eve and yet nary a present was made, leaving the big man in the lurch so he just stopped by Whole Foods and picked up some gift cards to the Olive Garden in a last ditch effort to make up for his terrible procrastination situation.       

Buy Chris's books SPONGE CAKE & WHAT'S IN THE FRIDGE? on Amazon 

Visit Chris's website christheauthor.com  

The Moonshiners

The familiar whammy of a shotgun clanged in the backdrop as Cletus sprinted for the emerald tinged foothills that were sprinkled with shrubs and a variety of woodland creatures of differing levels of feist. 

"Sue Ellen! Start the car, Sue Ellen! We gotta go, we gotta go right now, Sue ELLEN!" Cletus shouted out to an ominous silhouette of forest, a steady rumble of earthly growls ringing out.

"I'm comin' baby, hold up, I'm a..." 

*WHAM*

The burgundy Oldsmobile rammed into the base of a tree with the impact of several thousand Razor scooters. Sue Ellen came spilling out of the driver seat with the force of several thousand Heely shoes. Then Cletus came bounding for the vehicle with the magnitude of several thousand hoverboards (only the ones from Back to the Future II, of course).  

"Honey, honey, honey, oh my gosh are you OK? Are you alright, baby doll? Please, God, please tell me you are going to be fine, that everything will be good in the end..." Cletus cried out to the heavens as he knelt down beside Sue Ellen's unconscious body, a corpse in waiting and a new member of the Grim Reaper's top eight friends on MySpace (or MyCoupDeGrace if you are a fan of soccer players (or as you would call them, FUTBOL players) who have an affinity for using their titanium bald skull as a tool for headbutting opposing players (and only on the biggest stage of the sport or of any sport for that matter other than probably the Super Bowl or as you would call it, the American Football Ultimate Match, not a friendly but a real match, although the loser is relegated to a vacation at Knott's Berry Farm, and not even during Halloween season when it metamorphoses into Knott's Scary Farm and all the ushers just pelt you with handfuls of Reese's Pieces while you are on the roller coaster) who are talking trash about their mother's level of education as well as putting that iron noggin to use for other routine household chores like cleaning out the gutters and opening the garage via repetitive bashing when you can't find the opener).  

In an instant, Sue Ellen's figure began twisting and turning like it was winning a heated match of Twister against an exploitative Hollywood executive. Tiny bubbles of foam began emerging from her mouth, each one seeming to clog her throat even more until it all stopped. Everything stopped. Sue Ellen's figure stopped twisting and turning and the tiny bubbles of foam stopped emerging from her mouth, buoyed by her tongue that seemed to have a mind of its own. Cletus stopped wailing and his expression transmogrified from pure terror to pure shock and awe. 

Without warning, Sue Ellen's body began levitating towards the heavens or in the general direction of its original home, if you will. Cletus, not knowing what to do or ever having faced this kind of earthly scenario, grasped her ankle, the one with the anklet that she has been collecting charms for since before she even knew what an anklet was (or before anyone even knew what an anklet was - they're a pretty new invention, aren't they? Let me go to Starbucks to check the latest copy of The Feet Beat.) Slowly, the two lovers began rising towards the skies just as the clouds started to part and a beautiful blue hue was revealed to the world. As Sue Ellen and Cletus passed through the varying levels of brush thickness, they bid adieu to all the little chipmunks, squirrels and owls who were gathered in the Woodland Creature Gallery which is the most polite gallery in all the land, even moreso than those nice folks at the Masters who help those golf balls get in the hole. Then the two lovers passed through the cloud, revealing all those terrible photos that you deleted off your iPhone many blue moons ago. Even farther North (North means up, right?) they climbed until they reached the pearly gates, the zenith of Bill Gates's charitable foundations. Waiting for them at the pearly gates was a giant man, probably standing taller than the tallest building in North Dakota, with an enormous white beard and crystallized, snowy looking silk robe. Beside the giant man was a gorgeous woman, probably the most gorgeous woman who has ever strolled a stroller. 

"Welcome home, Cletus and Sue Ellen." The gorgeous woman said, but really the words kind of just oozed out of her lips like molasses. 

"Wait...how do you know our names?" Cletus said as he gave a sideways glance to his lover. 

"We see everything. We know everything. We are everything. We are love...and you are too." The gorgeous woman said, but really it was more like a whisper of a weeping willow. 

Gradually from behind his back, the building of a man (or The Building as he would be called on Game of Thrones) pulled a hunking mason jar of brownish liquid out from behind his back as the gorgeous woman did the same thing with a similar mason jar containing a liquid.

"Is that...Could it be...Really? Is that our latest batch of moonshine? Sunshine Moonshine?" Cletus queried with a quiver in his voice as the corners of Sue Ellen's mouth curled to make the slightest of Joker-esque grins. 

The Building and the gorgeous lady simultaneously took huge swigs of their respective mason jars full of Sunshine Moonshine and both were like, "Ahhhhhhhhh". 

"Yes, my pencil mustachioed friend. This is your latest batch of Sunshine Moonshine." The gorgeous lady pronounced in a dramatic fashion like she was announcing that La La Land had just won the best picture award at The Oscars. 

Sue Ellen and Cletus's eyes morphed into water fountains as they held on to each other in the tightest of embraces, tighter than that of a baby's cling to their mother in the millisecond prior to being placed on Santa Claus's lap for a picture. They held on to each other for the remainder of the Earth's existence before it exploded into a fiery ball of fury in the year 4200, an explosion so explosive that it took both Heaven and Hell with it as well as everything in between which is everything that has ever been and everything that ever will be.  

And so it was. 

Buy Chris's books SPONGE CAKE & WHAT'S IN THE FRIDGE? on Amazon 

Visit Chris's website christheauthor.com

Real Blue Collar Comedy Tour

A distinct pattern of sunlight peaking in through the shades dances on the dozing face of Larry the Cable Guy as he catches the latest cat nap. Speaking of cats, a small family of house cats miraculously emerges from the undercarriage of his paisley patterned futon. The tour bus is still buzzing from a wild night on the town, one of the countless occasions of such, simply too many for any mere mortal count on their puny ten fingered hands. This time Larry got into a few too many Moscow Mules and ended up losing his favorite copper mug when it was knocked over and out of the window by one of the tour bus's many house cats (or tour bus cats as the gang likes to call them for auxiliary chuckles) (Auxiliary Chuckles is my favorite UCB improv group - everyone on in that group is tied for the lead in assists in the UCB fantasy league...other statistical categories in the UCB fantasy league include spit takes, volume of laugh (measured by the same sound level meter device that the NFL stadiums use to measure the decibel level of the fans so they can say that they were louder than the 12th Man in Seattle and get everyone even more riled up like that uncle who babysits the kids and takes them all out to get smoothies (off the secret menu, of course, because this is your hipster brother, Klayville) from Jamba Juice then he returns them to you and acts all innocent like he doesn't know that he effectively just put the whole crew in a spin cycle, making Klayville the Allen Iverson to your *insert big white power forward here*). Much like the group's affection affliction for Moscow Mules, Ron White holds a personal case of the affection affliction for tequila as he chugs it by the case, in particular his own brand which is called Number Juan Tequila or as Bill Engvall likes to call it, "Ron's funny medicine." So anyway, last night Larry the Cable Guy got into a few too many Moscow Mules and ended up sleeping on the hood of the tour bus with a pillow stuffed with straw but without his favorite blanket, the one with the water color painting of Mike Tyson chomping off Evander Holyfield's ear. Then out of the tour bus comes Ron White, all hopped up on his crazy frat juice and ready to throw down with the best of them...and oh jeez la weez, what a throw down 'twas. You see, a couple of the blue collar boys's biggest fans rolled up to the tour bus, wielding their iPhones like a TMZ camera operator would a camera. The fans seemed to be fair-minded and everything appeared to be all well and dandy with the whole situation...that is, until all H-E-double batons broke loose, mainly in the form of confusion. What had happened was that the fans were recording the situation on their iPhones and Jeff Foxworthy didn't take too kindly to that deed, nosireebob he did not appreciate that kind of exposure to the world through the fans's various social media platforms, going so far as to consider it to be possibly the kind of deed that a redneck or someone of that ilk might pursue. (When these fans refer to getting catfished, they are mostly talking about the act of catching a catfish with their bare hands, or noodling as it is known in only the most select crop circles and not the act of deceiving an individual online about your true identity and getting to be a star on MTV. The name catfish was actually established by a marauding group of American football hooligans when they were fooled into thinking the marine animal was a house cat, in a similar vein to the family of tour bus cats.) All of a sudden, Larry the Cable Guy transmogrified into Larry the Netflix Guy, a younger, more on demand version of himself that has an incredible capacity for going on binges, whether it be drinking Moscow Mules or watching his buddy Ron drink his own brand of tequila, Number Juan Tequila or just simply making some heads roll, particularly those of a couple fans who are a wee to aggressive with their iPhone recording skills. The Netflix Guy came a flyin' out of the tour bus, finger guns a blazin' and ready to rumble. He calmly plucked his fans's iPhones from their firm grasps before even more casually clanking their noggins together which made the familiar sound of two coconuts being clanked together while they were filming their favorite comedy tour group on their iPhones.       

    

Buy Chris's books SPONGE CAKE & WHAT'S IN THE FRIDGE? on Amazon 

Visit Chris's website christheauthor.com

Celebrity Survivor

Celebrity Survivor season one is down to the final four and wow, if it ain't a doozy. Lady Gaga chameleoned herself as a successful host for the new spin off Travel Channel show, Woman vs. Wild, and the heiress to Bear Grylls's throne which is actually just a sanded off tree stump, Paula Abdul reenacted her glory days in the reality TV venue but the only difference is that this time she is the mother of nature instead of the mother of the invention of the terribly beautiful audition, Matt Damon reminds the audience that once again, it's not his fault but this time it is referring to him stabbing a former ally in the back with a sawed off coconut shell and The Rock rounds out the fantastic four by being an amalgamation of the Fantastic Four. Celebrity Survivor is being held at the Four Seasons Resort Maui in Wailea, hosted by TMZ in conjunction with several celebrity-based charities including Tron for Tots, We'll Fix Your Haircut and the chef's personal favorite, Labradoodles and Labradon'tles: The Real Story Behind Labradoodles and What Not To Do With Them. We are about to join the action before the final challenge, which is taking place by a buffet of infinity pools and lazy rivers and a complex of luxurious outside showers that look like they leapt right out of a magazine that you would find in a chiropractor's waiting room or perhaps in the backyard of a cabin that is being rented out by Lady Gaga and is slated to be featured on the newest season of Woman vs. Wild. The challenge? To see who can fit the most people in a selfie. The reward? The winner gets a lifetime supply of Tommy Bahama clothes. What is a lifetime supply of Tommy Bahama clothes? Not enough Tommy Bahama clothes - that is a lifetime supply of Tommy Bahama clothes. You have to be totally sure about your love of the brand though - these flip flops don't take no flip floppers. Let's get back to the action; when we left off, The Rock was just showing off to the crowd of eager onlookers as he was casually bench pressing a weary Sumo wrestler after defeating him at his own craft, thus completing the fifth element of the Fantastic Four and forcing the Sumo wrestler to fall on a sword that he got from a vending machine that also sells holiday themed hot cocoa mixes, tattered women's undergarments (which is more tattered - the undergarments or the women? Don't let Shelly in accounting catch wind of this blog post or there will be heck to pay - the lion's share of her charitable contributions that were valid to be written off in her taxes in the past calendar year (which is pretty much her favorite thing to do outside of work even though people always tell her that she should never bring her work home with her, but tell that to the Sumo wrestlers who eat entire school districts of marine life in preparation for their upcoming bouts and even the neighboring districts (A. Gerryflandering B. GerryRaisinBrandering C. Gerrycanofcorndering D. All of the above E. Now I am hungry) when they are about to face The Rock which is actually more often than you would think - The Rock makes more rounds than Dr. Drew.) came out of respect to the Weird Stuff in Japanese Vending Machines international charity which is otherwise known as the WSJVM in select, Furry-centric circles (which is most Furry circles except for those wild ol' retired folks down in Sedona, don't even get me started on the Sedona Furries, it's a plague, you can read about it when it shows up on your Flipboard in the fetish section or the Baby Boomer section or the Baby Boomer fetish section - a few other news stories in the Baby Boomer fetish section are about the epidemic of kids being told to stop staring at the cell phones, the best time to have your morning cup of coffee (between 7:15 and 7:40 am) and a fun lil' special, limited time version parlor game of Twenty Questions: How To Figure Out If Your Spouse Still Loves You) and the entire catalog of Now That's What I Call Music! albums is another thing in the Japanese vending machine that is at the helm of its vending machine cafe. Right when the Sumo wrestler was about to pin The Rock between a boulder and a hard place, our favorite action movie star sprung into a bevy of activity with the determination of a one legged man saving the life of a building. With a menacing series of sucker punches, gut wrenches and whodunnits, the former Miami Hurricane defensive end took down not only the Sumo wrestler (and the conventional infrastructure for an actor's career path in Hollywood in the process) but the equivalent of an entire fleet of kamikazes, coming straight for his throne while Jay Z and Kanye were still watching it. Finally, The Rock vanquished his opponent and the Pacific Rim as a whole (as well as signing a multi-tiered contract to star in the newest sequel of Pacific Rim, Pacific Rim: Rampage 2.)  
In the meantime, Lady Gaga is having a personal fashion show as she comes up with the newest version of blackout curtains which is just wearing a pair (a clump?) of curtains when you are already blacked out. Paula Abdul is white girl wasted on three tall glasses of Coca Cola, gingerbread people cookies and her inflated reality TV show judge ego. Matt Damon is off feuding with Jimmy Kimmel, carrying on a long-held tradition and a fixture in the late night talk show universe that stands up there with the annual Andy Richter behind the back alley oop from half court to Conan, Jimmy Fallon finally losing his cool and blowing up on some poor PA on set after years of penting up his emotion and only releasing it in tiny increments (mainly in the form of goofy Hallmark eCards, shopping on Amazon for holiday themed sweaters for his many dogs and cats (he considers all the dogs and cats that he sees in the world to be his, sort of like how everyone is Santa Claus's children or how we are all Jerry Seinfeld's audience, no matter where he goes, he can't escape the Tao of Jerry - "I just came to Whole Foods to pick up some gelato and I see a TMZ reporter all bundled up and camping out with a pickaxe in the frozen foods section - if they're looking for ice cream, I ain't buyin' - gelato or go home! Gelato all day - come get your all day gelato, cold off the press! Gelato be or not gelato to be... it's gelatoooooooo!") and being too nice, like suspiciously nice to the baristas at The Coffee Bean, probably due to his scone deficiency condition) and The Rock is in waiting as he holds down the cabana with half the Four Seasons concierge staff at the plate, a montage of one piece swimsuited individuals, the tips of their noses delicately dipped in Banana Boat suntan lotion on deck and Donnie's long lost cousin, Lonnie Darko, sporting an Easter Bunny suit in the hole. (Lonnie is a journeyman mechanic who enjoys long walks on the beach, watching sunsets with his Golden Retriever, Goldie, and solidifying the good name of the Darko's family lineage for y'all's viewing pleasure on 23andMe.)     

Buy Chris's books SPONGE CAKE & WHAT'S IN THE FRIDGE? on Amazon 

Visit Chris's website christheauthor.com

The Great Mistletoe Wall

*Coach Pop slowly rises (for dramatic effect because Coach Pop is also the head coach of the Avengers so he knows how to show off what he's got for the camera (you know, like metaphorically making out with the lens and all that jazz and also I should mention that you should make the journey to Utah (in other words, take the Trail of Low Alcoholic Beers) if you would like to check out the birthplace of jazz) and how to use a light saber too) from his table in the back of the banquet room and clinks his spork (the same one that he got from Taco Bell when he ordered a pintos and cheese which comes in that lil Styrofoam cup that a seagull might choke on) on a collectible San Antonio Spurs travel coffee mug that Jason Segel might bring on a pleasantly quaint roller blade trip down any boardwalk he runs in to, wrestling at least a slice of the attention pie chart of most of the attendees at the reception dinner for his best man speech*

Todd is not only my brother from another mother but he is also my best friend til the end and an amazing individual that I hold dearly in my heart and always will until Beth finally does us part (Beth is my annoying step sister who is always trying to hook up with my old college buddies - she is the first female to ever go streaking through the quad after the big pep rally in the gymnasium). Despite what his neighbors may claim, no matter how Scroogey they may make him out to be, he was always the most festive person in the cul-de-sac when it came to this time of the year and he always let a gaggle of geese loose near the neighborhood pool on the eve of every Christmas Eve. One holiday season stands out in particular - it was the eighty eighth year of the twentieth century and all was well in the Shady Tree Estates or at least all was well until it wasn't which is very soon thereafter on the timeline of this particular story. You see, back when Todd was in his candy cane twirling heyday, Shady Tree Estates was evenly split in half, with a Berlin Wall made of mistletoes in addition to the remains of Frosty (his carrot nose was actually a major load-bearing instrument in the architecture of the whole thing, making it the Christmas equivalent of the middle block on the bottom level of the Jenga tower). On one side of the Great Mistletoe Wall, the blocks were lined with houses made of gingerbread, there was an enormous snowman standing proudly in the front yard of every home (or snowwoman or snowthey or whatever floats your hydroplane and helps it to win the race on Lake Washington at the Seattle Mariners game - I used to think that the winner was determined by whichever color was cheered for the most! Now I am a writer after taking a brief detour from a Foley career path (the path with the most crinkly tree branches of all the paths) but my many piles of yet to be popped bubble wrap will always be waiting for me at the Public Storage a couple towns over (I think that is actually the whole name of Public Storage...it gets real confusing when you start to dive into the semantics of the whole thing) - I was actually the first person to ever be rejected by Storage Wars other than that lady from Tallahassee that they did a 60 Minutes on who was hiding the infamous Tallahassee Ring of Illegal Cat Colonies from the feds or the AC (you know, the Animal Control not the Air Conditioning...don't even get me started on what might happen if those kitties didn't get their air conditioning in that house...I don't think there are enough pages on the internet to allow the space for that overzealous rant but let me just ask my buddy, Pete Jobs, I think he knows a thing or two about data chips - that storage unit made a regular, recently used litter box look like a beach on Hawaii Five-0 or a beach somewhere that would be a regular vacation destination for my buddy, Pete Jobs.) and a gumdrop in every mailbox (and a gumdrop in every book return drop box at the library). This side of the Great Mistletoe Wall was known as The Good Side, you know, kinda like that show that everyone loves now, The Good Place, and with the same amount of former stars of the hit sitcom Cheers (Woody Harrelson holds down the hut in a banana tree fort that shares the driveway with a subleased yurt.) On this side, there was a big sign on the Great Mistletoe Wall that read Welcome to The Good Side: Where the present moment is a runaway train and you can hop on board whenever you are ready if you just use your ticket which is a tablespoon of laughter, a handful of empathy, a dusting of joy, and a cup of common courtesy and don't you ever forget that, no matter where your travels may take you I want you to keep this huge sign in your heart forever.    

On the other side of the Great Mistletoe Wall, the blocks were lined with stockings that were stuffed full of coal, there was an enormous inflatable satan (or Antichrist or Angel of Darkness or whatever floats your raft made of tree limbs, bamboo and your own tears as you try to escape that island and are also busy growing an epic beard that Tom Hanks will rock once more when they someday do a Celebrity Survivor TV show and he obviously wins because who doesn't love that dude; dude is America's crossing guard. Dude uses a Margaritaville blender and isn't even a Parrothead. Dude gives a Christmas card to his barista and he doesn't even drink coffee or celebrate the holidays. Dude is the favorite actor of Pete Jobs. Dude has never been outside of California.) and the severed head of a gingerbread man in every mailbox (and the rest of his body in every book return drop box at the library). This side of the Great Mistletoe Wall was known as The Foul Side and also had a towering yellow pole that indicated such and divided the territory between fair and foul (or in this case, good and foul, but pretty much the same idea if you catch my drift (also, there will be a three hundred dollar reward if you catch my drift, dead or alive - just kidding, you only get the reward if it is alive - but seriously, that would be the most goth lost cat sign on a telephone foul pole ever though!) On this side, there was a medium sized sign on the Great Mistletoe Wall that read Welcome to the Foul Side: Where garbage goes to die, the electric chair for flowers, the guillotine for good, catapulting good feelings since 1972. 

Todd lived on The Good Side and his evil half brother Tim lived on The Foul Side. The big event to which I am referring is the huge annual Shady Tree Estates Turkey Bowl which is actually broadcast as a public access television show in the greater Creekpool metropolitan area. Todd was always the captain of The Good Side's team, whose name was the Cookie Cutters and mascot was an Elmo who was wearing an old school leatherhead helmet like George Clooney in that movie, Ocean's Eleven (what, you don't remember the part where they are pulling off that heist of the casino and the Cloones is running off with the green sack with a big dollar sign on it and accidentally rams his noggin' straight into that random pillar because the eye holes on his lil' cat burglar mask were shaped like Monopoly game playing pieces then had to wear an old school leatherhead helmet for the rest of the movie as per the doctor on set's orders?) That was the best part of the entire Ocean's tentpole franchise (Ocean Tentpoles to hold up your water trampolines are now on sale at REI or your local farmers market or Public Storage A Couple Towns Over!) since Billy Ocean became the official singperson for Uber (they have spokespeople so why don't they have singpeople? Call and leave a harmonious Weird Al-listic voice mail for your local congress singer to have this injustice corrected immediately.) Todd's evil half brother, Tim, was always the captain of The Foul Side's team, whose name was the Cookie Monsters and mascot was a Steampunk Elmo, so basically like Johnny Depp but instead of just scarves, he is just wearing a brand of scarves that puts out a strong WiFi signal and instead of transitional glasses, he is wearing a welding mask that puts out a strong WiFi signal. 

So the Turkey Bowl was about to be set to kick off and both Elmos were in their proper positions on their respective sidelines (but they were both being extremely disrespectful, respectively) and everything seemed like it was good to go, shake and bake, yada yada yada, just about all ready to pop that pigskin sucker it in the oven and let that bebe burn. The only problem was that the coin toss appeared to be in jeopardy. Against the official regulation standards set by the Holiday Sports and Leisure Association of America (which is otherwise known as the HSLAA or the HSL double A around the water cooler and/or vending machine cafe at the Holiday Sports and Leisure Association of America headquarters which is kitty corner to a Dairy Queen on the outskirts of the Tulsa adjacent suburb, Billymines, Oklahoma), it happened to be one of those coins that just has a picture of Elmo on both sides except one is just a picture of an Elmo with a cool lil' hat like Amelia Earhart and a pair of old school pilot goggles (like you would see at a flight simulator at NASA headquarters or in a Pixar movie depicting that much - think Up but with less sad audiences from the first ten minutes and balloons and houses that fly cuz balloons) and we call that one Aviation Elmo and the other is a picture of an Elmo with a cool lil' tail and we call that one Furry Elmo (you know, this coin is like the kind of knick knack that you would get at an antique Elmo pop up store in Brooklyn (along with Knick Elmo, of course, the only Elmo that has actually been choked by the actual Reggie Miller), or at an Etsy shop run by a single mom organic coffee shop owner or by using your Amazon Prime account, somehow, it might be on Neflix too, like everything is on there, right? They have collectible coins on there, right? I just binge watched all fifty state quarters being rained down on someone's parade and it happened to be the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade because Turkey Bowl.) So the referee was tossing the Elmo coin in the air and it landed on Aviation Elmo but that was just the beginning of the controversy. Todd called Aviation on the toss and Tim called Furry so Tim came flying (haha get it? I just got points from a now defunct late night comedy game show. Points!) off the sideline like a friggin' kamikaze, ready to give the referee and his brother everything he had. And that is when H-S-L-Double A...no, just kidding that is when H-E-Double Rolled Up Posters Of The 90s broke loose. 

By golly if the referee wasn't our old friend and my bestest buddy, the one and only great ol' Pete Jobs and if he didn't just go and muck it all up. You see, Pete Jobs has had a long storied history with the local branch of the Italian mafia. This time, they paid him well and if he didn't go and muck it all up, well.     

Buy Chris's books SPONGE CAKE & WHAT'S IN THE FRIDGE? on Amazon 

Visit Chris's website christheauthor.com

Jacksonville: Sicily of the Eastern Seaboard

A frigid chill hangs over the beach as a cycle of tides continue to crash against the sand, reminding the moon that it exists and that it matters, too. The howling laughter of an alliance of hyenas rings out in the distance as a barrage of rain droplets create a harmony of pitter pattering on the bay...The hyenas must have just gotten back from a Blue Collar Comedy Tour show or perhaps just remembered one of their old punchlines from their days of yore. A few tickle football fields down the beach rests a magnificent bonfire raging on adjacent to a pop up community of makeshift shanties. In between the bonfire and shanties there is a clothesline that has a few jerseys resting on it; a David Garrard number nine, a Byron Leftwich number seven and a purple Ric Flair entrance jacket from the inaugural WWE Royal Rumble held at Copps Coliseum in Hamilton, Ontario in 1988. A muffled stirring rattles about in one of the makeshift shanties for a few moments that seem like a Lifetime movie (most likely Christmas, if you are anyone) before a weathered individual wearing a pair of goggles from the Mad Max traveling band and strumming an acoustic guitar (it was as if Jimmy Buffett just washed up on the beach by pure happenstance) stumbles out of the improvised curtain door with a horrid graveyard mix stench of Seagram's gin, Flamin' Hot Cheetos and last night on the tip of his tongue. The bassist in the Mad Max traveling band suddenly gets tripped up by a fledgling association of sand condominiums and takes a tremendous tumble face first into the main office, effectively demolishing their stock value and turning the complex into Smitherseens (smithereens made of the remains of Mr. Burns's tortured assistant.) In the midst of his descent back to the Earth, the bassist lets out a whimper of a giant chihuahua and his prized collection of magenta rocks, glittery seashells and cool looking pebbles comes kamikazeing to the shore, which he was carefully balancing an armful of against his knock off North Face jacket which he got at South Mouth's online store by logging in to one of the computers at the library on the beach there in Jacksonville.

*KABOOM*

The discernible noise of a firework rings out in the distance as the Mad Max bassist helplessly peers upward to the angry skies, half his face buried in the fourth guest bathroom of an upscale, posh pebbly abode and the other half in complete awe of the events that he is bearing witness to. On the brink of insanity and with little other choice, the Mad Max bassist opts to follow the mortar and ultimately, his heart. Moving towards the explosion, he doesn't so much as walk as each foot saves his body at the very last second from once again descending to the cold dirt. Suddenly, the Mad Max bassist begins to speed walk and then his speed walk turns into a jog and then finally metamorphoses into a speed jog which in Outside Magazine layman's terms we would call running, a strenuous physical activity that only the most Tim Duncan of the moment (you know, like spur of the moment but in this case...forget it, I'm gonna go pour a cup of coffee - I'm not gonna drink it, I just like the action of pouring a cup of coffee and it'll be a nice centerpiece for my table of clutter which is coincidentally mostly just old San Antonio Spurs stats from the late 90s and early 2000s printed out from Basketball Reference's website.) frequenters of Forrest Gump who have no regard for the lower half of their body like to participate in. The Mad Max bassist bounds forward with the enthusiasm of ten thousand Air Buds catching ten thousand alley oops from ten thousand Garfields (in this universe, Garfield and Air Bud are the best of friends and Garfield is Tony Parker to Bud's Tim Duncan - are you picking up what I'm putting down now? If Coach Pop did an in between quarters interview about this post, he would probably say that it was the best thing that he has read since he invested in that fledgling popsicle stick joke writing business, Chuckle Freeze, which failed after making the grave mistake of centering their headquarters dangerously close to the equator.) After speed jogging towards the explosions for a while, the Mad Max bassist comes upon a sight that he will never be able to erase from his brain, even if he comes across the newest and most loaded with technology version (like a seven layer dip of technology that you dip computer chips in) of the Neuralyzer 6S from the Men in Black franchise. This is a sight that would make even the strongest of Sea World season ticket holders twist and shoot in their lil' yellow rain booties. 

   It is another bonfire, more magnificent in its mightiness than the last, and with dozens of people huddled around it and holding hands solemnly as if they might be praying for more kindling or something of that nature (or something else from Mother Nature). Upon closer review, the Mad Max bassist notices that the birthers of the magnificent bonfire are wearing masks...But these aren't just any ordinary masks, however - they are wearing masks of various sea creatures, each one more terrifyingly detailed and real looking than the last. A large brute of a man is donning an all too realistic appearing false face of a Blue Whale and he also has a sweatshirt with a homemade blowhole on the back of it sorta like those sweatshirts that have horns in the hood except more of a worthy auditionee for a Nautica commercial campaign. Kitty corner to Sir Blue Whale there is the woman with a sea lion from Finding Dory jumpsuit in the background, doing that everybody clap your hands thing that they do at the sports stadiums and annoying the whole lot of 'em- they call her the Sea Lion Queen. The Sea Lion Queen and Sir Blue Whale look to be the leaders of the marauding gang of beach hooligans or at least that is as much as the Mad Max bassist can ascertain in the moment, which seems to last as long as the time in between each Olympics (or what is known around the extremely exclusive IOC snack bar circles as the length of a Blue Ring). Swiftly, the leadership academy of knock off Spongebob Squarepants characters kicks the whole situation into high gear as they snatch up a pair of crystallized conch shells and hastily make a couple of illuminating calls into their beaks. From behind a sand-made replica of the Empire State Building emerges a gorgeous mermaid or at least it is a gorgeous lady in a mermaid costume that she probably got from The Party Store if she knows the score. That's not what is astonishing though...the craziest part is what the gorgeous mermaidy happened to be holding in her arms (or should I say fins? Nah, let's stick with arms because it's less related to the Miami Dolphins and their former quarterback Jay Cutler, Paul Bunyan's less athletic and more poorly coordinated little brother - final answer Mr. Trebek - starring in Worst Jeopardy Ever)...cuz she was flat out holding the corpse of a real life dolphin! (Speaking of the Miami Dolphins and Jay Bunyan sparkin' up cigs on the sideline!) Yeah that's right...it was one of those old school dolphin sacrifices all along.     

 

Buy Chris's books SPONGE CAKE & WHAT'S IN THE FRIDGE? on Amazon 

Visit Chris's website christheauthor.com

The Life and Times of Strider

With strides sending mightier gusts than those found in Ferris Bueller's hometown, he darts through the aisles of the mall with the ferocity of a feral cat, the agility of a panther from Carolina and the body awareness of a tenured dermatologist. The wrap around sunglasses donning man blasts through the cotton candy stand in a fit of rage as shreds of sugar hastily soar skyward, tiny heat tracking missiles in the worst fourth of July movie since the often forgotten cult garage hit, Sixteen Romanian Candles. He bounds, nay let's just say that he practically lunges down the walkways, occasionally stopping on a dime to pop his head into a jewelry store to have a quick daydream about moving to Beverly Hills like Weezer would talk about. When he has to go to the bathroom, even the mightiest and most used bookstore calendar worthy of waterfalls turn green with envy over the proliferation of his flow, with more breadth real estate than even the highest level on the jets in one of those hot tubs that you buy in a circus tent at the county fair. You know those crazy people who go out there, into the world, to chase floods on YouTube because they want to go head to head with the movie Twister and also get talked about on Bert Kreischer's solo Open Tabs podcasts? Yeah, well when they heard about Strider's enormous, immediate quantities of spillage, they came a sprinting, pants easily burned well past the brim. Moonwalking around the corner like his life depends on it, our hero runs smack dab into his McDonald's Golden Arch nemesis (to say Strider was lovin' it would be a crime against humanity and shake the entire fast food industry to its nougaty core, making for a delicious but controversial milkshake), the one and only female Paul Blart herself, minus the mustache, awesome means of transportation, successful sitcom career and storied relationship with Adam Sandler and all the great people over at Happy Madison Productions. When Linda the Mall Cop locks eyes with the hero, Strider, (or should I say locked Ray Banses, as she is also a disciple of Jack Nicholson and his many Laker game appearances), well, let's just say the rest is Drunk History. (Allow for a brief sidebar (which also happens to be my favorite kind of candy bar): There should be an interactive Drunk History ride at the Disney amusement parks where you and a couple of your friends, family members and/or co-workers can get together and slam a few pitchers of Hot Toddies before telling a cool story from your personal history, so it will be like a neat slice of your autobiography in case you never get around to writing your autobiography or just want a video to show off at the next family reunion after Aunt Sherry has had a few too many Hot Toddies, then Disney can hire a famous actor or comedian to listen to the recording and film them acting out the story and lip syncing the words...It will be an expensive ride, probably a few hundred dollars at the least just to cover all the overhead costs and contractual issues with SAG-AFTRA, and you won't get the VHS tape of your episode for a few weeks as it will be pored over in the editing bay by some cooped up dudes fueled by nothing other than Mountain Dew Code Red, fast food tacos delivered by Grub Hub and a strong sense of resentment for everyone who has ever loved them. But you know it will definitely be worth it when you finally get to see Jack Black reenacting the time when you hit a walk off grand slam in the little league championship game and crushing all the other kids in the celebratory pig pile. Your welcome, Disney family...I'll be expecting my check with a Mickey Mouse backdrop and Goofy's paw print signature in the mail any day now - that's what I call my FedEx Fund, you know kinda like mailbox money but not as catchy and more narrowly defined.) 
Alas, Linda the Mall Cop locks eyes with Strider and the rest is American History X (it's just an endless loop of a skinhead Ed Norton driving the baseline and calling iffy fouls on the opposing team until someone finally calls him out for over-refereeing and the racism gets thrown in the mix too.) No, but seriously, Linda the Mall Cop locks eyes with Strider and immediately begins sprinting in his direction. You see, Strider has not always been on Santa's good list. He had a bit of an incident, you could call it, with Linda and the rest of the security team over at the Hidden Oaks Mall this past summer. It was a wonderfully sunny and brilliantly toasty day in Hidden Oaks and Strider saw it fit to lay out one of his many beach towels right in the middle of the mall, between all the jewelry shops that he likes to pop his head into because they make Rivers of Cuomo flow from stud earring to stud earring. Not only did he pull out a whole set of beach-going material that was worthy of a Costco sales floor, Strider was bold enough to bring his trusty ham radio and put the St. Louis Cardinals game on full torque, much to the chagrin of the Hidden Oaks Association of Jewelers as well as the majority of the establishment's visitors other than the ones who just got back from an eight day baseball road trip where they visited seven Major League baseball stadiums and drove from city to city on a huge bus with a bunch of old people and the gloveful of individuals who had recently traveled up the shaky elevator shaft from the nineteenth century that John Shaft would certainly call in backup for in St. Louis's very own Golden Arch. And it was on that fateful, muggy July afternoon that Strider and the complete staff of security guards at the Hidden Oaks Mall (but especially Linda) became bigger rivals than Alabama and everyone else who is in college football (especially those Hot Toddy tipping, Hotty Toddy chanting good folks in the state to their West). So yeah, then Linda the Mall Cop pretty much just chased Strider out of the mall because he knew that he was only in the fifth month of his six month ban and he speed walked the whole way outta there because he didn't want to spend another night in the Hidden Oaks County Jail drunk tank.        

Buy Chris's books SPONGE CAKE & WHAT'S IN THE FRIDGE? on Amazon 

Visit Chris's website christheauthor.com    

Blake Bortles's Diary

Dear Diary,

*Fumbles the diary snap*

*Scoops up diary and tries to shovel pass it to a random mall walker who puts up their hands in denial to signal that they want no part of Bortles and his air of a frat house heir* 

*Spikes diary to stop the clock...but Father Time (Mother Nature's uptight husband who is always complaining about her typical tardiness and all the racket that their daughter, Sister Hazel, is making in the garage with her banging on her drum set like it's going out of Harry Styles and don't even get him started on their son who refuses to reveal his true identity in a lifelong sting that commenced upon the departure from his mother's Doppler radar, Undercover Brother) continues soldiering on at the same pace that he always does, much to the chagrin of most of the Jaguar fan base who wishes that they could just fast forward to when they someday win a Super Bowl and the glorious time when Jacksonville will firmly take hold of the reigns of being one of the finest cities in all the lands, the Paris of Sunshine State, the Sicily of the Eastern seaboard and the King of the Alligators, if you will*

Why is Coach Doug such a jerk? First he benches me then he tells me that I am not allowed to take photos in the locker room for my Instagram, Snapchat or my new Looksie account (Looksie is an app that I actually invented (with the help of my Harvard Homies, an exclusive underground club at the Ivy League university which only allows admission to people who both know the origin of the Pythagorean theorem and can not only enter a pie eating contest but bring the cake home...these are the type of people who actually CAN have their pie and eat it too, preferably pumpkin if it is anywhere near Turkey time) which requires the user to not only look at the camera on their phone when they are taking a picture but to also be wearing a pair of colored contact lenses, at least a Johnny Deppful of scarves and proudly holding a fresh Moscow Mule copper tumbler of raspberry shrub.) Then he tells me that I am not "allowed" to wear my Jaguars jersey to the night club - since when did that become a team rule? Last time I checked, Leonard was the best man at a wedding and he was sporting the number 27. I think Coach Doug is just jealous of us players cuz he wishes that he could be in our spot, all young and with bright futures and the ability to look cool in Billabong board shorts and whatnot. Did you know that a lot of those board shorts actually have a comb in them that you can use for your hair if you bend over far enough and at the right angle (which is actually pretty close to a right angle)? It's like being a greaser and a surfer dude at the same time...like if the T-Birds, Pink Ladies and Scorpions all joined hands in a crescent moon formation and harmonized as they sang Kumbaya while drinking Kombucha til the cows come home. 

You know what's even crazier than all that jazz? Hold on to your flip flops and sunglasses neck straps, it's about to be a bumpy ride...you must be this tall to ride this Ferris wheel. *Holds an open palm up to the logo on his No Fear tank top which is a highly detailed illustration of a dude whose name is Dewey Point repping a beautifully decorated sombrero and Hard Rock Cafe El Paso long sleeve t shirt (the high ups at No Fear reached a marketing agreement with the big dawgs over at the Hard Rock Cafe after several hours of waterfalling Monster Energy drinks and watching some nice young folks get way too into the Fortnite business) and heartily beer bonging a Mai Tai while rock and rollin' a cool longboard off a gnarly skateboard kicker jump straight off the rings of Saturn and in the general direction of Pluto, the cartoon dog from Disney not the planet that is not a planet* Coach Doug even told me that I am not allowed to attend the big bonfire that is held on the fourth day of every month over at Dew Point. That's like the hugest deal among my top eight friends on Facebook. At the shindig last month, my friend (who holds the number four slot in my greatly coveted top eight) Lacely almost lost her marbles after Lazy Steve (we call him Lazy Steve because he was the first and last one of our buddies to invest his money...making money for doing nothing? That sounds like the definition of lazy to me. There should be a picture of Lazy Steve straight up kickin' it on a hammock with Garfield in the Webster Dictionary next to the word slothful.) did the first ever buzzed 900 with a Tech Deck handboard that has been shown on TMZ...she almost lost the neon turquoise one - that is like the coolest marble in the whole set!   

Anyway, for Christmas this year I would like the Jaguars to trade me to the Patriots so that I can be the next Tom Brady and Tom Brady can be the next Drew Bledsoe and I can gift Bill Belichick some sleeves for his hoodies so that he doesn't have to go cold and then maybe he won't be such a goober grump. (Goober Grump was my favorite character in Gilligan's Island...my favorite part was when he complained about the lack of room service on the beach.) 

Yours truest,

Blake "Boss" Bortles #5    

P.S. I would also like another new Nintendo Switch and for my brothers and sisters to stop resenting my newfound fame and success. Also, snow on Christmas morning would be a pretty sweet deal for everyone except the goober grumps who don't take joy in the little things in life.    

Buy Chris's books SPONGE CAKE & WHAT'S IN THE FRIDGE? on Amazon 

Visit Chris's website christheauthor.com

Voicemail from Nicolas Cage

Aloha amigo, this is America's greatest international export, Nicolas Lil Sebastian Cage calling on behalf of all cannon ballers, both into pools and all that old time Monty Python jazz. No but seriously, I am calling to report to a human, some person, any individual who will lend an ear (preferably one that has been recently dug out with a miniature garden hoe during a holiday in Thailand) to a fallen friend til the end which may be very soon, in fact, as I am currently buried waist high in a vat of highly dangerous quick sand off the coast of Northwest Madagascar. If you are hearing this, please alert the local authorities about my status and let them know that I am in grave danger as quick sand is one of the few foes that I have not yet figured out the cure for, along with trans fat, traffic and the New York Times Sunday Crossword puzzle. It appears that an extended family of particularly callous muskrats have just moved in to the tree stump next door. Papa Bear has been eyeing me for the past few hours and needless to say, I am absolutely terrified of the upcoming muskrat brigade (Muskrat Brigade is my favorite new show on the Animal Planet, narrowly edging out Tarantullama, which introduces a terrifying Human Centipedish kind of animal that should be locked in an attic and fed fish heads for the remainder of its certainly brief lifetime, Spider? I Hardly Know Her!, a reality-based, hidden camera show about a housewife who runs into her biggest fear other than her dreaded ex-husband, and the former holder of the number one slot, Dinosore, a fun loving cartoon for people of all ages (in addition to Baby Boomers, they even welcome those who hail from the Mesozoic era which was much closer to the Big Bang on the ol' world timeline) about a Tyrannosaurus Rex named Greg who is battling an almost crippling bout of aching muscles, so horrible that it is nearly bringing him to his knee (do T Rexes have knees? Let's just say it is nearly bringing him to his scales, you know, for good measure) after he has picked up a new hobby: Ultimate Skateboarding...But what is Ultimate Skateboarding? Ultimate Skateboarding is when you ride a skateboard down the sidewalk while playing Tony Hawk's Pro Skater on a Nintendo Switch...I can hear what you are asking and the answer is yes, yes it does have to be a Nintendo Switch...Why? I don't know, I didn't create the rules of Ultimate Skateboarding, you'll have to ask Tony Hawk's agent who is actually just Shaun White in an Elvis wig because extreme sports athletes don't have a solid grasp on what agents do exactly.) that may be sent in my general direction if I make any sudden movements (which seems unlikely at this point, as you will remember that I am now buried six pack high (buried up to my ribs, I'm not high on a six pack of Dos Equis, as much as I would like to be because I am actually, legitimately the most interesting man in the world, you know, that old grey wolf dude or the Michael Phelps who used to work at a Men's Warehouse (which is the facility that looks like a giant pocket square where all the inventory of suits, ties and colorfully patterned socks for Men's Wearhouse are safely kept, far away from the throngs of thirsty Wall Street walkers, what with their fancy belts from Milan, Italy with three Blackberry phones strapped to them, one for each of their babies, which is what they call their Rolex watches) in a vat of highly dangerous quick sand adjacent to the cliffs of Northwest Madagascar. For some reason it appears that there is a dog washing station just down the road although it seems to be more useful as a substitute alpaca washing station at this point. In a strange turning of the tables, Strideline Socks has created a whole new skyline design in honor of my present situation after sending out one of their marketing representatives to check out Hootie and the Blowfish (In my newfound spare time I have since dubbed myself Hootie and the several Pufferfish that have been circling me in this godforsaken infinity pool of quick sand like the worst knock off of The Meg of all time are my Blowfish.) 
You are probably wondering what I am doing on the outskirts of the seaboard of Northwest Madagascar. I was brought here after thoroughly and tirelessly combing over the life work and not just reading but straight up, full fledged chowing down on the autobiography (like a Thanksgiving feast with an extra scooping of gravy) of one J. Peterman, the foremost individual in my personal ring of honor, alongside the Kool Aid dude, Rachel from Friends, THE one and only Eddie Bauer (and all those fleece donning, travel cup of black coffee sipping, Steve Zissou beanie popping, campfire kindling collecting, Kindle app on the new iPhone reading, speed interval pup tent setting upping, weird mushrooms in nature studying, marvelous rare hidden gems of people mixed with Golden Retrievers from the catalogs), Effie Trinket from The Hunger Games, Lindsey Vonn before she dated Tiger Woods and Lindsey Jacobellis after she fell in the 2006 Winter Olympics in Turin because she was Puig-ing it with the gold medal within her amber goggle tinted sight (I would have done the same thing except the only difference is that I would have done the first ever back flip 900 and landed the sonofaBlitzen, without a sliver of a Jello Christmas tree of a doubt), Effie Trinket from that hustling and bustling psychic office at the strip mall down the road, Monica from Friends, everyone who has ever been on a reality television show and miraculously, somehow made it through the gauntlet of goofies to weave a TMZ infused spider web of their days of pour(ing only the fruitiest and sauciest of the libations before finally snoring on the arctic tile flooring) (bonus points for those brilliant individuals who ventured so far as to fling bits of food at their foes (and even friends, sometimes if the case called for it, but not Rachel or Monica, never Rachel or Monica, only Chandler, it's always Chandler), toll booth operators, specters of toll booth operators, Effie Trinket from the Ulta at the mall, Santy Claus, Mrs. Claus, Independent Claus, the Easter Bunny and, finally, last but certainly not least (well, perhaps the least large, but that's neither here nor fair, but then again life is not fair, nor is life a county fair, no matter how much you may be desiring elephant ears because they are impossible to forget) the Notre Dame Fighting Irish Leprechaun mascot. 
I arrived on the rocky, earthy banks of Northwest Madagascar via paddle board (of the stand up variety, obviously...my favorite stand up paddle boarder used to be Dane Cook but nowadays I am more partial to Amy Schumer's stand up paddle boarding routines) with nothing more than a crossbow that I got at Cabela's as a reward after I demolished all the records on that giant golf simulator game (many of which belonged to the one and only Tiger Woods which he amassed before he dated Lindsey Vonn, of course), a raggedy, self-camouflaged loin cloth (I meticulously gathered up several bushels of Evergreen fronds in my time off from filming a movie about a wayfaring chap who makes the groundbreaking decision to venture deep into nature only to find out that he is actually a descendant of the wolves that like to terrorize Liam Nissan and hemmed them together with Gorilla Super Glue and also buoyed by my blood, sweat and jeers) and an iPhone XS with disabled GPS capabilities so my ex wives, directors and the piles of millions of Nicolas Cage Fan Club cardholders will never be able to track me down, even if they manage to hunt down a hidden treasure map on the back of the Declaration of Independence and Angelina Jolie's dad is there too. 

Buy Chris's books SPONGE CAKE & WHAT'S IN THE FRIDGE? on Amazon 

Visit Chris's website christheauthor.com