Once this week and once last week, I had a craving for Grade E meat. That is to say, I was hungry for some Taco Bell.

I was driving down my street this morning, and I passed a crew from a tree service grinding an enormous stump out of the ground in someone's front yard. I had the top down on my Jeep, and the smell of the wood being ground to bits reminded me of a story. My Uncle Johnny and Aunt Helen live in an old house on a big lot with plenty of trees. Once upon a time, it was out in the sticks, but the town has grown up around them, and they're now in an old house on a big, tree-lined lot, surrounded by strip malls and pharmacies.

I was cleaning the kitchen last night while listening to a radio show. As the show came back from break, they played that one chord that everyone can immediately identify as the first note of The Beatles' Hard Days Night. This single bit of music in a universe of unintelligible talk immediately caught Vanya's attention. He stopped what he was doing, looked toward the source of the music, and prepared himself to jam a little bit if the music was to continue.

I hereby declare the end of my contest, with Shelly as the winner (and only participant). It might have been easy to beat Shelly. You didn't actually have to be mad about whatever your topic -- getting The Advocate to publish a bogus rant would have been twice as much fun. So you could have come up with anything.

Suppose I was a professional golfer. And suppose that I found myself doing pretty well on a Sunday in a tournament. Well enough that I'm in the final group, paired with Tiger Woods.

You may have noticed that I haven't posted much lately, I'll blame lack of sleep, as I've tossed restlessly with stiff neck from stress. Every other year at this time, I've convinced myself that the Saints will win the Super Bowl, and that LSU will win every game by 35 points or more. But this year -- now that both teams have the talent to make it happen -- I am full of anxiety. I don't know how to handle realistic high expectations.

Last night, I was ready to walk the dogs, but I couldn't find my keys. I looked in all of the normal places that I leave them, and no dice. So I just grabbed a spare house key and went on my way.

There's a beverage trend in Baton Rouge, which has come from the Southern states East of here. It used to be that if you ordered tea, you got unsweetened iced tea. Nothing more easy or straightforward. Now, more and more places are asking if you want sweetened tea or unsweetened tea. And by sweetened tea, they mean a tea that is so supersaturated with sugar that if one grain of dust happens to fall into the glass, sugar instantly crystallizes in the glass and floats to the bottom.

I tore this feature out of the corner of the paper last week. It struck me as unusual. If it ran again this week, I didn't see it. I've been trying for a week to think of something that would be outrageous enough to amuse, yet still be published. I haven't really thought of anything that was all that good, but I feel compelled to submit a false problem anyway.

I believe that it's still the plan that we'll be graced with some visiting Hokies for the football season's first tailgate. They may read experts' opinions of what to expect on the field any number of places. I thought they might need to read about what to expect in the hours leading up to the game. The rest of this post is directed to them.

I wonder if Mad Magazine has done a spoof with Harry Potter with a lot of nose hair, but called him "Hairy Snotter." Probably like ten years ago.

I'm going to miss the shit out of Bob Barker. This probably isn't the first place that you've heard about the retirement of the King of Game Show Hosts, but I would be remiss if I didn't address it. I have always been first to admit my admiration of *The Price is Right*, which extended to making class schedule choices based on my ability to catch the show during a lunch break.