Posts Tagged ‘genius’


The morning sun casts a peculiar glow over the hills of Ramona, California. One can feel an allusive sense of ominous foreboding. Things are not all as they should be, but why they feel it is not immediately evident. The warmth resulting from the peculiar glow, clashing with the cool breeze have pushed and pulled a dense fog up through the valleys and hills as if ghosts, unshackled from hell and the grave, search eerily for a soul to haunt. The fog is thick and invasive, and for an instant, it has swallowed up the world outside of my house leaving me surrounded by whatever it may bring.

Just as abruptly as its uninvited intrusion began, so goes the fog’s departure. What is left in its wake is a mystery. A set of footprints. A fruitless tree. A woman with an imagination as massive as the very blanket of fog, which rested thick and viscous over the house in Ramona, California. This is a story of intrigue and suspicion sure to confuse the most talented of sleuth. Holmes, The Hardy Boys, Mason, The Rescue Rangers, or Columbo, none of them could piece this thing together, because there resides no sense in this story of horror in the fog. None of them could, but Whitney can and did.

My cell phone buzzed and vibrated itself across my desk at work. It danced with and floated for a second or two making the snapping sound of hard plastic bouncing on the faux-wood desk interrupting the silent work of ten or so people.

“Hello, how are you today?” I ask immediately seeing the caller ID and noticing my lovely wife’s name.

There would be no reciprocity to my greeting that morning, instead, and in a frantic tone, “The oranges, they are all gone! Every one of them is gone, disappeared. Heath, where once there was a multitude of oranges a veritable cornucopia of beautiful deliciousness, there is nothing but emptiness.” Whitney rattled off into my ear.

When one’s wife offers up their concern over missing oranges or missing anything, the best course of action is to exude empathy, to join with them in their terror, or to nurture their investigative instincts. As such, I assert that there must be a gang of fruit loving animals roving the area stealing bushels of oranges. Having never had a fruit tree until a few weeks ago, I did not have the requisite expertise to rule out animals altogether. Although, only one night ago, the tree had tens of dozens of oranges and today there are none, not even a rotting orange biodegrading into the roots and dirt below the tree. These animals are overeating.

Whitney, absolutely not content with my assertion of a clan of bandit animals, set out on a mission to solve this mystery. Whitney offered up to me a startling find. While walking just outside our house on a freshly repaved street, still shining with new tar, Whitney found a trail of footprints that appeared out of nowhere and disappeared in the same manner. They were white like they were powdered chalk and after about ten or so steps, the footprints faded to black.

Were these the prints of an orange bandit?
What kind of criminal leaves this kind of tell-tale–the sudden chalk feet running away from the area of the fruit tree?
Firstly the oranges and now the footprints?
What kind of hellish ghoul are we dealing with?
Who steals oranges?
What kind of maniac steals only oranges and not something better; I mean go big or go home?

I tell you what, in Whitney’s head, there is only this set of possibilities: The thief is a human, and said human either floats, emits chalk out of their feet and also floats, and / or is human, loves oranges enough to steal them, but accidentally stepped in a bag of chalk that they were carrying in their car, which logically was there, because after stealing the oranges, they bandits had to hustle to a little league baseball field and prepare the baselines and batter’s box. She hasn’t quite worked out the chalk part yet.

It is under this sense of tension, that Whitney introduced a teenage boy to a 9mm. Our house overlooks the gate to the community. Whitney was looking out the window while doing the dishes. She watched as an unknown car rambled up the long road to the gate and stopped. A teenage boy jumped out of the car and began running up the hill, some three hundred yards to our home. With a rabbit killing shepherd, an aged heeler, and a three legged chihuahua in tow, Whitney met the teenager at the door. Oh yeah, and she had a gun.

The conversation was short lived and resulted in a teenage boy running faster away from our residence. Equally odd. The boy requested a tire jack to fix a flat, but after fleeing from the gun wielding Whitney, he jumped in a car with four working tires and raced off, stopping at no houses on the way out…

I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t know what I believe. I don’t know what comes in the fog, but I do know enough to tell you that I am done doubting my wife. I do not want to go the way of the running teenager. These are the reasons that I believe my wife. She has an unparalleled intuition and a gun. If she believes that the oranges were stolen by a floating, chalk footed, human of average foot size, than damn it, I believe her. So, be on the look out for two things: A floating, chalk footed, human of average foot size, and a gun wielding Whitney on a mission to solve ghostly crimes…

I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding it in for years…

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Lets be honest for a moment. We have all seen it, especially lately. Women have a voice in today’s society and it’s a good thing, I guess….Until they use it poorly, which I am about to illustrate to you. I put this all on women, because when I hear a man speak like what I am about to describe, I know they are simply brainwashed by a woman they are trying to make want to sleep with them. Trust me, I know men; we are all the same, and we will sell our souls to the first chance at luring a woman into thinking we are worth their while.

I am going to describe for you a couple of occasions when I think women have it all wrong. I suspect this will be a very popular post among females, and under this expectation, I have conducted a RealClear Politics Poll with statistics to back up my claims that women sometimes use their voice poorly, and the poll had shocking results. Of the three people I talked to, 100 percent concurred. Of the same three that I talked to, zero percent wanted me to use their name out of fear their woman would kill them.

Before I go any further, I need to write a disclaimer: The opinions presented in this blog are not the opinions of the writer and in no way can be attributed to Heath Phillips. It is also important to understand that Heath Phillips’ wife is beautiful and he loves her. She is also hot.

So under that premise, I present to you just a couple of things that women say as a collective that need to be curbed.

1. Women describe their baby’s age in months for entirely too long. There is a point where this becomes completely useless to me. I am good with numbers in lumps of three. Once you get to three of something, we need to call it something different. I think it is the Marine in me. No Marine really ever supervises on an immediate level more than three people. They may be responsible for more people, but they use a team of three to get things done.

Back to the point. When a woman is asked how old their child is, and the reply is “32 months,” my head actually blows up inside and it hurts my soul. I don’t even know how long 32 months is. Nobody does, and the ones who do, first had to do this mathematical equation in their head:

1 Year = 12 Months.

24 Months = 2 Years.

36 Months = 3 Years.

36 – 32 = 4.

12 – 4 = 8;

Thusly, the child is 2 years, 8 months old.

Right? Yeah, I don’t know either. Hey, and listen, just because there are those among you who can do that math faster than others, doesn’t make this okay either.

When I am elected into office on Tuesday, I will do away with months as a gauge for a child’s age and everything will be addressed by how it relates to a year. For instance, on Wednesday, my daughter will be 1/12 year old. On a related note: Women probably get this from when they were teens and dating and constantly bludgeoned their boyfriend for presents after every successful month they amassed in their torrid adolescent love affairs. If you are still using months to analyze the longevity of your relationship, there is a good chance the relationship is on shaky ground…..just sayin……unless this offends you…then just disregard.

2. Women say all kinds of things, but rarely do they say what they want. If a woman could get this one thing about a man, just this one thing, they would all have the man of their dreams; this one revelation is: Men actually don’t want to be on your fighting side. We want our females happy, so that they may want to enter into some form of relations with us. While at home, practice this today: “Honey, I would like ________,” and then fill in the blank with a want you may have. I know, this is revolutionary, but I make you this promise: Men will bend over backwards to give it to you.

On a related note: Men don’t want to make a decision that a woman’s happiness hinges upon when men think women already have a decision in mind and are just hoping we come to the same one. Make sense?
This is not fair, and actually sets you up for a trip down misery lane.

It is readily apparent to me that women conduct meetings and they come to certain agreements with one another–inter-gender treaties, if you will. At one of these meetings, women must have come to the decision that how much a man loves a woman is evidenced in their ability to decide upon a place to eat that matches the place the woman was already thinking of in their head. The aforementioned is why when Whitney says, “Heath, tonight you get to decide where we eat,” I always say Taco Bell, because it forces her to just come out and say what she wants….I am a brilliant man.

These are two specific instances where women are missing the mark. There are many men all over the world right now that are breathing in a collective sigh now that I have aired this out. We are lovers not fighters, and we are actively looking for loving at every avenue we come to. So we aren’t very good at the logistics of getting to said loving. In the end, all of us men are seeking the same goal…if we have somehow found ourselves actively arguing with you women over anything, it is just as much of a surprise to us as it is to you. I guarantee you that our goal before the fight started WAS devious in nature, because we are hunters on the prowl, but our intent was without malice. All we need is love…daily and nightly, and ever so rightly.

I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding it in for years