Posts Tagged ‘military’

I saw teenagers again yesterday.

As a matter of fact, I have seen more teenagers as of late than I have in quite awhile.

I blogged about teens before; they are reoccurring antagonists in my writing. I am always an innocent protagonist just trying to find his way through the obstacles of life being haunted by the constant prospect of teenagers lurking all around. I am of the sound opinion that one could re-write the entire screenplay for The Walking Dead simply by finding all the references to zombies and subsequently replacing them with wild and crazy teenagers. You really wouldn’t have to change the title of the show either, just the wardrobe of the monsters. Instead of tattered flannels and torn jeans, you would need itsy-bitsy shorts with random words across the butt region, and of course skinny jeans.

In the new version of the show, the skinny jean wearing teenage boys are the weaker of the monsters. They pale in comparison to the strength and abilities of the teenage girl monster. This is not that the teenage boys aren’t a force to be reckoned with–quite the opposite actually. It is just to say that if there is a teenage girl present, the teenage boy becomes resigned to trying to please the teenage girl and momentarily forgets his original mission to ruin the lives of the grown adult.

I so badly want to tell you that there are exceptions to this rule and that there are good teenagers out there–like the Twilight version of vampires, but alas, there are no sparkling teens. If you ever believe yourself to either be the owner of one or an acquaintance thereof, you have been seduced by the worst type…the sirens of the teenage world who lure adults into a false sense of security and trust, and then boom, you and countless screaming adult argonauts are shipwrecked and left for dead.

There are no “good teenagers,” there are only teenagers who, like an alcoholic who has kicked the habit but is in constant danger of falling off the wagon, are sober from committing any variety of teenage inequities, but will most likely falter and resume terrorizing the adult of our species.

Teenage boys, while not the most dangerous of their kind, are troubling because of two things:

1.) They have not grown into their appendages. They are a clumsy breed and have trouble with seemingly easy physical movements like walking or any combination of walking and another physical activity. Their feet are awkward and they do not know what to do with their arms. They lumber around from one place to another tripping and swinging their arms with no rhythm. This is why there is a good case for my Walking Dead contention earlier. The teenage boy is, for all intents and purposes, a zombie–in skinny jeans.

2.) They are unsure about their body hair. I have said this before and I say it again. If a teenage boy can grow facial hair of any kind, they will–regardless of whether it is in their best interest. Thusly, teenage boys tend to look homeless, which again aligns itself with the Walking Dead contention from earlier paragraphs. The hairstyles which teenage boys choose to wear are another problem for me. I do not want them to depart from this habit, however. This habit makes them easily negotiable should physical violence ever become necessary. Their vision is impaired by their bangs (this is a sentence that should never be associated with men). Men should not have bangs.

Teenage girls are the meanest of any human species. I have a list of over one thousand reasons why, so I will choose a couple that you NEED to know to function out there.

1.) Utilizing shorts that they had to sneak and put on without any self-respecting father’s permission, they control the teenage boys. They are actually the brains for the entire teenage population. They are the like the queen bee, or the leader of the bugs in Starship Troopers. They are miniature women. They have not yet honed all their skills, like those of their adult form, so they are even more dangerous–think baby rattle snake who is actually deadlier than their full grown counterpart because they cannot control the release of venom. Teenage girls are scary, because they are learning to be adult women, who are actually the most powerful being ever to exist. However, adult women are allowed to be scary and powerful, because 92.3 percent of time they use their power for good (when they do not, however, countries fail, people are murdered, horrible, horrible things happen: For further examples see any show on the Lifetime Movie Network, or take a second and study the breakup of the Beatles).

2.) Teenage girls are exceptionally bad because most of the teenage girls’ parents do not believe that their teenage girls are part of the group of bad teenage girls. It’s quite simple. Even as those of you with teenagers read this blog, you are saying to yourself, “Not my teenage girl.”

**Newsflash** All of you are saying this, but what I have written is happening out there, so at least one of you are wrong.

To a certain extent this rule applies to teen boys as well, but teen boys are not as adept at looking innocent. I am sorry teen boys, but adult women have passed on to their female children an ability to manipulate that will haunt you until your dying day. As a case in point, you know, there was a time when I had PIN numbers that were original to me…Now, after years of work on my wife’s part, all our PIN numbers are ones which she brought to our relationship. Most startlingly of all, I recently found that the PIN numbers utilized in my home are the same that my Mother-in-Law uses. This absolutely confirms my worst fears: Females have a much better training program then males. Its scope and organization is irrefutably better than even the military. I am certain that if males do have a training program it consists of only one rule, and that is: 1.) If what you are doing seems to please a female, continue doing that….

I write this as a warning of our enemy, people. They are not to be discarded as weak even though skinny jeans could lead one to that assertion. Teenagers are a thinking and adapting enemy. They are trying to take over the world and our only hope is that before this can happen, they begin the turn for adulthood. However, I have started to see may teenage characteristics in young twenty something year olds. Be vigilant. Think Anti-Teen Force Protection. Act like teens are trying to kill you and you should be fine.

I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding it in since last night at the movie theater where teenagers were hellbent on ruining the movie….


I was going to do this long blog about how the conservative side of politics, of which I somewhat prescribe to, at least fiscally, will never win an election in America if they don’t rid themselves of their shackles to a platform that will only ever be attractive to 48 percent of the people in America. But, who wants to hear me talk about something that is so obvious; instead, I want to talk about something so much more awesome that has a broader appeal to the masses.

The United States Marine Corps.

Born in a bar, in 1775, the Marine Corps has become as much myth and legend as it is history. They wear their history everywhere they go and it is written in blood; in training, they learn about the Marines who built the institution with their lives and heroism. The battles the Corps has fought live in the colors on their uniforms–the blood stripe on the trousers, the swords in the scabbards at their sides. Marines are linked to one another throughout history, transcending time; the Marines of yesterday never die or fade away because their blood flows in the veins of today’s war hardened new breed. I like Marines because they respect a sacred institution with an equally hallowed tradition of excellence.

One could argue that America doesn’t need Marines, but I think it would be difficult to prove America doesn’t want Marines. Marines are a rare bunch of men and women that represent all that is good about this nation. Currently, they are young men and women who joined a fighting force knowing they would be in harm’s way, down range in a foreign nation, fighting an often unpopular war, but still they chose this profession. Historically, they have been anywhere there was a fight regardless of the odds and regardless of what these young warriors had to leave behind to do so. Marines do not understand the concept of an unbeatable foe. Marines cling to an image of a few Marines and a Sailor raising a flag on Iwo Jima, because it illustrates how they think, who they are, and that no matter the mountain, or the conditions, they will scale it and win. I like Marines, because they are winners. They are your sons, daughters, sisters, brothers, neighbors, and friends, and they are willing to give themselves to something bigger than themselves. This is a trait we should want for all of our citizens, and Marines embody it phenomenally.

Marines are the best kind of people. They work relentlessly and all they care about is accomplishing the mission. They hear a song, their hymn, and they pop to attention and do it because some Marine, somewhere, is fighting for them. Some Marine, somewhere, is waiving goodbye and leaving, again. Some Marine, somewhere, is hunkered down waiting for relief. Some Marine, somewhere, is celebrating the Marine Corps Birthday in a fighting position, but they are celebrating it all the same. That person is their brother or sister, and they celebrate with a happy heart. I like Marines, because they celebrate their service’s birthday more festively and reverently than their own. I like Marines because they are selfless to the core.

Marines will continue to exemplify what General Mattis described as, “Marines, no better friend, no worse enemy.” They knock on the doors of nations in desperate need of rescue, providing assistance to get them on their feet again; and in a moments notice, we they will kick down the doors and meticulously fight this nation’s battles in the air, on land, and sea. They are professional warriors. It is said that Marines are the most ready, when the nation is not-your 911 service when all other options have run out. Marines live in a reality where their life is only partly theirs. I like Marines, because they walk a line, and they do with honor.

A Marine’s family is steeled in the flames of the conflicting lives a Marine must live. A Marine’s life is only partly his or hers, and the victim is the innocent. The family of a Marine waits, sometimes for a call, sometimes for a letter, sometimes the family just waits. Sometimes what the family waits for and what arrives is a tragic example of sacrifice. A Marine’s family is as strong, if not stronger, than the Marine themselves. I do not wish “waiting” upon the worst of people. I like the Marine’s family, because they give their soul, on loan, to the country, and they do it with a happy heart.

Today, Marines across the globe celebrate their birthday. They will drink and toast to fallen brothers and sisters, and they will tell stories about yesterday’s heroes. Marines will listen to a chaplain say an intercessory prayer on the behalf of those forward. Marines will watch the oldest Marine pass a piece of cake to the youngest. Marines, today, will celebrate their birthday the same way yesterday’s Marines did in Korea, Europe, the Pacific, and numerous other climbs and places.

Happy Birthday, Marines. Semper Fidelis.

I can feel it, there is a baby eager to make her way into the world and meet her father….and her mother too, I guess, but she has been with her mother for a good nine months now, so that is probably nowhere near as exciting as meeting me.  I would want to meet me if I was her. 

There are two types of fathers in this world.  Trust me; I have done extensive research (meaning I asked three people their opinions and a simple majority confirmed it).  First there is the father who will not venture below the waistline during the evolution of labor.  They want nothing to do with what is going on in the nether regions during the most critical stage of the birthing miracle.  The “above the waisters,” henceforth referred to as ATWs, are not wrong for their longing to keep clear of the “zone of the unimaginable,” because what happens down there doesn’t make a whole bunch of sense. 

For one moment in time, all the pressure and energy of a woman’s being is centered on an area that the man has been centering all of his pressure, energy, and attention on for years.  Now, in an ironic twist, the ATW has decided this magical place we men never quite understood, but were lured to like a moth to a flame, is best left alone and he becomes a cheerleader rooting his wife on, face to face.  He leans into her, giving her an arm or finger to squeeze, and says glittering generalities surrounding motivational phrases we used to scream from sidelines, dugouts, and bleachers during sporting events. 

Trust me, ATWs say the same things to their wives during labor that they would when a man gets up to bat and there are two runners on in the late innings of a baseball game.  They just make it sound more breathy and motivating.  During a game, we yell to our teammates, “This is your time, brother, pick one and drive it, don’t leave them stranded out there on base, bring ‘em home.”  During labor, the ATWs go with what they know, they lean in and say, “This is your time, you’re a mother, concentrate and drive through the next push, don’t leave that girl in there, we need to bring her home.”  ATWs never stray too far from what they know.  The mother has become a teammate and they are going to get her through this very individual moment in what is generally a team sport.

The second type of father is a militaristic man (MM), not to imply that he is more of a man than his counterpart, ATW, but that he is very different.  He is a man who is trained to be at the most chaotic point of any evolution.  He believes that is the place where he can provide the best support to the woman in her moment of peril.  The MM believes that the point of friction is where he should be shouting out orders and organizing the next combative muscle movements.  He needs to see the breach point and somehow find a way to gain the initiative and exploit the enemy.  In the case of labor, nature is the enemy, and the natural process of birth is a thinking, breathing, and adaptive enemy at that. 

The MM thinks in terms of objectives, phase lines, stages, and culminating points.  He has divided up “Operation Baby Boom” into distinct phases, and even more specifically, into smaller stages.  He is looking for the best moment to mass his combat power and engage the enemy in what he refers to decisive action.  The woman lying on the bed is his main effort, and the doctors surrounding her are all supporting efforts.  Should something go wrong, the doctors are poised, and ready to assume the main effort.  The MM has briefed all parties involved and he is ready to cross the line of departure. 

The MM has his head right into the business area of his wife’s nether area.  He is fighting back pushing the doctors out of the way and doing this himself.  He is intrigued by the entire process.  Sure, he shouts out motivational phrases, but they are less like cheerleading and much more specific.  After a push, he looks up and gives his wife a situation report (SITREP).  The SITREP includes basic information about the evolution.  “Good push, I believe the baby is close to crowning, the next push is going to be an important one for us, I need you to really bear down; we have the enemy on their heels, and I think that they are just about out of options. The contraction lasted 90 seconds, and was three minutes and thirty seconds from your last.  Using this as a gauge for the next one I believe we can consolidate and rest for two more minutes, but then we will need to press forward. Stand by.” 

Without restraint from hospital personnel, the MM will not contain himself when the baby crowns, he will reach up there and pull the baby through the obstacle belt.  The MM doesn’t understand why the labor takes more than 15 to 20 minutes, and seems to be rushing the process the entire time.  And, as is the case with many military planners, the MM doesn’t necessarily have the best exit strategy.  Once the baby is out of the womb and laying there in all of his or her glory, the MM is overly emotional, and cannot figure out what to do with his hands.  He doesn’t know how to hold a baby, but he is dying to try.  The MM has never felt more masculine than he does at the moment he sees his baby, and this baby is his next General Officer…

I am certain that I will be the father who is all up in my wife’s business.  I am excited and ready for this to occur, and all signs in my house are that this kid is coming with a vengeance in the next few weeks.  I cannot write anymore today, as I have to put together a crib.  Earlier this week I put together a stroller, and a car seat thingy.  We are surrounded by bottle whozits, and pink whatzits, and breast feeding thing-a-mbobs, and some kind of diaper changing magic place.  I have been tasked by my wife to help her nest and I have some required reading to complete on the subject of sleep schedules.  Right now, she is snoring to my left because she can only sleep in small bursts.  The baby has infiltrated every aspect of her life.  This baby, not yet born, has infiltrated every aspect of my life, and I couldn’t be happier.

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

I remember watching a show on TV when I was kid called, “Kids Say the Darndest Things.”  Bill Cosby was the host and his job was to illustrate one great truth; when kids are asked questions, they will be brutally honest because it is what kids do.  They haven’t been trained through years of socialization that sometimes lying is the lesser of two evils.  Children don’t understand that what they are saying could be misconstrued as inappropriate or hurtful.  And when kids do this, they usually make for some very funny moments, thusly; Bill Cosby would host a show documenting this. 

In my house, I have something similar.  I have a wife with an inability to hold back.  She does not lie, at least to me, and she is really a breath of fresh air.  I have multiple examples that make her look really and sometimes brutally honest.  I am writing this and airing it out not so that people can make broad sweeping assumptions that she is in any way a difficult or an overbearing woman, because she is not.  I actually believe that because Whitney is certified “gifted” that some of the odd things she does are actually because she is operating at a level that I don’t understand.  She is like Sheldon from Big Bang Theory.  Everything she does makes perfect sense to her, but can appear funny to others…..

Here are some examples of my wife’s ability to speak candidly….even when most would just omit or lie.

  1. 1.        Today I called home and was chatting with Whitmaster 5000, aka Whitney.  She was initially very involved in the conversation, but over time she was drifting away.  I thought I might have offended her or something was going wrong at home.  Here is a terrific example of her being overly honest simply for the sake of being honest.

Heath:  Whitney are you okay?  Is something wrong?

Whitney:  Oh, no, I am fine…..I just had a booger in my nose……

                  You can agree that this is a common problem for all of mankind.  I often have things in my nose that I wish weren’t there.  And yes, the object is distracting and inconvenient—especially if the object in your nose is a crayon, which coincidentally is scarier than you think, and I would advise against putting a crayon in your nose.  I am speaking from experience.  Moreover, I have to believe that masses reading this have also dealt with the difficulties involved with boogers.  Yet, in my three decades of existence, never has, in the exact same type of situation, somebody responded to me with, “Oh, no, I am fine…..I just had a booger in my nose…..”  People, I have asked thousands of men and women if they are okay, and if something was wrong—today, June 29, 2012 is the first time someone responded with the truth.  Very refreshing.

  1. 2.        Recently, before going to the mall where I like to spend all of my time, I got dressed into my favorite pair of shorts.  The shorts are “walking awesomeness.”  I have the calves of a four year old girl, but somehow these shorts make up for it.  I walked into the living room, very confident with myself, and Whitney knew it because when I am confident, I swagger, and then I start spontaneously flexing.  I shot the question out, “How does this outfit look?”  Then, I started flexing like I was in the pre-judging for the Mr. Olympia contest.  Here is a terrific example of Whitney being overly honest simply for the sake of being honest.

Heath:   How does this outfit look?

Whitney:  Good, except the shorts and the shirt. 

                Seems harmless, except that all I was wearing was the shorts and the shirt…..Very  refreshing

  1. 3.        Situation:  At the movies preparing to buy some popcorn from the emo dressed teenager working the cash register.  Emo Cash Register Girl has a name tape on that says “manager.”  Emo Manager Cash Register Girl, sounding as if we were the biggest inconvenience ever, says “What do you need?”  Here is a terrific example of Whitney being overly honest simply for the sake of being honest.

Emo Manager Cash Register Girl:  What do you need?

Heath:  (silently thinks to himself, “does this girl have any idea who she just sounded annoyed to?  Firstly, Whitmaster 6k doesn’t take this from anyone at the movies; she used to manage a place like this.  Secondly, Whitmaster 6k is pregnant and honest”).

Whitney:  Have you lost your damn mind, child.  Am I an inconvenience to you?  I don’t even want to know how you earned your way to manager, where is your boss?

Heath:  (at this moment, in an effort to reassert control, I said the following statement)  hmmmh hmmmmh.

                I thought I was going to formulate actual words, but instead I made two long horn sounds…..Emo Manager had no skills dealing with customers and deserved Whitmaster 7k’s honesty.  I have seen Whitney choke down horrible food because she loved the wait staff so much, so this Emo girl had it coming.  Very refreshing.

  1. 4.        A few years ago, my wife The Whitness, met my commanding officer.  He was a pretty high ranking gentleman and I respected him quite a bit.  Whitness had seen him working out before, and I guess she was impressed with what she saw—I’m talking Magic Mike impressed.  Well, as the party progressed, I had the opportunity to introduce Whit to the CO.   Here is a terrific example of her being overly honest simply for the sake of being honest.

Heath:  Sir, this is my wife Whitney; Whitney, this is my Commanding Officer (said in a manner as to indicate that this man can ruin my career).

Commanding Officer:  Whitney, it is a pleasure to meet you.  Wow, Heath must have a good personality because he sure isn’t handsome enough to keep a pretty girl like you around.

Whitney:  It is so nice to meet you too.  I have to tell you, I have seen you running and you have unbelievable calves……

Commanding Officer:  (lifting the bottoms of his pant legs up and flexing).  Phillips, this is a really good woman you have here….

I didn’t know how to take this.  I initially was worried my boss would be weirded out, but I quickly realized that had I not been married, Whitney would have chosen his calves over me—and worse still, I am certain that the calf remark had placed Whitney on his list of all time favorite women.  If there is one thing I do not bring to the table in my marriage, it is a surplus of calf muscle.  Naturally, this moment has left a scar on my soul, but I drudge forward, walking on my tip-toes in hopes that I am just a late bloomer when it comes to calves.  On many occasions since, Whitnasty has tried to get me to wear her high heels around the house in an attempt to help me with my self-concept issues.  It is the cross I bear.  I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding it in for years.   

My wife is a genius and as such is afflicted with all kinds of genius problems.  Ordinary people like me don’t have the same burdens.  Sometimes when I have trouble relating to her, she explains it like this.  “Heath, don’t feel bad, I operate at a higher intellectual level and these things are going to happen….”  She has such a sweet way of always making me feel a little better.  The funniest way I have heard her put this was in response to her mother when asked to explain her personality being so well developed for a genius.  My wife to her mother: “Mom, I had a decision to make:  I was a genius, yes, but I also wanted to be like you, pretty and popular.”  I am certain her mother felt much better after being relegated to a hot body with lots of friends….

One of the afflictions she deals with is a serious case of Night Terrors, and at times in the past, the terrors have been pretty frequent and involved.  Other times the sleep issues are kind of funny and very fleeting.  These are the ones that I will center on.  Following these nightmares, my wife usually has zero recollection of the previous night’s mêlée, and these are usually the funniest for her when retold because they are the scariest for me.

To give you some context to the story:  As the man of the house, I take certain responsibilities solely as being mine.  These include, but are not limited to the following:  Dog Crap Removal; Trash Taker Outer; Lifter of Heavy Objects; Yelling at Dogs; Washer of Cars; Cleaner of Dog Vomit; Killer of Mice, which I have only undertaken on one occasion, also for which my wife takes credit (she will take offense to me insinuating I did it even though I hit the mouse with a broom stick severing its leg—her role was to put the mouse into a Tupperware container we probably stole (see The Italian Job) and throw it in the trash, which I took out (see previous responsibilities).  She did get the mouse out from underneath the washing machine, but how hard is that?); All Driving While Hauling Anything; and finally, Head of Security.

Head of Security is the role I hold most dear because it makes me feel like a powerful player in the Phillips Family.  I have designed routes for egression and very complex plans meant to render a night intruder of any sort ineffective.  I have a drawer by my nightstand full of tools to help me take care of an attacker.  Its contents include:  a baseball, two practice fighting knives, a remote control, some of the underwear I no longer wear because I chafe when I wear them, and finally a gun with associated rounds.  If an intruder enters my house, he will face the entire contents of this drawer.

I have walked Whit through all possible attacks centered on the most likely avenues of approach and we have come up with emergency action procedures.  She has been briefed and has approved all courses of action.  Unfortunately, I had not planned for the worst case scenario…..the attacker comes from within, in the form of your wife.

I am almost sure my wife doesn’t want to kill me, however there was an incident earlier in the week where she attempted to kill me with croissants.  The problem rests in the fact that Sleeping Whitney is a different game altogether.  Awake Whitney recognizes who I am and seems to find me appealing enough to keep around.  Sleeping Whitney wants nothing to do with me.  Sleeping Whitney is scary.

One such example occurred shortly after Whitney and I started living together.  I knew she was a nightwalker and that she rambled on in her sleep all sorts of non-sensical phrases, but rarely did it go beyond innocent fun.  Whitney and I had just purchased our first handgun and were excited to have it as a measure in our home defense repertoire.  We both go to sleep that night and for the first four hours everything was normal.  Around 2 am, I am rustled from sleep by thrashing and moving about coming from the closet area.  Whitney is throwing things around and in a full on motivated search.  I say, “Whitney, what are you doing?”  Her response still echoes in my mind.  In a stone cold and emotionless voice she says, “I am looking for my gun.”  I naturally reply, “For what?”  She then says, “Who are you and what are you doing here?”  I then realize that Sleeping Whitney was trying to find a gun to kill an intruder who was in the house and apparently fell asleep in bed with her…..In the morning we discussed her attempted murder; she giggled and feigned no recollection of the incident.  I knew then that when I went to sleep I was sleeping with the enemy….There is a running joke that Whitney will be the subject of a Lifetime Movie called, She Kills When She Sleeps…

Sometimes Sleeping Whitney only attempts to give me a heart attack.  I once woke up to her pounding on my sternum area, screaming bloody murder that somebody was standing in the corner getting ready to attack us.  This causes an array of emotions from a man but mostly, when a man is attacked, he generally turns into a space cadet and just goes berserker trying not to fall victim to another man.  So, in this case, I rise from my sleep throw my hands in the air and go berserker trying to avoid falling victim to another man.  By the time I have come to realize that the attacker was the elliptical machine and not actually an attacker, Sleeping Whitney is back asleep all peaceful like.  In the morning we discussed her attempted murder; she giggled and feigned no recollection of the incident.

The above happens somewhat often.  Sometimes the attackers are snakes all over the floor.  Sometimes the attacker is an image floating above her in the night.  Sometimes she is confused.  Once Sleeping Whitney rose up in the bed and successfully completed a perfect karate kick and subsequently started screaming at an invisible attacker.  I rose up and grabbed the gun and pointed it towards the door while jumping out of the bed to find a better defensive stance.  When I hit the floor, I confused Sleeping Whitney.  My sudden movment had made me morph into the intruder.  I am now trying to calm Sleeping Whitney who is running back and forth across the room doing some kind of linebacker drill combined with banshee screams, which are loud enough to pierce my eardrums.  I yelled as loud as I could, “WHITNEY, GO TO BED!”  Her response:  “Gaaaawddd, you don’t have to scream at me…..”  In the morning, when we discussed the incident, she was mad at me for yelling at her for no reason……

Which brings me to last night.  Last night started very similar to the karate / linebacker / banshee incident from yesteryear.  Because I am a thinking and adapting man, this time I grabbed her before she rose up and said in the most soothing voice possible, “Whitney, it’s me, and I love you.  You are safe.”  Sleeping Whitney looked me square in the eye and said, “Why should I trust you, I barely even know you?”  Then I realized that Sleeping Whitney must have been having a one night stand in her dream……I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding it in for hours…..

I have been putting this one together for years, I just didn’t know it.  After watching too many episodes of Grimm, I have been thinking about the types of people that I see on a daily basis.  For those of you who don’t get what I am saying, allow me to get you caught up.  Grimm is a detective that has an ability to look at people and see what they really are.  Sometimes people he sees are actually evil fairytale characters parading around disguised as humans in order to attain their maniacal goals.  I cannot actually see anything other than what you see, but I have an uncanny ability to lump people together into groups.  What I have also noticed is that people with certain traits behave in similar ways.  Sometimes it is not a simple trait, but actions that people undertake i.e. Judgmental Runners all tend to act the same while judgmentally running, which I describe in detail in an earlier edition entitled, Judgmental Runners.  I encourage you to read it because it is a freaking very real phenomenon.  I have also used my wife, who I call Whitney for the sake of anonymity, to illustrate another sect of the human population, Pregnant Zombies.

Sometimes it does break down to a simple trait.  To be fair, and to avoid people calling me overly judgmental myself, I am a Tube Head.  Tube Heads are everywhere and they are pretty much a benign sect of the human population.  Famous Tube Heads include the actor who plays Dr. House, Abe Lincoln ( you might remember him as a Vampire Slayer, or the guy who kept the union together), and probably the most remarkable tube head, Beaker from The Muppet Show.

 Beaker, and oddly, this is very similar to a couple pictures of me

 Abe Lincoln

  Dr House, who looks oddly like my Uncle Scott

  Okay, here I am.  I have painted my face to accentuate the tube like nature of my head.  There is a little Beaker in there.

The tell tale sign you are dealing with a Tube Head is if there is no differential between the largest part of his or her head and the largest part of his or her neck.  Tube Heads are often referred to as Hotdog Heads.  The Hotdog Head’s only known enemies are Hamburger Heads, the worst type of people.   (The Hamburglar)

For the sake of full disclosure, all Phillips men are Tube Heads; this is a fact, and it is undisputable.

Getting to the meat of the story….the people I want to discuss today are a serious issue to all humans.  The Wide-Eyed Girl.  This perpetually surprised looking specimen is a threat to any they come in contact with.  Wide-Eyed girls may or may not exhibit bat-shit crazy tendencies until later in life, but rest assured, their true colors are lurking below the surface and they are unforgiving with their wrath.  Wide-Eyed Girls should not be cornered, they will act out or commit to random and irrational behavior.  Take for example the Wide-Eyed Girl, better known as, The Runaway Bride:

(Wide-Eyed and bushy tailed)

The Runaway Bride was so belligerent in her actions that at one point her fiancé, who she pretty much left at the altar, was actually suspected of foul play.  She showed back up out of nowhere as wide-eyed as ever.   Don’t mistake this Wide-Eyed danger to everyone around her for the beautiful and charming Julia Roberts on a quest to find out how she likes her eggs at Richard Gere’s expense (I asked my wife what the movie, Runaway Bride was about and this is what she said).  This woman actually called the police during her cross country jaunt and claimed she was abducted by another couple and sexually abused……all lies.  Nobody in their right mind would abduct a Wide-Eyed woman, even criminals avoid this species.  Be on the lookout, this woman is a menace to society, and worst of all, she is still out there.  Of note, her jilted fiancé was a Hamburger Head, what a dumbass.

I am not a politically charged person, but I know a Wide-Eyed Girl when I see her:

Just sayin……Cuckoo, Cuckoo.  There has also been limited occurrences of Wide-Eyed problems entering the male sex:

The scariest thing about Busey is that you can see a startling similarity between him and Pelosi….

My favorite specimen knew she was a Wide-Eyed Girl, and tried to hide it by distracting us with whimsical hair, squinted eyes, and a dirty appearance:

This woman wore a diaper to run across country in order to more expediently get to Florida to kill an estranged lover.  No big deal.  I am all about making things streamlined, even murder.  The apparent common ground for the wide-eyed is a propensity to run.  Even Nancy has been known to randomly travel the United States speaking gibberish to anyone willing to listen.

If you are a Wide-Eyed Girl, and you are concerned that you may be on the verge of a turn towards crazy, relax, everything is going to be okay.  You can beat this thing.  The key is recognizing the symptoms and knowing what to avoid.  I think it best for you to avoid weddings or engaging in adulterous affairs with married men.  Maybe more specifically, you should avoid all things related or pertaining to marriage, weddings, or murder.  If you are married to a Wide-Eyed Girl, you have an uphill road to climb, but it is doable.  If my wife was a Wide-Eyed Girl, I would sleep with one eye open as wide as possible.  The only way to beat a Wide-Eyed Girl is to keep yours open wider.

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