A List of My Worst Fears Written in Almost All Run On Sentences

1. Surviving an airplane crash, but being forced to swim for an extended amount of time (anything over 10 minutes). It would be an awkward period of celebration coupled with a horrible, sinking feeling of my impending drowning. I can only hope debris would be everywhere and that I wasn’t on fire. Swimming could only be made worse by somehow making me have to swim while covered in burning petroleum oil. In the military we train to be proficient in the survival strokes and also to survive when the water is on fire due to gas and oil slicks burning; I have somehow fooled the military into thinking I am proficient, but let’s be honest, would a proficient swimmer panic when water goes into his or her ears? I can say, with almost one hundred percent certainty, that the answer to that question is, no.
2. Being on a ship that has been sunk and having to swim for an extended period of time (anything longer than 10 minutes). Sharks would actually simplify the problem for me.
3. Swimming in front of others or swimming alone.
4. Getting into a full on brawl, caught off guard, and naked… this is why I actually do not sleep naked, not because I don’t want to, because I do and as often as possible, but because I cannot let myself be that vulnerable to an unexpected onslaught of violence. It is a necessary give and take to protect my best interests.
5. Leading a group of rebel Scotsmen against a larger force, losing, but kinda winning, subsequently being drawn and quartered, and then subsequently having my body parts being buried in four separate locations throughout the country as a warning to any other groups of rebel Scotsmen.
6. Being bullied by a group of high school kids who are all varying levels of awesome in the art of karate, subsequently befriending an old Japanese man who teaches me random movements, convinces the bullies’ karate instructor into staving off all fights until the All-Valley tournament, steals a black belt, and then relying on a martial art technique that is completely dependent upon the enemy to attack straight into a jump kick that is seemingly the only thing I could have done from the crane position….
7. Being invited to a jungle island for a really cool getaway only to find out the person who has invited you has also been spending an inordinate amount of time cloning dinosaurs, and simultaneously, the person who invited you did not invest in back-up generators for the super-critical electric fence, which separates you from said dinosaurs and a storm hits causing the island to lose power and cancel all departures…
8. Getting impregnated by a man who says he is from the future and subsequently having to rely on your unborn son to eventually get his criminal ass together, send back his best friend to impregnate you with said son, so that he can grow up, become a criminal high school student who steals money from people, and eventually become the key to the success of humankind while maintaining enough wherewithal to send back his best friend to impregnate you, and eventually grow up to become a criminal high school student…..repeat
9. Being a cop who gets killed in the line of duty, whose remains are used in a secret squirrel program that combines humans and robots to form a “super cop,” who subsequently has weird and incomplete memories of his past life, and worse yet, has no visible means of relieving himself, and moreover, is blamed for the murder of a huge number of civilians he did not have any part in, black listed, and subsequently forced to kill a bunch or rogue corporate and government officials hell bent on killing him and his partner who still sees the humanity left inside his robot exterior….
10. Going to the past in a sports car that fails miserably to sell in the real world that is powered by 1.21 gigawatts of electricity from a fusion reactor (unshielded), accidentally happening upon your father peeping on your mother from a tree in her front yard, being hit by a car, and eventually having an inappropriate exchange of saliva with your mother while your brothers and sisters systematically disappear from a photograph you are carrying in your pocket.
11. Becoming a member of a special forces team that can kill any human element sent to destroy them, who is sent to Central America to rescue another team of operators who have been skinned alive by an apparent alien who seems to be longing to do the same to you…Along the way you run into Apollo Creed, who now works for the CIA and seems to want to kill you as well.
12. Being born a midget in a fantastical world of supernatural powers and wicked evil where you are stuck with a human baby that needs to get back to normal humans, and along the way you run into Val Kilmer who consistently calls you a “peck” and eventually serves to help you on your way, but you are not sure you can ever trust him.
13. Becoming a bouncer at a bar that is located in a corrupt town run by a rich man who is also a douche and is not happy with anyone not willing to be bought and serve his diabolical goals, subsequently, you finding yourself in the middle of an epic battle between the oppressor and the oppressed where you must rip a man’s trachea from his body, but along the way, you get to make it with the same woman who screwed over the bartender from Cocktail, but she is now a medical doctor with the key to your heart.
14. Waking up and realize you are a Naval Flight Officer navigator, flying in the back seat of an F-14 Tomcat, with a reckless, and somewhat arrogant pilot, with boyish good looks, but suffers from feelings of inadequacy stemming from not knowing whether his father is a hero or an idiot.
15. Being told you were born to balance the force and realizing quickly that there are far less people supporting the dark side…
16. Falling and impaling myself upon a sharp object.
17. Additionally, being buried alive.

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

Pregnant Ninja Returns: The Second Installment of Never Trust a Sleeping Whitney

The neighborhood glowed a purplish hue in the early hours of the morning.  A breeze rustled through the knee high wild grass, blowing it to and fro making a chorus of white noise echo throughout the old swampland turned residential area.  But in the little house nestled in the deepest corner of a quaint cul-de-sac, in the Autumn Meadows subdivision, a sleeping, pregnant woman was up to her crazy antics.

An unsuspecting husband, sleeping soundly and innocently, had no clue or forewarning that a ninja was roaming the bedroom on a hunt for whatever spirit she deemed the enemy.  The ninja was a silent killer, highly trained in ancient arts lethal to most ordinary men.  Luckily the unsuspecting and innocent husband is no ordinary man, for he has been fighting the ninja for a decade now.  Admittedly, the husband underestimated the pregnant woman’s abilities.  He has read and heard stories passed down from generation to generation that pregnant women lose their coordination and agility, and to a certain extent, the pregnant ninja roaming the room had lulled the husband into a state of complacency.  When the pregnant woman is in her alter ego day form, she indeed has near zero dexterity.  But at night, when the neighborhood glows a purplish hue, a ninja is reborn and she is on a mission to kill.  Last night was no exception.

The husband rose to a flurry of activity.  The pregnant ninja had raised out of the bed the way I picture demons to have risen off of the lake of fire in Paradise Lost.   There was no bend in her knees or a push off; instead, she swung up, staying stiff as a board into the standing position—it was evident that this pregnant ninja was not a slave to the laws of physics as I understand them; however, I am not sure I understand physics.  The husband had witnessed something similar before during horror movies where the characters are possessed, but never had a pregnant ninja exhibited such a thing.

The bed is four feet off of the ground.  The pregnant ninja now standing in a full on warrior stance ran toward the foot of the bed.  To the husband, she looked like an Amazon Warrior capable of destroying the toughest foe.  The added bed height made the ninja look to be nine feet tall as she expertly maneuvered around a three-legged Chihuahua and a Blue Heeler.  She reached the footboard and perched for a second, examining the terrain around her.  Her eyes scanned the room until they locked on the husband who sat shivering and scared.  The husband lay silently still wondering if he was the spirit the pregnant ninja was looking for.  After what felt like thirty seconds of eye contact, where the husband was sure the pregnant ninja was mentally figuring out a way to disembowel him, the pregnant ninja leaped (not a slow get down from bed you would expect from an average pregnoid, but a leap, like the kind of leap where you are sure it is going to end in a somersault landing). 

The pregnant woman dashed to the door into the master bedroom, which she found locked.  As the ninja began the confusing process of unlocking the door, something switched.  Like God reached into the pregnoid’s head and pushed an “off” button.  The ninja was gone.  Whitney was back and as confused as ever.  She looked back to her husband and said following, “I just needed to pee is all…..”

The light in the bedroom glowed in an ominous purple hue as Whitney made her way back to bed and fell asleep.  The husband laid there, heart pounding, but alive.  However, this time, he knew he was alive because pregnant ninja let him live.  The husband is a strong and athletic man, and startlingly handsome……but no match for what he witnessed last night.  Pregnant ninja exhibited a rare display of mercy.  I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding it in since last night.   

How to keep a marriage together Part Two

Buying an RV and then utilizing your wife to help in its maneuvering can be a rockin’ good time. Should you do this and then survive the impending doom that will be your marriage for the initial few trips, your marriage will come out stronger and more ready to deal with other issues that life may throw at you.

Buying a Travel Trailer was a big move for us. I already had a mullet, the 250 dollar swimming pool from Wal-Mart in our backyard, and I wanted to complete the redneck trifecta. So, a trailer felt right. I have mentioned before my man skills and that some of them, well most of them aren’t as developed as they should be. One of the traits that I had never even attempted to test was my ability to pull and maneuver a trailer. Because I had never tested my skills in this area, I went and bought the longest damned trailer my truck would pull—33 feet of absolute insanity. My wife was with me on this, the whole time, like a trooper. She may be a pregnant zombie with crazy and irrational pregnant behavior, but she is the most supportive and blindly loyal woman in the world. If her husband had to have this trailer, then for the love of God, he was going to get it.

After the trailer was hooked up and we got an entire days training on how the thing works, what it does, and what not to touch, we got into the truck ready to pull it off into the city. It was at this point when reality hit us. We felt like children in way over our heads. I remember looking at Whitney and saying, “they are going to let us leave with this thing, do they know who I am?”

Some background that I left out: I am certain that I talked Whitney into this trailer, it is not like her to own something like this; it is all me. I had one when I was a kid and felt like this would be a great move. I had fantasies of going on really cool outings and just enjoying a new dimension in our lives. Whitney is a fast car and rims girl. She is into fashion and accessorizing. She is a pretty, party girl, a socialite. She is more royalty than redneck (except when she gets in fights at local Wal-Marts: see Part One), and in one sweeping decision I brought all of it down. The first instant I realized what I had done was on the way home when I made a surprise stop at the Cracker Barrel. After nearly ripping the mirrors off of six or seven cars, I pulled that rig into the Cracker Barrel parking lot and stretched it across like twenty spots. I looked at Whitney and I swear I heard her voice crack when she said, “Oh my God, I am one of those people now….”

The reason I bring up the trailer is because there is nothing more difficult in the world than backing it up through tight places when 1. The driver is an inexperienced man-child with a bad temper, and 2. The wife is gifted, but operates on her own plain. Another really cool thing about my wife is something I call “Professional at Whatever We’re Doing Right Now” Syndrome. It comes out whenever we undertake any do-it-yourself projects around the house.

Two Examples:

I was putting a new chandelier in the dining room once and I was working on it alone. My wife was in the other room doing her own thing. She came into the dining room for one thing or another and started giving me advice on my methodology. Her dispersing of advice is probably warranted because I am man-skill challenged, but that doesn’t mean that her dispersing of advice is going to be met with understanding ears. I am on a ladder, holding a chandelier up that is dangling by the wires from the ceiling by balancing it on my shoulder. If I move too much one way, the chandelier will come crashing to the ground. Sweat is pouring down my face; my fingers are fumbling for two wire nuts that lay just beyond my reach, and I am a step away from Hulk Smashing the entire fixture, and it would have felt great. My wife must have seen the struggle on my face, and she must have recognized the rising anger burning a hole in me, because in what must have been an attempt to soothe my soul, she said, “I don’t think you’re doing something right, the box says install in minutes and it’s been an hour…..” I am so thankful she was there to point out the error of my ways, but before I could look up and exchange pleasantries with her, she had vanished like a thief in the night, a thief who has had practice in witty banter.

This is the same girl who was napping one year when I was hanging Christmas lights outside. Halfway through the project she appeared. I was half dangling off of the roof and attempting to fasten a light to a brittle edge of a roof shingle, while gripping the roof with my inner thigh and groin muscles. IMy wife must have seen the struggle on my face, and she must have recognized the rising anger burning a hole in me, because in what must have been an attempt to soothe my soul she began explaining to me that, if I had began the lights on the opposite side of the house, I wouldn’t have the odd amount of lighting left just suspended over the ledge—and further wouldn’t be in this awkward predicament. God damn it if she wasn’t right. There is nothing worse than when she is right, and god damn it, it happens every time. My reaction at this point is my favorite ever. I released the Hulk. This means that I stood up on the roof, climbed to the highest point and yelled out “Merry F*&%$ng Christmas!!!!” I knew this wouldn’t cause any problems or embarrassment. My wife’s reaction at this point is my favorite ever. She released the She-Hulk. This means that she knocked the ladder over and went inside after shouting back “Merry Christmas to you, Dick!” I stayed on the roof until she felt guilty enough to come fix the ladder.

So, where to store the trailer? We decided spot 38 at a local storage facility was ideal and signed the contract. I brief Whitney on the plan to get the trailer into the storage area and then from there where we will back up the trailer into. She seems to understand and I start the work of getting us there. When we arrive at the storage place, there is a truck, a truck painted in camouflage blocking the entrance. I drive by and cursed his redneck ass. My wife says, “Your father told you never to travel down a road that you don’t know where it leads to.” If there is something I can’t stand it is when my father or any man is used to underline the fact that I am making poor decisions. I say, “c’mon Whitney, like this road is just going to end abruptly without a spot to turn around a 33ft trailer.” No sooner had I said this then we rounded a corner to an abrupt end of the street with no possible way to turn around a 33ft trailer. God damn it if she wasn’t right. There is nothing worse than when Whitney is right, and God damn it, it happens every time. Needless to say, she expertly guided me up a driveway and we conducted a precision turnaround.

Once we entered the storage facility, I get the trailer into the area where we will begin backing it up against a fence. Whitney gets in position and starts hand and arm signals. I learn a lot about Whitney during this evolution. The first thing I learn is that Whitney is not a slave to conventional backing up hand and arms signals. She understands them, and utilizes them, but once her arm is tired, she just switches the motion up. For her this is a great strategy, for me, all it does is confuse the shit out of me. She was making a normal back up motion and suddenly she switches to a motion reminiscent of making some biscuits in the air. I have no clue what biscuits in the air means so I yell at her. She gets frustrated and I get more frustrated, but I just adapt and realize that biscuit making motion means “keep it coming.” I am backing up, she is making biscuits. As I get closer and feel like I am nearing the fence, the following exchange occurs and I learn my second fact about Whitney:

Heath: Whitney, why don’t you do something like count down the feet left , you know like six feet, five feet, steady as you go, four feet, and so on…..

Whitney: I am not good with feet, can we come up with some more familiar benchmark?

Heath: What do you mean, you’re not good with feet? You’re thirty years old and a teacher.

Whitney: I just don’t judge feet well. Can we use something more familiar?

Heath: (still backing up slowly) Okay Whitney, whatever benchmark you can work with.

Whitney: Okay, you have approximately one of me left when I am not wearing high heels.

Heath: Are you serious? We are using you without high heels as the benchmark?

Whitney: Yes, I am very familiar with my height, with or without high heels….

These are the times that try men’s souls….

I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding it in since the day she used herself as a benchmark….

My List of Super Powers and a Commentary On Their Effectiveness

1. I am a loud clapper. I can clap louder than any person on earth, but not loud enough to produce a sound wave of destruction.  According to my wife, my clap is only loud enough to be really damn annoying. Last night, outside, at a baseball game amongst thousands of screaming fans, I clapped.  In doing so, I solicited the Whitney Phillips Look of Death, which does happen to produce a wave of destruction…Of note, Whitney’s Death Eyes Power trumps my Loud Clapping Power.

2. I have a high palette, in other words, the inside of my mouth extends higher up into my dome than the average Joe—probably because I sucked my thumb until August of last year.  Sound from my closed-mouth chewing reverberates through the empty catacombs of my head.  I don’t think it is loud enough to produce a devastating sound wave of destruction, but I lose myself in eating sometimes and go internal, just chomping away at whatever it is I am shoving into my mouth.  I use this power to annoy my wife. It is one hundred percent effective.  Of note, Whitney’s Death Eyes trump High Palette Power.

3. I accidentally ruin things a lot. My intentions are good, but this power only works for evil.  Let it be written that I have borrowed my wife’s expensive IPOD to help motivate me through yard work.  I write the following in the short legal statement I made to my wife after her IPOD seemed to have been broken by someone.  Said Named Husband (SNH) was working hard out in the sun laboring out of love.  SNH became distracted.  SNH took off the IPOD.  SNH put it on his truck’s tailgate. It stayed there for two days through two rain storms.  Due to no fault of anyone, the IPOD failed to work properly.  SNH wishes to make no further statement at this time.   Accidentally Ruining Things Power almost always causes Whitney Death Eyes.

4. If water is deeper than I am tall, and you force me to be in it, given only a few seconds, I will start my version of swimming, which I call fighting drowning. To onlookers, this looks like a full on panic attack.  I think what really sells it is the water-filled whimpers and muffled screams.  This power has led to one real life rescue. A man actually had to jump off of his boat and swim to me.  When he got to me, he threw swimming noodles at me and yelled, “Here’s some noodles, stop acting like a bitch….” I was 30 years old at the time….noodles never felt so good.  Aversion to Water Power caused Whitney’s Eyes of Embarrassment, which in turn caused Heath’s Power of Personal Inadequacy.  I am still not allowed in our pool when no one else is home.

5. I am a Whistle Talker. More often than I want to admit, I say my “s’s” with a whistle sound, no doubt due to my High Palette Power.  Whistle Talking causes my wife to immediately stop paying attention to me regardless of the gravity of the conversation. Another instance which breaks my wife’s attention span is if I accidently group two “do’s” in a row. For instance. One thing that we do, do around here is speak correctly.” Two Do Power causes my wife to act like a third grader who just heard someone fart…

If you have learned anything from my list of super powers, it should be that my wife’s super powers trump all of mine. She is like what DC comics did by creating Superman. Superman is so perfect that they had to introduce all of these outlandish characters to compete with him. Her powers are so great that I cannot win, and because of this I use my powers only to annoy. I just wanted you to know this, because I have been holding it in for years…

Losers Anonymous

Hi, my name is Heath, and I play for a softball team that loses; look at me, I am already trying to soften the blow.  I play for a team that is horrible and also loses.  On the two occasions when we were somehow victorious, we still managed to do it in a way that made me feel like a loser.  You know, we get so excited that we were winning that others can tell it must be a rare instance in our team’s pathetic lifespan.  I hit a homerun, which I don’t do often, but when I did, I actually apologized to the other team for prolonging their evening.  We lost that game by 19 runs.  My teammates know I feel this way, so I don’t write this under the pretense that they will seek retribution, but if they tried to seek retribution, they have proven they will likely lose in the process…just sayin’.

This isn’t a blog about softball, so for those of my 26 loyal readers now (increase of three from yesterday….) who thought it was going that way, stick around, it might change your life.  No, this is about personalities and people, and the way we deal with everything, I am just going to use my softball team as an illustration of human behavior. 

For Funners:  The team started out with 40 people, 30 of which were players, all out for fun, or “For Funners.”  What can we learn from people who are all out for fun in competitive sports?  These are the people who are just happy to be involved in something even if they have found a way to just kind of be in the way.  When placed in a position where their contribution will matter, these people tend not to understand they are in a position where their contribution will matter.  More importantly, people who are purely out to have fun struggle with what to do next.  Without prompting, individuals like this shut down when the pressure is on.  In life, you can count on these rock stars until they find something that is more fun.  Usually, these people quit showing up right about the time the people I describe next show their true colors.

Professional competitors:  These people cannot be in a room for prolonged periods with those I just discussed, but man do they think they can.  Another interesting characteristic of the Professional Competitors is that they never make mistakes; they appear to make mistakes, but when pressed for an explanation, it becomes abundantly clear that a For Funner set in motion a grouping of cataclysmic events resulting in the appearance of a mistake on the Professional Competitor’s part.  As a rule of thumb, Professional Competitors love to engage in trash talking, and they would prefer to do it against the other team; yet, on a team like mine, because we are stellar, this individual now begins a new quest:  They set out on a path to destroy the morale of the For Funners.  To onlookers, this is most amusing.  Professional competitors are relentless, and when left to their path of destruction, can cause irreparable damage.  A good example is a team like mine that started out with 40 players and currently struggles to field a team at all.  In real life, Professional Competitors are popular with most people, but no one wants to hang around them when they are drunk.  When doing any activity, Professional Competitors have done it before and most likely better than you have (in their own head).  Plus they were a) either all going to be professional quarterbacks, or b) were well on their way to a Division 1 scholarship that ended in tragic injury (or their hands were too small).    Profession Competitors get as much gratification from destroying their teammate’s morale as they do from winning.   

Dedicated Cheerleaders.  Lastly, this team has overly dedicated cheerleaders. These people are the worst people.  They scream for you regardless of how bad you are or how hellish the current game is.  The Dedicated Cheerleaders love the For Funners and seek them out for mates….These people think everything is awesome, and mistakes are just bad luck vice being indicative of pathetic performance.   Dedicated Cheerleaders shout the name of your team, and worse yet, your name, with conviction in their voices.  Who you are and what  you represent is now out there, and every time they do this, you cringe.  You cringe because you don’t want to be associated in the real world with your “out of work” losing lifestyle; you cringe because in the darkest recesses of your soul, you feel embarrassed that this is what you have become—a losing softball team player, and this is who you will be known as for the rest of eternity.  When you get introduced to people, they will recognize you as this, and you cannot run from this fate that you let happen.   “Aren’t you the guy on that team that was crying last night after you lost by 19?”  Ironically, the ones that escape this fate are the For Funners, who all quit before the identity had set in with the world.   Dedicated Cheerleaders are the annoying girlfriend you can’t seem to convince you broke-up with.  They never leave; they are the For Funners’ smirking revenge….

I already feel better.

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