As some of you may have noticed, this column has been missing from you local newspaper for the last few months.  Let me tell you why.

I’ve spent my time away trying to put my life in perspective.  I am at that age when the days ahead are fated to be fewer than the days behind.

It's a lot like this.

Younger men don’t worry about time running out.  Boys are always blind to their own mortality and, as a consequence, they rarely think ahead.  Deep down, young men just don’t believe they are ever going to die, and so they live from day to day, moment to moment. They drive fast, live fast, and – like my son – waste huge amounts of time playing video games instead of looking for a job.

But the older a man get, the more he begins to see the world differently.  He tends to begin slowing down when he drives because he knows how easy and suddenly it can all end.  And, more often than not, he begins leaving the turn signal on.

And even if he remembers to turn the turn signal off, he cannot help but realize his time on this earth is limited.  He begins to see himself as Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, trapped in the Wicked Witch’s castle as the sands within the big hourglass slowly run out.

Okay, not exactly like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.  Older men don’t see themselves as teenage girls.  Some may, but I truly believe that most do not.  I am not saying there is anything wrong with it.  If a guy wants to be a teenage girl from Kansas that’s his business.  But, if so, I certainly hope he keeps it to himself.  Don’t ask, don’t tell. That’s my motto when it comes to such things.

The less said about it the better.

I admit I am being a bit selfish in not wanting to hear about any Dorothy fantasies, but I have enough problems dealing with a sudden sense of encroaching mortality to manage the social awkwardness that would surely follow if any guy I know tells me in confidence that he wishes he was a girl from Kansas who befriended a talking scare crow, a lion and a tin woodsman, whatever that is.  I mean, really, what IS a tin woodsman?  Ever see one?  Not me.

But I digress.  The point is that the older a man gets, the more he sees the days of his life as sands running through an hourglass.  And that is what happened to me.

So as I enter the last phase of my time on this planet, I spent some of that time reevaluating how I spend my time.  After careful reflection, I concluded I use my time poorly – especially the time I spend writing.

Most of what I write is, in all honesty, kind of silly.  For example, just look at my most recent article about homosexuals. Who really cares which homosexuals I favor and which ones I disapprove of – like that awful Rosie O’Donnell?  I mean, seriously, Rosie O’Donnell’s celebrity and resulting wealth is proof that there is something fundamentally wrong with the universe.

Rosie O’Donnell’s mere existence causes me to ask questions I never, ever asked before. Every time I see or hear Rosie O’Donnell I ask myself “what kind of a God would shape reality to include Rosie O’Donnell?  Can a truly loving God do such a thing?  And if so, why?  Why would the Ruler of the Universe say to himself  “I, the Creator of Everything, the Prime Mover, have decided to begin a chain of events that will result in the rise of a really, really annoying lesbian who will, in addition to being fat will also be a slob, and yea, verily, she will have her own talk show.”

I just can’t accept that God would do such a thing. The very concept of Rosie O’Donnell has upset me so much that, out of spiritual desperation, I consulted with my priest, Father Stavros.  I asked him “Father, if God loves us so, why did God send Rosie O’Donnell to live among us?”

Father Stavros is a wise, old man with a long beard and a funny hat.  Well, it looks funny if you aren’t Greek Orthodox.  To us, it looks fine.  But, to those of different faiths, the hats Greek priests wear can look sort of weird and their names can be difficult to pronounce.  I knew a priest named Father Papahartogeorgoudisfylakakopoulos. I felt bad for the guy.

Father Papahartogeorgoudisfylakakopoulos


Well, Father Stavros (who’s last name is thankfully easy to pronounce) listened to me and then said “maybe God put Rosie O’Donnell on earth to test the faithful.”

But I digress.  The point I am trying to make is that I have spent the last few months reevaluating my life, and have decided that, if I am going to continue writing this column, I need to concentrate on more important things.  Our world and our nation are facing dark times.  I want to make a difference.

So get ready, People of Earth, for the greatest and most meaningful series of articles you have ever experienced.

I will begin by exploring the hidden wonders and important parables for our times revealed through professional Mexican wrestling.



  1. If your articles are as great and meaningful as say, the weekly passing around of the WWE Championship belt, and you get to wear a cool costume like Ray Mysterio’s, then I am all for articles that make a difference. I think we can smell what the PNB is cookin’.


  2. Actually, truth be told, I have no interest in making a difference. Instead, I am using the pretense of making a difference as an opportunity and excuse to make fun of Rosie O’Donnell.


  3. I needed a laugh, so stopped by. So glad I did. Watch out with the superhero stuff, you don’t want to end up like Madonna.

    For those who missed it:


  4. My superhero costume is MUCH better than hers.


  5. Yep there are some really sad people in those photo’s..sad and old..except fro orin of course who is now a bestselling author!

    BTW I believe Rosie O’Donnell was put on this earth to act as a decoy for humpback whales against Japanese whalers…


  6. I believe as we speak in the Vatican the pope is himself wrestling with the question that catholic scholars refer to as

    The O’Donnell dilemma.

    I only hope he is wearing a costume much like the mexican wrestler above.

    My that’s an image I am not getting out of my head anytime soon.


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