For as long as I can remember, I’ve lived in a constant state of panic. Worrywort McGee is what they call me, which I always thought was a stupid nickname. Anyhow, the other day, during one of my many anxiety attacks, Sean, a coworker of mine, peeled me off of the ceiling and said to me, “Dude, there’s no time for worry. Life is too short. Live each day as if it was your last.” Of course, normally, I would ignore such inane advice, but since nothing else I was doing seemed to be working, I figured it was time I tried something new. So that’s exactly what I did.The next morning, instead of waking up in a mopey mood, I stayed in bed and thought about what a waste I’d made of my life: thirty-nine years of total bullshit. I cried in my pillow for two hours and then finally dragged myself out of bed.About halfway to the kitchen, I suddenly collapsed on the floor and started crying again: “Why me??!! What did I do??!! What the fuck did I do??!” After lying there in a heap for about ten minutes, I crawled back to bed.Three hours later, I got up and put on a pair of sweat pants and my Fucked Company t-shirt that I never had the courage to wear in public. I didn’t see any point in trimming my beard or showering. Instead, I just called my voicemail to check my messages. Apparently, my boss was pretty pissed off. I suppose I should’ve called in sick, but I didn’t really give a shit. There was so much to do, so many places to see. I wanted to taste cotton candy again. I wanted to witness the miracle of child birth. I wanted to punch somebody in the face.Yeah, hard to believe, but in my 39 years of existence, I’d never had the pleasure of punching somebody in the face. As a pacifist, it kind of goes against my nature. As soon as I throw a punch, my fist seems to stop just before impact. It’s embarrassing, to say the least. Humiliating to the point of nausea, to say the most. So while experiencing freshly spun sugar melting in my mouth would be great, and watching a baby’s head emerging from between a woman’s thighs would be fascinating, I decided that if I had to do anything on my last day on Earth, it would have to be punching somebody in the face. Now, the only question that remained was who. It certainly couldn’t be any of my friends, or anyone that I see day to day, for that matter. No, it would have to be a complete stranger (as opposed to a partial stranger), someone who really deserved it. And so, at three in the afternoon, I headed over to the local bar.When I arrived at The Rusty Blade, I wasn’t sure what to expect. The grey paint on the outside was peeling, revealing a slightly greyer paint underneath. And its steel door had a series of protrusions on its surface, no doubt from the bouncer slamming an unruly patron’s head into it numerous times. I took a deep breath, placed my hand on the grimy door handle and made my way inside.Oddly enough, the interior of the bar wasn’t as dark as I had imagine it would be. It was brighter than day, lit by a series of twelve industrial-strength fluorescent fixtures. I closed my left eye and squinted the right, then approached the bar.

“Give me a whiskey in a dirty glass,” I said.”Fuck off,” The bartender replied.”I’m sorry?”"We don’t want your kind in here.”"My kind?”"Yeah.”"What kind would that be?”He grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pulled me across the bar. “I said, get your hairy face out of my bar.”

I looked around the room, and to my surprise, every person in the bar was cleanly shaven. Most of them even had their heads shaved. Those who didn’t, were sporting crew cuts. Resisting the urge to cry and run away, I looked the bartender in the eye and said something I would later regret:

“And what if I refuse to leave?”

Almost immediately, all the patrons of the bar stood up and started to crowd around me.

“If I was you,” said the bartender, “I wouldn’t push it. “”Yeah?” I paused and looked around, not so much for dramatic effect, but to stop myself from vomiting out of fear. “Well, you’re not me.”

With that, the bartender threw me back, causing me to fall into a crowd of beardless drunks who smelled like a combination of Marlboro cigarettes and Aqua Velva. They grabbed me by the arms and held me in place while the bartender made his way out from behind the bar.

“Well, boys,” he said, “looks like we’ve got ourselves another one.”

Suddenly, all the men started laughing, including me, though I have no idea why. But my jovial mood quickly changed the moment a fist found its way into my gut. As I collapsed, the bar patrons kindly held me up so I could receieve yet another blow — this time, in the ribcage. Again, the hairless freaks started to laugh. I lifted my head to see what was so funny, just in time to witness the bartender’s fist flying towards my face. I remember thinking “fuck that hurt,” just before I lost consciousness.When I woke up, my head was throbbing and my stomach and sides were competing for attention. I wasn’t sure where I was, but there was a strange antiseptic scent in the air. I opened my swollen eyes to discover I was in an alleyway, resting uncomfortably on a pile of trash. And that scent, I suddenly figured out what it was: Aqua Velva. I quickly brought my hands to my face, and too my horror, my skin was as smooth as a freshly shaved baby’s rear end. Those bastards had pilfered my facial hair. Not only that, they’d shaved my head, which might have been cool, but I just don’t have the right head shape for that look. Anyhow, I eventually managed to get up and limp my way back towards home.About six miles into my trip, I was waiting at the corner for the light to turn green, when you’ll never guess who I saw jogging across the street towards me. It was my coworker Sean.

“Hey,” he said. “What happened to you?”"I musth uth ath ag awg,” I replied, not even sure what I was trying to say.”Well, you look like you got into a fight with a gang of barbers and lost. Heh heh heh heh.”"Futh ew,” I replied. That time, I knew exactly what I was trying to say.”Hey, don’t be so down. It’s a good look for you. Besides, it’ll grow out eventually. Like I always say, life is too short. You’ve gotta live each day as if it was your last.”

And you know what? Sean was right. Sure, I had gotten into a bar fight and lost all of my hair in the process. But I also had an amazing adventure that I could tell people about for the rest of my life. And so I thanked Sean for his sage advice, and we shared a heterosexual hug and a hearty handshake. And then I punched that motherfucker in the face.

I’m in the process of working on another one of my epic short stories, so here’s something else to keep you entertained in the meantime. If you’ve ever been awake late at night, you might be familiar with Cutlery Corner. This is a home-shopping show dedicated to everything that cuts: scissors, knives, swords, nail clippers, etc. What’s funny is the absurdity of some of the products they sell, especially the giant swords. You’d think I was kidding, but this really exists. Check out that handle shaped like a skull and crossbones. Somewhere in middle America, a man has one of these displayed proudly on his wall.

http://www.cutlerycorner.net/ I kid you not.

In my lifetime, I have encountered many so-called “illusionists.” The first one I can remember is a hippy magician named Doug Henning. With his famous “nothing is impossible” catch phrase and his trademark overbite, he mystified audiences and challenged the laws of fashion.

Then there was David Copperfield. After assaulting his stepfather, the evil Mr. Murdstone, David was sent to a boarding school where I guess he learned about magic. Next thing you know, he’s making the Statue of Liberty disappear and performing some death-defying choreography. Not only a master of illusion, Copperfield is also an expert hypnotist, which explains his seven-year relationship with supermodel Claudia Schiffer.

Years later, Penn & Teller burst onto the scene. This team of rebel magicians, comprised of an overweight blowhard and a loveable mute, took delight in making fun of other magicians and performing illusions that caused their audiences to shriek in horror and sometimes projectile vomit.

Blah blah blah David Blaine blah blah blah blah blah.

And now we have Criss Angel, a magician for the goth set. With his TV show Mindfreak, this lisping illusionist takes magic to a whole new level. I’ve watched Criss swallow a shot glass filled with needles and I’ve seen him spontaneously bleed from the chest. But what really sets this man apart from the others is when he walks on water. Not since Rick Ocasek has anyone attempted to perform such a feat. He just steps onto the pool and walks across it. All the while, there are people swimming underneath him with shocked looks on their faces. Of course, there’s a simple explanation for a miraculous stunt like this: Criss Angel has to be some kind of god.

Look at the facts. Here is a man who can disappear at a moment’s notice. He’s been sawed in half. He’s walked down the side of a building and levitated from one roof to the next. Yes, all the signs are there. Hell, his last name is Angel, isn’t it? OK, it’s actually Sarantakos, but that’s beside the point. How else do you explain the way he can walk through glass and swallow razor blades? Uh huh. I rest my case.

That said, we have no choice but to follow him. His powers are too strong. Of course, Criss Angel doesn’t just have a fan club. He has “The Loyal.” These are people who are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice: purchase official Criss Angel merchandise and display it proudly. And I will join them. I will wear my Criss Angel Handcuff Belt Buckle without shame. For we are the outcasts among the outcasts. We are The Loyal. A magician has been sent down from the heavens and he shall lead us!

Oh, I forgot to mention Lance Burton. He does some nice card tricks. Sorry about that, Lance. I’ll catch ya later, buddy.

The year was 1952. President Dwight D. Eisenhower signed into law a new bill that was expected to end the spread of disease as we know it. The law, entitled the End the Spread of Disease As We Know It law, was considered to be the most significant law in the history of disease-prevention laws. This was how the law read back in 1952. I think:

From this day forward, all citizens of the United States of America must abide by these rules. Those who do not, will be punished within the full extent of the law.

Any citizen who has recently evacuated the contents of his lower intestine must wash his hands thoroughly before returning to the workplace. The same holds true for those who are only going pee pee. Should someone return to the workplace before washing his hands, he will be punished within the full extent of the law.

To ensure that disease is not spread any further, the right hand will be reserved for the handling of toilet tissue and doing other dirty things. The left hand will remain clean for grabbing loose snacks, such as cocktail peanuts and pretzels. Anyone caught using his left hand to do dirty things or using his right hand to grab loose snacks, will be punished within the full extent of the law.

Because of obvious conflicts, citizens who naturally favor their left hands to do dirty things will be immediately sent to a special facility where they will be taught how to use their right hands to do dirty things. Various reconditioning methods will be used, including psychoanalysis, training exercises and electroshock therapy.

As an added incentive to abide by these new rules, any citizen who witnesses another citizen using his left hand in a dirty way is hereby authorized to pelt that person with an object no smaller than a baseball and no larger than a refrigerator. Should this pelting cause the peltee to lose consciousness, the peltor must then pin a sign to the peltee’s chest that reads “I’m a Dirty Southpaw.” One sign will be provided for each household. Do not lose your sign.

Because disease is often spread through the borrowing of writing implements, each citizen will be issued one mechanical pencil and one matching fountain pen. Under no circumstances shall a citizen offer his pen or pencil to another citizen. Should a citizen be caught using a writing implement that is not his, that citizen will lose his writing privileges and be pelted with an object no smaller than a mason jar and no heavier than an elephant. As for typing, well, just be careful.

We realize that these new laws will take some getting used to, but you also must recognize that this is the only way to prevent the spread of disease as you know it, and as others know it, but not necessarily as I know it. Over time, the laws will become second nature to us and merge into our culture. How long this will take, no one is certain. It could take weeks. It could take months. It could take milleniums. Just follow the rules and don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s not like you have a choice, is it?

Two weeks later, after nine referigerator-related deaths and one very gruesome incident involving an elephant (don’t ask), the End the Spread of Disease As We Know It law was repealed, thus making it the most insignificant law in the history of disease-prevention laws.

I was reading an article in Forbes about how sponsored links on Google and Yahoo(!) are a good way to increase traffic to your site. Well, I’m sure this isn’t a new idea, but I decided to enter a few choice words into the Google search engine to see what kind of ads I could get. Here are some screenshots of the better ones:

That’s all for now. Incidentally, most X-rated searches didn’t bring up any ads. But I still managed to find ways around the system. That said, this is a fucking family-friendly blog, so I chose not to post those. All I’ll say is that when I clicked on one of the ads, it resulted in an eBay listing for “Bad Ass Toys.” Uh huh.