Tag: humor

So you’re cooking your first Thanksgiving turkey! Don’t lose your giblets

(If you’re reading this and still haven’t begun defrosting your Thanksgiving turkey, stop RIGHT NOW and place your bird in the shower, where it can be defrosted and monitored properly, as well as cleansed regularly, between now and Nov. 28. This is just one exciting example of the kind of tips you can expect from this week’s edition of Flashback Sunday! Now, please wash your hands…)

Don’t let your first Thanksgiving turkey become memorable for the wrong reasons.
The countdown has begun. Soon, thousands of newlyweds will be in the kitchen preparing their very first Thanksgiving turkey. As a service to readers, I felt a responsibility to help educate people about foodborne illness by offering a special holiday feature that I’d like to call:

Don’t lose your giblets this Thanksgiving.

Being a writer, I’ve naturally spent a good portion of my career working in the food service industry. And like most writers, it was there that I was able practice my craft and eventually acquire something that ALL good writers must have: A Food Handler’s Card.

Because of this, I can stand before you as someone highly qualified to talk turkey.

So let us begin. Continue reading So you’re cooking your first Thanksgiving turkey! Don’t lose your giblets

… This Just In …

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…TAT-tat-tat-TAT-TAT-tat-tat-TAT…

[Breaking News: from another strangely irrelevant moment in our newsroom…]

There’s nothing like deadline days at a newspaper. Except maybe closing an oven door on your head repeatedly for 8 to 10 hours. It is a day filled with split-second decisions, each of which can lead to rippling ramifications in terms of overall ink usage. Today was a true test of our abilities as a news room: A key story had fallen through; we were down one reporter; and we were completely out of Cheetos in our vending machine. It was in essence, the “perfect storm” scenario when my editor called me into her office… Continue reading … This Just In …

For writers, it isn’t always easy to find The End

image Welcome to Ned’s Nickels Worth on Writing, a weekly feature in which I utilize my 15 years as a columnist to impart writing wisdom that 50 Shades author E.L. James has called “The inspiration for my ‘safe’ word.” Keeping that in mind (…ok, that’s enough), this week’s NWOW is special because, like a good “safe” word, it could keep you from getting spanked too hard when it comes to formulating a strong ending to your story, column, novel, latest post or current relationship.

Before we get started, I’d like to say thanks to Ross Murray at Drinking Tips for Teens and Molly at Mollytopia for suggesting this topic in response to last week’s NWOW, during a series of comments that went something like this: Continue reading For writers, it isn’t always easy to find The End

Take it from me: You can’t run from static electricity

image When I was a kid I had a book called Mysteries of the Unexplained that contained AMAZING BUT TRUE! stories aimed at stirring the imagination, eliciting a sense of wonder, and prolonging the bed-wetting experience by at least three years. I’d huddle beneath the covers with my flashlight and read about strange psychic phenomena documented by real scientists, physicists, private investigators, and the occasional freaked-out paranormal expert who, at the end of the story, usually abandoned his profession to become a plumber:

“Even now, after all these years, I can still feel those icy fingers whenever a cold breeze blows across my butt crack…”

Though the book was mostly about ghosts, aliens, strange disappearances and creepy folklore (“…so stand alone in the dark, if you dare, and hold a mirror while repeating the words Sassafras Sally and prepare to be slapped by a pair of wet tea bags…”), it was spontaneous human combustion that really got to me. I think it’s because, in my mind, ghosts, aliens, strange disappearance and folklore could all be avoided by exercising a little caution. Continue reading Take it from me: You can’t run from static electricity

The mystery of The Box continues. (Just take my word for it)

"Skippy" the wild, blindfolded squirrel in his natural habitat. At least on Tuesday mornings...
“Skippy” the wild, blindfolded squirrel in his natural habitat. At least on Tuesday mornings…
Every Tuesday here at Siuslaw News, I re-enact the climactic scene from Clash of the Titans when, without warning, I suddenly holler: “RELEASE THE SQUIRREL!” And although “Skippy” the wild, blindfolded squirrel is no Kraken, he is just as terrifying to anyone trapped in our newsroom at the time of his release. Not only because I believe he is partially rabid, but also because it means it’s time for The Box: That mysterious collection of unidentified photographs that have remained unclaimed in our newsroom since the 1980s.

Each week, I randomly select a photo by dumping The Box of photographs onto the floor of our newsroom and then releasing “Skippy.” The photo closest to the person who screams first is chosen. Since our debut of The Box four weeks ago, we’ve lost three high school interns and a guy restocking the vending machine. This morning, no one quit or left the building screaming, which tells me I am slowly losing the element of surprise. So this morning I had to settle for the photo “Skippy” decided to chew on while defecating on the chair of a fellow reporter who will begin screaming shortly after she arrives. Continue reading The mystery of The Box continues. (Just take my word for it)

Your decomposing pumpkin could threaten mankind

(It’s time for this week’s Flashback Sunday! That special day each week when I wait until no one is looking, then dig into the archives for a while before pulling out something very few have seen. Wait! I know how that sounds and I apologize! I also promise I washed my hands before posting this…)

This weekend, watch for falling pumpkins.
I left the house this morning and made an important realization: What I had assumed was a fleece-lined, bright orange sweatshirt laying crumpled on the front steps was actually NOT a garment at all.

It was our jack-o-lantern.

This realization was made while attempting to pick it up. Though my intention was to give my children a stern lecture on taking care of their clothing, I decided instead to scream uncontrollably after grabbing a handful of pumpkin mucus. Somehow, our pumpkin’s aging process had accelerated, causing it to collapse in on itself and sprout white fur — literally — overnight.

This isn’t an isolated incident. Anyone who hasn’t disposed of their jack-o-lantern by now has witnessed this process, which we can all agree defies the natural laws of physics. One morning, your pumpkin’s face is triangle-eyed and gap-toothed as normal. The next morning, it is Buddy Hackett. Continue reading Your decomposing pumpkin could threaten mankind

Don’t become your own expendable character; utilize writer survivor skills

image I think we can all agree it’s Friday! For those who can’t agree, you are welcome to think it’s Thursday. But don’t come crying to the rest of us when you show up to an empty office tomorrow dressed in jeans and a casual dress shirt. For the rest of you, today is also the day I dispense my Nickel’s Worth on Writing: a weekly feature on writing that has been recognized by the prestigious trade magazine Publishers Weekly as “…a weekly post…each and every week…”

But you didn’t come here to read gushing accolades!

Over the years, my wife has gotten used to my (admittedly bad) habit of leaning over and whispering “expendable character” whenever I see someone who I know is going to die. I should clarify I only make these predictions while watching movies, and not, as a general rule, at the grocery store, in hospital waiting rooms or at family reunions. That’s because in movies, these types of characters are easy to spot. Continue reading Don’t become your own expendable character; utilize writer survivor skills

If calling customer service doesn’t help, try the suicide hotline

image Sometime between yesterday afternoon and this morning, my computer slipped from its normal “sleep mode” and into a deep coma. This became apparent after hitting the space bar and getting no reaction whatsoever, not counting a low-pitched whirring sound that — if I didn’t know better — I could swear was snoring.

Realizing there might be a serious problem, I gathered all of my computer troubleshooting experience and, over the course of the next 10 minutes, applied that experience by hitting the space bar no less than 400 times. When that didn’t work, I unplugged the computer and plugged it back in. Tried a different outlet. Switched keyboards. Wiggled my mouse. Considered finding a different occupation, preferably one involving explosives.

I eventually realized the only thing left to do was call the “Help Line” listed in the service manual and hope someone there could either a) talk me through this or b) talk me down should our conversation move to the rooftop. Continue reading If calling customer service doesn’t help, try the suicide hotline

Today proves The Box is part of a higher power (or someone was high)

I'm not sure if "Skippy" bites. Actually, I'm not even sure if he's a squirrel. Or a "he."
I’m not sure if “Skippy” bites. Actually, I’m not even sure if he’s a squirrel. Or a “he.”
That scream you just heard, depending on you proximity to our newsroom, can only mean one thing! Ok, possibly two, but I haven’t written in the nude for at least a month. That means today’s scream was the result of releasing a wild, blindfolded squirrel into the newsroom.

Why?

Because it’s time once again to randomly choose a photo from our collection of decades-old unclaimed and unidentified photos in The Box here at Siuslaw News.

Before I reveal this week’s photo, I must admit I was shocked that an image of its importance and religious significance had been sitting in The Box for the last 20 to 30 years. I called The Vatican and was told a special team of trained investigators would be dispatched to verify the authenticity of this photo, just as soon as they were done disproving claims that Sean “Puffy” Combs is a deity. “Given that he is the only one to make these claims, it shouldn’t take long,” said the Vatican representative I spoke with. Continue reading Today proves The Box is part of a higher power (or someone was high)

Rule number one to coaching kids: Never, ever forget the jelly donuts

(I’m sure a lot of you have been wondering, “Where is today’s Flashback Sunday? It’s always posted at 6:30 a.m.!” Ok, fine; only one of you was. Regardless, like many Americans do this time of year, I completely forgot about the time change and, as a result, didn’t remember to set my clock back by … uh… 12 hours. I know we’re actually suppose to gain an hour, but seeing as how every clock in our house has a different time, I’m sure you can understand how this could have happened. My apologies to everyone. To avoid making this mistake again in the spring, I will be posting my March 9 Flashback Sunday in an hour…)

Going downtown for a hail Mary pass into the bucket.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not very athletic. I made this realization in the third grade, when I was knocked unconscious 32 times playing dodge ball. After that first game, I remember waking up in the nurse’s office and being told of a special program for “gifted” athletes who were so special they got to wear a football helmet during recess.

Of course, I eventually figured out there was no “special program,” and openly expressed my feelings of betrayal when I slammed my helmet on the desk of my high school counselor.

After which I was taken to the hospital with a broken finger.

I live with the memory of being an unathletic child on a daily basis. Particularly when I look in the mirror and see a man whose head still fits into a third-grade football helmet. For this reason, when my daughter asked me to coach her fourth-grade basketball team, I smiled, took her hand, and began faking a seizure. I panicked at the thought of providing guidance to a team of fourth-grade girls, any one of whom could “take me to the hole.” Continue reading Rule number one to coaching kids: Never, ever forget the jelly donuts