The new game show "Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader?" poses a very serious question. The question of course is, are you smarter than a fifth grader?

Well I sincerely hope so...unless of course you are in the fourth grade.

Looking solely within the title of this show, there are many sociologic principles including the obsession people have to determine just how smart, or rather, stupid they really are.

Nevertheless, I will allow these questions to be explored by an academic who is itching to write a graduate thesis. I haven't even seen the show, yet the title has encouraged me to come up with a game show of my own.

Drum roll please!

"Are You Smarter than my Dog?"

Sounds intriguing...well it is. This is how it will go down.

I will host this show, and in my hand I will hold a tennis ball. I will then throw the tennis ball and contestants will chase after it, pick it up, and bring it back to me.

However, here's the twist!

Sometimes I will pretend the throw the ball. When I do this, if the contestant chases after the ball, looks around for minute, does not find it, and then with a confused look on their face realizes that I had been holding the ball the whole time...a prize will be won!

The prize is that the contestant gets to kill themselves, and everybody wins!

Kind of dark, but I think it could be a success, if I could only figure out how to make it so people get to vote on the results.

The verdict is out! Saddam Hussein has been sentenced to die...for obvious reasons. What this man has done is horrible, but my question: Is sentencing Saddam to die the best option in this situation?

I am not an advocate against the death penalty and agree Saddam should be punished. However, I am an advocate for entertainment and feel that this man is too valuable to our society to be killed.

WTF?

Yeah, I said it!

Has anyone been watching this maniac's courtroom outbursts? They are priceless, and absolutely hysterical...what a nut job. Those raving, incoherent, babbling, sequences of nonsensical drivel are the highlight of my news viewing day...so why not capitalize?

I propose a Saddam Hussein reality TV show. Now, I would watch that!

Don't worry...cameras will not follow the man as he rots in a cell, nor we will put him up in some palatial house in Hollywood hills.

Here's the deal:
-Saddam hates America, right? (Yeah, he's said that once or twice.)
-America loves reality TV.

Why not combine the two? I feel that it would prove torturous for Saddam and highly entertaining for an American audience as we exploit this lunatic for the whole world to see.

Take Saddam and put him in a "Real World" type atmosphere. Yes, force Saddam to live with 7 youthful American yahoos, in a house, and let the comedy ensue.

He will be watched of course and probably handcuffed most of the time, but can't you just picture it as Saddam lies awake in bed while his muscle head roommate has sex with some floozy he picked up at bar? Amazing! They might even get into a shouting match with Saddam emphasizing his argument by screaming things like "Death to America!" or "God is Great!"

Seriously, envision how it begins:

It's the first day in the house, and the roommates are all getting to know each other. Everything seems great as they make introductions and some small talk. They all do their confessionals saying things like "this is such an amazing house," "I don't think Natasha will keep a boyfriend," or "Tammy is fucking hot!" Next, they decide to hit up the liquor store and the booze starts to flow. They play darts and dance a little bit, but unavoidably the party moves into their hot tub. The gay roommates start giggling with each other and the black dude looks like he's in line for a threesome when all of a sudden they get a text message on their T-mobile sidekick. The quiet roommate grows excited and gets the others to calm down as she reads the message.

"Hey roomies...hope your enjoying your time in (insert city name). However, there's one thing we have not told you yet. Your challenge for this season is that you have an extra roommate...Saddam Hussein!"

Every one stops and stares at each other. Mitch, the frat guy, says "that explains the empty bed." His comment is met with looks of terror.

Suddenly two armed guards enter and stand by the hot tub. Next Saddam Hussein appears wearing a full length oldy-timey bathing suit. He is followed by two more armed guards. Saddam pauses at the edge of the hot tub and yells "hello (insert city name)!" and cannonballs into the pool. He lifts his head out of the tub and smiles as the water cascades off of his nasty beard. Saddam looks around and says "three weeks I no bathe." The roommates immediately run out of the pool.

That's just the first episode! There can easily be 12 episodes of this...and then next season another mass murderer can live in the house. Plus, Saddam will definitely be invited back for all the challenge episodes in the future.

Ah...traveling...what an experience! I just love it when you're sitting on airplane in front of a screaming infant that punctuates their performance by shitting themselves.
However, an airplane is a much more luxurious mode of travel compared to that of a Peter Pan coach bus speeding from New York City to Boston (Which by the way is better than the Fung-Wah - China Town to China Town line, because those busses explode in a ball of flames).

My most recent trip from Boston to New York was fairly interesting. I was traveling with my mother on the Peter Pan line. Normally I would take the fung-wah but I felt that if the bus caught fire I could swiftly exit although my mother could not.

Anyway, here are some highlights of the trip to New York:
- I sat next to a kid from Ethiopia.
- My mother sat next to a woman who was catatonic.

The bus ride back was more exciting. It started when we were in line for the bus and the manager of Peter Pan basically told us all that we were idiots because we missed the bus to Framingham Massachusetts, our destination. This was due to the fact that we were standing in the line marked "Bus to Framingham" and not along the perpendicular yellow wall. According to the manager of the Peter Pan bus line, "Everybody knows that on Fridays and Sundays Framingham lines up against the yellow wall."

Thank you bus manager...it is easy to see why the other employees of Peter Pan are happy to call you their manager. Nevertheless, we had been waiting in a line clearly marked for the bus that we wanted. Couldn't someone have told us that if you wanted to go to Framingham you had to line up against the yellow wall? How about hanging a sign, or taking the sign that is up down, or taking the sign that is up down and re-hanging it on the yellow wall!?!?

According to the manager "a guy in dreads came by and announced for people going to Framingham to along the wall." Well, nobody saw or heard the "guy in dreads." Did he work for the bus company or was he just some guy in dreads who knew the Friday/Sunday rule. Seriously, nobody heard or saw "dreads." I know this because there were about 15 other people in same position as us, and my mother took the time to ask everyone else if they had seen this man. In addition the manager told us that he would take us to Framingham anyway because he was so nice (and because his system didn't make any sense).

The bus driver himself was an interesting character. Having arrived recently from some Asian nation he was very hard to understand when he used the PA system. However, he did say, "If somebody on their cell phone, tell them be quiet. If they don't tell me. I tell them shut up!" Seriously he yelled that. I couldn't believe it was happening while my mom, who was sitting next to me, laughed hysterically.

Next he told us that he would start the movie in 30 minutes, and immediately started playing Duma...a movie about a cheetah. I don't even think he stopped speaking before he played the cheetah movie. Yes, it is about a cheetah, and no, it is not animated.

The highlight of the trip home came when the driver pulled the express bus (no stops) over into a rest station and announced a 20 minute break. People were not happy with this and yelled at the bus driver not to stop. He did stop the bus, and screamed into the microphone, "I need go bathroom!" and sprinted off the bus while tossing the microphone to the bus manager that was along for the ride...apparently the driver was trainee and needed the erudite supervision from the man that we already proved was highly intelligent.

The bus manager quickly listened to the complaints from the passengers and came up with a brilliant idea that he announced on the microphone.

"Ok, the driver has to use the bathroom, so we will wait for him. In the meantime nobody get off the bus, and we will proceed when the driver returns."

This was met with a variety of complaints that was highlighted with this exchange between the manager and some concerned woman. Please remember that the bus manager is speaking over a PA system.

The woman said, "But I need to use the bathroom."

"Just go ahead and use the bathroom on the bus."

She stood up and exclaimed, "But there's no sink in there!" and more people began to make their way toward the front.

"People please remain seated, and if you need the bathroom use the one located on the back of the bus." More people started to get up to get off the bus, prompting the driver to realize the situation and say, ( OVER THE PA SYSTEM!) "fuck it, I can't keep people from going to the bathroom...go ahead as quickly as possible...DON'T BUY ANY FOOD!"

Some guy bought food and he tried to sneak in on the bus. Apparently he didn't realize that fried chicken produces a very heavy aroma.

The bus driver, who was now back on the bus got so mad that he screamed, "He told you no buy food! If I no eat lunch...you no eat lunch!"

Meanwhile, all that I can think of is it's 9pm and lunch was a few hours ago.

Anyway, just thought I would share a little bit of what kept me entertained on a relatively uneventful journey.

There was a polygamy rally in Utah the other day...

Is that a good place to meet girls?

Too many of my friends don't know about this situatuion in CT...so here it goes.

Joe Lieberman is the like the kid in a basketball game (complete with officials) on the losing team that claims the reason why he lost is because the other team cheated, and they should play again to determine the champion.

Connecticut's secretary of the state says Sen. Joe Lieberman has gathered enough signatures to run for re-election with a new party.

hooray!

When I was a little kid my mom would guide me by using the incredibly insensitive phrase "nobody likes an Indian giver." Hey I was growing up on the cusp of this luxurious politically correct world we live in now. That phrase was perfectly fine...nowadays not so much. Anyway, it's true. Nobody likes someone that gives you something then asks for it back. Joe lost and in turn gave up his seat for the democratic party...now he is asking for it back by claiming to be in a party that he has never been involved with throughout his long political career. What a jerk.

Plus Ned Lamont is a stud!

not really...but it sounded good.

Ned doesn't even need to run negative campaign ads for this election because Joe is doing it to himself.

Now all Joey will be doing is taking away democratic votes for the seat and possibly bolstering the chances of the republican canidate Alan Schlesinger. Wait that sounds familiar, maybe even reminiscent of a previous presidential election...hmm.

Joey claims that the only reason democrats are not voting for him is because he supports the president and his war in Iraq. I mean the last I checked that was sort of a hot button issue but I may be overlooking something. The fact is that the president and his crew have made some less than stellar decisions during his tenure and...wait!...didn't he get elected in the first place because a certain democrat ran for president as part of the green party taking away votes from the canidate that actually won the popular vote, Al Gore of "An Incovenient Truth" fame.

Wait just another second here...who was Gore's running mate? Hold on, it was big Joe Lieberman!

Which all leads me to this statement:

Who cares about Connecticut? It's boring and for some reason the traffic on their highways alway creates within me the desire to murder myself, but seriously Joe, you look like an asshole.

nobody likes an indian giver.

In 2003, I graduated from The George Washington University. I found something disturbing recently concerning this school that I hold near and dear...please, read on.

Should we be the least bit ashamed that our alma matter is now advertising for students on myspace? After I sent a message an add forThe George Washington University appeared on my computer screen. It was advertising a masters in information systems and touting the availability of 3 locations! "Find your ambition" it says, or some crap like that.

Really? It was impressive to tell people that I graduated from GW. Now, when I tell people this information, rather than saying "good school," they are going to say "Yeah, I know that school it was advertised on myspace!"

wtf?

What's the opposite of awesome?...because that is what this is. Students should get a discount on their tuition because of this online push. Honestly this bothers me...what happened to selling a school upon its reputation, or ranking, but myspace? Maybe I can auction off my degree on ebay! Please, I should have just gone to the university of Phoenix and saved myself time and money...because if I were to tell people that I went there they would say, "Yeah, I know that school it was advertised on myspace!"

take down the ads please.

I park beneath my building and beside me parks an old man. For this story we will call him Moses (Mo) because they were born on the exact same day! Plus, by him having this name his anonymity remains intact, and you really get the sense of how old this man is...and hopefully you should realize that he shouldn't be driving a car. Seriously this guy was in WWII so he's pretty old.

Anyway, the other day I go down to my car to find two things. (1) a note that taped to the side view mirror that says "Andy call me when you get home" with phone number. (2) a fresh dent on the driver's side door of the car.

What the F?

So I call the number on the note and Mo answers the phone.
"Mo, did you hit my car?" I ask.
"Oh, is that a new dent? I wasn't sure if it was new or not."
"Yup it's new. "

The next morning I head down to Mo's appartment and he is already looking through the phone book to find nearby body shops. "I want to go get an estimate to find out how much this is going to cost," he tells me. So the two of us get in my car and head off to the body shop.

I should note the Mo drives a 1968 Dodge Dart and I drive a 2005 Toyota Scion...I think his car could beat mine in a fight.

Anyway, the estimate to fix the damage is over a thousand dollars. "For this much money I'll just call my insurance company," Mo tells me. We get back to my house and he comes upstairs to my appartment to get my information, and tells me "See I don't mess around I'm calling my insurance company right now...I take care of things."

"That's great, I just want my car fixed." I reply.

On a side note: Mo proceeds to leave my appartment, head down the hall to appartment above his and try to get in. (I live on the second floor of a two story walk up. The two floors are mirror images of each other with the only exception being one story is above the other one.) Mo heads to the appartment located directly above his and tries to enter by using his key for about 5 minutes, and hearing the phone inside, yells "the phone is ringing, why won't you let me in?" Seriously, I feel safer having him on the road.

On another side note: I am not an asshole. I didn't stand there watching...my neighbor did and told me about it.

The next morning I got a phone call from Mo's insurance company. They tell me that they have conflicting stories, and he says that he didn't hit my car. WHAT?

I ask, "ok, then why would he leave a note on my car if he didn't hit it?"
"He was trying to be a good neighbor and was alerting me to the dent."
Are you kidding me? is that an actual answer? That must be dumbest excuse I've heard. People usually don't leave notes even if they do hit the car.

I question "Are you serious? If he didn't hit my car then why did he go out with me yesterday to go get estimates for it?"
"Yeah, he sad he was confused on why he was with you."
"IT WAS HIS IDEA! He looked up body shops in the phone book!"

Anyway, Mo, the jack ass had now changed his story. So I had to now participate in an investigation, and go to a garage so his insurance company could assume liability. What a pain in the ass. My insurance company got involved too. However, Mo would not talk to them or cooperate in any way.

Cranky old man.

So a little bit of time had passed, 10 days in fact and there was no conclusion. I went down to my car and Mo was standing there putting a cover on his car. "Hi Mo" I said. You know I still wanted to keep a good relationship with my neighbor. I began to look at the dent on the door and was about to say "how could you say you didn't hit my car?" when suddenly I noticed something else.

A NEW DENT!

That old bastard hit my car again! This time above the front tire on the driver's side.

"Mo did you hit my car again?" I question. "Look at this."
"I don't know whether I hit it or not" The incredibly alert man answers.
"Well, there is green paint on my car that matches your car and now your car has a black mark on it."
"I've driven this car for 30 years and I couldn't tell you every bump and scrape on it."
"Great, but that's not what I'm asking. Did you hit my car?" I ask again.
He replys by yelling "I'm not telling you anything talk to my insurance company"
"Your insurance company is not here...did you hit my car?"
"I'VE PARKED HERE FOR OVER THIRTY YEARS AND I'VE NEVER HIT ANOTHER CAR?"
"you know something, I've been nothing but nice to you for the two years I've lived her and I would apprecitate it if you stopped yelling at me."
"I'M NOT YELLING!"

It was at this point that he started to wave his finger in my face and I almost replied by punching an old man in the face.

My restraint allows me to run for public office.

I called the cops.

The police came, took a look at my car then looked at his car and said, "yeah, he definitely hit your car."

Then the police went and talked to Mo. This was an interesting process and I felt bad for the police woman who was trying to explain the situation to the stubborn old man. He would do things like ask "how do I know he didn't hit my car?" or say "I didn't hit his car until my insurance company told me I did."

Then Moses's wife woke up. She is older than creation. "Who hit whose car?" The cryptkeeper asked.
"He hit my car!" claimed her geriatric husband.

It was at this time I saw the police officer hit her own head in frustration and say "Sir he did not hit your car!"

Anyway, his company should pay for all my damages and hopefully father time won't be driving anymore. I'm just glad I didn't hit an old man in the face...that's one of those stories you wouldn't be proud of telling.