Why do I let myself daydream? In my head, my life is adventurous: I am a dashing prince upon a majestic horse, with a much deeper voice, striving valiantly to save the damsel. And I also don't have to pluck my eyebrows.
But in reality, when I try to make my dreams come true, things go differently. I'll show you what I mean. Here's a scene from the inside of my head:
Paul is waiting in line for a burrito, and a beautiful girl gets in line behind him. Paul turns around to talk to her.
Girl: I know, seriously. It's like, I have places to be, please.
Paul: Ha, me too. Maybe they'll open a new line for people who are busy.
Girl: (winking slightly) Yeah, but then you'd still be in front of me, and I'd still be late.
Paul: Well, I'd think about letting you go in front of me.
Girl: Oh you would, would you?
Paul: (smiling coyly) Maybe. If you were good.
Girl: (getting closer) And what would I need to do to be... good? (strong sexual voice on 'good')
Paul: Well you could start with giving me your phone number.
Girl: (taking a small piece of paper from her cleavage, and a pen from Paul's pocket) Okay. (writes down the number, and stuffs it down the front of pants) But this better be just the start...
And so on and so forth. But here's what actually takes place when I try to make that happen.


Three months ago, the Writers Guild of America went on strike. They were concerned about the unfair compensation that writers receive for new media projects. The controversial strike, supported by other guilds such as the Screen Actors Guild, is necessary to force the producers to discuss the rights due to the writers.
But the writers forgot their secret weapon: A little tv show called Lost.
At 8pm on Thursday night, producers in New York and L.A. sat in front of their televisions.
And, if you turned down your volume and listened very closely, you could hear the soft weeping of the producers, wrecked with guilt, as they watched the finest specimen of a tv show ever created.
You can bet your ass they're going to resolve this strike now! There's no way we could live without our full 16 episodes this year.
Here's what went down this week, in a Hugo cannonball:

Chris: Hey bro! Sorry about this. There were so many PT Cruisers outside I couldn't find a place to park my Segway.
Chris plops down on the couch and begins channel surfing.
Chris: Yo, toss me a Zima!
Dale: All out, bro. I've got New Coke, Coke II, and Crystal Pepsi.
Chris: Hey, the XFL playoffs are on. The Chicago Enforcers are playing the Orlando Rage.
News Anchor: We interrupt this broadcast of the XFL to bring you a tragic message: President Howard Dean has succumbed to the Asian Bird Flu.
Chris: (changing the channel) I hate how they schedule "Joey" at the same time as "Studio 60." They're both so f*cking good.
Dale: Really? I feel like "Joey" went downhill after the thirteenth season.


Hey everyone, finals are here and just to keep you fresh I have created a few brain teasers to keep your mind fresh. The first one is just an example:

