There was a skit about 10 years ago on Saturday Night Live in which a spoof of a time-saver infomercial told viewers that they'd be more productive if they chopped off the last syllable of each word. Unfortunately, I'd save no time with the sentence, "we've gone too far, so kill me now."

I walked by a FedEx Express store yesterday. If you were able to read that last sentence without lapsing into a coma, maybe our minds work differently. Let me rephrase it so that you can't possibly miss my outrage. I walked by a Federal Express Express.

That's right. FedEx is now pumping their express service, which confuses the hell out of me since I thought everything they did was supposed to be express. That's why they called themselves Federal EXPRESS. And then spent millions of dollars re-branding themselves as FedEx. And now that we all got to know FedEx, they have added an extra "Express." I'll pause a minute while you come out of your coma.

Back with me? Good. It was ironic enough that they were allowed to use the word "express" in the first place. The only thing expressed in a FedEx warehouse is the customer's disdain for their slow and spotty service. But now the word "express" is in the title twice. Someone at corporate must have no longer been content to lie about our packages being expressed once. Nay, they needed to lie twice.

Perhaps the two lies diffuse each other, leaving the company known simply as "Federal." Which makes sense because the US Government is the only thing with less speed an accuracy than the manner in which FedEx delivers our packages.

I'm not picking on FedEx's service specifically. I've used this space to mock UPS and the USPS before. And I'm sure if I knew where or how to send a package DHL, I'd hate them, too. But right now, It's FedEx Express' fault I am so PO-ed off.

I ventured into the FedEx Express store looking for answers, or perhaps a blunt object with which I could bludgeon myself. Finding only empty poster tubes, I asked the man behind the desk how much extra it would be to send something express.

"Everything we send is express," the man answered.

"I know," I said before walking out. "That's my freaking point."

I may not have phrased it that nicely, but this column does run in family newspapers.

Is this how stupid we've become? That we need to unabbreviate our abbreviations? We've spent so much time trying to save ourselves time that we now have to spend time unsaving that time, which we never really saved to begin with. Sorry, let me say that the Saturday Night Live way: which we nev real saved to beg with.

Should I have said "SNL?"

There are many one syllable words I would like to use now, but again, the family newspaper thing. If I did use those words, I'm sure I'd get lots of angry feedback, some of which would be sent using the local USPS service. Or maybe an IM message. How many times have you gone to an ATM machine? And put in your PIN number? Maybe you needed the money to eat some KFC chicken.

Would it be too much to ask that we think before we speak? Would it be too much to ask that FedEx thinks before they spend millions of dollars re-branding themselves? And would it be too much to ask that people realize the best way to save time is not to change our language, but to get better and more concise with the language we already have?

It is up to you to help fix this. Because I want this fixed, and I want it fixed ASAP possible.

Sorry, that's "ASAP possib."

Steve Hofstetter is the author of the Student Body Shots books, which are available at SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@stevehofstetter.com.

Time has passed, and I've had a chance to think about what happened in the Jackson case. And I still can't believe that we saw Janet's breast on national television.

I'm kidding, of course. I can believe that, she needed the publicity. What I can't believe is that Michael Jackson was cleared of all ten charges. Lousy SOB cost me $5.

My friends and I had a pool for the sentencing. Seven of us threw down $5 a piece, and decided that if no one was right, the money would go to Prevent Child Abuse America. When I lost, so did they, and they're a much worthier cause than I am so I don't feel entirely bad.

Only one of us said Jackson would be cleared of all charges. The rest of us assumed that the American justice system, albeit flawed, wasn't made up of total idiots. I understand the doubt cast on the case, but we all said the same thing - he gave the kid alcohol, we all know that. At least he'd be charged with that, right?

Sure, we've all had someone older give us alcohol at one point. My aunt switched my water for vodka when I was 12 and laughed as I took a sip of burning. But this is a man giving wine to a kid he's sleeping next to and calling it Jesus Juice. If that's not against the law, can we make sure it is from now on?

In 1987, a minor league catcher brought a potato with him to the field. With a runner on third, he threw the peeled spud into left field as if it were the ball. The runner trotted home, only to be tagged out by that same catcher, still holding the real baseball. From then on, there were strict rules about bringing foreign objects, specifically produce, onto the field.

In the same vein, a jury may have just ruled that Michael Jackson didn't break any laws. But it's our job as a country with a re-writable law-code to add a few new laws in case it happens again.

One, if a grown man who owns a monkey sleeps in the same bed as anyone not related to them or said monkey, it will be assumed the activity was not platonic. Loopholes include the monkey's trainer when the monkey is frightened during a thunderstorm.

Two, you can not have so much plastic surgery that your face no longer resembles a face. If you break this law, sentencing includes getting a tattoo of a face-looking face on your face to hide your non-face looking face.

Three, you may only have as many exotic animals as gold records. When you stop producing gold records, you must stop purchasing llamas.

Four, you may not name your land. We are each given an address by the US Postal service and that is the extent of it. It is considered first-degree naming your land when you name it after a place full of magical creatures. These names include but are not limited to "Neverland," "Narnia," and "Dennis Rodman's Bedroom."

Five, you may not call Michael Jackson "Jacko" for no reason other than the rhyming possibilities. I'm looking at you, New York Post.

Six, you may not obscure your baby's face with a mask and dangle him over a balcony, or name your baby after a household item. This law does not apply when you are saving your baby from a grease fire and he happens to be named Matt.

And seven, you may never, under any circumstances, let your kid meet Michael Jackson. You may not play Michael's music for your kids, you may not let them hear about Michael Jackson on Court TV. You may not play Rockwell's "Somebody's Watching Me" because Michael does the backup vocals, and you may not show them Jackson's "Captain EO" (although that'd be good advice even without this scandal). If you willingly allow your child to come into contact with anything Michael, and any laws are subsequently broken, it is your freaking fault. You can't sue, you can't take it to the media, and you can't ever visit your child again. Because if you let that happen after all this, you are celebrity crazed idiot and need to be stopped.

If you disagree with the verdict like me, which you certainly ought to, go to Preventchildabuse.org and donate that $5 you would have spent in your office pool. And I don't care how good his music is, stop listening. This whole scandal actually increased his record sales. Including albums that contain "Smooth Criminal," "You Are Not Alone," and, "Don't Stop Til You Get Enough." Ew.

I'm awfully glad that America was so outraged about half of Janet Jackson's breast exposed for two seconds on television. She's the real problem in that family.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of the Student Body Shots books, which are available at SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@stevehofstetter.com.

Hey everyone! I decided to send you this long, impersonal email because I am self-centered and don't think about the results of my actions! I don't realize that you would rather not hear from me at all than have proof that I don't particularly care about you. I also don't care about the thirty other people I CCed, but they sure care about me. You'll know that because they'll reply-to-all for the next three days. Yay!

I don't have time to send you an individual email, because I have been watching a LOT of VH1 lately, and VH1 is more important to me than our friendship. I say it's because things at work have been busy, but I spend most of my day in the office sending email. The rest of my day is spent complaining about people who send me form letters. Oh, the irony is delicious!

Most importantly, I'm doing way better than you. That's why I'm sending this. Were I out of work and living in my uncle's garage, I would not tell you. I'm emailing you because my job and my car and my kids and my stuff is all nicer than yours, and that you should be so happy for me that I've become better than you. I also went on a long and expensive trip recently, to a place that is better than anywhere you've ever been. Maybe if I hadn't spent two months traveling, I'd have had time to write you a personal note. Though I did manage to watch a lot of VH1 while I was there. Did you know they get VH1 in Europe?

I just got a promotion. I don't know why because (as we already discussed) I am a terrible employee. But my boss thinks I'm working all the time because I stare at my screen a lot. I stay later than him, too. I send a lot of email.

I am also in love. You know how you woke up alone this morning? I didn't! I woke up in the arms of a beautiful person that I am totally in love with. In fact, it's your ex! That's right, now she's in love with me instead of you. Don't feel bad, she never really loved you. She just said she did so she could get half your stuff. By the way, I am making great use of half your stuff. That's how come my stuff is nicer than your stuff - because your best stuff IS my stuff! Thanks!

I'd be very happy if you took the time to reply personally to this. I don't really want to hear about your life, but I do need validation. A personal reply would show me that I am important to you, but mainly that you have less of a full life than I do because you have the time to send personal emails.

Signed,
Your close friend that cares about you individually only when it's convenient.

P.S. If you don't want to get these letters in the future, please let me know. I'll take you off my mailing list with no questions asked, because it's hard to ask questions to a dead man you self-important jerk who thinks he's too good for me. I can't wait to take the other half of your stuff.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of the Student Body Shots books, which are available at SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@stevehofstetter.com.

With graduation just behind us, I thought I'd look into the future at the various lives you'll be leading this fall. I've had that ability ever since a bizarre farming accident left me with psychic powers and a terrible show on USA. The following are e-mails you'll be sending to each other this October; when that time comes, feel free to just cut and paste.

Hey all,
I'm really enjoying my trip through Europe. I just wasn't ready to face the world, even though facing the world really just entails a cushy job at my dad's firm. I felt I needed to explore myself and have sex with prostitutes in Amsterdam. This was the best money I have ever made my parents spend. Aurevoir! (that's French for "I'm a spoiled duechebag!")

Meegan!- I never thought 9to5ing would be so much fun! Especially since I'm really just 10to3ing, in a PR firm that never has enough work for me to do! I'm not on my lunch break either - all I do is check my e-mail and read CNN so I can pretend I'm cultured when I'm talking to my boss the morning after he sleeps with me! I love being a mature adult!
Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox!!!!!!1111

T-Rock-- Life in my parents' basement has been awesome. I keep telling them the job market is awful, but I really just enjoy sleeping on their old couch. I told them that if I didn't find a job in the next year, I'd start paying them rent. How funny is that? Like I'm going to have any money if I can't find a job. What morons. Want a beer? Wait, Judge Joe Brown. Gotta go.

Dear Liz,
Hi! How is life? Mine is wonderfully boring. I wish I had something to do other than take care of my husband's kids! I say that they're his kids because he decides everything. I'm so glad I got married before I experienced my own life and formed a perosnality. I hope you're enjoying your freedom and being a positive force in society while I am an empty shell of a person. Cooper, Taylor and Brittany say hi!


Jeff-
Life in finance is hard. I make $100,000 a year but only have 5 hours a day when I'm not at work. I slept under my desk last night. Shoot me in the face.

Steve-
While I was in college, I wrote for collegehumor.com. Everyone read my work and loved it. Now that I graduated, I pass my time by writing about college even though I'm not in it anymore. My friends say I need to move on. I notice you've done such a good job of that. How can I duplicate your moving-on-ness, which you've so obviously done, now that you're out of college and have moved on?

Thinking Man: Dude, Where's Your Car?
6/05/05
By Steve Hofstetter

Do you know those keychain voice recorders they used to advertise? Typically the commercials are on a Saturday afternoon, during a news program that recaps all the old news, preventing it from being news anymore.

The purpose of the voice recorder was to save information quickly - like a grocery list, where you parked, or where you left the remote control so you can change the channel from this terrible program.

Now most cell phones come with voice recording capabilities, but I have never used my phone to record the location of my car. I figure if I am smart enough to remember to carry my phone, I am smart enough to remember where I parked.

I live in an apartment in Los Angeles with fellow comedian Adam Hunter. He and I are very similar and very different simultaneously, and our friends all say we would make a good sitcom. The cool part is, unlike every roommate pairing in America who's friends say that (read: every roommate pairing in America), our professions might actually make that happen.

Anyway, I was supposed to stay home this past Monday night; I was tired from hiking earlier in the day. But Adam invited me to a comedy show in Universal Studios, and I didn't have any good reason to say no, mainly because I can't see the future.

When we arrived, we were instructed to park in the first available area, which was coincidentally next comedian John Roy. We were late, so we quickly ran to the show.

That show was not the important part. After Adam got off stage, he and I left. What we didn't know was that there are three garages in Universal Studios, and we had no idea where we'd parked.

In fairness, we've all done this (some on sitcoms, already). Coincidentally, the time I lost my car was because I was late for a show at the Universal Studios in Orlando. But I was still not prepared to spend three hours walking Universal Studios in LA feeling like an idiot.

We started in the garage closest to us. It wasn't until we checked to see if there was another garage that we even noticed Curious George on the wall. Apparently, the painted characters are the way to tell the difference between the garages. If you're Curious George as to why, Universal Studios has a long tradition of opting for kitsch over intelligence.

We retraced our conversation sparked by places we'd passed on the way in, which led us to the second garage called"”get this"”Jurassic Parking. Our ability to find Adam's car was also extinct. We called John but he didn't pick up. Maybe he'd been eaten by an animatronic raptor.

We tried Curious George again. Then Jurassic. And back. And back again. Why do we keep looking in the same place for things? This wasn't car keys, this was a car. We'd have noticed it. By this time, I knew where everyone else's car was, just not ours.

Whenever we asked the guards for help, their answer was always the same: "Do you know where you parked?" If we remembered where we parked, we wouldn't have said, "Excuse me, we don't know where we parked." Though I couldn't call the guards stupid - we were the ones who misplaced two tons of metal.

John still didn't answer his phone. So we flagged down two girls and asked them to drive us around. In an unlikely twist that makes for a better column, our new hosts were a white rapper and an Armenian girl who couldn't speak English, but nodded whenever anyone else spoke. Why not?

While driving around the third garage (denoted by pictures of Frankenstein, of course), MC White Chick explained to us that maybe it was fate, and Adam lost his car to prevent him from getting into an accident. Adam said it was either that or because he was an idiot. The Armenian girl nodded.

In an unlikelier twist, we drove right by John. The good news was he didn't ignore our calls - he left his phone in his car. Which he couldn't find.

We parted ways with the girls, added John to our crew, and hunted for both cars on foot. Garage to garage to garage, I finally suggested that the cars may have been towed. We went to the security office to check, and were told that the staff would find our cars for us. A half hour later, they did. But not before asking if we remembered where we parked.

The cars were around a far corner on the basement floor of Jurassic Parking and we were relieved. Partly because we found the cars, and partly because there were seven other people following the security guard looking for theirs.

In addition to the layout of Universal Studios, we learned a valuable lesson. If you can't remember where you parked your car, please use the recorder on your phone to remind you.

Though that only works if you don't leave your phone in your car.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of the Student Body Shots books, which are available at SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@stevehofstetter.com.