Developmental Item!
Where our employees work tirelessly to ensure you’re 100% satisfied with our competition!

Attn: ChiefDodo (CEO and High Lord of
From: Eugene exiled to the Research and Development Department
Subject: Progress on Secret Project #233


We commend you on your grand vision! You spotted a gaping hole in the marketplace and pounced like chicken pox at a discount day care! We’ve all heard of flying one’s flags at half staff to signify morning but giving people the option of displaying their flags at 1 1/2 staff for happy occasions is pure genius! The day you emailed R&D about the idea we got started developing it the second we arrived back from a long lunch. That we came back from lunch at all should indicate our excitement over the product.

Our initial concerned centered around terminology. Were we talking about flags at “half mast”, “half staff,” or “half pole?” We contacted the Pirate Division on the fourth floor of our Manhattan Headquarters and after they shook down our representatives for office supplies they told us that “half mast” referred to ships and that “half pole” sounded really, really dumb. Thus all the technical documents now refer to the elongated flag posturing device as a “staff.”

We tackled the initial problems right away. Most of us originally thought that simply adding more length to the draw rope would allow the flag to go higher. Extensive beta testing saw no improved performance. Different rope materials including hemp, nylon, and human hair provided no marked improvement. With almost six hundred thousand dollars invested in the longer rope concept – it was abandoned.


After another extended power lunch, the R&D team decided to attach an extension to the top of the pole as opposed to trying to raise the ground surrounding the pole. Some suggested a strong magnetic attachment which is easily installed but high in cost. Others wanted a screw on attachment which would require us to retro-fit existing poles to accept the extensions but would prove much cheaper. We put it to a vote and since it turned out to be fifty-fifty – we are offering a magnet base that attaches to the top of existing flag staffs. The extension screws into the magnetic base.

Uh…the only problem now is installation. Fear not sir, we have installation instructions being prepared as we speak. Below is our rough draft.


Sire, we are also concerned about the perceptions of the common consumer. If a Flag Pole Extension Kit is properly installed then displaying one’s flag at normal height now appears to be at half staff! We fear there will be widespread public confusion regarding what mood good citizens are supposed to be in. I suggest we fly a smaller flag below the primary flag with instructions on how to read the position of the primary flag. As is your usual tactic, we’ll let marketing figure out the sticking points.

As aways, sire, you’re always right,

Reserch and Development Lead Idea Maker – Eugene.

Happy Second Birthday!

Quotes overheard at’s worldwide headquarters upon the second anniversary of the company’s floundering.  Each corresponds to’s inside story told by the Chief Dodo himself…Matt Teply.

“So does anyone know how much venture capital is left?”  – Hairy Tennpenny, Chief Financial Officer after locking representatives from the Securities and Exchange Commission in his office…again.

>>> My friend, Greg Dillwine, and I decided to start this blog after exchanging emails with subject lines like, “Matt Breaks His Wind” and “Name Change!  Greg’s new last name is Dillweed!” Obviously, the last thing we needed to do was start a blog. was the name we wanted to use and to our shock – it was already taken.  We bought the domain from a cyber-squatter.  The negotiations were strenuous.  Mr. Squatter kept insisting that he was on the cusp of developing content for the site, which would then translate to unlimited cash flow.  We were, “Asking him to sell the opportunity for a lifetime!” Additional negotiations took place…he wanted to raise his asking price and so we raised our naughty finger.  Eventually, a price of 150 dollars was agreed upon.  I donated $50 and Greg generously threw away $100.

“A good product can mean good business.  Of course, I’ve seen a lot of bad products do pretty well too.  Which one is OUR strength?”   -Gus Wright, Head of Vice Monitoring for the Salt Lick City branch office.

>>> I though I had it made.  I mean, have you SEEN what goes around as a popular humor blog?!  It’s one abrasive, profane, poorly written, absolutely pointless narrative after another.  Many didn’t even make sense!  I figured a fairly clean, clever collection of posts had to be a success.  Additionally, each post wasn’t tied to any particular event or time – each post is just as pertinent now as it was when I wrote them.  I thought this was an obvious advantage over political blogs and others whose archives lose value with every passing day.  I mean, who wants to read why Hillery will win the election?

I was wrong. would have been more popular if I had made it the diary of a sixty year old stripper with terets syndrome.  The formula was right there and I waltzed right over it!  What was I thinking!?

“Son, it don’t do any good to slam the pedal down if there ain’t any gas.”  – Frank Wordwright, Lead Culture Contributor’s Southeastern Command.

>>> When I began writing, my enthusiasm couldn’t be matched.  I posted EVERY SINGLE WEEKDAY from April to November of that first year.  Looking back, that kind of output stuns me.  It was November 11th when I missed my first post and it tore my soul in two.  “What will my readers do without their daily dodo egg?!” My angst wasn’t funny then but it’s funny to me now.

Greg installed several tracking programs that were supposed to tell me how many people were reading the site.  “It’s not an exact science.” Mr. Dillwine would mutter.  He’s not kidding. I couldn’t tell whether I had 180 readers or 18.  As time went on, it became a little closer to .18.

The final straw came a couple of weeks ago with a post I was really excited about (pictures!)  I asked my coworkers to skip over an take a look at it for me. isn’t something I pester them with – I believe I’d mentioned it once before during the calender year.  None of them went.  In fact, one told me, “I haven’t even been to my room yet!  Why would I waste time on some stupid blog!” Hey lady, don’t waste perfectly good tact on me!

“Jellybeans are such a crock!  I mean, have you ever tried spreading them over bread?!  I’m telling you dude, it doesn’t work very well.”  – Eugene Wasikowaska

>>>Whenever I needed a kick around character I used a guy by the name of Eugene.  Eugene is a name that I find impossible to take seriously.  Naming a child Eugene relegates him to custodial work, being a stand up comic, or college professor.  Eugene is a name zoo workers give to the latest addition to the orangutan environment.  Eugene was one of the only employees at that I ever mentioned by name.  Apparently he’s wart-ridden, short, groveling, and a near perfect troll…oh, and he has a bowl of community jellybeans on his desk.

What I find interesting about that is most of’s traffic comes from a picture of jellybeans that Greg posted to one of my early posts.  If you search jellybeans on Google, there’s a good chance you’ll find  A lot of innocent folks do.  To capitalize on this, we’ve set of an Amazon advertisement link to sell jellybeans.  We’re hoping for greater returns than the thongs we tried selling during the site’s first year.

“Merit is a wall built from sacrifice and held tight by self-control.”  -Paul Bearer

>>>  One of my deep thoughts that never seemed appropriate. isn’t dying but it is going into a hibernation-like state.  Simply put, I have other (more promising) things to do. will now be updated on the 1st and the 15th of every month.  Please come back!  If anyone out there is a regular reader, I apologize and hope you’ll leave a comment.  I’d love to know you exist.

Little know fact:  If you type in, you arrive at  Try it.

Coco Intolerance


I’ve been really depressed lately and there’s no light at the end of the tunnel. It’s hard for me to get out of bed in the morning, talk with friends, eat, or even check my horoscope. It’s hard to see straight and I think I punched my cat in the face earlier. It’s hard for me to say this but after years of causal eating, I’ve developed a severe intolerance to chocolate! Ice cream, cake, fudge, brownies, shakes, syrup, pudding, donuts and everything else that makes life worth living are now off limits to me. You never know when that last bite might be your last!!

This whole thing is a cruel irony considering I’m the one that brought that camp side favorite, smores, into the next century! Imagine the delectable joy of two gram crackers and a marshmallow fused together with rich, smooth chocolate. NOW imagine we REMOVE the weak links in this little threesome. I developed the world’s first “Chore” which melts a chocolate bar between two stale brownies topped with thickened blocks of chocolate pudding! A few seconds over the fire and the chocolate will bathe each of your eager taste buds! Lobbyists from the gram cracker and marshmallow industry conspired to wipe me out but that’s only because they knew THEY couldn’t compete!

It’s going to be tough having to peel all my peanut butter cups.

I called Hershey’s (Pennsylvania is in the Holy Land) to see if they’d ever had other faithful costumers who’d developed this sort of allergy. After waiting on hold for almost twenty minutes, someone finally got on the line with me and suggested I try white chocolate. She swore it was just as good. She said that I would like it. Well, I tried that albino wanna-be and would rather brush my teeth with Ajax than do it again. Hershey’s name should be changed to Heresy’s for even suggesting white chocolate.

I’ve tried rubbing myself down every night with chocolate scented lotions and candles. My tongue is soft and supple now but my stomach hurts.

I’d love to tell you that there are bright silver linings to living with chocolate intolerance but there isn’t. I wander the streets at night watching young lovers share chocolate milk shakes under the moonlight. Restaurants only torment me with their delectable five dollars a piece deserts – they give it for free to anyone smart enough to lie about their birthday.

Sugar candy is for kids and baked goods (sans chocolate) are for old people. (Sigh.) Thank God I’ve still got Cool Ranch Doritoes.

Allergic to Chocolate?  This solid milk chocolate FLAVORED bunny might work.  If you're brave enough.
Allergic to Chocolate? This solid milk chocolate FLAVORED bunny might work. If you’re brave enough.

Easter Cake!

Public Notice: Matt & Melissa Teply of Loss Vegas, Nevada are listed as defendants in a defamation suit by a Mr. Easter Bunny.  The litigation stems from an incident on April 4th, 2010 in which the defendants allegedly defamed Mr. Bunny’s likeness in a reckless effort to celebrate Easter.  Mr. Bunny asserts that the Teply’s “effigy in cake” so depreciated his image that he may be forced to relinquish Easter and become the Flag Day Bunny.

Speaking on behalf of his client, the lawyer for Mr. Bunny said, “The pictures speak for themselves.  After many, many years of constructing a wholesome brand, the Teply’s so-called Easter cake portrays my client in too disparaging a light.  The first cake is hardly distinguishable!  It’s just a mangled mound of yellow cake and misplaced icing!  As for the other cake, did you see the way Mr. Teply put on the small purple jelly beans?  They make my client look retarded!

“If Mr. Bunny loses his position as the ambassador of Easter, we can only assume his Australian rival, Mr. Easter Kangaroo, will try to take Mr. Bunny’s position.  We are tired of hearing how Mr. Kangaroo can carry Easter eggs in his pouch.  If this happens, it will most assuredly be partially attributed to Mr. Teply’s actions this season.”

Exhibit A, Notice the child's delirium

Exhibit A: Notice the child’s delirium

Addressing the media yesterday, Mr. Teply strongly denies he tried to make the Easter Bunny look retarded.  “Look, my grandmother used to make these bunny cakes for us when we were young.  I thought it would be easy to do!  Take a circular cake, cut it in half, and stick the halves together.  Then you cover the thing in icing and sprinkle with coconut to give it a furry feel.  Accessorize with two ears cut out of cardboard before adding jelly beans and marshmallows.  It sounded easy!”

Mr. Teply fought tears before continuing,  “I, I guess I wanted…a tradition for my own son.  I didn’t want to make the Easter Bunny look retarded…I swear!” Despite repeated public apologizes, it appears Mr. Teply is unable to wipe the Cadbury Egg off his face.  The law suit seeks damages in the hundreds of thousand of jellybeans

Children’s advocacy groups have also waded into the fight.  Mark Cocobutter of SHAC (Safe Holidays Activist’s Commission) saw the photo evidence and released a twelve page statement in which he stated, “Look at the ridiculous delirium on the child’s face.  This child obviously has no idea what an Easter Bunny is supposed to look like and these “cakes” certainly won’t help.  We are saddened that people like Mr. Teply are given the ability to have children.”

Despite the hyperbole and excessive verbiage, it is unlikely the case will be brought to trial anytime soon.  Comparatively, the lawsuit Mr. Kris Kringle brought against the people who spawned Kwanzaa is still caught in the gears of litigation.  Additionally, it should be noted that Mr. Kringle’s case against Kwanzaa is much stronger than the comparatively minor action Mr. Teply took.

The Unhappy Easter Bunny or Unhappy Easter Muskrat?

The Unhappy Easter Bunny or Unhappy Easter Muskrat?

Wizz Kid

Dear Dr. P,

I’m twelve years old and in the sixth grade.  I love to play strategy games like World of Geekcraft and War Whamer.  My mom says I waste too much time on those dumb games and that if I don’t quit I’d have dragons coming out of my ears!  Man is she dumb, she doesn’t understand that dragon summoning is a level 67 spell!

What really bothers me is that my dad kicks me off the computer during the commercials of whatever sport he’s watching.  He wants me to “do something useful” but when he’s at home all he does is watch sports!  I’m thinking useful might be etching flames into the paint of his new car.  I draw flames really well.

If my mom isn’t yelling at me to shut off the computer, she’s directing her surplus breath into her cell phone.  She never shuts up!  Her laugh sounds a little like the sound flame demons make when I skewer them with the Pole-Ax of Thor.  (Ouch, right?)  The only call I appreciate her making is to Pizza Hut.

Have I mentioned my sister?  She does nothing but text and write slanderous comments about her friends on some website.  I heard her tell mom the other day that all that texting and posting was helping her writing and spelling skills.  Yea right!  Yesterday I caught her texting one of her friends about a Bobby Buther.  You won’t tell me that,  “U Lov BB!?  Hs crak wets wen he swets!  XD” is the Queen’s English!! (She’ll have carpal tunnel before she’s out of college!)

Anyway, the whole family looks down on me for how I spend my free time.  How do I tell my family that they are leisure bigots?

Thanks,   Wonder Wizard (Slayer of Evil)

Dear Wizzer,

The further I got into your letter the faster my contempt and pity piled up.  Your situation is mind numbing!!  You need to do something together…as a family!  You don’t know what you’re missing!  Your father has hours of bad advice he’d love to give you!  Mom could be preparing healthy meals and getting mad at you when you turn your nose up.  Your sister’s complexion is probably terrible.  Don’t miss another opportunity to tease her over it!

I’m sending an Uno deck as punishment and I demand you use it.

Dr. Pokorny.

A Collection of Eggshells

Bits of wisdom lay about his world like the pennies on convenience store parking lots.  People, knowingly or not, cast them here and there so the prudent can pick them up.  Of course, wisdom has pluses that make it substantially worth more (and fewer germs).  Here’s a few I’ve picked up…

>>> The last time I wanted to install some hardwood in my home I rented a nail gun that required an air compressor.  Instead of renting that too, I knew a handyman that had a couple and without thinking, I asked him if I could borrow one.

“Matt,” he replied.  “You never ask a man to borrow anything he uses to make a living.”

>>> I finally discovered what separates those with a J-O-B and those who make the best employees.  One of the special education teachers I work with signed up for an inclusion conference to “advance her knowledge of her given field.”  I signed up just to get a day out of the classroom.  Good News….we both got what we wanted!

However, our conversation stuck with me.  She wanted to improve her ability to instruct children – a task I was trying to get out of doing.  Like a bolt of lightning, I suddenly understood what separated me from a good employee.  Good employees do two things: they sweat the details and they work to get better at what they do.

How wonderful to have an occupation that makes you care that much.  I wish I did.

>>> The Teply residence was out of mayo and I had just opened a can of tuna.  In college, I would eat tuna straight from the can but those days were well behind me.  I looked at the pinkish/gray flesh and wondered what I would need to do to salvage the meal.

“What could I substitute for mayo?” I sifted through the condiments in the refrigerator door .  “Uh, catchup, mustered, sour cream….I don’t think so.”

Then I saw the Italian dressing and I was hit with inspiration.  I enjoy Italian dressing and I love tuna…Italian is zesty and tuna can be plain…Italian is oil based and tuna is often sold in oil.  The idea wasn’t as crazy as it sounds right away!

I dumped the dressing on the tuna and took a bite eager to discover the dynamic new taste I’d unearthed.  Instead I wound up pealing the top off the roof of my mouth.  I tried offering the tainted tuna to the cat…two sniffs and its whiskers fell off.

Melissa would later advise me, “Good cooks have intuition.  They know what works, might work, and what should never see the same bowl.  You might get there someday but for now stick with cold cereal.”

Husband to Has-Ben

I didn’t know what it was at first.  Bob and I would meet every Tuesday morning as we drug our trash bins to the street curb for pick-up.  Both of us were dressed for work, me in my shirt and tie, Bob in the filthy jumpsuit the city issued him.  The irony of a garbage man wheeling his bins out to the street just so he could pick them up later wasn’t lost on me.

“Morning Bob!” I begin, “Say, you only pick up the trash one day per week.  What do you do the other six days?  Is being a garbage man secretly the best job in the world or is there something I’m missing?” (suppressed snicker)

It took Bob a moment to reply.  His face was downcast and his tone muted.  “Do you have to ask the same thing every week?”

“What’s wrong Bob?”

He finally looked me in the eyes.  “Wanda has been pestering me about where I’ve been throwing my dirty work clothes.  She doesn’t seem to like it when I drape them over her mother but DANG that woman’s been visiting for almost three days now!” He unzipped the front of his jumpsuit and I leaped backward.  The skin on his belly was covered in small, faint reddened areas.

“Oh no, Bob.  She’s started pinching you again hasn’t she?”


With the plight of abused women so well documented, it is easy to neglect the scourge that is the abused husband…or in this case a HAS-BEN (Husband Accosted, Scrotum Bereft, Emasculated, Neutered).  Pinchings and ugly looks are only the beginning of this horrible spiral of events.  Soon, the abusing woman is going around in public without make-up.  It can even go so far as withholding the “kissy-kissy.”

HAS-BENs aren’t always easy to spot.  They may wander about society with brave faces but at home they cower in front of the TV watching a sporting event….any sporting event to escape the pain that is interacting with their spouse.  In Bob’s case, he was in front of ESPN from the moment he got home until he went to bed.  His health was even effected!  In an effort to comfort himself, he’d developed a snack food dependency.

Here are some of the undocumented traits of the abusive wife….

Sends her husband on errands…in the house!  She’ll send her HAS-BEN after children’s clothes, express displeasure at his selections, then send him back to try again.  Rinse & Repeat.  The abusing wife will to fetch a million things or perform other errands for no better reason than, “I’m already in bed.”  Outrageous but true!!

2) If abusing wives are busy, they require their HAS-BENs to be busy as well.  “Why should he not do household chores when I’m still doing them?!” She reasons.  “Whether he’s done or not with his duties, he should still be working or at least helping me!

3) Among the most devious of these tactics is serving food the HAS-BEN despises.  The offending wife sadistically thinks, “I know he doesn’t like squash and there are a hundred different vegetables he would eat instead but…I think I’ll fix them anyway.” Treacherous!

I did nothing for Bob and years later he was a three and fifty pounds and resorting to online role playing games in order to avoid his wife.  At that point it was too late to change the HAS-BEN back into a husband.  If you know anyone who needs help, please, take a moment to call 1-888-HAS-BEEN to speak with someone who may or may not care.

The Welcome Guest

 Today marks the end of a long drought – a chain of endless days will finally break.  Greg Dillwine and his family is stepping off a plane in Nashville and I’ll be there to greet him.  Until I met Melissa, Greg was the almost singular definition of “friend.”  Time and distance have been useless against our common traits:  mild pessimism, milder pragmatism, and a dangerously weak sense of.humor.  Heck, we even have the same genetic back ground – German/Bohemian.      

 We’ve been “co-conspirators” for almost three decades.  Since our fledgling days in one of Dickinson’s small private schools through the very latest post, Greg and I have always been Person #1 and Redundant #2.  We sometimes switch roles to no great effect.  Much of our growing up together was used to perfect two separate art forms – amusing only ourselves and soaking our romantic ineptitude in high fructose corn syrup.   

 Here’s a good example…We’re cruising Villard Street hoping a carload of pretty girls would wave us down.  We would have been more likely to see a herd of buffalo fly by.  Greg takes a long look at his Arizona fruit punch (he’s driving) and says,  “You know, once I bought an Arizona with low fructose corn syrup.  I took it back.”  We laughed and cranked up the Hot Pink Turtles.

 Our courage with the opposite gender had the strength of eggshells.  I would stress sweat sitting in the same row as a girl I found attractive.  We tried breaking this vice with weight lifting and inflated titles.  Since we couldn’t speak to girls directly we’d let our pectorals do the talking.  I’ve written about the Gorgeous Hunks Club in previous posts like this one and this one.  Unfortunately, the Club’s clout extended only to Greg’s front door.  (Greg’s mom and older sisters unanimously thought we were indeed hunks.)

 Greg’s father could have helped but didn’t.  Instead of teaching us the devious tactics he used to snare Mrs. D he would take us fishing.  We averaged one catch per day and almost 6,000 stories on how the fishing used to be much better.  Since we were in a camper miles from civilization, we had no choice but listen.  (Greg’s dad also skipped buying real toys.  Instead of providing cool toy guns he gave us chicken wire and plaster telling us to make our own guns.  He owned several apartment complexes and needed to patch a lot of holes.  The guns were cool…I guess.)  

 It took years before my parents bought our family a Nintendo and Greg’s family only watched one station.  (I’m not kidding.  Huge TV…satellite dish…VHS…and ONE station allowed!)  With such a dearth of entertainment, we spent most of our time swimming at the local pool (Swam there for years – surrounded by girls and I never remember speaking to one.), assembling puppet shows (early years), and constructing movies with deodorant sticks as the characters (college years and no we were not on anything).

 One occasion Greg and I were allowed to prepare supper at the Dillwine residence.  We were given five pounds of ground beef and told to make hamburgers.  “Hey Greg….onion, onion powder, and I’m out of ideas.  (digging through the cupboard and pulling out the food coloring).  Wait, what about coloring the burgers?!  Food coloring doesn’t effect the taste right?”

 “No,” Greg replies, “I think green might be funny.”

 The burgers were a flop and Mr. Dillwine vowed that Greg and I would eat every last burger.  He eventually relented when it was decided there was no way to tell whether the burgers had gone bad or not.  Safety first!

 Greg and I eventually DID find interested females.  We have families now and what seem like a million other pursuits.  He lives in Fargo and I live near Nashville.  When I pick him up in a few hours,  that fact, finally, won’t matter. 

 Note:  Greg was snowed in and caught in the Chicago airport.  So….never mind.

Baby Tools

Congratulations!!!  It’s been nine months since you ordered your Human Starter Kit.  Although we haven’t had any complaints, we apologize if you were forced to order multiple times.  (Note: We no longer use storks.)  If you’re new to being a “Infant Enthusiast,” you may be confused about the right applications for successfully growing your child.

Initially, babies are like high intensity hobbies or long term pets – both really.  They come out ready for nothing other than an aristocratic existence with you as their faithful suckers…uh, subjects.

Like any good “infant enthusiast” you need the tools to succeed.  Lame stuff like love, patience, and a nurturing spirit, are primarily used when other people are watching you.  Think about it…if you fill a box with “love” or “patience” and try to pass it off at a baby shower, you would have your finger sandwich taken from you!  Deep down inside all the best mothers know it’s the equipment that makes the difference.  

Here’s an abbreviated list of must haves just to get you started…

1) Stroller – Because you carried that kid for nine months!  Don’t do it another second!
2) Interactive Toys-  Remember, only toys with batteries are effective…at inducing insanity.  

3) Diaper Bag- It’s like a purse!  Now you can accessorize on both shoulders!

4) Changing Pad – Babies leak…wrap them in plastic or use one of these.

5) Diaper Genie- Grants wishes – makes diapers disappear!  (Quick story, Melissa got one of these during her baby shower and so we set it up in the upstairs nursery.  One of Saul’s first pee diapers went into it before we started changing his diaper downstairs. The diaper genie was pushed aside but never emptied.  I think we kept that diaper for over two years before finally taking it out. 

“Hey Melissa, we’ve kept it so long now…shouldn’t we just tape it into his memory book?”

6) Diaper Basket-  Here’s where you keep all the cleaning supplies.

7) Butt Paste- It’s white, creamy, and defiantly not for bagels…but you can put it on hot buns.

8) Baby Oil – Did you know a properly lubricated human starter kit will slide across a linoleum floor?

9) Breast Pump –  Men throughout history have been simultaneously fascinated and creeped out by this device.

10) Bottles + Accessories –  No, your human starter kit cannot be refueled with a shot glass.

11) Supply of Pacifiers – Infinite is the best kind of supply.

12) Children’s Tylenol – Because infants need drugs too…

13) Anti-Gas Drops-  …and not just one.

14) Crib – It looks like a cage but isn’t….well, maybe it is.

Denis Holder Interview

 “Let’s see…”  Miss Nomar shuffles through her satchel as she approaches the Dead Rich Guy Memorial Community Center.  She pushes through two sets of filmy glass doors.  The entrance of the DRGMCC is a wide open atrium.  Colorful tiles on the floor and motivational posters line the walls.  In the distance Miss Nomar can hear the short, rapid squeaks of basketball shoes on hardwood.  Sweat scents the air alongside the pungent aroma of wholesale disinfectant. 

 The journalist pulls out a crumbled sheet of fax paper.  “Ok, I’m looking for Denis Holder – world famous for his bad ideas and creator of the original suggestion box.” 

 Miss Nomar steps to the wide check-in counter.  An older man, obviously bald except for a ridiculous looking comb-over, greets her with a friendly smile.  He wears a turtleneck shirt under his sweater vest.  “May I help you miss?”

 “Yes, I’m looking for Denis Holder.  He’s supposed to be the world famous developer of the suggestion box.  Does he still work here?”

 Still smiling the man responds.  “Why yes he does!  I’m Denis Holder.”

 “That’s odd.”  Miss Nomar replies.  “I thought this is just where you wanted to meet.  You work here?  You invented the suggestion box!  Shouldn’t you be rich or famous?”
 “Well, I’ve been working for the parks and rec department here in Potsville for almost 45 years!  Does that count?”

   “Parks and Rec?”  Miss Nomar sounded a bit surprised.  “You’ve worked at a low end city job your entire life?  I’m sorry.  I had the wrong idea, maybe we should just skip the interview.”

 “But I am smart!  And there are many good reasons to interview me!  Listen, have you ever heard of a city disappearing?  Working for the Parks & Rec department is what I like to call job security.  I may not make any money but it’s not like I’m trying to buy a house or something like that.  I just want enough money to buy an RV and then it’s PERMENANT VACATION TIME!!”

 “You’ve worked your entire life just to buy an RV?”

 “And Pop Tarts – the generic kind.  They’re cheap and make a great breakfast, lunch, or dinner…or all three!!  I’ve got all kinds of great ideas just like that one!”  He gestures to a common area with tables and chairs.  “Why don’t we go over there and I’ll tell you all about my greatest idea…the suggestion box.”

 Miss Nomar dryly responds, “You set this interview up….didn’t you?” 

 “Another great idea!”  Denis Holder steps around the wide counter and strolls to the nearest table with Miss Nomar closely following.  The journalist sits down first before pulling out a memo pad and pencil. “Fine then….Mr Holder what was your inspiration for the infamous suggestion box.”

 He sits.  “It all stems back to my family’s history of incredibly poor judgment.  Take my name for example.  My father thought it would be a good idea to cut out one of the Ns in Dennis so that I’d have an easier time writing my name.  Well, when you write Denis and add a little tale to bottom of the D you’ve got penis.  I went through elementary and middle school known as Penis Holder.  Ha!  It’s funny now that I stop to think about it!
 “Anyway, since I never seem to be able to make the right decision so I decided to borrow them from others.  One day, I made a plywood box, painted it a subtle lavender, and hung it outside the a place I knew everyone went…the restrooms.”

 Miss Nomar took on a bit of enthusiasm. “Well, that was a good idea!  After all, suggestion boxes have found their way just about everywhere nowadays.  What kind of suggestions did you get.”

 “Oh, mainly a lot of stuff like, ‘Take down this stupid box!’  and ‘Here’s a suggestion….GET BENT!’  not really sure what that one meant.  Once I sorted through all the trash, I found a good idea from time to time.  But my favorite was a tattoo recommendation that I’ll never forget.”

 Miss Nomar’s brow went sideways.  “A suggestion for a tattoo?  That’s the best you got?”

 “Of course, anyone with a truly good idea usually takes credit for it.  Anyway, it had to do with getting  neck tattoos.  It really made sense.  With a tattoo on your neck, people can enjoy it even though you have to wear a shirt and pants in most places!  I thought it was genius.”

 Mr. Holder pulled down his turtleneck to reveal an ugly rainbow of distorted colors that ended in column of clouds just under each ear.  “I got this years ago before rainbows were adopted to mean….well…something else.  Why did they have to take all the colors!  That seems a bit greedy to me!”

 “Mr. Holder, that looks awful!”  Miss Nomar was grimacing now.  “What makes you think yellow, orange, and the other colors would look right as a tattoo?”

 “Why wouldn’t they?”  He replied.  “I’m supposed to be white, right?”

 Miss Nomar scribbled something on her notepad then tore it free.  Then she slid her notepad back into her satchel and stood.  “I’ve wasted enough time.  Mr. Holder, could you please point me to the suggestion box.   I’ve got directions on ‘getting bent’ that might come in useful.”