Burkett Humor (The BH)

I Secretly Want To Be A Club Adult

2008-08-22T15:24:00.006-04:00

Doesn't that picture (left) look sweet? I wish I was there right now, tapping my foot and bobbling my head up and down to the spinsations of this DJ... but, instead I'm just sitting on my deck, staring at a squirrel in the backyard. There's too much sunlight back here! I wish it was dark out, or, even better I wish it was past midnight and I was at this club. Bet that DJ is sick... and I don't mean he has flu-like symptoms. I mean, like, he's a really good DJ that plays really good music. Get it?

I secretly want to be a club adult. It's kind of like being a club kid, except older and instead of sucking on ring pops I would snort cocaine or drink hard liquor, or both... because that's what club adults do.

I want to come home at 5 a.m. with white powder all over my nose, and when my wife asks me where I was at I'll ignore her and just walk to the liquor cabinet to get a Night/Day Cap. And when my son tries to wake me up in the morning I won't even hear him because I'll be totally blacked out... I wish I were blacked out right now. Then I wouldn't have this sun in my eyes... I wish I were a club adult.

Sixth Grade Journal: Mr. Guido Talks. We Listen.

2008-04-02T09:04:00.003-04:00

Do you remember your elementary school principal? I remember mine. His last name was Guido. I don't know what his first name was, so I just called him "Mister Guido." Fortunately I didn't have to call his name too often, because I stayed out of trouble for the most part, but when he called your name it would send a chill down the back of your neck. Because you knew when you turned your head your eyes would meet his scary eyes.

Yep. Mr. Guido had "crazy eyes," kind of like that runaway bride from a few years ago. So when his eyes talked to you, you listened. When he told you to stop playing baseball, you stopped... out of fear that he might murder you if you didn't.

04-20-86
In the morning I did my work then we went out and played baseball and my team lost. At lunch time we played baseball but Mr. Guido told us we couldn't play because he couldn't supervise us. After school we played the girls in softball and we won 14 to 5. We let them have 5 runs so they'd keep playin. Then I went over Dannys and we played around and did Reading. When I got home I ate Big Boys I had a salad and fish. Then I went home did Social Studies and went to sleep.

April Fool's Day at the Office: Ten Sure-Fire Zingers That'll Leave 'Em in Tears

2008-04-01T00:11:00.006-04:00

Hey there office pranksters. Put away your whoopee cushions, hand buzzers and vibrating fake poops because those everyday favorites ain't gonna cut it on a day like this. Today is a day where you take it up a notch, step up to the next level, pump up the jam -- it's April Fool's Day you fool! So, here are 10 sure-fire zingers that'll leave the secretary in tears, the boss pulling his hair out (what little hair he has left) and the rest of your coworkers too afraid to even take a sip from the water cooler.

10. Drop a fresh tilapia filet and a bag of popcorn in the microwave for 12 minutes and 39 seconds.

9. Unbutton the top three buttons of your shirt or blouse, rub your hands violently through your hair and put some flour under your nose before you walk out of the men's/women's bathroom. You'll be known as the office cokehead in no time.

8. Find the ugliest person on your floor and just walk right into their cube and tell them you want to make love to them. Then yell out, "April Fool's!" (That's one of my favorites)

7. Put a pair of headphones on, but leave them unplugged from your computer and pretend like you don't notice that the Celine Dion track you have cranked up in ITunes can be heard by everyone on your floor.

6. Go to work wearing nothing but a neck tie and repeatedly insist to the HR rep -- who's escorting you out -- that it's the finest suit of clothes from the most beautiful cloth.

5. Draw a vagina on a wall somewhere in the office and the first person you hear talk about it wins a chocolate bar or some other prize.

4. Call in dead. (It's like calling in sick, except this time you're dead. Hilarious!)

3. Start a gasoline fire outside the office building, then go inside and pull the fire alarm. That way, when everyone exits the building, they'll walk right into the flames. "April Fool's!"

2. Pretend fall asleep in a meeting and start talking dirty like you're having a sexual dream involving one of your coworkers.

1. Put a penis picture in your PowerPoint with a thought bubble (because penises have thoughts, too) that says, "April Fool's."

How Many Five Year Olds Could You Take On?...Here's My Score

2008-03-31T09:30:00.001-04:00

Sixth Grade Journal: Super Size Me 1986-Style

2008-03-25T21:50:00.011-04:00

Before there was Morgan Spurlock and "Super Size Me," there was my Sixth Grade diet: thirty-one days of pizza, KFC, candy bars and Tuna Helper. Here's a day-by-day breakdown of what I ate in March 1986, according to my Sixth Grade Journal:

March 1 - Pizza, pop, chocolate cream pie
March 2 - hot dogs, french fries, roast beef and mashed potatoes
March 3 - chicken, rice and corn
March 4 - spaghetti and milk
March 5 - spaghetti and sandwich
March 6 - steak, mashed potatoes and green beans
March 7 - McDonald's
March 8 - Chi-Chi's burrito
March 9 - Turkey TV dinner
March 10 - Chicken soup and milk
March 11 - Kentucky Fried Chicken
March 12 - Little Caesar's pizza
March 13 - Sloppy Joes and Pepsi
March 14 - Steak and baked potato
March 15 - Kielbasa
March 16 - T.G.I. Friday's for lunch; Hardee's 1/4-pound burger, french fries and Coke for dinner
March 17 - Kentucky Fried Chicken
March 18 - Taco Bell
March 19 - Soup
March 20 - Steak and green beans
March 21 - Marshmallow bunnies
March 22 - Cake and ice cream
March 23 - McDonald's cheeseburger, french fries and a Coke
March 24 - Spaghetti and milk
March 25 - Hot dogs, beans and french fries
March 26 - pizza
March 27 - Candy and Kentucky Fried Chicken
March 28 - Salad and fish from Big Boy
March 29 - Candy bar
March 30 - Burger King
March 31 - Tuna Helper and cupcakes

What's Hot?: Kwame Kilpatrick and Anarchic Hand Syndrome

2008-03-24T13:59:00.014-04:00

I'm proud to say that Detroit holds four out of the five top spots on Google Trends at this hour (2:25 p.m. EST), all thanks to our mayor, Kwame Kilpatrick, who will become the first Detroit mayor to be charged with a crime while in office.

The other spot goes to the search term, "anarchic hand syndrome," which is also known as the Dr. Strangelove syndrome. It's an unusual neurological disorder, a form of apraxia in which one of the sufferer's hands seems to take on a mind of its own...

Wait a second? Maybe that's not unrelated to our mayor. Maybe he'll be using that as a defense in his upcoming trial. Maybe Kwame will argue that he suffers from the Strangelove syndrome, and that he had no control over the hand that sent those sexy text messages to his former chief of staff, Christine Beatty.

Kwame: "Your honor. This hand has a mind of its own, and when it gets a hold of my BlackBerry, there's no telling what it will do."

Top-Ten Milestones of a 402-Month-Old Baby Boy

2008-03-21T13:04:00.006-04:00

There are certain milestones that come along with being a 402-month-old baby boy. And I'm happy depressed to say that this baby boy is pretty much on track:

10. No longer smiles at the sound of his wife's voice
9. Grasps objects, especially those filled with alcohol
8. Rolls from back to stomach and stomach to back and never really gets any sleep
7. Stops responding to own name, until the fourth or fifth try
6. Vocabulary reduced to one-word sentences: "Huh?" "Wha?" "Idunno."
5. Drinks from a mug
4. Begins make believe play about what his life should have been
3. Learning how to ride a motorcycle
2. No longer dresses himself
1. Jumps, hops and skips and spends the next three days in bed recovering from neck, back and leg soreness

Haircutstrophobia: Why Hairstylists Freak Me Out

2008-03-06T21:00:00.010-05:00

I just got a haircut recently and I'm glad I did it because my do was getting so long that I was starting to look like 80s superstar Rick Springfield, except not as handsome... more like Rick Springfield's retarded cousin.

Making the trip to the salon is not easy for me. The thought of getting a haircut makes me sweat. When I call to make an appointment, my voice trembles and squeaks like a 12-year-old boy's.

But nothing freaks me out more than the hairstylists themselves. They're always trying to chat with me; I just ignore them, give them the silent treatment and pretend I can't hear them over the blow dryers and buzzing of electric razors. I also have a rule where I'll never go back to the same girl twice. I always do a walk-in with a random stylist, because I don't want them to get to know me or talk to me or get too attached, and I also don't want them to get too complacent. I had a lady who used to cut my hair for years -- her name was Bridgette -- and after a while, when I would come in, she would just take advantage of me and my time and use it to take care of some errands in the mall where the salon was at, or she would yap with other clients and coworkers while cutting my hair, not even paying attention to what she was doing. I'll never forgive Bridgette for that clipper incident that made me the laughing stock of my fifth grade class at Polk Elementary.

I also keep my hands glued to my side whenever I'm getting a hair cut, to avoid touching the stylist's privates with my elbow. It totally freaks me out when that happens. One of these days I'm going to snap and jump out of the chair and yell across the salon for all to hear, "Would you please stop resting your vagina on my elbow!" I know bald guys would get mad at me for saying this, but I envy you. You don't have to go through what I go through every 62 days.

Sixth Grade Journal: Chocolate Car Trouble

2008-03-04T11:14:00.000-05:00

Some kids bring guns to school. Others bring chocolate cars. Both should be punished. I learned that lesson the hard way.

It's another episode from my Sixth Grade Journal:

2/21/86
In school we did our journal and other assignments and when we were done we played with chocolate cars and got in trouble so we had to write a page in Science. At lunch time I went to Wendys and ate chicken and a salad. After school I went to the Baseball clinic and got out at 4:45. When I got home I ate a snack and watched tv. I then watched tv then went to basketball practice. After practice I ate meatloaf, corn, and mashed potatoes. I then watched the Cosby show and Stevie Wonder was on it. After I watched tv, I played basketball. I then read a book, and I enjoyed it. My mom then said, It's time for bed, so I went to sleep.

F#%k the Label: Kenny G Decides To Toot His Own Horn

2008-03-04T01:43:00.004-05:00

First Radiohead. Now Kenny G. Rebels against the label...

Kenny G does it his own way - CNN.com

The G-man saw no point in following other older artists like Rod Stewart and Barry Manilow down the well-worn path of playing cover tunes. So he arranged an amicable divorce from Arista Records in order to return to making original music.

The Holocaust Survivor Who Cried Wolf

2008-03-01T15:12:00.004-05:00

Umm. Yeah. Should we have ever believed her? ...

Featured on Y! - Yahoo! Buzz

- Writer admits her story of escaping Nazis and living with wolves is a fantasy.

It's Always Shitty In St. Louis

2008-02-23T21:03:00.004-05:00

Actually, that headline is misleading. It's not really that shitty here. I'm just bitter about everyone ripping on Detroit, so I thought I'd take it out on St. Louis. Hope I didn't offend too many of my readers in Missouri. I think they account for about 1 percent of the readership of Burkett Humor, which is just one person -- a guy named Henry. Sorry Henry... if you're available for a drink this weekend, I'm staying at the Courtyard Marriott. Call me. My treat.

Anyway, this is my first time visiting St. Louis and if you've never been here before SPOILER ALERT!!!! they have an arch. It is kind of spectacular when you get up close to it and also very inspirational. Just standing next to it for a couple of minutes I came up with what I think are three very hilarious arch jokes. You see, I'm thinking about touring Missouri comedy clubs to do a standup act that's all about the arch. All arch jokes, all the time. I'll even include it in my stage name, something like "Archie Arch the Arch Humorist" or "Archie the jokester" or "A guy named Adam who appreciates the arch so much so that he's devoted a whole act to it."

Here's some of the material I've been working on:

"So if I were to get in a fight with the Gateway Arch, would that make it my arch-nemesis?"

"I was down by the Gateway Arch today, and I just couldn't hold it any longer, so I urinated on the base of it. I think it's what they call a golden arch. Anyone hungry for some McDonald's?"

"If there were a war being fought along the riverfront in St. Louis, would those little shelters soldiers build to protect themselves be referred to as 'arch-ie bunkers?'

If you have any arch jokes you've been dying to tell, please share them in the comments area below. I'm really working on collecting as much material as possible for my Missouri road show. I think it's going to be huge. Can't wait!

Eclipse the Musical: Even the Moon Loves Bonnie Tyler

2008-02-20T22:00:00.005-05:00

This may be the lamest blog post I've ever had, but I couldn't resist. Whenever I hear the word eclipse, I think of the song by Bonnie Tyler, "Total Eclipse of the Heart."

Once upon a time there was light in my life But now there's only love in the dark

So when I walked out onto the front porch tonight to watch the moon pass through the shadow of the Earth, of course, that song was the first thing that came to my mind. And then my second thought was to start singing it, to the moon. A lunar serenade.

There's no one in the universe as magical and wonderous as you

I started really softly, barely audible. And then, after checking to make sure no one was looking, I turned up my volume.

Turnaround bright eyes

Pretty soon I found myself lost in the gaze of the moon's winking eye and in the lyrics of this song... So lost that I didn't realize that about 37 of my neighbors had gathered around to sing it with me.

Forever's gonna start tonight Forever's gonna start tonight

We all held hands and belted the last lines into the sky as the moon's eye shut completely.

Nothing I can say A total eclipse of the heart

Needless to say, after the singing stopped and we all came back down to Earth, we all pretty much felt awkward, stupid, embarrassed. Guess it was just one of those moments in time (insert Whitney Houston's "One Moment in Time" here) that we'll never be able to capture again. Well, at least not until 2010. Next time I should make a dip or something for my guests. A lunar dip. How rude of me not to think of that this time around. All that eclipse etiquette training out the door.

C.C. (Chelsea Clinton) Is, Like, So Mega Kewl!

2008-02-18T23:10:00.009-05:00

OMG! Have you seen Chelsea Clinton (C.C.) lately? She is like the kewloost former president's/presidential candidate's daughter eva.

Her mom seemed, like, so lame to me, until C.C. hit the campaign trail and gave me the 411 on Hill Hill.

Now, I'm, like, OMG! Who am I going to vote for? I thought Barack was, like, way kewl, but after listening to C.C. talk at my community college, I'm freaking out. She, like, so understood me. And she said her mom would totally make sure that the sub shop in the student center would get back those awesomeness fudge brownies they used to sell. WTF?! Why did they get rid of them in the first place? It totally ruined my junior year.

I dropped my URL to C.C., so hopefully she's reading this right now!! If you are C.C., reading this, I just want to say again that the words you spit in the cafeteria that day changed me 4eva. I'll never 4get it. You were so chill, man. You're, like, the "our" in "our generation," and if I do get out of bed to vote next week, I'm totally either going to vote for your mom... or Ron Paul. Did you see that movie V for Vendetta? F'n awesome!

Sixth Grade Journal: The Day Nine Children Went Missing

2008-02-16T17:55:00.008-05:00

I was flipping through my Sixth Grade Journal today when I discovered that several of my classmates disappeared on Jan. 27, 1986. I don't remember this day. Maybe I blocked it out or maybe I just didn't care.

This was before Amber Alert, so maybe people just didn't do anything when children went missing. Maybe they just assumed the kids ran away, or were abducted by aliens or something.

Or maybe they just thought that there was no sense letting a bunch of missing kids get in the way of the education of kids who aren't missing. I certainly didn't. I kept on working on my book report and playing video games, just like any other day. What an insensitive little prick I was back then, but I guess that's how everyone was in the 80s.

01-27-86
Monday I got up got dressed ate cereal and went to school. When I got to school there were nine kids missing, so it was pretty quiet. After school I started on my report and then played coleco vision. When I finished I ate steak, mashed potatoes, and corn. After dinner I did my Social Studies watched the Music awards played Life then went to bed.

My Local Spaghetti Guy Says Al Gore Is a Retard

2008-02-13T00:38:00.008-05:00

It was about 4 degrees Fahrenheit the other night when we made a trip to our local spaghetti hangout. I think some people call it an Italian restaurant. It's the place we always go to get the noodles and red sauce, so the manager -- who I'll refer to as Jimbo in this article -- knows us.

On a typical night, Jimbo usually brings us our usual dishes and talks to us about the usual small-talk kind of stuff that restaurant managers are good at talking about: how big our son is getting, how business is going or how the weather is.

But on this night, Jimbo the spaghetti man was feeling rather saucy, so he took that weather conversation to another level. (Its gettin hot in herre!) Jimbo decided to trade in the usual dish for that night's special -- a plate of Gore-hating, polar-bear-killing, global-warming-is-nonsense stew.

That's right. Jimbo pretty much told us that the frigid temperatures were proof that Al Gore is a retard. He said that we underestimate Mother Nature and it's silly to think that our lil' ol' power plants or supersized Hummers or cans of Aqua Net hairspray could do any damage to such a powerful force as her. And he added that if the polar bears were in so much danger, than why do the ones at the zoo seem to live happy, long lives, no matter what the temperature is outside. As I finished sucking up a fork full of noodles, I thought to myself, "Why is Jimbo still talking?" and "What is he trying to say?" and "Who is going to shut him up so I can finish my spaghetti?"

But I was wondering today if Jimbo might have had a point. I mean, if the planet was really warming, than why is it cold as a frozen hell and snowing out again? Maybe Jimbo should take a slide projector on the road and present his own non-theory on global warming to the world. He might sound a little wacky to people at first, but once he feeds them a plate of that delicious spaghetti, they'll warm up to his ideas real quick... Do polar bears eat spaghetti? If not, then that's probably why they're dying.

Home Sweet Home: The Most Miserable-ist, Dangerousest Place in America

2008-02-12T22:47:00.006-05:00

"Yep. #1 again." That was the message a friend sent in an e-mail, along with a link to this article from Forbes naming Detroit -- my home, the place where I chose to raise my child -- the most miserable city in America.

The reason my friend used the word "again" was because just a few months ago, Detroit received another #1 award -- most dangerous city.

And, you know, they're right. The reporters and the researchers who conducted these studies and made these lists are absolutely right. This is the most miserable-ist, dangerousest place on Earth.

Every morning, when I walk from my house to my car I get shot at. I've been shot more than 211 times in the past month. The rap star 50 cent was famously shot nine times. If you do the math that's just over a nickel per shot, so that would make my rap name "10 dollars and 55 cents and counting" or "$10.55 'n Countin."

But the bullet wounds don't even hurt anymore. My life is so miserable here in Detroit that I can't even feel the pain that's inflicted on me, or the pain that I inflict on others. I haven't been quite miserable enough yet to shoot anyone, but I've kicked and punched a bunch of people to steal a purse or a car or a sweet pair of roller shoes.

Funny thing is, it's like the Forbes writer said with that really witty line at the end of his article, "Misery loves company." In Detroit, we have formed sort of a community of miserably dangerous people. We're like the Grouchland of Sesame Street. We've gotten used to this way of life, so, in a weird sort of way, we like it. So, if you're looking for a sunny, happy, bullet-free existence, go to Mission Viejo, Calif., or Clarkston, NY or Sugarland, Texas. Get out. Go. Or, as one famous grouch once put it, "Scram!"

In Case You Missed It: The Real Fat Tuesday

2008-02-12T22:39:00.006-05:00

Here's a little shout out to all of my Polish peeps. A tribute to the real Fat Tuesday -- Paczki Day in Hamtramck, Mich.

Mother of the Week Award: Tina Williams!

2008-02-07T14:39:00.001-05:00

As part of a new series on the Burkett Humor blog, I'll be giving away "Mother of the Week" and "Father of the Week" awards to deserving parents across the world. This week's award goes to Tina Williams, who chose to safely buckle in her case of beer in the front seat, while her 16-month-old was crawling around freely in the back. But this was not just any beer, it was a 24-pack of Busch beer. Only the finest for Tina and her family.

Beer Before Babes - February 5, 2008

When cops pulled Tina Williams over for erratic driving Sunday afternoon, they discovered that the 46-year-old Florida woman had her seat belt priorities scrambled.

Missing Faberge Egg! Please Help!

2008-02-06T08:30:00.000-05:00

Hello blog readers. I don't usually ask you to do anything except read and laugh at my blog -- because it's the polite thing to do -- but a friend sent me this classified ad from a local newspaper. And, someone could really use your help tracking down their stolen egg:

I am requesting your assistance in recovering a GOLD FABERGE EGG ENCRUSTED WITH JEWELS, approximately 8 inches tall, attached to a wooden base, valued at over $6,000. The afore mentioned egg was taken from a home on Lake Shore Drive, during an under age house party. The subjects that stole the egg along with other jewelry, stated that the ‘egg was thrown from a car window’, while at a stop sign at Southbound Wedgewood at Roslyn, November 12, 2007. If you have any Information, Please Call Village of Grosse Pointe Shores, Detective Sargent Dan Pullen, 313-881-5500.

Sixth Grade Journal: Super Bowl Memories Or Why I Should Have Been a Writer for Sports Illustrated

2008-02-04T00:24:00.001-05:00

After watching that crazy Super Bowl game last night, (SPOILER ALERT!!!) where the New York Giants shocked the New England Patriots 17 to 14, I was inspired to open my Sixth Grade Journal... to see if I had ever written anything about the big game in 1986 between the Chicago Bears (click here to see the '86 Bears) and, again, the New England Patriots (click here to see the '86 Pats).

What I found was that I totally missed my calling in life. My journal coverage of Super Bowl XX was on par with some of the greatest sports writers in America.

It was better than, like, the sports coverage you get in your newspaper. I didn't just talk about the game, I talked about what I did that day leading up to the game, building suspense up until the part where I reveal the outcome.

I could have been a writer for Sports Illustrated, but I just didn't recognize my talent back then... Now I know... Now I know... And now I want you to know about the brilliant voice the sports world never got to hear:

1-20-86
On Sunday morning I woke up watched tv then my friend came over and we played coleco vision. After we finished playing I had a basketball game and we lost the game by three points and I scored six points. After the game I watched Super Bowl over my friends house and the Bears creamed them. When I got home I did my homework then went to bed.

Oh Ricky What a Pity: A Bowler's Brush With Perfection

2008-02-03T15:23:00.000-05:00

There's been a lot of talk this week about the New England Patriots and "the perfect season" that they have a chance to complete after today's Super Bowl game against the New York Giants.

To get warmed up for this potentially historic game, I tuned into what I thought was a historic bowling match on ESPN Classic. I mean, why would they bother showing bowling on ESPN Classic unless it was an important can't-miss bowling match? Right?

And so I sat at the edge of my seat, cheering on Ricky Ward as he toyed with perfection, throwing strike after strike after strike... and when Ricky threw his eighth in a row, pointed his index fingers to the sky and brought them down to his hips as if they were guns going into holsters, I jumped up and screamed "Shoot those pins down Ricky! Shoot 'em down!!!"

He was like a machine. There was no stopping him. In fact, at one point, the announcer chimed in with a brilliantly clever homage to the Go-go's hit song Hey Mickey!: "Oh Ricky ... can't you understand... Nobody throws strikes like you Ricky."

And just when I thought the inevitable was about to happen -- perfection, a 300 game, a classic ESPN Classic moment -- Ricky left the seven pin standing. I paused on that last-standing pin with my DVR controller, and just stared at it for several minutes asking questions like: "Why pin? Why didn't you fall? And why did I waste my afternoon watching a non-classic bowling match on ESPN Classic?"

I don't know where Ricky is at now, if he's still bowling, or if he became a homeless drunk after missing his 300 chance... because most homeless people are former professional bowlers. Look it up... But wherever he is, I bet he's thinking about that seven pin. I know I'll be thinking about it for a while. And if you're Tom Brady and the New England Patriots, and you get a chance to read my blog before tonight's game, there's a lesson to be learned from Ricky. Don't let the seven pin get in the way of your dreams. Knock it down Tom. Knock it down.

Update: Giants 17 Patriots 14 ... apparently the Patriots didn't have a chance to read my blog.

Mayor of Detroit Caught Hot Tubbing With a Turtle

2008-01-29T08:08:00.000-05:00

Who is Carmen Slowski? A turtle? And is the mayor of Detroit, Kwame Kilpatrick, having an affair with this turtle?

That was my take on an article I read in the Detroit News today, where Kilpatrick is described by sources as being seen (Or heard? It doesn't really say.) sharing a hot tub and a glass of champagne with the slow-moving reptile. This comes just after the local papers released records of saucy text messages he exchanged with his chief of staff Christine Beatty, who is a human... although she does kind of look like a giraffe.

Below is the excerpt about the turtle sex from the newspaper, highlighted in a turtle-friendly text color:

Investigative reporter Steve Wilson of WXYZ-TV said his sources told him the woman at the hotel resort was definitely not the mayor's wife, Carlita.

According to Wilson's report, the woman identified herself as Carmen Slowski at the spa. The name "Slowski" is similar to the name of the Slowskys, husband and wife turtles featured in several Comcast Cable commercials promoting high-speed Internet.

So, yeah, my take from this is that the mayor is hooking up with a female, cable TV mogul turtle. Now, as to how serious the relationship is, I'm not sure. He might just be in it for the free high-speed Internet.

Pre Super Bowl Week Is So Depressing

2008-01-25T23:34:00.000-05:00

Why is the week before the Super Bowl always so depressing? I guess it's that way whenever you have any big event coming up, like a high school class reunion, the birth of your first child or the season finale of Rock of Love. The anticipation kills you. It, like, puts your life on hold until it finally happens and then you can move on.

I'm sitting here looking at the large bags of potato chips, pretzels and scoopable nacho chips and the six-pack of Sun Maid Raisins -- my favorite Super Bowl snack -- sitting on the counter unopened, all snacks I purchased for the party we're having for next week's big game. There's a seven-layer dip in the fridge, too, that my wife made ahead of time, just so the top layer has time to solidify and force you to break through with your chip to get to the gooey core. And I already made my signature kickoff cake (pictured, above). I probably should have waited on that one, so it would be fresher, but I suppose if it toughens up a bit its texture will be more authentic, like pigskin. And then there's a whole keg of O'Doul's on the back porch, getting chilled in the Michigan winter... the perfect beverage for a group of Super Bowl Sunday partiers who are concerned about getting to work on time on Monday.

And I already purchased my square in the office Super Bowl pool. I've been staring at my numbers for the past three days -- and will probably continue to do so throughout next week -- trying to figure out what scenario would enable both teams to have a score ending in 9. Maybe if the game ends up in a tie, like 29 to 29, then they would split the trophy and I would win the office pool... It could happen.

Well, it's officially past midnight, which makes it Saturday. That means we're only eight days away now. It's probably good. I'll need the extra time to figure out what roman numerals to use for this Super Bowl decoupage I'm doing for my party. It's totally going to blow people away. I can't wait! Seriously. I can't wait.

LOL! LOL! Detroit Mayor's Sexy Texts Lack Shorthand Skillz

2008-01-25T01:01:00.001-05:00

My city's mayor (Deeetroit!) is in a whole-lotta trouble. But before I get to what's bothering me about this sitcheation, let me throw out this quick explanatory timeline for my national and international readers:

2002 to 2003ish: Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick exchanges 14,000 hot, steamy, and dreamy Boys-II-Men-"I'll-Make-Love-To-You"-like text messages with his chief of staff Christine Beatty... on their city-issued CrackBerrys.

August 2007: Kilpatrick and Beatty, at a police whistle-blower trial, both testify, under oath, that they are "unfamiliar with each other's private parts." (Actually, that's not the real quote, but I thought it would be cool if it was.)

Yesterday: The Detroit Free Press publishes a PG-13 sampling of the 14,000 text messages. And the mayor runs off to his $400,000 home in Florida with his family, all while his fate is being determined back in the Motor City. OMG!!!

OK. So now that you know the story, you're probably going through the whole "What were they thinking?" phase, and once you get past that you'll go into the "Seriously. What were they thinking?" phase. But once you get past all that, you'll want to start breaking this thing down into specifics... that's where I'm at. I'm over the whole affair thing and the lying and the wasting of city taxpayer dollars and all that; what I'm more concerned about is their ignorance or laziness when it comes to using text message shorthand. LOL! LOL! That's all they got!

LOL is used 14 times in the small sampling of texts pictured in the image, above. And sometimes twice in a row. Think about it. Who laughs out loud twice in a row after reading a text message? They must have been having some pretty hilarious love-making sessions for it to be so funny to read on a CrackBerry display. "She said, 'boobies.' Ha Ha Ha! ... Ha Ha Ha!" "He said, 'balls.' Hee Hee Hee! ... Hee! Hee! Hee!"

If these two would have spent less time laughing out loud and more time studying text message shorthand, they wouldn't be in this mess. Let's do a little exercise here and take a couple of the text messages and see if we can't convert them into something that would be a little more difficult for authorities to translate:

Actual Message Exchange
Beatty: "And, did you miss me, sexually?"

Kilpatrick: "Hell yeah! You couldn't tell. I want some more."

Shorthand Conversion
Beatty: "&, did u miss r 121 1174?" That actually translates into "And, did you miss our one to one nude club?" But it pretty much gets the same point across, right?

Kilpatrick: "ADIH. MTF." Which translates into "Another day in hell. More to follow." Again, it's not exact, but much more difficult to trace than their over-wordy, literal exchanges.

Let's try one more.

Actual Message Exchange
Kilpatrick: "I'm madly in love with you."

Beatty: "I hope you feel that way for a long time. In case you haven't noticed, I am madly in love with you, too!"

Shorthand Conversion
Kilpatrick: "LUMTP." Translates into "Love you more than pie," which I think works better anyway because if you've seen the mayor, he's a pretty big guy, so that's saying a lot.

Beatty: "ATSL. ILYPT." Which spells out "Along the same lines. I love your pie, too."

See. That wasn't so hard. I think the lesson to be learned here is: If your loins are burning for a 14,000-text romance, just stick to the KISS (Keep it shorthand stupid).

Sixth Grade Journal: Race and Politics From a Former Racist

2008-01-22T22:42:00.000-05:00

I was going to write about how CNN and other media outlets seem to be manufacturing conflict and creating divisiveness by forcing this race-gender discussion on candidates, but after reading through my Sixth Grade Journal I realized I have no credibility when it comes to this topic.

Because, apparently, I used to be a racist.

OK. Maybe I'm being a little hard on myself. Maybe the proper term is "racially insensitive" or "ignorant." I didn't have any hate in me, I was just dumb enough to think that stereotypes were true.

I was born a white male and was raised as a white male in an all-white blue collar community. We had zero black students at my elementary school. Zero black students at my junior high school. And Chavez, who was the only black student at my high school. And as far as Asians or Hispanic/Latino kids or Samoans go, I'm not sure. My mind wasn't developed enough back then to notice yellows or beiges in skin color. People were either white or black... Actually, in my world, people were just white, unless they were on TV.

The only black people I knew by name were Isiah Thomas and Magic Johnson. Now, I don't think my young mind believed that black people were only good at sports and not capable of succeeding in other careers. I did meet a black doctor named Heathcliff Huxtable in 1984. I do, however, think that I believed that all black people were superior to whites in sports... and yes, especially at basketball. But based on the score of this game mentioned below, maybe you can't blame me? Here's the story from my Sixth Grade Journal:

02-23-86
On Sunday morning I watched Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde and it was good. After that I had a tournament game and we lost 80 to 10 against a colored team, and they had the advantage cause they were about 3 feet taller than us. After the game I had another game and we lost by five when I got home I was tired so I took a nap. I then woke up and ate dinner, we had spaghetti and meatballs and after I ate I did my homework then went to bed.

House Shopping: Who Will Adopt This Child?

2008-01-21T01:51:00.000-05:00

My wife and I are considering adopting a 23-year-old college dropout. We found him today while on a house shopping trip. He's cute, right? (Actually, that picture is not him. This is just a random photo I found on the Internet of a guy who looks like he's about college age, and who looks like someone who might still live with his parents).

Here's the story: We were making the rounds through some open houses in the metro Detroit area when we stumbled upon a place that was being sold by owner. It's always weird when a homeowner takes you on a tour through their own place, and this tour especially ranked high on the awkward meter.

First, the lady of the home -- reddish-gray-haired woman, about 65ish -- greeted us at the door. Her casual pattern sweater and jeans outfit tipped me off that we were in for a for-sale-by-owner experience. She walked us through the family room, where the husband -- white-haired man, about 65ish, wearing a matching sweatsuit -- was sprawled out on the couch reading a newspaper. "Don't mind me," he said. "No problem," I thought. "As long as you don't mind when I lean over you with my balls in your face to get a closer look at the window trim."

Actually it wasn't all that bad. After a few minutes of hearing how many different ways she's arranged the kitchen and the furniture in the attached "cozy" room, she sent us off to explore on our own. We started in the basement, which pretty much looked like a basement, tiptoed back up the stairs, quietly snuck past "them" on the main floor and darted up to the second floor.

Alone, we walked and talked freely about the square footage and how colorful the upstairs rooms were, except for this third bedroom that I noticed across the way, which was painted all black. "This is weird," I said loudly as I entered the dark room.

That's when I stumbled upon the 20-something kid, sitting at his computer. Startled, he quickly ripped his headphones off. "Oh. Hi. Oh," he said. "Sorry. Man. Sorry," I replied.

When we got back downstairs, "the lady" told us that her and the husband were selling the place because they want to move into a ranch-style home because the husband has knee problems. She didn't mention anything about the college-age kid going with them.

Minus the old couple being in it, my wife and I really liked this house. It had charm. It had character... It had a son. Yep. I'm pretty sure that kid isn't planning on moving out of that computer chair anytime soon, let alone out of the home. He's as permanent as a beam. So now it's up to us to decide if we want to hang a picture on him, cover him up, pretend he's not there or make him a fixture in our lives. We'll first have to get approved for a mortgage, and then the next step will be getting custody of our new young man boy... I think we'll name him Cody.

Cage Match: Huckabee-Flair (and Jesus) vs. McCain-Rhodes

2008-01-19T18:38:00.000-05:00

VS.

Republican presidential hopeful Mike Huckabee said Thursday that if elected he'd nominate Ric "Nature Boy" Flair, the professional wrestler, for Homeland Security secretary.

Well, don't think that his Republican opponents are going to just sit back and let the Nature Boy and the Altar Boy take the country by storm. They'll have to first go through the newly formed tag-team duo of Dusty and Mac -- wrestler Dusty Rhodes and Arizona Senator John McCain.

The candidates will ditch the boring debates and go head to head in a southern-style cage match in South Carolina. And the party has agreed to lose the lame delegates award and opt for a shiny gold belt.

Prediction: Huck's secret weapon, Jesus, will descend on the match and strike McCain with a foreign object. Huck pins McCain and takes home the belt. Huck and Flair will then move on to Florida to defend their belt against Rudy Guiliani and the Big Boss Man, who recently re-formed the tag team The Twin Towers.

Thank God I Wasn't Near Winnie, Texas on Tuesday at 5 a.m.

2008-01-17T19:28:00.000-05:00

I hate traffic jams, so am I ever glad I wasn't driving on Interstate 10 just west of Winnie, Texas, on Tuesday at about 5 a.m.

I just read that the eastbound lanes of I-10 were shut down for nearly six hours because of a tank-truck fire.

I live in Michigan, but I have a couple aunts who live in San Antonio, which is only about 250 miles west of Winnie, so this one hit pretty close to home. Made me think, "What if I had went on a road trip to visit my aunts early this week and got really lost? That could have been me in that traffic jam!" These are the type of near misses that reassure me that God is on my side. Thanks.

Kid Critic: Steer Away From the 2-Year-Old Cowboy

2008-01-15T00:48:00.001-05:00

Here's the first of what will be a regular installment on Burkett Humor called the Kid Critic, where I will critique children's performances, children's theater productions, child drawings or paintings, children's stories and any kid-related stuff that the other critics are afraid to talk about with any real or honest dialogue.

I'll tell you straight up if your daughter's performance in the elementary school production of Cinderella is worth leaving work early for. And I'll make sure that you won't embarrass yourself at your house-warming party by hanging your 5-year-old's finger painting project -- which is uninspired and lacks the gravitas of a Pollack or Rothko -- on the fridge.

This first critique is of a video/news story (see video below) that has been abuzz across the Interwebs -- the 2-year-old cowboy. The story claims that Marcus Marriott, of Oregon, "just turned two and he can already rope a calf like the big boys."

Just like the big boys? I don't know. Last time I went to a rodeo, I don't remember seeing any cowboys lassoing a broken snow sled (see photo, above), which appears to be the object that Marcus and his mother refer to as "the calf."

Now, in terms of milestones for a 2-year-old, I do find Marcus' rope skills to be above average in the area of motor skills development, but I don't think he's yet achieved cowboy status. The day I see him rope a real, moving calf and wrestle it to the ground is the day he will earn that label in my book. But until then, he's just another toddler mimicking what he watches... playing rodeo.

Sixth Grade Journal: Raised on Sloppy Joes

2008-01-14T02:07:00.000-05:00

When looking back at my Sixth Grade Journal, I noticed quite a few entries about eating Sloppy Joes. Apparently it was a regular on the family dinner menu when I was a kid.

I haven't had a Sloppy Joe in years, but it's one of those tastes that you could never forget. The Manwich sandwich -- tangy, spicy, mantastic ... maybe that's not the word I'm looking for? ... It was good, I think. Or maybe it was one of those meals that was just good when you were a kid, but when you taste it now, it totally grosses you out, like Dinty Moore stew or Hamburger Helper or chicken gizzards. I apparently used to eat the chicken gizzards like they were french fries or potato chips when I was a kid. My grandma used to make them, but she never told me what a gizzard was. If only I had known.

09-18-85 I got up got dressed and went to school we had a pretest and that was about it. After school I went up to the school and played baseball. Then later we went to my house and played football. When my mom got home she made sloppy joes then we went to bed.

Vanity Plate or No Vanity Plate?

2008-01-14T01:27:00.000-05:00

I like a good vanity plate once in a while, but I especially like a vanity plate that makes me think a little.

I walked past this gem at a local shopping mall on Sunday, and it stopped me in my tracks.

Some might have read this plate as "D-U-1-D-Y." But me and this plate... we understood each other. We had a moment. The question it was asking was, "Do you wonder why?" I answered aloud, "Yes plate. Yes I do."

For my friends who are reading this post, don't be surprised if you get a text from me in the next few days that asks the same question: DU1DY?

And you should answer: ID1DY

How I Offended a Beauty Queen

2008-01-11T20:32:00.000-05:00

I'll occasionally do a Google search of myself to see where I stand in the world, and today's search turned up my first blog ever, "The Clickbird Chronicles," which I started in June of 2003.

As I was scrolling through the pages, realizing that I used to be funny, I noticed that there was a comment posted in response to a satirical entry I wrote about a beauty pageant in Michigan's Upper Peninsula and the girl who was crowned queen, Leah Normand. Well, turns out the comment was from Leah, who was offended by my gentle poke at pageant girls from the U.P. The comment was dated Oct. 14, 2005, more than two years after the entry was posted. Turns out Leah must have been doing some vanity Googling of her own when she stumbled upon her name in The Clickbird Chronicles.

CLICK HERE to see the controversial post, and read the following comment from Leah (color coded in a venomous red):

I just wanted to let you know that I can eat all the pasties that I like. I'd also like to know where exactly you got the impression that pageant girls can't eat anything. I've participated in several pageants over the years and have never been on a diet. Any girl who is stupid enough to starve themselves to deal with "the consequences of being a beauty representative" is not confident in the person that they are. Also, for your information, pageants are not based simply on looks, you have to have a good head on your shoulders to compete. I am offended that you stereotype pageant girls as people who have so little belief in themselves that they will only eat water, air, and (in my case) "copper chips."
Leah Normand • 10/14/05; 9:55:03 AM #

I Choose Uncommitted in '08

2008-01-11T00:25:00.000-05:00

I have enough commitments in my life: a wife, a kid, a cat, a condo, two car leases, and a blog audience of eight people. I don't need anymore. That's why I'm voting uncommitted in this Monday's primary in Michigan.

Bob the Builder to Sue Barack Obama

2008-01-10T23:28:00.000-05:00

Bob the Builder is filing a lawsuit against Democratic presidential nominee Barack Obama for allegedly stealing a catch phrase that the Builder has made famous on his show.

A heading on the Bob the Builder Web site clearly defines the Builder's rallying call as "Can we build it? Yes we can!"

Sources say Obama, in a crunch to find the right words for a New Hampshire concession speech he was not prepared to give, lifted the saying from his youngest daughter's Bob the Builder backpack (she's reportedly a tomboy) and turned it into his own campaign rallying call. Here's some of the text from Obama's speech:

"But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope. For when we have faced down impossible odds; when we’ve been told that we’re not ready, or that we shouldn’t try, or that we can’t, generations of Americans have responded with a simple creed that sums up the spirit of a people. Yes we can!"

Builder's attorney, Jonah the Wrecking Ball, said that Obama might as well have been wearing a yellow hard hat up there. "If Obama wasn't black, and if he wasn't made of flesh instead of clay, I would have mistook him for Bob up there," said Wrecking Ball. "The words coming out of his mouth were the same."

Early Polls Predict Gravel In South Carolina

2008-01-08T23:43:00.000-05:00

Early polls are pointing to a Mike Gravel victory in South Carolina's Democratic primary. Here are the numbers that we're getting here at the Burkett Humor blog:

Gravel 88 percent
Clinton 25 percent
Obama 25 percent
Edwards 25 percent
Kucinich 25 percent

That adds up to 188 percent, but with a margin of error of 143 percent... subtract... take away... yeah. He's pretty much a lock.

Think that sounds crazy? It's no more crazy than the numbers that come out of these ridiculous pre-polls and exit polls they do every election season. Not only do these polls prove time and time again to be inaccurate, but they also attract large numbers of anti-poll voters known as "Poll Busters" to the booths. Poll Busters, who can typically be identified by leather masks, chains and tattoos that say things, like, "fuck polls," have the sole mission of taking down candidates that are leading in the polls. These individuals are also known to harass voters and persuade them to vote for and wear stickers supporting weaker polling candidates.

Republicans and Democrats need to work together to put an end to these polls, and stop the Poll Busters before somebody gets hurt.

Is Your LSU Tiger an Interdisciplinary Studies Major?

2008-01-08T06:55:00.000-05:00

Have you ever gotten excited when you find out someone else, or even better, thousands of people are thinking the same thing as you are? That happened to me at about 6:30 this morning when I opened up Google Trends to find that "interdisciplinary studies" was the hottest term being searched.

I'm assuming that this term got hot because while watching the LSU vs. Ohio State National Championship game Monday night, there were several LSU players whose names came up on the screen with their major listed as interdisciplinary studies. And I asked rhetorically to a friend, "What is interdisciplinary studies?"

I don't know why college football players' majors are always funny, but they are. And I don't think it's because I think these guys are all dumb or anything, I think it's because I always picture them going to class in full uniform... helmet, shoulder pads, spikes, trying to take notes with a No. 2 pencil, but always breaking it because they're too strong. How can football players succeed as students when they're always breaking their pencils?

Of the 99 players listed on the LSU 2007 roster, here are the names of those that have declared interdisciplinary studies as their major: James Welker, Jonathan Zenon, Harry Coleman, Curtis Taylor, Chris Hawkins, Tremaine Johnson, Glenn Dorsey, Will Arnold, Keith Zinger, Charles Alexander and, my favorite, Marlon Favorite.

I would like to personally congratulate each of these players on their National Championship victory. And for those who are seniors, and are moving past football and on to a career in the interdisciplinaries, I wish them all the best.

Hot, Confident Women Shop at Deb

2008-01-06T14:37:00.001-05:00

I was bored on a recent shopping trip to a mall complex that's built on top of a landfill. Funny to think that we're buying things from a landfill mall that will someday end up in another landfill.

Anyway, as I said, I was bored, as usual, on this shopping trip, so I decided to drive around and waste gas -- and destroy our planet -- and take some pictures.

(To see more pics from my boring shopping trip, click here.)

This store (pictured, above) caught my eye because I thought the name "Deb" was an interesting choice for a women's clothing store. What woman would want to buy clothes that are associated with someone named Deb? ... I guess it's better than a store named "Barb" or "Tina."

No offense to the Debs and Barbs and Tinas that read this blog. I just don't think your names make good clothing store names. That's all. But I'm sure you're all beautiful on the inside, and that's all that matters. Maybe that's what "Deb" clothing is all about -- wearing mom jeans and being proud of it!

Frank Fotos: Frank Breaks Down the Anatomy of a Pizza

2008-01-05T10:54:00.000-05:00

In this Frank Foto, we see Frank talking about one of his Top-20 favorite dishes, pizza. His No. 1 dish is donuts, but I don't have any pictures of him eating donuts... yet.

I'm not sure if Frank is Italian or not. He doesn't know much about his own heritage, but I'm sure he's got a little Italian in him, so he does have some credibility when it comes to knowledge about pizza.

If you have any questions for Frank about pizza or any other types of foods, I'm sure he would be happy to answer them. Just post the question in the comments and you'll hear back from Frank in a jif.

February Is Sock Month!

2007-12-28T09:48:00.000-05:00

I've hereby declared the month of February "Sock Month." I'm telling you now so you can prepare in advance.

Here's how it works: There are 28 days in February, so for each day you have to wear a different pair of socks. You cannot wear the same pair of socks more than once. In other words, if you wear your Scooby Doo socks on Feb. 8 then you cannot wash them and wear them on Feb. 21. It has to be a new and different pair everyday.

My son is already all set for sock month since he received 28 pairs of socks over the Christmas holiday. I did not get any socks for Christmas, so I've got some major sock shopping to do in the next month.

Seriously? Killed By a Siberian Tiger At the Zoo?

2007-12-27T23:38:00.000-05:00

I sometimes think about death, when I'm driving through an ice storm; or when my chest is hurting and I think I'm having a heart attack when really it's just a cold or anxiety; or when I see a skin defect that I'm convinced must be terminal cancer. These are some of the ways I could see myself dying. But I think it's pretty safe to say that death by Siberian zoo tiger is not on my list of concerns.

Now, I don't want to really joke too much about this story since someone did lose their life, but when I heard of the fatal attack at the San Francisco zoo, I couldn't help but think what it would be like to lose a loved one to a zoo animal.

Death by car accident, slip and fall, boulder, stabbing, drowning... I could buy any of these, but if someone were to tell me, "Sir. Your wife got too close to the gorilla exhibit. We're sorry." I just... there's nothing you could do to convince me that this was the cause of death. It's too wild.

The Holiday Fist Bump

2007-12-26T13:46:00.001-05:00

There's a mad case of Norovirus sweeping through my family this holiday season.

So, I decided that the best way to cure it is to stop the hugging. Better to go with a holiday fist bump instead. It's a nice way of saying, "Happy holidays. I love you, but not enough to get sick from you."

If you're not familiar with Norovirus, it's basically the flu, except it sounds scarier. If you ever call in sick to work or school, tell 'em you have "Norovirus." Makes it sound like you're dying or something, and it'll get you some Ferris Bueller-like sympathy.

How the Jessica Simpson Mask Idea Could Save the Detroit Lions

2007-12-22T20:24:00.001-05:00

So, if you haven't been following the latest football/celebrity news this past week, here's the deal:

-Dallas Cowboy QB Tony Romo had his worst game of the season last Sunday
-Some (including wide receiver Terrell Owens) blame the appearance of his girlfriend Jessica Simpson, who was wearing his jersey and hootin' and hollerin' in the stands
-A web site RuinRomo.com was set up to ask fans of the Dallas Cowboys' last two opponents -- Carolina and Washington -- to print out and wear a Jessica Simpson mask to the game, to distract Romo when he's on the field.

With that said, since I'm going to the Detroit Lions game tomorrow, I thought we should try to do the same. Cause a little diversion for the Kansas City Chiefs and their young quarterback Brodie Croyle. So, here's how it works. Just click on the picture (left) of Brodie's wife, Kelli Croyle, print it out, glue or tape it to a popsicle stick and bring it to Sunday's game.

The entrepreneur in me is thinking I should put together a gallery of masks of sports superstar wives and girlfriends for purchase, to be used as a taunting device. It's a craze that could replace the foam hand.

Sixth Grade Journal: No Jaywalking on My Watch

2007-12-21T14:08:00.000-05:00

In sixth grade I was a member of the Polk Elementary School safety patrol, otherwise known as the Black Panthers (our school colors were black and gold and our mascot was a panther). I wore my badge with pride and honor, and I maintained a tight watch over my corner, at Eaton and Polk streets. Not many kids would step outside the law at my corner. They knew better, because I wouldn't hesitate to report someone for safety rulebook violations such as: running, skipping, smoking or drinking alcoholic beverages near my post, or the worst violation of all -- Jaywalking (I spell it with a capital "J." That's how serious I take it.) As this journal entry shows, I didn't lose any sleep after ratting this person out on this day:

9-13-85
I got up got dressed and got dressed and went to school. In the afternoon I went to my post and reported someone for Jaywalking. I got home from school and my friends came over and played football. When my mom got home we went to the shopping mall to eat and shop for school clothes. I got home watched a little tv, then went to sleep.

Top-Ten Names for Jamie Lynn Spears' Baby

2007-12-19T23:56:00.001-05:00

Does anyone have the home address of Britney Spears' 16-year-old sister, Jamie? I have this book "6,000 Names for Your Baby" that came in handy when we were trying to name our child. So, when I heard about her pregnancy, I thought it'd be nice to send her our copy. If you have her address, just post it in the comments below, or pass her a link to this blog entry, where I've listed 10 names from the book that I think would be a good fit for J-Lynn's future child. The boy names are written in blue and girl names are in pink, followed by the meaning of the name (taken straight from the book):

10. Alima -- "learned in dancing and music." I could picture little Alima standing up in a high school class someday introducing herself: "Hi. My name's Lima and I'm learned in dancing and music."

9. Harod -- "the loud terror." If he has a voice like his auntie Brit's, this name will be fitting, especially if he toddles around trying to sing some of her songs with his little man voice.

8. Demetria -- "from a fertile land."

7. Spear -- "spearman." Spear Spears would be the ultimate white-trash choice of a name.

6. Octavia -- "the eighth born." Would she be the eighth born from the Spears' girls? I'm losing count.

5. Lincoln -- "from the place by the pool." Nice to be named after the place you were conceived.

4. Jasper -- "treasure bringer." Mom has already landed a $1M deal with OK! magazine for a photo shoot when the baby is born.

3. Nevada -- "white as snow." It would be cool for little Nevada to tag along for weekend binges with auntie Brit. And when momma Jamie turns 21, she can go, too.

2. Brett -- "a native of Brittany." Enuf said.

1. Leoda -- "woman of the people." Did she make this baby? Or did our obsession with the Spears' family help to conceive this child? We are all Leoda's mother and father, which means we'll all owe a few cents per paycheck toward child support. It's only right.

Sticker of the Day: The Hot Cocoa Popo

2007-12-17T01:23:00.000-05:00

Every so often here, on The BH, I'll be featuring a sticker from my sticker book (pictured, left), which was an album full of stickers I collected as a kid: scratch n' sniffs, Snoopy stickers, Smurf stickers, Garfield stickers, stickers of food, stickers of sports teams and a bunch of other random adhesive labels that I thought represented me. You know? It was like a statement. Like a tattoo or something, except I kept it hidden away in a book instead of on my arm or my ankle or lower back (aka the "tramp stamp").

Since there's like 10 inches of snow on the ground today, I thought I would highlight a sticker that brought back memories of winters' past: snowball fights, sledding, skiing on Mount Trashmore and, of course, drinking hot cocoa. But not just any type of cocoa. This was a cocoa that was certified delicious, guaranteed to be hot and sweet and filled with the finest marshmallows. That's because the Marshal was watching over it. Today's sticker of the day is a salute to the highest authority in hot chocolate land, the popo of the cocoa, Marshal Mallow.

Frank Fotos: Free Photography Tips From Frank

2007-12-16T16:56:00.000-05:00

I found this article today about this Web site, imaginginfo.com, where you can interact with some of the world's greatest photographers. And I said to myself, "That's a swell idea."

So I decided to offer that same service on The BH, but instead of interacting with the best photographers across the globe, you get to interact with Frank, my dad. But don't worry. You're in trusted hands with Frank's Foto advice. He's been doing this stuff since the Great Depression.

If you have a question about lighting, f-stops, lenses, tripods or how to properly shoot a nude lady, you can trust this face (pictured, left) to deliver. Just drop a question in the comments below and I'll be sure to have Frank respond free of charge!

I Might Open a Hummer Dealership

2007-12-15T15:17:00.001-05:00

I was looking at my blog the other day and at first glance I mistook its title for being Burkett Hummer instead of Burkett Humor. This made me wonder if there is, in fact, a Burkett Hummer dealership in existence. Through a search on Google I found that there is not. There are some Hummer dealerships near Burkett, Texas (where I'm totally thinking about moving), but there's no Burkett Hummer.

So, I don't know anything about owning a car dealership, but if I just change the title of Burkett Humor to Burkett Hummer I'll already have a blog up and running where I can post the latest deals on Hummers, Hummer news and maybe even set up a club for Hummer owners who purchased their Hummer from Burkett Hummer.

And then, when my son gets older, he can take over Burkett Hummer, and we can keep the business in the family for years and years to come... or at least until the planet starts to melt or explode from all the Hummers we'll be selling. But, if doomsday does come, wouldn't people want to be driving Hummers through all the wreckage and chaos? I could see the Hummer being the official vehicle of the apocalypse, and if we're already an established Hummer dealership, we'd totally be rich!

Sixth Grade Journal: Sporting the Kmart Look

2007-12-14T01:42:00.000-05:00

In this enlightening Sept. 13, 1985 entry from my Sixth Grade Journal, we ultimately learn that my knack for finding affordable, yet fashionable clothing started at a young age. While some kids spent all of their parents money or all of their allowance on designer wear, I took the more sensible approach, selecting outfits like the one pictured, left, from Kmart. (That picture is not me, but this kid pretty much captures my hip attitude.)

9-13-85
I got up got dressed had some waffles for breakfast, then took off for school. In school we did some work then went outside and played football came back in and went outside for lunch and played football. When I got home I played some baseball, then went inside and played my electronic football game. When my mom got home and we went to Kmarts and bought some clothes when I got home I did my homework and went to bed.

I Am Legend: Stubby Clapp Survives Baseball's Doomsday

2007-12-13T23:59:00.000-05:00

There are no players left in America's pastime except for one, and he's Canadian.

Former U.S. Senator George J. Mitchell released an apocalyptic report Thursday that tied every player who has ever played Major League Baseball to steroids, except for one, a 5-foot-8, 175-pound native of Windsor, Ontario.

All those named in the report were sentenced to a lethal injection, except for one, who is short and skinny and obviously innocent... the legend... Stubby Clapp. Did I mention he's from Canada?

Clapp played left field in 23 games in 2001 for the St. Louis Cardinals, and he helped lead Team Canada to a fourth place finish in the 2004 Summer Olympics. Now he'll be left with the heavy task of restoring America's game, all while fighting off steroid-hungry vampires.

Will Clapp survive? Will baseball survive? Tune in at a ballpark near you...

Sixth Grade Journal: Escape From a Honda Spree

2007-12-13T13:20:00.000-05:00

Not many people could outrun a Honda Spree... Actually, a lot of people could, and I did. If you've ever been chased by a person on a Spree while you were on foot, then you'll totally relate to this Sept. 12, 1985 entry in my Sixth Grade Journal:

9-12-85

I got home from school and went to the school to play some baseball. Then we went to my house and played hide and go seek. Then these kids were chasing us on Sprees.

Don't Insult My Mother Mr. Mac Genius

2007-12-13T08:21:00.000-05:00

After six months of fist fights and tears and nowhere conversations, I finally broke up with my old iBook laptop this week. And I didn't waste anytime replacing her with a sexy new iMac that I picked up at my local Apple store last night.

But this was not an easy decision for me, and Mr. Insensitive Mac Genius pictured here (OK. That's not the actual guy, but I think this guy captures him in spirit) had to make things worse by being a dick and insulting my mother.

Here's a word-for-word replay of how things went down between me and this genius at the Mac store last night:

Genius: "You need help with something or are you just going to waste my time?"

Me: "I'm sorry sir. I was just wondering... I would like to purchase the base model iMac, but just had a few questions-"

Genius: "Hurry."

Me: "You see, I don't have much money sir. I have to feed my son this Christmas, so I can only afford the cheapest model, but I just wanted to know if I should be able to raise some more funds in the future, if I could... if I could... upgrade?"

Genius: "No! This model is for your mom! You need this pricier, more powerful machine... otherwise you'll be computing like an old lady. Do you want to be an old lady? Like your mom?"

Me: "Yes... No... I need some time to think."

Genius: "Whatever. I'll be over here, in the future, if you need anymore help here in yesterday land."

I'm using my new iMac right now, and I feel pretty good about it. She looks great, and she was affordable. That's right. Despite the bullying tactics of the Genius, I stood my ground, and walked out of that store like a little old lady with a cheap, obsolete machine that would make any mother proud.

Commodore 64 Memories: The Farmer’s Daughter

2007-12-07T14:47:00.000-05:00

CNN has a feature story on the Commodore 64 today. Brings me back to the summer of 1985 or 1986. I didn’t have my own C64, but I had a couple of friends who had them, and when we weren’t riding our bikes, or pool hopping, we were playing games like “Sporting News Baseball,” “Friday the 13th,” or, with the doors locked, and the lights dimmed low… “The Farmer’s Daughter.”

If you’re not familiar with it, “The Farmer’s Daughter” was a text-only adventure game with the goal being to get with the Farmer’s Daughter. You know? Like, do it with her. Solve the clues and she’s yours.

I think we spent hours playing this game, sweating over the keyboard, but I don’t ever remember winning the prize. Being hormone crazy teenage boys, we weren’t patient enough to make it to the end, so after about five minutes of playing, we would rapidly type in commands like “Give me the sex now!”

Too bad we didn’t have the internet back then. We could have solved the puzzle with cheat sites, like this (Scroll down and click on Farmer's Daughter. Warning! The link contains dirty, foul language). But it wouldn’t be the same now. In the 80s, I’m sure the farmer’s daughter was a perky, feminine flower, but if I had to guess, she probably hasn’t aged well… worn out old hag who smokes two packs a day and lives with pigs and kids. No thanks.

Frank Fotos: Toaster

2007-12-07T12:48:00.000-05:00

This is my dad, Frank. He's been a photographer all his life, but just because you're a photographer doesn't mean your naturally photogenic.

And yes, he is posing with a toaster. He made me shoot this picture to run some sort of experiment with reflection and light loss in digital cameras. It's all very exciting stuff, and as you can see, Frank is a pretty exciting guy.

That's why Frank Fotos will be a regular feature on The BH. Just do me a favor and don't tell Frank about it. He might not like hearing that his face is posted all over the Interwebs.

Saw the Musical or the Musical Saw

2007-12-07T11:29:00.001-05:00

I just heard a discussion on the radio the other day about how fans at sporting events don’t really pay attention to the national anthem anymore, or how they disrespect the song by hooting and hollering or stuffing their face with popcorn and overpriced beer.

I became one of these disrespecting fans last night by laughing through the entire song. But don’t hate me my patriotic friends. It wasn’t my fault. Let me explain.

So I was at a Wayne State University basketball game (Go Warriors!), and we all stand for the song, but instead of hearing a tenor, bass, alto or soprano, I hear this piercing sound come out of the speakers, almost made my eardrums bleed.

I looked down on the basketball court to find that the sound was coming from a man holding a handsaw. That’s right. Handy Manny was playing the National Anthem on a handsaw. Now, don’t get me wrong, Manny was great as far as handsaw players go. He hit every note. But how could I take him seriously? He was playing a saw!

Apparently Manny is not the only one who’s made the handsaw his instrument of choice. According to Wikipedia, America’s most-trusted site for factual information, there is something called a musical saw, which is the application of a handsaw as a musical instrument. Who knew?

Sixth Grade Journal: It Started on September 11

2007-12-05T22:22:00.000-05:00

On Sept. 11, 1985, as part of a required daily assignment in Mrs. Gostomski's sixth grade class, I made my first entry into my journal (pictured, left). As you can see on the cover, I came up with the clever title, "My Journal: By ADAM B."

Apparently I went by the name ADAM B. in all caps back then. I must have been in a gang or something that required me to do this, or maybe I was ashamed of my last name for some reason, so I just used "B" instead of Burkett.

But after recently revisiting the content of this notebook, I clearly had nothing to be ashamed of. Here is the first of several sixth grade journal installments I'll be sharing with readers of The BH:

9-11-85
"I got home ate an afternoon snack, then went outside and kicked my football around. Later, I went to my friends house and messed around."

Whitney Is Back … You Know You Love Her

2007-12-05T13:10:00.000-05:00

This is kind of a gay memory (and I feel OK using the word gay because I have, like, at least six friends who are gay so I think they’d be cool with it.) but I remember lying in the bottom bunk at my friend’s house. It was 1987. He was in the top bunk. We were, like, 12 years old at the time, and we were singing Whitney Houston’s “Greatest Love of All” as loud as we could. But I’m not ashamed of this. Whitney was huge at the time, and this song was huge, and I’m sure we weren’t the only 12-year-old heterosexual boys singing it that night… right?

Anyway, Whitney is back, and she’s taking Kuala Lumpur by storm (Watch the Video). And I’m sure there are some pre-teen boys there who are sitting in their huts, in their straw bunks, testing the limits of their cracking voices on Houston’s greatest hits.

Here’s the lyrics to the song in case you’re feeling it right now: Release Your Inner Whitney.

SPOILER ALERT: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone Review Part I

2007-12-03T21:50:00.000-05:00

I'm just now reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone for the first time, so if you're like me and you haven't got to it yet, you may want to stop reading this post.

In the first 10 pages of the book we find out that the mysterious tabby cat is actually Professor McGonagall, a rather severe-looking woman who wears square glasses and an emerald cloak and has her black hair drawn into a tight bun.

That's all I have right now for part one of this book review. Stay tuned for more spoiler alerts on "The BH."

How Al Gore Ruined Christmas

2007-12-03T00:44:00.000-05:00

Our Christmas tree is looking pretty dark and bare and pathetic this year, thanks to Al Gore.

We decided to go all environmental this holiday season, so we didn't put any lights on the tree, to conserve energy, which I think -- if I'm remembering the lessons from Al's movie correctly -- will save at least one polar bear from drowning.

We also won't be buying any wrapping paper this Christmas. So if you're getting a present from me, it will likely be wrapped in the Lifestyle section of the newspaper (it's the most colorful) or placed in a brown paper grocery bag or I'll just make you close your eyes and yell "Lookie! Lookie!" when I'm ready for you to see your gift.

It all sounds kind of lame, right? ... I'm glad Al is saving the Earth, and is guilting us into doing the same, but I'm going to miss the wasteful holidays we had as a kid: letting the 12 mpg Oldsmobile station wagon warm up for 30 minutes before loading the gifts and the kielbasa to head to grandma's house; or spitting our gum and cigarettes out the car windows so we could clear our mouths to sing "Joy to the World" and other holiday tunes; or beating polar bears to death with giant candy canes... We just didn't know any better back then, but now we do. Thanks a lot Al.

The Day I Fell for Evel Knievel

2007-12-01T11:32:00.000-05:00

I've just been told that stunt legend Evel Knievel died.

My first reaction was to line up all of the furniture in the living room, get a running start and jump over it, as kind of a tribute, but we just mopped the floor, so it seems like that could be dangerous.

I'm such a scaredy cat now that I'm older. I used to be fearless when I was a kid.

The story in my family goes, that when I was like 2 or 3, I wanted to be just like Evel Knievel, so I took my tricycle and drove it off the tall porch in front of our home -- about a five-foot drop. My sister, who was about 3 or 4 at the time, immediately notified parental authorities about my daredevil drop. "Mommy. Daddy. Drinking friends. You might want to come outside. I think Adam is dead."

But I wasn't dead. By the time the adults reached the porch I was already back on my feet, smiling about my amazing feat... OK. Actually I was crying like the little baby that I was, but I think there was a part of me that wanted to try it again and again. There was a little Evel in me back then. Now it's gone. And now he's gone...

Maybe someday when my son -- who's 1 or 2 right now -- gets older, and he's riding his trike or bike on the porch, I'll push him off. And then I'll slowly walk over, pick him up off the ground, wipe away his tears and tell him about a man named Evel Knievel.