I just recently participated in an online class: Debate 101. You may think I'm kidding. I literally spent American dollars on online classes. Ok, not me particularly, but I know a guy. That's all you need to know. It's whatever. So anyway, I was taking this course. Finished top of the class. It was all women! OH WOMEN JOKE! [insert drum roll followed by cymbal] Oh smack! Anyways. Where was I?
It was the weirdest thing. The online class actually met in a classroom at a university. Everyone went to the classroom but then communicated over chat rooms. We never made eye contact. Well, I did once. I was shunned by the group for a week. Also, I received life-threatening messages via a brick through my front window. Using clipped-out letters from magazines...Oh how technology has changed our lives.
Finished my final exam though! It said. You are a Socrates. You love to take long walks on the beach, stay up late, and party whenever there's people. Your debate power is arguing. Stay away from Gemini. A Taurus may turn out to be helpful this week. I was so glad to find out that I passed! Well, I think I did. For 75 bucks a class. I better have passed. I mean I'm equal to Socrates!
So, 45 classes later, I walk out with a degree from XiangWang University confirming I had passed Debate 101. I think it was a deal! Thank you Internet. Thank you for making my life complete. Thank you for sharing your knowledge to me at a low price of 3,375.00 (tax not included). Thank you XiangWang University for changing a middle-class citizens life.
So, I'm challenging the world. What questions do you have? I am a contemporary Socrates here to solve all of life's answers. What? What's your question? How do you change your oil? I don't know that...NOOOO!!! Curse you XiangWang University!!
All you have to do is press play. Sit back, relax, and laugh. Mrs. Franklin is at the Bingo table, pull up a chair, let's get this party started...ignore the Southern accent at the beginning. Something was in my throat...right...
When I look at my history book for school, all I see are facts, the same boring facts. I want to see inside the life of historical figures. What kind of ice cream did Charles Lindbergh like? Did Nero have any pets? Was George Washington Carver a fan of European Football Leagues? So many questions our history books ignore. All they tell us is the useless stuff: the presidents, famous dates, the French losing at everything. I want more! Is that too much to ask
Luckily, I am a part-time historian. Thank heavens for all those online classes! I decided to go “digging” myself for answers. So where did I end up? No, not Washington D.C. That’s where they want you to look. I had to go to North Dakota. Yes, the Indian land, my friend. And when I say Indian, I mean Native American. Don’t want to offend any of our “red folk.” Kowatawa to you.
Our government knew the Hopi tribe could guard our nation’s secrets best. Actually, to be honest, that was the deal they set up when we were taking all their land. “Ok, we’ll ruin your lives by taking your buffaloes, women, and children. We’ll then store our government files on your land. Oh, and the land doesn’t belong to you either. This will be a loan and there’s a hefty interest rate.”
So, we made peace with the Indians.
I went straight to the file room. Well, it was actually the file teepee. How they fit all those files in there, I do not know. I just started opening folders up and salivated. A teepee of knowledge. How paradoxical! The smell of cowhide was strong as I flipped through the files. I coughed a bit. My jaw just dropped; this teepee is answering all my questions. And it’s not even speaking!
Did you know…Helen Keller was never blind? It was her black glasses that caused her “blindness.” Who would have thought?
Oh, here’s another…Ronald Reagan’s mother was Jewish. Interesting.
Look at this! Kansas was never officially accepted into the USA. They just thought everyone was signing a get-well card for Illinois.
So many answers to all of life’s mysteries, so little time. The Indians bid me farewell. But I insisted to stay for their ceremonial tribal dance. They stared at me and went back into their air-conditioned houses.
Finally a new language has been created! You haven't heard? Winkipee. Ok, ok. You're trying to get all the facts at once. I'm no slot machine. Pshh. My stomach doesn't magically start turning as if slots were there. Those slots on my stomach do not have number 7's on them or even apples. Be patient. Here take a Vicodin. Feel better? Good. Take two more. And how about one for the road...
Winkipee. Not to be confused with the other newly discovered language Winkipea. Just another language of the Pygmies. Americans show off their Gold medals; Pygmies take pride in their 17,010 languages. Yes, the Pygmiatic language boasts new symbols. Not characters on paper, my friend, for the symbols are shown using only the eyelids.
Blinking. A gift from God. Because without blinking, we would have "DRY EYES." Thank you Ben Stein, Clear Eyes Commercial Legend.
So, I'm a man on a mission. A mission to learn this language. The tribe has taken me in. I'm nervous though. There's been a lot of blinking. I would categorize it as awkward blinking. As if they were saying, "what do you want us to do?" WAIT!!! (2 blinks followed by a half-open eye lid!) They are asking me what do I want them to do!!
Josh quickly runs over to the tribe. He blinks multiple times, and seconds later the Pygmies attack visciously. Little did Josh know, he was wearing designer glasses. (1 blink from both eyes, followed by two half-open eye lids, + glasses = I would like to be a dead man).
Ah. What a fascinating language.
America has been deprived. We tiptoe around booing as if it's rabies with a bad case of leprosy. You see, booing voices opinion.
Boo="We dislike what you're doing loser. How about you change."
I want to up the booing. Is this a bad thing? I feel as if we should boo during lectures, presentations, friend-to-friend talk, a car salesman pitch, and funerals. Ok, maybe not funerals. I just lost half my viewers. Not funerals! Because funerals need to be quiet. Yay, ratings up!
Booing is a loud sport. And a sport it is! Some people are good at it, and some people stink. You know the weak booers. Not Boers, those were Dutch farmers settling in Africa during the 19th century. I knew you might get confused...Weak booers just voice their boo so there neighbor hears it. That's sissy. Girly! Unless you are a girl. Well, then, you're mousy (to be like a mouse). Or weak. But I'm not being sexist!! Umm, umm. Women deserve equal rights! Whew, that was a close one. Also I just gave all my belongings to poor women. There. Everything is back to normal.
Then you have the Burly Booers. True Americans. Beautiful human beings. They voice a boo that rocks the rafters. Makes the paint melt. Puts the curd in milk.
But let's move to intentional booing. Let's take the booing from the sporting arena to normal life. Say, you have a friend who is in mid-conversation, just boo right in his ear. It is perfectly appropriate for saliva to go into his canal. That's one instance. Be creative. Say your teacher is just talking about sleep cycles. Stand up and give a good boo. Are you a man or not? Some people may join in. They might be booing you. Maybe not. You might feel like a fool. You probably are a fool for actually obeying satire.
Another idea, grab 21 friends and enter a library. You know where I'm going with this. Yeah, it's gonna be so awesome! Whisper to the librarian and ask where the non-fiction section is. Go there. Brush up on some light reading. Sit down at a table and discuss what you read with your friends. Wasn't that great?
Booing is essential to life. Seriously, doctors have proven that a low guttural vocalization is a must. Well, I'm doing just want the doctor ordered. I booed him right as he suggested Lipitor...
I had an uncanny meeting last week. Guess who I bumped into at the marketplace? Mr. Streptococcus! You know him, right? We hadn't seen each other in ages. He was still the same old, same old Mr. Streptococcus. Same look, same smell, same name!
Oh Mr. Streptococcus! Oh how you made me laugh into the wee hours of the night. Oh how you would make life's simple treasures the greatest joys. How you made me cough up phlegm and pray pain would go away...Wait a second. That's right! We are not friends, Mr. Streptococcus! You have tricked me indeed!
Mr. Streptococcus is actually code name for Mr. Strep Throat Terrorist?! You're an Arab?!? Oh...No? Well, I didn't mean to jump to any conclusion...I was just...I thought because you were a terrorist, you were---nevermind. (cough) Seems we're in quite a predicament here, huh (slow nervous laugh).
(1 minute of silence)
Well, it seems as if I hit a nerve with that last comment. Guess I should just rinse my mouth out...cruel things I said back there. Sorry about that. I'll just gulp down some of this ANTI-STREP THROAT MEDICINE!!! CHERRY-STYLE!! I AM THE WINNER!
And Mr. Streptococcus was gone.
You dread grocery shopping. Unless you're the rare coupon cat, who wants to win the coveted annual "Yes, I'm a Coupon Cat" Award. Surprisingly, Margaret Thatcher won it 3 years in a row (1957-1959) setting a world record which still has not been broken. Congrats Marg! Keep those coupons categorized...
But that's them, right? What about us normal people? The ones that work jobs. The ones that raise children. The ones that pay taxes. The ones that love America. Grocery shopping is a chore! Right? Rumor has it that Grover Cleveland right after taking out the trash was required to go to the local produce store and pick up the groceries. A weekly chore, but he hated it! Now, there's a man that loved America. Wish I could say the same about his mother. She was Miss "Yes, I'm a Coupon Cat" 1910. Sickening, isn't?
So what are we apple-pie-loving Americans supposed to do? We must fight! We must make the grocery shopping experience enjoyable. Will you stand with me? Take up your arms soldier...
As mentioned in previous posts, the Josh Kopp Foundation (JKF) loves to perform acts of protest to promote change. Ok...we might have accidentally supported Obama. Why? He had a great slogan! Change we can believe in?! I mean how does he come up with these gems!?
So, we bombard all grocery stores with protests. We protest for change. Change we can believe in. There is hope!! (pause) Man, that stuff gets old after a while. If all else fails, we accuse the grocery store of being racist. Badam boom, we sue. We get paid. We see change, literally. Coins jingling in our pockets. Now that's real change...
I think the question that has haunted mankind is "what is cream of tartar?" Some nerd might perk up and give a simple witty answer. Witty=wimpy. See, on this blog we don't spurt things out on command. K? We must survey the playing field. Give little Jimmy a chance at swinging the bat. Sure he has asthma, but he has feelings too. Keep that elbow tucked son! You follow? Things must be spelled out. Nothing is simple as a one sentence definition. Look at the word "the." Takes 373 pages to get the definition just right. But thanks to Webster, I know exactly what "the" is. It's the 3rd Solar System past Nubulae 5.
What were we talking about? Oh, cream of tartar! I interviewed an old witch who said, "tartar me once, and you're home safe. Tartar me twice, and there be a full moon tonight." Could this witch have something up her sleeve? I must argue no for she had on a sleeveless cloak. Odd if you ask me. Sleeveless cloaks on sale at JCPenny!
Now...
We all agree that cream of tartar is used in cooking.
We all agree that cream of tartar is good for you.
We all agree that cream of tartar is an excellent source of Kryptonite.
We all agree Thundercats was a good 90's cartoon.
So what's tartar? After many years of study, I am ready to release my findings. My partner Mr. Fisk and I have laboriously struggled to find the answer. And today, on the 6th of July, we have done it! We have an answer. Now mankind can sleep in peace...
Tartar is...tartar is...tartar is...tartar is...
Suddenly a rerun of Michael Jackson's life appears on a nearby television. Dr. Kopp & Mr. Fisk run to the TV and stare at it mindlessly. Looks like cream of tartar will be defined at a later date...pitty.
Ok. So you don't know what to do for July 4th. Something is going on, but you can't put your finger on what. See? That's what I'm here for. I want to create a non-boring day for you. You don't want to sit around all day and watch television. I mean, what goes on the day of July 4th anyway??
Here's your schedule:
7:00-Wakeup (gotta start this day early, we have so much planned!)
7:15-7:30-Shower (or bath, but that's weird in the morning)
7:30-8:30-Write a Novel (I want this to be a big day for you!)
8:30-8:45-Eat Oatmeal
8:45-9:30-Proofread novel for errors (no mistakes!)
9:30-10:30-Adopt a child (Adoption is a beautiful process)
10:30-11:00-Drop child off at day-care (You have so much planned remember! We can't have a kid weighing us down!)
11:00-12:00-Eat wherever (kind of getting tired of making this schedule)
12:00-5:00-Roam mindlessly around town
5:00-6:00-Send a $100 check to charity (Josh Kopp Foundation)
6:00-10:00-Watch Television (Forget what I said earlier. America's Got Talent is on!)
10:00-11:00-Watch News (Fireworks? What do people think it is, 4th of July??)
