Listen people: I put a lot of time and thought into this (yes, I
Lois Loca Lane actually wrote this crap) spread this bad boy around so my mother can email it to me in roughly 6 months. In case you're wondering, I'm a combo of Operation, Life, Connect 4, & Jigsaw Puzzles.

The smallest of things can tell a lot about one's personality. The
following is a list of childhood games, choose your favorite and tell me if
the description is uncanny.


Operation: This person pays attention to detail, is meticulous
and plans very carefully, realizes life is fragile, but enjoys the
surprises it brings (like when you hit the sides). They laugh at queef
and fart jokes and basically enjoy all bodily sights & sounds. They
have a sense of humor and can laugh at themselves. They are always up
for a challenge.


Hungry Hungry Hippos: This person likes to take life fast and
furiously, they rush through most daily tasks to get to the party at
the end of the day. They are insane when it comes to oral sex, they
make like that plastic hippo and just go to town. They like to be
around a small close group of friends who don't mind being picked on by
each other but they don't like being alone. They've been known to take
candy from babies, as well as cherry Jell-O from senior citizens.


Connect 4: This person is strategic in life, planning every step
in their mind before acting on impulse. They don't do well with
vulnerability but trust enough to open themselves up to a select few.
They often times plot others' murders but are easily sidetracked by the
thought of chair sex, with them stacked on top, of course. They deal
best with people in one-on-one situations and enjoy the taste of sweet
victory nearly as much as they love the taste of a triple stack burger.


Jigsaw puzzles: This person is an old soul, they don't mind
being alone because they are content within themselves. They enjoy
masturbation as much as missionary position. They are self-disciplined
and love the feeling of accomplishment. They appreciate the beauty and
tranquility of nature and photography specifically naked things.


Mystery Date: This person is either a girly girl or a gay man. A
hopeless romantic who can't seem to hold down the man of his/her
dreams. They put out easily for just about anyone, certain love is in
the air. They are somewhat vain and always choose looks over all else.
It isn't unusual for them to phone a friend while in the heat of
passion to ask what they plan to wear tomorrow. They like to think of
themselves as old-fashioned and wholesome but deep down inside they are
cougars at heart, and always fall for that younger less serious man.


Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots: This person likes to go balls out
bringing a ton of energy to a relationship. They have a strong
self-image. No one scares them because they are pretty sure they could
kick anyone's ass. They masturbate to relieve stress and always use a
sock to clean up after treating themselves to a little quality time
with Fistina. They are fond of the drink and love to party. Not
typically ones to settle into a long term relationship but when they
find their true love, they'll fight to keep 'em.


Twister: This person is the life of the party and enjoys a good
amount of slap-stick humor. They are friends with everyone they meet
unless they are treated poorly. They spend an absurd amount of time
thinking about orgies and precarious positions for sex. They like to
experience as much excitement as possible. But when it comes to
organization skills they are lacking, but their enthusiasm is
contagious.


Dungeons and Dragons: This person knows reality bites. They
enjoy their close-knit group of friends and don't enjoy mainstream
music or movies. They are deep thinkers with great imaginations and
love role playing. They are heavy into the dominatrix world and more
than anything want to be pnwed by a heavy duty chick wearing a rubber
bra and welding gloves. Some may still reside in their parent's
basement but have since graduated to playing Halo.


Life: This person has a good idea of where they want to go in
life, work and family. They are keepers in their personal and business
worlds. Their marriage is solid and their job is their career. They
know the only way out of either is to go postal on a bitch. They have
high-hopes for their own children and are great advice givers but not
good advice takers. They prefer their sex in cars while their
passengers watch.


Ouija: This person is likely wiccan or an atheist. They are true
believers in the spiritual world, just not in a traditional way. They
have been seduced by a "greater force" sometimes resulting in
"Rosemary's Baby Syndrome." They dream of the impossible being
possible, they are eccentric in many ways but are very private about
their personal life because they have trouble trusting fleshy others.
They are open to new concepts and believe everything happens for a
reason.


Chutes & Ladders: This person enjoys everything life has to
offer. They have the highest highs and the lowest lows and rarely feel
at an even keel. They like to pop pills, and make boxed brownies. They
love to be surrounded by large groups of people and long for simpler
days of their youth, but are proud of themselves for moving up the
corporate ladder. Their favorite sexual adventures include the great
outdoors and a Slip-N-Slide with a bottle of baby oil.


Candy Land: This person is ready to come out of the closet. It's okay, honey, most of us already know.


Monopoly: This person is a planner with a strong business sense.
Unfortunately, they tend to overwork themselves and neglect the
important things in life, like body hair and their spouse. After
spending most of their lives as workaholics, they become alcoholics to
compensate for the fact that their spouse is going to leave them and
take all of their hard-earned money.


Sorry: This person is the empathetic type who always apologizes
for things beyond their control. They try to be good in bed but the
reality is, they finish before the game is over, therefore they are
once again, sorry. But the good news is, this person is very well-liked
by their peers and has a strong sense of community by putting others'
needs ahead of their own.


Battleship: This person is a military reject, likely rejected
for flat feet. They demand respect from their coworkers and peers. They
like when people go down on them but they rarely reciprocate the act.
They take life very seriously and are continually at war with their
neighbors. They like to be the first on the block to bring out the lawn
mower each week.


Mousetrap: This person has a vivid imagination and an inventive
mind. They are constantly aMAZED by the workings of the world. Their
curiosity and wonderment of the world makes them fun to be around. In
their careers and relationships, they tend to be the big cheese. They
enjoy the movie Green Mile and the book Flowers for Algernon.

Ah, those crazy Asians are at it again! Aiko means Love Child. But this one is a little different than the bastard The Supremes sang of in the late 60s.



 A robotics developer, Le Trung spent $25,000 to build a woman. She can do nearly everything from read to slap someone for touching her knobs. She was intended to help elderly but because we are a society of horny people, we have our own ideas what she was really made for.

When asked by Lois Lane in an exclusive interview if she has had sexual relations with her creator, Akio said, "If he were C3PO and his cock were made of gold, I still wouldn't fuck him."

Grab a cup of, it's a heavy duty one today.

Yesterday Lane 2 turned 14. It was also the day my 38-year-old cousin Paula died.

My cousin always had a heart condition, but I had no idea she was so sick. I guess no one knew. She had flu-like symptoms, simply said she didn't feel well, and collapsed. They couldn't revive her.

I remember when we were really young Mom would say, "Pray for Baby Paula." Every night we prayed for her as she endured open heart surgery, then recovery. If she came down with so much as a cold, we would pray some more. Just a small cold could take her fragile life.

By the time we hit double digits, she was like any other kid, except she had a "zipper" on her chest. She never got offended at my fascination with her scar. And she only smacked me once when I suggested the surgeon accidentally took out her booby bones while he was in there.

I spent a couple of weeks out of my summer there with her family in 1984. I remember the year because Van Halen's Album 1984, just came out. We listened to that until the tape warped. I felt like more than a cousin. For the first time in my life, I had a sister who I didn't want to fight with, tell on, or cause bodily harm to. We ran amok.

We got older. Life happened. I married. She married. We moved even farther away from each other. We turned into wedding and funeral friends. Sad, really.

I know when I get to the funeral home to say goodbye, I'll see many other family members whom I haven't seen since the last wedding or funeral. We'll reminisce, cry, laugh, and make plans to stay in touch more often.

We'll exchange phone numbers, email addresses and maybe for a couple of weeks, we will stay in touch. Then we will drift back into our own worlds. In my head, I'll convince myself that our family is just too big to remain in contact with everyone.

I'm already considering starting a family newsletter or blog, so history doesn't repeat itself. If I get cooperation, I'll be pleasantly surprised. Then, at the next wedding or funeral, maybe I'll feel like less of a self-absorbed asshole.

Do me a favor. Make a phone call to someone tonight. Any one of your friends or family members that you haven't spoken to in a while. Let me know how it goes.

Family and prudish friends, skip the first half of this blog.

Eighteen years into this relationship with Mr. Lane, I opened Pandora's Box. I was just trying to get a cup of coffee, when Darla, my wiener dog, licked my bare foot. I told her, "Stop licking my feet unless you're going to buy me dinner first."

Mr. Lane's sleepy  eyes perked wide open. He asked, "Have you ever had a foot fetish?"

"Are you kidding me? Of course not."

"Why?"

"Because I'm kind of grossed out by feet."

"You don't have any fetish? Nothing kinky in your closet you want to try out on me?"

Barely able to contain my laughter, I said, "Don't you think by now, if I had a fetish, you'd know about it?"

"Well, some people are shy about that stuff."

"Have you ever known me to be shy about anything, ever?"

"No. Not really."

"Okay, then Mr. Porno Star, what kind of kinky shit do you have hanging in your closet?"

"Nothing!"

"A little on the defensive, no?"

"No!"

"Quick short answers mean you are on the defensive, Sponge Bob Guilty Pants. What are you hiding from me, you kinky fuck?"

Now laughing, Mr. Lane said, "My favorite is when you're on top. But that is hardly a fetish."

"Yeah, well, I'm afraid of heights. Next."

"Come on, Lo. Let's get our Sunday Heathen on."

The Sunday Heathen is what we call Sunday morning sex, since we'd rather be hollering, "Oh God!" from the bedroom than a church. Do you think that is a ticket to Hell? If so, someone get my hand basket ready.

---

Alright already! So I have a contest and no one but Pinky, the attention whore extraordinaire, participates. What gives, home fries? (Home fries are slightly saltier than my Home Fires, but equally hot.)

She can't just win by default. Can she? You are aware of the fact that she has already won fabulous prizes here in the past, correct? Oh yeah, she has. Don't let her lyin' eyes fool you. And don't for one second allow her to use that adorable little bugger Shmoo to sway your vote.

This really is your last chance to make it happen. All of your peeps need to come here and speak on your behalf. They should tell me why you should win this awesome autographed CD by Bud Buckley. The people with the most friends, those with the best, funniest and/or most creative answers will all be sent to Bud. He will choose the winner.

I have to shuffle this one along. I have a lot of other things that need to be given away! It's true. So get it on! Deadline is this Wednesday! The winner will be announced some time next week.

You can take a listen to Bud or buy it your own damn self, by clicking right here. 

Without my sister in-law, I'm no super hero. (Please see my blog post, Billy Don't Be A Hero for reference.) In fact, I am down right boring by myself. Thankfully for the latest dead guy, my hubby was there ready to help me save another life.

Deb and I were quite happy being the Double D Death Defying Duo. We were not in search, or in need of a third wheel. But there I was, without Deb, driving back from an extended weekend at Lake of the Ozarks, when we saw a man driving on the wrong side of the divided highway.

Awkwardly laughing Mr. Lane pointed him out to me. "Lo, check out that guy. What an accident waiting to happen. Too bad my sister isn't here. You two crazy bitches could save him."

"Holy shit! That is not funny! Get your cell. Call 911! This guy is going to kill someone, or himself!"

This guy was by all rights, Dead Man Driving. I'm no Superman, (second option for title of this post and another great song) but there we Lanes were, and even though I call him Mr. Lane, I was going to need him to step up to the plate and be this dead guy's Superman.

Handing me his phone, Mr. Lane slowed down so we were in perfect alignment with him. He began beeping the horn. "We have to stop him! Oh, honey, back off! If he hits head-on he is going to cross the median and land on us!"

"I didn't know seeing into the future was one of your super hero powers."

"Shut up and back off! You aren't even smart enough to be Superman are you? Superman knew when to shut up. Superman knew when to listen to Lois Lane. And I swear to God, I will break out the Kryptonite lip gloss for the kiss of death! Do not tempt fate. Keep beeping!"

We were beeping insanely at him from the right side of the road, but the man never flinched. There were so many near misses, as cars and trucks came toward him head-on, swerving in the knick of time.

By then I was on the phone with a 911 operator, saying, "Send someone, hurry. We're on I 54. Honey, what mile marker are we at? I haven't seen one for miles. I don't really know the area. Wait, okay, wait. I just saw a sign for oh shit, wait. No, wait, Jefferson City. We just came out of Jefferson City. Yeah, that's where we are, I mean were, Jefferson City, yeah." (that was a verbatim quote that Mr. Lane and the kids keep reminding me of... they have even threatened to request a copy of that 911 call just to make fun of me)

Continuing with the 911 call, I added, "And there's this guy, and he's old and about to die, well not die, dead, but knockin' on heaven's door. What I'm trying to say is that he is driving on the wrong side of the highw.... Oh shit! Sorry ma'am a semi almost hit him head-on. We're trying to beep and get his attention but he's just driving along like he doesn't realize he is on the wrong side of the road. And, oh fuck! Jesus H Christ! Yes, sorry ma'am, oh crap! That was so close! He probably thinks everyone else is driving crazy. You have to send someone fast! Hello?"

The silence on the other end made me think she hung up on me or I lost the signal. Or maybe she was laughing so hard at my frantic description that she couldn't even breathe.

"Hello? Ma'am?"

"I dispatched an officer. They'll be there soon. Thank you."

"That's it?! Ma'am? Hello? She hung up! How could she hang up?!"

"Maybe there's another dead guy that needs saving and she knows you have your hands full right now," Mr. Lane joked.

"Not funny! Oh my God, beep louder or longer or oh shit."

The kids had their faces pressed against the backseat window the whole time.

Still beeping insanely, and now off of the phone, I tell the kids to assume crash position. I don't think they really know what I meant by that. In fact, I'm not so sure I did either. But there was a heavy amount of traffic coming up over the curved hillside, and I knew this scary adventure was about to come to an abrupt end.

I wanted to save my kids lives, myself and of course Mr. Lane, but that dead old guy driving really needed my super hero skills more than anyone. Being a super hero is exhausting.

Death is weird. People see it in so many different ways. I'm in a stage where I am hopeful that your dead loved ones watch over you. Maybe it's childish, maybe it's real. I don't really know.

Did Dead Man Driving have someone to watch over him, swerving those trucks and cars away from him, or was he going to be the one to watch over those he was about to leave behind?

This somewhat new feeling I have about dead people has made me stop at the baseball games on TV. I find myself squinting to see the score on my tiny bedroom TV. If I try to flip through really fast, without seeing the score, I feel almost as if I'm tapped on the shoulder.

My dad saying, "Put it back and let me see the score."

The other night, ninth inning, the score was tied at 4, Cubs were at bat, I change the channel and feel the oh-so-familiar tap. I can practically hear him say, "Lois! It's a tie in the ninth inning! You can't change it now! What are you nuts?!"

"Maybe I am dad," I say aloud, as I put the game back on. "I am talking to you, and allowing you to tell me what to do. Are you kidding me? You didn't have this much power when you were alive." I looked around my room, shaking my head at myself. I kept the game on until the end. The Cubs won. Maybe it was Dad's mojo giving them luck, who knows. There's a strange comfort in watching the ballgame with your dad, even if he isn't really there.

On Tuesday George Carlin's last comedy album will be released. I bet as his family listens, they'll feel like he is sitting right there with them.

When recording it, he knew he was nearing the end of his life. Early reviews are in, and many are saying this is some of his best work. I've read that he talks about outliving friends and not fearing death, plus offers plenty of fuckery along the way. I'm really excited to get my hands on a copy of "It's Bad For Ya" because I know how much my dad admired George Carlin. Plus, he reminded me of him.

When he was sick, I mean really sick, my dad would say stuff to my mother like, "What's a guy gotta do to get a cup of coffee in this dump? I'm dying over here!"

The first few times he made a crack like that, Mom gave him a crack of her own upside his head. Eventually, dying became a part of his daily dialog of humor. Even Mom got in on the action. And it seemed they were both dying to have the last laugh.

"Starvation is going to get me before the cancer! Where the hell is my dinner?"

"I think death by beating will kick in first if you don't stop talking to me like that."

"Oh real nice. Is that how you talk to someone who is dying? Next I suppose you'll be making fun of my hair falling out, right?"

"You were missing your hair long before chemo got a hold of you, Badly Locks."

They would go back and forth for hours, like two insult comics at a roast. What was supposed to be a traumatic time, somehow, they found the strength to joke and laugh. The same way George Carlin probably did.

Was Dead Man Driving having a last laugh? Was he on a suicide mission? Was he looking to go out in a blaze of glory before something devastating took his life? Was he just really that unaware of where he was and what was going on?

Holding the horn down in a constant beep, the Dead Man Driving, finally turned his head toward us, raised his arms in a "what the fuck," or a baby's "all gone" position, and swerved his car, exiting the highway, by way of the on ramp, driving away as if nothing had happened. For miles down the road we Lanes nervously laughed about what we witnessed. I told Mr. Lane I couldn't wait to talk to his sister to tell her we have a new member in our super hero club.

I called, telling my sister in-law the entire story, and said, "Deb he honked like the wind, and it worked! Now we are going to have to change our name to the Horn Honking Heroes. We saved that Dead Man Driving's life!"

Is it entirely too corny to say, I wish I could have beeped my horn for my dad? I miss him a lot.

---

There's still time to enter the contest for an autographed copy of Bud Buckley's new CD. Please see my previous post for more information. The deadline has been extended because Pinky NEEDS competition.

It's contest time again folks! Round up your posse and bring them down to China Town, or at least to my blog.

Bud Buckley's new autographed CD is waiting for you. What do you have to do? Just blog all about why you deserve to win. You can have your readers or viewers come and tell me why you should win. You can leave your own reasons why in my comments below. You can post it on your own blog and leave a link in my comments. Or you can take it to YouTube and show off your CD collection and explain why Bud would be a nice addition to your rack. Not that rack, calm down ladies, he is a happily married man.

The people with the most friends speaking on their behalf, those with the best, funniest and/or most creative answers will all be sent to Bud. He will choose the winner. Oh, yeah, I guess I forgot to tell him that part. See, I just hate being the bad guy when people don't win. So he's a good guy for offering up his autographed CD, but a bad guy because everyone can't win. Which equals a win-win for me.

If you want to take a listen or say screw the contest, I'll buy my own copy, click right here!

---

Here is the review I personally wrote about his latest CD.

It's About Time
By Lois Lane

Intro:
Bud Buckley's new album, It's About Time, features ten tracks, with a host of emotion. Each song, written by Buckley, has a classic rock style. Singing lead vocals, Buckley's mellow rocker, Bob Dylan sound, makes him feel familiar.

The Band:
The singer/songwriter collaborated with an amazing group of musicians who literally play well together. Helen Avakian, Terry Champlin, Scott Petito, Deni Bonet, Chris Carey, Beth Reineke, Laurel Pistey, Kathy Feeney and James Braha all played a role in bringing Buckley's notes and lyrics alive.

The Review:
As classic and familiar as the songs feel, It's About Time offers many bombshells along the way. It features basic piano, organ, drums, classic, electric and acoustical guitars. Then offers the treat and surprise of a violin, an electric violin, a viola, a cello, electric and stand up bass. In the age of synthesized, soundboards and computerized hoo-ha, it's refreshing to hear an artist go back to the basics and reintroduce these great instruments to the listening public.


Buckley's lyrics in this album have special meaning to his family and friends. You can tell the man is loved just by hearing the lyrics his heart pours out about each of them.


The album itself was dedicated to his wife, Cathy Lewis. Paying homage to her, his best friend, "Can't Leave My Mind" tells a story of the overwhelming presence she has whether they are together or apart.


"I Still Remember" written for Bree, Buckley's daughter, gives you a feel of the raw emotion emitting as he reflects her younger years, and their time shared. I can see this becoming a popular wedding, father/daughter song.


"Keeping Secrets" was my first favorite of the album. It takes me back to pinky swears and playground days, whispering into a friends ear and giggling for hours.


"Meltdown" shows off the tough rocker dude, who is hidden in this lovable family man. It tells a story of being metaphorically being left "bare-assed in the street" but not intending to take anymore crap from anyone. This is the song you'll blare when life hands you a curve ball.


"Tattoo" begins with a jazz lounge feel. It leaves you with a feeling of nostalgia. And if you don't catch yourself smiling at these lyrics, you aren't listening closely enough.


The meanings and feeling aside, this album is a must own. From track one through ten, I was entertained, I felt love and compassion, mixed up with rock and roll. Seriously, how can you go wrong with a combination like that?

---

Contest ends July 25th. That gives you ten days to round up your posse or come up with your best answer. The winner will be chosen in a couple of weeks

New blog post coming in a couple of days. Summer is a busy time here at the Lane Estate.

I totally forgot to tell you about my sister in-law Deb and I being real live super heroes. This is 100% true, no joke! I know, how could I forget something so important! On our way back from Menard's, for our third trip, I spotted a guy sitting on his patio, face-down. He had gray hair, glasses and looked to be pretty old.

"Deb, did you see that... um... that guy?"

"What guy?"

"The dead guy back there?"

"Dead guy?"

"Well, I don't know if he's dead. He looks pretty dead."

"What are you smoking?"

"No really. I'm not kidding, Deb. This old guy on his patio is hunched over in his chair, and his head is face down on the table in front of him."

Still driving, and now a couple blocks away from the dead man, she said, "Should we turn around?"

"I don't know. I really don't want to see dead people. I mean, I do want to turn around and help but..."

"Yeah, he's dead. We can fix decks, but we can't fix dead."

Continuing down the 40 MPH road, we drove in silence, but my mind wouldn't stop talking. I had to expel my thoughts.

"Deb, what if he is just passed out from the heat? What if he isn't dead yet and can be revived. We both know CPR. What if we can save him?"

"Shit! I was thinking the same thing."

We flipped a Uey in the middle of the street to go save the dead guy. By then, we were a couple of miles away.

"Are you sure we didn't pass him already?"

"Yeah, he was way down there. You know Deb, super heroes like us don't have to worry about gas conservation or prices."

"Oh, good!"

"We should get some capes."

"For what?"

"What super hero doesn't have a cape? We are gonna save this guy's life! We are like the Double D Death Defiers! We fuckin' rock, Deb!"

"Yeah, we really do!"

Overly dramatic, I shouted, "Hey, Deb! There he is! That dead fellow is over there!"

Accidentally driving right by him, we flipped another Uey. (is that even how you would spell that? Should I have written U-turn instead? Well, it's too late to go back and delete now.)

Slowly creeping by his house, we could both see the dead man.

"Oh God, Lois, he is dead."

"Maybe we can mouth-to-mouth him."

"What if he is just taking a nap?"

"Then he'll be surprised to see his dream come true with your lips pressed against his."

"Who said I was the one doing the mouth-to-mouth?"

"1, 2, 3... NOT IT!"

"Shit! You got me!"

Now stopped, in front of the house, I began to feel bad that we were joking when an older gentleman was clearly dead. Deb's nervous laughter told me she too was beginning to worry.

"Let's just beep, and see if that does anything to him."

"Deb, what if he is just napping and the beep gives him a heart attack?"

"Well, then we will be right here ready to revive him. By the way Lois, 1, 2, 3,...NOT IT!"

"Bitch! You got me!"

Beep, beep!

And the man jumped up from his chair. He wasn't dead after all!

We quickly drove away. Looking back at the confused, but alive dead man, I said, "You know what Deb?"

"What, Lo?"

"We totally saved that man's life. We really are super heroes."

"I know."

We high-fived.

I'm pretty excited about my new NBC blog. Many of you received an email from me last week, so some of this post will be a rerun for you. Some of you read my bulletins and already are in the know. For those of you who didn't get an email, I likely landed in your spam folder, because it was a pretty meaty email. Or I didn't have your email address already saved in my address book.

Know right here and now, this blog isn't going anywhere. We have been together for a long time and the content here is much different than at the new place. I will continue to update once a week, give or take. But the new blog is like a new baby. It requires a lot of time, care, love, effort, hands-on molding and an occasional breast in it's mouth.

I'm updating three or four times each week, so please stop by often. Link it on your site if you like what you see. If you would like to comment, which I of course would love, you have to register with NBC. I hear it's a real pain in the ass but I promise I'll be worth it. One thing I do know about signing up is that you can skip all of the profile information if you want, which I think is what takes the most amount of time during sign up.

I hope by starting up a home there, I can get more exposure, which ultimately can get me that comedy writing dream job for a big show. SNL maybe? I'm sick of dreaming. And I'm sick of low paying crap ass freelance work. Help me make it happen. It would be great to see all of you and your friends there.

* Due to private info on the site, please drop me a line if you would like the link.*

...Unless You Have Fat Hands

Fredric J. Baur died last month. He was 89. Do any of you know who that was? Well, as an investigative reporter, I've been searching for this guy for decades. Not so much for a big news story, but to give him a piece of my mind.

Don't worry, I only wanted to give a small piece. Seems Fredric was the genius behind the Pringles packaging system.

He wasn't the one who gave them the fun make-yourself-a-duck-face shape. He simply created a package to keep the chips from breakage. But there was a problem with his "genius idea."

Snack foods are supposed to make you feel happy. We use them when we are hungry, hankering a little salt, as a side dish with burgers and hot dogs, having a monthly issue, watching television or a movie, trying to ward off depression.

What? Some of us eat instead of taking Prozac, so shut your pie hole and keep reading.

Where is the happy in this product? Well, you get the salty goodness, and the crunchity fun, but seriously, should a package make the person feel fat? No is the correct answer. Even on my skinniest of skinny days, my giant hand never fit properly into a can of Pringles.

I always felt like the chip gods were somewhere, watching, and laughing at my fat hands. As I neared the middle of the can, I'd use my opposable thumb and my index finger to try and latch on to just one chip, or maybe a tiny stack, it never worked. While my index finger may have been sufficiently long, my thumb is somewhat nubby. Shut up!

Then nearing the bottom of the can, using my middle and index fingers like scissors, I try with all of my might. I know my hand isn't magically shrinking as I woof down the tube of Pringly goodness.

Turns out, there's no chip gods, just Fredric. And that S.O.B. probably laughed himself straight to the grave thinking of me and the millions of other salty loving bastards with fat hands.

So don't mourn the loss of this "icon." Instead, know he had a pretty great life and died laughing...probably at you and me. And per his own request, because he was so incredibly proud of his invention, a portion of his ashes has been buried in one of the cans.

When the angels come to take him to heaven, providing that is where he is going, I hope for his sake, they have tiny hands. Rest in pieces you not funny man! 

There were ten winners in the latest contest. Names were drawn by Mr. Lane. So if you didn't win, it's all his fault. You can send hate mail to him in the comments below, and I will be sure to forward them on. I emailed the winners telling them they were finalists. I also told them to watch for an email from Amazon. It was like a surprise inside of a surprise, because they all won.

Congratulations to Miss Pickle, Stacie, Mindy, Robin in Wonderland, Lucid Kim, Dawn, Da Beast, Sara, Heidi and Sheri! And thanks once again to our generous mystery donor! I also received a surprise gift card. Isn't that crazy and awesome?!

If you would like to follow or participate in The Four Agreements book discussion, click on ANT's link. He will begin in June.

It's that busy time of year again, where there is a ton of work at the house, in the garden, fundraisers for the teen center, houseful of kids, animals wanting to be walked at all hours. But I am writing like a beast out of control! I only wish I had a huge place to send all of these goodies to. I want Saturday Night Live or Mad TV.

How do I get there? Anyone know? Do I need an agent or manager or both? Should we start a letter writing campaign? (hint, hint lorne@lornemichaels.com) Did you know I am in Lorne Michael's top friends on MySpace? What does that mean??? What do you mean, what does that mean? It means that he and I are practically BFFs, duh! (BFFs = Best Friends Forever) I wonder if he knows. Hahaha!

Is anyone else Twittering? If you say, "What's that?" your answer is no, or not yet. Twitter is a micro blogging system, and another way to stay in touch with your friends online. Like we need anymore distractions, right?! You post simple updates throughout the day so your friends and family know what you are doing. If you want, add me. I update a couple of times a day. It's just a couple of sentences so you can keep tabs on me. My user name is LoisLane1972.

Michael Buckley hooked me on Twitter. If you get hooked too, don't blame me, blame him. He is my latest comic relief addiction.

My birthday is coming and since the kids and Mr. Lane asked what I want, I am trying to decide. Why is it when you are older, you just don't really care anymore? Seriously, if I get a card, a plant, a pooper-scooper, whatever, I'm a happy camper. In my younger days, I'd have flipped a biscuit if my old man bought me a pooper-scooper as a present.

For Mother's Day, I got a card with a dollar. Lane 2 gave me a spa treatment. I'll post the photos below. Yes, one whole dollar and a card, and I was completely happy. Like everyone else, we've been throwing every last dime into the gas tank and into the house, which leaves little to no play money. Maybe it was all the effort my daughter put in, or the quality time we shared, whatever the case, it was fun. See for yourself...I can't believe I am putting these online.




This is cute and intentionally upside down. Lane 2 had me sitting in the bathtub with a pillow and blanket. She also pulled my hair back in a pretty hot fashion.



After heaps of blue eyeshadow, which one can never have enough of, the child tried to pull a Tyson on me, and bite off my ear.



Here I am picking a winner with my ghetto nail job. Yes, that is hot pink with silver tips. Kind of like a French whore manicure.



And here's Lane 1, Lane 2 and I all crammed in the bathtub. Good times!

Have a great and safe weekend!