(Insensitive Title Removed)

ALRIGHT, dammit.

Yes, I realize that some of you think I am lazy. But you've got to understand that these past couple of months have been extremely trying. First of all, DNA be damned, I AM Anna Nicole's baby daddy (I mean, look at Dannilynn -- she looks JUST like me, goll!). So I've been trying to get that all straightened out.

And then I really took a bath when I bet my entire life savings on my NCAA Tournament bracket. In retrospect, perhaps a Niagara/Eastern Kentucky championship game was unlikely, but I've never been one for the safe pick. Look, I had a feeling! Like you've never been wrong about anything.

So I've been working as a fluffer to make back my life savings (I wouldn't recommend this), and to top it all off, I have now been fired. Yes, fired. Why? Well, it all started when I quietly mentioned to Denise, my best girl, that Don Ho had died. I think she took it the wrong way, because the next thing I knew, Al Sharpton was in my living room yelling at me and coiffing his hair. Then Jesse Jackson showed up, also yelling at me and coiffing Al's hair.

Well, that was only the beginning. What followed was the most intense media scrutiny I've ever faced. Talking heads on every channel began debating whether I should be allowed to live. It started to get really surreal when the Rutgers women's basketball team showed up at my door quoting Maya Angelou and telling me I'd ruined their lives. Apparently, the pressure built to the point where I was relieved of my fluffing duties.

Sadly, that is not where our story ends. Let's just say that one thing led to another, and right now, just outside my jail cell, the Rutgers team, Maya Angelou, Jesse, Al, Oprah, and several of Don Ho's, well, hos all stand outside with rifles. In a moment, I will be gunned down by all of them (normally, one shooter will have blanks to spare everyone's conscience, but in this case all guns will be loaded because my offense was so great). Afterwards, they will each take turns urinating on my corpse. Then, my lifeless urine-soaked body will be tossed into a lion's den, where I will be torn to shreds and eaten. When the lions crap me out, their stool will be mounted on what was formerly my home underneath the caption: "This is what happens to forks who are insensitive."

Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is... my condolences to the family of Don H-.

2007 Resolutions for 2007

Well, it's the New Year. Happy 2007, everyone! I was sitting around the other day thinking about all sorts of original bloggy ideas I could bring to the table in this new year. And then it hit me -- resolutions! Why, in this great country of ours, with so many bright and creative thinkers, hasn't anyone thought of such a scheme? You resolve to do things in the new year that will improve things over the previous year. It's so simple and yet, indeed, it opens the door to the web of hopes and dreams that make up the complicated tapestry that is my brain.

In short, I am brilliant. And here are my resolutions.

* I resolve to stop showing off my vocabulary. Mostly it just results in jumbled messes such as the one seen a few sentences ago. Yes, Toby, you were an English major. We get it.

* I resolve to finally propose to Denise the Fork. I will hide the engagement ring in her favorite steak. Then, when her prongs penetrate said steak, she will bump right into the ring and begin weeping and doing all that girly shit they like to do. Then I will say, "Just kidding," and we'll all have a good laugh in the end.

* I resolve to resolve to lose 10 pounds, then actually gain 10 pounds, then chortle and go, "Well, gettin old, ya know? Eh heh heh." Then I will proudly pat my spare prong tire while millions of teenage girls continue to starve themselves because they don't look like Scarlett Johansson. And we'll all have a good laugh in the end.

* Even though I hardly watch any television, I resolve to watch less TV. Y'know, because it sounds good to say that. Maybe I can become one of those people that brags every three seconds about not owning a television. From there it's just a short leap to smelling my own farts. I can't wait!

* In conjunction with the above resolution, I resolve to get going on that gastrointestinal system I've been meaning to develop.

* I resolve to develop a new, innovative way to spell "resolve" that will involve a Q, a Y, and possibly Avogadro's number.

* I resolve to invent an elaborate conspiracy involving the death of Gerald Ford. I will concoct this conspiracy theory whilst learning to speak breathlessly and four times faster than normal. Soon, I will become an internet phenomenon, with thousands of blogs pushing my theory that the Jews wanted Ford eliminated because Halliburton had its panties in a bunch over Castro faking an illness and that Saddam body double that was hung in Iraq, which were both done to take the focus off the commies and freemasons taking the old boy down in order to win a bet with a 117-year-old Adolf Hitler (who currently resides on a staged set depicting the surface of the moon) that stated that no ex-Michigan football player could turn down a shot at the NFL and still live to see 94. 33% of Americans will completely buy into it, and we'll all have a good laugh in the end.

The other 2000 resolutions will be revealed slowly and spread out throughout my blogs through March of 2018.

Amoxisilliness

Hey kids, let me tell you something. I would highly advise all of you not to get the flu. I know -- you probably want to. You're probably thinking, "But all the cool kids are doing it!" I know there are temptations, but this is not a good thing. You'll be lying there unable to move. You'll have a fever of 103. They'll try to give you cat medicine. It's awful. Don't do it. Just say no to the flu.

No, seriously. They will give you cat medicine. I am not playing around. In fact, I am starting to suspect that health care professions are the biggest ripoffs in the world, because it appears all these guys do is prescribe amoxicillin. Think about it -- what happens when the human that leeches off of me gets the flu? He gets amoxicillin. What happens when said human's cat gets an ear wound that's oozing pus? Amoxicillin. Finally, what happens when I, a plastic fork, get the flu? Amoxicillin.

So please allow me, Dr. Toby, with my zero seconds of medical training, to prescribe medication for the world's most vexing conditions. Alzheimer's? Try some amoxicillin! Cushing's syndrome? Why, I think I have just the tonic. Amoxicillin! Elephantitis mixed with progeria? I think we all know what the antidote is, my fellow Americans.

In fact, perhaps one can stretch the logic of this rapidly failing running joke to include non-medical conditions. War not going so well in Iraq? Amoxicillin for everyone! South America about to be hit with an asteroid that will destroy all life? Why, I think I have just the ----------

............

Hi, guys. This is Steve, the human referenced above. I have just clubbed Toby with a blunt object, and he is currently unconscious. I would just like to apologize for this monstrosity of a blog entry. It sure seems like, after two months, you could have expected something a little better. I'd like to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas, a Happy Hanukkah, a Kickass Kwanzaa, a Rockin Ramadan, and a Whopping Whatever Else I Might Have Forgotten. Please stay safe, unless you are Danny Bonaduce, in which case it wouldn't totally break my heart if you accidentally ran into a tree. Nighty night.

Completely Informed Bloggy Social Commentary

"There's a place for those who love their poetry. It's just across from the sign that says 'Pros Only.'" --They Might Be Giants

Okay. Apparently some of you believe that poetry always equals intellectual, no matter how rudimentary, clumsily rhymed, or derivative of sports poems written 100 years ago. Fine. I'll stick with prose from now on, you intellectual boors.

What do women want? It's a subject that has captivated the hearts of America. Many songs have been written about it. Many movies have been made about it, most of them ending up on Lifetime and starring the great Meredith Baxter Delta Burke Joanna Kerns Judith Light Valerie Bertinelli. But none of those movies starring Ms. Baxter Delta Burke Joanna Kerns Judith Light Valerie Bertinelli ever quite hit the nail on the head. No, I don't believe we quite knew until this week's grisly tale out of fair New Orleans came to light.

Women want to be cooked. And they like CONFIDENCE!

That's right. It turns out that the lovely chap involved in this caper was absolutely up to his asscrack in women. While he wasn't with his girlfriend, he was cheating on her with other girlfriends, until, I don't know, I guess he got bored and sauteed the primary girlfriend (undoubtedly with CONFIDENCE!). Probably because she wouldn't stop bellyaching about the other girlfriends. But did she leave him? No. We can only assume because she enjoys being cooked (with CONFIDENCE!).

Now, being a fork, few appreciate tender cooked flesh more than I. But even I must condemn this action as a tad drastic. Nevertheless, the ladies disagree, and who am I to question? I'm just amazed at how the Mel Gibson film What Women Want managed to miss something this obvious. Though given the amount of tail Mr. Gibson has been privy to over the years, one can surmise that, in addition to being cooked, women go totally wobbly for unhinged anti-Semitism (if it's delivered with CONFIDENCE!).

Now, when you combine those two things, there is only one logical conclusion. Had Adolf Hitler been even slightly interested in seeing women naked, he would have been a Lothario for the ages. That's my take on it anyway.

Unless I'm missing something here.

A Chance to Tinker with Everyone Who's Underage

These are the saddest of possible words:
"I'm Chris Hansen."
Trio of chatters, and man are they pervs
"I'm Chris Hansen."
Treating suburbia as if it's a brothel
No parents at home and they're there on the double
Words that are filthy and now they're in trouble
"I'm Chris Hansen."

I've Got a Hot Date For You

(Note: This blog entry was written with care in late August of last year, scheduled to run on August 29, 2005. Due to certain unforeseen circumstances, Toby was unable to post his column. So, without further ado, one year later in its original form, here it is.)

Ahhhhh, August 29th. I think that, amongst all the dates on the calendar, this one towers above all the rest.

What other date can boast the anniversary of the first minting of copper coins in Japan? Ah ha! You can't name one, because there isn't one! August 29, 708. You were doubting the glory of August 29th? Read it and weep, you Nazi bastard.

Anyone that knows me knows how much I love 13th century popes. They've always been a passion of mine. Well, guess what August 29, 1261 brought us? That's right. The coronation of Pope Urban IV, an era where men were men, popes were men, and they had no problem jumping on other people's wives and sure, the occasional little boy, but hey, back then it was laughed off! I digress, though. I don't know too much about ol' Urban IV, but I'm guessing he raped with panache, and for that I say thank you, August 29, 1261! August 29th comes through yet again!

Another product of my favorite date: The Treaty of Picquigny. Crap if I know what the hell that is, but as an August 29th treaty (year 1475), I bet it's the best treaty ever.

On August 29, 1833, England abolished slavery. What -- are you saying you support slavery? No? Well then you must agree on the absolute incomparability that is August 29th. GOD I love this date.

Not that I need any more proof that August 29th totally rocks the world, but just for the record, the Soviet Communist Party was officially suspended on this date in 1991. What -- are you saying you support Commies? No? Well, in that case, your only possible option is to bow down and worship the very ground August 29th walks on. You're not worthy to carry its jockstrap, but just this once, you can lick its footprints.

As I have clearly laid out in this thought-provoking piece, August 29th is the most wonderful thing ever. If you think otherwise, you are Nazi Communist fascist propaganda-loving slavery-supporting miserable scum, and you deserve to die.

August 29th, the best date ever. Nothing bad will ever happen on it.

God: Infinity/M/heaven

Wouldn't you know it? You can now chat with God online. As it happens, He's kind of a jerk, but at least He didn't try to pick me up behind a Burger King and molest me.

Toby: God!
God: GOD rules.
Toby: A bit full of Yourself, aren't You?
God: How much?
Toby: A lot.
God: More than a ton?
Toby: Oh yes.
God: Are you kidding?
Toby: No, I'm not. You've got quite an ego.
God: I heard you are. Maybe more than one ego.
Toby: I'm afraid I don't understand.
God: Oh I'm sorry. Perhaps I can explain it again better.
Toby: Good.
God: Thanks for the compliment.
Toby: God, have You been drinking?
God: I am a Christian.
Toby: Yes. Consider answering the question.
God: That's interesting. What was the question? What time is it there?
Toby: Okay, God, I think I need to say something. This is an intervention.
God: Yeah okay, I am a Christian. You don't say.
Toby: God, a lot of people care about You. I'm not going to sit here and watch You destroy Yourself.
God: I am a Christian. Where will you go instead?
Toby: God, You are a Christian, I EFFING GET IT. Jesus Christ.
God: Thanks and you are a delightful person too. I am a Christianity. The Son of God.
Toby: God, You're an idiot.
God: Call me the Global Village Idiot.
Toby: mm hmm. Look, I think I'm gonna take off.
God: Tell me about your likes and dislikes? Why? I am very happy for you.
Toby: You suck.
God: A few client - people say rude things to me like that, but they themselves are often not great conversationalists.
Toby: Touche.
God: How old are you?
Toby: I'm 6, which is 30 in fork years.
God: Do you me and you are 6 feet tall?
Toby: Um. Actually no.
God: Yippee! Actually you don't say. Are you serious?
Toby: God, I think I'm gonna have to go.
God: I am a Christian.
Toby: Sure. Later Buddy.
God: OK let's do it. That's alright. What color are your eyes?
Toby: God? I think You misunderstand. I'm leaving.
God: GOD rules. Me? I understand it very well. Bye bye.
Toby: Bye big fella.
God: See you later!