I think we have it all covered in this issue. Jason Love discourses on the Stupid Bowl—er, Super Bowl; Rosie Sorenson muses on vanity license plates; John Sammon suspects space aliens; Will Fargo gives us the lowdown on Groundhog Day; Rex considers a valentine for Millie; Robyn recounts the fling that shouldn’t have been; Mary teaches us to defend ourselves against bear and shark attacks; Sarah turns her baby into a sugar monster; Tom Davis teaches he-men to get along with cats; and pictures! We got pictures!…oh sorry. That was another web site.

Yes, we here at the Foolish Times aim to please each and every one of our readers. (We can’t help it, we’re mostly Libras.) Hope you have a great month, and thanks in advance for your Send Money to Editors Day checks.

Okay, okay! We’re growin’ and it ain’t funny. We have new writers, cartoonists, puzzles, and the catch-all, to be determined, waiting in the wings. We need your help deciding who or what goes and stays. We’ve already decided to take out the Sponsor a Fool column—costs us too much (you do the math, 41 cents postage due for a 25-cent donation). The Help Out An Old Fool survey will disappear in three months, never to return except when too many of our staff are on a binge, off their meds or… The crossword, it’s a pain in the butt to draw all those boxes by hand (we do paper, rock, scissors, every month to see who’s stuck), so let us know, in or out. Email or Snail Mail us what you think about our regular columnists.
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Every year I look forward to the Super Bowl, and every year it’s like eating a TV dinner—always looks better in the picture.

Nothing, not even Armageddon, could live up to the hoopla. The pregame show begins three weeks before kickoff, when neckless men begin dissecting the games, going backward week by week till they finally get to the beginning…

“Football dates back to the 1800s, when a soccer player decided, on a lark, to pick up the ball and run. Opponents tackled him to the ground, beat him silly, and gave birth to the sport we love today.” Read the rest of this article »

Last week, I saw a young woman driving a small blue sedan with personalized license plates: “LLB?SK8”. I couldn’t imagine at her age possessing enough faith in a relationship to have it embossed on metal for all the world to see. What would she say to the DMV clerk if (or more likely, WHEN) her relationship ended? Let’s listen in on the conversation:

“Good afternoon, Department of Motor Vehicles.”
“Hi, this is Linda—”
“Yes, Miss Barnes, how can I help you?” Read the rest of this article »

It can now be revealed.

They’re taking over the world. They’re living and working among us.

The aliens of the Tranisiuc.

This is no drill. This is the real McCoy. I’m telling the world in the hope we can do something before it’s too late.

I saw this guy at the automatic outside bank teller tearing up his receipt into a hundred pieces. That’s how it started. I was suspicious. So I retrieved some of the pieces.

It was in code. Read the rest of this article »

Let’s call her Muffy. The cat, not your girlfriend. Why Muffy? It just seems like a good name for an utterly repugnant creature. The cat, not your girlfriend.

She hisses at you. She swipes at you if you try to pet her. She hops up on the coffee table to block your view of that fourth-and-inches play. When you’re getting into it hot and heavy with your girlfriend, she climbs between you. You’re pretty sure she’s saving that special hair for your next pizza slice, and you’re pretty sure it comes from the least desirable of body areas. Read the rest of this article »

There was a large box of Pop-Ice in the freezer of my buddy’s shop fridge.

It wasn’t a big deal. I mean, it was Pop-Ice, not a nice bottle of Chardonnay he was chilling for the figure skating competition later. I was just surprised. The contents of a shop fridge are typically beer, beer, summer sausage, beer, bottles of bovine antibiotics, and maybe if you’re lucky, beer. In the freezer, there’s frost. Read the rest of this article »

“Rex, it’s time to think about a Valentine’s gift for Millie. She’s your main squeeze, so we have to get an appropriate gift for her. Last year’s Valentine was a dud, if you recall. We got her a cow bone to gnaw on, remember? Half a femur, I believe. She felt the ‘cow’ implication was a comment on her size. Females don’t like any gift with the word ‘cow’ involved, Rex. The fact that she’s an English sheepdog and is ‘big boned’ didn’t help, either.” Read the rest of this article »

People tell you all you need to know about them within the first twenty-four hours. On our first date, an ex-boyfriend told me that he was a pathological liar. It was the only time he ever told me the truth.

With the weekend fast approaching, I accept a “safe” date from an older man whose online photos look acceptable, but not outstanding. During our first phone call, he admits that he is merely looking for an occasional date, nothing serious or sexual. I don’t expect anything more than a quick dinner and superficial conversation on a Saturday night. His name brings up images of an old-time gunslinger and I can’t imagine ever screaming it out loud in the heat of passion, so I feel safe. Read the rest of this article »

February Birthdays
The candles on your cake provide the séance-like atmosphere that enables you to channel the spirits of Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and the Big Bopper, who do a birthday tribute to you on The Day Your Youth Died.

ARIES (3/21-4/19)
This February falls on a leap year, which proves to be the perfect escape for you, the adventurous Arian. In a leap year, which only happens every four years, a comet breaks through the earth’s atmosphere, temporarily opening a portal to another world where reality TV shows do not exist. Read the rest of this article »

1977-2007
This is for those whose level of maturity qualifies them to relate to it…
1977: Long hair.
2007: Longing for hair.
1977: KEG.
2007: EKG.
1977: Acid rock.
2007: Acid reflux.
1977: Moving to California because it’s cool.
2007: Moving to Arizona because it’s warm.
1977: Trying to look like Liz Taylor.
2007: Trying NOT to look like Liz Taylor.
1977: Seeds and stems.
2007: Roughage. Read the rest of this article »

While waiting for an oil change, I pawed through the usual grimy reading material—back issues of The Taoist Purgatorial Review, Elephantiasis for Dummies, and some 1999 meeting lists for Quilters Anonymous. My hand hovered over the OSHA Hazardous Waste Guide until I spotted a pamphlet on survival techniques. Survival, huh? As in running out of organic cat litter? Or when your hair stylist moves to LA to work for Howie Mandel? Nope. The article bypassed such tragedies, and focused on muddling through the everyday bear or shark attack. Read the rest of this article »

To my friends who enjoy a glass of wine… and those who don’t.

As Ben Franklin said: “In wine there is wisdom, in beer there is freedom, in water there is bacteria.” Read the rest of this article »

Editor’s note: The following is a reprint of Will Fargo’s Bogus Advice. Will is pulling a Rip Van Winkle somewhere in the Butterfly Sanctuary in Pacific Grove and can’t be disturbed. Please, don’t go looking for him. You’ll disturb his beard.

Dear Will,
I don’t get what the big deal with Groundhog Day is. What’s so great about a groundhog, anyway? Why don’t they have Giraffe Day? A giraffe is way better than a groundhog.

Signed,
Wet Blanket… in PG Read the rest of this article »

It’s all my fault. Reap what you sow, they say. For once, “they” are right.

We had a relatively sugar-free home for Penny’s first two years of life. We never served dessert after meals, snacked on cheese and pretzels, and had her convinced that tofu was the most spectacular food in the world. Then I began potty training. Read the rest of this article »

A couple of good jokes, with some so-so jokes thrown in to fill space.

Barber Shop
A guy stuck his head into a barber shop and asked, “How long before I can get a haircut?”
The barber looked around the shop full of customers and said, “About two hours.”
The guy left. Read the rest of this article »