Having never kept an actual journal, Mollen writes these columns in retrospect. For each column, he chooses a different day in his lifetime, and writes about it as though it were today. A particular entry may be about a day last week, or Halloween 1980, or the day he was born. Some of you may be asking, “But how would he have been able to write a journal entry on the day he was born?” To you, Mollen says: “Lighten up. It’s a humor column.”

A Child’s View from the Pew
Journal entry: September 21, 1972 (age 3)

It’s Sunday again, and I know what that means. Mom is going to put me in a red plaid suit coat and a red velvet bowtie for church. I’m going to look like the world’s youngest used car salesman.
We go to St. John the Evangelist Catholic Church. The church is nice, and the priests and nuns are nice, but on Sunday mornings I’d rather be home getting my cathechism straight from the source—the animated TV show “Davey and Goliath.”
I find other ways to amuse myself in church. Mom and Dad keep telling me not to look around at the other churchgoers, but it’s hard not to. Everybody from my neighborhood is there, and they’re all wearing goofy clothes. Some of the women wear big, floppy hats. I don’t understand why they get to wear hats, but I can’t wear my Scooby-Doo Halloween mask.
For some reason, it’s OK to look at other people when they are on their way to or from Communion, so that’s when I get my people-watching in. Everyone looks so serious, like they are coming forward to receive a medal or something. Communion must be really good.
Speaking of Communion, last week I got to be in the line with everybody else. I was crying because my brother Dan wouldn’t stop looking at me. Plus, he kept putting his finger about an inch from my face and whispering, “I’m not touching you.”
To separate us, Mom carried me with her to get Communion. I got really excited when I saw that we were in the line that was receiving the sacrament from Father Queen. I had wanted to ask him an important question for a really long time, and when we got to the front of the line, I had my chance.
“Are you the Godfather?” I asked.
My mother gasped, and Father Queen looked blankly at me for a moment. Then he chuckled and said, “No, I’m not.” Back in our pew, I asked Mom why he had laughed at my question. Her face was still red, and she just shushed me. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable question to me. I had heard people talking about someone called “the Godfather,” and I figured he was probably one of the “Fathers” who lived at God’s house.
Today, I promised Mom and Dad I wouldn’t talk at all during Mass. I think I can do that. But I might not be able to keep from laughing at the end of Mass. Every week, the priest says, “This Mass has ended,” and the entire congregation says, “Thanks be to God.” It can’t be wrong to laugh at that. It’s meant to be funny, right?
* * *
Tim Mollen is a syndicated humor columnist. He is also fond of jam. You can contact him or read more of his work at www.timmollen.com.

A lot of people ask me what an editor does. If you find out, let me know. One thing I seem to do quite a bit of is welcome new columnists, and this month is no exception. Giosue’ Santarelli and Jason Offutt have agreed to join our staff, and we couldn’t be happier. Giosue’ is a prolific political columnist, humor columnist, and feature writer who has been scribbling for nearly 40 years. His story “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?” was our cover story for November 2007. Jason has graced us with his humor pieces at various times over the last two years, always to positive reviews from our readers. It’s a pleasure to be able to feature such talented writers on a monthly basis. It certainly makes my job as editor much easier. Speaking of which, I’d better get back to work. Now where’d I put that trombone?

I no longer hate elevators. As a kid growing up in New York it was torturous having to ride 30, 40 or more floors to the sound of Muzak (pumped in, easy listening, brainless, no attention required noise) played on elevators. We used to laugh at the sterile non-offensive soft sounds that would accompany every ride. I can remember joking, “You’ll never hear the Stones or Pink Floyd here.” Was I ever wrong. I don’t quite know when it happened but it did. Last time I was in New York I had to take the elevator to the 39th floor of 500 Fifth Avenue. I was dreading the ride. I was pleased to hear a cut from Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” album. That is, happy till I heard this twelve- or thirteen-year-old brat—er, child—behind me turn to her friend, laughing, and pointing up to the speaker and saying “I hate elevators!” At least my grandsons think I’m KEWL!

Enjoy!

Due to technical difficulty, I scheduled with Dr. Klope a sperm count. Talk about tedious jobs. Can you see that poor guy over the microscope?
“1,634… 1,635… wait, did I count that one?”

Dr. Klope had one opening, eight a.m., which is way too early for sperm. A man might wake up with driftwood on his beach, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to make a fire. It’s usually noon before I can swing a French kiss. Read the rest of this article »

Tubby flew into our lives six weeks ago after my sweetheart, Steve, hung up the hummingbird feeder I’d purchased in 1990 but never bothered to put up on the deck.
Within an hour three hummers arrived: Tubby, Susie, and Kevin. Tubby earned his politically incorrect name because of his huge potbelly and because he easily dwarfed the others.

“Good Lord,” I said, when I first spotted him. “How can he fly when he’s so fat? He needs to go to Weight Watchers.” Read the rest of this article »

My daughter and I have your average father-teenage daughter relationship.

She has total disdain for me.

How did I manage to achieve this lofty distinction? I tried to be fair. That must be it. In other words, weak.

I let my daughter get away with exchanges I wouldn’t have dared say to my own father. So I can be proud of the fact that violence and threats and ugliness and hypocritical double standards are not part of our household, like it was in mine when I was a kid. Read the rest of this article »

What is the fascination of children toward pets?

GI Joe and Barbie are good enough to hold the average scurrying rug-rat, but only for a few years. Invariably the subject of having a pet arises. You can run but can’t hide! Having a pet is apparently a prerequisite to becoming an adolescent! It is accompanied by that whiney, grating, noisy, flopping up and down, thrashing on the ground, holding one’s breath until you get what you want scene, and that’s just me protesting! Read the rest of this article »

DATELINE—Monterey, CA
Editor’s note: We at Foolish Times were “fortunate” to have an interview with local mild-mannered gadfly Tom Burns. Previous interviews with Mr. Burns have been taxing to say the least. Once more, he did not let us down. This interview was held on the rocks at Lover’s Point in Pacific Grove. Mr. Burns was wearing a ground squirrel costume. Brace yourself.

FT: Mr. Burns, we understand you have come up with what you consider to be an end to the border problem. Read the rest of this article »

I brought home a half-gallon of ice cream from the grocery store. The list from my wife read, “four bananas.” Period. No milk, no eggs, no ice cream. Just bananas.
Normally, to me four bananas means four bananas, but I didn’t write the note. My wife wrote it and I was sure ice cream was hiding in there somewhere. Read the rest of this article »

Once again, procrastination had prevailed. The living room portion of the heater flex-duct under my house had probably collapsed, as I had no heat from the living room floor vent all winter. I hadn’t wanted to crawl under the house in the bitter cold weather, and now that Spring was ready to spring, it was warm enough to go under the house, but I didn’t need the heater anymore. Gee, that was a long sentence, but I wanted to get it all out. Read the rest of this article »

I don’t watch Oprah, but someone sent me a video clip from one of her shows. Every once in a while we get hit by a lightning bolt and I guess I got lucky that day.

Her guest (and I forgot his name) was talking about relationships and suggested that one of the reasons why we single folks don’t have a partner is perhaps because our reasons for staying single outweigh our need for being coupled. Read the rest of this article »

Quiz: Describe iPod, Blackberry, Napster, Blue Tooth, and ear buds.

Time’s up! Did you get three or more? Well, goodie gumdrops for you, Smarty Pants. But if you guessed fruit, sleep, stained dentures, or earlobe growths—gimmee five, dude! And in my world, an iPod is a clutch of self-absorbed whales. Read the rest of this article »

What if, along with your regular 11 issues of “Martha Stewart Living,” once a year the magazine sent you “The Mailman Issue” filled with pictures of dashing, shirtless postal workers ducking secretively into suburban homes? Then, my friends, women would finally be equal to men. Read the rest of this article »