Here’s the deal. Everyone knows the story of the Trojan War. There was this super hot chick, Helen of Troy, and there were the Greeks, and the Romans, and this guy named Troy…uh, so, they all go to Mount Olympus with the half man/half cooking utensil God, Pan…once there, Danny DeVito and James Woods sing about Hercules, and then war breaks out, and there’s a little metallic owl flying around, and everyone is rescued by Xena, Warrior Princess. Okay, so maybe not everyone knows the story of the Trojan War. But that’s not the point. The point is, the Trojan Horse is really pretty stupid.

For those of you who napped through your high school history classes, here’s the basics – the Greeks had been at war with the city of Troy for nearly a decade over the rights to the local condom factory. But they simply could not penetrate (you better believe that pun was intended) the city walls. Luckily, Odysseus had an excellent idea. Unfortunately, rather than sharing his excellent idea, he instead suggested the notion of the Trojan Horse.

So the Greeks decided to build a massive, wooden horse and hide a whole bunch of their soldiers inside. They then pretended to sail away, shouting things like, “Look over here, we’re leaving now! And we’re never coming back to destroy you! Just sailing away! War is over! Bye, bye!” And, because the whole plan wasn’t quite subtle enough, they left one guy, Sinon, behind. His job was to pretend to be upset at his fellow Greeks for deserting him. “Hey, Trojans,” he called out, “I can’t believe those jerks left me here. And they also totally forgot their awesome, giant, horse statue that is definitely not full of Greek soldiers.”

That’s it. Pretend like you’re giving up on the war and leave a huge present for your enemies. Then, of course, once the Trojans took the horse inside their city walls, the soldiers snuck out at night and let in the rest of the Greek army, which had used the military strategy of “turning around” and sailing right back to Troy. And then they killed all the Trojans.

The only thing dumber than that plan was the people it worked on. Seriously? Why would the army you’ve been engaged in a brutal, bloody ten year conflict with leave you a parting gift? Do you think Lincoln considered sending Robert E. Lee a fifty foot gift basket full of life size Union soldier shaped chocolates to end the Civil War? It’s absurd.

Plus, it’s lead to the phrase, “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts,” which I can only imagine has given millions of Greeks a terrible complex when they go to birthday parties. That’s not fair. The vast majority of the time when you encounter a person from Greece and they offer you a present, it will not be full of mercenaries intent on murdering you in your sleep. Honestly, it’s almost never the case. It’s usually just, like, a nice goat cheese or some baklava.

Why we look back on this fictitious trickery as great military strategy is beyond me. No one has ever won a war by constructing oversized equine statues. And who would even want a giant wooden horse? Why were the Trojans all, “Oh, cool, a hollow horse statue big enough to hold many, many people but now almost certainly empty…that will look fantastic on our throw rug next to the dressing armoire.” “Yeah, let’s haul it inside before the neighbors try and nab it! Yippee!” Isn’t it just a little suspicious? Isn’t it just a little ridiculous? Really, what were they going to do with the Trojan Horse, once they got it inside their city walls? It’s not functional, they really didn’t have room for it, and, honestly, it didn’t even match the armoire.

Here’s the deal. Next week I turn forty.

I know what you’re thinking, “Now that I’ve got Makya’s birthdate, I’m one step closer to assuming his identity.” Well, I’ve got news for you – some guy stole my identity last year and after two weeks he called me up apologizing, telling me that he couldn’t keep up with the debt payments, that he was unable to lose weight, and that he was now haunted by memories of high school where he was routinely trounced at tetherball by an eight year old girl, and begged me to take my identity back. So go ahead, try my identity on for awhile, I don’t mind. Maybe you can make something happen with it.

But this post is not about identity theft, it’s about milestones. This is my 200th blog post. When I first started this blog, each and every one of my family members called me up and said that I’d never write more than three or four posts, that no one would read or comment on a blog written by a dirty Scotsman, and that I was a general disappointment. That’s not true. My family has always been supportive of everything I’ve done. Maybe too supportive. I think maybe my mom or dad should have tried to talk me out of taking out that two hundred thousand dollar loan to open a museum dedicated to Jewish stars of the NBA. Seriously. What was I thinking?

But this isn’t a blog post about basketball or how many blog posts I’ve written, it’s about the fact that I turn forty next week.


Many people ask me the secrets of turning forty, and how I’ve managed to do it without even really trying. I’m not here to brag, but I’ve put virtually no effort into turning forty and yet it’s about to happen. So, for all you kids out there who aspire to some day follow in my footsteps and turn forty just like cool Uncle Makya, here’s how you do it.

How To Turn Forty Without Really Trying:

(1) Be born.

(2) Wait.

It’s just that simple. This ridiculously convenient two step plan is the secret to all of my forty-turning success. But I must warn you as well, there are some downsides to turning forty.

Firstly, there’s the ear hair. This has become a serious issue for me. I understand that we all have small ear hairs that help to keep the ear canal free of particles, sure, I can live with that. But what exactly is the advantage of the ear pony tail my body is apparently attempting to grow? My ear hairs come out thick and strong, like a substantial New England stew, or the undergrowth in the Siberian tundra – and they don’t go down without a fight. When I try and pull them out with a pair of tweezers, they often pull back.

There’s also the steep mental decline. About once a week now I will start a sentence and halfway through realize that I’ve no idea how it’s going to end. My own statements have become mystery novellas. Oh boy, I can’t wait to hear what happens next…should not be one’s inner monologue in relation to one’s own train of thought. I feel quite strongly that upon beginning a sentence I have some clear intent, but in the ensuing two to three seconds my brain goes down for a quick nap leaving me to look quite the fool. Oh, brain, remember our twenties when you were spry and clever and active for more than twenty minutes at a time?

And then there’s the ridiculous injuries. I hurt my wrist a few days ago. You know what I was doing? Sitting in bed watching TV. Was I changing the channel? Was I rearranging a pillow? No. My wrist was doing exactly nothing. It was sitting still between my arm and hand, as usual, when I experienced a sudden shooting pain. I shouldn’t be able to hurt myself doing nothing. I’ve dedicated my life to not going rock climbing, parasailing, or bungee jumping because I knew full well that these activities would end in an assortment of embarrassments and pains. But injuring myself through inactivity is even more embarrassing. My back hurts. Why? Because it exists.

Of course, turning forty should not be as big a deal as we make of it. It is, after all, the end of our fortieth year and the beginning or our forty-first that we are marking with this occasion. (Just as our first birthday marks the very last day of our first year of life, and the beginning or our second year). So, really, I’ve sort of been forty this whole past year…and you’re kind of a year older than you think you are. You’re welcome.

That’s not to suggest that I’m not accepting gifts. This is a big deal. My two hundredth blog post and fortieth birthday all in the same week. Come on people, let’s pony up. By which I mean – I want a pony for my birthday. Or cash. Yeah, cash is a lot better than a pony. Oooh, what about a pony full of cash? Like a young horse taxidermied and stuffed with money. That’s the best of both worlds. I could look at the pony and say something like, “Cool, I have a pony.” But then I could also reach down the pony’s throat and pull out wads of hundred dollar bills. Yeah, I want a money pony for my birthday.

Either that or a much better pair of tweezers.

Here’s the deal. As of February 3rd, this blog has received 2,313 comments…2,312 of which were submitted pre 2014. Clearly something needs to be done to remedy the situation. If this is going to be the year of super terrific fun time greatness for this blog, we are going to have to regain our former comment activity.

So I did a little research. There are a number of proven methods for increasing blog comments, and that number is seven. (All of which appear in convenient numerical order below). That’s right, rather than choosing one or two comment creating ideas as most people suggested, I am going to utilize all of them in this very blog post to maximize comment potential. In a historic, unprecedented internet move, I am crossing the streams and turning it up to eleven with this post – if there’s a way to get readers to comment, it’s going to appear below and no one will be immune…in all likelihood you’re already feeling the need to comment. That’s right, give in. It’s okay. All the cool kids are doing it. And you can comment as much as you darn well please. If anything below gets your ire up, sparks a thought, or compels you to lend a helping hand, this is your chance, let your voice be heard. Let’s do this thing. Let the comment-inducing tactics commence…

(1) Be controversial/Attack someone. Finnish people smell of cauliflower! Your aunt Linda is a bore! Poodles are ridiculous!

(2) Ask for help. Can somebody please tell me how to prepare a mint-infused bran muffin? What’s the best way to prepare for two thirds of a triathlon? How can I keep squirrels out of my kitchen?

(3) Be Unexpected. Sometimes I wear my socks in the shower. My favorite Jonas brother is Geraldo. 2 + 3 = 8.


(4) Take a Stand. Dragon Ball Z: Battle of Gods was the best movie of the year. Greatest invention of the twentieth century…Pez. Su Lin the giant panda for president!

(5) Make a Mistake for Readers to Correct. As everyone reading this probably already knows, the War of 1812 lasted over three years. Neptune, the seventh farthest planet from the sun, is a gas giant composed primarily of nitrogen and hydrogen. Pauly Shore is a fine actor.

(6) Ask a Question. Why are we here? What is the meaning of life? Where have all the cowboys gone?

(7) Add Links. Click here for a recipe for chocolate, mint, oat bran muffins. Check out this entertaining and informative BBC article on the exporting of Chinese giant pandas to U.S. zoos.  And here’s a great article about how not to smell like cauliflower (are you paying attention, Finns?)

Okay, ball’s in your court…

Here’s the deal. After many moons of writing an award-worthy blog, I’ve often wondered about just who is reading it. Wouldn’t it be interesting to have an idea of how many people took a gander, and maybe even know where they came from? Unfortunately, no technology exists that would allow for such fantasy. Except, perhaps, for the web analytics programs that collect, measure and report internet data such as unique page views per day via server log file analysis and/or JavaScript embedded page tagging that produces web traffic statistics which can be converted into easily-understood, personalized reports such as the ones provided by

So let’s take a look.

The newest and best technologies indicate that, in the past year, my blog received “quite a few” views from places “near” and “far.” What was everyone in such a tizzy over? If you’re new to the old MMVS, here’s a sweet, sweet taste to whet your appetite. The five most viewed posts of 2013…

(5) Vs. People Who Leave Their Shopping Carts in the Parking Lot. Everyone complains about people putting the cart before the horse, but I find this to be much more annoying.

(4) Top Ten Letters of the Alphabet. Big scandal when I wrote this one and P was subsequently accused of performance enhancing…that’s right, calligraphy.

(3) Vs. Women Walking Around Barefoot While Carrying Their High Heels. Right?

(2) Top Ten Most Annoying facebook Status Updates. Number 1 of all my top 10 lists, and number 2 on my top 5 of 2013, this is sure 2  be 1 4 the ages.

(1) Vs. Referring to Yourself in the Third Person. Don’t do it. Please.

But I’m not here to shamelessly promote my blog from within my blog, I’m here to get YOU to shamelessly promote my blog from wherever you happen to be. Yeah, you, the guy in Guatemala.


You see, I’ve got thousands of readers spanning the globe. (Note: I do not, to the best of my knowledge, have any one reader who is currently spanning the globe, much less thousands…it’s just that there are thousands of people who have read this blog and they do so from various countries around the world. So. You know.) And today I am most concerned with those countries which have produced only a single, solitary reader.

Latvia, for example, is fine. There were two individuals from Latvia who read my blog last year. So please feel free to talk amongst yourselves.

Macedonia, Senegal, Libya, Ethiopia, Tanzania, Angola, Zimbabwe, Ecuador, Guatemala, Panama, Myanmar, Kazakhstan, and Bangladesh, however…that’s a different issue entirely. Each of these countries had one person check in. And this blog is addressing these thirteen individuals specifically. If you happen to be the one person from your homeland who has discovered my blog, congratulations and thank you. We’re in this together now. We both have important jobs. My job is to sit here, in the comfort of my apartment, and write silly, silly things. You’re job is to get out there and tell everyone you know about how much fun it is to read the silly, silly things which I write from the comfort of my apartment.

Come on, there’s a whole nation out there waiting for us. And it’s not all about me. Imagine the gratitude and gifts they’ll shower upon you for sharing this blog. You could conceivably receive cash, fresh fruits and/or gently-used electronics. Stick with me, kid. There’s no limit to how high we can soar.

Also, if you live anywhere other than Macedonia, Senegal, Libya, Ethiopia, Tanzania, Angola, Zimbabwe, Ecuador, Guatemala, Panama, Myanmar, Kazakhstan, and Bangladesh, feel free to talk me up as well. 2014 is going to be a big year if you and I are willing to put in the time, dedication and hard work. Mostly you.

Here’s the deal. I don’t like ice. Not a fan. I’ll tell you why…

(11) Ice expands. In my book, this makes ice a self-important jerk. “Look at me,” ice demands as it puffs out its chest. Really, ice? Breaking up rocks, destroying plumbing, warping Tupperware everywhere…all to announce your presence. We get it. You’re a big shot.

(10) Ice lends its name to the coldest, and thus worst, type of skating.

(9) Ice takes up all of the space in my drinks. If you order a soda with ice, you’re actually ordering a glass of ice with a small side of beverage. I don’t need my liquids to be that cold. Stay out of my drinks, ice.

(8) Ice hurts. As a young lad, I accompanied my mother to the small, local grocery store one hot summer afternoon. As she purchased necessities, I wandered off to a section that had delicious pints of ice cream…and that’s when I saw it…somehow, a bit of ice cream had leaked out on to the metal shelving that held this cool, cool treat. As any reasonable child would do, I opened the door and tried to lick that  ice cream…and I suppose you know what happened next. (For the record, I am not confusing a classic scene from A Christmas Story with my life – this actually happened to me). Yes, my tongue stuck to the frigid metal. And yanking myself free was painful. And ice is a jerk.

(7) Ice is way too slippery. We’re trying to walk here, ice. What did we ever do to you?

a single vanilla ice cream sandwich

Sweet dairy cream sandwich.

(6) Ice is a meanie. Did you know that there is a disease called ice-ice. No. No you didn’t. Bu now you do. According to Wikipedia, “Ice-ice is a disease condition of seaweed. Ice-ice is caused when changes in salinity, ocean temperature and light intensity cause stress to seaweeds.” What are you doing picking on seaweed? Seaweed is just floating around, minding its own business and you’ve got to screw with it. Seaweed was living a pretty stress-free life. No bills, no job, no looming briny deadlines. Until ice-ice. The disease so not nice-nice, they named it twice-twice.

(5) Ice is the least interesting state of matter of water.

(4) Ice tries to disparage ice cream. How dare you, ice? Now you’ve gone too far. Look at the ingredients list of your favorite ice cream. There’s no ice in it. Stop messing with our minds, ice. Ice cream is delicious and ice-free. The only time ice cream wasn’t delicious was when I tried to lick it off of a frozen, metal shelf…and that was your fault too. It’s sweet dairy cream, not ice cream. What’s next? Ice cookies? Ice puppies? Ice rainbows? Just stop it, ice. Keep your name off our good stuff.

(3) Ice makes diamonds seem less valuable.

(2) Ice is a no-no. Who loves ice more than hockey players? (Don’t answer that. The last thing I need right now is some nut sending me an in-depth list of people who love ice more than hockey players. I’ve got looming briny deadlines over here). Yet even the hockey lovers know the truth. Because what is icing? It’s an infraction in hockey. Icing is when you put the puck in the non puck zone and the skating player guy hits it too hard and then they have to go to the penalty box and someone throws an octopus on the ice and I think there’s a Zamboni…I don’t know how it works, but even the hockiers know that ice is bad.

(1) Ice tries to ruin everything. For example, vanilla is great. Vanilla Ice is not so great.

Here’s the deal. I’m a big fan of receiving recognition for my greatness. If there was an award for excelling at enjoying receiving awards, I would have already received it. Twice. From my soccer trophies as a young lad to my other soccer trophies as a slightly less young lad, I have a proud history of collecting accolades. And my life as a blogger is no different. While I have yet to wrangle the coveted Bloscar or Blemmy, I have now officially received the Liebster Award.

What is the Liebster Award, you might ask. I don’t know, I might answer. But research indicates that it is an award of “some type” that was created by “someone” for “reasons not entirely known.” And I, obviously, couldn’t be prouder.

I must, of course, thank The Knee Deep Life for the nomination. I imagine there are also numerous other people I ought to thank. I’m thinking, maybe, some guy named Larry? It’s not important now. The important thing now is to focus on completing my acceptance of the award, which involves me answering ten questions created by Alyssa, author of the aforementioned blog. So, let’s get to work…

English: Baby koala, captured at Currumbin Wil...

What in the world am I doing in Makya’s pocket?

1. If you could eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Food. Hands down.

2. What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever gotten?

My uncle Bobo once told me, “Never rank advice that others give you.” And I’ve always considered this to be the best…oh, whoops.

3. What’s a story that you always pull out of your pocket at parties?

I never pull stories out of my pockets at parties. I prefer to pull out confetti, small candies or conversation starters…like, baby koala bears. Which will prompt other party goers to query, “Why in the world do you have a baby koala bear in your pocket?” After which I will tell them the incredibly interesting story of why that baby koala bear was in my pocket.

4. If you could live forever, would you? And why?

Forever is a long time. Some people say silly things like, “It took forever at the DMV.” Which is rarely, if ever, true. Usually they mean, “It took three and half hours at the DMV.” Which is, when you think about it, not even in the ballpark of forever. These people, it would seem, have a very poor sense of time. What was the question?

5. What’s one talent that you wish you had and why?

I wish I was better at answering blog award questions. Why? Because then I’d have something clever to say here.

6. Where’s your favorite place on earth?

There’s this beautiful, remote, atmosphere-free little spot where I used to hang out all the time as a kid. Oh, wait, that was on the Moon. Hmmmm, Earth? I guess New Jersey.

7. If you could put one animal in charge of leading the world besides humans, what kind would it be?

I’m not sure why you assume humans would be my first choice. We don’t seem to be particularly good at it. This is a tough question. I think dogs would honestly give it their best effort, but I worry they’d just slobber too much. Dolphins are known for their intelligence, but not necessarily their leadership skills. I mean, have you ever seen a dolphin run a meeting? They can barely manage to set up their graphs and charts with their silly little flippers. It’s really not that impressive. Ants seem to live a very structured life. But, on the down side, they’re ants. And ants running the world? That would be ridiculous. So I guess I’ll just toss my vote to Ralph Nader.

8. Where is Waldo?

He can be found in the popular book series Where’s Waldo? But you have to look carefully, he is sometimes frustratingly difficult to spot. (Oh, I just now got those books).

9. What’s your idea of the greatest vacation?

I would love to be a dog groomer to the stars. Can you imagine trimming Brad Pitt’s poodle? Seriously, does it get any better than that? That’s the best vocation I can imagine.

10. What’s one of your favorite blog posts you’ve ever written so we can all go read it?

This one I’m writing right now is my current favorite. I considered including a link to it here, but I thought that might create some kind of information super highway black hole, and when people clicked on it the whole system would go haywire in an infinite series of electronic regressions resulting in the internet exploding – destroying computers, smart phones, and billions of cute kitty videos. So simply scroll back up to the top of the page if you’d like to read it.

Here’s the deal…

Allow me to explain my hiatus. I’ve been to a number of specialists and they are in general agreement that I am suffering from a case of advanced, acute laziness. It is, in fact, all the energy I can muster to merely type out that I can barely muster the energy to write about the fact that I have just enough energy to type just that. And yet I press on. Am I a hero? Yeah. Probably.

So, what’s up with hangman? Sure, we all played it growing up, but did we ever stop to think about what we were doing?

“Hey, I thought of a word. Guess what it is.”


“Because if you don’t, I’ll tie a rope around this man’s neck and hang him until his body twitches and writhes in agony before swinging limp and lifeless above your poorly guessed letters.”

What are we teaching our children? If you don’t know the most commonly used vowels and consonants, people will die. It’s an incredibly morbid little game. I don’t see anyone playing Guillotine Tic Tac Toe or Lethal Injection Sudoku, and yet it’s fine for the youngest among us to sketch the agonizing, painful strangulation as the jugular vein and carotid arteries block the blood flow to the brain leading to a slow and grisly journey to death’s door. Yes, with each incorrect guess, the child adds a body part to the condemned – taking on the disturbing role of executioner. And victory for one of the game’s participants comes only with the death of the stick man whose sole crime was being drawn into his own murder.

Plus there’s the fact that there isn’t an established set of rules. Some people will draw feet and hands and even a face! What the heck, why not add a wardrobe and let your opponent guess the whole alphabet. It’s a circle head, line body, two line arms, and two line legs - that’s it, people. This isn’t a game of charity. Lives are at stake here.

English: Round 4 wheel configuration on the U....

Wheel…of…Mass Executions!

And then there’s the fact that hangman lead to one of America’s longest running game shows – Wheel of Fortune. Perhaps the wheel isn’t a bad thing in theory, but in reality it is as unnatural as the pencil and paper game from which it spawned. In the 1980′s, Pat Sajak and Vanna White inked a deal with an ancient coven which granted them the right to age at one third the rate of a an actual human being in return for increase ad revenues for centuries to come. Long after you and I have gone the way of that poor hanged man, Vanna will be turning t’s and a’s for some good, clean, wholesome, demonic fun.

So the next time you’re thinking about an educational game of medieval capital punishment word guess bonanza with your offspring, consider the ramifications. Sure, good parenting can be a pain in the neck (forgive my gallows’ humor), but aren’t our children worth the effort? Shouldn’t we preserve their innocence? Shan’t we strive to make their educational games gruesome death free?

Because, frankly, the children are the f_t_re. And it’s not possible without (I’d like to buy a vowel) you.