How I Met Your Mommy Blogger

As you wonderful readers have observed, I've gradually been enlisting writers to create an elite staff at the ol' Waldo Faldo Journal. This has nothing to do with me being too lazy to blog or being too big for my britches. In fact there's a distinct possibility that these people do not even exist and my "writing staff" is just me, a latent schizophrenic. But for better or worse, the Waldo Faldo's Crack Staff is assembling like the Avengers, and this journalistic triumph will illuminate a whole new prism of perspectives that will undo the black and white doldrums of the corporate owned newspaper and antiquated media industry!

Anywho, while we're being candid, I should also mention that I've been looking for a woman! (Did that need to be an exclamation point? I don't want so sound desperate.) Anywho, looking for a woman but not any ol' woman will do. I want to meet a lady I have some things in common with, and those things are height and weight. (I'm 5'10 and 150 lbs. If you are too - exactly - message me! ;)) But then at one point I thought, wouldn't it be cool to meet a lady writer?

I shared these thoughts with my dad, who thought my height/weight specifications were just plain loony. He doesn't understand that symmetry is sexy!

I pointed to the issue of Playboy with Sally Field on the front that he has framed on his wall. "Look how great that picture looks in that spot," I said. "If you were going to replace it with another picture, you wouldn't want a horizontally-oriented picture or one much smaller; it would behoove you to get a picture the same size because you know what works."

He yelled guturally, "Why the hell would I take down my Sally Field picture?"

Parents just don't understand. Especially when the topic is love and they're divorced as fuck.

I let pops continue his diatribe even though our court-ordered two-hour visitation period was technically over.

"Look, you're never gonna meet no Sally fucking Field."

I wittily quipped, "More like still playing the field! Huh? Huh?" I nudged him and he swatted at me.

He said, "No! More like playing with yourself cause you havent Field up a real woman in years!"

"Touché," I said. The witty apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

"Look, you're in your late 20s," he continued, "Most girls your age have a divorce under their belt and stretch marks and C-section scars right above their belt. These young bimbos that got a shopping cart full of little rugrats, that's what you ought to go for. They've already been burned by their baby-daddies, so you'd be kind of he a catch to them."

"Dad," I began in a Hallmark card tone, "Do you think if make a good stepdad?"

"Well I sure wouldn't want you to be my stepdad! But what do I care about some random brat that you're trying to bang the mom of? Not my problem," he said, cocking his pistol.

Maybe it was just the Stockholm Syndrome talking, but I started to think my pops had hit the nail right on the head. His idea reminded me of a buzzword I'd been hearing all over the media, "mommy-blogger." A mommy-blogger is a female with a child, Internet access, and significant free time. They like to read and write, which is very appealing to me, and by being in the unenviable position of single motherhood they have few options, which makes me appealing to them. So much like a hunter aiming at a helpless doe with its foot stuck in a fence, I set my sights on single mommy bloggers.

I tried using the free site OKCupid to find the blogger-girl of my dreams, but their criteria filters are terrible. I may have found a bevy of single moms, but if I can't read essays or think pieces by these women, I might as well be looking for a needle in a haystack. And when I messaged some of them asking for writing samples, they got all weird about it. Of course with OKCupid, you get what you pay for.

You get what you pay for - indeed this was an adage I needed to follow my damn self. And that makes it sound like I was pursuing a mail-order bride, but that's decidedly not what I was interested in. Surely I could find a true babe from Russia - but probably not an English major -  which would defeat my purpose like a band of Ukrainian rebels. (Although I do hope to travel to Russia one day to attend one of their "pussy riots!")

By this point I was thinking less about my loins and more about my business, like the opposite of Wolf of Wall St (Wolf of Waldo!) My priority was to find a feminine voice that could contribute to my grand journalistic endeavor. If her and I were to fall in love in the workplace, fueled by a cocktail of creative ambition and pent-up sexual tension that crescendoed in a supernova-like kiss on top of the copy machine, well I guess that'd be pretty cool too.

So to Craigslist I went, with a wanted ad in the writing services section I designed to be short, sweet, and enticing! Who could resist applying for a job so...mysterious?! I couldn't wait to meet my dream candidate. I wasn't looking forward to disappointing them with the fact that there's be no "big $$$" - not yet anyway! - but the upside is that they'd get to work for the funniest site on the web!

To expedite the search, I actually bought ads throughout cyberspace. These clever ads use a pitch woman to express the perks of the blogging lifestyle. Young women see this and think, that could be me! And then anytime I would browse a Yahoo article about Emma Stone or something, I'd just drop a little ad in the comments box. This would also be from the perspective of a young woman; I'd brag about how much money I've made by blogging and post a little link. I know some web businesses have special spam-robots to do this, but the Waldo Faldo Journal will not be taken over my soulless robots (DO YOU HEAR ME, ROBOTS? YOU WILL NEVER RULE US!)

There's no telling which of these baiting techniques helped me land the big kahuna, but it didn't matter because I had found her at last! It felt like my whole life had been leading to the moment when I opened that first e-mail, and a tingle washed over me and I bloomed like a flower. I opened the window and stuck my head out and saw flowers blooming in synchronization, and birds were performing ballet in the warm summer air, which felt like a toasty fart from a fairy. "I found her!" I screamed, and my neighbors got out of their swimming pool and went inside.

"Geez" Louise W.

So before I get to Louise's work, I'll copy and paste our email conversation in its entirety. I presume it'll be easy to imagine the butterflies in my stomach whilst I courted Miss Louise; the exitement and joy of those early flirtatious moments in a relationship.

RE:RE:RE:RE: Opening position for writer with a female perspective 

>>>>>>>>>Oh, you have a husband...? :(

>>>>>>>OK great. I'll get started on those articles soon. I'll have a lot more time next week. Right now my husband's car is in the shop and I have to drive 40 minutes to take him to work.

>>>>>>>>wow you're so sassy! glad you're on the Waldo Faldo team, Louise! Please see the attachments in this e-mail. You'll find a PDF file with the first couple of writing topics I'd like to you tackle, as well as a Powerpoint slideshow of the coolest graphics I've made with Photoshop. And as a bonus, there's a lot of pics of me in there! (And I swear those have not been touched up! ;p)

>>>>>>>>Oh ok. I'm attaching a pic. I'm a proud mom and grandmom from Flagstaff, Arizona and my age is "nunya!" In my spare time I love to write, obviously, and also volunteer at my church. 

>>>>>>oh sorry. ASL is retro Internet lingo for "age, sex, location." I was trying to be cheeky, but I do wanna know your stats and also a bit about you so I can put up a short bio for you.

>>>>>what?

>>>>so.... ASL?? Hahahahehehha!!

>>>yea that's the first time I've heard "Geez Louise." NOT!

>>awesome, thanks for replying! You seem really cool. I'll send you some topics to write about for Waldo Faldo Journal, and I know just what we'll call your section: Geez Louise!! Ahhahahaa!

>Hi, my name is Louise and I'm interested in blogging for your company. I love to write, I've been working on a novel off and on for years. My friend says I should start blogging but I don't really know how to set one up. 

So that's how I met your mommy-blogger. She's a real cool woman with a way with words. So I'm proud to present the first edition of Geez Louise, in which my net-friend Louise reviews pop culture and human interest news with her trademark snark.

Assignment: Write a review of this stunning, innovative furniture featured at Milan Design Week.

[http://www.architectural-review.com/comment-and-opinion/the-best-bits-of-milan-design-week/8661641.article]

Geez Louise: Well I don't really get this stuff. These chairs look weird and uncomfortable; I'd rather stand. I mean, what's the point of making something normal like a chair into some kind weird thing. Is this a joke? Looks like they belong at some kind of kid's playhouse. I'll stick by my old rocking chair, thank you very much. 

Assignment: Cover the Tokyo Toilet Expo! [http://photos.denverpost.com/2014/07/08/toilet-expo-japan/]

Geez Louise: Oh my goodness, you've got to be kidding me. I'm flushing this assignment. I've never been so happy to be in America. I think I'll go do the pledge of allegiance right now.

Assignment: A recent scientific study suggests that watching six hours of reality television per week, while drinking wine and using a foot-bath, may have some slight health benefits such as lowering blood pressure. What do you think?

Geez Louise: Oh my Lord! Is this where our tax money is going to? BULLCRAP! I'd like to flip all these scientists upside down and shake out all the money out of their stupid lab coats.

Hey, does she tell it like is or what? Louise did such a good job shitting on these news tidbits I figured it was time to let her straight up win the Internet. As we all know, the only way to do this is write a provocative think piece. A good think piece, especially one involving gender issues, is like the most valuable currency on the web; hot takes are worth their weight in Bitcoin. 

So I asked Louise to ponder the career of Carly Ray Jepsen, who became famous about 1.5 years ago (decade of Internet time) with the hit Call Me Maybe. Though she became a viral star quickly, today one could only guess that she's a bedridden shut-in, because her next hit never came. So how does Louise the soothsayer see the Carly Ray story unfolding? Will she continue to get lapped by her contemporaries in Katy Perry and Lorde, or will the pop world *69 her and call her back, maybe?

Geez Louise:

If Carly Ray Jepsen wants a second chapter in her career I have three words for da girl: Slut. It. Up.

That's right, slut it up. Look, this is iust the state of pop music today. You got Miley Cyrus riding giant genitalia in her concerts, which shows all the young girls what a man's privates look like. But there ain't no man with a unit that big. And that's pop music in a nutshell, folks.

Then you got this chick Sky Ferriera, who went ahead and showed both of her breasts on her album cover. Geez Louise! Hey, the next big thing or big hit is just a click away anymore, you gotta do what it takes to get whatever ADD attention you can.

Take the restaurant Wendy's for example, they saw the writing on the wall. Hamburgers weren't selling like they did in the last few decades and Wendy's was going to lose out to healthier alternatives like Whole Foods and fro-yo shops. So what'd they do? They added a dang salad to the menu. Could you imagine that old lady from the '80s commercials going in there and saying, "Where's the salad?" It's called getting with the times, people. 

We're all living longer by eating healthier and listening to raunchier pop music, because #YOLO. So my advice to Carly Ray Jepsen: try that Asian Bistro Salad at Wendy's, it's actually really good!

Wow, you never know what to expect from ol' Geez Louise! Stay tuned for more Geez Louise on the Waldo Faldo Journal, that is until Huffington Post snatches her away.

Charleston Chew vs The Conspiracy of the Conniving Candy Consortium

So it's 2AM on February 16 and you're staggering through the supermarket in a mopey, lovesick stupor. You know the only thing that'll assuage your hunger and loneliness is two armfuls of heavily-discounted Valentine's Day candy. Don't say, "I don't know what you're talking about," or "That's not me." We've all been there! We've all done this walk of shame, just at different Krogers.

And what do we always discover when we arrive at the seasonal candy section? The one that had been there since exactly one minute after Christmas, six weeks before the actual day of St. Valentine. What we ultimately find is that we've never had a chance; there are no significant sales on Valentine's candy. You may have thought this was a reasonal expectation - after all, your self-esteem and personal standards are 50% off! - but alas, you must pay full price for your candy binge. It's no coincidence that the eHarmony Free Trial Weekend has just ended, and you must pay full price for that also.

You gaze melancholically at the sparsely-stocked shelf and see only a few vestiges of lost caloric romances and aborted gifts; the dreams that were never dreamt, in packages covered in hearts. In this moment you determine that there's no love in this world.

So why aren't there any candy sales after holidays, and where am I going with this? Well allow me to present a fable that will answer that specific question, and tell you everything you need to know about human nature's dichotomy: conviction and corruption.

The saga continues moments after Valentines Day as you sob yourself to sleep, a resurrection occurs in the candy aisle: it's Easter now! Even though it's still February, next time you're at the store you will witness the resurrection of Easter merchandising. It's a pastel wonderland and all things are bright and happy again! Just a few weeks ago the M&M® guys were decorated with hearts, now they're hanging out with bunnies. Let's extrapolate: in a few months (but still several months before Halloween) they'll be wearing monster masks, then Santa hats. Then it'll be Valentine's Day and Easter all over again. And it'll be always be in the same aisle, and here's the kicker: it's always the same candy! The same stale, preservative-loaded clumps of sugar are simply repackaged for every holiday. Why put the candy on sale and unload the inventory when you can just put them in a new bag and sell them full-price? It's not like they're gonna go bad, it's not like there's any natural ingredients in them. What a racket!

Now let's step away from the seasonal candy aisle. (Come on, let's go. Seriously, turn around.) But on our way to get tested for diabetes, let us stop by an ice cream shop, preferably a corporate chain (as if there were another kind.) Look at all the Mix-Ins you can get: Reese's®, Hershey's®, M&M's®, et al. They're not offering you ice cream with some generic peanut butter cups, they're giving you Reese's, the brand you know and love. That should maximize it's desiribility. Reese's marketing staff suggests so anyway. You wouldn't want a milkshake with off-brand candy, WOULD YOU? (Shake your head "no")

Now turn on the TV and let's watch some commercials. Look, a Hershey's ad! Hey, here's one for York; whoa the an icy sensation is freeeezing everybody up! Hmm, a Reese's commercial. How about that.

Alright, now let's go to the t-shirt section at Target. We're looking for "ironic" t-shirts. Do you wanna wear a shirt with a famous "retro" brand's logo on it? "Ironcally"? Cool. It looks good on you, buy it!

You were just tricked into paying Reese's to wear an advertisement for them.

As we go through the check-out lane, you have another chance to buy just about any candy bar you could want. As long you want one of the big name-brand candies. Can you buy an Alan's Chocolate Bar? No. This is prime retail real estate, the point-of-sale, where you have been programmed to make "impulse purchases" just before you walk out of the store. As you step back into the world, it should be clear that the candy conglomerates control everything in it.

The Candy Conglomerates. Grab anyone of the dozens of candy bars off the shelf and flip it over to see who makes it. There's oodles and oodles of flavors out there, but they are all the confectionary intellectual property of Hershey's®, Mars®, or Nestlè®. That's it, only three super-corporations control the entire candy market. And if you think those three aren't in cahoots with each other also, I've got some Snake Oil I'd like to sell you. I also have Dark Chocolate Snake Oil™, Snake Oil™ with Peanut Butter, and Snake Oil™ Mini-Bites.

What happens to small business candies, like Cynthia's Crunch Bar, or Cincinnati Chocolate Co.? When they try to compete with Big Candy, they're eliminated. How could they possibly compete without big-brand resources: Hershey's® commercial advertising omnipresence, Nestlè's® brand ubiquity, or the ice cream crossover potential of Mars®? You can't!

Suppose tomorrow, you invent the most incredible candy bar in human history. Best case scenario: you hand it over to one of the Big Three for a dollar. It would take an army of billionaire backers to wedge any market share from Nestlè®, Mars®, and Hershey's®; and we both know that you know no billionaires, buddy. Just give up the recipe and take what they give you. It doesn't matter how good it is, don't attempt to negotiate higher compensation; Mars® will straight up gank that shit if they want it. It'd be like taking candy from a poor person.

Despite the capital oligarchy of Big Candy - believe it or not - there was a time when there was a more level playing field. In the early 20th century, all the players were crooked, to be sure - yet there was one White nougat-filled Knight among them. His name was Charleston, and he had this little chewy candy he liked to call his Charleston Chew.

Charleston was a hard-working of humble means. Growing up in a small Virginia town, he had big dreams like beautiful hot air balloons floating in the slow-moving clouds above. Yet his flights of fancy didn't alienate Charleston or make him the town weirdo; he was a beloved figure whom the children would visit frequently, to see what sort wild confectionary concoction he was working on. Whether it was butter-flavored bubble gum or strawberry brittle, Charleston always had something yummy for the kids. He was like a less extravagant but more altruistic Willy Wonka.

The day Charleston invented the Chew was a day of incredible hooplah. A thin chocolate stick filled with flavored nougat made the telegraph wire piss itself. Folks were heard exclaiming, "Golly, Charleston! You've got a candy here that's the bee's knees! A real winner! Why, you're sure to make a keen impression in the candy market!"

I know that sounds real stupid but that's how people talked back in the day. That'd be like today, someone saying, "OMG Charleston Chew Apple store selfie #first world problems."

Meanwhile, candy tycoons like Hershey, Reese, and York were making a real killing. But these were all blue-blooded, old money barons (I mean, come on, York?) To be quite blunt, they were all the beneficiaries of America's slave-labor system that conjured an incredible surplus of sugar cane in the previous century. It's hard not to succeed with such a sweeping head start.

The Sweet Elite began to take notice of Charleston and his "chew". Though they thought the name and marketing were rather provincial (the bright yellow wrapper is supposed to be "edgy?") they wanted a piece. In February 1925, Charleston was invited to an infamous sit-down in Pennsylvania, which turned out to be a who's who of candy tycoons. Everyone was there: Hershey, Reese, Kit Kat, Heath, York, Oh Henry, Fredo. You've probably never heard of Fredo and his delicious hazelnut chocolate bar, that's because he was eventually assassinated by the Candy Cartel and ignored by history. You won't hear about this fateful hit in your school textbooks, which are edited and printed by Big Candy. Do you think it's a coincidence they have vending machines in every school hallway? Isn't it ridiculous for children to have constant access to candy at school? Candy used to be damn treat! For only every once and a while!!

Excerpt from the book, Bittersweet Truth of the Candy Industry (Out-of-print, Banned in USA)

"Look here," Hershey snarled at Charleston. "We've got big plans, see?"

"These bite-size pieces of the market simply won't do," added Reese.

"We're gonna take it all!" Baby Ruth brazenly shouted, "We're gonna have our candy bars right next to every register in every store! From now on, nobody can buy squat in the general store without reaching over our goods!"

Hershey continued, "People will get so used to buying our candy, it'll be like breathing. It's basically going to be a mandatory tax on sugar-junkies. But to do this, we must band together."

"Well, gentlemen, I don't know what to say," Charleston responded. "I honestly can't believe all these ulterior motives and conspiracy plots coming from candy entrepreneurs. All I ever wanted to do was make a nice life for my family and give the world a delicious treat!"

Heath jumped in, "Maybe you're not understanding us. We're offering you a chance to get rich. Ya just gotta join the winning team."

Charleston said something real sappy, though sincere, about already being rich. Everyone moaned in unison.

With Charleston refusing to budge, the negotiation was futile. Hershey punctuated the conversation, "Charleston, you realize if you don't merge into our corporation, you will never be able to compete with any of us. No kids are ever going to ask for a Charleston Chew cause they'll never have heard about it. They'll only know the world-famous Hershey's® brand candies, the ones with all the advertising power and reputation."

"And you haven't even heard about our year-round holiday idea," shouted Butterfinger. "What the hell are ya thinking?"

"He must have nougat for brains," snickered Snickers.

Charleston must have never imagined a giant a Charleston Chew sign in the middle of Times Square, but the city never impressed him no how. He walked out of that meeting and into obscurity forever. He could've had a huge Payday, and also a lot of money, but what did Charleston Chews? To do the right thing!

This brings us to today, when you can still find Charleston Chews, but only in dimly-lit discount stores. Of course if it's a mainstream Nestlè®, Hershey's®, or Mars® product you desire, it's available in fun-size, King-size, bite-size, ice cream, tee shirt, milkshake, pie, cookie, candle, and body lotion anywhere you go on the Globalized Earth™.

So let this fable be an inspiration to you when it feels like the whole world is conspiring against you. Whatever your situation is, make Charleston proud; do the right thing and never sell out! After all, it's no coincidence that this story hasn't been reported by the mainstream media. Why would a media entirely supported by advertising money disparage some of it's most significant contributors, or Sugar Daddies, if you will? 

But another reason you've never heard this story is because of its tragic ending. Like many heroes, Charleston couldn't simply ride off into the sunset, he had to be met with a cruel, nasty fate. 

In 1940, Charleston was found dead in a hotel room with twenty-four caramels in his throat, a European candy called Riesen. The ironic thing is that he had a bag of Riesens, yet no Riesen to live. The cause of death was determined to be asphyxiation, but ruled an accident and not a suicide.

So let that fable be an inspiration to you. Next time you're depressed over the fact that Hershey's®, Mars®, and Nestlè® control the entire world and how there's no hope and life is pointless, do what Charleston did. Lock yourself in a dark room, put on some Leonard Cohen or maybe some Slowdive, close your eyes, and stuff your mouth full of Riesens! To be clear, I'm not saying commit suicide via caramel (which is not what Charleston did anyway.) What I'm saying is, the delicious European chocolate Riesen is not meant to be consumed casually and on-the-go like a simple Starburst. The proper way to enjoy this amazing caramel decadence is in a very intense and ritualistic fashion; the experience is somewhere between a heroin binge and a sex orgy. Try it. Start with eight Riesens in your mouth and work your way up. Try it.

And since there's a good chance you've never had a Charleston Chew, now is a good time to try one of those too. Try them frozen!

True Horror Stories From US Veterans

We live in a time when the US is engaged in violent war around the globe, while back stateside, war video games like Call of Duty are all the rage. Well if you like 1st-person shooters, how about some 1st-person readers? 

WFJ has recently enlisted a couple war correspondents, US military veterans to give first-person accounts of how they acquired PTSD - and I'll tell you one goddang thing- it wasn't from a PS3! 

These brave soldiers have fought hard so that you could live your sheltered lives, playing COD until 4am, when you finally pass out on your filthy futon. These men have seen the world from the top of the mountains of Afghanistan, while you look at it from the bottom of a Mountain Dew can. 

And I'll tell you another goddang thing: you better read what these heroes have to say. Their suffering is our suffering, and here are the scariest moments of these soldiers' lives. Now kiss your ass goodbye and say hello to the horrors of war!

College Hoops by Brett Samson

When I first got back from Iraq I tried to get a stupid-ass business degree but Community College fucking sucks. It's a waste of money even though it was free.

The first time I went I was like, "I want to go to college here," and they go, "You need to bring proof of immunization shots." WTF? I have proof of gunshots! From the war. And I have proof of Jäger shots! From the bar. But I don't have a goddamn badge that says, "Hey I don't have mumps!"

I called my mom and said, "What doctor gave me my MMR shots when I was a baby?" 

She was like, "What?"

So I repeated the question but YELLED IT AT HER. "WHAT DOCTOR GAVE ME MY MMR SHOTS WHEN I WAS A DAMN BABY, MOM?!"

She kept trying to talk about gluten, and if I'm eating to much gluten. I was like, who the hell gives a crap?

Later on I went to the doctor to get my Xanax refilled and he got ahold of my records. He printed out my proof of MMR shots and I took that shit to Community College.

I was like, "Here's my damn MMR paperwork, let's get my ass signed up." Then the stupid-ass working on the computer was like, "Hang on I gotta get my supervisor." He started yelling, "Meredith! Meredith!" like a little bitch.

Then Meredith's ass came out to the desk and said, "We don't have your tuition info on file." 

"I was in the goddamn army," I said, "Call the VA!"; she said I had to call them myself. FUCK!

I called the VA and they said I was good for the scholarship, but I still had to fill out a FAFSA. A FAFSA is a federal financial aid form that gets in your shit and asks how much money your family makes. But I say it stands for Fucked Ass Fucking Shit Application. It was bullshit, took forever. And I had to call my mom's crazy ass again.

"I'm not telling you, or anyone how much money I make a year!", she said.

"You don't have to tell the truth," I told her, "Jeez mom, I don't even care. I just have to fill out this damn form!"

I finally got the financial aid situation straightened out but by that time it was damn near Christmas, so I had to sign up for the spring semester instead of the fall. And that somehow meant even more paperwork. 

They made me meet with a Student-Career Advisor named Clyde, who was a joke. His curly red hair and big glasses pissed me off.

"So what do you want to do?" he said, "And oh, by the way, thank you for your service!"

"I either wanna own my own business, or work for a business."

"That's nice! You have an entrepreneurial spirit on top of your world-travel experience. Wow. I suppose it was your time at war across the globe that inspired your love of Eastern religion. You must have a deep understanding of the human condition and our pervasive struggles."

"What the hell are you talking about!?" I said.

"It says on your form you wish to study Buddhist Manuscripts."

"That says 'Business Management!'"

"Oh," Clyde the idiot said, "I see. So what kind of work will you be looking for once you receive your Associate's degree?"

"I told you, I either wanna own my own business or work for a business."

"Well, for the business program, you will actually need to take a basic math course before you can take anything else."

"Well, son of a bitch!"

So I took the math class and it was a bitch but I passed. The bookstore was out of books so I had to share with this fat lady that smelt like mildew and cigarettes. She smelt like she washed her shirt in a puddle of rainwater and let it dry while she was wearing it.

I was excited to sign up for my first actual business class, which was going to be in the summer semester. Then I got an email two days - TWO DAYS! - before it was supposed to start, saying it'd been cancelled cause not enough people had enrolled. Bullcrap! Bullcrap!

So I had to wait until the following fall to get the class. I had to go to another meeting with Clyde, and that turned out to be the last straw.

"OK, so before you can enroll in this class," Clyde said, "You need to set up a LinkedIn account."

"What the hell do you mean?" I barked. I wished I had my AK-47. 

"Well this is a personal marketing class. You get to learn how to create a resume and brand yourself on social media!"

I sat there and stared at him for a second, letting the stupidity seep in. I couldn't take it no more, jumped out of me said and screamed, "I mean, damn!"

"Oh my," Clyde said, "What's wrong?"

"Why's everything at this school gotta be so weird? Huh? Enough of this. I quit! I'm going on another tour to Iraq."

I started to storm out of his stupid soup-smelling-ass office. He shouted, "Hey wait! What about your dream of owning your own business or working for a business?"

I turned around and screamed as loud as I could, "I don't give a sheeeet!" My voice cracked and squealed like a dog toy. I was never seen or heard from again.

Clean Up Your Act by Corporal Glen Bones

My name is Corporal Glen Bones, but I'm not as scary as I sound; I consider myself a true Christian gentleman. I was born and raised in a small South Carilina town and all I ever wanted to do was marry my fifth grade girlfriend and serve my country in the military. I didn't marry a fifth-grade girl when I was a grown man - I met my sweetheart, Wanda, when we were both in fifth grade. I reckon I should clear that up. We got married when we were both 19.

Anyway, as the story usually goes in a small town, a couple kids came along shortly after. First came out daughter, Billie, (which is a boy's name usually, but Billie is a girl. We named her after her grandmother, Billie, also a girl.) Then our son, Gunther was born, real close after.

Then I got sent to Kuwait!

Well right around the time of the Gulf War, this show started coming on that the wife and I fell in love with. It was Full House, and it was about three guys raising three little girls. That became our favorite thing to do as a family, watch Full House together. It was an inspirational show about a family that loved each other, and best of all, it was CLEAN. In order for the Bones family to commit to a show, it needs to be heavy on both the laughs and the values. We watched a few episodes of Roseanne but found it to be lacking in both. But in '91, we had to take a big long commercial break while I went to fight for our freedoms.

Kuwait was hot as heck. And violent. But relatively quick. Before I knew it, I was being deployed back home! 

And boy did I miss some stuff! Gunther and Billie were well into their elementary school education, and Uncle Jessie and his wife Rebecca had brought two twin boys into the world!

Now get this: within the year, my wife becomes inpregnated with our own set of twins! My brother joked that it was because Wanda wanted double the Bones since I had been away for awhile. My face turned red when he said that, and I told him that remark was inappropriate but I did laugh a little under my breath because it was funny (and true!)

OK, now get this: we named our twin daughters Mary-Kate and Ashley after the actresses that played Michelle on Full House. This got us into the local newspaper and made Wanda's sister about lose her mind. 

We felt like pretty much the perfect family. The military sent me to live in Turkey shortly after, but our family embraced the change. I wouldn't be in combat, in fact it was going to be a pretty cushy gig. Wanda and I aspired to raise our children as upstanding Americans, we just had to it in a really weird country.

It was a little challening to get our Full House fix. It wasn't like now where you can just go to a flea market and buy any movie you want. We had Wanda's sister tape the reruns and mail us the tapes, but this took FOREVER! We got a new tape like every four months, and sometimes the episodes would be cut off too early. There was no excuse for that, Wanda's sister didn't even have a job at the time. What's so hard about taping the dang television properly? Wanda's sister is lazy and would never last in the military. 

It was funny cause the kids knew all the episodes by heart, so when Turkish television started airing Full House reruns in the Turkish language, the kids became bilingual in a matter of months. What a learning tool. By the way, the Turkish language is not "Gobble-gobble" like everyone back home thinks.

After a few years, I joined the committee that helped select the talent for the USO shows, which is the program that brings popular American entertainers to play for troops stationed overseas. As I read over a list of possible performers, I could not believe whose name I came across: Bob Saget! He played Danny, the father on Full House, as you know. I had never been so flustered in my life, and this is coming from a man who's jumped out of planes and been shot at. The idea that my family could meet Danny in real life brought me so much joy.

I thought it was odd that Danny was doing a comedy act, since he was more of talk show type of guy. I assumed he was doing a new version of America's Funniest Home Videos. It would've been neat to see Joey Gladstone perform; his Bullwinkle impression was hilarious! 

So I advocated hard to bring Danny, Joey, as well as Jesse & The Rippers, to Turkey to perform for the troops. I fought harder to make this happen than I'd ever fought in my life. But sometimes you can't defeat the bureaucrats, who ultimately rejected proposal. How rude!

But by this time the Internet had been invented, and through it we learned that Bob Saget was doing a whole comedy tour. Turned out, he would be performing later that summer in Myrtle Beach, SC! There wasn't any doubt, the Glen, Wanda, Billie, Gunther, Mary-Kate, and Ashley Bones were heading home!

In August 2001 one of the worst atrocities in American history would occur. We didn't know what would hit us; we were blinded by our freedoms. Our trip to Myrtle Beach started out terrific - we rode the rides, had fun in the sun, then the night of the Bob Saget comedy show arrived.

We became aware at one point that you had to be over 21 to attend the show. Wanda was worried we couldn't go, but I devised a plan instantly. I simply put on my full military uniform and wrapped a large American flag over my four children. Who would dare question a Corporal in the US Army and American flag? We walked right into the comedy club.

Wanda helped me usher our enshrouded offspring into our seats. A few people gave us strange, confused looks, but each time I looked them sternly in the eyes and saluted. Most of them saluted back, not much else one could do in that situation. I then unwrapped my children, essentially two generations of Full House devotees, who were now moments away from seeing their idol. Fatherhood had never meant so much to me.

Then Bob Saget came out on stage and started yelling the F word. I jerked up in my seat like there was a grenade underneath it. What the world did he just say? I thought. He kept going, talking about a woman's body parts. How was this possible? How could such a squeaky-clean man commit such vulgarities? Though it felt like an eternity, only seconds had gone by. How could he spout such filth so quickly?

A small shriek spilt out of Wanda's pure mouth and it was the saddest noise I've ever heard. I'd compare it to a bullet piercing flesh. We were both so shocked we forgot to protect our troops, our four little ones, who had no idea what was going on. Wanda put one hand over Mary Kate's ear and the other over Ashley's, pushing their heads together in order to shield their virgin ears. I tried to do likewise with Gunther and Billie but they were much more difficult to wrangle. The truth was, they were becoming pre-teenagers and the disgusting language of Bob Saget would be a part of their world, sad as it was. 

I didn't attempt to cover my children's ears, I just grabbed Gunther's ear firmly and jerked him out of his seat. He jumped to his feet and yelped. Looking back, I may have subconsciously been taking my anger out on him, but I am now sorry for that. A lump formed on his ear that was so big it looked like another ear.

We stormed out of the room; Wanda herded the girls behind me like a loyal sheepdog. I still had Gunther's teenage ear in my knuckles. We were so panicked that it seemed like a blur, or more like the worst part of a horror movie. Wanda kept asking me, "What's going on?" But I didn't answer. I didn't open my mouth, or emote in any way. That's cause my mouth was filled with vomit. We started walking toward the car, eventually passing a trash can in which I spit out the stored vomit.

Our family has tried our best to put this incident behind us. As for how we are doing today, well things really aren't that good with the Bones family but I do not wish to discuss that. I was asked to tell my most horrific story, which I've just done, and there's no reason for me to write about the turmoil that I have to deal with on a daily basis.

Can you trace the source of our family's struggle to the night we witnessed Bob Saget's obscenity show? I guess the short answer would be yes. And you could you trace it even further, to whenever Bob Saget became Stone Cold Steve Austin pottymouth. I guess some weird stuff was going on in America while I was overseas, fighting for Saget's right to cuss at children. 

All I know is everywhere you look there's the face of somebody who will dissapoint you.