Dylan Bolin

A lot has been made lately of the 20th Anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. 

But never let us forget the fateful day that oppression planted the seeds of future freedom.  Let us also celebrate August 13th, 1961.  That is the day the border was closed…and just 12 days after, Six Flags opened in Texas.

And what a wall!  From a humble wire fence at the beginning, to the Stützwandelement in 1975.  A masterpiece of wall technology, the Stützwandelement was constructed from 45,000 separate sections of reinforced concrete, each 12 ft high and 4 ft wide, and cost $3,638,000 U.S.  The top of the wall was lined with a smoothpipe, intended to make it more difficult to scale.  It was reinforced by mesh fencing, signal fencing, anti-vehicle trenches, barbed wire, dogs on long lines, beds of nails under balconies (the “death strip”), over 116 watchtowers and 20 bunkers.

Now that’s a f@#%ing wall!

So while we celebrate the day that Ronald Reagan ordered and David Hasselhoff delivered, let us never forget the day that made it all possible, August 13th, 1961, Oppression Day.

Raise a glass to oppression that we may later be free!

-Dylan

As promised, here’s the short list:

First, there are Circus Peanuts.  Thankfully, Circus Peanuts are hard to find.  If you’re not familiar, they are basically marshmallows molded into the shape of a large peanut.  Most people never experience the horrible taste because the color is enough to keep it from being consumed.  Much like many insects have bright coloring to warn predators that they are poisonous, the unhealthy, fleshy color of the circus peanut provides a similar defense.  They look like the benign polyp of a Florida retiree that rubbed off and fell into a puddle of spray-on tan.

Second, we have the Good and Plenty.  For kids anyway, the reason that there are Plenty is because they aren’t very Good.  Sure we adults might appreciate the many subtle flavors that comprise black licorice or, as the Italians call it, Anisette, but to kids, it tastes like tree bark coated in WD-40. 

In a similar vein is Number Three, the Mounds bar, not to be confused with Almond Joy.  Almond Joy’s got nuts, Mounds don’t.  As kids, we laughed ourselves silly at the fact that Almond Joy was clearly the boy candy and Mounds was the girl candy, and I know I run the risk of sounding sexist, but the Mounds bar is a far inferior candy…although I do think it deserves equal pay for equal work.  The problem with the Mounds bar is the shredded coconut.  Watch a child eat a Mounds bar for the first time and you’ll see what I mean.  They dive in with the appropriate youthful gusto, but then they experience the texture of the shredded coconut.  At first, they’re confused, but then the confusion gives way to disgust, and, finally, that look of utter devastation.  As if, twenty years from now, they’ll be discussing the Mounds bar incident with their therapist.  Even as an adult, I have trouble with coconut.  The only time I truly don’t mind it is when it’s mixed in with batter, wrapped around a shrimp and deep fried, but it’s not recommended that you pass out coconut shrimp for Halloween.

Fourth is candy corn.  At first, I didn’t understand this.  Personally, I like candy corn, but the more I thought about it, I discovered that I liked candy corn more as a decoration than a confection.  It’s like that dark green leaf that occasionally appears on your plate at a restaurant.  Not lettuce, but that other thing.  Sometimes it’s got some red in it.  It’s never included in the description of the thing you’re ordering, so you probably shouldn’t eat it.  For instance, the menu description never says:  “Baked, honey-glazed chicken, a twice baked potato, green beans almandine…and a dark green leaf of some sort.”  Anyway, that’s like candy corn.

The fifth and final candy on my incomplete list of horrible Halloween candies are the heinous things in the black and orange wrappers:   The Peanut Butter Kiss.  Not since Judas Iscariot has a “kiss” been associated with so much betrayal. The only redeeming quality of the Peanut Butter Kiss is that if your child accidentally eats one, you can give him a second Peanut Butter Kiss to induce vomiting.  If you’re considering handing out Peanut Butter Kisses for Halloween, save yourself the money and just clean up after your dog with black and orange baggies and hand those out.  At least it’s more sincere.

Happy Halloween!

-Dylan

A word of advice to prospective Trick or Treaters:  You must at least try to dress up.  Bed head and eye boogers are not a costume, and the pillow case you’re carrying doesn’t help either. 

And if you’ve already hit puberty, maybe you should consider retiring from Trick or Treating and start a family of your own…or at least make an attempt to cover your moustache. 

To the kids out there, if you want to score the best candy, go early.  In an attempt to impress, we grown-ups will always give out the top shelf stuff first.  However, if you want to score the most candy, go late.  The last thing we grown-ups want is a bunch of left-over candy that we are forced to eat, so by the end of the Trick or Treating, we’ll be stuffing handfuls into your bags. 

And here is a request and some advice for the adults out there:

First, candy makers have to stop labeling their Halloween candy as “Snack-size.”  Of course, it’s a snack.  Are they somehow implying that their full-sized candy is a meal?  And the same holds true for the label “Fun-size.”  This is silly.  Smaller equals fun?  It’s like saying that dimes are more fun than dollars.  But regardless of how the candy is labeled, it’s important to choose the right kind of candy lest you be labeled “That House.” 

C’mon back tomorrow for a short list of the absolute worst, gag-worthy candy you can drop in a little beggar’s bag.

-Dylan

It’s here again; my favorite time of the year.  I am of course talking about Halloween.  This wonderful time of year when you walk around the neighborhood, leaves crunching under your feet, and stop at a particular that has been painstakingly decorated in honor of our favorite Druid holiday.  Most people don’t know that that’s what they’re celebrating, but Halloween has it’s origins in the Celtic New Year as far back as two thousand years; that’s like thirty-five hundred years metric. 

Back then, they used to celebrate with bonfires and animal sacrifices, but today Halloween is a $6.9 Billion Dollar industry.  And if you’re anything like me, when you heard that figure you thought:  “$6.9 Billion?  That’s Chump Change.  Heck, $6.9 Billion won’t even buy a Golden Parachute.”  And then you pulled the covers back over your head. 

But this year my wife and I decided to do our part and contribute, so she sent me out to buy some Halloween decorations.  Now, even though we’ve only been married about two and a half years, normally my wife and I communicate very well.  One notable exception is the phrase:  “Please clean the bathroom.”  With this phrase, it’s like one of us is speaking another language, like Druid. 

For me, cleaning the bathroom is just an ongoing process of attempting to improve my aim.  For her, it involves no end of scrubbing.  Get this, she actually scrubs THE SHOWER.  All that we ever do in the shower is get clean.  Hot water, soap, shampoo.  Doesn’t that automatically make it the cleanest place in the house?  Did she actually expect me to know that I was supposed to go in and clean the one place where all this cleaning already occurs?  Your honor, Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I rest my case! 

Well, apparently the second phrase with which we don’t communicate very well is:  “Why don’t you go get some Halloween Decorations?”  Of course I didn’t know this when I went to get Halloween decorations, and she went to off to a baby shower.  Sure, I suppose I’ll have to scrub that shower, too. 

I’m sure when my wife said:  “Decorations,” she expected to see hay bales and cornstalks, a wreath of colorful leaves and a miniature pony perpetually pulling a tiny wagon around the yard full of gourds and rosy-cheeked children.  Imagine her surprise, then, when she returned home and I proudly showed her what I had bought:  A plastic pumpkin and a rubber bat. 

By the way, when I showed her, the wind had blown the plastic pumpkin into the yard and up against the fence like it was trying to escape.  But the bat came with this little metal ring so I could hang it up right where that wooden wind chime thingy had been.  My wife’s shoulders slumped and she went back inside while I went to collect the run-away pumpkin.  I’ll know better next time.

But what I lack in decorating, I think I make up for in my costume.  I’m one of those guys who puts on a costume and takes a very active role in the Trick or Treating transaction.  Without giving it away, it’s not a particularly scary costume, but it’s definitely not something that a child would expect to see as he bolts around the corner, and I’m about seven feet tall.  So while I’m not terrifying, I certainly do freak out a kid or two.  And I’m not ashamed to admit, I kind of dig it.  I think we all do.  That’s why we decorate our yards with headstones and skeletons and motion-activated monsters.  It’s why we put huge ghouls on pulleys, hang them from trees and drop them when the moment is right.  We love to hear the screams of frightened children; their fear sustains us.  Of course we buy the right to do this with candy.  And in the process, we teach them a valuable lesson:  Once you get past the terror, life can be pretty sweet.

Stop by tomorrow for some advice for prospective Trick or Treaters and the makers of the candy that they love so much. 

-Dylan

I have a humble request:  If you refer to yourself as a Foodie, please stop. 

The problem’s not with you; it’s me.  I acknowledge that you like food.  It is your chosen method of nutritional intake, and you want it to taste good.

I don’t.  I don’t like food.  I don’t like the fact that I need it, and I don’t like the time it takes out of my day.  I’ve never told anyone this before, but I feel so strongly about it that I’ve been using a method that allows my body to absorb nutrients without the need to take food into my mouth.  It’s called a Nutritional Suppository.

If you’re not familiar, yes, it goes exactly where you think it does.  That tissue is actually very…absorptive, I guess is the word.  The suppository is made of a slow-dissolving, time-release glycerin and wax mixture.  I get all of my calories, vitamins and minerals and I never eat.

So you see, it’s me; not you.

Listen, I’ll compromise.  You can keep calling yourself a “foodie,” but give props to the rest of the digestive system, too.  Go all the way with it, and add the word “poopie.” 

A sample statement might read:  “You really should only use grass-fed beef.  And you’re wasting your time buying anything other than organic peppers.  I should know, I’m a bit of a foodie/poopie.”

Refined taste in, refined waste out.

-Dylan

…a woman in a wheelchair was shouted down at a New Jersey town hall as she attempted to plead her case.

I just returned from a show at Marquette University where, for whatever reason, exactly half of the crowd began booing at the mere mention of President Obama’s name.

My friends, at this rate, we are two years from Mad Max’s Thunderdome.

I’ve made several jokes at the expense of the health care debate, but there’s something I’d like to say in all seriousness, and I’m paying my web host, so I’m going to say it here:  Make sure you’re on the right side on this one.

If, in your heart, you believe that our country will be worse as a result of insurance for all, if you believe that the government is going to kill your family while raising your taxes because, well, because they want to.  Surely the governement has it’s reasons.  If this is what you believe, then fight for it with all your heart.

If, in your heart, you believe that Health Care is a basic, human right, and a right that a for-profit corporation doesn’t have the right to give or take away.  Despite the fact that a massive Health Care overhaul will eliminate jobs and increase unemployment on an unfathomable scale unless those same employees become Government employees and are thereby paid with tax dollars not yet factored into any estimates.  If this is what you believe, then fight for it with all your heart.

Please, let us resort to our better natures.  Let us be thoughtful in our disagreements and empathetic in our opinions, because future generations are going to hold us accountable.  I want to tell my kids that I made my decision based on love for my fellow man, and not my fear of of him.  I want to tell my kids that I made my decision based on my love of life, and not my fear of death.

Even if I’m not currently as informed as I should be, I want to have the debate.  I want to know enough that I can say that I was on the side of what was right.  This really feels like one of those defining moments.

Anyway…

I promise I’ll go back to trafficking in fart jokes tomorrow.

-Dylan

I’ve always been a big fan of Nature.

I see the Earth not as a 1987 Mercury Topaz dragging us around the sun until we die, but as a living, breathing thing.  A wise, sentient being that would actually speak to us if we listened.  I’ve always felt this way.

As a child, I subscribed to Ranger Rick magazine, the official kid’s magazine of the National Wildlife Federation.  While other kids clipped pages out of Teen Beat, my centerfolds were penguins.  I felt like Nature and I had a “thing.” 

Until today.  Today, my blind faith was tested.  Today, I got hit in the head by a wasp. 

He didn’t sting me; he flew into me.  The welt is from the impact.

I was just walking my dog, and I saw this wasp flying at me.  I remember thinking:  “Should I duck?”  Then I thought:  “The wasp is the one that knows how to fly; surely he instinctively knows how to…(Thwap!)…OWWW!…What the…?”

Nature, c’mon!  Why hast thou forsaken me?  And a wasp, no less.  I already hate wasps.  They serve no purpose but to fly and sting.  They’re already the thugs of the insect world, and now they’re Kamikazes?   If it were a bunny, well, then I would applaud you.  You create a prototype flying rabbit, and I’m with you.  Plus, being hit in the head by a flying bunny would have felt absolutely whimsical.  But wasps?  They already suck in so many ways; do they have to be clumsy, too?

Nature, if you’re reading this, I think our trust has been violated.  I need some time. 

And I pinned you up on my wall.

-Dylan

I’ve been watching the various town hall meetings closely.  I haven’t been listening to them however, because every time a person in a suit talks, I yell at the television until my neck and cheeks are red like I learned in Debate Club. 

Anyway, from what I read on the Closed Captioning, you’re forming something called a “Death Panel.”  Aside from being a great name for a new Metal band, I understand that this “panel” will make life and death decisions and mete out insurance coverage accordingly.  I also heard that babies below a certain birth weight will be used for skeet, and that the brittle bones of the elderly will be ground up to make blown-in, attic insulation in conjunction with your new Energy Conservation Plan.

This letter is a request to be a member of the “Death Panel.” 

I’m very intuitive.  For instance, during horror movies, I always know who is going to die next.  Surely that’s a skill that would benefit the panel. 

Also, when I’m driving, I’m very good at picking out who should die.

At seafood restaurants, it’s eerie how accurate I am at choosing which lobster will be the next to go…and at market price.

Until now, I’ve been unable to apply these God-given gifts, but a place on your ”Death Panel” would change all that.  I’ll even provide my own black, hooded cloak. 

Thank you for your consideration.

-Dylan

This is regarding Health Care, so please just take it easy and hear me out.

A health care option, even one offered by the Government (the folks who brought you the Veterans Administration), is good because it competes with insurance companies.

Competition is good for 2 Reasons.

1.  It forces companies to be nice to consumers (us) with both prices and service.

2.  Only confident consumers improve economies.

Competition is Capitalism 101.  Competition makes corporations compete for consumer confidence, and confident consumers drive an economy like ours.

For my Republican friends who say:  “Let The Free Market decide,” to you I say:  “Yes!  Let’s give The Free Market a decision to make!”

Let’s hug it out, Republican friends.

-Dylan

*Not really.

But I am frustrated by toffee. 

I’m not frustrated by toffee as a concept; I’m frustrated by toffee as candy.  It’s very difficult to eat; almost like a fight.  If you win, you get to swallow the toffee; if you lose, you need a filling replaced.  Now, I’m not talking about taffy.  Taffy is frustrating too, but toffee is the really hard stuff. 

And there’s no great flavor payoff either.  I’m not spitting it out, but it wasn’t worth fighting for. 

I think there should be some guidelines that you need to follow and some criteria that you need to meet to be able to call your product “candy.”  It can come in as many flavors and colors and textures as a bucket of Willy Wonka’s vomit, but it must not actively resist consumption. 

To be called candy, it must dissolve at a recognizable pace, and it must not lodge into a molar and remain there for 5 days like an adequate-tasting suppository of decay.  By these criteria, toffee is no longer candy.  It is something to do, but it is not candy. 

This new decree should also be extended to that insidious substance called “Peanut Brittle.”  Peanut Brittle is anything but.  It is, in fact, far less brittle than human teeth.

-Dylan