Welcome Santa

It's finally December, which means Christmas has finally reared its ugly head into our lives. Whether you like it or not, it is time for Christmas to begin, which means Santa will get fatter, Wal-Mart will grow bigger, and we will all grow more busy. It's a great American holiday.

Thanksgiving is somewhat of a forgotten child anymore. It's a bummer, but reality is Thanksgiving is nothing more than Americans stuffing their faces full of food, a tradition we do every day. So naturally, Thanksgiving has taken a backseat to the shadow of Christmas. The day immediately after Thanksgiving is filled with people willing to sacrifice themselves and small children to great deals and low, low prices. Black Friday marks the start of the holidays and it is a never ending supply of Christmas, Christmas, Christmas.

Today marks the start to my Christmas spirit and it started out okay. The office was bustling with the anxious holiday spirit, waiting to be let out for everyone to enjoy and I was the one to unleash it! Translation: I was supposed to put up our 9 foot Christmas tree by myself. No problem. I have enough Christmas joy in me to light up a city block, surely this will only make me more excited for Christmas to come! (Eh-hem)

The boxes containing parts of the artificial tree are located at the top of a very narrow staircase, past a line of stacked boxes with loose files, over a desk, and next to the air conditioning. It is a long journey. No fear, I was chanting Christmas carols and wearing my coat in spirit of the season, so the journey would be easy! Little did I know that the boxes are a cumbersome load and weigh an easy 30 pounds, but top heavy. No fear, I am a bucking young lad with vitality and strength! Little did I know that I was wearing a heart monitor, which is glued to my chest and it has wires running from them, wires which catch on the box on the way down the stairs and rip holes through my flesh. Hey, it's all part of the season though, right? Besides I was still happy, still singing carols, and excited for Baby Jesus' Birthday. Life was good.

An hour in to putting up the tree, life wasn't good. The tree was a monstrosity of Christmas lights, broken branches, and toppling, inner structure. Branches were literally held together with paper clips and screws jammed into the base of it. Twigs broke off and nested in my hair and my arms were scraped

and dry. I think if I even heard a Christmas song, I'd punch the wall. I flung off my coat long ago and

was now sweaty and gross. The lights in the tree were a jumbled mess that resembled Chevy Chase's Christmas lights. Christmas is now the worst. In total, it took me nearly two hours to put the tree up, nearly electrocute myself, and get the lights working again. Even at that, it was a shoddy effort at best. Defeated, I covered the front desk switchboard for a while, hoping that I could relax my mind from all the mess. First caller, off the block, was a guy who went by the name of "the Cuban" or something and claimed to be a madman. My Monday just never ends.

But, whether we like it or not, Christmas is upon us, and this sort of this is to be expected. Craziness and decoration malfunctions are in our future for the next month. Often, we get into "the spirit" of Christmas about a week before Christmas starts because that is when church services start up and a Charlie Brown Christmas airs on TV. But why do we start then? We have a whole month of stuff going on. Why not start now with a little extra joy now? Granted, we should feel like that all year, but this month, why not be a little more joyful than usual. It's Christmas, a time of joy, giving, and love. Lighten up.

KB

Publishing Excitement

Confession time. It's embarrassing, but I must admit that I've written a book. I know, I know, it's a super cliche thing to do and before long I'll probably be wearing one of those ridiculous French hats in all black and have everybody snap fingers when I'm done reading my dark poetry but don't get ahead of me. That will be when I'm a Psych major and have deep, philosophical garbage about everything. I'm not that crazy yet... I don't think. Truthfully, though, I finished my first book last week and now, I don't know what on earth I'm going to do.

I finished the first revision not long ago and decided early on that it is nothing more that mediocre for a first attempt. I'm proud of it though. In fact, I'm giddy. I was like a little kid who was anticipating their birthday party or something. I stayed up all night, tucked my head under the covers, turned on my flashlight, and dreamed of all the magical places I would go with my book. Honest to goodness, I had a book of Chuck Norris jokes that was roughly the size of my finished novel and I clutched to it, pretending it was my book and pretending to sign autographs. Yes, I am a Senior in high school, but that is beside the point- I was not being immature, I was giddy. In my mind, Sarah Palin's book would drop in the best sellers list and people would charge big bucks to pay for my autograph. Reality is, though, that Sarah Palin probably doesn't care about my po-dunk attempt at novel writing and in reality, it really isn't anything special.

This isn't the first time I've ever done something with my writing. In the fourth grade, I won a contest in which I got a short story I had written published in a book of some sort that probably ended up on the shelf of some good old American, Bible bet hippie in the Midwest. I was darn proud of it and I got a blue ribbon, which I promptly pinned on my blouse like I was being shown at a fair or something. Later, in the 8th grade, I did the same thing, but I was in junior high and in junior high the only things that concern kids are getting rid of pimples and talking to girls, so I had better things to be doing than flip out about winning a contest. By 9th grade, I finished my first short novel of sorts with a short story I had written the year before, but I think I locked it away and never showed anybody the story after I killed the main character off with a bayonet at the end. It creeped me out and so now, it lurks either on the bowels of my laptop or in some dusty folder in a drawer somewhere like a creeper. Tragic, huh? Finally, not but a few months ago, I wrote some play about an interrogation room and it had a film noir set up to it, but that too got pushed aside when I was finished with it. So as you can tell, I have a lot of time on my hands. I figured my only choices to fill that spare time up was either Star Trek or writing and obviously, for your sake, I chose writing.

But no, I really did it this time. The manuscript to my little book is sitting dormant on my computer, waiting to receive its due. Only the Lord knows what will happen to it and only He knows why I'm writing about it for everyone to see tonight other than the fact that I'm excited about it. I know the book might suck, but I don't care. I'm happy that I did it. This week got me thinking, after my grandmother just recently passing. I wondered what my bucket list would be like, what things I wanted to do before I died. Before, I restricted the list to grandiose things like skydiving, bungee jumping, white water rafting, and anything else that would make me crap my pants. But I realized that soiled underpants is not quite the legacy I want to leave behind should I leave this world any time soon. Instead, I found that getting excited about something is just as great of a thrill as anything.

I love watching people get excited about stuff. I think everybody does. People loved watching Tom Cruise drive a spike in his sanity over Katy Holms a few years ago. People like watching Conan O'Brian headline the Tonight Show and try. People like watching Trump fire innocent temps, the only thing in this world that gives that man any satisfaction aside from the occasional rogue, genuine hair follicle that makes it through his toupee. My personal favorite is Paula Dean on the Food Network. That granny can make sugar enriched food almost as good as she can eat it. As for me, I like to write, and even if it is crummy or even sometimes creepy, I do it anyways because I get excited about it.

I don't know what you are excited by but I'm sure you have something. I had a teacher who once told her classes that the only job worth having in this life is the one you love to do; getting paid to do it was a fringe benefit. So whatever it is you like to do, do it this week and don't let anyone stop you. Getting truly passionate about something is what loving life is all about and it is what the Creator loves to see his creation do. So here's to finding our true colors, as vibrant as they are, in whatever we do. If it is in talking to people, may you find the words to speak. If it is dancing, may you find your stage to prance on. If it is cooking, may you find the doorbell to my house.

As for me and my book, well, we're going to have a long journey I suppose. Maybe it'll get published or maybe it won't, I don't care. I just loved doing it. But who knows, maybe Sarah Palin will ask for my autograph one day.

KB

Grandmothers

Here is an installment in a series I write for my family. The series centers around the family and each facet of that family, from moms to dads to sisters etc. I dedicated it to my Grandmother, Alberta Jean Burkart, who passed away early this morning. I only wish I could have read it to her, but I know she's reading it in a much more peaceful place, a place that has a lot more Light. I love you Grandma, here's to you.

KB

Grandmothers:

the epic battle of her tender love to this world’s sinister hold

by Kyle Bullock

Grandmothers have a special way of solving the world’s problems. Part of their success is their diversity. Some grandmothers are edgy and hip, dying their hair and cussing at little league games. Other grandmothers are sweet and innocent, driving slow, baking pies, and cussing at little league games. Wherever your grandmother falls in this spectrum, every grandmother has a way of solving every issue one way or another. They are blessed with an incredible sense of compassion found also in mama bears and Oprah. They are sweet and gentle from a distance, but if you mess with them or their family, they’ll rip your heart out. And that is why grandmothers are the best.

As I mentioned, grandmothers are a diverse breed. They are worn with the years of life and all turn out a little different. But each can vanquish a problem no matter how big or small. Here are a few instances that a grandmother takes care of business:

FOOD: Every grandmother has at least one food they make in which they were divinely inspired by God to make. Most attribute the good old American apple pie to be a grandmother’s number one dish of choice, but this is not always true. They may very well have their richly blessed hands in something else, something subtle and yet elegant- like eggs.

True, it is hard to mess up eggs, but college kids and McDonald’s messes them up every day, so don’t think it’s something that can’t be done. The egg can be made into a myriad of divinely inspired meals; however, because my grandmother made them and I’m writing this essay, I’ll choose Deviled Eggs for the best egg dish on the planet. They are rich and delicate, not too thick and not too thin, with just the perfect amount of inside filling. But no matter how many times they show you how to make your favorite dish, it will never come out quite the same. Like watching a better version of Martha Stewart, you are dazzled by the presentation, but no matter what you do you will never make it quite like they do.

The best part about grandmothers is that they don’t know what utensils are. What is this crude instrument with prongs fastened to a handle? Use your fingers. Why cut your meat with a knife? Tear it to pieces with your hands like the ancestors of yore used to do. A spoon? What a funny name and useless product! Slurp your soup up like a beverage and for those with a harelip, use a straw. Maybe that is what makes their cooking so good. It isn’t tampered with the unnecessary utensil and filled with just the right amount of love.

MUSIC: Grandmothers and modern music go together like oil and water. They don’t. Frank Sinatra, Dino, the Chordettes, and anything that made its way through a fuzzy AM station in the car radio are the only things that survived in their world. Some grandparents might be cool with the 60’s and maybe even 70’s, but I have yet to encounter a grandmother who listens to the White Stripes or even AC/DC.

Don’t try to introduce them to new music either. It doesn’t work too well. You might be driving down the street when American Woman comes pounding out of the stereo system. You may even be dancing to it before long. Inevitably, Grandma will hear it.

“What on earth is this devil worship?” she asks.

“It’s American Woman, Grandma!” the kids reply.

“It’s devil worship is what it is. He’s just talking about sex. That’s all any of these hip kids sing about anymore with their baggy pants, always grabbing their crotch- sex.”

You cringe when she says the word “sex.” It’s like saying Beetlejuice three times or making a crude joke to your pastor- you just don’t hear those things! By this time, though, she’s starting in on the chorus.

“American woman… American woman…bleh. I can’t believe they put that stuff on the radio. You kids should know better because back in my day, the men didn’t do that sort of thing, they certainly didn’t grab their crotch, and all the men…” you change the channel and let it ride. No need to change her. Besides, you love her just the way she is.

Gospel music, golden oldies, and old Pentecostal preachers are their favorite stations. Spend an afternoon listening to your Grandmother’s radio station and you will find there are 14 variations of “Swing Low Sweet Chariot,” all which sport a banjo solo. If you want to melt the heart of your Grandmother, turn Frank Sinatra on and watch their eyes. It’s like watching them turn 20 again. Their eyes light up, their mouth turns a smile, and their shoulders relax. Whatever that man did way back when to melt their hearts still works today. And as you crank the oldies up, you see within their eyes a time when they were younger, and they were just as beautiful then as they are now. They have a point. Music today just isn’t as classy as back then- not by a long shot.

TECHNOLOGY: No matter how things advance in the modern era, technology will baffle the elderly. Statistically speaking, there is more of a chance that a meteor will crash into earth on any given day than there is a chance that Grandma won’t have a meltdown with technology. The main categories of concern are TV remotes, telephones, and new kitchen accessories.

You know when there is trouble afoot when you hear that indisputable sigh followed by a harsh cursing. “What the heck does this dang instrument do?” or “They don’t make buttons big enough”or“I can’t get this open.” You bow your head and head into the room to see what’s the matter. There will always be a need for technology to make bigger buttons, but even if the remote had three buttons the size of the TV itself, there will still be chaos.

“What is the matter Grandma?” you ask.

“It’s this dang soda can, I can’t get it open. The silly pop tab won’t undo itself.”

You smile. “Okay Grandma, I got it.” You pop the tab like it was no problem.

Flustered, she waves her hands around shouting, “Thank you, darling. These stupid cans just never do what I need them to. They didn’t use to be like this you know. Back in my day…” but before she can finish, she knocks over several cans which tumble to the floor. The pressure in the cans cause them to implode and coke spews from them like water balloons pile driving into spikes. You are covered with soda as are the walls, the refrigerator, the ceiling, the table, etc.

She looks up after the explosion, knowing she did it. “Well at least you have my soda still,” she comments as she grabs it from your hands.

Indeed, there are many more facets of a grandmother’s job that makes them who they are. They live in a time that is far from today. It can be frustrating, dealing with the issues that come up, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. Deep down, you wouldn’t change her because that is who she is. She is Grandma. No matter where you are or what you are doing, being around Grandma fixes everything. That’s her job, and she’s good at it.

Grandmothers are diverse. Some are spry. Some are calm. But all of them cuss at little league games. That is their job.

Dedicated to my Grandmother,

Alberta Jean Burkart

December 25, 1930- November 18, 2009

A Christmas blessing and a Thanksgiving in my heart

Civility and Toilets

Roswell, New Mexico is filled to the brim with bumpkin wingnuts that sport conservative, right wing views and Protestant, God-fearing ideas. We like the Second Amendment, steak, like Fox News, and most importantly, we like green chili. Green chili, for the two of you who read this and haven't step foot in New Mexico, is the manna from heaven that blesses the taste buds of any good, God-fearing American this side of Texas. It is divine. If you like red chili, get therapy. It's nowhere near Hatch green chili, and you're just too afraid to realize it. Leaving town and going anywhere besides New Mexico means we get Tex-Mex, a putrid blend of beans, meat, and soupy broth the rest of the country sadly calls chili. It's not. Period.

While on our trip to Denver, Colorado, my family had to forgo the privilege of having green chili for nearly a week, a feat very few, genuine New Mexicans can live through. We made the most of it, though. Denver is far more liberal than Roswell is (then again, Roswell makes Texas look liberal). This means they have artsy galleries and 5 star restaurant. This means they have stuff to do. This means, it's way cooler than Roswell, minus the chili. At any rate, our relatives in Denver deci

ded to take us out to a neat-o five star Mediterranean joint called Rioja for our first real brush with civility, with the exception of the midnight chocolate buffet on that cruise we were one one, if that even counts. We were apprehensive about it, mainly because we've never heard of a place that didn't give you the option of red or green. But, we were adventurous and tried it anyways.

It was incredible. Phenomenal, really. Never had we ventured beyond our realm of Roswell. I mean, the best restaurant in Roswell serves their food out of tin foil! The menu consisted of items we had never heard before and things we could not fathom! Our food was decorated with frillies and floundries made of sauces and vegetables. Even the bread was hard to pronounce. Is that a roll you're eating? No, that is roll with lemon zest and freshly squeezed citrus from the finest groves in all of freaking America! Is that lamb you're eating? Shazam! It's now a spotless, tender meat sautéed in the finest of wines and garnished with just the garnishes. Is that a garden salad to start? Ah, heck nah! It's a freshly plucked head of luttuce with a basil and vinegrette dressing and freshly picked vegetables to compliment harvested from the greenest of farms in all of Colorado. You get the picture. This place was swanky. This place was groovin. Best part, no tin foil.

Hardest part of the night, though- the bathroom. More technology went into making the bathroom state of the art than put a man on the moon. The toilet, for one, had enough flushing power to move a small calf through the common household sink with room to spare. The tremendous force of the flow cause me to scream and panic for a second, much to the annoyance of the restaurant's patrons. The sink resemble the ancient fountains of yore, found deep within the Mayan ruins, flowing from the basin to the roof in a spectacular display. I thought I was washing my hands in Caesar's palace. The air dryer for your hands was a blade of air that wiped the water off in one swoop. That was in freaking Star Trek 30 years ago people! The whole experience was quite extravagant and as I left the little men's room, speechless and in awe, I knew two things: 1) The guy outside the door waiting for me to finish was a little freaked out about my amazement and 2) I had to tell everybody back home that there is life outside this world because something from another planet HAD to have made that bathroom.

I dunno, maybe you've seen better, but I know that that bathroom was by far the craziest thing I've ever seen. I went back and just looked around again like it was a museum or something. Maybe it was the testosterone in me that got excited when it saw such a stellar bathroom, but I'm pretty sure if Roswell had that, we would sell people tickets just so they could check it out. But I learned something important. No matter how cool other places are, or how dazzling they can be, there is nothing like the feeling of being home. Don't get me wrong, I loved spending time with relatives and seeing an awesome game (despite getting attacked), but being in my own home is magnificent. Being with my family at home is one step away from heaven. Being with my family at home and we just get to sit around and talk until it is nearly one in the morning, making each other laugh, well that is heaven on earth. Heck, maybe the real heaven will be like that, just a bunch of us sharing stories and making each other laugh. Anyways, whether you have an awesome home life or just wanna get away from home, I challenge you to find your home, wherever it may be, and cherish every waking second in there. I also challenge you to find a better bathroom than I did. You probably won't, just by the way. So here's to home, wherever you may find it.

KB

How I Beat Up Women and Won the Game

Being a black belt in the martial arts, I have had my experience in fighting. I received my degree a few years ago, but I still know enough to take someone down and leave them there. Being in karate as long as I did, I sparred with people a number of times. But each fight was heavily regulated and we always wore pads, so it never really felt like real fighting. We were, of course, never supposed to start a fight and most of us didn't, we had more respect for it than that. I had heard of stories of black belts getting into real fights and had to fight their way out as an act of self defense. These people were gods in the karate universe, capable of showing the world the sort of power a black belt wielded and how little of it they ever abused.

I'm not sure if you've ever been in a fight that was unprovoked, but to me, it feels totally uncivilzed and for the first few moments that it starts, you lose grip on reality. When you maintain that grip again, you realize you must either panic or take control. My first ever fight happened in the 2009 N

FL football game in Denver Colorado when the Pittsbu

rg Steelers (my team), faced the Denver Broncos (my sisters team). Before I get there though, let me back up.

As a birthday present, our parents gave us a trip to Denver to

watch the big game. We had neither seen a pro game in real life nor been on a vacation in a while, so the trip was warmly welcomed. There we are, sitting on the 30 yard line, 2nd row seats watching the game, my sister and I blaring out our team's encouragement. Avid a Steeler's fan that I am, I w

as waving my

"Terrible Towel," a yellow towel that is the staple of a Steeler's fan and a necessity for any real member of the fan base. Needless to say, I was out

numbered by Bronco fans, however, there still remained a number of good Steelers fans around me who laughed about Kyle Ortin's facial hair and heckled the mascot. It was great being amongst my own.

During the second half, while I was waving my towel around, a particularly obnoxious group of Bronco fans began cursing at me, yelling obscenities that I will refrain from printing. The clan was composed of two drunk women who were clearly out of the league of their dates, Scientist Joe and Chemist Steve, whose wired-framed glasses only accented their pocket protectors. Obviously, alcohol was involved in their meeting each other, and this is no exaggeration, they literally were mega-drunk. I shrugged off thier gestures and watched the game maturely like an adult should. However, there comes a point when mature people, like the kind I try to be, come unwind.

As I was waving my towel in the air at one point, I felt someone reach out and grab hold of it. As I spun around to face my foe, I realized it was Blondie Numero Uno who was drunk enough to start a fight with ME! I began pulling my towel back, but she insisted that we tug of war. The angel on my should told me one thing: "Forget it Kyle, it's just an earthly item. Be a lover not a fighter and let her have it." The demon on my other should told me; "WHAT!? That is a special edition Super Bowel 40 Terrible Towel! Swing away, Ali!" I listened to the demon.

So there we are, playing a not-so-fun game of tug of war with my precious towel. Her friend, Bright Brains Brenda, jumps to her aid, hissing in my face. I look back down as these women, now resembling demonic creatures, dragged me up the bleacher, over seats and other people mind you! And my fellow fans, dedicated and true as they are, LOOKED THE OTHER WAY AND LET ME TAKE ONE FOR THE TEAM! Losers. Luckily, my good friend, Peyton, grabbed me and began pulling me down. Now, the towel has been forgotten in the tug of war, and I have replaced it as the central piece being tugged at. I'm being jolted up and down the bleachers by these two dingwads and my friend like 19th century laundry on a washing board. Everyone around me ignores the fact that I am being torn to shreds here, but I didn't care- I wanted my bloody towel, and I finally pulled it away from the dogpile and back into my safe hands.

We exchanged a few words during the aftermath, some of them not so pretty, sat down, watched the game, and heckled back and forth during the end. Needless to say, the Steelers won the game... take that dumb ladies! However, being a black belt, I wish my first confrontation with an actual fight would have been more of like, oh, I dunno, Bruce Lee and less Three Stooges with booze. At any rate, I won and the towel is safely back home, ready for the next game. I realized something during those intense moments of being molested by two lunatic women, taunted by creepy scientist cradle-robbing men, ignored by my fellow fans, and aided by my brother- I am an AMERICAN! We don't get in kung fu crappin fights! We throw down fistacuffs in stadiums next to the ESPN booth! Dangit, that is what football is all about- beatdowns! Then again, I think the aim is to not become the football like I became, but at any rate, it's still red, white, and blue, ain't it? So here is to God fearin', freedom lovin, football crazed, crazy America! God bless the USA, God bless the 2nd Amendment, Texas, the NRA, cheesburgers, and GOD BLESS MONDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL!

KB

Guide on How to Deal With Idiots

I think I have often badmouthed the idiots in this world. Recently, my Facebook updates have included quips about stupid people and sarcastic jokes about people acting like immature goofballs. While every single one of those posts have a legitimate reason to be on there and every single one of those quips are rightfully excused, tonight, I have learned something. I have learned that everybody in this world is an idiot, especially me. I realized this driving home tonight as I yelled at another driver who cut me off and did 10 miles under the speed limit. I got angry and shouted, "You wingnut! What are you thinking you idiot!?" Ironically, I was praying right before I shouted this obscenity. God pulled at my heart and asked me a question.

"Why did you just get angry at that guy?"

"Well, God, he cut me off!"

"Yes, but you just called him an idiot and this afternoon, you made quite certain that you were going to avoid all stupid people while you were on your vacation, which starts today I might add."

"Okay Lord, but this idiot ran into me, not the other way around," I shot back witfully.

"Alright kiddo, but I think you might enjoy the number of complaints I get about your driving on a daily basis... would you like to hear some? I think the word 'idiot' is used in reference to you at least half a dozen times this week."

Silence on my behalf.

You see, I forgot during my tirade of anger this afternoon that I am just as much of an idiot as the rest of this world. In and of itself, that shows that I have no reason to have my life get bent out of shape to where my light shines a little less brighter than it did before. I might have reason to complain, I might even have reason to get angry, and I might just have the right to blow up at somebody who really did me wrong. It gives me no reason to sin, no reason to hurt someone back. So if I have done this to you this week or seen me do this, I apologize.

Story goes like this: A fella sues a store for a personal injury they received while shopping there. The court finds no evidence that it was a personal injury at all and suspect the man of trying to take money wrongfully from the owners. The man gets angry and sues the court. The higher court find the suit to be of no merit and so the man sues them. He takes it later to the US Supreme Court and when they tell him to get lost, he sues the United Nations for not keeping watch over their members. The UN tells the guy to bite a wall and so the guy sues God for created these silly people in the first place. When he goes to heaven, he demands from St. Peter (because who else would be standing at the gates?) a lawyer to represent him on trial in the suit. Peter replies, "Well, seeing as there are no lawyers up here (tee-hee), you will have to represent yourself, but I warn you- the opinion is bias. You see God is the Judge up here too, so you might have a hard time convincing Him that He is wrong!"

Get what I am saying?

We are all like that guy in the story sometimes and we tend to go off the wagon sometimes, taking care of business, kicking down doors and taking names. But why are we doing that when God, in his infinite wisdom, said, "When you call, I will answer. I will be with you in trouble and deliver you and honor you. With long life I will satisfy you and show you my love." (Psalm 91:14-16).

So here is to understanding that we ourselves are just as stupid as the guy who cuts us off. Here is to remembering what I decided to have inscribed in my ring- life is too long not to laugh and life is too short not to laugh. So here is to cracking jokes, having fun, finding hope, and loving life like God was really in control. Happy driving!

KB

Is God Bald?

2 Kings 2:23-25 ²³ From there Elisha went up to Bethel. As he was walking along the road, some youths came out of the town and jeered at him. "Go on up, you baldhead!" they said. "Go on up, you baldhead!" ²⁴ He turned
around, looked at them and called down a curse on them in the name of the LORD. Then two bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the youths. ²⁵ And he went on to Mount Carmel and from there returned to Samaria.

1) Wow... okay, crazy story. No, I did not make this one up, it really is in the Bible.


2) How in the world did 42 youths have nothing better to do than make fun of some prophet- kids, get a Facebook or something. And how did 42 kids get owned by 2 female bears?


3) Note to self: when you get to heaven, do NOT make fun of Elisha's hair/ lack thereof



4) Is God bald?


I know that is a crazy thing to say and don't expect this theory to pop up in any Theological Journals any time soon, although, I'm sure some yahoo is going to try and make something out of it. However, have you ever wondered if God took Elisha's side in this retaliation of the baldies as a result of his own lack of hair. Furthermore, this raises a question along the lines of, "Is there a rock too big for God to move?": Is there a head too bald for God to salvage? If so, we men might as well throw in the towel- if God can't do it, Rogain certainly won't help.


As I write this tonight, I am plagued with an unbelievable amount of, well, let's call them a technical term- "morons." These "morons" have undoubtedly irritated me and thrust me into a unequivocally grumpy state of extreme frustration. "Why have they done this", you ask, "and why have they made you use such big words this week?" Immaturity. Immaturity is the fuel that drives society into a state of entropy and straight up chaos. People never think and that, my friends, is how people make millions over McDonald's coffee spills.


What does this have to do with my theory of divine balding? Simple- when do you see a naturally bald head? On babies and older folks (sorry mid-life readers). A rule of thumb for bald people can be anything in diapers. In the case of these "older folks," they carry with them the experience of maturity. They know how to conduct themselves in society and how to treat other people- they act like adults. So I wonder if God is balding since He is an all-knowing, powerful being who created humanity and thus understands humanity better than anybody else. At any rate, I am excited since one day, we will get to sit at the feet of an all knowing, powerful being who is both fun and mature AT THE SAME TIME. Now, if you are reading this and don't believe in God or even have a hard time letting go of things in your life to let Him handle them, then I pity you. I sure couldn't do it. I mean, if God is willing to deal with these "morons" in our life, then why not let him? I just hope it doesn't take a couple of she-bears mauling a bunch of young people to get the message across.


So here is to letting a balding father take care of those idiots who insist on making us irritate. Here is to Elisha who stood up for all the baldies in this world. And here are to all you who are balding as we speak- I wish you luck with that, but really, it looks like all hope is lost.

KB