CSI: Coolidge Scene Investigators

carnage, dogs
The victim appeared to be a 110-pound Rhodesian Ridgeback

If you ever have to dispose of a body, do yourself a favor and don’t chop it up and transport it in the back of you car. Just ditch the car – wipe the prints and roll it off a mountaintop.

I can assure you: The trunk of your car will never be the same after it’s housed a dead body. The clean-up is long, loud and ultimately impossible. There will be blood – lots of it – and some day far in the future when you’re thinking you’ve managed to escape the long arm of justice, some crafty crime scene investigator or blood-spatter analyst will come along and bust your ass¹ for busting a cap in someone else’s ass.

I know this because Pat and I spent $354.31 and two hours last night cleaning up the aftermath of Coolidge Carnage™.

Those of you who are faint of heart may not want to read on or access our Gallery of Gore™.

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The Heartbreak of Home Improvement

carnage

Because admitting you have a problem is the first step: Pat and I suffer from a stage-3 case of Might-As-Well Syndrome (MAWS). We’re sharing our story to spare you the heartbreak of home improvement.

Symptoms of MAWS include repeated, illogical refrains of “as long as we’re _____, we might as well _____.” The resulting complications from this debilitating affliction include inability to set boundaries with hardware store employees, inflated credit card debt, paint-stained clothing, compulsive list-making, marital discord and weekend-long blackout periods not brought on by excessive drinking.

If you find yourself bleary-eyed on a Monday morning, wondering where your weekend went while crossing “touch-up baseboard paint” off a list written on the back of an envelope, you might as well ask your doctor about Might-As-Well Syndrome.

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Your Mission: Find Katarina and Hrvoje

adventure
The Happy Couple

Hrvoje and Katarina got married on July 28, 2011 at a hilltop villa, surrounded by silvery olive groves and bountiful pear orchards.

Bathed in dappled sunlight, 26 friends, family members and a feisty Maltese puppy celebrated the wedding. Katarina, slender and regal with her high cheekbones and porcelain skin, wore an understated, ivory silk gown and carried a clutch of white roses. She struggled to keep her emotions at bay, looking coltish and nervous at first then relaxing as the hours passed and reality settled around her.

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Tebow Wins. Sanity Loses.

rage

I don’t hate Tim Tebow.

I hate the 43 percent of Americans that believe God helps Tim Tebow and the Denver Broncos win.

I hate the 62 percent of sportswriters who have leapt onto that bandwagon. I also hate the 31 percent of non-sports media outlets that started flailing their arms and chasing after said bandwagon as it pulled out of the station when Tebow hit wide receiver Demaryius Thomas on an 80-yard touchdown pass to seal an overtime victory against the dreaded Pittsburgh Stealers last Sunday.

I also hate 100 percent of the CBS Sports broadcast team of Jim Nantz and Phil Simms who compromise Tebow’s virtue by shamelessly fellating him during their weekly two-hour gusher of  infinitely insightful color commentary.

And since I’m driving the bus on the highway to hell anyway: Any god that intervenes in a professional football game – in direct contradiction to his Ten Commandments – is not a God I want to worship.

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