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I remember that night after my Freshman year when I told my parents I was changing majors from Computer Science to English. After they came to, they expressed their concerns – they thought I’d never find a job. But I proved them wrong; I’ve been through plenty of jobs since then.

Ironically, my previous Computer Science classmates are looking for jobs now, having had theirs outsourced. And because they’ve never learned to communicate with anything human, they constantly create ridiculous grammatical errors, along with a demand for us English majors.

It’s as if we’ve become a world without a proofreader. Most of the errors are found in signs at businesses, who should really consider hiring us to review everything they hang on their walls. A fellow writer recently saw this sign at an establishment in a nearby mall: Dog’s Welcome.

If they meant to imply that all dogs are welcome, they need to erase the apostrophe. That’s used for possessives and contractions, not plurals. Leaving it in creates numerous other interpretations.

Could be there’s only one dog welcome, and they were trying to say, “Dog is welcome.” Sounds rather Slavic, da? “Dog is welcome, but Moose and Squirrel must die, Boris.”

Then again, maybe they like that bounty hunter from TV.

The apostrophe might be possessive, and a “Dog’s Welcome” is what you will receive if you go into that store. In which case, I’d walk on, not really wanting a salesclerk to wag his tail, drool on me, and sniff me in inappropriate places.

Lastly, it could just mean that a dyslexic was preparing for the Second Coming.

Another friend shared this beauty from a counter at the food court Chick-fil-A: It’s “our pleasure” to refill your drink.

Quotation marks are meant to enclose either direct quotes or figurative language. Since there was no source cited for the insightful quote of “our pleasure,” it’s to be assumed the phrase is figurative. In which case, I’d be pretty skeptical of their intentions, and probably eschew the refill.

But what else can we expect, grammatically, from the franchise that purports a single letter “A” makes the long “ey” sound? No, you cows! That’s nothing more than a schwa; it would be pronounced, “Chick-fil-uh.”

And we’re not even going to talk about the people who misuse … the ellipse … on their … signs … to the point where you could swear William Shatner must have been dictating the words to them.

Last fall, my favorite McDonald’s posted its employment needs and seasonal menu offerings on the same sign without any punctuation, resulting in this gem: “NOW HIRING MANAGERS & CREW PUMPKIN PIE.” Can you imagine how the job interview for a pumpkin pie might go? “Well, we need someone with a crusty personality, but who’s not afraid to be sweet inside. Your function fits within a typical box.”

Another sign near me has no grammatical errors; it’s simply unnecessary. The cheapest gas in town is just down the street, and the pump traffic is maddening. So they put up signs at either end of the rows of pumps, reading, “Exit only” and “Enter only.” The second one is a waste of posterboard; can anyone tell me when you will read an “Enter only” sign from your car and actually be in danger of breaking that rule?

I’ve noticed other unnecessary notifications from my car. Whenever I request a withdrawal from my ATM, it returns my card prior to dispensing the money and receipt. Just in case I’m an idiot, it flashes this reminder: “Please wait for cash.” Not only is that insulting, it’s social Darwinism – if the driver in front of me is stupid enough to leave his money hanging from the ATM, please don’t remind him and deprive me of the windfall!

Speaking of money, I also love this one from our local newspaper dispenser boxes: “Use any combination of coins. Do not insert pennies.” Yep, and feel free to take as many papers out of the box as you want. As long as you only want one.

I see my word limit is rapidly approaching. This is a sign I should…obey…and bring my word’s to an “end.”

http://groups.google.com/group/bainwaves

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I started blogging about six months ago, or should I say, blogging took over my life six months ago.

When I started my blog, I never realized how many people it would affect, namely—me. I have to spend time posting things on the blog. Plus I have to create and manage a whole slew of fake accounts to post comments.

The whole process is very time consuming and has affected me greatly. I now have no time for exercising, reading my mail, or putting on a belt.

Others were also affected. There were many people who asked me for favors that I forgot about because of all of this blogging. For example, Mrs. Wethers next door asked me to feed her bird while she was on vacation. That bird was the most affected of all by far.

At times I feel guilty because I am taking up so much space on the Internet. What if cyber space gets full before our little ones even learn to type? And goldfish and squirrels and other small creatures will never learn to type. That thought just makes me miserable.

Maybe I want too much. I am leading two lives, a virtual web life and a non-virtual webless real life, while others have no lives—like Mrs. Wethers’ cat. Yes, now that I think of it she asked me to feed her cat, not a bird. No matter now.

This whole blogging thing has grown out of control. I used to enjoy reading my blog, but now whenever I look at it, all I see are red lines saying that I spelled something wrong. Or a green line saying fragment.

Should I stop? I wouldn’t even know how to go about it. Do I need to get something signed by the Webmaster (would a portal master do?)? Do I push one of those crazy buttons with a picture on it at the top of my keyboard? I have no idea what any of those are. I definitely do not want to push the wrong one and accidentally delete the world wide web, or even just the internet for that matter.

There are still some great blogs out there that are guiding the rising generation. Blogs that provide the courage to forego college and instead become American Idol contestants, run a celebrity gossip blog, or perform other necessary duties that we depend on to keep America running.

And when it is all said and done, that is what I want. I want my blog to keep America up and running. And perhaps maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what it has been doing. Since I’ve started my blog, America has kept all fifty or so of its states and has produced some great television shows (spin-offs of British shows).

Is that just coincidence? I cannot take the risk. I will continue my blog. I will continue it for America, for great television, and in memory of Mrs. Wethers’ bird or cat.

http://chadhatfield.blogspot.com

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Some Like It Hot
By Audrey D. Mark, North Carolina

I felt it was good karma showing me a sign. A small plastic one, in fact, outside a Bikram hot yoga studio reading “ 10 classes for $10”. Wow, with a deal like that I could reach all the way to Nirvana without stretching my wallet. I took a leap of faith and signed up.

I try to live by the motto, “Never let them see you sweat”, so when I arrived for my first class, I planned to play it cool. I'd obviously never taken hot yoga before. The room was heated hotter then Hades, somewhere north of 105 degrees. A few minutes of warm-up stretching, and I was already vaporizing. I tried to pass it off as my “aura”.

The instructor said that we’d start with some breathing. “Cool”, I thought. I’ve been doing that on my own for years! But as he clapped out a quick count for us to draw deep cleansing breaths in - while raising our elbows to our ears and pushing our chins back with our fists - I suddenly struggled to remember which way was exhale.

At that point I should have read the Sanskrit writing on the wall. This wasn’t going to be one of those relaxing yoga classes with rhythmic drumming and Yanni playing softly in the background. No, this was hot yoga from Hell and my chakras were in for a quite a shock.

We were told to gaze only at ourselves in the mirror. I tried to convince myself that the chubby red-faced reflection staring back at me was merely the result of an unfortunate combination of unflattering lighting and a “fat mirror”. However, from the corner of my eye, I noticed a lineup of lithe beauties effortlessly contorting their hot “yoga bodies” into positions that seemed to defy the laws of nature. You could have put a “1” in front of any of their dress sizes and mine would still be considerably larger. I was sweating – they were perspiring. I also noticed that the lighting and mirrors seemed to be working just fine for them.

“Aha”, I panted, as I spotted a more mature woman across the room. Perhaps a little “Sweatin’ to the Oldies” would pry me from my personal pity party. But I could only watch in awe, as this svelte senior wrapped her left leg around her right, at least three times, while twisting her arms into some Escher inspired pose. With perfect balance, she lowered her self to the ground on the tip of one toe. Blessed with the flexibility of a Popsicle stick and the balance of a sack of kittens, I stood clutching the bar on the back wall for dear life, wobbling like Jell-o as I simply tried to stand on one foot.

It wasn’t until we went into the “Wind Removing Pose”, meant to stimulate digestion and massage the colon, that I realized perhaps the big bowl of raisin bran was not the breakfast of choice before a yoga class.

As the session came to an end, it seemed that my kundalini hadn’t risen, but rather melted into a puddle on the floor. However, I had gained a higher understanding of the term “sweat equity”. If the human body is comprised of 75% water, I estimated then at least half of me was now being soaked up by the Tinkerbell towel covering my squishy mat. And yet, even with that impressive water weight loss, the darn mirror still made me look fat.

Ultimately, I enjoyed the classes and I felt great afterwards. However, next time I’m trying something new! I’m checking out a slenderizing body wrap spa that just opened up in town. They guarantee that I’ll be at least 6 inches slimmer as I kick back and watch Dr. Phil on TV. Now that’s a workout I can handle…no sweat!

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Every year I search for tax deductions to lower my bill to Uncle Sam. So far, the best way I’ve found to escape paying federal income tax is to remain unemployed.

But if you were smarter than me and you actually earned something last year, it’s time to get creative. Don’t worry about getting audited. If your computers are like mine, they’ll crash sometime within the next 24 months—and then you can just tell the I.R.S. that you’re unable to locate your records. They won’t care. But you can tell them this anyway.

I didn’t earn anything last year, after I accounted for all my valid deductions. By the time I subtracted for my costs of paper, printing supplies, and decent quality Merlot (You don’t think I can write this stuff without alcohol, do you?), I didn’t make a profit.

In fact, my auditor husband tallied my expenses just so he could prove that my financial contributions have been, to be generous, nonexistent. According to him, if I stay on course and continue to work hard, by age 65, I might achieve a positive cash flow.

My spouse doesn’t understand why I purchase thousands of dollars’ worth of books every year. I try to explain that I need to compare my writing style to those who are making money. But he thinks I should spend more time at the library, despite the fact that our community doesn’t have one. And he can’t fathom why I need a Web presence when my own family members refuse to read my columns, which is exactly the point.

Still, it would be nice to feel valued for what I produce—which is why I’m begging you to consider me for any last-minute tax write-offs you might need. I know you’re thinking that all charity deductions had to have been made before year end. But I’m perfectly okay with backdated checks.

I’ll also accept leftover holiday gift cards and unexpired free meal coupons. Please send your donations to the Save the Humor Columnist Fund, a U4(c) my scam corporation, c/o Totally Skewed Productions, 555 Obscure Lane, Nowhere, TX, 77890. All contributions are fully tax objectionable.

Additionally, you may purchase my book, Driving on the Wrong Side of the Road, and claim it as a tax deduction—provided you can invent some business reason for owning it. *

* Consult your tax advisor before making any stupid decisions. Actual deductions may vary. Past audit evasions are not valid predictors of future detection. Not suitable for persons under age 12, individuals who are laugh-impaired, oxygen-deprived, or for those who are taking mood inhibitors. Do not read while driving, operating heavy machinery, or text messaging. Some thinking could be required. May cause sudden excitability, unexpected oral emissions, snorting, frequent howling, and abdominal cramps. Should any of these symptoms occur, stop reading and immediately notify your book club.

http://www.TotallySkewed.com