The Point of the Story

Your #1 Source of Unsolicited Life Advice

Author: BJ (Page 21 of 35)

10 Easy Steps To Becoming Parents Of PhD-Worthy Little Pussycats

24 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
6 Min Read

So you’ve finally decided to take the plunge and expand your family, eh? But before you go and make any rookie mistakes that might doom your young’uns to a life of ignominy and infamy, here are 10 quick and easy pointers to help you help them get started down the path to prosperity instead…

Part Un: Preparing For And Procuring Your Pet

1. Do It “For All The Right Reasons”

Just like having kids in an attempt to save a marriage, getting pets for the wrong reasons can come back and bite you in the ass. For example, you may think this is a good way to teach your children responsibility, but be warned that will probably just end with one or more resentful adults in your household.

It is therefore critical that you have righteous motivations for your decision. If you want to rest easy at night, save yourself the heartache and choose from one of the following to justify your new lifestyle:

  • Companionship: Because making new friends is ----- hard.
  • Stress relief: Petting a furry family member can be quite therapeutic.
  • Family memories: You had the joy of growing up with pets. Why deprive your kids of that?
  • Paranormal sentry: Many people get way into real ghost stories and become paranoid that supernatural entities may be watching them while they sleep, but have formulated a theory that animals experience reality at multiple quantum resonant frequencies which allows them to see disembodied spirits from parallel dimensions that aren’t normally observable at the resonant frequency of the average human brain, thus making them excellent watch-cats.

2. Let Others Do The Leg Work

Now that you’re confident expanding your household is the right move, it’s time to make your dreams a reality. Many people make the mistake of trying to handle the impregnation and carrying of a kitten to full term themselves. But this is extremely difficult and requires technology that hopefully will never be invented. Don’t work hard–work smart: let somebody else do all the heavy lifting for you and adopt!

3. Buy In Bulk

Let’s be honest: nobody would choose to be an only child if they were actually given the choice, so why inflict unnecessary suffering if you can avoid it? Adopting brothers/sisters or a bonded pair of feline buddies may cost you more, but will pay off in the long run, as the natural sibling rivalry will toughen them up for the cruel world that awaits them. Also, the assholes at most adoption agencies won’t let you take a singleton kitten home with you, even if you wanted…

Part Deux: Choosing The Purr-fect1Go ahead and call the Pun Police on me. See if I care. Names

Acquiring the cats was the easy part. Now for the truly hard part: giving them names that will make them winners in life. After all, you plan on living vicariously through them, don’t you?

To demonstrate how to go about this daunting task, consider the curious case of these two cats: Flotsam–aka Brett (Figure 1) and his sister, Alana–aka Rylee (Figure 2). Cute cats, yes, but let’s not ignore the elephant in the room. The cold hard truth is that they’re guaranteed to go absolutely nowhere in life with loser names like those. Let’s see if we can fix that…

Figure 1: Flotsam/Brett.
Figure 2: Alana/Rylee.

4. Listen When The Universe Speaks…

Inspiration is all around you, if you only choose to look and listen. Take the time to carefully observe your new housemates. What/who do they look like? Sound like? Smell and/or taste like? Now close your eyes, clear your mind, and say the first ten names/phrases that come to mind. Congratulations! Now you and your co-parent have narrowed your name argument down from (1/2 x infinity) possibilities, to just 10!

Now let’s apply this principle to sweet ol’ Rylee. Despite looking like a clone of a previous pet and tasting like salty chicken feathers when licked, it just makes too much sense not to go with this little kitten’s most distinguishing feature…

“Alana”? Nope! “Rylee”? See ya later, you bougie-ass name! Ladies and Gentlemen, meet…Checkers! Because, uh…you know, the whole mouth-thingy…

5. …But Don’t Go For Looking Signs That Just Aren’t There

Like with any pair of siblings, parents tend to expend all their creative and emotional energies on the first one, seemingly giving the other one the short end of the stick. This is normal, so don’t feel bad about it. Pat yourself on the back for the job well done on Number One, and realize that efficient pragmatism has its value in life as well.

In practice, this means that the Pet Formerly Known As Brett is going to get the name he’s going to get and he’s going to have to learn to live with it. Buddy, you don’t necessarily look like a “Chess”, but, hey, we’ve got other important shit to do today.

6. Pets Are People, Too!

Now that you have their nicknames settled, you can decide what those cute monikers will be “short for.” This is your chance to truly give them the dignity all members of your clan deserve, so let’s start by giving them your last name–a solid choice, and frankly, a no-brainer.

Oh, and speaking of last names that end in “-on,” the inherit renown they bestow make them excellent candidates for first names as well. I dare you to tell me that Chesterfield Anderton and Checkerson Anderton2Not their real last name. But close… don’t sound regal af to you–you simply can’t!

7. Seek Inspiration From The Written Word

If they’re going to be distinguished in life, it is imperative to chooses names that help distinguish your wee ones from all the other “Emmas” and “Evas” in their kindergarten class. If you’re not sure where to start, French literature can provide an absolute abundance of options for high-falutin and uncommon names.

In fact, a renowned author’s last name always makes for a very memorable first name. I mean, how could you ever forget a Flaubert3https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gustave_Flaubert Checkerson or Dumas4https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexandre_Dumas Chesterfield Anderton5Again, their last name has been changed to protect the privacy of the minors. once you’ve met them?

8. You Gotta Keep ‘Em Complicated

A great way to make your kids–er, I mean, ‘kittens’–seem more interesting to strangers than they really are is to require them to recite a short novella every time they have to explain that their legal name and the name they go by aren’t exactly the same thing. Your parents hoisted such a burden onto your shoulders; it’s only right that you pass that burden down to the next generation.

When down the road they’re at a fancy conference of professionals, they will no doubt be thanking you for this automatic ice-breaker:

“So, I saw on your LinkedIn profile that you’re listed as Flaubert Checkerson ‘Checkers’ Anderton.6’Anderton’ is merely a nom de plume, people! How interesting!”

“Well, it’s a funny story actually…”

“Oh, that’s okay, I don’t need to hear–“

“…you see, my parents didn’t want me to lead an average life…”

9. Throw In A Dash Of Prestige…

With full names in hand, you’re finally ready to put the finishing touches on your masterpieces before introducing the kiddies to the rest of the world. If your looking to really up your name game, you can channel your favorite pretentious author and insist that people refer to them by their first initials and full middle names.

You can already hear it now, can’t you: “…and the Nobel Prize in Literature goes to…F. Checkerson Anderton!7Not. Her. Real. Last. Name. Amazing! This is the first time in history that one family has produced winners of the Nobel and Pulitzer Prizes in the same year. You folks at home may recall that her, brother, D. Chesterfield Anderton,8You do understand the concept of changing names to protect the innocent, right? took home journalism’s highest accolade but a few months ago…”

10. …But Lastly, Keep Them Humble

Nobody likes a pompous prick. Nobody. To keep the haters at bay and your kits’ egos in check, it is highly recommended to throw in at least one slightly degrading detail before you close up the epithet shop for the day.

You never know when such attention to detail might come in handy. For example, if you ever catch F. Checkers trying to tell her kiddie kollege friends that her name “is pronounced ‘Flow-Bear’, like that old pervy French novelist,” don’t hesitate to step in and put her in place with a firm rebuke such as “Don’t listen to her bullshit! It rhymes with ‘Robert’, like that one renowned 21st-century American blogger. I knew I should have named her Flauberta instead…”

And of course, if you ever hear D. Chesterfield claiming “the D is for ‘Doo-Maw’ like that other old French guy,” you can remind him that he will always and forever be nothing but a “Dumb-Ass.”

Content created on: 13 & 23 January 2021 (Weds/Sat)

Footnotes & References:[+]

More Force-Fed Advice From A Wee Bit Of An Expert

21 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
2 Min Read

Dammit, I’m a grown-ass man.

I don’t need no kid telling me how to eat my fries…

Just the other day, I had left the kitchen1I.e. “bathroom” door open when I went to put some ketchup on my fries,2I.e. “take a whizz” but instead of sitting like I usually do, for reasons unknown I decided to change it up and stay standing as I garnished my side dish.3I.e. “did my biz”

The Younger of our two daughters,4I.e. “The Younger” who just turned 3, walks in to chat me up, but immediately gets entranced by the stream of ketchup,5I.e. “stream of urine” flowing like a waterfall right in front of her little eyes. After all, she had only ever seen people saucing while sitting before, so this was indeed a novel and fascinating experience for her.

At first she felt the urge to state the obvious, yelling so EVERYONE in the house could hear (including my poor mother):

“KETCHUP-KETCHUP!“6I.e. “PEE-PEE!!!”

“YOU’RE KETCHUPPING YOUR FRIIIIIES!“7I.e. “YOU’RE PEEEEING!”

I tried shushing her, but only with moderate success.

She curiously watched for a few more moments then shared her wisdom with me:

“Squeeze it, Daddy!”

“Ummm…what’s that you say, Kiddo?”

“Squeeze it…real hard!”

Trying not to chuckle too much, I asked her why I should do that, and she told me I needed to “Get it all out.”

I replied, “Well, how about I just ‘shake it gently’? Does that work for you?”

A few days later, lightning struck twice and she wandered in on me standing while I put ketchup on my fries8I.e. “standing-to-pee” again.

This time, though, she seemed to temper her advice a wee bit, thanks to my feedback from last time.

She gazed at the process for a few moments before suggesting what I can only imagine was a compromise in her mind:

“Squish it just a little bit, Daddy.”

I grinned and graciously thanked her for the handy tip.

What can I tell you, though? She just must be one of those people who have an opinion on everything.

I mean, she’s never even touched a bottle of ketchup9I.e. “a penis” in her life, for crying out loud!

…

OK, now go back and read it again, but pay attention to the Footnotes this time, will ya?

Content created on: 22 December 2020 & 20/21 January 2021 (Tues/Wed/THurs)

Footnotes & References:[+]

Are You SURE You’re Making The World A Better Place?

17 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
4 Min Read

The White Jesus Savior Complex is a lot like the Rapture.

You never really see it coming…

Ah, the New Year. It’s always the perfect time to take a moment and reflect on ways to be a better person–and then try to come up with strategies to make these ideal life-goals reality. For my part, one change I would like to see this year is that I would be more proactive about being a mindful and considerate friend, family-person, and citizen.

For example, last week I found myself on the far side of town after spending my whole ----- morning getting our car serviced at our formerly-local Toyota dealership. Since it was about lunch time and I was already in the area, I figured I would surprise my family by coming home with four extremely large containers of the Triangle’s tastiest Korean fried chicken from a nearby restaurant.

I was able to call in my KFC order ahead, and I had timed it just right where I could pull up, run in, pay, and dash on back out the door lickety-split. Such efficiency was necessary, as I still had a 40-minute drive home and my window of lunchtime opportunity for my famished fam was closing quickly.

When I pulled up into the parking lot of the strip mall where the restaurant was located, I was delighted to see that almost all the parking spots directly in front of it were wide open for the taking. It seemed as if Karma had seen the kind deed this plant-based hombre was doing for his carnivorous loved ones, and was rewarding the kindness with a sweet front-row parking spot.

As I swung into my luxuriously appointed stall, I realized that on the bench directly in front of me sat a young guy who looked very much down on his luck. He was wearing a surgical mask and had a heavy overcoat draped over him, so it was hard to get a good take on him, but he seemed a bit spaced out.

“Dang it!” I reflexively thought to myself. “I bet he’s going to ask me for something, and I just don’t want to deal with that right now. Arghhh!”

Fortunately, though, I was rocking my prescription too-cool-for-school sunglasses, and was able to largely avoid eye-contact as I scurried from the car straight into the restaurant.

However, while paying for the food, I remembered that I was wanting to put more goodness out into the Universe this year. Then I also remembered that a few days earlier I had intentionally put a couple of $20 bills in my wallet for situations just like this. I was actually a little embarrassed that my initial reaction was to avoid the inconvenience of this guy at all costs, when the reality was that I had never been in a better position to be financially generous in my whole life.

Lightly pleased with myself for having a change of heart just in the nick of time, I decided, “You know what, I’m going to spare this guy the indignity of having to beg for money, and just give him $20 without either of us having to say a word!” So I pulled out a fat Jackson–and promptly doused it in hand sanitizer to ensure that positive vibes were the only positivity I would be passing on to my newfound acquaintance.

Food in one hand and the money in the other I headed out the door, and as I went out of my way so I could pass directly by him, I handed him the unsolicited financial assistance.

“Hey man, here you go,” I said all casually before heading to my car.

Three steps later I heard the guy call out to me, “Hey, wait a second!”

“Yeah?” I turned around, no clue what to expect.

“Uh…you don’t happen to smoke do you?”

“Sorry man, I don’t.”

He paused for a moment, staring confusedly at the money in his hand, before looking back up at me.

“Why did you give me this $20?”

Well, that was a question I wasn’t expecting.

I started to second guess myself. Had I accidentally succumbed to a White Jesus savior complex? Was I actually being a condescending rich prick without realizing it?

“Oh man, I hope I didn’t insult you. I thought you might be able to use it, but if you don’t really need it, just pay it forward to someone who does.”

“Oh, no. I really appreciate it…”

Thinking that the conversation was wrapping up, I started to turn to go on my way.

“…I’ve just been having a really bad day.”

Out of empathy I stopped and turned back towards him.

“Sorry to hear that, man.”

“Yeah, I just…I just got hit by a car, and can barely walk now.”

Well, this conversation really took a turn into uncharted territory.

“Oh, wow, that’s…that’s just terrible.”

This was followed by a long awkward pause because apparently neither of us really knew what to say at that point. Eventually, auto-pilot took over for me–not that it did me any favors, though.

“Welp! I’ve gotta roll…so…hope your day gets better?”

And just like that, off I rode into the sunset, feeling much more unsettled, conflicted, and awkward as my reward for all my humanitarian efforts…

Honestly, I would rather not talk about it. That encounter made me feel all sorts of weird, and I even considered never telling a soul about what transpired.

For some reason my thoughts kept coming back to How To with John Wilson, a show I had just watched the night before. In the first episode, he tackles the topic of making “small talk.” At one point, he makes the keen observation that it is crucial that small talk never veers off into deep topics. It’s a violation of some unspoken social contract or something like that–I don’t remember the exact way he put it, but the upshot is that most people haven’t signed up to bear the weight of all your issues, yada yada ya.

And now…

And now I can’t stop wondering…maybe this was Karma’s way of telling me–over-sharer extraordinaire–that this whole time I’ve been the one walking into one polite conversation after another, casually announcing “Well, I got hit by a car today…”

…

Well, isn’t this just my luck? Most people have emotional baggage. But me? I am emotional baggage.

*awkward pause*

Welp! I’ve gotta roll, so…

Content created on: 14/15 January 2021 (Thurs/Fri)

Perhaps The Most Outstanding Man Is He Who Sits Down

14 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
2 Min Read

You know how many a woman will tell you that they are deathly afraid of sitting down on the toilet, only to find that the seat has been left up? Well, ladies, you can rest assured that at least some of us fellas are listening.

Back during my first year of grad school I shared a house with three female roommates, and likewise shared a toilet with two of them. Being the thoughtful guy that y’all know and love me to be, I, in a moment of pure genius, decided that henceforth I would stop standing when I needed to go #1, and began regularly sitting during my time in the loo, regardless of the business at hand.

Though I’ll please have you note that I’m conveniently leaving out the fact that in doing so, I eliminated1No pun intended, but dang if that isn’t a clever one… any incidents of “stray spray”–because with no other males in the house to blame it on, the others would always have known whom to blame for any wayward droplets of urine. Yeah…we can just ignore that maybe my decision was just a wee bit self-serving, too.

Either way, the end result? Seat down, all the time. Problem solved! Ladies, considered yourselves considered!

You know, I even endured the mockery of pretty much all of my male friends and acquaintances, but nevertheless, I persisted.2I maintain that an Elizabeth Warren reference is always warrent-ed. Oh! Somebody stop me! Why? Because I’m a man of ----- character, that’s why!

Anyway, that’s not the point of the story. The point is, I believe I’ve discovered some sort of beautifully twisted symmetry in this Universe: all males should be TERRIFIED of the bizzarro/inverse scenario. Have you ever stopped to consider what might happen with the lid is down unexpectedly, hmmm?

Let’s just say it’s…uh, “disorienting” to scurry to the bathroom for a quick pee in the middle of the night, only to have your family jewels forcefully squashed up your ass by a cold and unforgiving toilet lid. Well, one of the jewels, at least…

I find this turn of events rather disheartening, indeed: my goodwill towards my fellow toilet-users has come back and ungratefully bit me in the ass.

Bit me with my own dang gonad, no less…

As the youths on the Twitter would say:

#IAmPrettySureThisIsNotHowKarmaIsSupposedToWork

I’ll leave y’all to ponder the cruelties of the Universe and/or develop a previously non-existent phobia of toilet lids with a little clip from the YouTubes. To all of those selfless and considerate ever-sitting men out there, this one goes out to you…

Content created on: 8 October 2017 (original Tweets) & 14 January 2020 (Sun/Thurs)

Footnotes & References:[+]

Now Is A Great Time To Become Ace Of Plant-Based

10 January 2021 / / 2 Comments
5 Min Read

There’s no time quite like the New Year to look back and question your questionable life choices!

“I mock your so-called ‘lifestyle choices,’ Good Sir!”

It was the morning of January 2nd, 2020, and I was standing in front of the mirror. It all seemed so bizarre; I barely even recognized the caricature of a middle-aged man gazing back at me. And honestly, I didn’t even realize what I was doing until I found myself pointing a judging finger at this be-ponytailed stranger, smugly deriding his better judgement.

I paused briefly to appreciate the absurdity of the Dr.-Jekyll-And-Mr.-Hyde moment I was having with myself.

Seriously, though, how the hell did I end up here?

Well, I’m glad you asked! Why don’t you pour yourself a nice cold glass of kombucha and make yourself comfortable, and I’ll tell you the little story of exactly how this came to pass…

You see, it all started out back in March 2019, when I finally grew sick and tired of constantly looking like I was having a never-ending allergic reaction to bees. Needing anything that would help me be even slightly more “healthy looking” on a sustainable basis, I turned to a keto diet.

Or at least I thought I was doing keto. It wasn’t until a few months into my new lifestyle–not ‘diet’–when a nutrition-savvy friend at work pointed out that my half-ass version of keto was essentially just its less-glamorous runt brother, your basic low-carb diet.

But really, I didn’t care because it was actually working for me. More importantly, it was sustainable on account of the fact that I was in heaven, getting to eat all the meats and cheeses and bacons my heart desired and what-not. In fact, the only time that I had any second thoughts about it was when I thought I was going to die before I turned 40, all because of the, um, “repercussions” of my eating habits.

Now while my physical health was overall looking pretty good, it turns out that my half-ass keto wasn’t helping out any in the marital bliss department. That tends to happen when you all of sudden are asking your partner to accommodate your borderline-arbitrary dietary restrictions when it comes time for them to cook up the family meals. Fortunately, the Boss Lady loves me so much that she eventually volunteered to do keto with me, all for the sake of our marriage.

Sounds good, right? Right?

Wrong. Oh, so wrong, my friend. No, this is where things started to go awry.

Now it wasn’t because she didn’t put effort into doing keto with me. In fact, it was the exact opposite. You see, unlike me and my half-assery, she went all in–even to the point where she moved beyond just watching YouTube videos, and into actually doing extensive research in the scientific literature on the topic.

For my part, I was rather quite content in my ignorance. I was dropping the pounds and enjoying every bite along the way. I even warned her “Don’t go asking too many questions–you might just answers you wish you hadn’t!” Last thing I needed was some pesky “statistically sound scientific evidence” to go and ruin my fun.

Nevertheless, she persisted. And I couldn’t help respect her tenacity to sort through all the information, noise, and hype around which diet is “The Best.” Making a truly well-informed decision was something I just didn’t have the emotional and/or executive capacity to do.

She did have those abilities, though. However, she ultimately came to the conclusion that there was no definitive answer. While keto seemed good for your health in at least some situations, there wasn’t much insight into the long-term effects of consistently pumping your arteries full of high-cholesterol animal-based goodies.

One alternative option that she kept coming across (and therefore bringing up in conversation) was the so-called “whole foods plant-based” diet. In addition to sounding like it would inevitably be good for your health, it also had an edge on keto thanks to long-term studies showing that it’s a solid choice for your heart health. And after my aforementioned half-assed brush with a premature death a few months earlier, I had a newfound appreciation for taking the long view on my health.

Over the course of a few months, I could hear her becoming more convinced that she wanted to adopt a WFPB lifestyle. Much to my chagrin, though, she started playing the “I would do the same for you” card on me in an attempt to get me on board.

“Come on!” she would say. “Just try it with me for a few weeks, like I did keto with you.”

Every time, I would give her the same reply “If ain’t broke, don’t fix it, dang it!”

But the truth was that it’s hard to have a completely clean conscious eating all those delicious meats and cheeses and butters and real creams in the coffees. Sure, I was carrying around less adipose tissue (aka ‘body fat’), but deep down in my heart I could just feel that it all couldn’t be without consequence…probably because deep down in my heart I was well on my way to a clogged artery or two!

Ultimately I gave in to the Boss Lady’s wisdom and judgement. My respect for her in these areas was just too much for me and my dubious justifications for my debaucherously dangerous ways . Eventually I was convinced whole-heartedly (pun intended?) that investing in my health via a more clean and proven food system was the way to go.

Although it was September when this descent into madness with the Boss Lady had started, it wasn’t until early December before we began to seriously discuss both of us committing to making the big switch over to whole food plant-based together. We decided that once the holidays were behind us, the New Year would naturally be the perfect time to do it, giving us a whole month to logistically and emotionally prepare for what was to come.1LOL, it’s so cute to hear that phrase used so innocently right before 2020.

Now, it couldn’t have been into no more than 2 or 3 of these strategic planning sessions when I had finally had it with how inefficiently-named our guiding principle was.

“Man, saying ‘whole food plant-based’ sure is quite the mouthful,” I lamented. “We spend half the time in our conversations just saying it. There’s just got to be a shorter way to refer to it…”

There was a heavy pause in the air, in which you could almost hear the wheels grinding in my head.

“Wait just a minute…”

The realization–no, the horror–was beginning to sink in.

“…isn’t that the same thing as…”

No, it couldn’t be. How could have I let this happen to myself?!?

“Oh shit. Are we going…vegan?!? Noooooooooooo!”

Ja, it’s true, my friends. Believe it or not, not only did I have to find a way to survive the hell-hole on earth that was 2020, but I did it all without the comforts and conveniences of all of those delectable animal products you heard me salivate over for these last 4 minutes. And of course I just might have a story or two about my trials and tribulations experienced therein to tell y’all, but those will have to wait until another time for now.

Let me just take a moment to be proud of myself for going this whole time and not saying a word of my secret lifestyle to another living soul…

Okay, that’s not completely true. I was 100% vegan for the last 12 months…except for when on vacation. Or during any Federal holiday. Oh, and pretty much the month of December.

But I regress…

Content FINALLY created on: 10 January 2021 (Sunday)

Footnotes & References:[+]

Hindsight Is 2020: Good Riddance To An Insanely Interesting Year

7 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
3 Min Read

Friends & Countrymen, lend my thy ears! Hear-ye, hear-ye, as we find ourselves in the third and final installment of the Point of the Story’s reflection upon the shit-show that was the Year 2020. Now, if you missed the tribute to “The Before Times” from a few days ago, you can catch up here. Of course, don’t forget about the first 6 months of “The New Normal/These Uncertain Times.” You can find the tip o’ the hat to them here.

Now, onward as we “say farewell to the Year From Hell by taking a look back at one story from each of the last 12 months”! Whether it was an interesting read in its own right, or whether it captured the Zeitgeist of the moment–or, *gasp*, both–each of these tales were hand-selected by the editor especially for you, the busy Dear Reader.

So lay down, give up, and pour yourself a medium dosage of whatever sedative you can find laying around, because, admit it: that’s what all really should have done for the last 3 months of 2020…

October: Little Bo Peep Has Lost His…Respect For Mainstream Gender Norms?

Click here to read Little Bo Peep Has Lost His…Respect For Mainstream Gender Norms?

You know what got talked about alot in 2020? Race. Me-thinks that maybe his/her/its friend Gender might have been feeling left out, so I thought: “Why not throw the G-Man a bone with a little trip down memory lane, in which we learn the how to properly celebrate the Holidays?” Yes, that is bound to do the topic justice…

Honorable Mentions:
Note To Self: Benzene On The Boys Is Never Bueno
Your Complete Guide To Betting On Interplanetary Birthdays

November: The Remarkably Beautiful Symmetry Of Dying Buck-Naked

Click here to read The Remarkably Beautiful Symmetry Of Dying Buck-Naked

Did I mention the many times I thought about death during 2020? In case you missed one of the ~13 or so blog posts on the topic, The Remarkably Beautiful Symmetry Of Dying Buck-Naked is a good place to get a more light-hearted version of those many thoughts of mine. Uh…just be sure to shield your kids’ eyes first, please…

Honorable Mentions:
The Best Place To Share The Ancient Wisdom Of Gongpu?
Now, That’s What I Call A Second Act!

December: All I Want For Festivus Is My Rightful Tech Fortune

Click here to read All I Want For Festivus Is My Rightful Tech Fortune

In my book, 2020 was such an utter turd to us all that it didn’t deserve a Christmas. Instead, Christmas’ younger and much less handsome brother, Festivus, is much more on brand for the year that was 2020. Don’t know what Festivus is? Well, that’s what I’m here for, right? Join me, as I celebrate Festivus by picking a bone with one of my high school teachers from Festivuses long, long ago…

Honorable Mentions:
Talking To My Parents About Drugs Sure Was Informative, Man
Famous Last Words Of A Guy In Need Of A Reliable Ride
The Forgotten Dreams Of A Promising Young Boy, Revisited
The Gift Of The Magic Fire Water

Content compiled on: 28/29/31 December 2020 (Mon/Tues/Thurs)

Hindsight Is 2020: Taking The Plunge Into The New Abnormal

3 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
4 Min Read

Amigos! Amigos! Welcome to the second of three episodes in which the Point of the Story reflects upon the shit-show that was the Year 2020. Now, if you missed the tribute to “The Before Times” from a few days ago, you can catch up here.

Now, onward as we “say farewell to the Year From Hell by taking a look back at one story from each of the last 12 months”! Whether it was an interesting read in its own right, or whether it captured the Zeitgeist of the moment–or, *gasp*, both–each of these tales were hand-selected by the editor especially for you, the busy Dear Reader.

So sit up, brace yourself, and pour yourself a tall glass of the strongest clear alcohol you can find, cuz don’t you know trying to relive the middle half of 2020 is going to be a bumpy ride…

April: Sign Of The Times

Click here to read Sign Of The Times

Sign Of The Times was significant for not only being the first post written in quarantine, but also because it captured something we all no doubt dealt with: trying to find humor and/or newfound appreciation within the shit-storm swirling about us. I just happened to find both in…sign language?

Honorable Mentions:
Death By Hangnail/Pants Epidemic-Full Version

May: Chairman Of The Hoard

Click here to read Chairman Of The Hoard

I like to consider myself not your average Joe in many ways. Giving into the panic of securing supplies during lockdown was a painful exception to this. Well, I wouldn’t say I panicked, per se, so much as “got out of hand planning for the uncertain future of the baked-goods supply chain”…

Honorable Mentions:
Kindergarten Cop Out
A Good Day To Dress Like A Tourist

June: The Prize Pig Story

Click here to read The Prize Pig Story

If you were anything like me, by time June rolled around, I wanted to be as far away from 2020 as possible. Even if I couldn’t be there physically, in my mind I was reliving my quest-for-glory days in Kansas, 1984…

Honorable Mentions:
A Parenting Parable
The Case Of The Cat’s Cradle

July: Woke Whack-A-Mole

Click here to read Woke Whack-A-Mole

Like you, I spent much of 2020 internally wrestling with the various flavors of systemic injustice that COVID-19/the murder of George Floyd/fire tornadoes made uncomfortably obvious to us all. While there is not a singular post that captured this, one of the more entertaining takes on getting involved in the social justice scene was Woke Whack-A-Mole. Somethings are just too important to half-ass. Instead, they should be double-assed, I say…

Honorable Mentions:
I Was Told There Would Be Pitchforks
Stripping In The Name Of!
Ode To A Nurseryman

August: I’m White And Here To Be Incredibly Awkward

Click here to read I’m White And Here To Be Incredibly Awkward

If you felt like you didn’t know how to tactfully go about engaging in the many race-themed conversations swirling about you by time late summer rolled around, well, you were not alone. Here to say that’s a-okay is…a guy of unknown ethnic origin?

Honorable Mentions:
The 3-part series beginning with The Little Engine That Could Not Give A Damn.

September: The One Weird Trick That Will Make You A Racist Ventriloquist Overnight

Click here to read The One Weird Trick That Will Make You A Racist Ventriloquist Overnight

It’s only September, so why stop talking about race now, amiright? You can relax, though: no racists were harmed in the making of this story about anti-dentites crashing at your place overnight…

Honorable Mentions:
The Earthling’s Guide To Social Gambling
Also, no 2020 would be complete without grappling with your own mortality, as documented in the 4-part No-Shit Sherlock series!

Next up: October-December

Content compiled on: 28/29/31 December 2020 (Mon/Tues/Thurs)

Hindsight Is 2020: Never Mind That Colossal Looming Threat…

31 December 2020 / / 0 Comments
2 Min Read

Well, folks. It seems that we made it. It’s hard to believe that the end of 2020 is finally upon is, yet here we are. As you may already be aware, alot has happened in the past 12 months. So it’s forgivable if you missed a post or two from your ever-faithful1*Ahem* Except for a few weeks in late March. Point of the Story. But don’t worry, we’ve got you covered!

I propose we say farewell to the Year From Hell by taking a look back at one story from each of the last 12 months, shall we? Whether it was an interesting read in its own right, or whether it captured the Zeitgeist of the moment–or, *gasp*, both–each of these tales were hand-selected by the editor especially for you, the busy Dear Reader.

So sit back, relax, and pour yourself a tall glass of champagne as we start this celebration off with an in memoriam for those no longer with us, aka “The Before Times.” January through March of the Year 2020, we drink this in remembrance of you…

January: Kicked On A Place

Click here to read Kicked On A Plane

In retrospect, a tale about air travel, white-ish privilege, and socio-economic disparities may actually be the most 2020 thing I could have written about. Ahh, the blissful ignorance of That Which Was To Come…

Honorable Mentions:
But I Still Love Technology-The Other Odds
I Had A Dream…Or Two

February: Touched By An Angel

Click here to read Touched By An Angel

The unsung heroics of nurses? Seemingly endless suffering? A near-death experience? It’s like I somehow knew what was going to be all the rage in 2020…

Honorable Mentions:
Breaking Ephen Like A Stephen
My Time To Go

March: The First Rule Of Dealing Club

Click here to read The First Rule Of Dealing Club

The First Rule Of Dealing Club represents the Point of the Story’s 2020 watershed moment. As the last post published before the true gravity of COVID-19 and the rest of 2020 hit us, it was one final look at The Before Times before we knew they were The Before Times. Now, just thinking about selling cookies to strangers in person feels so…weird. Heck, we would be thrown in jail for these father-daughter hijinx if they happened now.

Honorable Mentions:
The Men Of Her Dreams
Blowin’ In The Wind

Next up: April-September

Content compiled on: 28/29/31 December 2020 (Mon/Tues/Thurs)

Footnotes & References:[+]

The Gift Of The Magic Fire Water

27 December 2020 / / 1 Comment
6 Min Read

Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus, with his Pillow-Sack-Of-Fun…

During that magical year in my life in between getting my undergrad degree and heading off to grad school, I lived in a house with 7 other fine young men. Most, if not all, of these fellas were “upright in the eyes of the Lord.”

One of the things that made this year so ----- magical was my best friend Andrew. Let’s see…I would describe him as “upright–but not exactly uptight–in the eyes of the Lord.” He wasn’t debaucherous by any means, but he did know how to appreciate a little bit of alcohol–in moderation, of course.

He lived just across town, so he would come over to our place after work and hang out several times a week. Since he had taken it upon himself to teach me the finer points of enjoying fermented drinks, he would often bring with him various liquors and spirits for us to imbibe whilst we chilled.

However, he seemed really concerned that he might offend some of the other roommates who perhaps, unlike him, had a different moral perspective on getting drunk on the holy spirits. His solution? Discreetly transport his goods in a plain, unmarked pillow case.

It was such a jolly sight indeed, him showing up at my door in the evening like an adult-themed Santa Claus, Pillow-Case-O-Fun slung over his shoulder.

Of all the fond memories we made together, my 24th birthday was not supposed to have been one of them. We had exactly zero plans for the evening beyond just hanging out and sipping on the booze du jour hiding in his PCOF–which was Vodka on this particular mid-December evening, I believe.

Well, “sipping” may not be the most accurate term. That would imply a small quantity and a slow rate of consumption. Let’s just say that 32-ounce Taco Bell cups were involved.

But don’t get too worried–it was mostly just Mountain Dew, with only about a fifth of the cup’s volume accounted for by the Vodka. We gotta give him some credit: he wasn’t just teaching me to drink–he was teaching me to drink in moderation.

We mostly passed the evening eating, drinking, and being merry in general. And maybe, just maybe, drinking a wee bit more.

But, seriously, while enjoyable, it was perhaps the most unnoteworthy 2-3 hours of my life.

About halfway through Taco Bell cup number two, I noticed that the alcohol was hitting me much harder than expected. I honestly didn’t know where I had gone wrong, because–I say this with a straight face–I had been drinking responsibly.

I sat there for a moment gazing into my cup before commenting to Andrew, “Man, this Vodka tastes oddly strong…”

Andrew paused briefly with a slightly confused look on his face before informing me, “That’s because that ‘Vodka’ is actually Everclear. I was wondering why you were hitting it so hard…”

“Aw, ----- , now you tell me. I had been mixing my drinks based on the assumption that this was Vodka the whole time. Dammit, now I’m drunk.”

“I would be worried if you weren’t at this point–Everclear is double the proof of Vodka. I’m surprised you’re even able to stand,” he said, trying to stifle his trademark chuckle.

*Tries to stand up, sits down immediately.*

“Uh, I think I’ll just sit here at the kitchen table for now…”

Though I was only 24, in that moment I felt wise beyond my years…

“Well, what do you wanna do now, Birthday Boy?” Andrew said, trying not to let my newfound inebriation–and my new-lost ability to walk on my own two legs–kill our buzz.

“Hmm, let’s see…I’ve been needing to re-order checks rather desperately. Since the laptop’s here anyways and I’m not going anywhere for awhile… ----- it. I might as well do that.”

…and I proceeded to do exactly that.

No, strike that thought. I proceeded to attempt to do exactly that.

For the life of me, I could not get all the way through the process successfully, despite multiple attempts. I mean, I knew I was a bit drunk, but not that drunk, for crying out loud.

…or was I? Maybe I was so drunk, that it felt like I was putting in all those number correctly, but in reality I was claiming my bank’s routing number was “1800MIXALOT.” Could it be possible?

I needed a second opinion. Despite being notably less intoxicated than myself, Andrew failed on both of his attempts as well.

There was no way that we were both so drunk that we couldn’t enter in ~20 digits correctly after 6 combined attempts. Or was the Everclear just really that good?

We needed a third opinion, and this time we had to eliminate the alcohol factor. For this task we summoned in Seth, one of the roomies that never drank, so he was guaranteed to be stone-cold sober.

When he failed after 3 attempts, that’s when we all erupted into celebratory cheers–“HUZZAH! We’re not as drunk as we feared! Hip-hip-hooray!”

A peculiar feature about this large house we all lived in was that there were two kitchens–one upstairs where we were, and one on the ground floor–thus naturally splitting us roommates into two seperate, but equal, groups.

It just so happened that all the while Andrew, Seth, and I were quietly celebrating my birthday/not being numerically-challenged-drunk, Zach, one of the downstairs guys, had been babysitting a pair of youngsters that belonged to the Youth Pastor at his church. He was so close to this family, in fact, that the kids affectionately called him “Uncle Zach.”

We had no idea any of this was going on below our feet–and frankly it didn’t matter–until the dad came back to collect his offspring. Zach came upstairs and insisted we come downstairs and meet him.

“Uhhh, no, man, that’s probably not a great idea, Zach, my man.”

I may have been under the influence, but I still had some common sense and better judgement left in the tank.

“Oh, no, it’ll be fine! Come on down before leaves!” Zach was clearly not listening to me.

Since I had stopped drinking over an hour earlier, I thought maybe I could fake being sober long enough to shake his hand and say “pleased to meet you.” I took a few deep breaths and carefully made my way down the stairs, bracing myself along the wall the whole way down.

Thank goodness the other guys were with me, as I was able to keep my speaking to a bare-ass minimum. More than 3 sentences of a speaking, and I’m pretty sure he would have picked up on my, um, “altered” state. I shook his hand, over-enunciated a few words, and kept my eyes coordinated at all times, though that last task took every bit of effort I could muster.

Just a couple of minutes of chit-chat, and we bid the dad adieu and made our way back upstairs to celebrate my Emmy-worthy acting performance. Only this time we behaved like the mature, responsible, grown-ass men that we were and enjoyed shots of straight water instead of that other, confusingly-clear liquid from earlier…

A couple months later, we were all hanging out one Sunday afternoon, when Zach came home from church with an odd experience he had to share with us.

“So after church Eva and Evan1Fuck if I know if those were actually there names. Seeing as how their dad was a youth pastor, I would say that’s probably a pretty good guess though. came running up to me…”

” ‘Uncle Zack! Uncle Zack! When are you going to be able to babysit us again? Every time Daddy says that you’ve been too busy, and to that, we say Boo!’ “

“They must have noticed the confused look on my face–or maybe just plain forgot what they were talking about–because only two seconds later they took off.”

” ‘That’s straaaaange…’ I thought to myself, ‘I haven’t been too busy to babysit them. And no one has even asked me to babysit since mid-December…'”

We all kinda chuckled because at that point, as we all knew what had really happened.

While my intoxicated numerical abilities were much better than I had perceived, conversely, my inebriated acting skills were much poorer than I had fancied them to be.

“Well, I’m truly sorry to hear that your babysitting gig is no more,” I half-assedly consoled Zach, who was at least taking it all in stride. “But to be fair, Uncle Zach wouldn’t have gotten himself into this pickle if he would have listened to Uncle BJ when he tried to warn him multiple times that Uncle BJ was not so much “Uncle BJ” in that moment as he was “Drunk Uncle.”

He gave me a begrudging grin, on account of the very fair point I just made. This one was probably more on him than me.

But, completely sabotaging Zach’s career in early childhood education aside, I stand by my assertion that that birthday ended up being one of my most delightfully memorable ones ever.

No, strike that–I sit safely at the kitchen table futilely trying to reorder checks by that assertion…

Really, though, the point of the story is, despite their uncanny resemblance, Vodka and Everclear are not “pretty much the same thing.” Only one of those two will get Child Protective Services called on your housemate, so you best figure out most directly which one you’re pouring into that over-sized Taco Bell cup of yours right now…

Content created on: 23 December 2020 (Wednesday)

Footnotes & References:[+]

Don’t Worry Little Buddy, Your Secrets Are Safe With Me…

24 December 2020 / / 0 Comments
3 Min Read

Long ago, back when I was in kindergarten at Rolla Grade School, every morning I would take a ride on Ol’ Trusty Yellow School Bus #7. And almost every morning, I would always sit next to that one kid in our class who would eat glue. You know what I’m talking about–everyone had one of those kids in their class growing up.

“Elmer”–as I’ll call him for obvious reasons–may have been a bit of a spaz, but he was still my tried-and-true Bus Buddy. Indeed, there was a bond of trust there that was simply unbreakable.

On the last day of school before Christmas break, we sat next to each other on the bus just like every other morning. But unlike most school day mornings, the crisp Kansan air was abuzz with excitement and anticipation. After all, it was one of the few truly exciting days on the school calendar: Santa Day.

Now, there were many reasons for a kid to get pumped about Santa Day, but the one item on the itenary relevant to today’s holiday tale was the class gift exchange. I’m sure most everybody experienced these growing up, where you would bring a small gender-appropriate gift to school, which would in turn be distributed via a random sex-segregated drawing.

Since we had a level of trust like none other, Elmer naturally confided to me that his gift was…*suspiciously looks around to see if anyone is within earshot*…a set of 5 Hot Wheels cars.

That was a pretty decent gift for a 5-to-6-year-old boy, I thought.

For me, though, it wasn’t really a matter of how much I trusted him, per se, cuz I couldn’t keep a ----- secret to save my life. So, yes, of course I excitedly shared with him that wrapped up in my little package was….*eagerly looks around to see if anyone is within earshot, because hey, I got some inside info and what good is it if only one other person knows I’m so special?*…a set of wooden toy road signs.

He agreed that that was a pretty nifty gift as well.

Pleased with ourselves that we had Top Secret intel that no one else had, we spent the rest of our bus ride dreamily wondering aloud what super-cool toy the Universe would endow upon us at the gift exchange…

I have feeling that it won’t exactly come as a shock when I tell you that roughly an hour later we discovered that–surprise, surprise–Father Fate is a real dickhead to little kids who can’t keep secrets.

Sure as reindeer shit, we ended up drawing each other’s names, totally destroying the sacred element of surprise that every other little boy and girl got to enjoy that morning. I wouldn’t quite say Christmas was ruined, but it sure was a let down.

But on the bright side, I learned a new and very useful vocabulary word that day. Here, let me use it in a sentence for you:

“You’ve got to be ----- kidding me.”

The point of the story is, kids, if you know what is good for you, you’ll keep your dang mouths shut when it comes to Christmas gifts. The Yuletide magic you save may very well be your own.

I now would like to leave you, my Dear Readers, with a little bonus in your stockings this year: just for kicks, exactly how fool-hardy was it for Elmer & I to tell each other what our gifts were? Was it a just a fluke that we ended up with each other’s gifts, or we were actually tempting fate with our ill-advised actions?

Much like we did with Birthday Twins, let’s calculate the probability of such an event. Thankfully, it’s not as complicated this time around.

Assuming that there’s a protocol in place to prevent us from getting our own gifts, then there is 1 out of (the total number of boys in our class minus one) chance that one of us gets the other’s gift. My fact-checker tells me that there were 8 boys in the kindergarten class of ’87, so we’re looking at a 1/7, or ~14.3% probability.

What we really need to know, though, is what are the odds of two events both happening: I get his gift and he gets mine. This one is easy: we just multiply the two probabilities–in this case both 14.3%–to reveal that there was ~2% chance of this happening (approximately 1 in 50).

Now there’s a possibility that this actually happened in first grade, when there were only 7 of us boys, in which case those numbers come out to 1 in 36, or a 2.8% chance.

The irony here is that I just calculated those odds as I wrote this, and I thought I was going to laugh at how bad kids are at estimating such things. But, really, adult-me fully expected those numbers to be much higher, given the small size of the classes in our Podunk town. So it turn out I’m the one with crappy risk-reward intuition, eh?

Well, this disgression didn’t turn out as I had expected. So much for a “Christmas Miracle”…

Anyways, Happy Merry Christmas Eve! Or, for the Rest of Us, today1The day I wrote this, not the day you’re reading it, that is. is the day when we can officially say…Happy Festivus!

Content created on: 23 December 2020 (Wednesday)

Footnotes & References:[+]

« Older posts Newer posts »

© 2026 The Point of the Story

Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑

error

Enjoy this blog? Please spread the word :)

RSS
Facebook
Twitter
Follow by Email
YouTube
YouTube
Instagram