Rant: The ringtone phenomenon is taking over the world.

Imagine this. You are sitting at the union or some other place
that people frequent, and you hear a cell phone ringing. Pretty
pathetic, huh?

Not really. The problem is actually the ridiculous tone
that’s coming from that cell phone.

You would never think that people would invest so much time,
energy and money to pick out a ringtone that even old people
can’t stand. Cell phone companies are already getting rich by
hidden fees and ridiculous charges, so add that to the $3 billion a
year the cell phone companies are already collecting from us from
purchasing ringtones.

The next time I hear a corny ringtone from a cell phone, I am
going to ask that person for the $4 they spent purchasing the
ringtone because they have no business wasting their money like
that. I can take that $4 and do something useful with it, like buy
me an Extra Value Meal.

Rave: Three square meals a day keeps Big Bubba away.

What do the numbers 55170-054, 4013970 and 922335 have in
common? They certainly aren’t the winning powerball numbers.
These are the inmate numbers of Martha Stewart, O.J. Simpson, and
Mike Tyson, respectively.

If the sight of these celebrities sitting in the clink
doesn’t want to make you jump up and sing “Jailhouse
Rock,” I don’t know what will.

Can you imagine what Martha Stewart’s cell is going to
look like? Satin sheets, a Sealy Posturepedic mattress, and
possibly a chrome toilet. Or maybe she can teach her cellmates a
better way to make grilled cheese other than by ironing the
bread.

It is nice that the courts hold these “criminals”
accountable for what they did, and it doesn’t matter how much
money you have, once Big Bubba gets a hold of you, it’s all
she wrote.

Rant: Throw the institution of marriage out the window.

How bad do people want to be on TV? Well, it’s easy. Just
get married, have a couple of kids, and then go live with someone
else’s spouse for a week. “Wife Swap” on ABC may
be compelling television for those on the verge of divorce, but the
reality genre is coming to a quick end once someone gets mad, or
dies because they had some bad sauteed humpback on “Fear
Factor.”

If I ever get married and my wife asks me if she can go stay
with another guy for a week, this is what I am going to tell her:
Go in the kitchen and fry me a burger, fix me some Kool-Aid and
then pack all of your stuff and exit stage left.
hello there & you too