While I was in China, we got totally lost once (well, more than once, but once in particular) and a nice earthquake prevention lady helped us find our way by writing us some directions. She wrote them, however, in the same notebook I write my blog ideas in, so the other day I sat down to write an article and found the Chinese directions, but I was really tired at the time, so I just ran with it, so I had a post that was going to start out, "You know what the funny thing about turning left at Qinghuadonglu is?" But then I realized that wasn’t a humorous observation that had actually occurred to me, but was rather one that had stealthily slipped into my humor repertoire unannounced.

It is a generally acknowledged fact that the richer and more hoity-toity among us regularly drive around in their fancy automobiles politely inquiring each to each about the availability of Grey Poupon. But what about us more plebeian types? Don’t we deserve a mustard commercial relevant to our unique socioeconomic status in life? Like how about if some guy is sitting at a stoplight and a dude pulls up in a Pinto, and says, "Hey, you got any French’s, sucka?" That would be a condiment advertisement for all mankind.

Whenever there’s a volcano-related article in the paper, they always mention the "red-hot lava." No offense, but I’m pretty sure that red-hot is the only flavor in which it comes. You don’t need to point it out again, like I’m not going to understand that its hot like that. "What, a Peruvian village was destroyed by lava? What a bunch of sissies!" "Oh, what’s that you say, it was red-hot lava, well, that’s an entirely different and more horrific geological phenomenon then, my bad," is not a conversational exchange I can imagine transpiring because the paper neglected to point out the red-hottitude of the lave in question.

Do you ever notice how the only section of the newspaper with women’s underwear ads is the front page? Why do they do that anyway? Is it because they want to balance out all the serious stuff that happens in that part of the paper with scintillating undergarments? Because it doesn’t work, it just distracts you. "Oh no, Nelson Mandela was enveloped by red-hot lava again; that’s not good at all. Oh, wait Victoria’s Secret is having a brassiere clearance event, come on Helga, we’re going shopping!"

In case you were wondering, it was established this past week to the satisfaction of all concerned, that Elmer Thudpucker, of New Weaselport, Connecticut, did in fact, let the dogs out. Which means that those of you who insisted on asking the now-infamous question regarding who did, in fact, let out the aforementioned dogs, may now rest easy that justice has been served and may cease asking it repeatedly and musically, at football games, Bar Mitzvahs, and State of the Union Addresses. Really, thanks for caring, but you can stop now.

I want to get a job at an aquarium in the eel department (The Eel Department, by the way, would make an aquarialicious name for a band), and then I want to work there every day as a tour guide until some guy comes in and asks, "Hey, what kind of eel is that?" Because then I can reply, "Oh, That’s a moray!" And then I’ll quit, because really, even the best of puns wouldn’t make it worth knowing that some of my coworkers of were seals.

I went to see the Narnia movie last week, bt before it started, they had a Coke ad where a bunch of polar bears were drinking Coke and mauling Eskimos and generally living it up in a wholesome and family-friendly fashion. But then in the actual movie, these same digitally-created polar bears showed up again pulling the sleigh of the White Witch, who is a total demon ho hellbent on stopping anybody in Narnia from having any fun or allegorical Jesus lions. So yeah, polar bears are now officially sellouts, soulless mercenaries willing to enlist in the vile ranks of whatever army of evil is paying this week, owing allegiance to none save for the almighty dollar and their overpowering addiction to quality soft drinks.

I love doing my Christmas shopping on Mongolia, because you can leave the price tags on and nobody knows how much you spent anyway. "Whoa, 45,000 Tugruks, you shouldn’t have!" Unless of course they checked online and got a conversion chart, which is why I’ve had to make sure that I only give presents to people who are either lazy, incurious, or have woefully inadequate math skills. Happily, most people are at least one of the above already.