*cough*

Due to an ongoing "virus" on the ol' typewriter has, OMS will return to regular updates with funny links that bring the funny as soon as the daggum thing is fixed.

In the meantime, here's a li'l story to keep you all, all five of you, entertained:

Scene: the barren woods of Laporte, Pa. OMS, dressed to kill in his blaze orange trucker hat with "Hoss's '97" and a buck head on it and his blaze orange hunting jacket sittin' in the woods waitin' to kill him some buck yessir.

OMS plops down gingerly on the ground and leans up real good on that there tree there. He looks left. He looks right. He hears a crack. He cocks (quiet, you) his rifle and peers real nice through the scope.

Up hops the vicious creature that must be destroyed. He pauses. OMS pauses. They make eye contact. OMS grunts, evil man that he is, and prepares to fire on this soon-to-be fallen foe.

But then the cute li'l baby squirrel, complete with cute li'l red mohawk, looks at OMS to say, "Hey, HEY! You! I'm not a deer. No sir. I'm a cute li'l fuzzy squirrel and you needn't point that weapon of destruction my way, kind sir. I'm just passin' through here, mindin' my business.

"And in a minute, I'm gonna hop up that there tree there and warn all my friends that some poet in a hunting suit is sittin' there praying nothing comes near him so he actually has to, you know, load his gun, p*ssy that he is.

"Now go back to sleep, dear friend. We know you don't want to harm us. And easy with the Kit-Kats."

So OMS, convinced that he was slowly going insane because what baby squirrel busts out a fat joke, ever, put his head back and drifted into his li'l nap, setlists dancing in his head, gun firmly not loaded.

And END SCENE.

Back as soon as the ol' laptop stops with the pop-ups and disappearing icons.

Establishing extended indebtedness

About four years ago, Ol' Man Snap sent an email to a group of friends.

It was a story about how he went to his local Quick Check for a cup of coffee and promptly spilled it all over himself, and how angry he was that his lady-enducing scent was Irish Creme instead of his usual chick-magnet smell.

But then he spent the afternoon interviewing a World Trade Center survivor with a beautiful wife and two awesome, awesome kids. The man stared blankly while he questioned, openly, why he was alive and his friends at Morgan Stanley weren't. The man reminded Jimmy Olsen Snap that life is indeed something we all take for granted way too much.

And how cliche is it to write about this on the day before Thanksgiving? It's as non-original as news agencies reporting that there will be traffic delays today and HUGE SALES on Friday. But deal.

Therefore, today's entree will be all encompassing. Between family time over the holidays and hunting time starting Sunday (awwwww hell yeah the Ol' Man is gonna shoot him a buck by gawd), there may or may not be another entry between now and next Wednesday.

We know. You can't live without this. It keeps you going. It keeps you strong.

But never fear, kids. Today the Ol' Man will establish extended indebtedness (points for originality, he knows). This includes a game (!). You pick out the Heroez and Not So Much with the Heroez contained herein the indebtedness message.

Confused? Good. Welcome to the club. And buckle up.

The Ol' Man extends indebtedness for/to/about/regarding:

The media. For covering this. And this. When the Ol' Man turned 14, he called a sex line from his parents' tenant's apartment phoneline and then blamed his best friend Isaac for giving him the number. "Hello," said the sweet, soothing, sexy voice in San Francisco. "Click," said the intrigued, then panic-stricken fat kid.

Cavett. Because he rules.

The guy on the side of the road this morning who took a leak in broad effing daylight. Because he made the Ol' Man's day and reminded him of yesteryear, when peeing in the backyard was considered A-OK. What's that? It never was? Oh. His bad.

The twitching car insurance salesman yesterday whose idea of fixing his computer problem was tapping his right hand on his desk, repeatedly, while uttering, "I'm so sorry; I don't know the problem but this happens all the time" and looking like he was about to burn his office to the ground. Because he put the day in perspective.

The virus on the Ol' Man's laptop that forced him to delete certain "files." Because he already knows how.

Things like this. Because Praise Jesus, godd*amn the Lord has a sense of humor.

People to goof on. Like Maverick. And him. Because life is a li'l more gooder when we have assclowns like this to look at and say, "Huh. Sooooooo glad that's not me."

Grey's Anatomy. Because it's a pretty good show and it has fantastic eye candy (the latter link because OMS has him some readers who are dames, not because he wants Dr. McDreamy's hair).

Eye candy in general. Grrrrllllll. Because. Just because.

Bill Burr, who the Ol' Man is seeing Friday night. Because he is a funny motherf*cker. And no, it's not pesto.

Li'l Jimmy, who the Ol' Man's friends are all going to see Saturday night. Because he is a funny motherf*cker, too. And he's on his way.

If the Ol' Man can be serious for a moment, he also remains indebted to his friends and family, too, who at the end of the day are pretty much the most fabulous people on earth.

So Delightful Failure Day to one and all. And wish the Ol' Man luck when he's off in the woods this year, not breaking out in hives while hunting the enemy.

You know we'll have a good time then.

"Dad," I have off until TUESDAY," said the pink-tied li'l boy at our favorite breakfast stop this morning.

"Wow," dad said. "Tuesday."

"Yeah. That means I have off tomorrow and Thursday and Friday and Saturday and Sunday and Monday."

"That's nice," dad said.

At first, Ol' Man Snap was touched by the li'l exchange. Fathers and sons, whether having breakfast or throwing the old ball around the yard, need this type of bonding time. If not, they end up wallowing in a Harry Chapin song.

But then OMS turned around. It's hard to express just exactly what expression dad wore on his downtrodden, defeated face during this exchange. So we'll try to reenact the previous scene using visual and verbal aids for you, the dedicated P&PL reader.

First, picture a fabulously young David Fisher playing the role of the li'l boy. Now, picture the dude from The Shield playing dad.

Son: "Dad I have off until TUESDAY. LAAAAAAAA!"

Dad: "That's f*cking great kid. Eat your f*cking sandwhich and shut the f*ck up."

Son: "Yeah. That means I have off tomorrow and Thursday and Friday and Sat-"

Dad: "Kid. If you don't shut the f*ck up, I will go home and scream at your mother. For awhile. Probably an hour or so. Probably with something in my hand. Like a frying pan or the record with our wedding song. You talk a lot. It's her fault. It must be because I like silence. Especially during breakfast. All day, even. Shhhhh. Silence.

"And wear a navy blue tie next time. Christ."

And END SCENE.

Enough with the godd*mn automated systems

"We're sorry for the inconvenience," said the not-so-sweet mechanical voice on the other line, "but our system has changed. You are no longer able to dial in your member ID number. Please speak your member ID number when prompted."

"Please speak your ID number now."

"(sigh) ************."

"We're sorry. We did not understand your entry. Pl--"

"Of course you didn't."

"We're sorry. We did not understand your entry. Please speak your ID number again now."

"(sigh) ***-"

"We're sorry. We did not understand your entry. Please speak your ID number again now."

"*...*...*...*...*...*...*...*...*...*...*...*"

"We're sorry. We di-"

"Jesus Christ."

"We're sorry. If you would like to speak to a service representative, please say 'Service' now."

"SERVICE."

"Thank you."

"We're sorry. All of our representatives are currently assisting other customers."

This is what's called a good thing

Some of you laugh, still, that the Ol' Man is as big a fan of professional wrestling as he ever was.

Look, it's the one constant thing he's always had in his life. Things going bad? DDT your pillow. Life getting a li'l stressful? Cut a promo on your living room table. Feeling fat? Pound your gut like Kamala and give your other pillow the big splash.

Not following? Don't worry about it.

This, though, is a corporation that perhaps has finally realized that steps need to be taken, now, to fix what has long been rumored and talked about, while not necessarily receiving mainstream coverage.

This could also mean that WWE is taking seriously the loss of a 38-year-old wrestler last week due to heart failure.

OMS looks forward to not only finding out what this policy entails, but also who starts shrinking in the coming months. Seriously, though, it's good to see the McMahons doing something that should have been done long ago.