Author - Chris Weagel

This is the season for snapping up homes. Even if you already have one, with all the foreclosures and subsequent family break-ups, now’s the time to pick up a second, third or even fourth house. Leave it sit empty while birds build their society inside the chimney. What do you care? BUT YOU DO CARE. YOU DON’T WANT TO BE MADE TO LOOK FOOLISH. To maintain your dignity, interrogate your realtor with the following: Am I buying a House or just a picture of a House? How much Ice Cream could fit in the freezer comfortably? Are the neighbors ugly? Is the house haunted? If so are they friendly ghosts? Would my stuffed animals feel comfortable there? Is the porch detachable? Is it a Boy House or a Girl House? And how do you tell? If I were a duck, would I live there? Please explain the...

Michigan’s Cowboys all live deep under the lake. Sometimes you see them holding their breath, skulking through swamps, eating glass bottles and storm refuse. They are unapproachable and largely made of stone. They were here long before us and will be here long after.
When needed, though, they are ready to defend this stats’s people and mineral resources from marauders and thieves and those giant land turtles that eat rock from Ohio.
As a bonus, they’ll let you sharpen any kitchen or hunting knives on their thighs or backs. They only ask for a single kiss.

Woke up to terrible news. Some miscreant has hacked into my multi-media cell phone and posted my private photo collection to the internet.
Now everyone (everyone who matters, anyway) has seen my 450+ photos of mannequin hands.
I’ll be under the bed the rest of the week.

What kind of man willingly sits through a three hour video of a dehumidifier running in an empty room?

I REFUSE TO BE A STATISTIC!

It has come to my attention that the entire world’s supply of Candy Corn was originally manufactured in 1959 and has simply been recycled over and over since then.
Changes everything.

Here in the Midwest of the United States we are awfully proud of our ability to stuff numerous toddlers into compact backyard sandboxes. 15 was the longstanding record until this past August when Ingrid Troughton, without mechanical aid, crammed 27 toddler babies into her backyard sandbox and kept them there for almost three hours. And not small babies, either. We’re eaters in this part of the country and we pass it down through the genes. Some of these babies, to put it politely, have fat legs. That didn’t stop Ingrid. She plopped them all in there, each one buried up to at least their chest, as per regulation. Feeding isn’t always easy but at around the halfway mark, Ingrid did spray them down with the hose, doing at least three passes before retiring again to the back...