Desperately Seeking Fido

Does anyone know where I can find this dog (see video clip, compliments of Aunt Dee from Florida)?

I need this fella to come train me on how to control Claire better. When Claire isn't attempting to crawl into the open dishwasher... or to sneak her way past the barriers in the living room to play with the window drapes that hang down to the floor behind the big leather chairs... or to carefully clean the middle shelf of the bookshelf in her nursery by removing each and every book (book by book by book) and scattering them on the floor throughout her nursery... or to crawl over the big, fluffy blue dog chair in her nursery to gain access to the power cords of her CD player/radio... Or, when Claire isn't doing any number of "fun" little things toddlers do to drive an already insane stay-at-home dog even more crazy, she's opening every cabinet door and drawer she finds in her path as she makes her rounds between her nursery and the kitchen. She's particularly fond of the cabinet in the kitchen (pictured here) that has the slide out drawers which hold the rice and lentil bean packages she likes to strategically place throughout the house. And when she's not clearing the kitchen cabinet of all pasta, rice and legume contents, Claire can be found in her nursery emptying her dresser drawers of all her clean clothes and scattering them over the sea of books she already has strewn on the floor. Yes, Stew has purchased the kid-proofing drawer thingamagigs that are supposed to keep toddlers from prying open cabinet doors and drawers. However, the thingamagigs require one to drill holes into the cabinet doors/drawers and base, and we're all a little frightened at the prospect of Stew wielding a drill. Plus, Momma doesn't want to damage the kitchen cabinets in the event we ever sell the "Love Shack" and move into a McMansion. But, since the nursery dresser is fair game (translation: hand-me-down furniture), Stew plans to one day install thingamagigs on the drawers. He'll probably get around to doing this the day after he finishes the guest room in the basement. That's right. THAT guest room. The one I told you about more than a year ago (original post). The latest deadline for completing the basement guest room that I overheard Momma giving Stew is, "before my folks arrive for Christmas." Apparently Stew thinks drinking beer in the basement while wearing a carpenter's belt around his flabby belly equates to "hard work" and "making progress". We all think Stew must have secretly taken online coursework (i.e., Ignoring Reality 101 and Critical Thinking for Dummies) from the George W. Bush School of Egocentricity. The next thing you know Momma will come home from work to find a huge MISSION ACCOMPLISHED banner hanging in the basement... even though there's still a disasterous mess to deal with in the unfinished guest bedroom. Does anyone else hear a ticking sound?

Hart to Hart time

It's time for a heart to heart discussion... albeit one-sided as you are not allowed to comment until you hear my entire rambling. Even then, you likely won't comment since there are only 3-4 out of you half dozen readers that actually post comments. Regardless, due to the fact I've just been informed that I'm responsible for The Stewart Family Barker (our family's Christmas newsletter), I'm going to need to scale back on my blog postings until the newsletter is complete. I also have another blog I promised to launch soon, and I really haven't done much to get it off the ground (other than writing about it occasionally). All this combined with my insane need to find out if Belle is REALLY going to cheat on Shawn with Philip, plus learn WHO shot E.J. Wells (on my story, Days of Our Lives), time is a luxury I really don't enjoy. Oh, and there's the whole taking care of Claire thing. But, I'll keep the digital camera handy for photo updates of Claire as often as possible. And by February or March, I'm sure the writers of Days will finally reveal E.J.'s actual shooter(s)... and I'll be happy to share this info with y'all if need be.

In the meantime.... Mike Rios, faithful bloggee and fellow stay-at-home DAWG, recently wrote "Guess what? I've got a fever! And the only prescription... is more hand-crafted rug action!" Okay, so those weren't his actual words, but that's what I heard when I read his comment yesterday. So, I'll be doing myself a disservice - and every member of my family - if I don't promote the hell out of these rugs. Heartland Hand-Crafted Rugs started making rugs in 2002. Most rugs are made of recycled fabrics. The designers, Helen and Darlene, can make a variety of sizes (maximum width is 36 inches; standard width is 27-28 inches). Some lengths vary according to fabric type and color. For a truly one-of-a-kind rug, contact Helen to request a custom-made design of your choice in the fabric of your liking. If they can wrap it on a loom, then they can make it into a rug. I've got my Christmas request in for a feral cat rug, and I cannot wait! And, I give you my personal assurance the rugs are dog-chew-proof... and they'd make a lovely Christmas gift for that special someone in your life. In other words, PLEASE BUY SOME RUGS! We use our's at the front door, the back door, the kitchen and as a bathroom mat (it's true... we have just a few of the rugs).

Go HERE and buy a Heartland Hand-Crafted rug (or two). And tell the gals Bogey sent ya. It won't get you jack-squat in terms of a special deal, but it just might earn ME one of Grandma Helen's psychedelic dog biscuits (I call them her Disco Biscuits). I still don't know what she puts in them, but they make me want to Disco dance with a Boxer with George Bush's head attached to its body. Dubya's way more likeable when we're bootin' to KC & the Sunshine Band!

Blame it on the tryptophan

You'll need to forgive me. Well, actually, you don't NEED to do anything, but I'm confident you'll feel better about yourself if you were to go ahead and give me a break for not blogging until now. You see, I woke up from a Turducken-induced coma just a few short hours ago. That's right. Grandma Helen served a Turducken for our Thanksgiving meal (and again for Day-After-Thanksgiving lunch, afternoon snacks... then dinner again). It was absolutely huge, not to mention delicious. Although, I prefer a kittykongutter (a kitten stuffed with a kong, which itself is stuffed with smooth, creamy peanut butter goodness). After more than three days on Grandpa & Grandma's farm in South Dakota, I have a strong desire to post a lengthy diatribe on the evils of feral cats. Good gravy, there had to be THOUSANDS of them on the farm (probably more like 10, but it seemed like they were everywhere... and they were always all up in my business). Instead of focusing on wild cats, I've prepared yet another nice little 8-1/2 minute video montage highlighting our recent venture westward. That's right, I said "8-1/2 minute video." My file was so large I had to use my YouTube account to upload it (that's what she said). So, grab a danish and a cup of coffee, sit back and enjoy. But first, I want to post a couple pictures of me atop a hay bale. One is from 2005 (the picture where I'm a puppy), and the other is from this past weekend. What you can't tell from the photos is that I'm shaking uncontrollably in both shots. Momma eventually climbed up on the hay bale next to me to calm me down. Stew's incessant yelling of "Bogart, hold still!" wasn't quite doing the trick. Anyway, on to the video. Please note Stew was responsible for most of the video footage. Therefore, I cannot be held responsible for the close-up shots of pig nuts or cow pies.

Note: The background song for the 2nd video is Grandma's for the Weekend from the Johnny Clueless album, Kissed In Kansas. Johnny Clueless is another of my favorite Minneapolis bands, so buy the album now by clicking on the album cover below...

Scared turkeys and anonymous infiltrators

Well, Happy Thanksgiving to you all! Tomorrow morning, we're heading off for Grandma and Grandpa's farm in SoDak. It will be Claire's first visit to the farm, so it should be fun for her to learn what good 'ole Midwestern hardwork smells like. Trust me, it's not a pretty smell... and it certainly doesn't taste like chicken (it's more like pork and beef)! I get to play with Lucy, the farm dog, while I'm there. I just hope she doesn't dislike me for infiltrating her property. Stew's also hoping I don't find my way to the feedlot... where the smell is a bit pungent. Anyway, I have some pictures to post that I've received over the last week or so. Aunt Dee (Florida) sent the first two turkey-related pictures, while Uncle Kermit sent the chicken-hawk postcard (that'd be the picture of Dick and Rummy arguing over the puppy for those of you who don't quite grasp the "chicken-hawk" reference). I'm also posting a link to a little Thanksgiving-related greeting card I created for you at the Jib-Jab website. Unfortunately, I can't figure out how to post the video greeting card to the blog, so I'm stuck just posting a link to it. Regardless, I'm hoping y'all find the greeting as cute and sweet as I do. I try my best to provide you with humor at this blog, but I recognize I might occasionally miss the target with my ramblings. More on that later... In the meantime, if you ever wondered what runs through the mind of your food, then you'll like the clip (update: copy & paste because the clip isn't working by clicking on it):
http://www.jibjab.com/sendables/view/XF-BoPXvZGD0QvnLm8wawwh_

In other news, allow me to introduce you to Bogey Brawn, International Dog Without Dignity. Not to be confused with that Austin Powers, International Man of Mystery character, Bogey's trademark slogan is, "Humuliation is my middle name, Baby." I created my alter-ego to help deal with the embarrassment I felt the first time Stew dressed me up in a little outfit (when he strapped reindeer antlers to my head when I was just a scared, little pup). Now, whenever Stew shows up with a camera in one hand and a Hello Kitty princess crown in the other, I revert into my Bogey Brawn character and pretend I'm on a mission. I also slip into Bogey Brawn whenever I see Claire prancing around the house in her flower-power hippy pants and groovy daisy shoes. Momma sometimes teases Stew by asking Claire questions like, "what did Papa dress you in today?" I sense a tinge of sarcasm in her voice when she asks such questions and, judging by the way Stew gets all huffy and defensive, I think my assumptions are accurate. But sometimes it can be difficult for some people to pick up on sarcasm, so I'm going to provide you all with a definition of the word taken from www.thefreedictionary.com so you are able to recognize it the next time sarcasm presents itself to you. Here you go:

sar·casm (sär'kăz'əm)
noun
1) A cutting, often ironic remark intended to wound.
2) A form of wit marked by the use of sarcastic language intended to make its victim the butt of contempt or ridicule.

So, why the lesson on sarcasm? Continue reading below...

THE ANONYMOUS INFILTRATOR
Yesterday, I received an anonymous comment posted to my October 13th blog entry. The comment is in reference to my October 26th blog entry where I SARCASTICALLY poked fun at the photo that won the Baby, You're a Star baby photo contest in which we entered Claire. Here's the comment for your viewing pleasure:

Anonymous said...
Apparently your little squirrel baby wasn't cute enough, better pick a cuter squirrel next time. Maybe a rabbit they're softer. Too bad people are such sore losers, those are the ones that just shouldn't enter these contests. Did you really need a contest to tell you your baby is cute? Shame on you for being a sore loser.

Now, it's apparent Anonymous - if that is your real name - was unable to detect the sarcasm in my (admittedly) mean-spirited entry, so I deleted the references and link to the contest's winning photo altogether. Plus, I hit myself over the snout with a rolled-up newspaper just to be sure I get the message loud and clear. Furthermore, I will promise Anonymous that we will forever refrain from entering Claire into any contests where the winner is selected purely on how many friends/family we can get to vote for her on the site. We can't compete with a trailer park full of kin votin' for their little "Britney" as we simply don't have enough cousins or baby daddies in our clan to tap into for support. Instead, we will only enter Claire into contests where she's judged purely on her appearance. This will insure she's prepared for the real world when she gets older.

Now, let's all go eat some turkey and chill out...

Little Miss Robbinsdale? I think not...

Nothing sends me screaming from a room like listening to Barbara Walters talking about sex on The View. And the gals on The View were just talking about sex and orgasms, so I grabbed Claire and got out of there as fast as I could. I believe Stew, on the other hand, is still curled up in the corner of the room crying, "make it stop... please, just make it stop!" Nothing against Barbara Walters, but she might as well be talking about "taking a poo" because I'd rather hear her discussing her own bodily functions than her talking about her sex life. I think I still have a little throw-up in my mouth. Give me a minute while I lap up some water from my dog-dish to rinse out the vomit...

So, since TV time is over for the day, I'm taking this opportunity to post a quick blog entry. I've been thinking a lot lately about the baby photo contest in which we entered Claire, and there's something I need to get off my chest. You remember the contest, don't you? The one she didn't win because you people didn't vote enough times online like I had asked you to do... does that ring a bell? You also might recall the contest was subsequently won by something that just barely resembles a baby, but I won't get into that again. Anyway, I'm starting to worry that Claire might want to enter these contests on her own when she gets older. Our biggest fear is Claire becoming a pageant princess (sorry for the creepy blurred face on this photo, but I don't want to be sued by this kid or her folks). Can you imaging Momma as a "pageant mom", and Stew would probably get arrested by pageant security for "scaring the children." We won't stop Claire if that's what she wants, but maybe we shouldn't encourage her by entering her in beauty contests (contests that are clearly fixed and will only lead to heartbreak anyway). So, I don't think Little Miss Robbinsdale is in the cards for Claire anytime soon.

Plus, there's a video circulating on the internet showing a high school pageant contestant that has scared me straight. I will do whatever is in my power to keep Claire from this sort of embarrassment. A word of warning, the following video is worse (or better, depending on your perspective) than the Miss South Carolina babbling video. Take a look...

This is about enough for today. I need a drink... in the meantime, here's a picture of Claire and me that Stew shot right after showing us the above video. Claire looks like she's about to cry, and I'm in utter disbelief. Happy Monday...

I'm a lucky dog!

In the 1968 movie, Funny Girl, Fanny (Barbara Streisand) and Nick (Omar Sharif) steal a private moment alone while attending a party, and they soon discover they are both a little lonely. That's when Fanny sings the words, "People who need people are the luckiest people in the world..."

Now, you might find this shocking, but I'm not a fan of musicals (Grease being the exception). Regardless, here's a clip from Funny Girl... try viewing it without jabbing a pencil into your ear. I dare say it cannot be done.

You might also find this shocking, but I'm not a fan of Barbara Streisand. Nope. Never have been. I know, I'm surprised by this revelation myself. She's so talented but just doesn't do it for me. So, you might be asking yourself, "then why is Bogart blogging about Barbara Streisand?" Well, allow me to explain by way of short story. Gather 'round kids... Bogey's gonna tell you a tale. You might want to grab yourself a cup of hot cider before I start. Go ahead... I'll wait.

Ready?

Once upon a time last night - at 1:15AM to be precise - I couldn't sleep, so I wandered out to the office where I found Stew swilling Labatt Blue beer and surfing the internet for graphic... design software? Really? Graphic design software? Trust me, I'm as shocked - and confused - by this as you are. Anyway, I sat down next to him, and we modified our search for stay-at-home dog and dad websites and blogs. Low and behold, we came across the At-Home-Dad newsletter, written by Pete Baylies (author of The Stay-At-Home Dad Handbook, which would make a great gift for any at-home dad OR dog... hint-hint... buy it here). On his blog, Pete has a Best New Daddy Blog Contest, so we decided to submit my blog for consideration. Then after Stew discovered there were no more beers in the fridge, we retired for the night (only to be awakened by Claire four hours later). Upon checking email this morning, I discovered Pete accepted my blog for entry into his contest! Additionally, despite my late entry, he added a nice little plug for me at his site. So, much like all the crappy movies that are released at the end of the year typically garner the most Oscar buzz, I'm hoping the timing of my contest entry is such that I'm able to bring home the statuette for the 2007 Best New Daddy Blog.

So, as you can see, I'm lucky for having stumbled across Pete's website. I need his site to learn about this contest, in addition to many other resources about which I was not aware. For example, film-maker Dana Glazer is working on a documentary about the evolving American father. It got me thinking that Mr. Glazer might want to include a bit about the evolving American at-home dog. I wonder if Mr. Glazer knows that in addition to being a primary caregiver to Claire, I'm also an aspiring young actor... who's available for commercials, print and broadcast media ads, TV productions and, of course, film. Call me, Dana!

So, Thank You to Pete and his website (check it out and buy his book)! Thank You Barbara Streisand for showing all of us that people do, in fact, need people... and dogs. But we can really do without cats, unless they are fans of my blog (so, a bark out to my cat frenemies, Lexie and Sammy). And Thank You Claire for being the best part of my life and this blog! Speaking of Claire, I'd better post a photo of her since this IS a blog about her. I don't want to get disqualified from the contest just one day after entering due to a lack of baby content! Please note: Claire does own other outfits, but it seems she's always wearing a pink shirt and bib overalls whenever the camera has fresh batteries, so cut me some slack.

You want pancakes with your syrup?

Finally... for your viewing (and listening) pleasure, here is a video compilation of Momma and Papa's 3-day tour through Vermont... as they were in search of the perfect maple syrup. And by "perfect", I mean "cheap". I have tons more footage, but I figure just the highlights are enough. Plus, shortly after arriving home from their trip, Stew shot some video footage of Claire not realizing he had rewound the camcorder tape (thereby taping over some of the best video footage from the trip). Regardless, research shows my audience's maximum attention span is 4 minutes 5 seconds, so it's probably for the best. Enjoy... roll tape!

By the way, did anyone hear about the woman who got sued by Prince (or is it still The Artist Formerly Known as Prince)? Regardless, some woman posted a video of her kid dancing (or something) on YouTube, and there was a Prince song playing in the background. The short, little freak sued her! Well, I don't want to get sued. So, I want to tell you all that the song playing in this video is Keep on Rollin' On from the Mango Jam album, Preserves. For those who don't know, Mango Jam is a Minneapolis band, and I strongly encourage each of you to purchase one or ALL of their CD's here. As you've just heard... they really are quite excellent! And I beg them not to sue me. I'm just a dog, and I have no Milkbones to spare.

Daddy's Girl

Evidence is mounting that Claire is becoming a Daddy's Girl. I've attempted to document some of the photo evidence for you.

EXHIBIT "A"

Claire enjoys her Starbucks Coffee almost as much as her daddy...

EXHIBIT "B"
Claire's eyes are bigger than her stomach, so she eats more than she should. Upon completion of a meal, she puts her feet up and eventually ends up putting her hand down the front of her pants (picture Al Bundy in a pink sweatshirt under bib overalls)...

EXHIBIT "C"

Claire likes to sit around the house in her underwear. Alright, it's a diaper... but it's basically the same thing. Plus, I'm confident that Stew would sit around the house in adult diapers if he could muster up the courage to buy a package of them at the store. One sign there's still hope for Claire is that she likes to carry around Momma's brush, and she actually tries to run it through her hair from time to time. Stew, on the other hand, is programmed to throw a baseball cap on his greasy head in lieu of combing his hair (let alone washing it OR taking a shower for that matter)...

"Happy Anniversary, Baby..."

"...Got you on my mind." Today is Momma and Stew's 8th anniversary. Can you believe it? Momma is clearly some sort of saint (or is in dire need of a mental check-up). If you're like me, then you have suspicions that fleas have infiltrated your hindquarters, PLUS you're a huge fan of the Australian Little River Band, despite the fact you picture the two Australian dudes from Air Supply in your mind whenever somebody mentions "Little River Band" at a brunch or cocktail party. Get it? It's because you confuse the two Australian bands, both of which turned out some outstanding music (several decades ago). In turn, whenever someone mentions "Air Supply" at the aforementioned brunch or cocktail party, you picture Ace and Gary (better known as The Ambiguously Gay Duo). I know this has happened to you. Just admit it. Anyway, I was mentioning to Stew this afternoon that he should serenade Momma tonite by singing the Little River Band song, Happy Anniversary, to her. Stew declined my suggestion and pointed out to me that despite its title, Happy Anniversary is not a love song. Stew knows his Australian band trivia, so who am I to question him?

The symbol of an 8th Anniversary is bronze, but Stew didn't want to spend his allowance (Momma's money) on a gift. So, he decided against having a bronze bust of himself made and opted instead to make Momma a card on the computer. Now, this is just an observation on my part, and you might not agree with it, which is your perogative. But I'm thinking bronze is a very fitting symbol for this marriage. Hear me out. First there's Stew, who peaked - figuratively speaking - at the age of 12 years when he won Third Place (bronze) in the Pierre Area Punt, Pass & Kick competition. Then you've got Momma, who clearly could have done much better for herself had she worked just a little harder at finding a husband, yet she seems perfectly happy settling for Stew (a bronze figurine barely keeping afloat in a sea filled with much younger, smarter and stronger gold statues). Ain't love grand?

Sunday was Momma and Aunt Susan's Annual Pie Baking Day. Sometimes Aunt Veronica comes from Fargo to attend, but there was no sign of her (or her two weiner dogs, Theo and Tucker) this weekend. Earlier in the week, Grandma Judy had sent a cute little apron for Claire to wear. If you look closely enough at one of the following photos, you can see Claire's new upper teeth coming in. But for now, her bark is still worse than her bite.

Got milk?

It seems I got a little off track the last couple days having not posted any pictures of Claire. So, to make up for it, here are a couple to end the week on a good note. A high note, if you will. The first couple are of Claire carrying around her empty milk jug, as you can clearly see. What's not so clear is me cowering in the background... with my eyes glowing like some sort of devil dog. But trust me -- I'm not some vicious, evil beast. I'm actually scared out of my gord of Claire. You see, she likes to crack me over the head with anything within her grasp, and I'm particularly fearful of all things large and plastic that once held liquid. I don't know what it is. No, scratch that. I know EXACTLY what it is. It's the hellish "THUD!" I hear reverberating inside my skull each time a jug comes crashing down upon my head. You'd think it'd hurt more than it does, but it still scares the life out of you!

Now for some fun Fox News tomfoolery. Here are two pictures containing a total of three images. See if you can tell which image is that of Fox News Contributor (and neoconservative tool), Charles Krauthammer. Oh, and he's a columnist for The Washington Post who might have won a Pulitzer Prize 20 years ago. I happen to think he's a real-life zombie that eats small babies and large breed dogs. Anyway, Claire and I are giving our best Charles Krauthammer impersonations, so good luck figuring out who's who. Here's a clue: Chuck is wearing a tie and is neither a really cute baby nor a ruggedly handsome dog with piercing brown eyes that you can't see because I'm impersonating Charles Krauthammer. Claire hasn't quite gotten the Charles Krauthammer sleepy-eye look down yet, but she's close.

And, finally, here are just a couple shots of Claire being totally awesome. She has a fascination with the toilet, not to mention running around the house with either a shoe or sock in her hand. The naked thing is only at bathtime, and she usually doesn't get the chance to run too far. As you've seen, Claire is typically dressed (in the same outfit... bib overalls and a pink sweatshirt). I remember when I used to run at bathtime, but doing so only made Stew yell at me. So, now I just hop in the tub and commence shaking immediately. Speaking of Stew, ever since Claire's been big enough to sit in a booster seat and feed herself, I've eaten A LOT better. That's right... I'm still only getting about one square meal a day out of Stew.

Thank goodness Claire's a messy eater or else I'd look like this guy...

Hey, what's your size?

Recently, Stew emailed Uncle Kermit the following question: "If you were a t-shirt to be worn by yourself, what size t-shirt would you be?" I'm not sure where Stew is going with this line of questioning, but me thinks he has something along the lines of an "I'm with Stupid" t-shirt. Each New Year's, we share a cabin with a few friends (and dogs), and it's become somewhat of a tradition for folks to bring gag gifts to the cabin that are typically used as door prizes for various games of chance and/or skill the humanoids participate in until the wee hours of the morning. Stew's been in training for a couple weeks. I've been finding him out in the garage practicing his tabletop shuffleboard stroke. There's a traveling trophy at stake, and our house has yet to win a trophy to display on our fireplace mantel (or for Stew to keep under his pillow out of fear Aunt Veronica might come steal it if he ever wins one... she's a vicious competitor).

Anyway, following is Uncle Kermit's response to the t-shirt question that we found intriguing enough to share with y'all:

Assume a train leaves Chicago at 10:10AM traveling due east at 75MPH, while a second train leaves New York at 12:00PM traveling due west - on the same track - at a speed of 110MPH.

The eastbound train is loaded with Vienna beef, Chicago-style hot dogs on poppy-seed buns with mustard, tomato, and sport-peppers. The westbound train is carrying New York strips grilled medium-rare topped with mushrooms and served with broccoli covered in a rich hollandaise sauce.

Assume I am sitting in Philadelphia eating cheese-steak sandwiches when the two trains collide in front of me, spilling their contents. Furthermore, assume I stop eating my sandwich and begin to eat the food which has spilled in front of me.

The act of picking up a hotdog or a steak constitutes a random variable which follows the discrete, Bernoulli probability distribution.

Assume a stochastic vector of:
Food-item (X) = {.33 - steak} {.67 - hotdog}

If a steak has 2.34 times the number of calories as a hotdog, and I am able to eat continuously for 15 minutes before rescue workers force me to leave the scene of the accident, determine the number of calories (denoted by variable "C" and expressed in units of whole hotdogs) that will be consumed by me.

If C is less than or equal to 4, then I am a Large.
If C is greater than 4 but less than 8, then I am an X-Large.
If C is greater than or equal to 8, then I am fatter than I think.
Note: Express all numbers to the 3rd significant digit and show your work.

Cheers,
--kermit

Now, I wouldn't call Uncle Kermit a nerd, but he is some sort of engineer (and not the kind that drives a train, despite the use of locomotives in the above story problem). Plus, his hero is supposedly Steve Urkel. Did I say thaaaat? If you are also an Urkel fan, then you will undoubtedly understand the comedic brilliance of my inserting the aforementioned Urkel phrase.

Anyway, Stew was going to assign this problem to Momma, but then he remembered how much trouble she had with her math homework while she was getting her Masters in Public Health (MPH) degree a few years ago. We often found her sitting at the kitchen table at night with her Statistics book open while she plucked at her eyebrows with both hands as she rocked back-and-forth in her chair. Luckily, Stew was a math genius in his younger years, so he was always there for Momma with a supportive, "Linda, the Fiducial Method is an attempt to measure the precision of a statistical estimate. Fiducial intervals are an alternative to confidence intervals; however, they haven't been free from controversy. Basically, their meaning has not been universally accepted. If you can't grasp this theorem, then I can't really help you. So, I'm going downstairs to watch Law & Order."

But, since Stew says Uncle Kermit's riddle is over his head, the burden of solving it has been turned over to me. Therefore, I will solve it for you here:

Firstoff, there are many famous open problems in mathematics, many dating back hundreds of years. For instance, the Riemann hypothesis (from 1859) and Goldbach's conjecture (1742). And, you need to realize that we mathematicians are typically interested not in calculating, but in finding and describing patterns (or creating proofs that justify a theorem mathematically). Thusly, my research has determined that Uncle Kermit has a long established pattern of spewing bullshit, both verbally and in written form. And, I'm assuming outdoor temperatures in Philadelphia at the time of the hypothetical accident will not exceed 45 degrees Fahrenheit, therefore, the egg-based hollandaise sauce topping the New York strip beef should not be adversely affected to the point of causing Kermit to vomit, and his horseshoe mustache should remain fairly free of debris. Appending my assumptions into the pattern of Kermit's long history of bullshitting, the answer to his story problem is 6.50. Or, he would be an XL t-shirt. A portion of my work can be found here. However, since a proof is a logical argument, as opposed to an empirical one, there is not enough chalk in the world - nor a blackboard large enough - to show a proof of Kermit's bullshit pattern. So, you're just going to have to take my word for it. Kermit is an XL, not to mention strikingly handsome. I love you Uncle Kermit!

Watch out for flying squirrels!

Based on new intelligence reports, I've decided to elevate the Squirrels Hide In Trees (SHIT) Threat Level to Lavender. I have it on good authority that squirrels are currently conducting training exercises in the United Kingdom. According to Special Agent Sluggo Poopsalot, an English Bulldog working for the British Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) -- commonly known as MI6 (click underlined words for more info), the U.K.'s external intelligence agency that fights terrorism -- unscrupulous squirrels have established a training camp just outside London. Agents of the SIS have been conducting surveillance on the camp; however, it's alleged that a rogue agent -- one Rocket "Rocky" J. Squirrel -- leaked video footage to a local news channel. Agent Rocky hails from Frostbite Falls, MN, where he met his dim-witted (but good-natured) crime-fighting partner, Bullwinkle J. Moose. The duo gained notoriety in the 1960's and 70's when they became secret agents of the U.S. assigned to pursue Boris Badenov and Natasha Fatale from the Eastern European country of Pottsylvania, a nation dedicated to all matters related to espionage and deceitfulness. The government of Pottsylvania was headed by a uniformed dictator known only as "Fearless Leader". Boris and Natasha seemed to be Fearless Leader's most frequently used secret agents, often sent to execute the country's schemes for gaining global power. The scheming villains, despite their fiendishness, proved to be inept agents... yet they were never captured. They reportedly fled to the U.S., where it's alledged they assumed the identities of Danny DeVito and Debi Mazar.

On the morning of December 25, 1984, Bullwinkle the Moose was stalked and killed by a family of rednecks living along the Minnesota-Canada border. The rednecks, still drunk from a Christmas Eve party the night before, mistook Bullwinkle for a reindeer that had run over their grandmother as she was walking home from the party. A party attendee stated to police, "...she'd (grandma) been drinkin' too much eggnog, and we begged her not to go... but she forgot her medication, and she staggered out the door into the snow." [Click here for the full police report statement]

Anyway, soon after Bullwinkle's murder, a depressed Rocky returned to Europe and was eventually recruited into the British Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) as an airman. While they initially valued Rocky's ability to fly, the SIS soon determined Rocky would make a valuable undercover agent for infiltrating a growing network of terroristic squirrels. Soon after the following video was leaked to a London broadcast news station, Rocky disappeared. His whereabouts are unknown to this day, but it's widely believed Rocky has joined forces with "the other side." I don't know about you, but this video reminds me A LOT of those al qaeda training camp videos Fox News airs about every 20 minutes in order to scare you into not thinking for yourself...