Catwoman

While the quest to find the girl of my dreams had extended into sophomore year of high school, Catwoman had been worth the wait.  There was much work ahead – as my crush was only a few minutes old.  Still, I was closer to walking off into the sunset with the love of my life than I’d ever been before.  Hopefully it wouldn’t be too long before I’d be spending these bus rides with an arm wrapped around her tiny shoulders, admiring my reflection in those chocolate eyes.  In the meantime, my boundaries were marked by a chunk of foam leaking out of a tear in the seat.

Early on into my sophomore campaign, I finally had an opportunity to unleash my enhanced suaveness.  Based on how well Catwoman had responded to my anecdote about Coach Wolverine, it appeared that my plan to win over the girl of my dreams with funny stories was no Bogartian fantasy.  Our hero couldn’t wait see her reaction to Chun Li’s tantrum about not being able to resurrect Tinkerbelle or Bruce Banner’s orchestra meltdown over a mom joke.  Since the ride to practice guaranteed us 10 minutes of alone time everyday, I’d be able to share those tales soon enough.  Once a barber tamed the overgrown Luke Skywalker-style mop on my head, I’d be unstoppable.

Game on!

physics exam

The night of the exam, I arrived half an hour early.  While I’d planned on poring through the book, trying to absorb one or two more nuggets before go time, my heart was beating so fast that the words were impossible to read.  I was as ready as I was going to get.

Just before the exams were handed out, I put away my book and notes and took out several mechanical pencils, a graphing calculator and my 3 by 5 inch note card containing every possible useful formula in the tiniest print I could legibly produce.

As soon as we were allowed to start, I flipped through the test packet, looking for an easy question to give me a confidence boost.  Our hero went through all 20 problems without finding a single gimme.  Four of the questions were so foreign that they might as well have been asking me about Sumerian philosophers.

As I struggled to figure out which formulas applied, I couldn’t help but curse myself for wasting a week on this crap.  Frequently the result displayed on my graphing calculator wasn’t anywhere close to any of the potential choices – sometimes by a factor of a hundred.  My only solace was that since the exam was multiple choice, none of my incorrect answers would be so outlandish that Dr. Wiley would feel the need to pin them to his fridge and laugh at my stupidity each day as he made breakfast.

Walking home from the exam, I faced a harsh reality.  Our hero wasn’t cut out to be an engineer – at least not at The University of Great Lakes.  At best, maybe I’d gotten lucky on a few questions and wound up in the D range, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I ended up getting more than half of the problems wrong.  My only hope for a decent grade was if there was any truth to the old adage about ‘c’ being the most likely answer on a multiple-choice test.  On the four “Sumerian philosopher” questions, I’d circled ‘c’ and hoped for the best.

A week later, I received the bad news at the beginning of physics lecture: 65%.  The most disturbing part of my score was that it could’ve been a lot worse.  I’d been correct three of the four times I’d blindly picked ‘c’.

A lump formed in my throat.  While I’d expected that college would be tough, I never imagined that it’d be so relentless that I’d work my butt off and fail.  Our hero considered leaving the lecture, throwing my test in the trash and dropping physics.  Would I retake it again the following year?  Maybe I should drop out altogether and join the Peace Corps or live on a farm until I found something I was good at.

Before I had a chance to get up, Dr. Wiley turned on the slide projector.  On the screen was a picture of a bell-curve showing an average of 41.2%.  According to Dr. Wiley’s scale, my dismal 65% was an A.  He said that a number of people had sent him emails complaining about the difficulty of the exam.  It may have been tough, but it was clearly a fair test because the scores lined up with a normalized distribution.

How did a bell-curve make it okay to fail an exam?  What about learning the material?  I still sucked at it.  Did it not matter how well I understood the concepts, but rather how well I matched up against my peers?  All that separated me from the center of that curve was my faith in the letter ‘c’ – without its help, I would’ve gotten a 50%.

Once you accounted for the mean, I’d aced the exam.  Still, was I actually supposed to feel good about my score?  College was shaping up to be an awfully strange time.

Mom Jokes

Thanks to the sketch comedy show In Living Color, the early nineties was a golden age of mom jokes. While I was not permitted to watch because my parents thought the humor was too crude and they didn’t like how women were depicted, it was impossible not to roam the hallways without picking up the punch line to just about every popular mom joke – even the ones I didn’t understand.

They were perfect for ragging on each other in a group setting. Their one-liner structure allowed everyone to get their favorites in quickly and their absurdity made them harmless fun amongst friends. Some of the more common zingers were: “Your Mom is so dumb she got locked in a grocery store and starved to death.” “I would’ve been your Daddy, but the dog beat me over the fence.” and “Your mom is so fat her blood type is Ragu.”

* * *

“Debacle,” said Bruce with his usual sneer. “Your mom is so dumb it took her two hours to watch 60 Minutes.”

It was an old one, but at least he was playing along. I retaliated with, “Your mom is so fat that when she wears a yellow raincoat people shout, Taxi.”

He drilled me with an open-handed smack to the back of the head.

“What the hell?” I exclaimed.

“What the hell?” mocked Bruce in a whiny falsetto.

Only Bruce Banner could take a mom joke seriously. I wanted to ignore him, but the bastard moved in front of me and was trying to stare me down. Who tries to pick a fight in algebra over a mom joke? I looked around – the teacher was talking to some group on Kiddo’s side of the room. Unfortunately, due to the middle school anti-tattling code, Banner was going to get away with this one.

It was time to unleash the mom joke I’d been saving up. “Hey Brucie!” I exclaimed. “What’s the difference between your Mom and a bus? … Not everyone rides the bus!”

There’s a Reason Kids are Scared of Escalators

(If you’re reading this on facebook, the pictures won’t show. Go to http://www.mydebacles.com).

I can’t stand it when people stand and wait on an escalator, especially if it isn’t wide enough for someone to walk by. This morning, I was especially annoyed when two severely obese dudes got on the escalator in front of me and blocked my path. From my short experience in London, if they’d pulled a stunt like that, they’d have been bowled over. Sadly, people in the City of Wind aren’t that civilized. Rather than burning a few needed calories, these pork chops stood silently and slowly rode the escalator up.

Maybe I was being a little harsh. I normally don’t make shallow fat jokes to myself. But, it was early in the morning, and I was tired and entitled to a grumpy judgmental personal monologue. I’d walked up the escalator to them hoping they’d take the hint, but the just stood there taking up space, unaware that I had a reason for haste.

I’d just left the gym and this co-worker I’d never seen there before, had worked out and just left before me. I was hoping to catch him going up the escalator. I’m still somewhat the new guy in the office; I’m up for any opportunity to be social and get to know people. Yet, my co-worker got on the escalator and walked up just ahead of me, and I’ll have to catch him on the street, because I’m stuck behind two super sizes.

I got to the top of the escalator just after the larger gentlemen, and felt a sudden pulling sensation. My right foot was stuck. I tried to pull back on it, but it wasn’t budging. My tennis shoe had gone under the teeth at the top of the escalator. One of the boards of teeth must’ve been loose, because it was slanted up, and my shoe was stuck under it. The escalator kept going, pushing up against my foot while the steps flattened out at the top.

I braced the hand rails, planted my left foot and tried to pull my foot back. Nothing. Thankfully, no one was coming up the escalator. The force of the escalator pulled my foot farther under. I had to make fists with my toes, because the escalators teeth had eaten the front of my shoe, and it was still hungry. Holy shit! I could lose my foot.

Some guy in a business suit on his way to work looked down at my peril, laughed and walked by. I was about to shout at him for help. Couldn’t he see that I was in danger? This was real life, not a youtube video.

Escalator’s all have emergency stop buttons. I looked for one on the top rail. Nothing. There was no stop button. The escalator Guantanamo style torture device gobbled another half inch of my shoe. Ow! This was really starting to hurt. Wait, why was I trying to save the shoe? I leaned down and wedged the shoe off with my right hand, and it slid halfway under the board.

I planted my foot covered with only a sock on the ground, thankfully it felt fine. Another few moments and I likely would’ve been in trouble. I walked over to the security guard at the front desk and explained to him that I lost my shoe in the escalator. He did a double take, walked over to the escalator, where a crowd had gathered.

“Oh my god, are they alright?” asked a woman pointing at the lone shoe at the top of the escalator.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, putting my sock foot forward.

“Are you sure you’re okay,” asked another woman.

“Yeah, thanks I’m fine,” I replied. Damn, where were these people a minute earlier when I needed them. Instead, I got some joker who laughed at me and walked away while in peril. I’ve always thought that sterilization was immoral until that moment. One point and laugh guy is enough.

The security guard pressed this tiny button on the bottom of the escalator railing and stopped it. There’s no way I could’ve seen it from the angle I was at, while I was trying to not get eaten by the machine. I hadn’t really looked at the security guard. He had a grizzled veteran look about him. Especially, in how he wasn’t showing any emotion to the situation. “Has this happened before?” I asked.

“25 years on the job,” he said. “Never seen anything like this.”

I thought about saying, You know, I have a website mydebacles.com and I'm writing a book called "A Million Little Debacles." I guess it goes without saying that this sort of stuff only happens to me.

I gave him the necessary information to file a report and assured him that I didn’t need any medical attention. A maintenance team came and fished what was left of my shoe out.

I spoke to the building manager later that day on the phone. She was cool about it. They’re going to pay for the new pair of shoes I had to buy and the orthotics that got ruined. She was probably relived that I wasn’t threatening a lawsuit. She said she was watching the security video, and it looked like I was riding the escalator as anyone else would and then got stuck.

Generally, after something ridiculous happens, it’s easy to blame yourself. For example, when I drove into Marty’s garage door, or got my shoelace caught on top of the fence in Columbus and nearly fell to my doom. But, thinking about it, this wasn’t my fault at all. Not one bit. I was just riding the escalator. It’s almost a good thing that this happened to me and not a woman with an opened toed shoe.

As for the security video, I’m going to request it. And believe me, if I procure it, it’s going on the blog, youtube, break.com, you name it. But, I'm willing to bet they won't give me a copy.

I left the shoe on my desk during the day at work today, as a shallow attempt to create a conversation starter. It worked. It’s not everyday that you see a fangoriously devoured shoe.
As for what to do about the shoe, one co-worker recommended that I keep it and tell my kids someday before going to a shopping mall, “This is why you don’t horse around on an escalator.”

Here’s looking at you, Kiddo.

In addition, I’d get to hang out with the half-dozen or so members of my clique on a daily basis. After befriending Mega Man in sixth grade, he’d introduced me to some friends of his whose lives revolved around sports and video games. Going into my third year with them, I could finally take it for granted that I had a group of friends!

I carried my excitement about eighth grade right up until third period of that first day – then I entered the orchestra classroom. As soon as I sat down, my eyes went for the all too familiar wall clock. It was time for another one of the longest 45 minute sessions in the history of the universe…

As it turned out, Mrs. Krabappel was overwhelmed with administrative tasks and she actually told us that we could talk quietly while she sorted everything out. I wandered over to Koopa Troopa. “Hey Koopa,” I said.

Koopa was too busy talking to some girl to acknowledge me.

“Hey, aren’t you Debacle?” asked the girl.

“Yeah,” I said to this unfamiliar petite girl with bleach blonde hair.

“I’m Kiddo,” she said. “We were in the same summer orchestra a few years ago.”

“Oh yeah! I remember you,” I lied.

“That’s two people I know now,” she said, high fiving Koopa.

Kiddo was new to school and seemed very friendly – This had a lot of potential! Still, I knew better than to get too excited. She could be a red-herring. “Why did you switch schools?” I asked.

“I live on the boundary and I needed a change.”

“What grade are you in?”

“Eighth.”

“Ease up on the third degree there, Holmes,” said Koopa.

What? Had I overdone it with the questions? Regardless, I’d found out what I needed – Kiddo was the girl I’d waited almost 13 years for!

While Kiddo stood an inch or two south of five feet with a few large moles on her cheeks, I wasn’t looking for a future wife who looked like she belonged next to Kathy Ireland in the K-mart ads. Excitement danced through her bright blue eyes and warmth exuded from her deep laughter. Our hero couldn’t wait to caress her soft cheeks and say, Here’s looking at you, Kiddo. I had a feeling I’d be repeating that phrase a lot this year. Brushing the rim of my imaginary fedora, I joined her conversation with Koopa.

Kiddo was complaining about the orchestra teacher at her old middle school. Apparently he made you stay after school if you were late to class – even by a minute. If you weren’t one of his favorite students, he’d give you a C if you failed to practice at least a half hour each day.

“What a jerk,” I contributed.

“Actually, you know him,” said Kiddo. “He taught summer orchestra.”

Really? I’d always thought he was a kindly older man with a good sense of humor. However, if

Kiddo wasn’t a fan, I would not disappoint. It was time for my first stoic Bogart-like lie: “He’s so old and boring. I was scared I’d fall asleep during class and wake up to find him shriveled up into a raisin.”

She burst into laughter. I could feel a tiny smirk of success cross my lips, but I did my best to suppress it. Humphrey Bogart would never laugh at his own jokes.

Once Mrs. Krabappel took care of the paperwork she’d been futzing with, the last twenty minutes of class flew by. Whenever I got bored, I glanced over at Kiddo and imagined her long hair flowing in slow motion while she played her violin. Never before had I met anyone capable of combating the oppressive doldrums that made up each orchestra class. Even though I’d known the girl of my dreams for less than hour, her existence had already exceeded my expectations.

Kiddo’s laughter at my brilliant raisin comment had me smiling the rest of the day. It turned out that we had three classes together: algebra, orchestra and gym. To think, I’d spent first period in algebra and completely missed Kiddo. The girl of my dreams had been well camouflaged.

After that first orchestra class, we were already on a hello-in-the hallway basis – by far my greatest accomplishment ever with the ladies! In another week or so, we’d be ready for our song and a piano player named Sam.

What a start!

My life in front of a firing squad

During gym, I took my usual seat on the bleachers next to Kiddo, Koopa and Mega Man. On any other day, I would’ve attempted to think up a funny anecdote to add to their conversation. However, I wasn’t sure how to act around Kiddo. Had Greedo spoken with her yet? Did she confess her feelings for our hero? What if Greedo forgot or if Kiddo refused to tell Greedo who she liked? I needed to relax. Everything was guaranteed to work out – this was the day that the basketball had chosen.

During our lunch touch football game, I was so distracted that I dropped two perfect passes thrown by Mega Man. After the second one, he tried to trade me to the other team. Ugh, there was still no sign of Greedo.

After lunch, I opened my locker to put away my mud-stained jacket and grabbed my black L.L. Bean backpack overstuffed with books and loose papers. Before I could get my hand into the strap, Greedo tapped me on the shoulder.

“I spoke to Kiddo,” he said.

“Oh!?!” I exclaimed, dropping my backpack to the floor. His face conveyed neither excitement nor disappointment. Why would it? He was only a mercenary.

“She wouldn’t tell me who she liked, but it isn’t you.”

A dizzy spell came over me and I braced myself against my neighbor’s locker. Wait a second, this didn’t make sense. “How do you know it isn’t me? You weren’t supposed to tell her that I sent you.”

“Because she asked if you put me up to this. She just wants to be friends.”

How was this possible!?! I hadn’t mentioned my feelings for Kiddo to anyone else. “But—”

“She said that your face turns red whenever you talk to her.”

“Oh.” I clenched my jaw.

This wasn’t fair. My pasty complexion had undermined my Bogart-like stoicism. If I had been running Rick’s bar in wartime Casablanca, I would’ve blushed and ruined everything. Instead of walking off into the sunset with Louis to begin a beautiful friendship, the movie would’ve ended with The Nazis in possession of the transit papers while I begged for my life in front of a firing squad.

Rejected Save the Date Card

This was my suggestion for the save the date card for my upcoming wedding with General Tolerance. Sadly, she rejected it, even though I think it's a great card. Well, the card speaks for itself:

Okay, loyal readers. Since my card got rejected, mydebacles is sponsoring another contest! Submit all of your suggestions for save the date cards. Winners get displayed on the blog!

How the book got started

My mom had signed me up for a summer orchestra program to get me out of her hair for a couple hours each morning. During one of the first classes, my epic lightsaber battle with Darth Vader was interrupted when a delicate voice whispered, “Hey… uh… excuse me.”

As I looked up, I couldn’t help but notice the fairy tale-like curls at the ends of her carefully brushed hair and the way her plain white t-shirt hugged her chest. I finally understood what it meant when someone called a girl cute.

“Umm…” she muttered, displaying an uncomfortable smile.

Oops, I’d been too busy taking in the moment I discovered girls. “Oh, sorry,” I said getting up. As she scooted past, I caught her hair’s sweet berry scent. Did she think I was acting weird? Had I been staring at her? If only I could rewind and start over…

When the girl returned to her seat, I noticed that Allison Arrington was written in black marker in the upper right-hand corner or her music folder. As names go, Allison’s fine for a girl, but kind of boring for a fantasy. I mean, when I take on Jabba the Hutt, I have Luke Skywalker, Han Solo and Chewbacca at my side. The adventure would seem kind of lame if we saved the day rescuing “Allison.” It made a lot more sense if I thought of her as... Wonder Woman.

Wonder Woman gave me a reason to look forward to orchestra. I did my best to make a good impression, going the rest of the summer without being scolded for talking in class. However, I never said another word to Wonder Woman. What was I supposed to talk her about?

When summer orchestra ended, I knew that there was a good chance I’d never see Wonder Woman again. We didn’t go to the same middle school; otherwise I would’ve recognized her from sixth grade orchestra. All was lost – unless she transferred schools. If that happened, Wonder Woman would have to talk to me on the first day of class because I’d be the only other violin she recognized! I spent the waning days of summer preparing myself for that possibility. However, when September rolled around, Wonder Woman was nowhere to be seen.

I pledged to never again let a girl slip away.

Life would be a lot easier if I met my soul mate while I was still 12 years old.

Debacle in Progress: I have a Stalker

I have a stalker, and I'm both creeped out and slightly amused by how weird it is. Stalker, if you are reading this, please identify how you know me and got my contact information.

On Friday, November 30th at 1:37PM, our hero is sitting at work programming away, when he receives a text message from a number he doesn't recognize with a Chicago area code:
Any plans tonight?

I had no clue who this person was and sent an embarrassed reply that said:
sorry, who is this?

At 2:49PM, I received a reply:
It's cool. It's rob

Oh, Rob, of course. Wait, Rob who? I don't know any Rob's in Chicago. Except for a friend of a friend that I'd seen last a couple weeks prior. I guess it was him. I had plans anyway, so I sent a text back:
Thanks for the invite. But, I can't make it.

Rob then sent a reply at 5:31PM:
We're going out tomorrow on halsted let me know

Okay, well I guess it's nice how much he wants to hang out. But, it's a little weird given how poorly I know him.

On Sunday December 2nd at 5:46 AM, I'm woken from my slumber when my phone buzzes with another text message:
Hi!

Okay, that was a little creepy. I mean, wanted to hang out is one thing, but needing to say hello... I went back to bed and later called up my friend, we'll call him Fozzie, who I met Rob through and asked what Rob's deal was. Fozzie said he doubted those texts were from his buddy and later confirmed that his "Rob" wasn't my "Rob". Then who is my Rob, he must have a wrong number!

Nothing prepared our hero for what came next. At 11:30PM on Thursday, December 6th, Rob sent a new text:
3 some

Alright, this is no case of mistaken identity. This is clearly someone messing with me and it's starting to get annoying. It's 10cents a text! Messing with me is fine, but this was starting to get expensive! I sent Rob a reply:
I think you have the wrong number. I figured this would end the whole Rob odyssey.

At exactly midnight, I got the following text:
You don't want a 3 way? We can suck on your cock and balls

Woah! That's a bit over the top. I immediately dialed his number:

Stalker Rob: Hey, my partner and I are about to get started if you're interested
Debacle: Hey, who is this
Stalker Rob: It's Rob, Rob (mumbles last name)
Debacle: Do you know who I am
Stalker Rob: Yes, it's Debacle

He knows my first name! This must be a prank call.

Debacle: How did you get my information
Stalker Rob: We met at a Computer Science conference and I got your information there.

First off, no one in the programming world, calls it a computer science conference, this has to be someone pranking.

Debacle: What conference?
Stalker Rob: It was at McCormick Place a few years ago, a bunch of the big names were there Micrsoft, IBM, you know, it was a conference.

Well, he was partially right. I had gone to a presentation a few years ago at McCormick Convention Center, because of some new product that IBM had launched. But, it was IBM only. And, it just sounded like a lucky guess. I mean, every programmer has been to McCormick place for one reason or another. However, I don't remember ever giving my number away at that conference, and I think I would've remembered giving it away to Stalker Rob. Plus, even if I had, why would he call two years later sending me a lewd text message to switch teams and party it up.

Debacle: Why are you prank calling me?
Stakler Rob: I'm not pranking. I wouldn't have given you my name and number.
Debacle: Seriously, who is this?
Stalker Rob: This is Rob. Dude, I'm not pranking.

I needed to get to bed. It was too late for this. I wish I could've been more awake and played along.

Debacle: Whatever, have a good night.
(click)

The following morning, I revealed Stalker Robb to my co-workers. I had no idea who it was pranking me. My co-workers andI agreed, the only way to handle this was with prank text messages. So, we sent a couple pretty absurd text messages from fake number. Nothing as lude as what he sent, but about partying it up with him on Halsted.

On December 10th, at 10:50 PM, I heard from Rob again: ?

He had sent me a question mark. Were my fake text messages any weirder than the crap he sent me. I figured that was the end of it, finally. Until last night at 7:48 PM, Stalker Rob sent me another text:
Hey, i'm having a new years eve party. You should come

Okay, sure Stalker Robb, I'd love to come to your fake New Years Eve party. I'll play along. I'm curious who you are. I replied with:
Sure, what's your address

At 7:59PM, he replied with: (Chicago address I've never heard of) you can bring a friend if you like. We don't want nothing too big. With some cool lounge music!

The first thing I did, was look up the address, and it existed, way south east side of Chicago. Actually a decent neighborhood as it turns out. But, even so, he was just messing with me and giving me a silly address. Who has it out for me like this to mess with me this way. After the Death Star, I can't think of anyone who had it out for me, and that was a long time ago.

He followed immediately with a text message that said: Drinks. Also bring a drink of your choice. Cool, down to earth people only :-)

So, this morning at work, I was talking about Stalker Robb some more and showed them the new texts. They were as baffled as I was by the South Side address. We talked about it, I couldn't do a reverse lookup. I had to know who this was, just for curiosity's sake. Well, then it was called to my attention that for $15, I could do a reverse phone lookup. What the hell, I was game. Who was Stalker Rob. I couldn't wait to find out who was messing with me.

So, I looked up Stalker Rob, and what should I find, but... well... a Hispanic name, where the first name was Roberto. Roberto? Who the hell is that? I don't know any Robertos.

Then, I looked up the name in the Chicago White pages, and the address listed for the name was the same as the address of the party. It's a real address! Stalker Rob is real! Soylent Green is People! Stalker Rob is real!

Now, I'm freaked out...

ZOLTAN: Savior of Middle Earth

This is part of a series of guest writers telling the story of Zoltan. Together, we shall assemble the most extensive Zoltan litergy on the world wide web.

Special by Chun Li,

Ok so how about this one time ZOLTAN was wandering around Mount Doom and Frodo was all like, "never mind I'm a little halfling weakling and I'm totally going to keep the ring for myself" and Gollum was all like, "no you don't, bitch" and totally chomped down on his finger and the Sunbelt ref was all "no flag on the play" and then ZOLTAN was totally like "this is lame" and called down his minions and while the minions were tearing and devouring the guts of the Sunbelt ref, Zoltan drew back his mighty leg and kicked Gollum into the fire, thereby saving Middlearth.

ZOLTAN's First Word;
Mrs. Mesko was sitting in her rocking chair in Olde Romania, knitting a suit of chain mail for her six month old son. In his crib, Zoltan was sucking on his blood pacifier and meditating on the mobile above him. The rotating circles and animals and rainbows made him think of the enemies he would one day PUNTINATE, and so with a mighty effort he stood up in his crib, drew a deep breath and roared, "AWESOME!"

His mother threw him his rattle and he raised that in the air, a blue rattle shaped like a scepter with a Z on the crest and he roared his second phrase, which was "GO BLUE!"

Keep the Haiku's coming, and please contribute to the ZOLTAN litergy.

ZOLTAN!!!! The Drawing Contest

Loyal readers, speaking both for myself and the other judges, thank you for your submissions to the first annual ZOLTAN!!! The Drawing Contest. If you are unfamiliar with the specifics of ZOLTAN the Puntinator, I strongly suggest you take a look this past entry. Much thanks to Benito for hosting the drawing contest on his webspace.

After several late nights, we were able to shrink the submissions into a top five. Before scrolling through the results, please take between 10 and 20 seconds to take in the majesty of ZOLTAN!!! After taking in each picture, you have to shout out ZOLTAN as loud as you can... If you don't, his minions will not be happy.

FIFTH PLACE:
LISA IS ZOLTANED!!
Submitted by Benito


What a brilliant display of ZOLTAN’s power. I mean, there are many super hero’s in the world, but name a super hero with the power to make the Mona Lisa frown? Now, who would've thought that super hero was merely a punter. ZOLTAN!!!!

FOURTH PLACE
ZOLTAN IN CHARGE
Submitted by the Red Dragon and Spilly McDrink


Wow, I never realized until I saw this picture that Zoltan went back in time and replaced Scott Baio with himself. Give him some credit, he looks a lot like Mr. Baio. But, those ciggys and sunglasses are a dead giveaway. Plus, the dragon sweater. Nice touch Zoltie. How many Vampires do you know that can carry a lead role in a series for six years!? ZOLTAN!!!!!

THIRD PLACE:
TOTALLY SWEET MORPHING ZOLTAN
Submitted by Benito

Not only is Zoltan a totally sweet Daywalker vampire, but he can morph into a Lion thing with a spiky tail. I think Michigan is saving this for the Ohio State game. ZOLTAN!!!!!

SECOND PLACE:
CLOUD THAT WON'T RAIN
by Optimus Prime

Wow! So much to love about this picture. Clearly a labor of love against the Decepticons. How about those buckets of dead bodies? Plus, the single bar face mask. Go ZOLTAN! Imagine the power to make an asteroid frown or a cloud not rain. I really like how the artist chose to show the injustice in the world by adding a picture of a Big Mean Guy. ZOLTAN!!!

FIRST PLACE:
ZOLTAN THE PUNTINATOR
by Gannon

Perfection on a canvas. ZOLTAN!!!!! Gotta love the minions surrounding Michigan Stadium.

Okay, so as promised, I'll add my own ZOLTAN drawing. You see, I made an effort, and that's the key word... effort. I've had success with Microsoft Paint drawings in the past. However, this looks more like ZOLTAN!!! the Bug Thing. Yeah... ummm... glad my fan base picked up the slack. Yeah, it's kind of a debacle. Well, without further ado, here's ZOLTAN!!! The Bug Thing:

Ummmmmmm... ZOLTAN!!!

This is hardly the end of the ZOLTAN liturgy. I mean, we're going to have stories about ZOLTAN's first day of school, ZOLTAN learning to walk, ZOLTAN learning to puntinate and ZOLTAN overthrowing Nicolae Ceausescu. Seriously, feel free to submit your own ZOLTAN story, poem, picture (just because the contest is over doesn't mean I'm done putting up pictures) or Haiku. MyDebacles is happy to host the story of the half-vampire man behind the Z.

And, the next ZOLTAN contest will be the ZOLTAN Haiku contest. Let's 5-7-5 it up. Feel free to email me Haiku's or drop them in the comments. I'll start us off with the inaugural ZOLTAN Haiku.

Crowd boos on Fourth down
He summons justice minions
All hail ZOLTAN's punt

Think of the possibilities. Submit your ZOLTAN Haiku today!!!!!!

ZOLTAN the Puntinator

Okay... in order to experience this post in all its majesty, you need to listen to the TROGDOR song. Click on the link, then click on songs, then click on TROGDOR!! You probably need to listen to the song a couple of times, and whenever they sing TROGDOR, replace it with ZOLTAN. And replace "Burninating the Peasants" with "Puntinating the 'ponents". Not to worry, all will be explained.

As everyone knows, if you're going to be a ridiculously good kicker, you need to be from another country. See the Polish Sebastian Janikowski or the Elvish Gramatica brothers. Also, if you have a totally sweet name, you have magical powers. See He-Man, Launchpad McQuack and Splinter.

Well, when you combine forces, what do you get? ZOLTAN MESKO, the Puntinator!!! Michigan has a punter on their roster named ZOLTAN MESKO. He redshirted his freshman year, probably because the coaches didn't have the gameplan ready for him yet. Yes, that's right, a gameplan for the punter. ZOLTAN will change the game.

Now, before I explain the gameplan, I'm going to have to explain his powers. From the name alone, you know ZOLTAN is no normal dude. Seriously, think about it. You're in class, and they're reading the attendance sheet.

"Katie Martin" -- "Here".
"David Melville" -- "Present".
"ZOLTAN" . Zoltan extends his fist and a being (not to worry, it's a being of justice) he summons from the underworld flies out. This being's baritone voice shakes the classroom as it blares, "ZOLTAN IS PRESENT AND READY TO LEARNINATE!!!!!"

I wish I was in that class, because I bet if it was a sub, she'd get really confused and forget where she was in the attendance and I'd tell her she left off at David Melville just so the learnination being can fly around the room again.

Also, ZOLTAN is probably a vampire. You see, he's from Romania originally and we all know he has powers. So, I'm just guessing he's a vampire. I don't know this for sure. If he isn't, it's no big deal. I suppose he could have a different source for his powers. He's wouldn’t be the full-fledged Draculaesqe evil blood sucking vampire. He's more of the Wesley Snipes good guy, bad-ass half-vampire that can dodge bullets. How do I know this? Well Wesley Snipe's Blade character can go out during the day, and I don't remember reading anything in ZOLTAN's recruiting reports that said he couldn't punt during daylight hours. So, you gotta figure he's only a halfling.

Now, just imagine the possibilities for ZOLTAN! It's fourth down, Michigan has to punt. Probably the first time ZOLTAN's sent out, people are a little unhappy that we’re punting. But, after ZOLTAN rides his glow-in-the-dark chimera onto the field, holding his mighty flaming "Z" sculpture, throws the sculpture into the ground, then the scepter disappears into his underworld minions. The minions rock the stadium and break the windows in the press box with a shout of "ZOLTAN THE PUNTINATOR!" You've gotta figure that he'll become a fan favorite. Personally, I wouldn't feel comfortable catching a ball he kicks. I bet it flashes in the air, and if you look really close, you can see the “Z” fade in and out.

I wonder if he's ever shanked a punt? I'd guess if he did, we'd never know. He'd just summon another ball, and kick that one so fast that it would spin around the world, go back in time and prevent the bad punt from ever happening, al la Superman I. That's technically illegal, but seriously, who's going to prove that he did it? I don't know how to prove it without a flux capacitor, 1.21 jigawatts and a Delorean. And, seriously, when was the last time you saw a Delorean?

If I'm Michigan, and I'm blowing someone out late in the game, I’m hoping we punt on second down. Hell, if I'm losing, I punt on 1st down, just to get the crowd into the game. Besides, the punt is likely to blow up whoever catches it, and that's a live ball. In some ways, it's like an onsides kick. Now, I bet the chimera, minion shtick would get old after a couple years, but not to worry. He's ZOLTAN the Puntinator. I'm sure he'd find some way to mix it up.

I hope he doesn't go pro early. Michigan football won't be the same without him.

I tried to draw a picture in Mirosoft Paint, kind of an artists depiction of what ZOLTAN will look like he will when he rides on the field with his glow-in-the-dark chimera. I figured it would help the post. Sadly, the picture looks like it was drawn by someone with my mental age. ZOLTAN kind of looks like a bee thing with a cheap plastic “Z” scepter that he got out of a “Happy Meal”. I thought about sending it to him and telling him that I was a four year old and he was my favorite player. However, he's ZOLTAN, he'd probably see through that and send his minions to laugh at me and my picture. One person laughing at you hurts enough, imagine minions. However, I am starting the first ever ZOLTAN drawing contest. If I get three submissions from the separate people, I'll post the winner's picture and show you my picture so you can laugh at me (yes I wasn't joking, he really looks like a bee and not like a half-vampire puntinator). I’m serious about the contest too.

In upcoming posts looks for:
Taco Bell 7-Layer attempt on my life
ZOLTAN contest winners
We're Dancing baby!
My Least Favorite Mid-Major: Notre Dame
Getting the Tag off My Running Shoes (when it happens. Wishful thinking perhaps)
Classic Looks: Don't forget the flowers
60 Seconds in a Minute
Nostradamus can eat my Nuts!
More Bogart Advice
Speed Debacling
Bench Clearing Orchestra Brawl
My Guardian Rubber Alligator

Debacle Index: Orange Alert

Detroit Lions... It's Over

Dear Detroit Lions,

I have put off this post for quite sometime. But, I can't keep going through my life with a relationship as unfulfilling as ours. I'm sorry to do this over a blog and not in person, but... sorry, give me a second.... I just don't feel you're making any effort here. The Matt Millen era has pushed this beyond the point of no return.

I can change. Just give me a chance. Sweeping new changes are coming. A new era of Detroit Lions football...

Shut up! You always promise me a new era of Lions football. You've won one playoff game since 1957! Do you have any idea how many people have been born and died since 1957? You've won 20 games since the end of the 2000 season. You've tied up a ludicrous amount of salary cap money in young wide receivers without addressing the obvious concerns, such as the horrendous offensive line or the quarterback position.

It's not my fault Joey Harrington sucks.

GAH!!! I've wanted this to work so bad. But you're showing me why it can't. You need to grow up. All you're doing is pointing fingers and not addressing the obvious problems. Harrington has not worked out as you would hope a #3 overall pick would. But, you haven't exactly put him in a position to succeed. You've surrounded him with a second rate offensive line, an almost non-existent running game (except for 2004) and a wide high priced receiver corp. that has been MIA. Don't you realize, Payton Manning and Joe Montana would've struggled in this environment.

You expect too much of me. All Detroit fans are too negative. Not everyone can be the Red Wings and win you a championship every other year or the Pistons go to work every night with Ben Wallce. We can't all have awesome froes!

Oh Detroit Lions, how do you live with yourself? Detroit wants nothing more than a winning NFL franchise. Do you remember the support that was always drummed up during the Wayne Fontes "save my job" playoff runs? The fans don't need the New England Patriots. They'd settle for the consistently mediocre and unimpressive Kansas City Chiefs. That's all we need from you. Just make it fun to watch games. The only thing I was thankful for during the 27-7 loss to the Falcons on Thanksgiving was that I wasn't in the stadium. The previous year you lost 41-9 to the Colts on Thanksgiving. The only reason there's a Thanksgiving game in Detroit these days is so the other NFL franchises can be thankful they're not you.

Maybe you just need to go to a game. It really doesn't look so bad in person.

The last time I went to a Lions game, I got to the stadium an hour early, had to walk all the way around the stadium, spend an hour waiting in line at Will Call, and then walk all the way back around the stadium. By the time I got to my seats it was 17-3 Tampa Bay and the game was over. I'm tired of the excuses. I hope we can be friends down the road. But, I don't know if it's possible.

You're so ungrateful! I gave you Barry Sanders. The greatest running back in the history of game.

Yet, you only approached a Super Bowl once, never tried to build a team around him. He spent half his career in a run-and-shoot build around Rodney Peete. Rodney Peete! And Barry was so fed-up with you that he left when all he needed was a year to break the career rushing mark. And I'm going to leave you too. I can pick up another NFL franchise. Just because I'm from Michigan, and my Dad and Grandpa grew up watching you lose, doesn't mean that I have to take it to. I am not doomed to this abuse cycle. I am empowered. I and my own man. I see a wonderful future with myself and the San Diego Super Chargers!!!!

You don't mean that... you can't. You're killing me debacle, you're killing me!

This is hard for me to. Harder than you know. My whole life, fall Sunday's were Detroit Lions days.

Well... enjoy the Chargers. I hope they can bring you the happiness that I never could. It may not have looked like it. But, I tried. I tried Scott Mitchell, Ty Detmer, Gary Moller, Marty Morningweg, Charlie Batch, Jonnie Morton, Joey Heisman, Jeff Garcia, Mike McMahon, Charles Rogers and Steve Mariucci. It may not have worked. I made some bad choices. I'm sorry. But, I'm going to keep fighting, and one of these days, I'll bring Detroit something it'll be proud of. Maybe even a playoff win.

Oh Lions! How could I be so crass, I'm sorry! I don't know why I hurt you so. It's all my fault. I couldn't not be a Lions fan. I wouldn't know what to do with myself. I know one day you'll treat me right.

It's okay Debacle. All I want is for you to be happy (not the best to open this at work). It's forgiven. Just don't scare me like that again...

Just one thing.

Oh debacle, for you, anything!

Could you fire Matt Millen and bring in someone who knows what they're doing personnel wise. Someone who won't point fingers, but addresses problems. You know, someone with experience.

I'll consider it at the end of the season. I'll do what's be for the organization.

Then we're on a break!!! As long as Millen is there, I'm no longer a Lions fan. I renounce the Detroit Lions! Go San Diego Super Chargers!!!!

In upcoming posts looks for:
Taco Bell 7-Layer attempt on my life
Remember the Alamo!
We're Dancing baby!
My Least Favorite Mid-Major: Notre Dame
Getting the Tag off My Running Shoes (when it happens. Wishful thinking perhaps)
Classic Looks: Don't forget the flowers
Nostradamus can eat my Nuts
The Victoria's Secret Incident

Debacle Index: Yellow Alert

I'm a single guy with cats

Near the end of my final tour of College, I was talking with my roomates about how I was going to get cats when I moved out on my own. I was somewhat surprised by how hillarious this idea struck them. Apparently, there's a bit of a stigma associated with a single dude owning cats. For some reason people think owning cats is somewhat effeminate... People tend to think of the crazy cat lady when they hear about a single guy owning cats. Let's face it, as a single dude, making people think about crazy cat ladies (these links are worth going to) isn't going to make the best first impression.

Well, the crazy cat ladies of the world have really hurt my game. I'm on a mission to dudify the stigma of cat ownership. Because, let's face it, I don't see what makes owning cats so girly. I was originally thinking about taking pictures of my cats when they look at porn, watch football and drink beer, just to show that cats can be good pets for dudes. But, I thought about it, and I wasn't sure that was the best course of action. I mean, I'm only a big fan of one of the three personally. And, I've met ladies who are game for all three. Besides, it's rather shallow to attempt to prove a point with tired stereotypes.

So, instead, I decided to just tell it like it is. I'll give you a window into what its been like since I got home and caught up with my cats. So, like I said, I have two. Their names are Mazel and Strider and they're brothers, both a year and a half old. It's really fraternal owning cats and it's amazing how two cats, both brothers, raised in basically the same environment, can have such strikingly different personalities. Mazel definitely got the looks and the charm. It can be a bit much sometimes, because it's like he always has something to prove and he won't stop talking about the "lats" (lady cats). But, he's pretty hilarious, and fun to have around. Strider on the other hand is a wonderful compliment. He's got a few extra ounces, which doesn't seem to bother his so much. Nothing phases him. He's the perfect wingman for Mazel, and he much prefers to let the "lats" (ugh, I can't get used to that word. Worst part of cat ownership) come to him.

I could tell they were home when I heard Usher's Yeah! blaring down the hallway. I asked them to turn it down a notch while I made dinner. They're good roommates, they had no problem with that. Mazel was in a good mood. He told me that the "smokin' lat" in the window was giving him serious vibe during the day. Strider gave him a high five as if to say, "You know it bro!" Mazel popped his collar up and confidently nodded.

Apparently, the "lat" (ugh, so painful to type), fell asleep in the window closest to my apartment, and was "totally pawing glass" at Mazel. During the glass pawing, Strider went to Limewire and downloaded Some Barry White song and blared it during the “glass pawing”. The "lat" left not long later, but she'd been on the window sill all day and was probably hungry. Also, trying not to show she was too interested. Yeah, that didn’t really make sense to me either. Mazel told me that if there was ever some cat food under the door, I should find somewhere else to crash. I mean that's fair, I don't want to be a game wrecker.

I was asking Mazel about this "lat". You know, what she was like. He just told me about how smokin' she was. Strider interjected several time some "Yeah dudes, she's totally fine" But, I was curious about personality and stuff. You know, what she was into. Wet or dry food, mice or spiders... etc... Neither of them knew how to answer the question. They just kept telling me about her thighs, front paws, utters, etc... I mean, I didn't see what the big deal was, I know what she looked like, I felt we didn't have to keep talking about it. To be honest, I got a little bored. But the two of them kept yapping up a storm about her. They still are... I can't say I understand cats. But, I think you'll agree, cats can be quite "dudish".

Although, at the same time, I haven't been around many female cats. Maybe they're different. Strider told me some stories about how they like to circle the fat on each other and eat nothing but catnip in an attempt to lose weight. I dunno... maybe that's different. Maybe crazy cat ladies only have "lats". I'm happy with my two cats. Kind of annoying how they want me to get Tivo just for "Desperate Housewives." I mean, I just can't always relate to them. But, it's fun. I have no regrets about being a single guy with cats.

As a side note, I promised to write a rant about the Lions today. Don't worry, that's coming. In addition, also on the horizon is a MyDebacles classic look back at "Two Thursdays Ago".

Debacle Index: Yellow Alert

I'm no MacGyver

If I could be any television character, it'd be MacGyver. For 55 minutes, his show would ramble on about some international private foundation that would go around the world helping people... I'm getting bored just thinking about it. But, for five minutes, he would draw innovation from his classic 80s mullet and build something to save the day. Be it, a defibrillator from some power cords and silver candlesticks, a bomb from swamp gas and bamboo chutes or stopping the boat carrying him to Heaven with rope and several other household objects so he could come back to life and stop the terrorists (well, that might've been when it jumped the shark). He could salvage any show, no matter how bad, by building something. Imagine the everyday uses of this ability... You're on a date, it's going bad, and using a fork, a rubber band, and your watch and a bike helmet, you build an escape pod and run away. Best superhero ever...

Well, today we learned that I am no MacGyver. I purchased some running shoes yesterday, and I took them out this morning to go running and found that they still had the security tag attached. Well, as I saw it, I had two choices, I could take the shoe back, or break off the security tag and go running. For any MacGyver fan such as myself, the choice was obvious. Besides, I had some scissors, a wine corker, a manual can opener and a Phillips screwdriver.

I quickly tried to cut through the metal wire holding the tag on... no dice, my scissors broke and the wire was in tact. I blame my mullet for getting in the way. I discarded the scissors, and attempted to use the screwdriver to break through the plastic of the tag. After approximately 45 minutes (the time it would take to get to the shoe store and back twice), I managed to break up all of the plastic except for the inner plastic piece which was much stronger.

Enter the manual can opener. Perfect size for the plastic piece. Well, it didn't work, but I didn't break it either. I'll say that's an even trade. There was a small opening on the top of the plastic, perfect for a wine corker. Well, that didn't work either....... After approximately one and a half hours of my life wasted, I still had the small plastic piece attached. I could probably run with it on. Although, if someone looked at my shoe, they'd think I'd zoinked it. I can't take it back to the shoe store, because they probably wouldn't be so happy that I destroyed their tag and didn't bring it back to them in the first place.

This is a debacle. And, I am no MacGyver. I need a Mullet of Knowledge. Starting today, I will begin growth of my Mullet of Knowledge. I'll just explain to people I'm growing a mullet to get the tag off my running shoes.

Just saw the Lions lose to the Packers... For my next post I shall rant about the Lions.

Debacle Index: Yellow Alert.
Mullet of Knowledge Index: Long way to go...

Debacles

Well, after enough ESPN Classic style debacles, I decided it was time for a blog. We'll see how well I keep up with it (don't worry, it won't ALL be about my debacles). But, I figure I'll webize it and see what I got....

Debacle Index: Yellow Alert.