You might think living in America’s friendliest town must be a fairy tale. Au contraire. It’s a living Hell. Forbes Magazine just came out with its ranking of the Friendliest Towns in America. Coming in at the #1 spot on their list? Sammamish, Washington, (true) my town for the past 22 years.
Sammamish beat out fierce rivals like Westerville, Ohio, Fishers, Indiana, Lake Wobegon, Hooterville, and the Merry Old Land of Oz for top honors. Forbes’s study ranked towns based on criteria such as crime rate, level of charitable giving, level of civic engagement, and the size of the check the town was willing to pay to Forbes Magazine to get listed as one of America’s friendliest towns.
Sammamish, a nice town of roughly 47,000 nice people, is nestled in the nice foothills of the Cascade Mountains – a convenient 20 minutes east of Seattle (or 2 hours and 40 minutes during rush hour). Thanks to its close proximity to Microsoft, Sammamish is an upscale community with low unemployment (5%), low crime (90% below the national average) and the nation’s highest level of double tall mocha addicts (97%).
Don’t get me wrong. The people of Sammamish are some of the nicest people you’ll ever want to meet. And that’s exactly the problem. They are really nice. Annoyingly, obnoxiously nice. By comparison, Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood looks like the set of Real Housewives of New Jersey.
In my younger years, I used to jog five miles a day, do 50 sit-ups each morning, and row 15 miles to work. I was a nationally recognized fitness expert and author of the best seller, Earlobes of Steel. But now that I am older, I know better. At best, all that exercise will add less than 30 years to my life.
Not long ago, I tried out a fitness class called sports yoga. I stuck with it for what seemed like forever, by which I mean nearly four sessions. There was just one small problem: yoga was really hard. Try as I may, I could never get my left foot to wrap around the back of my neck. I never got the knack for how to balance my body off the ground using just my thumbs.
I even wrote about my nightmarish yoga experience previously in a post called The World’s Least Flexible Man – the 100% true retelling of my very first yoga class. So I hung up my yoga mat. I’m simply not that young anymore. My body is no longer capable of contorting like a human pretzel. And before you know it, I’ll be celebrating my 80th birthday. (Okay, technically not for another 23 years, but in geologic terms, that’s a blink of an eye).
I am a staunch advocate of women’s rights to equal treatment and nearly equal pay. I’ve even watched Oprah and Ellen on occasion. (But please don’t tell my golfing buddies. They would never understand.) There is no denying that women have been victims of social injustices and hardships men have rarely had to endure. I’m talking, of course, about cellulite primarily.
The tables, however, have recently turned. I’m delighted to report that women have made amazing strides in the past 40 years – in the battle against cellulite. And even more than that. In fact, in the past ten years alone, for reasons unfathomable to me, two different women have received promotions I totally deserved simply because they were more qualified than I. Discrimination against men is real – and it’s everywhere.
Introducing Placebolax® – from SCAMCO – the company that brought you the (not-quite-FDA-approved) sleep interrupter device Miracle Snore and Eye Can See, the popular battery-operated do-it-yourself laser eye surgery kit.
Try Placebolax today and you’ll be amazed at how much you’ll lose.
With Placebolax, weight loss has never been simpler. What’s our secret?Baby polar bear liver oil. That’s right! We discovered that baby polar bear liver oil burns up fat, sugar, and your intestines and converts them into pure profit, er, muscle. Made from lovingly farm-raised Siberian baby polar bear livers, harvested on our polar bear farm in a secret undisclosed location in the Arctic Circle, we mix it with powder of seal pup brains and ground-up beluga whale dorsal fins to produce our unique patented weight loss formula.
[Our attorneys told us we need to include some additional “disclosures” in the very remote chance someone might not use our product as intended, accidentally resulting in permanent blindness – not that this would ever happen (we don’t think) – and try to sue us.]
LIST OF ACTIVE INGREDIENTS: High fructose corn syrup, sugar, malt flavoring, more high fructose corn syrup, sodium ascorbic acid, something that tastes like chicken, dextrose, hydrogenated cornstarch, salt, processed flour, food coloring, red dye #2, 40, 67 and 85, soybean, caramel, riboflavin, thiamin, hydrochloride, super-duper high fructose corn syrup, Pez, dried egg whites, lithium, tortoise dung, something that used to look like yogurt, mono-something or other, cocoa extract, extract of cocoa, boiled linseed oil, vinegar, frosted flakes, 3 of KFC’s original herbs and spices (but we’re not authorized to tell you which 3), nutmeg, something that looks vaguely like rabbit pellets but we can’t locate the original container so we’re not really sure what it is, folic acid, battery acid, stomach acid, coconut juice, asbestos, fluoride (for stronger teeth), quartz, silicon, did we mention salt yet?, plutonium isotope, lead, unleavened yak intestines, eye of newt, DNA from some guy named Brad, petroleum byproducts, banana, and baby polar bear liver oil. (more…)
Dear Sweetie, Honey, Darling, Angel, Punkin, Cutie Pie, Snuggle Bunny, Sweet Cakes, or in the case of Mrs. Eunice McCutchen of Big Butte, South Dakota, You Old Ball & Chain,
We guys just wanted to take this opportunity to give you ladies some helpful suggestions for what to get us this Father’s Day. It’s not too late to surprise us on our special day with something that would truly show us how much you love us.
You want to know what we guys really want for Father’s Day? It’s very little. We just want to spend a day with our whole family, taking a leisurely hike in the woods, holding hands with our lovely wife, telling her how much we love her, and later on, snuggling together, taking a nice long nap on the couch.
Ah, we’re just messing with you. That’s not even remotely close to what we want for Father’s Day – although the part about a long nap on the couch sounds good – so long as you leave us alone.
[Note from the staff of VFTB: This week Tim Jones waxes nostalgic with fond memories of his high school senior prom. However, in the interest of editorial integrity, the staff felt obligated to set the record straight where Tim’s memory veers slightly from how the evening’s events actually transpired. – VFTB Staff]
It’s high school prom season. I am always cheered to see so many handsome young men dressed to the nines in their formal tuxedo and cummerbund with matching Nirvana t-shirt, high top sneakers and untied laces, escorting their lovely female companions to the big dance. It brings back memories of my own high school prom, one of the most magical evenings of my life.
I attended an all-boys’ private military academy. The prom tradition at our school was preceded by a formal military parade and competition, pitting drill teams from five companies in our school’s battalion against each other to see which company could create and execute the most original precision drill team performance without accidently shooting any of the guests.
I was Captain of Company B. My company only took out one onlooker but he didn’t actually have tickets to the competition, so it was partially his own fault. [Staff: Turned out to be Tim’s grandfather. He was old anyway.] The drill competition went off without a hitch, with almost no popular students impaled by a rifle bayonet.