New hobby – going through my collection of animal photographs and making them blink.

In unison.

Walking down my street with Sara yesterday, I commented on the beauty of my neighbor’s dogwood tree. “Isn’t the dogwood native to Asia?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, “we had a dogwood festival back in Tennessee. I don’t think there’d be a festival for a non-native species.”

At which point I yelled “Kudzu Fest ’08!”

The fact that I am still considering the implications of such a celebration – everything from merchandising to themed rides – is a rather stark testament to my ability to take a joke too far.

Original: AP Photo/Gerald Herbert, Much Improved Version: Awesome Dude/Garrett Miller

1. A. Water bottle: It’s got to get pretty hot in that bullet-proof box of bliss, so I suggest a prominent source of water. It’s hip, and will last for hours as he slowly, slowly makes his way past the throngs of admirers.
2. B. Velvet couch: Popin’ ain’t easy, so you gots to roll in style.
3. C. Tinted windows: Eyes up here, folks, not on the boys in the front! Gotta keep the mystery fresh.
4. D. Flames: Remind your followers of the burning threat that lies in wait for any un-repented sins. Also they look really cool.
5. E. Rims: See B.
6. F. Neon light: Make the Popemobile float, just like our man Jesus floated right on over that water.

While spending far too much time on illustrating this obvious joke, I realized there are an inordinate amount of slang terms on the effects of pot related to bread. “Toasted“, “baked“, and even “lit” or “stoned” to a point.

I wonder if there was some stoner convention where they all agreed that being high can most closely be associated with making crispy and delicious bread.

I’ve found that the recipe for naming a sports team is very similar to that of naming a band; pull a random pop culture reference out of a hat, spice with some in-your-face attitude, and finish strong with an over-the-top, probably offensive graphic.

The reason I say this is because I was trying to Photoshop up an accompaniment to a classic story of mine, but ended up with a potential jersey for my next tryst in sports teams.

While visiting my parents in Cambridge, England, my mother, brother and I took a break from a bike ride to grab tea outside of town. After a few minutes, a curious expression came across both their faces as they looked past me. I heard a faint buzzing sound, and turned around to see Professor/Demigod Stephen Hawking whirring our direction with a trio of ladies following along. They settled into the table next to us and one of the ladies ran to fetch some tea.

For the length of time that they sat there, an uncomfortable silence came over my family and I. Not only because we were in the presence of awkwardly-positioned greatness, but because for the entire time that they sat there, he spoke only in beeps.

Beep beep, motherfucker.

Q: What do you call a sexually frustrated lizard?

A: A reptile dysfunction!

Please, hold the applause.