The Gift That Keeps On Giving:

Well? How did you do? Did you get the right gift for your loved one on Valentine's Day? Or did you cause irreparable damage to the relationship? As with most holidays Valentine's Day comes with the same angst of "Did I pick the right gift? Did my gift say too much? Or too little?" When I become President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, I'm going to pass a law. 

The law will state that the correct gift is always...drumroll please...the gift card. I am in love with gift cards. I love them so much that for Valentine's Day I wanted to buy a gift cards for gift cards to show them how much I love them. I would sleep with gift cards on the first date. In the checkout line it's all I can do to restrain myself from buying gift cards for myself. I know I could buy the same stuff for myself with actual money, but isn't having a gift card so much better? It feels like you're getting stuff for free, even if you paid for the gift card. 

I was in a large, big box hardware/lumber store last week and I came across the biggest gift card kiosk/endcap I have ever seen. As I rounded the end of the aisle and my eyes gazed upon the 8th Wonder of the World a great and pure light shone down from above and I heard a chorus of heavenly angels. It might have been a circular saw, but with that Mount Rushmore of gift cards in my sights it sure sounded like angels. It was so big that I'd need to summon an apron wearing lackey to get a ladder if I wanted a gift card from the top row. If that wall of gift cards was a chocolate river then you can call me Augustus Gloop.

I mean seriously, how can you go wrong with gift cards? If you know someone likes something and you buy them a gift card for it, they get exactly what they want. Or who doesn't like going to a restaurant for free? "What is this?!!? A bill for my meal! Pishaw! Take that filthy thing away for I have a gift card!"  That is literally what's going on in my head when I get to use a restaurant gift card. If I could put on a fur-lined red velvet robe and crown while I bellowed that to a waitress I think I could die a happy man. 

To the detractors who would say, "Well giving a gift card shows that you didn't put any thought into it." Really? Even if you got a gift card for their favorite store? Yeah, your idea of buying clothes that are the wrong size is always so much more thoughtful. I love returning things or wearing some ill-fitting, hideous garment just so you can feel good about yourself for choosing such a "thoughtful gift." 

You know what? They even have gift cards for an amount of money. At first I didn't understand this, thinking it was somewhat redundant, but now I understand the genius. A gift card for money is also thoughtful. You can use it like a credit card. It won't bulk up your wallet or cause you to have to do any tedious counting of paper money. A gift card for money won't cause you to receive 98 cents in change that you will then throw into your pocket, a jar or car cup holder never to be used. With a gift card the change stays right on it for you to use next time. The best thing about gift cards for money is that you can use them to buy other gift cards!

You know who has a great gift card? Amazon, makers of the Amazon Kindle. If you get an Amazon gift card you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Kindle so that my unique brand of idiocy can delivered to you wirelessly and instantateously no matter where you are. Now that is a gift that keeps on giving. 

 

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

Like the title? I made it up myself. Pretty proud of that one. I had to travel for work again this week. Just a quick, overnight trip to Richmond, Va. Traveling in the winter is always a little nerve wracking no matter how you do it, isn't it?

So as I'm preparing to board my flight home from Richmond, the airline lackey, in a stunningly accurate impression of Charlie Brown's teacher,  announces over the P.A. at my gate that the flight is over booked by one and they'd like to offer a $300 ticket voucher to anyone who will take a later flight. How does the airline over book by one? It's their plane! Don't they know how many seats it has? Or did someone just take their seat with them when they got off the plane? Do they have to have one of the flight attendants count the seats after each flight and report back to headquarters? "What? We only have 47 seats? I'd swear we had 48 when we left. Call up to the gate and tell them we're one short. Hey, has this back row exit door been open the whole flight?"  

Now that we're living in a computer age (yeah, just now.) shouldn't the airlines be able to keep track of how many seats their planes have and sell only that exact amount of tickets? Or maybe they could sell two less tickets than the number of seats just in case someone somewhere makes a mistake with their abacus during the pre-flight seat count. And why do they wait until 15 minutes before your flight leaves to discover their error? That's when the fun begins. That's when the game of chicken/auction begins. "Since our flight is overbooked and no one took the $300 voucher we'd like to offer a $500 ticket voucher and two nights at any Marriott hotel." You think to yourself, "Now this is getting interesting. I might take that." All the passengers look back and forth at each other because they know that as they clock ticks down the ante goes up. After two more minutes pass Charlie Brown's teacher clicks the mic again and says, "As we are still overbooked by one we would like to offer a $750 ticket, two nights at a Marriott and a lifetime suppy of Rice-a-Roni, the San Francisco treat."  We all eye each thinking, "now this is getting interesting, and really, is it possible they serve Rice-a-Roni in San Francisco restaurants?" They crowd is watching the auction shouting "Take it, take it!" "Door number 1"  "Wait for showcase number 2!" 

And what kind of business model is this where you can sell a service then essentially buy it back for at least 3x it's value and then still give the customer the service albeit an hour and a half later? Have you noticed how many airlines that have gone out of business, filed for bankruptcy or merged in the last ten years? Yeah, I'm thinking that if even half the time they had an accurate seat count they could save themselves a fortune every year. It's like they're playing an expensive game of Native American giver.(and why did Native Americans get that unfair rep? Wasn't it the white settlers that stole Manhattan from them for some Mardi Gras beads?).  "Um...yeah, we told you that you could have a seat, but we were lying. Will you take $1000 to get on the next flight?" I wish more businesses had this policy. "Yes, Mr. Taylor, I know we said we would sell you the Ford Focus for $17,000, but well, this is embarrassing, umm...Ford is kind of out of those right now. If you could just go away quietly and come back tomorrow we'll give you a Cadillac Escalade with lifetime satellite radio."  

So now, you can read the rest of this blog for more whimsical observations, but my bandwidth is full and I'll need two readers to wait for my next blog entry. If you choose to wait for the next blog entry I'll  throw in 4 more jokes, a free Phil Factor t-shirt and a lifetime supply of Rice-a-Roni, the San Francisco treat. In the meantime if you don't want to get bumped you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle, follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor and as always, if you like click the Facebook Like button below.

 

The People at Your Super Bowl Party

We may be going to different Super Bowl parties this weekend, but alot of the people at our parties will be eerily similar and equally irritating. Read on and see if you can identify these folks at your party this Sunday. If you can't, you're probably one of them.

The Gambler: He may know when to hold'em but he doesn't know when to fold'em or when to shut up. This guy always wants you to know the "over/under" and how much he's got riding on the game. And he spends most of the game fuming and stomping around every time an officials "b.s." call threatens to upset the point spread he wants. He usually has a "prop bet" on the coin toss too. Unfortunately if the game doesn't go his way The Gambler turns into The Belligerent Drunk. That is unless the black lab covers the spread in his bet on The Puppy Bowl.

The Referee: This tool has to explain every official ruling on the field as if he's calculating a quadratic equation. He'll usually say something like: "Well that was an illegal formation because the half-caff flanker position moved from a three point stance to a two point stance without waiting for a pause in the snap count while the rigamarole motion was ad infinitum. Now normally the refs would let that go but because of the down and distance and clock situation they were forced to call it." Yeah thanks coach, I can't imagine why you don't win your fantasy football league every year.

The Commercial Lover: I hate to stereotype, but this is usually a woman. We all know her. She has no clue about what teams are in the game and often thinks that one teams "costumes are pretty."  She usually says, "Oh I love the Super Bowl because of the commercials. I heard this year that Doritos and Coca Cola combined  for a commercial where The Pope break dances with a 3-D video of Michael Jackson. Oh wait, wait, wait, QUIET EVERYBODY, I think this is it. SHHHHH...I want to see this one. Did you see that? That was so funny! Oh my god! BEST Super Bowl commercial EVER!" Usually I'm secretly rooting for the drunk, belligerent gambler to punch her in the forehead. 

Team Jersey Guy: This guy arrives at the party first and only brings a bag of chips. He grabs a beer and immediately plants his un-athletic physique in the recliner directly across from the television a half hour before kick off and won't leave that seat until the game is over. If you're the homeowner you might as well just haul that chair out to the curb after the game. You won't want to keep it.  He doesn't even get up to get another beer. "Oh, hey, if you're going out to the kitchen could you grab me a brewski?" Once he's settled in he's almost as bad as The Gambler. Team Jersey Guy is also the pleasant guy who tries to wave your children out of the way if they walk in front of the t.v. during the game and you swear his head will explode if one of the kids even mentions switching the channel to The Puppy Bowl. 

This year be sure to look for The Phil Factor commercial during the halftime show. If you miss that you can still subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor. 

 

 

The Everyday Oscars

Well, it's happened again. I was passed over. Not a single Oscar nomination. The whole process is completely biased against people like me. Ok, I know that there aren't really other people like me, but that does not excuse the Hollywood establishments prejudice against me. The Oscars have been handed out longer than I've been alive, but not once have I been awarded a gold, phallic statuette. Just because I'm not some kiss-ass Hollywood insider who's made a movie in the past year they completely overlook my accomplishments!

It is because of this snub that I refuse to attend the awards ceremony. I do have Oscar-worthy acting talent. So do many of you. Just because our skills don't appear on the big screen doesn't mean our talents should go unappreciated! To recognize the acting achievements of everyone like me, I hereby introduce The First Annual Everyday Oscar Awards! I imagine the awards ceremony will go something like this:

MC Phil: The Everyday Oscar for Best Performance in The Workplace goes to...(fumbling with envelope)..Craig Snodgrass for his role in "The Overdue Report!" ;(video clip begins to roll on the monitor) Craig: "Yes Mr. Hendricks, I knew that report was due this morning. I was about to forward it to you when I got the call that my grandmother, the woman who raised me after my parents died, was in a car accident." Mr. Hendricks: "Is that a Hooters napkin sticking out of your pocket?" Craig: "Yes it is sir. The hospital needed two quarts of my blood for the transfusion. They said I should drink a lot of fluids for the rest of the day. I got a little woozy driving back to the office and I had to pull over."

MC Phil:That always brings a tear to my eye. Next up, the Everyday Oscar for Best Relationship Saving Performance goes to...Heather Stevens for her fantastic performance in "Whose Boxers Are These?" (video clip begins to roll) Boyfriend: "Heather, I just found these boxer shorts under your side of the bed! They're not mine! Whose are they?!!?" Heather: Awww! You ruined the surprise! I bought them for you, but I got so turned on at the thought of you in them, that I put them on myself and wore them around for a day. Would you like to see me in them?" Boyfriend: "Are these your skid marks?" Heather: "Umm...yeah?"

If you'd like to nomonate me for an Oscar, Everyday or otherwise, you can click the Facebook Like button below and subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle or Kindle Fire.

Fun Ways to Prepare for the Apocalypse

It's 2012, the year the world is supposed to end. The end of the world concerns me greatly. What if the Mayans were right? Where will I live if the world ends? Now that the shuttle program has ended how will I get to the moon? And who among my Facebook friends will get to go with me? 

Should we be worried this time? Is there a chance the Mayans were right? In the news recently a current day Mayan leader said, "Dude, seriously, I am so sick of hearing about this. If the world does end, don't try and pin it on us. Damn, did you ever think that maybe the guy making the calendar just died, got laid off, or was fired for stealing office supplies?" I may be paraphrasing a bit, but that was the gist of it. He also pointed out that in some other carved-in-stone tablets another Mayan referenced the year 4077. He didn't reference a specific day, but I'll be pretty mad if the world ends right before my birthday again. My cell phone, pda, and computer all have calendar functions and all of the calendars go past Dec. 21, 2012 so there's all the proof you need that the world is not going to end in 11 months. In fact, I have written a post and dated it to be released to my blog for Dec. 22, 2012, the day after the world is supposed to end. Suck on that you Mayan calendar nutjobs.

Hmmm...should we all be prepared though, just in case? And how should we prepare? Build shelters in our basements and stock up on non-perishable foods? Nah, that's no fun. I plan on getting ready for the Philpocalypse all year long.  Yes, I've re-named it and am trademarking the word "Philpocalypse" so that any reference to the end of the world will have to use the word "Philpocalypse." I'm going to make a fortune on t-shirts and the evening news should be fun.

Other fun ways to prepare for the Philpocalypse?

1. Quit your job: No, not today. Give your employer a letter of resignation announcing that you're resigning your position effective December 22, 2012. Just make sure you word it so that your resignation is contingent on the end of the world. Get it notarized.

2. Pajama Jeans: Not that you ever need an excuse to wear pajama jeans, but if anyone asks why, a simple "The world is going to end. Does it matter what I wear?" should suffice. Who's going to argue with that? And besides, they make my butt look amazing.

3. Speak your mind: You only have 11 months left to say everything you've wanted to say to anyone who has wronged you at any point in your life. I am so digging up my class pictures from Cicero Elementary School. Yeah, you know who you are and now you know the Philpocalypse is coming for you. Nobody takes my fish sticks and gets away with it.

4. Vote for President: But not just a vote for just any Presidential candidate. If the world is really going to end and the election results won't matter, then why not join together, all of us, hopefully more than the all of us reading this, and write in a candidate together. Someone absolutely ridiculous but who would be so entertaining that we wouldn't mind the State of the Union address disrupting our regular t.v. watching. Charlie Sheen? A Kardashian? Russell Brand? The Situation? Carrot Top? Me? Any suggestions? 

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to embrace the Philpocalypse you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor. 

 

 

 

 

 

Angry at the Angry Birds? There's an App for That!

Hi, my name is Phil and I'm an app addict. I admit, I'm powerless over apps. It used to be appetizers that I couldn't resist, but now it's smartphone apps. Well, honestly I'm no better with the appetizers, pizza rolls specifically,  but now I have two app addictions. It started a year ago when I got my first smartphone. And yes, it started with those damn Angry Birds. 

Is anyone else out there an app addict with me? I can't be the only one. In fact, I like apps so much that I'm hoping to land a part-time job at the app store. But you know what? If there's a 12 step group for app addiction I do not want to go. I've now moved on to my second smartphone so I could have enough memory to store more wonderful apps. I realized I had an app addiction problem when I was doing some reading on a website and was thinking of signing up to use that websites services until I checked to see if they had an app I could get on my phone. They didn't and I thought to myself, "I don't want to do business with any business that doesn't have an app." I'm addicted to having the ability to know what I want to know immediately no matter where I am. And what the hell is wrong with that?

For Christmas I was given an App A Day calendar. Here are a few selections from the calendar:

Food Chime: Food chime is a timer app that reminds a smartphone user to eat at specific intervals. I suppose that this is useful so that if you get to caught up in solving Angry Birds or Stupid Zombies it will prevent you from starving to death. Except, it has a snooze function. If you're too stupid to remember to eat, then a smartphone probably has more memory than you. 

Baby Sleep: An app for parents who want to put their baby to sleep to the sound of gentle music. Perfect, we can start creating new app addicts right out of the womb. You'll have kids crying for their Blackberry instead of their pacifier. This must have been created after someone saw that e-trade baby commercial. If I find any parents using this app I'm calling Child Protective Services. 

Drunk Blocker: If you add names from your contact list to the app and activate the app before you go out it will prevent you from dialing those people. This is only useful if you're so drunk you forget how to deactivate the app. I'm going to check my wife's phone to see if I made her list. I sure hope so. 

Use By Date: This app could also be called  Food Poisoning Roulette. The app allegedly helps you determine if a food is still edible even after the use by date. If you install and use this app I'd like to have to committed to a hospital because if you think this is a good use of your time then you are likely a danger to yourself or others in a myriad of ways. 

Declaration: Your digital copy of the Declaration of Independence. Great! This will come in handy if Britain decides to try to levy a tax on my tea. Not since 7th grade Social Studies have I needed to reference the Declaration. Anyone else? I suppose it will come in handy when I start my own country. I can just plagiarize the whole thing and just insert the name of my new country.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to have The Phil Factor everywhere you go you can...(I bet you thought I was going to announce a Phil Factor app didn't you?) There's no Phil Factor app yet, but you can share The Phil Factor with your friends by clicking the Facebook Like button below. The Phil Factor is also available on your Amazon Kindle and you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.

 

 

Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot?

No, of course not. That's idiotic! Whoever wrote that song is a big, fat, dope. What if we really did that? What if we chose to forget our old acquantances at midnight every New Years? Then we'd have to spend the first 6 months of every year cultivating new friendships so we have someone to go to New Years parties with, whom we are then required to forget again. The Scotsman who wrote that song must have been drunk at the time, which would explain his difficulty remembering things the next day. He must have scribbled down the stupid lyrics on a bar napkin before he blacked out. He probably didn't even see the ball drop. Remember when we were kids and it was the ball, then for a while, like 20 years, they went with an apple? Now just over the past few years they've gone back to the ball thank god. I did not like that apple one bit. 

I don't forget old acquaintances, but what I mostly forget is my New Years resolutions. We've all made New Years' resolutions before. It's even possible some of you may have kept them. Not me. I'm tragically bad at keeping my resolutions. Had I succeeded in even a small fraction of my New Years resoltions over the years I would be the most wildly successful person you know. I may still be the most wildly successful person you know, but at this point that's more a statement about you than me. 

Here are my New Years resolutions, released out into the wild of the internet, probably landing in a 'cloud' somewhere so that you can all hold me accountable for them next December. Of course I'm assuming that you'll still be reading this blog regularly next December and thinking to yourself, "I wonder if Phil achieved all those resolutions he put here last January?" 

Resolution No. 1: Speaking of next December, isn't that when the world is supposed to end? I, Phil, hereby solemnly resolve to prevent the world from ending by the sheer power of my will. Feel free to plan accordingly.  You're welcome. 

Resolution No. 2: Now you may have thought that resolution No. 1, guaranteeing that the planet will continue to exist would be my big finale of New Years resolutions, but if you thought that,  you would be wrong. I like to set my goals high. I like to reach for the stars and dream the impossible dream. I, Phil resolve that in 2012 I will, by sheer power of my will, rehabilitate Lindsay Lohan to the point that she will arrested less than 10 times. 

Resolution No. 3: I, Phil, even though I am not running for public office unless the masses rise up to demand it, will end the so called "Occupy" protests across the world. Now don't get too excited about this one. You may not even notice it. My plan is to have the protesters slowly, gradually just sort of go home. It could take a few months. 

Resolution No. 4: I, Phil, resolve that in 2012 I will have a Phil Factor Kindle subscriber that is not related to me by blood or marriage. This may be the most challenging of all. I may in fact need some help with this one. Does anyone, anyone at all reading this have any idea how I might accomplish this? I mean, I know how to subscribe by just looking up The Phil Factor in the Kindle store either on my device or online, but how do I get the word out to others that for just 99 cents a month they can never miss an installment of The Phil Factor even if they haven't quite figured out how to manage the new Facebook changes that cause us to miss our friends posts? Like I said before, Mark Zuckerberg is the devil. 

I don't what it is, but this year I'm feeling pretty good about my resolutions. Happy New Years to all and I hope your resolutions are already accomplished, especially if you resolved to follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor. 

 

Don't Sweat My Swag (aka The Middle Aged ManSuit)

You're doing it right now and you may have no idea. That's ok, it won't hurt. I was doing it almost every day and nobody said anything or seemed to mind. I was doing it right out in public. Didn't get arrested, even once.

Every generation has a uniform, even if they or we don't realize it. Very often we're wearing the uniform of our generation without thinking about it or choosing it. We're quick to recognize other generations uniforms but we never see our own. Unfortunately for me I had a couple experiences recently that pulled back the curtain and exposed me. Or rather, exposed my...uniform. 

I see examples of uniforms everywhere I go. Teenagers, who believe they are so independent and like to make a "statement" about their identity are almost the worst offenders. When I pull up to my kids school virtually every girl comes out in sweatpants and Ugg boots while every boy has jeans, a zippered hoodie, and Justin Biebers haircut. (I could have Justin Biebers haircut if I wanted, once the restraining order expires.) Recently my lack of understanding of part of one generations uniform exposed me for what I am...an adult. Ugh. That was painful to admit.

One of my sons asked for money for Christmas so he could buy his own clothes. Apparently at some point me dressing him as myself, a superhero, or in Garanimals is no longer cool. So armed with a pocketful of benjamins (this is a word referring to Benjamin Franklin, who is on the $100 bill) I sent him to the mall completely unsupervised. When he returned home he showed off his purchases, one of which was a wrist watch the size of a hubcap and appearing to weigh several pounds. So after I was hilarious with the Wonder Woman and Flava Flav jokes, one of my other sons saw what appeared to be a NASA satellite affixed to his brothers wrist and informed us that the watch most definitely was "swag." Now being as hip to the teen lingo as I am, I know that "swag" is a good thing. I don't like to be flashy, so I keep my swag in a safe in the basement and only tell my children stories about all the swag I had when I was their age. Later in the week I was with one of my sons at a lesson and his instructor who might be moderately younger and perhaps, if at all possible, a little cooler than I, was wearing a similar swag watch. Apparently a swag watch, or Swatch for short, is an important part of the teen/young adult uniform. 

Finally we get to my uniform.  I was at the supermarket the other day thinking I was full of swag in my white Nikes, jeans, button down oxford and leather jacket. Then I looked around the supermarket at what appeared to be an army of guys my age wearing some version of the exact same jeans/oxford/leather combo pushing a cart and picking up a gallon of milk and a 12 pack of Cottonelle.It was like a "Where's Waldo" picture where everyone is some slightly altered version of the original Waldo. This was when it hit me. I was wearing The Middle Aged Man Suit.

Let's see, I've referenced Wonder Woman, Ben Franklin and Where's Waldo.Is it possible I don't have as much swag as I thought? Nah!

If you're totally diggin' my swag you can click the Facebook like button below, subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor. 

 

 

 

 

The Junk on Your Trunk

Yes, it's the holiday season and with all the festivities we're all probably adding a little junk to our trunk. But that's not the trunk I want to talk about. Not that your trunk isn't worth talking about. I'm sure it's delightful, but it's the junk on your trunk I want to talk about. Many of you have the trunk of your car or SUV festooned with some decorative statement about who you are. 

First off, festooning is never good. Just using the word festoon impugns my manliness. And you know I don't have enough manliness to go around impugning it all willy nilly. The fact that I just used "willy nilly" is evidence of the limits of my manliness. Sometimes based on the junk on your trunk I also wonder how much manliness, or sanity, you have.

OBX: You think that you're telling us you've been to the Outer Banks region of North Carolina for vacation. What we see is someone who misspelled Box, which is 13 points in Words with Friends. 

13.1 or 26.2: You see these numbers frequently and some of you may have them on your trunk.. Apparently they indicate that the driver has run either a half-marathon (13.1) or full marathon (26.2). You know what? If your such a damn good runner, why don't you just get out of your car and run wherever you're going. You can have the numbers tattooed on your real trunk. And what's with the decimals? This is the United States! Decimals are for Canadians and their new fangled metric system. Oooooh! What a big shot you are! Did you run a tenth or two tenths more than someone? Apparently you have to run the extra tenth or two to get the sticker because I've never seen  just a 13 or 26 sticker. I wonder if there are runners out there who feel like failures  because they could only make it 13 or 26 miles. I'm having a 20 sticker made. That's the distance in feet from my couch to my refrigerator.

The Stick Figure Family: What is this supposed to tell us? Are you all anorexic, including your dog and cat? I once saw a car with the stick figure family but it was just the Dad and two kids and there was a space between the Dad and kids as if there had been a Mom stick figure and it was removed. Apparently she got that in the divorce settlement. Somewhere there's a sad, lonely woman driving around with a stick figure of herself on her car. If you're a single guy follow that car to the liquor store. She's probably an easy mark right about now. And if you're a single guy, I seriously do not want to see what that stick figure sticker is going to look like. 

The Ribbon Magnet: There are so many support ribbon magnets that they've become de-valued. You can support our troops, schleroderma, autism, and your favorite football team with a ribbon magnet for your car. If you're a left handed, autistic, football player from West Point who has bad skin you can probably buy enough ribbon magnets to put a ring of them all the way around your car. In fact, I'm thinking of creating a ribbon magnet for people who feel left out because they have no reason to have a ribbon magnet. 

Yes, I know there isn't much of a holiday theme to this one, but if you want to give the gift of The Phil Factor for Christmas, Hannukah or Kwanzaa just click the Facebook "Like" button below. The Phil Factor can also be delivered wirelessly to your Kindle wherever you are for just 99 cents a month. You can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor and find me on Words with Friends as Phil2365. 

The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo

To coincide with the release of the movie The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo I've authorized the Franklin Mint to re-release in limited run this classic from The Phil Factor archives. Enjoy!

No, this is not a male version of the popular novel The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. This is much better than that. It's my blog where I make fun of stuff. I'm pretty sure nobody had very many laughs reading that dragon tattoo book. The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo also is not a fictional character. The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo is a guy I see at my Starbuck's almost every morning. To be fair, it's not really my Starbucks. I am neither owner nor manager, but The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo still shows up there regularly regardless of my lack of affiliation with the place. 

The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo is bald. Not old man, male pattern baldness bald, but "I shaved my head so I can look like a bad ass" bald.  The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo also has a giant scorpion tattooed on his bald head. A scorpion tattoo that is much larger than any real scorpion. The tattoo stretches from the top of his head, wrapping around the back and down to the top of the neck. Each morning I wonder, what exactly is he trying to tell the world about himself? 

Evil. I think having a giant scorpion tattooed on a menacing bald head kind of screams evil. My shamrock tattoo says I'm Irish. His scorpion tattoo says 'I'm evil." In fact after observing The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo daily for awhile now, I'm pretty sure he is actually Satan. Yup, the real one. Apparently, just like you and me, Satan stops for his Starbucks fix on his way to work every day. Coffee black of course. None of those frou frou girly drinks with whipped cream.  He keeps to himself and goes about his business quietly while at Starbucks, but just the same, I'm pretty sure he's Satan. He makes small talk with the baristas so as not to arouse any suspicion. He tips, but never too much or too little. He always sits alone at the table by the window. 

I suppose it's possible right? I mean, Satan has a job to do every day doesn't he? If he didn't show up for work each day encouraging evil, imagine all the police officers, military, and jail staff that would be out of work. Without evil our economy suffers. So like the rest of us, Satans day begins when his alarm goes off. Because he's evil, he hits snooze. Twice. Then I imagine Satan walking his dog clad in pajama pants and a Motley Crue reunion tour t-shirt. Obviously, he doesn't pick up the poop in a little bag because of his inherent evil nature. Unlike me,  Satan never bothers to iron his shirt for work either. Before leaving for work he grabs his bagged lunch, grumbling over the low carb kick his wife is on, and gives Mrs. Satan a little kiss and let's her know if he'll be home late because there's a need for a little extra unrest in the middle east. Then he hops in the Satan mobile (you would think a red car, but he thinks that's too flashy and goes with black. Tinted windows of course. Maybe a Mustang.) Then he stops at Starbuck's to have his coffee and go over his schedule, all the while making a mental note that when he gets some extra time he'll have to perpetrate some evil on that guy in the suit who stares at him every morning.  

Remember the 1995 Joan Osborne song, "What if God Were One of Us?"  If God could be one of us, so could Satan. And if Satan had a name, I imagine it wouldn't be any of those fancy biblical names like Beezlebub or Lucifer. Seriously, how much of a give away would that be? He'd be constantantly hounded by fans and papparazzi. No, I'm pretty sure that if Satan has a name it's something like Ed. And yes Ms. Osborne, I would call him Ed to his face. I wonder if Ed has a blog...If he does, I'm pretty sure he gets more reads than the 27 I got last week because his friends click on the Facebook "Share" button below. C'mon people, we can't let evil win!  

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