It’s never easy to watch your childhood idols turn into shadows of their former selves, but it is inevitable as almost no one can remain awesome forever.

(Note: Jennifer Aniston and Bruce Willis are obvious exceptions to this rule.)

Earlier this week, I hit up the recent fall from grace that has befallen Will Smith as he’s now become his ’90s antithesis, Carlton Banks.

Today, another of my childhood heroes has broken my heart.

Ric Flair, arguably the greatest professional wrestler of all-time, has gone from being a stylin’ and profilin’, limousine ridin’, jet flying, kiss stealin’, wheelin’ dealin’, Son of a Gun…to becoming a cheesy pitchman for some third-rate energy shot company.

Here is the first of the two television spots I’ve seen so far, this one is for the illustrious Fuel in a Bottle Energy Shot:

Why the hell is he screaming at the guy?

He’s standing right there, Ric.

It’s like this whole thing was done at gunpoint and is supposed to be an SNL parody or something.

Anyway, it’s probably best to not question anything that happens in this commercial, but rather to hit y’all with the follow-up ad for the, um, body-building product (or something) that you’re just going to rush right out and buy, the Fuel in a Bottle Protein Shot:

I get that there are plenty of people who either don’t know who Ric Flair is or who don’t understand why this is such a travesty, but there was a time and a place where Ric Flair was pretty much the coolest guy in the world.

Granted, that time was roughly 1988 and the place was Charlotte, North Carolina…so there’s that, but I’ll be damned if this isn’t just one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen.

Ric has fallen on some serious hard times financially, so I guess I shouldn’t be overly surprised that he’s stooped to this level, but holy hell this is just plain awful.

He’s even sporting that fake World Title that looks like he bought it at Target on his way to film these commercials.

Another rough day for my childhood idols.

During finals week it’s pretty common for burntout students to forget things.

In the last four days, I’ve had a number of students come up to the desk asking if anyone had turned in a textbook or a bookbag or whatever, but some of my favorite inquiries are as follows:

“Has anyone turned in a bright pink flash drive. It has my final paper…and every season of 30 Rock on it. I really want it back.”

“Have you seen my coffee thermos? I left it here, like, a month or two ago. It had Folgers in it…if that helps.”

“I lost my Kindle a couple weeks ago and I just wanted to check if someone brought it in here since it’s, you know, sorta like a book and this is a library and you guys, like, have lots of books.”

“I left behind a red pen the other day and I’d really like it back. If you don’t have it though, I’ll just take any other pen, but I’d really like mine…but any pen will do. So, uh…can I borrow a pen?!”

“A couple of days ago I lost a textbook. I don’t know if it was here or one of the other libraries or the dorms or the student center or Stata or somewhere else, but I thought I should check. I don’t really remember where I’ve been…I haven’t slept much.”

Thankfully for all these poor nerds, the semester is now over and all of these strung-out folks can finally sleep and wait for their final grades.

Hopefully, they’ll remember where they left all their crap after a couple hours of shut-eye.

I’ve made no secret of my love for cats.

I’m pretty much the prototypical crazy cat lady with one tiny exception, I don’t have a bunch of cats. In fact, prior to three months ago when we adopted Honey, I had ZERO cats.

This despite being completely bonkers for the fuzzy lil bundles of awesome.

This is because Grace, although a cat fan herself, is not as nutso about cats as I am and wanted to hold off on bringing a cat into our tiny apartment. Much of this has been documented here before, so I’ll spare you any lengthy details.

The long and short of it is that at one point, Grace was pretty certain that she was going to come home from work and find our apartment packed to the hilt with cats and she knew that would be her sign that it was time to move on.

Thankfully, Honey entered our lives and now Grace no longer needs to live in fear of coming home to a surprise bushel of kittens.

However, I learned today that should I ever breakdown and go on some crazy mission to collect every available cat in the time zone, there’s a lady out there for me after Grace has packed her bags and hit the road.

…and as fate would have it, she’s recently found herself back on the market as well.

Here’s the details from Times of Israel:

A man from southern Israel divorced his wife this week because she had brought 550 cats into their home.

The husband, apparently not a cat lover, told the Rabbinical Court in Beersheba that he was unable to sleep in his bedroom because the surface of the marital bed was constantly covered with cats who refused to lie on the floor.

The man, in his divorce request, complained that the cats also blocked his access to the bathroom and did not allow him to prepare meals in the kitchen, the Hebrew daily Maariv reported Wednesday. When he sat to eat, cats jumped onto the table and stole his food.

Admittedly, these cats sound a little bit more douchey than Honey, so that could take a little getting used to.

I also hope this lady makes more money than I do, because Honey is expensive enough on her own. I can’t imagine trying to feed hundreds of cats or paying for their vet visits or trying to keep up with the litter box fiasco.

In fact, the more I talk through this, the less appealing this situation sounds.

Maybe I’ll just stick with the situation I’ve got working now.

One pretty cat. One pretty lady. One crazy cat person.

Yeah, that sounds nice.

Here be the proof…

Feel free to take a minute to clean your brain matter off of the computer monitor.

Meanwhile, I’m going to go pour a forty on the curb for my fallen childhood.

Today, however, I am not in need of a favor, but rather…your opinions.

Grace and I have been locked in the midst of a heated debate for a couple of weeks now and it is time we reached a resolution before things get violent and we end up on Jerry Springer over this particular hot button issue.

The issue—as you may have surmised from the not-so-subtle title and photo—is which type of cheese curl is superior: puffy or crunchy.

Personally, I’m on team puffy all the way. It’s like eating a delicious cloud of cheese. You can’t freakin’ beat that.

Grace, on the other hand, is firmly entrenched in camp crunchy and believes—likely due to some undiagnosed head trauma—that they are the superior curl.

Maybe it’s just me, but I think that the crunchy ones taste like some combination of dried out puffy cheese curls and fiberglass.

They’re alright in a pinch, but puffy is totally the way to go ten times out of ten.

For her part, Grace thinks that the puffy ones taste like styrofoam packing peanuts covered in orange asbestos…or something along those lines. It’s hard to pay attention to what she’s saying when I’m seething with unfathomable levels of cheese curl-inspired rage.

So we leave it to you, My Faithful Readers, to make the call.

I’ve decided not to open up a poll, because it is too easy to skew the results, but rather we’re going to base it on the number of responses in the comments.

I’m going to count all votes until the end of May and on June 1st, I’ll post the winner (read: puffy cheese curls) so that you know your efforts were not in vain.

Thank you in advance for your vote.

…unless you’re voting for crunchy, in which case, we’re totally fighting and you’re sooooo not invited to my birthday party.

Kids these days confuse the hell outta me.

It’s not just the baggy pants or the fact that they’ve allowed Ke$ha to continue making music or any of the basic “what the hell are they doing” kind of things.

Rather, I’m talking about the fact that because of today’s youth “Happy Crack” is a thing.

What’s “Happy Crack” you ask?

Well, honestly, I didn’t have any idea before I read the news story that prompted this write-up, but given that I’m highly-skilled reporter who likes to have all of his facts before making a public statement about anything, I did a quick Google search and found that my top two results were Urban Dictionary and what I assume is a 12-year-old girl on Yahoo! Answers.

The sketchy sources of my information notwithstanding, they both told me the same thing. It’s a mixture of Kool-Aid powder and sugar. That’s it.

Kids are snorting this crap to get high (or something) and carrying it around in plastic baggies and straws so that it looks like real crack and it seems that schools are cracking down on it pretty hard.

In fact, that’s how I first learned about the existence of “Happy Crack.” It seems that 12-year-old Alex Tome of Colorado Springs was recently suspended in an odd-sounding “Happy Crack” situation.

Here is the rundown from KKTV.com:

He says he and a few other 7th graders at Falcon Middle School were suspended after buying these straws filled with “Happy Crack”… which is made up of orange or watermelon Kool Aid powder and sugar.

He says they paid 25 cents a straw, buying the concoction from a new student who was fundraising… trying to make money for the Kony 2012 movement… a project aimed at stopping the Ugandan warlord, Joseph Kony.

Alex says, “I made a mistake of buying something, but at the same time I also knew what it was. I’ve even researched it. They’re trying to make a good cause, but it turned out to be bad.”

Is this real life?

Kids are making what amounts to homemade Pixie Sticks and selling them to other students under the guise of raising money for charity.

Maybe I’m just old and skeptical, but I don’t think any of that money is going to charity.

I get the vibe that any kid who takes the time to brew up some “Happy Crack” and sell it off at 25 cents a pop is probably saving up for a Playstation 3, not attempting to oust a warlord on the other side of the planet.

Seriously though, kids are snorting sugar and Kool-Aid nowadays? Am I just really out of touch or is this, like, a real thing that people are doing?

I feel like you’re going to get the same “high” you’d get from pounding a couple of Red Bulls with No Doze, but with the added bonus of sinus infections and the horrible pain that comes with snorting anything.

I’m not gonna lie, I don’t recall anyone doing lines of Pixie Sticks or Kool-Aid or that Fun Dip powder or anything like that back in my day, but I’m pretty sure I was a huge nerd, so maybe this is just one of those rites of passage that I missed out on whilst writing awful fiction on a typewriter.

Can anyone out there in blogland weigh on this one; is this a real thing or are these kids just freaks?!

Friskies may be the smartest company on the planet.

They’re launching an ad campaign that focuses on fighting a debilitating condition called “Cat Boredom” or “CB” for short.

The premise is that cats all over the nation are really freakin’ bored.

In fact, the campaign informs us that “Every day jillions of cats silently suffer from cat boredom.”

Luckily, Friskies is here to save the day with their treats.

How very, very convenient thoughtful of them, right?!

You can peep the ad thanks to the folks at AdWeek:

I’d originally intended the write this off and give it a quick “haha, that was moderately whimsical,” but then I thought more about CB and went into panic mode.

How bored could Honey be at any given time?

One of my main worries when we first got her was that she’d be bored out of her mind moving from a gigantic wide-open shelter that was packed with toys, had plenty of other cats to hang out with, and even had a big ole outdoor kennel into our tiny one and a half bedroom apartment.

She naps almost all day. She eats. She poops. She plays for a bit, but then moves along to grooming or one of the aforementioned napping/eating/pooping trifecta.

Could Honey be suffering from CB right in front of me?!

Luckily, I did some Googling and realized that she’s a cat and that’s pretty much all cats do.

It seems I’ve dodged a bullet on this one.

Either way, the folks at Friskies knew to prey on the fears and emotions of crazy cat people such as myself and it worked, as evidenced by the fact that I gave Honey some Friskies treats to celebrate her clean bill of mental health.

Clearly the people at Friskies are evil super geniuses who inevitably become diabolical movie villains…which basically means they’re perfect for the advertising industry.

Well-played, Friskies! Well-played, indeed.

(Blogger’s Note: Does “cat psychologist” sound like the greatest job ever or what?!)

I don’t think parenting is easy.

Kids don’t come with an instruction manual and you can’t really have any idea how you’ll be as a parent until you are one.

It really is the ultimate “sink or swim” situation. You get dropped in the deep end and you consider it a blessing if you can manage to tread water.

I get that. I really, really do and that’s why I know I’m not ready to be a parent any time soon.

That having been said, I have proven to have a pretty keen eye when it comes to spotting piss-poor parenting by others.

Today, I present yet another situation where I have stumbled upon some awful parenting. As always, not everyone will have the same trained eyes that I do for noting what the parent did wrong in this situation, so I’ll give you a helpful hint.

Peep this security video from a laundromat and tell me if you can spot the poor parenting in action (hint: it happens around the 20 second mark):

Did you spot it?

It was pretty subtle, but if you watch closely…you’ll notice that these parents actually put their child in the washing machine.

I know, right?! How did you miss it the first time, huh?! I assume it’s because it’s one of those mistakes we’ve all made a half-a-dozen times or so.

What’s that? You’ve never put a child in a washing machine?!

Really?! How’s about that?!

I just assumed that this was a pretty common mistake…

Clearly, I’m being just a wee-bit sarcastic about the whole thing, but I am legitimately baffled about how shit like this happens.

I mentioned earlier that children do not come with instruction manuals and that’s completely true.

Washing machines, on the other hand, do come with instruction manuals. They also come plastered in stickers that warn against doing dumb things like—oh I don’t know—putting children inside of them.

I feel like it is long overdue to institute some sort of serious testing program before people are allowed to reproduce…or at the very least, before they’re allowed to leave the hospital with their offspring.

Give people a simple ten question quiz to test their common sense; and if they score anything less than 90% they get no babies. Seems simple enough, right?!

Kids are hard. Common sense shouldn’t be.

The first is boredom.

The second is multiple mental reminders to yourself to focus on how nice your paycheck will be at the end of the week.

The third is that you’ll wonder why no one else appears to be on Facebook on the one night you could use an entertaining distraction.

The fourth is that when you’re finally leaving campus and you think you’re the last person awake in the city, you’re bound to encounter at least six different people. In my experience, they’re pretty much always the same six people.

Without any further ado, here are the six people you encounter leaving MIT at 2am during finals week.

1) The Janitor

I don’t get janitors.

They’re always lurking, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen one doing their job. They just seem to hover around campus at all hours of the night or day.

I fear they may be secret agents who are spying on the nerds of MIT, but I cannot verify this without further surveillance.

2) The Sleeping Burnout

These poor bastards are the ones who always think that libraries should be open 24/7 so that they can do more work. Granted, all they seem to do when we are open late is show up, spread their work out everywhere, and almost immediately pass out.

You can find these peeps scattered pretty much all across campus during finals week.

Last night I walked by a young lady who was unconscious on a bench while a video of a lecture continued playing.

Sad stuff.

3) The Drunk Kid

This one is probably pretty common at 2am during finals week at any university, but it is certainly one of the many archetypes that cannot be avoided at MIT.

It seems that for every dozen or so students who are completely burnt-out and stressed over finals, there is one kid who has no finals and has basically been in constant party mode since the end of classes.

4) The Artist

The type of artist varies pretty much every time—last night it was a juggler in a stairwell—but there is almost always one “artist” lurking.

I’ve encountered people singing, playing instruments, painting, juggling, and dancing.

I don’t know what it is about the middle of the night that seems to get these cats inspired, but whatever it is, it’s working.

5) The Dog Walker

It never fails; someone is always walking a dog on campus.

This is just another reason I’m a cat person. You won’t find anyone walking their tabby around a college campus at 2am.

6) The Tourist

I’ve never understood why, but it seems that at any given hour of any given day, there is going to be at least one tourist wandering around campus with a camera around their neck, a backpack, and a map.

They always seem incredibly confused that nothing is open and look supremely disappointed in the lack of students bustling about.

Naturally, I assume these people are insane.

Men of the world rejoice!! At long last our national nightmare is over.

No longer must we men burn through candles that reek of femininity.

No longer must we men inhale the aroma of melting wax that doesn’t immediately remind us of our Y-chromosomes.

No longer must we men suffer through the injustice of olfactory oppression by chick candles.

That’s right, My Faithful Readers, it has finally happened.

The crazy cats at the Yankee Candle Company have created the line of manly-scented candles that no one asked for.

The press release describes the new, limited edition “Man Candles Collection” as:

…a line of scents inspired by and created uniquely for men. With four new down-to-earth fragrances, now all rooms in the home can have an attractive scent, even the basement, garage, man cave or an entire bachelor pad.

A line of scents inspired by and created uniquely for men, huh?!

Well I’m sure they didn’t adhere strictly to a bunch of outdated gender roles and stereotypes when cooking these buggers up, right?!

Nah…there’s no way they’d do something that asinine in 2012. We’ve come too far as a society. We’re too enlightened. No way that can happen nowadays.

So let’s take a peek at the four scents:

First Down™ — This combination of orange, patchouli, vetiver and leather is as exciting as game day.

Riding Mower™ — Hot sun. Cool breeze. And the intensely summery scent of freshly cut grass.

2 x 4™ — The warm, unmistakable scent of freshly planed wood and sawdust evokes a sense of confidence and quality.

Man Town™ — Escape to the man cave with this masculine blend of spices, woods and musk.

Ohferfuckssake.

Did they determine they couldn’t quite put the right scents together to create “Beer Fart™” or “Week-Old Pizza™” or “Too Much Hair Gel and Axe Bodyspray™”…because each of those seems more like a legit scent inspired by men than these four incredibly generic, ridiculously stereotypical “guy things.”

We’re men, so we get the scent of a football, grass, and sawdust in First Down, Riding Mower, and 2 x 4, respectively.

Then there’s Man Town which sounds like the nickname I’d expect Tom Jones to give to the bedroom on his yacht.

Based on the description is would seem that it probably smells sorta like his bedroom too.

If you’re interested—and I’m hoping you’re not—you can buy the candles online at the official Yankee Candle store or at all fine Yankee Candle retailers nationwide.

Personally, I don’t think this is going to generate a whole lot of new business, because I don’t know many single dudes—that’s who I’m assuming they’re targeting with this—who go out and buy candles anyway. They generally let their aforementioned basement, garage, man cave or an entire bachelor pad reek of unwashed socks and spoiled milk.

I don’t have any official numbers, but I’m going to go ahead and just toss out 94% as the percentage of candles in the world that are purchased by women.

I’ll say that roughly 5% are purchased by dudes who are panicking trying to find something for a co-worker/grandmother/aunt/mother/sister/cousin/girlfriend/wife at the last minute.

The final one percent is purchased by dudes who are actually interested in buying scented candles and that one percent is probably pretty locked into some existing scent like Mulberry or French Vanilla or Spring Rain.

So unfortunately, no, I won’t be rushing out to buy “old football,” “yard work,” “old saw mill,” or “gay night club” candles for my house anytime soon.

Swing and a miss, Yankee Candle.

Swing and a miss.