IF THERE'S NOWHERE ELSE TO PUT IT ... ODDS AND ENDS WE PUT IT HERE

	Anything and everything I couldn't fit anywhere else on this website you will find ingloriously lumped right here! From musings on the scandalous and increasingly disgusting goings on at the Pittsburgh Athletic Association (PAA) that I experienced, or witnessed, or were related to me by an ever increasing number of disgusted and disillusioned current and former employees ... to my re-occurring battles with the Naturalization and Immigration people as to my planet of origin ... to my soon to be published expose on crop circles and my own belief that the Salvation Army is somehow involved. You just can't buy entertainment like this! Nor should you try.       For example: One of the things I really enjoy is getting letters and emails asking me about the game! Here's one I received from Ms. Mary Ann Muenz of Millvale, PA. She writes to ask:       Q: "Dear Mark: As the inventor of Challenge Series STRATEGY BOXING, is it true that you don't wear underwear?"       A: Yes, Mary Ann, it's true. The reason that it isn't readily evident is because I am wearing pants.	The gay brother R2D2 never talks about ...

As many of you know, Bert Sugar is one of my favorite people on the planet, and there are few things I enjoy more than sharing drinks and conversation with "The Hat". However, such is the mere presence of the man that, after only a short time in his company, one seemingly begins to assimilate not only some of his mannerisms, but a few of his physical characteristics as well, almost as if some gradual, magical transformation is taking place.       The pic on the left was taken during a promtion Bert was kind enough to attend a while back. It was taken during the early evening. A few hours (and more than a few beverages) later, another pic was taken, which I offer as evidence of my claim in the previous paragraph. Click on the pic to see what just what I am talking about!

	And now for a word or two about the only guy who ever went to Texas to avoid the draft.       Donald Rumsfeld is giving his daily briefing to George Bush. He concludes by saying: "Yesterday, 3 Brazilian soldiers were killed."       "OH NO!" the President exclaims. "That's terrible!" His staff sit stunned at this display of emotion, nervously watching as the President sits, head in hands.       Finally, the President looks up and asks, "How many is a brazillion?"

	It's always nice when family and friends can get together and celebrate a special occasion, in this case, my niece Denise high school graduation party. A chance to get together to witness this rite of passage, where fellow classmates gather for cake and soda and the parents drink beer and watch as the assembled 17 and 18 year olds try their best to sneak a brew. Its an American tradition as old as Mom, apple pie and trumping up groundless accusations for the purpose of invading foreign countries so as to impose the very freedoms on those who we claim hate the very freedoms we are trying to bomb down their throats. Pass me another piece of that pie, would ya?       And yet it is sad that in even the richest country in the world, there are those who, alas, have fallen through the cracks of this land of opportunity, and wander aimlessly, purposelessly and joblessly throughout life. This cold harsh reality smacked us sharply in the face when a sad, forlorn figure (see sad forlorn figure pictured left) stumbled upon our happy gathering and forced us to give a collective pause. Wearing a shirt that last enjoyed popularity in the 70's (the 60's wanting nothing to do with it), alternately gulping and spilling beer with a fish adorning the can, and sporting a hairstyle that could only have resulted from sticking his head into a Hamilton Beach blender, this beaten-by-life individual was only looking for momentary compassion and comfort. And, proudly, we were only too happy to oblige. With a styrofoam plate loaded with cold chicken, lukewarm pasta and what appeared to be cole slaw, we directed him to a place where a pillow had been conveniently provided, so that he may enjoy his unexpected repast, then lay his weary head upon it and embrace the soothing sanctuary of sleep.       And as he wiped the grease from the drumsticks onto his pants, dabbed the tomato sauce from his chin with his shirt tail, and then rested his head on second base, we watched as one as he fell into a deep peaceful slumber. Sweet dreams, gentle wanderer.       But enough about bums crashing parties ...

Despite all appearances, the picture on the left is not a police lineup. Say hello to Ryoko from Japan on the left, Sandra from Mexico in the middle, and Carolina from Brazil on the right. Thanks to the Foreign Exchange Student Program, its seems the aforementioned Mary Ann Muenz household has turned into a United Nations West of sorts. Missing from the picture is Minia from Bosnia, though we understand that bail money has been raised and that she will be sprung soon. While we repsect and even celebrate different customs from other lands, Minia learned the hard way that in this country, while drinking beer and dancing are fine in tandem, one must do it with clothes on. Especially if one is "kickin' it" out in the yard.       Crazy kids.       Pictured right is Sandra, caught by the camera doing her "American Idol" bit at the local Hard Rock cafe. Word is she banged out a kick ass rendition of "Jailhouse Rock" and dedicated it to Minia.       Crazy kid.

	Meet Val, left, aka "Hot Stuff", a nickname she earned when once she threatened to set her brother's hair on fire whilst he was sleeping. And thats "Clyde", right, Val's tatoo. Thats right. Val named her tatoo. Some may think that a bit ... different. But then, my gal Val is different, so nothing she does would surprise me. Anyone who pokes little babies in the eye or pilfers Captain Morgan is capable of anything. Like naming a tatoo "Clyde".       Crazy kid.

And in keeping with the international flavor this page seems to have taken on, I offer the following joke that was sent to me from Pittsburgh's Favorite Adopted London born son Andrew J. Keen (handsomely depicted, left), whose column appears somewhere on this website. It's a Scooby Doo joke, so don't say you weren't warned...       Fred, Daphne, Velma, Shaggy and Scooby are at Scooby's parent's anniversary party.       Shaggy decides to go to the bar. He takes the orders and returns 5 minutes later with a tray of drinks. Shaggy starts to hand the drinks out, but has forgotten who ordered what.       He sees Scooby talking to an elderly female dog. He approaches Scooby with a puzzled look and asks, "Is this your rum, Scoob?"       "No, Yaggy", replies Scooby. "Ris is ry Runcle Ravid's rife, Rargaret".       Now you can see why Andy is the toast of London.       Crazy kid.

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