I’m walking my 10 lb. terrier Bitefighter through the park, when I chance on a soccer game.  The soccer moms in the stands are hooting and hollering, bumping chests (okay kinda hot), head-butting each other, and yelling in demonically bass voices.  They see me walking by, and caught up in their suburban fury, throw quinoa and…

Martha Stewart has taken over the world.  I am the last of a desperate band of holdouts who staunchly refuse to bow before batter and bialy.  My raid team has been flanked and surrounded while assaulting her cake-shaped mega-palace; we’re now in chains, on our knees, and surrounded by goons that swear allegiance to her…

I’m at a meeting at work (when AREN’T I at a meeting?).  My boss is droning on about how we need to be more like Navy SEALs/Samurais/Spartans; I forget what it is this time.  Corporate claptrap is invading my ears.  I’m in a dreamy haze, fighting to remember who I am, and knowing EXACTLY how Frodo felt in Return of…

I’m the new guy at the office, so it’s my turn to be hazed.  I’m running The Gauntlet:  a three-mile-long sprint between a double row of office drones.  At the end of it, I have to punch out a TPS report.  As I’m running, they’re playing all kinds of inoffensive yuppie rock/elevator music, tearing away…