Safety Is My Goal

So I was driving to work today and I noticed a sign on the back of a truck that said in big, bold capital letters "SAFETY IS MY GOAL".

Now you may be thinking to yourself. "self, don't we see that very same sign on almost all trucks?", and you would be correct, many trucks indeed have that sign.

So what's different about this one? Well, nothing really, just that I actually took some time to think about what the sign was actually saying. The definition of goal quickly came to my mind:

goal /goʊl/ –noun
1. the result or achievement toward which effort is directed; aim; end.
2. the terminal point in a race.
3. a pole, line, or other marker by which such a point is indicated.
4. an area, basket, cage, or other object or structure toward or into which players of various games attempt to throw, carry, kick, hit, or drive a ball, puck, etc., to score a point or points.
5. the act of throwing, carrying, kicking, driving, etc., a ball or puck into such an area or object.
6. the score made by this act.
[Origin: 1275–1325; ME gol boundary, limit; cf. OE gǣlan to hinder, impede]

It occured to me that using the word "goal" is pretty ambiguous. Does the driver mean that safety is an achievement towards which his or her efforts are directed? In this case, safety is something that is yet to come, not yet reached, but at least he/she is trying. I guess that's better than some people. I'm sure that particular truck driver will reach his dream and ambition if he keeps trying.

Then I thought of the second definition, the end of a race. All these truck drivers in the world. We thought they were there to help us ship goods. Balogna. All they want to do is to be the first one to become a safe driver. Once he/she reaches a level of competency deemed to be "safe", there really is no point to driving anymore. The race is done. Pretty soon there will be no more trucks. Huzzah.

Ok so then the whole sports genre of definitions popped into my head like a bowling ball and I thought, "hey truck drivers are only living to throw, shoot, hit things at safety. They're trying to kill it or something." Which makes absolute sense.

The End.

Facebook has a Facelift

So I was on Facebook today, and all of a sudden, the entire layout changed! Right in front of my eyes. There was no warning, no bells or sirens, no complimentary mints, birthday presents, or even cinnamon rolls. Nothing. Just out of the blue. I was so surprised I almost wet my hat. Anyways, those facebook guys are lucky I'm a nice person, otherwise I'd bust a cap.
I'm pretty sure this day will go down in history as the day that the facebook layout changed. My kids will be reading about it in their Social Studies classes in elementary school. My grandkids won't believe that facebook could even exist any other way, and that gas prices used to be $0.999. Hecks, I can hardly believe that.

A History of The Mustachio

OK, so everyone knows that "mustachio" is not a real word.

"How would we know that 'mustachio' is not a real word, Lee?"

Well readers, that would be obvious. Just check any dictionary, online or tangible. You can even check in your spell checker. Everyone who knows anything about nothing would know that it just doesn't exist. It's plain old common sense. Just whatever you do, don't go to dictionary.com and search "mustachio". I promise it will hurt.

So now that I have proof that "mustachio" is not a literally real word, I can claim that I invented it, which I definitely did, by the way.

It all started way back when. We (my friends and I) went to the lovely East Coast Original Frozen Custard. Why it's called the "East Coast" custard, I do not know, seeing as the only East Coasts are on the North Coast (actually I do know why it's called East Coast Custard, but I'm not going to tell you. It's a secret). Anyways, back to my story: the origins of frozen custard are not known, and are disputed almost as frequently and intensely as the color scheme of Hanes low-cut socks. All we know for sure is that frozen custard was invented sometime between the egg and the chicken, seeing as eggs turn into chickens, and that egg is an ingredient in custard, and chicken is definitely not.

So I decided to get a pistachio custard waffle cone, seeing as pistachio is probably one of the best flavors for any frozen dessert ever created. It was so delicious and I ate it so passionately, that the pistachio flavored frozen custard got all over my face, especially on my upper lip.

At that moment in time, a very special thing happened in my brain. I like to call it "word jousting". Two words run at each other at full speed, crash, splode, and a new word is made from parts of the two words. So during this round of word jousting, it was mustache in the one corner and pistachio in the other, and kablamie, it made "mustachio".

So despite what all experts might say, "mustachio" is a mustache made of pistacio custard or ice cream. Not hair.