Rope-a-dope.

The President’s brilliant strategy, taken right from the Mohammad Ali playbook, was instantly clear to me. If I’m right, he will be equally hapless in the next debate, focusing on foreign policy. He will be unable to find Iran on a map. He won’t know the president of Uzbekistan. He will identify Israel and Canada as members of the Axis of Evil. The Democrats and the media will be even more shocked and dismayed. Chris Matthews will be placed on suicide watch. And of course, Romney and his supporters will rejoice, and will confidently begin picking out curtains for the Oval Office.

Then will come the third debate.

The topic doesn’t matter. A different Barack Obama will arrive. He will be cool and relaxed. Perhaps he will wear his golf slacks, or will walk up dribbling a basketball. He’ll place his Nobel Prize for Being Barack Obama on the podium. The questions won’t phase him; he will answer every one by singing his response like Al Green. He will smile and wink at the swooning women in the audience. Romney will be thrown off his stride; he will babble and stutter like Porky Pig in the face of Obama’s overwhelming hope-inspiring charm, and will repeatedly fail to bring the debate back to the important issues . Perhaps Obama will even say, “There you go again, Mitt!” Moderator Bob Schieffer will frequently tell Romney to “Shut up and listen to the President!”

Romney will be devastated. He might even drop out of the race. On November 6, Obama will not only win the election in a landslide, he will also win American Idol, The Voice, and a second Nobel Prize (for being the Coolest Barack Obama Ever.) Our downward spiral to third world mediocrity will continue for four more years. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Enjoy the ride.

As an example, despite his baffling addiction to obsolete music, my friend Brizz has a very high IQ, probably in excess of 130 or so. This means (according to my weatherman) he is at least 30 IQ points above where he should be.

Does the median indicate “shouldness” as well? The median U.S. household income in 2010 was $49,445, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. The Obamas reported an income of $1,795,614, or $1,746,169 more than they should have. No doubt Barack Obama would agree with this. There comes a point when you have made enough money.

The average height for white American males is approximately 5 feet 10 inches. This means I am about 1.5 inches shorter than I should be, and Kobe Bryant is 8 inches too tall. Obama should do something about this.

It’s human nature to want to define how things outside of our control “should” be, especially when it comes to the weather, as weatherman Todd regularly demonstrates. We get an odd sense of unease if the temperature is well off the average. We expect this year’s rainfall to be pretty much like last year’s, and if it isn’t, something’s amiss. And if we see several years in a row warmer than the previous several years, we get downright alarmed, with the help of fear-mongers like Al “We’re doomed” Gore.

Keep a few facts in mind. The earth is about 4.6 billion years old. By studying ice cores, tree rings and other evidence, scientists have been able to determine two important facts: First, it has been much colder than it is now; and second, it has been much warmer than it is now. Climate change is real, and it has been real throughout the life of the earth, even when we weren’t here driving our Hummers.

Homo sapiens appeared about 200,000 years ago. If the earth had been around for just one year, then we humans appeared a little over 20 minutes ago. We just started keeping accurate climate records within the last minute. Could there be just a touch of hubris in our (and Todd’s) judgement of how the weather “should” be?

Then watch Fox’s latest reality hit, an in-depth look at the dark side of competitive watermelon seed spitting as four characters travel to county fairs around the country, vying for the prize money while battling chapped lips and dry mouth. Tonight, Clem is disqualified due to his inadvertent ejection of a tooth instead of a seed. Watch as he tries to convince the judges that the tooth was identical in size, weight and color to a regulation seed. Root for your favorite in “Great Expectorations!”

William Shatner returns to the screen as Father Delaney, a defrocked pedophile priest and registered sex offender. Not being allowed near children makes him grumpy and foul-mouthed, but he still tries to browbeat his neighbors into keeping the faith, in “Holy Sh*t!” at 9:30 Tuesday nights on ABC.

Hannah Kelley, 20, was attending the service conducted by her
father at Grace Connection Church in Pinellas County, Florida last
Sunday. After the ceremony, Moises Zambrana, who handles the sound
system for the church, took Dustin Bueller and another man into a
closet. Bueller, who was dating Hannah Kelley, was interested in
buying a gun, and Moises wanted to show him his 9 mm Ruger. He
ejected the clip and, while “demonstrating the safety features,”
accidentally fired the gun through the closet wall, striking Hannah
Kelley in the head. Zambrana, who is licensed to carry a concealed
handgun, stated he did not know there was a bullet in the chamber. At
this moment Hannah Kelley is in critical condition in the hospital.
No charges have been filed.

I am a staunch 2^nd Amendment advocate. I own several
guns, some left to me by my father, who drummed gun safety into me as
soon as I was old enough to hold one. I would never challenge any
law-abiding citizen’s right to bear arms. I do, however, have a gun
safety tip for those of you who, like Mr. Zambrana and the unknown
New Year’s reveler, are not on the short list for a Mensa invitation.

If you think it sounds like fun to celebrate by firing your gun
into the air; if you think, even after attending the required gun
safety class for a concealed carry permit, that ejecting the clip of
an automatic renders it safe, then perhaps owning a gun is not the
best choice for you. But if you do insist on exercising your 2^nd
Amendment rights, then by all means go ahead and buy a gun. Save your
money, though, and only buy one bullet. Load it in the gun, lie down
in the bathtub, and use it on yourself. You will make guns safer for
everyone, you morons.

• Riding a Segway. Yes, I know it’s a marvelous invention, but
  face it: you look like a dork.

• Pushing your dog in a baby carriage. This is even worse if
  you dress the dog up.

• Riding in the back of a pickup truck. Even if the truck has
  built-in seats like the Subaru Baja (actually this might be worse.
  Who would buy such a thing?)

• Playing air guitar. Especially if you are with a group
  listening to music and you’re the only one doing it. And if your
  eyes are closed and your mouth is open, you’re pathetic.

And while we’re on the subject of things people should stop doing,
how about if we abandon the clinking of glasses after a toast, at
least when you’re with more than three people? That interminable
reaching across the table to make sure you’ve “clinked” with
every loser in the group is beyond annoying. Raise your glass, smile
at everyone and say “Cheers,” and then drink the damn thing.

Just trying to help.

I do not read many Western novels, but this one caught my attention and grabbed me with the first paragraph. The language, the characters, the humor and the tall tale itself kept me fascinated from beginning to end. This is Patrick deWitt’s second novel; I will now have to find his first, Ablutions: Notes for a Novel. DeWitt is a seriously talented writer.

Peggy took care of both cats, but Bubba always seemed like “my cat.” He was good-natured and relaxed. He was a bit timid; he’d disappear when we had company, and a thunderstorm would send him under the bed or in a closet. He loved food, and soon grew fat and lazy—who says pets resemble their owners? (I, on the other hand, am big-boned.) He developed the habit of laying on my chest while I laid on the couch reading in the afternoon. We both loved our couch time.

Even though he loved to eat, he had a sensitive stomach. Recently, he began to have more trouble and couldn’t keep his food down. The vet ran a number of tests and put him on medication that didn’t seem to help. Today he got worse, so we took him in again. X-rays revealed a growth and a poor prognosis, and the choice was inevitable. This afternoon I scratched Bubba’s head one last time while Sarah, the vet, ended his suffering. He just fell asleep, and then was gone.

I am still not a cat person. But Bubba wasn’t just a cat.

Come on, humans. Tornadoes happen for non-supernatural reasons. And to paraphrase Randy Newman: Some people get lost in the storm. Some people get away all right.

Licorice candy is made from the licorice root and is black. There is no such thing as red licorice.

Baseball is a game with nine players on each team. The 10-player game practiced by the American League is not baseball.

Turkey "bacon" is ground turkey.

Golf is a game in which players use various clubs to hit a small ball across a large grassy area toward a hole, walking between shots. People riding carts on the golf course are not playing golf. Also, golf cannot be miniaturized.

Chocolate is made from the seed of the cacao plant. There is no such thing as white chocolate.

Just trying to help you out. That’s why I’m here.