Conspiracy Theory.

Election day arrives and a shocking headline hits news stands across America: "Barack Obama's Grandmother Dies."

America reads the headline and mourns for Obama. Five minutes later, suspicions begin to arise.

The election was going well for the Barack Obama campaign. Obama lead polls across America. But was it enough? Perhaps Obama didn't think so. So in an effort to influence a simpathy vote, he killed his grandmother. Not!

Come on, folks. Barack Obama did not kill his grandmother. We're talking about the woman who loved, raised, and cared for Obama during his childhood. His only remaining close relative. His grandma who was diagnosed with cancer just a month ago. Terminal cancer. Besides, Obama has an alibi. He has been traveling across America in a final effort to turn Americans to his cause. Barack Obama did not kill his grandmother.

But where has Michelle Obama been?

Michelle has declared her unconditional love for her husband in press conferences across America. She wants nothing more than to see her husband become President and would do anything to ensure his success. Reports from several American citizens have claimed witnessing Michelle board a Boeing 767 on Sunday morning. Destination? Hawaii.

Refering to his grandmother, Barack is cited as saying, "She was the person who encouraged and allowed us to take chances."

We can only speculate as to what words were exchanged between Michelle and Grandma Obama just before she died. Perhaps it went something like this:

Grandma: "Michelle, take a chance. I have lived a good life and I am willing to end it for the campaign, for my Barack."

Michelle: "I could never!"

Grandma: "Michelle, the race is close. This could sway the vote. I have terminal cancer. I'm dying. Just do it before I change my mind."

Congressman Neil Abercrombie, a friend of the family, stated, "[Grandma Obama] passed away confident that he would succeed."

Why so confident? You be the judge.

(This article is strictly fictional.)

The Costco Experience.

Dinner time arrived and the cupboards were empty. What are a young bachelor and his room mate to do? Go to Costco, of course.

And that is what we did.

After making it to the entrance and flashing the Costco card, we made straight for the food. A slice of pizza, a polish dog and a medium drink for only $3.75. Now that is a deal. A good deal, too.

As we impatiently awaited our turn in line to order, a girl approaches.

"You just can't leave Costco without getting a cinnamon sugar churro!," she says as she makes her way into line next to me.

I glance at her through the corner of my eye. Is she talking to me? Sure enough, she is.

"I'm sorry?..," I reply.

She repeats herself.

"Oh... yeah...," I answer.

I was excitedly anticipating my cheap gourmet meal and she was simply a distraction. Apparently my facial expression showed what I was thinking because she quickly grabbed her cell and started making a call. Before long, she was talking to a sister about an upcoming baby shower.

* * * *
After polishing off my supreme slice of pizza, I began on the polish dog. Don't worry, Costco polish dogs are 100% kosher.

Anyway.

At the table next to us is a mother with three young children. She is lecturing one of them.

"You know I don't like it when you watch that Sponge Bob show," she started.

Sponge Bob? Intrigued, I listen in more intently.

"Next time you go to your friend's house and watch it, just don't tell me! Then I won't have any reason to get mad at you!"

Now that is parenting at its finest.

The Scam.

My name is Brett Myers. I work at Freschetta Pizza. And yesterday I was scammed.

Dearest Scammer Person,

Yesterday, you saw me behind the counter. The pizza counter.

I don't know what your thoughts were. I am no mind reader.

Perhaps you were planning how you would scam your next dollar; perhaps you just wanted some pizza. It doesn't matter anyway. What does matter is that when the moment came, you decided that your integrity was worth a dollar.

You found my weakness.

Each and every time upon giving a customer their change, I worry that they will look at the change and see that I have accidentally shorted them. It isn't an overwhelming worry. Just one that lingers on the edge of my mind. You already know this.

So when I handed you your change, you did it. "Oh, you only gave me three dollars... Shouldn't it be four?" you said so innocently as you held three dollars up to my view. Looking down at the register, it read $4.00. And so I hurriedly handed you another dollar.

Four hours later, when the money room was counting the money in my box, they discovered that I was a dollar short.

Well I have news for you. I'm on to you.

Never Say Never.

As I strolled through my journal, I came across this entry.

Today began early with ice on my windshield. Fifteen hours and nine hundred miles later, we arrived at West Jordan, Utah.

Now my parents were both afraid to let me drive my truck to Utah by myself and so despite my constant assurances that I was a fully capable adult, I followed Jenny and her family. And we traveled the speed limit almost the entire trip. Hence, the fifteen hours. Surprisingly, the drive was practically painless. As long as I had my music blaring, I was good to go.

But while I'm writing this, I want to take a moment to make a point. About a half hour out of Reno, exhaustion began to set in. Whether it was the pancakes I had eaten for breakfast or the sheer lack of good scenery I cannot say. But I do know one thing for sure: nothing would shake the drooping eyelids. And John Mayor certainly wasn't helping. In those desperate moments when it seemed like there wasn't anything to awaken me, a thought occurred to me. Put in rock! And so I did. And it worked. Three Doors Down came to my rescue. No matter what anyone says, rock music has its place and its purpose; if only to keep awake drivers with heavy eyelids.

And another thing. Never again will I pay $3.56 per gallon for gasoline. Dumb Elko.

Never again will I pay $3.56 per gallon? For some reason, I don't think I'm going to be able to keep that promise.

Engaged... In A Good Cause.

We were fourth in line, waiting for the stoplight to turn green. The air conditioner blew cool air while the sun beat down on the black asfault outside. Horns blared as they always do when red lights last too long in Puerto Rico. Behind us was another car of missionaries. We were in San Juan to attend a fireside with the visiting General Authority.

And then it happened.

Suddenly, the passenger door of one of the cars ahead of us pops open. Out jumps a woman that resembles Humpty Dumpty with her round body and little stick arms and legs. As she runs down the row of cars, it is as if she is running in high heels. Her tight black curls bounce up and down with each hurried step. I can almost hear the scraping heels on the road. She is frantic, but frantic for what?

As she nears our car, my eyes move to the hood of the car; under the impression that if I do not make eye contact or move, she can not see me. It is all in vain, however, because soon after averting my eyes there comes a frantic tap at the window. My window. Taking in a deep breath, I turn my head to make eye contact and smile awkwardly at the stranger. She is crying and mumbling to herself. Something is wrong. This woman is not normal. My companion rolls down my window... Warm summer air fills the car.

Before I know what is going on, the woman has reached inside our car, grabbed my hand and shoved a ring in it. I sit there. Frozen. What just happened? Why is there a diamond ring in my hand? Click. Reaching out the window, I grab her hand and shove the ring in it. She begins crying with a newly sparked enthusiasm. Who is this woman? As if she had expected me to return the ring, her arms bolt back into our car with renewed strength and she has my hand again. This time, however, she shoves the ring right onto my finger and continues holding my hand while sobbing out, "For you. Forever. For you. Forever..." Why me?

Before I have time to figure out what to do, she releases my hand and bounces back to her car. The only thing missing is the scraping of high heeled shoes. My companion and I look at each other, not sure what to do. The driver of Ms. Humpty Dumpty's car now exits her car and hurries towards our car. Following suit, I get out and walk towards her. She demands the ring and I hand it over without argument. We both walk back to our cars and get in. Then the light turns green and life continues as if nothing ever happened.