Those intimate gatherings filled with sparkling conversation and mouth-watering morsels you always dreamed of hosting can now come together in a pinch without any of the help and know-how you normally rely on from some overpriced catering company. And if a certain someone hadn’t listened intently as I poured out all my hopes and dreams in a post-coital haze and then stolen them from me, I would be publishing this advice in my very own magazine. But that’s not what this is about. This is about your night in the spotlight. So let’s get back to you. Whether you’re entertaining a party of ten, six or just one, a few simple steps are all it takes. Like, for example, the self-serve bar. It’s a great place to direct your guests upon arrival and really helps to kick-start the evening. In fact, I’m going to help myself to a cocktail right now. One, two, three, four, five parts vodka, an olive, and viola! I’m refreshed and ready to mingle.

Which reminds me of the first time we “connected”. It was during Frosh week on a pub crawl. As clichés go, we ordered the very same dirty vodka martini I’m enjoying right now. This, of course, kicked off an in-depth conversation about our majors. Mine: Economics with a minor in Women’s Studies. Hers: A double major in History and Architectural History. Before we knew it, we were three martinis deep and had been left behind by the group. But when you connect like we did, everything else becomes secondary. And for a while, that’s how life was. We started a book club–for two. We shared clothes. We cooked meals together. Oh, speaking of food, usually at this time, I make sure the savory aroma of dinner is wafting through the air. Like the chicken basted with lemon and rosemary I smell right now. Ooops, looks like someone needs a refill.

O.K., we’re back. Now, once people begin to comment on of the sweet smell, I kindly remind them to get a refill and then direct them to the table. When you read in her magazine about coasters and napkins that match the season and a centerpiece that compliments the main course, guess where those ideas came from? Of course, she’ll deny everything. And why wouldn’t she. No one knows those were my dreams she stole. I was just a young, naïve co-ed who was in love. Now she’s taken those dreams and used them to become an international media maven. As for me, well, no one even knows my name. But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is, I trusted her and if she had returned that trust, if she had stuck with me, we could have been bigger than Oprah. But no, I was just a fling. She was confused. Experimenting. Blah, blah, blah, it’s over, but can we still be friends? Goddamn I need another refill.

Oh dear, I’m sorry, it’s just I’m feeling a little emotional right now. Pull yourself together woman. O.K., I’m all right now. Heck, another one of these and I’ll totally forget all about what’s-her-name. Like how, at our dinner parties, she’d re-arrange my seating plan so she could play footsies with me. Or how on game night she always made sure we were partners, so she could cheat her way to victory. Then there was the time we took that weekend trip up to Vermont. It was Fall, so everywhere you looked the scenery was gorgeous. But we spent the whole weekend in our room. Come to think of it, that’s when I really opened up and told her about my plans. At the time I thought it was great to have someone listen to me. Someone who cared about what I wanted. Someone who encouraged me to pursue the dream I had been chasing since I as a young girl. But son of a bitch, it was all a game. I got played. I–oh, shit! Something’s burning. Goddamn I ruined the fucking chicken. Great, dinner’s fucked. I wonder if I time to call my caterer?

Before I make the call (and get another refill) let’s recap. The most important step towards hosting your own oh-so-fab dinner party is to never trust a skinny bitch with a blonde bob. It will lead to nothing but heartache, tears and alcohol. Unless, of course, you’re looking to have someone steal your life’s work and then make millions from it. Other than that, keep you glass full, a box of tissue handy and, most importantly, never take advice on etiquette or anything else related to life from a back-stabbing bitch who’s done semi-hard time.

Happy hosting. And please feel free to write me if you’d like any further advice.

Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honour to introduce to you tonight’s opening act. You know him from the small screen, the silver screen, the many magazine covers he has graced, well, I could go on but you’d rather listen to him than me, so I won’t.

Now before I bring him out, there are a few ground rules I need to go over with you first. So please listen closely as these are important to both your safety and chances of you being able to view his show in its entirety.

First, and most important, please fill out and sign the release form you found waiting on your seats. Anyone who does not will be asked to leave the theatre immediately as we cannot be held responsible for what takes place during the show.

Great. I’m glad so many of you chose to stay.

The next thing I’ll ask is that you to do is avoid eye contact at all times. If he catches you looking at him, he will stop the show, come sit on your lap and stay there until you sing “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” in either an F major or falsetto.

This would probably be a good time to inform you that, if he happens to pull out his gun, don’t fear, as I’m told it is not loaded. And when I say gun, I mean he carries a Walther PPK, not the one in his pants.

Okay. The lack of laughter following that joke segues perfectly into the next rule. He asks that you please, at no time during the show, laugh and/or applaud. You may, if desired, react when he refers to cutlery or takes a drink from his whiskey but if you do so, please cheer as though you were a part of Arsenio Hall’s Dog Pound. Also, he requests that anytime he uses the word “fuck”, you reply by saying “off”.

As I look out over the audience, I notice a great number of you are wearing blue. Unfortunately, that’s another no-no. So I’ll kindly ask you to please remove whatever it is you’re wearing. That goes for you, too, ladies. The usher will give each of you a claim check so you can pick up your clothes after the show.

I’ll thank you in advice for complying with rules.

Enjoy the show.

Break out your freaky pumpkins you sons of bitches because it’s time to scare the fuck out of people and eat shitloads of candy. And I don’t know about you, but this year I’m going make some fuckers crap their pants. In fact, I’m about to head to the morgue to borrow a body or two for my lawn – none of that fake fucking dummy shit for me. Hell, maybe I’ll get lucky and they’ll have a decapitation and I’ll take the headless body, put it on a horse and let that fucker run wild around my property all Sleepy Hollow-like. Man, my shit is going to be terrifying. When trick or treaters roll up they’re gonna be like, “Holy shitballs this place is fucking freaky as Hell”. Then when they approach my porch and have to step over a dead body they’ll be all like, “What’s that smell?” and I’m gonna be like, “Check your pants.”

I may even hit up the blood bank and get some of that real shit so I can smear it on my door frame or leave bloody footprints on the sidewalk. Then kids will be touching that stuff and they’ll taste it because they think its corn syrup with food colouring. But guess what? You’re wrong fuckers. You just ate blood. People are probably going to be like, “That’s irresponsible and hazardous to your health.” And I’ll just give them a handful of candy and quietly reply, “You can swallow a pint of blood before you get sick. Haven’t you seen Fight Club, bitch?”

When it comes to sound effects you’re probably wondering if I’m going to pussy out and use my iPod. And the answer is fuck yeah. What else would I do? Hire a bunch of mental patients, dig a hole in my lawn, throw them down it then cage that shit up and let them scream the night away? Hell no. That’s just fucking cruel. (I must admit, I’m considering buying a shitload of lobsters, tossing those bitches in a pot and slow-cooking them. It seems like a more realistic way to have some freaky fucking screaming throughout the night. Plus, I can have lobster omlettes for breakfast the morning after.)

Next thing I’m going to do is buy more goddamn candy than Willy Wonka can shake a fucking Oompa Loompa at. Then I’m going to call up Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band and that little Japanese bastard who eats all the hot dogs and we’re going to chow down on that shit until we puke. Why? Because it’s not bloody Easter, it’s not fucking Thanksgiving, and it’s definitely not Christmas. It’s Halloween, fuckers.

Question: Do you consider dressing up and wearing make-up to be not-so-manly? I thought so. That’s why I don’t take part in that bullshit. Me, I’m straight up about the realism. So what do I do? Hold on to your fucking hats folks because this shit is about to get real. And I don’t mean real like a felony rap for possession of marijuana. I mean real like going to the doctor for your first prostate exam. I cut myself. That’s right bitches. I slice my shit up. Maybe a little nick on the neck or a slice on the stomach. Then I throw on a white shirt and let that fucker bleed out. Do people get all pale and worry about the blood pulsing from my body? Fuck yeah they do. And do you know what that means? I’m scaring those bastards silly. Best part is, the cuts are what the medical world refers to as “artificial wounds”. So I come out of the night with a scar that chicks dig and having succeeded in scaring the crap out of people – and into their pants. And that’s what the business world refers to as a “win-win” situation.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go carve some fucking pumpkins into repelling shit that looks like Whoopi Goldberg’s face.

Happy motherfuckin’ Halloween assholes!

4th DENTIST: Jesus. You’re killing me here. Just say yes already.
2nd DENTIST: Seriously, what’s your problem?
5th DENTIST: I’m just not comfortable endorsing this product. I can’t in good conscience recommend it to my patients. Or to all of America for that matter.
4th DENTIST: Agree to disagree.
1st DENTIST: I can think of 250,000 reasons why you should screw your conscience.
3rd DENTIST: And since when did anyone start caring about the rest of the country. We’re capitalists for Christ sake.
2nd DENTIST: Besides, we all know you’ve done this before.
5th DENTIST: As a matter of fact, I haven’t.
3rd DENTIST: I guess that’s why you’re driving a Saab.
4th DENTIST: You know it’s anonymous right? To the public, you’re just a number. 5 out of 5 dentists recommend…
5th DENTIST: But I’ll know. I’ll know.
2nd DENTIST: You know what I think? We should load this guy up on nitrous oxide. After 200 mills of that stuff, he’ll see things our way.
1st DENTIST: Or we could give him a root canal – without any anesthetic.
3rd DENTIST: You know you’re the reason the public has such a low opinion of us. 4 out 5 is just embarrassing. It says we don’t trust each other.
4th DENTIST: Do the letters D.M.D mean nothing to you?
5th DENTIST: Does the word ethics mean nothing to you?
4th DENTIST: God! You touch one breast while a patient’s under…
5th DENTIST: You did what to a patient?
4th DENTIST: Don’t try to change the subject. This is about you leaving us in the lurch.
5th DENTIST: No, this is about integrity.
1st DENTIST: Ah, screw this guy. I’m taking my cheque and leaving.
3rd DENTIST: You’re right. I take back what I said. 4 out 5 ain’t bad. Hell, we’re in the majority.
2nd DENTIST: Yeah. Suck it monkey.

Why, you may ask, would a young boy dream of growing up to be a crossing guard when so many other promising careers (janitor, drug dealer, paper shredder) had presented themselves to him? Beside the obvious power you can lord over children, there is a certain amount of prestige one earns from wielding a miniature stop sign and sporting a fluorescent vest in the face of oncoming traffic. And, of course, there are the perks. I was lucky enough to learn all these marvelous things at the tender age of 8 from Reginald, our local crossing guard. Or, as he liked to be called, El Captain de Asphalto. El Cap Asso for short.

My curiosity was initially piqued when, on the first day back to school in grade 3, I noticed a number of mothers from the neighbourhood gave gifts to El Cap Asso. Being a lover of presents, I wondered what, when I saw no Birthday cards attached, he had done to deserve them. So, over the course of the next few weeks, I observed his every move. And what I saw left me dumbfounded. He could silence children with a gentle tweet of his whistle. He offered up a bon mot of wisdom whenever someone was waiting to cross his tiny patch of asphalt. He could make all our mothers behave like my little sister (I later learned this was called flirting). And everyday a truck would show up and bring him lunch. Though the gift giving remained a mystery, when you factor in the above nuggets, the hours he worked, and the complete lack of education required to perform the job, well, I knew I had found my calling. And how many people can say they knew for certain what they were going to do with the rest of their life at 8 years old?

From this day on, I spent every waking minute preparing myself for the day I would don my very own fluorescent vest and have lunch delivered to me on a street corner. In actuality, it didn’t require much preparation. Grades didn’t matter, so I pretty much got lazy when it came to all things school – except for gym, it’s important to stay in shape in the line of work I was pursuing. As for my mental preparation, well, not much changed. Though I did start working on a few new twists to the classic “Why did the chicken cross the road?” joke.

Needless to say, my parents didn’t really agree with this choice. They thought I was “aiming low” and “should seek professional help”. But it was my dream, so I ignored them and forged on. Which proved to be easy. For as I soon discovered, there really are no requirements for the job. As long as you can walk, talk, see and aren’t a pederast, you’re eligible.

So here I am, 20 years later, in the prime of my life, living the dream. I’ve been ushering people across a 25-foot stretch of asphalt ever since El Cap Asso got hit by a car and died. Yes, that’s right, I’m now guarding the very piece of road that inspired me to do what I do. Can you believe it? I can’t sometimes. Anyway, it’s a blast.

Since inheriting my little slice of asphalt, I have taken the position to a whole new level. First by pioneering the extended arm with pointed index finger crossing technique. And later by becoming the first crossing guard to use a foldout chair during non-crossing moments. Now some kids from around the neighbourhood wear a fluorescent vest with my intersection printed on the back. And, not to sound like a braggart, I’ve won GTA crossing guard of the year 3 years running – and 6 of the last 9 years. There’s even talk of me being nominated for the Order of Canada. (So what if I started that rumour.)

But it’s not the accolades I live for. Or the power. It’s the people. They’re why I’m out here 3 hours everyday no matter the rain, shine, snow, sleet, hail, or angry drivers. They’re why I stopped doing drugs (at least during work hours). And, the mothers, are why I read the Kama Sutra.

So there you have it: my life as a crossing guard. If you’re looking to follow in my footsteps; if you like the idea of protecting, and enriching, young lives; if you dream of having numerous yet meaningless sexual dalliances with hot housewives, then come find me at the intersection of Dreams Rd & Good Life Ave. (just kidding, that’s a little taste of crossing guard humour) but any of the above tickles your fancy, well, I’d be happy to mentor you.

Confection Connection

We met in line at the Vanni Bros. Bakery. She was number 9. I was 13. The attraction was instant – if you saw her ankles, you’d know why. Our body language said, “How you doin?” but the flirtatious glances said more. The connection was further confirmed when we realized we both ordered the same confectionery: chocolate truffle cake.

At the cash register, I learned hers was for a party at her sister’s. Mine, on the other hand, was to help me cope with another big loss by my beloved Toronto Blue Jays – and the $1,000 it cost me. Anyway, when I left she was waiting outside, smoking. If you’d seen the way she inhaled, you’d further understand the attraction.

As she ground out her cigarette, she asked for a ride to the party. Before I knew it she was feeding me cake by hand while screaming out directions. I was so caught up in the cake, and her fingers, I hardly realized we were at the party. The next thing I knew she out of the car. I never even knew her name. Plus, I had no more cake.

Unlucky #13

****

Bunny Ears

I’ve been working at Playboy for the last 7 years. Now don’t get me wrong, it’s a great gig. The coeds and occasional celebrities are nice to look at in the buff, the parties are everything you’ve heard, but I’m getting tired of all this airbrushed bullshit, the silicon mountains and shaved beavers. That’s not what the seedy underbelly of the sex trade is supposed to look like, and it’s not what I want to see anymore. When I spank it, I want to see some glory hole calling me to make a bumpy landing on its airstrip. So I thank you for the content of your magazine. And hope you’re hiring.

Spread Eagle

****

Orange Pineapple Crush

I’d been going to the gym for two months and been on a few dates with a few ladies but nothing ever worked out. Sometimes it was me; sometimes it was them. Either way, they came and went like my body fat index. Then there was the juice bar lady. After every session, I stopped by for a wheatgrass and orange pineapple juice – and a little friendly banter. And every time, she always gave me a large when I ordered a medium. (Apparently the friendly banter was friendly flirtation.) So after two months of not realizing what was gong on, I finally clued in. It had been a busy day so I ended working out late. By the time I got to the juice bar, she was closing down so I couldn’t get my usual. Instead, we ended up talking for a while. Eventually, she got around to telling me she was American and hadn’t yet figured out the conversion between ounces and litres. Turns out that’s why I kept getting a large.

Medium

****

Hey Penthouse Forum,

I typed this letter with one hand while reading your magazine. Guess what I was doing with the other one? If you said smoking, you’re wrong.

Multi tasker

****

Trimming Bushes

I have my own landscaping company. Mainly we do driveways, fences, stonewalls, sod, that kind of thing. Every now and then we get asked to do some lawn maintenance. It’s easy work and people don’t want to do it themselves so they pay well for me to do it for them.

So one day this MILF calls for an estimate. I arrive, and she walks out in a chiffon robe and when the sunlight hits her, I realize that’s all she’s wearing. She goes on to tell me she’d like a new driveway, a flagstone wall around her garden, and fresh sod in the back yard. Of course I say yes, and go low on the quote to boot.

As the job goes on, she keeps adding little things: “I’d love a Japanese maple, can you plant one for me?” “My garden could use some mulch, I’m thinking cedar” but I don’t mind because I’ve quickly learned her wardrobe consists of nothing more than a colourful selection of robes. (And a barely there bikini she breaks out for her afternoon swim.)

Anyway, as I’m close to finishing she comes out to see me and makes, in her words, “One final request. Do you trim bushes?” Now I’ve been there for three plus weeks and know there’s not bush in sight. Still, I say yes. She then proceeds to hand me a piece of paper with an address on it and tells me her mother is expecting me some time this week.

Brick Layer

****

Lovers in Love

We met online, like most horny yet socially terrified people today, and I knew it was love immediately. The picture blew me away but you never really know how accurate they are until you meet in person – and 4 to 6 weeks later, it finally happened. And it was magical; everything I hoped and expected it to be – and more. Especially the sex. It was, as they say, off the hook. Anytime, anywhere, anything I wanted. And now, I am not ashamed to tell the world I am in love with my Fleshlight. In fact, I would go as far as to say it’s the greatest thing in my life. It doesn’t talk back; it doesn’t judge; it doesn’t cheat on me with my best friend Will. It’s simply there for me whenever I need to “exercise my demons”. The best part of this love story is that you can experience it, too. All for $64.95. And let me tell you, it will be the cheapest, strongest relationship you’ve ever had.

Happy humping,
Josef Plazic

Hi! Welcome to Starbucks! How may I help you!?

Oh, a venti cocoa latte. You know, that used to be my drink, too.

I know. It’s like a little bit of liquid heaven in your mouth.

Me too. It was my “escape” snack. Which, if you saw my show January, 22nd 2009, you’d know is totally acceptable three to four times a day during the first quarter of a diet makeover. Or at least I thought so. Then my good friend, Dr. Oz, sat me down for a little chat. And do you know what he said to me? He said, “Oprah, the fattiest, most caloric drink at Starbucks is not a part of the diet makeover we set up for you.” And he was right. I was eating so well – but I wasn’t losing any weight. It was a real Ah-ha moment. So I cut them out. Cold turkey.

Of course I didn’t stop coming to Starbucks. I just switched drinks. Now, I treat myself to two short Americanos everyday.

I know it’s watered down and doesn’t have the creamy deliciousness of our old drink, but with only 6 calories and 0 grams of fat, it’s great for our diet.

Why do I keep saying we? Because I’ve been down the road you’re on. And, as a friend, I’m just reaching out to share what worked for me; letting you know it can work for you, too. I just don’t want to see things… escalate.

No! I would never call you fat. I’m just suggesting you keep an eye on things.

Ma’am? Do you still want that Americano?

Good morning. What can–

Oooh, what are you reading?

That sounds fab. Is it a best seller yet?

No. It will be soon. Do you know why? Because it’s going to be my next book club pick. Hey, how would you like to meet me after work to talk about it a little more?

Lunch tomorrow then?

Thursday evening?

I’ll tell you what. I’m off at 9. If you make it, great. If not, I’m sure you’ll be in again and we’ll chat then. And when we do the coffee is on me.

Have a great day. And enjoy your book.

Right! What did you want again? Good choice. Enjoy it. And I’ll see you Thursday. Bring your notes.

Next.

Before I take your order, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I was watching you in line and noticed some serious tension between the two of you. In fact, I don’t think you’ve said a single word to each other since you entered the store. But I want you to know that I understand what you’re going through. Even Stedman and I don’t always see eye-to-eye. But no matter what happens, we’re always able to work it out. And do you know why? Because we talk to each other–about everything. No matter how big or small the issue, communicating with your partner is the important part of every relationship.

That’s a good start. But remember, this is a family establishment, so I need to ask you to tone down your language.

I’m sure that’s true, but I don’t know him, so I’ll just take your word for it. Now, do you have anything to say to her about that?

Good. Good. This is really good. We’re getting somewhere now. We’re opening up the lines of communication. Next, I’d like you two to take your drinks, grab a seat in the corner and make a list of all the things that are bothering you. Afterwards, you need to discuss what both of you can do to make these things easier on each other. Are there things you can avoid? Things you can talk about before they happen? Anything that helps you both understand how the other feels person feels about your actions. When you’re done, I’d love to check in and see how things are going. In case I’m busy, here’s Gayle’s number. You can call anytime. Maybe we’ll even try to get you on the show.

Of course. Silly me. How could I forget? Two Chai Iced Tea Lattes coming up. Hey, same drink, things are already improving.

Next.

What would you like today sir?

That will be $6.37 please.

I can’t help but notice you’re paying entirely with change.

Of course that’s not a problem. But it leads me to wonder if you’re your finances are in order. If not, I can help. You see my friend, Suze Orman, and I have put together what we call a debt diet. It helps you eliminate all the unnecessary costs in your life. And right now, I’m guessing, one of those costs is coffee. If you’d like–

Oh. I see. Well then, let me make it up to you. This one’s on the house. In fact, this is a perfect time for another giveaway.

Excuse me everyone! Can I have your attention! If you look under your seats you’ll find something special. YOU’RE ALL GETTING FREE COFFEE!!!

I can’t do that? Says who? You? “The manager”. Of course I can. I do it all the time on my show.

I know this isn’t my show, but it’s a nice treat for my fans.

What do you mean I’m fired? You’re fired. No, you know what? You’re not fired. I’m going to buy this company, rename it Oprahbucks, then make you a cashier–for life.

Take you out and show you a good time
Try to be nice
Play hard to get while simultaneously charming your pants off
Speak in innuendos he had no intention of following through on
Take you home then tell you he had to get up early tomorrow
Not give in to your promiscuous ways
Tease you
Turn you on

Yang became the first Asian-born player to win a major Sunday with a stunning performance in the PGA Championship, memorable as much for his clutch shots as the player he beat: The mighty Tiger Woods.

-Associated Press

First and foremost, I do not want to thank God. My life is complete without him and everything I do is in no way because of him.

Second, I would like to say to my wife and family, I probably would have been standing in this place many more times, and had many more trophies, had it not been for you. You have never been there for me. In this moment, the greatest of my life, I want you to know that you mean nothing to me.

Next, I would like to acknowledge the PGA Tour. I’m not really sure why. I guess because I just won your tournament. Plus, my agent said I should. Also, if you didn’t have all those rich sponsors coming out of your behind, I wouldn’t be getting a big cheque from you. So, yes! I’m rich.

Finally, I must say a few things to my opponent today: The Tiger. I took great pleasure in hunting you down. Though the challenge was less than I expected, as you appeared a bit lame at times. I guess I am the thorn to your paw.

This victory over you will be very well received back home in Korea, where, you should know, we eat tigers for breakfast. Lunch and dinner, too. In fact, they are now on the endangered species list. And, judging from the way you putted today, soon you will be too.

I will now take my trophy and winnings and proceed to party like Kim Jong Il after learning he had access to nuclear power.

No thank you all very much.

Welcome to FenilTech Laboratories and thank you for joining us as we prepare to launch our latest over the counter mood alteration pharmaceutical.

This is a big step not only for FTL, but the entire industry. Needless to say, the staff are very excited about Zephenal PX – you can call it by it’s street name, Zeppelin, like the airship, not the band – and we look forward to seeing how it will change your life.

Before we get started and you sign the commitment papers, there are a few things I need to discuss with you.

If you flip to page 17 of your handbook, you’ll find Appendix A, which lists Zephenal’s “side effects”. FDA regulations demand that we call them “side effects”, but at FTL we prefer to call them Alternative Performance Boosters, or APBs as they’re known around the lab.

Another FDA regulation stipulates that I take you through all the APBs before we begin testing the drug, so let’s get started, shall we?

Okay.

One of the first APBs we discovered, and one we feel you’ll be really excited about, is the Steven Tyler syndrome. This APB makes you believe and act like you are Aerosmith’s front man – during his “cool years” in the 1970s, not the lame post-rehab years when he made all those videos featuring Alicia Silverstone.

No sir, you don’t have to dress like him.

The next APB you’ll need to prepare for is an increased appetite. In most cases, this will take place in the form of sleep eating. When one of these nocturnal, subconscious cravings strikes, you’ll have a hunkering for terra firma, or dirt to the layperson. So do not be alarmed if you wake up to find yourself in a garden shoveling handfuls of topsoil into your mouth.

Those of you who don’t take up nocturnal snacking will instead develop a taste for leather. These cravings can, and will, strike at anytime, so be prepared that in the middle of, say, a status meeting, your belt may seem quite appetizing. As such we highly recommend you avoid using or wearing anything that is made from or contains leather during the trial period.

While on the subject of food, I also need to talk to you about soup. We ask that you please be careful, or all together refrain, from eating soup as there is a slight chance you may think your ears are your mouth while doing so. Surely I don’t need to tell you that this is an all-together uncomfortable feeling you do not want to experience.

Moving on, who likes to dance?

Great. For those of you who raised their hands, number 3 is an APB to take note of. During the trail period each day between the hours of 3 and 4pm, you may spontaneously break into dance – Riverdance to be exact.

No sir, you won’t have to dress up in the “faggy Irish garb”.

Please note: some of you should be prepared to contract what is known as two left feet. Luckily, you’ll still find yourself dancing, only in circles.

We’re just about done here, and though the last three APBs on the list are relatively minor, they are important nonetheless.

Even though none of you indicated on your application that you like Arby’s, during the trial, you’ll feel an urge to brag to everyone you know, and meet, that you are the Arby’s employee of the month. Do not be surprised if an employee of the month plaque of you in full uniform turns up on a wall in your home.

The next APB sounds much worse than it is. And I will tell you all right now: YOU WILL NOT SUFFER A HEART ATTACK. You will only feel like you are about to have one. This false trauma will be triggered in men by the sound of Oprah’s voice, and in women by the sound of Dr. Phil’s voice. If you can avoid watching these programs, chances are you will not have to worry about this APB.

Excuse me? No, he is not a real doctor. And I don’t know why he calls himself one.

That brings me–

No, I am not a member of her book club.

Where was I? Yes. Sideburns. I notice that a few of the men have them, and before the test period begins, I’d advise you shave them.

Why?

Well, the sight of sideburns longer than 1¾ inch will cause your nervous system to go into what we call “spaz mode”. That is to say, you won’t like them, and, upon sight you’ll demand the bearer shave them – immediately. This “request” will likely come in the form of a tourettes-like onslaught. To curb the anger of those you’re yelling at, we suggest you attempt to work in a joke about sideburns. Maybe something along the lines of, “Hey, the guys from 90210 called, they want their burns back.” But I’m just a scientist, so you may want to work out your own material.

And that brings us to the end of our alternative performance boosters. At least the ones we know of.

No ma’am, you can’t get an advance on your pay. But yes, it’s okay to drink alcohol during the trial.

Okay, if there are no more questions, we’re finished here and you’re ready to start the trial. Please pick up your samples on the way out.

Good luck. We’ll see you all in two months.