Man. Some people just have all the fun, don’t they? I guess I’ll have to scratch off “Firefighter” from my list of potential careers, because I can think of at least half a dozen similar photos of myself in… ah… similar attire. And no, I wasn’t drunk in any of ‘em, either. (I was just one wild and crazy guy!)

You can read the whole sad story here.

Kevin

So I’m still alive after my second stint as Bigfoot. To be honest, I was half dead Sunday afternoon when it was over. Walking around a hard parking lot with no foot support aside from a thick pair of socks is surprisingly strenuous on a guy’s legs! Not only was my knee ready to give way (from all the crouching and jumping about), but my calves were MASSIVE from the strain. I had the sexiest calves I’ve seen on anyone, and it’s saying something when a guy drools over his own calves… (not sure what it’s saying, but it says something…)

Also surprising was the fact that I didn’t freeze. My hands were kinda cold at times, but I still sweat like a hairless monkey in a monkey suit. (Wrap THAT around your multiple degrees, punks!)

Anyhow, I had such a good time with it that I wrote some of the staff at LifeChurch.tv offering my services as another mascot for their next sermon series: “Satan’s SexEd.”

Think they’ll go for it?

Kevin

I’m sitting in the lobby of the LifeChurch.tv OKC campus, preparing for my second stint as the one and only Bigfoot. It’ll be significantly different than my experience last week, mainly because this time I’ve been asked to walk outside among the parking lots, and it’s something like 38 degrees (F) out there.

Yeah. I’m about to freeze my furry bald butt off.

I’m slightly prepared, though… I have on two layers of t-shirts, brought some wool socks and mittens to wear under the gorilla gloves, and I’ll have a knit cap on my head. Lord only knows if it’ll be sufficient enough to keep my leg hairs from curling in the cold, but we’ll find out.

I’m trying to figure out what else I can write about. Perhaps an update on life?

Kim’s still pregnant, preparing for the big day in late April. We’re still not finding out the gender until the kid pops out, but we’re slowly narrowing down our list of names. I’ve had a dream that it was a girl, but I also feel like God whispered a boy’s name to me one day, so I’m all kinds of confused on what we’re having. (With Kyler I dreamt I received a call from God, telling me Kim was pregnant. And this was a month before we even found out she WAS pregnant!) So, needless to say, I take a lot of stock in my dreams…

Whoops. If you’ll please excuse me, they’ve installed a new foosball table here in the lobby, and I see two grade-schoolers I’d like to stomp on it.

(15 Minutes Later…)

Spanking accomplished. I’ve discovered I’m not that great of a teacher when it comes to foosball. Not that I wouldn’t love to teach what I know, but when I find myself playing someone younger than I, I’m not inclined to “throw the game” and let them win. I play like I always do: all out. To win. To inflict emotional pain and turmoil in the opponent who dared to think they could conquer me and my mad skillz.

Granted, in this situation I pretty much injected myself into a group and beat the snot out of them. Come to think of it, it’s not unlike what a bully does on the school playground. Is that what I’ve become? A foosball bully? Man, I never thought of it that way. Me? A bully?

Sweet.

Nah, just kidding. But it’s an interesting transition, from being the small runt of an adult at 5’6″ to the Big Kahuna at the table.

Since I’m talking about foosball, it’s only proper to give props to the two opponents who have given me a consistently competitive game: Eric and Nate.

When Nate Briley came back from Indonesia back in 2001, he lived with Kim and I (or with Greg) for a few weeks. I only had a cheap, beat-up table at the time that I snagged on eBay, but it was enough to get our adrenaline flowing. After beating him every single game we played, I decided it was time to give him a goal, so I told him I’d pay him $10 if he EVER beat me.

Three games later, he did. 9 to 10. And then he beat me again, and again, and suddenly I was hoping he’d give me the same offer so I could get my money back. And now? Well, even though it’s been years since we’ve played, I’m sure he’d still be able to throw down just as ferociously as he did back then. (You just don’t forget how to slap someone around at foosball, no matter how long it’s been…)

My brother, Eric, is the other worthy contender. Aside from Nate, Eric is the only guy who can beat me and make it look like he’s not even trying. No sweat, no tantrums, no painful screams (at least, not in the first few games…). Just cool, level-headed engineer Eric. He is quite the player, and I can’t help but think having your own quality, full-sized foosball table in your basement might help build up your bag of tricks over the years.

And I think that’s all for now. Wow. I wrote a lot. Here I was just killing time until I donned the suit, but I actually had a lot to say. Or at least a lot to ramble about. Hope you guys enjoyed it!

Kevin

Recently I went to the Woodland Hills Mall in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and while I was waiting for Kim to pick up something slinky over at Victoria’s Secret (rowr), I wandered across the hall into some kind of a food store. As I was browsing down the aisles in search of a condiment spice called “Slap Yo’ Mama*” I saw these “bunny treats” and had to take a picture.

“These made me throw up a little,” says the bunny, grinning through his paws.

It just seems odd, you know? That a marketing department would approve of a tagline that specifically states their product makes you vomit. But only a little, mind you. It’s not like you’ll be swimming in barf or anything… just a cup’s worth, maybe…

The “spaz juice” energy drink beside the “treats” has a similar tagline, which actually made me laugh aloud.

“All the energy you need to annoy everybody else.”

How very true…

Kevin

The title pretty much sums it up. This “toy” (and I use the term lightly, because it would be equally effective in a third-world torture chamber) used to live over at our friends’ house. It was one of the first items Kyler would play with when visiting, to the delight of children and chagrin of everyone else in the room. To classify it as annoying is an unforgivable understatement.

This is, by all accounts, one of the most hate-inspiring toys ever created in the history of mankind. More than the kazoo, more than Tickle-Me-Elmo, more than any variations of the Crazy Frog ringtone ever devised. This not only takes the cake, it breaks it apart to its bare atomic structure, creating the most unstable element ever a toddler could wield: Insanity On Demand.

With but the press of a button, angels around the world will weep…

Turn up the speakers and brace yourselves: you are about to enter into the gaping maw of the underworld itself…

Call me crazy, but when I ran across this while I was pumping gas the other night, I found it to be one of the strangest, most bizarre attempts to sell food. Ever. For starters, there’s not a single item that appeals to me – pickled eggs? Popcorn? Pickles Umm! Thanks, but I think I’ll pass (and my colon will thank me later).

Secondly, is there anyone out there who can tell me what a “Hot Mama” is?!? Anyone? Bueller? I’m at a loss, here…

And lastly, I have to venture that the copy might be just a TAD more effective if they were to switch out the word “UMM!” for, oh… I don’t know… how about “Yum”? Ya think? Umm denotes hesitation, which is exactly what the rest of the words planted in me. Hesitation and fear. Bone-shaking, stomach-puking, rectum-burning fear of what might happen if I were to actually EAT any of those things.

And that, my friends, is one fear I’m not going to try to conquer. Nope. That is what we in the business call a “Healthy Fear.”

I’m done… (for now…)

Kevin