Posts filed under ‘Miller Monday’
Some of our more seasoned readers will remember Jdon. His last post on this blog (almost one year ago!) was a prescient bit of commentary on the candidacy of John McCain. In the immortal words of former Arizona Cardinals coach Dennis Green, “[He is] who we thought [he was].”
Well, since I last saw Jdon in June I’ve been doing some delicate intelligence gathering as to his whereabouts over the last several months. Review the evidence and judge for yourself.
It seems fairly innocent at first. A photo of a performance at Jordan Smith’s wedding. Then a lazy afternoon with the Obama’s…hmmm. Then we see Jdon playing a key role for the National Champion Florida Gators, under a false name, no doubt because he exhausted his NCAA eligibility while playing goalie for BVD Hockey.
The next several photos are disturbing. You see Jdon with then-Governor Blagojevich and Senator Roland Burris. Clearly the contact with Blago was damaging, as the next photo finds Jdon with the Dear Leader, Kim Jong Il.
I demand an accounting from this lost soul. Come home Jdon…come home.
LeMare has always been a fiercely loyal and protective friend. After rooming with my older sister at BYU, she quickly became friends with every single member of my family. From Krispy Kreme camp outs in Orem to all-you-can-eat brunches in Wisconsin, LeMare became a part of our family fabric and a trusted advisor in uncertain situations. When my younger sister was faced with a school decision, LeMare wisely doled out the following letter to her 13-year old pal (unearthed just today from the archives):
JL tells me of your desire to attend boarding school in McLean. I will have none of this. Do you understand how adversely this would affect your mother? Oh, Ween, it would be devastating. Plus, you’ll live with all sorts of weird kids who aren’t members of the church and there wll be peer pressure and before you know it, all your friends are little hellions like Dwighto’s were in high school.
Additionally, you were not meant to eat cafeteria food. Do you know what they put in Salisbury Steak? Neither do I, Ween, neither do I. And your special meal of the week would be from a frozen little package. And the pie would be nothing other thn instant pudding mix thrown in a pre-made graham cracker crust…Try, if you will, to comprehend the repercussions after a meal of and broccoli from the freezer. I don’t wish to further explore the associated tragedy! and
Anyhow, there are numerous reasons why I think you should stay at home (live in your nice house where your mother cooks lovely meals and parents go to fine restaurants regularly). Oh, think of subjecting yourself to dorm life at such a vulnerable age.think about not being able to take a shower without wearing flip-flops. Think about how tiny and sparsely decorated your room will be. Then think about Chez Vous. Ours are the only feet in your shower. And your room is decorated in the finest of tastes, no doubt. Ween, there is no reasonable explanationfor inflicting this malarchy on me and your family.
It’s time for me to reveal a secret.
I’m in Los Angeles. I arrived midday yesterday. Under the cover of attending the 99th annual Rotary International Convention I achieved success in my true objective- locating Jdon Miller.
Miller was found in a small restaurant in Carson, CA called Back Home in Lahaina. Over dinner we discussed the need for Jdon to return to his duties here at IRF.
I’ll let him explain the reason for his long absence. I don’t have any photos to document the event, in order to protect Jdon’s adorable little family. Even we at IRF have enemies.
It isn’t hard to see why John McCain doesn’t have much of a chance to take possession of the white house. As much as conservatives disagree with just about everything John McCain stands for (with the exception of his stance on Iraq) that will not be the reason he is unelectable. In fact, issues have little to nothing to do with why I perceive him as unelectable. Now I still think that John McCain will do his best to speak about issues. He will try to paint himself as a champion of the military and a “true conservative” whatever that means. And I have to admit that it will be funny to watch conservatives refuse to vote for a man who represents their party but who always refused to represent them. It’s a high stakes game of pay-back that I don’t necessarily agree with, but it will not really matter in the long run.You see, in hindsight, it isn’t hard to see over the past 30 years why Reagan stomped Mondale, why Clinton beat Dole, and why Bush beat Albert Gore, for example. It had nothing to do with policy. It had everything to do with charisma. In my humble opinion likability is worth more than substance in presidential election. Forgive my gross estimation of numbers, but I would wager that 1/3 of all American voters vote Republican regardless of the candidate. Another 1/3 will vote for the Democrat. Those of you with a calculator in hand will notice that the vote of the first third will be negated by the second third. What does this mean? It means that the final third of voters will make a very large impact. In my opinion the remaining 1/3 will vote for the guy that they would most like to sit down and drink a beer with. In essence the Bud Light crew will select out next politician.Now, in all honesty, why would they want to knock back a few brewskis with the most crotchety of all candidates? Seriously! I may not know John McCain but I most certainly know his kind. He is that obnoxious old man who saw his front yard as something of a temple. When you accidentally kicked your ball onto his property he freaked out and refused to give it back. He was the man who never bought Girl Scout cookies from you. He was the neighbor who swept his leaves onto your lawn. In short, John McCain is an old fart – not the funny kind, mind you, just the old grouchy kind!It will be funny to sit back and watch the Kentucky Derby with the Republican nominee – The Old Grey Mare, come November. It says a lot when more Americans would like to sip a frosty Coors Light with Hillary Clinton than with John McCain, but can you blame them? The image of John McCain slamming the door in their face wearing a Girl Scout uniform is still fresh in their minds. Plus that son of a @%#$ still hasn’t given me my ball back!Seriously,Joe Miller
It has been some time since I last wrote. I have a very good reason. Most of you know that I am heavily involved with the United Negro College Fund. I was asked to do a whistle stop tour all across the USA in an effort to raise awareness and to increase donations for the United Negro College Fund. It has been an amazing experience which has sadly come to an end. That being said, on to Miller Monday.
A close friend once asked me, “Do you know why men die before their wives?” At first I was a little taken back by the question. Was this some sort of medical question? Was this some sort of philosophical inquiry? Was this some sort of satirical stab? His response was quite precise, “Because we want to!”
As the primary season is in full swing, the realization that Hillary Clinton could be our next president haunts my dreams. I must admit I fear that my children will live in a world where someone so repulsive could garnish enough support to even run for president, let alone win the candidacy of a major political party, and potentially capture the most prominent position in global politics. It’s not that I fear women in politics. On the contrary, in general I find women to be the more trustworthy and apt of the two genders. No, my problem is not that I fear women in power; it’s that I fear women, who act like men, in power.
Margaret Thatcher was one of the greatest political figures of our times. Not only did she serve as the first female Prime Minister of the British Commonwealth, she was also the first female of the British Conservative Party. And she carried a purse.
Condoleezza Rice is the second female US Secretary of State and the second African American to hold that honor. She also wears sexy wonder-woman-esque boots.
Is it that some women feel that they will not be taken seriously if they dress like and act like women? I just don’t know. What I do know is that I find it hard to trust her when she looks and acts so terribly masculine. Opening Hillary Clinton’s closet door must be so very mundane and unexciting. It’s so very Fred Flintstone picking out the same orange and black caveman toga every single day. Hmmm… What should I wear today? Oh I don’t know, how about a pant suit! – pant suit, pant suit, pant suit, pant suit… How about throwing on a dress for once? Is that a little too much to ask?
But it’s not just her looks, although I see a lot more Burt Reynolds than Sally Fields in her demeanor and physique. Why is it that so many female politicians have to try and act so tough – and for lack of a better word – manly? Did it ever occur to them that you can be a sophisticated leader without acting like a Neanderthal? I find Hillary Clinton programmed, cold, and without feeling.
I’d rather not go off about Hillary Clinton’s record of earmarks, the history of her criminal investigations, the fact that she holds the distinction of receiving an unprecedented amount of illegal campaign contributions from both domestic and foreign, nor do I want to expand on her dubious business endeavors prior to entering the White House. I do not even want to begin rallying behind the incredible number of Clinton-related crimes for which convictions were obtained including: (a) drug trafficking, (b) racketeering, extortion, bribery, (c) tax evasion, kickbacks, embezzlement, (d) fraud, (e) conspiracy, (f) fraudulent loans, illegal gifts (g) illegal campaign contributions, (h) money laundering (i) perjury & obstruction of justice.
Right now I am not interested in all that. My biggest beef with Hillary is that she can’t even act like a woman. Why would I want her acting as President? The fact is how can I trust someone who betrays the very core of who she is, her two X chromosomes! Can someone please explain why I’m wrong?
Waiting Intently For Someone to Respond,
Just down the street is a conveniently located supermarket which I frequent on occasion. Due to some recent illness in the family I have frequented this supermarket more frequently than I would have frequently thought possible. For some strange reason this supermarket felt it would be a step in the right direction to allow the Salvation Army to come and ring their little bells and beg for money to every patron passing by their window. Now I try to be a generous person. I donate over 10% of my income to charitable organizations. But there is something about this Salvation Army collections facilitator that rubs me the wrong way.
First of all, he is homeless. This isn’t hard to miss. His clothes are tattered. His hair is unkempt. He smells bad. He is disheveled and dirty. Maybe it’s the little devil on my shoulder but I have a hard time putting money in that bucket knowing good and well that Homeless Harry can just take it out and walk into the supermarket and put it all on a six-pack. Plus, he’s probably thinking, “Well, they are donating to the poor and needy. Who’s more poor and needy than me?” If I did feel a need to donate I would like to give the money to a third party to divvy it up. Plus he smells so bad, how could I possibly trust someone who doesn’t understand the basics of shampoo and deodorant?
Second, he resorts to guilt to get you to donate. The first time I saw him there I tried to do the respectable thing and lower my head to pretend I never saw him. Would he allow me to keep my dignity? No, he gave out a boisterous, “Merry Christmas.” Maybe it’s just me, but I never like to perform any action while motivated by guilt. I find it bad practice. If I feel like contributing, I will. But now that you have attempted to pray on my guilt while at the same time publicly humiliating me for not tossing in my 35 cents you have secured my wrath.
Two days ago I had to go back to the supermarket. I snuck in practically unnoticed, secured my goods, and made my way for the exit. On the way out the door I made sure that Salvation Army Lieutenant Dan saw me as I walked straight past him with a big smile on my face. I knew exactly what card he would play and I waited for it, “Merry Christmas,”he churned in a most fraudulent tone. I then turned around and exclaimed in my best Charles Dickens, “And a very Merry Christmas to you too Governor. God bless us, everyone!” I was smiling from ear to ear on the way back home.
It seems that for the past few years I have been trying to recapture that innocent Christmas magic that I used to feel when I was younger. You remember that feeling when you race down the stairs from your bedroom anxious to see what good old St. Nick had left for you under the tree? I thought that feeling had permanently left me and that I would never feel it ever again. I was wrong. Trust me, I never thought that spurning a homeless person would ignite the same type of holiday cheer that I experienced as a small child. But it did. It was as if Christmas came early this year for a poor boy from Laguna Hills.
A few months ago I accepted a new job. Unfortunately, I like many Americans soon found out that my job was terrible. I realized that I had made a big mistake, but what was I to do? It’s not like I could just walk away at that point, right. That was when I realized that I could. And I did. A few weeks ago I found a new job and now I am perfectly content. Great story, right? Unfortunately for many Americans the ability to leave their job and find a new one is a truly sad impossibility.
Too many poor American employees have been abused at the hands of their employers and have had nowhere to run for protection. Fortunately, we have developed a system to at least try and combat this sick form of abuse: Unions. Thank the heavens for Unions. They make everyone’s life so much better. Just the other day I saw a gentlemen driving a beat up pickup truck with one of the windows smashed out. One his bumper was a sticker that read, “Live Better – Work Union.” Amen to that brother, amen to that. There is no doubt in my mind that Mr. Pickup driver is living better than ever thanks to that Union.
However there are many professionals where the Unions can’t seem to do enough. Take for example our professional athletes. How long will these underpaid, overworked specimens of mankind be forced to play football, baseball, basketball, and hockey? They need a Union to protect their rights. Did you know that the average NBA salary this year is $5.2 million? Jimmy Hoffa where are you now! You expect these people to send their illegitimate kids to private schools on that kind of income? How many Ferraris do you think they need to buy in a year? Five, Six, Seven? What kind of sick joke is this? What kind of world do we live in when Shaquille O’Neil can’t walk down to his local Ferrari dealer and put down cash to walk away with 10 Ferraris in one weekend? All I know is that it’s the kind of world I don’t want my children living in! It’s no wonder our professional athletes have turned to other sources of income just to keep themselves afloat, gambling, drug dealing, and dog-fighting just to name a few.
Then there are the poor souls in the screenwriter’s guild. Wow, I feel so sorry for them. They are striking right now to protect their rights, and bless them for it. We all know how they have been forced into servitude with no other place to go. Typing away, both night and day, in the dungeons of some movie studio with fetters and shackles on their hands and feet, these poor screenwriters have decided, to quote the words of Twisted Sister, that they’re not gonna take it! But unlike me in my old job, they can’t just say, “I’m not being paid enough”, or “I hate being treated this way”, their only resort is to strike and make all of our favorite TV shows go into syndication early.
That’s the way to earn my sympathy screenwriters, make me watch crappy TV. These people have really hard jobs. After all, who else is going to scour British television to copy whatever is popular there and bring it to American television? Who else is going to rip off television commercials (Geico-Caveman) and put in on the small screen? Who else is going to write sequels and sequels to already terrible sequels and put them on the silver screen? I personally cannot wait for Rambo part IV this summer. Let’s face it, being a screenwriter requires lots of creativity.
So when your favorite TV show doesn’t pop up this season lets all remember to keep our cool when we are subjected to watch Gilligan’s Island instead. Because, Come on America, these people need us! And if anyone wants to start a Union for disgruntled bloggers please let me know. My rights must be protected.
Anyone who has ever met my mother, Patsy Jean Miller, would immediately find her to be a woman of high moral character. It should be noted, however, that moral fiber and good old dumb luck do not often good bedfellows make. What could I possibly mean by such a perplexing statement? In simple terms, simply because you are a good person it does not follow that ill fortune will not smile upon you.
Point A — Elizabeth Smart was a wholesome, pure, and lovely girl who, as luck would have it, was abducted by a crazed Utah polygamist. Her father unfortunately had invited the crazy polygamist dude to do some construction on his house unawares of his seedy intentions. This story still makes me sick.
Point B – Reginald Denny was a truck driver whose April 29, 1992 route took him into the heart of Los Angeles. Unfortunately, the fair citizens of Los Angeles began rioting that afternoon and Mr. Denny was savagely thrown from his truck and nearly beaten to death. A jury of his “peers” found no guilt amongst the citizens who beat his head in with a brick. If I were Reginald Denny I wouldn’t ever purchase a lottery ticket because we all know that luck probably isn’t even in his genes.
Anyways, I bring this up as a defense against some wild accusations that have been spreading like the California wildfires. First, allow me to say that it is true that my wife is pregnant with our second child. We are very excited.
Second, I feel a need to clarify exactly why we chose so long to tell our family. The reason is simple: my mother, Patsy Jean Miller, is bad luck. Honestly! I can prove it. I actually have empirical evidence.
Patsy Jean has five wonderful grandchildren, some more wonderful than others. Without fail, when someone in the Miller family is impregnated, Patsy wants to be the first to know. Even before gender can be established, my Mom without fail begins knitting pink blankets, bonnets, booties, bed-sheets, and wedding dresses. Thus, she has been punished with all grandsons.
Realizing how Patsy has so foolishly been tempting fate, we decided it was in her best interest not to know that my wife Amy is pregnant. We had one awkward moment a few weeks ago when Amy was about 17-18 weeks pregnant and obviously showing. Patsy couldn’t hold it in any longer and asked, “Amy are you pregnant?” Kudos to my wife for doing the right thing and lying to my mom. We flat out told her that Amy had managed to put on a few pounds. I then proceeded to make Patsy feel guilty telling her that is something you never ask a woman. You will all agree that it was a necessary evil. We waited 21 weeks to find out the gender and then wallah: we find out we are having a girl. How can anyone deny the hard proof?
It’s easy to say you love your momma. But how many people can honestly say that they love their momma enough to lie to her? I’ll tell you one guy who: This Guy! Sincerely, Joe Miller
You may have realized there was no Miller Monday last week. There is a very good reason for that, which I intend to divulge to you today. I feel past my prime. Yes, I know that I am not quite thirty years old. I still have a full head of hair and it has probably been a full year since I stopped watching Saved By the Bell reruns, but that is not exactly what I am talking about. I know I am past my prime.
It seemed like only yesterday that everyone I knew was encouraging me in a most optimistic fashion about the future. I used to always hear things like, “I know you’re going on to do great things,” “I can’t wait to see what you are going to become,” “The world is your oyster,” “Your generation has so much potential,” “You will literally change the world!” It just donned on me last week that it has been years since I last heard that kind of encouragement. In fact, I probably haven’t heard those words in over 10 years.
Is it possible that I reached my full potential when I was between 15 and 16 years old? I don’t know, maybe all this talk of potential really got to me. Maybe I really started to believe it. Maybe I let it go to my head. It makes it all the more stinging as I look around my cubicle and realize that I am going nowhere. Its not that I am depressed or anything and its not like I don’t have anything good going for me. I believe I have a fairly typical American existence; married with a steady job, 1 young son, with another baby on the way. It’s just that I have already reached my full potential and should not expect anything more out of life than what I am currently experiencing.
When I was 16 I had it all. I was popular, had no obligations financial or otherwise, I played guitar, participated in sports, had my successes with the ladies, and felt that one day I could really be whatever I wanted to be. Now I sit in a cubicle all day long. How could this happen? I believe there are others of you out there who have come to the same realization that I have: I squandered all of my potential.
In fact, I think this is the exact feeling that most child actors experience for the rest of their lives. I, at least, will most likely snap out of it. What can you say about the red-headed step brother of Arnold Jackson from Different Strokes (I think his name was Sam)? Or what about the young girl who played Margeux on Punky Brewster? Or the kid on Punky Brewster with the headgear (I think his name was Allen). Or Punky Brewster herself for that matter? I believe there should be a name for this kind of dilemma, and I think it should be called Punkybrewsteritis. At least I peaked when I was 15. The cast of Punky Brewster peaked when they were like 8. Wow, that is even more pathetic than me. Who could forget Punky’s next door neighbor, Cherrie Johnson? She used to wear a belt on her head for some reason. I will bet you twenty bucks her life is way worse than mine. Probably smoking crack behind a 7-11 somewhere. I’m starting to feel pretty good about myself. What was the name of the ugly younger sister from Family Ties? The blonde one… oh, who cares, there is no way she even has a cubicle to complain about. I’ll bet she is doing nails in some hair “salon” in Nebraska. And what about Wesley from Mr. Belvedere? He couldn’t have been more than 10 when his life came to a screeching halt. Sad, sad, sad. To think the best years of his life were spent with some overweight, British, pedophile. You know what? I’m feeling pretty good about myself now.
Wait a minute, did I just stumble upon a cure for depression? Could it be that all you need to do is think about child actors and how much better off you are compared to them. Yes, this is exactly the cure that we have been looking for. Forget Zoloft, Prozac, and Paxil. Simply crutches for weak minds. In fact this reminds me of a little conversation that IRF patron saing, Tom Cruise, once had with Matt Lauer. If memory serves me well, they were speaking about Brooke Shields and her use of antidepressants.
MATT LAUER: Aren’t there examples, and might not Brooke Shields be an example, of someone who benefited from one of those drugs?
TOM CRUISE: All it does is mask the problem, Matt. And if you understand the history of it, it masks the problem. That’s what it does. That’s all it does. You’re not getting to the reason why. There is no such thing as a chemical imbalance.
There you go. Stop masking the problem and deal with it. Dont be depressed. Compare yourself to a child actor and feel better immediately! Then again, Brooke Shields was a child actor…maybe she should just stick to the drugs.
Finally, the results of the IRF Halloween Costume Contest are in. I have to tell you that it was a very close contest this year. In fact, the competition was so tough that the first place victor barely edged out their opponents by a .038% Donnor Margin. So, you can imagine. Anyways, the fine people at Price Waterhouse Coopers have finally sent me the sealed envelopes and without further ado:
Thrid Place Winner – The Child Abductor
What could be more scary this Halloween then dressing up as that guy that your mother always warned you about before leaving to do some trick or treating? This guy just totally nailed it. From the t-shirt that makes no sense to the innocent child he is leading by the hand, this guy had the part down pat. Freaky. Second Place Winner – Cracked out Elton John
Who doesn’t love Elton John? But there was that phase in the late 70’s where even the drag queens had to take a step back and question his judgment. This person seems to have captured the true to life essence of that all too sad period. Hats off for the realistic eyewear as well as for that Benny and the Jets type pose.
First Place Victor one – George Orwell’s Animal Farm w/ Yoda
Like Peanut Butter & Jelly, Yoda and Animal Farm. I remember reading Animal Farm in 9th grade and although I don’t remember all of the details, I know that I totally hated Soviet Totatitarianism afterwards. Now, to make the punchline even more cutting toss in the Sage from Dagobah and you’ve got yourself a winner. Such a profound political statement grabbed the judge’s attention and never let go. Its as if George Orwell himself intended for Yoda to appear in his book even though he had not yet been invented. Brilliant piece of social commentary. The obvious winner.
This couple dressed up like my Aunt Mitzi and her live-in boyfriend. Kudos for the lifelike representation, unfortunately it just hit a liitle too close for home to be considered a medal winner this time around. As a piece of advice, slapping the judge in the face is not normally the best route to becoming an IRF Costume Contest Winner.We would like to thank all of the contestants who participated this year and want to invite you to begin thinking about what you will wear in the year to come. You are all winners for participating.