This Blows!

This Blows! | The Return of the Modern PhilosopherIs that

The sound

Of trumpets

I hear

Approaching

In the distance?

Has the

Invading Army

Finally

Reached

Our shores?

Is the end

Of civilization

A mere

Afternoon’s

March

Away?

What if

Those horns,

That cacophony

Of sound

That has

My ears

Ringing,

Is our

Official notice

That the end

Is not only

Near,

But also

Incredibly

Painful?

Worse yet,

What if

This torturous

Finale

Were to be

Dragged

Out

Until

November?

This Blows! | The Return of the Modern PhilosopherIs it

Possible

That the horns

I hear

Are not

Really

Horns

At all?

Could

That sound

Be a

Herd

Of

Marauding

Elephants

Tearing its

Way across

New England?

After all,

New Hampshire

Isn’t

Very far

From Maine!

Rampaging

Elephants,

Desperate

For attention

And trying

To exert

Their dominance

On the land

Around them,

Would be

Much worse

Than a

Well armed

Batallion

Of

Infantry!

This Blows! | The Return of the Modern PhilosopherIf the Elephants

Were chasing

A pack of

Old, ornery

Donkeys,

Could the leader

Of the

Elephants

Still be

Considered

A Jackass?

It’s

His horn

That sounds

The loudest,

Quite

Possibly

Because

He is

Blowing it

Himself.

This Blows! | The Return of the Modern PhilosopherOh wait,

That sound

Isn’t coming

From an

Attacking army,

A herd of

Elephants,

Or a couple

Of

Braying

Donkeys.

It’s just

My nose.

I’ve been

Blowing it

All day,

And I think

The cold medicine

Has made me

Delirious.

Carry on.

Just

Ignore me.

This blows!

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Monday Morning Coffee Club: 2/8/16

Monday Morning Coffee Club: 2/8/16 | The Return of the Modern PhilosopherHappy Day After The Super Bowl, Modern Philosophers!

I’ve long believed that this day should be a holiday called National Recovery Day.  Everyone stays up late to watch the Super Bowl, and eats to the point of tempting a food coma.  Many people drink during the game, and probably shouldn’t be at work today.

However, the numbskulls at The Calendar Commission have told me that my proposal lacks merit.  They said February is a short month, with a disproportionate of holidays with Valentine’s Day, Groundhog Day, and President’s Day already in the fold.

I say it’s just another example of The Man trying to keep us in line with the overwhelming stress and soul sucking a Monday has to offer.

So who watched the Super Bowl?  It was a defensive struggle, but at least it wasn’t a blowout.  I feel like Peyton Manning was suddenly aware of his tendency to scream out “Omaha!” before every play, because he rarely said it last night.

Admitting he had a problem was the first step.  Good for him!

I’m glad he gets to go out a champion, and can now turn his attention full time to his true love: being a TV pitchman.

The big news over the weekend was that the nice people over at The Good Men Project published my article about the Super Bowl and Time Travel.  One of my goals for 2016 was to get my writing on other sites to further spread The Word of The Modern Philosopher.

Mission accomplished!

FIRE UPI’d love it if you could head over to GMP to check out my post, maybe give it a “Like” if it appeals to you, and perhaps share the post so that the writings of The Modern Philosopher can reach a wider audience.  Thank you!

Here is the link…

Austin’s Post on The Good Men Project

As for the week ahead, I will be dealing with the immediate issue of Snow Miser and yet another Winter Storm.

There is a Winter Storm Warning in effect from 4PM today until 7PM tomorrow.  Woo hoo.

Let’s just hope they do a better job of clearing the parking lot at work and plowing the highway that I use for my commute.

Sunday is Valentine’s Day.  I’m looking forward to that.  I’ve been torturing Melissa a bit with her gift, but I think it’s good for her.

I mailed it early because I didn’t know how long it would take to get to Ireland, and I didn’t want her to be both without her handsome boyfriend and her present on the holiday.

It arrived last weekend, and it has been driving her mad that I will not allow her to open it.  I even make her text me photos of the package so I know it remains unopened.

After all this buildup, I really better have delivered on the gift or she is going to kill me.

That’s all the time I have for today.  Help yourself to some coffee and leftover Super Bowl Snacks.  Pretend that today is the national holiday it deserves to be.

And remember…there’s only seventeen hours left to this horrible day!

Mondays might suck, but following me on Pinterest most certainly does not!

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Football Is Hell, But At Least There’s Wings

Football Is Hell, But At Least There's Wings | The Return of the Modern Philosopher“Your competition gets a lot of publicity for creating everything in six days, and then taking off the seventh day, presumably, to watch football,” I mentioned to my guest as I wiped chicken wing sauce from my face with a handful of napkins.  “But no one ever gives you any credit for creating Hellfire Wings!”

An enormous smile crept across The Devil’s handsome face, as he carefully wiped his hands so as to not transfer damaging sauce onto his impeccably tailored suit.

“Thanks for saying that, Austin” he replied sincerely as he reached into the cooler for two bottles of Snapple.  “I don’t think anyone else knows about my passion for cooking.”

Lucifer handed me one of the bottles and I held mine up for a toast.

“Football is Hell, but at least there’s wings!” I declared.

We tapped bottles, and then took a long, mighty drink of iced tea.  I’d never been to Hell, and never intended to visit, but I had long suspected that The Prince of Darkness’ Hellfire Wings were as hot as the kingdom over which he ruled.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d made this batch spicy enough, but judging from the river of sweat running down your face, I’d say I was spot on,” Satan quipped with a Devilish grin.

“If I weren’t addicted to these thing, I’d throw a platter out onto the lawn to melt all the snow,” I replied before getting to work on devouring yet another wing.

Football Is Hell, But At Least There's Wings | The Return of the Modern Philosopher“So who’s even playing?” The Devil asked as he took another wing off the bottomless platter that sat on the table in front of us.

“Nice try, but we both know you’re not only well aware that the Broncos are playing the Panthers, but that you also know exactly how many souls you earned by promising that those teams would make it to the Super Bowl,” I told him confidently as I waved my half eaten wing in his general direction.

Don’t worry.  I didn’t get any Hellfire Wing sauce on his precious suit.

“You know me well,” Lucifer confessed.  “The stakes were high this year.  So many people were desperate to see Peyton Manning make it to one last Super Bowl before he retires.  And there was an odd number of lost souls who said they’d give anything to hear him scream “Omaha!” repeatedly on football’s grandest stage.  People are weird.”

I nodded in agreement and kept eating.

“On the other side, there was a large contingent who wanted to see Cam Newton finally get all the glory he deserves.  You know I’m a sucker for a Cinderella story,” The Prince of Darkness admitted.

I wasn’t quite sure what made Cam Newton a modern day Cinderella, but this Modern Philosopher knows enough not to disagree with someone who can literally give me the horns, followed by a pitchfork.

“So who’s going to win?”

Football Is Hell, But At Least There's Wings | The Return of the Modern Philosopher“Believe it or not, I’m actually leaving this one up to the players,” Satan informed me with a shrug.  “Both teams deserve it, and I don’t want to interfere.”

“That’s mighty big of you,” I applauded him with words, not with my hands, because those were too busy taking more wings off the platter.  “I guess that means you’re not going to collect the souls of those poor fools who made a deal with you in return for a Super Bowl victory.”

“Hell no!” The Devil exclaimed.  “I might be slightly reformed from hanging out with you so much, but it’s not like I suddenly grew a conscience or anything.”

Sometimes, not often, I forgot who I was talking to.  Of course he was going to keep their souls.  I’m going to blame my temporary naivete on the Hellfire Wings.

Enjoy the Super Bowl!

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I’m Featured On The Good Men Project For The Super Bowl!

I'm Feautred On The Good Men Project For The Super Bowl!  | The Return of the Modern PhilosopherHappy Super Bowl Sunday, Modern Philosophers!

As you know, the Super Bowl turns 50 today, and I don’t know what I’m looking forward to more: the game between the Denver Broncos and the Carolina Panthers, or the halftime show which features the Super Bowl getting its first colonoscopy.

It’s a toss up.

And I bet the Super Bowl calls “tails”.

Get it?

Forgive me for the colonoscopy humor.  I’m usually a better writer than this.  Some proof of that is the nice folks over at the Good Men Project picking up one of my posts to run on Super Bowl Sunday.

How cool is that, Modern Philosophers?

I was hoping that you could support my attempts to spread my wings beyond the secure confines of this blog and The House on the Hill by heading over to GMP to check out my post, and maybe even share it on social media.

That would be extremely awesome, and it would make me feel a little better about my never getting to see my beloved Jets play in the Super Bowl.

Of course, ever the dreamer, I am holding out hope that the Jets will make it back to the Super Bowl in my lifetime.  It’s reassuring to know, however, that my good friend Doc Brown can always take me back to 1969 to watch Super Bowl III if necessary.

Here’s the link.  Thanks, as always, for your support!

Austin’s Post on The Good Men Project

So who are you rooting for today?  I’m hoping that Peyton Manning and Omaha finally get reunited after all these years!

Happy Super Bowl Sunday!

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Was Omaha Peyton Manning’s Childhood Pet?

Was Omaha Peyton Manning's Childhood Pet? | The Return of the Modern PhilosopherOn the eve of Super Bowl 50, as Peyton Manning prepares for what could be his final game, America might finally learn the truth about a mystery that has been swirling around the Broncos’ quarterback for months.

That’s right, Modern Philosophers, I’m talking about the link between the future Hall of Famer and Omaha.

Anyone who has ever watched a Broncos game has experienced two things for certain: seeing Peyton Manning in a commercial during a break in the action, and hearing Manning shout “Omaha!” at the top of his lungs before almost every play.

We all know why the Broncos signal caller appears in so many commercials, but we’ve never understood why he screams out the name of a city in Nebraska.

Now we might have our answer, and it’s partially courtesy of Peyton’s little brother.

In a recent interview, Eli Manning, quarterback for the New York Giants, was asked about Peyton’s obsession with Omaha.

The younger Manning refused to answer on air, but once the cameras stopped rolling, he was supposedly overheard mumbling, “Omaha was the name of his dog…”

Extensive research into the Manning Family, dating back to Peyton’s birth, did not reveal any mention of a dog named Omaha.

Was Omaha Peyton Manning's Childhood Pet? | The Return of the Modern PhilosopherSo was Eli lying?  Did he make the comment sarcastically to confuse the press?  Did the witness misunderstand what was said?

There was no way Super Bowl 50 could go on with this mystery unanswered.

This Modern Philosopher called an audible and went straight to the source.

Unfortunately, the Broncos’ Security Personnel would not let me anywhere near Peyton Manning.  Apparently, a guy in a toga showing up at the team hotel at 3AM demanding to speak to the star player is considered a security risk.

That meant I had to settle for the next best thing.

I spoke to the ex-boyfriend of the sister of a former third great classmate of Eli Manning, who said that he had heard from his cousin, who used to date Peyton Manning’s high school lab partner, that Papa John’s best known pitchman once owned a dog.

“Omaha was a beagle,” my source, who refused to reveal his name, told me as we drank Snapple at an undisclosed location.  “Peyton loved that dog more than anything.”

So what happened to Omaha?

“Peyton came home from school one day, and Omaha was gone,” my source continued.  “He was probably about 8 or 9 at the time…”

I stopped the account to clarify if it was Omaha or Peyton who was 8 or 9 at the time.

Was Omaha Peyton Manning's Childhood Pet? | The Return of the Modern Philosopher“Peyton.  Omaha was still just a puppy.  Peyton came running into the house excited to see his dog, but Omaha wasn’t there.  That was when his parents broke the devastating news.  The vet had discovered that Omaha had a horrible allergy to house paint, so he was sent to live on a paint free farm in upstate New York.”

“He was understandably upset, and begged his parents to get rid of all the paint and put up wallpaper so Omaha could come home, but they refused.  He was crushed by the fact that Omaha didn’t even want to say goodbye, but he still wrote letters to his beloved dog every week for years.  Of course, they went unanswered.”

It’s all starting to make sense now, Modern Philosophers.  I’ve lost a pet, and I know how hard it is to get over that.

Even decades later, Manning is still haunted by his loss.  Clearly, the only way he can deal with it is to call out to his beagle before almost every snap.

Perhaps he hopes that one day Omaha will magically come bolting out of the tunnel, charge across the field, and jump into his arms.

Or maybe he just wants to honor his dog’s memory by dedicating pretty much every play to his memory.

Was Omaha Peyton Manning's Childhood Pet? | The Return of the Modern PhilosopherOnly Peyton Manning knows for sure, and he isn’t talking.

At least not yet.

We can only hope that if the Broncos win Super Bowl 50, Manning will finally want to unburden his soul and tells us about Omaha.

Maybe that beagle will be watching the Super Bowl and telling all the other dogs on the farm about how much fun he used to have with his old master.

Or perhaps we will simply never know the truth…

We might not know the secret behind Omaha, but we do know the secret to following me on Pinterest.  Just click on the link below…

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@#$% You, Snow Miser!

@#$% You, Snow Miser! | The Return of the Modern PhilosopherI had an emergency appointment with Dr. Jekyll today, Modern Philosophers, to deal with a sudden alarming flare up of my Post Traumatic Snow Disorder.

This Winter has been much milder than its predecessor, so I haven’t needed to take my meds, worry (obsess) about frozen pipes, or climb up on the roof to prevent leaks from melting snow.

With Dr. Jekyll’s help, I’ve taken a new approach to tackling my Winter related phobias, and as a a result, my stress levels have remained in the green.

Since I’ve been more more levelheaded this Winter, I’ve had time to calmly form Deep Thoughts on what a mild Winter might mean.  How does Maine go from barely surviving the New Ice Age one year, to having several 50 degree days in mid-Winter the next?

Al Gore will tell you it’s because of Global Warming.

Your buddy in the toga, though, would point you in a totally different direction, Modern Philosophers.  I’d tell you that a calmer Winter meant that Snow Miser has finally decided to bury the hatchet and give up on his vendetta against me.

As you know, Snow Miser has never forgiven me for stealing his girlfriend back during our glory days at NYU.

@#$% You, Snow Miser! | The Return of the Modern PhilosopherRather than work out his anger by taking a swing at me or by manning up and stealing one of my girlfriends over the years, Snow Miser has simply pummeled me with horrible Winters to punish me for my crimes against the Bro Code.

I know what I did back at NYU was a douche move, but it was over twenty years ago.

It’s time for Snow Miser to let it go.

And I thought he had.  Silly me saw the milder Winter as a thawing of the animosity with Snow Miser.

Boy was I wrong.

The cowardly Ice Imp tried to kill me three times last night, Modern Philosophers.

First, there was the fall in the parking lot.  I was walking to my car after work, I slipped in the poorly cleared lot, and landed hard on my shoulder.

I’m extremely sore today, with my shoulder and lower back aching, but nothing seems to be broken.  However, I did tweet about one noticeable issue earlier…

I guess I’ll never play lead guitar for Fire & Ice, the heavy metal band led by Snow Miser and Heat Miser on vocals.

Then there was the drive home on a highway that wasn’t plowed.  I’ve faced my worst phobia by driving to and from work every time it’s snowed this year.  I thought I was really getting over my fear until my  Commute From The Ice Age.

How I didn’t snap the steering wheel from clutching it so tightly is beyond me.  Perhaps it was a result of all the prayers I was saying aloud in the car.  Maybe I’m actually showing a little faith in my driving ability, even though the butterflies in my stomach were shrieking for me to release them so they could fly away and save themselves.

It was definitely the most frightened I’ve been on a snow drive in some time.

@#$% You, Snow Miser! | The Return of the Modern PhilosopherSnow Miser’s last attempt at murder took place at The House on the Hill.

My steep, intimidating driveway had not been plowed, and despite there being no Sherpas around to lead the way, I still attempted the harrowing ascent.

It was a foolish thing to do, but I was in pain from my fall and my toga was soaked through with sweat from the stressful highway journey.

I didn’t want to leave my car parked in the street and risk it being in the way of a speeding City Snow Plow, while I shoveled the driveway.

So I gunned it.

I transferred all the anger and rage I had built up towards Snow Miser to the gas pedal.

My car shot up the driveway, and I quickly had to do some very skillful maneuvering to keep it from knocking over my mailbox, driving onto my front lawn, and crashing into my neighbors’ porch.

The vehicle wound up stuck in the snow about three-quarters of the way up the driveway.  It was somewhat sideways.  The wheels were turned awkwardly in the opposite direction.

I got out, limped to the trunk, pulled out my shovel, and fought through the back, neck, and shoulder pain to clear a path to the garage.

Three attempts on my life by Snow Miser in a span of about twenty minutes.

@#$% You, Snow Miser! | The Return of the Modern PhilosopherWinter is here and the vendetta lives.

Dr. Jekyll told me that the only way to keep my Post Traumatic Snow Disorder in check was to go home, stay the hell out of the snow where Snow Miser has me at a disadvantage, and use my words to unleash all the evil feelings welling up inside me.

So @#$% you, Snow Miser!

@#$% you and the Woolly Mammoth you rode in on, you obnoxious prick.

You had three chances to take me out, and you failed.  What doesn’t kill me only makes me write stronger worded blog posts about how much I hate you.

And you know what else?  That girlfriend I stole from you told me that your…umm…icicle was so tiny that it made her understand why you unleash enormous blizzards on the world to feel somewhat manly.

I’m done with this little war, Snow Miser.

@#$% you!

Hate Snow Miser, too?  Follow me on Pinterest and we can mock him together on there!

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Friday Night Think Tank: Super Bowl 50

Friday Night Think Tank: Super Bowl 50 | The Return of the Modern PhilosopherWell, it’s Friday night, Modern Philosophers, and it has been quite the day for your friend in the toga.

Maine was hit by another of Snow Miser’s snowstorms today, and I think the annoying Ice Imp caught the meteorologists by surprise.

What was supposed to be 2-4 inches, turned out to be so much more.  It snowed hard all day, and Snow Miser’s wrath was falling faster than the plows could clear it.

When I left work, I fell in the parking lot.  It’s quite a spill when a guy my size goes down, Modern Philosophers, and I am aching in various places as a result.

The drive home was perhaps my most harrowing ever.  The highway was barely plowed, and the only way to make the journey was by proceeding quite cautiously in the path dug out of the snow by the car in front of me.

My hands are still cramped from how tightly I had them clenched to the steering wheel, but I survived that leg of the trip.  Of course, the screenwriter in me loves an epic ending, and the ascent of my driveway will lead to a week of nightmares.

I eventually left my car somewhat sideways in the driveway while I cleared away the snow, and then finally tucked away Zombie Car in the garage for a good night’s rest.

We can still head out to the Think Tank, but I beg you to take your time and use extreme caution.  No Deep Thought is worth shattering a bone.

Who’s ready to join me?  I’ve got hot cocoa and Super Bowl snacks…

This week’s topic: Super Bowl 50 is this weekend.  Are you rooting for the Broncos or the Panthers?  Do you think Marco Rubio will make a rousing speech declaring himself to be Super Bowl Champion?  Do you have a favorite Super Bowl memory?  What’s your go to Super Bowl snack?  Do you prefer the commercials to the game?

Friday Night Think Tank: Super Bowl 50 | The Return of the Modern PhilosopherBasically, let’s just have a free for all Philosophical discussion about the Super Bowl.

As I wrote in last night’s post, I have never had the privilege of rooting for my beloved Jets on Super Bowl Sunday.  Their only Super Bowl performance took place before I ever hit the field of life.

As a result, the Super Bowl is really just an excuse to eat some tasty snacks, check out the awesome commercials, and kinda pay attention to the action on the field.

I do have a soft spot for Peyton “Omaha” Manning, so I would like to seem him win and then immediately retire.

There’s nothing like going out as a Champion.

Not that I would know, but I assume it’s an incredible feeling.

I’m going to try to not overdo it on the Super Bowl snacks this year, but Buffalo Wings are definitely what I like to devour during the big game.

I guess I really just enjoy the pageantry of it all.  I’m a football fan, and it’s fun to watch the two best teams square off for the Lombardi Trophy.  I just pray that the game isn’t a snoozer as Super Bowl blowouts are as boring as a soccer match.

The commercials make it very hard to plan my bathroom breaks.  I don’t want to miss anything good, and it’s sacrilege to use the restroom during Super Bowl action.  This means I’ll probably just have to put a port-a-potty in the living room.

Friday Night Think Tank: Super Bowl 50  | The Return of the Modern PhilosopherIt would be nice, though, if just once in my lifetime, the Jets could make it to the last game of the season.

I’d like to experience the Super Bowl with something on the line.  I bet that would be quite the rush.

At least the Patriots aren’t playing this year.  I can’t stand how smug Pats fans get when Brady and the Boys make it to the Super Bowl.

I just hope it’s a good game, the chicken wings are yummy, and Snow Miser doesn’t ruin it all with yet another Winter Storm.  Shoveling during the Super Bowl is too much!

Before you get geared up for Super Bowl 50, call an audible and follow me on Pinterest…

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