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It’s that time of year when I take a much needed and semi-deserved summer vacation, when the powers-that-be unshackle me from my desk in my dimly lit office and push me out the door and into the alley where I blink madly at the blazing July sun and curse the day I chose the life of an ink-stained wretch.
Sensing an opportunity to be artificially outraged and earn a huge cash settlement, I plunged head first into the Great McDonald’s Happy Meal Minions Controversy of 2015.
While gay marriage, confederate flags and law enforcement raids on the homes of fast-food spokespersons (you’re next, Ronald McDonald) make headlines, one important issue is being overlooked: America’s dangerous obsession with getting stuck in chimneys.
Paleontologists in Nuremburg, Germany, have discovered the bones of Grandpa Turtle, believed to be the creature from which all other turtles sprang — slowly.
Thunder Road, the massive wooden roller coaster that for years was the breath-taking, stomach-churning centerpiece of Carowinds amusement park on the North Carolina-South Carolina line, will soon make a final run before relinquishing its valuable real estate to newer, more modern thrill rides.
There is an effort underway to make steak the first official food of the United States of America.
This week, I don the hat of senior consumer affairs reporter – it’s a snazzy fedora I wear at a jaunty angle — and offer another honest, unbiased review of a product currently sweeping the nation, or one I just decided to buy on a whim that proved to be a piece of junk.
As the third most popular columnist regularly appearing in this award-winning publication, I believe I have an obligation to give readers what they want as long as it’s not for me to stop writing and take a long walk off a short pier.
When I found out my mom, a beautiful and vibrant woman who appeared younger than her 70 years, would soon die of cancer, it was on a cold February day with a few inches of snow on the ground.
Looking for love in all the weird places
What every office needs – a scorpion in a box
Move over bath salts and make way for flakka, the newest drug guaranteed to make those who ingest it run naked through a Walmart parking lot covered in neon green spray paint and chicken blood.
America – and I am specifically referring to the small portion of America that reads this column each week hoping to get the latest monkey news – the Monkey Action News Team failed you.
The Carolina Butcher was a fearsome beast.
It was the inevitable car-trouble phone call to a dad who had been dreading the inevitable car-trouble phone call.
New hospital recommendations: Dogs yes, cats no
According to new research, the risk of a heart attack is 8.5 times higher in the two hours following a bout of intense, fist-clenching rage than in the two hours following something less emotionally stressful, such as watching a monkey ride a dog like a horse on YouTube.
About 800 applicants to one of Carnegie Mellon’s esteemed computer science programs were thrilled to learn they had been accepted to the prestigious Pittsburgh-based university until they learned they were not.
According to legend, 19th century Prussian statesman Otto von Bismarck once quipped, “Laws are like sausages. It is better not to see them being made.”
In the dead of winter when the skies are gray and the cold wind cuts to the bone, what does an idea-depleted humor columnist struggling with seasonal depression do when staring at a blank Word document and facing an impending deadline?
Here is shocking news for anyone unfamiliar with both kids and restaurants named Chuck E. Cheese, Pizza Hutt, Pizza Inn, Little Caesars, CiCi’s or Papa John’s: Kids eat a massive amount of pizza.
I could not let Pete and Billie’s 25th anniversary commemorative wooden plaque sit there unclaimed at the end-of-the-line thrift store among the broken and bruised items.
Are you enjoying your Christmas gifts?
Better late than never, it’s once again time for my annual predictions for the coming year, an always welcome respite from the boat load of year-end stories about what happened when you already know what happened and would like to know what’s going to happen and just how deep it will get.
It’s a Christmas miracle.
Oh, you better watch out!
Burt Reynolds has a lot of stuff, but he will have less stuff Dec. 11-12 when Julien’s Auctions in Las Vegas sells off more than 600 items from the life and career of the 78-year-old mustachioed screen legend who may or may not need the cash.
My work companion of 23 years, there to greet me every day, rain or shine or partly sunny with a slight chance of afternoon showers, is gone.
Black Friday, when excited shoppers trample to death slower excited shoppers to grab a Transformers Age of Extinction Stomp and Chomp Grimlock figure or a My First Disney Princess Frozen Snow Glow Elsa doll, is rapidly approaching.
When I opened an urgent email from a reader named Debbi, I knew exactly what to do.
Believing the Ebola outbreak had not caused a sufficient level of in-house panic among my co-workers, I recently named myself Office Ebola Czar and issued the following memorandum:
When it comes to losing weight and getting into shape, caffeinated underwear is surprisingly no help at all, according to the Federal Trade Commission.
In college today, magic boxes are stuffed with jumbo cheeseburgers and tiny bottles of energy.
Here is something I learned: When it comes to food, presentation is important.
Ketchup is under attack and this time ISIS isn’t the threat, although they probably hate ketchup, too.
I was at an end-of-the-line thrift store, the place where items that don’t sell at regular thrift stores go to be heaped into bins for one last public mauling before they chipped up, melted down or shot into space, though one of those final outcomes may not be as commonplace as the others.
It was the first phone call home from our newly minted college student, coming less than 24 hours after we unpacked her belongings, shook her hand, wished her well and told her to write when she could.
Our daughter is inheriting my wife’s car to begin her college adventure.
As I have said before, people will steal anything.
Editor’s note: Scott Hollifield was preparing this week for his daughter’s departure for college (weeping, writing checks, etc.) This edited column was originally published in 2001 when his daughter was 4 years old.
Six days before the 45th anniversary of astronaut Neil Armstrong’s “small step” onto the surface of the moon, a NASA astronomer made a bold prediction.
The situation at the CDC isn’t A-OK and officials must take corrective measures ASAP before we all end up sicker than a DOG.
As I predicted in a column back in July 1951 headlined “Robots will soon take over the world,” robots are taking over the world, or at least my portion of the world.
In nearly three decades at a small-town newspaper, the one true constant has been the blare of the police scanner.
Independence Day will soon arrive with a bang.
Update: Cosmically speaking, I am still $20 in the hole.
Out in Spokane, Wash., Sheriff Ozzie Knezovich wants to make this perfectly clear: Serve and protect but keep your pants on.
My daughter will graduate from high school on June 13 and leave for college in the fall. That’s given me the opportunity to take a look back at some old columns in which she was the reluctant subject. I hope you enjoy this one from 2004.
What’s the most impressive thing about Godzilla?
Twenty bucks later, I realize I may not be as good at reading people as I thought.