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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.
If I had a time machine, the first thing I would do is go back to 1965 and ask the head honchos of the newspaper for which I now toil why no one on staff bothered to walk a few blocks to the Post Office at 3 p.m. on Nov. 13 and take a picture of “the world’s strongest wrestler” pulling a car through town by his hair.
As a man who has learned a few things in nearly 50 years on the planet, I sometimes like to use this space to offer words of wisdom to our youngest readers, who, considering the newspaper industry’s current demographics, are around 47 years old.
Miley Cyrus owes me $30.44.
It’s still early, but here is my favorite Associated Press story of the month: A Maine man hunting for wild mushrooms sees a porcupine hit and killed by a car, cuts the porcupine open in search of a magic stone that reportedly forms inside porcupines but instead finds an unresponsive baby porcupine, which he massages back to life and takes home to bottle feed before he turns it over to a licensed wildlife rehabilitator.
Recently, according to ABC News, a woman was briefly jailed and charged with child endangerment – a charge that was later dropped – when a waitress at a restaurant in Conway, Ark. called the cops after seeing her simultaneously drinking booze and breastfeeding a baby.
O, do I have a possum problem.
Editor’s note: Scott Hollifield claims he was too busy arm wrestling Vladimir Putin in an effort to end the crisis in the Ukraine this week to write a new column. Enjoy this one first published in 2004.
By SCOTT HOLLIFIELD
In 1928, Herbert Hoover’s party promised a chicken in every pot and a car in every garage. Eighty-six years later, Texas political hopeful Tink Nathan wants roadkill in every garage, awaiting every pot.
There is nothing more low down and despicable than a dirty, rotten sled thief.