Ask yourself, do you think I'm funny? Do you? Punk?

This message goes out to all three of my loyal readers as well as the 6.2 people per week that glance at my blog regularly in a misguided attempt to find illicit kiddie photos.

The message is, click here if you think I'm funny.

I'm often a bit torn regarding my status as a blogger. I write here as a way of plugging into my creative outlet. I write here because I don't write in a diary. And I write here in hopes that someone will come across my blog, think I'm the greatest writer ever, and offer to pay me millions of dollars for the rights to the movie "The Life, Kids, and Construction Projects of a Suburban Dad". But I've been wondering which is better: to have a half dozen friends reading what I write, or to have a random post circulate the internet much like that dude that wrote about finding the 1970's JCPenney catalog. As we all know, with great power comes greater responsibility, and I'm just not sure that I'd be able to keep up with the frenetic pace of becoming a rich and famous blogger.

Well, as Tom Cruise so wisely stated in Risky Business, "Porsche. There is no substitute." No wait, that wasn't it. Anyways, the idea here is that if you and hundreds of others like you were to click on HUMOR BLOGS, I would gain notoriety and popularity as a blogger of sorts. So click away.

Speaking of movie references, I was very disappointed with myself yesterday. My buddy called me last night. He and I have this habit of having entire conversations that consist of nothing but movie quotes. It annoys the crap out of my wife, who can't understand why on earth a guy would ever want to see a movie more than once, even IF it stars a young and dashing Harrison Ford. Anyway, my buddy told me he'd just joined "the steak club", which is some sort of high-falutin' guys night out gathering of overpaid doctors who want to avoid their wives.

And he of course said, "so what's the first rule of steak club?" Now, I know the proper answer should have been, "Never talk about steak club." I know the quote. I've seen the movie several times. I absolutely adore the whole Ikea parody with Ed Norton's apartment at the beginning of the movie. But no, I replied with, "um, wear pants?"

So what happened? Am I off my game? Am I getting Alzheimer's? Must be those meddling kids again. They've tapped the input lines to my brain and are pumping me full of High School Musical and Barbie quotes. All the useful ones, like those from Brad Pitt movies, are being pushed out the other side and landing on the floor in a heap of squishy gray matter. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go find a sponge mop and a bucket before my buddy calls again.