Not the part about someone going to prison. I wouldn’t wish that fate upon anyone… well, other than drivers who go one mile above the speed limit in the left hand lane, cable installation schedulers, and the occasional president.
But I didn’t even know that “Hot Pockets heiress” was a thing. A Hot Pocket is just a calzone, right? I’m pretty sure that was invented long ago. Maybe her family “invented” the microwaveable part of the equation, or they patented their famous “cold, spongy crust and roof-of-the-mouth-burning filling” combination.
Then again, if Mean Girls taught us anything, it was that there’s a fortune to be made in still-cold-but-somehow-really-hot convenience products.
I wonder if the Hot Pockets heiress ever dated the Pop Tarts scion. If they got hitched, that would certainly be a marriage of convenience. Instead she paid $100,000 to have someone correct her kid’s admissions exam, and another $200,000 to have her daughter admitted to USC as a bogus athlete.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to invent Toaster Corndogs or a microwaveable Twinkie. Time to cash in.
You can keep your Survivor and your Bachelor. The Masked Singer can stay masked forever for all I care. Because way back before reality shows made celebrities out of ordinary people, there was a reality show that turned celebrities into pseudo-athletes. And it was pure television gold. Feast your eyes upon the glory that is… Battle of the Network Stars!
Howard Cosell at his bloviating best
Robert Urich at his jerky worst
Mr. Kotter kicking butt
Epstein loving Mr. Kotter kicking butt
Richie Cunningham and Laverne together
Farrah and Wonder Woman together
Kojak, baby!
50% of the “athletes” smoking heaters
Schneider from One Day at a Time
The original Richard Hatch
Bruce Jenner when he was Bruce Jenner
“hullabaloo”
Truly a wonderful way to spend nine and a half minutes. Aw, who am I kidding? I watched that sucker three times, just trying to luxuriate in the glorious 70s-ness of it all.
Most of these folks have left us, but Gabe Kaplan is still around. (All that running kept him in shape… or maybe it was the lack of smoking.) I think he should lead the U.S. delegation in the opening ceremonies of this year’s Olympics.
If you’re going to create a print ad for a retirement community, don’t choose a photo where the man looks just like Bradley Whitford’s creepy, sadistic doctor character in Get Out:
It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure that out.
Those are my tax documents, semi-organized by type: W-2s in one pile, charitable contributions in another… three piles for 1099s – the MISC ones from my wife’s side hustle and my side hustle, plus DIVs and INTs. Receipts, tax bills and business expenses, oh my!
Each year around this time, I retreat to my subterranean lair to work on our tax returns… and invent new curse words (most are portmanteaus of other curse words). Just me and my good friend TurboTax Deluxe.
Other folks have suggested that I outsource this pain-in-the-butt job. I know quite a few folks who claim they have a mythical tax prepararing wizard who does yeoman’s work for a mere pittance. “I just give [him/her] a shoebox stuffed with documents… and [he/she] only charges me $100!”
But I’ve made a several calls and the price I’m quoted is significantly higher than a single Franklin. Also, my bookkeeping system is only slightly less disorganized than a pee-wee soccer game… I’d probably have to spend more time explaining it than I would just going the DIY route.
It’s the side hustle gigs that really add 27 extra layers of complexity (and when we’re talking about IRS forms, that’s really saying something!). My wife teaches fitness classes, and I do some freelance writing. (Can you believe someone actually pays me for my words? I can’t either! But let’s just keep it our little secret.) For the paltry amounts we both earn in these gigs, we have to fill out dozens more IRS forms. Oh what fun it is to fill out a Schedule C!
Whoa!
Now that three of my kids are working part-time jobs, I file returns for them as well, or at least crunch the numbers to see if they’d get a refund. Oh goody goody… more forms!
So if you don’t see me out and about for the next few weeks, you’ll know why. And if you do see me and I’m miserable, you’ll also know why.
I’m going to dial that number, just to see who answers. Sure, I’d be happy to chat about access with this friendly fella:
But I’d be more excited if the person who answers is the ORIGINAL “Mr. T” from 1976 TV show Mr. T and Tina:
Yes, that’s Pat Morita, who left his role as Arnold on Happy Days to star in a sitcom created by James Komack, who had a few hits under his belt with The Courtship of Eddie’s Father, Chico & The Man and Welcome Back, Kotter.
Here’s the Wikipedia synopsis:
Pat Morita starred as Taro Takahashi, a widowed Japanese inventor who is sent with his family (an uncle and sister-in-law) from Tokyo to set up the Chicago branch of his employer, Moyati Industries. He hires scatterbrained and free-spirited American Tina Kelly (Susan Blanchard) as the live-in governess for his children, Sachi (June Angela) and Aki (Gene Profanato).[3]
Mr. T.’s inventions included underpants with a built-in transistor radio and the “flash in the can”, a coin-operated sunlamp in a restroom.[4]
They had me at “underpants with a built-in transistor radio”…
You might be shocked to discover the show didn’t make it. Even with a great lead-in show:
And a great follow-up show in the lineup.
Not only that, but Mr. T and Tina had a pre-Love Boat Ted Lange in the cast as ” hipster Harvard the Handyman”…
They wound up shooting a mere 9 episodes, and only 5 made it to the air before the plug was pulled.
Plots for the few shows produced focused on Mr T’s inventions and the unintentional Americanisation of the Takahashi children at the hands of Tina, who taught them words and phrases such as “cool,” “the pits,” and “neato,” much to Mr T’s chagrin.
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