Huntin’ Gators in Spokane

In case you haven’t heard, there’s been an alligator on the loose in the Spokane area since Wednesday. Frankly, people are scared and they all seem to be turning to me for help. Just the other day, a little girl came running up to me crying and said, “Cory, are the alligators gonna get me?” I can’t live in a city like that. No girl should have to live in fear of alligators in the Inland Northwest. So I took it upon myself to go on the hunt, and although I didn’t find any, I believe with these tips, you and your family will be a little bit safer from the terror that is a Spokane alligator.

The Funeral Of the Future? Sounds Gross, but…

At first glance, this sounds gross, but hear me out (a great way to start any story).

When it comes to death, I’m on the fence about it. Not actually doing it. I’m aware it has to happen. I don’t like it, but I guess I’ll do it. It’s what’s to be done with my physical body after I kick the bucket that concerns me.

Burial or cremation? Those seem to be the two most popular (legal) choices. Neither sound appealing to me. Sit six feet under and take decades to decompose as insects chow down on an all-you-can-eat Cory buffet. Maggots or even worse… spiders crawling all over me? No thank you. Plus it seems like I’m taking up a lot of space that I don’t need on an already increasingly overcrowded planet.

Or I could get stuffed into an oven and be reduced to dust and bones, only to sit in a container on someone’s mantle as a decoration and conversation piece during future awkward family Christmas gatherings. And let’s just say for the sake of argument/fact that I die before my wife. Sure, she’ll want to look at that “modestly priced receptacle” that is now my final resting place, but then what? She dies, and our kids now have two containers of their parents’ ashes. Then they die and their kids are left now with four containers of ashes, two of them their grandparents that they don’t really remember anyway and then one day they say during Spring cleaning 2068 “What should we do with these? I didn’t even know them” and then you end up in the trash or scattered in some place that doesn’t even mean anything to you. Gone and now forgotten.

Besides, cremation just seems very… permanent. What if we do have a need for our physical bodies after death? Like you die, get to the afterlife, and the first thing they say is, “Welcome! Did you bring your body? You’re going to need it for orientation!” That would suck. Like showing up to take your SATs and the instructor says, “Hope you brought you pencil, we don’t have any.” You quickly glance around for that one guy who brought the same plastic box full of pencils he’s had since 6th grade in hopes he’ll lend you one. I’m assuming no one has a box of extra bodies in the afterlife for the folks who decided to go with cremation. And even if that guy does exist, who knows what body you’ll get. Probably the equivalent of the pencil that needs sharpening and then once you do get up, walk over to the pencil sharpener and manually and very loudly crank it for 20 seconds, you walk back to your desk and the lead tip falls out. Probably a long shot, but you never know.

Two very different processes that ultimately end in the same result, but I think I’m going to gamble that I won’t need my body any more and opting for reducing my body to it’s smallest physical form in order to save the rest of humanity the space. Plus, these days if you want to be cremated, they can take your ashes and turn you into a tree. That would be cool. Just hang out with other trees for a couple of decades. Better than the aforementioned “Grandkids Spring cleaning scenario.”

The point is, death isn’t pretty, but one company is offering to make it a lot less pretty. Basically, they want to flush you down the toilet. That doesn’t sound appealing, but after hearing about it, it makes some good sense.

AquaGreen Dispositions near Ottawa will take your remains and soak them in a powerful alkaline solution that will turn you into a beige sludge, and then drain that sludge into the sewer. Your remains will run into the drainpipes of Smiths Falls.


  1. It has a very minimal carbon footprint. Apparently cremation releases 551 pounds of climate-warming carbon dioxide into the atmosphere. This process is much more environmentally friendly.
  2. You still get ashes. Your bones and artificial joints won’t dissolve. So they crush your bones into a fine powder and give them to your family so they can throw them away in 50 years. If you have artificial joints, they can take those and send them to poorer countries that lack those materials.
  3. You get to go on an eternal river rafting adventure. I went river rafting once, it was fun.


  1. You’re basically poop. They send you down the sewer and before you even reach that magical river rafting fun, you’re basically sewer soup among turds. Like Tim Robbins in the Shawshank Redemption, except in a liquid form. But you’d have the same reaction as Tim once you reached that river. shawshank3.
  2. If enough people do this, will that pollute the river system? I’m not sure.

It sounds gross, but makes sense. What to do? What to do? I’m not sure. I guess I just better not die anytime soon.

Let me know what you think about it on my Facebook page.

Cows doing cow things where they shouldn’t be doing cow things

Something extraordinary happened on Tuesday. Two cows got out of the pasture and did cow things outside of their pasture. In the city! What? 

Every so often we get a phone call or a message about a moose roaming around a neighborhood. “Moose on the Loose” is probably what you’ll hear us (and every other news station in the country) say when such an event occurs. I’ve made it a personal goal not to use that cliche phrase or puns in any moose articles I may be inclined to write or post on Facebook. 

Tuesday morning however, it was a horse of a different color. Or cow. Two of them to be exact (For the record, they appeared to be steers, but for the purposes of this story, they will be colloquially referred to as cows). They were seen roaming the South Hill after escaping their enclosure from… somewhere nearby. Anyway, it wasn’t a moose, so I figured “What the heck? Let’s write about some cows!” 

But should I include puns? It behooves me to at least try. Is there a verb that not only describes cows “on the loose”, but also rhymes with “cow”? Not that I could think of, but “Cows Say ‘Ciao'” seemed like it would fit. I know, it’s a stretch.” Udderly” ridiculous. 

“Bovines Make a Beeline”? Not a great rhyme, Seemed like a “mi-steak.” I don’t know. I’ve had a lot of “calfeine” today. 

“Bulls On A Roll”? Although “a-moo-sing”, they weren’t bulls. That would be “steering” you in the wrong direction. 

As I’m sitting here trying to come up with a headline, my co-worker Luke walks by and says, “Can’t come up with a headline, huh? Sounds like you’re ‘pasture prime.'” Even though this was audibly transmitted, I know he meant “pasture” and not “past your.”

Thanks. Luke and I now have a “beef.” 

“Cows on a Caper”? Doesn’t rhyme, but I “herd” alliteration is always appropriate in these situations. I’m just “milking” it at this point. 

How about something as simple as “Cows doing cow things where they shouldn’t be doing cow things”? Bingo. 

Okay, now that you’ve been briefed on the thought that went in to this headline, and if you haven’t knocked yourself out from the surely dozens of times you’ve smacked your own head after every poor pun prior to this point, here’s the story: 

Two cows got out of their fenced field on the south hill just south of 17th and Freya. Eventually the owner was able to corral them. and got them back to their field. That’s it. All is well now. Thanks for reading!


This guy is wrangling these cows with the bravery and composure of Chris Pratt training raptors. Nice work, buddy.


Russian Roulette and The Size of Hail


hailThe issues that are important to some people. I’ve heard all of the complaints. Politics are big right now.

“You liberal pieces of s*^&! You’re giving Trump a bad name!” (We’re not. He’s doing just fine on his own)

“You conservative a**wipes! Why don’t you give Bernie any love?”

(We do. Just as much as everyone else. But it doesn’t matter. Our system is broken. Another post. Another time.)

Conspiracy theorists are fun, and an early-rising bunch of folks they are. No time to sleep when the government is poisoning you with chemtrails, right? Better get up at 4:00 a.m. and call the local news station to yell at them and let them know.

“Hey, your weather report this morning failed to mention all of those airplanes in the sky trying to kill us.” Sorry. Maybe next time.

“And a high today of 75 with temperatures sinking into the low 50s tonight. And if you’re going outside, make sure you wear your gas mask because a secret Government run program aimed at making us all sick and dependent that many people have participated in, but no one has ever been able to provide real evidence of, is ramping up with extra chemtrails expected this week in the Palouse. Show those country folks what’s up, ya know? North Spokane, don’t worry, your poisoning is scheduled for next week.”

Every time that phone rings, it’s like playing Russian Roulette. Most times, I just hear the click and a sigh of relief falls over me. But every now and then, there’s a live round in the chamber. At least I wish there was.

But today, was a new breed. A new kind of madness that I have not encountered. A passionate gentlemen who takes the size of his hail very seriously. A gentlemen who was upset at an exaggeration of the phrase “golf ball-sized hail.”

To weave into this story, let me start with a phrase from a man I despise just a little less than this hail hard on, Cris Collinsworth:

“Here’s a guy”… who sees a tease on the local morning show that makes a sort of tongue in cheek reference to some “golf ball-sized hail” video.

I will admit, the hail was not golf ball-sized. The anchors even admitted this after reading it on air. But this guy, no doubt sitting in his grimey, sweat and spaghetti-o stained recliner, balancing a giant bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch on his belly, hears this, stops chowing down, maybe even does a spit-take, and audibly declares to no one but himself and his cat (who I guaranteed wishes he could escape his life with this troll), and says “THAT’S NOT GOLF BALL SIZED HAIL! WHERE”S MY PHONE BOOK (He still uses a phone book)! I’M GOING TO CALL THOSE MORONS AND TELL THE PERSON WHO ANSWERS THE PHONE WHAT A DUMB F*&^ HE IS!”

Cinnamon Toast Crunch Troll: *Picks up the landline phone (it hasn’t been cleaned in… ever. It is caked with dirt, dried bodily fluids and dead skin from his many other noble crusade phone calls to local news stations… it rings. A tired and sluggish person who is in to work 2 hours early (me) answers the phone*

ME: – “Hello

CINNAMON TOAST CRUNCH TROLL: “Do you idiots even have a golf ball around there? Those are MOTH BALL sized hail… NOT golf ball-sized hail! Do you even know what a golf ball looks like?”

ME – “No.” (I know you’re not supposed to “feed the trolls” but I didn’t want to put up with this. I’m sick, and lacking coffee.)

CTC Troll: WELL THAT’S. NOT. IT! That’s moth ball-sized hail! I know what golf ball-sized hail is because I still have one in my freezer from the storm three years ago!”

*Wait… pause. Did you read that? You did. It didn’t surprise me one bit when I heard it. I know who this testicle is. He’s the kind of guy who when it hails actual golf-ball sized hail,  he goes outside, grabs one of them, and puts it in his freezer. Why? What would be the purpose? When will you ever need that again, you worm nut? There are a few reasons I can come up with.

Scenario #1: Today’s scenario. In case one day he needs to call a local news station to call them on their exaggeration, and they in turn call him on his alleged ownership of said golf ball-sized hail and he needs to provide proof. Can you imagine?

ME: “Sir, I don’t believe you. That’s not possible. I’m afraid you’re going to have to prove it.”

He definitely would. He already bought a used hand-held cooler at a yard sale last summer for just an occasion. After four connections on the bus, he would show up at the station, walk in with the cooler with the importance of a donor heart heading for transplant, plop it on the counter and wait for me to come out into the lobby. He would open it up and like the briefcase from Pulp Fiction, I would see a glowing, gold light and immediately become speechless at the sight of an actual piece of golf ball-sized hail. That’s how it has played out in his mind. In reality, I would say, “Hmmm. Cool. You were right. Thanks. Bye.”

Scenario # 2: When his friends (read: mother) comes over to his trailer just to make sure he’s remembered to flush his toilet and feed the cat on a regular basis, and he needs to show her what he’s accomplished in life.

Mother: “CTCT, why don’t you get a job?”

CTCT: “I have a job mother! It’s calling up news stations and yelling at them! And business is good! I’m really making a difference in the world! And besides, my hail-collecting business is going really well right now! Check out this golf ball-sized one I grabbed after the storm three years ago!

*He opens the freezer and pulls out the golf ball-sized hail next to his severed rodent head collection*

CTCT: See! One day I’ll need this to prove my worth in life and who will be laughing then!?”

Those are the only reasons for saving hail. That’s it. No other reason.

Besides, even if you save a piece of hail, what happens in a freezer? It collects additional ice. Chances are this butthole’s golf ball-sized hail started out as the moth ball-sized hail he considers so elementary and over the course of three years, and a steady rotation of TV dinners and severed gopher heads going in and out of the freezer, it collected enough ice to become golf ball sized. It’s a fake! He’s a phony! I know this. I just didn’t have the energy to call him on his lie.

But I have to hand it to him. His three year plan paid off this morning when he got to call up, yell at me and call us out on our inadvertent exaggeration.

I can’t help but wonder though… Now what will he do with his prized possession? What will become of his golf ball-sized hail? I know this human hangnail and I already know the answer.

He is going to save it. He’s going to save it and wait for us to have an even bigger hailstorm. He will sit and wait for us to refer to it as “cantaloupe-sized hail” on air. He will smirk, then calmly set down his bowl of generic CTC, pick up his phone and say, “You MORONS! Do you even have a cantaloupe? That’s golf ball sized hail! I know what cantaloupe-sized hail is because I still have one in my freezer from the storm 18 years ago!”

That’ll show us.

He’ll then hang up the phone, leave the half-eaten bowl of CTC for his new suicidal cat (which will leave it untouched out of fear of catching a disease and general disgust for the person who was just eating it), catch a bus down to the cemetery, and gloat to his mother’s grave (Which will definitely have a tombstone that reads: “Beloved wife, extremely disappointed mother”) and say, “I did it again mom! I showed those local news bastards just how wrong they are!”

Everyone has a different passion. Everyone has different issues they consider important. Everyone knows the news is a liar. Today I talked to the man who will not stand for exaggerations in hail reporting. Today, I talked to CTCT. And it made me chuckle with rage.