The headline was too good to be true, but it wasn’t.

“Man vows to eat picture of Jason Segel everyday until Segel eats a picture of him”

This is actually happening. A guy named Noah Maloney, of the Toronto Maloneys, is on Day 6 of eating an 8×10 printed photo of Jason Segel everyday. I watched the videos and was captivated/dumbfounded. This was actually happening. And here I was encouraging it by watching him. But I couldn’t look away.

Maloney doesn’t say anything. He simply displays the Segel photo, then proceeds to chomp it up and swallow it down. (Segel has not, and probably will not, respond)

I thought, “I have to do something on this guy.”

About an hour after I watched the video, however, the leeches of the internet had already gotten to him. Maloney’s videos were now licensed to the bottom feeders of the internet who pay folks a small amount of money for the rights to their videos and then proceed to make a bunch of money by suing TV stations and websites that use the video without permission. They’re the ambulance chasers of the internet. Making money off of other people’s creativity (or in this case, insanity) while doing nothing. It’s a great business model and perhaps I’m just sour I didn’t get in on the ground floor.

Having dealt with these scumsuckers before, I knew I couldn’t use the videos. So how could I tell the story? Crayon news is fun, but this required demonstrative action, not just awesome drawings.

And an idea was born.

I don’t need these videos. I can just shoot my own. They don’t own the rights to eating pictures of funny dudes! So with that in mind (and a brighter hope for future segments), I decided reenactment is the only way to go when dealing with these videos I can’t use on-air. So… here’s the first reenactment.

*Don’t eat photos of celebrities. Or anyone for that matter. Don’t eat photos.

It seems like you either land on the “love” or “hate” side of the Valentine’s Day spectrum.

I don’t believe that opinion is based solely on whether you have a significant other or not. You can have a significant other and despise the day. There’s so much pressure to get something good, while not being too cheesy or hokey, yet still making sure it has some sort of emotional thought behind it.

If you don’t have a significant other, you can either spend the day dwelling on that or celebrating that. When I was a single man, I believe I dwelled on it under the guise of celebration. It was complicated.

But now I have a wife (a lovely, magnificent, beautiful, kind, caring woman who puts up with me) and what’s even better, this year we agreed not to get anything for each other. We agreed money was better spent on other things we need. Although now that I’m typing this, I only have thought pounding in my head like a horrible EDM jam that gets faster and faster as the bass is about to drop and then… It hits me:

Great. Guess I better stop by and grab some flowers or something on my way home.

Anyway, this morning on Good Day, I was let out of the studio to go hand out roses at a local coffee shop. I make fun of The Bachelor all the time, but this morning I got to feel what many other men on the show have felt as they handed out roses (minus the 20+ women aggressively competing for my affection in a desperate attempt to find fake love on a scripted reality TV show). It was scary.

Here you go:

The first John Wick caught me (and everyone) by surprise. I’m not sure anyone expected it to be the smash hit that it became.

A retired assassin, who just lost his wife, has the puppy she left for him killed and his car stolen in a home invasion. The fire ignites. So he goes and hunts down anyone who may have had any contact with the gang responsible and kills them all. A lot. He kills them a lot. Not just regular killing where they die, but extreme killing where they really die. Head shots. Head shots for days.

It is, without a doubt, one of my favorite movies of all time. That’s a lot to live up to when you talk about doing a sequel. There’s no way they could capture that lightning in a bottle again, right? Wrong.

John Wick Chapter 2 is beyond incredible.

Essentially the plot is the same (minus the dog murder). Wick is forced back into the assassin life he thought he left behind. But this time, you get a greater look into the scope of the secret world of the planet’s most deadly assassins.

There’s still an extremely high body count and many people are shot in the head. It’s. Incredible.

To quote one of the greatest actors of all-time, Mr. Keanu Reeves, I left the theater and could only say, “Whoa.”

Here’s how many Kurt Russell’s I gave it on Good Day.

I love going to the gym. Actually, let me rephrase that. I realize that with my family history of heart disease, that if I live the life I truly want, I will become fat and die from a heart attack, so I go to the gym and go on runs as often as I can so I can at least slow down the inevitability of an early death caused by clogged arteries and a pickled liver. Working out counters excessive bourbon drinking, right? Thought so.

Anyway, I mostly just show up with nothing more than the workout clothes I’m wearing. But recently, I’ve become addicted to the sauna and steam room. The actual act of sitting awkwardly in a tiny hot room with five other sweaty people trying to avoid eye contact is not enjoyable, but I do love the cleansing feeling. So I’ve had to bring a bag to the gym with me. Which means I’ve had to venture into the dreaded locker room.

We all know what public gym locker rooms are like: Naked old people everywhere. I can say “people” because my wife has confirmed there are just as many free-wheeling older ladies on the ladies’ side as there are on the men’s side.  Again, the key is to just look straight ahead or straight down at the ground. You won’t entirely avoid seeing old dongs and buttocks, but it helps. I’m not to that age where I’m entirely comfortable walking around naked in front of strangers. I’m just now getting over the emotional abuse I endured showering in high school. I don’t think I actually fully completed puberty until I was 25. This did not make for good times in high school. I could hear them snickering. I still can. Late at night.

But enough about shameless nudity. While fun to discuss, that’s not what this is about. This is about rude people.

While navigating my way through the valley of old balls (last one, I promise), I found my way to my locker in the back. I sat down on the bench with my earphones in, still playing music. I grabbed my phone and saw my wife had texted me a question. I texted her back, and while I was waiting for her to respond, I played my brother back in a game of battleship. Honestly, I’m not sure how long I was sitting there on my phone, but it was probably 3-5 minutes.

I admit I was in my own world. I was 100% oblivious to everything around me. Normally, I’m quite aware of my surroundings. To me, it is annoying when someone isn’t aware of others around them. The majority of the time, most people aren’t aware they are doing it. This was me.

Apparently, there was a gentleman (I use that term loosely) sitting behind me waiting to get into his locker. I was blocking his access. I get that. I was being unintentionally inconsiderate.

However, a normal person, a sane person, a kind person, would’ve simply seen based off of the evidence that I was not intentionally trying to hang anybody up. A normal person would’ve simply tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Excuse me, I need to get into my locker,” the same way you gently tap on your car horn when someone doesn’t realize the light has turned green. It’s not meant to be rude, simply a polite way making a person aware. I simply would’ve apologized and said, “Absolutely! I’m so sorry, I was in my own little world.”

I was not dealing with a normal, kind, sane or polite person. Again, I’m not sure how long he’d been behind me, but I had no idea he was there. If it was prison, I would’ve been in big trouble. Instead of a kind, “Excuse me,” I get, “Hey, can we move it along here!?” in a very aggressive tone.

This caught me off guard and frankly, annoyed me. I looked around with a look of amazement wondering if anyone else had just witnessed this. It didn’t appear so. I turned to the guy and said, “All you had to do was ask, man. No need to be like that.”

“Well, you’re on your phone and playing games and… *incoherent aggressive mumbling,*” he replied.

He looked like this:

Ok, maybe he didn’t have the horns. The rest is pretty accurate.

After an exchange of two highly sarcastic “Have a good day,” I grabbed my stuff and left. But the confrontation bothered me. To quote George Costanza, “We’re living in a society!”

It’s a society where you should be kind and understanding to people around you. To live by that Golden Rule: Treat others as you want to be treated.

But, “Some men you just can’t reach.” This guy was unreachable.

I’m not sure what happened to that guy to make him such a rude, sad, unhappy man, but I hope it gets better. I truly do. At the time, I admit my natural reaction was to be snippy right back to him, but it only helps to fuel his unaccounted for rage.

The whole encounter bothered me, but the bigger point here is no matter what is going on in your life, just be kind to people. Be nice. Simple as that. There’s a lot of unnecessary conflict happening these days and at the end of the day, it helps to just remember we’re all on the same team.

In case that’s not your style, here’s that story again with three of my favorite insults of all time.

I don’t know where this photo is from. I found it on social media. I don’t know the context of it… but it might be one of my favorite photos of all time. I like to imagine the little raccoon busted into a small town drug store, drunk as a skunk… err… raccoon and just started trying to steal Pringles and 40 oz bottles of cheap malt liquor to keep his wild bender going.

Things haven’t been the same for him since he caught his wife cheating on him with a house cat up the street who sneaks her Friskies from his nightly dinner. How can he compete with Friskies? He’ll show up with an old fish that is nothing but the head and pure bones below that (like in cartoons), every now and then. But Friskies? The wet kind? He can’t keep up. He’s ok with it. He measures his life not by the things he has, but by the animals he surrounds himself with, and his wife was simply a material girl living in a material world. If there was such a thing, she would’ve most definitely been on The Real Raccoon Housewives of (insert superficial city here). He enjoys being single. So he spends his time partying, rocking n rolling, and stealing potato crisps and Olde English.

But someone called the raccoon cops today. They showed up and said, “Gene! Not you again? How many times are we gonna have to do this?” To which Gene the raccoon feverishly replied, “You won’t catch me this time Officer Diaz!”. Diaz doesn’t really even mind. He likes Gene. He gets his situation, being in a similar one himself, but the law is the law and Officer Diaz took an oath: to uphold it. It’s a fun back and forth they have. It provides Diaz the much-welcomed break of having to notify families of deer that their loved ones were just hit by a Peterbuilt and scraped off of I-90. For Diaz, these Gene calls are what keep him sane.

On this day, Gene runs around the store screaming about his right to party. He’s fought for it and he’ll be damned if someone like Officer Diaz is gonna take it away from him. As he rounds the banana cream-filled Twinkie display at the end of aisle 7, by the old lady hair rollers, he sees daylight coming from the front door. He smells freedom and makes a final leap. As he reaches the crest of his valiant raccoon vault, Officer Diaz snags the rope around his head. He’s caught. Gene knows it.

But this photo was snapped at the split second before he does realize it. It is snapped just as the cool breeze from the automatic front doors open at the rapid-fire motion of his jump from justice. He almost made it. His escapade has ended early. He may have left empty-handed that day, and spent a night in the drunk raccoon tank, but Gene is not discouraged. For it was the brief blink of time this photo encapsulates that he remembers. He sits in his cell, with nothing but that feeling coating his mind, the same way good red wine coats a glass and forms legs that slowly run back down after a good swirling.

Gene shakes his head to re-live that feeling, the memory of freedom continuing to coat his raccoon mind, knowing as soon as someone pays his $425 bail, his first stop is to go catch that feeling one more time. To live that feeling again. And again. And again. Gene will be back. And I hope I’m there to share his joy. Keep flying, Gene. Keep flying.