On Wednesday, Todd G. went to the library to research Attention Deficit Disorder (A.D.D.) and spent the whole hour looking at car magazines.

Todd M. is so stoked about the Olympics that he wishes they could be held every year.

Are you tired of not having any spare cash? Do you want to know how you can take three empty soda cans, collect the deposit and then turn that into a real estate fortune?

Two years ago the closest Ted B. ever got to a boat was those toy ones in the bathtub. Now he owns a fleet of leisure craft larger than some smaller island nations' navies. And he did it all without investing a single penny of his own money.

And so can you.

Honest.

Mike L. thinks that the Vice President is just the kind of person that gives hunting a bad name. And that, friends, is a real crime. [shaking head] A real crime.

They gave a personality test at work and Todd S. swears on his momma's grave that he got every single question right.

"Dude, I'm not going to tell you that it's not boring sitting up there on that chair all day. But you get to look at girls a lot and saving lives every once in a while doesn't suck either." --Todd H.

Look out Tampa Bay, Todd comes from the Sun Tzu meets General Westmoreland school of paintball.

Mike's Answer: You don't get to be the number one flag football player in the country by listening to classical music, that's for damn sure.

Mike F.'s friends used to kid him about being careful not to explode.
Boy do they feel like assholes now.

Back at the motel later that night, Mike and Debbie pretty much agreed that the family uniform and grape jelly were on a collision course and that no good would come of it.

Just a little note of advice. If you're the type that thinks ping-pong is a game you play stoned in the afternoons in one of your friend's suburban, finished basements instead of, say, going to class. Well don't mention this to Mike B. In fact, don't even call it 'ping pong.'

Jenny Update

The bad news is that Mike H. had to supply this photo to the insurance agent to show what his new Jeep, Jenny, looked like before the fire. The good news is he told the guy that there were 600 bucks worth of power tools in the back when there really weren't and, guess what, they're sending him a check for six hundred big ones.


See the honeymoon celebration here.

We don't like to call them perps or suspects. We call them bad guys. Because they're bad, for one, and they're generally guys. -- Mike G.

Todd: When I say I give you my word, I mean I give you my soul.
Thad: Because we're brothers, right, bro?
Todd: Blood brothers.
Thad: Like, as in I'd die for you and you'd die for me.
Todd: It's like you're reading my mind.
Thad: I think I love you, man.

Rumor has it that corporate has been keeping
a pretty close eye on Ted C.
I don't know about you but I smell promotion.

"It's called a gi, not a bathrobe. It's a uniform. And I get to wear it like this, mother, because I can kill people with my bare hands." ---Ted F.

There's an old Japanese saying: the nail that sticks out gets hammered down.

When he heard this, Todd G., swear to god, felt the top of his head to see if it was flat.

You're wondering if this is Mike, the guy who stood up from his cubicle one day and told his boss, across the office, that she shouldn't fucking talk to him that way, that he is a human being, that he doesn't deserve this, that he doesn't, believe it or not, get up in the morning hoping to fuck projects up. You're wondering if this is the same Mike who then told her that he was going outside to smoke and after that cigarette was done he was going to light one more and maybe, just maybe, after that he was going to consider coming back to this shithole of a job. You're wondering that, right? Well, it's not that Mike you're thinking of, it's a different Mike. Though they do look pretty similar, we'll give you that.

Hey Ladies, guess what? Mike T. can calculate the tip in his head.

Just wanted to pass along the good news about Mike H.'s new Jeep. Her name is Jenny, after girlfriend #7, and she's a real good ride. Had a funny thing with the starter about two weeks after he got her home, but that was under warranty and they fixed it, no problemo. So, I don't know, if you need a ride to the mall or something, or you just want to get out of the house and go for a spin, don't hesitate to give old Mike a call.

We're talking capital-v Victory, here. Take no prisoners, wow the client, get that business done. We're talking Powerpoint presentations that make the jaw drop, spreadsheets that don't just dazzle, they impress, and leave behinds that don't get thrown away the minute you get in the car and drive back to the main office. If these things sound good to you, Ted L.'s most certainly your man.

Until he and his wife were leafing through their photo album this past Christmas, Todd M. had absolutely no idea that every photo he's ever taken of himself has a trash can in the background. Strange how even we are mysteries to ourselves.

Just wanted to pass along this little note from Ted C.: He wants his money, he wants it now. That nice guy thing, that's a thing of the past, jerko.

If you can't learn how to play chess, at least learn how to look like you're playing chess. This is one of those bigtime bits of wisdom you don't get from books, you get them from your dad. And Ted is one lucky son.

"Make all the fun you want. But when you're looking for a pen, don't bother asking me because the answer's no." - Todd C.

You're talking about a massive conspiracy. One that starts at the very top and winds its way all the way down to the bottom like some kind of virulent strain of kudzu. You're talking Dollars, Pesos, Swiss Francs flowing in and out of bank accounts from here to Iowa City. You're talking tracks being covered, files being burned, people being threatened. Or worse.

And there is one man, one man who just might be able to stop it. And that man's name is Mike. Mike S.

It's been said that it's difficult to play pool well yet far more difficult to play pool badly. Don't tell this to Mike or it'll just make his head bigger.

Most of his friends secretely believe that all the good luck in Ted T.'s life started the minute the meteor fell in his backyard some six years ago.

It really sucks when, just before the project is due, the lead programmer starts talking about the Lombards massing at the border and then doesn't show up for work for, like, three days. This isn't exactly what Mike Z. did but it's not that dissimilar, either.

On Monday night, between 11 p.m. and midnight,
Todd S. broke 13 of his 14 New Year's resolutions.
But that's not why his girlfriend's mad at him.

One haiku a day
is the secret to success
says our friend Mike G.

Ted M.'s New Year's Resolution: To Rock And Then To Rock Some More.

It doesn't matter if your weenie son's team's down by one run in the ninth and there's a close call at the plate. If you can't be fair, what kind of man are you? I mean, really, what kind of man are you?
-Mike B.

Mike K. will probably tell ya there's nothing like a job well done. Nothing. Not even a job well done is like a job well done. That's the thing, it's a conundrum. But I don't want to get all philosophical on you. It's just that sitting in that patrol car all day, driving around endlessly, it just gives a man a lot of time to think. A lot of time. To think.

How does a low-level employee in the Accounting Department, a guy so invisible that he was called Bill, John, Paul, Dale, Dick and Rod by his superiors in the very same day, how does a guy like this manage to drain 23 million dollars of the company's hard earned cash into an account at a local bank in Aruba?

Ask Ted J.

That is, if you can locate him.

Three days after the inauguration, Mike found himself in a deli three states away from where the party started. Drunk. Still drunk. And looking for some flapjacks.

Ever since that incident at the pastry shop, Mike C. just hasn't been himself.

Ted M. will neither confirm or deny that he's working on a time machine in his garage. So we all pretty much think it's true.

One day there will be a revolution in the world
of the assistant account executive.
And Todd M. is going to lead it.

"Goddamitt Beth," Mike C. said, "for the last time, it's not a television, it's an entertainment center."

There's a saying in Todd's family. 'You don't get what you pay for, you get a little bit more." And that's probably the reason for the family's vice grip dominance in leisure craft sales.

You're forgetting one simple fact about Ted S.: he knows how to kill.

Mike. Virtually unbeatable at Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.
How's that for some shit?

Mike M.'s secret:
Everybody's a customer.

Todd H. wanted a puppy so badly that he thought he would die. Turns out that he was so allergic to the little Springer Spaniel he got at the Pet's Mart that he almost did. Throat swelled up like a basketball, no joke. Anyhooo, to make a long story short, his mom told him to stop being a pussy about the fact that they had to go get their money back and to think outside the 'crate.' Wasn't until old Percy came along that Todd began to realize just what it meant to have a soul mate.

When he was dressing for the reunion, Ted W. couldn't help but think that he pretty much looked that same as he did in high school. He wondered if Sally M. did too.

Ask Mike C. and he'll tell you:
"The show's not about me. It's about fun."
Go on, ask him.

Twenty-eight minutes after taking this photo, Todd W. ate the ham sandwich that quote-unquote changed his fucking life.

"When you're young you do a lot of dumb shit.
That thing, that thing with the dumpster was stupid.
Just plain stupid."

--Todd T.

When you bet against Mike B., you bet wrong.