The name is Tom. King Tom.

An open letter to the producers of the James Bond franchise:

Word on the street is that you’re starting production on the next James Bond movie, Casino Royale (v2) and you haven’t yet cast the Bond villian.

Well, allow myself to submit myself for consideration. I know you’re saying “Who is this King Tom jackass?” Well, you don’t need to know the details. But I can tell you that I would be the best Bond foe since Telly Savalas. Continue reading “The name is Tom. King Tom.” →

King Tom

Ask a stupid question

One of the things I do where I work is answer or forward on questions addressed to our generic e-mail address. Most of the e-mails need to be sent to one of our divisions, I field a handful of the questions, and the rest are either too bizarre or just angry e-mails that don’t warrant a response.

If I could, I would answer the ones that fell into the last category. But if I answered them in the way I wanted to, I’d probably get fired. Case in point- one e-mail I recently received:

My adult son has moved to another state. How do I fix this?

That’s it. That’s all it said. I wanted to respond: “Hire a bounty hunter. I hear Boba Fett is cheap.”

But I didn’t.

How would you respond?

King Tom

At least it’s just a loan

Earlier in the week, the State of Ohio agreed to give the Donatos “pizza” company a $2.9 million dollar loan to research quicker-rising pizza dough or something like that.

Now for those of you who aren’t from Columbus, take some ketchup, some white American cheese and a stale cracker, and you have a Donatos pizza. Honestly, it’s right up there with beef tounge as the worst thing I’ve ever eaten and the fact that they call it pizza pisses me off (they don’t slice it the right way, they don’t use the right kind of cheese and I’ve written term papers thicker than a Donatos pizza). There are only two good pizza places in Columbus (that I’ve been to), and Donatos definitely isn’t one of them.

King Tom

Changing terms on my terms

I’ve been on the road a lot recently for work.

Wednesday, I was coming back from an event in Morgan County, and while I didn’t have much time, I needed to grab something to eat. I stopped at the Zanesville Wendy’s off I-70 (a Wendy’s I have been to many times before) to get something quick.

While eating my fingerless-chili, I was thinking that technically, I have an hour for “lunch.” And while I wasn’t taking the full hour that particular day, I have that time available to me.

The best part of it all is that while it’s a mid-day break, no one is forcing me to eat lunch during this hour. If I had wanted to, I could have toured Zanesville. I could have driven across the Y-bridge 20 times. I could have gone to the nearby state park to collect leaves. I could have done anything but eat lunch.

At that point, I decided to stop referring to the hour as my “lunch” hour. Instead, I’m going to refer to it as the “hour of me.” It’s more accurate, don’t you think?

These are the things I think about when I have a few minutes to myself. Free thought is a dangerous thing.

King Tom