Doubtful Dinosaur Musings

The Temporal Bone is connected to the…

Tailbone?

Say what?!?

Dinosaurs are such an enigma.

Perhaps it’s because their bones are like a ten billion piece jigsaw puzzle.

Think about it.

With no helpful assembly instructions for guidance, each type of dinosaur is estimated to have roughly 200 bones.

And with hundreds of different types of dinosaurs…

That leaves a disturbing amount of room for error.

After all, who’s to say we’ve been accurately assembling those prehistoric bones?

When dinosaur fossils are discovered, they tend to be badly damaged, crushed, or warped from the weight of dirt and rocks.

So they may be pieced together incorrectly.

Or the “final” result may actually be incomplete.

In fact, scientists themselves have been known to harbor doubt when attempting to piece those suckers back together.

With strange dinosaur names like Yamaceratops, Irritator, Gasosaurus, and Drinker…

It’s almost like paleontologists are trying a little too hard to divert the confusion.

Which brings us to the Bone Wars, between American paleontologists Edward Drinker Cope and Othniel Charles Marsh.

So fierce was their rivalry in the heated pursuit of discovering and naming new dinosaurs that there was no shortage of bullying, bribery, and flat-out careless errors.

Case in point:

When Cope presented his fossil of a marine reptile called Elasmosaurus, it was discovered that the vertebrae were assembled backward.

The head and tail were also transposed.

So much for any attempt at accurate representation.

Marsh, for his part, was trying to piece together an Apatosaurus.

But it was missing a skull.

So he knowingly used the head of another dinosaur to complete the skeleton.

And the moral of the story?

If it the bones can be crammed together in a way that may or may not properly fit…

Hey, that’s good enough!

When someone is determined or frustrated enough, it’s gotta be so tempting to cram a puzzle piece someplace it doesn’t quite belong.

Especially after spending far too much time puzzling over it.

Take the mighty Tyrannosaurus Rex, for instance.

Take a really good look at it.

T Rex’s disproportionately minuscule arms look like a better fit for a smaller dinosaur, like Triceratops.

No wonder those creatures look so angry.

With stubby little arms and a tail that drags ten feet behind on the ground like a ball and chain, what’s there to be happy about?

There’s also been debate over the years as to whether the Brontosaurus ever actually existed, either.

Who knows?

Anything is possible.

All I know is, if I were to dig in my backyard and unearth dinosaur bones, I’d let my kids try their luck at assembling a new creature.

And then I’d let them name it.

So far, we have several promising contenders:

  • Buttasaurus
  • Boogerraptor
  • Dieceratops
  • Stinkyheadamimus
  • Thunderthighapus
  • Dinkybrainadon
  • Atrociousaurus

The possibilities are endless!

Which brings me to another point:

You almost have to wonder what human bones haphazardly pieced together by the next creatures on earth in fifty million years might look like.

Now, that ought to be interesting.

Nah, there’s no way those weird things with five wiggly digits could possibly belong up there by those goofy funnel-looking thingys…

Oh, well.

Just stick that crap on top that freakishly small skull…

And voilà!

We’ll call it the Peabrainasaurus!

~Happy Friday, everyone! Hope you have a terrific weekend!~

The dinosaur depicted here is most likely the approximate result of assembling bones together, puzzle-style.

The dinosaur depicted here is most likely the approximate result of assembling bones together, puzzle-style.

Blisteringly Ballistic

Swish!

What could be more delightful than a bone-chillingly dreary day?

Why, experiencing the joy of nature on such a lovely day, of course!

Or perhaps more specifically…

Playing basketball outside in freezing temperatures!

With a child whose blatant disregard for my well-being has not gone unnoticed by yours truly.

Did I mention it was astonishingly windy, too?

When there’s finally the teeniest ray of sun poking through the foreboding clouds right before the sun sets, it’s obviously time to wander outside into the frigid air.

Nevermind the fact that it’s chilly enough to guarantee Frosty the Snowman at least one more day of puddle-free existence.

Oh, and thank you, Daylight Savings Time.

Thank you so much.

Your highly anticipated return has provided this wonderful extra hour of daylight.

Which wouldn’t normally be such a bad thing…

Except after a long day, when I’d like nothing more than to convince the kids that the dark sky means it’s clearly time for bed.

Somebody, please tell me why it’s so difficult to force a child to go outside and play on a gorgeous sunny day?

Wouldn’t that be far less painful for everyone?

I guess this must beat shower time.

That’s got to be it.

So there we were.

You wanna go?

You wanna piece of me?

Come at me!

Where you at?

Chop, chop!

Come on!

Show me what you got!

I’ve got frostbite.

That’s what I’ve got.

Wanna see that?

My child seems genuinely intrigued.

So I stuck my hand up his shirt.

My freezing cold, bluish-purple hands.

Ah, warmth!

Gotta keep swimming, swimming…

Or maybe it’s running, running…

Or dribbling, dribbling…

Let me tell ya, cold is a very powerful motivator.

I shot far more hoops than usual that day.

The magic modus operandi?

Bouncing and hopping around like a maniac in a desperate attempt to generate my own heat before succumbing to imminent hypothermia.

Which, evidently, is not a concern for crazy children.

Their sheer insanity keeps them sufficiently warm.

Between hook shots and free throws…

Along with no shortage of illegal elbows, tickles, and fouls…

It was a surprisingly invigorating outing.

Nothing but net.

And frostbite.

Swoosh!

~Happy St. Patrick’s Day, friends! Hope you’re all enjoying a day filled with fun and shenanigans. And corned beef and Guinness, if you’re into that sort of thing. Have a fantastic weekend!~

Nothin' but net! Well, somewhere under those icicles...

Nothin’ but net! Well, somewhere under those icicles…

Spring Break Stupor

Spring is almost here!

Sure, it’s still technically winter.

But it’s already Spring Break.

Ummm…

Yay?

The house looks like a tornado zipped through it.

The laundry is piling up to the ceiling.

And being the unofficial official referee of this crazy clan is taking its toll on me.

Mommy needs a drink.

If this is a preview of what summer holds, I may be tempted to run away with the circus.

ASAP.

What’s that?

Joining the circus is no longer an option?

Damn you, Ringling Bros!

Damn you for not keeping up with the times and taking away that last glimmer of hope.

Sigh.

Don’t get me wrong.

I love Spring Break.

No, actually…

I love some parts of Spring Break.

No homework.

No teacher emails.

No phone calls from the principal.

I’m pretty well convinced we are on the school’s speed dial system.

So yeah, I’m a fan of any type of school-related break.

Besides, sleeping in is always a nice luxury.

Even if it is only until 7am.

Hey, it’s progress.

Anyway…

On Day Oneboth boys managed to land themselves in time out without any electronic privileges.

But then they behaved well enough later in the week for us to actually get out a few times.

And so I found myself going places I’d rather not go.

Like Chuck E Cheese.

Home of the Yuck E Cheese pizza.

That inedibly nasty excuse for pizza always sits in my stomach like a sinking rock.

What’s in that crap, anyway?

On second thought, I’d rather not know.

And then there’s Dave and Buster’s.

Two hours and a zillion dollars later, we walked out of there with our prize:

A Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em game that we could have purchased for $19.99 at any big box store.

But if we stayed home, the whole eating around the clock cycle of fun would’ve continued, à la Hungry, Hungry Kiddos.

Let me tell ya, that gets old really fast.

Between the demands and lack of gratitude from at least one child at any given time, it’s been a most rewarding week.

Get back to school already, will ya?

Spring has not quite sprung…

Daylight savings is about to begin…

And we’re running out of food and sanity.

Wait.

Break’s almost over?

Already?

Noooooo!!!

~Happy Friday, everyone! If you’ve also had the pleasure of being on “break” with kids this week, I hope your sanity is still intact. Have a wonderful weekend!~

Spring Break is fun! Spring Break is awesome! Spring Break is...ugh, never mind.

Spring Break is fun! Spring Break is awesome! Spring Break is…ugh, never mind.

Glamourless Grammar Galore

There, they’re, their.

March 4th is National Grammar Day!

I know you’re all as excited as I am!

Just think – a  whole day dedicated to proper use of grammar!

Grammar Day was created in 2008 by Martha Brockenbrough, founder of the Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar, to promote awareness and understanding of proper grammar.

For the logophiles among us, the Global Language Monitor estimates the number of words in the English language to be approximately 1,025,109.

That’s a lot of words one could possibly mess up.

That’s right.

A lot.

Not alot.

They’re two separate words.

Two!!!

In honor of National Grammar Day, let’s have some fun with grammar, shall we?

grammar23

(I rest my case.)

grammar9

(I completely understand. I feel equally as passionate about this mix-up.)

grammar47

(Hahaha! Get it? Oh, never mind…)

grammar22

(I’m sorry… and you’re welcome.)

grammar48

(People who use commas properly are statistically less likely to be raging psychopaths. Need I say more?)

grammar6

(Off too [sic] funny we go!)

grammar28

(Never underestimate the powerful effect of using proper grammar!)

grammar42

(Sure, it’s a cheap shot, but it can be highly effective. Give it a try!)

grammar4

(Proof that it helps tremendously to be able to distinguish between homophones.)

grammar25

(The difference here may be subtle. On second thought, no. It’s glaringly obvious. Get your words straight if you want to avoid becoming dinner!)

grammar46

(Irony at its absolute finest.)

grammar29

(Likewise, “I’m sorry I hate you” could also benefit from a properly placed comma…)

grammar14

(Yoda is the only creature permitted to speak in such a grammatically disturbing manner. This is due solely to his unparalleled wisdom.)

grammar45

(Grammar is good! Grammar is your friend! Please, for the love of God, use grammar!)

Homophones seem to cause confusion for a surprisingly large chunk of the population.

For instance:

its/it’s, to/too/two, there/their/they’re, than/then, where/were, whose/who’s, apart/a part

Yes, these sets of words do sound identical.

That’s because they’re homophones…

Not because they’re words that share the same meaning and can be used interchangeably at one’s discretion.

Sorry, but it just doesn’t work that way.

Oh, and let’s talk about real words put together to form imaginary phrases.

Would of, should of, could of.

Uh…

Hello?!?

These phrases don’t make any sense!

Do you know why?

It’s because they don’t exist!

At least, not in the world of proper grammar.

(Would’ve, should’ve, and could’ve are the contractions for would have, should have, and could have.)

Now go impress someone special with your inoffensively impeccable grammar skills!

~Happy Friday, friends! And Happy National Grammar Day, for those of you who value proper grammar as much as I do. Have a phenomenal weekend!~

Sanctimoniously Sacrilegious

Chaos.

Calamity.

Arguing, brawling, and squabbling.

All the way to church.

That’s right.

Church.

Once upon a time, my brother and I used to create the most unholy mayhem.

Frequently.

Even at church.

Especially at church.

Evidently, our less than role model type conduct was downright mortifying.

The car wouldn’t even be fully backed out the driveway before we’d initialize our ritualistic slugfest.

Usually, it would begin with one of us discretely cracking an Etch-a-Sketch over the other one’s head.

And things would only get more exciting once we’d exit the confines of the vehicle.

While everyone around us would break into hymns, we’d provide the accompanying music-

Armpit farts.

Not the time or place?

You don’t say.

About to receive Communion?

Good time to get rumbling!

Donation money basket going around?

Decisions, decisions.

Confession time was always particularly challenging.

With plenty to confess, we’d have to keep it vague.

So I’d simply just apologize for fighting with my brother.

But there were definitely things left unsaid.

Then we’d get back to engaging in a few rounds of bloody knuckles, sometimes even throwing in a headlock or two.

We were easily distracted and equally as easily amused.

What can I say?

We were hands-on type of kids.

In the rare moments of sitting still, we’d pray.

Pray for service to end so we could take our free-for-all out to the parking lot.

It’s fair to say we were embarrassing to be around, as we failed to exemplify any holy qualities, in any public setting.

On the positive side, we managed to obey The Ten Commandments.

Mostly.

I mean, at least the most important one-

Thou shall not kill.

And we didn’t kill anyone.

Surely, that counted for something.

But then again…

We were siblings, after all, so there was never a guarantee that wouldn’t change at any moment.

Ultimately, my parents probably considered themselves lucky…

Even if only for the fact that my brother and I never once attempted to bathe or swim in the tub of holy water during Mass.

Hallelujah!

~Hey friends! I’ve got a favor to ask of you. I just set up a Facebook account for Comically Quirky! And I’m on Twitter, too. Please drop by and follow me, and I’ll follow you back! You can leave your links in the comments. Thanks a million, and have an awesome weekend!~

Naughty, nice, and everything in between...

Naughty, nice, and everything in between…

Beeping Blasphemy

Nine.

It sounds a lot like nein, the German word for no.

Did you know that the number nine is considered unlucky in Japan?

It’s true.

They pronounce it ku.

And apparently, it sounds exactly like the Japanese words for agony and torture.

Yikes.

Interestingly enough, nine is also the precise number of smoke detectors in my house.

Why would I know this?

Because I’d been running like a crazy person from one end of the house to the other, trying to figure out the source of an intermittent, peace-assailing racket.

That’s why.

Out of the blue, a nefarious, telltale sound echoed throughout the house.

And every thirty seconds, another beep would fill the air.

With nine smoke detectors at large, I struggled to pinpoint the source of annoyance.

It’s like that expression:

Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.

But in this case…

Every time a beep bleeped, I had to refrain from kicking stray stuffed animals and action figures into walls or out the window.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I dashed all over the house, from room to room, in hot pursuit.

Aha!

After locating the offending noisemaker, I dragged a kitchen chair over to the entryway and extended my arm upward.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Even on my tiptoes, I couldn’t quite reach.

So I ran out to the garage and grabbed the biggest ladder I could find.

Beeeeeeep. Beeeeeeeep. Beeeeeeeeep.

The ladder was so freaking cumbersome, I somehow managed to take out a chunk of wall as I maneuvered it through the house like a drunken firefighter, all the way from the garage and down the hall.

Damn.

I’d just finished touching up paint throughout the house a day earlier.

But at last, I could finally reach high enough to smack the button and put a stop to the madness.

The next thing I knew, alarms and sirens screeched in my ear:

Fire! Fire! Carbon monoxide warning! Get out! Get out!

What the hell?

After several minutes of this repetitive ear-splitting command, I managed to wrestle the battery compartment open.

But the dead battery fell out and hit me square in the throat, as I struggled to maintain my balance on the ladder.

At least the high-decibel wailing had stopped.

I regained my balance and crammed a new battery back in before slamming the compartment shut.

And then…silence.

Sweet, sweet silence.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

~Happy Friday! Hope you all have a great weekend!~

This beeping/meeping trio may possibly be the only thing noisier than a malfunctioning smoke alarm.

This beeping/meeping trio may possibly be the only thing noisier than a malfunctioning smoke alarm.

Mortifying Modus Operandi

Don’t embarrass me!

Um, helllooo!?!

I’m not the one sitting there, scratching my crotch at the table during breakfast.

Is it my fault your school requested that parents join their child in class to help guide them through the increasingly intricate course selection process, complete with 4-year plans and endorsements?

What kind of monster do you think I am?

And what kind of horrifying feats do you think I’ll manage to pull off in the 60 minutes I’m there, anyway?

Attempt to spoon-feed you your lunch?

Or show up in fishnet stockings and skanky heels?

Or worse yet, come crashing into your classroom on roller skates…in my pajamas?

Hashtag whatever.

Or perhaps I might discuss puberty/body odor/your latest crush loudly in front of all your classmates?

Or do some sort of ridiculous robot dance while singing a cringe-worthy Justin Bieber song at the top of my lungs?

Or lick your messy desk clean?

Or…

Maybe I’ll just wait for the perfect opportunity to declare:

You got an F on that test? An F?!? That’s it. Mama gonna go all gangsta on yo ass!

Right.

As fun as these scenarios might appear in my mind…

I can’t even.

As a natural introvert, I can assure you I will not be going out of my way to even talk to anyone, let alone cause chaos.

And as a self-respecting member of society, I don’t typically speak like that.

Ever.

Well, except maybe when I’m hangry.

I also wouldn’t purposely embarrass my kids, but ish happens.

Besides, if anything mortifying were to happen, consider it payback for all those unfortunate incidents where I wished for nothing more than the mercy of getting sucked into a black hole.

So just remember this:

I could be worse.

I could be much, much worse.

After all, I’m a badass black belt, dirt bike-riding, humor-writing Mom.

I’m cool AF.

Yaasss, I’m totally killin’ it.

So don’t be salty, bruh!

(Is that a thing?)

~Happy Friday! Thanks for stopping by and slinging some serious slang with me today. Have an amazing weekend!~

It's tough being a teenager. And an adult. Hell, life is rough for everyone.

It’s tough being a teenager. And an adult. Hell, life is rough for everyone.

The Video Gaming Vortex

Some things get infinitely better with time, while other things seem to do the exact opposite.

One thing’s for certain:

Time can majorly mess with dormant gaming skills.

Clearly, I haven’t been playing video games anywhere near enough lately.

I recently discovered that I now totally suck at video games.

It’s true.

I’ve somehow gotten to the point where I now lose frequently… to any and every opponent.

The horror!

Not only have I been playing poorly, but my hands actually ache afterward from the determined death-grip I inflict upon my controller.

But determination alone still doesn’t stop me from losing.

I hate losing.

And more importantly, I’m far too young to be losing this badly.

Whatever happened to the days of being a badass Video Game Master?

I used to rule Old School.

And now?

I am undisputedly the worst player in my house.

Possibly even the worst player in my neighborhood.

Okay, so that may not be entirely true.

Surely, there must be at least a handful of electronically inept 90-year-olds who would do worse.

But seriously, where did I go wrong?

Modern games have become my worst nightmare.

I used to be able to defeat every last Goomba, Koopa, and Hammer Brother in record time on my quest to rescuing Princess Toadstool from that evil jerk Bowser, who had nowhere to go but down.

Down, down, down, into the fiery lava.

Which, apparently, is where all my gaming skills have ended up.

Super Mario Galaxy makes me feel like I’d just downed a few cases of liquor and then repeatedly smacked my head into a concrete wall before hitting the power button on the console.

And let’s talk about Rainbow Road.

Notorious for being a highly challenging level on Mario Kart, it’s only gotten more complicated over the years.

Naturally.

Especially now, with all the nauseating, seizure-inducing graphics that cause me to barrel off into a black hole in a fit of rage from all the flashing acid-trip type effects.

Mario Kart has evolved to the point where it makes me sick to my stomach as I drive my stylishly customized kart backward, off cliffs, and straight into the oblivion of dead-last place.

Don’t get me wrong, all of these incredibly realistic 3D graphics are astonishingly impressive.

They also make me wanna hurl.

I sometimes miss the days of 2D, where I wouldn’t become nauseated from inadvertently spinning myself sick in just a matter of minutes.

I’m naturally bad with directions as it is, so I really don’t need the additional challenge of getting lost for all eternity on a convulsion-inducing level of some infuriating game.

But all is not lost.

Super Smash Bros is one of the few games I do seem to excel at lately.

I suspect this stems solely from the joy of clobbering big bullies like Donkey Kong and Ganondorf with unassumingly cute characters like Yoshi and Kirby.

But even so, there are times when I get embarrassingly decimated by a highly skilled, child-controlled Jigglypuff.

Mortifying, I tell you.

I’m compelled to blame my unimpressive losing streak on my older brother.

Sure, it was years ago, but I firmly believe that always being stuck as the dreaded Player 2 as a child clearly accounts for my overall lack of game playing time.

By the time I’d finally be about to get my turn after watching my brother play Super Mario Bros for 57 straight minutes, he’d be so pissed about (finally) losing a life on level 8-3 that he’d reset the game and start all over.

I usually had to wait until he left the house altogether to even get a turn.

I suppose there’s also the remote possibility my skills have deteriorated due to my penchant for not being able to sit still for very long.

As an adult, there’s always this overwhelming inclination to get stuff done.

No time to sit idle when there’s so much to do!

But surely that can’t be the issue here.

Nah.

It probably has a lot more to do with the fact that kids are practically born with electronic devices in each hand nowadays.

Or maybe I just need to get more sleep.

At any rate, I guess this means it’s time to return to my Old School roots and start playing like a boss again so I can get back to kicking some butt.

Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Start…

Konami Code, help me!

Mario has kept up with the times. I, on the other hand, have some serious catching up to do.

Mario has kept up with the times. I, on the other hand, have some serious catching up to do.

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

The Black Sox.

The Great Bambino.

The Billy Goat.

What do these three things have in common?

Well, for starters, all three are associated with extraordinarily cursed Major League Baseball teams.

And…

After this past Wednesday, the last of these three teams have finally managed to break their curses.

After only 108 years, the Curse of the Billy Goat is finally broken!

Just like it had been predicted in Back to the Future II, only off by a year, with its 2015 win prediction.

(Actually, this discrepancy can probably be accounted for by the baseball strike of 1994.)

Not too shabby.

Anyway…

The Chicago Cubs managed to beat out the Cleveland Indians in game 7, in an epic 10 inning roller coaster ride.

And so it is the Cleveland Indians themselves who now hold the record for the longest World Series dry streak, as they have not managed to win since 1948.

That’s right, a mere 68 years of not winning now puts them atop the longest championship drought in MLB.

Congratulations, Indians!

You may not have gotten the ultimate prize of a World Series win, but you now hold another equally prestigious record!

No?

Okay, fine.

Maybe your team is finally next in line for the big win.

It could happen.

Just take a look at these other teams who managed to (eventually) break the curses bestowed upon them long ago:

For the 1919 World Series, featuring The Chicago White Sox vs the Cincinnati Reds, it was believed that the series had been thrown by Shoeless Joe Jackson and seven of his teammates.

All eight of those young men supposedly received $5,000 a piece in exchange for allowing a Reds Victory.

All eight of those young men, including Shoeless Joe Jackson, were subsequently banned for life after the 1920 season.

The Chicago White Sox didn’t see another World Series victory for 87 years, when they finally managed to win again in 2005.

Now here’s a thought…

If Shoeless Joe didn’t need the money so desperately, he probably would’ve been decked out in the coolest kicks of the early 1900s, instead of putzing around barefoot.

Can you really blame the guy?

Oh well.

What matters now is that the Black Sox scandal curse is now a thing of the past.

On to the Great Bambino.

When Babe Ruth got sold off to the New York Yankees in 1919, the Boston Red Sox had already won 5 World Series titles, while the Yankees hadn’t won a single one.

Division aside, no wonder this rivalry is so strong.

Who would’ve guessed that the stumbling drunken Babe Ruth would be such a hot commodity?

He would show up to games drunk, and his physique was proof that fitness obviously wasn’t much of a prerequisite in athletics back in the day.

But man, he could hit a ball!

Oh, and he apparently dropped a curse, to boot.

An 83 year championship drought ensued, as the Red Sox didn’t win another one until 2004, by which time the Yankees had racked up 26 of their 27 World Series wins.

Proof that karma can be such a bitch sometimes.

Moving right along…

During the 1945 World Series, where the Chicago Cubs faced off against the Detroit Tigers, Cubs fan Billy Sianis (owner of the Billy Goat Tavern) came to the game with his pet goat.

Just like he’d done at every other game, all year long.

But this time around, people around him complained about the goat’s smell and Sianis was more or less told by Wrigley officials to either take the goat away or get out.

He ended up leaving and sending a telegram to the Cubs, reportedly declaring, “Them Cubs, they aren’t gonna win no more.”

The Cubs proceeded to lose the next three games in the series to the Detroit Tigers, and so Sianis sent Wrigley a telegram asking “Who smells now?”

Since then, the Cubs’ sad, sad legacy has become legendary, coming close but never winning (or even reaching) the Series.

Until just a few days ago.

Finally!

Come on, guys.

Was this nonsense really worth a drought that lasted more than a century?

Nobody should have had to go an entire lifetime without their favorite team winning at least once.

In the future, just let all the pet goats, pigs, cows, zebras, giraffes, and hippos in.

It’s simply not worth the risk!

Besides, how could they have been so sure that it was the goat they were smelling, and not some stinky teenager?

Have you ever taken a whiff of a teenage boy’s bedroom?

I rest my case.

(Side note: There’s clearly something about Chicago. Not only had both Chicago baseball teams been jinxed, but so have the NFL Chicago Bears, what with the correlation of the disbanding of the Honey Bears cheerleaders in 1985 and the fact that the Bears haven’t won a Super Bowl since. Very interesting, indeed.)

Now, let’s get back to those Cleveland Indians:

The Cleveland Indians are known for their Curse of Rocky Colavito, which supposedly prevents the Indians from winning.

Its origin is traced back to the trade of right fielder Rocky Colavito to the Detroit Tigers in 1960, in general manager Frank Lane’s attempt to end Colavito’s salary demands.

While the Indians won the American League championship in 1995, 1997, and 2016, they ended up losing all three World Series.

In fact, they haven’t won a single World Series since 1948.

For his part, Colavito has denied placing the curse.

And so the curse continues, only with the Cleveland Indians now proudly holding the new dry streak record in MLB.

With the Cubs finally breaking free from the confines of a cursed past, the longest championship drought in professional sports now officially belongs to:

Drumroll, please…

The NFL’s Arizona Cardinals! 

The Cardinals’ drought dates back to Chicago. They won the NFL championship in 1947, when they had beaten the Philadelphia Eagles 28-21.

And they haven’t won since.

They had moved from Chicago to St. Louis and St. Louis to Arizona, and still managed to go decades without any postseason success.

You see, the poor Cardinals have been suffering a curse at the hands of the citizens of Pottsville, Pennsylvania for undeservedly claiming the 1925 NFL championship from the Pottsville Maroons.

The Maroons were stripped of their title by the NFL in one of the greatest controversies in sports history, and the curse will supposedly only be lifted when the championship is returned to Pottsville and to the “correct shade of red” team.

Alrighty, then.

Interestingly enough, Arizona finally made it to Super Bowl XLIII in 2007, when they managed to lose to another Pennsylvania team: the Pittsburgh Steelers.

The Arizona Cardinals were all poised to win… but with less than a minute left in the game, a Steelers touchdown instantly crushed their hopes and dreams.

Congratulations, Cardinals, on being #1!

What an honor!

Ok.

So it may not exactly be the most coveted list to top, but there’s now plenty of proof that any and all curses can be broken… dead spirits and ejected goats be damned.

You’re up, Cardinals! Now just don’t blow it…again!

Congratulations, Chicago Cubs! 108 years of crappy luck is finally over!

Congratulations, Chicago Cubs! 108 years of crappy luck is finally over!

I’ll Tell You Where to Go!

In need of a relaxing getaway?

Well, sorry.

I can’t exactly help you with that.

But I can help by giving you a dozen suggestions of where not to go!

Check out the names of these unique and bizarre-sounding towns in the USA!

zzyzx-ca

(Pronounced ZYE-zix, this town was clearly named by some smart-ass. Or the town drunk.)

cut-and-shoot-tx

(Well, this is Texas we’re talking about, after all. Don’t expect any cutesy names, like Compromise or Friendshipville. No time for that nonsense!)

slaughterville-ok

(As Texas’s neighbor to the north, this name lends itself beautifully to an obviously shared philosophy. But that’s pretty much where the beauty ends.)

frankenstein-mo

(This place must be a prime destination for Halloween! I wonder if visitors are greeted by Frankenstein himself? )

bat-cave-nc

(The Bat Cave really does exist! But while Batman himself is pretty cool, a cave full of bats is decidedly very uncool and downright creepy.)

spunky-puddle-oh

(I’ve never personally encountered a puddle with so much sass, but I suppose there is a first time for everything…)

humptulips-wa

(I’m not sure I want to know what inspired this creative name. Perhaps a very active rabbit with nothing better to do with its time? Speaking of which…)

rabbit-hash-kt

(I’m so confused. Are we talking hash, as in roadkill? Or hash, as in marijuana? And what the hell is a rabbit doing with marijuana?)

hell-mi

(Where did you go for your vacation? Oh, I just went to Hell for a few days. So good to be back on earth! I mean, home. It’s good to be home. Yeah…)

half-hell-nc

(Can’t commit to the full-blown Hell experience? Then go to Half Hell for a half-assed hellish nightmare!)

why-az

(Why, indeed? Or perhaps the real question here is actually…)

whynot

(That’s right. Why not go to Whynot? It’s such a fine name that two different states boast the claim to this grammatically-incorrect winner!)

Hopefully, this gives you some ideas for planning your next trip.

I already know where I’m not going.

All I know is that if someone tells me to Go to Hell, I think I’ll have to pass.

~Happy Friday, everyone! Have a terrific weekend, and if you plan to travel anytime soon…well, I just hope you’re going someplace that is not on this list! ~