I think pot gets a bad rap (pun). Marijuana is a scape goat for much of the world’s lazy, unemployed, pot-head no-gooders. This kind of narcotic use isn’t a cause; it’s a symptom. I think we should be blaming sweatpants. Sweatpants allow extremely lazy people the ability to drive to the nearest Wal-mart and pick up a case of beer and some rotisserie-style chicken. People say to themselves, “These pants are so comfortable, why should I ever try something difficult again?” I don’t care who you are; no amount of pot smoking can help uncomfortable pants.

I think that sports teams should be required to keep a living version of their mascot on the sidelines. When it’s just humans in colored uniforms, how do I know who to cheer for? But, if I see a grizzly bear and a dragon on the sidelines, the choice is obvious. Also, team cheer?

(Note: I’d go with the dragon because dragons are like dinosaurs.)

I think it’s hard to respect rugs. Just like we are supposed to call midgets “little people”, so we call tiny scraps of carpet “rugs”. It’s like the loomstress (or loomster) hadn’t the time or resources to make a legitimate carpet, and so they stopped a quarter of the way through.

“Looks good. We’ll sell it for almost the same cost because you can move it around the house.” That’s my impression of the loomstress (see above).

I think that, while purple is my favorite color, it should not be used on vegetables. Purple is a color reserved for royalty and grapes. I guess this is mainly directed at eggplants. I mean, where do those green-topped misnomers get off? YOU DON’T LOOK LIKE EGGS LEAVE PURPLE ALONE.

I think the coat industry must love South Dakota. I use no fewer than three coats in a year; four if it rains even once. The shoe industry, too, must have a soft spot for South Dakota. Where else can one man require church shoes, day shoes, hiking boots, and snow boots?

For every shoe a man buys, a woman buys two point five. Look it up.

I think being President would be hard. I wouldn’t want the job; I can’t even name all the states. The best part of being President, I think, is being Commander in Chief of the Undead Civil War Army that lives beneath the White House. According to Wikipedia, no President has used that power, but the fact that it exists is probably a strong motivator for candidates.

I think, if I die, I’ll get a death mask made. But, I want it called “The Official Miles Rausch Death Masque”, like how Canadiens would spell it. The hardest part would be choosing a facial expression. It would have to embody my personality, life, and legacy. What facial expression does that?
I would spend hours pouring over photographs of myself, each a different ‘spression, as I would come to call them.

In the end, I think I’d opt for a blank expression, but I’d install motion-triggered fireworks. That’s good enough.

I think there’s a lot of unspoken hurt behind a magician’s voice when he says, “Look, there’s nothing up my sleeves.” It seems to suggest that, at one time, magicians were free to keep loads of stuff up their sleeves: coins, cards, dice, maybe even mulled wine and fresh apples.

Then, one day, some novice magician reaches just too far for the salt, causing all his sleeve-ware to spill out, and suddenly the gig is up. From then on, magicians around the world have to assure their audience that nothing, absolutely nothing, is kept up their sleeves. In fact, a whole cultural turn-of-phrase develops around the ordeal, painting magicians as thieves, charlatans, and swindlers instead of talented entertainers.

They still perform their illusions, but a tiny part of every magician dies with the words, “There’s nothing up my sleeve.”