Most Joking Aside


Preparing for a wedding can be tricky, even if it’s not yours.

Especially if it’s not yours.

Especially if, to pick a purely and totally hypothetical case, the wedding in question belongs to your daughter, your baby, the one you didn’t just watch grow up, but actually grew up alongside of. The always changing, yet comfortingly consistent part of your adult life.

The preparations are tiring and time consuming. The task oriented part of your brain begins to look forward to the completion your labors, “Just seven weeks to go,” it says.

And the rest of the brain is comforted by the news…until the slower moving emotional part catches on:

That’s when she leaves.

That’s when everything changes.

You remember earlier challenging times: diapers, tantrums, naps, and the fuzzy, unfocused wish for her eventual autonomy.

But as the moment approaches you realize you didn’t mean it. You never meant it.

And you scrape together your sanity for the fifteenth time.

And you play captain to the undisciplined mess of your emotions, calming them with a confident sounding command:

Steady as she goes boys,

steady as she goes…”


Adventures of the Author

How I Got Married On Facebook – The Video

After nearly twenty years with The Hot Comma Momma, I have decided to make an honest woman out of her.

Already, I know a host of husbands are leaning closer to their screens; anxious to discover what manner of experimental therapy I have pioneered borrowed from Doctor Toboggans to deliver such breathtaking results.

This task, one that many would say required an army of specialists, psychiatrists, and a thorough submersion in truth serum, has been accomplished with the most unassuming of treatments: Facebook.

After untold months of godless cohabitation, our social profiles were at last joined in networking matrimony.

Here is a firsthand account of the whole affair:

I am thinking about holding the reception on Flickr or maybe Twitter.

MySpace offered to host it, and their rates are reasonable, but illiterate teenage drama gives me a rash.

What do you suggest?

Are you on Facebook? Add the Ominous Comma to your Facebook experience.
You can also add Doctor Toboggans to your Facebook experience, but I don’t really recommend it.

Listed,, and Blogerella.

Adventures of the Author

Little Known Ways to Get Your Spouse to Attend Your Anniversary*

Astute readers will note that precisely one year ago today I celebrated the Anniversary of my marriage to Camille, the Hot Comma Momma upon these shimmering pages.

As you may recall, the related festivities were made somewhat challenging not only by her lack of attendance at the actual event, but also by her complete absence from the country.

Yes, while my errant spouse was going native in the steamy jungles of Costa Rica, the Comma Community held a monitor-light vigil in her honor, filling comment-box after comment-box with well wishes, congratulations, and self-pitying cries of loneliness.

Of course that last part came mostly from me, but unless you are an extortionist, armed felon, or possibly a senator, you can really only give what you have.

But as I vowed last year, things have changed. This year my beloved traveler is in country, in house, and if I do say so myself, fairly well in hand.

“What you are experiencing now is the Kung-Fu spinal grip. Between it and the forcefield, you won’t be going anywhere.”

Of course my squad of corporate ninjas is on full alert in case she attempts another getaway, but all in all I feel pretty confident that my bride and I shall make it through the evening in the charming company of each other.

Furthermore, let me add that- Wait. That sounded suspiciously like the front door.

I have to go now and kick in the emergency boost generator for the Toboggans Industries Electromagnetic Spouse Containment Field, but while I’m gone feel free to commiserate…congratulate the HCM on nineteen lucky years with Your Author.


*Alright, for those of you who insist upon an actual list, here are the Little Known Ways: ninjas, tranquilizers, superglue, and linebackers blocking every exit.


Listed on: |

Adventures of the Author

Powersaw Poetry – A Toothsome Tale of Love

With my last foray into Quasi-Shakespearean Home Maintenance Verse having done so much to raise the cultural density of this otherwise highly penetrable site, my first thought upon completing my latest household chore was of course: “There must be someone who would have done this for $8 an hour.”

My second thought was to celebrate my victory over domestic labor in bold Bard-worthy form.

This would be that second thought:

Ode To An Inconveniently Tall Stump Upon The Eve Of My Beloved Wife’s Return From Her Travels

When e’er I see with mine two eyes
My home’s most redneck state
And find no beauty there within
Due to my absent mate

My Wife is Missing - Again

Note the missing wife and present tree. Foreshadowing is in the forecast

Far wanders my frail and lonely mind
To times more graced with bliss
And dawns the thought ‘fore her return
I might should look at her list

Laundry Day

Don’t worry Love, your list is at the top of my list…somewhere

First task upon that urgent note:
Lay low the former tree
Whose carcass yet was still too high
To display floral-try1

Overly tall tree stump

If you really wanted flowers out here, a step ladder would be no obstacle

So filled with might and much Motrin
I lumbered to the task
And forceful laid into said stump
With loves enduring axe2


Love endures a bit longer with 46cc of internal combustion backing it up

A might battle thus ensued
One wracked with many harms
And glad was I when last I won
To have still all my arms

Tree Diarrhea

I’m no botanist but I don’t think trees are suppose to have diarrhea

Though many a more and mighty deed
Were made complete by me
That tale shall test another day
Your love for poetry

Bouquet for a fallen foe

Camille was right: this is a vast improvement

  1. Important safety note – Never debate the differences between acceptable rhymes and cheesy word tricks with a poet still holding a chainsaw.
  2. Love’s Enduring Axe – Now that’s a title for a romance film. Overly sentimental, yet filled with the unavoidable bouquet of honest manly labor.

Adventures of the Author Best of the Comma

Interview with the Author

Final exams are over and I have successfully passed my classes. (Yeaaa!) I am trying to get back into the swing of professional humor production, so be looking for a good article on Monday.

In the meantime, I have set up a little question and answer session with my tired and somewhat surly self to discuss this whole period of agony I have just completed. If that seems a little schizophrenic to you, then you are clearly not acquainted with the usual proceedings of this site.

The Interview:

Fictional Interviewer: For the sake of any readers just tuning in, I am talking with Brent Diggs, the author of this blog. Mr. Diggs, do you mind if I ask you a few questions.

ME: Go right ahead.

FI: First of all, you are in college.

ME: Is that a question or a statement?

FI: A question.

ME: I mean, if you want to tell the story for me, that’s fine. I’ll just be over here taking a little nap.

FI: No, it’s definitely a question. One for you to answer.

ME: So should I answer it?

FI: Please!

ME: Yes, I am in college.

FI: And your wife is also in college?

ME: Yes again.

FI: So you’re both in college?

ME: Your firm grasp of the obvious is spellbinding.

FI: And you both work full time?

ME: That‘s correct.

FI: And the two of you are raising three kids?

ME: Is this what investigative reporting looks like? I thought it would be taller.

FI: Answer the question, please.

ME: Yes, three kids I have. (Extra points for using Yoda-speak.)

FI: And you publish two different blogs?

ME: Yes.

FI: Why?

ME: What?

FI: Why would you do that to yourself? Work. School. Writing. Are you masochistic or just plain stupid?

ME: Have you ever been shot during an interview? Because if this is an example of your finest work, you might consider wearing Kevlar underwear.

FI: I wouldn’t have to ask all these questions if you would tell us more about your life and family in your blogs.

ME: I just never set out to write a “blog,” I really just wanted a place to publish my stories and articles and give me a reason to write more of them. I figure the whole Write About my Daily Life thing is pretty much covered.

FI: But you have no problem talking about your life to an imaginary character?

ME: You would do well to keep in mind that imaginary characters can come to very unpleasant, imaginary ends. It happens all the time. Just read Stephen King.

FI: Right! So, what did you miss most during this “season of fire” that you just emerged from?

ME: My wife.

FI: What did you miss second most?

ME: Sleep.

FI: Do you have any plans, now that you are out of class?

ME: I thought I would sleep with my wife. I seem to recall that I enjoyed that.

FI: So is there anything else we should know about? Any other creative projects that you’ve been working on? Anything involving tic-tac poisoning perhaps?

ME: Yes, we are finishing up the Danger Couch DVD, and yes, during some last minute filming over the weekend, I did ingest enough tic-tacs to freshen the breaths of an entire garlic-chugging football team for the next 3 years, along with their cheerleaders, mascot and the complete coaching staff.

FI: And how did that make you feel?

ME: Nauseous.

FI: Anything else we should know?

ME: The DVD is almost done. It is tantalizingly close. It has taken much longer than expected, but it will also be much better than expected. Children will laugh, romantics will cry and the jaded will giggle. It just might bring about world peace.

FI: Do you really think a DVD could usher in world peace?

ME: Not really, but if it does we will definitely charge more for it.

FI: Thank you for the interview, Brent. For the Imaginary News Network this is…Hey, you never gave me a name.

ME: I know. Good-bye.

Have a great weekend everyone. See you Monday.

Best of the Comma Commentary

Hormone Poisoning

One of the unanticipated side effect of creating this forum of intelligent discussion that we call the Comma, is the continuing demand for insight and explanation into the foggy realms of male behavior. I have never asked to be spokesmen for the gender and I’m not really sure how it even came about. But as the well known saying goes: “With great power come the ability to approve your own pay raises,” and with the exception of the power and the pay part, that is exactly what is happening here.

One of the most frequent questions I get about the complex inner working of the human male is: Why are men so stupid?

One theory, usually proposed by women, is that the male brain is basically mock-up, or a prop that serves no actual function except to provide mass to the head and help maintain proper center of gravity for the rest of the body. These same individuals maintain that the male nervous system is basically a straight wire between stimulus and response. They suggest that the thought patterns of a male human proceed as follows: Feel hungry: get Cheetos, Feel itchy: scratch in public, See woman: harass.

This theory is clearly inaccurate, as it makes no explanation for the male ability to calculate the impressive sports statistics and national defense budgets that make us so proud. The truth is that the male brain does function , but only occasionally. The real problem in this area, as in so many others, is women.

Allow me to explain.

One of the most baffling engineering quirks of the male brain is its tendency to suspend all rational thought upon the introduction of certain key hormones. Scientist have named these mind-altering chemical messengers: stupigen, spazigen, and preposterone.

These hormones, especially in in younger males, are released in response to various forms of stimuli, such as the sight, sound, smell, touch, or general proximity of a breathing female.

The results are immediate. At the first hint of hormone infusion all logical mental processes cease. As the brain reaches hormone inundation, the normally dormant stupiditocortex is activated, releasing random and often destructive thought-impulses into the brain. Finally, upon hormone saturation, the male brain begins to shrink until it reaches critical lack-of-mass, at which point there is an unopposed flow of foolishness throughout the entire nervous system.

This phenomena is best described by the famous mid-eighties philosophers, Whitesnake, in their groundbreaking treatise, Give Me All Your Love Tonight.

I don’t even know your name
I can’t leave you alone
I’m running round in circles
Like a dog without a bone
I know the game your playing
But baby I just can’t say no.

To the casual observer, it might seem that such a generally mindless condition would be embarrassing for the affected male, but one of the most insidious effects of hormone poisoning is the almost completely blindness of the victim to his own stupidity. Only once hormone flow has receded and normal mental function been restored, does the realization of his recent foolishness begin. In the aftermath of a hormonal incident, a man is left with only painful memories and the certainty of future relapse.

And perhaps a tattoo.

For example, one young man of my acquaintance, an otherwise rational and authorly individual, once leapt off a very tall pier into the Pacific Ocean, fully clothed, in a gallant yet totally-immersing attempt to gain the attention of a young woman. This move came as a complete surprise to the man, as well as the woman, and several unfortunate starfish who sadly succumbed to Falling IQ Syndrome. Upon further investigation, it was discovered that this young man had already obtained the attention of the woman in question, as evidenced by their pre-jump conversation, as well as their recent marriage.

When asked what he was thinking during the debilitating spell of machismo, his only response was, “that the water was a little deeper than that.”1

This type of irrational behavior can be expected whenever a man is subjected to hormone saturation by the careless presence of a woman. Unfortunately, after the initial onset of hormone poisoning, men find themselves compelled to seek out the presence of women in order to reenact this cycle of stupidity.

Is there any cure? Once in 1964 a team of researchers where on the verge of eradicating the scourge of hormone poisoning until the addition of an attractive female scientist to the team sent them all into a headlong plunge of hormone-induced stupidity. The resulting explosion shattered windows and de-feathered poultry over a twelve mile radius. All notes and research material were destroyed by the blast and the researchers themselves had to be institutionalized for the own good. They are currently under the care of Dr. Harold Toboggans, at the Institute for the Hormonally Confused who has had made significant progress with several pop musicians and the 1985 Russian Women’s Olympic shot-put team.

What should be clear to everyone by now is that the true cause of occasional male irrationality is of course, women. As maintained by the chauvinists of old, men would be much wiser without female interference. They would also be much lonelier, much hairier, and much more likely to drive themselves completely out of gas before ever asking for directions. Which only proves the wisdom of old saying, “Women, you can’t live with them and they just won’t stay in the convent.”


  1. Any resemblance between the author and this unfortunate individual is purely coincidental and will never be discussed again.