I Think I've Just Been Offered a Job as a Drug Mule

Just got this unsolicited e-mail this morning, from an address that registered as both a man's name (Warren C.) and a female's (Rhoda V.):

Hello.
Our corporation is pleased to offer you a position.
Postal Agent will receive correspondence, sort it out and send the list of incoming correspondence to our office.
Minimum qualifications of employees consist of :
- Location: USA, all states- Ability to lift packages weighing up to 15 lbs.
Responsibilities:
- Check your e-mail box regularly for new tasks- Fulfill tasks given by the organization- Prepare reports for the organization
If you are interested, please reply to: [E-MAIL ADDRESS REDACTED]
Have a happy day.

Moving 15-pound packages? Location USA? Fulfilling tasks for the organization? Checking my e-mail for new tasks? Filing reports? That sounds exactly like what I want to do... if it sounded like anything at all.

Seriously, what the hell?

Rob

Who Is He?

He's not Joe Don Baker...

He's not Anthony Michael Hall...

He's not Philip Seymour Hoffman...

He's not Lou Diamond Phillips...

He's Philip Baker Hall!

Philip Baker Hall!

PHILIP BAKER HALL!!!

Rob

Ninja Pine

The other night, we took down our Christmas tree. It was a good tree, possibly my favorite of the ones we’ve put up since we moved in to our house seven years ago. A full body, and branches that could hold a lot of weight—perfect for some of our heavier ornaments, which meant they didn’t all get clustered at the one level of branches that were up to the task.

Anyway, the tree spent a night on the curb, and it has since been taken away. But before that happened, we needed to spend some time taking all the lights and ornaments down.

This isn’t as simple as it sounds. Because there’s one ornament—a little evergreen tree—that knows how to hide. That special place you put it when you’re trimming the tree, that you’re sure you’ll remember once January rolls around? Forget it; it’s gone. It swings from branch to branch like a little pine Tarzan, finding the perfect spot to hide. It’s the Moby Dick of Christmas tree ornaments, something you hunt for until it drives you mad. Hopping mad, if you’ve got a peg leg.

In a way, it’s the last tradition of Christmas season… a little game of hide and seek we play with the tree. Eventually, we find it, tucked under a branch, using a nearby jingle bell as a distraction. By that point, nearly all the ornaments are off, and the tree is free to go. But on its way out the door, the big tree leaves a thick layer of needles on the floor… just in case the little tree ornament wants to hide again.

Needless to say, we sweep those bad boys up right quick.

Rob