Arapaio, AZ Sheriff Delivers Anchovie Pizza to Newspaper Columnist for Negative Story

Arizona Republic newspaper columnist E.J. Montini wasn't too surprised when he returned to his office on Wednesday and found an anchovy pizza ordered and paid for by Sheriff Joe Arpaio of Maricopa County, AZ, with a note attached to it.

The note said:

Dear E.J.,

Thanks for another negative story about me. (“Criticism that Arpaio, Thomas can’t shake” Jan. 5, 2010 Arizona Republic) As it is my tradition, I hope you enjoy the pizza (with anchovies). Have a Happy and Prosperous 2010!

Sincerely,

Joseph M. Arpaio, Sheriff

Apparently this is an ongoing thing. Montini writes a negative column about Arapaio, who is accused of abusing his power, the FBI is taking a personal interest in the self-proclaimed "America's toughest sheriff." In return, the sheriff sends him anchovy pizzas to thank him for negative columns. Montini doesn't like anchovies, so I guess this is Arpaio's way of yanking Montini's chain.

I happen to like anchovies, so I don't see what the big fuss is.

However, I don't like pepperoni, sausage, and extra cheese pizza. I especially don't like them from Bazbeaux Pizza in Broad Ripple.

So I hope that big jerk, Sheriff Joe Arpaio, doesn't send me one of those after I question his fitness to serve the community of Maricopa, Arizona, or point out the fact that his politics and actions of late, like racial profiling, having a deputy steal files from a public defenders desk and then threatening a law enforcement slowdown, or other abuses of power that are bringing the FBI onto his head.

So, please Sheriff Arpaio, don't call (317) 255-5711 and have Bazbeaux deliver a 16" pepperoni, sausage, and extra cheese to my office at 5348 Tacoma Ave., Indianapolis, IN 46220 between 12 and 2 EST. And if they don't deliver, please don't purchase a $25 gift card and have it mailed to me.


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Wayback Wednesday: I'll Have What She's Having

I'll Have What She's Having

Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2003

Every Wednesday, I republish old columns from years past. I've got 16 years of the things sitting in the garage, so they might as well serve some other purpose. This is one originally published in 1999.

I've sometimes considered being a restaurant critic, but I'm worried about the restaurant that delivers shish kebabs William Tell style, so I've held off. Unfortunately most restaurants sell the same items with no great variety, which means the reviews would all end up being the same.

The typical restaurant, assuming it's not a four-star gourmet restaurant, serves some sort of hamburger. They also have chicken, vegetables, and salads. There's no major difference in taste or quality. The biggest difference is the name of the food, which varies wildly from restaurant to restaurant.

Since the hamburger is usually a restaurant's flagship sandwich, it's named after the restaurant or one of its characters. You can order the Big Boy, the Halfback, the Gunslinger, and the Bronco Burger: a quarter-pound hamburger with pickles, onions, lettuce, and tomato on a bun.

One of my favorite lunches is a nice Reuben sandwich — corned beef, sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, and Thousand Island dressing on rye bread. It's a universally recognized sandwich, and one of our local restaurants makes a pretty decent Reuben.

Unfortunately, the restaurant, which has a nautical theme, has named the sandwich the "Shiver Me Timber." As a result, I'm supposed to order the "Shiver Me Timber," and NOT "a Reuben sandwich" whenever I eat there.

It doesn't matter that I order the sandwich so often the waitress has it waiting for me as soon as I walk in the door. And it doesn't matter that everyone else in the free world, including people in Brazilian rain forests who have never seen corned beef, calls this "a Reuben sandwich." They don't even care if I read its menu description ("succulent corned beef lovingly smothered with sharp Swiss cheese, tart sauerkraut, and a huge smear of Thousand Island dressing, layered between two thick slices of fresh rye bread").

What matters is that I call the sandwich by its proper name, the "Shiver Me Timber." But I hate doing it, because it sounds like something Pee Wee Herman got arrested for.

"I'll have the Reuben," I tell the waitress.

"The what?" she asks.

"The Reuben. . . sandwich."

The puzzled look on her face tells me I must have been speaking Ancient Greek and not been aware of it.

I point to that particular item on the menu. "This one."

I can't make her mad; I don't want any "sneezers" mixed in with my Thousand Island dressing.

"Oh, you mean the Shiver Me Timber," she says, as if I've just revealed the secrets of internal combustion to her.

"Yes, that one."

"That what?"

I grit my teeth and try not to cry. "That sandwich."

"Come on, you have to say it," my waitress says in a sing-song voice. I was afraid it was going to come to this. I hang my head and my shoulders quake with silent sobs. I barely gasp out the words, "I'll. . . have. . . the. . . Shiver. . . Me. . . Timber."

I feel so dirty.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" The look on my face tells her not to push her luck, so she goes off to put in my order.

I hear her yell from the kitchen, "Hey Joe, I just broke another one! That's 37 for me this month!"

Now I can put up with the occasional Shiver Me Timber or Big Buoy half-pound hamburger. But what really makes me cringe is ordering off the kids menu. Luckily, most restaurants across North America have the same kid's menu, because my daughter is as predictable as gravity when it comes to restaurants:

"I'll have chicken, French Fries, ketchup, dip," she used to say the way only a parent could understand. Unfortunately, with the exception of our favorite Sunday restaurant (sadly now closed), no one else knows what the heck she's talking about. But it's always the same, no matter where we go.

"What did she say," asks our waitress.

"She'll have the chicken fingers, fries, with Ranch dressing and ketchup on the side," I tell our waitress.

"The what?"

Oh no, not again.

"The chicken fingers and fries?" I ask, hopefully.

A sadistic smile slowly spreads across her face. She shakes her head slowly. I look to my wife for help, who is suddenly engrossed in the color of my daughter's left ear.

"Fine," I say in a clear, loud voice. "I'll have the Lucky Plucky Happy Chicky Delight with Tatie Stripes," reading it directly from the menu. I can clearly see that she's written "chix fngrs, FF" on her notepad, so if she keeps this up, her tip is going to be 4 pennies at the bottom of a full water glass.

She races off toward the kitchen and shouts to her co-workers in the back, "Hey guys, I just hit 50! I set the new record!"

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Scottish Man Forced to Choose Between His Wife and an Orc

One British man was lucky enough to escape from his parents' home and marry a real live girl.

But he nearly lost her over a 6 foot model of an orc.

According to a story in The Scottish Sun, Robert Cushnie had a giant model of an Orc in his home for nearly six years, but his Canadian wife, Dee, said that he had to choose between the grumpy, bloodthirsty monster, or the orc.

He gave up the orc.

"I've had him for six years but Dee means more to me, so he had to go," Cushnie told the Sun.

Robert has actually known the orc longer, having bought it from a toy shop in Falkirk. But he married Dee last February, and the pair are moving to Canada in a few weeks. Plus there are concerns the orc would not have passed quarantine laws.

Dee said, "I just don't like it. I'm only 5ft 3in, so it towers over me, which is quite creepy."

Other computer geeks were heard to murmur, "aww, that's nice," before returning to their World of Warcraft games, and promising their moms they would empty the garbage "after I finish this quest, dammit!"

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LSSU's List of Banned Words for 2010

LSSU's List of Banned Words for 2010

Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk syndicate
Copyright 2009/2010

It's the end of the year, which means word nerds and writer-types around the country are rejoicing: the Lake Superior State University has released their 35th annual List of Words Banished from the Queen's English for Mis-use, Over-use, and General Uselessness.

The list was created by former LSSU PR director Bill Rabe and a few of his cronies in 1975 and released on January 1, 1976. Back then, words like "meaningful," "macho," and "detente" felt Rabe's wrath. This year was culled from tens of thousands of submissions from all around the world, and released in time for this column.

In the past, the list has usually been released on the first day of the new year. This is the first year I can recall it being "shovel-ready" on December 31st. In other words, the list was completed and ready for implementation.

The problem is "shovel-ready" made the very top of the LSSU list. I don't know if it just happened to land there, or if the committee really, really hated it. But "shovel-ready" got the axe.

Jerry Reddington of Keosauqua, Iowa said "when something dies, it, too, is shovel-ready for burial." In that sense, "shovel-ready" is now shovel-ready.

One of my much-hated words made the list this year: "transparent" or "transparency." I work in social media, and a lot of my peers use this word. It's supposed to mean that we're allowed to see behind the curtain and see what processes are in place. We want our government to be more transparent, so we can see what they're doing. We want big corporations to be more transparent, so we can understand how they cook the books. But LSSU banned it too.

Thank you, guys.

And while being transparent is the opposite of being secretive, people are using the word to mean "don't keep secrets." Why we just can't say "public," "out in the open," or "not secretive" is beyond me.

I think we need to find a "teachable moment," where we can encourage others to stop using the word. Except "teachable moment" is shovel-ready now too. (The burial kind, not the ready to implement kind.)

Good riddance. I used to use the word — a fancy way of saying "a lesson" — when I worked at a college. We used it then because we were truly trying to find teachable moments to give to our young charges while they were in our care. Now everybody is using it, and I'm ready to whack it with a shovel.

Eric Rosenquist of College Station, Texas said the term is "a condescending substitute for 'opportunity to make a point.'" I have to agree. Frankly, it sounds too touchy-feely. Instead of "teaching someone," people feel they have to "find a teachable moment."

Here's a teachable moment for you: don't use four words when two will suffice.

LSSU was apparently hoping that "tweet" would be my teachable moment. They want to get rid of this word, because, as Ricardo of Merida, Mexico said, "(it) has lost all meaning."

I'm going to have to break with the Fighting Lakers on this one. I love the word tweet, and "all of its variations. . .tweetaholic, retweet, twitterhea, twitterature, twittersphere." This is my world, my bailiwick. I am the master of this domain, the king of all I twurvey. Tweeting has become an important word.

Anyone who uses Twitter, the 140-character public messaging service, understands what it means. If you don't use it, you won't understand it. Twitter has become this decade's email, widely used, and slowly taking over everything.

Still, I'm not surprised to see the LSSU word squad try to ban the future. In 2000, they tried to ban "E-anything." E-commerce, e-tailing, e-communication were hit with the school's Delete key.

In fact, LSSU went after a lot of social media and electronic communication methods this year. Not only did they ban tweet, but they had a whack at "app" (short for application), "sexting" (sending sexually explicit pictures and text messages via cell phone), and "friending" (a verb that means adding them to your social network, like Facebook).

While some of these may seem rather harsh and restrictive, I think LSSU has provided a great service yet again, especially "in these economic times." They're helping us get rid of these linguistic "toxic assets" in our everyday language. So if this list upsets you, you just need to "chillax."

Dang it.



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Colts Complainers Are Nothing More Than Fair-Weather Fans

So many people were pissed off yesterday about the Indianapolis Colts loss that 2nd string QB Curtis Painter was one of Twitter's top trending topics.

For those of you who missed the game, head coach Jim Caldwell pulled the starters after the first half and put in the 2nd string players.

They promptly lost to the New York Jets, 29 - 15.

The Colts were on the verge of achieving a perfect season, and they lost it with their 2nd team. To the freaking New York Jets, a team so bad that, you know what, make your own "sucks out loud" joke. We should have won, we should have had the perfect season, and we certainly should have beat the New York "What're YOU Lookin' Ats?!"

But frankly, I don't care. It didn't matter. This was a meaningless game, and I don't care if we got a perfect record.

But I'm in the minority. So much so, that some of the other Twitter trending topics were probably "f---ing #Colts" and "f---ing Caldwell."

After the game, I tweeted The #Colts fair weather fans who are cursing the team for losing: You're not allowed to be pro-Colts during the playoffs.



Surprisingly, this didn't raise a lot of hackles. I got a few responses from people who said, "I'm not a fair weather fan. I'm just disappointed/frustrated/annoyed."

Now, I'm not pointing fingers at people who were upset. I don't mind complainers or people who are frustrated that the Colts didn't make their perfect season. I have no problem with people who hated the loss or are disappointed that the Colts won't go 16 – 0 this season. I'm one of them.

This post is not about you.

But the people who were angry — absolutely foaming-at-the-mouth pissed — that Caldwell pulled the starters, were merciless that the Colts lost a game, are not true fans.

They're whining on the fan forums that Caldwell should be fired, that Bill Polian is an idiot for hiring him, and Saint Dungy would have never, ever rested his starters for the last few weeks of the season. (Actually, he did it in 2005 and 2006.)

They're nothing more than fair weather fans.

Look, people, we're 23 – 1. We haven't lost a game since last year. We're first in the division, and we've got the home field advantage. We can lose this game and the next one, and it won't mean a thing.

I've been a Colts fan since they showed up here in 1984. I cheered for them when they were 1 – 15 in 1991, and 4 - 12 in 1992. When they could only manage a 9 – 6 field goal wins over the Cincinnati Bengals and the... wait for it... New York Jets. I cheered for them when I couldn't see the games on TV, but had to listen to them on a staticky AM radio station out of Fort Wayne. I cheered for them when Bob Lamey's only game highlights were a Dean Biasucci field goal or an Eric Dickerson first down.

If you're angry about a single loss, grow up. This team is not about you. You're not a player. You're not a coach. You have no clue what's going on in the minds of the coaches, or why they make their decisions. I don't either, but I at least recognize that fact. I assume the coaches are making the best decisions they can.

Tony Dungy said on NBC's "Sunday Night Football" broadcast, "They can't play for everybody else. They have to get ready for the playoffs. You have an obligation to win a Super Bowl, not to go undefeated."

So, if you're so angry about the fact that the Colts didn't want to risk injuring Peyton Manning or Dallas Clark, vent away. If you think the Colts should give refunds to players, because "Coach Quitwell" phoned it in in the second half, you're entitled to your own misguided opinion.

Just keep in mind you're not a pro player, you're not a pro coach, you've never taken a professional snap. You're a second-string Monday morning quarterback whose football insights probably came from John Clayton, an ESPN football analyst who was probably the backup "manager" for his high school football team. You truly have no clue as to what the coaches should or should not have done.

But you're probably also the first people who would have whined that Coach Caldwell should have pulled the starters if Peyton Manning broke a bone in his throwing hand playing in the 4th quarter of "an unnecessary game."

You're failing to see the big picture: the Colts need to stay healthy so they can make it through the playoffs. The Colts can't risk an injury to their star players just so a bunch of fans with an overdeveloped sense of entitlement can claim support of a team they probably didn't support when the times were lean. Fans who were nowhere to be found when Jeff George couldn't make a first down pass during halftime.

So, if you bitched and whined that the Colts gave up or that Coach Caldwell should be fired, you're nothing more than fair-weather fans. You're not allowed to cheer for the Colts in the playoffs. If they disappointed you that much Sunday afternoon, the real fans don't want you. We don't need you. Go cheer for the Bengals or the Chargers.

Because with fans like you, who needs the Patriots?

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A One-Sided Christmas Tree

A One-Sided Christmas Tree
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk syndicate
Copyright 2009

"No, I don't want an artificial tree this year."

"Because we had an artificial tree for 14 years."

"We didn't have the room for it, that's why. We stored it in a giant tub, and we couldn't fit it in the garage last year. It had to go."

"I want a real tree again this year. We had them when I was a kid. And I missed the smell and look of a real tree the whole time we had that plastic piece of crap."

"I liked last year's tree a lot. It was real, and a whole lot nicer than our fake one."

"That's because it was a small tree, and we've got some heavy ornaments."

"Nothing important broke."

"Neither of us liked that one anyway. Who makes plaster of Paris ornaments anymore?"

"But you didn't like your great-aunt Greta."

"I'll make sure we get a stronger tree this time."

"It was weak because it was a small tree."

"Because it was the last one at the supermarket. Supermarket trees aren't real great anyway."

"It was so little. It needed me."

"I am not Charlie Brown!"

"I just like to root for the underdog is all."

"Well, if no one had bought that tree, it would have just ended up in the mulcher and on some garden, never having presents put under it, or making little children happy."

"I am not!"

"The wind blew something in my eye."

"Fine, I'll pick one out myself."

"No, I need you to hold the rope while I tie the knots."

"The carry-out guys are useless. Last year, that kid just stood around and watched me tie everything down myself."

"I know, but what sort of help was he giving just standing there? Why didn't he just go back inside?"

"It really was the wind that blew something in my eye."

"Because I'm tired of artificial trees."

"They're plastic, impersonal, and soulless. Sort of like our last neighbors."

"No, Cassie was never friendly. That was Botox. Her face just froze that way."

"Well, she never liked me. She was spindly and prickly. I swear, if she had stood still long enough, the kids would have hung ornaments on her. And I would have stuck the angel—"

"They can't hear me, they're watching a movie."

"Come on, we'll get a Douglas fir this year. It'll be better."

"Last year's was a Scotch pine. I think that was part of the problem."

"I read an article that said Douglas firs are much stronger and hold the ornaments better. Scotch pines aren't as strong as Douglas firs."

"We've been over this. Because they're environmentally friendly, they're grown specifically for Christmas tree use, and they don't have a carbon footprint."

"Of course they're prickly. Those are real pine needles. They're supposed to be prickly."

"So don't vacuum them up. Pick them up by hand."

"Then get the kids to do it. Tell them Santa did it leaving their gifts."

"We'll put the big paint cloth down first."

"Because the artificial tree gave me a rash on my hands. I hated bending all those branches when we set it up. The only thing worse was taking it down again."

"Besides, I read somewhere that we would need to own an artificial tree for 14 years before there were actually any environmental benefits from it."

"We kept our last artificial tree for 10 years, and you thought it started looking shabby. That's why we got rid of it."

"You didn't? I thought you did. You said it was looking kind of pathetic. You said it looked like someone had stuck a bunch of green pipe cleaners on a stick, and it was looking kind of thin on top."

"We didn't know Cassie then."

"Look, let's just try another real tree this year, and we'll make sure we get a good one. You'll see. They smell good, and they'll remind you of your childhood."

"Thank you. You won't be disappointed."

"I really wasn't. I swear, it was the wind."


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My Video Submission to Mr. Hollic's Video Contest

This is my submission to Sean "that's Mr. Hollick to you" Hollick's video contest. If he chooses my video, I could win an awesome new Kodak digital camera.



I posted it here so I wouldn't have to write anything for today's humor post.

It would have been easier to just write the post.

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Wayback Wednesday: I Don't Beleive in the Little Drummer Boy

I Don't Believe In The Little Drummer Boy

Erik Deckers

Rather than writing a new post, on Wednesdays I republish some of my old columns. Since it's 2 days before Christmas, I'm publishing one of my favorite Christmas columns, my complaint about the song, "The Little Drummer Boy."

Christmas is one of my favorite times of the year. My birthday, my anniversary, and any other occasion where people give me presents are also big favorites.

To get myself into the Christmas spirit, I listen to Christmas music. I hit the department stores around August to hear "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" and "Jingle Bell Rock." But it's a wonder most sales clerks don't go postal on their customers by mid-November.

I love the classics -- "Jingle Bells," "Silent Night" or the Sex Pistols' "Have Yourself a Merry $%@&! Christmas." But the new songs are awful, and I've been known to run my radio through with a pitchfork whenever I hear them.

One of my least favorite Christmas songs ever is Bruce Springsteen's "Santa Claus is Coming To Town." It's nothing but 20 minutes of Bruce singing "Santa Claus is coming to town" over and over. And over. By the time Bruce has finished with his Yuletide droning, Santa is back home, slamming Upside-Down Margaritas with the elves.

But that's nothing compared to the worst Christmas song ever, the song that makes me want to sleep straight to Easter: "The Little Drummer Boy." Not only do they sing the same phrase over and over -- pa-rum pum pum pum -- but the song isn't that believable.

I realize songs about a fat guy sliding down chimneys or a flying reindeer with a halogen nose aren't so believable, but at least they're grounded in reality.

First of all, drums do not go "pa-rum pum pum pum." As any parent of a child with a toy drum knows, a drum is a loud percussive instrument. They do not make pleasant little melodies sung by children's choirs. They make headaches. Drums go "KA-WHAM WHAP WHAP WHAP!"

When the Little Drummer Boy asks Mary if he could play a song for the Baby Jesus -- pa-rum pum pum pum -- no one says, "Wait a minute! That kid is just going to pound a drum. Somebody stop him!"

Giving the gift of music is a very noble sentiment, because it comes from the heart. And most importantly, it's the thought that counts, unless you really wanted that big screen high-definition TV instead. But when your newborn baby has finally gone to sleep after screaming for 6 hours because his bed is made of straw and smells like cow poo, do you really want someone going "ka-wham whap whap whap!" at him?

And what about Mary? What did she do? According to the song, she just nodded -- pa-rum pum pum pum -- listened attentively, and smiled quietly to herself. Not being a mother, I can't speak for other mothers. But I'll wager your Christmas gifts that if you've been riding on a donkey for several days, and then spent the last 36 hours in labor, you wouldn't want some snot-nosed kid showing up to beat a drum at you. The song would be more accurate if it said "Mary leapt off her stool and chased the little brat away, pa-rum pum pum pum. "

Don't forget the ox and lambs that kept time -- pa-rum pum pum pum. Not likely. Oxen are tone deaf and lambs don't have a well-developed sense of rhythm. Besides, the drum in question was probably made out of oxen or lambskin, so they probably would not have appreciated the cosmic coincidence of the situation.

"Then He smiled at me" (pa-rum pum pum pum). I have an easier time believing the ox and lambs doffed top hats and did "Puttin' On the Ritz." How would you feel if you had been removed from a nice warm womb and stuck in a bed of itchy, smelly straw when some jerk beats a drum at you?

Here's a test. Go find a newborn baby and start pa-rum pum pum pumming on a pot with a couple of wooden spoons. If he smiles at that, he's colicky.

I'm all for the magic and wonder of Christmas. But I know mothers. And I know babies. And I know that mothers don't want anyone pounding drums around with their babies.

Gift of music or not, beating on a lambskin stretched over a hollow log is not something a new mother wants to deal with. I realize we're talking about Mary, the mother of the Messiah, but everyone has a limit to their patience. And little drummer boys are probably pushing that limit.

If the kid really wanted to be helpful, he should have given her something useful, like a set of earplugs or a gift certificate for the local day spa.


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British Health & Safety Officials Cancel Reindeer Appearance Over Concern of Snow

The Grinch is alive and well, and working as a health and safety officer in East Midlands, Britain.

These geniuses of biology seem to not understand basic animal physiology or how they work.

According to the London Daily Mail, they canceled an appearance of 12 reindeer for a Christmas display, "because it might snow."

The reindeer were supposed to parade around the town square, but the officers were worried that the reindeer — natives of the Arctic Circle, you know, where it snows a lot – might slip on the snow and ice. There were several hundred shoppers who showed up to watch the parade, but the morons officials canceled the show just three hours before the parade was supposed to start.

The officials said they were concerned about the risk of falling to pedestrians, but didn't make any changes to the street.

"The council said there was a risk of snow and ice to pedestrians but with or without the reindeer the streets were still icy. None of the town centre was cordoned off. It just made no sense," Malcolm Lever-Jones, spokesman for the area merchants told the Daily Mail.

Lever-Jones said the cancellation may cost as much as £10,000 ($16,000).

Guess the health and safety officials don't know much about finance either. Canceling a £10,000 parade that is supposed to bring in hundreds of shoppers spending thousands of pounds will not stimulate the local economy very well either.

So who's going to keep England safe from the health and safety inspectors? If only there were some sort of benevolent gift giver who could make an appearance at this time of year, and grant all of England one really big, great-for-the-country wish.

Unfortunately, he won't be making an appearance in England any time soon, since his reindeer aren't allowed to run on England's streets.


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Greek Man Shot While Hunting Because He Was Dressed Like Animal

I've always thought hunting wasn't very sporting, at least the way most serious hunters do it. They sit up in tree stands, wearing cammo, and spraying themselves with deer urine to hide their scent. Meanwhile a deer just meanders along unaware of the danger and — BANG! — they're dead before they even knew it. Throw in a barrel and some fish, and you can make a day of it.

Hunting should give the animals a sporting chance. It shouldn't just be about a guy up in a sniper's stand; the hunters should be moving around on the ground, which would level the playing field for the deer quite a bit.

However, the hunters should never, ever wear deer skins as a form of camoflauge.

Christos Constantinou of Nemea, Greece found that out the hard way, when he was shot during a boar hunt. He was wearing dark goat skins to confuse the boars.

It confused his hunting party too.

According to an article in the London Daily Mail, Constantinou was part of a large hunting group that had split up in pairs when they mistook him for an animal and shot him.


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Phone It In Sunday: The WTF Blanket (Snuggie Parody)

I've been tired of the Snuggie commercials ever since I saw them. If someone doesn't have the mental wherewithal to manage the subtle intricacies of putting on a blanket, they deserve to be stuck with the backward bathrobe.



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Top 10 Phrases to Eliminate From Business

Top 10 Phrases to Eliminate From Business

Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk syndicate
Copyright 2009

As a writer, I don't like trite phrases, marketing jargon, or clichés. So I was pleased to see a piece by Frances Cole Jones on CNN.com talking about her 10 worst business sayings.

In my work as a marketer, I hear a lot of these phrases a lot, and I really want to see these eliminated from business use completely. I love Jones' list, and want to do my best to make sure her choices are struck from daily usage.

I'm glad she's taking this stance against appalling language. I'm definitely on her side on this, because she has managed to pick most of my pet peeves.

Apparently the language "crisis" is becoming "urgent" to language mavens like Jones. At least it would be, if she didn't say "urgent" and "its frequent companion 'crisis'" need to be eliminated.
I am asked a lot of questions about blogging and social media. People who want to start doing this always ask if they can "pick my brain." As if my knowledge is some intellectual booger that can be harvested with a probing finger. I don't mind it, usually only asking for lunch or a latte in return, but still, keep your fingers out of my skull.

The problem is that I'm giving this advice for free, even though consultants can charge $100 an hour for the same advice. I have found that if someone pays for the information, they make sure to use it. But if they get it for free, they don't follow the recommendations. That's because they don't have any skin in the game, any "sweat equity." And now they really can't, since Jones wants to get rid of that phrase too.

Real sweat equity is the labor home owners put into their own house, rather than hiring someone else to do it. In business, sweat equity is when someone works for free, since the company can't afford to pay them. But when they do have money, they contractor will get sweat equity.

Double secret promise you will!

And after the sweat equity rip-off — I mean, offer — is made, the "ball is in your court" as to whether you want to accept it. Except Jones is taking her ball and going home. She says we use this phrase "to let others know you've reached your limit with regard to handling a situation." In other words, when I've done all I can, the ball is in your court and it's up to you to take the next step. I can't do anything until you return the ball.

That's when I gather up all my options and "throw them against the wall (to) see what sticks." Although it refers to taking a bunch of ideas and seeing which ones are any good, I have actually used this technique in determining the doneness of pasta ever since college.

Just take a noodle from the boiling water, and throw it against the wall. If it sticks, it's done. If it doesn't, your wife will be angry with you. It actually works pretty well, just so long as you remember to clean the noodles from behind the stove.

Still, Jones, and my wife, won't let me use the phrase, or the technique, anymore.

But "I, personally," still like the term, even if I can't go flinging spaghetti all over the kitchen. Except Jones, personally, hates "I, personally," so I have to get rid of that too. It's redundant. After all, if I'm talking about my opinion, it's already personal, so there's no reason to use it again.

It's like the phrase "really unique," "quite unique," or "truly unique," all of which have been given the chop. Things are unique, or they're not. Unique means "one of a kind." Things can't be "really one of a kind." That's truly redundant.

We just need to eliminate this kind of speech from our everyday usage. It's becoming tedious and clichéd. It's ruining our language. We used to be a fairly literate, well-spoken society, but we seem to be killing it slowly with these buzzwords. I'd like to think we could eliminate the problem altogether, but our "past history" tells me otherwise. And now Frances Cole Jones says we can't say "past history" either, because it's also redundant.

But I don't see what's so hard about fixing our language. It's just a matter of taking the really annoying corporate buzzword jargon that people use to sound cool (it's not working, by the way), and eliminating it from daily use.

I mean, it's not "rocket science. . ."

Uh oh.


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