We all have fears. Some, are more understandable than others like Achluophobia or Coulrophobia. Some, have a bit more of a story to tell. Today, I'd like to talk about the different types of phobias out there, and all the different variety they offer.

Dear Jimmy (a.ka. Jamz Money!),

Chickens all the way! Haha! Senior year was awesome! Have a great summer and Stay Cool !

P.S.  Never Change!

Kisses, John

We've all done this at one time in our life... signed our friend's yearbook to capture the memories of youth. After 4 years of toil in the halls of upper elementary education, pop quizzes and recess, we've finally made it. Let's all get drunk and break up with our girlfriend's so we can sleep with as many people as possible in college! These are the best years of our lives!!... or are they? I'd like to submit, that the entry above is selfish... here's why...

Hahahah! We're way too cute to sign your yearbook, Jamz! Go Away!

I'm going to be perfectly honest with you guys; I had no idea what I was going to write about this week until a few hours ago. I sat in work trying to think of different ideas, but all I could think was about how much retail sucks and then it hit me... I'll talk about the reasons why retail sucks. Since the majority of us aren't doctors and lawyers, or haven't found ways to successfully fulfill our childhood dreams of being pirates and ninjas, chances are most of you will understand how much working retail sucks. I know for a fact that there are a myriad of examples I could choose from to highlight why retail is horrible, but for time sake I’m narrowing it down to the two worst. Enjoy the rant.

This guys livin' the dream

There seem to be alot of pros to this whole being an adult thing. First off, I can stay up as late as I want now... but due to early work hours, I'm usually in bed by eleven most nights.

As an adult I get to make my own meal choices, like ice cream for breakfast, but after having ice cream for breakfast a few times, I kinda get why my mom urged against it.

One cool thing is, now I'm in charge. So if I want throw a ball indoors or ride my bike down the stairs, I can. Because it's MY house. Then I remember it's MY house and I have to PAY for any damage done.

Since I'm an adult, I no longer cringe after seeing "back to school" signs and I don't get a feeling of terror about the start of a new school year. That is until I remember the fact that I go to work almost every day and I'll probably be working until I'm too old to enjoy my free time. Which makes me miss that "back to school" feeling. Much like cigarettes every day that I put on a tie and a dress shirt I lose a part of my youth and I'm only 25. Hell, I can't even say that as an adult I call the shots because.. well.. I'm married.

As much as we hate to admit it our parents were right when they said, "Don't try to grow up too fast, because you're only young once".

Oh God... I've become my parents... Just with more video game systems and a working knowledge of the Internet. Damn you, Father Time... Damn you...

I'm very on the fence about this Yogi Bear movie. I'm not exactly a fanboy, and I won't see it in theaters when it comes out, probably catch it on TV, but I do love all of those old cartoons like Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Huckleberry Hound. Seriously, if they had station that just played those cartoons, I would never turn it off. The really old school cartoons were all I used to watch when I was younger.

We had cable, and once The Drawing Channel ( REMEMBER THAT ONE?!? I loved that station. It told stories, with text at the top of the screen and it would draw the scene while it was being read, always had it on, but that's a blog for another day. ) became Cartoon Network, it was on 24/7, and with came a stream of classic cartoons for my brain to enjoy. But with all this "realism" and live-action attempts at old cartoons and shows, it makes me un-easy they'll butcher my childhood memories for a quick buck. Before I get too ranty, let me tell you alittle about the movie.

I'm not what you'd call a very cultured man. I microwave my ramen noodies, eat gravy out of a jar, and am not above raising an eye-brow at an odd looking dish a fancy smancy restaurant brings my way, charging me $30 and giving me enough food to hold in one fist. I can't tell a Picasso from a Van Gogh (But I can tell you from Doctor Who, that Brits pronounce his name VAN-GOTH... I know I didn't see any "T"s in there either, but they're British, whattaya gonna do?), nor can I tell Mozart from Bach or Beethoven. But what I can tell you is this: that bed to the right isn't art.

It's dumb.