If Man Were Meant To Fly . . .

While I don’t take to the friendly skies often, I do love to fly. I love most manner of flight. I’ve been on jets, small fixed wing, helicopters (which is my favourite) and even the Goodyear blimp (which is slow and majestic but it will ruin your hearing).

I have no problem with people learning how to fly. A few of my friends are licensed pilots and I have even taken the controls of an aircraft in the past. Most people who make the effort to learn how to fly are responsible individuals who have the utmost regard for safety and security, unless of course they are in a sleeper cell. The cost of learning to fly and the time involved usually weeds out the dunderheads who might otherwise soar into the clouds and then accidentally plummet into populated areas.

When the Wright Brothers took that maiden voyage at Kitty Hawk just after the turn of the last century it was a simpler time. They didn’t have to concern themselves with connecting flights, lost baggage or the type of liquids they were carrying. They just had a dream – to successfully sustain heavier-than-air human flight. From that day forward, every Tom, Dick & Harry thinks they too have a dream to leave terra firma on their own. Sometimes this frightens me. I recently came across a couple of stories to illustrate this harrowing trend.

Rev. Adelir Antonio de Carli was a 41-year-old Roman Catholic priest in Brazil. Back in April he came up with the bright idea that he could take off from the port city of Paranagua with the help of 1,000 helium-filled party balloons.

It was all for a good cause. He was hoping to raise money to build a rest stop and worship center for truckers. He had intended to fly to the city of Dourados but strong winds, or one could say the hand of God, swept him out to sea.

I often get this image of God looking down at this planet and shaking his head at times for some of the things we attempt to do. He has faith in most of us and I’m sure He has faith in his loyal soldiers, but every once in awhile along comes a Rev. Carli, floating on a lawn chair in the sky. I’m sure the good Lord said, “Rev, since you’re already aloft, perhaps you could come into the office for a word?” The flying father disappeared over the Atlantic back in April, but medical examiners said DNA tests confirmed body parts found floating off the coast of Rio de Janeiro state in early July belonged to the padre. 1,000 helium-filled party balloons should really be used for . . . parties.

Meanwhile, back in the United States Glenn Martin has a dream. He wants to make it possible for all of us to strap on a jet pack and soar into the heavens. This will make our commute to work faster, just as we all envisioned it on The Jetsons.

Martin demonstrated his contraption at a recent air show in Wisconsin. It weighs roughly 250lbs and is about the size of a piano. Actually, he strapped his 16-year old son into it, which in some way must contravene several child welfare laws.

As thousands looked on, Martin’s helmeted son, fastened himself to the prototype jet pack, revved the engine and hovered about three feet off the ground. With two spotters preventing the jet pack from drifting in a mild wind, (gee, the priest could have used these guys, but no, he chose faith) the younger Martin hovered for 45 seconds and then set the device down as the audience applauded. It was Kitty Hawk all over again.

In theory, the Martin jet pack can fly an average-sized pilot about 30 miles in 30 minutes on a full five-gallon tank. This is where I have a problem. As I mentioned earlier, there are some idiots who shouldn’t leave the ground. It’s sad enough that we let them leave the house, never mind letting them drive vehicles, or use heavy machinery.

With the high cost of fuel these days, we are constantly reminded of the stories of people who are trying to get that last drop of gas out of their cars. Our highways are littered with vehicles that have coasted to a halt because their drivers couldn’t properly gauge how much gas they had left. It’s one thing to coast to a stop. It’s another thing to literally fall short of your desired goal to get to work, clipping trees, power lines and the back of the heads of unsuspecting pedestrians.

If it were available today, the Martin jet pack would set you back $100,000 and is designed to conform to the FAA definition of an ultralight vehicle, weighing less than 254lbs and carrying only one passenger, meaning you won’t need a license to use this thing.

I don’t want people above me calculating the math, trying to figure out how much further they can get on five gallons. Starting with that first flight in 1903, leading up to today, flying is not meant to be in the control of everyone – it’s not necessarily for the masses. And speaking of mass, this contraption is for an average size pilot. Look around the United States. There are no average sized people left!

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

With Friends Like These . . .

I’ve been very lucky all my life with the friends that I’ve had. There are many childhood pals that I am still in contact with and I am very quick to state as an adult male that I have best friends. Sadly this is a statement that most men leave behind with their childhood. I could never understand why this is.

Women grow up saying, “I’m going out with my best friend,” or “I’m going out with my girlfriends,” but when a guy talks like this there always seems to be some question about sexuality involved. I don’t know why this is.

Well, as a heterosexual male I’m not only proud to say that I have best friends, but I am also very proud of my friends. I don’t know what I would do without them. At the top of the list is my friend Mario. He’s more than a friend, actually. I love the guy. It’s like having the kid brother I never had, especially since I grew up in an estrogen factory with four older sisters.

I defy anybody to find a better friend. I have already mentioned him in several blog entries, especially post knee surgery, with all the help that he has been to me above and beyond the call of duty (you can read the previous posts to find out more). I’ve even written about him in a newspaper article about when he taught me to snowboard more than a decade ago (you can see that story on my website by clicking here).

Friends support each other. They can be argumentative, but they should never be combative. True friends have your back and never put you in situations where they dare you to do something you shouldn’t or wouldn’t. True friends always have your best interests at heart. As comedian Dave Atell once said, “A friend will help you move. Best friends will help you move . . . a body!” Everybody should have friends like this, but I know that I am extremely lucky because I have such a friend and not everyone does.

As a matter of fact, I have a couple of stories that deal with people that perhaps you shouldn’t really call your friend. Two practical jokers are behind bars for setting their passed-out drinking buddy's crotch ablaze while boozing in Grover Beach, California recently (yes, another story with alcohol involved).

Matthew Craig Pillers and Jack Brent Nicholas Keiffer pleaded no contest to a felony great bodily injury charge. Elliot Tuleja was passed out when the men poured cologne on his groin and set him on fire on January 18^th. Hilarity ensued! Tuleja had second-degree burns on his testicles. Prosecutors say the 22-year-old Pillers, a parolee, was sentenced to two years in prison and the 19-year-old Keiffer got 45 days in San Luis Obispo County jail.

Maybe the idea is to stay away from parolees, but I can guarantee you that if I fall asleep in the presence of my friends, I don’t have to worry about waking up with dry roasted nuts!

I also try to stay away from people who can’t securely deal with a firearm. I’m not a fan of guns; have never fired one or handled one, but my friend Mario has. He is issued one and it comes with 48 bullets (he keeps reminding me of that count); 47 more than Barney Fife had. Mario is a police officer. He knows how to use weapons and he knows how to use handcuffs. These are vital talents to have on the job and possibly when dating.

I would never be around such irresponsible clowns as these guys. In Great Falls, Montana, Henry Haviland, 23, and Zachary Enloe, 20, were having a mock gun battle. They had unloaded their pistols – a 9mm and a .45 calibre – and were having “quick draw” contests at each other.

After they were done, they went their separate ways, but several hours later, they were in an apartment when Haviland “dry fired” his gun at Enloe again. Enloe dove for his pistol and turned and fired at Haviland – “forgetting” that he had loaded it back up in the meantime. Haviland was hospitalized in serious but stable condition with a gunshot wound to his face. Enloe was charged with felony criminal endangerment.

This was one of three such events reported in Great Falls in the past three months. A 17-year-old boy was shot in the leg and 18-year-old Kirk Jordan is facing felony charges in an almost identical incident. The bullet hit the victim's left leg and then went into his right foot.

In May, Airman Jonathon Higgins was accused of firing a shot that killed fellow Airman John Howry while the two were joking around at a party at a home near Great Falls High School. Higgins is charged with negligent homicide.

Meanwhile in mid-June, 24-year-old Brian Walsh was sentenced to 25 years in prison for pointing a gun at his friend's head and killing him in May 2007, though he said he thought the gun wasn't loaded at the time.

As the NRA would say, guns don’t kill people. Stupid people kill people. It’s wise to choose your friends carefully and to always be vigilant. I know I have chosen my friends carefully and Mario is the best. We’ve even talked about going on a trip together someday. That wouldn’t be a bad idea, because spending quality time with good friends is always a worthwhile adventure. But just to be on the safe side, I think I’ll say no to Montana.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

Cold Plague

Okay, so it has been awhile since I had the chance to post here. I’ve been a little busy with work and all, plus there is still the matter of my convalescence from recent tendon surgery involving my right knee (it’s coming along slowly, but nicely, thanks for asking).

There are many things that I wanted to write about, but I think this time around I’ll just deal with water. I’m sure you’ve seen many news items of late telling us how much water we should be drinking. I’ve never been a big water drinker. At its best water is colourless, odourless and tasteless, which means I have no use for it. It’s never been a thirst quencher for me.

But as creatures made up mostly of water on a planet that is mostly covered with water, it might be understandable as to why we are preoccupied with the substance. With two thirds of the planet somewhat wet, we still send spacecrafts to other orbs in search of more water. We can’t seem to get enough of the stuff.

This brings me to Dr. Daniel Kalla. He is an emergency room physician in Vancouver who, when he’s not busy saving lives in his chosen profession, he’s scaring us to death with medical thrillers in his creative profession. His latest book, his fifth, is entitled Cold Plagueand, as you can guess by my preamble, it deals with water.

I’ve had the pleasure of interviewing Dan on several occasions on the radio and he’s always been an engaging and fun guest. His previous titles include Pandemic, Resistance, Rage Therapy and Blood Lies.

Let me pause for a moment to tell you a little secret about my interviewing style. When it comes to authors, I never read the book before conducting the interview. I find as a listener when I hear a conversation with two people who have travelled the same literary journey, I feel like someone who has entered a cocktail party and wandered over to a conversation that has already begun. I don’t know what’s being discussed.

I much prefer to engage an author in the discussion of their writing technique, their background and mostly their personality. An author without personality only writes technical manuals and they rarely get interviewed – or read.

Besides leaving the listeners in the dust, the other drawbacks I find to reading before talking is one of two reactions – either I loved the book and will gush profusely about the work, or I hated it and will have to feign interest (the latter is infinitely more difficult because in my mind I would be saying to myself that I’m only spending 20 minutes with this guy but reading his book took days off my life that I’ll never get back!)

Since I talk to a lot of authors, people think I get a lot of reading done. Sadly, that is not the case. I’ve already stated the reason why professionally, but also my schedule is so crammed with work for the nightly radio show and for the television show I host that I don’t get much recreationally reading done either.

But, Cold Plague is a book that I cleared a lot of my schedule for because I couldn’t wait to read it. If I had read Dan Kalla’s latest book before interviewing him it would have been a gush fest. That’s why I’m leaving the gushing to posting here on the blog.

Reading a medical thriller as I continue with my physiotherapy, being manipulated by torture specialists, might be considered ironic, but I found this book compelling. It deals with what could be considered the purest water ever found, hidden for millions of years, miles under the Antarctic ice.

Yes, it’s man’s preoccupation with water again. With water so pristine – untouched by human industrialization – just think of the natural healing powers it must contain; think how rich those who found it could be if it were marketed to the masses.

But is it a coincidence that this therapeutic water is being consumed during the same time as a cluster of new cases of mad cow disease in France? Is the human outbreak of the trifecta of rapid onset symptoms of Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s and schizophrenia somehow connected? And what does that mean for the rest of the world if we as a society can be done in by a simple water bottle? Those are some of the questions you’ll be asking yourself as you take the rollercoaster ride that is Cold Plague, along with the book’s hero, Dr. Noah Haldane of the World Health Organization.

Cold Plague has short, crisp chapters with the excitement building with each page turn. Without spoiling anything, I was halfway through the book, telling myself how much I enjoyed the pace, when I was suddenly rocketed into a different direction that I had not expected and I was now compelled to finish the book as fast as possible to find out what happened. I just couldn’t put it down. The sun was coming up, birds were chirping and I was still reading.

When I talked to Dan I asked him how he comes up with his thrillers. He said that as a doctor, he wrote what scares him. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to know what scares doctors but Cold Plague certainly has a chilling effect. As I said, I don’t drink water, but it got to me.

While I don’t usually like to pigeonhole books into reading seasons, I have to say that Cold Plague could be one of the ultimate reads of the summer. It’s perfect for a lazy day in the backyard, on the porch or even at the beach, when you’re relaxing on a deck chair enjoying nature and hydrating with some nice bottled water . . . on second thought, just enjoy the book, skip the water.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

Loin Fruit

I’m a single guy and I don’t have any children. As time goes on it looks less and less likely that I will have offspring. This was not the game plan, just a matter of how the dice have rolled so far. I don’t have anything against children – on the contrary, I adore them and I am constantly surrounded by them as I have been an uncle since I was seven-years-old and those nieces and nephews now have children of their own.

I was the last of five children, so my parents certainly did their part during the post war baby boom. Back when I was a kid our family wasn’t necessarily considered large – on the contrary, in some corners of the Catholic bastion of Quebec our family might have been considered merely average or even small. By today’s standards, however, we would have been thought of as the freaks of the neighbourhood.

A soccer mom goes by in a minivan with three or more kids and tree huggers not only talk about the gas guzzler she’s driving but the oxygen her ankle biters are using up. This is not a view that I share. I say the more the merrier. If you have the means to take care of a massive amount of loin fruit then more power to you.

So it is with great amusement that I see the reaction of the media and some in the general population when conversation focuses on the Duggar family of Arkansas. In case you haven’t heard, it’s just been announced that Michelle Duggar is pregnant – again. And when I say again, I really mean again! She announced, just around Mother’s Day, that she is about to have her 18^th child.

The latest edition of the family will be joining seven sisters and ten brothers sometime around New Year’s Day, and I don’t think I’m going out on a limb here when I guess that the newest Duggar will have a first name that starts with the letter “J.” I am confident in making this prognostication because all of its siblings have names starting with “J.”

Let’s go through the roll call. It starts with 20-year-old Josh and ends with nine-month old Jennifer. In between are Jana, 18; John-David, 18; Jill, 16; Jessa, 15; Jinger, 14; Joseph, 13; Josiah, 11; Joy-Anna, 10; Jeremiah, 9; Jedidiah, 9; Jason, 7; James, 6; Justin, 5; Jackson, 3; and Johannah, 2.

As you can surmise by their ages, a few of these kids showed up in tandem, but for the most part we are talking single births here. As Joy Behar from The View was quoted as saying when Michelle was due with number 17, “The woman must have graffiti on her uterus.” When I think of Michelle, however, I get the image of the clown car at the circus and in my head I can actually hear that calliope music.

Not only can the Duggars now field two complete baseball teams, Michelle and her husband Jim Bob say they plan to keep having children as long as God wills it. At the age of 41 Michelle still has a few child bearing years left. Think about this startling fact; this woman has been pregnant eleven years of her life! I think it’s also fair to say that she and Jim Bob enjoy sex and are apparently quite good at it. Clearly they are not into birth control because at this point simple pantyhose could be a contraceptive.

Some people are saying that this has to stop, that Michelle should put a cork in or that Jim Bob should have his swimmers taken away from the diving board. But as I see this well-oiled machine of the Arkansas family in their 7,000-square-foot home, where all their children are home-schooled, all I can think of is if it works for them – the children seem to be well adjusted and cared for, and nobody is left out – then what’s the problem? (By the way, you can watch a lot about the Duggar family as they prepare to film another television series for Discovery Health).

If you don’t want to have 18 children, that’s your choice. But if you want to have a boatload of kids and you can find someone who will go along for the ride, then more power to you. However, I am reminded of the joke that comedian Tom Dressen has on his CD entitled That White Boy's Crazy:

In the Guinness Book of Records the woman who has the most children was from Harvey, Illinois. My Mom knew her very well. She was married. Her and her first husband had 11 children and then he died. She married again and had seven more children. Again, her husband died. Again she remarried and this time had five more children. Alas, she finally died. We went to the funeral and as they were lowering her into the ground my mother said, “Well, they’re finally together.” I said, “Her and her first husband?” and she said, “No, her legs!”

On the other side of the scale, I would like to share a story that deals with a sperm bank. There are all kinds of bank robberies, but this one is different. A lab technician who allegedly tried to make a quick buck by stealing samples from the sperm bank where he worked has been arrested after a doctor tipped off police.

The employee allegedly stole the sperm and tried to sell 101 vials of it to a doctor for about $625. The doctor declined and called police, who arrested the lab employee and a relative. According to a police spokesman, “The doctor contacted police because they usually refer patients to infertility clinics for treatment. They are never approached with sperm vials on sale.”

Meanwhile an infertility expert described the alleged theft as "bizarre" because vials that are not properly labelled would be, “worse than useless. Anyone would have a hard time selling sperm vials. They must be stored in a liquid nitrogen container. It doesn't make any sense.”

Police said the two men will be charged with stealing and cheating, and each could face up to seven years in prison if convicted.

What I find utterly fascinating about this story is that the sperm bank in question is located in Mumbai, India. It is one of ten sperm banks in the country. So here’s my question. Why does a country with 1.13 billion people need a sperm bank? They seem to have been doing quite well without them.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

From Crime To Crime

This is the week that I have started physiotherapy to rehabilitate my knee after my recent surgery. I have had to endure this procedure before at the hands of therapists who no doubt would have worked for the Nazis in the 40s. As I grimace through the contortions while they manipulate my limb (ironically, it was an unplanned contortion that got me in this mess in the first place) I take little solace in the fact that I can read while they torture me.

The reading I have chosen to undertake at this time is an excellent collection of short stories written by Dennis Palumbo entitled From Crime to Crime: Mind-Boggling Tales of Mystery and Murder.

I would like to think it was sheer coincidence that I would read such a tome while plotting my revenge on those all too willing to cause me pain. The truth of the matter is I have been eager to read this book for some time.

Dennis Palumbo was recently a guest on our radio show on a couple of occasions; an interesting gentleman who has had more than one interesting career. Formerly, he was a Hollywood screenwriter, working on such television shows as Welcome Back Kotter. He also penned one of my favourite movies of all time, My Favorite Year (a DVD I will now make the point of picking up).

Dennis gave that all up to become a psychotherapist in Hollywood, a profession in a town where there is no shortage of patients. But he hasn’t given up writing completely, thus his latest collection of short stories.

If you are a fan of the old “drawing room mysteries” then you’ll love this collection. There are twelve stories in the book, but the first nine deal with the same core characters; a group of friends who call themselves “The Smart Guys Marching Society,” a collection of amateur sleuths who resemble the author and his closest friends.

There is a therapist, an actor, a journalist and a lawyer, plus rounding out the group is Isaac, an older pseudo relative of the therapist’s wife who has joined the group that meets every Sunday at the therapist’s house for food, guy talk and the solving of the occasional mystery.

Let me throw out a hackneyed term that many use when reviewing a great book. This book is a true page turner! There were times when I had other things that I needed to do yet I found myself saying, “Just let me read one more story!” I honestly couldn’t put it down.

All of the clues for the stories are laid out for you to try and figure out the crime. I felt quite superior when I figured out the “who” in the first story, even though I didn’t get the “how,” and of course I then proceeded to go 0-for-the-rest-of-the-book! Still, it was an enjoyable read all the way through and I even laughed out loud a couple of times, which really confounded my physiotherapist.

As I mentioned, the last three stories have nothing to do with “The Smart Guys Marching Society.” While I did enjoy them, especially one dealing with a young Albert Einstein, I found myself wanting to read more of the exploits of the crime solving quintet, whom I began to think of as real friends that I got to know. Without giving anything away, I think my favourite story was one that dealt with a lovely young lady, a truly unique and bizarre crime and a yacht. That’s all I will say.

Since most of the stories had food involved, I will liken this book to a great restaurant meal. You have the first nine stories which are akin to your main course. After enjoying the experience you then find yourself with a handful of delectable mints which themselves are quite enjoyable, but they don’t take away from your enjoyment of the meal. It’s a restaurant that one anticipates they get invited back to for another meal soon.

I hope there will be more of “The Smart Guys Marching Society” in the future. Heck, I’d even kill to get more stories out of them and right now I’m thinking that physiotherapist would make a pretty good looking corpse.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

Evolution of Man

For those of you wondering how my convalescence is coming along after my recent knee surgery, while I have not yet begun physiotherapy, I have reached the point where I can put weight on my leg while still using crutches.

Needless to say this has slowed down my pace considerably as I hobble about like an old man. You’ve no doubt seen these senior citizens. As you watch them, hunched over, moving with a slow gait, you can’t help but wonder if they are suffering from some sort of arthritis or they just don’t know that suspenders are adjustable. (For the record, I have now reached the third evolutionary level when it comes to my current walking style - see accompanying evolutionary picture).

This long period of down time has me wondering about the marvels of the human body and the evolution of man in general. The Stuph File on the radio is often filled with people who have not yet seemed to have fully evolved; people who want to be at one with animals or folks who can’t use reasoning rather than violence to get their point across. As they say on Law and Order, these are their stories.

Let’s start with the violent guy. As children, we are taught to share. It is part of our own personal evolution when we learn that we can’t have everything we want. Yet as we age, there seems to be a point where we start to devolve. We’ve all heard the stories about, if not personally met the crotchety old men who don’t have time for manners, say what they want and are just plain miserable. But rarely does it lead to violence over cake!

An Italian pensioner ended up in hospital after a fight with another man over who would get the last piece of cake at an all-you-can-eat buffet. As 70-year-old Niccolo Bruno grabbed the cake a second pensioner, 62-year-old Alfredo Mancini, stabbed his knife into the unfortunate Bruno at the food counter of a restaurant in Novate Milanese, northern Italy.

Mancini who then tried to hobble out of the store on a walking stick was arrested by a pair of off-duty police and is facing jail on charges of bodily harm. Bruno was taken to hospital but later released after doctors treated the stab wound. It is not known who actually got the last piece of cake, but I’m sure many are now asking for the recipe because that would have to be really good cake!

Okay, let’s move on to our animal loving friends. The next story comes from Moorestown, New Jersey where police officer Robert Melia Jr. was arrested at his own police station for numerous charges of sexual abuse of three underage girls. Also charged in the case was Melia’s girlfriend Heather Lewis.

The 38-year-old was not only in violation of the law because of his dalliance with youngsters; he was in trouble because he couldn’t stop there. This case went from merely sick to truly bizarre because Robert was also charged with four counts of sexual abuse of a cow (and no, we’re not talking about Heather), or as the indictment put it, “specifically by having a cow perform fellatio upon him.”

Let your imagination wonder a little bit on this. One would have to imagine that this form of bovine bestiality cannot be done randomly. Even if you’re in a barn naked a cow isn’t going to just meander over and vacuum out your crotch. Some sort of enticement, perhaps a salt lick, would have to be applied. In other words a lot of thought went into this and that’s the part that frightens me the most. What the heck is going through the mind of this police officer that it has come to this and how does his girlfriend feel about being runner up to a bunch of teenagers and ol’ Bessie? It’s just “udderly” ridiculous!

The final story makes me wonder if we really have evolved enough from the apes. Sometimes we can’t seem to get away from them. An Orlando, Florida woman couldn't believe it when she noticed the man next to her on her flight was hiding a monkey. He snuck it on the plane at Orlando International Airport.

Picture yourself in poor Mikie Mallory’s place. She boards the flight and sits down next to a guy that has what looks like a fanny pack on around his waist, only this one has a larger pouch. As she described it, “He opened it up and was playing with something and I look over at him and I see this hair. And he says, ‘It's my pet monkey.’ And I'm thinking, oh, no it's not!”

Mallory informed flight attendants and the man and his monkey were quickly removed from the Cleveland-bound Continental flight, which was still at the gate, but not before the incident raised questions about how a man smuggles a monkey onto an airplane. “Whether the monkey came through security overtly or covertly, the monkey was screened,” said a Transportation and Security Administration spokesperson. The TSA said it's not illegal to bring pets through security and whether they board a plane is between the passenger and the airline. Continental clearly did not know about the monkey.

Let me see if I’ve got this straight. I have to practically go through a strip search, check my shoes for bombs, lose all hand creams, hair gel, body wash and bottled water, but some guy can get on board with a monkey! And apparently this isn’t a crime! Pets can go through security checkpoints and passengers carry pets through security all the time. This case is more a matter of the man violating Continental Airlines' policies and possibly putting passengers in danger, but he's facing no criminal charges. Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. But hey, we are evolving . . . slowly!

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

Know Your Body Parts

How well do you know your mate? Admittedly, I’m a single guy, but if I were in a relationship I think I would know almost everything there is to know physically about my better half (mentally would be a different situation, you never really know someone else’s mind completely).

But there have been a couple of stories in the news lately that has me rethinking the idea of spousal knowledge. The first story comes to us from Malaysia. A Malaysian woman woke up to a real-life nightmare, discovering that the naked man who had slipped into her bed in the middle of the night was a thief, not her husband.

How bold was this thief, you ask? Well, according to a police report filed in the eastern state of Terengganu, the 36-year-old housewife was asleep when the thief, noticing that her husband was fast asleep on the couch, quietly stripped off and lay down beside her. Lord only knows what his motive for doing this was, but I can’t imagine sneaking into some guy’s house, while he’s there, and lying down naked next to his wife! At the very least I would be thinking of the beat-down that was coming my way if I were caught and I’ve always been very cognisant of one of the many guy rules that are etched in stone which is “don’t get into a fight when you’re naked.” It’s on the list right after “no talking at the urinal.”

The dozing woman's suspicions were raised when she spoke to him and his voice sounded strange. She then went to another room and found her husband fast asleep on the couch. That's when she screamed, causing the thief to flee by leaping out the window together with the items he was stealing. One can assume that he also took his clothes with him.

Okay, perhaps I can give the woman the benefit of the doubt in this one. I’m guessing that it was probably dark in the room when the thief hopped into bed, but still, except in bedroom farce comedies, rarely does a stranger get into your bed and you think it’s your mate.

I question the thief more for the obvious reasons I mentioned earlier and also for the fact that in the middle of a robbery he decided it would be a good time to take a nap in someone else’s bed. Even Goldilocks had the good sense to use the bears' house while they were out!

But this is just one case of mistaken identity with someone you should know. There is another recent story that comes to mind, this one from New Mexico.

20-year-old Amanda Moya was at her boyfriend’s Albuquerque home late last month. It was 10:30 on a Wednesday morning and they were watching porn together. Gee, what a romantic way to start off “hump day.” Usually, I’m thinking about breakfast at that time but some people have different priorities.

Anyway, they’re getting into the film when all of a sudden Amanda is livid because she believes that one of the actors on the screen is actually her boyfriend. Does she stop to ask him if he’s ever done porn? No, she just starts chasing him around the house with a knife.

The victim, whose name was not released, said to the 911 operator, “She almost shanked me and everything. She put the knife right under my throat.” The boyfriend, wearing only a pair of shorts, ran outside and down the road, still talking to the emergency service operator on his mobile phone. He said Moya had already stabbed him in the face and bitten him on his chest. The dispatcher told the victim to keep running and try to get inside a store. He finally managed to flag down a deputy who was responding to his distress call.

Deputies arrested the Glenn Close wannabe and charged her with aggravated assault and aggravated battery. As if this wasn’t enough it gets even more bizarre. She was also charged with child abuse because deputies say she left her eight-month-old boy alone in the home while she chased her boyfriend down the road. And the couple shouldn’t have been near each other. The boyfriend was quoted as saying, “She already has a battery of charges against her. She’s not even supposed to be around me.”

In case I haven’t stated the obvious point, no, it wasn’t the boyfriend in the movie. She just couldn’t tell the difference between her boyfriend and a porn star. This is probably something that the boyfriend will now be bragging about for years to come. Still, if you can’t recognize someone you have been intimate with then you’ve probably only been intimate with them by the hour.

And while we’re on the topic of professionals, the news out of Amsterdam, where prostitution was legalized in 2000, is always fun. Clients in the Netherlands of the world’s second oldest profession may soon need to check for a sex licence. (Yes, I know what you’re thinking, but it is the world’s second oldest profession. The world’s oldest profession is farming. Remember, before, after and sometimes even during sex, a guy’s thinking about food. It’s only when he’s eating that he’s only thinking about sex.)

The Dutch cabinet said it wanted to crack down harder on the country's sex industry, in particular unlicensed sex operators, as part of efforts to combat human trafficking. According to a government statement, "That is why the cabinet wants to make it an offence to use the services of a sex operator without a licence or a non-registered independent prostitute."

I can only imagine what is involved in getting a sex license. Is it like getting a driver’s license? Is there a written test and a road test? What do you have to do to earn a learner’s permit? Perhaps it’s just a simple case of knowing all the right body parts.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it