Tasted like chicken

Everyone knows the old adage: Don't hit a drunk with a shovel, or he'll bite off your nose to spite your face.

Apparently, Matthew Osing forgot that advice while drinking with his buddy Donroy Merrival last week in Iowa City, IA. The men got into a fight and Merrival bit off Osing's nose, police say.

Osing said of his pal, "He's a heavy drinker and sometimes when he drinks he changes and gets real nasty." When he saw such a werewolf-like transformation taking place, Osing picked up a shovel and whammed Merrival. Merrival responded by pouncing on Osing and biting off his nose and part of his upper lip.

Extra points: The nose was not recovered. Osing said "my dogs might've eaten it."

Full story here.

Today's calls: Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob and Ann

An open letter to the people who formerly had our telephone number:

Dear Bob and Ann,

It's been a year now since we moved into our new house, and we're still getting phone calls for you. Sure, the number of calls has dwindled, but we continue to get one every day or two.

We want you to know you're on the minds of people here. They're still calling. We do our best to be nice to them.

It was strange at first. Day and night, the phone ringing, people asking for "Bob" or "Ann." Some days, we'd get calls from four or five different people, all seeking someone who didn't live at our house. You were getting more calls than we were.

We had to wonder: How long had the phone company kept our new number out of circulation before assigning it to us? (Clearly, the answer was "not long enough.") Who were you, Bob and Ann, and why didn't you alert people that you were getting a new phone number? How did you get so danged popular?

This wasn't your usual "wrong number" problem. If we said "wrong number" and hung up, the phoners would figure they'd misdialed and would call right back. They knew Bob and Ann's number, by golly, had it right there in front of them, and this was it. We learned to say, "Bob and Ann don't have this number anymore."

Most callers responded with the quick "sorry" and disconnect you'd expect. But some felt moved to quiz us. Where had Bob and Ann gone? Did we know a new number for them? They hadn't mentioned anything about moving away . . .

We felt these callers' pain, but we had no answers for them. We tried to find your new number, Bob and Ann. (We knew your last name, of course; all those callers had informed us.) But you weren't listed anywhere.

We told ourselves the problem would resolve itself in time. People would learn your whereabouts, and they'd stop calling us, looking for you. But the calls kept coming.

As the months went by, we started to feel a certain kinship with you, Bob and Ann, even though we've never met. We began to worry about you. How come nobody knew your new number? Were you getting word of all the medical and dental appointments the offices kept calling to confirm? Wasn't it dangerous to miss those appointments? Were your very lives in jeopardy?

We began to speculate on what could've happened to you. People don't just up and disappear, leaving no forwarding address or phone number. Had there been some terrible accident? An act of terrorism?

Was your vanishing part of some bigger secret? Had you fled town to escape a scandal? Were you dodging creditors? Were you in the witness protection program? Had you been kidnapped by a cult? Were you abducted by aliens?

We became so concerned, we even considered alerting the authorities (or at least the tabloid press) to your apparent disappearance. But we decided to write this letter instead.

So, Bob and Ann, if you're out there, let us hear from you. Tell us where you've gone. At the very least, give us your current phone number so we can pass it along to our callers.

You reached out and touched many people here. Your friends are worried about you. And so are we.

So give us a call, Bob and Ann. Please.

You know the number.

(Editor's note: Nearly four years later, and we still regularly get calls for Bob and Ann.)

Stupidity tax

A 55-year-old man in Murfreesboro, TN, was conned out of $7,000 in one of the oldest scams in the book.

Two con men pretended to be rich foreigners who didn't trust banks. They persuaded the victim to withdraw his own money from the bank to show them how it's done, then told him he could prove his own trustworthiness by walking around a McDonalds while they held onto his money. Then -- surprise! -- they disappeared faster than you can say, "Big Mac."

Full story here.

Editor's note: Even foreigners know about banks. Really.

Can your inner child come out to play?

Researchers who study children say it's imperative that parents tear their offspring away from the TV and make them go interact with other kids.

Play time, they tell us, is when children learn many of the social skills they'll one day need to become functioning adults.

For instance, kids of my generation learned the rules of social debate from the standard shooting games -- cops-and-robbers or cowboys-and-Indians or (after steady doses of the TV show "Combat!") heroic G.I. vs. evil Nazi. These games went like this:

"Bang, you're dead."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you ARE."

"You missed me."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Liar."

"Cheater."

"I'm telling."

At this point, the offended child would run to a weary Mom to complain. Game over.

Nowadays, of course, kids aren't allowed to shoot toy guns. Even whispering "bang" can get a kid expelled from school for life. Instead, children learn social skills by debating which Pokemon is most powerful, the argument escalating until one child runs to Mom, crying and complaining.

The playground is where kids learn to make friends and gossip about enemies. Where they learn to evade bullies. Where they learn to shrug off slights with dignity.

As we grow older, we forget many of those lessons. Or, we water them down. We want to be taken seriously as adults, so we disdain the social tricks that have proven valuable to generations of kids.

For example, we learn to gloat in smug silence when we outdo our competitors or when that jerk in the next cubicle makes a costly mistake. What we'd like to do, of course, is to call out: "Hahahahaha. I win, I win. Neener, neener, neener." But that's not how serious adults act.

We might be better off if we let that inner child go out to play more often. Maybe we're missing something by keeping those playground taunts and tactics bottled up inside. Some examples:

--Are any two words more chilling than "I'm telling?" Try it the next time you catch co-workers filching office supplies or competitors violating federal regulations. See if they don't shape up immediately.

--Remember picking teams on the playground? Was anything more humiliating than being the uncoordinated geek who was chosen last? You can turn that around in your career life. Pick the geek first. He'll be your salvation when the computers go down.

--When your boss is handing out assignments, be the quickest to say, "Not it."

--Turn aside insults by using those old favorites, "Sticks and stones . . . " or "I'm rubber and you're glue . . . " They might not defuse an angry confrontation, but they're better than gunfire.

--Hum background music as you go through your workday, the way boys provide action soundtracks to their playground heroism. When you finish a task, go for the crescendo: "Da-dum-da-dum-ta-DAAAH!" Your coworkers will love it. Really.

--If an irate colleague tries to corner you, sprint away while yelling over your shoulder, "You ca-a-an't catch me."

--Also effective: "You can't make me." (You should have another job lined up before trying that one on your boss, however.)

Maybe you're saying to yourself about now: "Hey, there's a reason I put aside all this kid stuff. My job is important, and it requires me to act like a grown-up. I want to be taken seriously."

To which I reply: "Haha, you're an adult. You don't get to play. Neener, neener, neener."

Miraculously, it doesn't turn your fingers orange

A Missouri woman has found Jesus in a bag of Cheetos.

Kelly Ramey of High Ridge bought a bag of the snacks at a local convenience store and was stunned to find a prize inside: A Cheeto shaped like Christ on the cross. Full story here.

Extra points: She's keeping the holy Cheeto in a safe deposit box.

Double extra points: Her husband calls it "Cheesus." He will be going to Hell.