The science of genetics is one of the greatest advances in biology this century. The discovery and translation of the genetic code stands as man's testament to what we can discover by sheer will and undaunted persistence. 

The Human Genome Project. Stem Cells. Early detection of genetic diseases. The cure for paralysis, Alzheimer's, and Parkinson's. These are only a few of the exciting possibilities in store for the future. 

For most of the world, anyway.

For me, the discovery of genetics is an utter disaster. The DNA in a normal human genome contains the entire instruction manual for building a human being from rudimentary organic and inorganic chemicals. The DNA in my genome must contain plan B. How else can you explain this photograph?

Meet the family. To my left and right are my parents, Bob, and his sister, Mary-Lou.  Pa is an unemployed belt buckle designer, and Ma is a professional bingo player. Also pictured here is my sister (and ex-girlfriend), as well as my adopted little brother (her present boyfriend), whom we won at a local trailer park raffle (they threw in the leather jacket for free).

It is often stated that what separates us from the animals is the creation of civilization (and our love of hot wings). I tend to disagree. I believe what sets us apart from our furry friends is our ability to pursue the most ridiculous of sexual escapades.

Reasons why a person would dress up in sexy lingerie, kneel down behind a sport utility vehicle, and place his penis inside the tailpipe is not something that can be explained away by simple, or even complex, perversion (insanity has promise, but I'm not sure even the most pathologic of schizophrenics behave like this). 

Why human beings can achieve pleasure out of literally anything is an evolutionary trait that has apparently skipped all those other animals we share this great planet with, to their relief I have no doubt. I can almost picture our ancient ancestors, in their struggle to survive bitter climates, wild animals, and maintain their quest for fire, taking time out of their busy schedule to find a nice hole in the cave wall to ease the stress of, what was at the time, modern life. Is it possible this has something to do with survival of the species? Maybe "relieving" stress is the secret that has allowed us to avoid extinction for however many eons we've walked the Earth. Take away our right to use a tailpipe and maybe we fizzle out in a thousand years. I'm convinced there's a Nobel Prize awaiting the biologist who nails down this theory. This certainly can't be  what Henry Ford had in mind when he made the automobile accessible to the every man.

Of course, I hardly think Alexander Graham Bell was brimming with anticipation at the potential of phone sex, either.

If we aren't born with it, somewhere along life's journey many people learn an intense patriotism for their country that can stir a plethora of emotions ranging from pride to uncontrolled anger. Apparently, as I discovered, these emotions run deep. 

Of course, throw alcohol into the mix and what you end up with is mayhem. This is another photograph that verifies the age old equation: gathering of men + alcohol = troubled waters ahead. 

And for what? I was sitting at a hockey game in Canada, watching the Toronto Maple Leafs play the New Jersey Devils, minding my own business. I took a sip of beer and commented, nonchalantly I might add, that Canadian beer tasted like a bear pissed in a rusty cup full of sour milk.

3.5 seconds later this photograph was snapped. 

Soon after I was released from jail, the Canadian government banned me from ever stepping foot on Canadian soil, under penalty of death. Lucky for me, they didn't realize I was the one who almost convinced the President to make Canada the 51st state until I was safely back on American soil. Last I heard the three gentlemen in the photograph were proclaimed national heroes. In fact, I think one of them will be running for Prime Minister in the next election.

In today's madcap world it's never too late to learn the art of self defense (especially when I get myself into trouble at certain hockey games), and I don't think too many would argue that the martial arts provide the best means to defend oneself, short of packing a .357 caliber Glock semi-automatic pistol.

So I made the bold and momentous decision to sign up for one of those Karate classes.

Unfortunately the first lesson I learned, the hard way as it turned out, was never, and I do mean never, cheap shot the karate Sensei by kicking him in the nuts when he's not looking. It's a bit rude, and could be hazardous for your health (the gastrointestinal tract, to cite a possible example).

Needless to say, even before my limp body landed a few feet away, I had learned my lesson.

In an attempt to maintain a balance of homeostasis, the human body, when threatened with a change in that balance, has evolved many different avenues it can use to restore the healthy physiological medium which it desires so much. As we've all experienced, the ability to expel contents that the stomach has tagged as undesirable at an accelerated rate is one of those avenues.

Unfortunately, the human body cares nothing for who is around when this balance is to be restored. It must follow the law of Murphy which states if a regurgitated liquid should shotgun-blast out of your oral and nasal cavities at a drunken frat party (when everyone is watching), said liquid will happen to find a home on the closest person's ultra thin, cotton t-shirt.

However, the bond created between "vomitee" and "vomiter" is, I imagine, akin to the bond felt by combat veterans under times of extreme stress and fear. In peacetime, what can be a more harrowing experience than the feeling of regurgitation soaking your shirt such that it sticks to your skin like Saran Wrap? It is a traumatic event that only a fortunate few have had the opportunity to discover.

They define much of who we are. Hairstyles can say volumes about us and give insight to our personalities. A vital part of our look, it is not surprising that most people spend more time on their hair than any other part of their appearance.

There have been so many styles that have come and gone, and come back again. Some have been popular, some have made statements, and some were just plain fun. And yet within this myriad of styles, one stands unique among them all.

The Mullet.

Never before has there been a hairstyle so universally ridiculed by virtually all who do not sport one, that it defies explanation how it can still exist today. You know what I mean. How many times have you been out with friends, spotted a mullet, and it hasn't been the topic of conversation for the next 10 minutes?

Like a species of bacteria that seems to find a way to survive a continual assault of newly discovered antibiotics, the mullet has thrived in what would seem like a hostile environment. There are very few hairstyles that so represent a sub-culture of people so distinctly that to crop your hair like such automatically labels you a proud member of that American sub-culture: White Trash.

There is nothing to rival the experience of traveling away lands, meeting new and interesting people, and experiencing vastly different cultures. What better than a full day of alcohol consumption to bring east and west together for a photo opportunity. It was one of those episodes of alcohol consumption that I met these two gentlemen at a local watering hole in Mumbai, India.

The left side of the photo is Amir, and on the right side is his father, Ashad.  Amir is a stand up comic and Ashad, a wedding singer.

You wouldn't know it from the the picture, but these guys are fucking insane. We did a tour of the local drinking establishments that day, getting more intoxicated as the hours wore on. By the time we closed the last bar, we had been involved in 3 bar fights, 2 minor skirmishes, and citywide high speed police chase on bicycles.

Amir almost started a riot when, for a reason known only to him, he announced in the middle of a public square that the restaurant down the block was giving away free Suji Ka Halwa to the first 100 customers.

I barely escaped the rampage with my life!