Turning a bad joke into a happy ending

A young friend associated with the Casey Anthony case has been out of commission for some time now. That’s because she had been “with child” and wanted a lengthy break, which is still ongoing. She lives in Mississippi with her husband and two children. Check that… three children now. The closest I ever got to her was in June of 2009, when my lifelong best friend and I took a scenic road trip through Enterprise, Alabama en route to Natchez, Mississippi. I wrote about our adventure, but to be honest, Natchez is 180 miles from where she lives, and Stew and I were in no mood to hang around screaming children. Besides, I didn’t know her then. Heck, I didn’t go to my first hearing on the Anthony case until four months later, in October of that year, when the most Honorable Judge Stan Strickland called me up to the bench, six full months before the defense filed that senseless motion against him. What a crying shame.

Speaking of crying shames, screaming children and newborn babies, someone (singular or plural) decided to play a dirty little trick on me. There are two people who come to mind and I’m sure they are the guilty party, but instead of getting angry, well, let’s just say I didn’t. A lot of you are aware of certain blogs run by narcissistic, angry, convoluted and egotistical women who seem to hate men and have a strong penchant and predisposition toward spreading lies. Trust me, I’m not their first target, nor will I be their last. In any event, a chubby little thing with no brains who lives in Texas started spreading a dumb rumor that I was the father of the little papoose-to-be in Mississippi. Wow, methinks she gave my manhood way too much credit. All the way from Orlando to north Mississippi. That’s quite a S - T - R - E - T - C - H, but thank you very much.

Some of you may not know that I am 58-years-old and my baby days are long gone unless I make my way to Hollywood and marry a young starlet, but that’s not going to happen. As much as I love children, acting grandfatherly is more like it, the key element being grand, not just fatherly. At my age, raising children, among other things, would prove problematic, but we won’t go there.

On December 15, I received an e-mail from the Cord Blood Registry. Cord blood collection is a great thing. After the birth of a child, blood is extracted from the umbilical cord. It’s loaded with stem cells, including hematopoietic cells, which can be used to treat blood and genetic disorders. The placenta is a better source of stem cells for other treatments because it contains up to ten times more than cord blood, but cord blood could help your child later on in life. Why someone would want to play a cruel and stupid trick on something good is a bad thing, but as soon as that e-mail arrived, I called the toll-free number. That’s all it took. Problem solved, but if you think it ended there, guess again. Suddenly, all sorts of e-mails arrived, including one from American Baby magazine. Well, I declare! Someone was gracious enough to sign me up for a subscription, and darn if I didn’t call them, too. Only this time, I transferred the subscription to my friend in Mississippi, free of charge and compliments of her chubby ex-friend in Texas. Thank you, chubby little ex-friend in Texas! And American Baby, of course.

Since mid-December, I have received e-mails from Gerber, Fisher-Price, Upromise, Enfamil, Parenting magazine, and Similac. Most names are probably familiar except, perhaps, Upromise, which its Web site states, “is a free service that helps you get money for college bills and student loans from the things you do all the time: buy groceries, shop online, fill your gas tank and much more.” It sounds like a great idea and I’m glad to help.

This morning, I got a heavy package in the mail. It was a whole case of Similac Advance Complete Nutrition formula, perfect for the first year! Just what I needed! Here’s why… It’s just the same as all of the calls I’ve had to make, only more. With the e-mails and snail-mail I’m receiving, I call the companies and explain the situation. I tell them there are some very spiteful women out there, only a handful, mind you, but since Casey Anthony is a narcissist, the case attracts narcissists just like her. Birds of a feather. Peas in a pod sort of thing. Oh yeah. I tell them I am a writer and ask them if they want to see my Web site. YES! Of course, they do, so I tell them. Today, I called Similac and told them it was mean and nasty what was done. The woman on the other end told me to donate the formula, so guess what I did? I called a nearby church and took it down there, compliments of Marinade Dave, but with only one small stipulation. Would they make sure all of those young mothers get my blog address? Sure thing. It’s also 24 new people who will learn about my blog if they haven’t already. Visit marinadedave.com. If I receive more junk in the mail, I will do the same thing; turn a bad joke into a very good thing. Fortunately, that’s how my mind works. I find good in everything, and now a lot of nice, young, mothers and customer service reps will be stopping by my blog. A little “self-promotionalization taken to the fullest extent” as P.T. Barnum might have said.

Thanks, ladies, although calling you that is even more of a S - T - R - E - T - C - H! Keep up the good work and, thanks to you, I may be able to finagle a free college education for my friend’s newborn.