Hello, my name is Nick Hilbourn and I’m a professional English major. I would like to move away from the humor column format to talk about an important social topic: stabbing.

Common decency does not stop at the dinner table. Even as we speak, people are being stabbed without so much as an ‘excuse me’ or ‘hello, how are you?’ It is the downfall of society when something as small as a simple stab cannot be done without a bit cordiality.

I love dogs, and I dote on my children. But when our daughter started to beg for a dog for her sixteenth birthday, I was determined to resist.

“All I want is a dog. Nothing else. Nothing,” said Charlotte, used to getting her way with her parents. What Charlotte really wanted was a cat, but her father, Jack, claims to be allergic to them. Being resourceful, Charlotte went on the American Kennel Club website to find a breed that was as much like a cat as possible. She found what she was looking for and began to ply me with offhand remarks like “Pomeranians are exceptionally trainable” and “Sixteen is one of the most important birthdays of all.”

If you’re like me, and I think you are, you are not social, but you dream of being a little bit famous. You are awkward, but you are also delusional. Am I right? You’re trying to get out in the world without ever leaving your apartment. Yes? Well, it is time for you to thank a god – and that 17 year old Russian kid – for thinking up Chatroulette. What could be better? You can stay at home and talk to other people, while creating and branding a personality. And since you’re like me, I know that you actually hate talking to people. So, skip the talking to people! Just make a persona for yourself. Get yourself known!

I would like to live in a cave. Not one where you take an elevator to get down to it and the tour guide lady reminds you to dress warmly because it’s a climate-controlled 52 degree Fahrenheit cave. That’s too cold and you can bang your head on stalactites and stub your toes on stalagmites. Most people can’t remember which is which. That tour guide lady told me there’s a way to remember: “stalactite” has a “t” in it for “top.” That way, you’ll know it’s a stalactite when you bang your head on it.

I was walking down the beautiful, white washed streets of my home in sunny, southern Spain when I saw two things that combined to bring back a long suppressed memory; a drunken father staggering along with his son in tow, and a dead cat under a parked car . See my dad was sometimes a dick, to put it mildly. He was a heavy drinker, with a penchant for terrorizing his son practical jokes.