With apologies to our resident conspiracy theorist Roy Bancroft Jr., I must confess that I have had just about enough of groundless conspiracy theories. Whenever the least common denominator of society finds it utterly impossible to digest legitimate news and information, there is this rush to concoct an elaborate conspiracy theory that is infinitely more complex than the black and white facts that are plainly visible before our very eyes.

When you assume that there is some mysterious latticework of cover-up and deviousness that underlies a government’s ineptitude, you are freely admitting that politicians and those in power have been blessed with a much higher intelligence than that of your own and that hundreds or even thousands of people have the ability to keep the same secret.

I for one don’t believe either of those assumptions.

While it may be true that some (and maybe even most) government officials are more intelligent than myself, the fact remains that no large group of people is capable of hanging onto some deep, dark secret that they all share.

Sometimes we just have to look at the text and quit reading between the lines.

Even though I get about 95% of my news from the internet, there are times when I like to plop down in front of the television, flip on some Katie Couric, crack open a bottle of Clan McGregor scotch, and try to see how long I can go before depression sets in and I have to get a taste before I completely lose my mind.

In some cultures this would be regarded as “alcoholism”, but I affectionately call it “Ronald’s medicine time”. It’s impossible to blame major news agencies for wanting to report on the absolute worst that humanity has to offer.

After all – death, sex, scandal, war and American Idol are what sell in this country of ours.

It was after my 10th or 11th “taste” the other night that I finally figured out what was really bothering me. It’s not the rampant violence or even the constant and utterly depressing updates involving global warming. It’s the anchors themselves.

I started thinking of ways that a major network could improve their nightly news segment and still remain within the parameters of acceptable programming. Here’s a list of things that could really spice things up:

With the announcement of Milton Bradley’s plan to replace the game of Life with The Blame Game: Life Revised, I found myself drifting back to my formative years in the quaint little village of Mi-Song Tu. It was the place where I first learned Kung Fu and the mystical power of Milton Bradley and the legendary Parker Brothers.

Indeed, some of my fondest memories of childhood revolve around classic board games. Whether it was the ruthless capitalism at play during a violent game of Monopoly, the mindless mayhem of Battleship, or the sheer frustration of Operation, I was always entertained during the humid and rainy nights that threatened to both suffocate my fellow villagers and drown the dreams of stardom that twinkled in my eyes.

Although I was never really fond of the game of Life, Milton Bradley’s decision to alter one of the cornerstones of cardboard camaraderie left my inner child feeling like a lonely and confused orphan who was just adopted by the bassist and drummer from Culture Club.

As sad as the change may be, Milton Bradley cannot be blamed for merely keeping up with the times. The days of saving for your children’s college tuition, paying bills, and taking the vows of marriage seriously have vanished faster than Steve Guttenberg’s film career.

Upon first entering any Best Buy store in any part of the United States, one cannot help but be overwhelmed by the busy buzz of shiny electronics and the booming sound of bass speakers pumping 2 billion watts of deafening noise into the excited ears of rabid customers.

With its marble floors, frosty temperatures and florescent lights, it’s possible upon first glance to mistake the cavernous carnival of consumerism for the Saturday night chaos of a Washington D.C. morgue.

Excited and eager to spend, customers rummage through the aisles like a pack of drunken sailors in a dockside brothel.

While I understand the excitement of children who can’t help but cackle in wonder and awe of this Mecca of gadgetry, I always shed a single salt tear for the poor souls that migrate towards the computer department in the hopes of finding a PC or Laptop for their “kid in college” or some poor bastard who made the mistake of telling his wife that he “needed a new computer”.

Best Buy’s computers range from shitty and cheap (E-Machines) to shitty and expensive (you can sometimes find the same model for hundreds less from online retailers).