If you’re thinking of a public relations career, watch and learn. Italy recently did a recall of some mozzarella cheese linked to dioxin contamination. Okay, so how do they restore public confidence in the product?

a) Trot out scientists to say how safe it is
b) Trot out doctors to say how safe it is
c) Feed it to gladiators to show it doesn’t kill them

If you chose gladiators, you may have a future in PR! They fed cheese to these guys who wear flimsy costumes and pose with tourists in Rome, and I guess it worked. But I keep thinking hey, didn’t gladiators go to the Colosseum to die, anyway? So who cares that a gladiator is willing to eat the stuff now? “Sure pal, give me another mouthful, I may as well get it over with.”

More gladiator news: Put on your “glad” rags!

Man dressed as a gladiator eats buffalo mozzarella cheese in front of the Colosseum in Rome April 2, 2008. Italian buffalo mozzarella cheese producers organized a demonstration to prove the quality of their cheese. REUTERS/Tony Gentile

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Oh, what have I done? Mom wanted me to be a chiropractor, but no! I knew better! Mister Smarty-Pants just HAD to be a matador!

So here I am, dressed like Elton John, in front of all these boobs who came to see blood. They expect me to take my sword and… Caramba! I left my sword at home, on the sofa! Under my CAPE! Can anything ELSE go wrong today?

“Well, there’s the roar of the crowd. That means they’ve let the bull in. It’s just me, this black beanbag on my head, and a one-ton bull. What? And the program says I’m FRENCH? I know, who’s even HEARD of a French bullfighter? Maybe if I stand real still…

Related posts: Meester bool and “So? What do you do?”

French matador Sebastian Castella crosses himself before starting a bullfight in The Maestranza bullring in Seville April 4, 2008. REUTERS/Marcelo del Pozo

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Blog Guy, I know you’ve said bullfighting isn’t a wise career choice for college seniors, but the profession still intrigues me. Isn’t there anything in the pointless animal torture field that might suit me?

Look, there’s more to a career than silly outfits. You might consider becoming a creepador. As you can see in this photo, this furtive fellow works in the shadows, irritating the bull with whispered slurs and insults, mostly recycled Don Rickles material. 

The creepador gets the bull so furious that it doesn’t notice the sniperdor, way up in the bleachers, who shoots the animal with a high-powered rifle just as the bullfighter is about to stick those pointed things in it. But remember, the creepador is like the vice president. If something happens to the real bullfighter, guess who gets an instant promotion?

Related links: A goofy job and Try not to impress him

A Spanish assistant bullfighter pokes his head out from behind the barrier during a bullfight in The Maestranza bullring in Seville April 2, 2008. REUTERS/Marcelo del Pozo

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You may have read about this cult in Russia, where members are gradually leaving their leaky, collapsing underground bunker even before Doomsday, which they reckon will come this month or next.

If you’re thinking of joining up, here is a statistic: nobody in the history of doomsday cults has ever died being right, and chances are far greater you’ll end up dying of embarrassment. Even if one of these cults DOES prove correct, they won’t be able to gloat about it. Where’s the fun in that?

These folks do have some legitimate concerns. They oppose processed foods, and think credit cards and bar codes are Satan’s work. So if you go looking for them, don’t bother with the Velveeta aisle at Piggly Wiggly. “Dear doomsday cult member, congrats! You’ve been pre-approved for a platinum Visa…”

Related post: Comrade, come visit a U.S. supermarket…

More Apocalypse news. Doomsday: The Slideshow:

A woman with a child walks in front of a fellow member of a doomsday cult as they leave their bunker, followed by their leader Pyotr Kuznetsov (rear) and a previously departed believer, in Russia, April 2, 2008. REUTERS/ Denis Sinyakov

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This is a macabre story. Friedrich Schiller was a famous German writer. He was born in 1759 (not 1788 as we first posted) while his father was off at the Seven Years War. Back then, they named wars like that so both sides knew how long they had to fight.

Schiller wrote lots of great stuff and was associated with “Sturm und Drang.” That may be a German law firm, but I didn’t look it up. He died in 1805 and was buried in a mass grave. A few years later officials dug up the grave, figured the biggest skull was Schiller’s, and kept it.

A century passed. Researchers dug up another skull and claimed IT was Schiller’s. A debate ensued as scholars, um, jawboned. Imagine two yellowed skulls with flappy jaws saying, “I’M FRIEDRICH!” “NO! I AM!”

Now, there’s DNA. As any civilized people would do, they’ve dug up the remains of Schiller’s son, and grandson, for comparisons. Oh, and did I mention they also dug up the WIFE of the GRANDSON? No kidding. Someone please call Sturm und Drang and put a stop to this!

Actors rehearsing the Friedrich Schiller drama “William Tell” in a 2004 file photo. REUTERS/ Marcus Gyger

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Blog Guy, it’s that time of month again. What were the most popular postings in your blog? I have a lot of money riding on that one about using dead models in fashion shows. Am I right?

Car Pool Fool

You know, I still think you and your car pool pals should be betting on something other than this, or maybe even saving up in case your kids get into college. But I have to admit you may be pleased with the March results.

Here are the five most popular posts, starting with number five and working my way down to the top slot, like the big guys do it:

5. Why so crabby, Abby?

4. They don’t have enough problems?

3. When stupid guys try to deceive…

2. Proposing marriage not an outdoor sport

1. I wouldn’t be caught dead in that dress!

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My personal policy is I don’t drink booze with anything floating in it that I wouldn’t eat. I’ve missed out on some good tequila, but rules are rules.

That brings us to Bayou Bob, of Bayou Bob’s Brazos River Rattlesnake Ranch. Texas authorities say he was selling bottles of vodka with dead baby rattlesnakes.

Now, you’d think it would be pretty hard to GIVE that stuff away, but it seems Bob found folks who would pay $23 a bottle. These must be guys who fail to grasp the concept of displacement; once you cram a 10-inch snake in a bottle, there’s not much room left for vodka.

If you DID buy a bottle, how should you serve Bob’s stuff? My bartender’s guide suggests cocktails such as a “Death Rattle,” a “Fang ‘n’ Tang,” or a refreshing summer drink called “Venom ‘n’ Lemon.”

Related post: Which end of the snake goes in my mouth?

Not the same guy: Heart of Texas Snake Handler Jack Bibby dangles rattlesnakes from his mouth in a 2007 file photo REUTERS/Jessica Rinaldi

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Maybe he’s not quite the unluckiest guy alive, but he’ll do until Mr. Unlucky comes along. A shepherd in Russia is suing his country’s space agency after a 10-foot-long chunk of metal from a rocket fell into his yard, just missing his outdoor toilet.

He wasn’t in it at the time, but it’s still way too close for me. Would you want your obit to say you died when space rubble pulverized your outhouse? “Hold your horses, honey, I’m almost done! Can you toss in another roll of Charmin, so I can…”

That’s the kind of thing where the family makes up another story, like you went away to shoot an upcoming American Idol series or whatever. I’m pretty sure of one thing: every new outhouse they build there in the future will have a skylight…

Related post: No food? What kind of toilet IS this?

Royal flush? Britain’s Prince Charles walks out of a bush toilet during a visit to Australia in a 2005 file photo. REUTERS/David Gray

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Welcome to a feature we call “Euphemisms in the News.” The genuine photo caption here tells us “people try to avoid a bull which was set loose in the town center…as part of yearly celebrations…”

Um, do these folks not have access to the news? Doesn’t it seem a better way to avoid the bull would be to NOT come downtown that day?

You know, like take the bus to Barcelona instead. Or stay home and watch “Happy Days” reruns, or maybe join a group called “Citizens Against Releasing the Bull Downtown.” I don’t want to sound like Mr. Know-It-All, but I bet I could do a MUCH better job of avoiding that bull, year after year, than these people seem to be doing.

Related posts: “Let’s visit Spain and meet chicks!” and How to be a gentleman

People try to avoid a bull which was set loose in the town center of Vejer de la Frontera, southern Spain, as part of yearly “Toro Embolao” celebrations March 23, 2008. REUTERS/Anton Meres

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Confidential memo to fashion show staff: Now, please keep an open mind about this, because times are tough and we still need to cut more costs. We spend a fortune putting on these shows, and why? Because we use live models!

But what if we used dead ones? I don’t mean like really old gross decayed ones, but you know, just very recently departed ones. They don’t complain about the outfits, they don’t talk back and the only cost is some dry ice!

Joey, you get the lawyers to research the laws on dead model usage. Kelli, you go to the hardware store and buy all the wheelbarrows they’ve got….

Slideshow:   Related post: You gals work for the Lone Ranger, or what?

Models present creations from designer Dino Alves Autumn/Winter 2008-2009 collection during Lisbon Fashion Week in Estoril March 6, 2007. REUTERS/Hugo Correia

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