It's June and I think we all know what that means ... endless summer reruns of cop shows we didn’t watch, comedies we didn’t watch, and (or course) the interminable political debates that we’re still not watching.

Fortunately, the annual glut of June weddings gives an amusing diversion from the relentless, wall-to-wall election coverage. Like all newlyweds these poor folks are probably getting that that most common of wedding gifts; unsolicited advice.

I, myself, was given at least two metric tons worth of advice that I didn’t ask for. The trouble with advice is that -- unlike an extra Salad Shooter or spare blender -- you can’t exchange it for something more useful. You just have to take it or toss it aside. (Hint: People who give you advice really want to see you use it. So, when you toss it aside, do so quietly and in a dark alley where they won’t be able to see you.)......

At this very moment a hidden crisis is raging out of control across the United States. It is a shortage of gigantic proportions; an epidemic that touches millions of lives. The problem? A complete, and devastating lack of clues.

In cities ranging from Albany to Barstow and all of the letters in-between, men, women, and children are getting up without a clue; going about their daily lives without a clue; and finally falling into bed at night without a clue. In short, they are all clueless.

Here at the CummingsCo Research Laboratories, we are committed to the fight against cluelessness. Teams of dedicated scientists and engineers have pledged their efforts to develop cutting-edge technology to stem the tide of cluelessness; technology which will improve the lives of Mr. and Mrs. America; technology which we will sell direct to you at reasonable prices......

Eight years ago my wife and I took leave of our senses and began to shovel great piles of money directly into the trash. Actually, we bought a boat, but saying that just makes us sound stupid.

Our reasons for joining the ranks of amateur sailors were simple and logical. My wife grew up in a family that sailed recreationally; a family that could turn a weather-eye to the clouds and chart the best course to avoid a coming storm; a family that felt utterly at home on the water. For my part, I thought sailing looked really cool.

The boat was our fifteenth anniversary gift to one another. In my wife’s family, it was tradition for the grateful husband to gift his long-suffering spouse with a one-carat diamond ring on the occasion of fifteen years of wedded bliss. My wife teasingly reminded me of this every three days starting just after our fourteenth wedding anniversary. Like most guys facing a costly obligation, I responded by changing the subject.

Until the day she said, 'I don’t want a diamond, I want a boat.'

Did I marry well or what?.....

Last week an acquaintance of mine had to endure two days of medically necessary bed rest. The official diagnosis was a badly-strained back. However, given that the injury occurred when he jumped out of a perfectly functional airplane to celebrate his forty-fifth birthday, I think a more accurate diagnosis would have been 'Testosterone poisoning'.

For those of you who didn't enjoy the benefit of taking Mr. Tovey's eleventh-grade biology class, let me explain Testosterone. Testosterone is a 'hormone' which is a type of chemical that acts in the body the same way a bicycle messenger acts on the streets of Manhattan. Hormones race around with great urgency delivering messages that generally cause chaos and confusion. Testosterone is the king of causing confusion. It is the chemical antidote to intelligence......

If I held a press conference right now, it would sound like this.

Thank-you all for coming. I will keep my remarks brief and I will not be taking questions. I'd like to being by apologizing to my wife for any pain my actions may have caused. It was never my intention to hurt or embarrass her in any way. I admit it was all my fault. I was the one who signed us up for the Ballroom Dancing class.

I should have known better. My gift for dancing is on a par with Britney Spears' talent for parenting. When I attended high school dances, people who saw me in action rushed to help me in the mistaken belief that I was suffering a massive seizure. The wild way I flailed my arms reinforced their belief, but also kept them from getting close enough to render any actual aid.

Once I was safely past the age of compulsory public dancing, I hung up my shoes and settled in for more sedentary pursuits like unsynchronized channel surfing and free form snacking. These were areas in which I could demonstrate some measure of competence, areas where I could hold my own, areas which wouldn't make me look like an electrician trying to jerk a screwdriver out of a live electrical socket.

Yet, not long ago, I myself enrolled us in a Ballroom Dance class.....