Render Unto Roger Goodell...

Dear Friends,

   J.S. Bach famously claimed that the sole purpose of harmony was for the glory of God, and that all other use is but the idle jinglings of Satan. So true! I would amend this slightly, though, to assert that harmony also should be employed to further the glory of the Green Bay Packers. I consecrate unto them the new Hard Taco song, "One Nation Under Cheese."

  The game of football has changed. It's no longer sufficient for athletes to excel at their sport. They now have to develop and protect their brand. Every word that athletes say is subject to intense media scrutiny, so they must have a clear strategy before they step in front of a camera. Here's an example of a savvy young superjock delivering a flawless sports interview.

  This kid just oozes confidence, team pride, and leadership. He's a champion's champion. You can tell he's the first one to practice in the morning and the last one leaving the film room at night (even when they're not having an Ingmar Bergman marathon.) That kind of presence takes hours of preparation. Let's take a look at the same athlete before he underwent media training.

Careful, rookie! Contracts and endorsements have been blown by a few ill-chosen words or an errant tweet! 

My suggestion for the greenhorns out there is that if the journalist ever ambushes you with a gotcha question, just answer in Latin. No one has ever lost face speaking in Latin.

Interviewer: Let's talk about their interception at the end of the first half? How did you let that happen?
Athlete:  Emeritus salutem captus Ave Maria! (The veteran safety caught the Hail Mary!)

Interviewer: I'm sorry? What?

Athlete: Manus habet molli. (He has soft hands.)

Interviewer: Um. Okay. The Giants blocked what would have been a game-tying field goal. What went wrong?
Athlete: Nanos gigantum humeris insidentes. (Their short guys stood on their shoulders. The shoulders of Giants.) 

Interviewer: Moving on. How will this affect your division race?
Athlete: Leonum nonquam vincere NFC borealis. (The Lions will never ever win the NFC North.)

Interviewer: Okay, then. Any last thoughts?
Athlete:  et... Ursus... sugatis!!!!!

With warmest regards,
Zach

Postcards From Panama, pt. 5

Dear Friends,

The Hard Taco song for August is called, "The C Word." It's gentle and wistful, like the ghost of a beloved grandmother smiling at you from her perch in the haunted cupboard.

Here is the annual installment of "Postcards from Panama." You should be able to jump right in, but if you want a refresher on how we got here, click here. 

Postcards From Panama, Part 5

8/2/2013
Dear Karen,

Have I told you about my neighbor, Dignidad? He believes in all kinds of mythological organisms. He is afraid of chupacabras, and every time he sees a dead goat with all of its blood sucked out, he thinks it is proof that chupacabras are real. He also believes in beavers. As if the only explanation for a dam in the river is a mysterious flat-tailed beast with giant teeth and a superhuman work ethic! Why has no one ever seen one, Dignidad? Why?

He says it's because they are nocturnal. (How convenient...)

But Karen, if you believe in mythological organisms, I won’t think you are naïve like my neighbor. When we are married, you and I will stay up late discussing our beliefs about chupacabras and beavers, and quickly learn to respect each other’s viewpoints. We can also discuss politics, religious texts, and whether or not you believe in imps. (I do not.) Just let me know when you would like to begin this process.

With warmest regards,
Michael

-------------------------------------------------

8/8/2013 
Dear Karen,

I have a new goal. By the end of the month I’m going to SLEEP ON A BED OF NAILS. I will keep you updated on the latest developments.

With warmest regards,
Michael

-------------------------------------------------

8/8/2013

Dear Karen,

I’m getting closer to my goal of sleeping on a bed of nails. In the twenty minutes since I wrote you the last postcard, I’ve moved from the visioning stage to the needs assessment stage.

Karen, I know you are a modern independent woman who is not easily impressed by displays of machismo. That is why, when I am done sleeping on this incredibly dangerous bed, I will complain about how uncomfortable it was. I know we haven't talked in person since 1992, but I am certain you would like that. A modern independent woman prefers a lover who is capable of very macho deeds, but is emotionally present enough to whine about them like a whiny little girl.

To be fully honest with myself at this time, I have another reason for wanting to sleep on the bed of nails. As of yesterday, I still have issues with bed-wetting. The bed of nails will have excellent drainage, especially if I tilt the head of the bed up a few degrees.

Still, the bed-wetting might not be a dire issue for much longer, because I am up to 62% dry nights (+/- 2 standard deviations.) I don't think you can appreciate the significance of this accomplishment until you have the raw data in your hands, so I will mail you my dryness diary.

With warmest regards,
Michael

-------------------------------------------------

8/18/2013 
Dear Karen,

Once we are married, we will probably want to move out of my apartment and into an executive yurt. To ensure that we choose the best executive yurt, I’ve been bookmarking the realty listings in a local free periodical called Panama Vida. Unfortunately, these listings are often on the back cover, which is very hard to bookmark. How do other yurt enthusiasts deal with this problem? Am I supposed to paperclip the bookmark to the back cover? Maybe I should just rip an unwanted page out of the middle of periodical, affix it to the back cover along one edge, and slide the bookmark between them.

With warmest regards,
Michael

-------------------------------------------------

8/21/2013
Dear Karen,

I took the commuter bus downtown today, hoping to find a licensed fakir who could sell me a bed of nails. I did not find a fakir who was willing to display his licensure, but I met a panhandler named Miguel Animosidad Del Pueblo ("Michael, Animosity of the People.") I am certain he was a panhandler, because he was actually handling a pan when I approached him.

Mr. Animosidad Del Pueblo astutely suggested that I make a D.I.Y. bed of nails, rather than purchasing one. I hadn’t thought of that! He also recommended that if I need a large volume of nails, I purchase them at a wholesale store.

This fake fakir is ugly on the outside, but it is possible that he is beautiful on the inside. I do not know him well enough to comment. Nevertheless, he has my confidence, because our first names are the same in Spanish.


With warmest regards,
Michael

-------------------------------------------------

8/22/2013
Dear Karen,

I should not have trusted that panhandler. His advice about going to a wholesale store was disingenuous. I guess I was beguiled by the way he manipulated that pan with his fingers. Now I know that he is ugly through and through.

The wholesale store was a great place to buy chicken thighs and pita bread in bulk (which I did) but the hardware section was disappointing. Long story short, Karen, they had no nails whatsoever. Nonetheless, the clerk in the hardware section was so helpful in telling me this, I felt obligated to buy something from her, so I purchased a crate of wing nuts.

I guess I'll just use those. 

With warmest regards,
Michael

-------------------------------------------------

8/24/2013 
Dear Karen,

Yesterday, Dignidad helped me screw all of the wing nuts into a piece of particle board. It took us all afternoon. (We ate a whole bag of pita bread while we were working on it, so I have only nine bags left.) I was so exhausted by the end that I rolled right onto it and went to sleep immediately.

If I had to pick just a three adjectives to describe my experience of sleeping on a bed of wing nuts, I would say: humbling, emotionally present, and macho. I am feeling very refreshed and humbled today.  

Did you know that REM stands for Rapid Eye Motions? It is one of the five stages of normal sleep. Last night, while lying on my treacherous bed of wing nuts, I counted my sleep stages, and there were at least six! I wonder if this has ever been reported in the scientific journals?  In fact, I may have had even more sleep stages, but I stopped counting when I got to six, because it’s hard to concentrate when you’re asleep.

With warmest regards,
Michael

-------------------------------------------------

8/24/2013

Dear Karen,



I'm afraid I have to ask you to mail my dryness diary back to me. Without it, I don’t have a good sense of how I am doing (+/- 2 standard deviations.)

One thing is clear, though: The drainage on a wing nut bed is not ideal. Do you think I should switch to hex nuts? Please write back if it isn't a bother.

With warmest regards, 
Michael

El Lobo Grande y Mal

Dear Friends,

If it's that good old time religion that you seek, look no further than the gospel according to Hard Taco and our newest song, "Put My Hand on Heaven's Plow."

I could probably use a little divine aid in the coming days. Later this month, I'm going to be performing in a stage play for the first time in 20 years. I am proud to report that the Penny Seats theater company has invited me to join the cast of "Little Me."

I will be playing the role of B.A. Baracus.

When this opportunity fell in my lap, my first instinct was to stand up and wipe it off as quickly as possible. But my wife persuaded me to defer judgment and let it mellow in my lap for a few days, maybe let it seep into my pants a little. And boy, did it seep. Now, I couldn't be more excited about it!

Unfortunately, my character's name is not actually B.A. Baracus, but I swear on a pile of free religious pamphlets that you won't know the difference when you see the show. Before each rehearsal, while the rest of the cast sings, "Druggie baby fuzzy bunkers" in all major keys, I glower at the mirror in the changing room and repeat the phrase, "I ain't gettin' on no plane, Hannibal!" This week, I must have made some progress, because I sort of scared myself. Holy Snakes! That guy in the mirror will never consent to riding on an airplane, especially not with that crazy Murdock at the controls.

I am the least experienced actor in the troupe, and oh yes, it is obvious. I don't instinctively know, for instance, where the hell to put my hands. Should I just scratch my face a lot? Constant up and down face-scratching with both hands seems like a natural thing that real people might do.  Or do tough guys scratch their faces horizontally? When I walk, should I lead with my chest or with my groin? When other characters are talking, should I stare at their lips and nod or scrunch my eyes closed and hum until they shut up?

I was in a handful of high school plays, but I can't really build on those experiences, because I never got any tough guy roles.  As a sophomore with an angelically high voice, I was cast in a Molière play as an androgynous cook with a bowl cut wig. My character was in two scenes, both of which ended with me squealing while the master of house beat me with a riding crop. It must have been very funny for the 17th century French nobility in the audience, but it was a very confusing time in my life.

So to channel my inner Mr. T, I have to go back even further, to my very first public performance. My mom recently reminded me that I had played the Big Bad Wolf in a 7th grade Spanish class production of Carperucita Roja.  I still remember every line of the scene (although it may not make sense because my browser doesn't support upside down exclamation points.)

Lobo: Ja! Ja! Ja! Buenos tardes, Abuela!
          (Ha! Ha! Ha! Good afternoon, grandma!)

Abuela: Ai! Un lobo grande! y también mal!
             (Hey there! A big and also bad lobo!)

Lobo: Gua gua gua!
          (Nom nom nom!)

Roja: O Abuela! Hola! Tengo comida en mi cesta! Chili con queso!
         (Oh Grandma! Hello! I have food in my basket! Chili with queso!)

Lobo: Salsa fresca?

         (Fresh salsa?)

Roja: Salsa verde!

          (Verde sauce!)

Lobo: Pollo asado?
         (Acid chicken?)

Roja: Huevos rancheros!
         (Raunchy eggs!)

Lobo: Carne asado!
          (Barbecued carnies!)

Roja: Dulce de leche
         (Candy de milk!)

Lobo: Gua gua gua!
           (Verde sauce!)

Anyway, if I can pull off el lobo mal y también grande, I should be able play a hard-bitten military man who scratches his face horizontally. I just feel bad because I will have to miss two performances of "Little Me" for a work thing. The understudy is a very good actor, but I am openly worried about what is going to happen while I am gone. What if the fools go unpitied?


With warmest regards,
Zach

This is my foot. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

Dear friends,

The Hard Taco song for June is called, "Tiny Hearted." This song has a favorable bit resolution and a very pleasing ratio of zeros to ones. It's a digital dream, much like a good piece of MARPAT.

What is MARPAT? You would certainly recognize MARPAT if you weren't a tree-humping bedwetting limousine liberal. MARPAT is the large pixel-based camouflage pattern on the modern Marine uniforms. Compared to the Army's unsightly camo splotches, the lo-res graphics and rough boundaries of the MARPAT (MARine PATtern) uniforms provide more effective concealment, whether you're in a modern combat arena or the original Nintendo Legend of Zelda game.




Specialized MARPAT uniform swatches for  A) woodland areas, B) desert areas, and C) Hyrule overworld areas.

 Other than excitement of receiving three patented MARPAT utility uniforms, Marine boot camp must be rather tedious. You have to learn multitasking (jogging AND wearing a backpack). You have to memorize the regulations about whether to shout "Sir" at the beginning or the end of a given sentence. You must walk endlessly up and down airport concourses. Or so I assume, because that's the only place I ever encounter men in military fatigues.


Can you spot the U.S. Marine in this  low resolution digital airport? Probably not, thanks to MARPAT.



A few months ago, my family was boarding a plane, and there was a gentleman in a desert-themed MARPAT utility uniform in a first class aisle seat. He was just sitting there, thumbing through Hemispheres Magazine like a real person. As we passed, Lauren smiled at him and said, "Thank you for your service."

This is one of the more astonishing things I have heard my wife say in the (***find out before publishing final draft***) years we've been together. It seemed entirely unprecedented. I can think of dozens of situations where the phrase, "Thank you for your service," would be more appropriate. For instance:

• My opponent gave the shuttlecock a swift underhand smack and it's coming directly to me. Thank you for your service!
• The rabbi just finished the closing prayers and wants to talk to me. Is he fishing for compliments? Thank you for your service!
• We didn't register for enough plates to accommodate all the guests at this function. But wait, you brought over a 16 piece dinnerware set? Thank you for your service (for four)!

So why was Lauren thanking this barely visible stranger? Maybe she assumed he was a high ranking officer because he was sitting in first class. If that was the case, would that make him any more trustworthy? Last time I checked, highly decorated Marine officers were best known for trying to take over Alcatraz and attack San Francisco and order subordinates to beat each other to death.

And what service do Marines actually provide, anyway? Everyone knows that all they do is line up on rocky promontories and twirl rifles. It's a very impressive skill, but one with dubious military value. If the rifle had a bayonet and the enemy was throwing cucumbers, sure, that would be something, but how often does that happen in a combat situation? If I'm ever in a war and have to choose a platoon for the vanguard, I'd forgo the Marines in favor of a line of Rockettes. At least they can kick people in the face.


Well done, Girls! Now get your left feet ready... here comes the second wave.

With warmest regards,
Zach

Mother's Day Gift Suggestion Meme

Dear Friends,

The Hard Taco song for May is called, "Love Is In the Very Air."

Now that you're pondering the month of May and the institution of Love, let's solidify some Mother's Day plans!

I'm not going to argue against the allegation that Mother's Day has become too commercialized. It's easy to forget that Mother's Day is, of course, a religious holiday... All Hedon's Eve. It's nice to have a standing phone date with our parents, but we must also remember that the true meaning of this day is to consecrate the deflowering of the pagan fertility daemon Eostreg in the glow of spring's first gibbous moon. When we get caught up in the spending, wrapping, and visiting, we forget that the Eostreg the winged womb wraith chose this day among all others to lay her inverted pentacle at the base of the holly maypole and birth the two-headed druid of the gate, Scrotus the Excrete-agog.

Perhaps Mother's Day has turned into more of a "Hallmark Holiday," but is that so bad? I look around and I see families spending time together and showing genuine gratitude to their wives and mothers. That is how All Hedon's Eve should be celebrated, if you ask me. If we don't appreciate each other, the tradition of invoking the chaos magick of fur and feather by splattering a blindfolded virgin with hot beeswax loses meaning.

So I suppose there's nothing wrong with a little gift-buying this Mother's Day. In fact, I'd like to help you pick the perfect one for your mother, wife, or baby mama, in one simple step.

Step 1: Stop giving her personalized coupon books.
This coupon good for a 12 hour calf rub.
This coupon good for one new palindrome that starts with, "Partyboob." 
This coupon good for a high five, and guess what! It's double coupon day!

Epic yawn. Do you want your mother to leave you nothing but a coupon book in her will?
This coupon good for one guilty memory about your dead mother.

All you need to know in order to select an original personalized gift for your mother, wife, or baby mama is how much you love her, her first initial, and her birthdate. This is still part of Step 1. Check out how easy this system is:

Level of Love for Mother/Wife/Baby Mama (On a 32 point scale.)

1. Army surplus
2. Halfway House Made
3. Gingham and rhinestone
4. Gently used
5. Beer-battered
6. Cleveland Browns
7. Distressed balsa
8. Single use
9. Bacon-wrapped
10. Gryffindor
11. Celery-scented
12. Cut down a little belly fat each day with this one weird old
13. Bose
14. His and hers engraved
15. Hands free
16. Navajo
17. Electrolyte-infused
18. Shiatsu
19. Free trade
20. Micro fleece
21. Wrought iron
22. Helen Keller autographed
23. Airplane grade
24. Seahorse hair
25. Cuban
26. Two Tickets to Cirque du
27. Motor Trend's Most Dependable Mid-sized
28. Vice Presidential
29. Yeti hide
30. Actually tasteful
31. Self-aware
32. Hope Diamond-encrusted

First Initial of Your Mother/Wife/Baby Mama
A. Loose leaf tea
B. Clutch
C. Zumba DVD
D. "Massager"
E.  Nanny cam
F. iPhone skin
G. Book of Dirty Mad Libs
H. Amazon gift card
I. Burnt offering
J. Moccasins
K. Hip flask
L. Fashion scarf
M. Nude sculpture of you
N. Wind chimes
O. Gary Coleman skull
P. Hand juicer
Q. Claddagh ring
R. Skin whitening system
S. Photo collage
T. Water feature
U. Spa basket
V. Wine decanter
W. Gargoyle
X. Dog tags
Y. Hangover serum
Z. Tote

What day of the month was your Mother/Wife/Baby Mama born on?

1-20. (no suffix/modifier)

21. Groupon

22. Cozy

23. 40th Anniversary Edition
24. Of the Month Club
25. Labeler
26. As Originally Envisioned by Frank Lloyd Wright
27. -Opoly, the Board Game
28. In Pink with a Portion of Proceeds Going To Fight Breast Cancer
29. Shipped in a genuine kangaroo pouch
30. Shipped in a genuine Shroud of Turin
31. With certificate of authenticity

Now there's a present that will keep you in good standing until the next nativity of Scrotus the Excrete-agog. Good work!

With warmest regards,
Zach

Bridal Party Contest Part 2

Dear Friends,

The Hard Taco song for April is entitled, "Drinking and Sailing." Is this song an instant classic? Maybe, maybe not, but you can't stop me from putting in a hashtag. #instantclassic

Thank you to everyone who participated in last month's Hard Taco Wedding Toast Contest and lost! You are free to resent the big winner, Carina. She was the only contestant to recognize that a roomful of Nazis was the only thing missing from our otherwise perfect Jewish wedding.



The Winning Toast. I'm not sure who Will O'Hare is.

Although this is wrong for so many reasons, Carina has been retroactively awarded the title of 7th Groomsman and her image has been inserted into the back row of this photo of our bridal party, which is now in the Library of Congress.

When you're done with this picture, please put it in the

Library of Congress after-hours drop box.

I have also retroactively added her to this thank-you speech which I gave the night before the wedding. Even if you don't know these people, I hope you can appreciate the sentiments... friendship and brotherhood are universal!

Zach and Lauren Groomsmen Speech March 10, 2001 (Final draft)

I want to take this opportunity to express my heartfelt gratitude to my groomsmen. You are my brothers, my best friends, my most trusted confidantes. Sometimes, life can dole out some cruel hiccups, but I know that whatever happens, the seven of you will always be there for me. I think it would be fair to say that the likelihood of any of us ever growing apart is about the same as the chance of a terrorist attack on American soil. It's just never going to happen!

Brian. When I first heard you were dating my sister, I thought, "Who is this guy?" Then I found out that you could belch the alphabet in nine languages! Or is it always the English alphabet, but with nine different accents? Either way, come on, get up here and show us. Bri-an! Bri-an! Yahhh! Wooo!

Jeff K. A lot of people don't know this, but you used to have so many pimples. (Pause for laughter and applause.) To commemorate our friendship, here are dozens of tubes of zit cream. Just kidding, Bro! I'm just giving you a hard time... because of the zits!

Ethan. What can I say? I've known you since fourth grade. Sometimes, when people accuse me of not having any black friends, I lie to them and tell them that you are black. Is that weird? Maybe, but I'm sure you understand better than anyone why I do it. Anyway, interesting fact about Ethan... he's the only person in Wisconsin to ever get trapped inside of a riding lawn mower on live TV. True story.

Other Jeff. Let me share an amusing anecdote. Last year, Other Jeff and I went to a performance by Carl the PG-13 Rated Hypnotist. The gimmick is that Carl hypnotizes volunteers from the audience and makes them do and say things that may be inappropriate for children under 13. It's a riot. Anyway, Jeff volunteered, and once he was fully hypnotized, he started telling the audience that he was a Crib Death Survivor! I hadn't known this about him, but his parents later confirmed it for me... he suffered from a bad case of crib death when he was a baby, but at the last minute he made it. I have so much more respect for him now that I know what he's been through. Clearly, he never would have opened up like that for the PG-rated hypnotist we usually go to.

Josh. What's up, Roomie? This guy (pat Josh's head, if available) is the king of elbow grease. One time in college, there was some calypso music playing at our dorm party, and Josh yells, "Conga Line!" Then suddenly everyone else is like, "Did somebody say CONGA LINE?" It was unreal. I guess you had to be there.

Carina. Where are your yarmulke and bow tie? I hate to call you out in front of everybody, but frankly, it's disrespectful. All the other groomsmen are wearing yarmulkes and bow ties, and you're just wearing some kind of fuzzy scarf. If this is your passive aggressive way of getting back at the rest of us for not inviting you to the bachelor party, congratulations, it worked. The wedding pictures are ruined. I hope you're happy. 

Russell. To my new little brother, I only have one thing so say: "Beep! Beep! Initiating startup sequence! Beep! Beep!" That's a private joke between Russ and I, and there's no way I'm going to explain what it means to the rest of you!

Here's another one: "Officer down! Officer down!" Hilarious.

Or how about this one: "Who wants to play some KENO? Anyone? Keno?" That one's an instant classic. #instantclassic

So that's it. My only question is, who is going to be my wingman tonight and dance with the other brides so I can hit on the hot one? (Pat Lauren's head, if available.)

With warmest regards,
Zach

Please Join Our Bridal Party

Dear Friends,

   The Hard Taco song for March is called, "Down at the Berl." The crawfish boil, or "berl," is the classic Louisiana seafood gala. Cajuns cannot pronounce the sound oi, which is why so few of them are Jewish grandmothers. (Er! My daughter could have married that lerer, but her new berfriend is an unemplered ger! Maybe I should person his sermilk?)

The Turquoise Badge of Top Sellerness

Moonspotcollectibles101
(29303 rankings) 
100% positive feedback

Unless you have applied 20 cumulative miles of packing tape to cardboard, you are one of the millions of eBay users who can only sigh wistfully at the unattainable turquoise shooting star.

I've made an eBay bid or two in my time, and I'm happy to say I still have 100% positive feedback. I can't really claim to be proud of this, though, because everyone has 100% positive feedback. There is a bylaw on eBay's Terms and Conditions page that states that real feedback is only permitted when it is quietly sandwiched between screamed compliments.

"Great job great AWESMOE PRODUCT great communication!!!! gene hackman autograph never arrived A+++++++ THANKS!!!"

Seriously, dear friends. The A with seven plus signs after it used to mean something. The only institution with worse grade inflation than eBay is karate class. (See prior rant.)

That's why I renounced online auctioning about 10 years ago. My last serious eBay purchase took place just before my wedding. It is traditional for a groom to give his groomsmen a modest token of gratitude at the rehearsal dinner... either a monogrammed flask or any product made by Victorinox. Rather than saddle my besties with yet another swarm of Swiss Army Ants, I decided to go with autographed pictures of their favorite celebs. 

  

My third groomsman is/was a Harrison Ford fan. He likes to dress like Indiana Jones, insomuch as he always wears his belts diagonally instead of horizontally.

Third best groomsman.
(It's not only okay to rank them, it's necessary.)

I went on eBay and got him this signed 8"x10" glossy, but soon after it arrived, I started having second thoughts about giving it to him. Indy isn't even looking at the camera. Without seeing his face, how could I be sure it was really Harrison Ford?

The enclosed certificate vouches for the authenticity of the autograph,
but it does not say anything about the authenticity of the photograph.

I couldn't fathom why Harrison Ford would sign a fake picture of himself, but it didn't seem right to give a tainted piece of memorabilia to my fourth best groomsman. (Sorry for the demotion, Jeff, but those diagonal belts look really stupid. Tell Brian he's #3 now.) In the end, I found him a nice autographed picture of a Star Wars extra from a "top seller" with 110% positive feedback. The Raiders of the Lost Ark photo stagnated on my desk, and over many months it was sucked into the undertow of deep storage documents.

Then, a couple weeks ago, I was cleaning out a file cabinet and found it. Here's the dilemma... I don't want to keep the photo, but it's too valuable to throw away, and I'm certainly not going to sell it on eBay. I realize just now that the only way for this picture to fulfill its destiny is for us to recruit one more groomsman (or groomsmaid), and give it to him/her!

I would like you to apply to be that groomsman/groomsmaid. To be eligible, all you have to do is write a toast for our wedding. The only details you need are that the bride's name is Lauren and it is March 2001. (Also, everyone is excited because one of the actors from "The Usual Suspects" is hanging out in the hotel lobby, but you don't have to use that.) Feel free to make your toast sappy, funny, or embarrassing... it's your call, Groomsperson!

Send the text of your toast to znlondon@hotmail.com by the end of March, and you may be chosen as the winner. The prize package includes the Harrison Ford autograph, a doctored picture of you with the rest of the bridal party, and a personalized thank you note on original wedding stationery!

You've always been there for me and I just want to say I love you, man/woman,
Zach