Described as “another Dave Barry, only with a lot less going for him,” Baltimore Sun columnist Kevin Cowherd sizzles as he tackles such loopy subjects as:

• Larry King’s interview with God (“El Paso, Texas, you’re on the air with the Almighty…”
• Fine dining at a 7-Eleven at 2 a.m. (“Moving briskly past the Test-Your-Blood-Pressure machine and the Hormel chili section, we arrive at the rack of Slim Jims.”)
• $20 million lottery winners who insist on keeping their jobs (“Oh yeah, I’ll be back at Mr. Tire first thing in the morning.”)
• The joys of backyard wiffleball (“Wiffleball is for anyone willing to shrug off a full speed collision with a tool shed and six months of subsequent blackouts just to snare a grounder up the middle.”)
• Thanksgiving dinner with Howard Stern (“Yo, sweetie, pass the cranberry sauce. What are you, stupid? Only a friggin’ moron would pass the mashed potatoes when I asked for the cranberry sauce.”)
• Modest people looking for love in the personals (“5-foot-9 guy with spare tire, bags under his eyes, not much of a chin, looks like your grocer, seeks woman.”)