I see subway officials are weighing whether or not to ban eating underground. Eeew.

I commute by bike so maybe my views are a bit parochial. But I don’t care. You are committing a high crime against human decency if you eat on the subway. It’s a crime even if it’s legal.

First off, I fall on the — we need less laws — side of things.  So I’m torn about making it illegal to eat on the subway. But it’s pretty obvious we need laws just so people aren’t friggin gross. 

Those of us who grew up with seven TV channels remember Gilligan’s Island and how much dog crap was everywhere.

Curb Your Dog meant don’t let the mutt go on the sidewalk, have him crap in the street, in the vicinity of the curb. The end of blocks or at the corners is where a

When I see a Miller Lite can I think of Tab, the rusty carbonated water that was the first diet soda. In doing my exhaustive research for this column, I was shocked to learn Tab is still sold. I don’t think I’ve seen a can since Luke and Laura ran away together on General Hospital.

I remember a rumor that the one-calorie per can claim was a bunch of bunk. Someone in a college class said it had more calories than a can of coke and a cupcake. The class was shocked, and one slightly chunky girl

Every year or so I stand on my toilet (because I really don’t know what a soapbox is) and make a public service announcement.  It’s time you or someone you love schedule a colonoscopy.

Most of what follows is from an old column but running it again is part of the annual routine.

For you holdouts, those of you who’ve passed the age of 40, certainly 50, and haven’t had the personal roto-rooter, it’s time. Just do it. It’s plain sensible and you can get in on the joke.

I’d like to use the

It’s summer.  I usually declare it over by now but this one hasn’t really started yet. I’m taking a leap and saying there’ll be good weather from here on in.  Good weather, good times. Good opportunity to stay on this side of the bridges.

I republish a couple of columns every year because I’m lazy. In this case, it’s for the public good and I have an obligation. This the annual Please Don’t Invite Us To Anything Over The Summer Announcement that you hope friends and family who live off the

Hope you’re in the mood for a little stress.  It’s the kind of stuff I love to share.

I know a lot of you stop by this column for medical advice. Yeah, if you want to be official and all that, you can check out Ask The Doc, but I know if you follow Boyleing Points you come here for questionable advice and special-brand quackery. 

Although no one can reasonably question last week’s column about the importance of a colonoscopy, many have scoffed at my declaration that your back pain is all in

A young friend and a former, mild-mannered reporter for a not-so major metropolitan newspaper appeared on the TV show “Jeopardy!” a couple weeks back. I knew he had brains but had no idea how much crap, er, trivia, was in his head, too.  He was crushing it halfway through the second round.

Now, of course, you watch “Jeopardy!” mostly to feel superior the odd time you know an answer before the contestant buzzes in. Or, best of all, you nail your own Daily Double, that’s when you know the answer

I had to look it up. Father’s Day has been celebrated since the 1500s. I figured it was a Hallmark invention or Macy’s gimmick so kids would buy more ties for dear old dad.  But, little did I know, it was tied in with the Feast of Saint Joseph. Yeah, Joseph, Big Joe, the dad of dads. He’s the guy who by all accounts did a pretty decent job as a dad since he raised somebody named Jesus. Now there was a guy who could brag about his kid. But by all accounts he did no such thing. When other dads

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