My emails were hacked by WikiLeaks

SUISUN CITY – Local resident Brad Stanhope denied accusations Saturday of involvement with drugs, foreign governments, internet espionage and sports fraud after a notorious hacking group released a trove of his private emails.

Stanhope is the latest entity whose private documents were made public by WikiLeaks, the organization that previously published secret documents and emails from the U.S. Department of Defense, Turkey's ruling party, Hillary Clinton and several overseas government and business entities.

Stanhope is the first entity generally unknown to the public.

Since leaked emails are by nature a point of fascination, several media groups immediately began poring over the documents, looking for suspicious activities or connections – and Stanhope immediately fell under suspicion for his obsession with a local drug purveyor.

"I'll get our drugs on the way home," he wrote to someone known only as "Mrs. Brad" on July 8. "How many prescriptions do you have?" When she replied "two," (which legal experts suspect is a code word), he replied "OK. Got it," apparently agreeing to a deal.

Reporters who viewed the emails also noted an obsession with passwords, suggesting Stanhope may have a number of secret accounts. In the six months covered by the email release, Stanhope received customer support help from Sutter Health, Sprint, State Farm, Comcast and AT&T, each time claiming that he "forgot password." Several times, Stanhope followed with another similar email just a few weeks later.

"It's almost like he was trying to crack their security code," said one email expert, who wouldn't reveal his name, but insisted that it contained at least eight characters and at least one capital letter, one numeral and one symbol. "Either that, or he just kept forgetting his passwords. So he's devious or stupid."

Stanhope, who has a history in the local sports community, also routinely made absurd trade offers to other teams in his Yahoo fantasy football league, something that raised the eyebrows of sports observers.

"He offers three people I've never heard of for Tom Brady, Dez Bryant and Ezekiel Elliott," one expert said. "I find that highly suspicious. Either he doesn't understand football or he's hoping another team will accidentally accept his trade request. Neither of those options are particularly honorable."

There was no immediate reaction from the commissioner of Stanhope's fantasy football league, who reportedly works in a cubicle adjacent to Stanhope.

Perhaps most concerning is that Stanhope appears to have a longtime relationship with a significant foreign leader. He received several emails from a Nigerian prince, asking for money – which observers say suggests Stanhope has been a supporter of a foreign government that is hostile to American interests.

"This prince obviously knows (Stanhope)," said a law enforcement source. "The level of familiarity and the boldness of the prince's request for money makes that clear. . . . That Stanhope didn't reply from this account likely means that he used another method to communicate with the prince."

Investigators continue to sift through the emails, with reports that Stanhope also receives a significant number of emails for "male enhancement" and for money-making opportunities.

"You can learn a lot about people through their email," said one source. "This guy seems to be obsessed with picking up drugs, helping foreign governments, recovering passwords and swindling other fantasy football team owners. He's a bad egg."

Stanhope denied the accusations and said he would respond in the comments for this article, once he recovers his password to do so.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

A column of final Thanksgiving leftovers

It's a month until Christmas, which means that it's only 10 months until advertising starts for Christmas 2017!

Emptying my notebook, here's a plate full of post-Thanksgiving leftovers, one bite at a time:

• There's nothing more frustrating than trying to get true customer service from a major mobile phone company. They're great at signing you up for service, terrible if you have a question or problem.

• Yes, I may have recently switched providers and tried to get an explanation on my final bill from my former provider.

• Power rankings: The top five remotes at my house, in order of importance.

5. Fireplace. We have a fake fireplace and it has a ridiculous remote control. Who needs that? I haven't even attempted it.

4. DVD. Different from my TV remote, although sometimes used in an unsuccessful attempt to control the TV.

3. Ceiling fan. Yes, we have one. And yes, our remote control changes the speed, beautifully.

2. TV. Could be the top seed, but I could survive without it. Like I could (theoretically) survive without coffee.

1. Garage door. Remember when we didn't have these remotes? We used to have to get out of the car and open the garage, then get in, drive in, then close the door behind us. The caveman days.

• So here are my thoughts on the recent presidential election: Aw, never mind. You don't care. And I don't blame you.

• One confession: Jack Kemp remains my all-time favorite politician. His politics were on both sides of the contemporary left-right split and he was liked by his opponents. Plus, Kemp was a really good quarterback in the American Football league and his son Jeff was Joe Montana's backup on the 49ers. So there's that.

• Speaking of sports, it's remarkable that the Bay Area has one of the best-run franchises in major league baseball (the Giants) and the NBA (the Warriors), while having the worst-run franchise in the NFL (the 49ers).

Bad news for 49ers fans: The best predictor of success is the front office.

Worse news for 49ers fans: There is virtually no chance of an ownership change in the next three decades.

• Remember when we watched network TV? Now, probably 95 percent of the non-sports shows Mrs. Brad and I watch are either on Netflix or Amazon.

• Current hot picks: "Good Girls Revolt" and "Goliath" on Amazon, of course "Stranger Things" and "Bloodline" on Netflix.

• When I occasionally read comments on articles on websites (including the Daily Republic), I wonder if people are actually that mean in person or if they channel all their anger online. And I'm not sure which would be a better outcome: Hypocrisy or constant anger?

• Was that last note an effort to discourage people from bashing this column? Maybe.

• And finally, congratulations to Dungeons & Dragons, Fisher Price's Little People and the swing for earning spots this year in the Toy Hall of Fame in Rochester, N.Y. In this case, the swing vote was literally the swing vote.

Still on the outside, shockingly: The Nerf ball. Maybe next year.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Despite my efforts, I'm blinded by science

Details of science are a mystery to me. I'm closer to Wayne Newton than Issac Newton. Heck, I'm closer to Cam Newton than Issac Newton.

That was obvious on two recent treks. In both cases, I was interested in the subject and tried to pay attention. But the details sounded suspiciously like adults in the "Peanuts" cartoons.

Wah-wah, wah-wah-wah, wah wah.

Baffling.

The first journey was a camping trip with church friends, including my smart, scientific friend Myron. One night, Myron stared at the stars and tried to educate me.

Myron was interesting. He not only explained what the stars were called, he pointed out planets. He explained solar systems and groups of stars and how ancient sailors used them to navigate.

It was interesting. It made sense. I asked questions and Myron answered them clearly and understandably.

Because not long afterward, I forgot it all.

Wah-wah, wah-wah-wah, wah wah.

Fast-forward a couple of weeks and Mrs. Brad and I were in Hawaii, on an organized hike through the rain forest, led by a guy who liked plants. Really liked plants. Everyone else did, too.

"What is this called?" he would ask, pointing to a plant.

"A rose? A tree?" I would think. Then I'd run out of plant names. Someone would answer ("ginger") and I'd think of the character on "Gilligan's Island."

The guide told stories about the plants. He explained what was poisonous and what was healthy and why. It was interesting.

Here's what I remembered: Wah-wah, wah-wah-wah, wah wah.

Mrs. Brad, smarter than me, was engaged. I tried to be – then he'd ask for the identity of another plant.

A rose? A tree?

Scientific things – like the names of plants, planets, stars and animals – don't stick in my brain. Other stuff does: When Mrs. Brad told me she had an appointment Dec. 6, I immediately said "that's a Tuesday," then impersonated President Franklin D. Roosevelt's famous Pearl Harbor Day speech about Dec. 7.

If she asked me to identify anything in the sky other than "sun" or "moon," I would be lost.

If she asked me to identify either of the trees in our backyard – both of which I planted – I would say a rose? A tree?

I regret my inability to retain information of a scientific nature. I wish I could look at the sky and tell you where the north star is. I lament that I can't remember the appearance of poison oak or poison ivy. I wish I knew what makes something a reptile.

Maybe it's because my brain doesn't connect the "why" part of science, so the logic of naming stars, plants or animals doesn't make sense.

Maybe I don't care enough – perhaps if you promised me $1 million, I would be able to identify hundreds of plants.

Maybe my brain is overflowing with sports stats, song lyrics and the names of characters from situation comedies I watched as a kid.

All I know is that when I go into nature, even with people as interesting as my friend Myron or the rain forest guide, I can't recall what things are called and I can't identify the names of plants.

A rose? A tree?

Here's what I know: Pete Rose had 4,256 career hits and Tree Rollins bit Danny Ainge's finger during a fight during the 1983 NBA playoffs.

But everything scientific?

Wah-wah, wah-wah-wah, wah wah.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Science reveals maximum of 'really old'

Go ahead and throw away that invitation to my 116th birthday party, because it looks increasingly unlikely.

Not because of any recent medical news. For me, at least.

It's because of recent medical news for all humanity: Three scientists from Albert Einstein College of Medicine published a report that claims that 115 years is likely the outer limits of aging for humans. That's the finish line.

“From now on, this is it. Humans will never get older than 115,” said the lead scientist, Dr. Jan Vijg, ignoring the fact that previous generations of scientists vowed that humans would never fly, never run a mile faster than four minutes and never be able to track Japanese cartoon characters with mobile phones.

Vijg was serious in his opinion, although he refused to answer a question about why he has a last name with the letters j and g appearing consecutively.

Vijg and graduate students Xiao Dong and Brandon Milholland (known as "The Big Three" at Albert Einstein College of Medicine) published their report in the journal Nature, which I receive a day after my copy of the Saturday Evening Post arrives.

For many of us, the first impulse is to disagree. After all, Jeanne Calment died in France in 1997 at age 122, the world record for oldest person. Her item appeared in the Guinness Book of World Records, just a few pages after that photo of the fattest twins riding their tiny motorcycles and a few pages before that creepy guy with the really long fingernails.

Anyhow, the study by Dr. Vijg and his partners break with some recent theories – but their conclusion is based (as expected) on solid science. And any argument with other scientists ends when Vijg says "At what college do you work? It better be good, because I work at Albert Einstein College of Medicine. Albert Einstein!"

The Vijg study showed that while the average life span has increased over time, the extreme end – the oldest person in a given decade, for instance – has remained steady.

About 115 years.

Of course, there are the exceptions such as the 122-year-old Calment, who died in France while laughing at the genius of Jerry Lewis. Sacre bleu!

As expected, the Vijg study was a hot topic in the wacky medical community.

“This paper is a good dose of medicine, if you’ll pardon the expression, for those who would say there is no limit to human life span,” said Dr. Leonard P. Guarente, a professor of biology at MIT.

Guarente then stopped talking because he was laughing so hard at his reference to “dose of medicine.” He doubled over for a good five minutes and when he recovered, he attempted to describe the study by saying “The Vijg is up,” but started laughing again and had to leave the room.

Scientists. They're hilarious!

Back to the study, which is not all bad news. Vijg stressed that our quality of life can be improved and that good health is beneficial.

But still, he insists, our DNA limits our life span.

“There’s a good chance to improve health span – that’s the most important thing,” he said. “(But) at some point everything goes wrong and you collapse.”

So there's that, I guess.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

5 election items on which we can agree

We're near the finish line of the longest presidential race since Chester Arthur and Rutherford B. Hayes ran 850 miles from Dodge City, Kansas, to Tombstone, Arizona, as part of the 1876 Centennial celebration.

This year's election is between the owner of the United States Football League's New Jersey Generals and the first lady of Arkansas (based on 1985, the last time I paid attention), but once we finish, it's time to turn our attention to real problems.

That's a great thing about democracy. We can vote on such things as whether we should pay taxes on soda, who should win "American Idol" and who should start in the NBA All-Star Game. Additionally, the number of rights we have has been expanded by such freedom fighters as the Beastie Boys (the right to party, 1986) and KFC (the right to chicken done right, 1988), who showed that we can always improve our lives.

With that in mind, and with the election season ending, I hereby present five proposals on which we should vote next election season – all of which would make our lives better.

Merge directional states: Do we really need two Dakotas? Seriously? What about the Virginias? And the Carolinas? Under this proposal, multidirectional states would be required to merge into single entities, temporarily dropping to 47 the number of the United States. (I suggest adding Puerto Rico as a state, which would allow us to break out all the 48-star flags we put away in 1959.) And if you feel bad for the Dakotas, consider this: Even with this new plan, the state of Dakota (population 1.6 million) would have as many United States senators as California (population 38.8 million). That's still unfair, but I'll wait to introduce my plan to merge Dakota with Montana and Wyoming (creating Wykotana, population 3.1 million).

Speed up baseball: I love the sport, but do we really need more relief pitchers and pitching changes? The World Series was great, but slow. Change the rules to require relief pitchers to face at least three batters. Limit catcher visits to the mound to twice per inning. And install a trap door on the mound (with alligators underneath) that opens when a pitcher works too slowly. Bring back some speed! (And create jobs for alligator trainers.)

Coffee ordering simplicity: Allow only three sizes: Large, medium and small. Limit choices to just a few options: Lattes, mochas, regular coffee. Add a requirement that a cup of coffee can't cost more than a gallon of gas. And impose a limit on the number of fluffy pastries near the checkout counter.

Cable TV unbundling: Everyone agrees: We should be able to pick what channels we want on our cable TV (or satellite dish). Give us an a la carte menu of TV channels, with specific prices. If I only want the Lifetime Movie Network, FX, The Food Network and ESPN Classic, I should be able to create my own package. Actually, you can keep the bundles if you also offer the a la carte menu.

Whatnot prevention: Make use of the word "whatnot" punishable by not less than five years in a federal penitentiary, since it's a lazy word that makes you sound like a rube . . . and whatnot.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

The FAQs and nothing but the FAQs

I'm a 21st century communicator with a significant social media presence (I don't mean to brag, but I follow Pope Francis, Larry King and Tony Orlando on Twitter) and a fairly important public image (again, not bragging, but Solano County issued me an official library card).

As such, and as someone who has written literally thousands of columns (many with references to Jerry Lewis), it seems like this might be a good time to use the column not only to educate, but to inform, by answering questions.

In the tradition of great websites, I dedicate today to answering frequently asked questions.

Yes!

In the words of 20th century prophet Jack Webb (Google him. He's marvelous), it's time for just the FAQs, ma'am (which is funnier if you pronounce it like a word, of course).

Here are answers to frequently asked questions:

Where do you get column ideas?

Everywhere. I read the newspaper every day. I look at Facebook. I have discussions with co-workers where I get (steal) ideas for columns (such as this one). I sneak a peek at Tony Wade's Monday column if he files it early. The world is a machine that manufactures column ideas. Don't believe me? This idea came from my co-worker, Jeff. Blame him.

Is that an olive on your tooth?

Oh. Maybe.

Do people recognize you in public?

I'd like to be more humble, but the frank answer is yes. In fact, nearly every time I write a check at the grocery store, the checker looks at it and says, "Thank you, Mr. Stanhope." It's nice to have fans.

Are you and Tony Wade really enemies?

Tony, to the uninitiated, is the second-most popular humor columnist at the Daily Republic and frequently takes cheap shots at me, although the writing is so bad that it's often hard to tell. While we are longtime rivals, to call us enemies is not accurate – and would break our agreement in the case Stanhope vs. Wade, in which the Supreme Court ruled that my stance that Dick Sargant was the superior Darren on "Bewitched," was correct.

Who is the man that would risk his life for his brother man?

Shaft. Although it should be "who," not "that."

Are you always such a stickler for grammar details?

Yes. But it is "grammatical" details.

Is your head the same size as that picture in the newspaper?

No. My head is probably one-third the size of that picture.

Do you really wear those old glasses in that photo?

No. I am blind now and wear the cool Stevie Wonder glasses. Hah hah hah. Just kidding. Isn't that funny? Nothing beats making a joke about someone's disability!

Is the above question really "frequently asked"?

That's a FAQ, Jack!

Have you written any columns you regret?

Well, I shouldn't have joked about that Malaysian Airliner that disappeared a few years ago. Although it did seem funny at the time. Kind of like that Stevie Wonder joke in the earlier question.

How can you possibly still use a Hotmail address for your email?

Because bradstanhope@compuserve.com doesn't work.

Has an editor ever cut one of your columns because of something you wrote?

If one did, it would only be because most newspaper editors are total id . . . .

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Cold-case lessons from death of Lucy

There are cold cases and then there are ice-cold, deep-frozen cases.

Like Lucy.

She was a small woman, less than 100 pounds. Maybe only 60 pounds. She lived and died in Ethiopia, although it wasn't called that when she lived there, because it wasn't called anything.

Lucy's body was found in 1974 and just recently scientists have begun to understand how she died. Of course, when your body lies around for 3.2 million years, there isn't always a big hurry to determine cause of death.

Lucy, of course, is the world's most well-known fossil (edging out Larry King and Keith Richards). Her body was found in a shallow Ethiopian grave 42 years ago – beginning her career as an ideal example of an Australopithecus afarensis species.

Still with me? Good. Because I'm a little confused. I'm trying to figure out whether Pat Riley should have been included among other famous fossils. Anyway . . .

Researchers from the University of Texas recently released a study on how Lucy died. They used original fossil and CT scan results.

Here are their conclusions, and they're a cautionary tale for anyone alive now, not just in the year 3,177,984 BC (if  the age of her fossil and my math are both correct):

First of all, Lucy is theorized to have fallen from a tree, plummeting the equivalent of about four floors. (Lesson: Always secure yourself in high areas. And don't climb trees without reason).
Second, she tried to shelter her fall with her arms, breaking them and shocking her torso. (Lesson: Wear wrist guards).
Third, she rolled toward a nearby stream and slowly died. (Lesson: Keep a phone handy and call 911 if needed).
If you're like me, you have one thought in mind: How can the researchers be sure about her death?

I mean we've all seen plenty of TV detective shows when it looks like someone died of natural causes – or "fell" to their death – and we always learn that it wasn't so simple. Somebody did it. Somebody had means and motive. Somebody wanted to see Lucy out of the picture.

Maybe the answer is obvious. Did anyone ask Desi about Lucy's death? He might have gotten tired of her zany antics! (Hey! A 60-year-old pop culture gag!)

What about Charlie Brown? He might have tired of her cruel football tricks. (Hey! A 50-year-old pop culture gag!)

What about . . .

Oh, never mind. The point is that there is no statute of limitations on murder. If Lucy indeed was killed by another member of the Australopithecus afarensis species, and if they are reading this column, they need to know this: The researchers at the University of Texas are tracking you down. They know how Lucy died. They know what she did in her last moments.

The next step is time travel: Find a way to go back to when Lucy's contemporaries were alive and figure out the person behind this nefarious act. Because who knows what Lucy might have done, given a few more years. She could have changed everything.

Maybe she would have invented the wheel, 3.176 million years before humans did so. Maybe she would have learned to write, starting recorded history 3.175 million years before it did. Maybe she could have created a genuinely usable universal remote, which still doesn't exist. Maybe she could have written a song for the Beatles that no one understands.

Picture yourself in a boat, on a river. With tangerine trees and marmalade skies.

Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes and she's gone, indeed. (Hey! A 45-year-old pop culture gag!)

RIP Lucy.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

This haircut seemingly wouldn't end

Losing a hair stylist is like losing a mechanic or dentist or insurance agent: It's uncomfortable to go somewhere unfamiliar.

And you can leave a new place looking disheveled.

The shop where I got haircuts for the past 15 years recently closed. For a few weeks, it was going to "reopen soon," then it closed.

I liked the place. I like the women who cut my hair. We shared stories about vacations and work. They knew about my family and asked specifically about my sons. They also knew how to cut my hair, which is not difficult: five on the top, three on the sides. (Some sort of measure for clippers, I guess. The lower the number, the shorter your hair.)

The closing of my hair shop led to a mini-crisis: Where should I get haircuts? (Note: Don't suggest I come to your favorite place. I have a new shop, different from the one discussed below.)

I tried another nearby salon (is that the correct term for a place where they charge $12 for a haircut?). My first experience was bad enough for me to dislike it, but on a recent Saturday, Mrs. Brad was otherwise occupied and I had extra time. It's in my neighborhood. I could get a haircut and not interrupt my regular schedule.

So I went back and signed in. And waited. And waited. And waited. It felt like I was the guy at "Cheers" whose name nobody knew, since many customers were greeted when they arrived while I was ignored. That's OK. I wasn't a regular.

Finally, a young man came in, walked up to me and wordlessly indicated that he could cut my hair.

As mentioned earlier, it doesn't take long to cut my hair. The "five on top, three on the sides" haircut usually takes less than 10 minutes – enough time to talk about vacations, but not much more than that.

We didn't talk, since my barber didn't know me. That's fine. I didn't expect conversation.

He cut my hair. I heard buzzing, per usual. After the requisite 10 minutes, he stopped, then sprayed my hair with water.

And started cutting again. Barely. Occasionally snipping stray hairs with the clippers.

"He's making sure it's clean," I told myself.

He kept clipping. For several minutes. Then he stopped and sprayed.

And started clipping again.

Curious. I thought, "I'll tell people I had an obsessive-compulsive hairdresser. That will be funny."

He combed, then clipped the occasional stray hair.

Combed. Combed. Clipped a single hair. Combed. Clipped.

Stopped. Sprayed.

And started combing. Clipping. Combing. Combing. Clipping.

Spraying.

Combing. Combing. Clipping.

I got anxious. Was I supposed to tell him to stop? Had the rules changed? My potential OCD joke – to be clear, I don't consider obsessive-compulsive disorder funny – seemed factual. My. Barber. Couldn't. Stop. Cutting.

My hair is short. It's thinning. It's gray. It doesn't require a lot of work to cut.

But he kept combing, clipping, combing, combing, clipping, spraying, combing . . . .

I was frustrated, but polite. I told myself that maybe there was a game plan.

Clip. Comb. Comb. Comb. Clip.

Finally, my phone rang. It was Mrs. Brad, informing me that she needed assistance. Finally, I had an excuse.

I told Mr. Comb-Clip-Comb-Comb-Clip that I needed to go. He nodded and took off my bib, never speaking. I paid and left, with a mix of anger, confusion and amusement.

What just happened?

Then I got paranoid. Was this my fault? Is it possible that my barber is somewhere telling people about the weird guy whose hair he cut? The guy who wouldn't just say the cut was good enough? The guy who made him keep on clipping?

Boy, do I miss my old hair place. Where they decided when a haircut was done.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Here's how to make the debate a TV hit

A letter from one of the great script-fixers of television to the leaders of the Commission on Presidential Debates on the eve of tonight's second presidential jawboning.

Dear Commission:

Greetings and congratulations on the boffo ratings for your first debate a couple of weeks ago. It reminded me of the debut of "Gilligan's Island" in 1964 and of "Lost" in 2004. Both huge. And both got better (especially "Gilligan," when they introduced the idea of failed escapes!).

As you may know, I help make TV shows better. I take them from good to great.

I'm the one who added the idea of a potential second date to "The Love Connection." I suggested the expansion of "30 Minutes" to an hour. I came up with the idea of Fonzie jumping the shark on "Happy Days."

People still mention that, almost daily.

With your second debate airing tonight, I have some suggestions to boost ratings. Institute these and you could be another "Law & Order" or "Knots Landing." (With spinoffs!)

I'm a fan. I watched both the first presidential debate and the vice presidential debate. (OK. I didn't watch the vice presidential debate. No one did, so let it go.)

You've got a ratings hit. And as you prepare for your second episode, here are suggestions that can make your program even bigger, because it's fine to be "Dr. Ken," but wouldn't you rather be "The Walking Dead?"

Here are four suggestions to make your show better, starting with tonight's episode:

1. Enforce the time rules creatively. Here's how to do it: Introduce a trap door (like on the Game Show Network classic "Russian Roulette") that will open at the end of the allotted time. Or drop slime on candidates who talk too long (as on the former "Slime Time Live" on Nickelodeon). Who wouldn't want to see Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump drop down a chute or get covered in slime? Or to see them cut short a point to beat the clock? Add that, keep viewers.

2. Add Judge Judy. The moderator is usually a news broadcaster whose job is to be neutral. But your ratings could be hurt by candidates continually talking over each other – last time was like watching the jackals shout at each other on ESPN. I want a moderator with authority. I want Judy Sheindlin. She'll keep order and entertain. That's a dynamic duo!

3. Add a real-world segment. Candidates act like normal people, but we know they're not. Can Clinton or Trump make a pot of coffee? Can they figure out how to feed a family of four on $5 at Taco Bell? Do they know how to iron a shirt or how often you should change your motor oil? I want a 20-minute real-world challenge segment. The winner controls a shock collar for his or her opponent for the next five minutes. I'd keep watching!

4. Getting desperate? Finally, if the show starts losing ratings, go with my old favorite: Have Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton jump a shark while water skiing and wearing a leather jacket.

People will talk about it for decades!

Best of luck. I'll follow up soon about my idea for a wacky spinoff show, where the vice presidential candidates share an apartment in New York. "Pence, Kaine . . . and Chaos!"

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

New planet brings questions, possibilities

They've found another planet with life on it.

Well, maybe not. Still, it could have life! And that's enough for me, fulfilling the promise of my childhood, when we knew there were extraterrestrial aliens who would one day either perfect our lives or enslave us.

Anyway, Proxima b exists!

Scientists revealed in August that they discovered a roughly Earth-sized planet circulating around Proxima Centauri, the nearest star to the Earth (although to be fair, many scientists consider David Hasselhoff the nearest star to Earth, based on his "triple-threat" ability to sing, dance and act. A few renegade scientists consider Wayne Newton or Nick Cannon the nearest star. But most choose Proxima Centauri.).

Immediately, the speculation began: Could there be life on the planet? Might we be able to communicate with the inhabitants? Will 'N Sync ever reunite? Could humans survive on Proxima b?

Scientists were quick to discourage any idea that Proxima b is like Earth.

One scientist said Proxima b may be heavier than Earth – although it could drop a few pounds if it ate better and would regularly exercise – and that its atmosphere might be "like Neptune, with a thick, gaseous envelope." (By the way, a heads up from someone who knows: thick, gaseous envelopes require two "forever" stamps, even if they include a single sheet of paper.)

Buried in the information about Proxima b was a possible game-changer: The planet rotates around its star every 11.2 days, which means that's "one year" on Proxima b. Insiders say that could put serious pressure on Proxima b's Social Security system, since people on the planet would reach 62 – the age at which you can begin to draw Social Security payments – before turning 2 Earth years. That means there might be a serious imbalance between those who contribute and those who withdraw from Social Security.

There are other problems for Proxima b. Its star is 0.1 percent as bright as our sun – kind of like comparing the brightness of Blaine Gabbert's star to that of Joe Montana. In cases where the star is dim, planets often keep the same face toward the star. That means, of course, that it's always daytime on half the planet, always night on the other, which wreaks havoc on all performances of "Fiddler on the Roof," due to the lack of understanding of "Sunrise, Sunset."

Perhaps the biggest question is whether Proxima b has water. Astronomers say that if the planet was formed far away from the star and moved closer, it could be ice rich. But they warn that it's always possible that the inhabitants of the planet didn't refill ice trays after using the cubes, in which case the long-ago formation of ice helps no one.

Is this another Earthlike planet? Could we move there if real estate prices continue to increase?

We don't know. But here's what we do know:

• Proxima b could have life.
• "Fiddler on the Roof" doesn't necessarily translate to other planets.
• Thick, gaseous envelopes cost extra to mail.
• You should always refill ice-cube trays, just in case.

Isn't science great?

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.