Tuesday, June 30, 2009

A Tragic Comedy (aka Comedic Tragedy)

The Pentagon, Washington D.C., 0430 hours

An agitated military official paces back and forth across a large room. The room has maps of all sizes on the walls and a large table in the center of the room covered with official documents and blueprints. The pacing official is a highly decorated general. He chomps on an unlit cigar as he walks back and forth with his hands clenched behind his back. At the table, a sergeant watches his movements carefully appearing to wait for some sort of response. The general abruptly stops pacing and walks to the table addressing the sergeant.

“Are you sure?” the general growls through teeth clamping down hard on a cigar.

“General, there are no options here. We are pinned down in the valley. Alpha Team is all but wiped out. Air superiority is non-existent. Bravo Company is too far away to do any immediate damage. We must withdraw! We have no choice.”

The general turns away for a moment looking at nothing in particular. He turns back to the sergeant with a barely suppressed sigh and a grim look of determination.

“Send in the Clowns.”

The sergeant’s eyes widen momentarily. “Sir?”

“Send in the god damned CLOWNS!”

The sergeant nods slightly. “Yes sir; right away sir.”

“And may God help us all,” the General mutters under his breath as the sergeant picks up a red phone and speaks in hushed tones.

Slobodov Valley, 30 miles south of Moscow, 0500 hours

Amidst explosions and screams of dying men, Sergeant Richardson tries to rally his troops.

“Men, this is our last stand! The Pentagon doesn’t have any more help to give. Bravo Company is too far away. It’s now or never!”

Over the din of war, plane engines are heard in the distance growing louder. Sergeant Richardson turns to the north holding binoculars to his eyes. “Oh my God, you did it. You crazy son of a bitch, you did it!” he says out loud to himself.

“What is it Sarge?” A young private asks Richardson. A few of the remaining soldiers turn hopeful eyes towards their sergeant as Richardson turns towards them.

“Men, we may just have a chance after all. We may just have a god damned chance after all!”

High in the sky over Slobodov Valley, a tight formation of 12 planes veers towards the battle in perfect unison. The planes are decorated in bright primary colors. This is Clown Squadron, an experimental group of soldiers that have yet to see battle. Per the General’s orders, they are embarking on ‘Operation Clown Car’. From out of each of the 12 planes, small figures are seen jumping from opened doors in their fuselages. What seems like never-ending streams of paratroopers descend into the valley. A cheer arises from Alpha Team’s base camp as word spreads of the reinforcements.

Sergeant Richardson loads his weapon hurriedly as his camp bustles with newfound energy. One of the soldiers notices the paratroopers landing and pauses. He stares out as members of Clown Squadron begin landing and wipes his eyes in disbelief. “Sarge? SARGE!” he waves Sergeant Richardson over to the opening of their tent pointing out to the battlefield. “Is that- Are they- Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”

“Yes, private, you are. The Clowns have arrived. The Clowns are here to save our asses.

The scene on the battlefield that day was one unlike any soldier had ever seen before. Thousands of circus clowns were high-stepping all over the fields; their giant red clown shoes paddling over the dirt and blood of war. Through the cutting sound of gunfire and explosions, the sound of loud honking horns could be heard as the clowns entered the fray. Discarding their brightly colored parachutes, the clowns immediately went on the attack, throwing pies left and right. One set of clowns set up a slingshot, firing a fellow soldier high into the air and over the barbed-wire fences of the enemy. Hastily constructed cannons were erected and another clown soldier was seen climbing into one wearing a brightly colored helmet and flashing a thumbs-up at his clown brothers. He was fired directly into an advancing enemy tank unit while clowns and non-clowns alike all cheered and waved and danced.

One of the Russian soldiers broke ranks and ran at the clowns only to be met with a hail of pies in the face. He screamed and wiped at the white foamy material covering his entire body. Then he paused and tasted some of it. “Banana Cream!” he screamed in Russian as the enemy roared and advanced.

U.S. Air Force Base, Munich, Germany, 0600 hours

“This is BOZO-One requesting clearance to land.”

“That’s affirmative. BOZO-One you are cleared to land.”

“Roger that.”

The lead plane from Clown Squadron landed safely at its home base. The pilot was met on the tarmac by many high ranking officials. BeBo the clown pilot stepped off the plane and was met with a barrage of questions. He had a short statement prepared:

“You sent a group of 1000 clowns into a war against Russian tanks and machine guns. We were armed with Banana Cream Pies and human clown cannons; they had bullets and grenades. We had giant red clown shoes; they had boots engineered for the frozen mud of Siberia. What a circus. What a circus! War is Hell gentlemen. War is Hell.”

With this last statement, BeBo squeaked and honked his way into the infirmary with his giant oversized shoes slowly smacking on the pavement. The military officials all conferred and agreed that the General in the Pentagon who ordered this attack was a fucking idiot.

Alpha Team and the entire Clown Squadron were killed in less than 5 minutes that day. The Russians advanced through Banana Cream, balloons, brightly colored streamers and thousands of discarded red noses. They were not slowed for an instant, and brought Hell to the entire region. Russians who served in the Army during this time would recall “The Battle of Clown Valley” with hilarity and disbelief as they remember the time that the Americans tried to stop them with pastries, dancing costumed men and clown projectiles wearing little pointy hats and oversized clothing.

BeBo spent 3 months in the infirmary mourning the loss of his fellow squadron members and feebly honking his big red nose which also served as a horn. He was released from the infirmary and discharged honorably. He returned to the circus and to this day vomits uncontrollably whenever he smells bananas. When the dust settled after The Battle of Clown Valley, it was found that the General who ordered the attack had disappeared without a trace. “Acrobat Company B”, “Lion Tamer Brigade Bravo Division” and “Tightrope Walker Company A” were disbanded and the American Military in general became significantly less silly.

The Ringling Brothers could not be reached for comment.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Spanish names that make me laugh

Hugo Homenow
Ricardo Liveherenomore
Emilio Dollars
Roberto Trucks
Maria Dasandwichyouorder
Pedro Twodollarsyestaday
Felipe Datank
Carlos Inawoods
Rosalita Comesitbymyfire
Jose Doyouhavethetimeiamlateformymeeting

OK, wait. Stop. These aren’t real names. You got me. I just typed “Francisco Downtodastoretogetdaeggsandsomemilkforhismama” and realized that I am living a lie here. Forgive me, in English and Spanish. I don’t know what got into me. It is uncalled for and a damned disgrace. There is no excuse for being such a subversive horse’s ass in plain view of the entire world.

I love Spain and its peoples. I usually never say ‘peoples’ but in this case I think it is warranted even though ‘people’ is already plural, but ‘peoples’ makes me sound like I have travelled the world and bedded many beautiful women. I love Barcelona. I even pronounce it ‘Bar-thay-LO-na’ because I love it so damn much. I roll my R’s with such vigor that my tongue goes numb and the roof of my mouth is sore for a week after. I said ‘Ricky Ricardo’ one time and generated enough power from the motion of my tongue to light my house for a month. You could see my tongue from space for 17 seconds. Me and the Great Wall of China, whats up? I pronounce ‘Madrid’ ‘Ma-SHREE-th’ and oh yes, you’ll get spit in your eye every time from the ‘-th’ at the end. I snap it right the F off. I eat tortillas with every meal, and while I am eating them I often say “Have you ever tasted such perfect Tor-tee-JASSS?” I have the tiniest pencil-thin mustache that accentuates my upper lip in such a way that the entire country of Spain would probably consider putting my face on their currency if they ever met me. Did I mention I wear a black cape and swordfight every sorry son of a bitch that crosses my path? Do you see where I’m coming from here? Do you think I’m playing games? If Spain were a woman I would marry the whole damned thing. I would even let Portugal tag along on the honeymoon. Viva Espana! Viva Espana! Hablamamos con los huevos! Sierra la puerta como un perro! Los Lonely Boys! Uh, Ricardo Montalban! Salsa?

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Book of Buster: Verse 2, Chapter 1

And so it came to pass that all creatures great and small were given one hot dog each to do with as they pleased. The "great" creatures ate their hot dogs immediately and asked for another one with mustard this time. The "small" creatures took a few bites and then threw the rest away, saying they had a "big breakfast" that day. This enraged the "great" creatures, who were shocked at the wasted half-dogs that were lying in trashcans all over the universe. The "small" creatures then called the "great" creatures "gluttonous pigs" which sparked a huge war that lasted thirty-five million years. "The War of the Dogs" was immortalized in the skies as the constellation “Fat Dog”. It consists of one giant star across from one tiny star, with millions of red and yellow stars in between them. It is, by far, the most delicious constellation ever imagined. Glory be to condiments.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Tweet Me


No, I’m not on Twitter. Actually, I may be, but I don’t actively ‘Tweet’ (‘Twit’?). What am I, Woody Woodpecker in the head? What am I, Heckyl and Jeckyl over here? Who am I, (insert other famous cartoon bird(s)) ? I would love to be Tweeted though. Twittered. Sounds vaguely dirty. Dirty enough for me. I am comforted in knowing that when I finish this turkey sandwich, I can let the entire earth know about it with one mouse click. I mean, how would Zimbabwe get through the day without knowing whether I went with the Doritos or the Fritos as a side dish? The answer is zero. Zero get through the day. Long live Twitter.

I am starting a new social networking site called ‘Twizzler’. Strictly for and about people eating various flavors of Twizzlers candy at any given point in time. I see just as much use for this as Twitter. I expect to have 75 billion users by the end of the week. I’ll start:

From TheTwizzlerOfOZ: I am eating strwbry twiz. It’s sooooooooooo gooooooooodz.

See how that goes? Eh? Eh? I know Ashton Kutcher is already salivating at the thought of detailing his hidden Twizzler habit. ‘Access Hollywood’ can yap about “Twizzles” from famous people every night at 7pm:

Up next, see what Ashlee Simpson was ‘Twizzling’ about last night at famous L.A. hotspot blah blah blah vomit.

Oh, I came up with another one!

From TheTwizzlerOfOZ: I thnk there shd be a cocaine flavored twizzler. I would be up all night whipping people with white colored twiz ropes.

Uh-oh, what’s this? What did I tell you?!?! Look what I just got!

From AshtwizKutchler: I luv twiz more than Demi. Shh.

I knew it. Didn’t take long, right? Love his nickname too. You can also send pictures of Twizzlers with my new service. “Ashtwiz” send a rather filthy picture along with his message above. I won’t detail it but I will say that Twizzlers make a fine set of underwear. Without my revolutionary new service, I never would have known. It is nice to see that the internet is fulfilling the exact need that it was created for: pornography and pictures of Ashton Kutcher wearing Twizzler underwear. I love it when a plan comes together.

Send me an email to sign up for your Twizzler account. You will be “Twizzing” in no time. Also please know that I have copyrighted the following terms and any attempt to use or say these words out loud will result in immediate termination. Yeah, like Arnold Schwarzenegger termination. The words in question are:

Twizzz (Note the extra z. That signifies an extra long Twiz)

Play by the rules and no one gets hurt. Thanks for reading and have a Twizlerriffic (copyright) day!

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Awkward Family Photos

Go here and laugh:


The photos are great by themselves, but the comments are even funnier.

Some of my personal favorites:

The Rear Window

The Lenscrafters


Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Google needs to be taught a lesson

Today, I typed ‘millionsofatoms’ into Google to see what came up. Google had the audacity to say ‘Did you mean millionsoftoys’ in its annoying Google-y voice and stuck up attitude. To hide my embarrassment at secretly wanting to mean that (I mean, millions of toys? Who wouldn’t mean that?) I slapped Google around and berated it for being so damned stupid. Then I paused and had an energy drink to get my strength back. Then I went back to Google who was cowering in the corner trying to stop the bleeding and said:

“No, Google, I meant ‘millionsofmindyourowngoddamnedbusiness’” *backhand*

I then Googled myself and went to sleep.

DISCLAIMER: Google is a technology and not a person or a thing with physical properties. Please do not try to slap Google or otherwise attack it. Google has been proven to cause lung cancer in lab rats. Do not try to eat Google or otherwise consume it. Google should never be inserted directly into the anus. This could cause death or cancer or both at once. Please to not place Google on your head or use Google as a safety apparatus. Please do not use Google on an icy surface as it has been shown to cause severe head trauma at high speeds. Please do not speak directly to Google or look at Google for longer than 12 seconds. Prolonged exposure to Google can result in blindness and pre-term labor in pregnant women and lab rats. You CAN refer to Google as ‘Gooble’ because that is what my son calls it and anything he says is correct.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Instant Messages to God

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz logged on at 2:00 AM
GodRulez logged on at 2:03 AM

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: God? U there?

GodRulez: Hey wazzup

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: Wow U R like nevr online anymore!?!?!

GodRulez: LOL

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: LOL


FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: LOL LOL !!!1!1!

GodRulez: Whasup

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: I feel like you don’t care nemore

GodRulez: Thats cause I dont

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: I asked you for help wit my math test and I got a 43

GodRulez: Maybe u r just dumb

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: If I’m dumb then you made me that way

GodRulez: I didn’t make you dumb sucka

GodRulez: The only thing I make is money

GodRulez: All day long

GodRulez logged out at 2:10 AM

GodRulez logged on at 2:11 AM

GodRulez: Back

GodRulez: Don’t pizz me off, I’ll bust a lightning bolt up in your ass

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: Well then if you didn’t make me who did

GodRulez: Your parents

GodRulez: Listen, all I did was make the earth some animals some plants and a couple of people. Everything that happened after that isn’t my fault

GodRulez: Do you honestly think I made Kanye West?

GodRulez: Gilbert Godfried?

GodRulez: Bobcat Goldthwait?

GodRulez: Madonna?

GodRulez: That aint my crap.

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: But the Bible says...

GodRulez logged out at 2:15 AM

GodRulez logged on at 2:22 AM

GodRulez: That’s the last time you piss me off. One more time Im up out.

GodRulez: I had nothing to do with the Bible. Some guys got together and wrote a book and tried to tell everyone that I said it and I was all like OMG, WTF?

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: You didn’t say that stuffs?!?!?!

GodRulez: Nope. I like gay people. I think you should be able to eat shrimp whenever you want. Marry your pet ferret, I don’t care. Why would I?

GodRulez: The guys who wrote it figured they could get all kinds of stuff past everyone and make a bunch of dumb rules if they said I said it because I wasn’t around to tell anyone that I didn’t say it because I def did not say it

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: Totally confused…

GodRulez: And it happened so long ago that everyone kind of just takes it as the truth now. Like when you said you made out with Lisa Richards in 6th grade and now everyone believes it because you said it so long ago no one remembers if it really happened or not

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: Why don’t you tell everyone now how you really feel?

GodRulez: Not worth it. I don’t want to make rules, I just want to see how everything plays out. Pretty interesting so far, gotta say

GodRulez: Im a lot older than people think. Yea, I made Dinosaurs, whats up? T-Rex woooot! And suck on some velociraptor while UR at it! I loved those suckas

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: UR acting weird

GodRulez: Just figured out how to make high powered weed. It. Is. Awe. Some.

GodRulez: starving to death up in here

GodRulez logged out at 2:37 AM

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: God?

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: God?

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: Hello?

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: Helloooooooooooooooo

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz: fine b that way

FallOutBoyIzDaShiz logged out at 2:51 AM

GodRulez logged on at 3:12 AM

GodRulez: ok I just had a revelation

GodRulez: When you walk on the beach, you will see two sets of footprints because I am walking beside you. When you only see one set of footprints, run like hell cause I got all ate up by a shark and shit.

GodRulez: LOL


GodRulez: srsly u gotta try this weed it da diggity dope snap zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

GodRulez logged out at 3:14 AM

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Book of Lindsey: Verse 3, Chapter 20

It is written that a bird shall lead all men and women out of the abyss and into a large pit filled with snakes, spiders and rusty spikes. That is what you get for following a bird anywhere. They have pea brains. Glory be to birds.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

A Moment with my Son

One day, I was sitting on the nursery floor with my two year old son. We were rolling a ball back and forth and generally having a great time. Then, he suddenly stopped and threw the ball down the hallway looking highly agitated. I looked down the hallway to see where the ball went. While I was distracted he leapt at me and sprayed a cold mist into my face from a spray can that I had not previously noticed causing me to black out.

When I came to, I was looking up into a bright light. The light was then blocked by the faces of my son and my daughter, who were looking down at me. I sat up as they started circling me with their hands crossed behind their backs and disapproving looks on their faces. My son spoke with a British accent which was curious as we are from New Jersey.

“Father, we shan’t be attending dinner with you and Mummy any more.” My daughter nodded in agreement.

“Um, OK,” I began, still trying to assess my surroundings and get my bearings.

“Furthermore, my sister and I shall be heading out for a bit. We wish to tour the countryside and cavort with the wildlife!”

“The wildlife?” I still felt groggy and tried to clear my head as quickly as possible. As my vision improved, I looked around and realized I was in a jail cell. The cell door was open and my daughter dangled the keys in her left hand held behind her back as she and my son slowly paced.

“Yes Father, the wildlife and the foliage! Oh what a journey it shall be! You shall not interfere. We will leave a note with the authorities that will allow them to find you and release you in 3 days time. By then, we shall be well on our way.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I said to both of them, causing my daughter to frown even more and take a threatening step toward me. “What you think is irrelevant, Father,” she said as she resumed her pacing.

My son continued, “We shall frolic in the countryside and eat strawberries and pick daisies and dance and sing all day! We do need some information from you, however,” my son said as he stopped in front of me.


“Yes. Your vehicle. The silver one. The one that Mummy drives to her place of business.”

“What about it?”

“How does it work?” My son stepped closer with a hopeful gleam in his eye. “The pedals. I’ve seen them. What do they do? How does the car move forward? Does it have something to do with the pedals? You appear to do nothing but there must be some way for your vehicle to propel itself. Tell me! I must know!”

Realizing I now held a bargaining chip, I leaned back against the wall. “And what if I don’t tell you?”

“You will tell us, Father,” my son said as he glanced over at my daughter. “You must tell us.”

“This has gone on long enough!” I yelled as I stood up. “You are both two years old! I don’t know how you suddenly learned to talk so well, or why you both have British accents, but I have had enough! Wait until your Mother gets home, she will not be amused! No Nemo for you tonight! No Little Mermaid either!”

My son took in this rant with a sly grin as my daughter stifled a laugh. “Oh Father, don’t you know that we hold all the cards here? You will give us the information we require, and we shall begin our journey by nightfall. We shall roam the highways—“ Just then, my son stopped in mid-sentence and made an uncomfortable face. “Oh, dear. I have just defecated.”

“What is going ON here?!?” My confusion and frustration had reached their limits as my son and daughter had a concerned conversation about what to do.

Suddenly, my daughter produced an aerosol can and sprayed a cold mist into my face. My son shouted “NO! NOT YET! WHAT DO THE PEDALS DO? WHAT DO THE PEDALS DO DAMN YOU!?!?!” at me as I gradually lost consciousness.

I awoke on the floor of the nursery. It was dark with only the glow of the night light in the room. Thinking I must have fallen asleep and had a very strange dream, I got up and noticed that both my son and daughter were asleep in their cribs. I looked around for a spray can and found nothing. I looked in my son’s crib and noticed he was clutching a set of car keys. My wife’s keys. In my daughter’s crib, I found another set of keys that looked just like the jail cell keys from my dream.

I decided right then and there that my kids would never learn to drive. I also immediately called my cable company and cancelled the BBC channel and any other channel that featured British accents. It was all I could do to keep from screaming. I slowly crept out of the room and down the hallway. From my children’s room, I heard my son’s voice say “’Ello guvnor!” followed by tiny laughter. I wrote a quick note to my wife and fled the house without packing a thing. I am currently in a safe house on the US/Canadian border. Tell my wife I love her.

They are smarter than either of us ever realized.

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