Friday, October 30, 2009


I went to Starbucks the other day, and I looked at the menu. I was all like "Latte? Why don't you just call it 'Large' like everywhere else? I mean like...*snort*...come on.

And, uh, why are the um, pillows on airplanes so, um, small. Pillows are usually bigger. In beds. Um.


Thursday, October 29, 2009


I just wrote a 5,000 word essay on the minutiae of Cell Phones and their various ringtones and then realized that I have nothing interesting to say. Today. Tomorrow is a new day. Wait, something is coming. Hold on…

Hey, what’s the deal with *67? Why isn’t it *007 to scare people and uh…

Forget it. Store’s closed. Nothing to see here.

Monday, October 26, 2009

The Hoax of all Hoaxes (everyone light your smokes-es)

Get ready. I am about to blow your mind. For free. Are you ready? You don’t look ready. You definitely aren’t dressed like you are ready. Is that how you are planning to wear your hair for this? You have no idea how incredible this will be, so I think you should be prepared. Are you sure? Those shoes? Really? I’m talking apocalyptic news here. If you want to go with that jacket / blouse combo then that is your prerogative. If any of you are men, then yeah I said you are wearing a blouse. Deal with it. Anyway, you can go with that ensemble, but I think later when you review your day and you think ‘I remember exactly where I was when I heard that amazing bit of news from that blog guy and OMG, I can’t believe I didn’t get dressed up. He even gave me a chance to go change my outfit. What an amazing guy he is. And his eyes…I can’t stop looking at his eyes. He haunts my daily life with his words and eyes and abdominal muscles.’ Hey, don’t say you weren’t warned.

Anyway, here it is: The ‘balloon boy’ story was apparently a hoax. There, consider your minds exploded. You are welcome.

When I first heard about this story, I brought up and saw a big breaking news headline at the top of the page in bold white letters with a blaring red background:

“Oprah picks new Book of the Month selection! Video to follow…”

Underneath that, a few lines down, in a much smaller font, there was this:

“6-year-old boy floating over Colorado in homemade balloon. Air traffic being diverted.”

My first thought was: He pulled it off. Some 6-year-old in Colorado finally did what millions of 6-year olds have been dreaming of their entire 6-year-old lives. I pictured a patchwork colorful balloon with a little basket tied underneath with shoelaces. I pictured little Timmy leaning over the edge of the basket dropping tiny plastic army men on a serious mission. Then I read reports about how he may have fallen out, and they were hoping it would land soon, and it was obviously more serious than everyone thought.

I finally caught a glimpse of the balloon and then immediately felt like an idiot (which I am used to). People really thought there was a 6-year old boy floating over Colorado in a Jiffy-Pop Popcorn container? In fact, I thought I was looking at a Jiffy-Pop picture that someone put up as a joke. Nope. Homemade balloon. Carrying a 6-year old boy. Turns out the boy was in a box in an attic or something after all. Regardless, there are 20 million 6-year old boys trying to patch together Jiffy-Pop foil right now into a makeshift aeronautic device. Alert all the major airlines: You are going to be flying through a lot of popcorn pretty soon.

Balloon spotted over Colorado with what appears to be hundreds of little boys with physical deformities.

The end result is linked above; it turns out to be some hoax perpetrated by the parents for unknown reasons. I’m all for a good practical joke. I saw a hilarious one on TV where they put a life-sized human dummy in a wheelchair and then rolled it down a hill to see people’s reactions as a supposed real person was careening down a street in an out of control wheelchair. The balloon thing I’m failing to find the humor in. ‘Hey, wouldn’t it be knee-slapping hilarious if everyone in America thought our 6-year-old son fell to his death from 8,000 feet out of a homemade balloon that I made out of Tin Foil and cardboard?’ The sound of crickets should have let the parents know that maybe they should just try the ‘pull my finger’ thing next time when they are trying to get some laughs.

Wait, this just in. Oprah read another book! This one is about orphans, in metallic balloons, floating to heaven carrying their Teddy Bears. In related news, CNN has just been rebranded "CNN-prah". We are through the looking glass here, people.

Friday, October 23, 2009

Book of Buster: Verse 10, Chapter 3

And so, in the great Movie Theater of Heaven, it came to pass that there was a midnight showing of “Leprechaun in the Hood (working title: Leprechaun in da Hood)”. The angels and archangels and prophets and such all gathered in front of the great golden movie screen watched in silence. God arrived late (as usual) and sat in the back row noisily crunching away on some popcorn.

God leaned over to John and said, “Fuck is this?”

John said, “’Tis ‘Leprechaun in da Hood’, O Great One.”

God squinted and said “Is that Coolio?”

Nodding, John said, “'Tis, my lord.”

Clearly baffled, God stopped eating and said, “Seriously, what the hell is this?”

John, looking over at the Supreme Being said, “You should know, you made it did you not?”

Shaking his head vehemently, God said “Uh-uh. No way no how. No way I made a movie about a Leprechaun terrorizing Ice-T and Coolio. Nope.”

Shrugging and turning back to the movie, John said, “As you wish, my Lord, but you did create all things in Heaven and Earth. This movie would be one of those things, would it not?”

“Gotta go!” God said suddenly and ran from the theater leaving John shaking his head watching the conclusion of one of God’s greatest follies.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Unnecessarily Confrontational

A co-worker cheerily came up to me today and said "Whatcha havin for breakfast, Champ?"

I said, "Fuck You Charms. They're magically awful."

Yes, it was totally uncalled for. Especially since I was eating a bagel. I'm no champ, so don't treat me as such. I'm not even a contender today, maybe top 50. Maybe.

So I continued down the hallway and another co-worker innocently asked for the time of day. I said, "Half past yo momma. Oh wait, I'm sorry, I misread my watch. *squinting at my bare wrist* It is five past my balls." He ran away in tears. I may be hard to deal with, but I tell it like it is. The time in my world is five past my balls. Don't ask questions to which you do not want the answer.

The piece de resistance (translation: The piece of resistance) came when a third coworker met me at my desk and said "Great weather out there, isn't it?" To which I replied, "Sure, if you like insecticides." He then asked me what I meant, at which pont I screamed in his face, "ENGLISH, MOTHERFUCKER! DO YOU SPEAK IT?!?!" Hey, you got me, I am difficult to get along with.

He called HR on me. Bad move, man.

Bad move.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Bath Bombs: Scent from above

This is the first entry in my new popular series: Products that sound like they could kill you but in actuality add a certain degree of femininity to your life. Here is the Wikipedia definition of “Bath Bomb”

A bath bomb, one form of bath fizzie, is a bolus which, when placed in bath water, dissolves partly or completely and effervesces, also in some cases adding scent, color, and/or other properties or materials to the water.

I could write seventeen pages about all of the problems I have with this definition (‘bath fizzie’? ‘bolus’?!?!?) Point being, a bath bomb is just a fizzy bubbly thing that makes your bathwater stink and change colors (like the ‘bath bomb’ you used to do in the tub when you were a kid. You were a kid when you did that, right?). The only sinister thing I can take from this definition is the mention at the end of ‘other properties or materials’ added to the water. What? Other properties or materials? Can you buy a “meatball” bath bomb that turns your bath into a delicious Italian gravy? Can you get one that adds nails and sharp glass? Can you buy bomb that adds asbestos to the water? That would definitely be less than optimal. Barring the mysterious ending to the definition, Terrorists need to come up with a plan B because bath bombs aren’t what they may think they are. I know that one terrorist was recently arrested for maxing out his American credit card buying hydrogen peroxide at many beauty supply stores across America. I guarantee this conversation also took place at one of those stores:

Terrorist: *low voice* Do you have any bath bombs?

Beauty Supply Worker: Why yes, we have many varieties!

Terrorist: What is the blast radius?

BSW: I’m sorry?

Terrorist: The blast radius, damn your ears! How much damage could someone theoretically do? Does it explode with a great roar? Will it bring heretics and BLASPHEMERS to HOLY JUSTICE!? Eh, theoretically?

BSW: Well, there would certainly be an explosion of color and fragrance! Er, and as for radius, I’m sure everyone in your house would enjoy the wondrous scents and fizzieness!

Terrorist: *squinting and staring confused*

BSW: Would you like a sample?

Terrorist: Good day to you. *picking up his bags and leaving quickly*

As my great-great-grandfather always used to say, ‘Ain’t nothing terrifying about French Vanilla and tons of fizzy bubbles all up in your business.’ I agree. The bottom line here, Bath Bombs are not terrifying or dangerous. They have no blast radius and are basically useless in a land war. Feel free to get as many as you want and stink up every bath tub in your neighborhood. If you happen to find any “Kit-Kat” based bath bombs, buy me a couple. I’ll owe you one.

Monday, October 12, 2009

The worst job interview in the history of jobs. And interviews.

Tom Johnson walks confidently into the office of Bill Richardson, CEO of Diatzu Motors. Tom is looking to be hired as a high level executive in the business.

“Hi Tom, I’m Bill Richardson. I’ll be conducting your interview today.” Bill says, extending his hand to Tom.

“Thanks Bill. Can I call you Bill?”

“Uh yes, that is my name.”

“Can I call you Will? Like Willy Will? Like Willy Mo Pena? Billy Bear?”

“Absolutely not!”

Tom considers this for a full minute of silence and then says “Call me Bill.”

“You want me to call you Bill?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot the comma. I meant ‘Call me, Bill.’”

“Call you? On the telephone?”

“Yes, please.”



Bill shrugs and picks up the phone at his desk, dialing Mr. Johnson’s cell phone number. Tom’s phone rings and he quickly flips it open, turning his back to Bill and hunching over as if being secretive.

“Yes?” Tom whispers while furtively glancing over his shoulder.

“Yes what? It’s me!” Bill says with a frustrated tone.

“Me who? I have no time to talk, I’m having an interview with King Blah Blah of the Car People.”

“Tom, I don’t have time for these games. Can we start your interview now?”

Tom makes a loud fart noise into the phone and then flips it shut dramatically. He straightens up and turns to Bill as he puts his phone in his pocket.

“Sorry about that, had to take that call. So what, you want me to sell cars to people? Like ‘Buy this car, it drives on wheels.’ ‘You want a red car? Absolutely Mr. Havasham!’ ‘I can definitely give you a car with seats, Mrs. BluBleeBlee!’ ‘Right this way, Mr. bopbopbop, blah bloo blee GPS.’ No sweat. So do I have the job? In all honesty, a monkey could do this job. A retarded monkey.”

“This is extraordinarily silly. I have no time for this. Your interview is over.”

“Is it? Or is it just beginning?” Tom asks with a devilish glint in his eye.

“No, it is over.”

“Can I call you Bill?”

“I told you that is my NAME!”

“Ha! That comma again! I meant…”

Bill leaps from his seat and grabs Tom by the elbow, forcibly taking him to the door of his office and pushing him into the receptionist’s area. The door slams in Tom’s face.

“Well, I think that went well,” Tom says with his face pressed into Mr. Richardson’s office door. Two security guards appear on either side of Tom as he straightens his tie. “Looks like you’ll be working for me soon, gentlemen. Just call me Mr. Manager!”

Tom is escorted to street level by the security guards and left on the sidewalk. Tom looks around and whistles sharply. Just then, LuLu Tom’s retarded monkey pet comes running around the corner and climbs up onto his shoulder.

“LuLu, I think we got the job!” Tom says as he laughs loudly frightening some passers by. In response, LuLu takes a huge crap on his shoulder.

Friday, October 9, 2009

Book of Michael: Verse 9, Chapter 9

On the tenth night of the tenth month, the weary travelers reached the Kingdom of Gold. They immediately complained about their tired feet, and the walls being too bright, and why is everything so shiny, and yadda yadda yadda, bitch bitch bitch. God threw an apple at them and said “Ye are in the Kingdom of Gold! Can’t ye just be content with knowing that no mortal soul has ever seen these golden halls before?” The travelers responded, “Well, yeah, but everything is so yellow and there aren’t even any restaurants or anything and my Blackberry has like zero service.” God threw another apple and tendered his letter of resignation, marching towards Mars to try again with the Martians.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

New Reality Show Idea #2

Reality TV shows have really been leaning towards contestants with a “story” rather than just normal every day people. “The Amazing Race” has a contestant with “Asperger syndrome”, two Harlem Globetrotters, and one of the contestants has no arms, legs, eyes or heart (or fashion sense, OMG LOL). He was eliminated before the show started due to “inadequate sense of direction and lack of blood pump.”

My first attempt at a new Reality Show didn’t go as well as I hoped. It tested well with infants and viewers over 80 (because they both fell asleep with the TV on), but no one else caught on. My new idea is a million times better than the old one. “The Supertastic Mailbox” is the working title. One mailbox will hold mail and the contestants will try to retrieve the mail each day. On the way to the mailbox, they will most likely be shot and killed unless they can win the “Immunity Hooker” who will keep them safe for a week (if you consider Herpes ‘safe’). Each week the winning contestant will read the mail to the rest of the contestants. Whoever doesn’t get a letter will be “Returned to Sender” via a high velocity slingshot. Sender = Atlantic Ocean. Here is the list of applicants I’ve received so far:

John Wilson, 25, Construction Worker: John has an artificial head made from titanium that he received in a 450 hour operation after losing his head in a freak croquet accident.

Harvey Stort, 54, Corporate Attorney: Harvey is a douchebag. No reason given.

Lucinda Stort, 55, Corporate Attorney: Harvey’s wife of 32 years. She is an alcoholic diabetic. She believes that man never landed on the moon. Also believes JFK’s assassination happened on the moon. Contradicts herself often. May be bipolar.

Mitchell Ratcheson, 34, Birthday Clown: Mitchell has severe OCD and is a Gulf War veteran. His “kiddie birthday shows” usually include some kind of dangerous weapon and a 15 minute rant on “government intervention” and have resulted in 15 restraining orders and 65 house arrests.

Bobby “Bubba” Bublow, 38, Sanitation Worker: Bobby accidentally raped a cardboard cutout of Henry Winkler during a drug fueled rampage in 1998. His conviction is currently being appealed.

Mary LeFleur, 45, Telemarketer: Mary was born with no elbows or knees. Her friends call her “Stiffy Sticklady” due to her lack of flexibility. Her goal in being on Reality TV is to let other people know about her affliction and to get someone to itch her nose for her.

Frederick Charles Masterson III, 23, Party Planner: Trust fund baby who has never worked a day in his life. Friends call him "F-Chuck". Owns 35 cell phones and 451 Blackberries. Suffers from a rare disease which causes his skin cells to explode if exposed to orphaned children or homeless people.

Moose, Age Unknown, Job Unknown: No full name given. Had his jaw fused shut by a freak lightning storm while wearing braces. Uses sign language to communicate. He has been known to defecate in public without warning. Allergic to clothing of any type.

Feather Moonwind, 30, Palm Reader: Feather believes that “all the planets were created to hold the energy of the universe for safe keeping”. She also believes that love is a “precious pearl that should be cradled and cherished for all eternity.” Divorced 5 times.

If you know anyone else looking to be in an exciting Mail-related reality show, please forward their application info. Filming starts in the spring. At that time I will also begin development on “Funnel of Love” which will involve funneling beer into as many 20-something men and women as possible and then locking them into a hotel room for 48 hours. Whoever gets the most STDs or unwanted pregnancies wins! Should be a surefire hit on VH1.

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