Friday, December 17, 2010

What I Want for Christmas

-- Barbie Dream Plastic Surgery Operating Room Playset. Complete with real silicone! Stick-on scar tissue! Inflatable breast balloons! Ken Psychiatry Outfit with comfy couch!

-- A REALLY smartphone. No, a GENIUS-phone. I want a phone that automatically calls people that I’m thinking about or that I may have dreamed about one night and then tells me why. “Hey! I didn’t want to call my estranged stepfather!” “Oh, didn’t you?” Genius-Phone says with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile.

-- Blow-snower. Snow-blotter. Blow-thrower. Show-bomber. I’m so drunk.

-- Santa Claws

-- This thing which tells time

-- I want to have a romantic comedy filmed that doesn’t involve two people who would never otherwise love each other fall in love. I want the opposite of this: “He’s a crack addicted janitor. She’s the President of Chile. In a world where crazy happens, watch love happen in ‘Chile Willy.’ This time, it’s for cocaine.”

-- Defecating with the Stars. “This week, Danny Bonaducci and Willie Aames compete in the final bowl showdown! Will the notoriously stingy judges give out any 10’s this week? Did anyone have corn for Thanksgiving? Find out Wednesday on ABC!”

-- Cadbury Turkey. An entire Turkey filled with that stuff that is in Cadbury Eggs. You want me to be thankful at Thanksgiving? This would go a long way. Get it done.

-- A bowl full of mush

-- An old lady whispering “Hush”

-- An episode of “Oprah’s Favorite Things” where she gets the crowd frothing at the mouth for some expensive giveaway and then just gives them directions home and a kick in the teeth for being so greedy and materialistic.

-- Black Monday through Friday. I think every week day the stores should open at 3AM and have an entire section of expensive stuff on sale for a dollar each. Give out nail-studded clubs at the door. Eventually, the idiots will be sorted out and the strong will survive (with three hundred TVs each). You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.

-- Re-release of the lost classic: “How the Grinch Stole Labor Day”

And all of the Who’s all snug in their houses
Dreaming of Labor Day wazzles and wowzes
While the Grinch snuck down in his mean Grinchy way
And with his dog Max de-Labored their Day

But the Who’s didn’t need what the Grinch took and more
Perhaps Labor Day didn’t come from a store?
Perhaps Grover Cleveland put reconciliation with the labor movement as a top political priority and fearing further conflict, legislation making Labor Day a national holiday was rushed through Congress unanimously and signed into law a mere six days after the end of the Pullman Strike.

I’m paraphrasing here.

-- Alternate version of “Charlie Brown’s Christmas” where the final “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” sing along with the Peanuts gang was dubbed over with “Kung Fu Fighting” by a drug-addled staff member. He was caught trying to animate Snoopy giving a round kick to Lucy and immediately incarcerated. The 60’s, am I right?

-- Kind of related to the last one, I would like a box of the most dangerous dessert known to man: Kung Fudge

-- Peace on Earth Goodwill to Men. Well, not all Men. Just the good looking ones. So, Peace on Earth goodwill to Attractive Men. Don’t care what you do with the uglies. Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Hot Men, Indifference to Uglies and Extra Goodwill to Supermodels. Wait. Peace on Earth blah blah blah forget the uglies and Super-human steroid enhanced strength to Supermodels to make them beautiful and scary as shit and prone to rage blackouts. That.

Friday, December 3, 2010

Urgent Questions XIII

If Mr. Peanut came tip tapping into your house with his top hat and cane, would you join him in an impromptu tap dance routine, or would you crack that nut and make Mr. Peanut Butter?

When stars fall from the sky, do you chase them running through moonlit wheat fields to see where they landed, or do you just wait for one to land on your house and put an end to your miserable existence? Hey, cheer up, will ya?

Do you ever think that maybe your dog is smarter than you? That maybe he or she has the answers to the mysteries of the universe, and just lacks the ability to communicate them to you? That maybe, just maybe, your dog is the answer to all the world’s problems? Oh, that’s right; dogs do eat their own crap, don’t they? Never mind.

When your cell phone rings, do you flip it open and begin talking animatedly about your exciting day, or do you instantly regret your “Funky Cold Medina” ringtone?

If hindsight is 20/20, is foresight 50/50? What about foreskin?

When a doctor hits your knee with his little reflex hammer, do you ever wonder why the hammer is skin colored and it appears to be attached to his testicles?

Why are people so afraid of clowns? It’s not the clowns people need to be afraid of; it’s their lethal poisoned lip makeup. Making out with clowns is the death bringer, not the clowns themselves. Just keep your distance and you’ll be fine. Or will you? *scary music followed by a tight closeup on Bingo the Clown’s inflated red lips, which mouth the words “You’re next”*

Will I ever see a day where alien beings land on earth and tell us earth-dwellers how to get our grooves back?

If California got all high and mighty one day and decided to become their own country, do you think Nevada could invade and take them in a fair fight? Nevada has all that casino money and tons of deserts to hide in, but California has all those Los Angeles freaks, plus Alcatraz. I call it even.

If a bubble floated out of the sky and popped on top of your head, would you freak out looking around for other bubbles, or would you just put your hands on your hips, bend back at the waist and laugh long and loud at your good luck that day because the bubble didn’t land on your erect penis?

When you squat down to talk to a friendly peacock about their day and to check on their family, just to see how little Billy is doing in school, do you ever wonder how you learned so much about this peacock and his family from just crudely written notes in peacock language?

How often do you spin in a tight circle and finish by thrusting your index finger straight up in the air triumphantly while shouting “WOO!”? Really, that much? Maybe you should cut down on those 10 cups of coffee a day; you sound a little nuts.

How about this time, we don’t forget the gravy?

Monday, November 15, 2010



Meet my new work motto. It applies to everything I do each minute that I do it.

The Best I Can With What I Got.

I manage a team of three bodies. I say bodies, because they breathe and are alive.

Otherwise? Bicwwig.

I gave one of the dudes an assignment to copy some files from one server to another. The files got copied all right. Right into the recycle bin. I fired a ninja throwing star into the wall next to his head.


I asked another to do a list of ten things, very specifically described in painstaking detail. Four got done, the rest ignored. I dropped a one ton weight on his head while he held up a comically undersized umbrella.


The third one built a house out of bricks. I huffed and puffed and sent him a thousand emails asking him what the status of his task was, but I couldn't blow down his wall of stupid. I finally lobbed a grenade of intelligence through his window only to find that he had a force field of indifference. He is impervious to intelligence, you see.


I do the best I can with what I've got. Give me lemons and I'll make lemonade that tastes strongly of failure and tears. Give me vodka and I'll make karaoke that tastes the same way.


Monday, November 8, 2010

The color of embers in a dying winter fire

I went to a birthday party with my kids this past weekend. It was at a place called “Bounce U” which is basically just a few huge rooms with giant inflatable slides and bouncy things. Oh, and screeching kids. It has that too. It also has snot and crying kids. And pizza. One of the workers there was a 20 year old girl with a “smartphone” and a giant head.

‘Was the head inflatable?’ he asked knowingly.

Alas, no.

‘How smart was the phone?’ he asked indifferently.

Not smart enough to know it was being operated by a human pumpkin.

Her head was orange. I mean basketball orange. Gorgeous Hawaiian sunset orange. Apparently the tanning phenomenon has spread to the point where fake tans don’t even actually have to be the color tan; or even in the brown family.

“I went to Aruba for a week. I got such an awesome Orange! I mean, I think I was the orange-est one on the whole beach!”

She looked annoyed to be in the same state as these frolicking youngsters, much less in the same room as a 20 foot tall rubber slide that continually spewed out rolling toddlers who were either terrified or laughing or both at the same time. I can only imagine the text messages she was forcibly sending into the atmosphere with her tangerine speed-thumbs:

“OMG. This kid just bounced on his head! LOL! I’m a pumpkin-headed buffoon!”

“I’m totally texting at work! Someone just tried to stick a carving knife into my head and cut a toothy grin into it! OMFG!”

“LOL. My boss is such a jerk. I’m so over this place. I just had to extract myself from a basketball hoop because someone mistakenly shot a three pointer with my face.”

And so forth.

She was also, strangely enough, dressed like an Indian princess. She had the required “Bounce U” t-shirt on, but otherwise she had on furry moccasin-like boots and in general looked like a Cherokee. I moved a safe distance away and yelled “Hey Pumpkin-hontas!” to see if she would react. She didn’t (unless you count moving your thumbs over a blackberry keypad and eye-rolling dramatically as reacting).

She was orange.

Anyway, my kids had a good time bouncing around. The name of the place suggested that it was a place of higher learning, but there were no diplomas or graduation ceremonies. Maybe we’ll get one in the mail. I would like our diploma hand delivered by “Tangerine Dream” so I can tell her what a horrible Halloween decoration she is. Then I’ll make her wait in the garden for rabbits to dig her up and eat her.

She was orange.

Monday, October 18, 2010

Mea culpa

I know, haven't been around lately. It's the dog days of Autumn and a tornado ate my homework. My keyboard got stolen. My laptop ran away. My house got sick.


I've turned into one of those thumb-typing smartphone-absorbed parents that I hate. I'm kind of embarrassed about that. I'm going to Droid rehab for the next two months. They make you write letters and actually sit and talk to other human people.

Field trips to the post office.

Should be a blast.

I hope this post finds you well. As autumn enters my heart, lo I find my soul pining for the fjords and yearning for the dew covered fields of my youth. Mayhap a chance kiss of rain should touch the palm of my hand, then shall I see you again.

Wait. Sorry, I had the "poetry lock" key on. Damn thing keeps getting stuck.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Lotus Notes is a Busybody

Quick mini-rant here:

Lotus Notes is an email software developed by IBM that we use at my company. It was made out of granite and fire in 1723 and hasn't been upgraded since then. I tried to attach an Excel spreadsheet to an email and gunpowder fell out of the screen.

It's old.

Anyway, I was tippy typing away on an important memo today about very important coroporate-type stuff and I happened upon the need to type the word "uninstall" as in:

"I would love to uninstall Lotus Notes and send it to the woodshed for a proper whipping."

So the ubiquitous red squiggly line appears under "uninstall" which is Lotus Notes' way of saying:

"Heyyyyy mister, I don't rightly recognize this here word 'uninstall'. What is that, some kind of new-fangled whosy whatsit?"

*tobacco spit*

*spitoon ding*"

Turns out, Lotus Spell Checker has a major issue with this word. So I right-click on the squig to see what the mighty Lotus suggests I do with it. Instead of a list of possible re-spellings or alternate definitions, I get this:

"No suggestion."

Oh? No suggestion? You went out of your way to squig my word and now you are backing away with your hands up saying "I just know its bad, I don't know what to do with it though! It's bad! I know it!"

Don't give me crap for words that you don't even have the slightest inkling of how to handle.

"That one got too many letters! Squig it!"

"That one is wayyy to fancy-like for this here email! Squig it!"

"Me don't like! Too many big letters in front of small letters!"

Lotus Notes is the equivalent of Fisher Price email for toddlers, if such a thing were to exist.

That is all.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

That’s How Much I Love You

I have cheated on you twenty-five times in the past ten years. That works out to under three times a year, which is well below the national average.

That’s How Much I Love You

I went to see Twilight with you and disguised my vomiting by putting my entire head inside the super sized popcorn bucket so you could still enjoy looking at Taylor Lautner’s abs.

That’s How Much I Love You

I opened a checking account in your name and filled it with wishes from my heart and smiles and fluffy things. When the clerk asked me if I was going to put any money in it, I said “Love has no price you simple minded barbarian” and gave him the old “How’s Your Family” (don’t ask).

That’s How Much I Love You

I chased a dog through the streets of Manhattan so I could tell him how the dimples in your cheeks make we want to stuff them with kisses. The dog bit my scrotum and urinated on my shoes.

That’s How Much I Love You

I High Five everyone I meet multiple times regardless of what they are currently doing. I was impaled by my dentist’s drill as a result.

That’s How Much I Love You

I would write your name in the stars every night if I could, but my penis doesn’t reach that high.

That’s How Much I Love You

I detained the mailman for thirteen hours because I thought he had a picture of you, but it turns out it was a pamphlet from the Church with angels on the front of it.

That’s How Much I Love You

I put cocaine in your eggs every morning and pot in your brownies every night so you have enough energy to get through the day and enough slacker-ass laziness to get to bed on time.

That’s How Much I Love You

And finally, I stopped sending you flowers pursuant to the court mandated restraining order you had filed against me.

That’s How Much I Love You

Monday, September 13, 2010

It's a Major Award!

Well, it appears as though someone besides my therapist is reading this blog. I have been named "Blogger of Note" at Words of Wisdom! Needless to say, I am humbled and very appreciative. There are tons of great blogs featured there all the time, you should go check the site out.

For any new readers who get caught in this verbal bear trap: Welcome. You will find after seconds of reading the things posted here you may feel dizzy or slightly nauseous.

This is normal. Do not be alarmed.

Just open a window and get some fresh air and you should feel better momentarily. Here are some especially wonderful collections of words that form paragraphs that are generally coherent:

22 things you didn't know about me until now -- This should give you a good idea of just what kind of a fruit loop you are dealing with here.

New Year's Resolutions -- A list of my New Year's Resolutions. I got all of them done except...most of them.

Fun things to do when you are bored -- Self explanatory and true.

Welcome newcomers, I hope you stay a while. It gets boring talking to myself all the time.


Thursday, September 9, 2010

Book of Lucille: Verse 10, Chapter 11

And so during the End of Days, a great fire came down upon the Earth. And that fire started many smaller fires. And those smaller fires started many little campfires. Everyone had little isolated cookouts and ate many bratwursts and hot dogs and hamburgers and drank copious amounts of beer while trying to ignore the raging inferno that started the whole thing. True to form, America ate more than the entire world combined because America is the fattest land in God’s entire Universe. God used the fire test to redesign Americans with much smaller mouths and no stomachs. His Will Be Done.

Friday, August 13, 2010

Book of Buster: Verse 10, Chapter 45

When the Angels return triumphantly from the fields of Holy Battle, they will probably get drunk that very same night. If you don’t want any Holy trouble, just stay home. Drunk Angels are constantly looking for fights and usually end up vomiting on God’s sandals. I don’t need to tell you how pissed He gets when that happens. Ever see a solar eclipse? That is God in the middle of a rage-blackout right before He goes looking for his whuppin’ stick. Praise be to the Sun and sore-assed Angels.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Burning Questions, part the 12th

When someone tells you to “put that in your pipe and smoke it” do you reply with ‘Well I already did that last night…except…except the pipe was your butt and the…thing that…you want me to smoke was your mom…in your butt.’? You really have to work on your comebacks, compadre.

Do crowded malls make you think of how commercialism has completely taken over our culture; falsely implanting thoughts into people’s heads that they must spend money on things they don’t need? Me? I think of Cinnabon with soft serve vanilla on top of a cinnamon bun with M&Ms and Twizzlers on top. Oh, and all of that commercialism shit too.

If Aunt Jemima met Mrs. Butterworth in a steel cage match, who would make me fatter quicker?

If you had to give one of your fingers to science, which one would it be? Don’t say the middle one and then giggle like a 10 year old child, this is science dammit!

If Mr. Jones and Mrs. Robinson met on a busy sidewalk one day, would they point at each other and say “Great Song! Jinx! You owe me a coke! AH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!” until Mr. Roboto came along and blasted them to hell with his super laser? Domo origato, Mr. Roboto *traditional Chinese bow*.

How many miles can you run before you realize that the sun isn’t chasing you, it’s just trying to burn you to death slowly? It’s a cruel, cruel summer.

Have you ever lifted your leg as high as you could, and stomped down on an anthill yelling “I am your natural born DOOM come to LIFE!” while laughing as the ants scatter and try to salvage what they can of their little sand hill? Really, what did they ever do to you? Are you jealous because they can lift ten times their weight, and you are winded just from lifting your foot? And not for nothing, FYI, by the way, etc; you look like a horse’s ass in that Viking helmet.

If you could wave a magic wand, clap your hands three times, click your heels together once, jump up in the air, twirl around in a circle, bow to your partner, promenade left, do-si-do and…hey, how did this turn into a square dance?

Have you ever invented a type of punch, and named it? Like Dragon Strike, Thunderclap or Lightening Burst? Well shape up, or you just might be introduced to Flavor Blast; a delicious triple punch to your taste buds! OK, it’s just lemonade, but I think it’s quite tasty.

Dontcha wish your sandwich was roast beef like mine?


Monday, August 2, 2010

Quick Hits

I decided today, after many long hours of contemplation, that I am a “torso man”. I love a long torso; at least a 3:1 torso to leg ratio.

Please post your ratios so I know what I’m dealing with here.

My wife has an amazing ratio, which is why I married her of course. No other reason. It’s important, OK? If your ratio is sub-standard, there are many stretching exercises you can do. Work on your ratios.

One of the first questions on my submission form for my summer camp is “What torso:leg ratio are you, and are you planning on lengthening that ratio in the near future”.

Don’t be left out in the dark with a weird head-connected-directly-to-legs body.


I was recently on a family vacation in a scenic location with a touristy town-type area. While walking through this touristy area, I walked past a bar that had an altercation in progress. The owner of the bar was in the process of kicking out a kid that looked at least 4-5 years underage to be drinking anything other than Apple Juice. The conflict rapidly got heated and the last thing I saw was the kid grabbing his balls and exclaiming over and over again:

“I’m from QUEENS! I’m from QUEENS! You don’t know what you dealin’ with! I’m from QUEENS!”

I immediately grabbed my balls and was about to exclaim:

“I’m from JERSEY! Garden State Bitch! I’m from JERSEY! You don’t know what you dealin’ with either! NEW JERSEY TURNPIKE!”

In reality, I was shivering in a garbage can for fear of getting punched in the kidneys. Plus my balls hurt because I was holding them too tight.


Lindsay Lohan got out of jail today.

You can exhale now.

She was in tears for the entire two weeks of her 90-day sentence because the Starbucks barista in her cell didn’t know how to make a Double-Venti Frappa-Whappa. Charles Manson has been crying about the same thing for over thirty years, so this is a common prisoner complaint, I suppose. Plus, the cocaine in her daily celebrity packet was low-grade Colombian instead of the good stuff.

Stay in school, y’all.


I used to play soccer as much as possible (football for anyone outside the U.S.). Lately, I look more like a soccer ball than David Beckham, but I’m starting to get back into shape (the shape of a Beach Ball OH SCHNAP!)

Running is a very uninteresting pastime. Running on a treadmill is the most uninteresting of all activities. Have you heard of this thing? It is a machine, really. A machine that has a big rubber band that




I mean, stop going already! I’m sweating like Moses here! I tried running outside, but the hills! And the weather? Oy Vey!

To mix it up, I tried running on all fours like dogs do, but I quickly found out that dogs are better at it than me. I also freaked the fuck out of my neighbors when I came shuffling past their driveway on all fours and sans-clothing (that’s French for ‘sexy as hell’).


Five Four things I want to accomplish this week (knocked something off the list this morning already):

1. Lengthen torso.
2. Write a letter to my congressman regarding my proposal to have all rain clouds seeded with Skittles. If they can do it in the commercials, they can do it in New Jersey.
3. Assassinate Snooki. Did you know Snooki is making more money per year than all teachers in New Jersey combined? Hurray! If you see your 11 year old daughters sizing up ill-fitting one-piece bathing suits and spray-on tanner, detonate your television with all the explosives you can find. Thank me later.
4. Bedazzle Scrotum.
5. Karate moves in public on my way to see my therapist. Don’t mess with the bull, son; you’ll get the horns.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Lyric Analysis Master Class Day 2

I hope you were paying attention during the last class. Today's lesson is much more advanced and in general much more important than the introductory class. To review, musical artists sometimes hide hidden meanings and philosophical commentary in the lyrics of their songs. This class will attempt to extract those meanings and make you better people in the process. Open your ears, close your eyes, button up your sweater (I'm looking at you, lady) and take off your shoes. Here we go.

“The Final Countdown” by Europe

We're leaving together
But still it's farewell
And maybe we'll come back
To earth, who can tell?
I guess there is no one to blame
We're leaving ground
Will things ever be the same again?

It's the final countdown
The final countdown

Analysis: The continent of Europe is planning on detaching from the Earth and traveling into Outer Space. Obviously, they forget the time that Jamaica tried the same thing with a “Weed Rocket” that was really just a giant joint. They got so stoned that they thought their houses were giant bags of Cheetos and started eating their way through drywall and plaster. Needless to say, this is a bad idea Europe. Stay on mother earth, for your children’s sake.

“Stairway to Heaven” by Led Zeppelin

There's a lady who's sure
All that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven

When she gets there she knows
If the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
And she's buying a stairway to heaven

Analysis: Oprah is shopping again.

“Round Here” by Counting Crows

Maria says she's dying
Through the door, I hear her crying
Why? I don't know

Round here we always stand up straight
Round here something radiates

Analysis: Some chick named Maria is being overly dramatic again while everyone in town stands up straight and farts. This song makes me homesick.

“Safety Dance” by Men Without Hats

We can dance if we want to
We can leave your friends behind
'Cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance
Well they're no friends of mine
I say, we can go where we want to
A place where they will never find
And we can act like we come from out of this world
Leave the real one far behind
And we can dance

Analysis: Some hipster jerkwads want you to ditch your friends because they don’t want to dance like dipshits. “A place they will never find” is probably just their sports-themed apartment with lame pseudo-metal blaring through their weak speakers. They will offer you some Bud Light Lime and a bowl of stale Wheat Thins while trying to feel you up. I’ll give you a tip: Men without Hats are probably not wearing hats because they couldn’t find one to fit their steroid-inflated balloon noggins. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

“Birdhouse In Your Soul” by They Might Be Giants

Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch
Who watches over you
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
Not to put too fine a point on it
Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet
Make a little birdhouse in your soul

Analysis: Your bedroom is infested with bees and killer bluebirds that get their power directly from electrical sockets. Sleep well little angels. *sinister laugh*

“Message in a Bottle” by The Police

I'll send an S.O.S. to the world
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world
I hope that someone gets my
I hope that someone gets my
I hope that someone gets my
Message in a bottle, yeah
Message in a bottle, yeah
Message in a bottle, yeah
Message in a bottle, yeah

Analysis: Someone needs to stop drinking and staying up late watching sappy movies about impossible romances and “wronged wives” and general "depressionality" (trademark).

Homework Assignment: Write a 20,000 word essay on the meaning of these lyrics:

"Electric Avenue" by Eddy Grant

We gonna rock down to Electric Avenue
And then we'll take it higher
Oh we gonna rock down to Electric Avenue
And then we'll take it higher

Talking points:

1. Where is 'higher' and how does it relate to the drug culture of today's society vis-a-vis the blah blah blah and the heretofore such and such?
2. What is 'Electric Avenue' as related to the um...hey a penny!
3. Who ate the last twinkie?
4. How many times do I have to tell you to replace the twinkies when you finish them?
5. Seriously, who ate it?
6. Do we have to sit here all day?
7. Whatever happened to Eddy Grant?
8. Is it true that Eddy Grant morphed overnight into Whoopi Goldberg right under America's nose?
9. Is is possible to rock UP to Electric Avenue depending on where you live (and the bus schedules)?
10. Who dat ninja?

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Oh Language, how I despise Thee

I wrote this post a while back about phrases and common sayings that I have grown to hate or that just generally confuse me.

I came up with a few more.

In keeping with the tradition of making 99 percent of blog posts on the internet about things that bother people (I put in a request to rename it the “Bother-net”) here are some choice words and prhases that bother me. I am not excluding myself from being guilty of saying all of these things, because I definitely have.

No one is more bothered BY me THAN me. Always know this.

Please to enjoy:



In an internet world where most human experiences are abbreviated, bite-sized and acronymic, I give you the most overused and ridiculous of all the internet buzz words: Meme. First, a few definitions:

--a cultural unit (an idea or value or pattern of behavior) that is passed from one person to another by non-genetic means (as by imitation); "memes are the cultural counterpart of genes"

--The term Internet meme is a phrase used to describe a catchphrase or concept that spreads quickly from person to person via the Internet, much like an esoteric inside joke.

--Meme is a department of Southwest Province in Cameroon. The department covers an area of 3,105 km² and as of 2001 had a total population of 300,318.The capital of the department lies at Kumba.

I see the phrase “passed from one person to another” and “spreads quickly from person to person”. Looks like we are talking about another of my favorite acronyms, STD, am I right high five? There’s nothing like a good ‘esoteric inside joke’ to make you feel like a complete ass at the internet party, right?

I personally choose to go with definition number three for meme. The next time someone comes at me with an esoteric inside internet joke, I will say “The capital of the department lies at Kumba” repeatedly until that person gets their esoteric hell away from me with a preferably high rate of esoteric speed.

“That being said”

‘That being said, I actually enjoy public fornication.’

‘That being said’ is another phrase that is wholly and completely unnecessary in the English language. We know already that you just said something; we heard you say it! Remember? We were here when you were saying it! You are trying to set a bookmark in history of your previous statement for some reason and no one knows why.

Why not ‘that being eaten’? ‘That being eaten, I will now complete my meal with this milkshake.’ Um, OK? I know it was eaten, I saw you do it already. Just keep on eating, OK? Or don’t?


This was a new one to me, since I’m old and every day I have to chase kids off my damn lawn with my walkin’ stick.

Damn kids. Oops, there goes my back again. Bunions! Other Old People maladies!

‘FTW’ stands for ‘For The Win’ and is used most commonly by people who feel like they need to be winning things that may not even necessarily be contests or that they may be the only participant in. Kind of like the ‘Honorable Mention’ ribbons that all the kids get for the Science Fair when they didn’t actually do any work.

‘Ham Sandwich, FTW!’ was one I saw the other day. Ham Sandwich, for the win! So that person won the sandwich contest, apparently (ham division). Good for that person, right? He’s been training for so long. It was overdue.

‘Condoms, FTW!’ – I agree that this is a well earned victory (unless the condom breaks, then it will change to ‘Condoms, FTB!’ (Condoms, for the Baby!)

‘Chuck Norris, FTW!’ – Chuck would hate anyone who said that to his bearded face. Hey, I just participated in a ‘Chuck Norris Meme!’ See what I did there? This blog is like beautiful rings of colored smoke, just intertwining and merging and forming a smoky rainbow. I’m like a god damned magician with this shit.


I have said it before, and I will say it again now: If people rolled around on the floor laughing their asses off in real life as much as they do on the internet, then we would all be committed to an asylum.

‘I went for a jog today. It was so humid! ROFLMAO!’

Imagine saying this seemingly un-funny statement to your friend, and then getting all the way down on the floor and rolling around laughing until tears poured down your face and your ass potentially started to detach itself? Your friend would be tempted to shoot you with a tranquilizer dart to make it easier to transport you to the nuthouse.

Don’t make your friends carry around dart guns.


This one stands for ‘Owned’ meaning ‘Dominated’ or ‘Beaten’ as mistyped by someone who is frantically trying to get the word from keyboard to screen and hits the ‘P’ key instead of the ‘O’ which is common due to their adjacency (adjacentness?).

‘You were just totally pwned by that girl at the bar who dumped a Long Island Iced Tea into your hat!’

Adding the word ‘totally’ in front of it implies the totality of the pwning as opposed to a normal pwning. The pronunciation of this word sounds like you are suppressing a burp (your cheeks puff out and everything).

‘I am letting that cheese steak know that it should be prepared to be pwned by me.’

You see how it works?


Welcome to the internet. It’s going to be a bumpy ride. I hope there are no aliens watching us trying to figure out our language before they make contact.

It may take a while.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Book of Maebe: Verse 99, Chapter 2

Hold hands with Jesus whilst you walk the path of enlightenment. If ye chose to not hold hands, ye could get hurt. And make sure ye look both ways before crossing the road of the damned. Hey, don’t let go of Jesus’ hand! HOLD HANDS WITH JESUS! That’s it I’m taking all of your coloring books and crayons away! I SAID HOLD HANDS! Fine, get run over by a chariot, see if I care! WHY WON”T YOU LISTEN TO ME?!?! JESUS!

Monday, July 12, 2010

Kids say the darndest Russian things

I haven’t written about my kids in a while, so let’s remedy that. I have three year old twins. One boy, one girl. Or two gender non-specific demons, whichever way you want to count. My daughter has lately taken to saying things like “I don’t like your voice!” and then frowning at me very dramatically; usually when I’m asking her to do something she doesn’t want to do. The odd part about this is the fact that she pronounces “voice” like “woice”, similar to how Russian spies said things in the 50’s.

“Tell me where the nuclear wessel is, or I will be wery wery angry!”

What if she is part Russian? What if she is a spy? That would make a lot of things make sense. Like all the times I see her peeking around corners and then run away quickly when she notices that I see her. Or that one time that I found her fast asleep on a set of blueprints that were quite clearly the main chamber of the United Nations. Or the other time that I caught her holding a cell phone and whispering into it. I asked her who she was talking to, and she said “Grandma”. Now, I’m not so sure.

My son, on the other hand, laughs all the time very loud and exaggeratedly. He doesn’t speak with a Russian accent, but he does dance a lot. I mean, all the time. I catch him spinning down hallways all the time with his hands in the air. One time I told him dinner was ready, and he threw a piece of cardboard on the floor and spun on his head. He ended in an elaborate pose and said “Dinner’s wiggity-wack, Dad. So are you.” Then he did the worm all the way down the hallway.

My kids are little darlings: A Russian spy and a Break dancing insane asylum escapee.

One with a lot of hair, one not so much.

One likes to kick, one likes to punch (the target is my balls in both cases).

One likes to draw, one likes to build things with blocks, one likes to drink beer (all three are me).

One likes to sing, one likes to read, both like to scream “I DON’T LIKE YOUR VOICE!” in public.

I’m going to produce a movie about them. The working title is “Target: Balls -- Electric Boogaloo” Here is the synopsis:

“A Russian spy and a Break Dancing screamer on a fun filled romp across Europe. Featuring the music of Rogers and Hammerstein, with fight choreography by Jean Claude Van Damme”

Are you telling me you aren’t already digging around for money to go see this movie? Exactly.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Self Portrait

Thursday, July 1, 2010

I done gone and been Tagged

She got me.

This bloggin' lady 'tagged' me with some questions that I have to answer. Then I tag some other people and they have to answer my questions, ad infinitum. Look, I know "tag" is slang for "sex" in some cultures, but this is a family establishment. Knock it off.

Now pardon me while I tag five other people in approximately 2 minutes.

Hey, grow up!

1. When was the last time you played air guitar? Come on, I'm not asking you to admit you still listen to Def Leppard.

I play real guitar. You get me? REAL guitar. 24/7. Actually, the closest thing to air guitar I’ve played recently is in ‘Rock Band’. Call it plastic guitar.

I have recently performed ‘air surgery’ and ‘air murder-ed’ someone. Do those count?

2. What's the oldest thing in your fridge?

A block of cheddar cheese. How old is it? Well, we have a nice conversation every night before bed about the rise of totalitarianism in Eastern Europe and its impact on world Economics. It also plays the most heartbreaking violin sonata you will ever hear.

3. Vampires, zombies or please make it stop?

Please. Vampires are hot, they have sex all the time while spontaneously tearing people’s throats open with their teeth (see True Blood on HBO for proof), they turn into bats and fly, they never get old, they are immortal, they only walk around at night because sunlight sets them on fire, there is a character on Sesame Street that is a vampire and vampires are amazing dancers, in any style from any time period.

Zombies stumble and slowly try to eat people.

I think the answer is self evident.

4.If you had to change your current profession, and could be anything, what would you do?

I would be a roadie for Def Leppard.

5. Undergarment of choice

Black silk boxers. Two printed words. “Yes” in front. “No” in back. Next question.

6. What is the tackiest thing you own?

A blacklight poster of Debbie Gibson riding a Unicorn while Tiffany shoots arrows at her from a bitchin’ motorcycle. It was made at the height of the Debbie Gibson vs. Tiffany teen idol battle. Winner of the battle: America.

7. Summer with no air conditioning or winter with no heat?

Definitely winter with no heat. Fireplaces always work. There is no such thing as an “air conditioning fireplace” as far as I know. If you have one, then you are a wizard and are most likely casting some kind of spell on me right now. Go away.

8. Desert island time: Wow, there is a band that will play whenever your snap your fingers, and OMG, it's your favorite!!!! Who is it?

Men Without Hats. Or Women with Hats. Whichever.


I picked five lucky suckers:

Vacant Mind

Jens Voices


She Don't Make False Claims

Caffeinated Bliss

And here are the five questions that must be answered:

1. Which character would you be on 'Friends' and why? (HINT: I would so TOTALLY be Rachel! OMG!)

Sorry about that. A teenage girl from 1993 time travelled and took control of my blog for 11 minutes. That was a close call.

1. How many M&Ms could you eat in one sitting? Round up.

2. Do you own an iPhone, and why / why not?

3. Describe the first time you were aware that you had feelings for me that went beyond the “criminal suspect” feelings that the Police have for me.

4. Describe the one t-shirt that you should have thrown away five years ago but you still inexplicably find in your t-shirt drawer.

5. Why did the new Twilight movie make 30 million dollars in 3 hours?

Monday, June 28, 2010

Letters from the Mailbox written with Love

Yes, ladies and gentle...ladies (and Dan). It is time for more letters from around the globe from my adoring readers. My mailman finally allowed me to take a picture of his smiling face today (see left).

He looks happy because he isn't wearing any pants. *cue dramatic detective music*

Needless to say, I was taken aback by what he pulled out of his mail sack today. Have you ever been taken aback? It sucks. I have been taken asideways and taken aforward more times than I care to remember. I was taken adiagonally once. That was a little ticklish. Being taken aback is truly mind-altering. Anyway, on to the letters...


Dear Man,

Help me with my problems today, I begging of you. I can not open this jar of jelly, no matter which way I turn my hand. I tried smashing it against my face, but now my face is so sore and sad. I am so sad to not have jelly. So sad. The jelly mocks me with every twist of my wrist. I want to bite it.

Hungry in Hungary

Dear Hungry,

Get a grip on yourself (instead of that jar LOL). Jelly is overrated and quite frankly disgusting. I have written 12 books on this subject (“Jelly is Smelly and screws up your Belly”, “Grape Helly”, “Peanut Butter and Nothing”, “Fuck Jelly and other Nursery Rhymes” and others), all of which you can find in your local library. Do your research and give your hand (and face) a rest. Jelly Kills.

Dear Miss,

I slid down the stairs in my home and now find myself concussed and without pants. Besides the dizziness, I am dreadfully chilly. Plus, my nose is running. I have been crying all morning and my cat won’t come and cuddle with me. Do you have a sure-fire home remedy for this predicament?

Ailing in Acapulco

Well, my dear old Gamma-Gamma Maw-Maw used to cook up this cure for the symptoms you describe above. I hope this helps:

1. Boil a large pot of cat urine.
2. Stick your concussed head in it. All the way in it. That’s right.
3. Put your pants back on.
4. Act like a man.
5. Stop crying!
6. Smack yourself thirteen times.
7. Shut up.
8. Sit down.
9. Get up!
10. I said SIT DOWN!
12. We can do this all day!

Gamma-Gamma Maw-Maw was a tough S.O.B.

Dear Stupid,

You once wrote “to each heart is delivered a flower from which the pollen will cause blooms of love never-ending in the bloodstream of man.” I answered a question on my medical school final exam with this statement, which I took to be fact. I was expelled, disgraced and raped by my fellow students. I want you to refund my entire medical school tuition immediately. You will be hearing from my various lawyers and therapists.

Non-Doctor in Nantucket

Dear Non-Doc,

First off, I definitely never wrote what you said I did. I think it daily, but I never wrote it. Get out of my head. What I did write, was this, which is similar: “to each fart is delivered a nose from which the snot will cause blooms of vomit never-ending in the toilets of man.” It is easy to see why you got confused. Sorry about the final exam. When in doubt, the answer is 42.

Dear Friend,

I was wondering if you could resolve a dispute I’m having with my friend. He says that the Rolling Stones are all vampires, and I say that they are all zombies. What say you?

Curious in Caracas

Dear Curious,

I thought by now it is common knowledge that the Rolling Stones are vampire zombies. Note the herky jerky way Mick Jagger walks across the stage and hisses at the fans in the front row. Observe how Charlie Watts robotically moves his arms while drumming and periodically hides his face behind a cape, showing only his eyes. Notice how Keith Richards eats skin off of his already-dead hands and feet between each song and takes long swigs from a bottle labeled "Go-Go Juice" that looks suspiciously like the blood of 10,000 virgins. The Stones are ravenous vampire zombies. And also werewolves. And Incredible Hulks. I would call this bet a tie.

Dear M.O.M,

I was in line at the supermarket today, and I saw this headline on a popular tabloid magazine: “Millions of Atoms Man goes to the movies with his enormous stomach hanging over his cowboy belt and butter stains on his shirt. He’s just like us!” Care to comment?

Gossipy in Gainesboro

Dear Gossipy,

Guilty as charged. What can I say, I love movies and processed butter-flavored liquid on my popcorn. Those tabloids need to stay out of my life. I know I am a big blogging star, but can a brother get some privacy? I would like to see this headline one day: “Lindsay Lohan trips on the sidewalk outside her house and cocaine falls out of her socks. She’s nothing like us at all!”

Dear Mister Millions,

I fly first class any time I have to travel. Recently, I was banned for life from Delta Airlines for something I did on my last flight from Atlanta to Toronto. Everyone in first class was asleep, so I decided to drop my pants and gently (ever so gently) place my buttocks on top of the person’s head who was sleeping next to me. I took a picture with my cell phone and titled it “Butt Hatt”. 45 minutes later, the flight was grounded and I was in handcuffs being lead off the plane. I told the authorities that you told me to do this. I wanted to give you a heads up in case you are contacted by the FAA.

Photographer in Fairview

Dear Photog,

You owe me 100,000 dollars American for unauthorized use of “Butt Hat” (my first band’s name – we were big in Germany. Trademark. Look it up.). Beyond that, I never told you to take any pictures of your bare ass cheeks perched on a snoozing air traveler’s noggin. I told you specifically to put your nuts in their Vodka Tonic and call it a “Balltini”.

On second thought, I don’t know you. Never heard of you. Or Airplanes.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

iPhorgot what today is

Super Happy Fun Time

It's that time again: iPhone day. iPhone 4 burst onto the scene today as iPhone 3 is all like "What happened to us?" iPhone 5 is doing 'roids and saying "I will time travel. I assure you. I will."

I want you to click the link above and take a close look at the accompanying picture. A line of people that streches to infinity of the most miserable looking people you will ever see. Not one smile. 90 percent have their heads bent at the neck looking down at some other phone thing that probably does everything that the thing they are in line for is promising to do (although, not very well from early reports).

Enjoy your iPhone 4 everyone! When you get it to work right, that is. Hey, look at me! I'm talking to you! OK, just send me a text message then, when you get a chance.


Edit 6/25: Oh, it gets even better: It works great, except for the phone part...

Imagine buying a phone, and then being told by the owner of the company to "hold it differently" if you want the phone call part to work. Hold it differently. That's like when I was a little kid, and we used to wrap the antenna of our TV with Aluminum Foil to get the reception to come in better, or bend it in weird shapes.

Except it is 2010 now and we didn't wait in line two days for aluminum foil.

Book of Kitty: Verse 100, Chapter 1

There came to pass a gathering of all Angels in Heaven. During this gathering, one Angel brought some spectacular weed and every other Angel at the gathering commenced to getting totally baked. After three hours of debauchery too sordid to be repeated here in this scripture, God showed up and laid a Holy whipping on every Angel in his sight. From that day on, all Angels flew with a limp and vowed never to let Steve the Angel come to any more gatherings because he is a bad apple.

God Loves us All, but ye should never get high in Heaven and piss-eth all over the Pearly Gates.


Wednesday, June 16, 2010

From the Oval Office

I am sure most of you watched President Obama’s speech last night from the Oval Office about the BP Oil disaster in the Gulf of Mexico. I thought the speech was serviceable, but I felt there was definitely not enough cursing. Not one fist slam on the desk either, which was regrettable. I actually submitted a speech for the White House to consider using last night. They regretfully declined. Tell me what you think, k?


My Fellow Americans,

We are faced with the worst disaster in American History. Millions of gallons of oil are being pumped into the Gulf of Mexico each and every day. The wildlife in the region is in extreme danger. The local businesses are under great financial strain. The local fishermen are going out of business.

I first want to commend BP on their brilliant plan to shoot golf balls into the leak in an effort to stop this destruction; really excellent troubleshooting there. Was Modell’s all out of baseballs? Did Toys R US run out of mother fucking bouncy balls? Did you get a chance to execute your “Rubik’s Cube Offensive” yet? The world waits with baited breath.

I also want to give you a huge Presidential “thumbs up” for your beautiful television ads that show your CEO looking very sorry and apologetic. I am glad you are so concerned about your public image. Never mind the image of the ducks dripping oil from their feathery asses. How much did those ads cost, by the way? I noticed that they run every half hour on CNN in primetime. If you will take a little constructive criticism, perhaps that money could have been better used in buying more golf balls? You could have bought tons of Silly Putty or Play-Doh for the amount that those ads must have cost you. Think of the lost possibilities.

I find myself getting a lot of the blame for this disaster, and so I feel the time has come for me to take some concrete action. Words are just empty promises until fulfilled by action.

As you can see, I am putting on a specially designed wet suit. I am going to then put on a snorkel apparatus and get in a helicopter. The helicopter will take me directly and without delay to the Gulf of Mexico. I will then swan dive into the middle of that shit and eat it. That’s right. I’m going to eat. Every. Last. Gallon. Of. Oil. In. That. Motherfucking. Ocean. I will not stop until it is all gone. While I am “containing” the oil, special ambassador Chuck Norris will roundhouse kick the leaking pipe and use his beard to weld it shut. I will leave him in the Gulf Region to scream the oil off of all the wildlife.

I will then roll myself on to shore, get back into a reinforced helicopter that will handle the extra weight, and fly directly to BP headquarters. After entering the office of the CEO, I will bend over and shit that oil all over the BP CEO’s expensive oak desk. I hope to cover all of his golf trophies and deer heads mounted on the wall with my oil-filled excrement. I should have enough left over for the CIO, the CFO, the EIEIO, the LOL and even the secretary will get an oily fart thrown her way. I will not rest until that entire building is filled to the brim with a special “Presidential Pardon” meaning “Pardon me while I expel the contents of my intestinal tract all over your god damned billion dollar corporation.”

In closing, I want to pass on a special message from my friend Timmy the Turtle. What’s that Timmy? OK, I’ll tell them. Timmy says “glugglugglugglurrg” because he has oil coming out of every orifice. Per Timmy’s dying wish, “BP” will now stand for “Bullshitting Pricks”.

Thank You and Good Night.


For reasons known only to them, the White House declined my draft of the President’s speech. I prefer my version to his, all due respect.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

"Everything's Coming Up Babies!"

Mr. and Mrs. Freemantle get the good news over the phone that they have been chosen to appear on a new reality show called “Everything’s Coming Up Babies!” The show deals with the months leading up to the birth of a new baby (or babies). Part of the process involves a home interview with the happy couple, who at this time are 7 months along and expecting quadruplets. Mrs. Freemantle, Judy, is quite large and very uncomfortable. Mr. Freemantle, Ray, is beaming happily and excited about the prospect of becoming a father. The camera crew and an interviewer have just arrived at the Freemantle home to interview Ray for the show.

“Testing. Testing. One, two three. Testing. OK for you? Good. OK Ray, we are just going to ask you some basic questions about you and Judy. Answer however you see fit, ok? Real informal.” The interviewer finishes testing the microphone and hooks it up to Ray’s shirt collar.

“No problem,” says Ray as he settles into his favorite chair.

A voice from behind him says “Counting down. Ready in 3…2…1…”

“Thanks for taking some time to talk to us, Ray. How did you and Judy meet? What was your first date like?”

“We had a rocky start to our relationship. I admit I wasn’t the nicest guy to be around. Between the heroin and the drinking, I was a real ‘gloomy Gus’, if you will. One time, Judy came over to my apartment with some takeout food for dinner, and I got so enraged by the sight of her I punched her in the neck so hard her throat collapsed and her Adam’s apple exploded. Boy was I embarrassed! I was so high when she walked in the door I thought she was a Panda Bear coming to put me in jail for concealing a cartoon hammer. She wasn’t a Panda Bear though, she was Judy, and I had to make a call to 911 pretty quick! That was our first date and we always remember it to this day with a fond smile.”

“CUT!” The director’s voice booms out over a loudspeaker as the interviewer leans in to talk to Ray. “Ray, ah, you want to try to cool it with the drug and violence talk? This is a family show.”

“You wanted to know about our first date!” Ray protested.

“Yes, I know, but try to clean up your stories. Consider your audience, OK? Now, why don’t you tell us about the night you proposed to Judy,” the interviewer says as she leans a little closer to Ray squinting as though she is interviewing the Prime Minister of England on national TV.

“Wow, what an amazing evening that was. We finished our ‘Moons over My Hammy’ at our local Denny’s and she was like totally constipated. I started making fun of her backed up shitter and then she eventually gave in and started laughing about it too. That’s when she noticed a ring floating in her Diet Doctor Pepper. I had the waitress put it in there! She fished it out and started weeping all over the place. Needless to say, I was disgusted with her public display of weakness. After disciplining her at the table in front of the Denny’s patrons, I asked her to marry me. She initially said ‘No’ through a lot of tears and whining, but I suggested she say ‘Yes’. By ‘suggested’ I mean I silently stared at her clenching and unclenching my jaw until she said ‘Yes’, and the rest is romance history!”

“Um, ah,” the reporter nervously shuffles her notes. “So, Quadruplets! Tell me your reaction when you found out you were going to be having four babies at once!”

“Well, I was enthusiastic; maybe overly so! I was completely naked, of course, and I was just doing a little jig singing, ‘I’m Gonna Knock You Out’ over and over again until I had all of that nervous energy out of my system. Then when the prostitute left our pool house, I found Judy and let her know that I was finally OK with all of this, despite my initial reaction of vomiting all over her newly-planted bed of hydrangeas. I also kicked her kneecap off. Initially, mind you. Plus, we found the kneecap in the hydrangeas, which was fortunate.”


An exasperated Ray throws his hands up in a helpless gesture as the interviewer confers with the director. The interviewer returns and says, “Ray, we are having a big problem with your choice of language. Please clean up your act for TV, ok?”

“I thought I was being clean,” Ray mutters to himself as he nods an agreement and the interview continues.

“Has your wife had many physical symptoms of pregnancy? How involved have you been?”

“Oh me oh my, those babies have certainly been active! Those little bas- Those little guys have really been moving around. The way they have been kicking in there, I think we have a whole soccer team in there! Hopefully they aren’t Argentinean, am I right? They are really flipping around like a bunch of little nutfuckers!”


“Ray, please, you cannot curse on this show. This is a show being broadcast during the day on a family network!”

“Oh, right, right, sorry about that.”

“OK and ACTION!”

“When I found out we were pregnant, my stomach flipped a few hundred times! *laughs* I told my boss and he wasn’t too enthusiastic for some reason, starting in with ‘What about work?’ and ‘Who is going to cover for you?’ and whatnot. What a shitbrick!”


The interviewer hurriedly packs up her things as the entire camera crew packs up and leaves within a five minute time period. Ray looks around confused and then heads into the kitchen where Judy is waiting expectantly.

“Well, how did it go?” Judy asks.

“I think it went OK, Jude. I really do.” Ray says. Just then he leans very close to Judy’s face, inspecting her eyebrows. He reaches up suddenly and violently pulls a handful of eyebrow hair from in between Judy’s eyebrows. “Told you to clean that shit up,” he says as Judy tears up and the sound of squealing tires shrieks from the driveway.

Friday, June 4, 2010

Office Doorway Etiquette

I work in an office. I think I have mentioned this before. I work in the kind of office that you picture in your head when you hear the word “office”: Rows of cubicles with grey walls and little windows. Some of the walls have jaunty decorations with lots of pictures of the kids thrown in for good measure. Around the holidays, everyone expresses their “individuality” by putting up little strings of lights or other similarly themed decorations (until corporate circulates a memo reminding everyone that they work in a corporate environment and should treat said environment with such respect as a corporate environment deserves in these trying…zzzzzzzzzzz)


Oh, the office. My office building has two sets of doors at the main entrance. The main front facing door and then two steps after that a second door. The little foyer or entranceway in between the two sets of doors serves no purpose, but it is there anyway taking up space (kind of like the people who type up corporate memos). When I arrive at work each morning, there are usually at least two or three other co-workers arriving at the same time making a tiny dispirited parade as we near the first door. The man ahead of me swipes his employee ID card and opens the outer door, holding it open for me as I swipe my ID card.

I say “Thank You!” to the man for being so considerate.

He then arrives at the second door and holds that door open for me also.

At this point, a variety of things happen.

Sometimes I say “Thanks” in a quieter voice hoping to somehow diminish the gratitude I’m displaying in light of the fact that I just gave him a hearty “THANK YOU” not seconds before.

Sometimes, I say nothing because who does this guy think he is wanting two separate displays of gratitude mere seconds apart? Ghandi?

Sometimes (though not often) I say “THANK YOU” just as enthusiastically as the first time, especially if he looks like he’s about to weep openly or side-kick my Achilles tendon.

Sometimes I say “FUCK OFF!” as loud as I can just to completely throw him for a loop and make him rethink his chivalrousness.

OK, I don’t do that last one. Most often, I go with option one which is an odd “Doorway Etiquette” rule that I see many other people engage in also.

“Thank you!” *quieter voice* “Thanks”. As if giving out two “Thank You’s” in a row at the same volume is somehow off-putting to the recipient. Do people feel that the gratitude offered has to be on sliding scale and the second expression somehow has to be diminished so the recipient doesn’t think you are hitting on them, or just insane? If you omit the second thank you, do you feel a little bad as you walk thinking that maybe the person who held the door open for you two times in a row thinks you are a total prick?

What do you do when faced with two sets of doors and “Harry Helpful” holding them both open for you?

What would you do if there were three consecutive doors? Are there any buildings that have 15 consecutive doors?

How low can your voice get while still remaining audible?

Would you eventually write “Thank You” on a post-it note in smaller and smaller writing?

What if “Harry Helpful” was actually “Harriet Helpful” and for the life of you it is impossible to tell if that is a dude or a woman?

At the end of the day when everyone is leaving the building, why is there someone always rapidly walking back toward the building and why does someone inevitably say “Hey, you’re goin’ the wrong way! LOL! LOL! LOL! LOL! LOL!” as the rapid-walker mumbles an excuse about forgetting their keys?

These are the things I think about as I wander up the stairs toward cubicle town.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Urgent Questions: Volume XI

When Pluto got demoted from “ninth planet in the solar system” to “non-planet”, do you think Neptune gave it the finger every time they passed each other in orbit, or would Neptune be the kind of planet that would send flowers and be sympathetic? Actually I think Neptune realizes that it’s next if it doesn’t shape up, so it’s probably on its best behavior right now.

When dogs walk backwards, do you laugh at the sheer hilarity of it, or start walking backwards yourself because you are just that insecure?

If your friendly local milkman leaves two bottles of milk on your doorstep instead of one, would you run naked out of your house and whip him half to death with a Korean Death Reed, or would you finally admit that milkmen have no ready access to anthrax, and the fact that milk is white doesn’t automatically make it the same as “Death Powder from Al Qaeda”. Trust me; the judge will want you to admit that. He will also want you to wear some slacks and a nice oxford to the hearing.

If I opened a Chinese restaurant on Chinese New Year in the heart of Chinatown, would people gather around to chuckle at the perfect timing, or would they run in and order two helpings of “Happy Rainbow Dragon Family on Wisdom Pearl Circle”? That’s my signature dish, which is really just shrimp and vegetables like 90 percent of the menu.

If laughter is the best medicine, wouldn’t screaming be the worst medicine? If so, give me a double dose of sweet laughter, because all of your screaming is making me totally sick, man.

When squirrels suddenly stop in place and stand straight up alertly looking around, do you think they are doing that because they have sensitive earthquake-detecting feet and they know something you don’t?

If monkeys could fly, would pigs follow soon after, thereby making people all over the world do a bunch of things they never thought they would do, but definitely agreed to as long as either monkeys or pigs flew? I think the pigs and monkeys would team up, with monkeys riding on the pig’s backs, just to stick it to all those suckers who never thought either one would happen, much less both at the same time.

Have you ever thrown a stick for your dog, and then shrieked in terror when he came back with a human hand in his mouth? I don’t know why you were so surprised, that wasn’t a stick you threw for the dog; it was your Aunt Bobo.

If a snake slithered up to you and asked you for directions to the art museum, would you mock him for liking art, or would you shake his hand and offer him a cool glass of lemonade and a friendly smile? What do you mean, snakes don’t have hands? They don’t talk and go to art museums either, what’s your point?

Have you ever put “Deadly Karate” on a resume just to intimidate the hiring manager into giving you a job?

Does your girlfriend roll a Honda, playing workout tapes by Fonda? I don’t know if this is common knowledge or not, but Fonda does not have a motor in the back of her Honda; true story.

If you walk into a grocery store with a bear suit on, do you go right for the meat section to keep up appearances, or do you browse a little while, trying to appear like a casual bear?

If fifty-five sheep came barreling down a hill towards your house, would you be impressed at the fact that there are fifty-five sheep (in a group) in your suburban neighborhood, or would you piss your pants and secretly admit that your father was right all these years? The sheep are mobilizing, they have tripled in numbers, and they appear to be much more organized than they were in ’78.

If Johnny goes to the hardware store and buys five nails, and Lucy goes to the same hardware store and buys a hammer, and Billy goes to the same hardware store and buys six coils of rope, how long will it take before Lucy realizes that Johnny and Billy are gay and they probably don’t even find her attractive, even though she went out of her way to wear her best dress? What a waste!

Thursday, May 13, 2010

A Chance Encounter

Monday, May 10, 2010

Open Letter to my DVD Player

Dear Panasonic MT-500X432WQ

You and I have had some good times together. Remember that time I was sick for a week and you played the first five seasons of LOST for me? That was a great time. Remember all the pornography? Remember that time where I ate half a bag of mushrooms and I played the “Yo Gabba Gabba” DVD 342 times consecutively? Or that other time when I watched "The Notebook" and cried like a 10 year old girl with a skinned knee and you didn't laugh at me? Good times, right?

I’m writing this because I care, but you have to know that I’ve reached the end of the line with you. When I hit the “Menu” button on my remote, I want to see the menu. Expeditiously; with no delay and immediately. I do not want to be told “You cannot do that at this time.” Ever. One time you just put up the little “not” symbol with the red circle and the diagonal line running through it. Not cool, man. Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do with my own movies and TV shows. If I want to see the menu, or skip a chapter, or whatever the hell else I want to do, then you do it when I say so. You work for me, don’t forget that. I brought you into this house and I can send you out of this house just as quickly.

You and I both know that there is no earthly reason why the menu can’t be shown while the DVD is currently vomiting its way through a preview for Alvin and the Chipmunks 2: The squeakuel. I mean, are you serious right now? Having you tell me that I “cannot do that at this time” is infuriating to the point of madness. I don’t want to see a trailer for “It’s Complicated” starring “two actors going through the motions for an enormous paycheck.” If only someone had told them “you cannot do this at this time” when they were reading the script for that shitpile. Sorry, I’m getting sidetracked.

I might even let it slide if you provided a good reason for your insolence:

“You cannot do that at this time because I’m constipated and I don’t want to.”

“You cannot do that at this time because the electricity just ain’t flowin like it used to.”

“You cannot do that at this time because I’m hungover.”

“You cannot do that at this time because you hurt my feelings that one time where you yelled at me.”

“You cannot do that at this time because one time you paused me for 3 hours while you banged that chick from the Quick Check and I got really tired and hot from all the extra spinning and stuff.”

Here is the bottom line: respond to my commands promptly when they are issued, and you and I will be cool again. Start playing games with all your little messages and “not” signs, and you and I will have a major problem, friend. Don’t test me.

The person who bought you and gave you life

Monday, May 3, 2010

50 percent of marriages end in Jelly Beans

I know we all have read and heard the famous statistic that is thrown around often by people afraid to get married or recently divorced people, or angry people, or constipated people, or people who just comically fell on a cactus and make a bug-eyed cartoon face and say ‘Yowwwwwww’.

“You know, fifty percent of all marriages end in divorce! So, I don’t know why anyone does it. I mean, really. Fifty percent. That’s like half. Of all marriages. 50 percent!”

I know, we get it. What I don’t understand is, nobody ever talks about the other fifty percent. The winners. The ones who made it, baby. The ones who got it all figured out.

The ones who eat a rainbow from both sides and meet in the middle with a playfully shy kiss like Lady and the Tramp with a spaghetti noodle.

The ones who have sex ten times a week. “Wait a minute, there are only seven days in a week!” says the doubting Thomas. “Exactly”, says the oversexed husband, with a wink.

The ones who hug each other so tight that they merge into each other and become "Super-Spouse 2000” who can shoot pre-nuptial agreements from 2000 yards away with their laser eyesight and stomp out adultery with their iron robot boots.

The ones who high five each other each morning, and violently make love each night, followed by yet another high five (with their hands).

The ones who are constantly captured in photographs with their mouths open and eyes squeezed shut in hysterical laughter while pointing their faces heavenward.

The ones whose Facebook statuses always say “Just got back from two weeks in Cabo with the Hubby (Wifey). We laughed literally every minute of every day. The weather was great! Sex was better! LOL! Heard it snowed here in Jersey! LOL! LOL! LOL! LOL! LOL! LOL! LOL! LOL! LOL!”

The ones who feed each other dinner across the table while out at a restaurant and then “accidently” smear some gravy on their partner’s nose and then laugh about it for 35 minutes afterwards.

The ones who have not only done and seen everything you have, but have done and seen it more times and in better ways with nicer weather and better clothes on (while having sex for the third time that day).

The ones who love each other so hard and so much that if they hold hands and get a five step running start, can actually leave the earth in flight for much of the day. They will come back to earth in time to have sex (don’t worry your pretty little head about that *wink*).

The last time someone started talking about marriage and relationships and divorce, the inevitable global statistic reared its ugly head, as usual. Before the person could go off on a rant about the hopelessness of marriage and the utter void that envelops you as soon as you walk away from the altar, I immediately screamed in their face:

“50 percent of marriages end in Jelly Beans! JELLY BEANS! So you would be stupid not to get married to someone. STUPID! JELLY BEANS!”

I don’t get invited to parties.

Monday, April 26, 2010

Book of George Michael: Verse 3, Chapter 300

It is written that the unicorns and rainbows will unite to form a perfect union of shade and light. And the Elephants will wear top hats and dance to the sounds of Duke Ellington and his Orchestra while Monkeys keep time with firecrackers. Yay though the grass speaks in tounges and the trees bend with the weight of Gorilla poop, the heathens and the chosen few will dance like Kevin Bacon in Footloose while small babies will roll down the hills of candy canes and LEGALIZE WEED!

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

My Newest Hit Country Song

I admit, I have been inspired lately by country music. I started writing my own country ballad last night, and I think I have a hit on my hands. I think that’s what is on my hands *looking closely at my hands*. Anyway, here are the lyrics to the next “Song of the Year” at the 2010 Grammys. You heard it here first.


Jesus, Hold My Balls

In the dark and lonely night
I see a shining star
I walk into the light
And there you are

The water on my hands
Gives me a quiet calm
I drop my pants
Adopt a stance
And sing you this song…

Jesus, Hold My Balls
While I pee
It takes the strength of two good men
To get the piss out of me
And when the time arrives
I will look to you on high
Jesus, Hold My Balls
For me

As I expel the last golden drop
I sympathize
With every other man on earth
Who has tears in his eyes

No one there to help him
No one there to care
No one there to cradle his nuts
What an unlucky pair!

CHORUS (with Gospel Choir):
Jesus Held my Balls
For Me
It took the combined effort
Of two men, now I’m urine-free
But now he won’t let go
I wish he would let go
Jesus, let go of my balls
Pretty Please
Jesus, I’m done, let go
Thank Ye


Jesus, I’m serious, let go

Jesus, what is your problem?

Look, you helped, and I’m grateful, now, get going.


Really, thanks for everything; I’m going back to bed.

Adios? Vaya Con Dios?



There you have it. I’ll wait until you wipe your tears. There you go. There you go. It’s OK. I’m working on the music next. Hopefully I’ll get into the studio within the next couple of months. I’m looking to shop this song around to Carrie Underwood, Tim Urban, Brad Paisley or maybe even Randy Travis. If I can’t get one of them on board, maybe Weird Al Yankovic will take a shot. Either way, I’m going to be rich and famous. So long suckers!

Thursday, April 8, 2010

22 things you didn’t know about me…until now.

1. I’m a wild bitch when I get anywhere near a Donkey Kong arcade machine.

2. The toes on my left foot all bend toward the south no matter where I’m standing. The toes on my right foot don’t bend at all. The toes on my hands bend on their own, all the time. I didn’t get a lot of dates in high school.

3. I have a tattoo of a bull’s eye on my left butt cheek. That serves as a reminder to all the haters to show them where they can plant a big sloppy kiss! Oh. Snap. No. He. Didn’t.

4. I am fluent in one language: Kung Fu.

5. I like to run through water parks screaming “IT’S URINE! IT’S ALL URINE!”

6. I frequently call antique shops and ask them if they “have it” in a quiet voice. If they answer me with a quiet “yes” then I know where to send the police.

7. I wore my hair in a “mullet” style until 2007. It was then I discovered hallucinogens. I now wear my hair where my pants used to be. Just in case.

8. I invented the “num lock” key on all standard keyboards. Before me, numbers were unlocked and just running free all over the countryside, shitting all over everything. Keep them locked, for the sake of Mother Earth.

9. I attended Princeton University and graduated in 15 minutes. By “attended” I mean I visited their finest rest room. You can probably figure out what “graduated” means. In this case.

10. I like to walk down crowded streets flexing my muscles to deter any would-be muggers. I also consider the penis to be a muscle.

11. I once met the president of Africa and asked him “Hey, what’s up with all the Lions and shit?” He laughed and had me jailed for 15 years. I never did find out what was up with all the lions…

12. Every time I see a homeless baby begging for change, I give them a quarter. I know they will probably take it right to the liquor store, but I’m a sucker that way I guess.

13. Growing up, I had an imaginary friend named Charlie. He left me when I was six because I wouldn’t share my birthday cake with him. The last time I saw him, he was a male prostitute working the corner of 6th and Madison. Once in a while I’ll drive by and throw a piece of cake at him, just to remind him how much his life could have been different.

14. My eyes are the exact shade of blue that exists only in Heaven. Or in your dreams about Heaven.

15. I like to read books about reading books. I never know when they are finished though.

16. Every time I watch Titanic, the ending just gets funnier and funnier. The next time I watch it, I will probably combust from laughter.

17. I had a Siamese twin named Hundreds of Atoms Man who was separated from me at age 5. He was a little fella, but a hell of a good cook.

18. My pectoral muscles are, quite frankly, God-like.

19. I made just over one million dollars in one night in Atlantic City. I played the nickel slots for like ten seconds, said “Fuck this noise” and robbed a bank.

20. Every time I hear the song “Single Ladies (put a ring on it)”, I blackout and piss my pants. By the time I am revived, I usually can’t remember who I am for an hour. For this reason, I have not been invited to any weddings or sweet sixteen parties in the past year.

21. I have only owned one pet in my life: a parakeet. That parakeet tried to kill me with a poorly timed chop to the throat. R.I.P. Beaky.

22. For the first seventeen years of my life I claimed I was Alfred Hitchcock. My first birthday party was patently bizarre at best. I fooled everyone by telling a made up anecdote about the movie “Psycho” (The ‘shower scene’ was filmed using a live pig’s blood). The kids in my daycare were scared shitless any time I walked into the room.
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