I just made my dad a plate of sesame chicken and fried rice I had left over from last night. I watched him take a banana from the counter and cut it up over the chicken like it was a bowl of fucking Cheerios. Are you kidding me? I asked him what the hell he was doing...
"What? If I don't eat the banana, it's going to get too ripe and no one can eat it. Besides, it's just a little potassium."
Apparently I'm the moron for asking...
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
I Love it...
One of my favorite things in the whole world is when you are flipping through television channels and you turn on a show or a movie right at your favorite part. I was just bumming around and turned on The Office right at my favorite line in the history of the show, and maybe my favorite television show line of all time...I give you Michael Scott...
To Toby:
"Why are you the way you are? Honestly, every time I try and do something fun and exciting you make it not that way. I hate, so much about the things that you choose to be."
****UPDATE***UPDATE***UPDATE***
I found it on Youtube! God I friggin love the internet...
To Toby:
"Why are you the way you are? Honestly, every time I try and do something fun and exciting you make it not that way. I hate, so much about the things that you choose to be."
****UPDATE***UPDATE***UPDATE***
I found it on Youtube! God I friggin love the internet...
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Tiger, Tiger, Tiger
I think one of my favorite things about the whole Tiger Woods situation are the pictures that have come out with Tiger in the clubs, drink in hand, talking to a bunch of women. I love the pictures so much because in each one of them he's wearing a Nike shirt. To the clubs.
You mean to tell me that the highest paid athlete in the country can't afford a nice suit? Or is he too damn cheap to wear something he'd have to actually pay for?
This is WAY more offensive than cheating on your wife with porn stars.
You mean to tell me that the highest paid athlete in the country can't afford a nice suit? Or is he too damn cheap to wear something he'd have to actually pay for?
This is WAY more offensive than cheating on your wife with porn stars.
Monday, November 30, 2009
My Life Is Over
I just got back from the Doctor's office, one of my every 4 month appointments to see my endocrinologist and have him check out the old diabetes, make sure I'm not dying and whatnot. We were discussing my increased insulin usage and my food choices (see, for all you normies out there, the more carbohydrate filled food I eat the more insulin I need). I discovered that Chinese food is pretty much the worst think I can eat. The sauces have a ton of sugar, and are really high in salt. Plus, the chicken is fried and fatty. Fat means my body will absorb the carbs slower, and thus my insulin won't go as far and I would need to take more a couple hours after I eat (again, for you normies, we call that "chasing").
So, this is pretty much the worst thing I could ever hear because I LOVE Chinese food. I fucking love it. I would let it take my virginity in the back of my parents Duster on prom night, that's how much I love it. I eat it like 4 times a week (which is weird, because I don't really find Asian women attractive...if you're following my train of thought, I eat Chinese food but not the women...ba-dum-ba!). I mean, Tupac dying sucked. Getting Diabetes in the first place was pretty lame. Getting my pay cut at work due to the recession blew. But this! This cannot be. It feels like when Stephon asked to be traded, ruining my dreams of KG/Starbury/10 titles. The hurt is the same, the betrayal by something I love so dearly is familiar.
The doctor literally said that eating pixie sticks are better for me. I take that to mean I can safely eat ice cream for dinner again, like in my fat days, before Diabetes. In fact, maybe this Chinese embargo isn't so bad after all...
So, this is pretty much the worst thing I could ever hear because I LOVE Chinese food. I fucking love it. I would let it take my virginity in the back of my parents Duster on prom night, that's how much I love it. I eat it like 4 times a week (which is weird, because I don't really find Asian women attractive...if you're following my train of thought, I eat Chinese food but not the women...ba-dum-ba!). I mean, Tupac dying sucked. Getting Diabetes in the first place was pretty lame. Getting my pay cut at work due to the recession blew. But this! This cannot be. It feels like when Stephon asked to be traded, ruining my dreams of KG/Starbury/10 titles. The hurt is the same, the betrayal by something I love so dearly is familiar.
The doctor literally said that eating pixie sticks are better for me. I take that to mean I can safely eat ice cream for dinner again, like in my fat days, before Diabetes. In fact, maybe this Chinese embargo isn't so bad after all...
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Old People As Actors
I was watching a commercial for the Minnesota Closed Captioning phone service, to which I wish I had a video of some kind to show you, because this commercial just cracks me the fuck up. At the end of the commercial there is like a 5 second shot of a girl calling her grandpa, he picks up the phone and the grandpa says "hello Jessie". Now the reason this is funny to me, other than the way the grandpa says hello(which is cruel of me because he's deaf), is because I imagine the stage direction he must have received from the director of the commercial.
The rabbit hole gets pretty deep on this one. I mean, is this really a deaf old guy? Or is it a slightly less older guy playing what he thinks a deaf old guy sounds like? Did they just bring in some old confused deaf guy to the studio and tell him to answer the prop phone? Was he confused when he answered and realized there wasn't anyone on the other line, or even that the phone was plugged in? Did he actually have to sit down and audition for that role? Which to be honest, when you're that old, is pretty much the role of a lifetime? Did someone in charge of casting actually say, upon seeing the old guys impression of a really old guy who sounds like a dolphin, "That's him! That's the guy I want answering the phone! By God, it's like hearing Shakespeare for the first time!"
These are just the things I think about from time to time...
The rabbit hole gets pretty deep on this one. I mean, is this really a deaf old guy? Or is it a slightly less older guy playing what he thinks a deaf old guy sounds like? Did they just bring in some old confused deaf guy to the studio and tell him to answer the prop phone? Was he confused when he answered and realized there wasn't anyone on the other line, or even that the phone was plugged in? Did he actually have to sit down and audition for that role? Which to be honest, when you're that old, is pretty much the role of a lifetime? Did someone in charge of casting actually say, upon seeing the old guys impression of a really old guy who sounds like a dolphin, "That's him! That's the guy I want answering the phone! By God, it's like hearing Shakespeare for the first time!"
These are just the things I think about from time to time...
My New Arch Enemy
I've been trying to save money lately, like everyone in America it seems (I miss the days when Americans could ride around in their Gold Humvees, running over baby seals, and giving a big middle finger to inferior countries like France). That means no going out for lunch every day, and I have to make my own fucking sandwich like some orphan. Since we are at the start of a Minnesota winter, I also have to eat inside in our work cafeteria. It's not realy a cafeteria though, since there isn't actual food served in there. It's more like a big cold room with secondhand tables and chairs. It smells, it's completely filthy, the garbages overflows, the sink drips, the vending machines always eat your money, and there's usually some sort of raw fish sitting in a bowl of liquid that one of the Vietnamese workers brought in to eat. Normally I wouldn't take step one inside that place. I blame the recession.
Now, you may think that my new arch enemy is the lunch room, the raw fish, or even the owner who raped me out of 10% of my paycheck last year.
No…
The real enemy of mine is the lady who sits in the good padded chair every day and puts her lunch bag on the chair as a way to save her seat. Most of the chairs in the lunch room are hard plastic or broken down office furniture, which makes it hard to enjoy an hour long lunch period when your ass falls asleep after 15 minutes. But not this chair, in all its green vinyl padded glory. This chair is like the God of chairs. It’s like the fucking Lebron James of chairs. This chair is my religion, I would die for it.
I refuse to honor her “calling” of the chair. I move her lunch bag and her coat to the other side of the table because I reject the possibility that a lunch room in a professional environment works on the same principles as calling shotgun. And I’ll be damned if I let my ass fall asleep for her misguided beliefs.
I’ve never been exactly sure of whose lunch bag and coat it is, but I’ve had my suspicions. The lady I’m thinking of works on our assembly floor and looks just like an old next door neighbor of mine from my college days. My old neighbor was a huge bitch, so naturally, I think the lady that looks like her is a huge bitch too. You know what they say; all old white people look alike.
And today my suspicions were confirmed. I saw the assembly floor crew all head into the lunch room on their break and decided to follow them, just to see who I’m dealing with once and for all. I kept a low profile, sneaking around the corner and waiting just outside the glass doors.
And wouldn’t you know it…
It was totally the lady I was thinking about. And as she was coming close to “her” chair I could see he disgust to see her lunch moved once again. And that’s when she looked up, right into my eyes from across the room and through the glass doors. In that moment, she knew it was me. She knew I was the one responsible for crashing the once peaceful existence she enjoyed like a lunch room dictator. She gave me the worst look a person could give to another. I may as well be Hitler to her. I’ve killed her family, murdered her dog, and now I’m taking her lunch spot. I could feel her hatred for me. It was so thick and rich I could have drizzled it on pancakes.
It’s on now, lady.
It's so fucking on.
Now, you may think that my new arch enemy is the lunch room, the raw fish, or even the owner who raped me out of 10% of my paycheck last year.
No…
The real enemy of mine is the lady who sits in the good padded chair every day and puts her lunch bag on the chair as a way to save her seat. Most of the chairs in the lunch room are hard plastic or broken down office furniture, which makes it hard to enjoy an hour long lunch period when your ass falls asleep after 15 minutes. But not this chair, in all its green vinyl padded glory. This chair is like the God of chairs. It’s like the fucking Lebron James of chairs. This chair is my religion, I would die for it.
I refuse to honor her “calling” of the chair. I move her lunch bag and her coat to the other side of the table because I reject the possibility that a lunch room in a professional environment works on the same principles as calling shotgun. And I’ll be damned if I let my ass fall asleep for her misguided beliefs.
I’ve never been exactly sure of whose lunch bag and coat it is, but I’ve had my suspicions. The lady I’m thinking of works on our assembly floor and looks just like an old next door neighbor of mine from my college days. My old neighbor was a huge bitch, so naturally, I think the lady that looks like her is a huge bitch too. You know what they say; all old white people look alike.
And today my suspicions were confirmed. I saw the assembly floor crew all head into the lunch room on their break and decided to follow them, just to see who I’m dealing with once and for all. I kept a low profile, sneaking around the corner and waiting just outside the glass doors.
And wouldn’t you know it…
It was totally the lady I was thinking about. And as she was coming close to “her” chair I could see he disgust to see her lunch moved once again. And that’s when she looked up, right into my eyes from across the room and through the glass doors. In that moment, she knew it was me. She knew I was the one responsible for crashing the once peaceful existence she enjoyed like a lunch room dictator. She gave me the worst look a person could give to another. I may as well be Hitler to her. I’ve killed her family, murdered her dog, and now I’m taking her lunch spot. I could feel her hatred for me. It was so thick and rich I could have drizzled it on pancakes.
It’s on now, lady.
It's so fucking on.
Friday, November 13, 2009
NBA Observations
I used to be a huge fan of NBA basketball. When I was growing up I made sure I had every version of SLAM magazine, and even have a couple of them today (Lebron and Bassy on the same cover!). However, in the last couple years I've kind of grown apart from my ex-favorite sport. Maybe because my local Wolves have been so bad since they traded KG, or maybe I just find the NBA game to not be as exciting as it once was. But I've been following it a little more closely this year, at least until the Twins start making some moves (Beltre, Beltre, Beltre!) or the Vikes start their playoff run. Here are a couple observations...
Joakim Noah looks like the worst smelling person of all time, next to golfer Vijay Singh. The worst part is, it’s starting to look like Joakim and his weird mustache and half from may actually be good at basketball.
Steve Nash is the best pure point guard in the game. Some of his ball skills are just sick. Don’t believe me, go here
Lebron James is looking more and more like Jordan in his prime. The scary thing is that he’s just as good a passer, shoots with a higher percentage, and can rebound like a forward. The only thing left is for him to become clutch, which to be honest, Jordan was one of a kind and may never be touched in that regard.
I’m still pissed about the Roy/Foye trade. If the T-Wolves didn’t trade Roy, we’d have never had to dismantle the team and we’d be playoff bound this year.
And speaking of the Wolves the Nets, Knicks, Grizzlies, and Warriors will all finish with worse records than the timberpuppies, and that’s saying something
Joakim Noah looks like the worst smelling person of all time, next to golfer Vijay Singh. The worst part is, it’s starting to look like Joakim and his weird mustache and half from may actually be good at basketball.
Steve Nash is the best pure point guard in the game. Some of his ball skills are just sick. Don’t believe me, go here
Lebron James is looking more and more like Jordan in his prime. The scary thing is that he’s just as good a passer, shoots with a higher percentage, and can rebound like a forward. The only thing left is for him to become clutch, which to be honest, Jordan was one of a kind and may never be touched in that regard.
I’m still pissed about the Roy/Foye trade. If the T-Wolves didn’t trade Roy, we’d have never had to dismantle the team and we’d be playoff bound this year.
And speaking of the Wolves the Nets, Knicks, Grizzlies, and Warriors will all finish with worse records than the timberpuppies, and that’s saying something
Thursday, November 12, 2009
I'm Smarter and Better Than You
Dear Steve,
I saw you went grocery shopping today, but the pantry was suspiciously bare...
I found the package of Oreos in your bedside drawer, and the Pepperidge Farm Chocolate Chunk cookies in Mom's "good china" part of the buffet cabinets. The Heath Bar Klondike bars were unable to conceal themselves in the downstairs freezer.
You're going to have to do better than that.
To teach you a lesson, I'm going to eat most of this tonight while you're sleeping. My blood sugars are going to take a bit of a hit, but you've really given me no choice and have no one to blame but yourself. Not only did your genetics give me my terminal disease, but you make me teach you this lesson.
If you find me in a coma tomorrow morning, or perhaps stone cold dead with a huge smile on my face, my beloved brother Dan can have all my worldly posessions and money in my bank accounts. Except for my Playboy subscription which should go to Jay, and Mom can have the rest of my senior pictures.
And save about $2,000.00. I figure that's how much a golden suit will cost. And I want to be buried in a golden suit.
I saw you went grocery shopping today, but the pantry was suspiciously bare...
I found the package of Oreos in your bedside drawer, and the Pepperidge Farm Chocolate Chunk cookies in Mom's "good china" part of the buffet cabinets. The Heath Bar Klondike bars were unable to conceal themselves in the downstairs freezer.
You're going to have to do better than that.
To teach you a lesson, I'm going to eat most of this tonight while you're sleeping. My blood sugars are going to take a bit of a hit, but you've really given me no choice and have no one to blame but yourself. Not only did your genetics give me my terminal disease, but you make me teach you this lesson.
If you find me in a coma tomorrow morning, or perhaps stone cold dead with a huge smile on my face, my beloved brother Dan can have all my worldly posessions and money in my bank accounts. Except for my Playboy subscription which should go to Jay, and Mom can have the rest of my senior pictures.
And save about $2,000.00. I figure that's how much a golden suit will cost. And I want to be buried in a golden suit.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Carolyn Doesn't Quite Get How TiVo Works
I was sitting with my roomates the other day, catching up on about a week and change worth of TiVo programing. It was an unusually sunny day outside, but none of us could seem to muster the strength to actually go outside into the nice day. Like most people, we figured we could rest today and be outside tomorrow as it was predicted to again be a beautiful fall day in Minnesota.
We're watching commercials for a show (which should lead me to believe that Carolyn doesn't know we can fast forward through the commercials, and that the concept of a digital video recorder is above her head), and right before we get to the show a promo for the local news comes on and announes the weather for the day "tomorrow" is going to be rainy and cold...
Carolyn: "oh what the hell, it was supposed to be nice tomorrow!!!"
Me: "what are you talking about?"
Carolyn: "the news, they just said it was going to be rainy and shitty tomorrow. I was going to take care of my plants and do some cleaning up around the yard, and now I can't! Well this just sucks"
Me: "Ma, you do realize we're watching a show that's a week old, right? They were talking about the weather for last Sunday."
Carolyn: "oh."
And then we all had a laugh...
We're watching commercials for a show (which should lead me to believe that Carolyn doesn't know we can fast forward through the commercials, and that the concept of a digital video recorder is above her head), and right before we get to the show a promo for the local news comes on and announes the weather for the day "tomorrow" is going to be rainy and cold...
Carolyn: "oh what the hell, it was supposed to be nice tomorrow!!!"
Me: "what are you talking about?"
Carolyn: "the news, they just said it was going to be rainy and shitty tomorrow. I was going to take care of my plants and do some cleaning up around the yard, and now I can't! Well this just sucks"
Me: "Ma, you do realize we're watching a show that's a week old, right? They were talking about the weather for last Sunday."
Carolyn: "oh."
And then we all had a laugh...
Sunday, November 1, 2009
In Honor of Halloween
In honor of this Halloween season, I am reminded of one of the funnier interactions between someone I know and a cafeteria worker.
My freshman year in the dorms I had lunch every day with a good friend of mine, Joe. We were standing in line the day of Halloween discussing how very little Halloween cheer we felt. The cafe was sparsely decorated at best, and the workers dishing up the food weren't even dressed up. Lame. Joe decided to change all that:
Worker: What would you like?
Joe: I'd like some scare-a-roni, please.
Worker: What?
Joe: Maybe you have some spaghetti with frightballs? That would be spooktacular. Thank you.
Annoyed worker: What?
My freshman year in the dorms I had lunch every day with a good friend of mine, Joe. We were standing in line the day of Halloween discussing how very little Halloween cheer we felt. The cafe was sparsely decorated at best, and the workers dishing up the food weren't even dressed up. Lame. Joe decided to change all that:
Worker: What would you like?
Joe: I'd like some scare-a-roni, please.
Worker: What?
Joe: Maybe you have some spaghetti with frightballs? That would be spooktacular. Thank you.
Annoyed worker: What?
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
The Ghost Deer
Gather round children, for this Halloween I’m going to tell you the scariest story you’ve ever heard. So turn off the lights and light the candle in your jack-o-lantern while I tell you the true tale of the Ghost Deer.
A few years back, on a dark and rainy night, I was driving home from a party late at night. The road was dark and wet, no other cars were around. It had been a long night, I’d had a couple drinks and was getting pretty tired. I was approaching the crest of a hill in my Ford Thunderbird and just as I started over the hill, out of the left corner of my eye I saw a white flash with antlers, and then I heard a loud thud.
I looked right and couldn’t see anything. I looked back left, nothing. I slowed down my car and checked the rear view mirror, nothing. Was I dreaming? Did I really hit something? All of the sudden, my car’s engine shut off and I started coasting down the hill. I was able to pull off to the side of the road. As I put on my hood and stepped out into the freezing rain, I looked back up the hill and the shoulders of the road. I couldn’t see anything hurt or dead in the road at all.
And then it hit me. Clearly I had run into a Ghost Deer, probably the ghost of a deer that was hit by a car on this very road. Now, it spends it’s time haunting the highway, ramming itself into other cars, looking for revenge on the man that killed him. The Ghost Deer passes through your car, shutting off your engine. When you get out of the car to examine the damage, it will stab you with its ghost antlers. There’s no doubt in my mind that if I had been the man that ran him down so many years before, I would not be standing here today.
So I caution you, dear reader. This Halloween season if you hit a deer and your engine stops, don’t move. Call 911 and wait for them to arrive. If you get out of your car, it will be the last thing you ever do.
A few years back, on a dark and rainy night, I was driving home from a party late at night. The road was dark and wet, no other cars were around. It had been a long night, I’d had a couple drinks and was getting pretty tired. I was approaching the crest of a hill in my Ford Thunderbird and just as I started over the hill, out of the left corner of my eye I saw a white flash with antlers, and then I heard a loud thud.
I looked right and couldn’t see anything. I looked back left, nothing. I slowed down my car and checked the rear view mirror, nothing. Was I dreaming? Did I really hit something? All of the sudden, my car’s engine shut off and I started coasting down the hill. I was able to pull off to the side of the road. As I put on my hood and stepped out into the freezing rain, I looked back up the hill and the shoulders of the road. I couldn’t see anything hurt or dead in the road at all.
And then it hit me. Clearly I had run into a Ghost Deer, probably the ghost of a deer that was hit by a car on this very road. Now, it spends it’s time haunting the highway, ramming itself into other cars, looking for revenge on the man that killed him. The Ghost Deer passes through your car, shutting off your engine. When you get out of the car to examine the damage, it will stab you with its ghost antlers. There’s no doubt in my mind that if I had been the man that ran him down so many years before, I would not be standing here today.
So I caution you, dear reader. This Halloween season if you hit a deer and your engine stops, don’t move. Call 911 and wait for them to arrive. If you get out of your car, it will be the last thing you ever do.
Friday, October 23, 2009
10 Songs I'm Geeked About Right Now
I'm at home sick, and I don't have anything better to do at this point tonight. And being laid up I've done nothing but watch The Current and listen to music. So, I'm going to give you a list of 10 songs I'm super pumped about right now. That's it. Just a list. 1 through 10 (though in no particular order). And I'm not even going to really talk about the songs, because my feeble sick brain can't come up with many complete sentences. Without further hesitation, here are 10 songs I would give an HJ in the parking lot.
1. Fleet Foxes - White Winter Hymnal
2. Girl Sailor - The Shins
3. Simple Man- The Grouch
4. Rooks - Shearwater
5. I Wanna Be Like You (Jungle Book Cover) - The Morning Benders
6. My Body's A Zombie For You - Dead Man's Bones
7. Temazcal - Monsters of Folk
8. Russia - Ramona Falls
9. Born Again - Cory Chisel and the Wandering Sons
10. Best@it - Brother Ali
Goodnight.
1. Fleet Foxes - White Winter Hymnal
2. Girl Sailor - The Shins
3. Simple Man- The Grouch
4. Rooks - Shearwater
5. I Wanna Be Like You (Jungle Book Cover) - The Morning Benders
6. My Body's A Zombie For You - Dead Man's Bones
7. Temazcal - Monsters of Folk
8. Russia - Ramona Falls
9. Born Again - Cory Chisel and the Wandering Sons
10. Best@it - Brother Ali
Goodnight.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
World War 3: Update
My retaliation has been swift. I've now taken to eating my Dad's Klondike bars. I save the wrapper. When I'm finished eating I mold the wrapper back so it looks like there's still a bar in it. I then place it back in the package. Currently, we have a full package of "bars" in the freezer, and not one of them has an actual ice cream treat in it.
What Chantix May Come
I've been trying to quit smoking. I know, fucking gross. I hate the thought of not smoking. And since I love smoking so much, I decided I needed a pill to help me out So my doc starts me on Chantix. It's supposed to block the nicotine receptors in my brain while I smoke, essentially cutting my body off cold turkey, while my brain sees me and is getting tricked. You may have seen it on TV. There's a commercial from a lawfirm looking for Chantix users who've had suicidal thoughts, and thoughts of killing other people. But I ignore the warnings, and just let my friend Jay know that if I try to murder him or anyone else, I didn't really mean it. It was the drugs. He shouldn't take it personally.
One of the other side affects is incredibly lucid dreams. It gives some people horrible nightmares, and some people sexy happy dreams. For me, it didn't really do either. Instead, it gives me super realistic, mundane dreams. Fuck, I shouldn't even call them dreams. More like, scenes from a completely average play.
To illustrate my point:
The other night I dreamt that a nice girl from work, Lai, was knitting me a pair of basketball shorts. When she finished, she wanted $40 for them. I thought it was a little expensive, but I agreed.
That's it. That's the dream.
And to make matters worse, since it was a super realistic dream, I spent 10 minutes after I woke up in the morning thinking about how spending $40 on knitted basketball shorts was a not very smart, and how I don't even really wear shorts in the first place.
Another time I dreamt my friend called and invited me to a party. I couldn't go because it was a Wednesday and I had to work the next day, so I politely declined.
Again, that's it. Dream over. I need to look at internet porn or something tonight before I go to bed, spice this shit up a bit.
One of the other side affects is incredibly lucid dreams. It gives some people horrible nightmares, and some people sexy happy dreams. For me, it didn't really do either. Instead, it gives me super realistic, mundane dreams. Fuck, I shouldn't even call them dreams. More like, scenes from a completely average play.
To illustrate my point:
The other night I dreamt that a nice girl from work, Lai, was knitting me a pair of basketball shorts. When she finished, she wanted $40 for them. I thought it was a little expensive, but I agreed.
That's it. That's the dream.
And to make matters worse, since it was a super realistic dream, I spent 10 minutes after I woke up in the morning thinking about how spending $40 on knitted basketball shorts was a not very smart, and how I don't even really wear shorts in the first place.
Another time I dreamt my friend called and invited me to a party. I couldn't go because it was a Wednesday and I had to work the next day, so I politely declined.
Again, that's it. Dream over. I need to look at internet porn or something tonight before I go to bed, spice this shit up a bit.
Really?
I apologize to those of you that wish I would post more, I just haven't felt the creative juices flowing lately. Maybe it's the end of Summer and the start of a looooooong Minnesota Winter that's got me down. I promise to never leave you hanging again.
Let's get this party started...
Here's a little gem from the St. Paul Pioneer Press this morning...
Lottery Hoax Causes Riot At Coat Store
COLUMBUS, Ohio — A woman being driven around in a rented limousine pulled up at a coat store and announced she'd won the lottery and would pay for everyone's purchases, police said, but she ended up causing a riot when customers realized it was a hoax. Angry customers threw merchandise around and looted, police said.
Linda Brown was arrested Tuesday after an hours-long shopping spree that began when she hired a stretch Hummer limousine to drop her off at a Burlington Coat Factory store, police Sgt. Lt. Michael Deakins said. Brown walked to a cash register and announced she had won the lottery and would pay for each person's merchandise up to $500, he said.
People flooded the registers as cashiers began ringing up purchase after purchase, but Brown had not yet paid the bill, Deakins said.
My first question is why exactly would anyone who’s “won the lottery” go shop at a Burlington Coat Factory? Aren’t there a lot of nicer places a person could shop? Like K-mart? If I’m John Burlington, manager/owner of the Columbus, OH Coat factory, the first thing that would give me cause for concern is someone’s actually talking about paying cash for items, and not just using food stamps or some other government-aided subsidy. Right then and there, I’d know this lady is full of shit. Well actually, the FIRST thing that doesn’t seem right is the lady pulls up in a fucking stretch Hummer. To Burlington Coat Factory.
Now that I think about it, the very first thing that would concern me is that I’m working at a Burlington Coat Factory.
It gets better...
About an hour later, Brown had her driver take her to a bank to withdraw money, but she returned empty-handed, police Detective Steven Nace said.
So, the manager of the store, shit, wait, that's me, John Burlington. So, I decide it's a good idea to not only let this person offer to pay for everything, let my store get trampled and looted, before I check to see if this lady's telling the truth? Perhaps I could've checked for some kind of ticket, or proof that she's a recent lottery winner? I mean, there's got to be some kind of receipt right, or some kind of clip from the paper. Well, at least she had the cash on her. What's that you say? She didn't have the cash on her? She wants to do what now? She needs to go to the bank to make a withdrawl? No problem. I'm sure she's good for it. We'll just continue ringing these people in line and wait for her to get back.
And the best part is, she eventually does come back. WITH NOTHING. Are you fucking kidding me?
Let's get this party started...
Here's a little gem from the St. Paul Pioneer Press this morning...
Lottery Hoax Causes Riot At Coat Store
COLUMBUS, Ohio — A woman being driven around in a rented limousine pulled up at a coat store and announced she'd won the lottery and would pay for everyone's purchases, police said, but she ended up causing a riot when customers realized it was a hoax. Angry customers threw merchandise around and looted, police said.
Linda Brown was arrested Tuesday after an hours-long shopping spree that began when she hired a stretch Hummer limousine to drop her off at a Burlington Coat Factory store, police Sgt. Lt. Michael Deakins said. Brown walked to a cash register and announced she had won the lottery and would pay for each person's merchandise up to $500, he said.
People flooded the registers as cashiers began ringing up purchase after purchase, but Brown had not yet paid the bill, Deakins said.
My first question is why exactly would anyone who’s “won the lottery” go shop at a Burlington Coat Factory? Aren’t there a lot of nicer places a person could shop? Like K-mart? If I’m John Burlington, manager/owner of the Columbus, OH Coat factory, the first thing that would give me cause for concern is someone’s actually talking about paying cash for items, and not just using food stamps or some other government-aided subsidy. Right then and there, I’d know this lady is full of shit. Well actually, the FIRST thing that doesn’t seem right is the lady pulls up in a fucking stretch Hummer. To Burlington Coat Factory.
Now that I think about it, the very first thing that would concern me is that I’m working at a Burlington Coat Factory.
It gets better...
About an hour later, Brown had her driver take her to a bank to withdraw money, but she returned empty-handed, police Detective Steven Nace said.
So, the manager of the store, shit, wait, that's me, John Burlington. So, I decide it's a good idea to not only let this person offer to pay for everything, let my store get trampled and looted, before I check to see if this lady's telling the truth? Perhaps I could've checked for some kind of ticket, or proof that she's a recent lottery winner? I mean, there's got to be some kind of receipt right, or some kind of clip from the paper. Well, at least she had the cash on her. What's that you say? She didn't have the cash on her? She wants to do what now? She needs to go to the bank to make a withdrawl? No problem. I'm sure she's good for it. We'll just continue ringing these people in line and wait for her to get back.
And the best part is, she eventually does come back. WITH NOTHING. Are you fucking kidding me?
Friday, October 2, 2009
The War is Escalating
In response to my parking maneuver, my father has decided to remove all the towels from the bathroom when I go to take my shower.
Well played Steve, well played.
I've got to go back to the drawing board on this one...
Well played Steve, well played.
I've got to go back to the drawing board on this one...
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
I Will Fight No More Forever
Currently, I am at war with my father. For the past few weeks we have been passively agressively fighting over parking spaces at home. Yes I live with my parents, get over it.
At the end of the day when My Mother, Father, and I all get home from work there is a parking dance that we normally do. My Dad comes home first, usually around 4 p.m. His parking space is in the garage on the right side, to which he normally pulls in to. I come home next at about 4:30, I usually take the lower right hand corner of the driveway, so my mom who comes home a little after me can park in her space on the left side of the garage. This way, my Dad can back out of the garage and get around me. Not a bad arrangement, but Dad hates it. My brother did the same thing in high school and my dad backed into his car one day. Ever since then he's always fearful that he'll do it again. I don't understand what's so difficult about turning your head to look behind you when you back out. I mean, he is like 60 years old now and maybe he just spaces things now, like he may forget I'm even behind him. But I don't think my Father's dementia should mean I have to park in the street.
So, in order to prevent me from taking the back right space for the last two weeks, he has parked in my space, knowing that I won't park in the garage because then I'll have to move my car later at night (God forbid my parents should have their cars sit in the driveway for one fucking hour). Which is a pretty good move, and for a couple days I didn't know how to handle it, and just parked in the street until later on in the evening. But I can't stand the idea of my Dad thinking he's winning. I can't stand it. It's like nails on a chalkboard. It's like getting a papercut. It's like watching a Patrick Swayze movie. So annoying!
Here's my plan:
I started to park in the lower left hand side of the driveway, right next to my Dad, blocking my mom's path into the garage. She has had to park in the street. My thought process is that she is going to get so pissed in a couple days, and yell at me for my parking. To which, I will calmly explain that the reason I'm parking there is because Dad is taking my spot, and that I can't possibly park up more in the driveway because then she'll be blocking me in and will have to move her car when I need to leave. So, she will start complaining to Dad. He will cave, and ipso facto I will win. Dad will park in the garage, I'll get my spot back, and the world will be back in order.
I'm like an evil genious. If you put me in a room with Lex Luther and Hannibal Lecter, I'd eat their kids.
At the end of the day when My Mother, Father, and I all get home from work there is a parking dance that we normally do. My Dad comes home first, usually around 4 p.m. His parking space is in the garage on the right side, to which he normally pulls in to. I come home next at about 4:30, I usually take the lower right hand corner of the driveway, so my mom who comes home a little after me can park in her space on the left side of the garage. This way, my Dad can back out of the garage and get around me. Not a bad arrangement, but Dad hates it. My brother did the same thing in high school and my dad backed into his car one day. Ever since then he's always fearful that he'll do it again. I don't understand what's so difficult about turning your head to look behind you when you back out. I mean, he is like 60 years old now and maybe he just spaces things now, like he may forget I'm even behind him. But I don't think my Father's dementia should mean I have to park in the street.
So, in order to prevent me from taking the back right space for the last two weeks, he has parked in my space, knowing that I won't park in the garage because then I'll have to move my car later at night (God forbid my parents should have their cars sit in the driveway for one fucking hour). Which is a pretty good move, and for a couple days I didn't know how to handle it, and just parked in the street until later on in the evening. But I can't stand the idea of my Dad thinking he's winning. I can't stand it. It's like nails on a chalkboard. It's like getting a papercut. It's like watching a Patrick Swayze movie. So annoying!
Here's my plan:
I started to park in the lower left hand side of the driveway, right next to my Dad, blocking my mom's path into the garage. She has had to park in the street. My thought process is that she is going to get so pissed in a couple days, and yell at me for my parking. To which, I will calmly explain that the reason I'm parking there is because Dad is taking my spot, and that I can't possibly park up more in the driveway because then she'll be blocking me in and will have to move her car when I need to leave. So, she will start complaining to Dad. He will cave, and ipso facto I will win. Dad will park in the garage, I'll get my spot back, and the world will be back in order.
I'm like an evil genious. If you put me in a room with Lex Luther and Hannibal Lecter, I'd eat their kids.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
One Good Thing About Favre
Most people that know me understand that I hate Brett Favre. I've hated him his whole career with the Packers, and I won't stop now just because he is now the quarterback of my favorite NFL franchise. I even had a t-shirt made...
So it was to my amusement that I have heard a great nickname for him, one that works for both the people that hate him, and those that love him.
Drum roll...
The Baby Cheeseus
See, it works for me becuase he is a frickin baby, as evident by the crying scene listed on the above shirt.
It also works for those people that think he walks on water and can do no wrong.
I don't know why this hasn't caught on...
Monday, September 28, 2009
Between a Rock and a Hard Place
I was at my friend Jay's place the other night, watching TV and generally relaxing. His girlfriend walks in and starts watching with us. We have a little light chit-chat, but then the conversation turned a little serious when Jay's girl accuses me of having a "disgusting porn collection". Now, I have nothing against porn, but I've never actually owned a porn tape in my life. Who needs a video tape when you have the internet now adays. Evedently, Jay had told his girlfriend, upon discovery of his vast array of videos, that his porn stash was mine. Like I would keep my porn at another person's house. So every time I wanted to snap one off, I'd have to drive to fucking Eagan. But the thing is, she believed him!
In the middle of having to defend myself, to which Jay was no help ("C'mon Dayve, Vaginal Encounters, like that's not yours"), the conversation took an abrupt halt when Jay's girl says,
"Why is porn even attractive? It's not beautiful. Like anybody wants to see a close up of anatomy like that. It's way hotter when you can see the whole girl, boobs and ass and everything."
To which my simple reply was, "I don't think guys are thinking "beautiful" when they're doing the things you're doing when you need porn."
And this is the best, I still can't stop laughing...
"Well I think it's gross. Jay, what do you think? Would you rather see a close up of a vagina, or would you rather see the whole girl from farther away?"
Now, I'm no relationship expert, lord knows. But I'm pretty sure this is what they call a "loaded question". There's about a million trillion different ways Jay could have answered that question. And of those millions of trillions of possibilities, Jay decides to go with the worst fucking one I can think of...
"I'd probably go with the whole girl. Because with the close up, it could totally be a hot vagina, but then it belongs to a 400 pound cow."
Well done Jay, well done. And I know I promised I wouldn't post this on the internet, but fuck it, you tried to blame your porn collection on me.
In the middle of having to defend myself, to which Jay was no help ("C'mon Dayve, Vaginal Encounters, like that's not yours"), the conversation took an abrupt halt when Jay's girl says,
"Why is porn even attractive? It's not beautiful. Like anybody wants to see a close up of anatomy like that. It's way hotter when you can see the whole girl, boobs and ass and everything."
To which my simple reply was, "I don't think guys are thinking "beautiful" when they're doing the things you're doing when you need porn."
And this is the best, I still can't stop laughing...
"Well I think it's gross. Jay, what do you think? Would you rather see a close up of a vagina, or would you rather see the whole girl from farther away?"
Now, I'm no relationship expert, lord knows. But I'm pretty sure this is what they call a "loaded question". There's about a million trillion different ways Jay could have answered that question. And of those millions of trillions of possibilities, Jay decides to go with the worst fucking one I can think of...
"I'd probably go with the whole girl. Because with the close up, it could totally be a hot vagina, but then it belongs to a 400 pound cow."
Well done Jay, well done. And I know I promised I wouldn't post this on the internet, but fuck it, you tried to blame your porn collection on me.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Steve Loves Heroin
My dad has undertaken the task of growing poppy flowers in his garden this year. I'm not sure why he did it, I think he found a packet of seeds in the junk drawer and decided to plant them. They look like any flower really, just a small red flower on a long green stem.
I was smoking my cigarette the other day, and Steve was doing some yardwork. "Hey Dayve, you should try some of those poppy seeds, they make heroin out of those you know, you can get high. Just take some of the seeds out of the pods and smoke them."
"I don't think that's how it works Dad."
"You can take those cigarette papers you use to roll your heaters with and put the seeds in there."
"Again, I don't think that's how it works."
He then goes over to the plants and cuts a seed pod off the stem and hands it to me. "There's a world of magic and fun in all those little seeds."
So, not only does my dad encourage me to use drugs now, he wants me to start with one of the worst ones man has made. And for some reason, his nostalgia on the seed pod makes me think he wishes he could have been a junkie at some point. Mind you my dad is an ex-high school teacher, who would tell us stories about all the pot smokers he would bust in the woods behind his school. I know he was joking with me, but the only thing I could think of is the scene in Half Baked where Chapelle is talking about how parents look to find ways to bond with their kids, and all they needed to do was maybe spark a joint every now and then. Perhaps I should get out a needle and a spoon for some quality time with Dad, fuck throwing a ball back and forth.
[UPDATE]
When confronted the next day by my mother, who thought my father's suggestion was more than a lapse in judgement, my dad said "I just thought Dayve should be more fun, that's all."
I was smoking my cigarette the other day, and Steve was doing some yardwork. "Hey Dayve, you should try some of those poppy seeds, they make heroin out of those you know, you can get high. Just take some of the seeds out of the pods and smoke them."
"I don't think that's how it works Dad."
"You can take those cigarette papers you use to roll your heaters with and put the seeds in there."
"Again, I don't think that's how it works."
He then goes over to the plants and cuts a seed pod off the stem and hands it to me. "There's a world of magic and fun in all those little seeds."
So, not only does my dad encourage me to use drugs now, he wants me to start with one of the worst ones man has made. And for some reason, his nostalgia on the seed pod makes me think he wishes he could have been a junkie at some point. Mind you my dad is an ex-high school teacher, who would tell us stories about all the pot smokers he would bust in the woods behind his school. I know he was joking with me, but the only thing I could think of is the scene in Half Baked where Chapelle is talking about how parents look to find ways to bond with their kids, and all they needed to do was maybe spark a joint every now and then. Perhaps I should get out a needle and a spoon for some quality time with Dad, fuck throwing a ball back and forth.
[UPDATE]
When confronted the next day by my mother, who thought my father's suggestion was more than a lapse in judgement, my dad said "I just thought Dayve should be more fun, that's all."
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means
Dad: "The Twins got killed tonight against the Blue Jays. They really got their asses wiped"
Me: "I think you mean kicked"
Me: "I think you mean kicked"
Saturday, August 29, 2009
The Worst Trip Ever
You know how most people, late at night, get a case of the munchies? Not me. I get a case of the mealies. I say "mealies" because I don't like just a couple cookies or some chips. I want food. A lot of it. I spend the next week working off the cravings I get on a Saturday at 11PM, but who cares, I love it. It's better than Christmas.
Last night I'm sitting at a friends house, and I get the mealies, bad. I decide it's time to go to McDonalds, which won the fast food decision, not because I'm a fan of McDonalds, but because it was the closest place to the house. That should be McDonald's new ad campaign, "You know we're right around the block, and you're lazy, so come on in!" On my way over there I decide to get some gas, which is already a little annoying because I didn't plan on running errands, I just wanted my food so I could get back. I start pumping my gas and go to wipe my windows. As I turn around I stumble a little bit and end up having to take a few recovery steps in order not to fall. Mind you it's late, there's no one else at any of the other pumps, but I can see the gas station attendant watching me through the window. And he's laughing. Great.
I go over to my little window wiping station thing by the pump, and there's no towels. So I walk over to the one on the adjacent pump. Nothing. I walk across the isle to a third pump, and to the one next to it. Nothing. The whole time I'm thinking Awesome, the attendant sees me almost fall and now I'm walking around the parking lot like a homeless person. Plus, at this point I'm pretty sure the paper towels are just his way of fucking with me. I'm sure it gets pretty boring working the overnight shift at some SA, he's probably got to find new ways to keep it interesting. I wonder if he gets more serious. Like, replaces the gas with sugar water. You know, just to be silly.
I finish up at the gas station and go across the street to get food. I pull up to the window after ordering and there's a sign hanging that says "We are sorry for the inconvenience, but we cannot accept debit/credit cards at this time". Oh, Jesus Christ. I never carry cash with me, all I have is my credit card. Wouldn't the fact they couldn't take cards have been important, say, when I was ordering my food? At this point, I'm more than annoyed at my trip, slowly snowballing into ridiculousness.
So I pull out of McDonlads, foodless. I'm not really sure of where I want to go next, or if I even if my mealies really need to be satisfied tonight. I just start to drive, aimlessly. After about 5 minutes I realize I have no idea where I am. I don't see any food places, or other gas stations. I don't see much of anything. No lights. Nothing. I think about turning around, but I don't really know where I came from either. I decide to just keep going, find a major road, and figure it out from there. I take a couple of turns (one U), which are fruitless at best, and 16 minutes later I finally find my way back to civilization.
Overall toll of my 5 minute food run:
3 stops
36 minutes
22 miles
38 dollars in gas and food
10 cigarettes smoked
1 partial death fall at a gas station
Last night I'm sitting at a friends house, and I get the mealies, bad. I decide it's time to go to McDonalds, which won the fast food decision, not because I'm a fan of McDonalds, but because it was the closest place to the house. That should be McDonald's new ad campaign, "You know we're right around the block, and you're lazy, so come on in!" On my way over there I decide to get some gas, which is already a little annoying because I didn't plan on running errands, I just wanted my food so I could get back. I start pumping my gas and go to wipe my windows. As I turn around I stumble a little bit and end up having to take a few recovery steps in order not to fall. Mind you it's late, there's no one else at any of the other pumps, but I can see the gas station attendant watching me through the window. And he's laughing. Great.
I go over to my little window wiping station thing by the pump, and there's no towels. So I walk over to the one on the adjacent pump. Nothing. I walk across the isle to a third pump, and to the one next to it. Nothing. The whole time I'm thinking Awesome, the attendant sees me almost fall and now I'm walking around the parking lot like a homeless person. Plus, at this point I'm pretty sure the paper towels are just his way of fucking with me. I'm sure it gets pretty boring working the overnight shift at some SA, he's probably got to find new ways to keep it interesting. I wonder if he gets more serious. Like, replaces the gas with sugar water. You know, just to be silly.
I finish up at the gas station and go across the street to get food. I pull up to the window after ordering and there's a sign hanging that says "We are sorry for the inconvenience, but we cannot accept debit/credit cards at this time". Oh, Jesus Christ. I never carry cash with me, all I have is my credit card. Wouldn't the fact they couldn't take cards have been important, say, when I was ordering my food? At this point, I'm more than annoyed at my trip, slowly snowballing into ridiculousness.
So I pull out of McDonlads, foodless. I'm not really sure of where I want to go next, or if I even if my mealies really need to be satisfied tonight. I just start to drive, aimlessly. After about 5 minutes I realize I have no idea where I am. I don't see any food places, or other gas stations. I don't see much of anything. No lights. Nothing. I think about turning around, but I don't really know where I came from either. I decide to just keep going, find a major road, and figure it out from there. I take a couple of turns (one U), which are fruitless at best, and 16 minutes later I finally find my way back to civilization.
Overall toll of my 5 minute food run:
3 stops
36 minutes
22 miles
38 dollars in gas and food
10 cigarettes smoked
1 partial death fall at a gas station
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
I Don't Like You Drew Stevyns
I happened to flip on America's Got Talent last night and I happened to see the final seconds of a performance by a guy named Drew Stevyns. Who the fuck does this shmuck think he is? There's only room on this planet for one person with a super cool name spelling, and it aint you. I hope you lose. Judging from last night, you will lose. The world will be set right again. Global warming will start to reverse.
Don't mess with me Drew Stevyns
Don't mess with me Drew Stevyns
Fun History for Yo Ass
I've run accross some interesting facts the last couple of days. I find it fascinating where our words come from, the etymology of our everyday expressions and customs. I find it interesting how many come from negative places in our history. For example, in the 1500's it was okay for a man to beat his wife as long as he used a stick no larger than his thumb, hence, the "rule of thumb". A couple more interesting ones from the 1500's...
They used to use urine to tan animal skins, so families used to all pee in a pot & then once a day it was taken & sold to the tannery. If you had to do this to survive you were "Piss Poor". But worse than that were the really poor folk who couldn't even afford to buy a pot. They "didn't have a pot to piss in" & were the lowest of the low.
Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May, and they still smelled pretty good by June. However, since they were starting to smell, brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odor. Hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married.
Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it. Hence the saying, "Don't throw the baby out with the Bath water!"
Houses had thatched roofs-thick straw-piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals(mice,bugs) lived in the roof. When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof. Hence the saying "It's raining cats and dogs."
The floor was dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt. Hence the saying, "Dirt poor." The wealthy had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet, so they spread thresh (straw) on floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on, they added more thresh until, when you opened the door, it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entrance-way. Hence: a thresh hold.
Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special. When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could, "bring home the bacon." They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and chew the fat.
Lead cups were used to drink ale or whisky. The combination would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days. Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a wake.
England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people. So they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house, and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive. So they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night(the graveyard shift.) to listen for the bell; thus,someone could be, savedby the bell or was considered a "dead ringer".
They used to use urine to tan animal skins, so families used to all pee in a pot & then once a day it was taken & sold to the tannery. If you had to do this to survive you were "Piss Poor". But worse than that were the really poor folk who couldn't even afford to buy a pot. They "didn't have a pot to piss in" & were the lowest of the low.
Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May, and they still smelled pretty good by June. However, since they were starting to smell, brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odor. Hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married.
Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it. Hence the saying, "Don't throw the baby out with the Bath water!"
Houses had thatched roofs-thick straw-piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals(mice,bugs) lived in the roof. When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof. Hence the saying "It's raining cats and dogs."
The floor was dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt. Hence the saying, "Dirt poor." The wealthy had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet, so they spread thresh (straw) on floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on, they added more thresh until, when you opened the door, it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entrance-way. Hence: a thresh hold.
Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special. When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could, "bring home the bacon." They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and chew the fat.
Lead cups were used to drink ale or whisky. The combination would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days. Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a wake.
England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people. So they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house, and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive. So they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night(the graveyard shift.) to listen for the bell; thus,someone could be, savedby the bell or was considered a "dead ringer".
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Carolyn, Carolyn, Carloyn
A conversation with my mother:
Mom: Dayve, do you want to go with us tonight?
Me: Where you goin?
Mom: Your father has a coupon to that Australian place, we're going to go get dinner.
Me: What kind of place?
Mom: Australian
Me: What do they serve? Like, Kangaroos?
Mom: No, it's Australian.
Me: What does that mean?
Dad: Dave, she's talking about Outback Steakhouse. We're going to Outback.
Jesus Christ.
Mom: Dayve, do you want to go with us tonight?
Me: Where you goin?
Mom: Your father has a coupon to that Australian place, we're going to go get dinner.
Me: What kind of place?
Mom: Australian
Me: What do they serve? Like, Kangaroos?
Mom: No, it's Australian.
Me: What does that mean?
Dad: Dave, she's talking about Outback Steakhouse. We're going to Outback.
Jesus Christ.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
FML
I was spending some time on FmyLife the other day (I have a link to it in my favorite websites below if you want to check it out). FML is a website where people write in and tell their horror stories. It’s an anonymous place for people to complain. It is really very fascinating. But it got me thinking of why it is so interesting. Some of the stories are really difficult to read because they are so personal. It’s like slashing a spotlight on a person’s biggest faults and insecurities. I couldn’t imaging wanting to share some of my stories with perfect strangers, regardless if it’s anonymous or not. But the really interesting idea to me is that by sharing these details with strangers, a sort of community is built. A place where people can go and realize they aren’t alone with their problems. I must admit after reading some of these stories, I feel better about the things that happen in my life. In this strange way, a total negative can become a positive, life affirming experience. What does that say about me? Do I take pleasure in other’s pain? I don’t think it does, it’s not like I am hoping for bad things to happen to good people. I wish bad things didn’t happen to anyone. But since they do (to EVERYONE) I am simply glad to not feel alone in that respect. It’s amazing to me, where one finds a family. A sense of belonging. A sense that everything is going to be okay.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Bernie Mac
In college, we used to watch old Def Comedy Jam's on DVD. This is one of my favorites. Bernie Mac at his best, you don't understand. Plus, he's wearing pants with his own face on them...
Monday, August 3, 2009
This Has Got To Be A Joke...
I was reading the St. Paul paper today, something I really hate to do because as a Minneapolis guy, St. Paul is just weird. Anyway, I stumbled upon this headline:
San Francisco Wins Homeless Soccer Tournament
The first thing I thought was a corny joke. They can't be suggesting that there are actually homeless people that have come together to play a national tournament, with sponsors and announcers, and hot dog stands? I mean, it's not that I am soccer-discriminating against homeless people, it's just that I would think they have a lot better things to do in a given day than play a game. I'm thinking finding food, some pocket change, and a warm place to sleep for the night may have greater significance. But that's just me. No, no, no. This article has to be about a charity for homeless people that started a soccer tournament to raise money. The headline has to be worded wrong. It has to be. Imagine my surprise...
WASHINGTON—Homeless people from across the country competed this weekend in the Street Soccer USA Cup with a team from San Francisco taking the title.
Street Soccer USA conducts soccer programs at social service agencies and homeless shelters across the country. The tournament, which began Friday, brought together 16 teams of homeless men and women.
San Francisco beat defending champion Minneapolis on Sunday in the final game of the tournament, which was held at Kastles Stadium in downtown D.C.
The top eight players in the tournament will represent the U.S. in the 48-nation Homeless World Cup, scheduled for September in Milan.
Turns out they really did pack up some of the Twin Cities finest, put em on a plane, and had them play soccer for the weekend. Not only that, but there's an international tournament! In Fucking Milan!
Now I'm just spitballing here, but let's say the cost of airfare to San Fransisco is about $400 plus accomodations (unless the organizers of the event were just like "We have to find them places to stay? They realize their homeless, right? Wouldn't they be more comfy outside, perhaps under a bridge?"), and let's say a plane ticket to Milan is $600. Couldn't that money have been better used, for say, a security deposit on an apartment? You did say they were homeless, didn't you?
I don't know, maybe soccer is a hugely popular sport among the homeless. Maybe when you're down and out you need any diversion to get you through a day, or maybe you just need to kill some time. There's just got to be a better way to spend scarce resources like money.
At least Minneapolis was the defending champion.
San Francisco Wins Homeless Soccer Tournament
The first thing I thought was a corny joke. They can't be suggesting that there are actually homeless people that have come together to play a national tournament, with sponsors and announcers, and hot dog stands? I mean, it's not that I am soccer-discriminating against homeless people, it's just that I would think they have a lot better things to do in a given day than play a game. I'm thinking finding food, some pocket change, and a warm place to sleep for the night may have greater significance. But that's just me. No, no, no. This article has to be about a charity for homeless people that started a soccer tournament to raise money. The headline has to be worded wrong. It has to be. Imagine my surprise...
WASHINGTON—Homeless people from across the country competed this weekend in the Street Soccer USA Cup with a team from San Francisco taking the title.
Street Soccer USA conducts soccer programs at social service agencies and homeless shelters across the country. The tournament, which began Friday, brought together 16 teams of homeless men and women.
San Francisco beat defending champion Minneapolis on Sunday in the final game of the tournament, which was held at Kastles Stadium in downtown D.C.
The top eight players in the tournament will represent the U.S. in the 48-nation Homeless World Cup, scheduled for September in Milan.
Turns out they really did pack up some of the Twin Cities finest, put em on a plane, and had them play soccer for the weekend. Not only that, but there's an international tournament! In Fucking Milan!
Now I'm just spitballing here, but let's say the cost of airfare to San Fransisco is about $400 plus accomodations (unless the organizers of the event were just like "We have to find them places to stay? They realize their homeless, right? Wouldn't they be more comfy outside, perhaps under a bridge?"), and let's say a plane ticket to Milan is $600. Couldn't that money have been better used, for say, a security deposit on an apartment? You did say they were homeless, didn't you?
I don't know, maybe soccer is a hugely popular sport among the homeless. Maybe when you're down and out you need any diversion to get you through a day, or maybe you just need to kill some time. There's just got to be a better way to spend scarce resources like money.
At least Minneapolis was the defending champion.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
The IT Guys at Work are Super Helpful
Very recently, the "outgoing call" button on my phone stopped working. There is another button I can use, but for the last three years I have developed the habit of using the now broken one. So five times a day at least I forget to hit the right button and Patrick, who sits next to me, has to hear me scream "fuck!" or "fucking phone, piece of shit!" or some other derivation therof.
The best part is, when I called our IT department to have them fix the damn thing so I could go on living my life as I normally did, their answer to me was:
"Well, quit hitting that button"
Thanks guys, thanks for the help
The best part is, when I called our IT department to have them fix the damn thing so I could go on living my life as I normally did, their answer to me was:
"Well, quit hitting that button"
Thanks guys, thanks for the help
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
More from Ma
Laying around the house yesterday, having a little conversation with my mother...
Me: Do you have any more gift cards you want to give me? I need some new clothes.
Ma: Like I'm gonna give you any of my gift cards, you'd probably just waste them on more gigabytes or something.
Again, I have no clue what that means. But thanks for the laughs...
Me: Do you have any more gift cards you want to give me? I need some new clothes.
Ma: Like I'm gonna give you any of my gift cards, you'd probably just waste them on more gigabytes or something.
Again, I have no clue what that means. But thanks for the laughs...
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Dear Abby is Kinda Dear Retarded
I'm going to try a little experiment. I was reading Dear Abby's column in the paper today, and the question she was attempting to answer really made me stop and think. Well not so much think as laugh out loud. So, I'm going to attempt to answer her reader's question in my own words. Maybe I'll call it Dayve's Corner...
First, the question...
DEAR ABBY: Our friends "Andy" and "Corinne" live out of state in Michigan. We visit them about twice a year. Our visits are planned weeks in advance. The last three times, on Saturday night they hosted a "swingers party."
The first time it happened we thought it was a joke, until the guests -- after "tossing back a few" -- started picking partners. We saw them begin to caress one another, then start going into other rooms and outside. One of the attendees came on to my wife. We informed him we're not swingers. His response? He told us it was OK to "watch" the first time or two.
Abby, we're not prudes, but we feel uncomfortable visiting these friends. We now return to our bedroom when the swingers arrive. In contrast, when Andy and Corinne come to visit us in Tennessee, we have dinner, play cards and go to church on Sunday.
We have spoken to them about this. They tell us they "keep their relationship fresh" this way. We don't want to lose them as friends, but we don't know what to do. Can you help? -- SATISFIED WITH EACH OTHER
Here's Abby's response...
DEAR SATISFIED: I'll try. Because you like Andy and Corinne every other day of the week when you visit them, schedule an outside activity -- dinner and a movie, a play -- anything that will get you out of their den of iniquity on Saturday night. Either that, or leave for home on Friday.
My Turn...
Dear Satisfied. Are you fucking stupid? Quit going over there unless, you want to watch your wife being cummed on by a team full of English Rugby players while your best friend "Andy" beats off in a corner. I mean, no one is forcing you to go to their house. So what you were friends 10 years ago, people change, they grow up, they get into 6-ways with donkeys. People are friends because they have common interests. If you don't happen to share the interest of "letting strangers bang your wife", then I suggest you move on with your life.
How'd I do?
First, the question...
DEAR ABBY: Our friends "Andy" and "Corinne" live out of state in Michigan. We visit them about twice a year. Our visits are planned weeks in advance. The last three times, on Saturday night they hosted a "swingers party."
The first time it happened we thought it was a joke, until the guests -- after "tossing back a few" -- started picking partners. We saw them begin to caress one another, then start going into other rooms and outside. One of the attendees came on to my wife. We informed him we're not swingers. His response? He told us it was OK to "watch" the first time or two.
Abby, we're not prudes, but we feel uncomfortable visiting these friends. We now return to our bedroom when the swingers arrive. In contrast, when Andy and Corinne come to visit us in Tennessee, we have dinner, play cards and go to church on Sunday.
We have spoken to them about this. They tell us they "keep their relationship fresh" this way. We don't want to lose them as friends, but we don't know what to do. Can you help? -- SATISFIED WITH EACH OTHER
Here's Abby's response...
DEAR SATISFIED: I'll try. Because you like Andy and Corinne every other day of the week when you visit them, schedule an outside activity -- dinner and a movie, a play -- anything that will get you out of their den of iniquity on Saturday night. Either that, or leave for home on Friday.
My Turn...
Dear Satisfied. Are you fucking stupid? Quit going over there unless, you want to watch your wife being cummed on by a team full of English Rugby players while your best friend "Andy" beats off in a corner. I mean, no one is forcing you to go to their house. So what you were friends 10 years ago, people change, they grow up, they get into 6-ways with donkeys. People are friends because they have common interests. If you don't happen to share the interest of "letting strangers bang your wife", then I suggest you move on with your life.
How'd I do?
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Night at the Bar...With Steve...
I was out last night having a drink or three with the folks and some other friends. My dad, Steve, had arrived at the bar quite a bit earlier than me and was enjoying $0.21 taps of Miller Light. At the end of the night, Steve was prancing around the bar, getting people to do his tongue twister (One smart feller, he felt smart. Two smart fellers, they both felt smart. Three smart fellers, they felt smart. Four smart fellers, they all felt smart...try it). He was basically shit-faced so I aksed him if he needed a ride home.
"No, I'll find a ride"
"you sure?"
"yeah, Dan will bring me home if I need to"
"Dan is getting drunk too"
"He'll be fine"
"Let me bring you home, It'll be easier"
"Go on, I'm fine"
I walk in the door, not 10 minutes after I left. My phone rings...
"Dave, can you come get me and your brother?"
But. I. Just...shit...Be there in a minute...
"No, I'll find a ride"
"you sure?"
"yeah, Dan will bring me home if I need to"
"Dan is getting drunk too"
"He'll be fine"
"Let me bring you home, It'll be easier"
"Go on, I'm fine"
I walk in the door, not 10 minutes after I left. My phone rings...
"Dave, can you come get me and your brother?"
But. I. Just...shit...Be there in a minute...
Work Can Sometimes Be Worth It
I usually don't post about actual work items, but this email Patrick got must be shared...
To set up the email, Patrick has had a difficult order where non of the materials are ready and it sounds like his customer is getting fed up with the whole thing too. They have been going back and forth for a few days, with the developer of the CD only having issues, problems, and negative feedback. In every email the developer sends she starts it with "I have some good news and some bad news." The customer's final comment to Patrick...
Patrick,
Read all of Pam’s (the developer) good news bad news crap below. Do you have a solution other that doing a check disk? Or maybe you getting a master from our master and sending our master back. Blah Blah Blah
Let me and “Glass Half Full” girl know.
Thanks
Chad
Sometimes people crack me up...
To set up the email, Patrick has had a difficult order where non of the materials are ready and it sounds like his customer is getting fed up with the whole thing too. They have been going back and forth for a few days, with the developer of the CD only having issues, problems, and negative feedback. In every email the developer sends she starts it with "I have some good news and some bad news." The customer's final comment to Patrick...
Patrick,
Read all of Pam’s (the developer) good news bad news crap below. Do you have a solution other that doing a check disk? Or maybe you getting a master from our master and sending our master back. Blah Blah Blah
Let me and “Glass Half Full” girl know.
Thanks
Chad
Sometimes people crack me up...
The Return of my Arby's Nemesis
About 3 years ago I used to drive a Ford Thunderbird. The car has a kind of cult following in gear-head circles, so I was pretty accustomed to getting remarks about how nice it was, or asking me what kind of engine it had, the horsepower, etc. Of course my reply to all this was, "my car is shiny". What the fuck else was I supposed to say? "It's got a 4.3 liter v-8 with electro-gas struts and 200 foot pounds of torque"? I don't even know what I just said, let alone what it means.
When I was working in restaurants I would get home pretty late. Arby's was the only place open for food. I used to go there a couple times a week. There was one worker, I don't know his name, but this fuckin guy would talk my ear off about Thunderbirds for a half hour every time I drove up. I don't know if he noticed I had no clue what he was talking about. I was being polite, gently nodding my head, so maybe it was my fault. After about 3 months of this, I finally gave up. I started driving by real slow, just to see if the guy was there. If he was, I bailed. Sometimes all I wanted in the whole world was a regular-sized roast beef and I couldn't have it because of that douchebag. After a couple months, the guys car was never around (I knew what his car looked like because he told me every time I saw him. "It's that T-bird in the last spot. You should totally go check it out. I just got it painted." "Um, I'm good. Can I just have my horsey sauce and get the fuck out of here? It's 2 a.m.").
I was so happy.
Fast forward three years, yup, I said three years. I go to the drivethrough window the other day and who do you suppose is staring right back at me...
"Hey, I remember you. Didn't you used to drive a red Thunderbird? (His memory is actually quit impressive, which makes me wonder why he is back at Arby's. My guess is he was in some kind of road-racing indident, crashed, and has spent the last three years rehabbing. Dreaming about the day he can again be making delicious, piping hot roast beef).
"yeah, but it's long gone by now"
"Oh really? whatcha drivin now?" He looks out the little pick up window and checks out the new ride.
"It's a Neon"
"Oh. I guess that's cool. Here's your sandwich."
I think my arch nemesis, from his drivethrough window, just called me a loser.
When I was working in restaurants I would get home pretty late. Arby's was the only place open for food. I used to go there a couple times a week. There was one worker, I don't know his name, but this fuckin guy would talk my ear off about Thunderbirds for a half hour every time I drove up. I don't know if he noticed I had no clue what he was talking about. I was being polite, gently nodding my head, so maybe it was my fault. After about 3 months of this, I finally gave up. I started driving by real slow, just to see if the guy was there. If he was, I bailed. Sometimes all I wanted in the whole world was a regular-sized roast beef and I couldn't have it because of that douchebag. After a couple months, the guys car was never around (I knew what his car looked like because he told me every time I saw him. "It's that T-bird in the last spot. You should totally go check it out. I just got it painted." "Um, I'm good. Can I just have my horsey sauce and get the fuck out of here? It's 2 a.m.").
I was so happy.
Fast forward three years, yup, I said three years. I go to the drivethrough window the other day and who do you suppose is staring right back at me...
"Hey, I remember you. Didn't you used to drive a red Thunderbird? (His memory is actually quit impressive, which makes me wonder why he is back at Arby's. My guess is he was in some kind of road-racing indident, crashed, and has spent the last three years rehabbing. Dreaming about the day he can again be making delicious, piping hot roast beef).
"yeah, but it's long gone by now"
"Oh really? whatcha drivin now?" He looks out the little pick up window and checks out the new ride.
"It's a Neon"
"Oh. I guess that's cool. Here's your sandwich."
I think my arch nemesis, from his drivethrough window, just called me a loser.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
One of the Stupidest Things I've Ever Done
I was just bumming around on itunes, listening to things I haven't heard in a while. For some reason I decided to purchase Bubba Sparxxx's album Dark Days, Bright Nights, which in itself is a pretty stupid fucking thing to do. I mean, it's Bubba Sparxxx. He spells his name with 3 X's, get it? He was kinda popular for 3 months back in 2001, and then again for 3 weeks in 2003.
It gets worse
I go downstairs and look at some old CD's, and what do I see, staring me right in the face? The copy of Dark Days Bright Nights I bought when I was 20.
For those of you keeping score. I just bought a semi-stupid album that I already owned.
It's almost like I hate my money and want to punish it
It gets worse
I go downstairs and look at some old CD's, and what do I see, staring me right in the face? The copy of Dark Days Bright Nights I bought when I was 20.
For those of you keeping score. I just bought a semi-stupid album that I already owned.
It's almost like I hate my money and want to punish it
Everwood
Most people think I am crazy for liking this show, and really it's a cheezy family drama for the most part. But I got into the show as a way to hang out with my mom, and for some reason it stuck with me. Only the first season of the show is released on DVD, and tragically, there are no plans to release the other seasons despite a large cult following.
So I am relegated to watching small clips on Youtube in order to get my fix. I have so many favorite scenes from the show, but one in particular always gives me a good perspective on people. Please ignore my girl tendancies as I share with you...
So I am relegated to watching small clips on Youtube in order to get my fix. I have so many favorite scenes from the show, but one in particular always gives me a good perspective on people. Please ignore my girl tendancies as I share with you...
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Obama at the All-star Game
I was watching the all-star game out of the corner of my eye, and they were interviewing our Senator from Illinois come President. Something he said really caught my ear.
"[Being in St. Louis] is the closest I've been to home in a while."
It kinda gave me a new perspective on the job he has to do. Always working, always on the move. For us. The man can't even be in a place where he can feel at home most of the time. He is just a man after all, comforted by the same things you or I are comforted by. There's nothing like the feeling of being in your own bed, surrounded by walls that are so familar.
I think about my life, and how much I would miss the people and places around my town if I had to stay away. Now, I know he's the President and he can take a vacation pretty much anytime he wants. But he doesn't. For us.
"[Being in St. Louis] is the closest I've been to home in a while."
It kinda gave me a new perspective on the job he has to do. Always working, always on the move. For us. The man can't even be in a place where he can feel at home most of the time. He is just a man after all, comforted by the same things you or I are comforted by. There's nothing like the feeling of being in your own bed, surrounded by walls that are so familar.
I think about my life, and how much I would miss the people and places around my town if I had to stay away. Now, I know he's the President and he can take a vacation pretty much anytime he wants. But he doesn't. For us.
Beautiful Girls
It's another lazy work day, not much going on except my struggle for sanity...
Days like today are a good day to remember. To think of the things in your life that matter. A kind of "reset" button in case you have strayed down a path that is wholly unfamiliar.
Today, I have been thinking alot about love. Not just love, but everything that goes with it: lust, trust, respect, admiration, sadness, anger, just to name a few. These emotions often get mixed and jumbled to the point you don't know which way is up. And you certainly don't have the ability to save yourself from getting caught up in "feeling". At least I don't.
But then I re-read a quote from a favorite movie of mine that put a lot of how I was feeling into perspective. From the film "Beautiful Girls"...
A beautiful girl can make you dizzy, like you've been drinking Jack and Coke all morning. She can make you feel high with the single greatest commodity known to man--promise. Promise of a better day. Promise of a greater hope. Promise of a new tomorrow. This particular aura can be found in the gaze of a beautiful girl. In her smile, in her soul, how she makes every rotten little thing about life seem like it's going to be okay.
Maybe there really isn't hope for us afterall...
Days like today are a good day to remember. To think of the things in your life that matter. A kind of "reset" button in case you have strayed down a path that is wholly unfamiliar.
Today, I have been thinking alot about love. Not just love, but everything that goes with it: lust, trust, respect, admiration, sadness, anger, just to name a few. These emotions often get mixed and jumbled to the point you don't know which way is up. And you certainly don't have the ability to save yourself from getting caught up in "feeling". At least I don't.
But then I re-read a quote from a favorite movie of mine that put a lot of how I was feeling into perspective. From the film "Beautiful Girls"...
A beautiful girl can make you dizzy, like you've been drinking Jack and Coke all morning. She can make you feel high with the single greatest commodity known to man--promise. Promise of a better day. Promise of a greater hope. Promise of a new tomorrow. This particular aura can be found in the gaze of a beautiful girl. In her smile, in her soul, how she makes every rotten little thing about life seem like it's going to be okay.
Maybe there really isn't hope for us afterall...
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Idiots and Their Cars
For my lunch break, I took a trip over to the local gas station to pick up a sandwich. I was waiting in line behind a rather large man, with disheveled shoulder-length hair, wearing sweatpants, a Nascar tank top, and some crocs.
I could probably stop the story here, but it gets better…
The man is talking to the rather annoyed girl behind the counter…
“I think there’s something wrong with my car”
“really?”
“yeah, it started makin a huge noise when I parked. I probably should get it checked out at a garage, but who’s got the money for that, huh?”
The counter girl looks at me “Can I help who’s next”
I finish my transaction and go outside to my car, which is parked next to the large gentleman’s 1986 Ford Explorer. Hanging off the bottom of his car is the entire drive train (for you car illiterates, I understand it to be the metal pole running through the middle of the car, connecting the front and real axles). The guy starts to back up and the sound of the metal on the ground sounds like someone trying to move a dumpster in a thunderstorm. Geez guy, you think there’s a noise coming from your car?
One mechanic from the oil change place across the street comes barreling out at the guy, trying to get him to quit driving. He’s screaming and waiving his arms, but the guy can’t hear him over his piece of shit car.
Suddenly the explorer stops, the guy gets out of his car, and says to me “I can’t get the wheels to turn, what’s going on here?” As if to say I somehow sabotaged his car for my own personal gain.
At this point, the mechanic catches up with the guy and tells him to look under his car. At which point the large man says, and I shit you not about this,
“I could still drive it home though couldn’t I?”
Oh Jesus Christ
Monday, July 6, 2009
Russell Brand in Forgetting Sarah Marshall
Now, I don’t really like Russell Brand. In Fact, I kinda hate him. He’s obnoxious, he dresses stupid, above all else, for a comedian he’s not really funny. But the more I watch Forgetting Sarah Marshall on permanent replay this month on HBO, the more I laugh out loud at Brand’s Aldous Snow. Some of my favorite lines…
Matthew (Jonah Hill): I have a question for you real quick. What did you think of my demo? Did you get it?
Aldous Snow: I was gonna listen to that, but then, um, I just carried on living my life.
[after spilling cranberry juice on his shirt Sarah just bought him, which he hates] “Oh God, please take my eyes, but not the shirt!”
“I mean, I've heard that women do fake orgasms, but I've never seen it... It really, deeply upset me“.
Sarah Marshall: I hate your music.
Aldous Snow: Yeah well, I fucked the housekeeper the other day.
[To Peter, Sarah’s ex-boyrfriend] “How you served five years under her, I don't know. You deserve a medal, or a holiday or at least a cuddle from somebody.It’s like being on holiday with, well I shouldn’t say Hitler, oh gurbles, it was like a little holiday with Hitler.
[holding a single sandal] I've lost a shoe... have you seen it anywhere? Excuse me, missus, I've lost a shoe... like this one. It's like this one's fellow... it's sort of the exact opposite in fact of that - not an evil version but just, you know, a shoe like this... but for the other foot.
And I Guess, since I’m doing this. I have some other lines from the movie I love…
Kemo: Are those sad tissues or happy tissues?
Surfing Instructor: If you get bitten by a shark, you're not just gonna give up surfing, are you?
Peter Bretter: Yeah, probably.
Dwayne the Bartender: He turned down a blow job from his ex-girlfriend... mid-blowjob. You know how hard that is for a man? It's called blue balls. He's like Gandhi! But better - he likes puppets!
Matthew[on the phone at the restaurant] Well I would love to sell you some weed, Jeremy, but I'm at my fucking job right now. Obviously, because you called me at work, you know that I'm at my place of work, so I can't just leave here and sell you some weed. I can sell you some weed when I'm done.
Kemo: [after Peter kills the luau pig] You can stop crying now. He's dead already.
Peter Bretter: I'm not crying. You should stop crying.
Kemo: I don't cry. I'm not a baby.
Peter Bretter: Really? Because you look like a gigantic baby. I'm sorry, I didn't mean that at all.
Brian: What's up with that hat... what are you in the Buena Vista Social Club?
Peter Bretter: This is a nice hat.
Brian: What member of the brat pack are you? You look like one of those guys suspected of killing JFK.
And possibly the best quote from the whole movie…
Darald: [To his wife]You have Christ between your thighs... only with a shorter beard.
Music Video: Sorrow
This stop motion video is pretty cool, I mean, its got a squirrel/Beaver/Rat thing singing a sad song. I love the music, I love the video, so I share with you my dear friends...
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Urinals and Coffee Stains
Thanks to Patrick for this observation…
“Why is it Dave, that when you walk into the bathroom (at work) you see a coffee mug ring on the top of the urinal?”
That is an excellent question Patrick. Another question worth exploring is, why do you see certain female co-workers enter the bathroom with job folders in their hands? The same job folders they later bring to a meeting?
Still better is why is there a chunk of hair sitting in the urinal right now? Not a few strands mind you, that may be acceptable, but a chunk. Is someone going through Chemo? Do we have a trichotillomaniac at work?
I want a Purel bath just thinking about it…
“Why is it Dave, that when you walk into the bathroom (at work) you see a coffee mug ring on the top of the urinal?”
That is an excellent question Patrick. Another question worth exploring is, why do you see certain female co-workers enter the bathroom with job folders in their hands? The same job folders they later bring to a meeting?
Still better is why is there a chunk of hair sitting in the urinal right now? Not a few strands mind you, that may be acceptable, but a chunk. Is someone going through Chemo? Do we have a trichotillomaniac at work?
I want a Purel bath just thinking about it…
Monday, June 22, 2009
Pirates
I just spent the last hour and a half at work, not doing work, but looking up pirates and pirate related content on the interweb.
Why, you ask?
Because I watched a Pirates of the Caribbean movie marathon this weekend when it was rainy.
These are the kinds of things I do in a given day to fill my time. Other things I do at work in a given day:
Smoke no less than 5 cigarettes
Walk to the back of the warehouse and back up to my desk (repeat 5 times)
Play Tetris in our CD master room, where there's a security door so I can hear if anyone is coming
Play Patrick, my "next door neighbor", in a game of online scrabble (He cheats, by the way)
Take a 2 hour long lunch
Search to the end of the interweb for Lindsay Lohan "nip slip" pictures
File my order folders. Then remove several of them from the file cabinet to bring back to my desk. All this to make it appear like I am busy. All folders will later get re-filed. This process repeats about twice a day.
My company is glad to have me.
Why, you ask?
Because I watched a Pirates of the Caribbean movie marathon this weekend when it was rainy.
These are the kinds of things I do in a given day to fill my time. Other things I do at work in a given day:
Smoke no less than 5 cigarettes
Walk to the back of the warehouse and back up to my desk (repeat 5 times)
Play Tetris in our CD master room, where there's a security door so I can hear if anyone is coming
Play Patrick, my "next door neighbor", in a game of online scrabble (He cheats, by the way)
Take a 2 hour long lunch
Search to the end of the interweb for Lindsay Lohan "nip slip" pictures
File my order folders. Then remove several of them from the file cabinet to bring back to my desk. All this to make it appear like I am busy. All folders will later get re-filed. This process repeats about twice a day.
My company is glad to have me.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Callling for Submissions
Since i can only post here a couple times a week, I am wondering if anyone else wants to join in on the fun. There really are no rules to posting, as the blog says, its about a little of everything.
So, you have something funny to share? A good story? A rant?
you can send it to me at davesetz3000@hotmail.com
or you can let me know if you would like to post regularily, and i can set you up so you can post directly to the blog...
Have a good wednesday
So, you have something funny to share? A good story? A rant?
you can send it to me at davesetz3000@hotmail.com
or you can let me know if you would like to post regularily, and i can set you up so you can post directly to the blog...
Have a good wednesday
Monday, June 15, 2009
Charlie Walters, again...
This from Charlie's column today in the Pioneer Press...
Shooter Now: Timberwolves could decide on McHale this week...
That is hard hitting journalism folks. Can you imaging how big the newspaper would be if you wrote about everything that may happen in a given day?
Dayve thinking about going for a walk!
Dayve deciding between steak or chicken. Check back tomorrow for the results!
There are so many good writers around, why do bad ones have jobs? Reading Charlie is like biting into a fork.
Shooter Now: Timberwolves could decide on McHale this week...
That is hard hitting journalism folks. Can you imaging how big the newspaper would be if you wrote about everything that may happen in a given day?
Dayve thinking about going for a walk!
Dayve deciding between steak or chicken. Check back tomorrow for the results!
There are so many good writers around, why do bad ones have jobs? Reading Charlie is like biting into a fork.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
He Must Not Like Tattoos...
I was passed along an article the other day. I read a little bit of it, maybe the first paragraph, and then stopped. Usually, something this outright stupid is just a call for attention by a struggling writer desperate for readers. But I was bored, and reading Fire Joe Morgan archives last night which inspired me to lay an FJM style beat down on one Mr. Kyle McNary, who is the not-so-convincing author of this piece: http://www.examiner.com/x-1526-Minneapolis-Sports-Examiner~y2009m5d25-Tattoos-have-made-NBA-almost-unwatchable
Other fascinating articles by Kyle:
"You can't be old school unless youre old"
Shocking baseball story: Nick Punto not on steroids
And Lay off Childress--we're in the playoffs
Okay. Let’s go.
It sounds superficial. It probably is superficial.
This doesn't start well at all now does it?
But while we're on subject, you’re right, this article and your viewpoint is superficial. At least we’re on the same page.
But, watching the NBA has become almost a chore for me,
So don’t watch it then. I mean, I HATE chores. I don’t wash the dishes unless I HAVE to. Mowing the lawn? Forget about it.
not because the talent is diluted and the art of great passing is all but gone, though it most certainly is, but because more than three quarters of NBA players have ugly tattoos.
Of all the reasons you offer as to why the NBA game has fallen off, you select “tattoos” as his main rationale? Kobe shot 24% last night and had 9 turnovers, but you know what cost us the game? It was those silly tattoos! Why not actually write about the poor passing, the washed-out talent, or the disappearance of the jump shot. Any of those would’ve been exponentially more interesting and less offensive.
And I wonder if he feels the same way about the college game, where players also have ugly tattoos? Or maybe he thinks the NFL should make all of its players cover their arms in shame. The fact is, every major sport in every major city now has players with tattoos. That's because people everywhere have tattoos. It would seem the only sport Mr. McNary can safely watch is the NHL, where each player is covered from head to toe with non-threatening fabric.
Yes, I'm prejudiced against people with tattoos.
Good. At least you're upfront about your bigotry.
Traits that Kyle McNary admits to possessing so far:
Superficiality
Prejudice
Not exactly painting a picture of someone who’s writing I would want to even read, let alone care about the shared opinion. But at least he doesn’t have any tats.
I think they made a big mistake, I question their decision-making skills, and I think they probably lack in self esteem.
Add to the above list: Judgmental.
I think a small tattoo on a sailor's forearm is okay, but more than a silver dollar size is too much.
Is this 1942? Do sailors still get those Popeye tattoos on their arms? What about the army? Are those soldiers allowed to have them? Nice special forces emblem you fuckin' prick. Why don’t ya do somethin worth while, like sail a boat, before you start ruining your body! And what if Delonte West, mentioned later on, has also sailed a boat? If that’s the case, then Mr. McNary, you’re in a pickle!
I think they make women look trashy, hence the word "tramp stamp,"
Actually, “tramp stamp” refers only to a tattoo on a girls lower back.
though Beyonce could have her whole body tattooed and she's still be gorgeous….
So, I guess they’re not as ugly as they seem? Either you're not so dead set against tattoos as you would have us believe (in which case you never should have written this), you are a hypocrite, or your morals can be easily shifted in order to get you some pussy. You think Beyonce is going to let you swim her poonany after you just called her a “tramp”?
…I've been watching the conference finals the past week, and the games have been pretty exciting.
But you just fucking said the NBA was unwatchable!
Not many people would have guessed that the Orlando Magic would be a Lebron three-pointer away from leading three games to none. But....I can't get past these tattoos…
You are so clouded by your own prejudice that you couldn’t even enjoy one of the most memorable final seconds of a game in the history of the NBA playoffs? I watched it. It was awesome. I loved the part when that tramp Lebron took his trampy little jump shot, right in the faces of those slutty Magic players, putting a dagger in their whorish hearts. A shot that caused the hair on the collective necks of every NBA fan in the world to rise. Except for Kyle. He missed it. He was too busy looking at Bron-bron’s sailor tats.
…On the Cleveland Cavaliers, Delonte West looks like he belongs in a circus. After filling up both arms, West actually walked into a tattoo parlor and said, "stick some needles in my neck."
I thought we were talking basketball and tattoos. Now we’re discussing Elephants and acupuncture…
It's hard to tell where one ends and another starts, but he has at least a dozen tattoos, and looks like a moron. Sorry, but he does..
As opposed to writing shit. Which just makes you seem like a moron. Sorry, but you do.
In the West, the Denver Nuggets' Chris Anderson is nicknamed "birdman," supposedly because he can fly to the basket, and he flaps his arms after a big play. I actually think it's a good nickname because he looks like a peacock…
Because it’s well known peacocks have lots of tattoos? No wonder they walk around the zoo all hooker-y and whatnot.
The Indiana Pacers' Marquis Daniels had a tattoo of a man committing suicide (lovely), Gilbert Arenas has the words "change we believe in" on his fingers in honor of Barack Obama…
Arena's seems kind of honorable to me…At least his principles are solid and unchangeable. Unlike someone who would change everything about themselves in order to hit on a slightly above average looking pop star.
Other fascinating articles by Kyle:
"You can't be old school unless youre old"
Shocking baseball story: Nick Punto not on steroids
And Lay off Childress--we're in the playoffs
Okay. Let’s go.
It sounds superficial. It probably is superficial.
This doesn't start well at all now does it?
But while we're on subject, you’re right, this article and your viewpoint is superficial. At least we’re on the same page.
But, watching the NBA has become almost a chore for me,
So don’t watch it then. I mean, I HATE chores. I don’t wash the dishes unless I HAVE to. Mowing the lawn? Forget about it.
not because the talent is diluted and the art of great passing is all but gone, though it most certainly is, but because more than three quarters of NBA players have ugly tattoos.
Of all the reasons you offer as to why the NBA game has fallen off, you select “tattoos” as his main rationale? Kobe shot 24% last night and had 9 turnovers, but you know what cost us the game? It was those silly tattoos! Why not actually write about the poor passing, the washed-out talent, or the disappearance of the jump shot. Any of those would’ve been exponentially more interesting and less offensive.
And I wonder if he feels the same way about the college game, where players also have ugly tattoos? Or maybe he thinks the NFL should make all of its players cover their arms in shame. The fact is, every major sport in every major city now has players with tattoos. That's because people everywhere have tattoos. It would seem the only sport Mr. McNary can safely watch is the NHL, where each player is covered from head to toe with non-threatening fabric.
Yes, I'm prejudiced against people with tattoos.
Good. At least you're upfront about your bigotry.
Traits that Kyle McNary admits to possessing so far:
Superficiality
Prejudice
Not exactly painting a picture of someone who’s writing I would want to even read, let alone care about the shared opinion. But at least he doesn’t have any tats.
I think they made a big mistake, I question their decision-making skills, and I think they probably lack in self esteem.
Add to the above list: Judgmental.
I think a small tattoo on a sailor's forearm is okay, but more than a silver dollar size is too much.
Is this 1942? Do sailors still get those Popeye tattoos on their arms? What about the army? Are those soldiers allowed to have them? Nice special forces emblem you fuckin' prick. Why don’t ya do somethin worth while, like sail a boat, before you start ruining your body! And what if Delonte West, mentioned later on, has also sailed a boat? If that’s the case, then Mr. McNary, you’re in a pickle!
I think they make women look trashy, hence the word "tramp stamp,"
Actually, “tramp stamp” refers only to a tattoo on a girls lower back.
though Beyonce could have her whole body tattooed and she's still be gorgeous….
So, I guess they’re not as ugly as they seem? Either you're not so dead set against tattoos as you would have us believe (in which case you never should have written this), you are a hypocrite, or your morals can be easily shifted in order to get you some pussy. You think Beyonce is going to let you swim her poonany after you just called her a “tramp”?
…I've been watching the conference finals the past week, and the games have been pretty exciting.
But you just fucking said the NBA was unwatchable!
Not many people would have guessed that the Orlando Magic would be a Lebron three-pointer away from leading three games to none. But....I can't get past these tattoos…
You are so clouded by your own prejudice that you couldn’t even enjoy one of the most memorable final seconds of a game in the history of the NBA playoffs? I watched it. It was awesome. I loved the part when that tramp Lebron took his trampy little jump shot, right in the faces of those slutty Magic players, putting a dagger in their whorish hearts. A shot that caused the hair on the collective necks of every NBA fan in the world to rise. Except for Kyle. He missed it. He was too busy looking at Bron-bron’s sailor tats.
…On the Cleveland Cavaliers, Delonte West looks like he belongs in a circus. After filling up both arms, West actually walked into a tattoo parlor and said, "stick some needles in my neck."
I thought we were talking basketball and tattoos. Now we’re discussing Elephants and acupuncture…
It's hard to tell where one ends and another starts, but he has at least a dozen tattoos, and looks like a moron. Sorry, but he does..
As opposed to writing shit. Which just makes you seem like a moron. Sorry, but you do.
In the West, the Denver Nuggets' Chris Anderson is nicknamed "birdman," supposedly because he can fly to the basket, and he flaps his arms after a big play. I actually think it's a good nickname because he looks like a peacock…
Because it’s well known peacocks have lots of tattoos? No wonder they walk around the zoo all hooker-y and whatnot.
The Indiana Pacers' Marquis Daniels had a tattoo of a man committing suicide (lovely), Gilbert Arenas has the words "change we believe in" on his fingers in honor of Barack Obama…
Arena's seems kind of honorable to me…At least his principles are solid and unchangeable. Unlike someone who would change everything about themselves in order to hit on a slightly above average looking pop star.
Have you ever seen Marquis's arm? Above the picture mentioned he has the words "Only the Strong Survive". I've never interviewed Mr. Daniels, so I'm not sure of his exact intentions. But maybe this reminds him that no matter how tough life is, the alternative is worse. Maybe he had a loved one who took their own life and this is a reminder, however grizzly, of an important memory. Point is, nobody but Marquis knows the significance and how deep it may go. And how dare someone judge another so quickly. I have now stepped off my soapbox.
Luke Walton has a tattoo in honor of the Grateful Dead, and Tim Duncan has a tattoo covering his chest in honor of the nerdy game Dungeons and Dragons. The most idiotic reason for getting a tattoo? Amare Stoudemire wins the award. The Sun's star claims that "if I died right now, my kids could get to know me by my tats." Uh, Amare, why don't you just talk to your kids!
Like Marquis, I don’t know Amare and I don’t know his family. I am also assuming Mr. McNary doesn’t either. Perhaps Amare’s children are very young and he just wants to assure he has a way to impart on his children a bit of himself. Perhaps Amare’s tattoos are reminders of lessons he has learned through his life, and perhaps he would like to share these lessons with his children someday. He obviously sees it as a way to communicate once he is no longer able. If he just kept a journal of his life for his kids would Mr. McNary be more comfortable with it?
It comes down to personal choice. Each person is entitled to do with their body what they will. If you are so blinded by your own ignorance that you can’t enjoy a simple basketball game, then by all means, do not watch. That is certainly a personal choice as well. But to write something like this is just a waste of time And trampy. So very, very trampy.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Hot or Not: Jessica Alba
In homage to one of my favorite “Office” episodes, I will attempt to answer a question that has been plaguing me for a few years. Is Jessica Alba hot or not?
Let me first say that in my humble opinion, she is not hot. However, you shouldn’t take my word for it. That’s like saying “Macaroni and Cheese is the best food ever” without giving any argument or offering any thought process. Is it the cheese? Is it the noodles? So, in the interest of objectivity and fairness, I will break this down scientifically using the check/check-plus/check-minus rating system.
Let us first establish what exactly makes an actress hot. Surely, she must be physically attractive. But are there other qualities that go into making someone hot? I would argue, with actresses especially, that their body of work or quality of films/acting ability would almost certainly matter. Sure, Lindsay Lohan is good looking, but even I can’t sit through “I Know Who Killed Me”, and she gets damn near naked and dances on a pole in that movie.
I would also argue that image has a bit to do with hotness. A good image goes a long way. How quickly did Brittney become ugly once she started shaving her head and hitting car doors with sticks? Once she started taking her meds, how quickly did she become hot again?
So, if you’re still with me, the established criteria for actress hot-a-bility in my eyes would be (in order of importance):
Physical attributes
Image
Body of work
PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES
I will admit, Jessica is an attractive mix of exotic beauty. She has caramel skin, long darkened hair, and a slender frame. But I think that she is just that, a jumbled mix of other good looking actresses. She’s like a semi-attractive Picasso. When you look at it you don’t really get it. You think you like it because other people tell you it’s art, but the picture itself leaves you scratching your head.
She has the skin tone of Vanessa Williams (back when she was hot too), the eyes of Beyonce (a little too far apart and have dark junkie circles under them), the nose of, well pretty much any Hollywood actress who has ever had work done. She has nice teeth and hair, but have you ever heard someone say “I want to fuck her teeth”? No, you haven’t. So, in terms of physical attributes I’ll say she’s above average, as she’s an amalgamation of other slightly above average looking actresses.
The one area she redeems herself here is her body. She has a rocking body. You can’t hide that in a bushel basket. You see the Maxim photo shoot of her rolling around in bed sheets, or any paparazzi pic of her in a bikini? Jesus.
RATING:
Face: Check
Body: Check plus
IMAGE
Aside from the random beach bikini picture of her you really don’t hear much about her in the tabloids or the papers. She kind of stays low key until her newest movie premier that no one will go see (more on that later). I somewhat enjoy her ability to stay out of the limelight. She isn’t flashing her bagingo, or crashing her Mercedes on the strip. There was a small legal dust-up involving playboy a couple years ago, but other than that she hasn’t had many issues. However, the lack of her name in the papers gives her a kind of “faceless celebrity” status. By doing the right things, she becomes almost boring. It would be nice to see her out there a little more, causing a bit of trouble.
Her image in the magazine “hot list” lexicon seems safe. She has been named to both Maxim’s and FHM’s hot lists of 2007. As well as being voted number one by Askmen.com. So you know some people thing she’s good looking. However, here is a list of other brutal “hot” girls on either of these lists:
Fergie
Eva Longoria
Hilary Duff
Jennifer Garner
Ashlee Simpson
Sienna Miller
Katherine Heigl
Nelly Furtado
Danica Patrick
Not exactly exclusive company. Sometimes I feel there are only like 101 actresses in the world, and for these “hot” lists they just eliminate Tori Spelling, and re-arrange the girls based on who is being marketed at the time. Plus, I’m sure there are thousands of other, more attractive, people in the world that don’t make the lists because of their non-celebrity status.
RATING:
Check
BODY OF WORK
Jessica’s “notable” films include:
Venus Rising
P.U.N.K.S
Never Been Kissed
Idle Hands
Honey
Sin City
Fantastic Four
Into the Blue
The Ten
Good Luck Chuck
Awake
The Eye
The Love Guru
Bill
She has also appeared on episodes of “Flipper”, “Beverly Hills 90210”, “The Office” and she had her own series “Dark Angel”.
In this whole list, maybe you could make a case for Sin City being a success. The rest of them were box office bombs, due in no small part I’m sure, to the acting abilities of the leading lady. Maybe someone out there really thought “Good Luck Chuck” was a damn good movie. I’ll let the box office grosses paint the picture for you. You can look them up here: http://www.the-numbers.com/
She has been kind of attractive in her role on “The Office”, but she’s simply cute in her dressed down receptionist character. Some could argue that she is not even the hottest “Office” receptionist since the show’s inception.
RATING:
Check Minus
OVERALL RATING:
Check
We can see when we break down the numbers scientifically, Jessica Alba is attractive yes, but she is not hot. Her average hotness puts her somewhere above Beyonce, but below Megan Fox. She is nowhere close to Scarlett.
Let me first say that in my humble opinion, she is not hot. However, you shouldn’t take my word for it. That’s like saying “Macaroni and Cheese is the best food ever” without giving any argument or offering any thought process. Is it the cheese? Is it the noodles? So, in the interest of objectivity and fairness, I will break this down scientifically using the check/check-plus/check-minus rating system.
Let us first establish what exactly makes an actress hot. Surely, she must be physically attractive. But are there other qualities that go into making someone hot? I would argue, with actresses especially, that their body of work or quality of films/acting ability would almost certainly matter. Sure, Lindsay Lohan is good looking, but even I can’t sit through “I Know Who Killed Me”, and she gets damn near naked and dances on a pole in that movie.
I would also argue that image has a bit to do with hotness. A good image goes a long way. How quickly did Brittney become ugly once she started shaving her head and hitting car doors with sticks? Once she started taking her meds, how quickly did she become hot again?
So, if you’re still with me, the established criteria for actress hot-a-bility in my eyes would be (in order of importance):
Physical attributes
Image
Body of work
PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES
I will admit, Jessica is an attractive mix of exotic beauty. She has caramel skin, long darkened hair, and a slender frame. But I think that she is just that, a jumbled mix of other good looking actresses. She’s like a semi-attractive Picasso. When you look at it you don’t really get it. You think you like it because other people tell you it’s art, but the picture itself leaves you scratching your head.
She has the skin tone of Vanessa Williams (back when she was hot too), the eyes of Beyonce (a little too far apart and have dark junkie circles under them), the nose of, well pretty much any Hollywood actress who has ever had work done. She has nice teeth and hair, but have you ever heard someone say “I want to fuck her teeth”? No, you haven’t. So, in terms of physical attributes I’ll say she’s above average, as she’s an amalgamation of other slightly above average looking actresses.
The one area she redeems herself here is her body. She has a rocking body. You can’t hide that in a bushel basket. You see the Maxim photo shoot of her rolling around in bed sheets, or any paparazzi pic of her in a bikini? Jesus.
RATING:
Face: Check
Body: Check plus
IMAGE
Aside from the random beach bikini picture of her you really don’t hear much about her in the tabloids or the papers. She kind of stays low key until her newest movie premier that no one will go see (more on that later). I somewhat enjoy her ability to stay out of the limelight. She isn’t flashing her bagingo, or crashing her Mercedes on the strip. There was a small legal dust-up involving playboy a couple years ago, but other than that she hasn’t had many issues. However, the lack of her name in the papers gives her a kind of “faceless celebrity” status. By doing the right things, she becomes almost boring. It would be nice to see her out there a little more, causing a bit of trouble.
Her image in the magazine “hot list” lexicon seems safe. She has been named to both Maxim’s and FHM’s hot lists of 2007. As well as being voted number one by Askmen.com. So you know some people thing she’s good looking. However, here is a list of other brutal “hot” girls on either of these lists:
Fergie
Eva Longoria
Hilary Duff
Jennifer Garner
Ashlee Simpson
Sienna Miller
Katherine Heigl
Nelly Furtado
Danica Patrick
Not exactly exclusive company. Sometimes I feel there are only like 101 actresses in the world, and for these “hot” lists they just eliminate Tori Spelling, and re-arrange the girls based on who is being marketed at the time. Plus, I’m sure there are thousands of other, more attractive, people in the world that don’t make the lists because of their non-celebrity status.
RATING:
Check
BODY OF WORK
Jessica’s “notable” films include:
Venus Rising
P.U.N.K.S
Never Been Kissed
Idle Hands
Honey
Sin City
Fantastic Four
Into the Blue
The Ten
Good Luck Chuck
Awake
The Eye
The Love Guru
Bill
She has also appeared on episodes of “Flipper”, “Beverly Hills 90210”, “The Office” and she had her own series “Dark Angel”.
In this whole list, maybe you could make a case for Sin City being a success. The rest of them were box office bombs, due in no small part I’m sure, to the acting abilities of the leading lady. Maybe someone out there really thought “Good Luck Chuck” was a damn good movie. I’ll let the box office grosses paint the picture for you. You can look them up here: http://www.the-numbers.com/
She has been kind of attractive in her role on “The Office”, but she’s simply cute in her dressed down receptionist character. Some could argue that she is not even the hottest “Office” receptionist since the show’s inception.
RATING:
Check Minus
OVERALL RATING:
Check
We can see when we break down the numbers scientifically, Jessica Alba is attractive yes, but she is not hot. Her average hotness puts her somewhere above Beyonce, but below Megan Fox. She is nowhere close to Scarlett.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Much Therapy is Needed
So, I'm sitting with my ma in the ER this weekend. My father was unavailable, so the duty of cargiver fell on me. As we're waiting, the billing/admin lady from the hospital comes in to take my mom's insurance information. She introduces herself to mother, then looks at me and says "and you must be her husband."
oh what the fuck!
Then, to cover her tracks she says "Well, I thought you must be married because your mom looks so young. She must be a cougar"
I try to help my family out, and all I get is about 10 years of therapy. I can hear the collective brains of every therapist in the US...Ca-ching!
oh what the fuck!
Then, to cover her tracks she says "Well, I thought you must be married because your mom looks so young. She must be a cougar"
I try to help my family out, and all I get is about 10 years of therapy. I can hear the collective brains of every therapist in the US...Ca-ching!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Thank You Pacific Salmon (Fuck You Atlantic)
I was watching the Science Channel, or Animal Planet, one of those channels I love to "watch" while I am trying to take my Saturday/Sunday afternoon naps. A special was on about grizzley bears, and during the show they started discussing the Salmon that bears rely on. But it's not just bears. When the Pacific Salmon swim up stream to lay their eggs, they die afterward. Scientists don't know whey they die, they just do. But the dead fish nourish over 200 animal species in the woods, and then, when the animals are done with the remains, the forrest floor absorbes all the Nitrogen, Oxygen, and other minerals the Salmon pick up on their lifelong journey. This allows the trees in the area to grow to over 100 feet tall. Even the Salmon's own eggs feed on the remains of their mothers. Not in a disgusting Hannibal Lecter way, but in a positive Mother Earth kind of way. So, between the bigger fish that feed on the salmon, and the whole forrest of animals that need them, they are responsible for more nourishment than any other species on the planet.
This, of course, is just Pacific Salmon. Their atlantic counterparts don't die after giving birth. No, they get to go on swimming, eating, and fucking their little fish heart's content. Thanks for nothing.
This, of course, is just Pacific Salmon. Their atlantic counterparts don't die after giving birth. No, they get to go on swimming, eating, and fucking their little fish heart's content. Thanks for nothing.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Torii Hunter Faces Joe Nathan
From a recent series. Old teamates Torii Hunter faces Twins close Joe Nathan...a little psychological warfare...
And speaking if Chalk Drawings
I really love the part in "Chasing Amy" when Jason Lee is accused of being nothing more than a comic book tracer...
"I'll trace a chalk outline around your dead fucking body!"
comedy gold...
"I'll trace a chalk outline around your dead fucking body!"
comedy gold...
Chalk Drawings not in Caves
I drove into work this Monday, a little sleepy as I usually am at 7AM, regardless of the day of the week. It was a pretty nice weekend, so I imagine the kids in the neighborhood by my office would have been out and about all weekend. Playing kids games, enjoying the sun. Now, I should say that the “neighborhood” by my office is really just a trailer park, and a small, dilapidated one at that. There are a few older people, but mostly there are families with small children. And by that I mean, there are like 9 kids per adult. I digress.
It is not unusual for my to walk to my car after work and see some kids using a part of my automobile as some kind of protection during a game of “guns”, or to see them running around it in circles chasing each other. No biggie. They aren’t hurting me any, so I say play on. You want to play guns, well gun-it-up then!
I get out of my car and see that the kids have been playing in our parking lot all weekend, making chalk drawings on the pavement. There are all sorts of drawings and patterns, various scribbles, and a few swear words. Okay. Kinda funny. I mean, if I were a parent I don’t know if I’d be sending my kids to play in the warehouse parking lot across the street, but I can live with it since they aren’t my kids.
The part that gets me though is that right in the middle of the parking lot there are like 5 outlines of human bodies. Like the dead body chalk outlines at a crime scene. And the kids were incredibly detailed. There was little chalk-blood dripping out of the bodies. And there was a chalk-gun beside one of them.
I am hoping they were playing a game of CSI Miami, but I’m thinking they were just drawing what they’ve seen.
That causes me to be at once sad, and laughing.
It is not unusual for my to walk to my car after work and see some kids using a part of my automobile as some kind of protection during a game of “guns”, or to see them running around it in circles chasing each other. No biggie. They aren’t hurting me any, so I say play on. You want to play guns, well gun-it-up then!
I get out of my car and see that the kids have been playing in our parking lot all weekend, making chalk drawings on the pavement. There are all sorts of drawings and patterns, various scribbles, and a few swear words. Okay. Kinda funny. I mean, if I were a parent I don’t know if I’d be sending my kids to play in the warehouse parking lot across the street, but I can live with it since they aren’t my kids.
The part that gets me though is that right in the middle of the parking lot there are like 5 outlines of human bodies. Like the dead body chalk outlines at a crime scene. And the kids were incredibly detailed. There was little chalk-blood dripping out of the bodies. And there was a chalk-gun beside one of them.
I am hoping they were playing a game of CSI Miami, but I’m thinking they were just drawing what they’ve seen.
That causes me to be at once sad, and laughing.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
More Hits from the Jay
Scene
(Dayve is sitting on Jay's couch, barely watching television. It's on in the background, but he is paying it very little attention. He watches Jay fold up the open end of a bag of chips, lift up the leg of the table in front of him, and place the folded end of the bag under the table. The bag is now wedged between the floor and the table leg)
Dayve
What the fuck are you doing?
Jay
What? It's like a chip clip.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Urinals, as Headrests...
So, I was peeing at work, as I so often do. I am standing at the urinal going about my business and the chapstick in my pocket falls out onto the floor. Now, this situation is gross enough, seeing as how something that touches my mouth is now on the floor with the rest of the fecal matter. But I decide I can pick it up and wash it off, no harm, no foul. I bend over to pick it up, totally forgetting where I am, and my forehead touches the edge of the urinal, right at the spot where any pee droplets would hit as they get shaken out.
Fucking gross…I think there was a pube on there too…
Fucking gross…I think there was a pube on there too…
Monday, May 11, 2009
Wishes
So, at 11:11 today, I am making my usual wish and it got me thinking. If I wish everyday that Lindsay Lohan will be nude with me in some kind of waterfall. Will it come true sooner because I wish for it everyday? If I start wishing for something else every once and a while, will that diminish my chances of being nude with Lindsay under a waterfall? Does the wish-granter decide which wish they would fulfill based on some morality scale? If so, I shant think I should ever see Lindsay topless in real life. Unless he/she also really likes large boobs and freckly redheads.
I really would like some ground rules here. I don’t want to be wasting all my wishes like a chump.
I really would like some ground rules here. I don’t want to be wasting all my wishes like a chump.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
From the Mind of Darren Sharper
This in an interview with NFL Radio...
“I’m not a prognosticator. I’m not into making predictions but I will predict that if everything goes well with, I think he has a meeting with Coach Childress, I can see Brett playing for Minnesota this year".
What?
But you just said you don't make pred...
Fucking idiot...
“I’m not a prognosticator. I’m not into making predictions but I will predict that if everything goes well with, I think he has a meeting with Coach Childress, I can see Brett playing for Minnesota this year".
What?
But you just said you don't make pred...
Fucking idiot...
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
His Name's Jay, I Think He's Retarded or Something
I'm sitting in Jay's basement, relaxing after work , watching the hockey game. Jay's been working outside all day and decides to put his funky, smelling feet up on the coffee table that we both are using for our suppers. After about 10 seconds, we both smell it. Somewhere between a wet dog and really strong buffalo wings, Jays feet are making us both gag. So, this idiot decides to take action. He grabs a bottle of Febreeze from the table and proceeds to spray his feet like 15 times each.
"I really don't think you're supposed to do that" I says to him.
"Really?"
"No."
"It'll be fine. You put it on clothes, why can't you put it on skin."
(Forward 3 minutes)
"I think my feet are starting to itch."
"Well, no shit. You hosed them down with chemicals."
"You don't think I was supposed to do that?" As he starts checking the back of the bottle for some kind of warning.
"I was pretty clear on this."
"They're really starting to itch now."
"Well then go wash them off."
"I'll wait till after this period is over."
"I really don't think you're supposed to do that" I says to him.
"Really?"
"No."
"It'll be fine. You put it on clothes, why can't you put it on skin."
(Forward 3 minutes)
"I think my feet are starting to itch."
"Well, no shit. You hosed them down with chemicals."
"You don't think I was supposed to do that?" As he starts checking the back of the bottle for some kind of warning.
"I was pretty clear on this."
"They're really starting to itch now."
"Well then go wash them off."
"I'll wait till after this period is over."
A Guy Walks Into a Cube and Says...
My boss walks into my office while I am in my “personal” drawer, looking for some gum.
Boss: Why do you have a sock in your drawer?
Me: What, you don’t?
Boss: (Dead Serious) I suppose you're right.
That is all for now…
Boss: Why do you have a sock in your drawer?
Me: What, you don’t?
Boss: (Dead Serious) I suppose you're right.
That is all for now…
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Come to Iraq!
I just heard on the radio that the people in charge over in Iraq are going to open up Saddam Hussein's palace as an upscale hotel. You can rent a room and sleep in Saddam's actual bed. I'm not kidding. Lets just say that you're a hard working American. Saving what little is left over in your paycheck for a family vacation. You research for months, discuss it with your wife and kids. Finally the decision is made. We're off to Iraq!
Are you fucking kidding me?
Aside from having to stay in the same bed as someone who is responsible for hundreds of thousands of murders, and aside from it being what I'm sure is pretty much the worst smelling bed ever, you want people to actually willingly travel to Iraq? People die there. I don't travel much, but the only rules I have on a vacation are to have fun, and don't die. Pretty simple.
I tell you who I feel for in this whole deal. The people in charge of having to promote tourism in Iraq. Imagine, it's your first day as a spunky new hire at the Iraq Ministry of Tourism. Fresh out of school with a college degree from the University of Baghdad (Go Panthers!). They sit you down in a room to discuss with you your new job. You want me to do what now? You know people die here right?
That's gotta be like trying to sell tickets on Somali Cruiselines...
Are you fucking kidding me?
Aside from having to stay in the same bed as someone who is responsible for hundreds of thousands of murders, and aside from it being what I'm sure is pretty much the worst smelling bed ever, you want people to actually willingly travel to Iraq? People die there. I don't travel much, but the only rules I have on a vacation are to have fun, and don't die. Pretty simple.
I tell you who I feel for in this whole deal. The people in charge of having to promote tourism in Iraq. Imagine, it's your first day as a spunky new hire at the Iraq Ministry of Tourism. Fresh out of school with a college degree from the University of Baghdad (Go Panthers!). They sit you down in a room to discuss with you your new job. You want me to do what now? You know people die here right?
That's gotta be like trying to sell tickets on Somali Cruiselines...
Friday, April 24, 2009
Come Together, Right Now, Over Me
Times is hard these days. For everyone. It seems to me, the harder things get for people, the worse they react. I like to believe in people. I am not quite an optimist, but I believe in the general goodness of the human kind. Every day there is news of inspiring people, living life, in spite of the odds being stacked against them. The airline captain landing his plane in the Hudson saving hundreds. The military pilot, taking his helicopter into extremely dangerous ground in order to evacuate wounded or fallen soldiers. These are the spirits I like to believe exist in everyone.
Lately, I feel humans may be deserving of what is happening around them. Natural disasters, the global economy crumbling, and shortages of natural resources. I see people all around me, taking advantage of the systems put in place to safeguard those that could not protect themselves. I see companies taking advantage of their employees, and friends screwing their neighbor to save a few bucks. Part of me now wants to say “we made our bed, it’s time to sleep”. But it is truly a dangerous time for us to think this way. Now, more than ever, people need to come together. We need to realize though times are hard, straying down your own path will only lead to loneliness and harder times. We must not give up, we must not accept changes in humanity, but rail against them. We need to find everything good about the human condition once again.
So, I encourage anyone who reads this (both of you) to think about the positive things in their day. When something bad happens, something around you that you don’t agree with, think of something good. Remember the captain, remember the pilot. Remember that we are all connected. My success depends on your success. I may not know you, but you are my brother.
Lately, I feel humans may be deserving of what is happening around them. Natural disasters, the global economy crumbling, and shortages of natural resources. I see people all around me, taking advantage of the systems put in place to safeguard those that could not protect themselves. I see companies taking advantage of their employees, and friends screwing their neighbor to save a few bucks. Part of me now wants to say “we made our bed, it’s time to sleep”. But it is truly a dangerous time for us to think this way. Now, more than ever, people need to come together. We need to realize though times are hard, straying down your own path will only lead to loneliness and harder times. We must not give up, we must not accept changes in humanity, but rail against them. We need to find everything good about the human condition once again.
So, I encourage anyone who reads this (both of you) to think about the positive things in their day. When something bad happens, something around you that you don’t agree with, think of something good. Remember the captain, remember the pilot. Remember that we are all connected. My success depends on your success. I may not know you, but you are my brother.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
The Way I Eat
I was enjoying a delicious Twix today, one of my favorite candy bars, and I noticed my habit of eating things in parts. For example, I eat the caramel part of the Twix off the cookie before eating the rest. I eat one cookie of an Oreo, then the middle part (if I am lucky enough to get it off the bottome cookie all in one piece), then the bottom cookie. I eat Swiss Cake Rolls by eating the chocolate coating first, then I unroll the cake and eat it cream first. These are only a few examples.
Other than realizing I also have the worst diet for a diabetic, this was my self-actualizing realization for the day. I am wondering if I have OCD. I am wondering if I have too much time on my hands...
Other than realizing I also have the worst diet for a diabetic, this was my self-actualizing realization for the day. I am wondering if I have OCD. I am wondering if I have too much time on my hands...
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Out to Philly...
So, I'm sitting on the plane, about halfway into a flight to Chicago for a stopover on my way to Philly. I finished my bottled soda about 10 minutes ago and the bev cart comes by. I usually just get the bottled stuff before my flights, I hate those little soda cups the give you on a plane. They fill it with ice and put in a thimble-full of liquid. Then you got to sit there with a pussy little cup like a sucker, and you have to keep that stupid fucking tray table in your lap. I take one sip and go to set the cup down (...this next part is in slow motion...) and instead dump the thing all over my lap. Of course you can't stand up right away, because you can't really stand up at all anyway. You have no choice but to let the soda soak into the crotch of your jeans. I'm frantically trying to keep all the liquid that has spilled onto my tray table with one tiny little napkin. My boss, who's sitting next to me, is cracking up. She flags a flight attendant down and asks for some more napkins. The flight attendant looks at her and says "Did you do that to him?". Bosslady says "he did that to himself".
Here I am, pants completely drenched. I'm now trying to get all the soda out with a napkin army the flight attendant has provided, presumably because she now knows that I'm a moron and feels bad for me. I don't think the napkins are helping, in fact they are pushing the liquid down into my boxers, which are wet to begin with. I'm pretty sure at this point, not only will I have to walk around O'Hare looking like I pissed myself, but my balls are going to get moldy, fall off, and nobody will ever love me again. I actually say the following lines in my head. I wonder if I loose my balls, would the rest of it look bigger or smaller? Plus, now the pilot has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign so I can't go to the bathroom to do anything about my future castration. I mean, fuck! If this is going to be the last time I get to make love to myself, then I'm going out as part of the mile-high club.
The plane lands, I walk around for the next hour covering my junk with my jacket. God, I am really starting to hate airplanes...
Here I am, pants completely drenched. I'm now trying to get all the soda out with a napkin army the flight attendant has provided, presumably because she now knows that I'm a moron and feels bad for me. I don't think the napkins are helping, in fact they are pushing the liquid down into my boxers, which are wet to begin with. I'm pretty sure at this point, not only will I have to walk around O'Hare looking like I pissed myself, but my balls are going to get moldy, fall off, and nobody will ever love me again. I actually say the following lines in my head. I wonder if I loose my balls, would the rest of it look bigger or smaller? Plus, now the pilot has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign so I can't go to the bathroom to do anything about my future castration. I mean, fuck! If this is going to be the last time I get to make love to myself, then I'm going out as part of the mile-high club.
The plane lands, I walk around for the next hour covering my junk with my jacket. God, I am really starting to hate airplanes...
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