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."

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…

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...

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.

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...

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...