Satire Report

Bravo Bahrain: Bidet Hoses!

2015-11-14T01:56:00.000-07:00

Something I already know I’m going to miss when I leave Bahrain is the bidet hose by the toilet. Never have I felt so clean after a luxurious perch upon the porcelain throne. I don’t know when or where someone decided the West had to stick with simply toilet paper, but obviously Bahrain didn’t get the memo. The Japanese and their Toto toilets seem to indicate that Bahrain is not alone in its use of water for anus sanctification.

America, God bless her, hacked her way out of the wilderness with her own two hands, bearing her children along the way…and she used what she could to get the job done: leaves, sage, newspaper, and now, deluxe super soft toilet paper. I suppose in the western states this is somewhat understandable given water scarcity, but in the east they could have thrown a bidet or bidet hose in from time to time.

It’s just funny because Bahrain has pretty much used up its natural aquifers and gets at least 70% of its water from desalination; yet, they’re all about the butt hygiene. And at least for that, I applaud them.

In case you needed a visual on proper usage.

AFTERWORD

Turns out, after a little research, using a y-gate attachment, you can hook up a bidet hose to any toilet. Looks like this good idea is coming back home with me.

Local School Class Hamster Successfully Undergoes Last Chemo Treatment

2014-02-04T15:36:00.001-07:00

Dorchester, Mass. - Children in Mrs. Winterbottom's 2nd grade class at Whatsherbucket Elementary School were surprised with the news from their resident veterinarian, fellow classmate Johnny Rosenblatt, that their beloved class hamster pulled through its last chemotherapy treatment.

The hamster had developed prostate cancer as of September of last year, said Rosenblatt.

"I'm so happy that little Fur Nugget is still with us. He had us worried. I think now we get a pizza party," said Miley Gilmore, class psychologist, and winner of last week's math olympics.

The hamster has been with the class since the summer of 2012, when "Fur Nugget" replaced a previous hamster named "Old Fuzzy" who had gotten himself stuck underneath a washing machine and was only able to be extricated three days too late by the jaws-of-life.

"I don't know what a prostate is, but I'm glad Fur Nugget is still with us after all that chocolate milk and ketchup packets Johnny put in his butt," said Theodore Frugal, class idiot.

Peyton, Reeling From Humiliating Loss, Caught Eating Dominoes Pizza

2014-02-04T15:21:00.002-07:00

Denver - After a soul crushing drumming by some football-playing aquatic seabirds (The Seattle Seahawks), Peyton Manning was seen in a nearby hotel eating Dominoes pizza.

Peyton has a lucrative and well-known endorsement contract with Papa John's, and, reliably, Papa John's was none too pleased.

"Peyton was my boy. He said he loved my dough. He was so happy when he did the commercials. I don't know where I went wrong, " said John Schnatter, AKA Papa John.

Peyton was unavailable for comment.

However, Dominoes' company spokesman did go so far as to say, "Neener, neener, neener," to Papa Johns.

The Yellow School Bus Takes a Pit Stop at a Navy Warship

2013-05-25T12:22:00.000-06:00

So there I was, plodding the corridors of a grey, metallic, slightly aged warship with 15 little kids in tow. It wasn't the first tour I'd given of our fabulous frigate, but definitely one of the youngest tour groups. I did my best to explain the Central Contol Station, the messdecks, the Combat Information Center, and the Bridge in the most layman of laymen's terms (that might not baffle too many 10-12 year olds). But after (and even during) the tour, several of my fellow shipmates said things like, "Seriously? You think they understand the word 'integrated' or 'frequency'?" or "You explained how energy and waves work?" or "Latitude and Longitude?" "I barely could spell my own name, much less solve for 'x' when I was their age."

Really? Really America? Really anyone? I thought my childhood was fairly normal, but I'm pretty sure I would have been intrigued about waves, energy, and I definitely knew the word 'integrated'. Was I a smart kid? Yes. Was I the neighborhood bio-nerd/vet because I memorized entire Audubon society books on reptiles, amphibians, and other critters? Yes. Did I get IQ tested and go to "The Gifted and Talented Program"? Yes. But so what? Kids need to try harder. Kids love new cool information that they've never heard before. People in general have an insatiable appetite for knowledge. It's the information age. I bet you half of those kids had cell phones and that same half probably hasn't read a book over 100 pages. I'm just doing my part to reduce the number of retards (in the appropriate sense of the word; ie: someone who could be smart or above average but has been a slacker because of bad education, choices, environment or Naval Officers babying them on warship tours with kindergarten coloring questions rather than something stimulating). So, you're welcome kids.

It was a fun tour though. The guns and the bridge got the biggest "ooos" and "aaahs". You would expect that. Internal comms were fun to mess with too, especially when people are working in the engineering spaces and they hear a 10 year old say "I like chocolate milk" on the sound-powered 2J circuit while they're trying to do maintenance on the lube oil purifier.

From a Cafe in Sydney

2013-04-26T17:18:00.001-06:00

So here I am in front of Toby's Estate Cafe, Expresso School and Roastery in Sydney, Australia, bumming off their free wifi. This might be the one and only Australian post I make on this blog. That being the case, I wanted to take a moment to recognize all the abfab Aussies who have, at one time or another, read this blog. Your country slash continent is beautiful. My traveling companion and I have gone down the emerald coast down to Melbourne, from there to Glenrowan (where Ned Kelly made his last stand), through Kozciuzko National Park (drove by the tallest peak in Australia 2229m, Mt. Kozciuzko), then went to Canberra and back to Sydney. There was plenty of beautiful country to see and great people to meet along the way. It was an adventure to say the least. I wish it could've been longer. But oh well. To the pictures...

Follow me on twitter because google hasn't figured out how to let me pull pics from my ipad. Just follow "McConnaughey"

Brown Shirt

2013-02-02T12:16:00.002-07:00

This article is somewhat of an anachronism. It was meant to be published some time in the middle of last year:

So I'm sure you've seen these shirts:

While generally I find the sentiment crass, I actually experienced a moment where that statement was indeed validating, vindicating and even...a personal victory.

That moment came shortly after I had my appendix removed.

The white-lab-coat-clad doctor types had prescribed me some sort of weird black pill to "loosen up my bowels" after a fairly substantial duration of going without my regular porcelain project #2. So as I took the vicodin/percocet with religious devotion, I was no less devoted to this pill.

But even so, the shirt's victorious refrain was not brought to fruition without much trial and adversity. I'll spare you the vivid details, but I will allude to another theory I have to bring the appropriate mental picture to full focus.

So I'm sure you're familiar with full moons and the effect they have on pregnant women, tides, and romance. Well, similarly I have found that some of the largest donations I have ever made to the ivory throne in the bathroom have occurred during full moons. And these are not requited in the least. They generally resemble young brown whales, often times breaching and even beaching themselves on the lip of the bowl. It seems almost impossible that such monstrosities can be expended from intestines of such a known and finite dimension. The event requires an almost birthing effort. Inexplicable. Yet it happens.

So that first victory after surgery was similar in how grand an event it was. A rather large, and generally unrelatable victory. Well, not in polite company anyway. But, you aren't polite company. Not today at least.

Coincidence

2012-09-09T17:27:00.001-06:00

Coincidence is an interesting thing. It's something that seems to happen to a point that it's hard to say so many things are coincidental.

Here is an example:

Yesterday afternoon I decided to go get my car cleaned. I pretty much only go to one place to get my car cleaned. And yesterday was no different. The guy who I dropped the car off with told me that it would take about 2 hours. I dropped the car off at 4:30pm. So, I decided to go on walkabout. (Yes, the aboriginal practice of wandering until you find yourself in this epic coming of age type journey - it was exactly like that). So I wandered.

I wandered down a couple blocks to India street, the main thoroughfare that cuts through Little Italy in San Diego. I was waiting for a phone call, and I was strolling, looking for some little nook that might have some good food and not too much bustle (hustle was ok). Well, after my fabulous phone conversation, and having gone all the way down and then back up India street, I saw a sign at this one little restaurant that had several delicious desserts on it. One of these desserts was tiramisu (one of the best desserts ever devised by the mind, hands, and culinary expertise of man). Just down the street there was some sort of concert, so I thought, "Why would anyone pay for an outdoor concert when you can hear it just fine from this fabulous pizza place that has tiramisu?"

Well, it just so happens that my buddy, who lives an hour away was a roadie for the night for one of the bands at this concert. So when he sent me a text message asking me if I was back from my usual sojourning, I said yes. However, I assumed he was at least an hour away. But then when he said he was in Little Italy at a concert, and I told him I was also in Little Italy at a restaurant it was like the intersection of two seemingly divergent universes, splitting the atom and peeling the onion of coincidence to some sort of obvious fate. He was two blocks away. So we ate pizza, tiramisu, and I got to check out this concert for free. It was awesome. I don't care much for the Wall Flowers, but one of my latest favorite bands was there. Walk the Moon:

Tabasco Chipotle Sauce

2012-04-16T21:23:00.005-06:00

Tabasco Chipotle Hot Sauce

Once upon a time there was a guy named Jalapeno. He was British. His friends used to make fun of his name. They said his name made him sound like the diminutive version of a word used to describe an old car (His friends were smart, but they lacked the ability to make a good jab; that and they all drove jalopies anyway). This hurt Jalapeno, but he was a stoic British lad, and kept it all inside. He also thought to himself, "What good are my friends if they all drive beaters?" So, the next day, Jalapeno decided to tell them what for.

And so, Jalapeno had no friends.

But Jalapeno didn't care. He drove a nice car. It was a jaguar. That, and he got an invitation to a jolly good (as the host put it) social function in Lousiana. Jalapeno lived in Devonshire. However, he did always fancy America, and wanted to see what all the fuss was with cajuns and gumbo, and swamps. He also wanted to get a tan*. England would just not cut it.

So he went to Lousiana and met a man named McIlhenny. In fact, it was McIlhenny that had invited him to Louisiana in the first place. It seems they both had funny names. And, while they were chuckling and guffawing gaily about this obviously humorous connection (while at this social function), McIlhenny slipped something** in Jalapeno's drink.

When Jalapeno awoke everything was dark. It smelled like peppers. His skin burnt. His eyes burnt. He was burnt. He deduced that he had been put inside an oaken barrel of aged peppers. But, being the stoic Brit he was, he grinned and bore it, and realized it was all for the greater good. And now we have Chipotle Tabasco Sauce. Thanks dead British guy with the funny name! You made my eggs taste delicious this morning!**

* Like Snooki, his favorite trashy reality TV star

** It was a ruffie. Just so there is no ambiguity.

***This is a true story. My eggs were delicious, and Jalapeno is a pretty funny name (I mean, especially for a British guy)

Raw Asparagus

2012-03-23T08:25:00.005-06:00

RAW. Such a small word with so many interesting connotations. Some like it raw. Some do not. Is it healthier? Well, that depends on what we're talking about. Let's just put aside what you think I'm saying and get to what I'm saying. Raw food. In particular, I would like to focus on raw asparagus.

Asparagus is good for you. I don't know the particulars, but I know it makes your pee smell; and that, is apparently a good indication that it's good for you. Some people say it tastes good. I guess I can see that. In the same way that orange peels taste good if you turn them into sugar-infused candy, or in the the way anything tastes good if you cover it in chocolate (even crickets). So asparagus, alone, uncooked...is it any good? The simple answer is no. Try it yourself, and don't lie and say you enjoy it. It's pretty much like going for a walk in the park, picking up some random plant and eating it. Given that the plant is not poisonous, you probably won't die, but your palate will most likely not thank you or feel especially expanded. Now if we're talking about steamed asparagus, cooked in olive oil and seasoned carefully with crushed pepper and sea salt, and used as a compliment to a steak and potatoes, then yes, it's good. But that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying this:

So there you are, walking into Trader Joe's because you're a crunchy hippy, a health nut, grape nuts-loving, almond milk-drinking, naan-munching, new age organic enthusiast and you bee line it straight to the fresh produce. In front of you are a plethora of options: arugula, kale, artichokes, assorted peppers, and asparagus. Some of the asparagus was grown locally, the cheaper stuff was trucked in from Mexico. You're a cheap sack, so you buy the Mexican stuff, saying to yourself that you'll rinse it thoroughly before eating it. But you can't see yourself eating straight asparagus, so you grab some broccoli spears and assorted veggies that you would find on a event platter at the end of the event because the ranch dip ran out and prior to that the cookies and good stuff ran out. But you need dip as well, because this whole raw thing is just not going to fly otherwise. You know yourself. Snacks can't taste like tree bark or the front lawn and expect to be eaten. So you go to the hummus section. You see varieties with red pepper, chives, cilantro, garlic, and anything else you can imagine to make smashed up chick peas and lemon juice not taste bland. You grab two things of hummus that don't sound too terrible. Then you continue shopping, check out and go home.

And you eat your raw asparagus. Did you rinse it? Did an amoeba eat your brain already? Ok, yes, you rinsed it. No amoeba. The asparagus is gross. The hummus makes it worse. Yet, you continue to eat it. Weirdo. Who does that?

You.

Russian Scientists, Dryer Buzzers, Sneezing and Online Dating

2012-02-01T20:47:00.004-07:00

I have decided to do a mail bag of random ideas because they've been building for a while now. I have watched too many movies on Netflix and not written enough blog entries. That and I've been busy saving the world from drug traffickers that use fiber-glass submarines made by Russian scientists in the jungle. Yep. Get R' Done.

First. Dryer buzzers. Perhaps the most pleasant sound to ever caress my eardrums at 1:00am. It's not like that lovely, full-toned blare you get from an air horn, but more like a melodious screech from a buzzard two octaves higher and more prolonged, combined with your favorite little kid screaming for no apparent reason. Oh, or maybe it happens because your clothes are dry. Which they may not be. In which case, thank you dryer buzzer, you saved my life.

Moving on.

Sneezing is satisfying. And while I don't necessarily buy into the 8 sneezes equals an orgasm philosophy, I did just sneeze while writing this sentence and it was great. However, so often sneezes are taken from us. Like childhood innocence. Or the last cookie. Or our favorite TV show. Or our favorite, obscure, extended family member. Quite often we are left with "the sneeze that never was." It would make for a great book title if it didn't bring with it so much anguish and raw emotion. If you don't follow me, allow me to illustrate. So there you are, walking around, doing that thing you do when you're walking around, when you a) accidentally stare at the sun (right, like you can accidentally stare you idiot), b) are doing some spring cleaning and you get some choice dust in your schnoz, c) are presented with an Angorran chinchilla that has the most allergenic dander known to man and you think you're about to sneeze....but you don't. For whatever reason you can't. You come right to the precipice of sneezing, and then in an unfortunate turn of events, can't make the final leap to actually sneezing and ending all that pent up whateverness. Sad day for you. But, on the bright side, given that you didn't sneeze, you didn't give your friend, or the stranger sitting next to you, that ebola virus that you know you have.

Dating online. So I know this guy who does this. He says it's because he's busy, but I know the truth. He's a loser. At any rate, he scrolls through all the profiles but is amazed at the trickiness of the people on the site. The profile pictures make most of the ladies look like some type of Greek goddess, or at least someone that might be classified as cute, or even normally attractive to a man...or a woman who is attracted to attractive women. But then there is the second picture, and the third. And then all of a sudden they gain 50 pounds, a mustache (which can be fetching), and are now 43 years old and have 6 kids. I have always been amazed by the ability of all women to find pictures with just the right angle, lighting, pose, time of year, etc. that makes them look like Aphrodite incarnate. But, they then foil their plans by posting a picture of themselves the morning after their cage fight with a lumberjack and a bear who seemingly both weighed less and were fighting her only because she was mad that they were more photogenic. But if that were all, that would be enough. To top it off, they then put multiple pictures of their cat(s), dog(s), landscapes, feet, other people, or prior boyfriends and/or husbands. While I find all of this attractive, some guys, strangely, do not.

So there are my latest thoughts. I'm not putting up any funny pictures because I think the words paint funnier pictures in your head. Yes words can paint. Good Day Sir!

MOVEMBER or NOvember at all!

2011-11-03T21:37:00.012-06:00

Movember. It is upon us.

It is that special time of year when men reaffirm their manliness, and non-men reaffirm their non-manliness, or support of men who are manly, or become manly if they are not yet already and want to become so. How do they do this?

Perhaps I can illustrate the cause best with the following photos:

Sam Elliot. I believe he just picked you up. Not just the ladies.

Isaiah Mustafa. He's on a boat, and he has a moustache. Capris. Trifecta.

Double the fun. Style points.

This transcends the word moustache.

This moustache transcends the word face.

Even Brad Pitt. That's right.

Salvador Dali is perfectly normal.

Even the ladies can do it.

Kevin Kline never looked more debonaire, and unsavorily satisfactory.

There will be moustache. There will be. Daniel Day-Lewis.

Rollie Fingers. All-time, All-Star Moustache.

Clark Gable. The moustache distracts you from the polka dots.

Errol Flynn. Better tie, less moustache.

Groucho Marx. He so funny.

Charlie Chaplin. Iconic.

Remember that Burt Reynolds guy?

San Diago. Ron Burgundy.

Lando Calrissian, the only black man in the universe...and an awesome moustache.

The greatest moustache the world has ever known. Thank you Tom Selleck.

Moral of the story: I forgot. I was lost in the awesomeness that is Tom Selleck's moustache. Oh yeah, something about Movember...

Grow a Mo for a Bro.

Low Fat, Low Cal...Taste Debatable

2011-09-09T09:27:00.009-06:00

So you may have, from time to time, gone down the aisle of your preferred grocery establishment in search of a sweet treat like chocolate milk...only to discover they only offer "reduced fat" or "low fat" chocolate milk. To me, that is disappointing. Even tragic.

Sure, that cow on the bottle looks happy, but in truth he hates himself.

Similar things happen when you're looking for ice cream, candy, and even soda. You've got coke zero, diet coke, stevia sweetened ginger beer, candy with no sugar or trans fats. On the one hand you could get fat (if you go with the regular), while on the the other hand you could get cancer (with all the phenylalanine and like diet sweeteners).

I mean, if you're looking to eat something sweet and satisfyingly delectable, you probably aren't too concerned about the fat content. And if you are, please go eat some quinoa, buckwheat, amaranth, and then go do your yoga/pilates/tai chi and leave the fat foods for those of us with the restraint to enjoy them without forcing them to become crappy. Or just leave them for the fat kids who don't care.

So do I.

And so does this guy.

I didn't make you fat America. You made you fat. Like that grammar? I like my regular, whole milk chocolate milk. I like my regular, delicious food. I don't like diet anything. I don't like fat free, sugar free whatever. And guess what America, I'm not fat. I have it both ways. I have my cake, and eat it too (But actually I'm a bit particular with my cakes. I'm not a cake guy. I like pie. If I have to eat cake I like angel food cake or that dark chocolate mousse cake...or ice cream cake). I digress...

The point is this: If you want to lose weight, be aware of what you're putting in your body and how much exercise you get. Eat fresh fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and get fresh air and sun and work out as often as possible. And, it's not about losing weight, it's about being healthy. But you won't do it by eating tons of diet stuff. That's the problem. People go, oh, they're "mini" cupcakes, or it's "diet" and proceed to eat the whole bag, box, or case. So, to avoid that, don't eat diet stuff in the first place. Smaller regular food portion size is better than larger diet portion size.

Not everyone is going to be a nasty, emaciated, twig-type, and that's ok. In fact, it's probably good. I should never have something stuck in my teeth, look around for a toothpick, and find you to be a suitable substitute.

She drank the wrong kind of chocolate milk.

It's also ok, and even good to splurge every now any then. As long as butter pecan ice cream and cupcakes don't become your staple food items, and you don't eat your cereal with Dr. Pepper instead of milk, you'll probably be ok. Don't quote me on that though. I know some people who have Dr. Pepper fed intravenously into their arms and they do fine.

And the moral of this diatribe: EAT UP FATTIES!

Extreme Sandwich Eating

2011-06-13T09:58:00.006-06:00

While some people are naturally inclined to believe that anything extreme is bad, crazy, reckless, stupid, careless, etc. I, on the other hand am inclined to believe otherwise. At least, in the case of eating sandwiches.

Yes. Eating a sandwich can be extreme. I'm not talking about eating a sandwich made out of plutonium, or eating a pig foot sandwich in downtown Jerusalem, but rather, eating seemingly normal sandwiches, in less than normal circumstances. Allow me to provide an example.

This past weekend I visited Yosemite National Park. It's my favorite park and it is a beautifully magnificent place. And, consequently, an ideal location for extreme sandwich eating. And, as it so happened, I had a magnificent sandwich made by my favorite butcher Albert. So, I declared to all that would listen (the one other person in the car with me), that I would eat my sandwich under a waterfall. So we went to Bridal veil falls, got soaked, and I ate my sandwich. And, wouldn't you know, it was delicious. Did the bread get soggy? Yes. Did it start to fall apart a little? Yes. Would I have traded that experience for anything? Possibly. But, I would not have traded it for eating a sandwich at a table.

And so I challenge you readers. Eat sandwiches. Eat lots of them. And do it in crazy places while doing crazy things. Here is a list of ideas for the non-creative normal people who read this blog:

Playing scrabble in a tree with a capuchin monkey

Riding a unicycle with an eye patch

Walking the plank after being captured by Somali pirates

Riding a horse backwards with a funny hat

On a pogo stick with a "little person" on your shoulders

None of the following situations qualify:

PS - "Little person" is the unfortunate political correct term for people who suffer from dwarfism. Typically I would use the word midget, but I am cow-towing to social pressure.

How Did Dinosaurs Go Extinct?

2011-05-16T23:42:00.006-06:00

Everyone has a theory about the dinosaurs. And by that I mean everyone thinks something different about why they went extinct (Not to be confused with those who think the dinosaurs were alien God creatures that begat Xenu, or those who think fossils we strategically placed on earth by God to test us, or those who think they are dinosaurs). Some say it was a giant meteor, or comet that wiped them out.

Others think is was volcanoes.

Others think they annihilated each other with nuclear weapons in their own Jurassic World War III.

But to these simple-minded theories I say, "No." And, what's more, I said it in quotations.

The truth is, dinosaurs were wiped out by robots. Both in actuality, and proverbially. Back when they roamed the earth they had a terminator dinosaur scenario, just like the movie, except John Connor the dinosaur didn't make it. T-1000 the T-Rex, liquid-metal clawed his face off. So that is obviously disheartening, and to make things worse, the consequences are readily apparent today in museums, exhibits, and universal studios: animatronic dinosaurs/secret spies from the prehistoric past. Proverbially speaking, things aren't much better for dinosaurs. Back in my day, every little kid loved dinosaurs. Children everywhere had plastic dinosaurs, watched "Denver the Last Dinosaur," and thought they were T-Rexes. Some still do. But, unfortunately it seems the heyday of the dinosaur has been taken over by robots. And these robots are the following non-people: Miley Cyrus, Dora the Explorer, and Lady Gaga.

So, sad face for dinosaurs. But, on the bright side, at least we now know what happened to them.

Next week: How dinosaurs preceded the Romans in developing indoor plumbing

Art Or Crap?

2010-10-28T12:20:00.008-06:00

There I was. Standing in the bathroom of a little restaurant called 'Breakfast Club' in Mammoth Lakes, California, relieving myself while staring at a clever bit of graffiti on the toilet paper dispenser. It said 'Cruz Control', but spelled in such a way that the 'cruise' part was written like someone's last name rather than the feature found in most cars.

Graffiti in public restrooms is one of those things I've tried to wrap my head around for some time now. I mean, as cool as it is to chisel nonsensical symbols and misspelt words on toilet seats, mirrors, toilet paper dispensers and trash cans, I don't quite understand the allure. Maybe I just need to embrace the subculture.

Maybe I could be a leader among them. I could start an underground public toilet graffiti gang and call myself Muad' Dib. Then we could ransack whole towns, pillaging and defacing all of their public restrooms, wreaking untold havoc and creating fear and panic among the citizenry.

Soon they will all fear Cruz Control.

Muahahaha.

Why not?

Sometimes this is the best way to talk to your parents.

Agreed, but bad punctuation.

Did I "borrow" this picture from Flickr? Yes. Is it worth it even with that annoying line though it? Absolutely.

Early Morning Epiphanies

2010-10-26T23:50:00.008-06:00

Everyone knows all the best ideas come after 1am. Always.

Start an offshore bank account in the Caymans. Write a book about an Amazonian river dolphin named Tim. Start a circus of flying squirrels and train them to steal people's wallets while one is jumping through a flaming soda can hanging from a birdcage.

The possibilities are limitless.

For instance. Let's say you write a blog. It's past 1am, and you think to yourself, "Self, you are indeed thinking to me, and you should write a blog about this genius idea you just had." Then, instead of writing about that genius idea, you write about having genius ideas after 1am and chalk it up as some misguided attempt to inspire the masses. Good work self.

Here are some more successful ideas:

Bringing your pet monster on your road trip of the UK.

Telling Coco he was adopted, and that you were the one who farted.

Poorly photoshopping tea pots on Mr. T photos and then calling him to gloat.

Getting rid of those hairy pits the FUN way.

EXTREME TEXTING! LOL WTF. TTYL.

2010-10-19T10:16:00.007-06:00

We live in a world of extremes. Extreme temperatures, extreme politics, and of course, extreme sports. But there is a way to become part of the extreme fun without going inside a volcano, fomenting an insurrection, or doing a 1080 on a riding lawnmower while jumping a tank of alligators.

How?

Extreme texting.

Not to be confused with extreme ironing.

No, I don't mean texting from your car while driving on the interstate (not extreme, just dumb). Neither do I mean sending texts from outer space. No. If you want to be an extreme texter you have to think outside of the box. Beyond 160 characters. Beyond human. For instance, let's say you wanted to involve space travel while texting. Well, no one cares if you send a text from space, but if you send a monkey or an overweight orangutan to text from the moon, that is extreme.

Becoming a zombie, and then texting is not extreme, especially if you work at Best Buy.

The possibilities don't end there though. You could also text from inside the belly of a shark. How? Figure it out. This is not rocket surgery. You could also text while doing a contortionist stunt while being launched out a torpedo tube on a submarine. And if that doesn't float your boat, then create the world's largest cruise ship/cell phone (ie: a cell phone that is also a cruise ship or vice versa) then become a jet pilot and launch missles at the keypad so that it sends a message to your grandma in Pocatello.

Texting while squatting on a manhole cover and eating icecream is pretty extreme (especially once the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles jump out and surprise her with some pizza)

Yeah. Sweeeeet.

A Changing World

2010-10-03T12:19:00.006-06:00

The world is changing. And sometimes, it changes in leaps and bounds rather than incremental ticks and tocks.

A prime example is that of our mutual friend "Ichabod." Well, let's call him Ichabod anyway.

There are certain thresholds that many of the male gender promise to themselves never to cross. But then either curiosity or a woman beguiles them to eschew their otherwise rock-hard principles.

Such was the case with Ichabod the other night. His first foray into this unknown world was when he was reassured and even beguiled by attractive women to buy "skinny" jeans. Sure, they were labeled "slim" jeans, but he knew what this was all about. He entered the fitting room a curious man, and left a redefined beast of modernity. Some might just call him a metro.

The skinny jeans fit by the way and didn't even look skinny. Or maybe he was just equivocating to make himself feel better about his dwindling masculinity. But the jeans were just the beginning.

Later that evening while flipping through the channels he saw a title he had sworn to never read, watch, or even do anything to except ridicule as often as possible: Twilight. He flipped to Twilight and then quickly back to some show called "The World's Most Haunted Places," so that he could click the 'recall' button, promising himself an avenue of escape if the movie turned out to suck as much as he had been led to believe.

He watched the whole thing. And while it was at times mind-numbing, and terribly absurd, the stinging rebuke that stayed with him was that he didn't hate it. What had happened to this man Ichabod? Was he still a man? Or had he morphed into a self-loathing, shiny vampire promoting, ball of sexual ambiguity?

Who knows?

But what thing we can be certain of is that he purchased skinny jeans, watched Twilight, and then didn't hate it.Step 1 - Ichabod wears questionable "skinny jeans."

Step 2 - Jeans become leggings. Jeaggings.

Step 547 - What happened to step 3?

Step 548 - You've gone and done it now.

Am I the internet's tumor? Or is it mine?

2010-10-01T23:02:00.005-06:00

(This is the world's largest meatball. It is relevant to this article because it looks like a tumor and the guy who made it seems pretty happy about it)

I'm pretty sure the internet has latched itself onto my brain. It has done so incrementally, and what seemed like a symbiotic relationship may have become a parasitic one: a tumor. However, it's hard to say which is the tumor, the internet or me. Fortunately there is Arnold Schwarzenegger's famous line from "Kindergarten Cop" that reassures me, "It's not a tumor." If only I could pretend and be that little kid who hangs out with the ferret and brings his toy to the carpet.

But this little boy may never make it back to the carpet. He has found far too many toys and cannot decide (And, he also seems to have continued to speak of himself in third person for far too long). Really. I am writing this revelatory blog entry after 1:00AM.

Some of you might come to my defense and say, "Aw that's nothing man, you're fine. I stay up until 3 or 4AM." Others of you might be appalled. Others of you stopped reading a while ago due to the fact that you don't stay up this late, or just have short attention spans.

Well, I tell myself all the time that I'm going to go to bed earlier EVERY night. And, every night I always find some movie to watch, article to read, friend to chat to, place to go, etc. to etc. Tonight really is no different. Sure I could blame it on the fact that often times my shifts end at 9PM or even close to 11PM or beyond and I still have to make time for exercise. Then I have to clean myself up, eat, veg out, and/or pretend to have a life beyond work.

But I don't have to do anything. I just do.

I also tell myself things would be different if I were married and had a job with normal hours. Maybe so. But who's to say? Maybe I'm just caught up in being caught up for no reason other than a subconscious curiosity or at least some sort of deeply rooted dissatisfaction with the present moment. Or maybe I just want to prolong the moment and live each waking hour as long as possible.

Well that last idea cannot be. I tend to sleep in when I can. But even that's a precarious assumption. Often when I think I get to sleep in I get woken up after being in bed a mere 3 or 4 hours, and then have to pretend like it was 8, and trying to get back to bed is never the same. The dreams, the REM, the beautiful tapestry of synthetic subconscious reverie sifts like sand through my finger tips.

What is the solution? Probably eating more, staring more out the window, and watching Judge Judy reruns. Yeah.

BIG WORDS.

2010-09-16T20:36:00.006-06:00

I was reading a magazine the other day when I came across a word that I found amusing. Well, it wasn't so much the word, but rather the somewhat interesting use of the word put together with my understanding of the author's intentions through the cynical prism that I sometimes call a brain.

The word was 'detritus' or in other words: debris, odds and ends, decaying or disintegrating stuff, AKA: trash.

The reason I was amused was because here was a writer describing something seemingly valueless in order to ascribe some sort of literary value to himself. It's like when anyone uses the word 'esoteric'; the word is self-fulfilling. Esoteric is esoteric. It means: requiring or exhibiting knowledge that is restricted to a small group. The people who understand and use the word esoteric would most likely qualify as a somewhat small group. And, in a similarly laughable (but inaudibly laughable) way, using the word detritus to say trash to look good is amusing to say the least.

Of course I may be reading into this too much. Maybe the author uses the word detritus in his everyday speech. In fact, maybe everyone does. Maybe I'm the dumb one...or just jaded. Cue that mediocre Aerosmith song.

This was apparently on the same sidewalk as the previous picture:I almost got mad at whoever wrote it. Don't tell everyone where the factory is!

Hello Person

2010-09-08T17:13:00.004-06:00

Hello person who is reading this. I bet you don't get a personal "hello" every time you read a blog. But that's because this is a different kind of blog, and you're a different kind of person. Most likely the kind that I do not know. Or maybe I know you, but only vaguely. Or maybe I know someone who looks like you, but we'll probably never know that because you're reading this and I'm not actually talking to you in person. And don't think it's going to happen on skype either.

So back to you.

What do you think of this?:You're welcome. And it's not even Christmas.

Oh CUTE!

2010-08-17T13:25:00.006-06:00

English is an interesting language.

Well, some people seem to think so anyway. And, I guess I fall into the category of "some people". But something that makes English so interesting is that it is a living language. It lives in the same way Frankenstein's monster does/did/I don't know if he's still alive. I say that because of how much it is driven by popular culture, vernacular, and is in essence a flowing amalgam of bits and pieces from many other languages and cultures beyond merely those of the British isles and places that were at once part of the British Empire. Ok, let's get to the point.

The word CUTE has become in a way, it's own sub-language. It's versatility is frighteningly unoriginal:

Here is the way in which it was at one point, and may sometimes still be used:

- That baby/puppy/halloween outfit* is CUTE.

*all terms can also be exchanged for butterfly wallpaper, floral arrangements, kittens, etc.

However, here is the way in which it is now used:

- He's CUTE. - (in reference to a boy/man - who should in fact never be considered cute, unless he looks like a puppy holding a floral arrangement while wearing a children's halloween costume - and in that case I believe the correct terminology would be FREAK. A man/boy used to be called attractive, handsome, good-looking, etc., but now, he has unfortunately been relegated to puppy status. If that were all, then no worries, but cute is a universal coverall as we shall see)

- That's so CUTE! - (when referring to any object that has a favorable color scheme or design, when one could just say, "I love those colors, such and such compliments the other, and/or that is a clever or creative way to use yellow and blue/pink and mint green/etc. and etc.)

- Oh what a CUTE sign! - (When the sign is actually not cute at all, bearing no resemblance to a newborn baby, puppy, and containing nothing resembling a kitten with a bib and pacifier. Most often the sign contains a clever turn of phrase, is witty, or is just cleverly being offensive while also subtly attempting to be innocuous)

- Oh CUTE! - (When referring to anything, ever, for any reason at all)

So there you have it. Is there a remedy for this generic way of describing things. Yes. Will anyone really make any concerted effort to come up with a more in depth way of evaluating their sentiments about people, places, and things that will avoid the temptation of cute's simplicity? Probably not dude. I mean dude. Really dude? Dude.

Sleeping Foot Dreams!

2010-08-09T09:11:00.004-06:00

Everyone has at one time or another had it happen. Maybe you're sitting at a movie theater. Perhaps at a nice restaurant. Maybe you're in a pew at church. Then, there's that all too familiar pins and needles feeling in your foot, then it creeps up your leg. You try to shake it so that it wakes up. People start to give you weird looks. Some people smirk, others wink. You're unwittingly sending mixed messages. Your foot is asleep.

Well finally, after years of painstaking research, Dr. Ivan Malcomb claims that sleeping feet actually dream. His project began as a simple question from a neighbor while they were playing scrabble and drinking a supposedly non-alcoholic beverage.

"Linda said to me, 'Ivan, my foot's asleep. I hate when this happens. It's probably dreaming of comfortable but stylish shoes, or a stroll on a tropical beach somewhere no doubt. I mean right?' Of course, she was probably just being silly, but a lightning bolt struck my brain at that moment. I had an apostrophe...er...epiphany."

For the next 5 years Dr. Malcomb invited people over to his house to play scrabble, trying myriad techniques to lull their feet into a deep sleep; a sleep he calls RTM. Rapid Toe Movement, similar to its cousin REM - Rapid Eye Movement - occurs when the foot has reached its dream state.

"I tried to be really sedate and boring for 5 years. My wife told me I didn't have to try, but I did anyway. We sat around watching reruns of Mr. Rogers and Baywatch, and playing scrabble, hangman, and team solitaire. Yes, team solitaire," said Dr. Malcomb.

Once a subject's foot entered RTM, he strapped electrodes along its "Neo-Pedal Cortex" on the arch of the foot, and measured the dream activity. After two years of mapping dream activity, Ivan found that he could accurately map the energy, and even what each foot was dreaming.

Dr. Malcomb elaborated, "If the energy is concentrated in the ball of the foot with slow radiating impulses to the toes, the most likely dreams are of little piggies, pedicures, and weird foot-related toe-sucking nightmares. If the energy is along the main corridor of the Neo-Pedal Cortex, then the dreams are more intricate and tend to be about trendy shoe styles, glamor, or massages."

While his research maybe controversial, and his methods unorthodox, Dr. Ivan Malcomb remains adamant that his conclusions are correct.

"I stand by work one hundred percent. I think it will change the world and the way we think about feet, and sleep. My next study will be assessing dreams in other appendages like the arm, the leg, or the...I guess that's it."

So even if you are bothered by your foot's narcolepsy, consider your foot. It might actually enjoy sleeping. Instead of hitting your sleeping foot against a table leg on nervously stamping the floor, perhaps next time you should just rock back and forth gently, sing a sweet lullaby and give your foot a break.

I'm the fastest man in the world.

2010-08-03T14:14:00.010-06:00

So a lot of people ask me: "How did you become the fastest man in the world?"

My response is simple. Practice.

But when I say "practice", I don't mean "practice running", or "practice running fast". No. I mean "practice being the fastest man in the world". Start from there. You have to be it before you're it. Got me?
Here are some other pointers if you hope to one day become a thousandth as fast as me:

1. Outrun and then chase down an antelope, and devour it.
2. Outrun and then chase down an antelope that a cheetah is already chasing, then devour the antelope in front of the cheetah and then devour him if he doesn't like it.
3. Get some colored rocks and a slingshot.
4. Start running as you hear the snap of the slingshot and beat the rocks to whatever target you've shot them at. Colored rocks make it more fun.
5. Get to know some people at NASA, and then race the space shuttle (Bring a cape so you can keep chasing it while you are flying in the upper stratosphere...if you haven't caught it by the time it escapes earth's orbit, you've lost, and you'll never be as fast as me).

This is the last guy I beat. Look, he can't even chase down a ring. And he needs to hold the word 'flash' in his hand to remind himself of the shell of a superhero that he now is thanks to me.

That is all.

PS - Usain Bolt only competes against humans. Weak sauce.

Repackaged, Repurposed and....Still Funny

2010-07-30T08:35:00.009-06:00

Here are some of the more enjoyable recent funnies from Failblog, Very Demotivational, Pictureisunrelated, oddlyspecific and engrish:

Deep inside he knew that this was the best part of his day.

Oooooo.

Actually, in Ireland you would not get arrested. Common practice.

Is it just me or do his undies look like a hamper?

It can be done.

You've been in this situation before.

Greatest day of your life.

Llamas. Of course!

That's a bad law. Only in Gaithersburg.

Just your average, everyday house....for psychos.

That's what you think. The aliens took this picture.

The part you can't see is the other golf cart on top of the second ladder.

This is not a fail. Pizza is the real hero.

Pretty accurate actually.

I always do.