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Sunday, November 27, 2005

Thanksgiving And My Balls


There I was, Thursday night, fast asleep. Dreaming of the two days I had just spent celebrating Thanksgiving. Remember this point, because I’m coming back to this. It’s important. Like, “did someone just kick me in the crotch???” important.

I’ll explain later.

Wednesday, my mom made Thanksgiving dinner, including all the traditional dishes. It was great, and my whole family had a delightful time.

That night, after everyone was finished eating and letting their food settle, I went out with my friends to the bars. The Wednesday before Thanksgiving is a BUSY night at the bars. All the college kids are home for the holiday. So, my two friends and I headed out to a few different places.

First, we went to one to wish a friend-of-a-friend happy birthday. We drank Guinness and then had a shot of Tequila. And when people suggest doing shots, it seems customary to do it like everyone is disagreeing with them.

“Oh, no, we’re doing shots, dude. You get over here. No, man, we’re doing ‘em. Hey guys, we’re doing shots! Get your fucking asses over here!”

But in my brief experience drinking, no one is ever disagreeing with the idea.

I met a girl there that I had met before, but hadn’t seen for a while. I thought she was cute then, and I think she’s cute now. I talked to her for a good forty-five minutes. Ignoring my friends? Sure I was, but they would have done the same to me. In fact, they have. But I did get her phone number, which I don’t usually do, because I’m just not that kind of picking-up-girls-at-a-bar guy. I know, you’re shocked. I mean, I will often physically pick them up to move them from my path and show off my superhuman strength. But that’s neither here nor there.

We went to another bar to meet up with some other folks. We did another shot. Again, someone suggested doing shots like we had never done shots before that night and like everyone was against the idea, which no one was. This happened twice more throughout the night. Each time more exciting than the last. And of course, less sober, too. I’m not going to lie: a few people threw up. I never do, for a few reasons.

One, I’m Irish. Reason number two is something I learned from a wise old monk in the mountains of Tibet. When you think you may be on the verge of vomiting, say, “No, thank you. I do not require any more alcohol.” Works every time.

Eventually we all went out to eat to sober up a little and it was a great time, I have to say. I had the fish.

Thursday we went to my Grandma’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. Of course, she out-did herself as always. It was a great time. Except for when some douche bag backed into my uncle’s BMW and then drove off. We never got the license plate number. So if you come across a guy with no penis and a vagina for a head, call the Kenosha, WI police department. Thanks.

Which brings us to Thursday night/ Friday morning. I have to work at 9:30AM. It’s about 2:30AM and I suddenly wake up with the most severe pain I’ve ever felt... down there. My left testicle. It felt like someone had just kicked me there. I couldn’t put any pressure on it, from any angle. I couldn’t lay on my stomach, my side, my back. Obviously that leaves few options.

SOMEHOW, I slept. I think. I don’t know, maybe I was just in so much pain that I stared at my wall and hallucinated, making myself think I was sleeping. Regardless, I have to remember to send the old Indian woman who helped me walk through that desert a fruit basket or something. That was mighty decent of her.

When I came to, I prepared for work. Showering was interesting. Putting pants on was interesting. The question of the day: Do I wear boxers or briefs today? Usually the question is arbitrary, but today it actually meant something. Do I want the extra support and extra pressure, or do I want more freedom and movement. Turns out, after a little trial and error, it didn’t even matter. It hurt like hell regardless.

It hurt to walk, ladies and gentlemen. And, in my job, I do a lot of walking around and a lot of lifting. Usually, I’ll listen to NPR in the morning to keep me relaxed, but even Terry Gross couldn’t help my balls. They hurt. I never told anyone, of course. How do you tell your boss and fellow co-workers that?

“Yeah, I think I’m going to punch out early. MY BALLS really hurt. Like, a lot. I feel like my left testicle is going to pop out of my scrotum. See you tomorrow!”

It’s not exactly poetry. Unless, maybe, I wrote it like this. Imagine there are bongos, berets, and fingers snapping. Perhaps a tambourine, too. Of course, like real poetry, this won’t rhyme, and will make little or no sense.

Oh, Sweet Pain Of Man

Left testicle
Oh, despair!
Explosion of a thousand suns
Brother Earth, Sister Moon
Testes of the solar system
Walk, walk!
Cry, cry!
BOXER rebellion
Mandatory DeBRIEFing
To leave the workplace
Whoa is me!
But my balls be hurtin'

I did leave work early. For you guys, imagine you’ve been kicked in the crotch. All day long. That’s what it felt like. For you girls, well, I don’t know what the female equivalent would be. Use your imagination.

It’s Sunday and I feel fine now. Still a little pain, but it’s tolerable. I think I pinched a nerve or something. That’s the only thing I can think of. But at least I was able to use this awesome poem I’d been saving for just such an occasion.

Sunday, November 20, 2005

White House: At Least We're Still Free Of Zombies

Under intense criticism for the mishandled war in Iraq, the Plame leak investigation, and the torture issue, the White House this week released a statement hoping to put things into perspective.

"Listen. Sure, someone in the administration may have ruined the career of a CIA agent. Sure, the Iraq did not go as planned. And [sigh], yes, we have been creatively avoiding the torture issue. But let's put this into perspective.

Here we are, in the 21st century. We have tiny, plastic contraptions which allow us to speak to other people with similar contraptions from anywhere in the world--given a clear enough signal--for a small monthly fee. We can create moving pictures--what the kids are calling "movies"--that entertain millions of people around the world. And, every day, thousands of cute babies are born in the United States. Thousands of adorable faces with thousands of squishy cheeks to squeeze. But these are just some of the things that continue to happen under the Bush adminstration.

Think of what has NOT been happening. Because of the work of this administration, we continue to live in a country free from zombies. Don't think we haven't had an agenda when it comes to protecting the American people from the living dead. Those fat cats in Washington--no, the other ones, we're the good fat cats--all want to talk about the Iraq war and how many soldiers have been killed. NOT BY ZOMBIES, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

This administration is not out to play God. We don't believe God is currently watching the US. Because he trusts this administration. We're his buddies. We have sort of a deal with him. We play to his Earthly constituents as much as possible, and he lengthens the life of Cheney's heart.

Perspective. That's what this country needs. Just a little perspective. Sure, this administration has not had a great record in... well, nearly any issue you can think of, but it's the issues you haven't been thinking of where this administration really shines. These are things which have not been allowed to happen under this administration.

  • Zombies
  • Unicorn homicides
  • Monkey suicides
  • Boats falling off the Earth
  • Children starting child supremacist groups
  • Galactic bounty hunters
  • Earth-destroying asteroids
  • Aliens invading like in Independence Day
  • Machines using humans like batteries like in The Matrix
  • A sequel to The Breakfast Club, set around that douche bag Principal character
  • A group of teenaged turtles mutated by an unknown ooze substance in NYC
  • Groups of teenaged turtles already mutated in other cities being exposed to Ninjitsu
  • Animals gaining the ability to speak
  • Animals gaining the ability to willingly shoot thier masters
  • Animals gaining the ability to explain to their masters why they're willingly shooting them

You see? The Bush administration is on the case. We're looking out for you. You're just not paying attention to the real issues. God bless you all. And God bless America. And God bless God, while we're at it."

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

The Office

I've finally just recently seen every episode of The Office; the British version, I mean. I like the American version, too. Steve Carrell is a brilliant comedic actor.

But the British version succeeds in a few ways that the US version does not. For one, the British version is more subtle with the humor (though it can also be outlandish at times), as opposed to the US version which tries almost too hard. And two, the British version somehow includes dramatic story arcs that actually tug at the heart strings.

It's an incredible dichotomy. One moment, you're laughing at the genius of Ricky Gervais (I can't stress genius enough, but I'll try with help of font size and CTRL+B), and the next moment, you find yourself almost choked up when he, somewhat teary-eyed, begs his bosses not to let him go after he's been asked to leave his position. It's honestly tough to watch. And I can't think of another show that is so laugh-out-loud funny but also legitimately sad at times.

Sure, there are those comedy shows that try to get dramatic or try to include a moment of poignancy. But they usually do it with the subtlety of a Full House episode.

"Michelle, you have to go to school," says Danny Tanner, outside of a kindergarten classroom. "It's okay to be nervous, but everyone has to do it at some point."

"Yeah, but everyone else... has a mommy, too," she says, with big puppy dog eyes and a lower lip that couldn't possibly stick out any further.


No show pulls it off like The Office.

And not only can it make you laugh and make you cry, (Heh-heh, not that I was crying—listen I'm a big, strong man—I may have gotten choked up but that was it—I never actually cried—I'm not a girl, okay—stop thinking I'm a girl—I'm a big manly man with hair—and arms and fists—that cut down trees—I don't have time to cry—lots of trees that need to be cut down with these guns) but it can also make you think.

This is something that one of the characters said, and it made so much sense to me that I wrote it down right away. So, I'll leave you with it.

"It's better to be at the bottom of a ladder you want to climb than halfway up one you don't."

Monday, November 14, 2005

Away Message Hilarity

Since I recently wiped my hard drive clean, I have unfortunately lost a treasure trove of Instant Messenger away messages which I had been creating and collecting for quite a while. Some of them were inspired by particular situations. Some were thought up simply at the moment I was leaving the computer to do something more productive. They were really great. And you'll see none of them. Because they're gone.

But eventually I reinstalled AIM and needed some catchy new away messages which I could use to entertain my friends while I was ignoring them and pretending to be away. So, here are the first few.

"Away messages are the new black. No, the new black. That's the old black. Yes, newer than that one. And that one, too. Do you even know what black is?"

"All my classic away messages are gone, so I need to get you some new ones.
Not right now. I'm away, thinking of them."

"I once killed a man with my bear hands. No, you read correctly. Three years ago I had the severed paws of a grizzly bear surgically grafted onto my own arms. I have grizzly bear hands."

"Some people think that just because I killed a man with my bare hands, it suddenly makes me a "killer" (air quotes). This away message has no need for your pussy, liberal, politically correct voodoo. Go find a tree to hug, Person-who-enjoys-the-sweet-embrace-of-trees."

"If away messages were people, then this single away message would count as a single person. See how that works? Then, also, I would eat this away message. As I am a cannibal."

"How many away messages does it take to screw in a light bulb? Well, away messages can't screw in light bulbs. Otherwise this one would be screwing in the light bulb in my room and not declaring my absence from the computer, while I change and screw in the light bulb myself. Use your head."

Feel free to comment with your own great away messages. Of course, "great" is a subjective term and I wouldn't expect them to be as "great" as mine. If you can make them as "great," then I think that you are just "great." Of course, I'll want to punch you right in the "great," then beat the living "great" out of you. It'll be great. Objectively great.

Friday, November 11, 2005

Oh, Girls

I went out with my friends tonight. I'm going out again tomorrow night to see a friend I've haven't hung out with in years, so tonight was very light. I had very little to drink (which is close to normal for me).

But I saw this girl. I didn't know her. She was cute, though. And I kept sort of glancing over in her direction. And she glanced back in my direction. But it wasn't a "who is this freak glancing in my direction" look. It was more of a "yeah, I'm here, what are you going to do about it?" look. The thing is, I didn't do anything about it. And when my friends and I left, I looked at her once more, and she was already sort of looking in my direction. As we walked out I kept saying I should go back in. But I never did. And I regret it, but I'm not beating myself up for it.

About an hour later, I got a call from a friend who stayed at that bar. He was yelling and crying, saying that it was pretty lucky I didn't come back. That girl I was eyeing turned out to be a cannibal. WHEW! Am I right?

"Like right after you left she just started taking bites out of everyone!" he said. "And her vampire friend locked the entrance and no one could get out. They went on a feasting frenzy. It's going to be pretty funny to see who wakes up a vampire and who... doesn't wake up at all. I think I'm a vampire, dude. Which reminds me--and this is a completely random question--you wash your neck up pretty good, right? I remember I was at your house once and I saw some quality loofas in your bathroom. Very nice... yeah, gimme a call tomorrow night. For sure."


Heh, no, I'm just kidding. He's not my friend.

I wish I could go into my girl problems, but I just wouldn't feel comfortable. Especially since this blog is potentially read by... well, let's just say, someone I still care a lot about. As far as girls go, it's been sort of a weird year. Not cannibal or vampire weird.

Sometimes I wish I could meet a cannibal or vampire girl. At least, with them, there's really no secrets. I mean, the biggest one ("Andy, I'm a vampire." or "Andy, I'm a cannibal.") has pretty much been revealed. Right? There's not a lot of mystery. No games. No guessing. No toying. Just you and cannibal girl/vampire girl.

Think about it. If they turn out to be the love of your life, you can either spend eternity with them as an immortal, or spend eternity with them in thier stomach. And, if it's not meant to be... well, that situation will work itself out, too.

Monday, November 07, 2005

I Saw A Guy 'Too Cool For This School' Today

Today at work, as I ate lunch in the café, a few gentlemen came in. Two younger guys and an older man, probably the father of the two. They seemed normal enough. Except for one of the younger guys. He was wearing sunglasses when he came in the doors. Still wearing them when he sits down and orders. Still wearing them when he begins eating.

It really bothered me. Maybe he was blind, though. Well, no, he was reading a menu. And as he sat and chewed his food — mouth open; as he spoke loudly using many expletives; as he looked at the bill and counted his roll of twenty dollar bills, licking his finger between every note (sunglasses still on), it occurred to me. He’s not blind at all. He’s just an asshole.

  • Sunglasses indoors
  • Spoke loudly
  • Ate obnoxiously
  • Sunglasses indoors
  • Blatantly displaying his money to the public
  • Sunglasses indoors

Or maybe he was just a really cool guy. I know that even I sometimes become so cool that I lose track of common sense and decency, like you wouldn’t believe. Like the time I went grocery shopping and I was in front of this woman in the checkout line, and when she put her stuff down on the conveyer belt, I totally didn’t even bother with the divider.

To hell with you, lady shopping at the grocery store behind me. You see this? I don’t even care if our groceries get mixed. Maybe I’ll pay for some of yours. Maybe you’ll pay for some of mine. The truth is, our goods could potentially mix in a flurry of grocery sex-capades and because of my lack of decency — on account of me being cooler than you — I don’t give a shit.

I never said any of that. And it turns out that she actually was blind, so the divider didn’t really matter anyway, I suppose. But her seeing-eye dog sensed my don’t-give-a-shit attitude. No doubt.

But I guess what would have been cooler than that guy...

  • counting his money
  • wearing sunglasses indoors
  • with a complete lack of consideration for everyone around him

...would have been that guy...

  • counting his money
  • wearing sunglasses indoors
  • with a complete lack of consideration for everyone around him
  • with a bomb underneath his seat
  • with a cable attached to the bomb
  • with a detonation trigger attached to the cable
  • with my hand somehow attached to the detonation trigger

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I know what you’re thinking. Why is the head so small? Well, truthfully, the blog only allows for so much room for pictures, and this was as reasonably large as I could get it without seeming, you know, ridiculous.

Also, his sunglasses could have been heart-shaped or star-shaped. He was that cool.

Friday, November 04, 2005



A new AP-Ipsos poll found the president's approval rating was at 37 percent, compared with 39 percent a month ago. About 59 percent of those surveyed said they disapproved.

Ouch. Fucking A, I just knocked my elbow on the corner of my goddamned desk. Ugh, god, I hate this feeling. Where the pain vibrates along the length of the bones in your forearm. Son of a bi—

The intensity of disapproval is the strongest to date, with 42 percent now saying they "strongly disapprove" of how Bush is handling his job — twice as many as the 20 percent who said they "strongly approve.

Like, I’m laughing now, because the pain is so freaking awful. Why am I giggling? This really effing hurts. Okay, shake it off, shake it off.

It’s not working. Damn you, desk. You know, let’s not forget your origins, desk. Remember the hospital? And then that hospital closed up, and before they took the wrecking ball to the building they sold the furniture inside at insanely low prices?

And yours was the lowest of all, wasn’t it? That’s right. There you sat in a dark corner. No one was paying attention to you, were they, desk? No. They wanted the big, heavy duty, metal desks. You are just a simple, wood desk, with a slide-out keyboard tray. I mean, you—hold on…

In the AP-Ipsos poll, nearly one in five Republicans disapproved of Bush's handling of his job, compared with nearly nine in 10 Democrats. Nearly seven in 10 independents disapproved.

I mean, you don’t even have any shelves! You know, sometimes, I would kill to have shelves. Kill. I would take a human life if it meant I could store books somewhere within your innards, suspended above the ground.

You’re lucky I’m laughing to myself. You’re lucky this is the funny bone, however unfunny. You’re lucky this isn’t the… trash your… stupid desk… bone.

You heard me.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Politeness: Where Have You Gone?

I was in a Walgreens last night picking up a few things. As I perused the aisles, I passed a number of other people, who also happened to be perusing. Of course, if Johnny Cowboy Hat is looking at a shelf and deciding between Funyuns (Fun + Onions) and Fritos (Fr + Itos), and I pass between him and the delicious, salty snacks, then I say, “Excuse me,” or “I’m sorry.”

It’s a considerate thing to do. He can’t decide if he wants a night of Fun-soaked onions or a night of Fr-soaked itos. The last thing he needs is a break in concentration. It’s the brief distraction that I’m apologizing for.

I walked over a few aisles to candy shelves. Now I’m in a similar pickle. Do I go with the Baby Ruth or the Butterfinger? Gosh, I mean, Butterfinger reminds me of The Simpsons, and that makes me laugh. Then again, Baby Ruth reminds me of a turd, and that makes me laugh, too. Not because I would ever eat a turd. Society views the eating of one’s own waste as ill-mannered. Unbecoming. Uncivilized. Fucking gross.

Anyway, moving on…

Johnny Cowboy Hat had also wandered over to the candy aisle. As he came quite quickly down the aisle, I anticipated our interaction and moved closer to the shelf I was currently looking at. This way, he could walk behind me, and there would be no need for apologies, pleasantries, and the like.

He walks in front of me. Between myself and the Butterfinger and Baby Ruth I’m pickling over. Okay, no big deal. It happens. Maybe I wasn’t over far enough. I never really gave him the “guiding look.”

When two people are walking closely around each other within a confined space, to avoid any embarrassing or awkward interactions, it is sometimes necessary to give that person a look that says, “Here, friend, walk this way, the way that which I have selflessly set out for you.” This look usually includes a grimace or subtle grin and a raising of the eyebrows. It’s as if you’re saying, “Yes, though we each have our own lives outside of this store/establishment/shopping experience, I am still recognizing your existence on this planet for the short time that we may potentially interact.”

I let it roll off my back, and waited for the polite, “Excuse me,” or “I’m sorry.” But there was nothing. Johnny Cowboy Hat merely walked through, breaking my concentration willy-nilly, and didn’t consider my existence on this planet at all. What a fucker.

I was so insulted that I completely forgot which candy I was debating to buy. But before I could do anything, he was gone, probably moving on to a different aisle and out of my life forever. Maybe he was back to Funyuns and Fritos. Or maybe he’d moved on to the “As Seen On TV” section.

It just really bothered me the whole night. And all day today. Where have politeness and consideration to strangers gone, folks? Do people think of anyone other than themselves anymore?

I mean, even the one time a week when I go out to hunt and kill a hobo, I always give them a head start. At least thirty seconds. Sometimes a minute. Those hobos usually have respiratory problems, so a minute is sometimes necessary.

But not just necessary. Considerate. Polite.