THE HANGING STRANGER

This Post Is Embarrassingly Small... And World-Changing!

2006-02-27T01:34:00.000-08:00

I keep seeing commercials for Puzz 3D. These are puzzles which defy the laws of traditional puzzle-dom by building away from the center of the earth into three dimensions, shattering the outdated view that had puzzles existing only within two painfully constricting dimensions.

But I have exciting news in the world of puzzles! I'm now in development with a puzzle firm to take us into the next generation of puzzles...

4 DIMENSIONAL PUZZLES!

That's right. Not only will you be assembling your puzzle along 3 axes, but you will also travel forward through time as you do it. Minutes will whiz by you in one dimension while you solve the puzzle in the remaining three.

As we all know, up until this point, the flow of time ceased when construction of a puzzle began, to maintain the 3 dimension standard. Something in the theory of quantum time manifold has been keeping us from exploring the last great puzzle frontier. But no longer! My long research and studying has finally paid off!

Welcome to the future!

An Uplifting Story

2006-02-22T14:51:00.000-08:00

This blog is about tearing down. Gutting. Destroying. Demolishing. Cutting open the belly of my everyday life to watch the innards slop onto the ground, blood-soaked and bile-ridden, with a stench befitting a hobo's back-up urine/belly lint collection jar.

But today, I thought I'd build up, rather than take down. To raise, rather than raze.

This story is about a highschool basketball player who finally got to play in his first varsity basketball game. He scored 20 points in four minutes. AND, he's autistic. Pretty impressive. Watch the video. It's kind of powerful.

http://www.wroctv.com/news/story.asp?id=21810&r=l

What Planet Do We Live On?

2006-02-17T16:20:00.000-08:00

Nine Dead.
Fifteen Dead.

I really don't like religion. At least in its organized form. But especially in its radical form. It doesn't seem to do much except cause death. Polarize the population. Make me feel guilty about masturbation. Masturbation that has nothing to do with altar boys. Except maybe for me being dressed as an altar boy.

...

Anyway, this whole issue boggles the mind. People are being killed -- KILLED -- because someone in another country drew a caricature of a religious figure. A few lines on a piece of paper.

No one seems angered over the fact that Garfield is still being printed. "HAHA, Garfield sure does love sleep! Genius!" No, not genius. Awful. And Ziggy has never been funny. Marmaduke? Funky Winkerbean? Ridiculous.

What I'm saying is, let's be angry and kill people for the right cartoons. Jim Davis and whoever it is that draws the rest of that crap. Religious cartoons are a flash in the pan. But Garfield will seemingly... *sigh*... go on forever.

...

No, I'm kidding. We shouldn't kill people over cartoons at all.

...

Except Garfield. That's really exceptionally awful.

Cheney's Bloodlust Knows No Bounds

2006-02-12T14:27:00.000-08:00

Cheney wants us all dead. And he's doing the job one human being at a time. This is made more evident by the most recent Cheney news which report that the Vice President shot his hunting partner. "Accidentally."

Cheney Accidentally Shoots Fellow Hunter

This obviously isn't the first time Cheney has been in the news. Here's a few other headlines that come from a simple search.

Cheney Authorized Aide To Leak In CIA Case
Libby Claims Cheney Approved Classified Media Leaks
Cheney Accidentally Shoots Hunting Companion
Iraqi WMD Will Be Found: Cheney
Cheney Rejects Gay Marriage Ban
Cheney's Halliburton Ties Remain
Irked Cheney Gives Leahy An 'F'

Now, some will say that none of these news stories says anything substantial or damning about the Vice President. Maybe. But what happens when I switch a few words around, perhaps combine a few headlines?

THIS JUST IN!

"Cheney Authorized, Shoots Fellow Hunter"
"Libby Claims Cheney Gay"
"Cheney: 'Companion For Gay Marriage Will Be Found'"
"Libby/Cheney's Gay Marriage Will Be Approved"
"Cheney, Gay Companion To 'F'"
"Cheney Accidentally Shoots Cheney"
"Cheney Shoots Aide, Libby, Companion, Iraqi"

The Whole Muslim Cartoon Issue

2006-02-07T13:41:00.000-08:00

I've been following pretty closely the controversy over some European newspapers printing an offensive cartoon involving the prophet Mohammad. The outrage in the Muslim world has turned deadly now as four people have been killed during protests in Afghanistan. Buildings have been set ablaze, and protests in general have been getting, more increasingly, out of control.

While I sympathize with the angered Muslim world, I cannot help but question their reaction. Now, obviously, the Muslim people do not act as a single entity; there are millions of Muslims around the world, each with his or her own individuality. You can't make broad-sweeping generalizations about a group of people based on one member. However, to those members of the Muslim community who are protesting violently and setting things on fire, I will say this:

STOP ACTING LIKE THE WORLD'S
IGNORANT, STEREOTYPICAL VIEW OF YOU!

It's bizarre to me. It's difficult to really describe my feelings on the matter. Except maybe through interpretive dance. But since you can't see me, and this isn't a video blog, I'll just draw it out.

Neo-Nazi Robida Dead At Age Who Gives A Shit

2006-02-07T13:37:00.000-08:00

http://www.theherald.co.uk/news/55618.html

Oh, Neo Nazis...

2006-02-03T17:00:00.000-08:00

Recently, a teenaged Neo-Nazi named Jacob Robida (aka DOUCHE) entered a Massachusetts gay bar, shooting two people and using a hatchet on a third. I don't like Neo-Nazis. In fact, you might even say I hate them.

But I want to understand them. I want to understand their motivation for believing and doing the things they believe and do. What's the reason for a Neo-Nazi to enter a gay bar? Oh, it just hit me.

This kid is totally gay!

Dude! You totally went into that gay bar! You're totally gay now! Yes you are! You didn't know that?? That's how it works! Haha, I can't believe you did that! You're so totally stupid! And now you're so totally gay! I'll bet you made out with guys, too...

Oh my god, you did!! No, that's not like a handshake to them! Oh my god, you totally made out with a bunch of dudes! You're like one big ball of gayness now! Soon you'll be calling everything fabulous and stuff. You're just thinking about feeling up big muscle-bound guys right now, aren't you?! You totally are! I mean, come on, look at your picture...

Oh my god! You are totally gay!

...

Okay. That's enough. I don't want to make light of a very serious issue. But, since I don't condone violence of nearly any kind -- except, of course, against this guy -- the only way I know how to react to bad people is by making fun of them. And calling a Neo-Nazi who hates gays "gay" seems like a good way to get my frustration out.

Seriously, though, look at that photo again. That's the gayest kid I've ever seen! Talk about Gaylord McGayerton! Welcome to Gaytown, USA! Population: gay Neo-Nazi kid! Gaaaaaaaaaay!

EXCLUSIVE SPECIAL UPDATE
Thanks to an anonymous source, this photo of
the Neo-Nazi Jacob Rabida has just surfaced.
Compelling evidence, to say the least.

More as it develops.

4x9

2006-02-02T18:00:00.000-08:00

Shan emailed me, tagging me with this new 4X9 trend. Nine questions involving four answers for each question that's suppose to reveal a bit about your personality. I wrote Shan and told her to shove her 4X9!

But I deleted that text.

But then I told her to get off her high horse and stick it where the sun don't shine. She thinks SHE can email me and just tag me with these new internet games?? Eff you, I said in my email! Eff you, Shan!

I deleted that, too.

Here's the thing about me: I like to avoid conflict at all costs. So what I was eventually comfortable enough to press SEND with was something like...

HEY!!

Awesome, gurrrrrrlfriend! I luv these net games LOLOLOL!!!! I can't believe I haven't seen this 1 before!!!! ROFL!!! Check my blog in a day or so to see the final resultssss!!! XXOO!!!

Andy outeee!

It doesn't have the force of the previously unsent messages, but I think she got the idea. Heh, anyway, here is my 4X9. Thanks for the tag, Shannon.

ANDY'S 4X9

Four Jobs I've Had In My Life

Maintenance Boy

Shipping & Receiving

Musician

Job-Lister*

Four Films I Can Watch Over And Over

Blade Runner

Office Space

MST3K's Mitchell

Glengarry Glen Ross

Four Places I Have Lived

Kenosha, WI

New York, NY

Imagination, USA

Homicidal Psychosis, USA (oh, I kid**)

Four TV Programs I Love To Watch

The Daily Show

The Colbert Report

Smallville

NOVA

Four Places I Would Have Visited, Had I Had The Money

Los Angeles, CA

Toronto, Canada

Tokyo, Japan

Australia

Four Websites I Visit Daily

Overclocked Remix

Yahoo News

NPR

My Space

Four Of My Favorite Foods

Cheeseburgers & Fries

Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookies (warm-baked with alliteration)

Pizza (never met one I didn't like)

Donuts

Four Places I Would Rather Be

New York City

Near new girlfriend***

Soundproof room w/ drumkit

Secluded cabin full of books

Four Bloggers I Am Tagging (in no particular order)

Becky of Jello Universe

Jon of Shuck N Jive

Glo of Magnificent Obsession

Geek Darling

If any of these bloggers have already done the 4X9, I apologize, and will now participate in a ritual suicide for my error.

Well, that's it. I hope this entertained you as much as it did the tiny, tiny Yoda figure sitting left of my computer. NO, TINY YODA FIGURE, NOT THE POWER COR---

* Get it? See what I did there?
** This should read "kill"
*** As soon as I let her know she's my girlfriend... oh, I kid... or is it kill? Hmm...

MC JC Update

2006-01-29T00:46:00.000-08:00

I wouldn't normally post about this. I've gotten on Gawker before. See, I'm kind of a big deal. People know me. I'm the Ron Burgundy of the blog world. If you don't get that analogy, then shame on you, friend. Shame on you.

Anyway, enough malarky, check it out.

MC JC

2006-01-24T14:12:00.000-08:00

Kanye West is appearing on the cover of the latest Rolling Stone, posing as Jesus. There’s probably going to be a bit of a “controversy” over this, but I just don’t see the big deal. Superstars like West know how to get attention, and the public as a whole completely falls for the sham every time some celebrity does something “scandalous” (often at a time in their career where they have to in order for someone to care about them again—though, that's not so much the case for West).

So, Kanye thinks he is a Christ figure. Who cares? He’ll go the way of the dodo just like every other star who thought they were hot-shit-enough to liken themselves to a king, queen, prince, god, deity, etc.

Besides, Kanye may be copying Christ, but his Rolling Stone cover won’t be at all as good as the Rolling Stone cover Jesus did.

Science News

2006-01-17T21:33:00.000-08:00

I've always loved science. It fascinates me. I'm constantly reading and staying up-to-date on the recent discoveries. So, join me as I look at the latest in the world of science.

SCIENTISTS DISCOVER MOST FERTILE IRISH MALE

This is important news. I am Irish. Ipso facto, I may be a descendent of this Niall of the Nine Hostages, a 5th century warlord who was head of the most powerful dynasty in ancient Ireland. Ipso facto, I am an awesome stack of baby-making goodness. Get in line, ladies.

STARDUST SPACE CAPSULE ARRIVES IN HOUSTON

The capsule has been traveling the solar system for seven years. It's been collecting bits of comet debris which scientists hope will help unlock secrets about the formation of our solar system. What will they find when they open the capsule?

I think we know.

FOSSIL FIND SPARKS NEW INTEREST IN DODO

What's even more amazing than the discovery of this dodo mass grave is the mysterious dodo mass suicide note found nearby. Creepy.

ENDANGERED WHALES SIGHTED OFF TEXAS COAST

Get 'em!

SCIENTISTS WARN OF BABIES' SOFA DEATHS

People, people. Don't sit or sleep on these sofas until they've grown to full sofa size. Baby sofas can't handle your adult weight. Baby sofas shouldn't even be sold until they reach a certain size, I think. Someone should really make a law.

...

It's come to this, folks. I'm making jokes about baby deaths. Right now there's a foul stench in your nostrils. That's the absence of this blog's soul. And where that soul once resided is now piles of poo. Baby poo.

Martin Luther King Day

2006-01-16T15:02:00.000-08:00

Today is the day in which we celebrate one of the greatest men in the history of America. He should, in my mind, be held up to the same status of American-hero-greatness as George Washington. If not a higher status. And I think he is, largely. However, I don't want Martin Luther King Jr. to ever become as mythical as, say, a George Washington.

For modern citizens of the U.S., George Washington may as well be a Roman god of some kind. We've made him and people like him almost demigods. Humans who are viewed as larger than life. Even though, realistically, we could all do things as great as a George Washington-type figure, in the ideological sense, we never can. You might say we've over hyped him. The idea of George Washington is so much bigger than the man himself could have been.

But I hope that Martin Luther King Jr. never becomes that. Because the beauty of Martin Luther King's message is that we can all make a difference. We don't have to be larger than life. I can be just like him. You can be just like him.

I think it's dangerous for great men to be given a status which is unattainable by the average man. Because if we can never become like them, why should they be idolized at all?

Here is a quote I heard recently. It is officially my favorite quote of the year.

"It is a cruel jest to say to a bootless man to pick himself up by his own bootstraps."

- Martin Luther King Jr.

Alito Supreme

2006-01-10T15:03:00.000-08:00

This week the Senate Judicial Committee is holding hearings concerning Supreme Court nominee Samuel Alito. I've been listening pretty regularly. The man seems very well spoken, and I'm sure he's a decent guy.

But during his response to a question on the application of foreign law in regards to our own constitution, Alito talked about human rights, probably alluding to the torture issue or our treatment of enemy combatants. Now, I'm paraphrasing, but he said something to the effect of...

"The U.S. has led the world on human rights. When the Bill of Rights was written, there were really no other countries in the world who protected human rights the way we did."

True dat, Samuel Alito. True dat. The U.S. was like that older sibling who sets the younger siblings straight on the important things in life. Like freedom and democracy and liberty and more freedom. We were the global big brother.

Who owned slaves.

Yeah, those were humans we didn't really give proper rights to. But according to our constitution, they weren't actually considered whole people at the time. So, no harm done, bro-ham!

And the Native Americans, too.

But, heh, what are they going to do, give us back our old, disease-filled blankets? Nice try, Native Americans. We're not falling for it.

Me Finishing An Overheard Conversation 2

2006-01-04T17:52:00.000-08:00

Original Conversation in BLACK
Me Finishing the Original Conversation in RED

Woman 1
Well, I don't trust this internet
thing. You don't know who's out
there or what they want to do.

Woman 2
True.

Woman 1
I mean, you don't know if they are
who they say they are. How would
you find out? I mean, imagine if
you're talking to someone or doing
business with someone and they
turn out to be some swindler trying
to get your money. Awful.

Woman 2
(takes off woman mask)

Man 1
(formerly Woman 2)
Yeah, imagine that. Heh-heh.

Woman 1
Gah!

Blog Linking Update Explosion!

2006-01-03T22:08:00.000-08:00

Okay, it's not really that "explosive," but I was finally able to update the list for The Blogs. These were just blogs that I've had my eye on. They're all good, and they're listed in no particular order, except maybe the order in which I found them... which incidently is from best blog to worst blog! So, I start out having a great time reading and by the end of the list... well, I just want to kill myself, or at least gouge my eyes out!

No, no, no. I kid. Me gouging my eyes out isn't related to any of the blogs. Aren't I a really good typist though? I am typing whilst I have no eyes! Blood is dripping onto the keyboard! But here I am, typing away! Without a single error! See? Good, because I don't! No eyes, remember?

...

Anyway, they're in no particular order. So, for now, go check out those fine blogs while I think of something to post.

Christmas

2005-12-26T14:27:00.000-08:00

Oh, what a time of year!

Christmas came so quickly this year, and it left even quicker. It doesn't really mean as much to me anymore. Not because I can buy my own things now, and don't need to rely on the 25th of December to complete my Justice League action figure collection.* But because it becomes more and more clear every year that Christmas isn't about any type of togetherness. Maybe it is on an individual family basis. But on the whole -- and I know this is always said, and it's cliche at this point -- it's about giving and getting more stuff.

Today at Andrea's, it was Hell. Yes, I understand that this is when every store has major sales, but could we maybe pretend that we're human beings, and not simply buyers of stuff. It got so bad, a customer killed another customer over a tiny Santa ornament. And they did it WITH a tiny Santa ornament!

Sure, I was impressed for a second. Killing someone with an ornament is not easy, believe you me. But is that what Christmas has come to? Or, rather, if this is how it has always been, can we finally admit that and stop pretending it's about togetherness?

Maybe one of the best parts of Christmas for me is when some network decides to show the film A Christmas Story for 24 straight hours. This is fantastic, and, this year, my hat** goes off to TBS. Not many channels have the guts to show one movie nonstop for a full day. I respect that.

If you've never seen A Christmas Story, then I'm not sure I can quite consider you a whole person. It, in my mind, is the greatest Christmas movie ever made. Hands down. You always get those who want to say It's A Wonderful Life. I don't trust those people. That film is a bit sappy for my taste. See it once, then move on to something better. Like, for example, A Christmas Story. The greatest Christmas movie ever made. By humans.***

I have a number of favorite quotes and scenes in A Christmas Story, obviously, as you would expect from the greatest Christmas movie ever made. Here are a few.

"Aunt Clara had for years not only perpetually labored under the delusion that I was 4 years old, but also a girl."

"Only one thing in the world could've dragged me away from the soft glow of electric sex gleaming in the window."

"My father worked in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay. It was his true medium, a master."

Truly, the greatest Christmas movie ever made. The reason is fairly simple. This IS the reality of Christmas in America. Especially in the midwest. Even though it is set a few years back, it's as relevent as ever. The look, the feel, the people; everything in this movie screams Christmas. REAL Christmas.

Besides that, it's just a damn entertaining movie. Maybe one of a few that you could actually watch for 24 straight hours and not end up hating.

If you haven't, see this movie. If you have, see it again. If you've already seen it again, gather together costumes and props and recreate the film in your basement. Like I did.

*Which I don't own and am not trying to collect...
**Were I wearing a hat.
***Humans, for the most part, will continue to dominate filmmaking for some time.

Apparently, Continuity And Structural Integrity Mean Nothing To The Producers Of Friends

2005-12-16T17:29:00.000-08:00

I've become a fan of the show Friends. It’s taken me a lot of years to muster up the courage to say that. But every time I watch it, I seem to crack up. A girl I work with is a bigger fan of it than I am, and she owns most of the seasons on DVD. I borrowed them and burned them. But not before copying them. No, no, no. I kid. When I say “burn,” I really mean “copy.” It’s how the young people talk these days.

I didn’t just mooch off of her though. No, I believe in a fair trade. So I burned a few movies for her in return. The Best of Will Ferrell I & II. Swingers. Office Space. Anyway...

Recently, while watching episodes here and there, picking and choosing from one season or another, I made a startling discovery. Carefully examine these screenshots I took straight from the DVD’s. This is season 1, episode 2 (after the Pilot), The One With The Sonogram At The End.

Everything seems to be in order. Now, let’s skip ahead to season 3, episode 1, The One With The Princess Leia Fantasy. Here is a screenshot from that episode.

Notice anything? Anything missing? That’s right, the support beam.

Now, judging from the perspective, the angle, the depth, I've determined the approximate location of the support beam in question had it still existed during Season 3.

Now, heh-heh, are we to believe that the structural integrity of the apartment was such that support beams could be taken away willy-nilly without consequence?

Do you remember that episode called The One Where The Apartment Ceiling Collapsed? Yeah, me neither. Hmm, funny.

Sorry, Producers of Friends, but I’m just not able to suspend disbelief to such an extent.

Things I Thought About Today

2005-12-12T17:08:00.000-08:00

I think about a lot of things over the course of a single day. Sometimes, in the middle of a thought, I stop and say, "How on Earth did I get here? To this particular thought?" I then backtrack in thought, retrace my steps, if you will, to discover where I started.

For instance, this morning I was thinking about a chocolate chip cookie I was eating, and how I like them chewy and not rock solid. I wondered if eating lots of chocolate chip cookie dough and other unhealthy foods would someday lead me to become stricken with diabetes. That made me think of B.B. King, who has diabetes, and does commercials all about how he tests his blood sugar a few times a day. That made me think that there are probably some people out there who would be too lazy to even check their blood sugar regularly. And then they'd probably die from the lack of responsibility. Then I figured that that might not be such a bad thing. There would be a few less lazy people around.

Finally, I had a reason to shoot a group of people off to the moon, which I had wanted to fit into my thought process for some time. I didn't want to shoot people with diabetes off to the moon. Just lazy people. Some of whom just might happened to have diabetes. It made me think what it would be like on the moon. And if I was an astronaut, what kinds of jokes would I play on Mission Control back in Houston.

ASTRONAUT ANDY to MISSION CONTROL

"Oh my god. Mission Control, you're not going to believe this. But... I think I see something... ALIVE up here. This is unbelievable. This could change science as we know it. It appears to be moving. It's a lengthy creature. Where is it, you ask? Why...

...it's right here in my pants! HAHA! Wow, you should have seen the look on your stupid faces! You guys were all totally ready to change science as we know it with my boner! Nerds! Hilarious! Come on, Buzz, let's go get some moon rocks."

And then I backtrack, saying, "What was I thinking about again? BACKTRACK. Oh yeah, this chocolate chip cookie is chewy! And alliterated, as well."

There were two main things I thought about today.

1. The Congo.
I was listening to the radio. Did you know that about half of The Congo is completely lawless and cut off from the outside world? That means that anything could happen there. You could DO anything there. And anyone could do anything to you! I don't think we can quite grasp the idea, since we are so used to rules and order.

I feel like any and all fights that take place in a lawless region probably turn out to be sissy fights. There are no rules, so everyone would inevitably just fight dirty, pulling hair and scratching. Since there would be no honor code and whatnot.

However, this leads me to believe that no one actually lives in this part of The Congo. No one ever goes there because they all heard from that one guy down the street that it's Hell on Earth. But that guy down the street heard it from another guy, who heard it from another guy. Etcetera. This leads me to my next thought.

The lawless portion of The Congo is probably filled with mythical beasts. If you were a unicorn (or rather the unicorn), would you hide in the US? Hell no, you'd go straight for The Congo, where humans don't dare travel, because it's so "scary." I'll tell you what you'd see. Unicorns, dwarves, goblins, dragons. They all live in the lawless region of The Congo. It makes sense.

2. Our Founding Fathers

There are so many people I've heard criticize the status of our society, largely for moral reasons. Moral decay, I believe is the phrase they would use. I hear them on radio stations all the time saying things to this end.

LISTENER
Can you imagine if the founding fathers
came back and saw what's happened to the
country?? They would literally re-die!

RADIO HOST
Okay, caller, but what about the
issue of today's show? Should we
allow school breakfast programs?

LISTENER
...
oh, well... I'd say I'm cool with it.
...
Go Packers!

Yeah, they would be slightly shocked by the vast amounts of easily accessible pornography. They'd be in absolute awe and amazement of inventions like the television. And hot pockets. Then, they would sit down in front of the television, eat hot pockets, and watch loads of pornography. Wait, "loads" is a bad word to use there. So, why do I continue typing, rather than going back and deleting? I don't know.

I Wonder If They Shovel Snow In Those Tiny, Decorative Christmas Villages

2005-12-08T21:18:00.000-08:00

I was just outside shoveling some snow. Living in Wisconsin, you can count on doing some shoveling now and then. Snow in the winter, and if you're anything like me, human heads in the summer. Those heads just pile up if you don't do something with them!

Christmas Villages, by their very definition, exist during Christmas, when it's cold and icy and snowy. Sure, they do have Christmas in the southern hemisphere where the month of December is warm and sunny. But, let's be honest, when has the southern hemisphere ever counted for anything? Heh-heh, think back. It never has. I checked.

There is a particular type of Christmas Village called Snow Village. It has SNOW right in the name. It also has NO, and SO, and NOW, and WON, and SON, and SOW. What does this mean? I think it's pretty clear. But I won't reveal it here. Too dangerous.

Anyway, so, obviously the Christmas Villages have snow. But who shovels? And is the snow Christmas Village size, or is it real world size? That would be really painful, I imagine. Giant snowflakes. They'd be like blocks of ice (beautiful blocks of ice, carved by God) falling on the village. The tiny, decorative village. The citizens of Tiny Decorative Village are likely suffering from chronic back problems. It's probably an epidemic. This is why they live in villages. Everyone is so snowed in, you can't drive anywhere. Every establishment needs to be within walking distance.

They've got to shovel. Are there tiny village doctors, though? And where did they get their medical degrees? I've never seen a Medical School piece sold in the collections at Andrea's. The credentials of these doctors is highly suspect. My god, it could be voodoo for all the villagers know. Tiny, tiny voodoo.

What they need in the Snow Village is a Medical Malpractice Board piece. That's what they need. Within walking distance, of course. I mean, it would do them no good if they had to drive three villages over to file a complaint with the Medical Malpractice Board. Not after all that snow. They'd clear it out, and then they'd wreck their backs, and then they'd go to the doctors who would only perform some twisted voodoo magic on them. Thus leading them to the Medical Malpractice Board collectible piece, three villages over.

I'll look into it. Rest easy. Andy's on the case.

Buying Something For Yourself?

2005-12-06T14:57:00.000-08:00

During the Christmas season at Andrea's, shipping is obviously a big part of the job. Customers always need things (they've purchased in the store) shipped to their friends and relatives across the country. It's nice that they're thinking of other people. So, in their packages, I write...

Happy Holidays from all your friends at Andrea's!

Still, there are some who continue to buy things for themselves. I'm not sure what their deal is, but it seems a little egocentric. Almost like they're Satan. I can hear them laughing in a deep, twisted, demonic voice as they order over the phone. MWA-HA-HA. It's creepy.

In the packages of these people, the ones who seem to think only of themselves, I write...

Continued selfishness this holiday season!

I wonder how uncomfortable they feel when it arrives and they read the note? Does Satan blush? How would you know?

Planted Iraqi Newspaper Stories

2005-12-01T18:26:00.000-08:00

Not sure if you've heard this. But apparently, the U.S. military has been writing articles which tout the positive aspects of the rebuilding effort in Iraq, and then paying Iraqi newspapers to run said articles. Through my sources in the goverment, I've been able to get a hold of a number of the headlines run in these Iraqi newspapers, and even an excerpt from one of the stories themselves.

Examples of Planted Iraqi Newspaper Stories

"Iraqi High Schoolers Vote America Most Likely To Succeed, Insurgents Least Likely"
"Local Man Thinks Freedom Is 'Pretty Awesome'"
"Most Iraqis View Insurgency As 'Lame'"
"'Smart Western Doctors: Propaganda Necessary For Healthy Diet"
"Occupiers Not So Bad Once You Get To Know Them"

Like I said, I also acquired an excerpt from one of the stories run.

A local Iraqi, when asked his thoughts on the American forces performing their God-given duty said, "I am happy that the U.S. is here. My house is not a pile of rubble, and my neighborhood is not a warzone. Our country has a bright future. Our peaceful regional history all but guarantees an Iraq composed of people of different ideologies working together in harmony, with no death at all."

The man then lept into the arms of a nearby G.I., giving him kiss after kiss. The two held hands and swung around while onlookers laughed joyously and applauded. The American flag licking the sky in the background, the crowd broke into 'America The Beautiful.' They then turned to face the terrorists who were loitering, up to no good, and smoking across the street, and began singing the Scorpions' timeless "Rock You Like A Hurricane."

I don't know. I mean, it's a little amateurish. But still, they got the terrorists right. They're always loitering. Smoking. Across some street. Punks.

Thanksgiving And My Balls

2005-11-27T19:07:00.000-08:00

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING STORY CONTAINS WORDS LIKE “SHOTS,” “PENIS,” “VAGINA,” and “TESTICLE.” OF COURSE, THIS IS NOT THE SHOTS/PENIS/VAGINA/TESTICLE STORY I WISH I HAD EXPERIENCED AND WAS NOW TELLING. DON’T PRETEND LIKE YOU DON’T FOLLOW. YOU WERE ALREADY THINKING ALONG THOSE LINES ANYWAY. PERV.

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.

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

2005-11-20T19:47:00.000-08:00

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."

The Office

2005-11-16T23:00:00.000-08:00

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.

AUDIENCE
AWWWWWWWWWWWW...

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."

Away Message Hilarity

2005-11-14T23:00:00.000-08:00

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.

Oh, Girls

2005-11-11T23:30:00.000-08:00

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.

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

2005-11-07T18:33:00.000-08:00

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

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.

Bush Approval Rating At New Low — I JUST BASHED MY ELBOW ON THE CORNER OF MY DESK

2005-11-04T18:44:00.000-08:00

[source]

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.

Politeness: Where Have You Gone?

2005-11-02T16:09:00.000-08:00

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.”

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.

The Body

2005-10-30T19:29:00.000-08:00

It was after my first year of college when I became serious about exercise. Maybe it was the freshman fifteen. Er, twenty. Whatever. But I remember I was sitting in my room and feeling out of shape. I weighed around 190lbs., at the most. So, I got up and I put on some shoes and went outside and started running. Then I started going to the gym. And three years later, I'm still doing it.

Right now, I'm at 160lbs. I was talking with a friend about it recently. It made me wonder why I was doing it. Was it to be healthy? To impress girls? Both of those are probably logical answers. But I don't think they're the reasons I do it.

You may be aware that I have a slight superhero fascination. And that, one day, I hope to be one. And I think when the time comes, and I am suddenly bombarded with large amounts of gamma radiation, or struck by lightning after mistakenly drinking some mysterious beaker of fluid, or bitten by some cursed animal who's bitten me on the exact night when biting will transfer mystical powers to me, I will have the physique all ready to go. I'm in good shape right now. Almost good enough for a superhero occupation.

So, that's the reason. I work out because, when I am somehow given supernatural powers, I will already look like a superhero. It makes sense. It's solid logic. Don't poop on it.

One thing that has always amused me though is guys shaving their bodies. I don't understand it, and, as far ahead as I can predict, I won't ever be doing it. I will not be shaving my chest. It makes me laugh.

Why? That’s my question. I suppose some women like a hairless guy, probably in the same way that some people prefer hairless dogs or cats. But think about the reaction you have when you see a hairless dog or cat. Like, Gah! Or Oh, sweet Jesus! Or Oh, beard of Zeus!

That’s the reaction I have when I see guys who shave their bodies. Women, do you think they just wake up like that? They don’t. And somewhere in the world there’s a drain that isn’t working up to its full potential. I’m not sure what is more disturbing to me. That these guys have no hair, intentionally, or that at some point during the course of a day, they step into the bathroom, lather themselves from neck to ankle and say, “Okay, let’s shave this body.” Bizarre.

Now, is it a double standard that women are considered less attractive for having more body hair? Yeah, it is. But like Seinfeld’s Elaine points out, the female form is a work of art, and the male body is just for getting around. Like a Jeep. When males walk around believing that their body is a work of art, they have issues. Deep issues. These issues won’t be reached by a Schick Quattro. Not by the first blade. Not by the second. Not by the third. And, no, not even by blade quattro.

I have more of a Wolverine body, or an Indiana Jones body.

You won't find body shaving gel anywhere in Dr. Jones' bathroom, that much is certain. And if you do, you should also check his bed, because I’m sure you’ll find the actual owner of said body shaving gel. The smooth, sexy, female archeologist owner.

Indiana Jones is the archetype I guess I aim for. He's the kind of man who will read you a paper concerning the proper excavation techniques of ancient Egyptian burial sites, and then stuff the paper down your throat before kicking the shit out of you. Possibly with some long-lost ancient Egyptian artifact. Which he excavated himself. Using the proper techniques and guidelines. All while fighting a group of no less than thirty Nazi soldiers.

Wow. I really am a lot like Indiana Jones.

Me Finishing An Overheard Conversation

2005-10-27T17:04:00.000-07:00

Original Conversation in BLACK
Me Finishing the Original Conversation in RED

Woman 1

I gotta go to this funeral tonight.

Woman 2
Aw.

Woman 1
37 year old guy.

Woman 2
He died?

Woman 1
What, no, I just felt like saying the
words "37 year old guy" for no
reason at all. Actually the funeral
is for me. I died. Right, 37 year
old guy's corpse?

37 Year Old Guy's Corpse
That's right!

You Know What's Awesome?

2005-10-26T14:40:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted in a bit, but you know what's really awesome? When your computer is infected with a virus. And then when you boot your computer, it just hangs at the desktop screen. Sure, you can move the mouse, but you can't click on anything. That fucking rocks. So you have to wipe the hard drive clean and start from scratch again. There's not much better than that. Food tastes better.

You know what's awesome? When people want you to do something for them, but instead of saying "you," they use the word we. And they're asking you, but really, it's a suppressed order. You can hear the annoyance and frustration in their voice. It's really awesome when people do that. I feel. "Why don't we go ahead and take this out to the dumpster." And by we, he really means you. He's not going to help you. He's not including himself in that we. It's a universal we. But you're the only one in that universe.

You know what else is awesome? Having to remember every user name and password for the hundreds of websites you used to visit before wiping your hard drive clean. I love that. It's like a day off of school, or winning the lottery. Whatever the analogy, you feel like God is looking down at you, specifically, and winking and pointing and giving you a thumbs up. Like Buddy Christ. Remembering all those passwords is like a hearty handshake from Buddy Christ.

Here's something even more awesomer. Not only using your children as a vessel to further the tradition of your ignorant and racist views, but also pushing them to be in the spotlight so as to vicariously fulfill your failed dreams and ambitions in life. I think that is just fantastic. I mean, just listen to these doe-eyed cutees.

"We're proud of being white, we want to keep being white," said Lynx. "We want our people to stay white … we don't want to just be, you know, a big muddle. We just want to preserve our race."

Yeah, they just want to preserve the white race. They don't want to be a big muddle. They just want to keep being white. Most women (the smart ones anyhow) know that when you have sexual intercourse with a man, you are injected (for lack of a better word) with his skin color.

YOU CAN'T ARGUE WITH HARD SCIENCE

Race mixing will only get you a dirty gene pool. And when the gene pool is murky, you'll find it's tougher to swim through. And tougher to find the answers to those difficult algerbra problems. "How do I fix this leaky faucet? I don't know, I can't see. The gene pool is too dirty." How are you going to find the answers in such a dirty, dirty gene pool. These girls raise a good point.

Now imagine a gene pool that is sparkling clean. You can see the answers to the algerbra test. You feel smarter knowing that you aced that algerbra exam. And as you exit the school building in your custom built transportation device -- see, when you're born as just a head with an arm sticking out, getting around is difficult. But you're thinking clearly, thanks to genetic purity!

And when you get home, you'll fix that leaky faucet, because the problem-solving portion of your brain seems more open and energized. All thanks to your mom, who didn't have sex with a Black man. Instead, she mated with a distant cousin of hers. Sure, he's Irish, but that's okay. You've got brown hair and a pasty white complexion. No one will mistake you for being Black, no sir!

Anyway, I think that's all totally awesome!

Scientor Is On His/Her Way

2005-10-20T16:32:00.000-07:00

We all knew this day would come. For those of you who read my intern blog, you remember the topic. I'm of course talking about Scientology. Then I was simply letting the world know what the Scientologists were doing in Grand Central Station. Enslaving commuters, in honor of their god Scientor, who, until now, had been safely up in the sky, where all deities naturally reside.

We've recently been hit with some new developments. It seems that Tom Cruise, Scientologist, has impregnated Earth-woman Katie Holmes. This is grave news, ladies and gentlemen.

Scientor has been granted a human body and will soon crawl and then later walk among us. He'll be living here in America. And you want to know something else? He's going to be the cutest baby in the history of baby-making. And do you know why? That's part of their plan!

Hear me out. No, wait, let me paint the picture...

Seems like a stretch, but, come on, Tom Cruise -- and I say this as a comfortably heterosexual male -- is pretty damn good looking. With a cute baby, he'll be unstoppable! And now, with Katie Holmes too, they've cornered both sexes of the species! No one will be able to resist! All they need now is a puppy, and they will become the supreme rulers of our planet. You just watch.

For centuries the physical appearance of Scientor has been a mystery. Some people have hypothesized, such as on this masterfully written blog.

What does Scientor look like? Does he have horns? Mandibles? Is it a he at all? We always just assume that when a name is as aggressive-sounding as Scientor (or Skeletor for that matter), it's automatically a male. I’d like to think Scientor is female. With mandibles. Possibly horns. And a suit. Why can't gods wear suits?

Why, indeed, Master of the Written Word. Why, indeed. I guess only time will tell.

Kids Love Boxes

2005-10-17T18:12:00.000-07:00

Last week I was walking through Andrea's with a small box in my hand. As a business that receives a lot of deliveries every day, we deal with large amounts of cardboard. Sometimes I'm just walking around carrying cardboard for no reason. We do our part though; we recycle. But its presence in the store is felt by everyone. Some have even suggested that the cardboard has its own personality. Like it's alive.

Anyway, I was walking through an aisle when this little girl, maybe five or six years old, asked me what I was carrying. I told her it was just a box. She asked me if she could have it. She had such a look of awe and amazement on her face that I couldn't very well say no. So, I gave it to her. Gee wiz, by her reaction, you would have thought I had just given her a dream house made of magic, rainbows, and chocolate.

Her mother smiled, and I was happy to bring a little joy into that young girl's life.

Today, I saw that same girl and her mother in the store again. As they were leaving, I said hello to the two of them and ask the little girl how the box was doing. "Oh, it's great," said the girl. "It's my friend, and we do everything together! I love my cardboard box, and I'll never let him go!"

It was pretty adorable. Her mother smiled, gave a chuckle, and shrugged her shoulders. I opened and held the door for them on their way out. The mother said thank you, and the little girl waived excitedly and said bye. I watched them get into their car. They were both smiling. They seemed like a happy family. And then I saw the box in the back window. I laughed to myself.

But suddenly, two hands sprouted from the sides of the box. And a mouth formed on the front. Then two big eyes. But these weren't happy eyes. They were terror-stricken. And as the car left the parking lot, the box mouthed some words in my direction. I'm not certain, but I think it said, "Help me."

Sweetest Day

2005-10-15T22:23:00.000-07:00

Ah, the third Saturday of October. Also known as Sweetest Day.

The popular origin story of Sweetest Day involves a man named Herbert Birch Kingston, a philanthropist and candy company employee. In 1922, he created it to bring happiness into the lives of orphans, shut-ins and others who were forgotten. So sweet.

And now, that tradition has evolved into a day where lovers and couples buy each other flowers and candy and cards. Which is good, because we have no other day during the year where that happens. None at all.

However, the true origins are much less known to the common Sweetest Day celebrator.

In the early 19th century, a man named Alfred Sweetest traveled America, tracking down escaped criminals. He was a man dedicated to bringing justice to the wicked. When he located criminals' hideouts, he would leave them cards. Sarcastic cards that said, "Somebody 'loves' you." The truth is, nobody loved them. But that's what Sweetest was getting at.

And just as the criminals picked up and read these cards—and swore if they were smart enough to understand the sarcasm—Sweetest leapt from the shadows and beat them to death. But not without first whispering to them, "Happy Sweetest Day." Again, sarcastic.

Seems like an asshole thing to do, but I guess dispensing justice puts sort of a big head on your shoulders. So you name days after yourself. And use your own name for a battle cry. I guess if I was going to fight criminals, I would also say something like...

"Welcome To Andy Town. Population: Pain. And You're Pain's Next Door Neighbor. Which Means You'll Be Seeing Pain On A Regular Basis. Maybe He'll Borrow Your Hose And Never Give It Back. Or Maybe His Punk Son Will Date Your Daughter. And They'll Grow Up And Get Married. And Then Every Time There's A Family Party Or Get-Together, Pain Will Be There. What I'm Trying To Say Is, Pain Will Be A Ongoing Problem For You In The Near-To-Distant Future."

I'm just riffing here, I'm just riffing. I'll trim it down a bit, maybe.

After beating the criminals, Sweetest would remove their heart and eat it before leaving the scene. I suppose that's where the love aspect of Sweetest Day comes in. You know, hearts are equated with love or something, right? So, I guess you could say that he loved these criminals so much that he just had to kill them, open up their chest, and eat their hearts. Makes sense.

Now at least you know the truth behind this holiday. It's not just a half-assed reason Hallmark and other companies use to sell more crap. They're honoring the name of Alfred Sweetest. Why would you think otherwise? Do you not have a soul? What, do you hate freedom or something?

Oh yeah, I'm starting a new holiday myself. It takes place on the fourth Saturday of every October. It's called, Hey, Remember The Orphans And Shut-Ins We Forgot About Last Week? Day.

I'm sorry, but if you celebrate Sweetest Day, then I am at least one notch above you on the Big Board of Life.

IN CLOSING...
How badly does it suck to be an orphan or a shut-in? A guy creates a day for you, the forgotten. The day transforms into Valentines Day 2. And then you're forgotten all over again. And don't get me started on the zombies who celebrate this misguided holiday. They have problems.

The War On Small Talk

2005-10-12T08:00:00.000-07:00

I've slowly been waging a secret war. But this is a war of only words. Well, and possibly a bat if I have to hear these words for too long.

I'm talking about the war on small talk.

Who's with me on this? I addressed this a bit before, but I think our world—our small talk inundated world—has reached a fever pitch. We all experience small talk in our everyday lives. But nowhere is this plague more apparent then, say, a local business. A local business called Andrea's.

As some of you may remember, I work at Andrea's. I handle shipping and receiving. Which means I deal with delivery guys all day long. UPS, Fed-Ex, and even their red headed step child DHL.

Seriously. The UPS guy brings about 15 boxes usually. The Fed-Ex guy about 6. And when the DHL guy brings his 2, I have to squeeze his cheeks and say, "God, aren't you just ADORABLE!" He doesn't really appreciate it, but, gosh, with his teeny wittle truck, and his red and yellow theme... just precious.

Anyway, back to small talk. When I talk with these delivery guys, the small talk is a significant portion of our interaction. Let me paint the scene. The sound of a large truck can be heard outside. Truck door sliding up with its metallic clatter. Three knocks on the big orange back door, which mean, "You're packages are here. I'm not carrying them to you."

"Hey there," says UPS guy.

"Hey, dude," says I.

"How's it going?"

"Oh, not too bad, you?"

"Pretty good. This weather, though."

"Yeah, pretty crazy."

"Hope you got room in there. Got quite a few boxes for you today."

"Heh-heh, oh, geez."

Conversation seems harmless enough. Except that it occurs roughly the same way every day. Every. Single. Day. Do. You. Like. These. Punchy. Drawn. Out. Sentences. I. Find. Them. Slightly. Hypnotic. It's. Like. Those. Movie. Trailers. Where. They. Take. Three. Words. Spaced. Out. And. Throw. Them. In. Your. Face.

It's funny, but I know for a fact that as each set of three words popped up, you were imagining the film that would be made, or had been made, in relation to them. But, that's okay. I mean, "BUT. THAT'S. OKAY."

My relationship with the UPS driver is always a friendly one, even if our only topics of conversation are...

the weather
how crazy said weather currently is
how the craziness is only expected to increase in the future
how this crazy weather is indeed incomparable to recent years

That will go on for a good—oh I don't know—twenty minutes. It's thrilling, let me tell you. But even though it's a rather empty conversation, it's friendly, and the delivery guys are usually pretty cool.

Well, except the DHL guy. He's an asshole. I don't like him. The other day, he was complaining that his (wittle) truck was so full, and that everyone's been getting five sometimes even 6 boxes! Insane. SIX. WHOLE. BOXES.

I looked him dead in the eyes. I said, "Wow, six?! Is that anything like, say, 40?? It isn't??" Then I dropped the overly sarcastic tone and told him to get the hell out of my fucking warehouse. Well, no, I didn't use the F word. Actually, I didn't say anything. I just pushed him out the door. But forcibly. No, no, that's not true, either.

Okay, okay, it was more like a handshake and I said, "Have a good one!" But the way I shook his hand? He knew I wanted him dead. I stabbed him again and again. With my eyes.

Worse is when you interact with customers. I respect the ladies who work on the floor. I don't know how they have the stamina and patience and sheer will to continue on after being asked for the one millionth time how their family is doing, or if they had their hair done, or what they think about this weather.

When I meet people who I know, and they ask me how my family is doing, even though I saw them quite recently, I wish I had the ability to detach my head from the rest of my body. When people you know come and ask you about your family, it will usually be followed by a story or anecdote, which has been told/heard no less than one thousand times. Think about it. You're just sitting there, listening half interested. And then your head falls off. Think about the possibilities.

You'd probably only be able to do it once. Because after it happens once, and you somehow miraculously recover from a detached head, everyone will think you're a zombie or something, when they see you walking around later on. Which is fine. Except nobody likes talking to zombies. Something to do with them being so chatty; you can never get a word in. Plus they'll eat your brain. Then they're eating your brain and talking with their mouth full. It's pretty rude.

*****

From this point forward, you're a soldier. A verbal killing machine. You're going to fight this war. But I'm going to guide you. Below are some phrases that we all hear everyday. Below those are the corresponding answers, which you will give in a calm voice with your face completely dead-panned. Practice in the mirror if you have to. I'm counting on you. Don't let me down.

Crazy weather, huh?
That's not what Colonel Sanders told me.

I heard the weather is supposed to be worse tomorrow.
I understand you want to sell me a large portion of the Congo.

What's your sister been up to?
No deal, Goldfinger!

Ooh, little chilly outside, huh?
I have glasswork in the back! Hurry, bring your nipples, at once!

How's work?
My skull chair is coming together nicely. Running low on baby skulls though.

We should get together sometime, catch up!
Yes, I would enjoy you in some ketchup.

Time sure does go by fast!
Actually, time is always at a constant. Your interpretation, therefore, is skewed, based only on outside factors such as the repetition of a daily regimen, which would in turn make the time span of one day seem quicker than normal. The familiarity of your surroundings and day-to-day life only increase your awareness of the passing time. Looking back on your life will reveal long stretches of uninterrupted, mundane and well-rehearsed activity. The absence of change or diversion from the norm only blurs the memory that you refer to as "your life".

Make me proud, soldiers.

Barnes & Noble: A Poem

2005-10-09T19:28:00.000-07:00

I went to Barnes & Noble the other day
Or B&N as I call it for short
There's no place quite like a book store
It's a literary safe house, it's an academic fort.

You go there thinking of a certain book
But the search, it will be distracted
It's nice to think you'll take just "a look"
But that assessment will soon be retracted.

I head for the Science Fiction
It is my love and genre of choice
AI and clones and space exploration
Philip K. Dick and Asimov the tools and the voice.

Next I peruse the Baseball section
A sport I've loved since being just a Little Andy
I find a book on my favorite pitcher
His last name was Koufax, his first name was Sandy.

He threw four no-hitters as a Dodger
Including a perfect game in '65
When asked what his best pitch was
"Strike one," is how the lefty replied.

Next I move to the political aisle
But, alas, I can never stay for too long
Bullshit, pundits, more bullshit, and guile
With the same ugly dance, and the same tired song.

First, Bill O'Reilly, with The Factor for kids
It's amazing that his books sell more than two skids
Sean Hannity, your covers, your titles—sweet Jesus, please
Each book should be sold with a large wheel of cheese.

I move over to Science and Einstein and Hawking
The girl with the torn jeans probably thinks that I'm stalking
Yet I just want to read about String Theory and Pi
But I'm getting a weird vibe so I'll go back to Sci-Fi.

Eventually I'm onto humor
With The Onion, Franken, Sedaris, and Vowell
Maybe a second run through the store
Then I should probably throw in the towel.

I find a book in the New Releases
I pick it up and read to page ten
I put it down and I circle the table
Then, retardedly, I pick up the same book again.

You and I will never buy that book
But how optimistic are we?
We linger around an interesting title
Hoping the store will just hand it to us for free.

And there's that girl in the torn jeans again
I swear this time she's in pursuit
She couldn't really be that into IT Management
Then again, I'm not really into the history of the flute.

Lastly, it's the magazines
Where the elite and common see eye-to-eye
Blender, Rolling Stone, Maxim and Cosmo
None of which anyone will actually buy.

We all walk to the exit a little disappointed
So many that we almost want to buy
If we had a million to spend on just books
We'd still need a week to look and decide.

Silently we walk away from the store
With no purchase (or phone number) to bring back
We all return home from B&N and realize
That unread books is not something we lack.

The End.

Run, Forrest, Run...

2005-10-05T23:54:00.000-07:00

Previously, on People Who Shout Things At You While You Run Should Be Systematically Killed Off

Honestly. I swear people are coming out of sewers to yell this at me as I'm running. Manhole covers popping up, "Run, Forrest, Run!" Poking out of bushes, "Run, Forrest, Run!" Parachuting out of planes, "Run, Forrest, Run!"

It could be the apocalypse...

I'm running, and I suddenly notice a crowd of people behind me, scurrying away from the four horseman, as well as a mile-high wall of pure blood. Their screams are stomach-turning. My body begins to shake now that I'm being faced by my own demise. People are passing me on all sides and I slow down as I begin to feel sick. I stop by a park bench where a man who was running behind me collapses to the ground. He doesn't look well.

"Are you okay?" I ask, asking if he's okay.

"This looks like the end for me," he says.

"Don't talk like that," I say. "I'll find a doctor."

"No, no," he says grabbing my arm. "I need you to do something for me."

"Of course, anything." The four horsemen are picking up people around me and dropping them from high up in the air. Splat. Splat.

"I need you to... RUN, FORREST, RUN!" he yells with a big smile on his face. He laughs and giggles uncontrollably. He composes himself somewhat and says, "I'm just kidding you. You know, I think I'll be okay if we can find that doctor."

It's then that I stomp on his head and crush his skull all over the pavement. And the streets run red with his blood. Red like the words you are reading right now.

I would be killed only minutes later by a giant wall of blood. But at least I crushed that bastard's skull. That was awesome.

It will never die, you know that, right, ladies and gentlemen? Those words will exist long after we've left this Earth. Even in the apocalypse, folks. That phrase will play a role even in the coming apocalypse. You watch.

Whereever people are running, there will be other people to say "Run, Forrest, Run." Maybe they'll be running, too. But it won't matter because once someone has said "Run, Forrest, Run!" to you, you can't return "Run, Forrest, Run!" them, even if they are running beside you. That' s just the way it is.

I don' t know. It's part of the code or something.

The REAL Reason Bill Bennett Wants Black Babies Aborted

2005-10-01T13:48:00.000-07:00

Recently, former Education Secretary William Bennett made some questionable comments on his morning radio program, creatively and originally titled Morning in America. You know, it used to be called America Beforeth The Sun Reacheth Directly Overheadeth, but I think it just confused people.

He said this...

"But I do know that it's true that if you wanted to reduce crime, you could, if that were your sole purpose, you could abort every black baby in this country and your crime rate would go down."

Now, I have a scientific mind. Though his statement is rather racist, I wouldn't get completely bent out of shape if he was just hypothesizing. Freedom of speech is what it is. So, hearing that, assuming it's mere hypothesis, you would anticipate some sort of minor retraction. Which he provided.

And then stomped on.

"That would be an impossibly ridiculous and morally reprehensible thing to do, but your crime rate would go down."

If he had just stopped at "to do," I would have probably let it go. But he just kept going.

It's like saying, "You know, what if the Holocaust never DID happen?" A harmless hypothesis. And then following it with, "It wouldn't be a very nice thing to say, but seriously, it never did. Let's abort black babies!"

Or saying, "What if God destroyed New Orleans because it was home to vast amounts of sin?" Again, a hypothesis which harms no one. And then following it with, "I mean, we shouldn't say that, but we know it's a predominantly Black area and God hates Black people. Let's abort black babies! Who's with me!"

See where it goes awry? Well, not so much "awry" as fucking bat-shit insane.

Like I said, I have a very scientific mind. Curious. I wondered why Bill Bennett really wanted to abort all black babies. He says because of crime rates, but everyone knows that with any type of genocide, the crime rates automatically go down. Because there's simply less people to make them go up. Heh, it's common sense.

No, it wasn't crime rates he was after.

Little known fact: Bill Bennett likey the gambling. The thing is, he's not very good. In fact, he's lost millions. Now, let's hypothesize. What if — again, just throwing it out there — former Education Secretary William Bennett wanted to abort Black babies... to better his odds at the black jack table? Stay with me here.

1. He can't abort White babies, because he was once a White baby.
2. It would just seem weird.
3. But aborting all Black babies would still mean less people.
4. Which would mean less people who aren't Bill Bennett.
5. People who aren't Bill Bennett win more than people who are Bill Bennett.
6. Increasing the gambling success rate of humans named Bill Bennett.

Let's go to the graphics...

See what Bill Bennett stands to gain? It's not much, but for a man with a pre-existing gambling problem, it's "Las Vegas, here I come!" Diabolical, Bill Bennett. "You know," says an intoxicated Bennett. "Sometimes I feel real bad about all those aborted black b— HERE COMES THE RIVER — FULL HOUSE! FUCKIN' CHRIST, YEAH!"

Well, I'm glad we can officially put that issue to rest. With a little investigative reporting, the truth will always come out.

Heh-heh, crime rates. You slay me, Bill Bennett! You slay us all! But especially those of us who are Black and eligible for abortion! You slay them particularly well, Bill Bennett!

I think this calls for a certain graphic to come out of retirement.

(Thanks to Julie for implanting the idea.)

Things That I Say

2005-09-28T22:06:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about how I comunicate with other people on a day to day basis. Am I someone who always turns the conversation to myself? Sometimes I am. I hate when I do that. I try not to do that anymore. But back to me...

There are phrases that I use repeatedly. It's very difficult to decipher the innerworkings of one's own way of speaking, but I have this robot that I built to look and act like me, so it's important that I get the speech patterns down pretty well. You know what I'm talking about. One misplaced noun or verb or adjective and the game is up.

Robot Andy is at a party. The guests are none the wiser. "Hey, Andy, what do you think of the new Kanye West album?" asks the host.

"I think it's pretty damn good. Really delightful."

...

"Delightful, huh? Oh, geez. Guys. Andy's a fuckin' robot."

That's when they grab your scalp and tear it away revealing a jumble of circuits. Or jumble of brains, if you're unfortunate enough to have been mistaken for a robot. Maybe you use the word delightful regularly. What a sad life you lead.

I use to say the word like a lot. I had gotten rid of it a while back, but now it's back with a vengeance. So, like, when I get nervous, or am, like, telling a story, I tend to sound like this... like.

I also say I mean. And it's seeped into my writing. I mean, it sounds natural, but looks a bit clunky. I find myself saying this all the time. So, you'll know that whatever I'm saying, I really mean it, because, I mean, it's already been prefaced. And, I mean, you know I meant that last sentence because it carried I mean. You should already know that, though. I mean, what are you, retarded?

On top of that, I'm a very nice guy. Agreeable. So when I help out at work, and they thank me, I usually say "No problem." Maybe there was a problem. Maybe there wasn't. It doesn't matter, really, because there's no problem.

When people are walking passed me, and sort of getting in my way, they apologize for doing so. It's then that I say, "That's okay." But I mumble a bit when I speak, so it sounds more like "sokay."

Robot Andy II already says "sokay." He fits in so much better at parties than his predecessor did. He also says things like, "Lee-me alone," rather than the full pronunciation, "Leave me alone." And "Lee-me alone" keeps Robot Andy II from being discovered. Any conversation initiated by humans can be immediately rejected. "LEE-ME ALONE!"

I mean, like, crazy language. Crazy like the first Robot Andy.

People Shout Things At Me While I'm Running

2005-09-26T20:41:00.000-07:00

(This entire post should be read in a British accent)

I went running a few days ago, and I received one of the most original things hollared at me. It was quite HI-larious. A person shouted, "Run, Forrest! Run!" See, I had never heard this before. I wondered aloud, "Who is this Forrest person, I say? And whyever is he running?"

Only then did I realize that this person passing by thier automobile was referencing the film Forrest Gump, starring the delightfully charming and immensely talented Tom Hanks. I had heard this before. Well, I'll tell you, old chap, I nearly soiled my undergarments right there in the town square!

Kudos to that gentle lad or lady who was intelligent enough to pull that reference out from the nether regions of our collective psyches. Good show! Jolly good show, indeed!

I say, to those who say there is a lack of originality in this world, I say look no further than your own roadways! Talent is zooming by, honking and waving. Oftentimes, talent will throw an empty bottle at you, and on rare occasions, that bottle might be filled. Not with whiskey or refreshing soda pop, but with pure, unadulterated originality and talent!

Sometimes, though, it will be whiskey. And I will say, it can be quite painful and odorous. But whiskey and originality!? What a thing to have on our roadways!

We truly live in magical times, indeed!

(and... scene.)

Five Of Five Random Thoughts

2005-09-21T18:07:00.000-07:00

I Am Mikey From Swingers

Have you ever seen the film Swingers? I like that movie for a couple of reasons. First, it's very funny. The talking answering machine in the beginning always gets me. Two, I feel better about myself after watching Mikey, played by Jon Favreau, look like a complete ass in front of girls over and over and over again.

I am Mikey.

There are a few moments which really highlight this. I mean, besides basically every awkward moment he gets himself into. I'm not going to go to deep into detail, because if you've seen Swingers once, you've probably seen it a dozen times. And you probably remember most of the dialogue. Also, I feel a bit naked talking about this stuff, since people I know read this. Also because I really am naked right now.

MIKEY: "You know, I just always want to be a gentleman."

That's me. I'm just always like that. Maybe some girls like being treated like they don't matter, or they like to "work for a guy," whatever the Hell that means. Those girls probably wouldn't like me. This is the logic. I'm nice. I like a girl. Ipso facto, I'm nice to that girl. It's simple, but I like simple. I don't ignore her. I don't belittle her. That would be retarded. And guys who do that are retarded.

When I see the following scene, part of me wants to become this kind of guy. Part of me wants to get the bunny. On the other hand, I realize that you can be a gentleman and still convey this sort of confidence, but in a less... aggressive, assholish way...

These are Mikey's friends, Trent and Sue, trying to build his confidence up.

Trent: You know what you are? You're like a big bear with claws and with fangs...
Sue: ...big fucking teeth, man.
Trent: Yeah... big fuckin' teeth on ya'. And she's just like this little bunny, who's just kinda cowering in the corner.
Sue: Shivering.
Trent: Yeah, man just kinda... you know, you got these claws and you're staring at these claws and your thinking to yourself, and with these claws you're thinking, "How am I supposed to kill this bunny, how am I supposed to kill this bunny?"
Sue: And you're poking at it, you're poking at it...
Trent: Yeah, you're not hurting it. You're just kinda gently batting the bunny around, you know what I mean? And the bunny's scared Mike, the bunny's scared of you, shivering.
Sue: And you got these fucking claws and these fangs...
Trent: And you got these fucking claws and these fangs, man! And you're looking at your claws and you're looking at your fangs. And you're thinking to yourself, you don't know what to do, man. "I don't know how to kill the bunny." With this you don't know how to kill the bunny, do you know what I mean?
Sue: You're like a big bear, man.

Sometimes I want to be the bear. And I think I am, but I'm the bear who is also a gentleman. Or a gentlebear? Or Gentle Ben the bear? Whatever. Gentlebear will do.

The point is, I've accepted the fact that I'm a nice guy. But I'm nice-guy-Mikey at the end of the movie, after he's met Lorraine, Heather Graham's character. He's still the nice guy, but he's a confident, gentlebear, too. I can't be an asshole. I just can't. I'm the nice, confident, gentlebear.

I am Mikey.

Customer Interaction

2005-09-20T15:39:00.000-07:00

At Andrea's, the store at which I am employed, I work behind the scenes, so I don't really see a lot of customer interaction. And when I do, it usually ends awkwardly for the customer.

For instance, today I had to carry some merchandise out onto the floor. As I was leaving the floor, a woman stopped me and asked me about some item on some shelf.

"Excuse me," she said. "Do you work here? What's your name?"

"My name is Andy. And, yes, I do work here, but---"

"There was this large, decorative duck figure on a shelf, and I need to know the price," she says. "It's right over there," she says, turning and pointing to the shelf where said large, decorative duck figure supposedly lies. But when she turns back to me. I am gone. Where I was, there is now only a cloud of smoke.

The old woman walks around the aisle confused, coughing and clearing the smoke with her hand. "Hello?" she asks. One of my coworkers comes to aid the old woman.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

"Yes, this boy named Andy was standing right here," she says, still bewildered. "I asked him to help me find the price for something---"

"Did you say 'Andy'?"

"Yes, why?"

"Well... Andy died last year," says my coworker, a little confused herself.

"What?"

"Yeah, he was walking underneath those shelves over there, and this whole order of large, decorative ducks came crashing down on him, instantly killing him."

"OH MY! I was just asking for the price of those very same ducks," the old woman shrieks. "They're right over there!" she says, turning and pointing to the shelf where said large, decorative duck figures supposedly lie. But when she turns back to my coworker. My coworker is gone. Where she was, there is now only a cloud of smoke.

"Help me, Jesus," says the old woman in shock.

"Can I help you find something, ma'am?" asks another employee.

The old woman screams, has a heart attack, and dies right on the spot. That's when I and my coworker come running back to the aisle, from the next aisle over, to steal the woman's purse. We laugh and laugh and high five.

Oh, it was hilarious.

A Renewed Effort!

2005-09-19T17:56:00.000-07:00

You heard me! From now on, I'm going to really post on this blog all the time! Days! Nights! I'll even create a third section of the day called... uh, nays... I mean, Nays!

It will be funny, and there will be a point to it! The point will be relative and debatable, but mostly it will make sense to everyone! So, let's do this! AHHHHHHHHHH!

So, yeah! ...what's up with all that stuff! And how it's totally... all stuff... and...

I can't think of anything right now!

But tomorrow! Laugh city! Yeah!!

Work-Related Rap

2005-09-13T18:01:00.000-07:00

Sorry, it's been quite a while since I blogged. I just can't bring myself to post if it's not relatively funny or worth it.* And I've been busy.** But today at work I started thinking of rap lyrics about my job. So they are. You may want to read this first, since it helps establish the environment.

Also remember that, as you're reading this, I'm wearing gold teeth and a lot of gold chains. And I'm all up in your grill. Sucka. I'd like to think that if I was actually rapping this live, it would be in the style of a Jay-Z or Dr. Octagon type rapper.

And I'm wearing one of these BLINGED-out watches. Which I acquired in Chinatown. But enough about shady business dealings in its purest, concentrated form. Here they are.***

Boxin' But No Knock-Outs

I'm unpacking boxes
And it ain't no fun—WORD
Do I put this in the first basement
Or does it go in the third?

I like tiny houses
And nativities and shepherds
I'm like Kanye with diamonds
only I got rocks with words!

This isn't a party
All I got is ma flow
Ma box cutter and marker
I'm a box-doctor on the go!

Now everything's checked in
I gotta get pricin'
So pass me the price gun
'Cause we gotsta get paid, son!

And here comes the boss man
With his loud shoes and voice, man
But I ain't got a choice, man
It's where all the checks land!

Maybe I'll get lunch
But the café looks busy
I swear there's no end to it
You know that's fo shizzee!

Then it hits 4:30
And I'm out like The Flash
Don't matter if I'm hurtin' none
'Cause at least I gots the cash!

SLANG DISCLAIMER
Listen. I am very, very white. I mean no disrespect to rap culture by phrasing these lyrics the way I did. It's all love. You know that. Right, homie? It's all love.

* Andy is all dried up.
** Busy hating blogging and bloggers.
*** Lens flares added to increase street cred.

The Drunk Post

2005-09-04T00:44:00.000-07:00

I'm not really drunk. But I was. I think I've sobered up a bit. Hence, the ability to string together whole thoughts. It's so funny to me just the idea of being drunk. Especially when I'm drinking with my friends. Because we so easily fall into these horrible, horrible stereotypes. I'm aware of it as it happens. And yet, I can't do anything about it. As these topics came up, I would just laugh hysterically to myself in one instance (understanding the level of absurdity), and in the next instance, join in on the conversation.

The following topics came into the conversation no more than two or three times during the night:

- Evolution
- God: Is there a god? Why are we here?
- Eastern religions: "They know where it's at."
- The government: "Yeah, they're totally out to screw us."
- The JFK assassination. Again, the government. They are so out to get us.
- The moon landing: hoax or not?
- 9-11 and the repercussions...
- Oil...
- The evolution of human emotions...

I guess I'm not all that embarrassed to have joined in on these "deep" conversations, but it's funny to think about. When I've been drinking, it's not as if you're not in control, it's just that the controls are much more difficult to man. I can hear the ridiculously stupid topics that are being raised, and still I join in as if I were arguing in front of Congress. It's quite a unique experience. Of course, there are quite a few people who already know what I'm talking about, so no explanation needed.

I don't know. It just struck me as funny.

Oh yeah. And one kid uttered something which stayed with me all night. And so now I'll post it. "Dude, like, Airplane was good, but Jefferson Starship is where they really hit their stride. Those years were just totally magical, man."

Any mispellings or errors in this post are already explained I think. Even when I went back to edit it was hazy.

Tiny Houses And Snowman Heads

2005-08-31T22:18:00.000-07:00

I work at a place called Andrea's. I work every weekday from about 9:30AM to 4:30PM. In the two months I've had this job, I've been on-time in only two or three instances. I've worked at this place for almost seven years, but I was promoted when I got back from New York. I like the people there. They are nice.

I work in the shipping and receiving area of the business. It's a business that sells gifts. Gifts like easily breakable figurines and tiny houses that you surround with other tiny houses. You then put these tiny houses into your own normal-sized house, perhaps decorating it with a Christmas theme. It then becomes a village. A tiny village inside your normal-sized house.

I unpack lots of things which I myself would never buy. The tiny houses, obviously. But there's more. We're already getting in Christmas merchandise. Lots of Santa figures. How many Santas does one need. I suppose you need a lot of tiny Santas, though. For the millions of tiny houses.

We used to sell these rocks that had words carved into them. They were by far my favorite item of all time. Favorite because they were so stupid. These rocks were smooth and round, and had words like "COURAGE," "PEACE," "JOY," and "LOVE." I used to come running into the store, as if tired and out of breath, "Excuse me! I've been to every store in town! Do you by chance have rocks with positive or inspirational words carved into them???" It was good for a laugh.

I always thought it would be funny to have another set of rocks. These rocks, however, would contain words which were more negative. Words like, "WAR," "FAMINE," "DEATH," and, my personal favorite, "POOP." Poop may or may not be a negative word, but I decided just now that it was. Think about it. Can you think of any moment when poop would be a great thing to have. I guess for growing plants and stuff, but most of us don't use poop to grow our plants. Just like most of us aren't interested in keeping tiny houses in our normal-sized houses.

Do you know anyone who has looked at their normal-sized house and thought, "You know what would be cute? If we built a gigantic house around this house?" No one has thought that. Well, someone has, but that person would likely have died shortly after thinking that. Probably from tying their shoe, or smiling to death.

There are a few things that we sell which really scare the hell out of me. For instance, there are these cat and dog food dishes. That itself isn't scary. But these cat and dog food dishes are shaped like cats and dogs. Imagine a cat curling up as if sleeping. And where the main mass of its body should be, there's a big metal bowl. Now imagine another cat padding over to eat from that bowl, right from the other cat's body. Fucked up, right?

We also just received these snowman heads that sit on poles. They have demented grins, and when I see them in the basement of the store, their heads are usually poking over something, as if to say, "Hey, Andy, bring your delicious fingers just a little closer. A little closer. Closer." They're never going to get my delicious fingers. Never. I'll buy a tiny house before I'll allow that to happen.

When we receive merchandise that's broken, probably a result of shipping, we're supposed to send it back. Well, there was once a snowman figurine that I unpackaged, and the head had busted off during shipping. A woman I work with — she's in charge of contacting the vendors — said that I should pack it back up and get it ready for UPS. For a second I considered returning just the head to the vendor, perhaps as a way of sending them a message. Don't fuck with Andrea's, or this will happen to your snowmen.

I never did. But that would have been funny, I think. Not as funny as the tiny houses, or the rocks that say "poop," but the level of hilarity is nearly comparable.

I think the only way I'd allow myself to own one of those tiny villages would be if it was actually inhabited by tiny people. I would be a really great tiny ruler. I myself wouldn't be tiny, but rather I would rule over those who are tiny. I wouldn't be too strict. I mean, the tiny village would take care of most of it, like raising the tiny children. You know what they say, "It takes a tiny village."

Of course everyone in the tiny village would be provided with tiny rods. "Spare the tiny rod, spoil the tiny child." My tiny village will not be a tiny village of tiny children shenanigans.

Four Of Five Random Thoughts

2005-08-22T22:17:00.000-07:00

Now, I try to post about things that, ultimately, have some kind of greater meaning. Like how I may be superhuman. Or how everyone else may be robots. You know, heavy, secrets-of-the-universe type stuff. I try to avoid the ever-popular "[enter topic here] Kicks Ass" post.

...

THE FLASH KICKS ASS

This random thought is about DC superhero The Flash, and why he kicks so much ass. The Flash had a brief, but memorable, cameo in my first blog. I think now it's about time he gets his well-deserved props.

We all know I have a superhero obsession. Where did this Flash obsession start? I'm not sure. But I recently stumbled across an episode of the Cartoon Network show Justice League. Justice League is a show based on the comic of the same name, where Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman, The Flash and others join forces to battle evil.

In the episode I watched, they were fighting the villain Brainiac, who had "possessed" Lex Luthor. Now the episode was good in general, but the end was where it all went down. Let me paint the picture.

I didn't paint these pictures. Or did I? I didn't. But it would have been pretty funny if I had, right? No, no, it wouldn't.

This is possibly the greatest cartoon moment I have ever witnessed. And I'm not much for hyperbole. Except when I know it’s the GREATEST HYPERBOLE OF ALL TIME. But I'm going to show it to you now, moment-by-moment.

The Justice League has been essentially neutralized by Brainiac, and all are predisposed, except for The Flash. Though weak and seemingly beaten, Flash is not one to give up. In other words, his kicking-of-ass knows no bounds.

Let's begin...

Flash, apparently beaten, as Brainiac stands over him.

Say it ain't so, Flash! You're not running away, are you?

Oh, I guess so. It's a sad day. And now evil will forever—what the f—?

What's that? Coming from the exact opposite direction of Flash's departure?

Oh, ye of little faith! It's Flash!

OUCH.

"My indestructible armor! It's not quite so indestructible! But I— Wha—?"

"Where's Flash? Probably ran off in that direction there."

"I'll simply turn around in the opposite direction and continue with my evil way—"

FLASH!

"SHIT!"

"Damn you, Flash! Where are you off to now? I hope you're not circling the globe or anything..."

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwww snap...

Oh no he didn't! (snaps fingers)

F-U-C-K-E-D

...

That's right, try and hold your ground.

Meanwhile, in CHINA...

...roads are being disintegrated and cars are flipping over because of the force of his running. Fuckin' A.

Still holding your grou—OH SHIT—nevermind!

Meanwhile, running on the surface of some body of water on the other side of the God-damned planet...

Nevermind, he's back. Screeeeeeech.

Flash. You fucking rock.

You thought that was it? You thought that my obsession with this single animated moment was over? I went and downloaded this particular episode of Justice League. I then found some video editing software to extract this one spectacular clip. After extracting this one minute of footage, the file size comes to about 6MB.

I am now offering to email this clip to anyone who wants to see it. Yes, I've given you the gist with my play-by-play analysis, but it doesn't even compare. Let's say I went to the moon, and now I'm offering to send you to the moon. This blog entry would be the equivalent of you lying on your bed, gently caressing and licking pictures of the moon. Yeah, sure, it passes the time and temporarily satisfies the urge to take a trip to the moon, but, heh, you're still not on the moon, friend.

So, leave your email address in the comments section, or email me (in profile), and I will send this clip to you; you who will now be much cooler for having acquired this clip.

That is all. May The Flash be with you.

Five Reasons Why I Believe I May Be Superhuman

2005-08-17T20:45:00.000-07:00

These are five reasons why I believe that I may be superhuman. Besides the obvious fact that I am. It's little things. But when these things are listed together, it's a compelling argument.

1. I have superhuman vision.

A few years back, I went to the eye doctor. I don't have glasses, and I'm the only one in my family of six who doesn't. I had never been to the eye doctor (at an older age anyway). But I'd been getting constant headaches while reading in class, so I figured that it was just my time to get glasses and join the rest of my family.

I had the drops put in my eyes and then was tested. After leaving for a few minutes, the doctor came back in and said, "Listen, I'm not really sure why you're having headaches, but you appear to have 15/20 vision, which is better than normal."

"So... what you're saying is I'm superhuman?" I asked.

He chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't necessarily say— "

"Superhuman," I echoed, staring off into space.

He chuckled again, clearly getting a kick out of it. He went to pick up his clipboard. "So, I guess there's really nothing else. You can leave whenever you're re—"

You see, he never finished that sentence. Because, as he picked up his clipboard, he smiled at me, and I smiled at him. And then, beams of energy shot from my eyes and decapitated him.

I don't know. Seems convincing.

2. I've never broken a bone.

In my 22 years of living (not to mention that thousand years or so before birth when I didn't live as much) I've never broken a bone in my body. I'm not sure why.

No joke here. Just the truth. Well, wait, hold on. Pee-pee, doody, booger. There.

3. I can fly.

That's right. I can board an aircraft virtually anytime I want, with virtually any airline, and fly to virtually any destination. If only I could describe the freedom to you.

4. I once lifted a car off of a person.

There was a car crash near my house a few years back and someone became trapped underneath one of the vehicles. I, personally, rented the miniature crane and operated it myself. The man I pulled out from under the car was unconscious, but looked thankful. Every year, on the anniversary of the incident, I visit his headstone.

Sometimes I think if I had just gotten the crane the next day rather than two days after the crash, he might still be with us. Live and learn, am I right?

5. I have X-ray vision.

Aside from my superhuman sight, I also can see through anything. I discovered it at the supermarket one day. I was trying to find a specific cereal with a specific toy in the box, and as I browsed the aisle, my eyes suddenly changed into X-ray mode and I could see through all the boxes.

I never got the toy I wanted. Not because it wasn't available — there were loads of them. But suddenly there were naked women everywhere and I just couldn't concentrate on cereal. When I got to the check out, I noticed the cashier was a very attractive girl. She smiled at me, and I smiled at her — though, I assume the reasons were different. And then, beams of energy shot from my eyes and decapitated her.

*****

When weighing the evidence, it's hard to refute the claim completely. I mean, no broken bones. 15/20 vision. Crane operation. I'm not trying to build myself up as being better than everyone else, but, heh-heh, the score's not looking great for you guys.

Oh! Hello There!

2005-08-13T11:55:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted very regularly, I know. Though I should say, compared to the NY blog, every blog I do will seem light. I was like a man possessed with that blog. For me, starting a blog after my intern blog was difficult, because that one was grade A blogging. Anything after, regardless, will seem less interesting.

It's been a different kind of summer. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, and other times worse. This summer has been the Summer of Thinking for me. I can't seem to shut my brain up. And certain things that I'm thinking about are causing temporary work stoppages within the humor area of my brain. But I don't want to get too specific, because I care about certain things too much to rant about them on this blog. As much as I want to talk about how amazing I think certain things are, and what a beautiful person certain things are, I won't. As much as I'd like to say just how funny and smart certain things are and how blown away I am on a daily basis by certain things, I won't do that here. And as much as I'd like to post certain things' home address so that letters of recommendation could be sent to that address by the blogging community on my behalf, I won't do that. Not here. It just wouldn't be right.

But I haven't NOT been writing. I've actually read and written a lot this summer. Some of it is pure gold, but most of it -- as I said chatting with Steph -- is pure platinum. Often, though, if I write something that I'm really proud of, something that has managed to blow even my own usually self-deprecating mind, I don't post it. I'm not sure why. Sometimes I think it's because I don't want to let it go just yet. And, specifically, when you post something on a blog (which is very public, as I learned in NY), it's almost like it's not completely yours anymore.

That's silly, but then again, I am a very silly person. I mean, good lord, just look at this post. What's it even about??? I don't know. I just don't know.

I'm curious to see what others think of this. Do you post everything? If you've written pieces that you thought were just above and beyond your normal game*, do you hesitate in posting them simply because you're afraid it won't be as much yours anymore?

*The post for Jasmine's blog, about zombies and true love, was pretty damn close, I must say.

What If I Was The Only REAL Human And Everyone Else Was Just Robots?

2005-08-05T16:13:00.000-07:00

I've just had a considerable and totally original thought. Dude.

What if I was the only REAL thinking, breathing, self-aware human being? And what if everyone else was just a robot? Think about it. All of these concepts I've learned since being raised from a toddler by my robot parents are all a hoax, a sheet pulled over my eyes. Things like the existence of God -- how am I supposed to believe what a bunch of robots tell me? For all I know, this God might just be a robot, too. And you better believe Jesus was a robot.

That's right. I said it. Jesus was a robot. It's time someone spoke out against that fish and bread-producing pile of circuits on high. Just think about it. Knowing that Jesus was a robot, would you be as impressed by all those "miracles"?

I think if, back in biblical times, people saw Jesus do something amazing, like bring a man back to life, they'd probably freak out. But the second you revealed to them that Jesus was a robot, you'd see the joy flush from their body, like someone just told them that the Easter Bunny killed Santa Clause and then turned the gun on himself in some sort of wild, seasonal-figure, suicide pact.

It's a worthy analogy.

You tell them Jesus is a robot and they say, "Oh, well, I guess bringing someone back from the dead is pretty cool, but... you know, he's a robot. So what's there to get excited about? ... Wanna go watch the lions eat Christians?"

But I'm getting off on a tangent.

So, clearly, I'm the only one who is thinking right now. Everyone else is all data tree, file search, data search, file tree, etcetera, etcetera.... And everything I say will be stored somewhere in their databanks, right? I mean, if I ask them what they think of social security, they've got a pre-programmed answer. It's hidden by a series of um's and uh's and disguised by a human-like voice. Though I must say, after this breakthrough, it's pretty obvious that some of these people I come across in everyday life are robots.

"Sir, if you will not quiet down, I am going to have to ask you to leave. Please leave, before I contact the authorities."

Who talks like that?? No contractions. "...the authorities"? That guy was so totally a robot.

But then what does it all mean? What is the ultimate purpose? Why is it that I was chosen to be human and you were all given simple, blog-decoding robot brains? Furthermore, who chose me? Robots? God? Robot God?

I just hope it has nothing to do with Robot Jesus. Man, I hate that Robot Jesus so much!

Honestly, Jesus rising from the grave? Come on. He sputtered out, wires were crossed. The other robots fixed him, he got back on stage, and everyone freaked. "Jesus! We thought you were dead!" Of course, he lied and told them that he was dead, instead of the truth. That he was really a robot.

Think about it. It all makes sense. Of course, given the fact that you are all robots, perhaps I am wasting my time telling you this. I may have even let my presence be known to the robot community. Which could be dangerous. You know, we wouldn't be in this situation is it wasn't for Robot Jesus.

Pfft. Lying, Robot Jesus...

A Long-Overdue But Well-Deserved Linking

2005-07-30T14:25:00.000-07:00

I friend told me about this one a while back. It has a special place in my heart. It's funny. Visit it often.

Overheard In New York

Bloggers Helping Bloggers

2005-07-27T14:41:00.000-07:00

Jasmine has been preparing for the Bar exam and wanted a few guest bloggers to lend a hand in keeping her blog going. Naturally, I said no. And I never did guest blog. The end.

...

No, for the lovely Jasmine, of course I said yes. So, instead of posting anything here, I'll just send you her way. The entry I wrote, entitled "City of Love, Zombies," is about the first time I ever met Jasmine in person (while I was in NY interning). It's a true story. More or less. Mostly less. But that doesn't mean its legitimacy should be brought into question, heh-heh, I mean.... Okay, it does, but, whatever...

I like zombies.

...

Well, I've wasted enough of your time. Off with you!

Is It Hot In Here, Or Is 'Here' Even What I Think It Is Considering I'm Hallucinating From This Ungodly Heat?

2005-07-24T13:37:00.000-07:00

UPDATE: Now that I've had a chance to cool off a little and regain some sense of reality, I've added the proper temperatures and measurements. Hope this helps you... get through the day... or whatever. Anyway, carry on. With life in general.

It's rather hot here in Kenosha, Wisconsin. The temperature is about 97F (36C), but with other factors it's said to feel like 112F (44C). I wouldn't really know as my skin melted off minutes ago. Or maybe that was just more hallucination? Oh, there's a gorilla. He's asking me to watch him dance. "Watch me! Watch me! Andy, you're not watching!" he whines.

And, of course, now my DVD's are sprouting arms and legs and running wild around my room. Swingers just clotheslined Anchorman and now they're duking it out on my bed.

The Yoda doll on my desk jumps onto my shoulder and tells me it's time to take my vitamin. It's 1:00PM. That's odd, usually the Yoda doll does that at 12:00PM. Very strange. I see the heat is affecting everything.

I may have just soiled myself. Oh, no, that's just more hallucination. The lower part of my body just turned into a roaring river, running down to my floor. I figured I had just wet myself. Thank goodness. And now the water on the floor is turning all metallic and it's morphed into some kind of looking glass, a portal to another world.

So, I'm gonna go ahead and have a look. Yoda's telling me not to go, but the DVD's are cheering me on. I wonder if this world has air conditioning.

I reach for the portal, but it closes on me. The metallic liquid slides across my floor and up my wall. It forms a nice mirror on my door. It's elaborately designed, a bright and brilliant silver, jewel-encrusted. I walk up closer. Oh, there's a tag on a string here. Someone's written something on the back.

Dear Andy,
Even if you didn't watch my dancing, I still love you. Here's a gift to show how much I appreciate you.

Love,
The Dancing Gorilla

Aw, isn't that sweet? Even on these ungodly hot days, man and gorilla can come together in peace. Oh, now the DVD's are jealous. Here they come. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, stop it! What did I tell you about sitting on top of the stereo, Blade Runner.

DVD's will be DVD's, right? Yoda, help me out here.

Oh, Wal-Mart...

2005-07-16T10:09:00.000-07:00

We went at midnight to retrieve the latest Harry Potter book (He's reading for fun! GET'EM!). Barnes & Noble was just too much of a mad house. So, we compromised our beliefs for one night and traveled to Wal-Mart.

I never shop at Wal-Mart. And tonight, I was reminded of why — besides the poor treatment of labor. It's the small things. Things like merchandise, employees, and customers. Little stuff. It's buying a dress shirt, walking five feet, buying some Funyuns, turning around, and getting some custom dog tags from a vending machine.

There are far too many sleeveless customers. Male and female. And none of them just came from the gym or from a basketball pick-up game. Let's keep in mind that it was after midnight, so I suppose the sleeveless crowd is more awake at that time. The guy in front of us was buying a grill. At midnight. And also Cheetos and pudding. His sleeves were all there, but I suspect if you're buying a grill at 12:00AM on a Friday night, then there are bodies in your freezer that need to disappear. Or else you were in the mood for Cheetos and pudding and you figured two birds with one stone. "Hey, I've got some bodies in the freezer... do they sell grills here, too?" Indeed they do, friend. Indeed they do.

And then the employees. Most of whom I assume are very nice people. I don't think there is really a dress code at Wal-Mart, except for the blue vest which dons the store name. I always thought, being young and having summer jobs, "Cool, Wal-Mart is a relaxed place to work." But, as you get older, those little things about a store start becoming more important. And when you see tie-dye and Wal-Mart vest, you run to the next check-out lane. And when you see plaid Grunge shirt and Wal-Mart vest, you run to the next check-out lane. And when you see "Real Men Wear Pink" tee and Wal-Mart vest, you run to the next check-out lane. And when you see wife-beater and Wal-Mart vest, you run to the next check-out lane. And when you see naked torso and Wal-Mart vest, you run out of the store all together.

This all took place at a Wal-Mart I had never been to. The Wal-Mart in my area is probably worse. I never like going in there because it literally looks like a war zone. Merchandise is haphazardly strewn about the aisles. No one is picking it up, only kicking it around to different aisles. The kids are wandering around unsupervised. I once saw children chasing each other through the store with bats. Not wiffle-ball bats. Wood and aluminum bats.

People are fighting over merchandise and bags of chips and packages of cookies are on the floor. And the employees at this Wal-Mart. Walk into this Wal-Mart, pick up something off the ground, and place it back where it's supposed to go. You now outrank a Wal-Mart employee.

Seriously, a war zone. As I stood there, waiting to pay for my book, I just stared at the dog tag vending machine. That's why they have these here. It's not for the fun or novelty, it's for identification later on when the police show up.

*****

The Chief scans the scene at the local Wal-Mart. "Man alive! Let's just hope there are survivors who can tell us what happened here."

"Why not just check the security cameras?" says a rookie officer.

The Chief holds up the newspaper of this week's deals at Wal-Mart. SECURITY CAMERAS $21.66. "Someone probably thought it was for sale and took it all out."

"My god," says the rookie.

"Well, let's get to work," says the Chief. "You know the drill. Dog tag vending machine records. Start ID'ing the bodies."

*****

Three Of Five Random Thoughts

2005-07-11T22:40:00.000-07:00

#3 Automatic Doors

This anecdote doesn't paint the most flattering picture of me. In fact, you might even say it makes me look like a complete ass. In fact, you don't even have to say it. Because, in fact, I just did. In fact.*

I was shopping at a Target store a while back with my sister. We left the store through separate doors. As I exited, I thought I was going through an automatic door. I stood there in front of the door for a good five seconds, staring at the door, thinking that it was probably one of those automatic doors with a delay.

You know what I'm talking about? You go to a door, an automatic door, and when it doesn't open right away you think it's just a regular door, so you extend your hand to push it open and suddenly it flies open automatically. It's delayed just enough so that everyone in the store has had ample time to see you extend your hand. And when it opens automatically you are officially an ass in the eyes of all.

Anyway, this door turned out to be just a regular door. I sat there waiting for it to open by itself. When it didn't, and I finally understood, I awkwardly pretended that I was standing there, intentionally not opening it, for some legitimate reason.

I don't think I had ever seen my sister laugh so hard in my entire life. I killed my sister later that day. No, I didn't. But that would have been pretty funny. No, no... I guess it wouldn't be that funny. Well, not "Ha Ha" funny, anyway.

THE SAME STORY, BUT IN A PERFECT WORLD...
So, I went to Target, the store franchise I own, to do some shopping. Well, more like to take things off the shelves, intimidate employees with my title, and then leave without paying. With my drop-dead gorgeous -- yet funny and intellectually stimulating -- girlfriend on one arm and the other arm pointing at the young cashier who would be bending to my will and carrying the merchadise out to my Harrier jet, I exited the store through the automatic door. It opened precisely as I was approaching, such that I need not have altered my pace even slightly. Then as we lifted off, I used my superpowers to wipe the minds of all the employees working the store and all the police shooting at my jet. And then, just 'cause, my fictitious girlfriend and I ejected from the jet, destroying thousands of dollars worth of merchandise. I removed my parachute in mid air and then flew over to grab my fictitious girlfriend. We flew away into the sunset. That's right. I have the gift of flight. I don't need any jet at all.

* In fact.

Two Of Five Random Thoughts

2005-07-07T22:45:00.000-07:00

#2 The Male Genitalia

One day while I was driving, I pulled up to a red light. Alongside my car was a man in a suped-up Fast and the Furious-inspired shitbox. As we sat and waited for the light to go green, he began to slowly crawl as if anticipating the light change.

I could tell he wanted to get ahead of me.

I gripped the wheel a bit tighter than usual. Something inside me wanted to beat this asshole. The light turned green, and I got the quick jump ahead. I felt a rush of masculinity wash over me. But, alas, my victory was short-lived. And, in a matter of a few seconds, he accelerated and quickly overtook me. And do you know why he beat me?

Because his penis is bigger than my penis.*

* His penis is not bigger than my penis! That would be truly absurd! Hahahehehehhe... *cough*

O'Connor Retires From U.S. Supreme Court

2005-07-02T08:00:00.000-07:00

Sandra Day O'Connor announced Friday that she would be retiring from her position on the highest court in the land. President Reagan nominated her as an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court, and she took her seat September 25, 1981. O'Connor is the first female to ever sit as a U.S. Supreme Court Justice. It was quite an event. She was a pioneer, truly. And, now, there are no more women on the U.S. Supreme Court

"But what about Ruth Bader Gins—"

Yep. Not a single woman among them.

Replacing retired Supreme Court Justices has been an issue since President Bush took office. The group, as it stood (pre-O'Connor retirement), was fairly balanced politically, so one judge was usually the tiebreaker when it came to voting. That judge was often Sandra Day O'Connor, or "Judgment Day" as she was called by her associates. They also called her Sandra "I'm looking for Sarah" O'Connor. Oh, I could go all night, folks.

U.S. SUPREME COURT FACTOID
Did you know the favorite movie of the U.S. Supreme Court (voted 5 to 4) is Terminator 2: Judgment Day? The other choices were Philadelphia, starring Tom Hanks, and My Cousin Vinnie, starring Joe Pesci. But the majority of the group hates when Justice Clarence Thomas annoyingly critiques the law aspects of films, so they chose a film that contains judgment, but no courtroom scenes.

"Heh-heh, that will never fly, heh-heh, in a lower appellate court, buddy, but really, good luck with that!" Justice Thomas says, chuckling. He lays on his stomach on the floor of the Justices' movie room. His hands support his head and occasionally shuffle popcorn into his mouth. His feet flop around in the air behind him. The other Justices look at one another, rolling their eyes and hating.

O'Connor was a voice of "middle-of-the-road" reason when compared to other Supreme Court Justices, like say — oh I don't know — Justice Antonin Scalia, who is consider by most to be a far-right-wing-leaning judge. Here he is...

Replacing O'Connor is a big deal. Choosing a judge too far left or right could easily sway many rulings and alter key decisions of the past. It's President Bush's job to nominate the Justice who will take O'Connor's place. And I think, given the track record of this administration, that he will only be looking out for the best "folks" for the job.

Because of my many connections working in the government and whatnot, I was able to attain pictures and names of President Bush's top choices for this prestigious position. These are straight from a White House meeting on the subject. Let's have a look...

Clarence Van Hoffenpuffle III
This guy could be okay, but, for some strange reason — I can't quite put my finger on it — he looks menacing.

Antonia Goldstein
My vote is for this person. It might be a good idea to replace O'Connor with another woman. Keep the female presence. Plus, look at the blonde hair. She's fucking hot.

Gene Browkowski
I think this guy is a highway patrolman who lives near me. Well, he must be qualified in some way if Bush is considering him for the job.

Anyway, it's sad to see O'Connor go, but I'm almost certain that one of these three possible nominees will take over her role as a middle-of-the-road thinker. I only hope that none of them turn out to be as right-leaning as, say, an Antonin Scalia. Heh, that wouldn't be very good.

Heh-heh... what?

We're "Negotiating With Terrorists," Not Negotiating With Terrorists

2005-06-28T08:00:00.000-07:00

It was recently learned that the US government has been in talks with the Iraqi insurgency, hoping to somehow curb the violence that has inundated the news since the end of major combat was declared more than a year ago.

Rumsfeld vehemently denied that the talks amounted to negotiating with "terrorists" such as the most-wanted man in Iraq, Jordanian militant Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, Al-Qaeda's leader in Iraq.

Rumsfeld said, "You know, it's a fine line, but let the record show... the line is in fact there. I mean, the liberal media wants you to believe that we're negotiating with terrorists. But we're not 'negotiating with terrorists.' Not when I'm using these handy air quotes."

"It's one of the flaws of the liberal media," added Rumsfeld. "They don't understand the meaning behind quotes, so they take us at our word. Look at what happened on that aircraft carrier."

I became puzzled at this statement. What was Rummy talking about? Was he talking about the MISSION ACCOMPLISHED sign? That was a huge blunder by the Bush administration, preemptively declaring the end of the preemptive war in Iraq.

Or was it?

I studied the tapes and the photos. Sure enough. Rummy was right. Stupid liberal media. First look this famous shot. We've all seen it again and again. The banner says MISSION ACCOMPLISHED, which at first, in retrospect, seems like a very inappropriate thing to declare.

Now, look at this computer-enhanced shot. This is the banner close up. Closer than any one of us little guys could have gotten with the liberal media filter on our TV's.

See? MISSION "ACCOMPLISHED." It's ironic. It's not implying that major combat operations in Iraq have ended. Now that the quotes are there, it would be rather silly to assume that.

So, the Secretary of Defense is correct, guys. We're not "negotiating with terrorists." Not when his hands are up in the air gesturing quotes. We would never negotiate with terrorists. But we will "negotiate with terrorists." We'll "meet" with the "enemy" and "discuss" ways in which "we" might "end" this "war."

And that's the difference between those people who love America and those who hate America. Lovers of America use quotes and cherish freedom. Haters of America take officials at their word and take big shits on freedom. They leave no room for officials to be ironic, or sarcastic. What if policy calls for us to display an ironic banner, but we can't because the liberal media is so flawed? Then what?

That's right. People like Hitler win. Is that what you want? You want Hitler to win?

You want this?

You make me sick.

DISCLAIMER

When I wrote this on Monday night (6/27/05), the phenomenal television program known as The Daily Show had already concluded for that evening. I, unfortunately, did not see the June 27, 2005 episode. I've edited this post and added this disclaimer because, having seen the June 27, 2005 episode in rerun tonight, I noticed a slight similarity in material. Now, obviously, them copying me is out of the question -- they would just have to crap on some loose leaf and they've outdone me. So, I need to make it clear that I did not use The Daily Show to come up with this post. It takes balls for me to assume that I'm even worth the disclaimer, but it's important to me.

What Does Happen When You Burn An American Flag?

2005-06-23T08:00:00.000-07:00

The House Of Representatives recently passed a measure to amend the U.S. constitution to include a ban on flag burning and desecration. But why? Why would anyone care if a flag is burned? Flag burning doesn't harm anyone.

Or does it?

Believing that there may be more here than meets the eye, I began meticulously researching the science of flag burning. I interviewed experts, observed professional flag burners in their natural habitat, and even tamed a number of wild flags.

But what I discovered was truly incredible. There is a reason that people in the Republican-controlled House of Representatives have tried so hard to pass the amendment banning flag burning. It's very technical, so I'll try not to complicate things with heavy, scientific wording.

What Happens When You Burn An American Flag

Burning a flag seems innocent enough, right? I mean, after all, it's just a material thing used to represent ideals, right? You're not really setting fire to freedom, patriotism, freedom, liberty, or freedom, right? WRONG.

When you burn an American flag, freedom particles and liberty molecules are released into the atmosphere. "But, Andy, don't we want more freedom and liberty in the air?" You'd think that, wouldn't you? Releasing freedom and liberty sounds great in a symbolic kind of way, but the truth of the matter is sobering. We only have so much freedom and liberty to go around. That's right. Like fresh water or fossil fuels, only so much liberty and freedom exists on Earth. If you're burning an American flag, you're wasting a precious, limited resource.

And that's only part of the story. Freedom particles and liberty molecules, once released into the atmosphere, will interact with other types of particles, ones which will cause the creation of unstable, mutated and dangerous compounds. After speaking with a number of scientists, I compiled a list of the most dangerous particles, which when combined with freedom, spell disaster for our country.

Heathen particles - Released during everyday sinning
Sodomite particles - Released during sodomy
Abortion particles - Released during abortions
Gay particles - Released by gay people
Welfare particles - Released by welfare recipients
Tree-hugger particles - Released by hugging trees*

Two seen here...

If these mutated particles were to stay high up in the atmosphere, then it would be no big deal. The problem is these particles are so heavy with ickiness that they'll eventually make their way back to ground level, poisoning everyone in their path.

So, not only do we have less freedom as a result of burning the American flag, we have more unnatural forms of freedom, nicknamed "freekdom" by scientists, which slowly poison our society.

On a brighter note, freedom particles which fall back to Earth unmutated have a positive effect in the war on terrorism. Terrorists exposed to freedom particles and liberty molecules are almost instantly consumed by the fires of their own burning hatred of freedom.

It's important to get all the facts before jumping on a bandwagon with the rest of the torch-wielding villagers. Get educated, friend. Burning American flags doesn't just hurt the flag, it will eventually hurt you and everyone you care about. A fine job, United States representatives. A fine, fine job.

Don't burn flags.

* The act of hugging trees. Not trees that hug you.

The Book Meme

2005-06-19T20:28:00.000-07:00

I had no idea what a meme was. So, I looked it up. Hedwig_the_owl passed the book meme to me, and now I will complete it and pass it on to some other bloggers. So here we go.

The Number Of Books I Own
This is a tricky question, because my parents are book fiends, and we have a moderately sized room dedicated to books. I've never until a few years ago really needed to buy any books. But after I started discovering my own literary interests, I built up my own collection. I would guess that I'm up to about 200.

I own a lot of satirical books. George Carlin, Al Franken, David Sedaris. I also own a lot of Science Fiction, but specifically SF written by Philip K. Dick. I own all his short stories and a bunch of his novels. He is terrific. Besides that, I of course own the Lord Of The Rings books, with the Hobbit and the Silmarillion. I love books about language usage and books where old British men lecture on the audacity of younger generations' blatant disregard of "proper" usage rules. There's quite a bit of other stuff too, but I don't want to bore.

The Last Books I Bought
The last books I bought were Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris and The Partly Cloudy Patriot by Sarah Vowell.

Last Book I Read
The last book I read was The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis, the second book the Chronicles Of Narnia. I'm reading them through before the film comes out. It looks incredible.

Five Books That Mean A Lot
Hmm, this is a difficult list to create. But there are a few books which have completely changed me as a reader and a writer, and so those I guess will suffice.

The Elements Of Style by William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White
This is the single greatest book on writing that has ever been written. Period. Everyone should own this book, regardless of whether or not you're a writer. It's short. It's sweet. No exuses.

Story by Robert McKee
This book is the greatest book I have ever read regarding storytelling. This book focuses mainly on screenplays (authored by a screenplay writer), but for anyone who wants to learn how to tell a great story, no matter the medium, this is the book to read.

America: The Book by The Daily Show writers
It's difficult to be funny, and it's even more difficult to write funny. But this book is so jam-packed with hilarity that by the end you're laughing because you can't believe you're still laughing. That's how great this book is. When I did the intern blog, and people knew I interned at Comedy Central, they would say things like, "You're funnier than the Daily Show writers." This is absolutely absurd. I wish I were a tenth as funny as these writers. With practice and time, maybe someday, but for now, I only bow to them. Funniest book ever written.

Rush Limbaugh Is A Big, Fat Idiot by Al Franken
Al Franken is one of my main influences when it comes to satirical writing. His style takes deadpan delivery to another level. He also helped me understand just what you could do to tell jokes via writing. The asterisks that inundated my intern blog were an homage to Franken's brilliant use of footnotes. If you read any one of his books, read this one first. It may be his best, but it was also written before everyone with half a brain started writing political books. His books will still always be better. And the reason is because he is funny. And the others rarely are.

The Harry Potter Series by J.K. Rowling
When I first heard about Harry Potter, I thought, "Great, kids are reading, but no thanks, I'm an adult. I only read grown-up books." My sister generally introduced me to the books. I always made fun of her for reading them. Then one day, after watching one of the films, I decided to give one a try. Well, needless to say, I was hooked instantly. I read the first book in one day, at just under 8 hours. I read all of my sister's copies, then shortly thereafter, I went out and purchased the first five books in a boxed set for myself. J.K. Rowling deserves to be as rich as she is. She's written an amazing story, and she's gotten children interested in reading during the process.

Now, for some other bloggers. Obviously, there's no obligation, and I'm not sure who's done one already, but we'll see what happens. In no particular order, how about...

Jasmine of Jazz... In Strange Places
Ginnderella of Raridayrar
Omar of Omar's Blog
Steph of The Last Ditch
One Glorious Conundrum of Obsession With Self Awareness
Mimi of Mimi in New York

Basically, do what I did, then pass it on. I guess.

One Of Five Random Thoughts

2005-06-15T01:30:00.000-07:00

#1 Store Cashiers

I was in a store the other day. It seems like whenever I'm checking out, no matter who the salesperson may be, I always feel the need to entertain. Why do we feel the need to humor or entertain cashiers? As if we're shining some small bit of light on what we assume to be their horribly dark and pitiful lives.

We stand in line, swaying back and forth, shifting our weight from one leg to the other.* You inconspicuously listen in on the small talk of the guy checking out in front of you. He places his three very busy Hawaiian shirts on the conveyer belt, then flashes a smile at the 18 year old cashier. "Wife and I... takin' a trip to the Caribbean," he says. The cashier humors him with a brief smile. "I wasn't sure about these patterns, but I figure, heh... no one'll ever lose me, right?" The cashier swipes his credit card without pause. His receipt prints. His things are packed into bags and he's soon on his way. He'll go over the entire scenario again while walking to his car. "'No one will ever lose me'? Real smooth! Stupid ass! Should have gone with the weather material!"

Now it's your turn. And even though you saw him go down in flames, you think exactly as he did. "Okay, you're up," you say to yourself, cracking your knuckles and stretching your neck from side to side. "Time to turn on the funny. Let's show this cashier a good time."

And then, like the others before us, we fail.

She doesn't care about your copy of Family Guy on DVD, and why you think it's a hilarious show. She doesn't care why you're getting the boxer briefs instead of just boxers or just briefs. And, for the love of Lucifer, she doesn't care why you're going with the X-Box version and not the Playstation 2 version of the latest Grand Theft Auto.

Why do we do it?

* And still another if you have a third leg.

Neo-Nazis Are Douche Bags

2005-06-11T08:00:00.000-07:00

I went out with my friend and his girlfriend last night. After hitting a few bars, we stopped at a local restaurant to eat. A group of younger guys came in, none of them could have been older than 20. When I got up to go to the bathroom, I discovered — after seeing their t-shirts, their tattoos, and their large protruding brows — they were Neo-Nazis, or "douche bags" as they're known in academic circles. (Love those academic circles.)

I don't really hate many people. Hate is a strong word. But I do hate Neo-Nazis. I would use this sentence to insult them, but anything I write will only be met by my own frustration, as no insult will fully encapsulate the unwavering stupidity and Neanderthal-like behavior of a Neo-Nazi. Well, that sentence was pretty good, but you get the idea.

I've always generally thought of shallow, personal insults as uncalled for, whether it's in regards to the way a person looks or the clothes a person wears. But for the Neo-Nazis, I'm going to make an exception. So, I'm going to take out my frustration on this douche baggy ideology by making personal, irrelevant insults to pictures of Neo-Nazis.

Some people might think that this brings me down to their level, making fun of Neo-Nazis. But people who think that wouldn't be intelligent enough to read the words I am typing right now, so let's move on.

Ready?

Campaign Ads

2005-06-10T08:30:00.000-07:00

We're not really in the midst of a campaign season, but it seems to begin sooner and sooner every election. Since becoming interested in politics, I've been incredibly fascinated by campaign ads. They've become so underhanded and snippity. Almost bitchy.

I tried to write what I thought was a funny series of campaign ads between two fictional candidates. But I found it legitimately difficult to do, seeing as how the real life ads have become so ridiculous. "So-and-so voted against keeping criminals in jail," or "What's-his-face likes it when people die," or "He voted 20 times to increase taxes... and then he ate a baby." They really do sometimes border on absurdity.

Still, I think I captured the tone of the more modern campaigns, which have been -- in a word -- nasty. But not all candidates start off dirty. Usually it starts with one. And when the mudslinging begins to have an effect, the other candidate resorts to the same nasty tactics.

My fictional series of ads features two candidates. The first, Bob Hirtle, is meant to be the protagonist, an underdog, fighting against incumbency. He's the good guy, in most instances defending. The second, Jake Goodfellow, is meant to be the antagonist, the powerhouse, fighting to keep his political career going. He's the bad guy, in most instances attacking.

You should almost be able to hear the soothing, female voice of the narrator in your head. That's how I imagine it. Though, maybe for you it's a soothing, male voice. Either way, it's damn soothing.

Enjoy.

Commercial #1
(Goodfellow attacking Hirtle)

NARRATOR:
A person's name says a lot about who they are. Jake Goodfellow, for instance, is a good fellow. Just look at his name. It says what he is.

As for Bob Hirtle — his name comes close to spelling "Hitler" — a little too close.

Jake Goodfellow. The name says it all.

Commercial #2
(Hirtle responding to Goodfellow)

NARRATOR:
Presidential incumbent Jake Goodfellow wants you to believe that Hirtle spells Hitler. Clearly, it doesn't. The T, L, R, and E aren't even in the right place. We need Presidents who can spell important words. Jake Goodfellow has proven that he's not up to the job. Let's "Hirtle" over Jake Goodfellow.

Vote Bob Hirtle for President.

Commercial #3
(Goodfellow responding to Hirtle)

NARRATOR:
In his latest attack ad, Bob Hirtle/Hitler claims that Jake Goodfellow can't spell. Yet, in very same ad, he misspells "hurdle." It's spelled H-U-R-D-L-E. Jake Goodfellow knows this, because Jake Goodfellow can spell.

Bob Hirtle/Hitler. His own name is spelled wrong.

Commercial #4
(Hirtle responding to Goodfellow)

NARRATOR:
Goodfellow is at it again.

In his latest attack on Bob Hirtle, Goodfellow proves not only that he is fond of misspelling, but he doesn't even know what metaphorical language is. Bob Hirtle knows what metaphorical language is. He used it when he substituted "Hirtle" for "hurdle." It's a play on words. Then again, a President should know this.

Heh... Jake Goodfellow. He's just too silly to remain President.

Commercial #5
(Goodfellow responding to Hirtle)

NARRATOR:
Hehe... Bob Hirtle likes to use big, smart-sounding phrases like "metaphorical language". Aren't these phrases you learn in countries like France? Sorry, Bob Hirtle, but Jake Goodfellow has never been to France, nor does he plan on going.

Jake Goodfellow. He's not in love with France.

Whoops! Sorry, Dude! My Urine. My Bad.

2005-06-06T08:00:00.000-07:00

This week there were some new reports about prisoner abuse at Guantanamo Bay. No, no, newer than that one. That one, too.

In May, Newsweek printed a story alleging that guards at the Cuban prison had, among other things, flushed a copy of the Quran down the toilet. Later, they retracted the story when their government source backed away from his original statements.

White House press secretary Scott McClellan said the retraction was "a good first step" and that the magazine now has a responsibility to spread the word to the Muslim world that U.S. interrogators "treat the Quran with great care and respect."

Yeah, Newsweek. Stupid. Start spreading the word, idiots. No one flushed any holy book down a toilet. How about some legitimate journalism for a change, Newsweek? Like what was uncovered about a day ago.

The Pentagon confirmed Friday evening that a U.S. soldier had deliberately kicked a prisoner's holy book. The report also said prison guards had thrown water balloons in a cell block, causing an unspecified number of Qurans to get wet...

Here's where Newsweek really takes it in the ass. See how completely off they were?

...a guard's urine had splashed on a detainee and his Quran.

Newsweek! What is up with you, dude? The Qurans didn't get thrown into the urine-filled toilet. The urine was brought to the Qurans. It's called "fact-checking." You may want to look into it.

After hearing about this story, I wondered how a guard's urine could "accidentally" splash onto a detainee and his Quran. On a hunch, I had my contact at Guantanamo Bay send me the blueprints for the prison. What I found was surprising, but it explained everything.

What we have is a simple design flaw...

See how there are six to eight toilets to a cell? It's hard to say what the building architects were going for when they originally drew up these plans, but I think it's possible that they never intended for their prison to house Qurans, or "urine magnets" as they're known in academic circles. Given this new piece of evidence, it's hard to imagine a Guantanamo Bay detainee or Quran not soaked in urine. Am I right?

Presidential spokesman and skin wearer Scott McClellan says, "It is unfortunate that some have chosen to take out of context a few isolated incidents by a few individuals."

I couldn't agree more. This whole thing has been taken completely out of context. A few detainees were splashed with urine — big deal. In the context of these blueprints, it's not even worth reporting. It's like reporting on a guy who spent his whole life inhaling honey and then one day drowned himself in honey. Trust me, it's a solid analogy. You had to have seen it coming, and reporting it as if it were a shocking event is in fact taking the story out of its honey-drowned/urine-soaked context.

These detainees aren't going to escape urine, friend. So, why don't we spend our time worrying about more important matters? Like the fact that Democrats are not likely going to stop singing sensation and talent juggernaut Michael Bolton from being confirmed as U.N. Ambassador.

What a scoop!

My 100 Things List

2005-06-02T11:30:00.000-07:00

I've seen a lot of these lists around, including one by my future wife Jasmine.* Essentially, it's a list of 100 random things about yourself. I think it reveals quite a bit about a person, and I think everyone should do one. It's almost like therapy. Except no one's here to blame you. "Here, lie down on this couch," the therapist says. "No, you idiot! That couch!" the therapist says. "Gah! No wonder you're in therapy!" the therapist says.

It's just you. So, you blame you.

So, anyway, here it is. There's some small, mundane things, not to be confused with the large, mundane things. There's a few more important things listed as well. But, I've already toyed with you enough. Enjoy.

100 Things...

1. I'm from medium sized city in southeastern Wisconsin.
2. I'm an English major, though I hated English in high school.
3. I'm 22.
4. I'm about 6 feet tall.
5. I'm pretty shy in real life, though I still crack jokes when I can.
6. I'm completely liberal.
7. I think liberalism is about always evolving.
8. I think conservatism is about going against the natural grain.
9. I love The Daily Show. America the Book may be the funniest book ever written.
10. I played baseball through high school, but the higher you go, the more it becomes a job.
11. I just wanted to play the game.
12. I work out and run when I'm depressed.
13. I'm in pretty good shape right now.
14. I got a mohawk in NY because I had some anonymity.
15. Sense of humor in girls is more important than anything else.
16. I think people who aren't part geek aren't normal.
17. People are way too inconsiderate in theaters.
18. I like playing video games, though I haven't had the urge to play in a while.
19. I'm afraid that I'm growing out of them.
20. Interning in NYC was the scariest thing I've ever done.
21. Interning in NYC was the greatest thing I've ever done.
22. I like to read and write.
23. I'm a recovering Star Wars geek.
24. I'm a drummer.
25. I don't really drink much.
26. I don't smoke.
27. I've done marijuana, but then I graduated high school.
28. I know almost nothing about women, but I don't pretend to know a lot.
29. I love video game music remixes.
30. I like anime, though I think 85% of it is utter crap.
31. I can skateboard, though I've sort of outgrown it.
32. I found out about Santa when I was 10, the Easter bunny the day after.
33. I love The Onion.
34. My family is middle class.
35. My favorite film is Blade Runner.
36. I love Sci-Fi.
37. I love Office Space.
38. I get annoyed by people who chew with their mouth open and
generally lack basic manners.
39. My friends tell me I'm too nice.
40. I am too nice.
41. I think empathy is the key to nice people.
42. I think stubborn pride is the key to assholes.
43. There's nothing I'd rather do in college other what I am doing.
44. I started a satirical newspaper with a friend in college, called The State.
45. I'm going after a writing career because I like writing, not because of any money reasons. If I can make a decent living doing it, I'll be happy.
46. Programs on PBS generally fascinate me.
47. I like girls who are nice, but with a wicked sense of humor.
48. Also, I like hoop earrings on a girl — not sure why, but they just do something for me.
49. Yes... hoop earrings.
50. I hate winter; I'm a warm weather person.
51. I could never meet a girl at a club a start making out with her immediately.
52. But sometimes I wish I could.
53. I've got rhythm and I think I could dance okay.
54. I'm fascinated by 80's pop culture.
55. And I wish I lived in the world of classic 80's high school films.
56. I love to watch shows about science.
57. I built the computer I'm using right now.
58. I like watching baseball on TV, but I hate TV baseball commentators.
59. Radio commentary is much better.
60. I've been downloading Desperate Housewives episodes.
61. Desperate Housewives is not a bad show, I must admit.
62. I watch Smallville, I think, because deep down I wish I was a superhero.
63. I want a female, Jewish, Black president just to shake things up.
64. I believe in Evolution.
65. I don't know if I believe in God.
66. I'm afraid of the reactions I'll get if I say I don't.
67. I'm a Simpsons geek.
68. I also think the show has run its course, and should have been stopped years ago.
69. I'm afraid people who know me will read this list, but whatever.
70. I think The X-Files is the greatest dramatic series in TV history.
71. I start a fresh notebook when I begin a new writing project.
72. I have nearly-fresh notebooks everywhere.
73. I hate being seen as a know-it-all.
74. Sometimes I stay quiet when I do know something, or can prove someone wrong.
75. Reality TV sucks.
76. Even if watch happily at any point, it still sucks.
77. I think religious figures in politics are despicable.
78. Yeah, Pat Robertson. He's a douche bag.
79. I'm always afraid of missing opportunities.
80. When I want to ask a girl out, I'm almost afraid for her, so then I don't.
81. And when I'm really interested in a girl, I'm usually too much of a sissy to do anything about it.
82. I don't believe awkward situations would exist if people just tried.
83. People who say, "I'm Rick James, Bitch!" under non-sarcastic pretenses are stupid.
84. People who say, "I'm Rick James, Bitch!" to make fun of 83's are cool.
85. I don't want to own a lot of stuff.
86. I'm constantly donating things and throwing things out.
87. I could see myself trading my life for someone else's.
88. I think Harry Potter is worth reading. Not just for kids.
89. I think if you make fun of someone who is crippled, you should be immediately crippled.
90. I already mentioned empathy, but I think empathy is the key to any kind of world peace.
91. I think Friends is a hilarious show.
92. I just don't like the sappy parts — I'm not a chick.
93. I know a girl who is drop dead gorgeous.
94. But I like her for her personality (and I can prove it).
95. And it kind of freaks me out.
96. I think the Phantom Menace was the best of the Star Wars prequels and, though Jar Jar is not the best character, it became hip to trash, and everyone jumped on the bandwagon.
97. I didn't used to drink a lot of water, but now I drink it all the time.
98. I met blogger Jasmine in person while in NY. She's very cool. We hit off so well that we're getting married.* She made fun of me for not ever having gone to Whole Foods.
99. I check my spelling while on AOL instant messenger.
100. I think everyone should do a 100 things list.

Even though I think it's funny, I'm still going to add this...
* We're not really getting married (though, never say never). It's sort of a longstanding inside joke between the two of us. Though, two people is pretty inside. Heh, maybe too inside.

Legalize Everything

2005-06-01T15:01:00.000-07:00

I had a thought recently. What if our reality was just the dream of another reality? What if peanut butter and jelly were somehow the answer to many of the mysteries of the universe? I know, weird. Then, I put those thoughts on hold and had another thought.

What if we legalized everything? Anything that didn't physically harm another person is perfectly legal to do. Sex, drugs, suicide — it's all fair game. Here's why I think this would be good for the world.

We let everyone do whatever the hell they want, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else. This way, the smart people will try it, get tired of it, learn their lesson, and then pass this lesson on to their children. The stupid people will overdo it and die, and hopefully somehow take their children with them.

What do you think?

Harry Potter, Bob Barr, And George Washington

2005-05-29T14:30:00.000-07:00

One of the lesser publicized issues lately (within the 5 or 6 years) has been the recognition of Wicca — a form of witchcraft — as a legitimate religion. The U.S. military announced in 1999 that it would facilitate practitioners of Wicca on military bases. The Department of Defense has recognized Wicca as a legitimate religion, deserving the same status as Judaism, Islam, or Christianity.

This issue is further agitated by the rising popularity of the Harry Potter series by author J.K. Rowling. In it, the young wizard Harry attends a magical school where he and other blooming wizards learn spells, potions, and the art of being a wizard. There are some who claim that the series teaches children witchcraft. They believe that these books are the Devil's work. Satan is clearly among us, and he's in the "Children's Literature" section. Just ask these lords of reason. Considering that the newest Harry Potter book is scheduled to release in mid July, I thought it would be an interesting idea to look into. And by "look into," I mean I will casually reference it and then wander off on some semi-retarded tangent.

We see more and more the influence that religion has within our country. I won't say which religion in particular, but it rhymes with "Gristianity." Kind of sounds like it, too. So much so that it really defeats the whole purpose. Never mind. It's Christianity. There, I said it. Anyway....

Former Georgia Representative and Favorite Person Bob Barr says that the Defense Department's move "sets a dangerous precedent that could easily result in the practice of all sorts of bizarre practices being supported by the military under the rubric of 'religion.'" Rep. Barr, in defense of the good old days, refers to a painting which hangs in his office.

"A print of the painting, 'The Prayer At Valley Forge,' depicting George Washington on bended knee, praying in the hard snow at Valley Forge, hangs over the desk in my office. If the practice witchcraft ... is permitted to stand, one wonders what paintings will grace the walls of future generations."

To be fair, though, it should be pointed out that Mr. Barr uses this painting to back up nearly every issue he's ever argued. You may ask how it is possible to use a painting of George Washington to argue a political issue. Let's not forget that Barr is a self-proclaimed homosexual.* Or is it Christian? I can never remember.

When the issue of healthcare came up on the floor of Congress, Barr said,

"I'm reminded of the painting that hangs above my office desk — 'The Prayer At Valley Forge' — depicting a kneeling George Washington, clearly suffering from some sort of debilitating arthritis of the knee. Would he have asked for assistance? Hell no, he wouldn't. In fact, without the help of healthcare, he went on to become the first president of the United States of America — some might say as a direct result of."

When the issue of Missile Defense was raised at a press conference, Barr replied,

"Have you ever seen the painting 'The Prayer At Valley Forge'? It hangs in my office. The painting shows George Washington kneeling in prayer. Could it be that he was praying to God for some kind of...defense. Maybe in the form of a — oh I don't know — a missile . We never had Missile Defense back then, and to this day George Washington remains dead. Coincidence? How much more persuasion does one need?"

And while being interviewed on a political news show, the issue of Affirmative Action was raised. When asked his stance on Affirmative Action, Barr replied,

"Funny story. I've got this painting. It hangs in my office, over my desk. Perhaps you've heard of it, 'The Prayer At Valley Forge,' featuring George Washington kneeling in prayer next to his horse? Great painting.

"Now I think George Washington would have whole-heartedly rejected Affirmative Action. And not just because he lived in a time when Blacks were considered property. But let's just say, hypothetically, that Blacks were allowed to go to college in George Washington's day. He surely would have wanted them thought of as intellectual equals. That's just the kind of freedom-loving man he was.

"But Affirmative Action, to Washington — again, this is him speaking — would have caused his freedom-infringing alarm to go off. To him, Affirmative Action would give Blacks an unfair advantage. It would be like chaining up the entire white race against their will. Such a thing cannot be tolerated."

After seeing Barr reference this painting so many times, I began to wonder: How close of a relationship does Barr have with this particular painting? Does he consult with it often?

The Prayer At Valley Forge
They'll never understand you the way I do, Robert.

Representative Bob Barr
I know, baby. You've been so good to me. Providing
me with the guidance I need to lead this great nation.

The Prayer At Valley Forge
The way you polish my masterfully carven oak
frame, the way you sing hymns to calm me
during a violent storm. I will always love you for that.

Representative Bob Barr
And I, you.

The Prayer At Valley Forge
"You" what?

Representative Bob Barr
You know...

The Prayer At Valley Forge
You mean "I love you"? Why you should have such
trouble mustering the courage for those three little
words is quite beyond me. I'll bet George Washington
wouldn't have had a problem with it.

Representative Bob Barr
Bite your tongue!

The Prayer At Valley Forge
Honestly! It's a wonder your third wife
stayed with you as long as she did!

Representative Bob Barr
Oh not this again! I work very hard to provide
for you and this office —

The Prayer At Valley Forge
— As if I do nothing! Not that I don't hear it again
and again from your mother. "Why is this painting
still here?" and "It looks so dreadful in this room."
She's the one whose dreadful.

Representative Bob Barr
You leave mother out of this!

It makes you wonder what other kinds of decisions are being made in Washington under the consultation of inanimate objects. Since writing this, I've discovered other political figures with similar consulting rituals involving inanimate objects. Here's a list I've compiled thus far:

Political Figure / Inanimate Object
Trent Lott / Cabbage Patch doll (white)
Rick Santorum / Collection of show tunes, in order of fabulousness
Hillary Clinton / Al Gore
Dick Cheney / Ronald Reagan
Strom Thurmond / Cabbage Patch doll (black)
John Ashcroft / Giant plastic penis
Tom Ridge / Duct tape and plastic wrap

* This was uncalled for. I need to apologize. So, if there are any people reading this who happen to be homosexual, I should never have associated you with Bob Barr. Please accept my humble apology.

Click It Or Ticket

2005-05-27T14:30:00.000-07:00

There was a radio commercial on the other day about car safety belt laws. Where I live, Wisconsin, police have started ticketing drivers more frequently for not wearing their safety belts. The campaign slogan is CLICK IT OR TICKET. Catchy, I know.

The narrator of this particular commercial said, "We all know the inconvenience of getting a ticket..." and "Yeah, we all know, buckle your seatbelt, blah blah blah."

The inconvenience of getting a ticket? That got me thinking. What about the inconvenience of being dead? What about the medical staff's inconvenience as they shovel your remains off the highway? What about my inconvenience as I sit down for a bowl of maple and brown sugar oatmeal in the morning and listen to the grisly details on the radio?

The inconvenience of a ticket? No, getting a ticket for not wearing your seatbelt isn't inconvenient. But being propelled through your windshield at 60MPH would sure be a downer. Then again, you don't really have an opinion on the matter when you're dead — being dead and all. I imagine most of being dead is just one big downer.

Except for the part where you haunt the living and watch them take showers.

Speaking English Good

2005-05-26T12:00:00.000-07:00

The other day I went to the store to pick up a few things. Walking through the aisles, I spotted a girl whom I recognized from high school. We weren't friends back in high school, but I had had a number of classes with her. She also just happens to be the star of one of the most memorable moments of my high school career. Memorable because it was so sad.

Now, I'm not a stickler, and I'm far from perfect, but I've taken pride in being able to speak and write my native language well. Grammar, spelling, syntax; these are things which we should all have a basic familiarity with. If only that were the case.

When I was in tenth grade, I took French, which I enjoyed very much. One day, in the foreign language department at Tremper High School, exchange students from a variety of different countries, who were attending our school at the time, made rounds from class to class, telling us about their experiences in the U.S. and how it differed from their native country.

My classroom hosted a girl from Germany. Her English was nearly impeccable. Very impressive, to say the least. We asked her all sorts of questions, and a good time was had by all. After about a half hour, one of my classmates — the aforementioned girl — raised her hand and said to the German exchange student, "You speak English good."

Did you feel that? That little shiver? That was your soul trying to escape your body. That was your soul trying to escape this plane of existence, perhaps for a more gooder one.*

What was more frightening, perhaps, was that I was one of the only students in the class to understand the tragic irony in my classmate's comment. I thought surely someone would call her on it, but no one did. And the shadow that crept over the classroom that day remained there for the rest of the semester, slowly eating away at our humanity.

Feel that? That's your soul trying to get back in. Don't let it. For its own good, friend. Don't you let it.

DISCLAIMER
When doing a post about correct spelling or grammar, there's always the danger of misspelling a word or using a word incorrectly within the very article that you're writing. If you should find such an error within this post, write it down on a piece of paper, put that piece of paper in an envelope, then go the post office and throw it into one of their trash cans.

* I'm well aware that this sentence contains a grammatical error. That's the joke. I'm very funny.

The Main Blog

2005-05-26T08:00:00.000-07:00

From now on, this will be my main blog. I'll keep doing the Small Town Superhero blog, but it'll be just a side thing. This one will cover a much broader range of topics. Basically, infinite.

I named it "The Hanging Stranger" after my favorite Philip K. Dick short story. If you've never read it, I highly recommend it. And, if you've never read anything, then you're likely illiterate and not understanding a single word I'm typing. Poop. Fart. Booger.

Anyway, the last thing I want is for this blog to sound pretentious. I don't know everything. I'm not the center of the universe. And I'm not this guy, nor should I pretend to be.

Perhaps my perspective will be refreshing. Perhaps it will be drivel. Perhaps it'll taste like ashes in your mouth and you'll have to choke it down with a Fresca. That's just the risk I'm willing to take. Well, not Fresca. That's crazy talk.