Fat Kids

Nothing I see makes me happier than seeing a grossly overweight child. I’m not talking about a chubby baby, I’m talking about an obese toddler to teen. These plump little rascals really bring a smile to my face. I also really enjoy the parents that waddle along behind them shouting empty promises of punishment for whatever mischief the portly lad or lass might be into. I like to imagine the home life of these kids. I envision two liter Dr. Thunder bottles, emptied into 164 oz. thermal Texaco mugs, littered about next to brown and gold sofas. Li’l tubby sits on his can watching his choice of 974 channels, while the miles on the microwave pile up from thousands of frozen chicken nuggets, tater tots, and corn dogs rolling out onto ketchup smeared plates. “Don’t get any dippin’ sauce on your transformer jammies, you’ve got to wear ‘em all week!”, a loving mother shouts from only a few feet away. Of course the occasional day of school, trip to wal-mart, or local fair all have the ability to separate these rotund youths from their generous ass-grooves they spend countless hours working into their sofas. A greasy NASCAR hat likely caps the pyramid that is the line from shoulder to crown. Often a tank-top provides the cool breeze needed to maintain a life sustaining temperature for these cute little overheated scamps. Various toys litter the yard, each played with once and then discarded by the child upon learning there were no snacks inside, and that the toys themselves weren’t edible. Perhaps for a couple of months, the boy might squeeze into an overmatched scouts uniform and attempt to assimilate with his slender peers. However, after learning that there are no Sonic’s near the campground, nor badges to be earned for pie eating or buttering stuff, interest wanes and the lad retreats to his own oasis in front of cable TV.
Damn, I really love fat kids.

Prescription Dogfood

I have a miniature dachshund. All in all she is a pretty good dog, although she is a bit mischievous when heads are turned. Sadly, she was one of the many besieged by the great dog food poisoning of 2007. The good news however was that her little 12 pound body pulled through the whole thing. In the process she was diagnosed with acute renal failure, which is what ended up killing all of the dogs less fortunate than mine. Since there is no real way to measure the amount of permanent damage sustained, the strategy is to play things safe from here on out. While we have no idea how this will impact the rest of her life, she is currently required to eat a prescription dog food, designed for animals with poor kidney function. The thing about this that I just don’t get is you actually have to have a written prescription for this stuff. You can’t just buy it at a pet store, it comes from a vet with a written script. I guess what I don’t understand is why it is so important for this food to stay out of the hands of those without a prescription.

Scraggly teen 1: "Dude, my parents are out of town and I just scored a whole shitload of prescription Alpo. Let’s get fucked up!"

Scraggly teen 2: "Oh my god, I heard about this dude who ate like 4 cans of that stuff, his parents came home and he was pooping in the kitchen sink and didn’t know his name."

Scraggly teen 1: "I know, my cousin's friend totally knows that dude. He said it's pretty good stuff."

Obviously, this isn't really the reason but rather that the prescription is for the safety of the dog itself. Still, it doesn’t make a ton of sense. First of all, if you were truly sick enough to want to do harm to your pet, feeding it an expensive dog food probably wouldn’t be your first choice. Feeding it nothing seems a lot less expensive and equally effective. Maybe I’m completely dense about this, but I just can’t see the point. I can understand needing a vet’s recommendation initially. I certainly wouldn’t have known which type to get. But after that initial advice, couldn’t the person just pick it up on their own? I don’t know. I do know this however, it makes it a colossal pain in my ass to buy food for my dog. That's why when she whines at her food dish, I just burn her paw with a lighter until she quits begging (Yo, PETA, I'm totally kidding, I would never do that...I use matches). This is really just a small gripe of mine, but it doesn’t make a ton of sense to me.

Boner Pills

Well it’s time to address a commercial set that essentially defines the perceived intellect (see: idiot) of the average American television viewer. I’m talking about the ads for Viagra (I’ll get to this one in a minute) and Cialis specifically. I’m not sure who writes these, but I’m quite sure that they are only slightly more intelligent than whoever green-lights them into production. The Cialis ad is really incomprehensible. So you’re appealing to a group of (presumably) middle aged men who are (again, presumably) embarrassed about the fact that they can no longer achieve an erection. What way could they ease that embarrassment, and promote a product that can possibly improve their quality of life? I think that the best way is to portray something relatable. Something without too much “sex” in it, something that is palatable, even tasteful to viewers of all ages. How about we have an older couple (but not too old), in separate bathtubs with requisite porno-esque sound track, and no evidence of plumbing present, in a meadow overlooking a canyon? Wow. First of all, who in the hell is going to carry out buckets of water to the tubs out there. Second there is really no way to maintain a decent temperature in that water, so right there the mood is set with an icy bath. Third, how is a separate bath supposed to enhance the mood? Isn’t this how the overwhelming majority of baths are taken? Ah, but not outdoors next to each other (ding ding ding). Also, isn't the outdoor semi-public sex a bit kinky for the first go at it? Why not dip the toe in the pool first, and just try it in the bedroom? Next, what exactly is the fellow supposed to do when the Cialis kicks in? I mean, if he were adult film-industry worthy it’s possible (however extremely improbable) that he could throw it over into her tub like an anchor off of a sailboat. But, that would only work pre-Cialis, so it’s really a catch-22. Also, aren’t most people who have old bath tubs sitting in their yard expected to be missing most of their teeth and living in a home with wheels under it?
Or, briefly, how about where they are getting ready to test the efficacy of the Cialis only to have the kitchen sink break just as things are heating up? In reality, this couple has likely been married for some time, and a broken sink would just piss them off, possibly even result in a serious argument. Whatever, it’s unlikely that a quick trip to the toolbox would merely be a formality in their evening of passionate love-making.
Next is the granddaddy of them all. The Viva Viagra ads, these are truly classics. Every time one of these airs an imaginary Improbability Meter explodes. Let’s just set the scene for those who are unfamiliar. It’s a group of 50-somethings sitting around in a “jam” session, or possibly rehearsal for the band they comprise. In the middle of a “take-five” one of them quiets the room to start up a little something he’s been working on. This song is Viva Viagra, to the tune of the Elvis Presley hit about Las Vegas. Never mind that this is not Weird Al’s band, the other fellows love the idea. So much so, that they all immediately join in with a raucous impromptu jam about the fact that not one of them in the room can effectively procreate without a pharmaceutical intervention. I absolutely think this concept is through the roof on so many levels. I liken it to the pleasure I get from watch a scene acted by David Caruso (see below). Isn’t it likely that at minimum half of the guys there would start puffing their chests out with the ‘I’m still a man talk’? “I don’t know about you Marty, but I don’t need that shit. Believe me, Helen’s waitin’ for me to drill her at home right now.” “Yeah, I’m with Ted. While you’re at it Marty why don’t you write one called I Can’t Help Failing in Love and then we can change our band name to The Softdicks” (high fives exchanged). For all of you who love this as much as I do, I have a real treat for you. I was able, through one of my many connections, to obtain the full set of lyrics for this song. Enjoy.

Great big titties gonna set my soul
Gonna set my soul on fire.
I’d love to boink you like I’m 25
But my tip won’t move much higher
There’s a thousand pretty women waitin’ out there
But I can only flop it on their pubic hair
So Viva Viagra, Viva Viagra

How I wish I could get it up
For the piece of tail right here
But I’m about as firm as a piece of taffy
After drinking a case of beer
I’d like to have it get as hard as a rock
But instead it looks like an old sweat sock
So Viva Viagra, Viva Viagra

Viva, Viva, Viagra!

Writer's Note

Well friends, as I predicted in my very first post. I trickled down and eventually just quit writing these things. It's sad how predictable I am. However, I was recently inspired to start coming up with some new stuff. I know some of you still check this regularly (which is amazing actually given how little I've been posting), and I also know that it sucks to get on to read someone's blog and find that nothing new is on there. So, I'm not making any guarantees but I will try to start posting again with some regularity. There is a new one below this, I hope you enjoy it. I will try not to be such a slacker on this thing. Thanks for checking this, and hopefully new posts will be more plentiful henceforth. As always, your feedback (good or bad) is welcome. Peace.

David Caruso

How about David Caruso? Greatest actor of our time? I think he certainly needs to be in the discussion. Few, if any actors give a performance that is as consistently entertaining as he does. Not for his dramatic takes on life, but for the fact that he can turn a double homicide into the funniest thing on television. Is there anyone on television more consistently funny? It’s like he stuck with his shit acting method so long that, he crossed over from unwatchable to hilarious. He is also the king of fantastic little word-plays that are somehow both predictable and head scratching at the same time, it’s unprecedented really. Let’s just plug David Caruso into some situations other than CSI and see what kind of fun we can have, shall we?

David Caruso in a tampon commercial:

Caruso walks in coolly: What seems to be the trouble here?
Panicky woman: It’s…it’s my vagina…it’s got a really, really heavy flow.
Caruso, kneeling down for some reason: So you’re telling me the flow is… (looks up at woman) heavy?
Woman (trembling): So, so heavy.
Caruso (pulls out a tampon): This is one river… (pulls off sunglasses slowly), that’s about to run dry.
And…Scene!

David Caruso in a condom commercial:

Caruso, again, walks in coolly: What seems to be the trouble here?
Panicky young man: It’s…it’s my boner…I really want to do it, but that vagina…it…it looks…homeless.
Caruso, kneeling down for some reason: So you’re telling me that you just walked in here, saw that thing and said... (looks up at young man) ‘I'm going balls deep'?
Young man: I mean, I guess so.
Caruso (pulls out a condom): This is one pig… (pulls off sunglasses slowly), that’s going in a blanket.
And…Scene!

David Caruso in a cheap-vodka commercial:

Can Caruso walk in any way but coolly: What seems to be the trouble here?
Panicky middle aged man: I’m out of booze man. I’m starting to hallucinate, I got no money…I’m screwed!
Caruso, in need of some knee pads now: So you’re telling me you’re sober... (looks up at man) and you want that to change?
Middle aged man: Yes! Yes, all I want is to pound some booze.
Caruso (pulls out a fifth of vodka): This is one face… (pulls off sunglasses slowly), that’s about to get shit.

Seriously, there is an unlimited supply of these. In fact, I may do a follow up column at some point. He’s just great comedy. Tune in to an episode of CSI Miami sometime, it’s worth your while. Yes, it’s predictable and incredibly formulaic but Caruso is definitely worth the price of admission.

Mom Arrested for Spraying Child with Hose at Car Wash

This is an honest to goodness story, (check out the link: http://www.wesh.com/news/15528862/detail.html) How fantastic is this. This headline alone is high comedy. I guess the kid should be glad mom wasn’t operating a jackhammer when she pitched her fit. The best part though is the mom attempting to justify this. The mother calmly explained to authorities who were called in that the child was throwing a tantrum and she didn’t have the hose on full power. What exactly did the mother expect to come from this explanation (by the way, you have to imagine this woman with a thick hillbilly accent, it’s all that fits really)?

Policeman (approaching the mother): Excuse me, ma’am? Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?
Mother: Now now, settle down officer. This kid really had this coming, let me explain. See, we was pullin’ in to get a little turtle wax on the Chevette here, when little Candilynn dumped her milk shake on the floor ‘cause I made her get strawberry instead of chocolate on account that I don’t like chocolate and I wanted me a sip or two. So I just told her right there, “Get out, you're gettin’ the hose”. But don’t worry, I didn’t put it on full power or nothin’, just regular. I wasn’t even squeezin’ the handle.
Policeman: Hmmm, I see. Well, carry on (drops another quarter in the sprayer as he leaves).

Seriously, what parent justifies this. Evidently another customer overheard the mother saying “You will respect me. I’m your mother.” And really, what better way to earn the respect of a 2 ½ year old than by putting them on the business end of a car wash power sprayer? On the plus side, family members say that little Candilynn hasn’t been the clean since they brought her home from the hospital.
I also really like the fact that there is faction of supporters who had no problem with this method of discipline and said it was just some tough love. In a related story, these same supporters will be meeting for the annual Pie and Cake social for “Parents of children who gunned down classmates at school support group” at the VFW Hall on Tuesday night.

Farts are Funny… or are they?

For most of my life I have held fast to the statement that farts are funny. No questions asked, a good Bronx cheer will bring a laugh. However I’ve been rethinking this a bit of late and I’ve decided to expand it some, because not all farts are funny. A more accurate description would be that the sound of a fart is funny. A prized trumpeter will bring down the house nearly every time, particularly one that has a Kenny G-esque longevity to it. The popcorn fart is a funny sound, and a funny name. The blowing through a straw in a bowl of pudding is also good times, although that particular fart typically brings a look of concern for the individual producing it. Or even the I've got a secret fart e.g. Pssssssst, is a lot of fun. I have found however, that the smell of a fart is typically far less comical. A quick recap for those of you scoring at home: fart sounds=funny; fart smell=not funny at all. Please allow me to expand on this a bit. Even the funniest sounding fart, while bringing chuckles initially, if followed by a gruesome smell will turn the crowd rather quickly. Nothing wipes the grins off of friend’s faces faster than a sulphurous rotten egg scent. In fact, looks of pain and anguish are often seen at these moments. Hands transform into paddles frantically trying to escape the pool of stink. The case in point here is the silent but deadly (to use a worn out term) fart is not funny. The only laughter these bring is to the dealer, and almost exclusively while the dealer is in control of the child lock windows on a road trip. In fact, if a dealer is repeatedly producing such odors, physical harm can be dealt out by the recipients for the repeated offenses. An interesting dynamic is when one of these farts is launched in a crowded gathering or other completely inappropriate atmosphere. The reactions may vary (first though let me point out that these farts are often isolated events where the dealer has a lot of gas and sends off a “test” fart, the idea being they absolutely have to relieve some of the gas pressure so they release a test fart to see if in a stroke of good fortune they aren’t smelly and no one will be the wiser, whereupon learning they are, in fact, rancid they make a mental note “Whoa, I won’t do that again” and thereby abort “Operation Ass Evac”). Please allow me to describe some more common reactions in ascending order of cleverness.
Amateur. These dealers take the play dumb approach. They drop the bomb, people begin to react by getting the hell away from the smell. The dealer will stand firmly in the stench-zone and claim to smell nothing. “What? I don’t smell anything. Seriously guys what are you talking about?” Then tilt their head up and try really hard to smell what all of the fuss is about. This fools absolutely no one. Quite the opposite actually, this is judge, jury, and sentencing in one fell swoop.
Rookie. Some dealers will take a loud grandiose preemptive strike when learning there asshole is, in fact, rotten: (loudly) “Whoa, who was that? (fanning the air and leaning back) “Good god, something died in here! Jesus Christ! That is absolutely horrible! Whoever did that needs to see a doctor!” Here the thinking is, “no one will ever expect it’s me if I draw this much attention to it”. This is often met with suspicion as the person putting on this production is the first one to notice the stench. This phenomenon is knows under two guises, the “Whoever smelt (sic) it dealt it” corollary, or the “Smeller is the feller” theorem (more common in rural areas). Either way, people generally agree that the smell is in fact bad and they hope it never happens again.
Professional. This reaction is more subtle, often these dealers are salty veterans who enjoy a White Castle burger with a side of cabbage and beans washed down with a lukewarm Stroh's. Generally the dealer releases the stench, waits for others to begin noticing, then joins in the fun. This is designed specifically to offset the “whoever smelt it dealt it” corollary. Often these savvy players will send off two even three more bombs knowing they’ve got a good poker face. However, cocky or less experienced dealers will get busted by going to the well too often. People smelling these things have an uncanny ability to take conscious or subconscious inventory of who was around each time they smelled this. “Well I was by Ted and Carrie earlier when I smelled it. This time it was Ted and Paula. I know it’s not me, it must be Ted.” This is but a small example, people can track rooms of up to 20 people with ease.
Lastly, there is one more group. I have no accurate label for these folks. These are the people who just let it go, repeatedly if necessary, firing atrocities with a reckless abandon unparalleled on this stage. Generally these people find farts so entertaining that they are willing to amuse themselves at any price. Or they are younger than 7 or older than 70. Often the reaction is typical initially, and then people just begin to tip their cap and stay the hell away. Quick test, when you fart around friends do they A) Get a good chuckle, B) Try to one up you, C) Ask you in all seriousness to never do that again, or D) Vomit on their shirt and never speak to you again? If you answered C or D, you likely fall into this last category.
Where you fall in these groups says something about you, what I’m not sure. Or maybe you have some futuristic technique, so advanced and revolutionary that one day it will mimicked to the point where no one will ever know who pulled the trigger. Wherever you stand, if you only take one thing from this, remember this: keep ‘em loud, keep ‘em comin’; leave a cloud send ‘em runnin’.

Yogurt Commercial

I recently saw one of those yogurt ads with the elf-faced white girl and the spice-girl looking black girl where they sit around eating the yogurt in bath robes. All the while, they compare how good the yogurt is to some of life’s pleasures that only women can relate to. First of all, let me say how realistic this is. I know that on many Saturday afternoons my wife packs her robe and a few yogurts into a shoulder bag and heads out to meet the girls for an afternoon of girl talk. We usually plan it so that while she does that I throw on a pair of real comfortable jeans and meet the boys for a pick-up football game in the park with Brett Favre. Anyway, I thought the idea for the commercial was so cute and such a great idea, that I would try my hand at writing one.

Girl 1: This is like, eating a whole large pizza rolled up like a burrito and dipping it in nacho cheese before each bite good.
Girl 2: This is like, peeing in your pants on the sofa when no one is home because you didn’t want to miss a minute of Oprah’s favorite things good.
Girl 1: This is like, farting in the elevator at work and having the hot guy from accounting turn around and give you his number good.
Girl 2: This is like, finding out you can sell crab lice and make a decent living good.
Girl 1: This is like, going through a pile of dog poop on the street and finding a diamond ring mixed in that the dog ate good.
Girl 2: This is like, learning that guys really like the bleached upper lip hair, and really they don’t even notice it good.
Girl 1: This is like, having a boyfriend who likes giant areolas that have no definite edge and just blend into the skin gradually good.
Girl 2: This is like having the spa girl confirm that most girls do, in fact, have to start their bikini wax on their hips and "work in toward the middle" good.
Girl 1: This is like, finding out Tom Brady’s girlfriend has a terminal illness good…that bitch.
Girl 2: This is like, going to Italy and having sex with dozen’s of strange men, and finding out that penicillin will take care of everything good (face turning red).
Girl 1: This is like, smearing peanut butter all over your genitals and finding out your pet really loves peanut butter good (winks and smiles at other girl).
Girl 2: This is like, shitting your pants on your second date at his house and getting the toilet to work again after cramming your underwear down it good.
Girl 1: This is like, later in life accidentally running over that girl who called you fat in 7th grade, crushing your self esteem forever, good.
Girl 2 (lip quivering): This is like meeting the captain of the football team at your 10 year class reunion and finding out he’s turned over a new leaf and is really attracted to homely social outcasts who are really into Magic The Gathering and Lilith Fair, but only if you’ll get braces again good.
Girl 1 (in tears): This is like having your sorority girl mother accept that you like to read in coffee shops, listen to Indigo Girls and wear big sweaters regardless of the season good.
Girl 2 (also in tears): This is like your ex-boyfriend leaving that stupid bitch that works at SuperCuts with the big fake boobs, and learning to love you in spite of your physical flaws…oh to hell with it (sobbing), I’m calling Todd.
Girl 1 (dipping a king size Snickers in her yogurt, also sobbing): Do it. Just call him. Call him and tell him how much you love him. Tell him you’ll change. If he can’t understand that…
Girl 2: Todd? Hey it’s me. I know, I’m sorry I just… I just needed to talk to you. Wait, I know. Just hear me out…Todd? Hello? Todd? Todd?
Girl 1 (holding a tissue out to Girl 1): I love you. I’ll always be here for you. If he can't learn to accept you...
Girl 2: Will you just shut the fuck up! (dialing the phone again) His phone is off. (collapsing and crying) His phone is off.

Announcer: Yoplait Light, less than 100 calories per serving, and 0 grams of fat. Open up the great taste…without the guilt.

Nailestra

I’m sure everyone has been seeing all of the commercials on television the last few years for various drugs that are available by prescription. These ads come in two varieties. The less common variety is those that tell you nothing about what the drug does, just the name and some pretty music. Then there are the more common variety which tells you what the drug’s intended use is, but also a laundry list of potential side effects and interactions with other drugs the consumer might be taking. The reason for this is there is a law stating that if a company is to advertise the benefits of a drug, it must also advertise the side effects as well. However, if the benefit or use of the drug isn’t advertised then the side effects don’t have to either. So you end up with one of the two types of ad I mentioned before. Obviously you see more of the latter because it’s pretty pointless to advertise a name and hope that people are so curious they’ll look up what it is. Now that you’ve waded through that rather long and pointless digression, here is the meat of this entry. I have found a miracle drug, and with it the advertisement for that drug, enjoy.

Nailestra

Intro: A woman runs in slow motion through a field of wildflowers, soft piano music plays in the background. She stops and spins around, laughing, and holding up a puppy. She starts running again, in slow motion, this time with a giant bubble maker in her hand, and a huge streaming bubble blowing out of it. She laughs again, and reaches in her pocket for something; the woman can’t be heard, but her lips are easily read as she mouths the word “fuck”. She quickly withdraws her hand from her pocket and begins to suck on the back of her index finger as if in pain while tears run down her cheeks. The narrator speaks:

Narrator: Tired of painful hangnails? Do you wonder each time you reach into your pocket if you will snag one on the fabric? Do your nails bleed every time you dry your hands on a terry cloth towel? If these, or similar symptoms are diminishing your quality of life, the answer is here. Nailestra. Nailestra is a once a day tablet that can end painful hangnails, forever. Nailestra works by converting your body’s natural enzymes and focusing essential vitamins and minerals on the heart of your nail beds. Nailestra works internally, with your body’s natural rhythms in ways that filing and manicures can’t. Nailestra is a proven effective medication that will eliminate hangnails.
Side effects of Nailestra may include: upset stomach, diarrhea, nausea, projectile vomiting, hair loss, loss of sensation in your feet and nipples, uncontrollable painful spontaneous ejaculations, temporary blindness, permanent blindness, loss of taste buds, rectal polyps, adult acne, extreme facial hair growth, kidney failure, emphysema, parkinson’s disease, sudden retardation, transgender genital transformation, unstable mood, extreme violence, bipolar disorder, exploding ovaries, malodorous testicles, foreskin regrowth, obesity, brain tumors, cataracts, unibrow growth, profuse sweating, perpetual flatulence, loss of bladder control, heart attack, bleeding from the ears and nostrils, gout, bunyons, ringworm, psoriasis, tetter, corns, calluses, whooping cough, hay fever, crupe, dropsies, quinsies, pleurisy, goiter, distemper and tooth loss. Ask your doctor if you are also taking an MAO Inhibitor, estrogen, oral birth control pills, blood pressure medications, certain cholesterol drugs, aspirin, vitamins, or using deodorant, shampoo, or mouthwash, and if you regularly drink water or eat food. Use of Nailestra with these things can result death or male pregnancy. Like all medications, ask your doctor before beginning use of Nailestra. Nailestra should not be used or handled by children, women who are pregnant, women who plan on becoming pregnant, or women who know what being pregnant means. Nailestra should be stored in a cool dry place, and never ever be exposed to sunlight. Though rare, some clinical studies have shown Nailestra to explode violently with no provocation. Nailestra should not be taunted or laughed at.
So when you’re ready for beautiful, worry-free nails. When you’re ready to live a better life, when you’re ready to be free again, try Nailestra.

Closing: Screen shows woman again. This time she jumps in a Jeep with some of her girlfriends, surfboards strapped to the top, and the puppy sitting on the dash. She bites her nail gently, and smiles at the camera as the Jeep pulls off toward the sun setting over the ocean. Nailestra.

Eating Out in New York

Living in New York is great for a lot of reasons, but one of the most important is the food. You can literally find almost any type of food from around the world, except for Viking Food (apologies to Naked Gun). This is a pretty exciting prospect, especially if you’re relatively adventurous. However, there are many types of worldly cuisine that as a Midwesterner I had no idea what they entailed. After considering this, I thought maybe there are others out there who share my ignorance. So, I took the liberty of creating a quick guide to eating different cuisines. This is in no way meant to be a tutorial on proper etiquette, nor is it meant to be a critique. It’s simply a little rundown, so that one might have an idea of what to expect when venturing into a new type of restaurant. Forgive me if this isn’t 100% accurate, I’ve done my best to figure these out for you. Feel free, as always, to comment on or correct any mistakes I might have made.

Afghan:
A charming hostess seats you and your party in a charming crumbling cement bunker, lined with darling razor wire. Ouch! Careful, in there. Your waiter shouts at you angrily while the busboy’s stand back with threatening rocket launchers slung over their backs. Settle down, they’re harmless! The letters on the menu will mean nothing to you, so roll the dice here. Chances are you’ll get a piping hot chunk of meat impaled on a steel rod brought to your table. What is it you ask? Don’t get caught up on details, just enjoy and know that there is a strong chance you owned one of whatever you’re eating as a childhood pet! Bon Apetit! Visa, MasterCard, Diner’s Club, and Interesting Trades accepted.

Burmese:
Don’t let the name chase you away, the only pythons here dangle above the urinals. Seriously though, cuisine from Burma is almost exactly like the popular cuisine from Myanmar which I think needs no further explanation.

Ethiopian:
There is only one Ethiopian restaurant in my neighborhood so they aren’t that common. The food is very difficult to describe so I thought in this case I would just put a copy of the menu in here. Bear in mind that I didn’t bother to recreate the fonts or the feel of the menu, it’s straight text so let your imagination get crazy:

Café Ethiopia

Lunch:

Sack of Grain……………………$10.99

Dinner:

Sack of Grain……………………$12.99

I would have to say that I recommend the dinner sack; you get a complimentary roll of fly tape with it (your eyes will thank you).

Vietnamese:
Don’t let the smell fool you, they aren’t incinerating medical waste in there! Far from it weary traveler, a delicious meal awaits you on the inside. “Charlie” will seat you in an authentic bamboo cage. Watch out for the bamboo chutes covered in animal shit, those ends are sharp! In addition, a few simple phrases will go a long way toward improving your service and getting you something special from the chef. Try “Me so Hungry”, or “Me eaty rong time” (you can check your “L”s at the door), both of these will pay big dividends when the check comes. Have fun with it!

Kosher:
What exactly is “kosher” you ask? Essentially it means an old man with a tiny little hat said that your dinner was cool with him. It also means that all of the food comes with a hearty side of “Oi!”. But, don’t make the mistake I did, that’s matzo, not a cracker. It only looks and tastes exactly like a cracker. Finally, those crazy hair do’s on the fellah’s, where do I begin? Think of them as delicious curly-Q French fries in front of their ears.
Insider’s Tip: Be sure to haggle when your bill comes!

Carribean:
Bring me my dinner Mon! The food in these quaint little restaurants is only half of the fun. While you dine, venders will incessantly try to sell you everything from tiny drums, to masks, to illicit drugs! My friends had the most fun seeing who could say “no thank you” the most times during our dinner. Can you imagine? If you order the chicken here, we found it to be a fun game to throw the bones inside the steel drums of the band. Never mind the amusing clanging it made, the band members were so amused they packed their things and left! No doubt they had a good laugh on their way home.

Persian:
What type of food comes from a region that is no longer recognized? Food of the same type! All of the food here can be described as tasty to say the least, but my dinner companion and I found the décor to be breathtaking. You’re seated on a genuine Persian rug, no chairs in the house. At first this was unusual but after I started eating I found that I really loved munching on a rug! I think that if you give it a chance you’ll love it too!

So this was only a brief rundown, and I certainly didn’t cover every type of food that there is. However, I hope that I touched on some of the more unusual varieties that are out there. So next time you’re in New York, or whatever part of the world enjoy the food and don’t be afraid to try some new things. With a little bit of experimenting, I’m sure you’ll be able to add to this handy guide. Until then, enjoy it and enjoy your meals, wherever they’re from.

Hiatus

Hey friends,
Sorry for the brief hiatus. I've been out of town and pretty busy, so writing hasn't been number one on my list in my scant free time. I will try to post this weekend, and definitely more next week. I really hate to let my loyal fan base down, both of you.

The Spiderbutton Chronicles on Old Dragonwasp Mountain

I noticed that Hollywood has recently taken a shine to the fantasy genre. The sort of movies with made up creatures and child heroes who improbably defeat evil sorcerers and the like. Ever since Lord of the Rings came out, any book that made it into the top 100 of the Renaissance-Fair-Geek Best-Seller list has found its way onto the silver screen. The more of these things they make, the more they all begin to blend together into a bouillabaisse of sword wielding elf loving nonsense, where one is indistinguishable from the rest. So in keeping with the trend of the Chronicles of Narnia, the Golden Compass, and the sure-to-be-loved-by Oscar, Spiderwick Chronicles, I’ve decided to capitalize on this gold mine and have made my own film of this variety. The following is my visualization of the preview. The announcer voice should be imagined in the raspy baritone voice heard on most movie previews.

Announcer: “Pip Oliver was the typical 13 year old boy, but the summer after his seventh grade year was anything but typical. When his parents dropped the boy off at his uncle’s house on Dragonwasp Mountain, they never expected to come back 3 months later and pick up a man.”

Mother: “Good bye, Pip! Have fun, be sure to write often!”
Father (crouching down): “Be good son, and mind what your uncle says.”
Pip: “Yes, sir” Camera shows parents driving off, boy stands in front of uncle’s creepy house as some crows fly out across the screen. The sky is gray and the boy is noticeably uncomfortable.
Uncle: “Well Pip, what did you have in mind for the summer?” Uncle places arm around boy as they enter the house.

Announcer: “While exploring the attic of his uncle’s house, Pip found a book that would change his world and ours…forever.”
Boy blows dust off of an old leather book, unlatches a clasp on the front, and opens the book. As the book opens, several flashes of light come out of the pages, and the boy falls backward.
Announcer: “Young Pip would unlock a world he never imagined. Little did he know when he came to Dragonwasp Mountain, he would have to save himself, and save the world.”
Screen shows boy wandering through a thickly wooded forest with the book under his arm. Mysterious noises are heard indicating creatures scurrying about, but nothing is seen. Giggling is heard far away. Then silence as a large terrifying cloud appears in front of the boy. He falls backward, cringing in fear. As the boy lies on the ground, the boy lets a small fart and a flash of light comes down from the tree tops and the black cloud vanishes. Pip opens his eyes to find a small fairy floating in front him.
Pip: “Who…who are you?”
Fairy: “My name Anustasia. I was summoned by your magical ass! I can protect you from the Black Cloud Sorcerer.”
Pip: But where did you come from?”
Fairy: “You see me now, yes you do! But only when I smell your poo!” Fairy giggles as she flies away.

Announcer: “Young Pip was now the keeper of a gate between two worlds. Worlds that must be kept separate, for if these worlds come together, it would spell the end of all mankind.”
Camera now shoes Pip in a cave, talking with the fairy from before, an old wise bearded fairy, as well as hundreds of other fairies surrounding him.
Old Fairy with a Beard: You are the gatekeeper, you hold the power to stop the Black Cloud Sorcerer from entering your world, and at the same time…ending ours!”
Pip: “Why me? Why do I hold the power?”
Old Fairy with a beard (laughing): “Because young Pip, you’ve opened the book that holds the secrets to saving both of our worlds. Because the book is knowledge. (old fairy is suddenly very serious) Knowledge you now possess. When you read the pages of that book, you became the chosen one, the one who must summon us in order to defend our world and yours. You’ve unlocked the secrets of… (now whispering) The Spiderbutton Chronicles.”

Announcer: And so an epic battle begins. An army of good, led by a young boy with the power to summon all of the unseen warriors of Dragonwasp Mountain. By floating a mighty air biscuit, he will take on the most evil force in the universe. Camera shows boy standing on top of a mountain, fists clenched, a clear, loud trumpet call echoes as it bursts from his ass: do-doo! do-doo! An army of white fairies are seen flying up the mountain as the boy faces the evil black cloud. Camera cuts to the boy in his kitchen with his uncle:
Uncle (laughing): “I wish I had known you enjoyed beans so much, I would have stocked up!”

Pip (smiling, knowingly): “Believe me, I had no idea either.” Uncle looks comically puzzled.

Announcer: “The Spiderbutton Chronicles on Old Dragonwasp Mountain. Coming to theatres this summer. Be silent…but deadly!”

Your Wreath, Rah!

I was thinking about a minor affliction that befalls all men. Or at least to my knowledge it befalls all men. Maybe I’m the circus freak here, but I’m putting it out there anyway. Why is it that sometimes when you take a leak, the stream is all over the place? Seriously, what is the cause, what is the solution? As a person who has pissed standing up for at least 50% (if not more) of my trips to the bathroom, you would think I would have a solution at this point. Sometimes it’s a pristine jet of uncompromised flow. During these times the toilet could be the size of a donut and I wouldn’t miss, straight and true. Other times it’s like my tip is a colander. I expect little kids to come running in with their swimming suits on and frolic in my whimsical stream(s) like it’s one of those clown heads on the end of a garden hose. You look at it like you expect to find a Prince Albert you forgot about getting in a drunken stupor. And it’s not like it’s a couple of inches of separation either. It’s a choice. The toilet is not large enough to accommodate the both of them without getting down and putting your hips on the brim. No no, it’s one or the other. You start to look to see if one is maybe a more dominant stream, larger than the other in order to minimize the mess. Other times, it’s a broken watering can and you just count your losses. Or the worst, and this is rare, is when one is pointing downward, a small off-shoot that is seemingly harmless. Yet you don’t notice it until you’re finished and your left foot is damp, or worse your pant leg. Maybe I’ll invent some sort of attachment that prevents this. Sort of a penis-friendly version of those things they put in the liquor bottles at bars. Whatever it is, I hope that my contribution to this world will be the true laser quality stream. Until then, mind your shoe chappy.

Super Bowl Observations

As anyone living in America already knows, Super Bowl XLII is upon us. A culmination of an entire season of football, this game is the closest thing to a national holiday not officially observed. I thought I would dive into a timely piece regarding the game this weekend, just some things for you to chew on.

First of all, I can’t say I know of an NFL coach who is more overrated than Bill Belichick. He gets all of this credit year in year out for being some sort of mad football genius. Seriously does anyone remember his stint with the Browns? From 1991 to 1995 he geniused their asses to a sparkling 36 and 44 record, including a 5 and 11 mark to close out his regime. I know what has happened with the Patriots since he took over, you can’t deny any of it. I just know the credit lies with Tom Brady. In Belichick’s first year with Bledsoe at the helm the Patriots were a gaudy 5 and 11. It wasn’t until the cement-footed Bledsoe went down with an injury that the genius Belichick was forced to insert Brady who turned out to be the lottery ticket he needed. Also he looks like a complete douche-bag with that cut-off sweatshirt on. I can’t begin to tell you how much this irritates me. Way to look like a fucking adult you bum. Anyway, that’s my thought there. As for his flawless record this season, I could have had a wet-fart on a blank piece of paper, handed it to Brady and he would turn that into a touchdown scoring play, I’m just saying.

Next, I think I people need to make more out of the fact that Tedy Bruschi is clearly Eric (Ponch) Estrada’s stunt double. Why is this not discussed more? The two look enough alike that I think that Estrada could have sired Bruschi with a young intern after a few tequila’s during the CHiP’s season 2 wrap party.

Does anyone seem less fun to hang out with than Eli Manning? His personality is just absolute shit.

Upon further review, I think the answer to my last question is coaching the Giants.

Hey Michael Strahan, how much cash did you take in for the souvenir piano key that you yanked out of the front of your mouth? Also, you’ve got a bright future in broadcasting. Shannon Sharpe has really laid the groundwork for obnoxious former athletes with glaring speech impediments who talk for a living. In a loosely related story, Christopher Reeves has just been hired as the US Olympic Swimming coach.

I think this week is the perfect storm for Jeremy Shockey to break the law in Pac Man Jones fashion. He’s the ultimate white-trash good ‘ole boy under the disguise of superstar football player. Yet he doesn’t actually have to practice or play in the game (injured), so no real responsibilities to keep his mind occupied. I’m guessing Phoenix strippers all bought new cars about the time Tynes nailed the winning field goal.

What is the over/under on times that Wes Welker and Kevin Faulk get talked about before, during, and after the Super Bowl, and each time getting noted as a guy who does the little things but doesn’t get enough credit? 300? 400?

While I’m on the subject of long shots, how many times will Tynes’ missed field goals in the Packer game be shown before he attempts an important kick in the Super Bowl? 300? 400?

Let me say, I hope Tony Siragusa is on the sidelines for this one. His hilarious comments and outlandish antics always make me die laughing. Did anyone else see the Packers/Seahawks game in the snow? He was riding in the snow plow at one point!!! That is so fucking funny. Imagine an embarrassingly fat former player riding in, of all things, a snow plow! Seriously my sides are splitting. Is there anything this guy won’t do?

I can’t wait to see what situations Bud Light puts the guy who says “Dude” in during the game. Imagine the different tones he could use during the Super Bowl, stay tuned!

I, for one, hope that Jimmy Johnson has another glass of water on the pregame show desk. I was shocked before the NFC championship to learn that negative 4 degrees is, in fact, very cold. The water glass really cleared up my confusion on that point. Maybe in Phoenix he could drink it at the end with some ice cubes added to show how 80 degrees is pretty comfortable, maybe even warm. So some ice water would taste pretty refreshing at that time.

Finally, all of the horseshit surrounding it aside, this week is always bitter sweet. The Super Bowl is always the most celebrated game of the season, even if not always the most competitive. Football fans, casual observers, and even people who never watch football any other time, generally get together in some medley of the three groups to take in the game. Good food is prepared, friends get together, and they all enjoy the party that is Super Bowl Sunday. Beer was practically invented for this day. However, it is always followed by those months of longing, of waiting for the next season. In that way it’s kind of sad, knowing that Sunday’s will just be days where we don’t go to church because it sucks, not because there are games to watch. However, every fall brings new hope. It brings days where a person’s team decides their fate in front of millions, hoping to reach this very day that we now stand on the cusp of. That is why we watch. That, my friends, is why football is awesome.

Beloved Australian Takes the World's Longest Nap

Normally I don’t get into much of the pop culture world that our country is so infatuated with. However, a few things are coming out of this Heath Ledger situation that I find comical. Let me quickly say that it is certainly tragic in regard to his untimely death, but nonetheless I’m mustering up all of my class to poke fun at a few things surrounding it. I’m not sure to what extent the media is eating this up outside of NYC, but they certainly are here. It’s top shelf on the local news, and again I’m not sure if that’s because it happened here or it’s really that big of a deal. Personally, his track record isn’t terribly impressive in my opinion for how much attention this is getting. I guess if I had to rank this I would put it somewhere between Bronson Pinchot driving off a bridge and Tom Hanks getting gunned down in an improbable bank robbery. Either way, people are teary eyed in the street outside of his apartment, lighting candles etc. There is the obligatory pile of stuff there including poster boards, Australian flags, and other psychotic mementos put together in a loving tribute to this B+ celebrity. I guess I just think it’s funny that of all people, Heath Ledger is inspiring this much grieving. Apparently, Jake Gyllenhaal was not alone in wishing he could quit Ledger.

All of that aside, the news coverage has been pretty comical. In an attempt to recount the events the New York City chief of police made it abundantly clear that contrary to some earlier reports, all of the pills in Ledger’s apartment were still in the bottles and not “strewn about”. To the untrained eye this might be seen as an irrelevant detail but in fact it may break this thing wide open. Nothing was strewn about, pills or otherwise, I repeat: nothing was strewn about! Next, upon finding the nude and unresponsive Ledger, the masseuse who found him got the phone and immediately called, who else? Mary Kate Olsen. Was Dave Coulier not on speed dial? My wife quickly informed me that she was his landlord (there is no doubt a reality show in there somewhere: Renting From the Olsens, this fall on Fox! but I digress). However, the news made no effort to explain that, and didn’t bat an eye at this report or even allude to the fact that when most people find a dead body, said body’s landlord probably isn’t who they call first. So in all of her wisdom no doubt gleaned from the parenting she received from single dad Bob Saget, Mary Kate was the second Mensa member to not call 911, she instead sent over a couple of her personal body guards. At least they were her personal body guards, not some unknown body guards who so obviously couldn't be trusted. So at this point only two people on the planet were aware that Ledger is likely dead and neither have the inclination to call an ambulance. I’d like to see Mary Kate and this masseuse looking at each other across a game of chess just to watch their heads explode.

Obviously the proper authorities were eventually called and we pretty much are at that same point now. However, if any more hard hitting details come out of the local reports here I’ll be sure to pass them along. We now know that nothing was strewn about, but so many questions remain unanswered. Was his bed made or not? Anything good in the fridge? Had he put away his clothes after he took them off or were his pants crumpled on the floor haphazardly? As a member of the general public, we need to know these things. For god’s sake, were they crumpled!? Hopefully these questions and others are answered before this is all said and done. Until then, we’ll just have to be content lying down at night and knowing that absolutely nothing was strewn about.

My Wonder Years

Yesterday I was engaged in some sort of menial task, the type of thing that lends itself to distraction and to thoughts wondering in unpredictable directions. While my thoughts were meandering I found myself in the middle of a moment of childhood nostalgia. I began to remember, very vividly, an occurrence of my youth that I had nearly forgotten. I’m sure many of you have had a similar experience to what I'm about to describe. I think all of us kids who grew up in the 80’s did. In fact, I can't think of one person who didn't go through it. It was something along the lines of the Challenger explosion or your first Pogo-Ball, you remember exactly where you were. It was an event I remember rather fondly. The first time it happened with me, I was 8 years old. I had just finished a Saturday morning YMCA soccer game. We were victorious. Mind you I wasn’t exactly an essential cog in the machine that was our soccer team, but I had scored a goal in this game, one of about 3 dozen we rained upon our inferior opponent. As a result, this game was maybe a little more special than most. So on the way home I was feeling pretty good about myself. I was riding in the back seat, we had just pulled out of the parking lot of the soccer field. I hadn’t even had time to take off my shin guards or cleats yet. I’ll never forget my father saying “You looked good out there today son, I’m proud of you.” This wasn't that unusual, but his tone was different, more sincere and as he said the words “I’m proud of you” his hand reached over his head to the back seat and in it was a brand new pack of filter-less Pall-Mall cigarettes. At first I was stunned, unsure of what to do, but he motioned the pack toward me as if to say “Go ahead, it’s OK.” My fingers were trembling with excitement and I could barely get the cellophane off of the bright red and white package. As I pulled the lid back I was mesmerized by the perfectly round cylinders of sweet smelling tobacco that looked back at me. I remember having trouble deciding which one I would take, thinking that I needed to pick the perfect one. Like the kid I was, I took one right out of the middle like a piece out of a birthday cake. As I withdrew it from its package a sweet smell flooded my nostrils. The smell of fresh inexpensive tobacco mingled with the hot vinyl seats and artificial vanilla air freshener to create an aroma that took me somewhere I’ve not been since. My mom turned from the passenger seat and handed me a lighter, she was smiling from ear to ear. My tiny little fingers were too small to turn the rough metal wheel across the flint. After a few tries my mother said “Let me, son”. As her thumb turned the wheel with expertise a beautiful yellow flame erupted from the end of the lighter and my heart began to race. I put the cigarette between my lips and as the end of it met the flame a tiny crackle sounded. My chest filled with a thick world of wonderment as I inhaled as deeply as I could. My head was swimming with nicotine and joy. I remember my father looking at me in the rearview mirror, his headed nodded almost imperceptibly. I was only 8 but I knew even then that his look was one of pure pride. When I finally smashed the butt into the shiny ashtray in the armrest of our Buick, my fingers were nearly burning. I didn’t want it to end! Later as I vomited through a smiling mouth, my father mussed my hair with an outstretched hand and said “Atta, boy.” Ah to be 8 again.

Groundbreaking Theory

After countless hours of research, journal readings, and professional interviews I’ve finally concluded my thesis. Some of you might be asking why someone would compose a thesis with no real reason. My answer to that is to better my life and hopefully the lives of others around me. I realize my conclusion will be met with much dispute, and yet I feel that my research is strong enough to put my point out there: black people are OK too.

Some of you may be scratching your heads at this point, I understand. To the passive observer it may appear that people are just living together, and skin color doesn’t even enter into the equation for you. What I’ve noticed is that from time to time there is some racial tension in our society. There are many theories as to the origin of this. While no one will ever really know the reason, my personal suspicion (and historical references will provide some support to this) is that the tension traces back to somewhere around the time of slavery. Obviously historical records are hazy at best, but something big must have happened during that time that really united black people, and separated them from the whites. Whatever it was, it seems to have created some notable separation between the two groups. Did you know that at one point in time black people and white people had different bathrooms, seating sections, and even water fountains? On the surface this might look like a pretty sweet deal, but it turns out in this case that all that glitters isn’t gold. Why, even today there are black people who feel that denoting them as "black" is an inappropriate label. They prefer to be called African Americans. Isn’t it a little arbitrary to pick Africa you ask? No, in fact when examining some genealogy in my studies, I found that a majority of black people can trace their heritage back to the continent of Africa. It seems that this is why the term "African" Americans was picked. In addition to uncovering this fascinating history, I spent hundreds of hours giving surveys, reading journals and history books, and performing clinical research.

I talked, played games, dined, watched TV, and even discussed politics, all with black people! While this was certainly uncomfortable initially, after several months I began to forget I was talking with someone so obviously different from me. Then, after several more months, it began to feel normal, comfortable even. This I when I decided to change my thesis statement entirely from black people are acceptable, to black people are OK too. After this dramatic shift in theory, things began to really get interesting. I learned things about black people that I’d never known before. I’ll bet you weren’t aware that black people take credit for creating the musical genres of blues, gospel, jazz, and “rap”. While artists such as Bud Freeman, Hovie Lister, Dr. John, Johnny Lang, Beastie Boys, and Eminem have led many of us to believe otherwise, it turns out that in the black community it is widely known that, in fact, black people created these styles of music. Also, black people are often gifted athletically. Wait! Hear me out. After hearing this for the first time, I could barely contain my laughter. So I decided to take a road trip to squelch this preposterous notion. My first stop was the professional hockey hall of fame. The number of black people I found here? One. Checkmate! However, I didn’t stop there. I went to the hall's of fame for every major U.S. sport. I think one word sums up what I found: shocked. In fact, it seems, many black people are athletically gifted. I even turned on some current sporting events and found more evidence supporting the claim. I went back with tail between my legs, yet pleasantly enlightened at the same time. In addition to this, I found black people to be intelligent, funny, kind, and generous all supporting my general theory that black people are OK. In addition to my own research, I found countless examples of black people’s achievements in journals and books. Did you know peanut butter was invented by a black person? The delicious, versatile sandwich spread? Yes! It’s true a fellow named Carver came up with it. This is only one example of many.

So in closing, I challenge you. Pay attention to those around you. Listen to what they have to say. Most of all, notice their skin color. Realize it if who you are talking to is different from you. Understand that they look different than you do and embrace that. Do what I now do, take a minute each day to notice the black people around you, they aren’t just another person on the street, they’re black and they’re OK too.

Minor Correction

So it has been brought to my attention that the fellow featured in the Ford advertisement is, in fact, not Vince Young. What an egregious error on my part. I have to admit that my face has never been more red. Aside from that fact, I stand by my work and hold fast to my opinion that the commercial is moronic at best.

Scattered Thoughts

I had a few thoughts bouncing around my head, but nothing really substantial enough to make into one post so I put them together here. Hopefully you’ll enjoy them.

I. Why is it that anytime someone is pregnant and their baby either kicks a lot, or is kicking at that moment that everyone says “You’ve got a little soccer player in there!” and then laughs hysterically? I understand the correlation between kicking and soccer players, but this line is neither original nor funny. Even the first time it was said it wasn’t funny, my apologies to whatever lame ass thought that up. Hey Comic Strip Live, guess what? All babies kick. And if they don't, then I'll let you decide what they'll be when they "grow up". So give up the played joke, we’ve all heard it. We’ve all laughed to be polite. Quit annoying everyone and come up with something else.

II. I’m fully aware that T-Bell consistently has the dumbest ads on television, but the new “Crunchy, Cheesy, Chewy, Melty” crap is nearly unbearable. First of all I’m pretty sure melty isn’t even a word. Second of all, who wants to eat something chewy? When is chewy a positive adjective in describing food? I would say rubbery is a good synonym, why not that instead? Maybe they’re trying to trick you into ordering food that has been left under a heat lamp for a few hours and being stuck with it.

Customer: “Umm, my taco seems like it’s been sitting around for a while, the shell is really chewy. Could I just get a refund on that, or a replacement taco that is fresh?”

Manager: “Actually no, we can’t do that.”

Customer: “Why not?”

Manager: “Because the food here is specifically described as crunchy, chewy, cheesy, and melty. Since we put chewy right there in the description, it’s not grounds for a refund. Technically you knew the food you were ordering would be chewy.”

III. While we’re on the subject of commercials, how about the Ford ad where Vince Young is riding shotgun with an awkward, spindly, white lad. Since we can assume by Vince’s pleasant demeanor and the fact he that he isn’t bound and gagged, that he is willfully in this vehicle, I’d be very curious to know the situation where he needed a ride from his douche-bag friend who just bought a new Focus. Next is it likely that Vince could comfortably ride in the front seat of that car? I have to think that in shooting this commercial that the dash or something had to be removed in order for him to get in at all. Finally, I don’t understand why it is supposed to be funny that this guy has Michael Bolton programmed in his car. Really, I would be surprised if he didn’t have Michael Bolton set to voice command. I think Vince should have stopped to think about who he was getting a ride from: Dork? Check. White? Check. Willfully purchased a brand new American-made compact car? Check. I can’t imagine that plugging those things into a profiler computer at the FBI wouldn’t have Michael Bolton fan somewhere near the top of the list.

IV. I know that there are plenty of big dogs out there that are very nice, lovable animals. However, I get so tired of every person who has a giant dog and particularly one who is of a notoriously mean breed, immediately tacking on the disclaimer after they tell you what kind of dog they have. You all know what I’m talking about too.

Friend: “What kind of dog do you have?”

Dog owner: “He’s a pit-bull, rottweiler, bull mastiff, Doberman, dingo mix.” Wait for it. “But he’s just the most loveable, gentle dog you’ve ever met. The kids just love him, and he’s so good with them.”

You certainly don’t hear toy poodle owners saying that stuff. There is a reason that people say it, because that is always the story you hear from the owners on the evening news right after sweet little “Buttercup” bit the face off of the neighbor boy in the front yard.

Behind the Scenes at an Advertising Jingle Recording Session

Often times we hear radio/television jingles, occasionally they stick in our heads for days, and some we even remember them for a lifetime. Often jingles are terribly annoying, obnoxious to the point where we begin to despise the product they represent. What we generally forget is that these were recorded in a studio, with live singers practicing and re-recording jingles until they hit the perfect notes. Not only that, but there are undoubtedly directors, and music experts on hand to guide and critique these singers to get everything just right. This concept is terrifically funny for me to envision. In my mind I picture a woman, in the foam padded booth with ear phones on, hands holding them in place, standing behind the round screen between her and the microphone. Meanwhile two men in another room separated from her by a glass wall, behind a sound board (one sitting, one leaning with hands on the sound board) are chain smoking, also present are a dozen or so assistants with very important roles. Since the world of advertising is obviously big business, they are taking this recording as seriously as they would deliver a eulogy.

Female Singer (Carol): “It’s a good time, for the great taste of…”

Director: “Cut! Carol, try to bring up “great” a little bit, you’re not driving it home. Let’s take it from the top.”

Carol: “It’s a good time, for the…”

Director: Hold it, hold it. What the hell was that? All I hear is it's an "average" time for the "I'm bored" taste. Carol, if you aren’t going to feel it, then we’ll just get someone else in here to sing this.

Carol: Sorry sir, but could I just get a little hot lemon water and some honey? I’m feeling a little dry in here.

Director: Somebody get it for her, now! We don’t have all day on this. (someone gets her the drink) Is that better? Are we ready now for god’s sake? Good time, great taste, take 38, let’s get it this time folks.

Carol: “It’s a good time, for the grea…”

Director: Sorry, sorry. That was our fault Carol, we had the treble off a little bit. One more time, from the top.

Carol: “It’s a good time, for the great taste, of McDonald’s!”
Director: Play that one back for me (listens intently). One more time. (closes eyes, appears to be very into the jingle). OK folks, that’s it! That’s the one! (room applauds/cheers, everyone begins shaking hands in control room). (Carol gets a hug from the director, she is teary eyed and gracious.)

I just think that is awesome, I would love to sit in on one of these. There has to be some seriously good unintentional comedy to be found.

The Bucket List

I have to admit I’m pretty fired up about The Bucket List coming out. It is without a doubt, destined to be a classic comedy. This movie has hilarious written all over it. I mean can you imagine two older guys going out and doing zany stuff, stuff that is typically reserved for a more youthful crowd? Talk about two fish way out of water! Not only that, but it’s just hilarious that one of them is a reserved black man and the other a white man who is a little more ready to let his hair down! Most of the stuff they are doing, I wouldn’t even think of doing at my age, let alone when I’m older, terminally ill, and especially with such a conservative black man! Oh I’m going to have to stop; my sides are splitting thinking about it. In all seriousness though, in spite of the non-stop laughs it no doubt provides, it also delivers a sound message: the message that you’re never too old to start living life. Just because there are a few more rings inside your oak tree doesn’t mean you can’t keep up with a younger crowd, and have a heck of a lot of fun doing it! I think Jack Nicholson’s character really sums up the attitude of graying America when he tells the flaming lad from Will & Grace that no one cares what he thinks. Take that whipper-snapper! I have to admit, I thought this genre had peaked with the powerful Space Cowboys (2000) and the riotous Wild Hogs (2007), but it looks as though 2008 is taking things to a new level. I just can’t wait to see the misadventures of this pair. Jumping a race car? Hilarious. Sky Diving? Hilarious. Telling off someone younger? Hilarious. Being overmatched by a high powered rifle on a safari? Hilarious. Interracial older male friends? Hilarious. Terminal Illness? Sad and devastating, no wait… hilarious. The only thing not to like about this movie is there isn’t a sequel yet. Needless to say, my fingers are crossed. For once, I feel like I’m socking it to the theatre. Only $12.50 for this masterpiece? Suckers! The hard part will be only seeing it once!

Christmas Letter 2007

Dear family and friends,

2007 has been a very good year for our household. We’ve accomplished so much and we hope you enjoy hearing about our fine year. As some of you may know the Mrs. is due for our 6th child this spring. Seeing as she ain’t quite 30 yet, I’ve taken to callin’ her my little iron womb. I’m so proud of her and we’ve both got our fingers crossed that this one won’t have to go to the special school. Speakin’ of the other’ns, little Lonnie and Crystal have started pretendin’ they’re boyfriend and girlfriend. Lonnie’s teacher called me in about it, but I told her it was just a stage and to let ‘em have there fun. Crystal, she’s as smart as a little whip. She figured out a way that she don’t have to pay for her milk at school but once a week and the teacher can’t figure out who keeps a doin’ it. I told her that’s the teacher’s fault and to just keep ridin’ it ‘til she learns her lesson. Ronnie and Cody are still the only siblings in 2nd grade that ain’t twins, so this makes four years runnin’. We’re both prayin’ that they hold the mark until their 8th grade graduation so they got somethin’ good to put on their job applications. Finally little Poinsettia is whizin’ through kindygarten. The teacher told us she’d never seen a little girl eat that much paste in an entire school year, let alone one sitting. You ain’t never seen her mother’s face shine brighter.
As for the Mrs. and I, we’ve had quite a year ourselves. I had enough luck on the scratch-off’s back in July that we were able to get the boot off of the van so we’ve been drivin’ a little bit. The Mrs. has been workin’ hard tendin’ to the little ones and with her brittle bone disease it’s double tough for her. We was both scared that if she tried to stir the mashed taters for Christmas dinner that her wrist would snap right there. So I said “Honey, we’re goin’ to Cici’s this year!” As for me, I ain’t workin’ at the spark plug factory no more, I never really saw eye to eye with the boss up there. He was a young punk with his fancy high-school diploma thought he knew when I ought to be on break. Imagine me, a grown man takin’ orders from him. No way, I got the hell outta there. So after taking the summer off, I’ve been workin’ up at a chicken factory. I’m already the second assistant on the guttin’ line. So things are lookin’ pretty good up there. In fact, if I ever decide to, they told me I could start comin’ in full time. Well I reckon I’ve bragged enough on us for the year. I’m sure y’all can see we’re doin’ just fine up here. We still got the fold out, so if any of you’ns wanna come and visit, you’re always welcome. I hope everyone has a real nice Christmas and a wonderful New Year.

Sincerely,
Monty Clark

How To: Cruise

Easy Steps to a Bitchin’ Life

1. Get a Trans Am. In a pinch a Camaro will do, but something about a giant eagle on the hood of Trans Am really gets the blood pumping.
2. If you don’t have the dough for one that’s already cherry, get a fixer upper. The fixer uppers can be spotted in the classifieds with the following descriptions: “Body Rough”, “Great Teen Car”, and the ever popular “Runs”. Which is really all that you need, one that runs. After all, it’s tough to cruise if your car doesn’t run.
3. If you do decide to get a fixer upper, don’t be slowed down by waiting until you’ve got it just like you want it. It’s perfectly acceptable to cruise a work in progress. You might be asking, “Hey bro, I’ve only got a primer coat on my Trans Am and I don’t have the money to get it painted yet, how can I cruise like this?” Never fear my empty pocketed little man. A primer coat is just fine. Just let the ladies know that you’ve got some limited edition race car paint on back order.
4. Stereo, stereo, stereo. Louder = Better and remember, bass is just two letters away from being badass so get some sweet subs.
5. Now to complement that stereo, a music collection is necessary. The Top Gun soundtrack is a good starter album. It gets the hair on your neck to stand up with Highway to the Danger Zone, yet flows seamlessly into Take My Breath Away which is what you’ll be hearing from all of the women who are lucky enough to ride with you.
6. Another key point to remember is that under no circumstances are the front seats that came in your ride acceptable. Custom seats are generally out of the question so seat covers are the next order of business. Lamb’s wool offers comfort and a touch of class, but in my opinion a spandex animal print really says you are the king of the road.
7. In sticking with the earlier mention that louder is indeed better. A custom muffler is the next order of business. These little babies wear two hats; they sound awesome and look pretty sweet too. Once again, they don’t fit everyone’s budget. In the event that you’re coming up a little short, just take the muffler completely off. Not only will that bitch roar, but it ain’t exactly street legal, which is pretty much smoking hot.
8. Finally a custom decal or two on the back glass really makes the car your own. Here there are a few options I highly recommend. Calvin pissing on something (a rival car maker is a safe bet) is always tough and shows your humorous side. A sticker either proclaiming that you actually have “No Fear”, or commanding someone else to “Fear This” is good. Really anything centered around fear and your lack of it, or other’s as it relates to you is worthy. Patriotism is good as well, however it should be mentioned that if you do go the route of patriotism, it should be a large sticker covering the majority, if not all of the back glass. NASCAR is never a bad bet either; R.I.P. #3 is probably about as good as it gets in that category. Finally, anything Taz is a must. It really doesn’t get any cooler than Taz. He does what he wants when he wants, and he does it fast…just like you.

Now that we’ve got the basics for the ride covered, it’s time to address what sits behind the wheel.

1. The first thing is your hair. Now, I’m fully aware that the mullet has become the butt of many jokes. Keep in mind these jokes are being told by total losers, the mullet is kick ass. We all know what a mullet looks like, no need to elaborate on that too much. The important thing that most new wearers of the Missouri Compromise forget is that if you decide to go with the oily cape in the back as opposed to windswept, be sure to scotch-guard your seat covers or they’ll be looking pretty shabby, pretty fast.
2. Next is facial hair. Don’t be alarmed if you don’t have a gorilla beard coming in. In fact, if you do you will probably want to thin it out. Full beards say two things: I drive slow, and I work a 9 to 5, this is not cool. A mustache is, without question, the way to go. It says you’re a man, and one that parties hard…yet with class. If you are of a lighter skin complexion, thin and wispy is the winner. In fact, thin it if you have to. However, if you have a nice tan then thick is in.
3. Never let them see your eyes, ever. Corey Hart pretty much hit perfection when he declared in 1984 that he wears his sunglasses at night. It’s important to note that unless you are buying Oakley Blades (or a knock-off of these) then you are wasting your time. (Bonus alert!: Oakley also makes bitchin’ stickers).
4. Clothing is our next topic. While pants make an appearance when leaning on your hood in front of Taco Bell, it’s the shirt that matters when you’re sitting in the buckets of your Pontiac. Really you have two options, a factory made tank-top (good) or a shirt you’ve made into sleeveless on your own (best). When cutting out the sleeves, it’s important to not only cut off the sleeves, but to cut them all the way down the side of the shirt so that the girls get an occasional glimpse of your abs. More often than not, this will send the panties straight to ankleville. As for what to make into a sleeveless, I recommend B.U.M. Equipment, Hobie, or Marithe and Francois Girbaud (if you’re trying to break a losing streak with the ladies). If you absolutely insist on something with sleeves, for god’s sake wear a football jersey (preferably your own from high school) with no shirt under it.
5. Finally, get a hot lady to ride with you. This is important because girls want to know you can commit. It’s the same principle that a busy looking restaurant often draws more walk-in business. Usually the best ones can be found wearing some sort of Looney Tunes themed t-shirt and wearing a wet-perm. As my cohort Keith once stated “It really doesn’t get any better than a Tweety shirt and wet-perm.” I’ve yet to hear truer words spoken. These lovelies are typically found at roller skating rinks, bowling alley’s, or taking a smoke break at Burger King (double bonus here, she has an income and gets you free food).

That pretty much covers the basics, the last step is to find a hot stretch of asphalt where the ladies hang out and just drive man, just drive. After that, you’ll have so much muff flying at you you’ll need a helmet on, that’s no bullshit either.

Gum? Let me help you with that...

Orbits is a fine brand of chewing gum. They have some decent flavors and are willing to branch beyond the usual wintergreen, peppermint and the like. Overall it’s pretty good too. However, the thing that irritates the hell out of me is they can’t make a package where it is possible to take a piece out without pulling out all of the pieces. That damn foil sticks to every single piece in the pack every time. Do they need to glue the gum down to the foil? I don’t know about everyone else, but every time I want a piece of Orbits, I end up wrestling with the package trying to avoid yanking all of the pieces out. Furthermore, why don’t they figure out that this happens and remedy the situation? Is it necessary to fasten the gum down to the bottom of the box? Are there an overwhelming number of Orbits customers who find themselves reaching for a stick of gum while suspended upside down? Not only does the gum not pull out, but the little flap that tucks into the box never works as intended. It’s nearly impossible to get the pre-cut notch to break apart so the lid fits in it. You have to mangle the entire pack of gum to get it to close. You would think that a company so concerned with pieces of its product falling out that it glues them to the bottom of the package, would come up with a functioning lid. It has to be one of the worst package designs available. Sharing a piece of this gum is also an ordeal. You can’t do the classic hold out the open pack and let the person pull out the piece they want. It’s always a two handed affair. Why does this happen? I just think they’re bastards messing with us.

One of the Many Commercials That I Cannot Stand

I really don’t care for those V8 commercials where the people get hit in the forehead. First of all it’s the dumbest slogan I’ve ever heard: “coulda had a V8”. The one that really irritates me the most is where the distinguished looking fellow is having lunch with some associates and neglects to eat any of the broccoli on his plate. The waiter, after observing this, plunks him on the forehead with his hand. This is paired up with a cute sound effect, and followed by the slogan. Here is the problem with this. Of course he could have had a V8. He also could have had some fresh broccoli. He could have had a veggie smoothie with wheat grass or some shit in it. The point is he didn’t want the fucking broccoli. Nor, did he want a fucking V8. I have been to restaurants before in my life. Maybe I’m going out on a limb here, but I’m going to assume that at some point in this scenario the man was given a menu with multiple options of what he could spend his money on to eat. Presumably, he selected what sounded best to him. What he was hungry for at that moment. Had he wanted a V8 he would have ordered one, or at the very least inquired about ordering one even if that particular restaurant did not carry V8. Either way, it renders that smug waiter and his asshole head-slap pointless. Now now, I’m fully aware that it’s only an ad. Not all ads are based on reality. However, when making a commercial the good people writing it should at the very least consider what they’re saying. Buying a product is, in effect, a consumer making a decision. This decision is based on all sorts of criteria, unique to the individual consumer. Seldom in today’s mass media, on-demand-information, and advertising-overloaded society are consumers unaware of what options are available for their purchase. In other words it’s not often that people don’t know what they "could" have had. People are perfectly aware that V8 is a drink produced by a company who is willing to sell it for a given price, should the consumer decide to buy it. Exactly what reaction would be ideal in the eyes of the marketing team at V8?

Man at table after being told he could have had a V8: "Wait a second here. You mean I could have had a V8?"

Waiter: "But sir, you didn’t eat your broccoli. I just assumed th…"

Man at table: "Never mind that I didn’t eat my broccoli, I was unaware that you would have sold me a V8. I saw it on the menu, but I figured it was some kind of private reserve. I honestly had no idea that me, John Q. Hungry, could have had a V8."

Waiter: "No sir. That V8 is for anyone…anyone with money."

Man at table: "Hold on, hold on (digging some crumpled up bills out of his pocket). You mean I can trade this (holds up wadded up bills), for a V8?"

Waiter: "Exactly (wink!)."

Man at table (throws the wad of bills into the air): V8’s for everyone! (Restaurant cheers)

Now watch this commercial again, and tell me that it’s not horseshit.

What if?

What if you injured your butthole while skiing? Injured it to the point where you wound up with fecal incontinence so people had to know about it because you were changing your own diaper at 32 years old? Now, don’t get hung up on the details here, I have no idea how this could happen. How it could happen is irrelevant. In fact, that’s the point. I think most people would have a pretty hard time thinking, or believing how this could happen. Sure, you would tell the story about how you were at the top of, “Pirates Lagoon”, “Fritz’ Nightmare”, “Blitzkrieg Bop” or whatever ridiculously named ski-run you were on and “so this rabbit comes out of nowhere and…” just stop right there Louganis. We aren’t buying it. No, regardless of how true it might be, we will truly never believe what happened. In fact, if you have a lisp and live in Texas, you might as well buy the rope and decide if you want a Ford or a Chevy to drag you.
Anyway, just a thought I had. Although if next time you go skiing you can’t avoid hitting a tree, you may want to get it with the knee just in case.

A visit from ED

Well it’s time for me to tackle another “hard-hitting” story. It’s one of those topics that we can all relate to, whether we admit it or not. I’m talking, of course, about ED; also known as explosive diarrhea. First of all, what a great name, the adjective explosive just sounds exciting…and terrifying. It’s like there is a little bomb made of watery shit, ready to go off at any minute. Except, don’t expect Kiefer Sutherland to swoop in and cut the blue wire at the last minute, this baby is set to detonate whether you like it or not. Really, that’s the thing about ED that makes him so dangerous. No matter your will power, or how badly you want to make it to the toilet, if he’s ready you are powerless. There’s that cold sweat you get, your mind is focused like you’re getting ready to throw strike three to win the World Series. Yet in spite of this determination, this desire, this you vs. him battle to the death, he always wins. Even the most Herculean sphincter can only prolong the inevitable fury of ED. While I’ve not lost a battle to date, I’ve certainly had my close calls. Afterward, I feel like a first time mother in the delivery room must feel. I’m sweaty, relieved, a little tired, and honestly I think there is some sick touch of euphoria and pride in there somewhere.
However, let’s really be honest here, ED is no average malady. ED is a ruthless, conniving, and above all genius of a thing. Seldom are you sitting on the sofa with the toilet only steps away when ED comes. No my friends, ED is found in places like a long road trip, on the subway, and during a standardized test to determine your collegiate future. These I know from experience. Other places I can only assume that ED lurks are during a scuba diving expedition, an Oscar acceptance speech, and at the bottom of a mine shaft. However, ED’s evil genius doesn’t stop there. He operates like an upstart boxer who just wants it more than the champ. Little jabs at first: “Hey buddy, I’m here and I’m coming.” Then more direct blows: “Thought I was going away? Nope, I’m getting stronger.” Finally, the barrage of punches where only one will remain standing: “Take that! I own you! I’m better than you!” ED is uncanny how he can dominate you physically while taking away all of your senses. You can’t hear anything, you can’t carry on a conversation, you can’t even think, and any distraction will undoubtedly leave you with your Jockey’s full of chili. However, ED does have a weakness: he comes in waves. It’s those down moments, where he rescinds into some evil rectal lair that even give you the slightest chance. It’s like you’re playing Green-Light-Go at the skating rink, only ED is calling out “Red-Light-Stop!” instead of the aspiring DJ in the corner of the rink. Once ED is there, on the cusp, you have to stop. Any bit of energy directed at another muscle will sure result in horror.
If all of these things aren’t enough, ED knows. He knows when the toilet is near. He understands that you are close to victory, that he only has so much time at this point. He knows you would take a shit in a wooden bucket with a nest of baby birds inside right now…and he starts to push – hard. I once almost wrecked my car into a gas station by leaving it on, in gear, and letting the clutch out while jumping out to use the (worst) bathroom (ever). Once that porcelain promise land is in sight it’s over. There is no more holding it, just hope you aren’t wearing coveralls with a corset and chastity belt underneath (umm, not that I ever wear that or anything…oh no, I’ve said too much again). The pants never make it down past mid-thigh, checking for anything on the seat isn’t an option, and forget about a protective paper ring. You’re only thankful that you have something under your ass other than your clothing or the ground.
ED, while a worthy competitor, is generally gracious enough in defeat to stay away for a while. A while, though, is the key. He will be back, at the worst possible time of course. So remember these three things about ED and know them to be true: he won’t be forgiving, he won’t be expected, and most of all, he won’t be solid.