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!