Thursday, December 29, 2005

Except maybe for the hair...

Ha-ha! I *knew* it...

Thanks to Nowhere Girl for the fun game!

Cary Grant
You scored 7% Tough, 9% Roguish, 47% Friendly, and 38% Charming!
You are the epitome of charm and style, the smooth operator who steals the show with your sophisticated wit, quiet confidence and flirty sense of humor. You are able to catch any woman you want just by flashing that disarming smile, even if you're flashing it at a kindly aunt or engaging child at the time. When you walk into a room, women are instantly intrigued and even the men are impressed, but you're too nice a guy to steal anyone else's girl...unless the guy deserves it. You're stylish, yes, but you can also be a little bit nutty. However, you're primarily seen as dashing, suave and romantic. Your co-stars include Katharine Hepburn, Audrey Hepburn, and Grace Kelly, stylish women with a sense of fun.

Find out what kind of classic dame you'd make by taking the Classic Dames Test.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 2% on Tough

free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 22% on Roguish

free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 80% on Friendly

free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 72% on Charming
Link: The Classic Leading Man Test written by gidgetgoes on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Still, one has to appreciate the work that went into the parody

While I'm not typically much of the "club-hopper" type, I have recently become quite fond of club tunes. I find they make drives shorter, workouts faster, and generally put a little pep in my step. Needless to say, I don't know anything about the DJ's who put this stuff together, but I imagine they are all robots or the AV geeks from high school all grown up. Because of this, I'm forced to use the opinion's of other people to find new music for the iPod, and in this case, that means the "most popular downloads" from the dance genre of iTunes. That's how I found the single of "Call on Me" by Eric Prydz - who, despite the lack of vowels in his last name is Swedish.

I thought the tune was okay, until I saw the video, which, because of repeated viewings has not only made me wistful for 80's aerobics fashion but also made this song itself the ultimate earworm. Apparently the video itself is quite popular, because it has spawned a fantastic parody that should be mandatory viewing for gender studies majors everywhere.

The differences between the two videos highlight the different responses that men and women would have to the videos, based on my own response for the guys and guessed at completely for the ladies:

Men viewing video #1: Jaw hangs slightly ajar and blinking all but ceases. The one guy character is ignored completely. Predominant thought in the mind is "Wow, I haven't seen flexibility like this since the Rhythmic Gymnastics World Championships...I wonder if those are trained aerobics professionals?".

Women viewing video #1: Look of skepticism on face. Predominant thought = "They all have eating disorders. The guy's cute though. I wonder where she got that top?"

Men watching video #2: Silent prayer of thanks to the man who invented biker shorts. Inner belief that "I could do that routine better than these guys, they suck. Still, that chick's kinda hot."

Women watching video #2: Immediate collapse onto floor - laughing hysterically. Quickly imagine what the men in their lives would look like doing the routine and laugh even harder. Silent prayer of thanks to the man who invented biker shorts. Wonder to themselves "Is she dating that guy in real life?"

See, we're not all *that* different. We both appreciate whoever invented biker shorts.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Of course, I blame Hot Topic for this whole mess...

Having returned from a day spent at the Mall of America I can conclusively say that in addition to being a slut I am officially a crotchety old man. Not to go all Seinfeldian or anything but what is the deal with 15 year old girls these days? I was deeply disturbed by all the junior-high exhibitionism I witnessed on my trip today. Now granted, I don't hang out with 15 year olds nearly as much as I did when I was 15, but it appears that the rules of what one can wear have entirely changed from 1990.

Back then, what the girls wore was not structurally different from what the guys wore - sure, it was somewhat more pink and NKOTB-oriented than typical guy-wear of the time. But in general it was the same "T-shirt and jeans" philosophy. Not anymore. These days apparently one isn't socially acceptable as a junior high school girl unless you've successfully seduced a married father of two a la "Lolita". When did this happen? I was deeply disturbed by the time I suddenly noticed a tight pair of jeans out of the corner of my eye, only to discover that the girl occupying them could have no memory of Ross Perot's presidential bid.

The dress of 15 year old boys isn't much better, but they are still following the "I'm tryin to look stupid"-chic mantra that junior-high boys have followed since prehistoric times ("Dammit junior, don't you have anything to wear *but* that same, infernal black bear pelt!? I don't care if it says 'Vote for Eegah' go back upstairs and put on something else so you mother can beat it with a stick in the river with the rest of the laundry!"). At least nobody mistakes junior high boys for strippers.

This is exactly why I worry about ever having a daughter. By the time she's 15 they'll either be naked constantly or will have regressed to puritan fashion as a firm of rebellion. Here's hoping "Pilgrim-chic" becomes very popular with the kiddies ASAP.

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

Ladies and Gentlemen...I am a whore!

In the spirit of christmas/hannukah giving I thought I'd try to dig up something fun for us all to share and indulge in.

Needless to say - this is it. A nifty little application that will tell you how slutty anything is*. (Yes, including your mom).

According to the Slut-o-Meter - this blog is actually a whole lot sluttier than I am: = 42.6% slutty (72/169)
grrrbear = 4.6% slutty (8/174)
[actual name] = 4.44% slutty (21/473)
grrrbear's mom = 0% slutty (0/0) - of course, we all knew this would be the result, my mom's a saint.

So go ahead and plug away - how slutty are *you*? More importantly, how slutty is your blog?

*Snaps to Sam Burns for revealing it to the world!

The traffic sign in "LA Story" was waaayyy more helpful

In yesterday's update I forgot to mention the ridiculousness I witnessed on the way up here Saturday. I discovered that the Illinois tollway is apparently run by idiots. Proof of this fact can be found in the traffic signs over the tollway that typically alert drivers to traffic or accidents ahead and give estimated travel times to major intersections.

Typically, I find these signs to be pretty helpful. Granted, on this particular trip there was little I could do were there to be an accident or a delay, as there is only one way to get to Minnesota from Illinois (well, okay, there is more than one, but this is the quickest and fastest so let's pretend it's the only one - I'm not driving through Milwaukee or Des Moines to get home that would be silly). But last Saturday all the signs were showing the exact same message:

At first I thought it was a joke. The whole point of the signs is to tell me when there would be delays (caused by...oh...say...ROAD CONSTRUCTION!?!?) and yet they are telling me that I should go back home, log onto my computer, find the Illinois Tollway website (which you'll notice they don't list*) peruse the construction patterns, then get back into my car and head out? Ridiculous, I tell you. But every single sign said the same thing - all 80 miles or so on the way out of state.
Most telling of all - there *was* no road construction on the entire tollway. So even if I had checked before I left, it wouldn't have even shown anything anyway. Every time I start thinking that my state government is smart because I live in a blue state they go and do stuff like this...
*One wonders how long it'll be before some porn site buys hoping to lure unsuspecting traffic-info seekers into a lurid world of nude hedonism...

Monday, December 26, 2005

Checking in!

Well, after three days back in small-town MN (and driving around what has rapidly become a city of subdivisions containing nothing but the same house in three shades of beige - ew) I'm wrapping things up here and heading out to big-city MN tomorrow for Xmas with dad. Both my mom and dad have dialup connections, however, so I'm keeping this to a minimum as I may be booted off any moment. I am however, currently totally jealous of the new PC my brother and I got my mom for Xmas.

As for the trip thus far, it can be summed up in three words - too much food. God, I may never eat again. What is it about moms that make them hoard and serve more food after you've moved out than they *ever* did when you lived there? I mean, my mom added a whole new pantry to the kitchen, for the love of pete! And I know she'll be sending cookies home with me too. Looks like I'll be bringing them into work after new years because I'm already in desperate need of a return trip to the gym as it is...

Friday, December 23, 2005

On the road again...

Well despite my lungs' best attempts to kill me off over the last few weeks, I'm not riddled with prescription medication and have been cleared for my trip home for the holidays. I may be offline for much off the next week or so, but I don't feel too bad because it appears most of you are too. I'll have blog-access occasionally, and will try and regale you with stories of holiday craziness when the opportunity presents itself.

So I leave you with a picture of Big Ole, who I will be visiting tomorrow just to see how he's doing. Maybe we'll get a beer and talk about how embarrassing it is to have tourists looking up your skirt all day.

Merry Xmas to all of you!

Thursday, December 22, 2005

"iMe gusta keebles y beets!"

First the Canadian swingers, now we're gearing up for upcoming waves of Mexican puppies?

Thank goodness we had the good sense to form the Border Puppy Task Force! I mean what better way to improve the PR of the Border Patrol than to generate press conference after press conference with agents holding mind-bogglingly cute puppies?

Sure, that one is probably rabid, and would kill you as soon as look at you, but (all together now!)...


Besides, they can live off maple syrup and beer for months in the wilderness

Well, the Canadians have gone and done it this time. The Canuck supreme court recently ruled to legalize “swingers clubs” – private clubs where members can have consensual group sex behind locked doors. Note that when I say “they’ve done it” I’m not irritated at passing the law – heck, I don’t really care what people do on their own time so long as it isn’t killing people or trying to sell me stuff over the phone. But I think that the Canadians are so sick and tired of our increasing tilt towards a Christian Theocracy that they are now passing laws just to provoke us and see how far they can go before Pat Robertson declares a “jihad on them” and marches north at the head of an army of radial fundamentalists and lay seige to Ottawa.

This is exactly the sort of thing that makes me love Canada. Sure, they were my neighbor for most of my life – so I’m a little biased. But they just seem like they understand how not to piss anyone off. They don’t have a ginormous army, so they aren’t invading everyone that steals their oil or insults their dad. They have a national health care system – so the poor folks aren’t dying of preventable disease. And even their supreme court seems like they carry the Christmas Spirit (or maybe the “Boxing Day Spirit”) with them all year, what with their Santa-like robes and all (see right).

This leaves the question open of what folks like me would do if the US ever actually decided to invade our friends to the north. Obviously, we’d be the prime targets for a reinstated draft because we love the cold and know how to drive snowmobiles. What, do you think Shrubbie would try and invade Canada with a army of National guard troops from Atlanta – who cancel school after a half-inch of snow and refuse to go outside if it’s below freezing? Nope, he’d try and draft an army of hardy northerners – preferably those who played hockey at some point in order to equip them with hockey skates and train them to use the frozen rivers and lakes as ways to move massive armies quickly.

But here’s the problem – all of us like Canada. We’d all desert and go to Canada to avoid the draft, where we’d probably join their army in protest – especially if they bribed us with beer. So think carefully before you go invading anyone north of International Falls, George. It won’t be as easy as you think, eh?

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Quickie Pt II

I laughed so hard at this I peed a little. The best line = "They call me Aaron Burr the way I'm dropping Hamiltons".

Almost makes me want to watch SNL again...almost.



Man, say what you want about John Paul II - but he was never as scary looking as this:

It's like Emperor Palpatine dressed up for the Galactic Senate Holiday Party...

Adventures in Bachelorland - Day 1

Last night the GF winged her way west for a week of family, friends, and warm weather (currently 73 degrees and partly cloudy). So I'm suddenly finding myself re-living my bachelor life for the next couple weeks. I consoled myself by meeting up with the friend B.Da (who introduced the GF and me) over Italian food and, it turned out, bingo.

Yes, bingo my loyal readers. That game that none of you have played (I’ll wager) in years. Suffice to say I had completely forgotten how much fun bingo can be. Although it was quickly proven that my skills at bingo lie somewhere between my skills at rodeo and swordsmithing – virtually non-existant. The prizes were pretty much crappy kitsch (t-shirts, CD’s and various tchotchkes) but what really struck me was the horribleness of the “host” who was running the show. He had the little bingo cage with all the balls and a microphone where he proceeded to call out the numbers and decide which games would be played. All if which would have been fine, but he also felt the need to try and be funny which he was clearly unqualified to do.

I’ve been to game shows before and always had a good time (shout out to “My Friend and His Awesome New York Show” - go see it when you're in NYC!) . But I never before realized how much my fun was due to the host. Whenever my friend does his show – he puts a lot of effort into it researching topics and coordinating his outfit (I presume that last part). But he's got a quick enough wit that he can engage in repartee with the crowd without looking arrogant or silly. But this guy last night (who we’ll refer to as “Bin-gomer”) showed up in scruffy clothes that were too dumpy to be ironically retro-hipster. Then…he started trying to be funny. Here are a couple of the more memorable lines he used:

“B-12! That’s a vitamin!”
“B-1! That’s a bone for you dogs out there!”
“Any of you guys remember (name of 1980’s kids show that I’ve since forgotten)? That was cool, except I never got the part where they’d (again, forgot this part – something about an underground fort). [Proceeds to sing the theme song]”

Yeah, pretty much more of the same for the entire night. And I lost time and time and time again. Sometimes not even getting 5 numbers on the whole sheet before someone would yell “BINGO!” – reminding me of all my past bingo failures. All told though, I had fun and escaped with relatively limited emotional trauma. And B.Da actually won one game and won a cheap and horrifically ugly little vase that I’m making her keep.

I am convinced now that I should totally be a game show host when I grow up. I mean, if bin-gomer can do it, maybe I should just put something together and start putting on guerilla game shows in restaurants and bars on Tuesdays. All I have to do is think of a game to base it on…my friend's done the trivia thing so maybe I’ll base mine on a different board game. Like tic-tac-toe (bringing back “tic-tac-dough”, but I think Wink Martindale’s still alive…) or Chutes and Ladders or Candyland. How about Battleship? Put two teams on either side of a tall wall and have them heave water balloons or maple syrup balloons at each other? Hmmm…I’ll have to give this more thought over my holiday trip back home next week.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005


Need a fun break that also helps you understand gravitational physics? Who doesn't?

Try this fun game that I found on Graf's sidebar!

The high scores weren't loading right when I played my one round and scored 520,083 (thanks to two mind-bogglingly lucky shots that orbited around the screen for about 5 minutes each before hitting the ship). I'm totally pissed off now too because that would have "allegedly" put me in the top ten; [sigh] even when I win, I lose.

Here I thought I only *looked* like Charlie Brown...

Xmas cards and morons talking

Once again my annual guilt-trip began in earnest yesterday with the arrival of five Christmas cards. Every year I tell myself that this will be the year that I finally put together a Christmas letter for the teeming masses of family and friends who are desperately seeking to know the significant events of my life. This year in particular would seem to be a good candidate - what with trips to Ecuador, graduation from B-School, and the GF still sticking around. Yet, every year I stall, and procrastinate and postpone until I get beyond the point of “it won’t be delivered before the actual holiday”. At which point I sigh, gnash my teeth and rend my garments in self-frustration because another year has gone by and I’ve still not joined the Christmas card club.

I always wonder why I end up going through this. Usually, I end up blaming my overly optimistic estimates of available free time once I get into December. Somehow between all the parties, Christmas shopping, and long-distance drives the rest of my life doesn’t easily make room for writing, printing, addressing and mailing dozens of cards. This is made doubly aggravating because I love handwritten notes/letters/etc. Emails I’ll delete in a heartbeat but letters I’ll hold onto for years. Just yesterday I was searching through a book of mine when I found an old postcard from a girl I went out with a couple times many years ago. Despite the fact that the dates never led to anything, I held onto the postcard through two moves. Because of this I’m beginning to believe I may be a slight packrat. Oh well, at least I’m not hoarding food scraps and surrounded by starving cats. If I did, the GF would certainly not stick around and then next year's Christmas letter would be significantly less interesting.

On a lighter note the quote of the week this week comes from “The OC” starlet and bulimia poster-girl Mischa Barton, who (when asked if she’d ever get plastic surgery to become curvier like her co-star Rachel Bilson) said the following:

“I’d be scared of having her boobs and voluptuousness,” Barton said, reports the London Sun. “I would never have a boob job. I like being understatedly sexy. Rachel’s curves make her more overtly sexual than I am.”
Now, I have never been one to say that Ms Barton is a candidate for Mensa, but isn’t this equivalent to her saying that “If you’re not anorexic like I am then you’re a whore”? Well…*obviously*. No wonder Sir Mix-A-Lot liked big butts! “My Hump” is obviously Fergie’s declaration to the world that she’ll sleep with anybody. And the padded-booty pants and chicken-cutlet boob enhancers are just a way for women to subtly broadcast their availability as prostitutes! Suddenly it all makes sense…but does this mean that Nicole Richie, Lindsay Lohan, and Jennifer Connelly are preparing for the convent? Ow…my head hurts just trying to imagine that.

I hope that this opinion doesn’t spread. I’d hate to live in a world of strapped-down boobs and girdles where all women looked like 12 year old boys. Eeeeewwww…

Monday, December 19, 2005

Apparently, he's hung like a Ken doll, too - she only slept with him once

In general I like to consider myself a pretty empathic person. And as much as I feel for the plight of those folks who have loved ones serving over in Iraq, I think this woman has gone bat loony. I mean, if I’m the husband here, I have no choice but to seriously give some thought to calling my folks about taking the kids for a few months. I mean, it’s one thing to buy a mannequin as a conversation piece or a funny joke when company comes over (“Yeah, that’s the replacement husband. Not much help around the house, horrible in the sack, but at least he listens to me and I never have to pick up his socks! [chuckles all around]”) but it's quite another to drau him to the movies on a Friday night or sentence him to the couch after one unfilfilling night*.

Nope, this gal has lost all sense of reality. At what point do you think to yourself “Well, why not take him to the grocery store?” and actually fail to come up with the most obvious reason – it’s crazy? My last shred of hope lies in the increasingly smaller chance that the whole thing is a publicity stunt and that she’s actually working for a company that manufactures dummies. Maybe as a part of their viral marketing plan to boost sales over the holidays. But then she goes on about taking the dummy Christmas shopping with her? Come on lady, don’t you have enough crap to lug around from store to store as you check off the various items on your list without dragging along a tackling dummy?

Even if you just think it’s “cute” – what about when hubby returns home? Thank god there aren’t kids because by then they’d probably be more attached to the mannequin than to their actual father, setting up a bizarre familial situation that looks like the bastard child of “My Two Dads” and “Mannequin”. It wouldn’t work out of course, and the wife would divorce the actual human guy because “He was never there for me” and move in exclusively with her dummy-hubby.

In the end I suppose the real lesson here is that the military really needs to get its act in gear and get these military spouses something to do while their soldiers are away. I don’t know what exactly – knitting circles, weekly poker games, marathon sessions of Grey’s Anatomy. But in the end I suppose it all boils down to the soldiers helping their spouses network and meet new people before they are sent off. Maybe the military should start using this head case as a training film to warn new recruits. I can see the tagline now: “You could learn a lot from a dummy – get your wife some friends before you ship out.”

* Per the crazy lady:"...he sleeps on the couch. I live alone, so I want people to think that I'm here. But I only slept with him one night." My response - what does living alone have to do with where the dummy sleeps? I suspect that the first "encounter" didn't go well.

In the event of an emergency...

Given the rash of blogs getting run out of dodge by crazies I've elected to create an email address purely for those readers who don't know me in real life and who might want to drop me a note to say hello without going through all the inconvenience and publicity of going through comments. Even those of you who do know me can feel free to use it. So the next time you get run off your blog-claim by the Blogger equivalent of the Capital One barbarians, let me know at


Can't wait for the notes/fanmail/recipes for pie/poems/messages from Hogan's Heroes sent through the resistance!

Friday, December 16, 2005

Quickie - Lies, damn lies, and statistics...

From an article in a business-type work-related email newsletter I get at work weekly:

Survey: CEOs see strong economy for 2006 A quarterly
survey of CEOs from large U.S. companies shows optimism for the economy in 2006, with expectations for increased productivity and strong corporate and consumer spending. Many feel the robust growth will offset increasing energy and health care costs, and the overall CEO Economic Outlook Index of 101.4, calculated by the Business Roundtable, is the second-highest level in the survey's three-year history. MSNBC/Reuters (12/14)

So, in the three year history of the survey, this is the second highest score huh? You had one year it was better and one year it was worse? Well, that *is* convincing...

Is it epiphany yet?

Oh man I’m exhausted. For some reason the holiday season always seems to reach its fervent peak the week prior to the actual Christmas week. I think this is because all my friends decide to have their parties that week so that I can spend next week with family. The trouble is that I’ve had events all week for the theater company I’m on the board for, so between work, theater stuff, and parties I’ve literally had events scheduled every day this week. After slowly making my way through most of the week I’m now coming into crunch time with work today, party tonight, work tomorrow (at 6 am…errgh…), then come home, shower and go to another party in the suburbs tomorrow night.

Needless to say I can’t wait. Seriously. As much as I don’t like having my life scheduled out to the minute, and as much as I miss my 2 hour long marathon sessions of discovery channel surfing, I do love getting a chance to see old friends, especially when one just got engaged and another two just had a baby (who I will get my first chance to corrupt!). As much as I try to complain, I just love this time of year. Plus, my mom just called and told me there is enough snow at home to go snowmobiling! Woo-hoo!

My little brother used to have a guinea pig named Chuck. Chuck was a genius, he would tell you whenever he had to go to the bathroom by tugging on your shirt with his teeth and learned to play dead and “wake up” on command. Because of him I now believe that guinea pigs are the third smartest animals on earth, after dolphins and raccoons. In fact, the only reason that guinea pigs haven’t taken over the planet is their lack of opposable thumbs and feeble, almost useless legs – which make it impossible for them to drive. They can absorb a lot of abuse though, Chuck fell off a big-wheel (would have been fine had my brother not run over him in it after he fell off – just a broken leg though), survived 6-story (well, relative to Chuck) plunges into boxes of packing peanuts, and beat up my cat when it got into Chuck’s cage. Chuck was tough, but I think he was exceptional since the one we got after he passed on to the great box of cedar shavings in the sky was a big coward.

Anyway, I relate the Chuck story because I wanted to post this funny picture. Chuck looked kinda like this one, only with shorter fur and without the funny hat – Chuck hated hats (as much as we tried).

Thursday, December 15, 2005

If they wore little cowboy hats and big belt-buckles they'd be pretty darn cute, even with a gun

For all the press that the Minutemen have received in the last few months I, for one, find it telling that their efforts are doing nothing to stop the massive influx of cute furry illegal immigrant animals into this country. Sure, the humans coming over in droves are such a problem, what with their getting jobs and paying taxes. But what about cuddly latino animals? They just come over, run around in parks, harass American squirrels and eat our nuts. And they are resorting to increasingly desperate measures to cross the border.

I wonder why nobody is asking the tough questions like “Why are the squirrels so desperate to come over here in the first place?”. Maybe because they see other latino critters doing so well in the media: Speedy Gonzalez, the Taco Bell Chihuahua…and…um…well I can’t think of any others actually. Come to think of it, the Taco Bell Chihuahua just got axed. In fact chihuahuas in general seem to be getting fired left and right – Paris Hilton and Britney ditched Tinkerbell and Bit Bit, after all. So obviously Taco Bell has dropped theirs to be seen as “just as cool and skanky as those two gorditas”. I tell you this viral marketing fetish that these companies are on seems like it goes a bit overboard sometimes…

Anyway, as TOWWAS pointed out a while back, these squirrels carry plague. This is scary to most folks, including myself. But I take some comfort in the fact that America has withstood Mexican invasions before, and they typically turn out not to be as bad as advertised (e.g. killer bees, Santa Ana, burritos, tequila, Salma Hajek). Hopefully these new squirrels will quickly assimilate into their new homes and not cause friction among the native ground squirrel communities by moving in and taking all their jobs. But given what we’ve seen with people, I doubt it will be too long before ground squirrels from Kansas, Utah, and New England are totin’ little shotguns in little gunracks as they drive their ground-squirrel-sized pickup trucks back and forth across the New Mexican desert – right next to the other Minute Squirrels.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

How much arch support do you think Jesus would get from sandals?

Huh, I had no idea that the Franklin Mint was this old. Nor did I realize that Jesus was merchandising waaaayyy before George Lucas first met up with McDonalds. Man, that guy is so savvy – I guess we can chalk another big invention up to the lord: commemorative coins. If you look very closely, you’ll see “Republic of the Marshall Islands – Not Legal US Tender” inscribed along the bottom – which proves that Jesus himself was involved in the design of the coin. Who else would have known that the United States was going to exist in the year 1000?

Obviously, this is exactly the sort of evidence that the Intelligent Design-ophiles have been looking for…

Speaking of Jesus, funny story from the Depeche Mode concert I went to with the GF last week. As we were waiting for the show to start, she revealed to me that for the longest time she thought the line from Personal Jesus was: "Can you run fast enough, Jesus?" instead of "Your own, personal Jesus". I had a good laugh at that because we then were planning out what the video for her version would look like. For example, Jesus running the 100 meters against Satan (in slow motion, obviously) while the song plays in the background. Or, alternatively, Jesus being chased by the semi truck from "Enter Sandman" - either would work really.

But then, when they started playing that song, I could *totally* see where she got the idea. It was really easy to hear it her way. Go figure.

A Declaration

I’m a little sad today. One of the more entertaining blogs I used to link here (shout out to Nowhere Girl!) has gone off the air after being overrun by the crazies. She was smart, funny, and occasionally titillating – which made it a fun read. Especially for those of us being damned to the 2nd level of hell. But being popular means that you draw both cool and not-so-cool people. And unlike in the real world, you can’t run away from the crazies in blog-land. This is something I’ve been pondering as more and more people keep stopping by for a few seconds to read the hastily-scribed jibberish I slap up here on a regular basis. What if *I* start getting crazies of my very own? I mean certainly, all of my current readership is nothing but smart, witty, and incredibly attractive people without a hint of craziness. But what if we’re found out eventually?

This has led me to the conclusion that I need to openly come out as a blog-fascist. If crazies show up here posting their “designed purely to provoke and irritate” comments, they will be gone. As the almighty blog-tator, I reign supreme over this – the Earldom of Blogland. Because of my position I wield great power! Gaze upon me all you crazies and tremble! See my mighty +5 Vorpal Axe of Comment Deletion! Fear my +3 Chain Mail of Ignoring Stupid Comments!! And bow down before the Sphere of Don’t-Even-Think-For-A-Moment-That-I-Care-What-You-Think-ilation!!! GRAAWWWWWW!!!

All the rest of you, the Bright-Eyed Children of the Shining Way to Glory – don’t you worry. Feel free to post all the stupid comments you want. And use bad grammar too, if you want. You will be forgiven…mostly.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005


Man, this makes me think I'm actually supposed to be a super hero...

Thanks to Nowhere Girl and Femi for the link...

The Justice Card
You are the Justice card. Justice preserves the
harmony of the world. Working with opposite
forces, Justice does not seek to criticize or
condemn but rather to accept. The idea behind
the card justice is that opposite forces are
complementary; you could not have good without
evil or light without darkness. Justice's
position is to make sure that if a thing is out
of balance, the weight of its energy is
realigned with its opposite force. This card is
also a card of humour, for it is in pointing
out contrary positions that humour is often
found. The attitude that is found in the
humourous person, being able to shift
perspective and flow with an instinct, is
important in the maintenance of good balance.
Image from The Blue Moon Tarot Deck.

Which Tarot Card Are You?
brought to you by

Monday, December 12, 2005

Well, that's good to know...

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Second Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)High
Level 2 (Lustful)High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)Low
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)Low
Level 7 (Violent)Moderate
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)Moderate
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)Low

Take the Dante's Divine Comedy Inferno Test

Friday, December 09, 2005


Well, at least now we know what happened to the California Raisins...

Santa Claus is coming to town...or is he?

On the way home from work yesterday (slogging through “OH MYGOD IT’S SNOWING!!! HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?!?! AIEEEEE!!!!” traffic) I passed by one of the seventy-kajillion Walgreens stores in the greater Chi-town area. In front, they have one of those ubiquitous LCD signs where the promote their great bargains on milk, summer sales on cooling products*, and the latest in feminine hygiene products. On this particular day, they were promoting that “Santa was coming” on December 16th from something like 10am to 5pm.

I was stunned. Santa? Going to a Walgreens?!? WTF? I mean, I know that the guy has magical powers, being able to zip across continents at the speed of light and consume cookies at speeds that would cause impacted bowels in mortal humans. But how is it that a few weeks before his only workday of the year he’s got time to go to a single Walgreens in Melrose Park?

When I was a kid I knew how the whole thing worked. Santa didn’t have time to visit everywhere because he had other things to do. So instead of visiting my local hardware store in Fessenden, ND – he focused on the major metropolitan areas (like Fargo) where he could meet with the largest number of kids possible in a limited amount of time. Kids like myself had to use the US Mail to convey our lists to Santa. Granted, it was a less-secure form of communication, but those were the risks we took during the Cold War. The North Pole was perilously close to the Soviet Union, and I knew that Santa was unable to receive correspondence except the US Mail delivered to his house secretly by nuclear submarines. Think I’m crazy? How many of you trusted FedEx with your letters to Santa? Huh? Yeah – nobody did that because FedEx doesn’t have access to nuclear submarines.

In recent years though, I’m noticing that Santa is starting to “slum it” more and more often – visiting places that he’d never have had time to visit back in the 80’s. Case in point – this silly little Walgreens. There is only one explanation for this proliferation of Santa visits, and as much as it hurts to admit it I have come to terms with the fact that Santa…[sigh]…is cloning himself. So instead of focusing on building better toys that kids actually want he’s down in a lab somewhere surrounded by petri dishes and a hump-backed elf assistant, chuckling to himself and proclaiming “I’m going to send this one to a 7-11 in Hazzard, Kentucky!”. No wonder kids these days are incapable of building anything out of Legos other than what’s on the box.

And where are the Republicans on this issue, I wonder? Why aren’t they all up in arms over human cloning and faux Santas spreading out across the country? Where’s Ann Coulter’s hysterical shrieking about Santa being corrupted by Michael Moore, Janeane Garofolo, and the rest of the baby-murdering left? I suppose Santa’s lobbying efforts would be pretty effective (“If you don’t vote to table that resolution, I know a certain young girl of yours stands a very good chance of being transferred to the naughty list…permanently!”). [Sigh]…another institution of my youth corrupted by greed and power, I suppose. Santa, baseball players on steroids…what’s next – is Big Bird employing child slaves in Thailand’s textile industry? No wonder kids spend all their time playing video games and on the internet, who’s left in the real world to be a hero?

We need to bring back Mr. Hooper – everybody’s ethics went in the toilet when he passed away.

* My favorite ones are the ones they link to the current temperature, which sometimes result in unintentional humor when the weather is cooler than expected (e.g. “It’s 54 degrees outside – we have ice!”)

Thursday, December 08, 2005

If the term used a lot of Q's and X's I'd be a hero to Scrabble Players everywhere

I wonder why the dairy lobby hasn't used this as a plot for one of their commercials? They could stage a mini-re-enactment all the way up through the trial...

Prosecutor: "And to think all along while you were planning this horrific crime - the object of your desire actually turned out to be nothing more than a large hunk of cheese! Don't you feel ashamed of yourself?"

Jessica (coolly): "I'm sorry but you don't understand...that was the whole point!"

[murmurs echo through the courtroom as the judge gavels for order]

Voiceover: "Behold, the power of cheese!"

What bothers me the most about this story is not the crime itself. After watching as many episodes of COPS! as I have it's easy to believe the ridiculous levels of idiocy present in the backwaters and backalleys of America. No, what irritates me is that simply because she's an 18 year old, the story refers to her as a "woman". This is the height of silliness, as anyone knows that 99.4% of all 18 year olds are too ignorant to think about the logical conclusions of their actions at any particular moment. Frankly, I blame the military. It's because of them and their "You are ours from 18 until 26" draft policy that sent all those kids overseas to get shot and gave credence to the "we're old enough to die, we should be old enough to vote" argument. And now every time I see an article where some twit who robbed a Denny's is referred to as an "18-year old man" I die inside a little.

The solution to this is obvious - we need a new term to describe people who are too old to be considered children but not old enough to be adults. I'm not suggesting that we treat them any different, mind, I just want a term. If they get drunk and kill somebody - put them away for life I really don't care. Just don't call them a man. But the problem is that I have no idea what sort of term would be appropriate. "Insurgent" is free now that it's not being used to describe terrorists in Iraq anymore. Maybe that's a start.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

"Another piece of pie? Well, okay but that's another 20 minutes of doggie style tonight honey..."

Tired of the holiday bloat? Well get off your butt and get on your back!

(Thanks to Sam Burns for the pointer)

I'm a bit torn about this idea. But before I get into it let me just say that I'm all for people getting it on whenever possible. Everybody is in a good mood afterwards, and they generally are thinking more clearly. Maybe a nap is involved, too. All of which (if they were more widely-distributed) would solve all of humankind's problems. Crime? Gone - who wants to steal stuff when you can get some? Hatred? Non-existent - when was the last time you hated someone right after orgasm? Wars wouldn't happen because everybody would be otherwise occupied.

But solving weight gain through sex? I'm a little skeptical - for two reasons. Sure I'll go along with the "sex burns calories" philosophy but isn't there something of a chicken-and-egg dilemma here? I mean it's more difficult for fat people to get some on a regular basis, and the same thing holds true for really unattractive people (Joseph Merrick, for example). Sure, I bet it's easy for a woman as attractive* as the author of her book to get her husband to go at it more than once a week. I mean, how hard could it be?

Kerry: Honey, can I ask you something?

Husband: Sure babydoll. What's on your mind?

Kerry: I've been thinking about trying to lose some weight...

Husband (Desperately trying to suppress the male "fight-or-flight-oh-screw-it-just-fly- you-fool-FLY!" response that this topic invariably provokes in all men): Really? Well, okay...what brought this on?

Kerry: Well, I'm just thinking I should start taking care of myself a little better. And I've got an idea for a new diet that I think will really work!

Husband (seen this before): I see, you invented it yourself?

Kerry: Yeah! All by myself!

Husband (slightly amused): And how does it work, exactly?

Kerry: Well, every time I get a craving for food of some sort, I just come home and have sex with you! That way I'm distracted from eating and I get a good workout! What do you think?

Husband (rapid blinking): ...umm...

Kerry: Honey? What do you think?

Husband (trying desperately to remember when the next episode of "Unwrapped" is on Food Network): That sounds like an interesting idea baby... [makes a sneeze-like sound] ah...ahh...AHH...CHEESECAKE!!!!!

Kerry: Gesheundteit sweetie.

Husband: Thanks, bon-bon. [makes a cough-like sound] HO-HO! HO-HO!

Kerry: Um, honey?

Husband: Yes, punkin' pie?

Kerry: Knock it off.

This is the other reason I'm a little skeptical of the whole idea. It's entirely too easy for the guy to use this diet against the gal. If my wife did this the first thing I'd do is run out and buy bags full of candy, which I would proceed to hide all over the house where I knew she'd run into it.

Yet, despite all the benefits for all guy-kind to this book - there's still one flaw: you can't buy it for her. It would not send the kind of message you're hoping it will. Still, the author was on Oprah recently (according to the author's website - I don't watch Oprah) so it's only a matter of time before all women are buying copies for themselves. My advice to all you guys out there - stock up on Hostess and wait...

* Yeah - I doubt she was getting pushed out of bed even before she lost 23 pounds

Tuesday, December 06, 2005


Interesting visitor stopped by a while back. Not interesting because they were good conversation, though. Not much was said at all, sadly. What made it interesting is that apparently Microsoft is using Google technology to power their websearch. Scandalous! I wonder if Bill knows...

Domain Name : (Unknown)
IP Address : 65.55.246.# (Microsoft Corp)
ISP : Microsoft Corp

Continent : North America
Country : United States (Facts)
State : Washington
City : Redmond
Lat/Long : 47.6788, -122.121 (Map)
Distance : 1,721 miles

Language : unknown
Operating System : Unknown Unknown
Browser : Google 0.9
msnbot/0.9 (
Javascript : disabled

One small step for woman, one giant rack for mankind

Coming from the far north as I do, I learned to appreciate things that can keep kids entertained when they are stuck indoors for long periods. But this new "World Cyber Games" is taking things a bit far. Growing up in North Dakota, I didn’t have a lot of things so I was forced to go outside and play (“Oh my god how did you live!?” cry the twenty-somethings). With my brother, no less, because there weren’t any other kids around as we lived in the country. Playing with other kids necessitated a drive of several miles to a neighbor’s house. Anyway, when we moved to Fargo, there was a video arcade at West Acres called “The Pirates Den” which I was too scared to go into. I was pretty darn sure that video arcades were full of dangerous characters that 4-year olds like myself shouldn’t go messing around with – not unlike the Mos Eisley Cantina – and I wasn’t confident in my ability to handle myself in a fight if the Walrushead wanted to smack me around a little.

Instead, I was left to scurry by whenever we went, but casting furtive glances at the wonders inside. But then my friend got a Colecovision and I discovered the joys of playing Smurfs or Pitfall. I had a great time with it, but the systems were pretty pricey so we couldn’t get one. It wasn’t until ’86 that I got my first Nintendo NES and the rest was history. But I still preferred to go outside and play with my friends. Call me a weirdo, but I had more fun actually playing baseball than simulating it on the Nintendo. And these days I’m not morbidly obese – go figure.

Now that there’s the World Cyber Games – where the “best” video gamers come from all over the world to square off against each other in a battle for total geek-domination. I know that I shouldn’t judge these folks just because they sit on a couch for days on end and have very nimble fingers. But I do anyway. Even Verena Vlajo the token female player at the whole thing. Sure, she’s the Danica Patrick of video gaming but I had hopes of her representin’ the ladies a bit more; striking a blow against the male-dominated videogame-industrial hegemony. But when I saw the picture of her at the games (above) I saw she was wearing a LAMB* shirt. Oh well, I suppose I can’t blame her too much. If I were the only girl there and had my pick of any of 700 guys to flirt with I’d probably be wearing one too.

* "Look At My Boobs!”

Monday, December 05, 2005

'Tis the season for stupidity

Now that we are officially in “the holidays” it’s acceptable for me to discuss how much I love Christmas. It’s completely my favorite time of the year – I love the stop-motion holiday specials, I love advent calendars, I love Christmas decorations – the whole shebang. When I was little I was even worse because it was one of the rare times when I would actually get stuff. Unlike most kids today who get stuff whenever they want – I had to plan ahead. My family didn’t have a ton of money so I had a budget to work with and if it was too expensive – I simply didn’t get it. No amount of bitching or whining would help. So I learned to live within my means. And I was happy with what I got – sure I would have loved to get one of those power wheels electric trucks, but I dealt with it.

So these days, nothing sours my love of Christmas like people spending thousands of dollars on ridiculously expensive presents. Those stupid Lexus commercials are the worst – I mean if I were married and my wife bought me a new car as a “surprise” present I’d be furious! Most likely my old car worked just fine and here she goes dropping $50k on a new one? Who among you readers wouldn’t look at him/her with a “WTF?” expression? I think it would make for a great SNL skit for them to film a “real world” one of these where the husband opens the garage door, reveals the SC400 complete with bow) and then proceeds to suffer the wrath of the wife where she says “WHERE’D YOU GET THE CASH FOR THIS!?! WHADDA YOU MEAN A SECOND MORTGAGE?! HOW’S JUNIOR GONNA AFFORD COLLEGE!?! YEW BASTARD!!!”

At least there are rare occasions where people who spend too much money get their due. For example – the recent sale on ebay of an empty xbox 360 box (without the actual device) ended with the winner paying $611 bucks for an empty box. I can only hope that the winner was some twit who didn’t read the complete description and thought he was getting an entire system. Hee hee hee…

Friday, December 02, 2005

Move over Bird Flu! Now there's something freakier!

All of the media hype about bird flu in the last few months is a mixed blessing. Yes, it’s something that people need to be aware of, particularly if you are a chicken herder in the south of China. But as TOWWAS will no doubt agree, all sorts of dangers to mankind are getting pushed aside by the bird flu media mammoth. World AIDS day was yesterday (I think…) and other than the funny picture of the condom draped over the obelisk in Buenos Aires there wasn’t nearly as much coverage as there should be. Stupid bird flu…it’s such a diva.

What’s worse is that there are even scarier problems developing in Asia now. In Russia, the native black squirrels are rising up in a show of violence unseen since the Bolsheviks popped a cap in the Czar. I love squirrels – they are funny, smart, acrobatic and (I thought) placed on earth purely for my entertainment. But now they are ganging up and killing dogs!? That’s just insane. And if they’re starting on dogs, how long before they start taking down people? What if some of these Asian Gang Squirrels hop a container ship to the States? We’re a collection of fatasses – a nation of sitting ducks ripe for the slaughter by this new “cuddly menace”. There’s no way Louie Anderson could escape their protein-decifiency-induced bloodlust, he simply couldn’t outrun them (as this computer-generated graphic clearly demonstrates).

Obviously, we need to do something. Given our recent experiences fighting insurgents…I mean enemies-of-democracy-who-smell-bad-and-behead-kittens-out-of-spite* maybe it’d be good to try something other than invading them. I suggest sending a crack squad of mooses over there to convince them all that they are, indeed, flying squirrels. The mooses could then convince them to go for a test flight off a cliff into the ocean, and then the world would breathe easier after the Asian Gang Squirrels go all Lemming into the sea! In the meantime, does anyone have any squirrel repellant lying around?

*Is that better Mr. Rumsfeld?

Thursday, December 01, 2005

I wonder how quickly I could learn to drive reindeer?

I woke up this morning in the middle of a dream where I was locked in intense hand-to-hand combat with Santa Claus. Not one of “santa’s helpers” but the actual guy; red suit, white beard, jolly demeanor – the whole nine yards. The rest of the dream is somewhat vague, but I remember being trapped underground with a bunch of other people and Santa was somehow the cause of it. The actual fight I remember clearly, even to the point where I clobbered him with a 10’ long piece of Styrofoam packing material. It broke in two over top of his head and he fell on his butt, looking dazed. I think I may have given him a concussion.

Anyway, now I’m nervous. I know that Santa sees me when I’m sleeping, but I don’t know whether he sees what I see when I’m sleeping. Does he know that we threw down and that I kicked his jolly ol’ tukkus? If so, is that enough to ensure my placement on the naughty list? Crap, I hope not. Something tells me harboring repressed feelings of violence towards a beloved holiday figure would probably get a guy on the naughty list permanently.

I really wish I could remember why we had been fighting to begin with. I seem to recall that he was repressing some group and holding them prisoner (maybe elves?) and that I had taken on the Harrison Ford/Bruce Willis hero role (“Yippe-ki-yay, Kris Kringle!”) as the liberator and was fighting to free them.

Of course, even if I had been successful the elves would probably have started squabbling amongst themselves over what key the jingle bells on their hats should be in. Without their benevolent dictator in place to impose order, the elves would revert to their natural state – civil war. This would lead to thousands of them fleeing the north pole as refugees, creating a elf-manitarian crisis of epic proportions. Wages in popular elf-centric industries such as shoemaking, cookie baking, Lord of the Rings extras, Victoria’s Secret holiday models, and hosting semi-improvisational theater at small liberal arts colleges would immediately see wages plummet as the influx of new cheap labor caused waves of layoffs among older, native elves.

At that point, I’d realize that the only way to restore society would be to replace Santa. But by then he’d probably be on trial at the Hague for crimes against elf-kind. Stupid UN. So I’d have to move north and replace him myself. And that’s how I’m going to become Santa. Now I just have to put on 100 pounds and develop the ability to grow facial hair…

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

No single title could cover all this adequately

Sometimes I wonder whether I’m 100% human or whether I might have some weird alien DNA mixed in there somewhere. I don’t think it’s anything dangerous but I sometimes wonder. And the signs I pick up on typically involve regular everyday earthling activity. For example:

  • I get really thirsty after consuming chocolate
  • Eating cake, bread or other baked goods will sometimes result in a bad case of hiccups (which can be stopped only by drinking water)
  • I sunburn way too easily – the GF will testify that it can happen in as little as 15 minutes
  • I’m very uncomfortable in temperatures above 75 degrees

Any of these individually wouldn’t give me much pause, but the fact that I am a combination of all three makes me believe that I’m either part alien or part penguin. Today for example I’ve already had the cake hiccups (someone at work brought in my favorite flavor of cupcakes – yellow cake with chocolate frosting) and had to dash across the office to the drinking fountain to get relief. Thank goodness it’s not sunny outside today.

Continuing the theme of Christmas Trees in the News from yesterday – apparently some people are getting their panties in a bunch over Boston’s erecting of a “holiday tree” this week. The scary thing is that for the first time I find myself on the same side as Jerry Falwell. Come on people – lighten up. Generalizing the erecting of a “Holiday tree” to all year-end holidays is just the west’s way of imposing its views on Jews, Muslims, and African American’s everywhere. It’s like we’re saying “Here Jews – we noticed you don’t ever put up a Hannukah Tree so we’ll do it for you! No need to thank us, we’re happy to help spread Christma…I mean Holiday Cheer!”

What’s next? Does the west co-opt their symbols now since we were so good to share ours? Is everybody ready for the Holiday Menorahs to start showing up at First Baptist? Hey everyone, Target’s got a special this week on Holiday Kinaras!

The worst thing is that this furor has “cast a pall over a long-standing tradition between Boston and Canada”. Heaven help us…what if the Canucks turn off the maple syrup pipelines?!? We’ll have to invade them next – somebody call President Shrub and tell him to put the Canucks on the “To Invade” list…right after Iraq, Iran, China, Cindy Sheehan’s House, and The Land of Dairy Queen.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Would you hang your mom upside down for Mother's Day?

VH1 has recently become the resident expert in pointing out the crazy fads of my youth. Between all the iterations of “I Love The…” tchotchcumentaries I have relived most of the crazy, silly, sometimes stupid but always fun things that I idolized as a kid. And, of course I also relived the stupid things all my friends did. And the one thing they all have in common is that at the time they seemed perfectly normal and even cool. For example:

Big Hair

Leg Warmers

Friendship Pins

The rest I will leave to you to recall.

My point is that rarely are the times when a trend pops up that one immediately knows that it will be featured as something stupid when VH1 does “I Love the 00’s”. But I’m pretty sure this whole thing with the upside down Christmas trees is destined to become one. There are so many things wrong with this concept. Sure, it’s different from the norm, but how does one keep the darn thing watered? People say that “But it’s functional! You can fit more presents under the tree!” to which I respond with “Did you not put presents under the tree as a kid? Or did you surround the tree with presents so as to not violate the tree’s personal space?”

Besides, isn’t anyone else a little turned off by the whole upside down thing? When you take a symbol and turn it upside down it usually means something is wrong. Cases in point: the American flag (upside down = a sign of distress), the pentagram (upside down = devil worship), the cross (upside down = sign of the anti-christ*), the question mark (upside down = someone is writing something in Spanish), and the letter “e” (upside down = someone is spelling phonetically). So if you think you’re being smart and setting up your tree upside down this year, don’t come crying to me because Santa showed up and – offended by your anti-christmas blasphemy – stuffed your stocking full of coal.

*Yes you nitpickers I know it’s also called St. Peter’s cross because he was crucified on an upside down cross, but I’m talking about common uses here.

Monday, November 28, 2005

A whole new appreciation for the holidays

Historically, I’ve never been much of a Thanksgiving person. I think this is because as a child Thanksgiving is one of the most frustrating holidays of the year. You get two days off school, but instead of being able to go outside and play with your friends you get bundled into a car and driven miles and miles away to sit down for dinner with a bunch of extended family that you’d be seeing in a month anyway for Christmas. And on top of that – no presents or candy or anything. These days I don’t mind it so much, having grown to appreciate spending quality time with family more than I did when I took them for granted. But there’s something about being the only member of my family in Chicago that results in me being invited to multiple thanksgiving dinners given by friends. I end up being the token non-family member at these events, so I usually feel a little weird about it.

This last weekend I was not able to do dinner with family because I was working on Friday and Saturday. So I reluctantly accepted an invite to dinner with my friend B.Da who happens to be the person who introduced me to the GF. She specifically requested that I bring my homemade chocolate truffles which I usually make for the holidays. They are really good, but they take 3-4 hours to make and I didn’t have any ingredients. So on Wednesday after work I pulled into the Jewel on the way home to pick some up. That’s right – I entered a grocery store on the night before Thanksgiving. Oh…the horror…

Typically, I save a bunch of time at grocery stores by using the self-checkout option. In my experience, most people are afraid of doing the self-checkout because it involves computers and bar codes and most people are not smart enough to figure it out on their own. So I’m usually able to slide right through in a few minutes. However, because it was so busy even the morons were using the self-checkout. I’m the first to admit that I’m a total technology snob – if you can’t figure it out then you shouldn’t use it. Someone might get hurt. I was sitting there watching idiots read every instruction, try and figure out how and where to insert cash instead of using their credit card, and stop to ask the one cashier in charge of all the self-checkout stations how everything worked and where their coupons would go. I was in agony. By the time I left almost an hour had passed and I was in the same bright, chipper, in-love-with-my-fellow-man mood that I usually get dealing with the customer base at Wal-Mart (“Whadyew mean this Dale Earnheart t-shirt is $1.10? The sine sid $1.08! Wheere’s yer manjer? I ain’t pay’n no $1.10 fer dis shert - dat’s false advertisin! Hold on a sec; BESSIE MAE GIT OFFA DAT DISPLAY OR I WILL SMACK YOU INTA NEXT WEEK!!”).

But as I got back on the road home I noticed three helicopters hovering overhead, which was followed by a serious backup in traffic. Turns out that there had been a train meets cars accident along my route home and that if I hadn’t stopped to pick up ingredients I might have been one of the people in the hospital now, because I would have been about at that rail crossing at the time that the incident happened. Little freaky…

Of course now there’s no way I can ever pay B.Da back. First she gets me the world’s greatest girlfriend and now she saves my life. How does one respond properly? In Aztec times this would have demanded a sacrifice – but I don’t think B.Da would appreciate 50 dead slaves on her front step.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Besides, Kim Cattrall's moved onto other things these days

Remember when we were young and the plotlines of movies seemed so fantastical that they could never happen in real life? Sure, there were some movies that could totally happen (e.g. Stand By Me, Revenge of the Nerds, Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure), but as children of the 80’s we lived – for the most part – in a world of complete fantasy. Films like Gremlins, SpaceCamp, and Red Dawn held us spellbound and let our imaginations soar. We often lay in bed at night, wondering if we would be brave enough to throw a gremlin in a blender, or whether we were small enough to fit between the struts to retrieve the oxygen tanks from the space station so we could return safely to earth.

I am almost ashamed to say that the first piece of fiction I ever wrote (and never saw light of day) was based entirely on the adventures of me and my friends fighting a guerilla war against communists in the front lines of their invasion. Naturally, this invasion would start in West-Central Minnesota, where I lived. Me and my band of nine fellow fighters wreaked havoc on the commies’ supply lines and foraged for food from friendly farm folk. The team consisted of me, my two best friends N. Ba and N.Ke, my little brother, and the five girls I happened to have huge crushes on at the time. Of course, being a liberated fellow even then, I wrote that the girls all pulled their own weight – serving either as snipers or ninjas. Of course, we totally came out victorious in the end, thanks to my brilliant tactical leadership*, N. Ke's mastery of science**, and N.Ba’s apparently god-given ability to drive the Russian tank we found in a garage***.

But even I knew that the whole idea was not realistic. I knew that unlike in Red Dawn a team of teenagers would get utterly wiped out by any red army commandos. So I never tried to actually put it into practice. But apparently this “fantasy vs. reality” thing is harder to keep straight than I thought, considering the case of this guy, who apparently believes that Mannequin is not only real – but a perfectly logical way to get laid. I bet he was thinking “If I boink her enough times, she’ll turn into Kim Cattrall! I just know it!”.

Only in the upper Midwest…

* Which I ascribe to my regular viewing of A-Team, where I learned to appreciate it when a plan comes together
**No doubt learned from all the episodes of MacGuyver and Mr. Wizard
***Yeah...probably more A-Team here - what *couldn't* B.A. drive?

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Oh just kill them already...

I’m beginning to loathe the whole Presidential pardoning of the White House thanksgiving turkey schtick. It’s bad enough that the pardoning has become this glorious White House tradition – but it’s all a lie anyway. Does anyone really believe that the president walks into the rose garden, pardons two turkeys and then goes back in for a Thanksgiving dinner of Lasagna? Please, we all know that some nerdier, less photogenic, and obviously left-leaning turkey got trussed up and eviscerated in the kitchen and is about to be carved up like a…well…like a Thanksgiving Turkey, I suppose. “Compassionate Conservatism” my ass… How many innocent people stuck on death row watch the pardoning and think to themselves “So, he’ll pardon a turkey but I’m stuck in here to rot because my sorry-ass public defender couldn’t get the DNA evidence admitted?”

It makes you wonder what would have happened of Benjamin Franklin had gotten his way and named the Turkey as the national symbol. Would we all be running out to buy our Gold’n Plump Bald Eagles tonight after work? Would Butterball be renamed “Butterbald”? What does Eagle gravy taste like? Do Eagles even have white meat? Would Don Henley have joined a band called “The Turkeys”?

This is why when I become president I’m not going to pardon any ol’ Turkeys. However, I will make a point to kill and eat only Turkeys that have been found guilty of supporting the terrorists in a jury trial. Just think of the message that would send to the evil-doers! “Mess with America and our leader will cut off your head, gut you and munch on your thighs while watching football!” I can see it now – strolling out of the Oval office, I walk up to the scruffy-looking bird in its little head scarf; looking self-important as he expects the traditional pardoning so he can return to his evil ways. Then…I pull out the presidential axe. Oh, the fear in those evil-doing eyes would guarantee instant surrender of all the terrorist secrets that he knew, as well as a sure-thing second term.

The worst part about it is what it does to the turkeys themselves. Think of it – you grow up living a pampered lifestyle, sleeping on Minnesota pine shavings and being hand-fed corn and soybean meal. For 18 weeks you live the lifestyle of the rich and famous. You go to the white house and are received by the president, who praises you for your good work. Then, you go to Disneyland where you are the grand marshal for their parade.

Sounds good, doesn’t it? But then what? You’re immediately put into some sort of retirement home where the staff tells you when to eat and sleep, gives you medications, and never lets you leave the yard. You try calling your friend the president to help clear up the misunderstanding, but he doesn’t answer (or even take) your call. You lose your phone privileges after that little stunt. You bide your time, earning the trust of the guards by helping them with their taxes and personal finances until you can grow your feathers enough to fly over the fence during exercise time. But then you have no job skills, no social security number, and no network. You’re just a bird on the street. You have 10 pound breasts but can’t work in adult films (not in the US at least). So you start dealing crack cocaine.

See? Pardoning the presidential turkey turns terrorists into crack dealers. There, I said it. I’ll say it again.

Monday, November 21, 2005

That's it...I give up.

Relax, I'm not done blogging. This is about a completely different subject. For years now I've been fascinated (some would say "obsessed - but they would be passionless crazypersons who lack vision) with developing the ability to raise one eyebrow. I've always felt that those who had this trait were somehow God's Chosen People - able to express themselves with so much more depth and aplomb than me. A single raised eyebrow means so many things in our society; think of all the signals it can be used to send: skepticism, surprise, puzzlement, sexual interest, distress, challenging repressive authority figures, the list goes on and on! Conversely, raising both eyebrows simultaneously only serves to signal surprise and or fear – neither of which I have much need for.

Friends of mine who have this ability have heard me rant about how jealous I am of their obviously superhuman powers. The truly devilish ones would use my weakness against me and taunt me by using the single-eyebrow in wholly inappropriate situations like asking what my weekend plans were or discussing which dining hall we would go to for lunch. Chuckles would echo all around as I tried to be a good sport but inside I was damning my own inadequacy – cursing my weak genes which made me a chucklestock* to my friends.

So I decided to train myself how to do it. I thought that it is nothing more than a trained muscle action so if I just focused for a few months I would be able to figure out how it works. For years, if I had a few minutes in front of a mirror I’d try to figure out which muscles controlled which parts of my forehead and try to master the art of telling some of them to move while the others stayed put. After a few years, I hadn’t quite succeeded, but I did develop a bizarre substitute, where the left and right sides of my forehead would stay smooth, but the middle part (right above my nose) would pull up – creating a series of ridges in the middle of my forehead that made me look somewhat like a Klingon** from Star Trek.

This last weekend, on the way home from the GF’s (who also can move one eyebrow but has been good enough not to taunt me about it***) I was stuck in traffic so I used the rear view mirror to see if I had made any progress. Naturally, I hadn’t (although the pseudo-Klingon comes quite easily now), which was somewhat frustrating. My frustration was probably quite evident to the couple in the car next to me, who had witnessed my practice session and were trying very hard to maintain their composure. The dog in their backseat was not trying at all.

I am taking this incident as a sign - I’m giving up hope of ever moving just one eyebrow. Obviously this is God’s way of telling me that I have a genetic defect and my eyebrows are not meant to be moved independently. Rather, they are locked in perfect synchronization for the rest of my days – never one without the other. Kind of romantic, actually.

*Like a laughingstock, but not quite as ridiculous.
**No, Microsoft Word auto-spellcheck, this is not supposed to be “Clinton”. Honestly, how is it that a company filled with uber-geeks writes a software application that doesn’t recognize the word “Klingon”?
***That will probably change once she reads this, naturally.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

And GQ's "Tits of the Year 2005" goes to...

So GQ has named Jennifer Aniston as it’s first ever “Woman of the Year” along with more traditional “Men of the Year” Vince Vaughn and 50 Cent. In what is being hailed as the biggest advancement for women since they were liberated from leg irons in the kitchen, Aniston will grace the cover of GQ’s next issue. GQ articles Editor Mark Healy said it best when he said “Sometimes, when you think someone is as deserving as (Aniston), then you make room.”

Let’s look at the picture shall we:

Hmmm…interesting. Apparently GQ is taking a different approach to their Men and Woman of the year photo shoots this year. I guess that shooting them topless exposes their vulnerability somewhat, and might make them more endearing to readers….I wonder what Vince and 50 look like? I bet 50’s got way better abs than Vince:

I see…So Jen is topless and the guys are buttoned up. I guess this is why GQ thought she was so “deserving”. Vince is funny, 50 is the token black guy, and Jen’s got great tits. Nice.

I’m not even irritated, really. I love boobs as much as the next guy, but doesn’t GQ realize that much of their readership won’t care? I mean, a men’s magazine with no nudity but a heavy focus on fashion, accessories and “lifestyle”? Hello!? Don’t they understand how many of their readers must be gay? Don’t they think that group might appreciate a little somethin’-somethin’?

I also must admit that my level of respect for Jen has dropped a bit. I mean, sure, exposure is exposure and all publicity is good publicity I know. But when she walked onto the shoot and was told to take her top off while Vince is sitting there in a turtleneck – wouldn’t she figure out what’s going on and say “No, that’s stupid. I’m above this.”? She handled Larry King so well that I figured she must have developed some backbone after surviving the whole divorce thing. Maybe not.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Aren't cheerleaders already slutty by default?

I know that Halloween is a few weeks gone by, but I saw this picture a while back and had to share.

Imagine it’s Halloween weekend and you’re an NFL cheerleader. You spent all day Saturday being embarrassed by your QB boyfriend, making out with other cheerleaders and of course the obligatory tickle fights at the cheerleader house. Suddenly, it’s game day of Halloween weekend and all your cheerleader uniforms are at the cleaners! What do you do? Obviously you wear your slutty non-cheerleader costume to work. As you can see here we have the slutty nurse, slutty Darth Vader, slutty cowgirl, slutty cat, slutty Bo Peep, slutty pirate, and slutty not-quite-sure-what-the-costume-is-but-slutty-regardless.

This got me thinking about how a hot girl can turn any costume idea into a slutty one provided the skirt is short enough. Look at the list above. Who in their right mind would think a cat is promiscuous or even remotely sexual? Yet, one look at the slutty kitty and I’m thinking “Wow, that is pretty hot”. And it works for everything! Think of all the slutty [insert noun here]’s that you saw that weekend. It’s a veritable who’s who of respected figures in society: nuns, teachers, nurses, doctors, prison guards, dental hygenists, babysitters, pizza delivery professionals, the list goes on and on.

So I started thinking about characters that could not be transformed into a slutty derivative of themselves. Who were so non-sexual that even as an ironic statement of parody they would not be sexy. The list was pretty short.

  • Attorney General (Janet Reno ruined it for everyone)
  • The First Lady (admit it, we all know that she boinks the president, but none of us like to think about it)
  • Shari Lewis (Lamb Chop lady)
  • Lunch Lady (nobody believes an attractive one exists)

I almost added the profession of “Mom” to this list, but ever since “American Pie” popularized the stupid term “MILF” I am pretty sure there are some crazy chicks who dressed as a slutty one for Halloween. (Sigh…)

Still, I bet nobody at the football game complained. I bet nobody even noticed.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

6,000 people not reading what I write

I just had my 6,000th visitor*! Hooray! Thanks for stopping by you crazy guy/lady who works or studies at U Wisconsin! Anyone want to take bets on Spice vs J.Bro?

Name ? (Educational)
IP Address72.33.64.# (University of Wisconsin Madison)
ISP University of Wisconsin Madison

Continent : North America
Country : United States (Facts)
State : Wisconsin
City : Madison
Lat/Long : 43.0778, -89.4133 (Map)
Distance : 121 miles

Time of Visit : Nov 15 2005 2:53:35 pm
Last Page View: Nov 15 2005 2:53:55 pm
Visit Length: 20 seconds
Page Views: 2

*All right, technically it was probably not *the* 6,000th since I didn't install the counter until a month or so after I started blogging. But it's close enough, if anything I've had 6,000 for a few weeks now.

I had way too much fun with this...

Do you love South Park? Sure, we all do! Now you can design a South Park character based on you so you can see what you would look like if you hung out with Stan and Kyle and company!

It's a little tough to save your work - you have to do a screen capture of the page and then trim it down manually in Paint or Photoshop or something. But totally worth the effort.

Here's me!

Monday, November 14, 2005

I feel pretty, oh so pretty

Yesterday I went shopping with the GF at TJ Maxx. I’ve blogged before about how much I hate buying clothes and about my complete inadequacy at figuring out what goes with which. But I now believe I’m starting to get the hang of it. When I first bought clothes on my own I subscribed to the “do no harm” philosophy and ended up with a closet full of beige and brown – most of which was too big for me because I never tried anything on and like to think of myself as a large when I am (at best) a medium. I refer to this as my “Mr. Potato Head” period.

It has been difficult for the GF to get me to trust her on fashion advice, as she would no doubt testify. There have been multiple occasions where she would present me with a shirt that I would laugh at because it had some wacky pattern or because it was pink or because I thought it was the wrong size. Yet, time after time I came out of the store with clothes that I liked. Even weirder is that I get complimented on my fine fashion sense, which I’m never really comfortable with. I always respond to said compliments with a smooth, debonair comment like “I didn’t pick it out” or “It wasn’t my idea” or “Oh my God look over there it’s a pack of hyenas, RUN!”. Anything to avoid having to admit I knew anything about fashion.

After all these successful trips to the Maxx (and Marshall’s) my closet is rapidly transforming from a laughable collection of aspiring rags to that of someone who knows their way around designer apparel. As the good stuff goes in, the GF takes unusual pleasure in playing her new favorite game – “Pick What Gets Tossed”. For every item of clothing that I acquire, she gets to pick what it’s replacing*. This ensures that I still have enough clothes to rotate over a long enough period. If I didn’t enforce this rule, she would have tossed everything in my closet after the first shopping trip, leaving me with three shirts and two pairs of pants which is not enough considering we didn’t buy socks that time.

With the transformation of my closet I’m now worrying that people will begin to think I know something about how to dress myself. So I’m actually working hard to learn as much as I can. As a sign of my success I picked out three shirts on my own yesterday which met with the GF’s approval. I was very proud of myself. Soon I’ll be the male equivalent of Sarah Jessica Parker - except without the hair, the legs, and the Matthew Broderick.

*This last round has her very excited to phase out my last beige shirt. It was a little frightening because in addition to just getting rid of it she was talking about torturing it. She was uttering phrases like "permanent marker", "lighter fluid" and "exposed sparks". I attribute this sudden vigor to her new hair color, which she just got yesterday and is totally hot - but that's a whole other posting.

Friday, November 11, 2005


Making up for all the missed posts earlier this week: I hearken now to the days of my youth, spent growing up in small-town america surrounded by rednecks.

Happy F-ing holidays evvybuddy! Yee-haw!

That's gonna look great mounted up on the wall of the den. Too bad these things are such a b*tch to field-dress.

In vino veritas

In case you haven’t heard about this yet – apparently two cheerleaders from the Carolina Panthers were arrested this weekend for disorderly conduct in a bar in Tampa. You can read the details for yourself, but I want to discount the alleged “they were boinking in the bathroom” side story that’s come out recently.

Let’s face it – there is no way that these two were having sex in the bathroom. Well, it’s not impossible, but let’s look at this logically. They were in a bar in Tampa so they were probably drunk. Okay, everybody in the bar was probably drunk because the only way anyone can live in Florida (considering the Floridian culture of ever-pervasive fear due to the possibility of future hurricanes, feral pythons, and/or the potential that someday the elderly might rise up and riot like the youths of the Paris suburbs) is to be drunk as much as possible. This explains a lot, like why they voted for Bush in two straight elections despite explicit messages from god telling them not to (remember the hurricanes last year?).

Anyway, if these two had actually had sex in the bathroom, and then told everyone in the bar about it, they would not have been arrested, they would have been instant heroes to every man under the age of 120 in the building. I mean, come on – lesbian cheerleaders going at each other like wild animals? What (straight) man wouldn’t buy them a drink just for telling them about it and single-handedly proving that the storylines of skinflicks can actually happen in real life?

Suddenly, every pizza delivery guy would know that some day one of their stops would be for a sorority house full of college girls in lingerie – none of whom had $10, instead wanted to make “alternative payment arrangements”. Every plumber would be inspired by the hope that their next call would be to a hospital where the night nurses would immediately ask him to “check their pipes”. And every off-duty cop could take solace that the next blonde he pulled over would flash the goods to get out of a speeding ticket. Any actual cops trying to break in and arrest them would have been swarmed by a horde of alch-emboldened ex-frat boys out to save their new heroines and preserve their deluded dreams.

Since none of that happened we must conclude that the sex didn’t either. More likely was that one of them was throwing up like Buckingham fountain in the summer while the other one was holding her purse, when one of the other women in line got tired of waiting and decided to start a rumor. Women can be vicious like that. Guys, not so much. We’d just go and pee in the alley behind the building.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Catching up on world events while I've been gone, I discovered the world's gone nutzoid

Oh, this is a fantastic idea:

So, the best way that you can think of to entertain the drug-addled poverty-stricken homeless kids of the barrios is to put on a show of hot women in their skivvies?

Here’s what Reuters has to say about the whole thing:

A model parades in front of street children, some of whom are sniffing glue, in the drug-infested 'Barrio Triste' (Sad Neighborhood) in downtown Medellin in Colombia November 7, 2005. The event was organised to entertain the children by a member of a local charity that helps children in Barrio Triste by providing food, clothes and cleaning facilities. REUTERS/Albeiro Lopera

I am in awe of the level of stupidity here. Sure, the kids look happy, but is this doing anything to help their situation? Why not just get them all hookers? Or buy them more glue?

This is what I love about Latin America though. Do you think that any non-profit in the states would get away with this? Probably not. But think if they could…

[Scene opens on a back alley in any “Big City, USA”. Sound of cats fighting. A child in his early teens is seen digging in a dumpster. Charlie Sheen enters]

SHEEN: Sure, you’ve seen them. Kids running in the streets with no place to go. You think you’ve done your part; you volunteer at homeless shelters, you donate your childrens’ old clothes to goodwill, you’re a big brother for an at risk teen, you tutor Reggie at the middle school three days a week. But have you addressed their greatest need?

[Street child looks up as a stripper enters]

SHEEN: What about those crazy hormones running wild through his system? Sure, you remember those days don’t you? You remember how hard they were. But you had USA Up All Night, you had Phoebe Cates in “Fast Times at Ridgemont High”, you had “Revenge of the Nerds” and “Porkys”. You…were one of the fortunate ones. Kids on the streets today are not as lucky as we were. But now that can all change.

[Stripper takes off her trench coat and parades around in front of the kid]

SHEEN: Yes now for only $20 a day you too can sponsor a teen in trouble. Strippers Linked to Underpriviledged Teens on the Street (or SLUTS) – a new non-profit organization aims to help these kids realize their dreams. Just look at the joy in little Billy’s eyes…

[Cut to closeup of teen’s face. It’s alive with wonder and joy. Then a bra lands on his head.]
SHEEN: You too, can bring that joy to the youth who need it most. Just call 1-800-MY-SLUTS and we’ll pair you up with a teen who needs your help. Each month, you’ll receive a letter from your teen expressing how your gift has helped him become a happier person…

[Cut to piece of spiral-bound notebook paper upon which the words “THANK YOU!!!” are written over and over several hundred times. Followed by “Thanxs agin, Billy”]

SHEEN: So won’t you call today? There are thousands of kids who need your help.

[Street behind CHARLIE SHEEN fills with teens, as well as some Amish kids who obviously need the same help. All of them look at you pleadingly. A few drop to their knees and mouth the words “Please, please, oh man I’ll give anything.” One kid sees the stripper with Billy and faints]

SHEEN: So call today and help them live a better life, just like I did.

[SHEEN tousles Billy's hair. Billy is still staring with joy at the stripper. SHEEN smiles at the camera as a pair of panties land on his head]

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