Archive for May, 2008

Te-quil-a Mockingbird

Posted: May 22, 2008 in Uncategorized

(Writer’s note: Now might be a good time to either shuffle the kids from the room or cover their ears.)

Holy fuckballs Batman! I think I am still drunk this morning. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to go pounding beer and shots of God knows what on a Wednesday night; it’s a school night for God’s sake! I seem to be swimming in a sea of beer and what I presume to be tequila this morning and if I could crawl under a rock and die I would most certainly do so. I think I have tendonitis in my middle finger from shooting the bird all morning. Why do people feel it is necessary to drive like fucking morons when I am hungover (or in this case still drunk)? Why does Microsoft Word not recognize “hungover” as a real word? It recognizes shit and fuck and piss and cock as real words, and those are the cream of the cuss word crop. Fucking Bill Gates. I hate you. I hope you die.

Speaking of dying, I navigated my way into work during some really nasty thunderstorms. While I was walking from my car to the door, I couldn’t help but wish that the lightning that was flashing all around me would find its way down to me and put me out of my misery. Normally on a morning like this I would say “thank God for McDonald’s,” but alas, I cannot. While McDonald’s was delicious this morning and just what the doctor ordered, somebody forgot to tell numb-nuts at the drive-thru to put my lid on all the way. So because Mr. I-make-3.50-an-hour-because-I-can’t-finish-high-school can’t do something as simple as securing a plastic lid on a plastic cup, I have acquired Dr. Pepper all over my shirt this morning. That is why, my good friend, you will always work at McDonald’s. Eat shit cocksucker.

Anyway…bitch and moan and groan, that’s about all I can do this morning. Maybe I should go back home and get some more sleep…fuck if I know. I have a very strong feeling that my ass is going to feel like I just got out of prison later today. I need to get a cork.

Enough is enough. I need to go find the cat. What cat you may ask? The cat that shit in my mouth.

Fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck.
–Cartman


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Identity Crisis

Posted: May 20, 2008 in Uncategorized

It turns out that my Johnny McCockstein experiment didn’t work out that well. Nobody told me that maintaining such a tight perm would be such a pain in the ass, or that the market for Jewish strippers was pretty sparce. It doesn’t change the fact that I am desperately seeking (Susan) a new identity; one that I can relish in and take over the world with. I have another idea and since I love each and every one of you so much, I might as well bounce it off you before I take the plunge.

I need a new name. My current name doesn’t suit me and Johnny McCockstein didn’t go over too well. I wish I was in the Witness Protection Program so the Feds could give me a new one, but alas I am not and therefore must take matters into my own hands. First I need to go on the lamb. I couldn’t change my name and identity again around those that love me because, quite frankly, they might think I’m crazy. I haven’t decided how to go on the lamb, or why I would be running, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out (I couldn’t do anything horribly illegal because if I got caught and went to jail, there would be issues…my butt is too cute for that).

After I hit the road, I’ll need a job. Maybe I could go to DeVry for a Criminal Justice degree and immerse myself in the police culture. Up the ranks I would go until I made it to the FBI, then the CIA. I see myself being a member of some sort of terrorism task force. It seems to fit seeing as I don’t like terrorism so I’ll go with that idea.

Let’s fill in the blanks here…I have a new career in hand and now I just need a name and location, and…AND it just so happens I have a name and I think, all ego aside, it is perfect. I think I’ll go with Harold LePenis (pronounced LePeenay). I could learn how to speak in that annoying Cajun accent and move to Baton Rouge. Considering that I loathe those mythical Cajuns so much (you haven’t been French in 200 years, deltas), nobody would suspect that I was hiding out among my mortal enemies.

So, I’ll become Harold LePenis, but I’ll go by Harry and not correct people when they prounce my last name like Lay Penis instead of Lay Peenay. I work for the CIA and infiltrate terrorist groups with my tight perm and crazy Cajun accent. But I need a catch with the ladies too (what kind of secret agent would I be without a veritable brothel of eager and willing young ladies), so to compliment my tight tapered jeans, I’ll strap an Italian sausage to the inside of my thigh so it looks like I am always packin’ heat (and not the bang-bang type of heat but more of the boom-boom type of heat). If I ever get caught during my subversive, anti-terrorism activities, my seemingly gargantuan weiner (no pun intended) will no doubt be the subject of intense scrutiny (how do you say “touch my monkey” in Arabic?). Upon my inevitable pat down, I’ll say something witty like “Aren’t you going to buy me dinner first?” or “I hope you have a condom.” Humor always seems diffuse a tense situation.

I’m going to go brainstorm some reasons to run from the authorities and get back to you. I also need to subscribe to a sausage of the month club, I have a feeling I’m going to need quite a few.

Oh stewardess, I speak Jive.
–Barbara Billingsley

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Idiots

Posted: May 18, 2008 in Uncategorized

In my never-ending quest to upend retail outlets across the land, I had an experience that I would like to pass along to you, my loyal Reader.

I went on a quest to locate a pitching washers set. I didn’t think it would be that hard, and even though I’m not in Texas anymore (Toto), I found plenty of sets online but have yet to be successful locating one in person. Sure, I could order one online, but quite frankly, I want it NOW. So I went to a local sporting goods establishment searching for the set they presented online. After about 10 minues of aimless wandering, I was unable to locate said set, so against my better (manly) judgment, I made the decision to ask one of the clerks. There were two of them there so naturally I assumed my luck would be doubled. And without further ado, here is the conversation that took place.

“Hi,” I said unassumingly. “Do you have a pitching washers set? I can’t seem to find it.”

Not one, but two blank stares.

Clerk number one says, “We don’t carry appliances.”

Seriously? Did she really just say that? How wonderful. I wonder how many cards are missing from her deck.

“Not a washer set, but pitching washers,” I replied. I even made the little underhanded washer-pitch motion.

More confused looks from my two new best friends. “The baseball pitching aids are over there,” clerk number two says while pointing towards the baseball area.

“I…not…um…nevermind,” I irritatingly said as I rolled my eyes and walked away.

People are idiots.

Close your eyes holy roller novocain
–Kings of Leon

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Underestimation

Posted: May 18, 2008 in Uncategorized

Follow me here, children…

It’s that time of year, well for most of us at least. What time of year might that be you ask? The cold grip of Mother Winter has faded into the blissful warmth of the Spring sun. In addition to the sun, of course, are the bouts of rain that help to make my part of the world nice and muggy. Add the aforementioned sunshine to the aforementioned rain and what do we have? Mowing time!

I had a little experience early in the week that I would like to share with you. This story is less of a testament about mowing (boring, I know) and more about the scary intelligence of our domesticated, four-legged friends. Here’s the set up and preface:

I get home the other day with the intent of mowing my lawn. The sky looked ominous and I figured I should get off my ass and chop that greenery before it got any more unmanageable. So there’s the set up for you. The preface is that I do not deadbolt my front door when I get home. The second preface is that I leave my dogs inside when I mow. Now that we have all of that straight, allow me to continue…

Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to mow I go. Out my sliding glass door in my basement and into my backyard I tootle, and 30 minutes later, VOILA, the yard is mowed. Upon completion of this delightful task (no sarcasm there, I love mowing), I realize that I have worked up a thirst. I walk over to my sliding glass door and attempt to go inside. It’s locked. Hmmmm…interesting. So I try the door again. Yep it’s locked. What the fuck-balls is that all about? Moreover, my loving Aussies are nowhere to be found. Considering that I cannot lock the sliding glass door from the outside, and I cannot make visual contact with my pups, I naturally become a little concerned.

I leave the backyard and head to the front door. As I mentioned previously, I do not (ever) lock my deadbolt when I get home. Knowing this, I figured I’d have no problem getting inside from the front door. I approach the door, grab the knob, and WHAM! My face hits the front door as the door fails to open because, you guessed it: it’s deadbolted. Slightly panicked I return to the backyard and try to force the sliding glass door open, to no avail of course.

At this point, I see my dogs at the sliding glass window. Both of them have this devious look in their eyes (I swear they were laughing at me), and as I try the door for the fourth and final time, they bolt back up the stairs and out of sight. Cutting to the chase, I realize there is another way to get into the house via my garage. Into the garage and to the door I go, and surprisingly, the door is unlocked and I am able to get into the house. Upon entering the house, I see my dogs on the stairs, and they look shocked that I was able to get in. After throwing me a look of utter surprise, they take off back up the stairs as if to get as far away from me as possible.

I make my trek up the stairs and turn the corner, and what do I see? Stuff, and I mean stuff, strewn all about the living room. A torn up magazine, a bag of sunflower seeds, two cups, and cushion stuffing have all been scattered across the room and into the dining room, and sensing my quickly rising blood pressure, my dogs fly by me, back down the stairs, and into hiding.

So after all of that, you may be wondering why I am telling you this story. It is quite simple: my dogs locked me out. Using their brains, and most likely an invisible opposable thumb, they were able to keep me outside so they could have their way with anything they could get their grubby little paws on. Herein lays the moral of the story: don’t underestimate your pets…much like children, they will one day out smart you.

We be big pimpin’ spendin’ cheese
–Jay Z


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The Reason We Exist

Posted: May 11, 2008 in Uncategorized

I figured since it is Mother’s Day, and my Mom is a big fan of my constant rambling, it is only fitting that I bestow a poem upon the best Mom ever.

I mailed a card but it was returned
I baked a cake but the edges were burned
I made a call but the number was wrong
Then I sat down and thought hard and long
How could I ever show her that I care
So I got in the car, then took to the air
I arrived on her doorstep with my cute little mug
And when she answered the door I gave her a hug

Happy Mother’s Day Mom!

All Mothers are working Mothers
–Unknown

LongStar

Experimentation

Posted: May 9, 2008 in Uncategorized

I watch a lot of TV, I’ll admit it. I am definitely not one of those people that say “Oh, I don’t watch TV,” just so they seem deep and uber-cool. Television rocks, period (and so do cartoons, but we’ll talk about that another day). While I was watching the tube the other day (though it’s not really a tube anymore, more like a projector and a big screen, but whatever), I came across a commercial for Best Buy. More specifically, this Best Buy commercial was plugging the Blackberry and Best Buy’s “Geek Squad.” The advertisement stated, in a nut shell, that if you buy a Blackberry from us (Best Buy), we (Geek Squad) will help you set it up.

Sounds reasonable enough to the uninformed, though I have one small problem with it…don’t you think that if you are buying a Blackberry (the world’s best device, by the way), you should have some idea on how to set it up. And if you don’t know how to set up a seemingly complicated handheld device up, don’t you think you should maybe look at a less challenging phone? If you, as a consumer, do not even know how to get the thing rollin’, what makes you think you will know how to use it properly, and thus flushing hundreds of dollars down the drain unnecessarily? Just a thought…

Anyhoo, if you haven’t figured it out, I have a Blackberry. I love it. I have had two different ones for two years now and they are by far superior to any other device that is out there. If I could marry my Blackberry I would, but alas, that would just be creepy and sex might be an issue, so I digress. It is because I love my Blackberry so much and because I absolutely abhor Best Buy (and all the stupid little morons that work there…no bong hits before work guys and gals), that I decided to do a little experimenting. This test would require a small, refundable investment on part, and a little investment of time, but let me tell you (tease) that it was well worth it.
I was really curious about this Geek Squad offer, so I tootled over to my local Best Buy and browsed the Blackberry phones. I knew this proposition would be a little tricky because, well, I already have one, but considering that I am the master improvisator, I knew I could get by unscathed. Long story short (or this part at least), I purchased the phone, and poor little helpless me, requested that the Geek Squad help me set it up, even though it cost me an extra 30 bucks.. The guy looked at me a little funny, perhaps I look like I’m pretty savvy, but I continued to play dumb (M O O N, that spells dumb) until this gentleman picked up the phone and summoned the masters at the Geek Squad.

I had to wait a little bit longer than what I feel as acceptable, but I was already in too deep to back out now, so I just played the Jeopardy music in my head (and I think audibly, which would explain a few more whiskey tango foxtrot looks from the other patrons inside the store) until I saw the guy in a Geek Squad shirt shuffling my way. Right off the bat, I am a little disappointed. I would expect a member of the Geek Squad to be, you know, a geek. Thick glasses, pocket protector, maybe a little acne (i.e.-Revenge of the Nerds). And therein lays the disappointment. This dude didn’t look like a geek; he just looked like a stoner. Guy was maybe 19 or 20…mop top hair, semi-bloodshot eyes. When he opened his mouth to speak, I just wanted to shove a sock in it, circle him with duct tape, and run. In my mind, only surfers should sound like surfers, and if we consider the fact that I live in the Midwest, I am almost 100% certain he was not a surfer, and therefore should not sound like a surfer when he talks.

This was the initial conversation:

“Who needed help setting up their phone?,” surfer dude inquired in his thick surfer accent.

“That would be me,” I replied helplessly.

“Really?” questioned surfer dude.

“Really, really Chief. I’m XXXXX (you didn’t think you’d get my name, did you?),” I said as I offered my hand for the ceremonial, instantaneous bonding of men.

“Tyler,” he replied and returned a weak, girly handshake (big surprise on the name by the way, seemed fitting…Tyler seems like a stoner/surfer name, no offense to those named Tyler).

Before we go much further, we have to understand the problem with what just happened. Firm handshakes are essential to the garnering of respect of your fellow human beings. Having a weak handshake, as a man, makes me want to ask you if you are wearing panties or if you have some lip gloss. Old ladies can have a limp handshake all they want, but others should show confidence in their grip when shaking hands. This is especially true for men (thanks Dad), but I digress once again. To continue…

“So, Tyler, can you help me get this set up?” I inquired. “I’m not very handy with such things and I saw your ad on TV so I thought I’d give you a shot.”

After pausing for a second or two, perhaps to shake off the pot-related brain fart, Tyler, formally known as the surfer dude replied, “Yeah. Let me take this to the back and get it set up for you.”
“Take it to the back?” I asked.

“Yup. We take it to our back office and get it set up,” he replied.

“Well, can’t you do it out here?” I responded

“Why?” Tyler asked

I quickly thought about my next response here. Should I reply with something smartassy, or should I keep the conversation on the up-an-up? I decided to stay on the straight and narrow (for now), if for nothing more than to keep my cover.

“Because I would like to watch,” I said smilingly. “I mean, how am I supposed to learn if I don’t watch?”

“Our store policy says for us to do it in the back,” Tyler said in his surfer accent.

Hold on a second…store policy? Excuse me? I’m pretty sure store policy said his pants should fit properly, but he didn’t seem to mind breaking that rule. I kept that little tidbit to myself.

“I guess I could ask your manager if we can do it out here,” I fired back.

Tyler provided me with a blank stare…I suspect more processing. After a moment or two, and some looking around (like he was going to give me some of his pot in a cigarette pack)…

“Um, okay, come over here and I’ll do it up front,” he finally replied.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” I said. And I really did appreciate it. I didn’t want to involve yet another party in my experimentation, not yet at least.

Over to the kiosk/desk area we went. The whole process started innocently enough. Tyler opens the Blackberry box and pulls out the phone, battery, and backing to the phone. Battery in phone, back onto phone, power phone on. Couldn’t have done it better myself. The next part is what I was expecting, and let me tell you that I was beyond elated when it went exactly as I imagined.
As our surfer-stoner friend Tyler waited for the phone to completely power on, he opened up the book that came with the phone. Hmmm, interesting indeed. I wondered if he was just killing some time so he wouldn’t have to make intelligent conversation. I figured I’d give him the benefit of the doubt for now. After about 90 seconds, the phone is completely powered on and with phone in hand, our good buddy begins to look at the booklet and interact with the phone, following the manual step-by-step. Perfect.

“So you guys just set it up by the instructions in the book?” I innocently asked.

“Yeah, I really don’t know much about these things,” Tyler replied.

I almost peed myself I laughed so hard.

“Really?” I asked rhetorically. “I thought you guys were the experts on this sort of thing.”

“Not really, we just have to do it when asked,” he said.

Alrighty, time to finish this off…I’ve become bored with the stoner.

“You know what,” I started as I pulled MY Blackberry out of my back pocket, “I think I’ll just keep the one I have. I thought you were able to set it up in some fancy way I didn’t know how to do. Go ahead and refund me on the one I just bought.”

At that exact moment, much like the Grinch and his heart, surfer-stoner dude Tyler began to show a little emotion in the form of facial flushing. For the record, I love watching blood pressure rise (when it’s not mine of course).

“You’re kidding me,” Tyler quipped.

“Nope, not kidding. I like to laugh when I’m kidding and as you can see, I’m not laughing,” I snapped back. I was really bored at this point, and quite frankly, I needed a smoke.

“A’ight then,” he said (ahhh surfer, stoner, and street talk…can it get any better than that?).

Quickly and not so neatly, Tyler threw everything back in the box and shoved it my way along the counter and not so politely told me to take it to the return counter. I thanked him and went on my way.

The rest of the experience wasn’t so exciting…I returned the phone, got my money back and went out and had that smoke. I guess the overall moral of the story is this: why pay someone to do something for you when you can just read the book and do it yourself? You would figure that the three languages provided in the booklet could serve some purpose to someone somewhere.

It also goes to show you that television advertising, often times, preys on the ignorant and stupid, after all, smart people would just read the booklet. Oh, and, another lesson learned: don’t expect a real geek when you use the Geek Squad, but have some brownies handy just in case your helper gets the munchies.

We’ve got bush!
–Booger

LongStar

You May Have Noticed…

Posted: May 6, 2008 in Uncategorized

…that I changed the name of my purely self-gratifying blog. Before you bombard me with emails as to why, let me tell you. I came to the realization that my posts previously altered ego has become fully integrated with my public-facing ego. Upon this realization, I found it a trifle bit silly to continue with the previous title of this here bloggy blog. I also realized that just about everything posted is whimsical in nature, and sure as hell does not make any sense. Hence, I changed the name in order to better reflect the material contained herein.

On that note, and ever so briefly, today, I wish I was a frog. Again, before you get all crazy with the “whys” and what not, let me explain why I have this wish on a Tuesday morning. I hate flies. Frogs eat flies. That’s a perfect fit in my mind. But also, how cool would it be that peeing in someone’s hand when they pick you up is socially acceptable? I would argue VERY cool, awesome even. Further, I could have a super quick tongue, and I would most likely be a stronger swimmer than I am today, not to mention all the time outdoors.

Where’s a genie when you need one?

I don’t wanna be buried in a pet cemetary.
–The Ramones

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