Thursday, December 20, 2007
It is time for a NEW YEAR. As the calendar rolls over to 2008 we have a chance to make some changes to our lives. We start things anew. We make resolutions for change. Why do we think we can fix things we have spent so much time screwing up? You could call it pride, hubris, or the foolish need to have some sort of power over lives that are clearly spiraling out of control.
Of course, when you think about it, the 1st of January is just another random date – other cultures (Jewish, Chinese, etc.) turn over their calendar at a completely different time of the year. Now that I have convinced you beyond a doubt of the meaninglessnessability (see last month’s article) of making resolutions for the New Year, I will make some for myself that encourage all members of the service industry to try to keep. Hey, I revel in a challenge, what can I say?
1. Always make a witty response when your table says something rude. Do not fear the possible repercussions. My favorite example is the table that does not acknowledge your existence as a person. You come to the table for the first time and ask them how they are doing. The woman in the pink dress and the designer purse looks straight past you into some alternate universe where drinks and food appear for her without any human contact and says, “Sweet tea.” Now the normal response would be to punch her in the face and leave, but that is uncivilized and might stain your table cloth if she is so inconsiderate as to allow her nose to spurt all over it. Instead, say something like, “I am feeling pretty Coca-Cola myself,” and walk off for five minutes to let that sink in before you take their drink order. Hopefully, this will minimize any future douchebaggery on their part.
2. Set fire to all biblical pamphlets given to you as a tip. Do so in front of the tipper. Seriously this gets on my nerves probably more than anything. I was raised a Christian. I have read the Bible. What about me being a waiter might cause them to think differently? Do horns sprout from my head when I approach their table? I do not recall a passage in the holy book detailing how members of the service industry are heathen scum and worshipers of Satan. Did the waiter at the Last Supper screw up the order? Not that I remember. Could it be that we are going to hell because we work at a place that serves alcohol? Well for Christ’s sake they are eating there – wouldn’t a boycott be the better way to go? That would be totally cool with me. Besides if I recall correctly, Jesus turned water into wine, not Welch’s grape juice. So, in conclusion, burn baby, burn.
3. No morning shifts. Seriously, lunch really sucks. I have to get up early, work just as hard, and make less than half the money. Plus, it totally messes up my social life, which is much more important than some stupid job. If I am going to have to stay out until four in the morning or later, I can’t be getting up at the crack of nine. I am not twenty anymore and can not be expected to perform without a good ten hours of sleep. These demands are absolutely outrageous and I can not be expected to live up to them anymore.
4. Kill the members of Silverchair, starting with the lead singer, whose head must first be set on fire followed by removal of the genitals by use of red hot pincers. Above is a picture of said singer so that you may identify him and do the genital thing on sight (or run away, whatever is your proclivity). I will now voice to you verbatim a vignette and verify my vendetta and yea verily vindicate this vilification wreaking my vengeance viciously (Remember, remember the 5th of November!) In other words, read the next post entitled "My First Music Review" below to understand my irrational hate (and then realize it is not so irrational after all).
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
The following is guest author Colin McCandless's take on continuing developments in the Britney Spears saga.
In the file under “What did we learn?” department, Brittany Spears’ 16-year-old sister Jamie Lynn is pregnant. Apparently, she is “not—that—innocent” either and I’m sure just as prepared for motherhood as her elder white trash pop icon sibling.
Sweet old Jamie Lynn was apparently impregnated by the son of a Tennessee papermill worker with whom she goes to church. It seems the Christian values and teachings did not rub off on her.
This breaking news story draws me back to something I’ve said before. There should be a required aptitude test for baby making. A fair ride measuring stick of a “you must be at least this competent to procreate,” sort that helps prevent blithering idiots from furthering their seed and threatening normalcy and human decency as we know it with extinction.
You administer the Pregnancy Aptitude Test, or PAT, at age 10 and those that do not meet the eligibility requirements are spayed or neutered accordingly. This way, they are never allowed to become attached to their reproductive organs and won’t even notice they are missing!*
It’s the only logical solution to a problem that’s plaguing America: Stupid people bearing children. Now sure, there would be exceptions to the rule. It is conceivable that even a moron could produce an occasional prodigy, but is it really worth the risk?
Ninety-nine times out of a hundred the result will be a Brittany-K-Fed debacle that will spoil the chances of their kids ever living an ordinary existence.
These ruined youth will pass the tainted genes on to the next generation and the cycle of dysfunction will continue.
Can you imagine what Ashley and Mary Kate Olson’s brood will be like? Emaciated, toothless, self-obsessed runts that won’t be able to use the bathroom without a camera to document the event. It’s tragic really and the worst thing of all is that it doesn’t have to happen.
And that’s because if there were a PAT, the Olson’s and the Lohan’s and the Hilton’s and the Richie’s of the world would not be allowed to multiply. Much like a breathalyzer test, they would have no chance at passing the PAT.
Moreover, this test has implications way beyond the scope of this article and could potentially alleviate a lot of societal ills. Not only could it lead to the preservation of our culture, but also of society as a whole, since it would surely help reduce crime and poverty.
It would ease overpopulation as well and ensure that only the most qualified parents are propagating the species. Like Wilt Chamberlain.
*Reaction may vary
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
For all of you hanging on the edge of your seat waiting, I was going to write the continuation of the "Modernization" story today. But since I have learned to hang from the corner of the screen, that kind of shit bores me and besides events, circumstances, and such things beyond my control have interceded and I must take a different turn today and write my first music review. Note to reader: the next paragraph is a serious discussion the first two bands, feel free to skip down if you could give a crap about what I think about the Shins (summary: I like them).
On Sunday night I went, along with my brother and several friends to a concert down in Atlanta (not my favorite town, but I will save that diatribe for a later time). The show included the Silversun Pickups, the Shins, Silverchair, and Modest Mouse. Silver Sun, whom I had never heard, took the stage first. They sounded very good - the singer had a very unique vocal style which I enjoyed very much. The Shins followed with a very strong but sadly short set. They only played for a little over thirty minutes and the last song was a cover of David Bowie's "Suffragette City." It was a very good reproduction and a neat surprise, but I would have much rather heard their original material, of which they have plenty.
The worst part up to this point of the "Mistletoe Jam" ,as this night was called, were the DJs from the Atlanta radio station sponsoring the show. There are no more annoying people on Earth. Their entire existence seems to be predicated on being louder and more obnoxious than those who came before them. These are the guys (and girls on occasion) in your high school class that would cause a collective groan from the class whenever the teacher called upon them. When these folks came on stage during the pauses between bands, I wished I had a rifle with a scope and the shooting talents of Lee Harvey.
Then came the most appalling noise I have every had the pain of suffering thru in my entire time upon this planet. After five minutes, I was begging the DJs to return to the stage. I am a huge music fan and have gone to hundreds of shows and nothing in my past experiences could compare to the aural awfulness that was the third band. Silverchair. Just the name can be used to scare young children into obeyance. Fuck the Bogeyman, he is a total pussy.
I was interested in hearing Silverchair since they had basically disappeared since their hit album of 1997. Had they found a new, edgier sound? No - any shred of talent they once had is now gone. Plus their singer, Daniel Johns is a total dick. The general consensus amongst my friends was that the band could have been okay if not for the singer. The dude seems to think he shits lollipops and pisses rainbows. I am to assure you that is not true. Most of the Silverchair set was spent by that ass hole trying to get the crowd to stand up and cheer. Note to anyone considering a career in music: If you have to try to convince the people attending your concert to get into the tunes, there is a very good chance that your band is terrible. Most people, when they hear good music, will get up and dance and sing on their own. No cajoling is usually necessary.
Oh and not to be forgotten - the DJs introduced the band by talking about their one hit, "Tomorrow." Think they played it? Nope, those dicks are too good for that. Their fan probably wanted to hear their new stuff, which in fact sucked worse than suckiness has ever sucked before - a new plane of suckitude as it were -raising the bar of sucktacularity beyond where it was previously thought to suck. Plus that douche singer kept taking off clothing throughout the show to excite the crowd - since his music had no hope of doing so. This would have been hot if he was not a complete douche whose douchebaggery is of proportions heretofore unequaled except perhaps by morning DJs. After forty minutes of this I left. I kept thinking I could take it - just one more song and it would be over. But it never ended. I walked out and hung out in the lobby. I have never left a show before. Ever. This is how much they sucked. A complete ten out of ten for ineptitude. If that was their goal, then mission accomplished. The only good bit of news is that this was their last show on the tour. Hopefully for music fans, they will never leave their home country of Australia again. Actually I like Australians, so hopefully they will never perform again. Ever.
Then came Modest Mouse to close the ole Mistletoe Jam. They were good. Wish they had played an encore, but otherwise a great performance.
Summary- Silverchair = SUCK
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Yusef ran thru the city, fear pulsing through his veins like wind through a tunnel being used to test the aerodynamics of an Airbus. He must find a place to stay the night. There was too much at stake. He and those with him were being pursued to the ends of the Earth.
No time to think about tomorrow. Survival was a minute-by-minute process that did not afford such a luxury as a hope for the future. Protect and survive, these were the only thoughts that crossed his mind.
The dogs of Harold Blofeld were everywhere. Despite his death over four years ago, Harold's minions continued the hunt unabated. Harold had foreseen the child and knew what was at stake. Their leader, Dogbreath, could smell fear in the air. Fortunately, he was blind and kept running into things like flag poles, for example, or he would have found our hero by now.
He knew Yusef and the prize he held in his arms were close. Yusef and his family were from Elizaville and would have to return for the census the American government conducted every ten years. Dogbreath had searched day and night for these four long years and his face and mind carried the scars to prove it. His nose had been broken so many times that it sagged on his face like a drooping violet, pointing the way towards his mangled right ear.
There would be no sympathy for Yusef and his companion from a man whom civilization had left in the gutter to rot (and rightly so, he was a total piece of shit - if I woke up that ugly I would kill the hell out of myself). Dogbreath had only one reason for existence and it was the death of those he pursued - the last order his master Harold had given to him.
Yusef dashed under the rusty roof of the barn with his burden carried in his arms before him. This dirty bit of straw would have to do. He could no longer stay on the streets hoping to elude those who sought him. His only prayer was to hold out here as long as possible in hopes that the three old men he had seen in his dreams would come save him.
The triumvirate claimed to be secret agents sending him a message. The old fogies had seen the supernova in their sky lenses and knew that the time was now. They would arrive as soon as their Ferraris could make the drive from Dakar. Yusef, according to these nursing home secret agents, needed to sit tight and chill that bitch out and things would be alright.
So Yusef holed up and waited - and Dogbreath moved closer.
To be continued..........or not
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
I have reached the age of late where my friends have begun to breed in a fashion reminiscent of certain members of the rodent family (I will let you choose from amongst the many possibilities if you have a particular rodent fetish). As each progeny drops from the womb like leaves from an oak tree, I realize that the time has come for me to get involved in the process. My part must be done in the cycle of human regeneration. There must be spawn.
Now most who know me will realize that I have two major strikes against me in this regard. For those who do not, I will go over the inherent problems. First off, I am single. It is hard to populate the universe if your fish are swimming on your stomach. Anyone who has succeeded in this effort please contact me. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly (I leave you to judge) I am gay. Once again, there just is not much of a target to hit in the realm of female fertilization if there is no female involved. So I have decided that while I attempt to clear these formidable hurdles, which would trouble even the great Edwin Moses, I will come up with a name for my theoretical heir.
My first thought is to give my child a holy title, one that would engender respect from all, be they rich or poor as long as they not be atheists. Buddha Muhammad McCandless or Jesus Christ McCandless come to mind (I used to have a soccer coach who called me that, it wasn't a compliment).
These are obviously very important religious figures in our world's history and I think it would honor their memories as well as make my child immediately loved and worshiped. My friends whose job it is to keep me in check, have told me that this idea is completely insane and would result in the murder of either me or the child or both of us at the hands of some zealot if I were lucky.
I feel my good buddies are worrying too much and that our pious human brothers would never do such a thing. However, it is unlikely I will follow thru with this plan - such a name would perhaps be too much for junior to live up to in the end.
So if not Jesus or Buddha, what should my son or daughter answer to for the entirety of their existence? Should I follow the shining example of Malcolm X? He changed his last name from Little, saying it was his slave name and that X expressed the variable or the unknown, which was the reality of his true family surname.
How about something like X Y Z, indicating a complete rejection of the naming process itself and the white power structure that created it - Prince (or whatever symbol or moniker he is known as now) would be proud. After sobering up, however, I realized that I am in fact white and McCandless is my real last name.
What am I left with - a series of lame names like Bob, James, Mike, Steve, Julie, Jennifer, Lisa, Amy, etc. How can I give a child of mine a life lived with such a horrid set of symbols. It would be beyond cruel - how these people can go on living their profoundly unoriginal existence is past me.
If I was known by one of these cruel titles, I think I would long ago have plunged my car into the Grand Canyon or stuck my head in the microwave (it doens't work - I can't get it closed - damn my neck to hell) or eaten Twinkies til my stomach exploded.
So I am at an impasse. If you, dear reader, have any suggestions to help me through this dilemma please let me know. Thanks in advance for your help, and I apologize for making fun of your name even if it sucks. At least none of us got stuck with Lemonjello, Shithead (pronounced shi-theed), or Jesus Condom. No matter what I choose, the bar has been set pretty low by some.
Friday, December 7, 2007
We start, as drops of wet
slipping thru the grass
joining unto others
becoming one mass
We roll down our river
avoiding every boulder
drifting away from our shore
as we continue to get older
Back together we may come
towards our friends (or enemies)
but soon we reach the ocean
is this the end?
When we arrive will we meet again
or just fade away
or not one more day
Monday, December 3, 2007
I was shopping today for a present to be used in a Secret Santa game this weekend when a moment of indecision occurred. I could not choose between "Oh Snap, the Ultimate Yo Mama Fight" or "Bumfights 3."
I came to the conclusion while pondering this dilemma that there may no longer be anything in our society that can shock us. I wasn't even in a DVD store (it was a record store) and there were over one hundred videos whose main theme seemed to involve death, dismemberment, or severe injury of another sort.
Apparently "Faces of Death" has now reached an incredible six installments thus defeating "Final Destination," which only managed to fill three movies with disparate death scenes. We have seen so much raw reality that we can no longer think of anything fictional to top it. "Bumfights?" Really? They pay poor homeless men and women to beat the everliving hell out of one another? Howard Stern claims in a blurb on the DVD box to have been shocked.
Christ - how to you top that? Chickfights? I looked, they had done five discs worth of chickfights already. Cripplefights? Oops, already been done on South Park. Battle of the mentally ill? Just watch the Republican/Democratic Primary debates. The only thing left is for the candidates to attack each other with chainsaws (keep your fingers crossed).
Science fiction/horror writers of the past seem to have been remarkably prescient. A TV show like "The Running Man" (book way better than the movie, although the movie has some great Schwartzneggerisms) is no doubt in the works as we speak. How can a simple writer like myself hope to shock anyone in such a society? I will start by purchasing "Oh Snap" and maybe later I can attend the midget tossing championships at O'Hooligans tonight. Who knows, perhaps I will get a few ideas.
Postscript - Two days after writing this essay, I was sent a video entitled "Two Girls and a Cup." After one viewing I was refreshed and revived - there still is plenty of room out there in the realm of shock entertainment (I can hear the sighs of relief everywhere, from the shores of Howard Stern to the halls of South Park, Colorado.
Something kinda sad about,
the way the world has come to be,
desensitized to everything,
what's become of subtlety?
-"Stinkfist" by Tool
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
* I received this e-mail today from a friend - only the short response at the bottom is original.
First and foremost, let me tell you that I'm a huge
fan of yours. As my friend, you always seem to be
there when needed. The perfect post-work cocktail, a
beer at the game, and you're even around at the
holidays (hidden inside chocolates as you warm us when
we're stuck in the midst of endless family
gatherings). However, lately I've been wondering about
your intentions. While I want to believe that you have
my best interests at heart, I feel that your influence
has led to some unwise consequences:
1. Phone Calls and text messages: While I agree with
you that communication is important, I question the
suggestion that any conversation after 2 a.m. can have
much substance or necessity. Why would you make me
call my ex's? Especially when I know, for a fact, they
DO NOT want to hear from me during the day, let alone
all hours of the night.
2. Eating: Now, you know I love a good meal. But, why
do you suggest that I eat a taco with chili sauce
along with a big Italian meatball and some stale chips
[ washed down with wine & topped off with a Kit Kat
AFTER a few cheese curls & chili cheese fries ]? I'm
eclectic eater but, I think you went too far this
3. Clumsiness: Unless you're subtly trying to tell me
that I need to do more yoga to improve my balance, I
see NO need to hammer this issue home by causing me to
fall down. It's completely unnecessary, and the black
& blue marks that appear on my body mysteriously the
next day are beyond me. Similarly, it should never
take me more than 45 seconds to get the front door key
into the lock.
4. Furthermore: The hangovers have GOT to stop! This
is getting ridiculous. I know a little penance for our
previous evening's debauchery may be in order. But,
the 3 p.m. hangover immobility is completely
unacceptable My entire day is shot. I ask that if the
proper precautions are taken [ water, vitamin B, bread
products, aspirin ] prior to going to sleep/passing
out [ face down on the kitchen floor with a bag of
popcorn or wherever. The hangover should be minimal
in no way interfere with my daily activities.
Alcohol, I have enjoyed our friendship for some years
now and would like to ensure that we remain on good
terms. You've been the invoker of great stories, the
provocation for much laughter, and the needed
companion when I just don't know what to do with the
extra money in my pockets. In order to continue this
friendship, I ask that you carefully review my
grievances above and address them immediately. I
will look for an answer no later than Friday 3 p.m. [
pre happy hour ] on your possible solutions. And
hopefully we can continue this fruitful partnership.
Your Biggest Fan
P.S. Please take a moment or two and note the
following items below that I think may be of some
interest to you.
THINGS THAT ARE DIFFICULT TO SAY WHEN DRUNK:
THINGS THAT ARE VERY DIFFICULT TO SAY WHEN DRUNK:
2. British Constitution
3. Passive-Aggressive Disorder
THINGS THAT ARE DOWNRIGHT IMPOSSIBLE TO SAY WHEN
1. Thanks, but I don't want to have sex.
2. Nope, no more beer for me.
3. Sorry, but you're not really my type.
4. Good evening, officer Isn't it lovely out tonight?
5. Oh, I couldn't. No one wants to hear me sing
Response from Alcohol:
All your requests are denied. I rule you. You are now required to shoot tequila off a stripper's breasts every Thursday.
Monday, November 26, 2007
I want to start by apologizing to my reader for the lack of a post here last week. I was home visiting my family and I failed to take the time to realize that this website is very important to my fan - whoever he or she may be. Anyway, since you have forgiven me and chosen to continue reading let us proceed.
Seeing my family over the course of the Thanksgiving holiday made me ponder how important they are to me as a person. I also realized what a momentous occasion the Thanksgiving dinner is and how I look forward all year to that day.
Sadly, though, this event only lasts one day. How can we integrate this great feast and our love for our family into something that gives us that special feeling year round?
We all take pictures, but they can only start to tell the story, to give us all that feeling of closeness we yearn for in our hearts. Home movies have the same shortcomings and are usually ruined by a gaseous uncle (it is better that some memories be forgotten).
I have a suggestion for a tradition that will add the necessary permanence to the holiday. We should cannibalize one of our relatives every Thanksgiving. What better way of remembering your relatives than by dining on them? They will be with you always as fat in your body. No more jars of ashes cluttering the mantle. Every time your stomach grumbles you will remember them. Besides, aren't you sick of always eating turkey? The tryptophan makes you so tired you miss the late football game.
So how do you choose which relative to slice and dice and enjoy over a bowl of rice? Well that's up to you! It is your family Mr. Dahmer, tailor the tradition to fit its peculiar composition. If you want to be lame, just draw straws. Or you could eat the one that is the oldest. Now you won't have to pay for that awful nursing home they don't want to live in anyway!
How about ingesting the richest member of the family? You and your relatives can finally see who is in the will! Eat the poorest - now you don't have to support his/her lazy ass!
Think, your cousin has eight children. Sure kids have less meat, so maybe it would be better if you ate two or three of them. Their mother will thank you when the time to pay for college comes around.
Whomever you chose to eat, you'll have an opportunity to have that family member with you forever - a Thanksgiving to remember. Maybe next year you can carve up a relative and stuff him or her with another relative - just like a turducken. Regardless of who you choose to butcher or how you choose to prepare them, make sure you don't forget the cranberry sauce, Dracula!
Thursday, November 15, 2007
As I sit down to my comfy seat here in front of the laptop, I wonder to myself what should I write to appease the literary yearnings of my vast audience (three people and one of the cats - Fantasy and Sierra won't read it because they think I am pretentious). Should I write a poem - probably too serious an endeavor for me to undergo? An essay on politics - there surely is much humor in that, but would my bitterness take over and suck the funny out? I promised in an earlier post that I would soon jot down my thoughts on polygamy - so why not? Too easy? Well I ain't Bill Shakespeare so I don't believe there is any such thing for a writer who can barely go five words without a grammatical error. I sure spell good tho don't I folx!
A Short History of Polygamy: Most men believe polygamy was begun thousands of years ago by the first guy whose wife said she was too tired or had a headache. Women of course dispute this, saying they liked to have help with the dishes and since Ookluk was always off hunting, they tricked him into getting some extra wives to help around the house.
Both sides would agree that it was a great concept in terms of increasing the odds of procreation. Polygamy has been practiced in many cultures over the years, even in America, where it was known as "Joseph Smith is a pimp-daddy"(aka Mormonism). Although accused of treating objects like women, many polygamists have tied their need to have multiple wives/orgasms with God's desire to populate the world with more of their offspring.
Polygamy has since been outlawed in the United States - even the Church of Mormon has banned the practice. Fortunately, classy individuals like Warren Jeffs (of incest with a twelve year old fame)have managed to keep Polygamy alive in small, rural desert communities in the Southwestern US. Is this right or is it wrong? I will now get on top of my soapbox and tell you - but I warn you - I am prone to changing my mind multiple times (maybe I could have a wife for each personality/belief system that inhabits my mind....).
Pros. I think the major pro comes to most of us pretty quickly. Clearly its the idea of getting laid every night and having a choice of who that lay will be. No more headaches or complaints of tiredness - just give wife one the boot and bring wife two to bed. No six months without intercourse when your wife is pregnant. For many of us that is only a dream worthy of a MLK speech - a dream that the legalization of polygamy could cause to come true from the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli (the US owns all those places, right?).
One would think that point would pretty much settle the argument, but oh there's more! How about this killer fact? You can have enough children to field your own basketball team! That's right, your kids can travel the globe playing exhibitions against the Harlem Globetrotters and other teams like the one the Trotters always used to beat. I always wanted to be able to field a pickup game any time when I was a kid. Trust me, your kids will love the ability to do just that! And don't forget - every time you get married you get to have a wedding! See "A Wedding Proposal" for more information on the benefits of multiple weddings.
Cons. Okay you tell me, I am convinced, no need to hear the other side. Just hear me out tho, you may be upset if you just run off and use your omniscient control over the American government to legalize polygamy so quickly. First off, we have not had legalized polygamy since the Feminist movement. What if we go and make it legal and women want to have multiple husbands? It could happen! And who wants to be a man stuck in that situation? Sloppy seconds with your wife? No thanks, man. I would pass on that one.
Let's say tho, that we get lucky and this legalized polygamy is for men only. How could that be bad? First off - you suck in bed. Do you want six women telling you that instead of just one? Okay maybe you would be able to get over it by having massive amounts of sex - hell maybe the practice will improve your less than mad bedroom skills.
If that argument doesn't fly let's look at another strike against big love. Perhaps you are poor - or once you have six women and thirty children to support you will be. Is constant sex worth living in the projects amidst squalor and screaming kids? Add five wives and picture the "Every Sperm is Sacred" scene from "Monty Python's Meaning of Life." This polygamy thing is not necessarily designed for those less well off than say, Hugh Hefner.
Hey, you say, Warren Jeffs isn't rich and he did it. True enough, but he also resorted to marrying a twelve year old so you might have to consider the possibility that he is fucked in the head. On the other hand, if you fail to have any progeny, everyone will know whose fault it is - it ain't likely that you have six barren wives, homeskillet. In addition, what about your multiple wives? You have one wife now and she bitches you out all the time for being late, not calling, failing to do some insignificant chore, etc. Would you want there to be six of her? I think I would rather let Medusa put her head in my lap - the odds of the pleasure overcoming the pain might be better.
So now that we are armed with all this information, what can we conclude about life in a polygamous household? On the upside, you will be five times as likely to say "Bitch, get in the kitchen and bake me a pie" and have someone listen. On the downside, the same comment is five times more likely to get you slapped so hard that your head spins around like Linda Blair in "The Exorcist."
So you decide - polygamy or no polygamy. If you decide yea than please immediately contact Lindsay Graham. He will work to get it legalized right after he finishes getting that gay marriage thing bill passed with his good friend "wide stance" Larry Craig.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Hey boys and girls, its that time of year again. As the NFL hits its stride and we begin to wonder if the Patriots will ever lose and if the Dolphins will ever win, its time to look at names in the NFL - everywhere from the obscure to the obscene. Here we are, the greatest monikers in the NFL, at times doctored to gain a pronunciation that pleases my ears more - and hopefully yours too! Oh and here is to hoping that my boy Dakota Fagg (the boy named Sue of the college game) makes it to the NFL. These guys prove the Man in Black to be a prophet. They had to get tough or die.
QB - DJ Shockley. Forgive me, I just like this name. This Falcon's backup QB sounds like someone Eminem would have defeated in a rap battle if he had ever made a sequel to "8 Mile." What a tragedy that never came to fruition. He will only hold this job until Colt McCoy, the most perfectly named quarterback in the history of the universe, graduates from Texas.
RB - Madison Hedgecock. Doesn't this Giants fullback conjure up the mental imagine of a depraved Edward Scissorhands changing the shrubbery of his small town to fit his hitherto unknown phallic obsessions? My belief is that the knights who say Ni! made him do it.
RB - B.J. Askew. This TB runner knows better than anyone that there is nothing worse than when a pleasant moment of felatio goes terribly wrong.
WR - T.J. Houshmandoucheman. This receiver for the Cincy Bengals has such a long and unpronounceable name that a little help is needed to make it sound pleasant and clean, like a summer's eve.
WR - Craphonso Thorpe. Believe it or not, this Colt receiver actually lined up beside the aforementioned Fagg at Florida St. Hard to be over-shadowed your own team much less the all name team with a nickname like Crap (that is his nickname right?).
WR - Mike "Super" Furrey (Animal). If you are not a fan of the Detroit Lions or obscure Welsh pop bands then move on, there is nothing to see here.
TE - Todd Yoder. Although he has mastered the force, this Washington TE cannot pass Chris Cooley on the depth chart or a grammar test for that matter. Think you his syntax bad it is? (Cooley is rumored to be a Sith warrior working for Emperor Palpatine).
TE - Tony Curtis. This classic thespian (no that has nothing to do with being a cunning linguist) scored several Oscar worthy hits, not to mention a TD for the Cowboys last weekend.
OL - Richie Incognito. Not hard to stay unknown and down right undercover as a lineman for the 1-8 St. Louis Rams.
OL - Ryan "Carpe" Diem. The other bookend for our team is this Colts tackle who is bound to seize the day! And if you don't get that joke your English teacher sucked.
OL - Guy Whimper. With a name like that you have to think the man is a pansy, not a 300 pound lineman.
OL - Jermon Bushrod. Many have confused this Saint's tackle with the Teutonic porn idol of the same name. But, alas he did not star in "Mein Cockf" or "A Fuhrer in Your Pants"
OL - Cory Lekkerkerker. If you have been wondering where the KKK has been lately, it has been hiding out inside this Dolphin's name.
CB - Ashton "of" Youboty. Pronounced Ass ton of yo booty. This Bills corner has to take heavy doses of penis altering drugs to maintain his stature.
CB - William Gay (Honorable Mention: DeMarcus Faggins). As we await the arrival on the pro scene of Dakota Fagg, Mr. Gay will have to do double duty, playing for the Steelers and being picked on for his unfortunate moniker. ** Editor's Note: Although in disagreement with the majority, the author believes that the word gay means super awesome people who are God's chosen ones.
S - Atari Bigby. This Packers defensive back hearkens us back to the days when Pong, Pac Man, and Frogger ruled our worlds. What, you aren't old enough to remember that? Well, fuck you then. Seriously though, how fucking high were his parents when they named him that? If it is a tribal name I guess he is lucky not to have been named Nintendo Playstation.
S - Jamaal Fudge. No particular reason to pick this Jaguars safety, besides the fact that I am terribly hungry right now.
LB - Brendon Ayanbadejo. This Bears special teamer like Bengals WR T.J. needed a change to his way too long name. He shall henceforth be known only as "I am a Banjo"
LB - Akin Ayodele. Doesn't this Cowboy stud seem similar to a Swiss mountaineer's song?
LB - A.J. Hawk. Just a bad-ass name for a bad-ass player. Nuff ced.
DL - Kimo von Oelhoffen. Although originally destined to be a fighter pilot in the Luftwaffe during World War II, a tragic time machine accident sent him hurtling through eras, ending as a DT for the Philadelphia Eagles.
DL - Ma'ake Kemoeatu. Something tells me it would not take too much convincing to make this 350 lb Panthers lineman eat you.
DL - Sam Adams. Expecting a history joke of some sort? Dude, beer! Duh. And boy does this Bronco look like he could put away a keg an hour of that delicious concoction.
DL - Igor Olshansky. Fans of the Mel Brooks classic Young Frankenstein will know that the Chargers lineup prefers his first name to be pronounced Eye-gor. And that he does not have a hump on his back.
K - Jay "Touchy" Feely. Ahhhhhhhhhh, what a cute little Dolphin. Sensitive enough to be a kicker? Perhaps so.
P - Jeff Feagles. A nostalgic pick here. When this present day Giant kicked for the Eagles the world just made sense to me. Speaking of nostalgia, I really miss Toby Gowin, as in Toby Gowin to punt.
There you have it, your 2008 NFL all name team. If you have any suggestions that I may have missed, feel free to comment - if you provide a good argument maybe you can improve my lineup.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Ever since I was first complimented on my fine bean burrito making skills during a short stint working at a convenience store Taco Bell, I knew I was destined for greatness. Sometimes when I sit in the dark and ponder my existence, I wonder just what my hoof print on this world will be. Okay so I have a bit of a weight problem right now.
I have not scaled any major mountains (if you discount Table Rock), I have never won the Super Bowl, nor taken home a Pulitzer Prize for journalism (consider this article a plea to the committee) or even committed any sensational robberies that could be turned into the sequel to "The Italian Job," a movie in more dire need of a second coming than fans of the Left Behind series. If Johnny Damon (or is it Matt Damon, I always get them confused) can get away with three Bourne movies, why not a series of movies about his clever thief _________ (insert character's name here cause I sure won't bother to look it up). Although I fell asleep near the end, I am fairly certain that guy didn't die and even so I smell a prequel (a word not recognized by my Jurassic addition of Microsoft word - my spidey sense spots foreshadowing).
Enough of my desire to create a cinematic masterpiece on par with "Mighty Ducks 6: Ice in My Crotch." What I want to do is make a footprint on the world and my movie ideas always get panned. Apparently, according to Hollywood snobs anyway, you can not write a movie script while sitting on the john for five minutes - at least one that is more intricately plotted than an episode of "Saved by the Bell". Well tell that to the writers of "Gigli!"
How then could I create an impression larger than the Nike (insert corporate logo here- I never said I wasn't a whore) driven indention of a Brontosaurus Rex. Then it hit me - I would create a word! Why did yours truly decide on this path to superstardom? Because it is easy and anyone can do it - a requirements even I can meet. Hell, if my spell checker is any indication, I have invented several words already - and I have only yet begun to defile the English language.
If I typed long enough, it is not outside the realm of possibility that I could even create my own idiom. Unfortunately, misspelling the majority of what you write does not get you a ticket into the latest edition of Webster's or I would have been there years ago.
Still, there are literally hundreds of words on the planet, why can't one of them be birthed upon my tongue? (if that sounds sexy my phone number is at the bottom) My impetuous younger brother Colin tried to create a word once upon a time when we were but wee lads. His word was glogenflugel and as you have certainly not heard it, you can tell it has caught on about as well as Vanilla Ice's acting career. The problem was, besides being harder to spell, the word meant absolutely nothing (a stunning parallel to my own existence). So, glogenflugel did not fly, and even if it had we would have to give grudging credit to my brother's creative if deranged babbling. Where, then, can I find the source for my new word?
I thought that my restaurant would be a good place to start. There are many pieces of equipment there that are not seen anywhere else in the world. Without a doubt, there was some device hidden in the kitchen that had yet to be given a name. I could be the Christopher Columbus of cookery - discovering something that was already there, but hopefully without the smallpox or genocide (I think I did give the dishwasher pinkeye though).
Everywhere I turned though, I found the equipment was already named. Ramekin, hobart, bullet (different bullet NRA guy, point that erection elsewhere), etc. they had all already been previously assigned words. I was desperate, panicked, like a tribal chieftain in search of a virgin mere moments before the local volcano's eruption.
Where else could I find a word? I am not geeky enough to come up with one of those technology-related words. Anatomy? No even the flap of skin between the rectum and the testes/vagina has at least four different words to describe it (taint, gooch, grundle, and the medical term is perineum according to my future nurse friend Lisa). How about something incredibly random like the tip of a shoelace? Apparently, this too has been taken - the word aglet ring any bells? What was a frustrated word birthing virgin to do? Then it dawned on me. Check out my new addition to Webster's 2008 addition:
Impossiblexicographication: (n) the impossibility of creating new words due to the overabundance of previously created words.
Too long? Fuck.
I have worked for over ten years in the restaurant industry. Much of that time I have spent working in weddings and banquets. I have also attended numerous weddings for friends of mine as well as family members. What lesson have I taken from witnessing and taking part in these happy moments? The obvious need for more divorces.
Although this statement seems callous and uncaring, I believe divorce is a necessary evil. Why? Because we need more weddings! This insane idea of being married only once limits us. A daughter’s wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of her life. All your friends have gathered to honor your special day. You are a superstar. How many chances do we get to have that spotlight shine upon us? Why should we enjoy that day only once? If you have already had the happiest day of your life, where else do you go from there? The rest would just be downhill and that is just way too depressing to contemplate.
If, on the other hand, we had the opportunity for multiple weddings there would be myriad opportunities to have an equally good or even better happiest day of your life. So it rained on your first wedding day – who cares! Maybe the D.J. made out with your mom in the restroom – screw it. Some guy trampled your grandma and broke her hip on the dance floor – forget about it. You still might get it right the next time! If not (maybe there was arsenic in the cake this time) just keep trying until you fix it! Everyone deserves a second chance including your girlfriend who was pregnant at the last wedding and was unable to get drunk. Maybe you can even marry her this time around.
Okay, you are saying, I see your point. But we are industry employees, stuck working most weekends and not getting to benefit off these good times. We may not have the dough required to put on one these bad arse marital shindigs that you are suggesting we partake in over and over again. Most industry employees do not work at these fancy country clubs where most wedding receptions take place. Why would we want to support you batshit crazy idea? I am so glad you asked. Since you were so kind as to wonder I am willing to inform you as to where you fit into the scheme.
You may think a wedding is just a church ceremony and a reception afterward. Not true at all! There is a rehearsal dinner, bachelor and bachelorette parties, and the bridal party lunch-in. All of these events often take place in regular old restaurants. The kind where you and I make our hard-earned money.
Who is going to be there when the ten blasted chicks stumble into your place of business with necklaces made out of plastic penises draped around their necks? You are - and you are going to make a lot of money. Who tips the best? Is it the grumpy old man with the tar-blackened dentures? Or is it the group of people having the time of their lives?
Unless you spend some time under the table improving that grumpy old man’s outlook, the people who arrive happy will always tip you better, not to mention the fact that they are a large group (or party in industry terminology) paying a large bill. It is probably not going to be hard to sell them booze is it? My plan calling for more divorces and marriages will bring you as an industry employee and endless supply of high checks and huge paydays.
Wow, that was a brilliant argument you are no doubt thinking. What can I do to help advance your ideas? First off, I suggest you work to convince anyone you know that is married to get divorced. It matters not that they are enjoying wedded bliss and have no interest in splitting up. They can just get married to one another again. This is not a problem. As I have previously stated, it is an opportunity to perfect everything that went wrong with the first wedding. In addition, they can get all their friends and family together – people they love but never get to see. Uncle Phil who was in prison for illicit philandering with nuns back in 1998 can make it this time! How exciting is that!
Secondly, work to legalize gay marriage. We are missing out on a large portion of the population that wants to get married – and then divorced – and then betrothed once more. Why neglect a substantial portion of our population and their potential to enrich us? That would be nearly as foolish as buying a Justin Bieber album, although not quite. Finally, take good care of every customer who comes into the door. You just never know who will be walking down the aisle next. Oh – and polygamy would probably help too – but more about that some other time.