2/28/06

Things that suck.

So here's something that sucks. Getting two giant needles jammed directly into your elbow. I am not a big fan of needles to begin with, and I thought I was only getting one, but no. The doctor said the first one was chock full of novacaine, and it was supposed to completely numb the area so that when the second syringe (of what was apparently liquid fire) was injected, I wouldn't feel it. I am here to tell you that my doctor is a fucking liar. An hour later, I still felt like I had a giant fishhook jammed into my elbow lighting up every nerve I owned. I squeezed the sides of the cot so hard I still have grey paint under my fingernails.

So you can imagine my pleasure at waking up this morning with my arm bent at what seems at this point to be a permanent 90-degree angle and an ache that goes from my pinky to my shoulder. Since it's my left arm, and I'm left handed, it makes it really hard to type, drive, shower properly, and play drums. Hopefully it will be feeling better soon, since that was really the whole idea behind getting the shot. If I wanted it to feel like this, I could have slammed it in my car door.

Something else that sucks: American Idol. It is fucking with my regularly scheduled programs, and I don't like it. I also don't like this arrogant black chick named Brenna Gethers who just sucked, and the judges went ahead and told her she sucked, and she decided to completely brush off their advice. She thinks she is a star already. I saw her sing one single song and I want to repeatedly smash her face with a shovel just to wipe that annoyingly permanent stage-right camera grin off her face. Plus, I am pretty sure she's a transvestite.

Also, you can add to the suck list any commercial that features "My Hump" by the Black Eyed Peas.

I do have to say one more thing. I watched my Tivo'd episode of 24 tonight and I wanted to kiss Curtis on the mouth, and I'm not even gay.

OK, I'm done. I can't type anymore because oddly, all the tendons in my fingers connect to the exact spot where I had two giant needles slammed into my arm.

Normally I don't do requests, but Sarah and Big Tool Scott are a damn fine tag team. So I am currently working on a post about the weirdest boss I ever had. He's dead now, and I have mixed feelings about that, but I stuck both the comedy and tragedy on a scale, and comedy won hands down, so there's that.

2/24/06

The stuff I learn from my own blog

Sometimes I seriously question the ads that google decides to toss up on the side of my blog. I mean, I can see why they would stick weird shit up there given the stuff I normally post about, but still.

Mostly I don't even pay attention to them. However, my buddy Yort apparently does. The other day, he said, "What's up with all the testicles in your google ads?" I had no idea what he was talking about, so I went and checked it out. Sure enough, the first ad was titled "Undescended Testicle" and another for "The Castrator." Even as I type this, there's a generic one over there that says "Scrotum - Huge selection of posters & albums. Search for Scrotum now!" First off, they're probably not my kind of band, second, I'd be scared to see the poster and third, I'm not currently searching for scrotum, now or at any other time in the future, thank you very much.

Anyway, I couldn't just leave the ads sitting over there doing nothing, so I clicked on them. From the first one, I learned that apparently the right herbs can fix the problem, and that another word for it was "empty scrotum" which I guess stands to reason. I'm not sure why, but for some reason that just sounds way more depressing to me. Like if you call them "undescended" at least you know they're in there somewhere. "Empty" just sounds like your scrotum would be all drafty have an echo or something.

I also learned there is something called "retractile testes" which means that sometimes they're there and sometimes they're not. They can retract themselves into the abdomen. On the one hand, it would really suck if you went looking for them and they were off getting a pizza, but on the other hand, as someone who has gotten my fair share of inadvertent and extremely painful nut whacks growing up, this could be amazingly useful. Just think of the possibilities.

Biker dude: "WTF are YOU lookin' at? I'm gonna kick your ass!"
Me: "TESTES UP! TESTES UP!"

On the second ad (which I noticed is no longer there) I learned that there is such a thing as an "EZCastrator." If you're curious, just head on over. This is technically called a "bloodless castator" and there is a reason for that. I will note that in no instance do they refer to it as "painless castrator" and there is a reason for that, too. It consists of claw-like mechanism that allows you to place a very thick, very strong, very small rubber band around an animal's testicles. This cuts off the circulation until the testicles turn black and fall off by themselves. My first thought was, "I wonder what they do with all the shriveled black scrotums littering the yard?"

I know what it feels like to get them kicked, but dammit, this has to be worse -- at least at first. Maybe after they get a little black it's not so bad. They even have a demonstration on the website that uses a brown leather bag full of marbles or something. Even just watching that was uncomfortable.

I know all the guys reading this are squirming right now, and all the girls are thinking "I wonder how much one of those things costs? Are the bands extra? Are they reusable? If I buy two, is the shipping free?"

I'm a crappy salesman, so if you don't yet believe this thing is the greatest, I will now share some actual customer testimonials* from the website. Keep in mind that I am not making these up:

"Wanted to let you know I got the Castrator Thursday. I used it over the weekend and it works great, just what I was looking for. Thanks for the prompt delivery." -- Jimmy Watts

"We received the new castrator today. My, your service is prompt! My husband is already rubbing his hands gleefully, wanting to use it tonight. But, since it is 9:30 at night and -10° F, I think he'll wait until morning. Thanks Again." -- Allison Bohn, 3 Smokes Ranch

Maybe I'm wrong, but I think Allison's husband and ol' Jimmy Watts would really hit it off, although I wouldn't want to be around when they got to drinkin'.




*or teste-monials if you prefer.

2/20/06

This week, on Seriously Lost

Things are slowing down in the old Sitemeter department, I think. I keep getting googled for "one toe over the line" and also for some strange reason, there seems to be a rash of people worried about what to do in case of a gorilla attack. Is this a serious problem that I am currently unaware of? If so, I had no idea. So besides those two, here are my favorites this week:

Fantastic Google searches that somehow led people to my site:

instruction how to still break pad civic car - For full effect, you have to read that aloud using the Russian accent of super-spy Boris Badenov. Without a doubt, this is the mechanic I want working on my vehicle. Especially if my civic car has break pad that won't stay still.

how to get a guy to ask you for your number in a minute - There are lots of different ways, but unfortunately most of them only work if you're pretty hot. If you are extremely hot, you will probably have to look annoyed and say "wait a minute, pinhead" otherwise you'll get asked right away. If you aren't so hot, but only just ok, your options to beat the 60-second deadline are more limited -- which brings us to:

minute-long free porn - which would probably be one pretty effective way.

CHRISTINA BIG BOOB SLAP CHEESE GIRL - I'm at a loss. I got nothin. Suggestions?

The rope witches were wearing thongs they walked in the 15 year old house they took rope and started to wrap him up in it he screamed so they put a gag in his mouth than they a lot more things to him sexy and crule. -- Again, I have very little to add here. I am unfamilar with the crule, sexy, thong-wearing rope witches. And I hope to christ that when I die, I am still able to make that claim.

used tampons deer lure - You just know there's someone out there jumping up and down screaming "Finally! A practical use for all those used tampons I've collected over the years. I will sell them to hunters on ebay! I'll be rich! RICH, I tells ya!"

What are bucks balls look like? - Well, let me tell you. buck balls are look exactly like this:



(Hint: You needed to search on "Deer Testicles." When using Google, and especially when it comes to all things testicle, it always pays to be accurate. )

what do a boys crotch look like? - Yeah. I'm not typing that in to any search engine anywhere. Besides, I'm guessing it looks just like mine, only bigger.

trouble swallowing white meat? - If you're asking me about chicken or turkey, then no. If you're asking me about anything else, then hell yeah. This sounds like the punchline to an asian hooker joke.

sniffing diesel fumes, bad or good? - what do you think, Einstein? Here's a little experiment for you: Drinking lacquer thinner, bad or good? Give it a shot and report back.

questions not to ask the boss at lunch - I am guessing that any of the above four should probably be on the list if you would like to keep your job.

washer smells funny. how to get the smell out - again you are in luck because I am a washer and dryer repair expert. I am assuming you have one of those new front-load models. These often have a problem with a urine-like odor. Open your washer carefully, and let me know if you see anything like this:



If you do, we have found the source of your problem. These particular types of washers are known to attract the seldom-seen Giant Water Hamster. They are notoriously hard to get rid of, but I can help. OK, here's what you do: Go get a used tampon....

2/19/06

Electricity. What a concept.

Living in the sticks, we have a well. The well has a pump. For the purposes of this discussion we will call him Mr. Pump. Normally, Mr. Pump is extremely happy to feel useful and needed by bringing water from 350 feet down in the ground and placing it directly behind the valves of all my faucets. But Mr. Pump needs his friend, Mr. Power, to accomplish this seemingly simple task. The bad news is, Mr. Power has decided to just say eff it, and take a week-long vacation.

As a result, Mr. Pump has nothing to do all day but sit there sulking, playing solitaire and smoking unfiltered camels.

Due to the freaky windstorm we had, there are currently about 80,000 people in this area with no power. As you have accurately deduced, we are included in that number. We just got our phones back, so at least I have two hours of battery life on the old laptop, which is how I'm writing this right now.

It took me almost two hours to actually get to my house on Friday, and I felt like a bug trying to get away from a sadistic kid. Every street I turned down, eventually I would get to a fire truck or National Grid truck blocking traffic because some wire or tree was down. I never saw so many snapped off telephone poles, wires all over the street and downed trees in my life. It was like an obstacle course just to get home. After the fourth time I got shut down a few miles from my street, I just sat there and started laughing. Laugh or cry. Those were the choices. I was an inch away from just abandoning my car on a back road and walking home.

Anyway, I would just like to say to National Grid that moving electrons are the tits, and I would like to have some moving in my direction again very soon if it's all the same to you. They are now saying it's looking like Wednesday. Apparently, they have over 700 trucks from as far away as Mass and Canada coming in to fix this mess up.

Here are the two major things that suck about having no power:

1. Washing yourself in a bucket.
2. Flushing toilets.

At first glance, number one might seem to be simple, but really there's a lot of thought that needs to go into the process. You need to know the correct order to wash things in, for instance. First, you heat the water on the stove (luckily, we have propane to cook with) Then you wash your face, then you wash your hair, then the major body surfaces, and then the rest of the dangly bits, finishing off with your feet. You might want to reverse the last two -- I haven't worked out the "best practices" on that yet. If my feet start to smell like ass, a correction may be in order. Although the reverse of that probably isn't good for anyone either.

Since no power means no water, number two on the list becomes a giant pain in the ass. We have a 55 gallon drum of water in the basement with a hand pump on it. This is supposed to be for drinking water, but we've been using it to flush toilets, since the only alternative is to walk a few hundred feet outside in the below zero weather carrying a bucket and get water from the hand pump on the other well. An average toilet flush is about 3 gallons. So that means you spend a lot of time either running up and down the basement stairs with pans and buckets, or freezing your ass off hauling water from the outside well. So between the water and the firewood, I feel like I'm training for the olympics or something.

I have also come to a few other conclusions, one of which is that we humans are not happy unless we are fighting the natural order of things.

Consider this: It's 2 below zero outside, and I have a freezer full of food inside that is slowly thawing. I also have a 500 gallon hot tub outside that is slowly freezing. I'm not sure what's wrong with that picture, but something definitely is.

Also, my new electronic drum set has sounded like real shit for the last few days.

OK, I'm off to try to figure out how to McGuyver up some coffee.

2/14/06

I want the real story, dammit!

After reading all the news stories, and listening to all the snide comments made by the liberal dems I work with, I still can't find out the answer to the question that's been bugging me for the last couple of days. I'm hoping one of you has an inside source.

So tell me -- Did Cheney get the damn quail, or what?

I wonder if he gets the Sportsman's Guide catalog as many times a week as I do? He should pick up one of these:



I'm not sure I would be completely comfortable wearing a Croatian-lined jacket, but all ethics aside - for the price you really can't go wrong. I heard their skin is like Goretex.

OK, I'm off to eat chocolate covered strawberries and then.......you know....do absolutely nothing because my wife is still full of surgery holes. Happy Ballantines day!

2/13/06

You might think it's funny but it'snot.

Thanks to Sarah, I now have a name to put with what I witnessed today. I was in the men's room, just about to wash my hands, when a darker-skinned gentleman of middle-eastern descent came out of the stall. He immediately walked over to the sink next to mine and did some sort of elaborate hand washing exercise that looked like this, except for the feet part. He dipped each hand multiple times, all while mumbling something.

I can only assume that he was some sort of Muslim, and this was his thing.

That's fine. (Although as an aside, this particular dude might want to throw an armpit or two into the mix as well -- I'm just sayin'.) Anyway, I have no problem with any of that. He can strip naked, climb in the urinal and take a leisurely bath and I wouldn't give a shit.

My problem is with what he did next.

The next thing he did, (which, incidentally, I noticed was definitely not on the above diagram,) was exactly this:

He blew his nose into the sink.

He did this by plugging his left nostril with his left index finger, and blowing hard from his right nostril, and then doing the same thing on the other side.

I actually saw snot spray out of his nose. In fact, I heard it hit the porcelain.

Yep. Your basic snot-rocket, as Sarah informed me. I was so stunned I said, "What the FUCK?" before I realized I was actually talking out loud. He just glanced over at me, and then cupped some water in his hand and splashed it on the sink snot as if to say, "Happy now?"

Then he turned and left. He just walked out. No paper towels, no nothing. I'm 100% sure his snotty remnants are still on the door handle as I type this.

To all the Muslims that read my blog, let me reiterate my question: WTF?

In fact, I'll open it up to everyone, since I probably don't have that many Muslim readers.

Is this just an incidence of "disgusting slob with no clue" or is there something in the Koran that prohibits using toilet paper or paper towels to blow your nose? If this is indeed the case, please let me know.

I stood there pondering his actions for a moment or two, then washed my own hands. I opened the door with a giant wad of paper towels.

Don't worry. I'm pretty sure I got away snot-free.

2/11/06

Man-servant endures Everyday Insanity

So my wife had her gallbladder out Tuesday, and aside from the fact that her stomach looks like a really white version of 50 Cent's after he got shot up, she's doing OK. I took the week off to play man-servant, and all I can say is, I wish our house didn't have stairs.

I also wish there was no such thing as cooking shows, because the food network is all that has been on the upstairs TV for the last week. It's gotten so bad, I'm having nightmares about Giada De Laurentiis. In my dream, she looks like this:



Hmmm. Actually, even out of my dream she pretty much looks like that.

I keep dreaming that I'm a piece of sentient "MOOT-za-RELL-a" and she is going to dip her giant bobble-head down to the counter and take a gigantic bite out of me with her two rows of 149 perfectly white, razor-sharp teeth. Every time she smiles, she looks like she's checking her teeth for poppy seeds in the bathroom mirror.

I don't know if it's just her humongous insane-person grin that bugs me, or the fact that the cameraman sees fit to show us a close up of her uvula every time she speaks, but I can't take this show for very long. Every time she fellat--, er, tastes something she made I expect her to shuck her clothes, jump on the counter and roll around in it while screaming out the names of random italian foods using a fake, over-the-top italian accent.

Here's some other people I've learned to hate over the last week:

Sandra Lee - I forget the name of her show, but I call her Sandra Low because every single time I see her I wonder if her boobs could get any lower without having to be tucked into her pants. Seriously, who dresses this woman? Yank a little harder on those winches, will ya?

Some grey-haired southern butterball - This woman must have solid butter in her arteries, based on some of the recipes I've seen. Don't know her name, or the name of her show. I just know that she bugs the shit out of me, y'all.

Rachel Ray - Despite the fact that she's almost cute in a Miss-Piggy-meets-The-Joker sort of way and she seems to be the most genuine of the bunch, her voice sounds like it belongs to a 50 year old ex-hooker waitress working the nightshift at a truckstop. I can listen to it for about three minutes, tops.

Staying home for the week wasn't all bad though. I did learn how to make home-made chicken soup, using nothing but my own two hands and the instructions that periodically came out of the magic walkie-talkie. Oh, and I used some chicken and stuff. I didn't actually make soup out of my hands. I'm sure it would be tasty and flavorful, but it would make it really hard to type.

2/9/06

Another "feel good" Disney moment. Like when Bambi's mother died.

There's a new Disney movie out about dog sledding, and I've been seeing the previews lately on television. The movie looks really Disney-ish and sappy, except for one thing, and that thing is this:



What the hell IS that?? I am pretty sure it could eat an entire dog sled team in a single, flesh-rending bite. It doesn't look very fast, but I have to believe it would catch me easily because I would be frozen to the ice by my own pee.

2/8/06

Superbowl X-tra Large

I was talking to a buddy of mine the other day about the fact that most of our friends have no interest in watching football in general, or the superbowl in particular. I said I didn't even know who was in it this year, and he told me this funny story.

A few days ago, he was having a very similar conversation with another friend of ours, and he told her he didn't know who was playing. She said, "Oh wait -- I just saw the commercial. I think it's the Steelers vs. the Bangles."



The sad thing is, I know a lot more about Susanna Hoffs than I do about football.

2/6/06

More "too much of a good thing"

I just saw this little number on TV:



I don't know what kind of geyser this thing is supposed to put an end to, but I am pretty sure I could drain 5 quarts of dirty motor oil into it during my next oil change and not mess up the garage floor.

When will the marketing madness end? Just look at it. This thing's wings have wings. If the wings were any bigger, it would be a diaper. At least they didn't magically fold it into a little tiny lounge chair like that other commercial. This one was much classier. They had a steel ball bearing ricocheting around inside of it like it was a pinball machine.

And is it just me, or are all these things starting to look like Nike Air insoles?

Yeah. I know. It's just me.

2/5/06

Too much of a good and bad thing

A few miscellaneous things that occurred to me lately:

Has anyone else noticed that automobile manufacturers are going a little overboard with the safety features? The other day I saw a commercial for a car that had seven airbags. Seven! I can't even imagine where they would put the damn things. You had better hope you don't get into an accident, because seven airbags going off inside your car would squirt you out of the sunroof like a giant watermelon seed.

Now they have cars where all four wheels turn. That might sound good on paper, and it probably works great on snow, but to me it just sounds like something really hard to fix. That's if you actually survived the malfunction. Something about hitting an off-ramp at 60mph and suddenly realizing that my front tires are turning right and my rear tires are turning left doesn't really appeal to me. Although if it broke just right, your car would be like a two-ton version of the Krazy Kar I had when I was a kid, and that was always a fun ride.

Now they have headlights that turn too. You start to turn left, and the headlights turn left as well, to illuminate where you are thinking of going. What if I just swerved to avoid a pot hole? Suddenly my lights are pointing directly into someone's living room window instead of actually illuminating the road in front of me. It might be fun to play with though. The night-time joggers would probably get a kick out of it if you just gave the wheel a quick nudge to the left when you were coming up on them. They love that.

This would also be a maintenance issue, I'm sure. Just explaining it to the mechanic would be bad enough. "Hello? Yes, I need to get my car serviced. What's wrong with it? Well, first it went cross-eyed, and now all it does is spin in circles. Yes. I can have it towed in on Thursday. That will give me time to get the home equity loan squared away."

I can't even imagine how much stuff like this would cost to fix.

*******************************

In other news, a University of Arizona study identified prime common areas harboring cold and flu-causing germs and the bacteria count per square inch:

· Kitchen sink sponges and dishcloths, 7 billion;
· Kitchen faucets -- 229,000;
· Office phones -- 25,000;
· Desktops -- 21,000 and;
· Office toilet seats -- 49.

Do asses have some sort of inherent anti-bacterial properties that I am unaware of?

Anyway, I'll be eating my lunch in the handicapper stall from now on. (As an aside, I wish they'd move the giant toilet paper dispenser to above the rail. I'm not even handicapped and I can't get toilet paper out of that piece of shit without throwing my back out.)

I thought it was all good, because I had my trusty bottle of Purell. Then I saw on the bottle that it "Kills 99.99% of germs!" I only have second-grade math skills, but even I can tell you this:

.01% of SEVEN BILLION is still a shitload.

2/2/06

State of the Island Address

I didn't get a chance to actually watch the state of the union address, so today I read the transcript. I was following along quite nicely when suddenly, I read this:

"Tonight I ask you to pass legislation to prohibit the most egregious abuses of medical research -- …creating human-animal hybrids … "

I realize this is a huge concern for the entire population. If they outlaw it, it'll just mean only the rich will be able to get it done. In fact, just today I was telling a co-worker that I was having a bitch of a time trying to find someone to graft a rhino horn to my forehead. I found one guy in Mexico, but he doesn't guarantee his work.

I had my eye on that horse-penis upgrade too, but my wife gave the old thumbs-down to that idea. Truthfully, I'm a little surprised she went for the horn. I didn't really expect that.

Anyway, I just thought I'd bring this up and see what you all thought. I am, after all, what they call a "single-issue voter," and I gotta say: I think human-animal hybrids is my issue.

Also, I heard that Cheney was trying to get G to flip-flop on his whole anti-hybrid stance and just go for that bitchin' cheetah mod. He said Putin would shit his pants.

2/1/06

I AM NOT AN ANIMAL!

So this is new.

I had just finished eating my lunch yesterday -- the same exact type of sandwich I eat most every day -- when my jaw felt a little funny. I reached up to touch it and I hit beard a full inch and a half before I expected to.

"Hmmmm," I thought to myself. "I certainly don't remember having a goiter."

But suddenly I did. The entire left side of my jaw and part of my neck was swollen and strangely numb. My jaw felt funny when I closed it, like my teeth didn't line up correctly any more. I wasn't having any trouble swallowing, and I've never been allergic to a thing in my entire life.

Other possibilities ran through my mind: Was I a late-blooming shape shifter? Was my recessive lycanthrope gene rearing its ugly head again? I had no idea. I grabbed a mirror to see what sort of transformation was occurring, and I was not disappointed. I immediately saw that the left side of my face was looking extremely Leno-esque.

I called my GP, and said "I ate lunth and my fathe swelled up." Then I realized I sounded exactly like Edgar Stiles on 24, so I added "Mithster Buchanan, Jack Bauer ith on the phone."

They said, "Um, yeah. You'd better go to the emergency room."

I hung up and decided to wait a bit to see if it got better.

While I was waiting, I drove my ass to the drugstore and choked down a few handfuls of Benedryl while standing in the cold and flu aisle. The first box I picked up was the chewable version, and since my teeth didn't line up anymore, I had to hunt around for something else. I had no idea there were so many different kinds. All of them are as dry as desert dust, by the way.

I approached the register with the open box, and I must have scared the clerk with the proto-Leno look I had going on, because he said, "Are you all right?" I tried to cough up the Benedryl that was jammed sideways in my esophogus, then said, "Yeth, I think thoe. Juth need to pay." He backed up like I had Ebola or something. I am not sure, but I may or may not have been drooling.

I got back to the office, and an hour later, everything was back to normal.

WTF? Can faces spontaneously inflate? Just half of them?

Apparently the answer to that question is, "Yes, Johnny. Yes, they can."