My needs according to internet marketers.

Judging by my bulk mail folder, my need for a new wristwatch is apparently much greater than my need for a bigger penis.

I think that's good, right?

Unless they all just got together and decided, "Well, there's obviously no hope for this guy in the dangle department. Let's at least try to help him remember when his favorite TV shows are on."


Terror Clown.

Did anyone catch the Macy's parade? I flipped the channel just in time to see this:

Holy crap. If I were a child and saw this monstrosity floating down the street directly at me, I think I would immediately shit myself and then start screaming "PLEASE DON'T LET IT EAT ME! PLEASE DON'T LET IT EAT ME!"

Seriously, just look at this thing:

It looks like it should have a Honda Civic in one hand and a dozen screaming children in the other. I thought this next shot really conveyed the complete and utter horror:

There is clearly evil in those eyes. Every time I look at that picture, this is what I see:

He likes the heads best because they're crunchy.


Anyone got a cigarette? I'm spent.

On November 2nd, I peaked at 47,910 visitors in a 24 hour period. Now I'm back down to about 3,000 a day, which is still ten times more than I used to get prior to the JC Penney debacle. At least the pressure is off.

In other news, our friends told us to "bring games" with us tomorrow when we go over for Thanksgiving dinner. So my awesome wife came home with a giant deck of cards today.

Go Fish? Hardly. Uno? Not on your life. Much better than that. On each card is a different drinking game.

I opened them up in anticipation of immediate inebriation, and I was greeted with this card:

I am really glad I didn't dive right in and start playing, because obviously, had I missed this card, I would be lying in a gutter somewhere right now seriously injured or dead. Probably with giant exclamation points hovering over my cold, lifeless body.

Seriously, why would they even bother? I mean really -- their recommendation that you "play these games with non-alcoholic beverages" provides them with about as much actual legal protection as the "for tobacco only" sticker on the bong case at the local head shop.

I can just picture the crazy fun we'd have using Pepsi to play these games.

"Dude, I am so freakin' GASSY right now."

"Here, take my keys. I'm too BLOATED to drive home. Can I crash on your couch?"

Man, that sounds great, doesn't it?

*no, I don't smoke.


I'm sorry. Voice mailbox for....GOD....is full.

I know this sign isn't entirely true, and I know that because I helped Him set up his voice-mail box a month ago. So I know He has it.

God's kinda old-school, though, and by that I mean He isn't very technical. Put it this way - his VCR has been blinking 12:00:00 since 1975. Yeah. It's Betamax. I was over there last week and we watched Spiderman 5. Where he got that on beta I'll never know. The small miracles amuse him.

The problem with the voice mail thing is that it only rings 4 times before going to VM, so He always turns it off when he's going to just be hanging around. Unfortunately, he's not great at remembering to turn it back on when He goes out, so I can see how the church people may have been under the above impression. Seriously, most of the time when you call, it just rings off the hook.

I keep telling him he should just have it roll over to his cell number, but He says being on the phone with Verizon tech support is just way too close to actually being in Hell.

If you're curious, this is what his voicemail message says:

"Hi. You've reached the number of God. I'm everywhere right now, so unfortunately I can't take your call. My message is very important to you, so if you would leave your name and a number where you can be reached, I will call you when when you least expect it. If I don't get back to you right away, it means that I am out working in mysterious ways. If this is an emergency, please contact my son Jesus, or his mother Mary, and they will handle it. You can have complete faith in them. Thanks, and have a good day."

I called him the other day and got lucky. I let it ring about 15 times and just when I was going to hang up, He answered.

"Hello? [heavy breathing]

"Hey, It's me. Why are you out of breath?"

"I was outside raking galaxies. I had to run for the phone. What's up?"

"What happened to that wireless handset I got for you?"

"Still in the box. I haven't had time to hook it up yet. What d'you need, bro?"

"You're all powerful. How long would it take you to hook it up? Jeez. I tried your cell too. Went right to voicemail. To the system greeting, no less. I thought we got rid of that last week."

"Uh, yeah I don't know what's up with that. I was trying to erase old messages the other day and I think I pushed some wrong button. Anyway, If you called my cell I didn't hear it ring. I think maybe I left it in the truck. It's on vibrate so I can never find the damned thing. "

"Whatever. You should just go Blackberry like the rest of the world. Hey, I know you're busy, but I just wanted to tell you -- you might want to drop in over there in the middle east. Things are a little out of control."

"Oh man. Again? Yeah, I've been meaning to do that. Thanks for the heads up."

"No Problem, G. Get back to it. Oh yeah, by the way -- I've been meaning to ask you: Why'd you put all the oil on one side of the planet and all the people who want it on the other side?"

"I know, right? I crack myself up sometimes. [beeep] Hey, hang on second. It's the other line."



"Yeah, still me."

"OK, hang on. I think something might be burning outside. Let me just get rid of ----"

click. [dialtone]

Unbelievable. Great guy, though.


Goat Cheese of Death.

Recently, to celebrate a special occasion, my wife and I were eating in one of those restaurants where the reputation of the food outweighs the ambiance. You know the type -- those places where the tables are so close to each other that you can't help overhearing the topic of conversation at the next table. You're having your own conversation, and listening to three or four others at the same time, and everyone just pretends that it's not happening. It's pretty funny when you think about it. Here we all are, in a big room, sitting literally within arms reach, and ignoring each other completely.

Also, I have three different forks, and I don't know what to do with them. Can you tell I eat in expensive restaurants all the time? At any rate, I tend to be self-conscious in a place like this and find myself unable to hold a normal conversation. I think the primary reason for that is because my 'normal' conversation could quite conceivably consist entirely of quotes from the The Family Guy and the Venture Brothers, and I don't want anyone overhearing that unless they can appreciate my vast knowledge of all things irreverent and animated.

So eventually, I just drift off into eavesdropping. The funniest interchange of this particular meal was a conversation that happened between the waiter and the woman at the next table. It went something like this:

"I'd like the prime rib, medium rare, and a glass of the 1998 Muller-Catoir, please."

"A suggestion, madam? You'd be much better off with the 2000 Chappellet Mountain Cuvee. Trust me. It has a much fuller nose and is a better match for the beef. The other wine will simply not hold up."

"Thanks so much. I'll try that instead."

"My pleasure. Will there be anything else?"

She paused for a second and then said, "Yes, actually. I was thinking of getting goat cheese on my salad, but I'm allergic to dairy. Can you tell me if I'd be allergic to goat cheese?"

I don't think the waiter was expecting this line of questioning, because he immediately dropped a few pegs on the smoothness scale and almost lost that veneer of efficient, elite professionalism.

Playing for time to gather his thoughts, he asked, "What happens to you when you eat dairy?"

"I get giant hives and my throat closes up and my tongue swells," she replied.


You could see it in the waiter's eyes. He was clearly thinking that he wanted none of that happening in his dining room, now or at any point in the future. He was also clearly thinking - 'What the hell is wrong with you? Don't you know your own food allergies? Do I LOOK like someone who is well-versed in the contraindications of goat cheese?'

He said none of these things, however. My wife and I were trying very hard not to laugh, and failing.

The waiter caught my eye for a second, and the side of his face twitched a little. He almost cracked a smile, then regained his composure. He was good.

"You'd probably be OK, but personally, I don't think you should chance it," he said after due consideration.

"Yes, you're probably right. I'll have it without the cheese, then."

"That's for the best, I think."

There are many things a good waiter will do to earn a great tip, but apparently stabbing needles full of epinephrine into a stopped heart is not one of them.

That's what I get for going to a place where you have to pay for your meal after you eat it instead of before.