Notes From the Olympics II

So as per usual, we've been watching a lot of the Olympics at our house, only this time around, the children are old enough to appreciate them. And boy have they ever. They are the biggest homers I've ever met running around taunting no one in particular because the USA is leading the medal count, and my son actually chastised me for turning to the Twins game while Women's Gymnastics was on. It's the gayest thing he's done in his 6 years on the planet, and that includes the time when he was 1 and tried repeatedly to yank his own penis off in the bathtub.

Me: (Turns channel)

Him: DAD!!!! Turn it back!!!

Me: You're yelling at me to turn from the Twins back to a commercial in between women's gymnastics??

Him (Sheepishly): Um, well, the 'lympics is on...

Actually it's a lot of fun watching it with two little people with lots of questions, like "What's Judo?", "Where's London?" and "Why does Rebecca Soni look like my butt if it had eyes?"

So since we've been watching a lot, I have again come up with some observations from this year's games. For the 2008 observations, click here:
www.jenseninthahouse.blogspot.com/2008/08/notes-from-olympics.html

1.) Michael Phelps doesn't care anymore- He said as much, and it's showed in his performance, as he only captured 4 more medals for a record 20 to date, while screwing around and smoking dank in Olympic Village, boning North Korean Soccer Players for sport, and signing autographs with his big flipper feet. Go out in style, young man.

2.) Ryan Lochte has to be a douchebag- I don't know him personally so I can't be certain, but he has all the qualifying characteristics of a douchebag.
a.) He's really pretty
b.) His interviews border somewhere between dumb and Koko the Gorilla signing opinions about her dead kitten
c.) He won a big race to begin the Olympics and since then has continuously crapped his pants in subsequent races
d.) I heard he had sex with a dead deer one time to impress his frat buddies (OK, maybe I made that up)

3.) I think Misty May is getting fat- While Kerri Walsh appears to never get winded or even break a sweat, Misty May is out there panting like a housewife on a treadmill. Hasn't seemed to affect her performance, and she could probably spike a volleyball directly into my crotch at Mach 4, so I think I'll just shut up now.

4.) Indoor Volleyball Players must hate Beach Volleyball players-"In their slutty little bikini uniforms, sauntering around without the same skill level or technique, and they're the ones who are always on TV. Why don't they just install a stripper pole in the middle of the sand, and cut through the nonsense of playing the game? Nobody knows the score anyway." - Anonymous "Regular" Volleyball Player

5.) I don't know what the Coxswain does- I think they might shout orders or something, and in theory they are supposed to steer the boat, but I saw the coxswain of the US team and she was this little tiny person. She couldn't steer an empty boat, let alone a boat full of big rowers. It would be like me trying to push over an elephant. So, essentially she got a gold medal for shouting at people. This gives me hope that one day I too may get a gold medal, because I'm pretty good at shouting at people.

6.) Badminton scandals are fun- Some Badminton teams got kicked out of the Olympics for throwing matches to get favorable seeds in the medal round. This would have been the perfect time for one of the coaches to tell the IOC to "Suck My Shuttlecock" but as far as I can tell, nobody did this. I consider it a wasted opportunity.

The Prostitute Post

The other day I was browsing this website that shows all the prostitutes and prostitute customers caught for the last 3 months or something. This is a helpful tool because it allows me to openly mock people from the comfort of my own computer, and also to look for family members.

What has become readily apparent to me is that there are no real hookers that look like Julia Roberts from Pretty Woman. More often than not they look more like Richard Gere, if Richard Gere was an obese black woman with no teeth and a gerbil stuck up his butt. Good lordy, I can't believe someone would actually pay to have sex with these people. I wouldn't let them scrub my bathroom, let alone place my weiner in their innards.

I'll take it one step further. I would rather masturbate with fire than pay for one of these prostitutes. In fact, they should be paying me for having to look at their mugshot. Ish.

Anyway, all these prostitutes seem to congregate in the Frogtown neighborhood of St Paul, which seems stupid, because even the most casual pervert knows that's where they are, and so do the cops. So when the cops run out of things to do, like setting up speed traps, and putting on their sirens to go through red lights to get to Wendy's faster, they probably just say, "Hey Bruce, let's go over to Frogtown and arrest some ugly prostitutes!"

I also heard that the police shot a bear wandering around in Frogtown the other day. The cops were probably there arresting prostitutes at the time.

Cop 1: You're under arrest for being an ugly, 240 lb prostitute. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law, and we might taser you for sport.

Cop 2: Holy shit Harry, is that a bear?

Cop 1: Nah, it's probably just a hairy prostitute.

Cop 2: Can we shoot it?

Cop 1: The bear or the prostitute?

So they went over and shot the bear before he could scare away all the prostitutes, thus solving two problems at once.

To sum up, if you ever see me wandering around Frogtown with a large woman with questionable morals, and a hearty appetite for crack, you will know that I have officially gone blind.

The Christmas Card Tradition

Every year since I was about 7, it has been an annual tradition, usually the day after Thanksgiving, to get together as a family, and go shopping for Christmas trees. Over the years the players have been added and subtracted (my Grandma slipped on some ice and fell, cigarette first, into a tree so she stopped going), but the tradition has withstood the test of time.

A newer tradition that piggybacked off this old tradition, is that now, before we have located our trees, my mother insists that we take a family picture that most likely winds up as the Christmas card picture that she sends out. If anyone balks at this idea my mom sulks, grumbles, and recklessly flings lemons at people until we all relent, smile unconvincingly, and then go back to the business of deciding which tree will constantly poke me and lose all it's needles in the living room in the next month.

The biggest impediment to the whole picture business is that each year we have to find a stranger to take the picture, and each year the stranger is invariably a toothless farmer, hand picked by my mom. I have no idea why she has such an affinity for toothless farmers germing up her camera, but I also have no idea where my dog's tongue goes when he closes his mouth. It's just one of those mysteries.

It's really simple to tell who's going to get picked to take the picture, because generally speaking, there's only about 1 toothless farmer in any given crowd, unless you're at a small town fair, in which case toothless farmers ask you to take their picture. I just run down the line of people.

Me: Hmm, normal, normal, toddler, wheelchair-bound, dog, guy with weird hat, pervert, normal, normal, llama, normal, morbidly obese, Me, Santa Claus, normal, missing arm, normal, missing eyes, normal, normal, ah-hah!!! A toothless farmer!!

Then begins the process of summoning the toothless farmer...

Mom: Saaaayyy???
(Side note: She never says "Hey" or "Excuse Me". It's always "Saaaayyy??". This applies to waiters too.)

Mom: Toothless Farmer? Say, toothless farmer? Will you take our picture you toothless farmer you?

Toothless Farmer: Dadgummit!

So then the toothless farmer, wearing bib overalls, and covered in farmer dirt, shuffles over, and my mom tries to show him which button to push to take the picture, but the toothless farmer shoos her away because he has a media center in his silo, and he knows how to take a dadgum picture, dadgummit!

Then we all squish together and smile, and my mom wants the toothless farmer to take about 8 pictures, just in case one of my kids is picking boogies, or staring at the dirt or something. I think it's rather remarkable, that after all these years, none of the toothless farmers has just shoved the camera down his underpants and walked the other direction. "Zippedy Doo, got me a dadgum camera!" You gonna try to extract a camera from a toothless farmer's underpants? I, for one, am not.

So that's our tradition. I figure, now that it's in the public domain, toothless farmers will flock by the tractor full over to my mom's house. After all, they want their recompense for all the pictures over the years, Dadgummit!!

Brian Picks His Nose

Since being candid and open is one of the things people seem to like about me, let me offer up this: Sometimes I still pick my nose all the time.

Remember in Elementary School there was always one kid who was constantly picking his nose, and then some other kid would catch him doing it and say, "Yuck, he's picking his nose!!" And the nose picking kid would always claim that he was just "itching" the inside of his nose. That kid was me. Occasionally the inside of my nose actually did itch, but not very often.

You know why I picked my nose then and still pick it now? Because there are boogers in there, and they don't belong. They're these little freeloaders, and occasionally they just fall right out of your nose for no good reason, usually when you're doing something important, like interviewing for a job, or trying to trick a girl into letting you hump her. It's much harder to trick a girl into letting you hump her if she thinks rogue boogedies might be randomly ejecting out of you.

My friend Matt taught me the value of having a "booger-pickin'-finger". It's usually your pinkie, so it fits in your nostril, and you let the nail grow a little longer on it for better scooping ability. Just so happens I broke my booger-pickin'-finger in college playing football in study hall (don't ask) and it didn't heal properly, so now it has a little curve to it, which makes it even more effective, a deluxe model if you will.

So if you ever see me driving down the road with my pinkie finger shoved far up my nose, you can take comfort in the fact that I'm engaging in an act of efficient elimination of boogies. And I'm not eating them...

A Valuable Teaching Tool For Children

The other day I was playing some sort of derivative of football with my son, although it was inside, I was sitting on the couch fiddling around on my Ipad, and he was in his underpants. Cleverly, I named this game "Underpants Couch Football." Basically the game is him throwing a small football as hard as he can at me and then me throwing it back while he skitters around in his underpants like Marky Mark.

Anyway, in this one instance he wouldn't throw the ball back to me. He thought it was really clever to continuously pump fake me and then bounce around. Frustrated I yelled, "Shit, I got me enough money to buy me a hundred balls!" He looked at me funny. That's when it occurred to me that he was 6 and had never seen "Boyz n the Hood" and so he didn't know what I was talking about. I felt bad for him. Because "Boyz n the Hood" can teach a 6 year old all sorts of valuable lessons like:

1.) Don't ever bring your football anywhere.

2.) If you do bring your football somewhere, and if a bunch of gang members want your football, you should give it to them, because even if you think they're just going to keep it, the big one wearing his shirt as a hat will eventually give it back, because you know somebody would eventually knock over a 40.

3.) If you see a dead body laying in an alley that has been there a long time, don't bother him, because he's not bothering you. Even if it smells like a dog died

4.) If your friend gets arrested for stealing, you won't see him again until you're 17 and he's Ice Cube

5.) To get a baby all you have to do is find a girl, stick your thing in her, and 9 months later a baby comes out

6.) If your mom calls you a "fat fuck", it's a term of endearment

7.) If you wear a football jersey all the time, USC recruiters will come to your house when you're older, even if your house is in a horrible part of town and there are drive-by shooters (with wheelchairs and pacifiers) on your porch.

8.) If you rake up all 14 leaves in your tiny yard, it will take you until it's dark, but then your dad will take you fishing. As long as he's only 8 years older than you.

9.) When people try to rob your house, you will get startled and pee on your pajama bottoms

10.) We're all from Africa. And we're all African Booty Scratchers.

So it's settled. Instead of Barney, or Phineas and Ferb, or any of that other drivel, Miles and I will be watching Boyz n the Hood tonight. If you have kids, you might want to get on the bandwagon and do this too, because pretty soon people will be jumping on this idea like a fat girl on a hotcake trampoline.