Fun With Initials.

Here's a fun thing to do. The next time you are addressing a person, either via e-mail, or in a face to face conversation, only refer to them by some random initials. I've found, to my absolute delight, that if you call somebody by random initials, they always think that you are making fun of them in the meanest way possible.

Person: Hey there, how've you been?
You: Pretty good B.A., I've been doing pretty good.
Person (thinking): B.A., what's B.A.? Oh no, he's noticed how big my ass has gotten lately! He's calling me "Big Ass!!" AAAHHHHH!!

So then Big Ass runs down to the nearest Big and Tall store and buys out all the muumuus, just because you called him B.A. His self esteem is shot and he now only dates really mean, unattractive women who all call him "Big Ass" because he made the mistake of telling them that people call him B.A. which he thinks stands for "Big Ass" but it actually stands for nothing. See how fun this can be??

When you get bored with using only two initials try using more. See what dirty secrets you can cull from them. People usually have a lot of dirty secrets..

Person: Hey there! Long time no see, Hombre!
You: What's happening M.A.C.? Good to see you!
Person (thinking): Uh oh. Is it possible that he knows that I Molest Autistic Children?? Or that sometimes I go to the zoo and Munch Animal Crap?? Or that I am the one who Murders African Clerics?? Does he know about the embarrassment of my Muddy Anal Caking?? AAAHHHHH!!

One note of warning. Don't do this to a person who might be mentally unstable enough to kill you if they believe you know their dirty secrets. That would qualify as a joke that backfired. Otherwise, go forth and multiply.

How badly do You want a boner?

Here's a good party question for you. Let's say that you suddenly stopped getting boners (this question only works if you are a boy) and you turned to Viagra, or Cialis, or Ramitall or whatever for help. Then let's say you started getting the serious side effects occasionally associated with these wood inducing pills. Would you still use them, or just give up and be a bonerless wonder?

What if you started getting a painful erection lasting more than 4 hours, sometimes called a priapism? Would you stop taking the pills or would you just block off a large portion of your day where you avoided all people you didn't want to scare or have sex with, or, at least, wear Zubaz or MC Hammer pants all the time so people wouldn't notice your out-of-control erection?

What if you started getting more serious side effects? I saw an ad that said to call a doctor immediately if you start having loss of vision or loss of hearing. Would that make you stop taking them. What's more important to you, seeing and hearing, or boning Helen Keller style?

What if there was a 1 in 1000 chance that after you took the pills your penis would spontaneously explode off of your body and fly around the room deflating and making a high pitched squealing noise like a balloon with the air being let out? Would it still be worth the risk?

Finally, what if there was a very miniscule chance that in taking the pills you could accidentally open the gates to hell and all sorts of scary monsters would leak into our world and eat your family + the people you wanted to hump? Would that make you think twice? Would it even make your pill induced Viagra boner go down?

This is what I was wondering this morning. What were you thinking about?

Brian sees a Labia.

I was at the gym just now. I had intended to lift some weights but mostly what I did was sit around and yawn and listen to my IPod. Not very productive. Anyhow, while I was lifting and yawning and listening to my Ipod, I noticed a woman nearby me.

The reason I noticed her was because she was dressed like Jane Fonda from those 80's workout videos. She was wearing a spandex wrestling singlet with a white leotard or something underneath. The spandex wrestling singlet was pulled tightly up almost through her crotch in the shape of a "V". Also she had really pointy hair. It pointed downwards and out from her head, sort of in the shape of an upside-down "V".

So while I'm not lifting weights, but instead staring at this woman and trying to figure out which geometrical figure she most closely resembles, she sits down and begins doing that one exercise where you sit on a machine and open and close your legs several times, and that's the exercise. It's called the "Hip Adductor" or "Thigh Abductor" or something like that. It's an exercise that is only done by women and 80-year-old men, so my knowledge of it is fairly limited.

Anyhow, when she begins this exercise, I notice something. Every time she opens her legs to flex, her right labia pops out. (Notice I said "labia". Thanks to Wikipedia, I now know correct terminology. Before I would have said her "right crotch" or "that puffy thing.") Now it doesn't actually pop out through her leotard (that would be impossible), but still, you can definitely tell that something funny is going on. Then when she contracts, it goes away. After about 5 reps of this, I look to my left and see that another woman has noticed this wardrobe malfunction as well. I am much more inconspicuous than her. She is staring slack jawed at labia woman, while I am merely staring with a regular type jaw. The strange thing is, labia woman seems totally oblivious to all of this. I can tell you with a pretty good degree of certainty, that if my ball kept popping out of my underpants, I would notice and correct the problem.

Eventually labia woman stops doing that hip exercise and leaves. And me and the slack-jawed woman glance at each other with a look that can only be interpreted as "Damn, that bitch's puffy thing was popping out!"

Stupid Cliches.

Recently a person told me that my daughter was "cuter than a bug's ear." At first I was offended, and I almost responded to the women, "Well, you're about as cute as a dragon's taint!" But then I realized that she was being complimentary so I didn't say that. But when you think about it, bugs don't even have ears, at least visible ones. The closest thing to ears they have are probably those feelers things that are sticking off their heads (I think they're actually called antennae, but in my family they were feelers), and those aren't cute. They're actually kind of creepy. I got to thinking about how many stupid cliches there are just zooming out of people's mouths from time to time.

She's as happy as a clam- Am I to believe that we are so enlightened as a scientific community, that we can actually tell the moods of mollusks. I don't believe so. Clams aren't happy or sad, they're just clams. If the cliche was "happy as a bearded clam" that would make a lot more sense because, as we all know, they are always smiling. Or at least gaping.

Any publicity is good publicity- This is dangerously untrue. Let's say, for instance, you get arrested for raping puppies. It's all over the news and the papers. From then on, you are known as "Steve the dog pounder." You get scornful looks wherever you go, and some overzealous group of PETA enthusiasts burns your house down so you have to move to the projects where people rob your house every other day and sic their pit bulls on you. That is not good publicity.

No news is good news- Sort of goes with the one above. Let's say you were passed out in your room after a night of drinking Everclear and shooting heroin, and your rolling meth lab explodes and starts your trailer on fire. If nobody tells you that news, you suffer a fiery death, and I don't think that can ever qualify as good news.

Don't cry over spilt milk- What if you're in a bomb shelter with your cat, and the cat's company is the only thing keeping you alive while World War III rages on above you, and the only thing keeping the cat alive is milk? Then you spill all the milk which dissolves into the ground because you were too lazy to build a bottom to your bomb shelter because you incorrectly assumed that the only thing you'd ever use it for was to store beer in. Wouldn't you start to cry knowing that, in essence, you had indirectly doomed yourself by spilling milk because now your cat was going to starve to death, which in turn would make you die because the only thing keeping you alive in this post-apocalyptic mess was the companionship of your stupid cat??? I would definitely cry. Then I'd probably eat the cat.

That rubs me the wrong way- Ish. That's just gross!

A "Call for Action"- This is one of those things people say when they are too lazy to actually do anything about a problem.

Guy: I can't believe people keep stealing my children.
Other guy: I'm putting out a call for action right now.
Guy: Good, let's go home. America's Biggest Loser is on.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder- No it doesn't. Absence makes the heart forget about you eventually. You ever know anybody that died? The longer they stay dead, the less you think about them. By the time they've been dead for about 6 months, you barely remember who that person even was. A better cliche would be "Abstinence makes the weiner grow fonder." Everybody knows that's true. Some people will hump a hole in the couch after about a month of abstinence.

So there you have it. Let's all come up with some new cliches that actually make sense. You will be doing your language a great service if you do. And I'll be happier than Michael Jackson at a Jonas Brothers concert.

The Crazy Baby Sneeze Phenomenon

Here's a strange phenomenon I can't quite explain, but I have a really well researched theory about. I have a few kids (2 I think) and as we were sorting pictures the other night to stick them into albums it struck me that in the vast majority of pictures of the kids when they were babies they look like they are either about to sneeze, or just finished sneezing. Then I looked at some other pictures of babies (did you know they have a bunch of random babies' pictures on the internet? What a country.). Same thing. What's the deal with that?

I think it has something to do with the flash. My kids have this disease where whenever they turn lights on in a dark room they begin sneezing voraciously. I think babies have some sort of baby ESP that allows them to know that a bright light is about to be flashed in their eyes and so their brain automatically activates the sneeze reflex. I think this phenomenon is closely related to how I automatically start to gag when I am near smelly old ladies before I even smell their smelly barn odor.

My Brain: (Uh oh, checkered red pants stained brown with a confused look on her face. ACTIVATE GAG REFLEX!!)
Me: HACK KACK BRRRACK!!
My Brain: (Target out of range. Cease fire. Cease fire.)

Anyhow, if you ever cut a baby's head open (which you shouldn't do under most circumstances) I would bet that you would find that a large section of the brain was solely responsible for sneezing. I would imagine the breakdown would be 40 percent sneezing, 30 percent pooping, and 30 percent crying. Again, I'm not a pediatrician or a pedophile so I can't really be certain that these percentages are accurate, but I bet I'm close.

Don't EVER listen to me.

So I've been reading Wikipedia a lot lately. It's a pretty helpful source for just about anything, although I'm not sure how accurate it always is because the other day I was reading about Roger Clemens and under "Personal" it said that Roger Clemens sucks a fart out of his own butt every day, and I don't know how anybody could possibly accurately know that, with the possible exception of Roger Clemens himself, and I doubt he'd want that information made public. (Although it might deflect the attention away from the steriods allegations.)

Anyhow, via the vast knowledge of Wikipedia, I have found, to my shock, that I don't know anything about most everything. Let's take, for example, female anatomy. Man they got a lot of stuff in there. I didn't know what any of it was for. I always just assumed all these different names were just synonyms for the word "Crotch." Not true. Before I boned up (heh heh) here would have been my definitions for the following body parts assuming I was taking a test or something:

Cervix- No idea. Possibly something skinny and slimy. It's a good thing if yours "looks great!"

Clitoris- (Too busy giggling to provide answer)

Phillipine Tubes- Everything has a tube. It probably diposes of waste and stuff. I'm pretty sure these are the "horns" from that Junior High sex education class drawing. You know, the one where the female reproductive system looks like a Texas Longhorn head.

Labium- Rock & Roll group from the 70's. Bee Gees sold better.

Ovaries- Either an enclosure that a bird lives in, or I don't know. But I think I have 4 or 5 of them because they hurt sometimes, especially after I eat burritos.

Uterus-I think this is where fetuses live, maybe all the time, or maybe just when you're pregnant. I'm not sure.

Vagina- Hmm, it's Vagina and not Bagina? I'll be darned.

Vulva- A crappy Swedish car?

So anyway, I guess that what I'm trying to say is that I have no idea what I'm talking about most of the time, so when I talk to you, you'd be better off staring out the window, or humming a song in your head. Whatever you do, don't assume what I say is based on anything factual, and maybe you'll wind up OK.

Brian Finds a Dollar

I love finding change on the ground. It makes me feel like I'm getting away with a really small scale robbery of some sort. I always hope that the change I've found belonged to some rich guy and now because I have his change he can't buy gum at the store or something. The bigger the amount of money I find, the happier I am. One time I found a 5 dollar bill in the grass. I was as giddy as a pedophile at a Hannah Montana concert for the whole day.

Me: YESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYES!!!
Some Guy: It's only 5 bucks
Me: Yeah, I suppose......YESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYES!!!

So one day I was walking downtown and I saw a Sacagawea dollar laying on the sidewalk. I immediately started to salivate, get a boner, and bounce around with excitement simultaneously. The reasons for this are many.

1.) It was a dollar
2.) It was gold colored which made me think for a split second that maybe a pirate had been walking around downtown and dropped a gold doubloon on the sidewalk. Since I've watched The Goonies many times, I knew that if I possessed a doubloon, I'd never have to sell my house if some jerks wanted to turn it into a golf course, which is nice.
3.) Sacagawea is by far the hottest girl to ever be put on a coin. (All apologies to Susan B. Anthony and her family, but she just never ignited my inner flame the way Sacagawea did. I'm sure she was a really nice person, but Sacagawea had that ethnic thing going for her. Didn't you want to lay your head in her lap and have her feed you maize? I know I did.)

Anyway, after bouncing around and slobbering all over for a while, I bent down to pick up my dollar, and to my shock and horror, I could not move it. Some evil, diabolical person had glued my Sacagawea dollar to the sidewalk. I looked around to see if I could see this person hiding behind a street lamp or a mailbox snickering at me so that I could go over there a stab him in the eye with my pen, but I could see nobody suspicious. So then I went back over to the dollar and started kicking at it to try to dislodge but this didn't work either. Then I kneeled down and started jabbing at it with my keys. People were staring at me as they walked by, but fuck 'em, eyes on the prize, always eyes on the prize. Finally after 10 minutes I gave up and went to work. I was angry all day. I want my Sacagawea dollar.

The next morning I brought a large flathead screwdriver with me and when I got to the Sacagawea dollar, I really went to work on it. This is the part of the story where people begin looking at me funny, as if to say, "I can't believe this idiot was chopping away at the sidewalk for a dollar." One time someone offered me a dollar after I told the story. It was a less than altruistic gesture. I wanted to gouge him with my screwdriver, but it was like 6 months after the fact, and the screwdriver was at home again. So, indeed, I was whacking away at the sidewalk, and eventually the dollar came loose and I won. It had a chunk of sidewalk still attached to it, but it was mine.

So let this be a lesson to all of you: If you want something bad enough, don't be afraid to grab a screwdriver and stab the shit out of it to get it. Here ends the lesson...

Many Reasons to Love Lobsters.

One of my favorite things in all the world is lobsters. Lobsters are probably the coolest animal in the universe. They are the absolute antithesis to hornets. When I was a kid (and a teenager) I used to stare at the lobsters in the tank and think to myself, "If there is a God, he is probably a big lobster." So far my theory of a Lobster God has not been met with widespread acceptance, but give it time. I would assume that within 30 years, most churches will look like large aquariums. The reasons for lobster superiority are many.

1.) They taste delicious- Lobsters are very tasty. Plus, what other animal do you eat by cracking open its back and butt shell? A very great way to eat something, I must say.

2.) They defend themselves by pinching- Any animal that has managed to stay alive all these years whose only means of defense is pinching is pretty great, not to mention the fact that they are indiscriminate pinchers. That's why they have rubber bands on their claws even when they're in the tank with only a bunch of other lobsters. Because they will swim around and pinch anything in the way. Awesome!

3.) People are afraid of them- It's a known fact that 67% of people (94% in Maine) are deathly afraid of lobsters. People actually dream about a marauding horde of lobsters coming to get them. When you're scarier than Al-Qaeda to the general population and your only weapon is pinchers, you are awesome.

4.) They look like tiny monsters- This probably contributes to the reason that people are so cavalier about dropping them alive into a pot of boiling water. Nobody feels any remorse about the painful death of a monster. Remember when Jaws got blown up. Roy Scheider did not feel bad about that.

5.) They look just as scary as a baby lobster- Lobsters are one of the only things that don't look cute as a baby. They look scary and menacing, just on a smaller scale. This is awesome.

6.) They would make a great pet- This is sort of obvious, but imagine how great it would be to be having a party where everybody was constantly on the lookout for your pet lobster:

Me: Lift your feet, lobster coming through!
Everybody: AAAAHHHHHHHH!!!
Me: Awesome!!

Yes, a lobster roaming the house would certainly make you the talk of the town. Burglars would hear through the burglar grapevine and would most certainly not even contemplate burgling your house. Not with a free range lobster lurking about.

7.) When your pet lobster died, you could just eat him- Isn't it a pain when your pet dies? You either have to pay the hospital to dispose of the carcass, or you have to dig a hole in your backyard and bury him. Digging a hole sucks. A pet lobster is the cure all.

So as you can see, lobsters are perfect in most every way, so when you see one, make sure to say "Hi." It might just save you a pinching.

Somebody's watching ME

I'm not 100% certain about this, but I'm a little bit suspicious that a guy might be stalking me at the gym. I am not happy about this. It all started a few weeks ago. I was in the locker room, looking at either the ceiling or the floor in the hopes of avoiding all the gross naked men with their micropenises sauntering back and forth past me.

I had been especially successful at this that day and so I was feeling pretty accomplished when somebody said, "Hey, what happened to your back?" I turned to see this little guy smiling at me and pointing at my torso. This made me uncomfortable. I could tell immediately that he was the type of person who in high school would have tagged along on everything any group of people did until somebody said to him, "WHY ARE YOU HERE?" and then he'd feel all stupid but continue to tag along anyway. At least he had underpants on. But, being the extremely friendly person I am, I told him it was a heart surgery scar. (Side note: As a refresher, I had heart surgery in 1996 and I now have an 18 inch scar shaped like a sickle on my back.) He said this:

Dude: Wow, cool!
Me: Wasn't that great really. Kind of hurt a lot. Morphine was fun though.
Dude: Do you have any restrictions because of it?
Me: Well, I'm not supposed to eat rat poison or jump off of skyscrapers anymore. HAHA (My obvious attempt to scare him away with humor that only I find funny)
Dude: HAW HAW HAW. I was just asking because my mother's friend....blah blah blah.... herpes....blah blah blah.....sexually attracted to snakes... blah blah blah... surgery in a barn..... blah blah blah.. big scar.. blah blah..... can't go out in daylight... blah blah.... pancreas explodes, etc.

I realize that the whole time he's been talking I've been staring into my own gym bag pretending to look for nothing. Unfortunately, this guy is one of those people that doesn't understand things like body language so he is unfazed at my blatant attempt to get him the fuck out of my space, plus he kept trying to somehow stare around me to see the scar and he was smiling the whole time too which was creepy.

Dude: Hi, I'm Paul!
Me: (Think of a fake name, think of a fake name.) Hi, I'm....... Brian. (CRAP!!)
Paul: Nice to meet you. Well, gotta go (insert an overtly gay workout platitude here; rip my abs, shred my quads, max my glutes, etc).

I don't remember what exactly he said, but it was the linguistic equivalent of drying your pubic hair with a community hairdryer. It made me cringe. Then he was gone, much to my relief, and after a while I even began mocking myself for letting Paul bug me that much. All was well until 3 days later. I was standing on a treadmill about to run someplace when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and nobody was there. Then I heard a "HAW HAW HAW" and he was on the other side of me.

Paul: Gotcha. How ya doin Brian?
Me: Oh, hey.
Paul: Went to Hooters this weekend!
Me: Good work.
Paul: Chicks there are PHENOMENAL!
Me: Yeah.
Paul: Cardio huh?
Me: Yep.
Paul: Have fun chief!

I realized I don't like being called "Chief."

So since then I've had about 6 encounters with this guy and he's always all friendly and in your face and I don't mean to sound mean but I don't ever want to talk to this guy again or look at him or think about him, but I don't really know how that's going to happen. He seems to have an innate sense for when I'm going to be at the gym. It's like when girls live together and begin getting their periods at the same time. He's just like a period. I'm afraid that the only way to get him to leave me alone is to murder him, and from what I'm told that's kind of risky and messy.

So if anybody has any ideas on how to make Paul go away forever that don't involve the spilling of blood, please let me know.

I Get Trapped Downstairs

Here's something that may have happened to you before. Or to put it another way, here's something that definitely hasn't happened to you before because you aren't doomed to forever be dropped into strange situations through no fault of your own like I am.

I had just gotten back from going for a run. It had been a fairly long run and I was now sweaty. I had also been doing laundry the whole afternoon. Are you with me so far? So I had done most of the laundry downstairs and put it in our bedroom, which is upstairs. I only had one load left to wash. Since I was in sweaty clothes, I took my clothes off and put them in the washing machine with the rest of the last load. I am now naked. I pause for a while and bask in my nakedness. I laugh at myself ("HAHA, you're naked!"). Then, after basking and laughing at myself naked for a while, I begin to go upstairs to get some clothes on. This is where things take a wrong turn.

I notice silhouettes at the door. They ring the doorbell. I shriek like a girl and sprint back downstairs to hide. I whack my knee against the doorway really hard. I do not notice this until much later. I sneak back to the doorway and peek up the stairs. The silhouettes catch me in this cowardly act. They see my face and my arm. With renewed vigor, they begin to pound on my door. I realize I have no clothes downstairs and the only way to get clothes is to go up the stairs and pass right by them. This is not an option! I am trapped naked in the lower level of my own house. Minutes pass. I am sitting on a tile floor in the downstairs entryway. I am cold. I have also noticed that my knee hurts horribly. I am not certain why. I stand up and peek around the corner again. The silhouettes are gone. I breathe a sigh of relief and begin to walk up the stairs. Then another silhouette comes to the door. AAAH!! I scream again and run back down the stairs. This person has definitely seen me, possibly my butt too. He knocks again. I contemplate putting on a big coat and going to the door. I decide I would look like a child molester if I did this. I do nothing. I am still cold. After a few minutes I peek up the stairs again. The person is gone. I realize there is a large basket of clothes sitting like 2 feet away from me full of my sweatpants and shirts. I kick the basket as hard as I can. I then yell a swear word that rhymes with "sacrifice bunt." Then, as calmly as possible, I walk upstairs and get dressed.

The only moral of this story that I can think of is this: Never be naked. Ever.

Inspirational E-Mails

Recently I've been getting a rash of these so-called "inspirational e-mails." They are ususually a load of stupid paradoxes that are designed to make you think about what a sorry, uncaring jerk you are and how you can be so much better if you just stop and try. Maybe that is true, but if you really need to get your inspiration from e-mails that have been mass forwarded by your Aunt Judy, you probably have a lot of other things you need to fix first.

Plus they all make the writer invariably sound like a gigantic pussy. Then they get attributed to some famous person, (i.e. George Carlin, Andy Rooney, Gallagher II, Charles Manson, ALF) and the famous person in question either angrily chokes on his vomit, or, if the person is dead, comes out of their grave and starts killing drunken gravediggers and horny teens getting their freak on in the cemetary. Then we finally learn that the actual author is some holier-than-thou pastor, who loves to write sanctimonious, self-righteous e-mails and has recently been busted for having gay sex in a public restroom while high off crystal meth.

We love too little
But argue too much
We're deep pocketed
But shallow-minded
We're high on drugs
But low on self worth
We kill our young
But don't save our whales
We pity our criminals
But condemn our creator
We eat to excess
But neglect the starving children
We pollute our oceans
But drink bottled water
We pay our prostitutes
And prostitute for pay
We obsess about the almighty dollar
But ignore the almighty scholar
We love Sin City
We hate Generosity

Then it usually ends with a head scratching platitude like "There is no greater good than what's within you." Then it says to send this to 800 people or my nutsack will spontaneously detach from my body and run away.

Well people, I still have my nutsack, and I still think these e-mails are awful. So please don't send them to me, even if it costs you a nutsack. Thanks.

Top of the Head Syndrome.

Today I woke up with a really bad earache, and also a bad top-of-the-head ache. I haven't had an earache since I was about 9 and to my knowledge I've never had a top-of-the-head ache. It wasn't like a true headache, it was more like some crazy little person had beat me with a mallet right on the place where my soft spot used to be when I was a baby. It was a little weird, but also funny.

I thought about this guy I know who woke up one morning with a bloody top-of-the-head. Kind of like a bloody nose, except he never had a bloody nose, only a bloody top head. It makes me wonder if our two conditions were somehow similar, like maybe the crazy little person had been poking him in the head with the sharp end of a beam compass all night

So this was a pretty pointless post, but one more thing I'd like to point is that if you write about your top-of-the-head ache, it hurts again. Thank goodness I only mentioned my earache in passing....Oh crap...

Creepy Children's Books

What is the deal with kids books these days? I take my kids to the library and there are tons of books about horrible things that can happen to them. I guess the idea behind books like this is to make a profit off of how dysfunctional families have become, or, as the writers would tell you, "to help a child understand that he/she is not alone in this scary situation." Yeah right. It's really creepy to peruse the sections and see:

Where did Daddy go?
Mommy went to Heaven
What's that lump?
What's a Divorce?
Daddy smokes Mary Jane.
Grampie lives at the Nursing Home.
What's a psychiatrist?
My new wheelchair.
Spot lives underground now.
Uncle Dave touched me.
Daddy's in prison
Jeffy drinks poison.
Rabies hurts!

And on and on. Any bizarre occurance probably has a children book written about it.

Dragons live in my underpants.
Policemen killed my dad.
My toys tell me to burn things
Uncle Frank has two heads
My friend has no legs
I met Satan at Daycare.
I forgot how to breathe.
My wee-wee smells terrible
Gramma's in a coma
Why don't I have lungs?
I go potty in a bag.
My family are nudists.
Spider bites make me die.
What's wrong with his face?
I have no torso.
Cousin Jim has antlers.
I see dead people.
I see red people.
Why is daddy kissing that man?
Mommy is naked on TV.
Great Aunt Velma got stuck in a chimney.
Why does gramma smell bad?

And the list goes on. By the way, all you aspiring children's book writers, don't steal any of these ideas.

Halloween- A Retrospective

As Halloween approaches, I can't help but think back to the various phases I went through on Halloween, dating back to my time as a big fat baby. I think we all go through similar phases at various Halloweens.

1.) Baby phase-Somebody dresses you as something cute and innocuous, like a punkin' or a princess. (Side note: One time, I saw a baby dressed as a potato. It's remarkable how much babies look like potatoes.) You go to like 4 houses because you can't say "Trick-or Treat" and your parents want to get home because it's cold and they have already bought a large bag of Reeses to supplement your pathetic 4 house haul.

2.) Dinosaur phase-My mom made me a gigantic dinosaur costume complete with a puffy, 3 foot long tail that left a swath of destruction in it's wake. I'd have to wear this on the bus which meant that every 4th kid was sure to get a mouthful of dinosaur ass on my way down the aisle. It was a miracle I didn't get the crap kicked out of me. I was like the kid who brought his cello on the bus. Didn't you always want to beat him over the head with his stupid cello? I sure did.

3.) Victim of Jason Voorhees phase-This seemed to be my costume a lot. You could go to The Fun Shop at Knollwood and get fake blood and fake scars and fake injuries and stuff. School hated this costume because they said it promoted murdering people. The real problem was that the fake blood would drip all over the place and make a god awful mess and the janitors (who always seemed to be dressed like morbidly obese versions of the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz) had a hard time cleaning it up

4.) Nothing Part I-Here's where I decided I was too old to put much effort into a costume, but I still wanted candy, and the opportunity to roam around with my friends and wreak havoc on pumpkins and leaf bags throughout the neighboorhood. So I'd draw on my face with marker, or put pantyhose over my head, even though that pretty much made me a burglar and not a trick or treater, and head out. The adults never looked too thrilled.

Adult: What are you supposed to be?
Us: Burglars who want candy, duh.
Adult: Hmm, not much of a costume.
Us: You're passing out individually wrapped tic tacs. You don't deserve more than this. And I'm going to stab your leaf bags for fun later.

5.) Nothing Part II- Some high schooler would have a party, and some people would dress up. I would show up as me, not have fun, and leave. On my way home I would search for houses where the people had foolishly left out a big bowl of candy, and if I found one I would take the candy (and the bowl) and drive home. People who blatently ask to get robbed should have their wishes granted. Long live Jombie.

6.) Pirate phase-This was my college costume, and I have to admit that I looked pretty swarthy. The parties were fun, people got out of control, and all girl costumes took the form of a regular occupation preceded by the word "Slutty", as in "Slutty Nurse," "Slutty Teacher," "Slutty Janet Reno," and in some cases, "Slutty Slut." The only problem was that the pants of my costume were very tight and my junk was prominently poking out. I tried padding the pants with toilet paper but this just made me look like a pirate with a wide and lumpy frontbutt. "Yarr, check out me frontbutt!" is not a phrase a pirate should ever utter.

7.) Nothing III-These are the parties you have once you get older. Nobody does crazy stuff anymore, and basically people just sit around and talk about work. This is the only time you might actually see Charlie Chaplin talking to the Joker about mutual funds. After leaving a party like this you might find yourself thinking, "Gee, there sure are a lot of douchebags walking around."

8.) Dad-Basically beginning the cycle all over. We're taking the kids to the mall to trick or treat, how ghetto are we?

Kid (Looking hopeful): Trick or treat!
Mall Employee: Here ya go. $1 off a pedicure.

We also have a large bag of Reeses that we are not passing out to anyone except our own mouths.
I hope my life goes in a direction so that eventually when I'm old I can become:

9.) Scary dude who becomes even scarier on Halloween. Imagine how fun it would be if all the kids thought you were a maniac escaped from the asylum. I would definitely perpetuate this myth. Shoot I might even kidnap somebody from the neighborhood, just for the sake of authenticity. Maybe I already have. BOO!!

Pants or no Pants

I was at the gym this morning, in the locker room where all the nudists hang out, when I noticed a guy prancing around butt naked. The unusual thing about this fella is that he had a large roll of stomach fat that completely covered and enveloped his junk. It was like he had skin underpants. He had obviously lost a large amount of weight, but he either didn't have the money to get that surgery where they lop off all your excess skin and give it to charity, or he was like "Fuck it, I got me some skin underpants now."

Strangely, I felt a little envious towards this guy, because he really didn't even need pants anymore, and I've always felt that pants kind of got in the way. I don't think I've ever had a pair of pants that I considered comfortable. One time I thought I had found a really comfy pair but they were in the girl bin at Kmart, and even I have some standards. If you ever see me wearing teal colored girl sweatpants from the Kmart bin, you will officially know that I have given up on looking presentable.

I think if I was President, I would institute a no pants policy for the country. We'd call it "The Donald Duck Rule" and if you were embarrassed that your paraphernilia was hanging out the bottom you could always wear a really long shirt, or a Charles Ingalls style nightgown. In fact, I think that would be preferable since really there's nothing uglier than a weiner. A bunch of exposed weiners might hurt our country's morale and with the economy being in a shambles, that's not what we need. It might get a little bit cold in the winter, but, from what I understand, all you need is a stocking cap and you can't possibly get cold.

This is probably reason #6,186 that I will never become President, but believe me, a pantsless society is a peaceful society. How many wars have been started by folks with no pants? Probably no more than 4.

I have the stupidest dreams.

I've come to the conclusion that I may have the most stupid and pointless dreams in the history of people or dreams. I've heard it said that dreams are whispers from the soul. If that is the case, I must have a pretty stupid soul. I'd hate to think that when I die, the only remnant left of me is my moron soul. I once saw a person who was supposedly an expert on interpreting dreams. From what I could gather, any dream you have can be interpreting as meaning that you are an in-the-closet homosexual.

Me: So here's what I dreamt. (Explains pointless dream.)
Dream Interpreter: Hmm. Very interesting. Perhaps you're gay.
Me: Um.....

Basically all my dreams fall into 4 categories, none of which are very interesting.

1.) Falling on purpose- I've heard that many people have dreams where they are falling and it's scary and they wake up all sweaty and pee soaked. It's supposed to represent a loss of control of something in your life. Not me. I'll be riding a zip cord across the Grand Canyon and for no good reason I'll just let go. Then I float down. Not very scary at all.

2.) Pointless conspiracy theories-The other night I dreamt that I had noticed that there were no people in the world named "Maurice" anymore. Nobody would tell me why. Government conspiracy. I've also dreamt that many people were riding around on those bicycles with enormous front wheels, like the type you'd see in a picture from the 1900 World's Fair, and I couldn't figure out how they got all the way up to the seat. Nobody would tell me. Government conspiracy. Dumb.

3.) Plots for really horrible movies- Last night I dreamt that I was going to school at a Historically Black College. I was having a tough time adjusting to being a minority and I was about to quit when a kind but firm professor took me under her wing and taught me the confidence to succeed. It was kind of like Finding Forrester in reverse.

4.) Random things-These are the dreams I have most often. It's just life happening. I really don't even need to be asleep to see these things. I could just go to the mall.
.....A guy eats a sandwich
.....Some kids run around
.....A dog goes by
.....A girl yells at her mom
.....Somebody drops a nickel on the ground.
Then I wake up and wonder what the possible point of dreaming about that was.

Someday maybe I'll have a great dream. Probably not though.

Eyes playing tricks on Me.

This morning I mistook a squirrel for a car. I was backing out of my driveway and from my peripheral vision I thought I saw a large object, presumably a car, zooming towards me. So I hit my brakes and looked over, and all I saw was a squirrel running through my yard. I started wondering if I was retarded, but then I realized that it was just my eyes playing tricks on me again.

My eyes like to fool me every so often. They think it's funny. My eyes are jerks!! Like my eyes will spot a girl from like 100 feet away and send a message to my brain that says, "She's Hot!" So then I'll wander closer, trying my best to be inconspicuous and usually failing, and I'll get close and realize either,
a) She's not hot at all
b) She's sort of hot, but in a skanky, hookery, give-you-the-clap kind of way
c) She's a dude

Sometimes my eyes trick me into thinking I see balls (insert joke here). Whenever I'm out hiking, one of my favorite things is finding a ball of some sort and keeping it. Usually it's a golf ball or a tennis ball, but one time I found a giant rubber ball and I dribbled it down the street for a while until I realized that I looked like an idiot. So since I'm always on the look out for balls, my eyes fool me into thinking that things like leaves, chunks of rubber, and fossilized dog turds are in fact balls. It's always very disappointing to think you have found a ball, and then you pick it up and it's a fossilized turd. (Side note: You should wash your hands if this happens. BEFORE you eat Chipotle. That's a lesson I don't need to learn twice.)

There's really no way to get back at your eyes either. You can't poke them, you'd just be hurting yourself, and if you blindfold them, you are also blind. Yep, your eyes got you right where they want you. Jerks!

The Hotness Test

I have found the best barometer in the world to let you know how attractive you are. It happened by accident, but it is 100% accurate. It goes like this:

Step 1: Go to a restaurant and wait. You may have to go to many restaurants for many years, but stay positive...

Step 2: Wait for a girl who has mistaken you for her boyfriend to come up and scream at you in front of the patrons and waiters.

Step 3: Look at her. If she is hot, you are hot. If she is ugly, you are ugly. If she is sober, she is insane. If she is naked, she is VERY insane.

Step 4: Complain to manager, receive discount on Szechuan Long Beans.

Step 5: Resume eating while shrugging shoulders every 13 seconds to help convey message that insane naked person was indeed a stranger.

As I mentioned, this series of steps is 100% accurate. It's just rare. I was at PF Chang's not long ago, enjoying some gourmet Chinese cuisine. For argument's sake, let's say I was eating Szechuan Long Beans. All of a sudden, I hear a ruckus. Since ruckuses seem to follow me like stray dogs, I pay no attention. The ruckus gets louder and closer and I hear a voice say, "GREG??" Since I am not Greg, I still pay no attention. Soon, the ruckus is right beside me. "GREG, WHAT THE HELL??" I look up and an angry woman is glaring at me, seething. I have a mouthful of long beans and I am still not Greg. I say nothing. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU!!" She is very angry. She smells like smoke. I am worried. I swallow my long beans and look around. People are looking at me. I do not like this. I quickly scan my brain for anybody I've interacted with who might be justified in angrily calling me Greg. I can't think of anyone. "AND WHO IS THIS?" She points at my wife. I compose myself long enough to say, "What are you talking about?" She says, "OHMIGOD" and stomps out. I stare at the air for a long time. I stare at my fingers for a while too. People are still looking at me. I shrug my shoulders 4 million times while I resume eating.

Now after the initial shock of it all, I began to take account of what had transpired. A girl mistook me for somebody she was involved with. She was not too bad looking. She looked a little like she may have gone on a long crack binge at some point, but not too recently. It was OK. I felt good about myself. If she had looked like Kathy Bates, I would have felt much worse. And that's how it works. Flawless. I am attractive enough to date crazy people. That's all I really needed.

Non-stop Talkers

You know what I really enjoy? There's always somebody in your family or circle of friends that is just a nonstop, stream-of-consciousness talker. Somebody not very exciting at all. Somebody who just talks and talks and talks to whoever will listen, and even if everybody falls over dead, they would only pause to ask why everybody was laying on the ground, and then continue talking. But then every once in a while, this person accidentally reveals some deeply personal part of their life, and that is FUN!!

"So, yeah, I was at Cub Foods yesterday, and I bought some eggs and the boy who rang me up said "$4.68" and I thought to myself "that can't be" and so after I paid I noticed he had charged me for 3 cartons of eggs instead of one and so I went and told him and he told me to go to the service center for a refund and he didn't even say sorry and I had paid with my credit card, the one that has a picture of my cats on it, so instead I just went back and got 2 more cartons of eggs and left with them and I was going to make a quiche but now I have all these extra eggs and one of them is a little brown and it looks like it's about to hatch like those chicks in incubators at the State Fair which I've decided I'm not going to anymore because it's just too crowded and the last time I was there a man made fun of my pants because I had spilled french fry grease all down the front, but I didn't spill it at the fair, it was before the fair, so what was he talking about? Did you know bums and ugly people live at the fairgrounds all year round? I was down there trying to find Bandanna Square because my friend told me they had a store that sold only Green Jello there and I wanted some because green jello is great for cooking when I cook I like jello and chicken and maybe some Green Bean Casserole. Why is it sometimes called Casserole and sometimes called Hotdish? Who knows? Maybe the bums and ugly people who live at the fairgrounds. They looked really angry to be living there, and maybe it was because it was cold or they were mad at how bad their lives were but the only person I ever saw look that mad was my dad. Did you know he used to rape me about 4 or 5 times a week from the time I was 8 until yesterday, which is when I was at Cub Foods buying eggs......."

Usually there is no pause or embarrassment, the flow just keeps flowing. I love that...

Please knock me unconscious until early November

Somebody please save me from all these political ads. I can't tell you how unenthused I am when an election year comes up simply because of this. Get me to November 4th right now. Some people would say "Just stop watching TV until then." OK, and maybe I'll just stop going to the bathroom too. Neither would work, and both would slowly poison me. So far, from this extremely intelligent rhetoric I've learned that:

Obama is a communist in kahoots with racist clergymen
McCain is a fascist who think war is "Awesome."
Biden is poor white trash
Palin is a backwoods neophyte with slutty children
Coleman doesn't care about me at all
Franken is an angry, smut peddling drug addict.

That about cover it? If I relied solely on campaign ads I'd never be able to vote for anybody. But that's not the real problem I have. If you want to be comically dirisive of your opponent then so be it, but if you lose don't cry when you have to go back into society knowing that person you called an idiot was smart enough to beat you. The problem I have is that it spawns a giant collection of halfwits who think they are now qualified to say the same things about the candidates. It's not just the guys who say "I'll give ya 3 reasons Barack Obama is stupider than my underwear drawer." It's more these pseudo-intellectuals who think they have all this brilliant insight as to why one candidate would kill us all while the other would most assuredly lead us to the land of milk and honey. Please! Just because you've read the Harvard Political Review does not make you a pundit. I've read it too. I'm an idiot. See my point?

Old Frank is my Hero!

I was thinking about Urgent Care from my last story and I remembered this little tidbit from another time I was there with my daughter who had an ear infection.

While we are waiting in the crowded waiting room to be seen, a woman comes in escorting a bedraggled looking old man who looked like he may have pitched over if she hadn't been supporting him. The woman says, "Old Frank here" (his name may have been Hercules, but for the purpose of this story Frank sounds better). She says, purposely loudly, as if she is frustrated with Old Frank (or Hercules) and wants a few people to know what she's going through "Old Frank here has been having violent diarrhea all week." Old Frank chimes in, "But only when I POOP!" I about lost in right there in the lobby. I love all the Old Franks in the world and I hope they spray violent diarrhea everywhere they go.

The Bursting Appendix Date Story

I've gotten a few requests for this, so I've decided to rehash it for those who haven't heard it so everyone who hasn't heard it can mock me.

I had just turned 19, and was getting ready to leave for college within a month. I was at Northwest Health club in St Louis Park which is now a Lifetime Fitness. Now, normally when I went to work out, I would spend 75% of the time actually working out, and about 25% of the time staring at girls. Not talking or anything, just staring from afar, usually at their butts. I apologize for that, but really, what do most people stare at? I bet it's not the elbows or the forehead creases.

Anyhow, the place was pretty busy that day and benches were at a premium. When I went to sit down on a bench I literally crashed into a girl's back, with my back. I turned around just at the same time she did (to see what sort of thing was back there that we weren't expecting) and her little dumbbell crushed me in the arm. It hurt a lot and I kind of wanted to punch her. She said she was sorry and that she hadn't seen me. I said it's OK, and I turned to walk off, but she kept talking to me. I have no idea what we talked about, except that her name was Jen, but it's a good thing her butt was all the way behind her, otherwise my cover would have totally been blown. This eventually led to this awkward exchange.

Jen: So do you want to do something later?
Brian: Well, I'm gonna go do incline flys in a bit, you can come if you want?
Jen: Uh........ no, I meant like later later?
Brian: Later later? Um...... (Lightbulb finally goes on) Oh yeah definitely. Sorry, a dumbbell hit my arm and it hurt.
Jen: HAHAHA you're funny!!!
Brian (thinking to himself): Seriously, my arm hurts...

So we went out a few days later, to a chinese place, and had a fairly normal date up to a point. She was a 23 year old nursing student at some place that churns out nurses like lemmings, and she had her own apartment. Now, bear in mind that I was still two months away from the complete and total freedom that is college so the concept of somebody with their own apartment was like Valhalla to me. Plus I was relieved that if we were going to make out or anything, it wouldn't have to be in the back of her mom's Yugo.

Things were going fine, conversation was pleasant, and the food was good. Then came this.

Jen: Can you reach into my purse and get my compact for me?
Brian: I don't have any idea what you're talking about.
Jen: It's a square thing with a mirror.
Brian: That just sounds like a mirror.
Jen: HAHAHAHA!!!

I reach into her purse (it was one of those big deep purses that you could keep a large cat in) and all I see is like 400 condoms. For a split second I panicked and thought that maybe I was running with a known prosty-toot and just had been too naive to notice. I brought out her square thing and said,

Brian: Holy Galactic Prophylactics! (Actually I didn't say this but it would have been cool)
Jen: Hahaha....yeah, I keep them around in case...

This was her not so subtle hint to me that she had cast her chastity belt into the metaphorical Mississippi River long ago. I was faced with an obvious dilemma. That's when fate decided to intervene...

I began to feel a little pressure in my stomach followed shortly after by some very serious pain. The pain was bad enough that I couldn't really concentrate on what she was saying (something about cats and jackrabbits I think). I started definitely believing something was very wrong. I had just read this article about some guy who had a bad stomach ache and then all of a sudden his appendix burst and he died right there at Sears. I knew it was my appendix, I just knew it. So I did the only thing I could. I said, "I have to leave right now! I think my appendix is going to pop." She was really pissed off like I made up the appendix thing because I thought she was boring. Whatever. I left and she stayed there alone.

When I got to the hospital I went to the front desk at Urgent Care and the woman seemed none too pleased to see me.

Woman: Yes?
Me: I think my appendix is bad.
Woman: Why do you think that?
Me: Because my appendix hurts really bad!
Woman: Well how do you know it's your appendix?
Me: Because I read about this guy and.....MY APPENDIX HURTS REALLY BAD!!!

So I got ushered from the first waiting room to the 2nd waiting room, the room that the doctor actually comes in. I felt like I was going to explode from my stomach and my guts were going to fly all over. I started looking for any medicine I could find, like an epidural or something. I would have drank an epidural if I could have found one. But there was no medicine in there, all I could find was paper towels and tongue depressers. So I started jabbing at my stomach with a tongue depresser. I don't know what I was trying to accomplish by this, but I was desperate. Just as I had about given up.....the pain subsided, first a little bit, and then completely. I was very happy about this but it also presented me with a strange problem. A perfectly fine person is now in the second waiting room. So, after sitting there for a minute staring at the tongue depressers, I just got up and left.

I called Jen later on to explain to her what had happened and she was still really mad. So that was that. I'd see her periodically at the gym for a while after that, but she never said anything to me. It was sort of pointlessly awkward. As it turned out, it was for the best.

(Side Note: I still have no idea what happened that night. My guess was the chinese food had no MSG but it did have some R-A-T in it. Someone suggested to me once that my brain conjured my appendix problem to save me from this girl. That's stupid!!)

The Decline of Minnesota Sports

After a particularly disappointing Vikings game last night, I got to thinking about the sorry state of affairs Minnesota sports is in general. It's really gross. It's making me seriously consider moving to a different state and adopting a whole new set of teams to root for. Just not Wisconsin. I'd rather root for cancer. Seriously though.

Vikings- Mediocre at best. QB makes poor decisions and seems to enjoy getting hurt so he doesn't have to play. Left tackle is more aggressive at South Beach nightclubs than on the field. Coach looks like Mr Noodle. Owner's name is Zygi. Bad omen. Most boring team in football.

Twins-Mediocre also but have played out of their minds for most of the year. Coming back down to earth at a very bad time. Bullpen is awful. Will need to be supremely lucky the rest of year for any postseason hopes.

Wild-Really boring. Best player wants out. Fans inexplicably jerk off to this team regardless of how they are playing. Doesn't make sense.

T-Wolves-Bad team stuck in an ugly arena. Drew more homeless vagrants than fans at many games last year. GM makes moronic moves daily, and then goes up to his cabin and acts smug while looking like Frankenstein. 40 2 guards, 0 point guards. Will struggle to be competitive for years.

Gopher Sports: Football team has gone 2-0 against the MAC and people are thrilled. Will probably finish 6-6. Pepperidge Farms Sweaty Ballsack Bowl in Omaha, here we come. Basketball team is perpetually young, may be good down the road but not this year.
Hockey team loses too much in state talent. Coach has really gay hair.

Lynx: Always suck. Ball looks stupid. Nobody on the team can dunk. Not enough scary lesbians.

Everybody else: Nobody cares.

See??? Right now we're swimming in a sea of mediocrity and apathy when it comes to
Minnesota sports. I'm going to have to move before more holes in my walls start mysteriously appearing. Maybe Boston, or Antarctica.

Brian is unintentionally creepy.

OK so I've come to the conclusion that my mouth acts about 20 times faster than my brain sometimes. This leads to some extremely awkward statements coming out of my mouth that make me sound, at best, like a big weirdo, and at worst like a crazy glue sniffing homeless derelict. It also prompts some of the strangest looks from the unfortunate people on the receiving end of said comments. I'm not trying to be weird here, it's just that my brain works a little differently from most people's, and the filter between my thoughts and my mouth is a little slow on the uptake at times. This is the same filter that helps you NOT tell your girlfriend that her best friend looks like a manatee in a sundress, or that her uncle looks like he molests most everyone he sees. Here is a very abbreviated list (what I can think of right this instant) of some of the bug-eye inducing things I have said recently:

To a woman in a Packers shirt today: "Watch out wearing that shirt! That dude (pointing at a Cub Foods employee pushing 20 carts) might choke you.

To a crowd of people: "If I was going to rape somebody, I guess I'd rape 100 people, give or take. It's basically a freebie after the first one. You're going to jail forever no matter what."

To a door to door vacuum salesman: "You remind me of this Tweety Bird cartoon where a cat tries to sell a vacuum to another cat.....(trailing off as he looks at me, bewildered) uh, nevermind."

To a woman wearing a big metal halo on her broken neck: " Ow, that looks heavy. I broke my pinky once."

To a guy admiring my truck: "It's big and black, like an NBA player."

To a co-worker: "I gotta pee. Gimme your garbage."

On my first job interview: "It smells like old wood around here. What's that all about?"

On a different interview: "You actually have to call people you don't know?? Ugh, who would do that?"

To a telemarketer: "I have to let you go. My kids are burning."

To a midget at Byerly's: "Were you on Seinfeld? You just kinda look like, uh, you know, the little guy." (Side note: The little person looked like he was going to somehow get me into a prone position and murder me slowly so I went to a different aisle, then I just left my cart there and took off.)

To a Vikings cheerleader at Buffalo Wild Wings: "I like your shiny underpants, I mean, um....."

To a men's room attendant: "I peed on my hands a little."

To a gay pizza store owner: "HAW. That guy just dropped a whole slice of pizza on the floor. What a homo!!"

And on and on ad nauseum. I hope to some day cure this affliction, but until then, feel happy that as many silly things as you've said in your life, I've probably said more.

Most of your pets suck.

Have you ever noticed how many really stupid pets there are out there? Not stupid as in low functioning brain capacity, we all know that pets are dumb (eating turds, chasing laser beams, peeing inappropriate places, etc). Rather, stupid as in pointless, as in "What possible enjoyment could you get from this?" The reason I bring it up is because I was at the beach the other day and I saw a guy walking an Iguana or something on a leash, and I just sat there and marveled at how retarded he looked. He also looked like the type of guy that probably went home and had sex with the iguana too, but that's his business, not mine. That's the way it is with me. If you want to hump a lizard, don't look for me to try and talk you out of it.

Anyhow, think how many stupid pets there are:

-Fish- Fish are perhaps the most boring pets in the world. You can't pet a fish, it won't cuddle with you, and fish die at an amazing rate. I bought my daughter a fish for her birthday and it died about 2 days later. So I bought another fish and passed it off as the dead one, and then it died. So I kept doing this over and over for about 20 fish and all they did was swim around and die. What a waste of 28 cents. Finally I wised up and bought a Betta fish, which is supposed to be less likely to die. True to it's word, it hasn't died. But it does even less than the dying fishes did. It doesn't even swim, it just hovers there. One time we forgot to feed it for 2 weeks and it still didn't die. It's like taking care of a piece of styrofoam.

-Gerbil- These are no good because somebody might break into your house and stick the gerbil up his butt. Having a gerbil is like putting out a welcome mat for perverts and buttophiles (I just made that word up.) Plus some gerbils are really ill-tempered and try to bite you any chance they get, presumably because they are concerned that you are going to stick them up your butt. In that respect, I don't blame them. But they still suck.

-Snake- Way more boring than you'd think. My roommate in college bought a snake and all the snake did was curl up in a ball. Stupid. Then my roommate was playing with him one night while he was drunk and he passed out on top of him and the snake died. That part was funny.

-Rats and Mice- Rats and mice are vermin. Why would you want to have vermin for a pet?That's like having a buttophile (see above) as a houseguest.

-Lizards-Lizards are about one step above fish in terms of boringness. Plus they are really hard to see so even if they are doing something cool (which they probably aren't) there's a good chance you'll miss it. And if you accidentally leave them someplace sunny while you go on vacation, they cook and smell really terrible. The only possible good thing is if people get a baby alligator, and then realize how boring he is so they flush him down the toilet and he grows to immense proportions in the sewer and starts eating city workers.

-Exotic Animals- Usually animals you shouldn't have in the first place. Chances are, eventually you'll screw up and the animal will either eat you whole, poison you, or spray stink all over you. Then you'll have to go to either the morgue, the hospital, or the bathtub. Doesn't sound fun.

-Tiny Dogs- Tiny dogs suck so bad that I'm not going to even explain why. Especially really tiny, very furry dogs that look more like troll dolls than actual animals. Ugh.

There are some other pets, like 98% of cats, that belong on this list, but cats are too obvious. Besides, a cat couldn't care less if you don't like him. If you died, he'd just be pissed that you were dead instead of feeding him, and then once somebody else fed him, he'd forget all about you and your good-for-nothing corpse.

The point here is this: Don't waist your money on novelty pets when you could be spending it on things like hookers and crank.

Great Movie Ideas

I've seen a lot of really crappy movies lately. The actors are OK but the plots are either really stupid, or in some cases totally absent. In that vein, I've decided to come up with a lists of movies that would be awesome if somebody made them.

-A guy travels back in time to save the dinosaurs from extinction, but while he's there he finds out that the dinosaurs are actually high tech cyborgs made by super intelligent midgets who live on the sun.

-A lawyer fresh out of law school has to defend a boy with down syndrome and kennel cough who is accused of robbing an ice cream truck. They have a love affair during the movie. The lawyer could be a boy or a girl.

-People's boobs begin falling off at a rapid rate. A former gay meth addict turned Private Eye, has to put aside his immense dislike for boobs to find out the biggest secret of all and save Bra companies from certain bankruptcy.

-A OJ Simpson biopic, told from the bloody glove's point of view

-A college slacker and pothead learns that his new roommate is his Anthropology professor who is constantly bleeding from both of his eyes. Hilarity ensues.

-A little league team is sold to an Asian sex ring against their wishes. A former pro ball player who disgraced himself in the World Series by throwing up on Hank Aaron is hired to bring back the team before their big game. Can he find redemption and love in the seedy underbelly of Bangkok?

-A bunch of nerds keep getting beat up by the football team. They invent a potion which turns shoulder pads into venomous spiders. Hilarity and death ensues.

-A man journeys to Alaska to find true serenity. While there he falls in love with a moose.

-A guy can make his couch come to life by saying a magic phrase while wearing snake skin ballhuggers and Rude Dog slip on's. The couch comes alive and they have wild adventures.

-A gang member with a soft spot rescues a kitten from a tree. His homies watch the act of kindness and proceed to beat the piss out of him repeatedly for "being a beeeotch". Hilarity ensues.

Don't tell me that you wouldn't spend $8.50 to see these winners because you'd be a lying lieface if you did. Also, don't steal my ideas. Stealers.

Angry Lumpy Car Wash Girls

Whatever happened to the good old days when high school girls weren't fat? This is a fairly recent phenomenon I'm sure, because when I was in high school, it wasn't the case. Are we that sedentary as a country that even people when their metabolism is at its ultimate best are becoming fat? I noticed this specifically when I stopped at a gas station and there was a carwash for a high school soccer team. This is a soccer team for crying out loud. You run all over the place, you're in high school, how can you not be skinny? But instead, there's all these girls in big ass T-Shirts looking all lumpy and misshapen, and truly unhappy to be there. It was kind of upsetting.

Now let me just interrupt myself here to say that I'm not complaining that I didn't see 17 year olds in bikinis. I'm not that much of a pervert, I promise. This was just an observation, and one that troubled me. High school athletes aren't supposed to be able to be overweight. You have the rest of your life to get fat, trust me.

So I go to get my truck washed (my good deed for the day. I like to hedge my bets by doing one good thing each day, just in case I get hit by a semi, or eaten by a bear, maybe I'll wind up on the outskirts of heaven, greeting the really good people). Anyhow, a big lumpy girl comes up, looks at the size of my truck (it's pretty big), and frowns at me. She says, "Normally we ask for a donation of $5." Then she frowns again. I'm not sure what she's implying. I say something similarly perplexing. "Yeah, I like soccer." Stupid crap like that comes out of my mouth periodically. She continues to frown. She says, "This is a pretty big truck so......" I get it now. I give her 10 bucks and she slowly lumbers back to her cadre who begin to set down their Cheez-It's and their IPhones to come over towards me. Everybody has the same disgruntled look on their face like I just told them they had to take the kid with down syndrome to Homecoming. Everybody except for one girl who looks insanely pleased to wash my truck. I am briefly relieved until she gets closer and I notice she's a coach. So much for that.

They wash my truck for a long time and they don't even bother to get the top which is OK with me because the collective weight of the team might ruin my suspension. Finally they finish, so I roll down my window to say thanks and also because they want to hand me a piece of paper which is a schedule as it turns out. For reasons unknown, the same frowny girl who guilt tripped me into giving a big donation sticks her entire head in my window, so it's really close to mine. I am nervous now. I have also recently put a new air freshener in my car. So she takes about two breaths and begins.... coughing......furiously..... all over my face. My parental disciplining instincts take over so I say, "Stop that, get your head out of here." She withdraws her head and says, "Your air freshener is too strong!" and frowns at me. In another episode of brilliant dialogue, I reply, "It's Apple." She looks at me like she's glad she doesn't have to take me to Homecoming and then the crabby gang of lumpy soccer players slowly shuffles away. As I drive off they are all frowning at me. Why does everyone frown at me?

SPAM

Every night I go to sleep, and during my peaceful nighttime slumber I am inundated with bizarre, spammy emails. Usually 6 or 7 of them a night show up, ranging from the usual to the extremely bizarre. The usual Spam is one of a few topics:

1.) Enlarge your penis-Why is everyone so concerned with the size of my penis? Leave my penis alone. It concerns me when I get an email from somebody called Ernesto Frogbody and he wants to help grow my penis, like it's a rhubarb or something. I send an email back and say "I don't roll that way Ernesto, please use your magic penis growing wand on someone else." Surprisingly, I never get a response back.

2.) Naked pictures of Angelina Jolie- Sounds worthwhile, but I am always skeptical when I get an email from Borox Q. Squall (real email) and it has a "RE:" in the subject. Now, I'm not the smartest man in the world, but I think I would remember sending an email to somebody named Borox Q. Squall. That name sort of lingers. And then in the body it says something like, "Good Morning my good ally, Anjelena Golie wears no the clothes." Now, let's just pretend for a second that I wasn't sure whether I had a friend named Borox Q. Squall or not. This opening sentence would prove that I didn't because none of my friends would ever start out an email with "good morning my good ally." If it started "Hey bighead," then I might be more inclined to believe it.

3.) An uber-rich foreign dignitary wants to give me a zillion dollars for nothing- This is an old familiar scam that apparently still works because if it didn't, I wouldn't still be getting mail from Grand High Prince Longo Bogongo. Personally, if you fall for this scam still today you are either:
a) Old
b) Retarded
or c) An old retard
It makes me wonder why Nigerians are so fond of email scams. What's the correlation there?

This accounts for about 90% of my Spam, and it goes right into the trash. Either that or I forward it to my mom, in an attempt to be a Spam middle man. Then, occasionally I get really wild emails that make no sense but are filled with extreme hilarity. For instance, I'll get an email from someone and the subject will be "Does Eggplant really cure sludging feet diseases????? Scientist point to OF COURSE!!!" At 7:30 in the morning this is a little hard to absorb. So I stare blankly at it for about 5 minutes trying to cull anything even remotely reasonable from this message until I finally come to the conclusion that this means absolutely nothing. I mean really, what the hell is a sludging foot disease?? It sounds kind of yucky, but it doesn't exist (Side Note: I googled it just now to be sure). I want to email this person back and impart this wisdom on them, but unfortunately the email was sent by Mister Empty Space and I can't. Which brings me to my next question. Why send Spam if you can't be contacted back? What if I am an old retard who is very concerned about Sludging foot disease and I want to buy some eggplant at a dramatic mark up but I can't because Mister Empty Space has no email address? What then? The store? With it's normal, non-therapeutic eggplants? I'm shit out of luck. Who would write this? I think if I was trying to con idiots out of their money I would think of a subject that was a little more persuasive, and a little less strange than "Does Eggplant really cure sludging feet diseases?????" But that's just me.

Notes from the Olympics

So lately I've been watching a lot of the Olympics on TV, mainly because my wife is watching them and it's a lot easier to just sit there than to try and negotiate some kind of fair and balanced TV deal. I'm a path of least resistance guy, always have been, always will be. It's also a little bit because I have somehow developed a giant man crush on Michael Phelps for all of his winning even though his mouth has way too much space in it, especially in between his teeth and gums. I don't understand it, but he has a little compartment there. It's probably where he keeps his gills.

I've also watched some beach volleyball and I think it's safe to say that I have no idea who wins or loses these matches, only that they are the Olympic equivalent of the lingerie models playing "football" at halftime of the Super Bowl

Wife: Wow, what a nice rally.
(Brian says nothing while mouth is hanging agape while staring at chicks butts)
Wife (pointedly): Brian? Nice rally huh?
Brian (confusedly emerging from butt coma): HUH?? Too much splash?
Wife: Wrong event dummy.

Finally, I've noticed that they aren't showing too much of the outside of Beijing. I've heard that a giant cloud of mysterious crud settled over the top of the city on the day the Olympics started and nobody knows what it is but it won't leave. They keep calling it smog, but it isn't smog. It's like a really big ghost that likes Synchronized Diving or something. I keep hoping they send Godzilla in to fight it. Imagine that. Godzilla vs the Giant Smog Ghost. That would be way more fun than the Olympics. Either that or send in the Mystery Machine. Then they'd eventually find out that the Giant Smog Ghost was actually Mr Carruthers the handyman, and Scooby-Doo would eat a gymnast and everybody would laugh. Again, that would be way more fun than the Olympics.

Random Questions

Here are a couple things I don't understand that I saw while driving the other day.

1.) I was driving behind a guy, whose license plate clearly distinguished the fact that he was a POW. I mean his license plate was POW-1342 or something like that. Then down the left hand side of the license plate in smaller letters it said "Former." Do I really need to be told that?? Does somebody actually think I might be led to believe that this man is a current POW? That he's been captured in the bloody Burnsville-Eagan war, but they let him out on a weekend furlow to go to Target? How stupid. It's the same thing with these guys with license plates that say "Korean War-Retired" on them. Well no shit you're retired buddy, you're probably 80. If you're still out fighting the Korean War in 2008 in Minnesota, you're probably doing a lot of slinking around by grocery stores in the 'hood.

2.) Why do some people who speed excessively on the highway, also use their blinkers perfectly? You're already breaking the law by speeding, what's the point in "sort of" obeying the law. It's like beating a guy to death, but doing it in a public place, so you aren't trespassing.

Think about that....

Men vs Women Drivers

So I got a message the other day from a guy complaining that women drivers are essentially brainless morons and to write about that. I'd like to say that I do not think women or women drivers are brainless morons, but I do think this.

Women are extremely unknowingly selfish drivers, while men are angry testosterone fueled jerks. Men are constantly on the lookout for anybody doing anything that irriatates them. Women are not on the lookout for anything. This is why there is no girl on girl roadrage.

For example: A guy will drive down the road and basically this is what he's thinking:

Guy: Boobs...Sex...Vaginas...Butts....Twins Game...HEY ASSHOLE WHY DON'T YOU LEARN TO DRIVE...Butts... Sex...OH NICE BLINKER MORON, I HOPE THE COPS PULL YOU OVER AND TAZE YOU TO DEATH....Vaginas....Boobs...etc. At least that's what I think. Not a woman. She is much more peaceful, and much more unaware.

Here's how we really know this is the truth. A guy will carefully let you merge and then waive at you as if he's doing a huge public service. A guy will also cut you off, and then hit his brakes so you almost crunch into him and give you the finger because he thought you weren't merging smoothly enough, or if he didn't like your faded "Kerry-Edwards 04" bumper sticker. A woman will cut you off because she has no idea you, or anybody else, exists on the road.

I don't think anybody is better than anybody else. So we've settled that debate. Now I'm going to go back to thinking about boobs.

Giant Mutant Spiders are Scary!

I woke up this morning and there was a huge spider crawling on my arm. Why is it that whenever you wake up to find a bug crawling on you it's always way bigger than it should be? It's never just a run-of-the-mill bug, but a huge, flushed-down-the-toilet and grew to immense proportions bug. One time I woke up to find that a Millipede was breakdancing on my forehead. I still haven't quite recovered from that and I was 11.

So anyway this stupid, tarantula like spider was crawling on my arm so of course I shrieked like a girl and made this lame attempt to smack it off my arm, kind of like a tennis backhand, or maybe even a bitchslap. I didn't want to smash it directly on my arm because it looked like it had a lot of guts in it and I didn't want guts all over my arm. It also looked like it would be hard to squish and kill instantly and perhaps with it's last dying wish it would bite the hell out of my forearm and my forearm would get infected and the skin would slough off, and then I'd have to get my arm amputated. My brain is full of realistic consequences like this.

So I bitchslap the spider and it flies into the wall, making a noise like a Tic-Tac hitting a wood floor, then it falls to the ground and scuttles away. Now I'm posed with an even scarier possibility. What if this big spider is some sort of mutant that's also super smart? And what if he was just out for a walk and thought he was walking over a big log or something but instead it was me. Then I beat the crap out of him for no good reason. What if he's back hiding in a house crevasse licking his wounds and plotting revenge against the big angry log thing that slapped him around? This is serious! I might never sleep again!! Then again I probably will because if I spent all my time worrying about every supersmart spider, invisible burglar, and sneaky ninja who hides my inhaler at night, I'm sure I'd really never sleep.

Who's at the Casino?

I had a family reunion this weekend. Not for my family, my family is all dead people. If the Jensen's had a family reunion, it would have to be held at Lakewood Cemetary, and 90% of the invitees would be underground, and like I've said before, no dead person would want me standing on top of them, reminiscing softly to myself. Therefore, until that day that we inherit a bunch of Cambodian refugees, or a village of Oompa Loompas like Willy Wonka, we will not be having a family reunion.

I'm speaking of my wife's family, which just happens to be the largest family is the history of people. The family tree is bigger than that big redwood tree in California that has a highway running through it. Or bigger than a blue whale's nutsack, whichever helps you remember better that it's big. Anyhow, the reunion is held at a Casino in the outskirts of Northern Bumblecrotch, MN. So I got a little gambling in and lost a little bit of money, but for the most part, I just looked around at the people. I never really noticed this before, but there appears to be 4 distinct groups of people that goes to the Casino on the outskirts of Northern Bumblecrotch, MN.

1.) Really fat middle aged people playing slots. Many are wearing mesh hats and overalls, or floral print pants where the flowers are like a foot in diameter and all faded and stretched out from the giant ass that they are containing. These people nearly always bump me with their backfat when I am trying to slink in between them.
2.) Really skinny people milling around and smoking constantly. They rarely play any games, instead choosing to keep an eye out for anything suspicious, and by anything suspicious, I mean anything at all. They glance up at the eyes in the sky at least once every 30 seconds and then sneak to some other part of the casino.
3.) People who hustle over to Blackjack tables in the middle of a shoe and play hands for at least $25 while standing up. Then they get 20, the dealer gets a lucky 21, they pound the table and swear, and then leave as fast as they came, presumably to go back to the cash machine to squander more of their mortgage payment or kid's college fund.
4.) Punk ass 20 year olds who think they are the world's best Texas Hold-em players. They talk a lot, use their cell phones at inappropriate times, and wear sunglasses at the 2-4 table and try to bluff. Then they lose their ass and curse at people for not knowing how to play. These kids are the reason that if I ever see Chris Moneymaker, I'm going to punch him in his stupid head.

So since I noticed this, I started wondering where I fit in. After all, I used to go to Mystic Lake a lot. I'm not a morbidly obese slot player, or a meth addled fidgety conspiracy theorist. I'm not betting my mortgage, and even though I act like it 95% of the time, I guess I'm not a punk ass kid anymore either. So I had to go ahead and create another group.

5.) Me- As far as I could tell, I was the only one in my group. I looked around a lot too. It was kind of weird and lonely. I felt like the guy in I Am Legend. All I needed was a dog and some vampires. I know there are others like me out there, they just weren't at the Casino on the ouskirts of Northern Bumblecrotch, MN. Maybe next time...

Just so you feel better about yourself...

I went to the store yesterday and for the first time in about 20 years I bought a package of Trix cereal for my kids. It made me think back to how easily I was duped by everybody back then. My parents, kids on the bus, TV, this guy Mike that used to come down to the park and play basketball with us until he got arrested for molesting kids at another park, and so on. It made me very thankful that I didn't wind up killing myself out of sheer ignorance before the age of 15. Here are just a few things I believed:

1.) Prizes in cereal boxes- The inspiration for this post. Cereal companies were always giving away stuff. The prize of prizes, at least according to me, was a Sony Walkman. I think it was a tiny handheld TV, but I'm not sure. I thought you could win it by buying Trix, and by that I mean I thought a little tiny TV might actually be IN the cereal box. Nevermind that a little tiny TV would have been the size of a shoe and not fit in a cereal box, I bought pounds and pounds of Trix, and then dumped it all into a big bowl and waited for small electronics to plop out. They never did. Just coupons and occasionally some sort of cereal loving larvae. So then I did what any responsible kid would do. I dumped all the cereal down the vent and told my mom some fat neighborhood kid stole it. There's probably 20 lbs of Trix laying dormant in the ventilation of my parents old house. Really upped the re-sale value.

2.) Slime is Awesome- Everytime I saw commercials for any kind of slime I had to have it. Maybe it was Green Slime from You Can't Do That On Television, or maybe it was Ectoplasm from Ghostbusters, or maybe it was just generic slime in a big bucket. (Side note: I got a big bucket of generic slime for my 9th birthday. It was in a big yellow container that just said "Slime" on it. I'm concerned to think that there was some sleazy slime peddler selling his wares off the back of a truck downtown or something.) Anyhow, slime of any kind, was not awesome. It was all sticky and it would fall on the floor and part of it would get stuck there, and the rest would get all covered in carpet fibers and cat fur, and in about 2 days it just looked diseased. Down into the vent it went.

3.) If you get the wrestling ring, you can have realistic wrestling matches between toy WWF wrestlers- Again, very untrue. I always thought that getting the wrestling ring would mean that the little rubber wrestlers (Superfly Snuka, Hulk Hogan, Andre the Giant, Macho Man Savage, and strangely, Capt. Lou Albano) would somehow take on their own lifeforce and have small scale Battle Royales and I could just sit back and watch. What I found was that the ring was just an impediment to fun because your hands would bounce off the ropes and scrape against the turnbuckles. The only good thing was that you could slingshot the wrestlers way up in the air if you put the ropes in their crotches and pulled them way back (except Capt. Lou, he was made of a harder, heavier rubber.) Where'd the wrestling ring wind up?? Well, in the garbage, because it didn't fit down the vent.

So anyway, I hope to impart all this extremely valuable knowledge on my kids in the hopes that my vents remain filled with nothing but air, and the occasional gerbil.

Chester Stories

Around my family we have a set of tales involving strange things my grandfather did. We call these "Chester Stories." Because he would have turned 99 on saturday, I thought it would be appropriate to come up with a list of my favorite Chester stories. Here is the list.

Chester:

-Got his car stuck perpendicular to the road in Meadowbrook so that the school bus I'm riding on (or any other vehicles) can't get past. When the bus driver tries to intervene, Chester yells at her.
-Drove to the grocery store and accidentally parked on the island so that all 4 tires are somehow dangling in the air.
-Gets a pork chop bone lodged in his throat. Opts for "sleeping it off" instead of "going to the hospital."
Family: But Chester, you have a pork chop bone stuck in your throat!!!
Chester: EHHHHH (waives hand dismissively)
-Loves to eat moldy things because they contain healthful penicillin.
-Screams out answers when it isn't his turn while playing Trivial Pursuit, much to the chagrin of my grandmother
-Says to female collection agency callers, "Thank you for calling Madam, now will you kindly go fuck yourself."
-Has a seeing eye driver. Was legally blind but still drove. My grandmother would work the steering wheel, and you'd hear things like "LEFT CHESTER" "RIGHT CHESTER" and "STOP CHESTER, THERE ARE SCHOOL CHILDREN IN THE ROAD"
-Almost ate Jimmy and Lily, my two chameleons who had died in the winter and were in the freezer because I was waiting for Spring to give them a proper burial, because he thought they were appetizers.
-Ate 1/4 of a stick of butter on a fork because he thought it was a scallop.
-Intended to marry a woman 40 years younger than him but was concerned that her father wouldn't approve of him.
-Frequently let his testicles hang out of his boxer shorts when male company was over. His reasoning? "It's just a guy."
-Erroneously believed that "dry" always equaled "clean", especially when it came to pants. And urine.
-Had to completely lay down to get out of a car. We still don't quite understand the dynamics of that.
-Had toenails that were thicker than tree bark, and harder too.
-Insisted that he be called "Chet" instead of "Grampa" because grampa made him sound old, even though by the time I could say "Chet" he was in his 70's.

And our personal favorite:

-Goes to the doctor. Finds out he has mouth cancer. Shrugs his shoulders and begins to leave. The doctor wants to begin treatment immediately. Chester will have no part of it.
Doctor: But Mr. Jensen, you have mouth cancer!!
Chester: EHHHHHHH. (waives hand dismissively and leaves)

Reasons To Be Named For Your Butt Color

I was at the zoo the other day with the kidlings (I go to the zoo about once a day it seems) and we were looking at all the animals, and we came across somebody called a Red Rumped Agouti. I got to thinking how happy I am that my species is not named for the color of it's butt. How would you like having to go through life knowing that you were a Pink Assed Human, or a Brown Rumped Man? Of course, every girl's crazy for a Brown Rumped Man, but that's beside the point.

Maybe it would have been a good thing though. It would be hard for the racists to be so discriminatory against butt color. Nobody would want to say, "That's the brown butt entrance in the back." It would seem too creepy. Martin Luther King would have wanted us to not judge a person by the color of their butt, but by the content of their butt. The Ku Klux Klan would never have been formed because what kind of a weirdo forms a group based on butt color supremacy.

OK, so in closing, although I am eminently thrilled that I'm not called a Pink Bootied Human, if we were called that the world would be a better place, for you and me.

Picking a Church

I'm really trying, for the benefit of my kids, to find a church to belong to, because my wife wants them to be able to go to Sunday School and go on church retreats and whatnot, which apparently is fun, even though to me it sounds about as enjoyable as watching a clown take a dump. Anyhow, I'm seriously vascillating on what kind of church I want to be a part of. As a man who was raised under the concept that the only thing you do religiously on Sunday is watch the Vikings, this has proven difficult for me. Here's why. Based on my experience, there appear to be two distinct types of churches

1.) Really boring churches

2.) Cults masking themselves as "non-denominational" churches

The really boring churches are your traditional Catholic and Lutheran churches. People dress nicely, they shuffle in every week, there is a boring sermon that tries to relate Jesus' plight to the rising cost of fuel, nobody pays attention to it, there are some hymns, some 16 year old reads bulletin board stuff, everybody does communion which takes forever, you awkwardly shake hands with everyone around you, you say the Lord's prayer and you shuffle out. Not particularly interesting, but you might see somebody you know and maybe he'll give you Twins tickets.

Then you have the cults. In my quest to be less bored at church, I suggested going to one of the many non-denominational churches around the area. I was hoping it was less boring. I was right about that, but be careful what you hope for, because you might just get it. When we first got in we were greeted by a bunch of really friendly people. Almost too friendly. They had no idea whether or not I was a serial child murderer or a Satanist, but I was still their best friend in 30 seconds. I got the feeling that something funny was going on. No matter. We took the kids to the daycare because this church filmed it's services and they apparently don't approve of screaming children drowning out the sermon. Screaming adults are apparently OK though. More on that later. Then we went into the chapel where I got my second funny feeling, like somebody was trying to fool me. They were playing rock music. Guitars and drums and strobelites and such. People were rockin' out in the stands. What concerned me was the lyrics of this rock music. It was just "praise God" over and over. This wasn't rock music, it was chanting. Then the music would get quiet, and some lady who bore a striking resemblance to Marie Osmond would say something like, "God, you are awesome!! You rule!! We are thankful that you love us Punk Ass bitches. You rock out with your cock out God!!" I'm paraphrasing there, but she was using new age lingo to talk to God. Trying to fool me again. Then she goes back to rock/chanting music.

By now, I'm uncomfortable, especially because people around me are raising their hands and shouting praises, like "OH YES GOD!!" It sounded like Skinemax. One guy was shaking and he rolled his eyes back in his head. Yikes. Then the pastor comes out and tells us to give a big round of applause to the rock group which consisted of the band and about 10 singers, and the only thing that pops into my head is which of the singers would I hump if I absolutely had to. (I picked #7 FYI). Then something really creepy makes me look back to see if they'd locked the doors on us. This crazy person comes up to describe what a great time everybody had at the youth camping extravagaza. She says, "2 people gave their souls to God! We had kids writhing and speaking in tongues and everything. It was great!!" I want to leave right now. My fight or flight response begins to kick in so I locate my nearest exit, and begin to plot the fastest way to incapacitate the usher (hard kick to the crotch) so I can escape. I have decided that speaking in tongues would be a decidedly un-great thing to happen to me or anybody on a camping trip.

Mercifully, I began to get sleepy during the sermon, which was about how your house in heaven is 1 square mile big (how does he know that) and it has more rooms in it than you'll ever be able to visit (I just want a pool table and a big TV.)Finally, it's over, after an hour and a half. As we rush to get our children I am nearly certain that they will be wearing white robes and have new names that have numbers in them, and that they'll call me "Former Daddy" or something. Fortunately, they just went to the park.

So the conclusion I've drawn is this: Old school churches may not be exciting, but nobody is going to scream at the Lord, or spew gibberish at me, and my kids will never be renamed Zyrton-13XBL. I guess that's about all I was hoping for in the first place.

P.S. If it turns out that this non denominational crazyfest is actually the "correct" religion, then I retract this entire post.

People are funny looking

You ever notice how many weird looking people there are out there? Hollywood has us bamboozled. They take they best looking people and put them on camera and leave the rest of us odd looking people, and I count myself in the population, to wonder why we're so funny looking. It's bad for ya.

Everywhere I go I see:

People whose asses are 10 sizes too big in proportion to their bodies
People missing fingers (Did you ever notice how many people are missing fingers? A lot)
People with gigantic noses
People with a bunch of fetuses in their stomachs
People whose stomachs stick out like 3 feet but they look normal from the back
People with Alien-shaped heads
People with really stupid clothes
People with gross toes
People with super fat elbows
People with big weird divet-like things in their fat
People who are obviously bald but try to cover it up by being really tall or by wearing a hat.
People who look skinny but when they take off their shirt are very flabby.
People with horrible teeth.
People whose nipples poke out even when it's hot
People who have strange tanlines, like they wore a venetian blind to the beach.
People whose boners poke out always
People who look dead but aren't.
People who look like fat, ugly versions of celebrities
People with too much body hair

This is just a sampling of the weird looking people that I've seen this week, and I include myself in this mix. By just a haircut or not shaving I can look like

-A bouncer at The Lounge
-Somebody who gets caught on "To Catch a Predator"
-A Mexican Dude
-A fatter version of Shaggy from Scooby Doo (Side note: I never saw the resemblance, but a drunk chick in Vegas said that's what I looked like. I took it as a compliment.)

So anyway, we all look weird. Even the super hot girls have weird veins or eczema or crooked boobs or something. So let's embrace it. Also, have you ever noticed how many people look a little bit like horses. It's like 65% of the population. You just want to put a saddle on them. So cheers to all you weird looking people, I hope you get together and have kids that come out looking like Pug Dogs.

GC

He was the best. Leave it at that. You all know who he is. What am I going to watch on HBO now? I saw him 5 times and I was lucky. Thanks for everything you said, even if I thought it was dumb or weird for an old guy. I'll miss you.

Brian

Who to vote for???

I haven't decided who to vote for yet. I don't usually vote along party lines, (unless I'm in a big hurry like I have to get home for the baseball playoffs or if my voting booth is on fire or something), and I'm normally woefully uninformed on the most important issues (once I voted yes on a referendum to euthanize all funny looking people. At least I thought that's what I was voting for.) I usually just vote on stuff based on the mood I'm in that day. But I figure I gotta get serious here and vote for the best presidential candidate since this is the most pivotal election ever, at least that's what I've been told. So I'm starting a list of pros and cons for each candidate that I figure will eventually morph into a blueprint for who I should vote for, and who you should vote for too, considering this list will be filled with brilliant insight and always flawless logic.

Barack Obama:

Pros:
- He seems very smart, much smarter than me. This is always a good thing. I want the people in charge of the really important decisions to be well informed super smart people. It would seem that they'd have a better chance of getting things right than people of average intelligence.
-He turned down public financing. Not only is he smarter than me, he's my moral superior as well. I would be expecting public financing for everything. I'd have a harem of interns someplace on the beach and I'd expect public financing for that too.
-He could beat every other president ever at 1-on-1 basketball, with the possible exception of the tall and lanky Abraham Lincoln. That means a lot to me.

Cons:
-He's either too black or not black enough to be president depending on which roving pack of morons you talk to. And you know that some gang of inbred, moonshine addled hillbillies is going to eventually stop eating possum long enough to try to take him out. We might find out how inherently racist our society still is. I don't know if that's a good thing.
-His name sounds like a terrorist name. I have this very irrational fear that when he gets elected, at his first state of the union address, Osama Bin Laden and John Walker Lindh are going to pop out of a coat closet and the three of them are going to sit there for an hour and laugh at us and I'll have to miss a good portion of Monday Night Football.

John McCain:

Pros:
-Also seems very smart. Disagrees with his party at times. Thinks on his own. Good for him.
-Was a POW for 6 years but still opposes waterboarding. Again, this makes him a better person than me. If I had been a POW for 6 years, forget waterboarding, I'd probably be flat out drowning people for fun.
-Doesn't take any guff from people who make fun of him because he is old. I saw him choke out this college kid once because the kid tried to open a door for him

Cons:
-Is awfully old. It might be a blow to the country's self-esteem if the President's inaugural meal was steak (cut into 4000 tiny pieces) and corn on the cob (cut off the cob and mushed into a fine paste). It's also bad for your country if your President dies of old age on the job.
-Cheated on his wife. Isn't that more of a Democrat thing?
-Can't raise his arms above his head. Harrison Ford would have never defeated the terrorists in Air Force One if he hadn't been able to raise his arms above his head. Stephen Hawking isn't going to become President. I rest my case.

Anybody Else:

Pros:
-You can smugly show your friends how well informed you are because you voted for the best candidate out there. Or you can be one of the average 25,000 weirdos who vote for Mickey Mouse each election. Or you can vote for your stoner buddy Charlie and then go tell him and he might, like, give you some pot.

Cons:
-Your candidate is not going to win.

Wow, what a great list.