It All Comes Back To The Simpsons

Saturday, April 30, 2005

"Geese Can Be Troublesome"

"Help, I am being held prisoner in a fortune cookie factory."
"You will not be able to comment on blogger today."
"Cat vomit hides in your house."
"Gas prices will go up a lot, down a little, then up again".
"A vending machine will piss you off today".
"Spandex is not your friend".
"You will be aroused by a shampoo commercial."

These are all fortunes I came up with myself (with the exception of the first one, which I got to hear every single time my family went to a chinese restaurant when I was a kid and my father read his fortune aloud. Seriously, dad, enough already). I think I could carve out a meager existence at that trade. Too bad they're sending all the jobs overseas. That's a good trade off: we send our jobs to China, they send us the flu...

Even though they are creatures of death, disease and pestilence, I very much enjoy geese. I get to see (and hear) a lot of them in my town. We have flocks that return every year to a little pond right by our house. I love the sound of a formation of geese coming down over our house, preparing to land on the water. You can hear all the beating wings and wooshing air and everything.

I commented to my hot wife that whenever I see a flock walking around on the ground, I like to pretend they're little dinosaurs. She does the same thing! Whoa, we have a lot in common, we're both weird. Anyone else do that?

Apparently, geese are as troublesome on the golf course as they are on the immune system, leaving their waste anywhere, like common animals. Upset golfers have been known to club them in an act of "Links Rage" (aka "Putter's Despair")...losers. What do they expect when they build these courses on acres of land, usually with streams and ponds worked into the course?

My major problem is with people who are troublesome. I'm not a golfer, but I did golf a few times as a kid and I actually saw PEOPLE going to the bathroom on the edge of the woods, more or less in plain view. That's a bit more upsetting, I would think, than goose poop. Not to mention the cigarette butts and empty cans and bottles and scorecards and stubby little pencils and packaging for items bought at the pro shop and countless other cast off detritus that litter almost every hole of the countless, prolifically spreading golf courses that comsume the previously pristine habitats of geese, herons, deer, and feral cats.

Ooh, here's another fortune: "Your ancestry will prevent your joining of a prestigious country club".

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

"Since When Are Public Figures Fair Game For Satire?"

I have been meaning to post on this topic for quite a while now, ever since I read this post (linked in title above) about Sen. Rick Santorum bringing home a dead fetus, which, hopefully, the Senator had the decorum to not name "Bernie", to cuddle with the rest of his family. Reaction to the post ranged from disbelief that someone would bring a dead fetus home, to outrage that the author of the post would make light of such a tragic event, to an overall generally creepy feeling (shudder). I would like to link you to these comments, as well, but I have a mac, so I am not offered a link button. I suppose I could change browsers and see if that helped, or even learn the code to put links in manually, but I am not sufficently irritated by the situation you'll have to do some digging if you want to find the comments. Anyway...

Yes, I suppose it is uncompassionate to make light of a situation like the Senators, but isn't it kind of creepy to cuddle with a dead fetus? Well, isn't it? What would we be thinking if his wife died and he brought her corpse home too? I think that it's not the showing the fetus to his/her/its potential siblings that was so weird, it was the bring home and cuddling and, oh yeah, making it public that was creepy.

I'm not one to pass judgement on the proper way to grieve...oh, what the hell, it's so easy, so why shouldn't I? As a person in the limelight (what the hell is limelight? Sounds like a blight that befalls citrus fruits), people notice when you act weird. And when you take a tragedy and try to turn it into a political statement...which is what the whole thing looks like to me, like a "Fuck you, liberals, look how sad I am, how can you say to a man in such grief that this isn't a human baby, how could you say it's ok to kill my baby?!?" I'm sure there was very genuine grief that he felt, but, as a politician, he knows an opening when he sees one. Why else make it so tastelessly public?

Maybe, as South Park rules state, it's not funny yet because it happened ten years ago, and needs another ten years to mature to jesting freshness. The humor in the Senators actions is really no different than the humor in South Park's "The John Denver Experience" ride, which was hilarious! When inappropriateness reaches a certain level of ridiculousness, tragedy become tramedy (comedic tragedy). Sorry, that's just the way it is.

So I suppose there is a downside to wealth, fame and seemingly limitless power. Those poor, poor obscenely rich people...who will look out for them? When's gonna be their time?!?

Sunday, April 24, 2005

"Urinal Cake Eroding...Eroding...Eroding...Gone!"

This post is germane to nothing, really, and is probably not even funny to anyone other than me...

A while ago I was watching my Simpsons season 4 dvds. I was watching the episode where Homer becomes union president and is brought to Mr. Burns' mansion for a meeting (Last Exit To Springfield). I was a little under the weather so I was cuddled up on our "harem couch", as we call it in our home (seriously, it's huge, you could have a fully catered orgy on it), with my dog laying on top of me, tv and dvd remotes right by my side, along with a box of kleenex and a bottle of gatorade (to help hydrate me due to my flu-ish state). I was as comfortable as I'd been in a long time...except I sorta had to pee. When Burns started to give the tour of his mansion, I rememebered what was coming, but hoped if I just didn't think about it, I would be ok, but I was so wrong. Imagine drinking around 56 oz. of gatorade within the past hour, having a wriggly dog on your bladder, and then having to listen to this:

Homer: Oh man, I really need to go to the bathroom. Why did I have all that beer and coffee and watermelon?

Burns: Now Homer, I know what you're thinking, and I want to take the pressure off. It doesn't take a whiz to see that you're looking out for number one. Well, listen to me and you'll make a big splash very soon.

I forgot to mention that throughout this monologue, you see Smithers pouring a cup of coffee, which Burns jostles, causing a little spill, all the while you see and hear a leaky pipe dripping in the background. I guess it was one of those life imitating art things. Almost a religious experience for one with The Simpsons.

Speaking of what I'm speaking of, a while back I decided to always sit down on the toilet in order to preemptively stop the constant battle between seat up/seat down in our home, and I must tell the men out there something...the whole thing is a sham designed by women to control you. For years I have been doing this, and I have never fallen in the toilet because the seat was up (my son still pees standing...I couldn't tell him to pee standing down, that would be against nature. I'm just doing it to prove a point), and I have never sat on sprinkles of pee left on the seat from the previous user. You want to know how I managed to avoid these pitfalls women are always complaining about? Because I look before I sit. I realize how unpleasant it would be to fall into a toilet or sit in another persons urine, so I take half a second and check out the situation. Only spoiled little princesses who expect to be waited on hand and foot would demand such extravagance (except my wife, who I am slowly convincing of my wisdom of the subject (I think(either that or she's just humoring me))). So don't believe the slanderous lies that are being spread about how awful we make things by leaving the seat up. Look for my forthcoming articles in the New England Journal of Medicine and Piss Enthusiast Magazine as sources to quote from the next time this debate hits your household.

Damn it! I have to sign off now unexpectedly for no reason.

By the way, in case you heard otherwise, I made it to the bathroom just fine, thank you.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

"Whoa, What Am I Smoking? Oh Yeah...Pot."

Happy 4/20 everybody! To answer your questions: No, I'm not a stoner, and yes, I have partaken in the much maligned vegetation. Marijuana is a much misunderstood, many splendored thing, evoking poorly thought out, knee-jerk reactions at its' very mention. Any serious debate on the subject is nearly impossible, with various unfounded suspicions bestowed upon those of us who would dare to argue for it's legalization, or at the very least it's decriminalization. The irrational "arguements" against it are like nothing ever seen in our country before...before 9/11. Now the "war on terror" has joined the "war on drugs" in the field of declaring wars on inanimate conceptions, wars with no real end-game to them. How does one win wars on these things? In a real war, such as WWII, this was a fairly easy question to answer; the unconditional surrender of the Axis Powers. Even the Cold War had end-game. But drugs certainly aren't going to surrender unconditionally to our government. Is it wise to start a war with no conceivable end to it?

I guess I wouldn't mind the illegalization of weed if only there was some sort of rationality to it. But I have yet to hear an arguement in support of outlawing marijuana that wouldn't also condemn either alcohol or tobacco to the same fate. And really, if the idea is to make society safer, then leagalizing marijuana and criminalizing alcohol would be the way to go. I think we tried making alcohol illegal did that work out again? Alcoholics often become violent and awkwardly sexual harrassing, potheads generally will eat a whole pizza by themselves and watch Half-Baked for the 75th time. Who's the bigger blight on society?

One arguement is that pot is a "gateway drug" and that it leads to harder drugs. Then wouldn't either (or both) alcohol and tobacco be the real gateway drugs? I know of no one who's smoked pot without trying at least one of these two. I do think that pot is a gateway drug in one brings those who try this ubiquitous and innocuous drug into the so-called black market society, where they are exposed to things which are much more dangerous to them (harder drugs, prostitution, gangs, etc.). I say innocuous because it is about as harmful as other, legal drugs which are accepted in society at large, and ubiquitous because it is referred (no pun intended) to countless times every day on radio and tv in a joking or lighthearted manner. Seriously, I could have chosen from scores of quotes to title this post. And, by the way, I am most impressed with myself, as I spelled ubiquitous and innocuous correctly on my first attempt.

Another arguement is that legalizing pot would be like saying the government is telling the children that it approves of smoking weed. Oh, so I suppose that means the government also approves of kids smoking and drinking too. They must, because alcohol and tobacco are legal. Smoke 'em if you got 'em, junior!

Another arguement is that smoking marijuana is bad for your health. Ditto smoking, drinking, eating fast food, etc. Marijuana kills brain do tobacco, alcohol and watching tv. I repeat, there is no arguement against pot that can't be applied to other, legal drugs. Come on, give me one. I dare you!

I could go on forever on this subject, and often do, because nothing pisses me off like double standards, especially ones that, when addressed, invariably end up with one side (mine) giving open minded and thoughtful debate (if I do say so myself), and the other side resorting to name calling, unwilling to listen to any arguement or reasoning. "Oh, you're just a stoner probably," they always say. "Oh, you're a complete ignoramus, but I'm still willing to present my arguement, if only you'd listen," I always reply.

I suppose there is something that pisses me off like double standards do, and that's these dumbass stoners who undermine the cause every time they open their mouths. The problem with the issue of pot, like it is with so many other issues (like sex, public education, underage drinking), isn't pot itself (or sex, public education, underage drinking), but stupid people. There are simply too many of them, drifting around without a thought in their head, unwilling or unable to examine who they are, what they stand for and why. They are the ones who should not be allowed to smoke pot, or drink, or even breed for that matter. They need to be isolated and studied, so it can be determined what nutrients we can extract from them for our use...but I digress.

And another thing, just because you've smoked pot, that doesn't make you stupid. Carl Sagan did, and that guy be hella-smart, even if he couldn't pronounce 'billions'. Why, even George W...ok, bad example, but the arguement still stands (sorry, I just couldn't help myself. He just makes it so damn easy).

P.S. What does 420 mean exactly? I've heard it refers (again, no pun intended) to police code, and I've heard it refers (ok, there, I intended that one) to a proposition regarding marijuana, and I'm sure there's some other theories I haven't heard of. Any clues?

Monday, April 18, 2005

"While I'm At It, Why Don't I Just Change My Name Back To Hitler?"

Ok, Ok, maybe Bobby Fischer was never named Hitler, but it might be a little hard to tell them apart these days. Apparently, "those dirty Jews" are out to get him, especially, the "Jew-controlled United States", an idea which is patently rediculous, because you can't get much less Jewish than Dubya.

The sad thing is, no matter how vile his remarks are, you have to feel sorry for the guy. He's yet another example of what can happen when the pressure that goes along with fame overwhelms a young person with no ability to put it in perspective. He was incapable of dealing with the reality of the pressure and stress, that he created his own personal reality...really just a place to shelter himself from all the chaos going on around him. Same deal with Michael Jackson. Even if he did molest those little kids (which he probably did), he seems to live in a world so divorced from reality, that a trip to the mental hospital is more in order than a jail sentence.

Both these guys, Bobby and Michael, are just whacked. Would society really be best served by locking them away in jail? They'll still be just as crazy (or even more so) when they get out. I guess this kind of gets us to my main question: What is the purpose of justice; to punish or to reform? Which serves us better as a society? Maybe we all need to ask ourselvs, WWHD...What Would Hitler Do? Then maybe try to steer away from that answer. Don't blame all your problems on the Jews, allow free speech and dissent, even at political events, don't have our armed forces goose-step, as that looks stupid, etc.

Speaking of divorcing oneself from reality, I have a point of contention with the President. I swear I try to give him the benefit of the doubt, but the shennanigans have gone on long enough. I'm referring to these staged political events he has, where people are pre-screened and pre-approved to attend, and they are coached as to what "spontaneous questions" to ask. I swear this guy might honestly have no idea that about half of the country hates him. It seems it's impossible to get an audience with the man unless you agree with everything he does. Ok, we get it, you like attention and want to be the hero. Oh well...that's our Bush.

Divorce is always an ugly thing, full of pain and bitter recriminations. Let's hope Bobby, Michael and George can find away to repair the damage that was done in the past, and if they can't live happily ever after with reality, at least they can be on speaking terms. What would Hitler say to this suggestion? Hell if I know, but most likely, Nine!

P.S. Before anyone gets on me about it, I'm not comparing Bush to Hitler, at least not any more than I'm comparing Michael Jackson to Hitler. I even got the link in the post title from a conservative paper (If the link shows up as a blank page, just scroll's there. Promise.). Say it with me (with your arms stuck straight out in front of you, all Zombie-like)..."Fair and Balanced, Fair and Balanced, Fair and Balanced..."

Friday, April 15, 2005

"Think Unsexy Thoughs, Think Unsexy Thoughts, Think Unsexy Thoughts."

Ah, there's nothing like the feeling you get after receiving a clean bill of health. Last Tuesday I got my first physical in probably a decade. And I didn't even realize I was going to get doctor tricked me. I went in to get an opinion on getting a couple of moles removed (as mentioned in my previous post) and afterwards, as I was setting up my appointment for the removal, I got handed two appointment reminders instead of just one.

"Why two?" I asked.

"One is for the mole removal and the other is for a physical...our records show you haven't had one in a while."

So, ok, I'll get a physical, no big deal.

So I go back into the doctor's office a few days later to receive said physical. As I settle down into a waiting room chair, something occurs to me. Physical, I'm thinking, what all is included in a physical? Then those five words hit me: Turn Your Head And Cough! Uh-oh.

How embarrassing. You see, my doctor is a woman (and fairly attractive), and in the past, I'd always gotten a physical from a male (and ugly) doctor. I'm not sure why I'm more comfortable with a man doing the procedure than a woman, and frankly I don't care to examine the subject too closely. I just figured our relationship would be more awkward after she examined my junk. What with my being nervous, plus the fact that it was frickin' freezing in there, I was not present in all my glory.

Then I recalled an episode of ER I saw a few years ago, where a man is being examined by a female doctor and he gets an erection. Oh my god, what if that happens to me?!? That would be infinitely more embarrassing. And I, like probably every guy, have little to no control of the goings on down there. It does what it wants when it wants, despite our vigorous objections. Of course, we can make sure it doesn't find it's way into places it doesn't belong, but we can't control it's whims. My only option was to repeat, mantra-like, the title of this post, and hope things stayed calm downstairs. A good unsexy though for me is the Joe Theisman broken leg. If you've seen that, I'm sure you'll agree, and if you haven't, I wholeheartedly recommend you steer clear of it. It is exceeded in it's disgustingness only by it's disturbingness. Plus the screams...I can still hear the screams of that poor guy as clear as a bell. A+ boner killer.

So, of course, for the first time ever that I enter this always crowded waiting room, I'm the first one called in. The nurse takes me into an exam room, takes my blood pressure and temperature and such, then leaves, saying, "The doctor will be with you shortly." As I sit on the exam table to wait, I discover an unsexy thought...on the counter I see a tube of what is labeled as "surgical lube"'s never been there before. Oh Jesus, what age do they start the prostate exam? Surely I'm too young for that...aren't I? OK, the things I was worried about before would have been very embarrassing for me, but if what is running through my head right now were to transpire, I think I would have to cut off ties with this doctor completely, which is really a shame, because she's such a good doctor. But, if fate put her finger up my ass, what choice would I have?

I am happy to report that all my fears regarding this examination were unfounded. There was no "Turn Your Head And Cough" moment, just a pamphlet on testicle self-exam. Like they really need to instruct guys to put their hands down there.

P.S. For some reason, when my blog comes up on my mac, the god-checker is screwy, but it comes up fine on a pc...I will try to fix this and apologize for any diety related problems. I would also like to beg for forgiveness from the particular gods whose day in the spotlight is ruined by this problem. Please don't flood my home or destroy all my crops. Thank you.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

"Rap Music Encourages Violence, Boastfulness And The Disrespecting Of Hoes"

As I sat down to write this post, a few nagging questions kept bugging me: How is 'hoes' spelled? Is it 'hos'? Is there an apostrophe, as in 'ho's'? And is the quote above correct? It's from a new episode, and I can't find the quote anywhere online. Oh well, not important...

The subject of this post is Gwen Stefani. I really like her new song, "Holla Back Girl". (I think that's what it's called, I'm not too sure about the accuracy of anything I'm writing here,sorry). Except for that, "This shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S" part; that is lame. (Another nagging question: how come when white people rap it ends up sounding like Queen?)

I am all for empowerment of women, and it's a free country and all, but have you seen the way she's dressing lately? It's like her wardrobe is composed of the stuff that Paris Hilton rejects. (Ugh-I feel all dirty...I solemnly promise to never, NEVER mention that hose-beast again.) Anyway, the whole reason I liked Gwen is I thought "I'm Just A Girl" was such a brilliant song, and I would always laugh at guys who focused on how hot she was like a little inside joke between me and her. What happened, Gwen? I thought we had something good there!

I've finally given in an done some actual research (and, by the way, "Holla Back Girl" is the correct title) and some reviews called her new(ish) album Love, Angel, Music, Baby (L.A.M.B., it'n it cute?) "trashy [and] hedonistic" (Rolling Stone) and "one of the most audacious pop albums of the year" (Uncut)...and those were the positive ones. I guess I'm just worried that she's going more for style than substance. I'm worried she'll be one of those singers who lose 'IT' after leaving the band that made them famous. But, more than anything, I'm worried I need to do more research.

Damn! I knew research was a bad idea...I came across this image on google (click link in title). I pray that those are just padding. At least she left her nose alone. Why must people fall off my pedestals? I've always hated those extreme makeover shows where people get plastic surgery to feel better about themselves. Ahh...but I'm such a hypocrite...

Last week I had two moles removed from the back of my neck. They would always get painfully scraped by the barber's comb, and I guess I've always been a little self-conscious of them. I can't help but feel a little more shallow than I did a couple weeks ago (See?!? Fixing the outside won't fix your inside problems). I guess I shouldn't judge Gwen's motivations too harshly. But I'm still worried her music will start to suck if she doesn't get the band back together. That should be her not suck. It's mine, whenever I want it to be.

Sunday, April 10, 2005

"Why Can't People See How We Live...Are We So Vain?!?"

When I was a kid, and I had to help clean up the house because company was coming over, my thoughts were generally best expressed by the quote above. I mean, if the people coming over were really our friends, would they be so superficial as to judge us based upon how clean our house is? Aren't we really just the unwitting pawns in the epic corporate battle between Clorox and Borax? Can't we break these chains of bondage and live truly free, if somewhat messy? My arguements fell upon the deaf ears of my father, who, obviously, is totally under the thumb of Mr. Clean.

I bring up my distain for tidying up the house because the parents are coming to visit on tomorrow. That means spring cleaning, or, more accurately, take all the mess that's been laying around the house over the winter and make a mess of it somewhere much more discreet. I suppose it's not that big a deal, the weather's kind of crappy today.

We've noticed an odd phenomenon in our house. Every time we get a new cabinet or put up new shelves or even just put a large garbage can at the end of our dining room table and, with one big arm sweep, clear the several weeks worth of junk mail, soda cans, and who knows what else into it, the newly opened available space is quickly taken up again by new junk (read it again, it's a legitimate, grammatically correct sentence). Sisyphus, I feel your pain! It's like there's gremlins that will bring things out of the woodwork to scatter across our house at the first sign of any progress in cleaning (I like to blame things on gremlins. They make messes, give me bad advice, never throw away the garbage I leave lying around, and only I can see them).

My hot wife and I have discussed many times how we've too much junk and need to be more cavalier about tossing useless items in the dustbin or giving them away to someone who will actually use them, and it's a fantastic theory. Inevitably, however, after we toss out the single mitten that hasn't seen it's mate in years, those damn gremlins plant it in a dresser drawer or between the couch cushions the next day. It's maddening, and I've just come up with a new legitimatization from being such a's not that I'm not willing to part with so much useless junk, it's just that I'm not going to give those gremlins the satisfaction. I knew I shouldn't have let them eat after midnight...

Thursday, April 07, 2005

"Maybe We Should Help..."

The quote above contains the only words ever said by the Buddha Shakyamuni on The Simpsons.

Happy Vesak, everybody! Around 2500 years ago today, a boy was born who would grow up to be the round mound of embodied Enlightenment. Born a wealthy prince who never wanted for anything, he cast aside his old life (including a wife and child) to search for enlightenment. After spending years roaming the countryside searching for wise men to teach him, he realized that just about anyone claiming to be a wise man is pretty much full of shit, and so he decided to just sit under a tree and figure things out for himself. And he did. So there.

It seems like all of our religious superheroes have rejected the world of material possessions and said how nice it would be if we got over ourselves and were nice to each other. They realized that to chase after money and power was just asking to be lead around by the nose from one empty pursuit to another. They realized that possessions can be weights that hold us down rather than tools to help us life easier lives (have you noticed that with every time saving device that gets invented, we are just expected to do more stuff with the time we've saved?). And they realized that pretty much no one would listen to them, but, to their credit, they kept on talking anyway. They realized that every time they suggested that we help someone, there was Spongebob Squarepants saying, "Screw 'em!!!" and laughing maniacally. By the way, Jesus and Buddha don't care wether or not Spongebob's gay, so maybe you shouldn't either.

I suppose I like Buddhism because it is a religion of no-religion. Doubt and critical examination of your mind is not only encouraged, but is really the only way to attain enlightenment. I read somewhere (link in title above) that many Christians believe that they can get into heaven through good works, and some believe that they get into heaven through proper beliefs alone (our President is among the latter group). This "belief only" group (I know there are proper terms for both groups but I can't remember them) seems to me the antithesis of what religion should be. If you do not question and doubt and seek answers, both within yourself and in the world at large, you really stop developing spiritually. That's what I've found to be true, anyway.

I also like the fact that when the Dali Lama dies, we won't be hearing about it forever, like with some religious leaders.

Well, I've got to go now, so go out in the world and wish everyone a Happy Vesak. You just gotta love those blank stares you get back. At least now you've got them thinking.

"Flames, Searing Pain, A Black Cat...This Must Be Heaven!"

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)High
Level 2 (Lustful)High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)Very Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)High
Level 7 (Violent)Moderate
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)Moderate

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

All in all, this sounds pretty cozy, as far as Hell goes. A gated community, no screams, only doleful sighs, hanging with chicks that look like Medusa. And The City of Dis...that just sounds so cool! Being a Heretic is so much more hard-assed than being Gloomy. Can you really go to Hell for being gloomy? Jeez, they'll let anyone in these days.

Goodbye, Springfield! From Hell's dark heart, I stab at thee!!!

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

"Professional Athletes...Always Wanting More."

Despite having the richest deal in NFL history, quarterback Mike Vick, of the Atlanta (worst sports city in the USA) Falcons may have trouble getting more. Getting any at all may prove a challenge after allegations have surfaced that he has herpes simplex-2. The allegation was made in a lawsuit for negligence and battery that he knowingly passed the highly embarrassing virus to evidently naƮve woman.

Now, I generally don't enjoy dragging people's good names through the mud with only allegations to back me up, but his actions, if the allegations are true, are criminally retarded. According to the lawsuit, Vick said he knew he had the herpes when he had sex with the woman, but didn't tell her because he didn't know how to bring it up, and it was not something he liked to talk about anyway.

As mystifyingly knuckleheaded as Vick's alleged statements is the woman's decision to have sex with a man who could have, potentially, had sexual encounters with as many women as 1,000 average men combined. And, for God's sake, she's a health care worker?!? Was she sick on STD day at health care school?

The good news for her is, judging from the glut of herpes-related commercials I have to sit through, this is a good time to have herpes. Those outbreaks shouldn't get in the way of her next kayaking or mountain climbing trip, which, if I am to believe the ads, are common herpes-sufferer activities. I'm not sure about football, though.

Monday, April 04, 2005

"I Am Not Delightfully Saucy."

A few days ago, I had a small lapse in judgement, and while contributing a comment to the Shannonosphere (link on title above), I insulted a fellow poster, which,Shannon, I now realize was wrong. You see, this poster had left a comment that sort of reminded me of "jock humor", which I, unfortunately, have had to listen to more than my fair share of. I guess his comment seemed kind of tired to me, so I left a comment saying that he wasn't so much a hack as someone who steals material, which in itself is an inside joke, as I stole that line from Ben Affleck (of all people!). Then I find out this dude was on NPR recently. I didn't catch his apperance, but hopefully he steered clear of the sex with braindead people/leaders of worldwide religions subject. Seriously though, Jason, congrats, and I hope this is all water under the bridge.

So here it is, Shannon, per your order:
I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonsphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonsphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonsphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonsphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonsphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonsphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonsphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonsphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonsphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonosphere. I will not insult other bloggers in the Shannonsphere.

Thank god for cut and paste technology.

I just realised that back when I was in school and we were being taught to compose essays, we literally had to cut our sentences from our paper and paste them onto another sheet to find the most appropriate order. That sucked so much! I just realised I'm old. I'm going to bed.

Sunday, April 03, 2005

"This Is The First Time I've Ever Been Early For Work, Except For All Those Daylight Savings Days...Lousy Farmers!"

There are many awkward, unpleasant feelings in life, and I experienced two of them within ten minutes last night. What follows is a true, universally significant, and probably somewhat boring account.

I fear I was abducted by aliens last night... I woke up at 4:05 am, tried to guage if my bladder still had another few hours left in it, and kind of dozed off. I had a dream I was in high school, looking for a bathroom. Finally I found one and I proceeded to go to the urinal to relieve myself. I remember in the dream this took a long time, I remember thinking, "Wow, I can't believe I've been peeing this long, this is probably the most I've ever peed," all the while waves of various levels of relief are coursing through me...then I wake up.

There is nothing quite like the shame and humiliation a grown man or woman feels upon waking up and realising there is a distinct possiblity that he or she was wet the bed. In fact, that term 'wet the bed' doesn't carry the true weight of the situation; 'pissed all over myself and the bed linens and the mattress and oh my, possibly my spouse!' is more like it.

So as I lay there, paralysed by the implictaions running through my mind, I was able to pull myself together and make a tentative first move. When you're just lying there motionless you can't really feel anything, because, you know, your whole conscious experience in many hours is in this one position. You don't have any other sensations to judge the current sensations you're feeling against. So, I make the first tentative move and,...whew! No noticible change in temperature, texture or moisture(or lack thereof). As I make my way out of bed, I glance at the clock and notice that it's 4:12.

So I enter the bathroom and switch on the light, which is extemely bright. As I now look back on this experience, I realise that this must be the moment when the aliens got me. All the energy in my brain gets shifted from whatever its' doing to dealing with the sudden change in the amount of light entering my eyes. I see the light!.....It burns!!!

I won't go into the detail of what transpired in the bathroom, but suffice it to say it was nothing of any interest to any of you, I would hope. As I walk out of the bathroom I glance into the living room and I notice the clock on the cable box...and it says 5:16!!! What the hell, right? God damn aliens with their big eyes and fancy teleporters and no green cards.

Then I remembered a conversation I was having with my hot wife last day (that's right, last day. It's not yesternight) that went a little something like this:

My Hot Wife: Is daylight savings coming up?

Sideshow Bob: I don't know...I think so.

And it was kind of left right there.

Which brings us back, segueless, to my noticing the clock in the living room. You know that experience; the WTF?!? sensation that comes over your brain when reality just doesn't mesh with your current observations. Then I rememebered...daylight savings, my least favorite day. I don't want to wake up in a world where the government can take away an hour of my hard earned sleep. I'm yawning right now, damnit!

Bob, furiously, out!

Saturday, April 02, 2005

"You Know It's Going To Be Bad, But You Just Can't Prepare Yourself."

Oh boy, here we go we're fighting over where to bury Terri. I just wonder how many exhumations her corpse will have to endure. Why not just mummify her and put her in a traveling show? I think Barnum and Bailey have winter headquarters down in Florida. They could cart her around the south and charge two bits a gander.

Oooh, maybe she could be in Epcot Center. They've had trouble getting visitors lately..."In the world of tomorrow, scientists will have found a way to keep your barely animated psuedo-corpse brain stem functioning at bare minimum levels into perpetuity." Wow, what an age we live in. But I personally think that the future The Matrix depicted would have lost a lot of its' intrigue if protesters had been in the movie saying, "Sure, they're basically shells of human beings, kept alive by machines, unable to think or act for themselves, but who are we to say that that's not an enriching, fulfilling life?"

They were "reporting" on Fox News that Terri had slipped into her "condition" (not PVS...Fox News, you never disappoint) because she suffered a heart attack due to a chemical imbalance....failing to mention the fact that the reason for the chemical imbalance was her severe case of bulemia. Oh, I forgot, we can't criticize her because the Republicans have now claimed her as their own. If you pull the plug, the t'rrists (that's terrorists, for those of you who actually have a rudimentary grasp on the English language) win. At least she's brain dead... what's your excuse for voting for W?

I was wondering, given the incredible overreaction in this country regarding this Terri lady, what the reaction would be if the pope slipped into one of these PVS's for 15 years or so? Italy would be fucked, that's for sure. But every Easter and Christmas they could roll him out so the crowd could see him, his head wobbling majestically, mouth agape, eyes glazed inspirational. And what's your view on gay marriage, Your Holiness? Ahh, he blinked...that means he's agin' it. And who knows more about marriage than a celibate Italian weirdo. I'm sorry, that wasn't fair...he's Polish.

And if the pope really trusts in God so much, what's the deal with the bullet-proof Popemobile? I'm just saying that Jesus didn't have a Jesus-mobile, that's all. Although, I suppose he probably could have used one.