Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Second, Third, and Fourth Thoughts

Why is the bag of peanut M&Ms in the vending machine the same price as the plain? Are they just giving away free peanuts?

They have hate crimes. Is there a name for crime you commit on someone you just kind of dislike?

Will the show ‘LOST’ ever release lost episodes? If so what will they be called so you don’t think they are really just some extra episodes that weren’t misplaced after all?

Is it considered safe sex if two bank employees sneak off to the vault to screw without a condom?

Why did they have a standing ovation for Stevie Wonder at this years Grammy’s? They should have just cheered extra loud that way he could appreciate the tribute too.

I like porn as much as the next guy, if that next guy happens to be Ron Jeremy

You can be in the medical or legal field, or you can be in the political arena. Do we hate lawyers and doctors more than politicians so they must be kept outside?

If your yearly physical reveals nothing remarkable is it right to ask the doctor for your medical records?

Why are model airplanes more expensive than the same size plane already assembled? If anything we should get a rebate for all our hard work.

If a graffiti artist defaces a screen in a movie theater, could he be considered a screen writer?

When you tell a joke and a person says “that’s funny” instead of laughing, they really should just say; “that’s not funny”

Do you think the person who first coined the named “Princess Di” was a psychic?

The cyclist on the narrow road is in less danger than the person hit head on by the driver who over exaggerates the avoidance of the cyclist by veering into the other lane

Is it possible to have sex with a woman during her period with no strings attached?

How do our dogs know exactly which neighbor will be the most pissed off before he decides where to shit?

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Tissue

I can think of only one thing I like more than a near naked hottie on the cover of a magazine. That would be a fully naked hottie on the cover of a magazine. Beyonce Knowles made history for being the only non-athlete or non-model on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue for 2007. For six bucks you get to see girls in bikinis photographed in locations all over the world. The girls are smoking hot, the photographs are well done and that’s about it, really.

An important fact to always consider when discussing the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue is that the same girl posing seductively with the fire hose between her legs on page sixty-three wouldn’t so much as piss you out if you were engulfed in flames by her feet. By virtue of her appearance in the magazine she has now reached untouchable status. Not that the odds were exactly in your favor before the layout either. Unless you are multi-millionaire you ain’t ever going to get to see her shed that leopard skin bikini.

In 2007 we have reality, we don’t need fantasy, and there is more and more hardcore reality available with each passing year. The SI issue is pure fantasy, with the emphasis on the word PURE. It was cool to look at when I was twelve and there was no internet.

But today, it’s impossible to log onto your email without a pop-up ad of some hottie or three, totally nude inviting you “click here”. As a kid it would take a few hours of checking my father’s many hiding spots before I laid eyes on that much poontang, but now it’s right in my face and it didn’t cost a dime. How the hell can SI compete with that?. Beyonce in a bikini is not going to do it. Especially since baby didn’t show any back up in that issue!

SI sells a ton of swimsuit issues each year, in fact they took in a staggering $35 million in ad revenue this year. To me the reason is simple; it’s a safe and non-threatening.

The goofy six o’clock news anchor can talk about it and not sound like a total pervert. “Did you see the lovely coconuts on page sixteen; I meant the ones in the trees from the shots in Maui” Guffaw-guffaw. Yuk-yuk, TGIF,wink-wink.

Leno and Letterman can include the SI issue in their monologues and not offend Middle America. Hey Jay and Dave, strap on a set and try doing that with the annual hottest biker chicks from “Beaver Hunt”!!

Regis and Kelly can hold up the magazine cover and talk about how nice and classy Beyonce looks in those lovely photos as Regis swigs his water to chase the ninety milligrams of Cialis he just popped.

‘The View’ gals can pass it around and discuss it’s popularity and say how they just don’t get it, then try to pry it away from Rosie’s meaty mitts.

All this undeserving publicity surrounding the magazine is a big reason for its continued success.

Typically, you have three groups who buy the magazine:

First and foremost is the collector, he is some creepy 40-something who is living with his mother. He claims he’s still at home to take care of mom, she prays every night with every fiber of her being that “he will just go the hell away for the love of God”. He has every single issue and commemorates his personal favorites by sealing the covers with his own DNA. The 1980 Christie Brinkley issue resembles the aftermath of a wax candle destroyed by a blow torch.

The second group is the high school kid too young to go to the tittie bars and shut out from online porn by their mother’s “strict filtering” abilities and her frequent password changes. In addition to his mad masturbation skills this kid is also a sport’s junky so he also justifies the purchase because he wants to read about the upcoming baseball season and NBA all-star weekend.

The third group is the bored housewives who religiously watch daytime TV talk shows and want to understand what the fuss is about; they pick up the issue along with the newest Janet Evanovich for next month’s book club. Then proceed to splash the magazine open and badger their husbands with ridiculous questions like; “Would you cheat on me with her”? You think which one is she talking about, is this multiple choice?

So, you see the SI swimsuit issue really serves no purpose to the normal well adjusted red blooded American male. No sex and nudity(which are mutual inclusive so I didn’t need to write both words but I really like to write both), and not enough time given to sports because all those classy pictures eating up valuable sports reporting space.

So, my streak of not buying the SI swimsuit continues in 2007, but if there are any blooper photos of Beyonce losing that bikini top on the internet, I hope you holla at me.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Shot through the Heart and You’re to Blame

Valentine’s Day always conjures up images of past relationships both good and bad. I recall the times I broke it off and the more painful times those selfish whoring bitches broke it off… not that I’m bitter or anything.

When I ended a relationship it was always done in the most humane of ways. Like when you find out your fourteen year old beloved Cocker Spaniel “Sparky” has arthritis throughout his body and the Vet tells you there is nothing more he can do and he must be put down. It’s very painful to you at the time but in the end you realize he suffered long enough and it’s the right thing to do. After two weeks of grieving you realize you need to move on. You may have Sparky cremated and you may keep the urn close to you as a reminder of how much you loved him. You may go out and get another dog, possibly a Cocker Spaniel. Maybe it’s just too painful to get the same breed so you buy a Golden Lab instead.

In every relationship that I ended I tried to be a compassionate as the Vet was the day he sent Sparky off to chase that great big milk bone in the sky. In some cases the girl was very understanding; she realized it wasn’t working for her either. She said she would have pulled the trigger on it if I hadn’t done it first and then I didn't feel as bad.

Once in a while you’ll have the teary break-up. She tells you that her heart is broken and she cries, screams, then kicks you square in the hairy beanbag and says all guys are the same. This time you do feel bad both mentally and physically.

The times that I got dumped; which are too numerous to count, always stung the worst. They were never simple I think “we’ve grown apart” conversations. They sort of went more like this:

HER: I have something to tell you
ME: Okay what is it, you can tell me anything

HER: I’m pregnant (crying)
ME: Don’t cry, it’s okay we are in love. A baby is a beautiful thing to bring into the world

HER: I have something else to tell you (sniffling)
ME: The due date?

HER: I’m sleeping with Johnny and I’m not sure whose baby this is
ME: Johnny, your boss, that Johnny??

HER: I only slept with him once about a year ago and his wife once told me he had a vasectomy. So, no, not that Johnny another Johnny, the one I’ve been writing to in prison
ME: You little fucking whore!! How did you get pregnant if he’s in prison??

HER: The first conjugal visit

Many of the women I knew before I got married all could be classified as free public transportation because it didn’t matter if you had money because everyone got a ride.

I would brag to my friends “Hey, I finally my hand down Suzy’s pants last night” “What took you so long?” “She blew me two weeks ago when we were on the ski trip” one friend would respond. “She whacked me off the night your drunk-ass passed out after the 4th of July fireworks” another would add. “I saw her at the last gang bang I was at” a third friend would chime in. “I couldn’t talk to her because she was sitting on my face and her mouth was full too”

The lesson for all of you out there male or female is to make sure you find someone who you can love. Make sure that person loves you as much as you love them. Make sure they love only you; not the whole starting pitching rotation of the Baltimore Orioles including the batting practice pitcher.

Once you find true love all your Valentine’s Days will be happy ones.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

One Small Step for Mankind, One Long Drive for Womankind

Did astronaut Lisa Marie Nowak drive 900 miles non-stop from Houston to Orlando in diapers to kill or just apply a beat down to another female astronaut Colleen Shipman?


Or was it Pampers?

One thing we know for sure is that she didn’t make that trip in poopy pants to ride Space Mountain at Disneyworld. She was arrested carrying a bag filled with rubber tubing, $600 in cash, a knife, BB gun, pepper spray, a steel mallet, and garbage bags. Maybe she’s got a part-time maintenance gig at Disneyworld?

Nowak now faces charges of attempted first-degree murder in Florida. Since she is an astronaut and flew on the Space Shuttle Discovery I guess they have to consider her a flight risk.

Novak is married with three kids, the object of her affection; astronaut William Oefelein, is married with two kids. I thought these rocket science types were far too busy studying inter-planetary formations to think about sex. Hell, they even went so far as to change the once funny name to say of “Your-Anus” to the boring and safe “Youranis” to further bolster this myth. But, I guess I was wrong….way wrong since Oefelein was involved with two female astronauts and keeping his earthling wife happy all at the same time. Apparently, astronauts really do love them some Tang down at the appropriately named Johnson Space Center.

This embarrassment along with a few shuttle crashes leads me to the real issue, which is “Do we really need a space program”?

Consider the following NASA figures: the Space Shuttle Endeavor, the one built to replace the Challenger cost approximately $1.7 billion. The average cost to launch a Space Shuttle cost about $450 million per mission…and no it CAN’T even fly to the moon!!

The pro-space camp will say we need space travel to study the effects of global warming and to monitor the ever growing hole in the ozone layer and to study melting glacier ice caps…. I say the melting caps are happening right here on earth in Antarctica. You don’t need a shuttle trip to see it , take a Cessna, a good camera, and some warm clothes.

They say we use space travel to launch satellites…I say I have cable.

They say they use space travel for research to develop cheap and environmentally friendly energy….I say each shuttle mission uses 500,000 gallons of fuel, stop one mission and by default you’ve just become more environmentally friendly.

I have to think you could spend the $450 million per launch for a lot more meaningful research here on earth. But then again, I’m no rocket scientist, so what do I know?

Monday, February 05, 2007

Second Thoughts on Super Bowl XLI

How do we really know if Marlee Matlin didn’t screw up the National Anthem? I would ask a deaf football fan but they can’t hear me and I can’t sign.

My favorite commercial-- Bud Lite English as a second language

Clay Aiken’s favorite commercial—Snickers boys in the garage

Prince looked like Aunt Jemima’s sexually confused grandson

CBS was so impressed by Prince’s half-time performance; they offered him a cameo on ‘Two and a Half Men’ he’ll play the half man.

Does Lovie Smith have a wife named Thurston?

The Go-Daddy.com chick has a butter face

Peyton Manning always looks constipated no matter what the score.

David Spade looked as confused in the stands as Rex Grossman looked on the field

K-Fed is Vanilla Ice, if Vanilla Ice had no talent at all

I want to see the un-rated Directors cut of the Letterman-Oprah commercial

Now that he is out of the closet will CBS produce a spin-off with Neil Patrick Harris called “How I Met Your Brother”?

Despite the eighty-nine combined promos I’ll still never watch ‘Survivor’ or ‘The Amazing Race’

What was Katie Couric up to in the CBS trailer and with whom to get her hair so mussed up?

Saturday, February 03, 2007

Don’t Want to Shop ‘Til You Drop

As a kid I would become spastic when Mom pulled the station wagon into the driveway upon returning from her weekly food shopping spree. I’d help carry the bags until to I got to the Ring Dings or Chips Ahoy, then I was just rendered useless as I fed my sugar Jones. I was like the crack addict who needed a fix and just found it, and now it was time to kick back and chill. Unless of course, the fridge had no milk, then I would race back to the driveway to help again, like the crack addict missing a lighter or matches.

On occasion I would go to the supermarket with my parents, I still remember the open Brach’s candy Lazy Suzan and how my sister and I used to load up our pockets when the folks weren’t looking. There were no express lanes or self checkout. Back then you weren’t the checker’s little helper having to bag groceries. You stood in line with every other slug and waited to check out; whether you had five items or fifty. Sure you might get lucky and some nice old lady would let you go first because you only had a handful of items and she had many, but then you’d be screwed because Mom would make sure you carried the old bag’s bags to her car, which she could never find right away and smelled like wet cat.

Since customers never bagged their own shit back in the day, Mom had time to scan the ‘People’ magazine or ‘The National Inquirer’ while in line. And you had time to nag Mom into buying that Nestle's Crunch bar.

The checker was a real multi-tasker; both collecting cash and bagging. The checkers were skilled with math and physics. They could make change in seconds without the verbal mathematics of the today’s checkers. I wish they wouldn’t count aloud back to me the amount that I just handed them, “and five makes forty”…I can count just fine, and I’ve already ascertained my expected change before you Sparky, and unlike you I kept my shoes on the whole time. So just save the countdown for New Year’s Eve.

The physics skills were evident in the bagging process; unlike today. The old schoolers had the smarts to know bread shouldn’t be the first item in the bag…followed by the gallon of milk. Hey Sparky- ice cream first, then the grapes, not the other way around…you’re high right now aren’t you?

One last thing… twelve items or less mean exactly that. Not thirteen, sixteen, or thirty, just twelve and hopefully less. The express lane ceases to have the efficiency to warrant the name “express” when you are unloading from not one but two shopping carts. I’m in just as big a hurry to get home as you Tons-O-Fun. That’s why I only have eight things in my cart. I was hoping to EZ-Pass it right out of here today, but no.

I think they should eliminate the twelve items or less express lane. It should be the “hand basket” only lane…no shopping carts allowed. Anything you can wedge into that 2’x2’ Little Red Riding Hood basket with those sisspot handles is fair game. It shows your commitment if you are willing to sacrifice a few eggs to speed things up. I gotta respect that.

Thursday, February 01, 2007

I Gotta go where it’s Warm (part III)

After just missing at least three head on collisions, three of which were my fault, it was a relief to have to deal with the stress of work. I arrived to find the prick standing at my cubicle, coffee in hand ala Bill Lumbergh in ‘Office Space’ and I was a snow-covered pissed off Peter Gibbons.

“Your late” he chirped. Not wanting to get drawn into a pissing contest that I couldn’t win about the snowstorm I replied; “Yea I’m late, I overslept because my crappy alarm clock didn’t go off” He smirked and said “Technically, your not late because we have a two hour delayed opening because of the snowstorm , but of course I was here an hour ago” Ever the wise-ass I replied “It snowed today?” “Delayed opening? “So, I should be getting paid overtime since I’m not really supposed to be here yet, right?” The prick shook his head in disgust, sipped from a coffee mug he no doubt bought for himself which read; “Our Fearless Leader” then stormed away from my cube.

A quick gander around the office revealed I was the only brave soul besides the prick (not a brave soul); who made it to the office.

Lucky me.

I could see from the office window the snow was still furiously dropping from the sky without any signs of relenting. Because of the 40mph winds the snow was also beginning to drift. Roughly ¼ of the window was now covered by a sloping wave of snow. What the hell was I thinking? I should have never gotten out of bed.

I turned on the radio on my absent co-workers desk only to hear that all major roads in the area were officially closed until further notice. Only emergency vehicles were allowed to travel in the surrounding area. A news announcer warned folks to stay in their houses and he read a directive from the governor urging all businesses to close for the day.

Snowed in just me and the prick!! Are you shitting me?? This can’t get any worse. That’s just when it got worse…I was sulking in the cubicle when the prick emailed five spreadsheets previously worked on by co-workers who were smart enough to stay the hell home. He said I needed to finish the accounts receivable on five new customers by the end of day. I asked him what the hurry was since everyone will be back tomorrow after they dig out. He said today was the last day of the 2nd quarter and if the customer data wasn’t submitted to corporate by the end of the day, we couldn’t charge the revenue to this quarter and I would be in big trouble.

I didn’t know what the hell I was looking at since I’m a marketing guy, not an accounting guy, which by the way, the prick was well aware of.

I asked him to help and he said he has a Masters in engineering , not in accounting, but added he could have slept-walked his way to an MBA if he wanted to because business courses are a joke compared to engineering. For spite he added; "You have a B.S. in Business, right?" He then told me I was on my own and I better not make any mistakes. He said if we don’t get these numbers to corporate, heads will roll – starting with my mine. He smirked again and said he needed another cup of coffee, then left my cube. As he left I wished him death…in my mind only. But, I think he knows how I feel about him, the same way we all feel about him, we disdain him intensely.

The last thing I recall clearly was a loud noise that sounded like breaking tree branches, and then everything went blank. When I finally came to I was buried under a small avalanche of snow, mixed with florescent light, mixed with acoustic ceiling tiles. The roof had fallen in!!

I struggled to pull myself up and out. My coccyx ; which was just starting to feel better, now felt as though it was on the receiving end of a sledge hammer blow. The whole office was covered with snow-mixed debris. The blizzard was happening in the office. Computers, telephones , printers, fax machines, coffee makers, file cabinets, and pictures all covered by snow and roofing supplies.

I made it over to where the prick’s luxurious office used to be. It resembled downtown Baghdad, that is, if Iraq ever had a snowstorm after three days of intense bombing. Against my better judgment I started a reconnaissance mission in search of the prick. He was buried near a laser printer which appeared to have just printed a banner with his picture and the phrase “BOSS, YOU'RE THE GREATEST!!” It also had a Post-it note stuck to it that in his hand writing read “get employee signatures here” and several arrows. I found him face down with coffee mug still in hand and he appeared to be dead. There is a God!!

After an intense internal debate which I lost to the decent me; the one my mother likes; I decided to try and get him some help. I hated him enough not to want to waste my minutes trying to broker his survival, so I searched for an office phone, but couldn’t find one. I relented and opened my cell phone but couldn’t get service to dial out. I dug up an office phone, no dial tone.

Through his fleshy neck I felt for a pulse which I couldn’t get. What I was about to do I would live to regret, I was adamant about this prediction. I flipped his snow covered carcass over so he was now face up, smirk still firmly planted on his plump mug . I pinched his bulbous hair filled nose, open his mouth and performed mouth to mouth resuscitation. The taste of garlic was overpowering but I soldiered through for roughly two minutes before he cut loose with a hellacious “I want to live, I want to live” cough that nearly knocked me unconscious . I felt like John Wayne Bobbitt’s surgeon having just saved a prick.

He looked at me with bewildered eyes and asked “What happened??”, I told him how I just saved his life!! From that point on “the prick” became “the pal” The pal braced himself against me for support and we both left the shell of what used to be our offices. We walked out to the end of our industrial park and flagged down a large yellow plow truck.

The driver said “What the hell happened to you two?” “Sledding accident” I shot back. He drove us to the nearest hospital, where the pal was treated for a separated shoulder and fractured ribs. I thought about having my head examined for leaving my house. The pal was kept overnight for observation. “Will, you saved my life, your career is going to take off for what you did!”

Great, I thought to myself I have to explain to my co-workers how I saved the hated bosses life and my “coincidental” subsequent career advancement. The pal added “I mean it, things are going to really happen for you, I owe you”. “You know I’m thinking of adding a senior manager to our division” My head was really starting to hurt along with coccyx. I asked “Do you know of any openings in the Miami office? He said “As I matter of fact I do!”

I answered back “That’s great, because I gotta go where it’s warm”