1) "Nancy! The real reason this marriage is doomed to fail is because you're a Ms. Slutty McSlutterton!" Edgar exclaimed pugnaciously.
2) The 4th of July came every year for the Smith family and each year they celebrated it. Every year without fail the 4th came right after the 3rd, but right before the 5th, like clockwork. After several years Dad Smith grew suspicious. Maybe, he thought, it wasn't like clockwork. Maybe it was clockwork. Then his head exploded.
3) Two weeks of worrying had finally come to an end when Steve's dermatologist gave him the news that the mole on his lower back was not, in fact, cancerous. His worries only doubled however when the doctor informed him that the enormous bumps on his areolas were cancerous tumors and not, in fact, "super nips," as Steve affectionately called them.
4) Once again, just like last year, Wyatt got stuck stuck riding Apple, the miniature pony, for the annual cattle drive when they pushed the herd to market. And although the mini pony had saved Wyatt's life on more than one occasion, there were a lot of reasons Wyatt hated riding Apple. The fact that Wyatt was six feet tall and 220 pounds was definitely number one. Apple's constant bouncing and Wyatt's recent vasectomy didn't help much either.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
My Friends Wife
I have this friend. This friend is definitely not me. It's this other guy who is my age and married with four children, but not me. I'll call him Gergitch. While having lunch together one day Gergitch asked me what bugs me about my wife. I quickly responded that nothing bugs me about my wife. She's an angel and I'm lucky to have her. He laughed, audibly, and said, "Come on. I've met Kathry..." and before he could finish her sweet name I smacked him so hard his sandwich flew out of his mouth. Mind you, it wasn't a close fisted smack. I would never discipline a good friend with a close fisted smack.
At that, Gergitch went on to explain that he has this one issue with his wife that has plagued his marriage since day one. "What is it?" I asked out loud to Gergitch, who is not me. "Laundry" he replied.
Side Note: During the second year of our marriage my wife and I went to Boston with a couple we had become close friends with. While cruising around in our rental car the female half of our friends thought it would be fun to play the game, "What do you guys fight about?" This is how it's played. Someone asks me and my wife what we fight about, and then for the next two days we fight about it while driving around Boston. Needless to say, it's great fun. (It should be noted that those friends have never invited us on another outing that lasted longer than dinner.) I remember the trip well and I remember that we fought for literally two days. But for the life of me I have no idea what we fought about (although I'm sure it was something serious like the growing economic divide between America's rich and poor, or the underlying historical causes of the turmoil in the Middle East, or her mom).
So when Gergitch told me that laundry was the bane of his marriage I literally LOL. I then LMAO. Finally, I lost control, and LMFAO. He told me that piles of laundry build up around the house and about once a fortnight when he can't take it anymore he explodes and it turns into a grudge match that leaves a heavy cloud over the whole house. He said he felt he bore the lions share of total responsibility and was a victim of an unfair division of labor. I explained that that last sentence was redundant and to stop wasting my time with meaningless repetition.
"Do you love her?" I asked.
"Yes," he assured me.
"Let's say, for arguments sake, that you knew in advance that she would never do laundry again. Knowing this ahead of time, would you still want to be married to her?"
"Of course," he assured me again.
"Then stop intentionally damaging your relationship to prove a point over such a trivial issue. You're shooting yourself in the foot to prove your gun is loaded. I'm with you. She should do the laundry willingly and quickly, but she's your wife, and your issue is laundry. Grow up you dumb bastard."
Then I slapped the sandwich out of his mouth again, for good measure.
As my words and the sting of a second smack sunk in I sat back and took a sip of my drink to keep myself from smiling as I secretly reveled in the simple poetry of my wise counsel. I also did Gergitch the courtesy of pointing out that he was wrought with frailty and that his wife was forced to step over his metaphorical piles on a regular basis, but was not the type to point them out. He considered this soberly, and that ended our lunch.
I caught up with Gergitch some days later and he confided that he had gone home after our conversation full of remorse and apologized to his wife for his critical attitude and vowed to mention her piles less and to help with them more. I smiled and congratulated him on his growth, and then we embraced in a very heterosexual way.
So, what do you guys fight about?
At that, Gergitch went on to explain that he has this one issue with his wife that has plagued his marriage since day one. "What is it?" I asked out loud to Gergitch, who is not me. "Laundry" he replied.
Side Note: During the second year of our marriage my wife and I went to Boston with a couple we had become close friends with. While cruising around in our rental car the female half of our friends thought it would be fun to play the game, "What do you guys fight about?" This is how it's played. Someone asks me and my wife what we fight about, and then for the next two days we fight about it while driving around Boston. Needless to say, it's great fun. (It should be noted that those friends have never invited us on another outing that lasted longer than dinner.) I remember the trip well and I remember that we fought for literally two days. But for the life of me I have no idea what we fought about (although I'm sure it was something serious like the growing economic divide between America's rich and poor, or the underlying historical causes of the turmoil in the Middle East, or her mom).
So when Gergitch told me that laundry was the bane of his marriage I literally LOL. I then LMAO. Finally, I lost control, and LMFAO. He told me that piles of laundry build up around the house and about once a fortnight when he can't take it anymore he explodes and it turns into a grudge match that leaves a heavy cloud over the whole house. He said he felt he bore the lions share of total responsibility and was a victim of an unfair division of labor. I explained that that last sentence was redundant and to stop wasting my time with meaningless repetition.
"Do you love her?" I asked.
"Yes," he assured me.
"Let's say, for arguments sake, that you knew in advance that she would never do laundry again. Knowing this ahead of time, would you still want to be married to her?"
"Of course," he assured me again.
"Then stop intentionally damaging your relationship to prove a point over such a trivial issue. You're shooting yourself in the foot to prove your gun is loaded. I'm with you. She should do the laundry willingly and quickly, but she's your wife, and your issue is laundry. Grow up you dumb bastard."
Then I slapped the sandwich out of his mouth again, for good measure.
As my words and the sting of a second smack sunk in I sat back and took a sip of my drink to keep myself from smiling as I secretly reveled in the simple poetry of my wise counsel. I also did Gergitch the courtesy of pointing out that he was wrought with frailty and that his wife was forced to step over his metaphorical piles on a regular basis, but was not the type to point them out. He considered this soberly, and that ended our lunch.
I caught up with Gergitch some days later and he confided that he had gone home after our conversation full of remorse and apologized to his wife for his critical attitude and vowed to mention her piles less and to help with them more. I smiled and congratulated him on his growth, and then we embraced in a very heterosexual way.
So, what do you guys fight about?
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Death On The Brain
If I had to guess, I would say that I have imagined
my own death more times than the average person. Not as much as say, Edgar Allan
Poe, or other such Goths, but still, a lot, especially for the happy,
well adjusted person I like to think I am. Where the preoccupation comes from,
I have no idea, but for as long as I can remember, even back to my early
childhood, it is not uncommon for me to space out during whatever I am doing
and imagine some form of my own unpleasant demise.
Back before car seats were a mandatory expense to parents, my mom would let me curl up like a cat on the floor in front of the passenger seat. Lying there, surprisingly comfortable in the small space, I would imagine head-on collisions that would push the dashboard to the seat leaving me trapped, assuming I survived the initial impact, like a sardine in a can, until I finally suffocated.
We got a trampoline in my youth and I imagined breaking my neck a variety of ways. The most common involved me doing a back flip, sticking my head between the springs as my body continued backward over the bar as my neck finally succumbed to the pressure and would snap.
While mountain biking I’d imagine wrecks that would leave me broken, bloodied, and paralyzed. But in my mind the wreck never killed me. Death came later as I tried to pull myself to safety; usually being eaten by wolves or a bear. (After I watched the movie, Deliverance, the wild animals were substituted by back-woods hillbillies that would eat me only after robbing me of my virtue.)
No matter what the scenario, it’s usually long and detailed. And since I’ve never sat down with a psychologist and explained the fixation I’ve never learned if it’s either abnormal or unhealthy. I’ve just always assumed that since I’m a functioning member of society and I have no desire to harm myself that this violent imagery doesn’t put me in any high-risk psychological categories. Maybe it’s an asset. Maybe when I do finally meet my end I’ll be able to say, while drifting away from my lifeless body, “I saw that coming from a mile away.” Unless, of course, I die of old age. That would totally come out of left field.
Just out of curiosity, have you ever thought about it? If so, how to you meet your end?
Back before car seats were a mandatory expense to parents, my mom would let me curl up like a cat on the floor in front of the passenger seat. Lying there, surprisingly comfortable in the small space, I would imagine head-on collisions that would push the dashboard to the seat leaving me trapped, assuming I survived the initial impact, like a sardine in a can, until I finally suffocated.
We got a trampoline in my youth and I imagined breaking my neck a variety of ways. The most common involved me doing a back flip, sticking my head between the springs as my body continued backward over the bar as my neck finally succumbed to the pressure and would snap.
While mountain biking I’d imagine wrecks that would leave me broken, bloodied, and paralyzed. But in my mind the wreck never killed me. Death came later as I tried to pull myself to safety; usually being eaten by wolves or a bear. (After I watched the movie, Deliverance, the wild animals were substituted by back-woods hillbillies that would eat me only after robbing me of my virtue.)
No matter what the scenario, it’s usually long and detailed. And since I’ve never sat down with a psychologist and explained the fixation I’ve never learned if it’s either abnormal or unhealthy. I’ve just always assumed that since I’m a functioning member of society and I have no desire to harm myself that this violent imagery doesn’t put me in any high-risk psychological categories. Maybe it’s an asset. Maybe when I do finally meet my end I’ll be able to say, while drifting away from my lifeless body, “I saw that coming from a mile away.” Unless, of course, I die of old age. That would totally come out of left field.
Just out of curiosity, have you ever thought about it? If so, how to you meet your end?
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Cats and Credit
The number of cats owned in relation to credit score for single females living in Kentucky.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Question 5
SCENARIO: You and your spouse have three children. Their ages are five, three, and the youngest, a boy, is 6 months. One day, just as your spouse is leaving on a three day business trip, your 6 month old son comes down with a terrible flu. His temperature rises to a alarming 106 degrees. Your doctor, who is a genius in the art of pediatrics, tells you there are only two ways you can save your son.
Cure 1) You must put your baby in a crib where you must leave him alone for the entire three days your spouse is gone and allow him to struggle through the flu on his own and under no circumstances enter the room. You may not enter to feed him and all his nourishment will be attained through the use of a gerbil type feeder attached to the side of his crib which he will struggle with, but manage to use. You will not need to change his diaper as he will produce no waste. He will scream for the entire 3 days which will not only wreck every nerve you have but leave you feeling a depth of guilt that few parents know. The screaming will also have a contagious effect on your other two children and they will become increasingly distressed, anxious, and confused by your seemingly calloused alienation of their suffering younger sibling. At the end of the 3 days the illness will finally subside and just before your spouse arrives home your baby will drift peacefully off to sleep. Though physically healthy this experience will leave all three of your children with minor subconscious trust issues.
OR
Cure 2) On the first night home from the hospital you must go to bed with your baby and allow him to fall asleep on your chest and remain there the entire night while you pat him on the back and sing to him softly. The next morning, after a long sleepless night, your son will be fully recovered. However, this experience will have left him conditioned more deeply and fully than even Pavlov's Dogs. The conditioning will go well beyond the subconscious. It will cause a lasting change in his very physiology leaving him conditioned to the point that for the next 21 years, anytime he catches an illness of any kind the only way he can recover, and rid himself of it, is to sleep the entire night on top of you. When he gets chicken pox as a first grader, he must sleep on you. When he gets mono from kissing the wrong girl at a middle school dance, he must sleep on you. Cold, flu, sinus infection, whooping cough, strep throat, pink eye, hemorrhoid, syphilis, etc. The only road to recovery is a night of sleeping on your torso. When, at the age of 21, he has his wisdom teeth out, he must lay his head on your soft bosom, while you pat his back and softly sing the entire night. If he cannot sleep on you, he cannot recover... ever.
QUESTION: Which option do you choose and why?
Cure 1) You must put your baby in a crib where you must leave him alone for the entire three days your spouse is gone and allow him to struggle through the flu on his own and under no circumstances enter the room. You may not enter to feed him and all his nourishment will be attained through the use of a gerbil type feeder attached to the side of his crib which he will struggle with, but manage to use. You will not need to change his diaper as he will produce no waste. He will scream for the entire 3 days which will not only wreck every nerve you have but leave you feeling a depth of guilt that few parents know. The screaming will also have a contagious effect on your other two children and they will become increasingly distressed, anxious, and confused by your seemingly calloused alienation of their suffering younger sibling. At the end of the 3 days the illness will finally subside and just before your spouse arrives home your baby will drift peacefully off to sleep. Though physically healthy this experience will leave all three of your children with minor subconscious trust issues.
OR
Cure 2) On the first night home from the hospital you must go to bed with your baby and allow him to fall asleep on your chest and remain there the entire night while you pat him on the back and sing to him softly. The next morning, after a long sleepless night, your son will be fully recovered. However, this experience will have left him conditioned more deeply and fully than even Pavlov's Dogs. The conditioning will go well beyond the subconscious. It will cause a lasting change in his very physiology leaving him conditioned to the point that for the next 21 years, anytime he catches an illness of any kind the only way he can recover, and rid himself of it, is to sleep the entire night on top of you. When he gets chicken pox as a first grader, he must sleep on you. When he gets mono from kissing the wrong girl at a middle school dance, he must sleep on you. Cold, flu, sinus infection, whooping cough, strep throat, pink eye, hemorrhoid, syphilis, etc. The only road to recovery is a night of sleeping on your torso. When, at the age of 21, he has his wisdom teeth out, he must lay his head on your soft bosom, while you pat his back and softly sing the entire night. If he cannot sleep on you, he cannot recover... ever.
QUESTION: Which option do you choose and why?
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
2012 in Retrospect
"Aaaahhh, 2012."
For the last few days I've enjoyed saying that with a breath of nostalgia while reclining, kicking up my feet, and lacing my fingers behind my head.
"What a year."
Sometimes I say that too.
Other exclamations I've been heard uttering whilst reminiscing about 2012 include; "Deeee-amn!" "We gotta do that sh#@ again." and "Sheeeeesh." This last one will be accompanied with a slight head shake and a wry smile.
That's how good my year went. In fact, I improved more in 2012 than I did in the last 10 years combined. This is the first time I neared the end of the year and found I had no more sins to repent of, and no more blessing to ask for. So when I prayed, me and God just talked about the weather, the lack of leadership within the GOP, or other mysteries of the universe.
So, what made my year so good, you ask? Well, at the beginning of 2012 I set some pretty lofty goals for myself, and having accomplished all of them, I had what some call a 100% year. I reached my maximum capacity, and realized my full potential.
(A sample of some of my minor accomplishments)
After completing the cannon of American and British Classics, I translated them to Tolkien's Elvish.
I completed P90X, Y, and Z. Then sold my exercise video to Tony Horton.
I finally published the book I'd been working on under the pseudonym E.L. James, then let my heavy set widow neighbor do the press tour for me.
I did pull-ups... all day.
I eradicated offensive, politically incorrect language like "crap" and "retard" and "Mexican" from my vocabulary.
I learned tocrap defecate so efficiently that I no longer need to wipe, or wash afterwards.
When my wife got tired of being pregnant, I gestated our 4th baby for the last five months.
Please understand, this is not an attempt to beat my own drum for glories sake. But rather to illustrate a point. I've been pondering ways I could possibly improve on 2012. Is it possible? The simple conclusion I've come to is, no. It's not. For that reason I've decided to forgo goals and resolutions this year. Our New Year traditions may demand my continued growth, but my family, peers and the world around me demand that I slow the Hell down. "Stop and smell the roses," they all say to me. "Life's too short." Or, "You're going to have a stroke and and be one of those people it's awkward to talk to because they have to speak so slow and deliberately." Now, I'm not convinced that all the nay-sayers are right, but out of love for my friends, family and those within my circle of influence I've decided to concede.
So, in conclusion, this is the year I let myself go. Gain a little weight. Let the eyebrows grow back together. Spend more time with my TV and less time with my kids. This is the year The UnMighty puts on the natural man. I'm already one week into the new me, and I have to say, it feels good. Like an old pair of sweats. In fact, I've decided to backslide carelessly just to be fair to 2014. If my plan works out well, I'll make it a tradition; Even years, excel. Odd years, regress.
So bring it on 2013! Let's get wasted!
For the last few days I've enjoyed saying that with a breath of nostalgia while reclining, kicking up my feet, and lacing my fingers behind my head.
"What a year."
Sometimes I say that too.
Other exclamations I've been heard uttering whilst reminiscing about 2012 include; "Deeee-amn!" "We gotta do that sh#@ again." and "Sheeeeesh." This last one will be accompanied with a slight head shake and a wry smile.
That's how good my year went. In fact, I improved more in 2012 than I did in the last 10 years combined. This is the first time I neared the end of the year and found I had no more sins to repent of, and no more blessing to ask for. So when I prayed, me and God just talked about the weather, the lack of leadership within the GOP, or other mysteries of the universe.
So, what made my year so good, you ask? Well, at the beginning of 2012 I set some pretty lofty goals for myself, and having accomplished all of them, I had what some call a 100% year. I reached my maximum capacity, and realized my full potential.
(A sample of some of my minor accomplishments)
After completing the cannon of American and British Classics, I translated them to Tolkien's Elvish.
I completed P90X, Y, and Z. Then sold my exercise video to Tony Horton.
I finally published the book I'd been working on under the pseudonym E.L. James, then let my heavy set widow neighbor do the press tour for me.
I did pull-ups... all day.
I eradicated offensive, politically incorrect language like "crap" and "retard" and "Mexican" from my vocabulary.
I learned to
When my wife got tired of being pregnant, I gestated our 4th baby for the last five months.
Please understand, this is not an attempt to beat my own drum for glories sake. But rather to illustrate a point. I've been pondering ways I could possibly improve on 2012. Is it possible? The simple conclusion I've come to is, no. It's not. For that reason I've decided to forgo goals and resolutions this year. Our New Year traditions may demand my continued growth, but my family, peers and the world around me demand that I slow the Hell down. "Stop and smell the roses," they all say to me. "Life's too short." Or, "You're going to have a stroke and and be one of those people it's awkward to talk to because they have to speak so slow and deliberately." Now, I'm not convinced that all the nay-sayers are right, but out of love for my friends, family and those within my circle of influence I've decided to concede.
So, in conclusion, this is the year I let myself go. Gain a little weight. Let the eyebrows grow back together. Spend more time with my TV and less time with my kids. This is the year The UnMighty puts on the natural man. I'm already one week into the new me, and I have to say, it feels good. Like an old pair of sweats. In fact, I've decided to backslide carelessly just to be fair to 2014. If my plan works out well, I'll make it a tradition; Even years, excel. Odd years, regress.
So bring it on 2013! Let's get wasted!
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Craigslist Ad
FOR SALE: Two 1977, Caucasian Testicles
These testicles are 35 years old but handle like a pair half as old. Exterior in good condition with minimal weathering. Some minor trauma incurred due to a few head on collisions, but must assume interior in equally good condition since they are in perfect working order and have been pampered and stored in only the finest cottons and silks. Extremely low miles. Especially in the last 15 months since my last child was conceived.
Despite the fact that I'm very attached to this set I need to sell ASAP since they are extremely potent and have fathered four without effort and should no longer be in the hands of a hobby lover like myself.
Would like to sell as a pair since they have never been separated, but would consider selling separately if the offer was right.
Sorry, could not upload pictures since there is a problem with my camera. So you'll just have to come by to see. Sold with a few accessories (also not pictured).
Non-smoker, One owner, Title in hand, Very clean.
Please don't call if you are a passive shopper or serial test-driver. Serious shoppers only. And please, no low ball offers.
These testicles are 35 years old but handle like a pair half as old. Exterior in good condition with minimal weathering. Some minor trauma incurred due to a few head on collisions, but must assume interior in equally good condition since they are in perfect working order and have been pampered and stored in only the finest cottons and silks. Extremely low miles. Especially in the last 15 months since my last child was conceived.
Despite the fact that I'm very attached to this set I need to sell ASAP since they are extremely potent and have fathered four without effort and should no longer be in the hands of a hobby lover like myself.
Would like to sell as a pair since they have never been separated, but would consider selling separately if the offer was right.
Sorry, could not upload pictures since there is a problem with my camera. So you'll just have to come by to see. Sold with a few accessories (also not pictured).
Non-smoker, One owner, Title in hand, Very clean.
Please don't call if you are a passive shopper or serial test-driver. Serious shoppers only. And please, no low ball offers.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
#2: First Lines of Books I May Someday Write
1) There was
an eerie mist in the air and the horses were restless as a dry, cold wind
swept down through the steep canyons above. The clouds parted to reveal a full,
yellow moon just as a lone wolf howled mournfully in the distance. The scent of death hung in the air, as
if drifting by from an unseen cemetery. Bruce was unfamiliar to this territory, but as he huddled beneath his horse blanket, trying to conserve his warmth, a few things were clear; He had to get dry. He had to use his last bullet wisely. And he had to finally tell his parents he was
gay.
2) Ryan and Nancy had been trying to have a baby ever since they married six years ago. So you can probably imagine their genuine feelings of joy when after six years of trying, nine months of pregnancy, 13 long hours of strenuous labor, that baby finally came. You can probably also imagine their surprise when they learned that their baby was actually a Terminator; sent from the future to kill them before they had a chance to join the resistance.
3) The Zombie Wars had been raging for three years. A once great global population had been decimated. Only the Zombie hoard and a small, but well organized group of human freedom fighters remained. Lucky for Steve this war was taking place on the planet Triton, seven light years away. Here on Earth everything was hunky-dory, and Steve was thinking about getting some ice-cream.
4) For a six year old boy the hours before Christmas morning slow to a snails pace. Eternities come and go between each tick of the clock. It was hard for Jack to believe that after months of waiting, wishing, writing, and exercising the utmost self-control to avoid Santa's naughty list, the best day of the year was finally upon him. Jack knew he needn't wait any longer when he saw the Johnson family across the street start to gather around their well lit Christmas tree to start opening presents. In a fury Jack ran from his room, down the stairs, and into the living room screaming "It's Christmas! Wake up!" Once in the living room he stopped dead in his tracks and fell silent. There was no tree, no decorations, no tinsel, or Christmas cheer of any kind. Most disappointing, there was no pile of gifts like the one he spied through the Johnson's front window. It was only when Jack saw the Menorah on the mantle that he remembered he was Jewish.
2) Ryan and Nancy had been trying to have a baby ever since they married six years ago. So you can probably imagine their genuine feelings of joy when after six years of trying, nine months of pregnancy, 13 long hours of strenuous labor, that baby finally came. You can probably also imagine their surprise when they learned that their baby was actually a Terminator; sent from the future to kill them before they had a chance to join the resistance.
3) The Zombie Wars had been raging for three years. A once great global population had been decimated. Only the Zombie hoard and a small, but well organized group of human freedom fighters remained. Lucky for Steve this war was taking place on the planet Triton, seven light years away. Here on Earth everything was hunky-dory, and Steve was thinking about getting some ice-cream.
4) For a six year old boy the hours before Christmas morning slow to a snails pace. Eternities come and go between each tick of the clock. It was hard for Jack to believe that after months of waiting, wishing, writing, and exercising the utmost self-control to avoid Santa's naughty list, the best day of the year was finally upon him. Jack knew he needn't wait any longer when he saw the Johnson family across the street start to gather around their well lit Christmas tree to start opening presents. In a fury Jack ran from his room, down the stairs, and into the living room screaming "It's Christmas! Wake up!" Once in the living room he stopped dead in his tracks and fell silent. There was no tree, no decorations, no tinsel, or Christmas cheer of any kind. Most disappointing, there was no pile of gifts like the one he spied through the Johnson's front window. It was only when Jack saw the Menorah on the mantle that he remembered he was Jewish.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Worst Things To Find In Your Trunk When the Police Are Searching Your Vehicle
A kilo of Cocaine
Jimmy Hoffa
Swine Flu
Another trunk (and you keep opening and realize you got stuck with one of those Russian Nesting Trunks)
10 Hot Dogs, and 8 Hot Dog Buns.
Dead Hookers
Jimmy Hoffa
Swine Flu
Another trunk (and you keep opening and realize you got stuck with one of those Russian Nesting Trunks)
Trunk Midgets
Your prom date (you haven’t been to the prom for over 13
years)
Locusts
Your Virginity (And they said you could never get that back. Shows how much they know.)
An open container of unrefrigerated mayonnaise
Your Virginity (And they said you could never get that back. Shows how much they know.)
An open container of unrefrigerated mayonnaise
10 Hot Dogs, and 8 Hot Dog Buns.
Dead Hookers
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Oscar Turns 4
A week before Oscars 4th birthday.
OSCAR: Dad, when I'm foe I'll be able to say my ah's.
While on a walk outside.
OSCAR: Hey look. That's cat's gay. (He points to a gray cat.)
MOM: (confused) What?
OSCAR: That cat. It's not back. It's gay.
(He can't say his L's either.)
I recently took Oscar on a guys night out.
OSCAR: What's that red light up there? (He pointed at the blinking red light on my dash that is part of the burglar alarm I've never used.)
ME: That's for the car alarm.
OSCAR: What's the alarm?
ME: It's to keep bad guys from breaking into my car and stealing it.
OSCAR: If a bad guy breaks in here, I'll just kick him in the face.
Shopping with his mom.
(Kathryn, Oscar's mom, was holding a twenty dollar bill Oscar had received from his grandmother for his birthday)
OSCAR: Mom, can I see my money?
(To be tricky Kathryn handed him a five dollar bill.)
OSCAR: Wait a second. This isn't my money. My money had different hair.
In his bedroom with his older brother, Cash.
OSCAR: Cash, you're the best brother nobody could ever have.
(Compliment OR Backhanded insult? You decide.)
Right before bed.
OSCAR: Mom, sometimes I stick my hands down my pants and go, "Honk, Honk!"
Sunday, November 25, 2012
House For Sale
Steve and Nancy were a young couple about to purchase their first home together. Excitedly they drove around a neighborhood looking for an address. They
quickly found it, walked to the door and knocked. A nice looking, middle-aged gentleman named Bob,
answered.
Bob began the tour and Steve and Nancy seemed to like everything they saw. They made notes of a few broken or unfinished things around the house. They came out of the master bathroom and Nancy commented on how much she liked the double sinks. They went down the hall a few paces and Steve asked about a door.
Bob opened the door and inside there is was a raging frat party in full swing. The room was full of college age guys and girls and they seemed to be fully engaged in enjoying the loud music, drinking, chugging, brawling, contests, and other such revelries. So much so, that none acknowledged, or even seemed to notice the three outsiders looking in on them from an adjacent hallway.
NANCY: Who are they?
NANCY: Them! Them! All of them! All those people in there!
Bob, Steve, and Nancy together walk to another nearby room. Bob sits in a leather arm chair and Steve and Nancy sit on a couch across from him.
The couple pondered a moment.
STEVE: Hi. We’re the couple that called about
the house for sale.
BOB: Yes, hello. Come in. I’m Bob.
They all
politely introduced themselves in the entry way.
BOB: Let me just tell you where I stand, because
I want to be up front. I own five rental properties in the area, and
I’m going sell a few because I’m pretty financially leveraged right
now. That said, you two have a great opportunity to get this house at a great price, but I'm firm on 260 because that's well below market value as is. But let me show you
around and let you check everything out.
NANCY: Sounds good.
STEVE: Before we get the grand tour, can I just
ask what the neighbors are like? I’m curious because being a law student with a
part time job, peace and quiet are of the utmost importance.
BOB: I doubt you’ll even notice the neighbors.
In the six months my wife and I lived here I don’t think I heard them once.
Really great neighborhood.
Bob began the tour and Steve and Nancy seemed to like everything they saw. They made notes of a few broken or unfinished things around the house. They came out of the master bathroom and Nancy commented on how much she liked the double sinks. They went down the hall a few paces and Steve asked about a door.
BOB: Oh, this is interesting.
Bob opened the door and inside there is was a raging frat party in full swing. The room was full of college age guys and girls and they seemed to be fully engaged in enjoying the loud music, drinking, chugging, brawling, contests, and other such revelries. So much so, that none acknowledged, or even seemed to notice the three outsiders looking in on them from an adjacent hallway.
BOB: This is the Frat Party.
Bob closed the
door.
STEVE/NANCY: The what?
BOB: We were thinking about getting rid of it
before we put the house up for sale but we ran out of time and just didn’t have
the money. So if it affects the offer you make, I understand.
NANCY: Well… who are they?
BOB: Who are who?
Nancy opened the door and motioned toward the party goers.
Nancy opened the door and motioned toward the party goers.
NANCY: Who are they?
BOB: I don’t understand.
Bob closed the door with a puzzled look on his face.
Bob closed the door with a puzzled look on his face.
STEVE: The people. All the people, who are they?
BOB: (confused) It’s… the Frat Party.
STEVE: Why is there a frat party going on in the
house you’re selling?
BOB: It’s part
of the house.
NANCY: What do you mean “It’s” part of the
house.
BOB: I mean it’s part of the house. The study,
the cabinets, the garage, the game room, the frat party. It’s part of the
house.
STEVE: Where did they come from?
BOB: Where did IT come from?
STEVE: (frustrated) Okay. Where did IT come from?
BOB: Where does any frat party come from?
NANCY: I’m lost. Can you just tell us when
they’re leaving? Are they going to be here long enough to do damage to the
house?
BOB: I don’t follow. When you say, “they”, who
are you referring too?
Nancy pushed open the door in blatant frustration and flailed her arm around motioning to the people.
Nancy pushed open the door in blatant frustration and flailed her arm around motioning to the people.
NANCY: Them! Them! All of them! All those people in there!
BOB: (closes the door and sighs) I guess I don’t
follow because when I look at frat party I see it as an entity unto itself; a
conscious, living, breathing organism whose collective soul is greater than a
sum of its parts. (Bob opens the door and sticks his head in) It is a living
thing just like you, or me, or the wind.
Bob, Steve, and Nancy together walk to another nearby room. Bob sits in a leather arm chair and Steve and Nancy sit on a couch across from him.
BOB: Frat Party is not a random conglomeration
of autonomous parts any more than you are a conglomeration of autonomous parts.
You are you, working in perfect harmony toward the common goal of being.
STEVE: Being?
BOB: Yes, being. I could no more remove your head and still call you Steve as I could remove the head of Frat Party and
still call it Frat Party.
The couple pondered a moment.
NANCY: When we leave, what will happen to Frat
Party?
BOB: Nobody knows for sure. Frat Party has
always been and always will be.
STEVE: Can Frat Party be destroyed?
BOB: Oh no. Like matter, Frat Party can only be
manipulated into some other form of Frat Party.
NANCY: Does Frat Party know me personally.
BOB: Nancy, not only does Frat Party know you,
but Frat Party loves you very, very much.
STEVE: Let me see If I understand you. Frat
Party has always been, and always will be. It is in our house and yet, it is
omnipresent at all times. Does that sound right?
BOB: (nods and smiles gently) You’re beginning
to understand.
NANCY: (more cheerful) This has been most
helpful.
BOB: Would you like to see the rest of the house
now?
Steve and Nancy looked at each other and softly smiled. Without saying anything else they both realized that their level of understanding of all things and their very relationship to one another had just been deepened and strengthened.
Steve and Nancy looked at each other and softly smiled. Without saying anything else they both realized that their level of understanding of all things and their very relationship to one another had just been deepened and strengthened.
STEVE: (looking at Nancy) Yeah, I think we would.
BOB: Good. (getting up and walking across the
room) This is one of my favorite parts of the house.
Bob opened a door behind which was an enormous conference hall filled with middle-aged to elderly white men, most of which were dressed in business attire. At the far end of the hall was a large stage. On the stage a gray haired man stood behind a podium with a microphone giving a very excited speech about the future. And behind the man was an enormous American flag that was set to waving with the aid of large electric fans.
STEVE: What is it?
Bob opened a door behind which was an enormous conference hall filled with middle-aged to elderly white men, most of which were dressed in business attire. At the far end of the hall was a large stage. On the stage a gray haired man stood behind a podium with a microphone giving a very excited speech about the future. And behind the man was an enormous American flag that was set to waving with the aid of large electric fans.
STEVE: What is it?
BOB: This is Republican Convention.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Question 4
SCENARIO: You are the parent of three children who you love dearly and you are loved dearly by them. By all accounts the four of you enjoy a strong and healthy parent child relationship. And like all good parents their growth, development, security, and happiness are paramount in your life. But despite the fact that you feel that you love all three of your children equally, you have admitted to yourself and your spouse that you do not like all of them equally. You have an obvious favorite. We will call your favorite, Pat.
You also have a spouse that you love dearly and their happiness is also very important to you. You have been together so long that it seems as if you know each other as well as you know yourselves. You have nearly everything in common and no longer argue about the few things you do not. Except on the issue of pets. Your spouse loves pets, and grew up with them, and strongly feels that having a pet in the home is an integral part of the American family experience. You on the other hand detest pets. Needless to say you hate the hair, the feeding, the walking, the grooming, the poop, the pee, and the cost. But most of all you view them as an anchor that significantly limits your freedom to come and go as you please.
You have staved off pet ownership as long as you could but it is now impossible since your three children have sided with your spouse on this issue and you get the strong feeling that denying them any longer will cause an undesired rift in your marriage.
So, you concede. One week later you find yourself, along with three beaming children, and one elated spouse exiting your local pet shelter where you just adopted an adorable beagle that they have already named Jasper, after your spouses father who has recently passed away.
As your family is approaching the car about to drive home you are endowed, from on high, with this certainty: You have to make a choice.
Possibility 1: You must line your three children up in front of you and make plain your feelings of favoritism. You will try to assure them that they are all loved equally and that you will continue to care for them equally, but the fact of the matter is you just like Pat more that the other two. You are certain this revelation will have lasting effects on your other two children.
Possibility 2: As your kids and spouse are climbing into the car and buckling their seat belts you must tie Jasper's leash to the rear bumper, jump into the drivers seat, and drag the dog to death. In their excitement your spouse and children will not realize Jasper was never in the car til you arrive home, they all jump out, and together witness Jasper's lifeless, bloody corpse still attached to the bumper. This experience will have a lasting effect on all three of your children and your spouse will be forever secretly suspicious of what you have labeled "a horrible accident" for which you are terribly sorry.
If you choose to do neither or you attempt to reveal your dilemma to any member of your family, you will all die in a wreck on the way home.
QUESTION: What do you do?
You also have a spouse that you love dearly and their happiness is also very important to you. You have been together so long that it seems as if you know each other as well as you know yourselves. You have nearly everything in common and no longer argue about the few things you do not. Except on the issue of pets. Your spouse loves pets, and grew up with them, and strongly feels that having a pet in the home is an integral part of the American family experience. You on the other hand detest pets. Needless to say you hate the hair, the feeding, the walking, the grooming, the poop, the pee, and the cost. But most of all you view them as an anchor that significantly limits your freedom to come and go as you please.
You have staved off pet ownership as long as you could but it is now impossible since your three children have sided with your spouse on this issue and you get the strong feeling that denying them any longer will cause an undesired rift in your marriage.
So, you concede. One week later you find yourself, along with three beaming children, and one elated spouse exiting your local pet shelter where you just adopted an adorable beagle that they have already named Jasper, after your spouses father who has recently passed away.
As your family is approaching the car about to drive home you are endowed, from on high, with this certainty: You have to make a choice.
Possibility 1: You must line your three children up in front of you and make plain your feelings of favoritism. You will try to assure them that they are all loved equally and that you will continue to care for them equally, but the fact of the matter is you just like Pat more that the other two. You are certain this revelation will have lasting effects on your other two children.
Possibility 2: As your kids and spouse are climbing into the car and buckling their seat belts you must tie Jasper's leash to the rear bumper, jump into the drivers seat, and drag the dog to death. In their excitement your spouse and children will not realize Jasper was never in the car til you arrive home, they all jump out, and together witness Jasper's lifeless, bloody corpse still attached to the bumper. This experience will have a lasting effect on all three of your children and your spouse will be forever secretly suspicious of what you have labeled "a horrible accident" for which you are terribly sorry.
If you choose to do neither or you attempt to reveal your dilemma to any member of your family, you will all die in a wreck on the way home.
QUESTION: What do you do?
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Possible Pro-Wrestler Names
The Man Whisperer
Jimmy Soft Hands
Hans Christian Slamderson
Hedge Funder
The Nibbler
Flying Areola
The Comforter
Ascot
The Bell-Hop
The Men-Strater
Tender Loins
Jimmy Soft Hands
Hans Christian Slamderson
Hedge Funder
The Nibbler
Flying Areola
The Comforter
Ascot
The Bell-Hop
The Men-Strater
Tender Loins
Friday, November 2, 2012
First Lines of Books I May Someday Write
1) Steve had never been to Italy, but the moment he laid eyes
on that salami in the meat section of his local Costco, he knew for the first
time in his life exactly where he was supposed to be. And it wasn’t Costco.
2) “What’s your favorite flavor?” the girl with the ponytail asked the boy.
3) It doesn’t matter what they tell you. You never get completely used to life in zero gravity. If anybody could attest to that fact, it was Jack Xander, the captain of the exploratory star ship, Deep Probe. Jack had been The Probe’s captain for over twenty-two years and he still fumbled about in the morning as he tried to locate his toothpaste in his shaving kit. Sometimes, in the mess hall, Jack’s utensils would float off in different directions and he’d just shake his head and say, “I’m gettin’ to old for this shit.” All the cadets would laugh and say, “Good ol’ Captain Xander.”
4) Professor Hill, Ryan's philosophy teacher, paced thoughtfully in front of the class. His lips were pursed as he looked at the floor. It was obvious that Professor Hill was deep in thought, for he always chose his words very carefully. He finally spoke.
"If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it does it make a noise?" he asked.
Ryan raised his hand tentatively. "Yes?" he answered with a hint of doubt in his voice.
"That's correct" confirmed the Professor with a nod.
"Phew" Ryan sighed audibly.
2) “What’s your favorite flavor?” the girl with the ponytail asked the boy.
“Red.” Said the boy.
The girl laughed. “I said flavor. Red is a color.”
The boy looked up from the pebbles he was kicking nervously,
and when their eyes met, something passed between them. And the girl with the
ponytail knew this boy was special. This boy had autism.
3) It doesn’t matter what they tell you. You never get completely used to life in zero gravity. If anybody could attest to that fact, it was Jack Xander, the captain of the exploratory star ship, Deep Probe. Jack had been The Probe’s captain for over twenty-two years and he still fumbled about in the morning as he tried to locate his toothpaste in his shaving kit. Sometimes, in the mess hall, Jack’s utensils would float off in different directions and he’d just shake his head and say, “I’m gettin’ to old for this shit.” All the cadets would laugh and say, “Good ol’ Captain Xander.”
Then they’d march off to mate with the Lizard Queen.
4) Professor Hill, Ryan's philosophy teacher, paced thoughtfully in front of the class. His lips were pursed as he looked at the floor. It was obvious that Professor Hill was deep in thought, for he always chose his words very carefully. He finally spoke.
"If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it does it make a noise?" he asked.
Ryan raised his hand tentatively. "Yes?" he answered with a hint of doubt in his voice.
"That's correct" confirmed the Professor with a nod.
"Phew" Ryan sighed audibly.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Please, let me explain...
So, I've been away for 4 years. But before anyone gets all up in arms about it, allow me to explain my whereabouts.
It all started when I found myself on, what was supposed to be, a 3 hour tour, on a small charter boat. While out, a storm came up and blew the ship off course and we shipwrecked on a deserted Island. And, everybody was killed. It was just me and my volleyball, Wilson Phillips, and a surprisingly varied and diverse bunch of people who had been trying to fly from Australia to Los Angeles. Oh, and there were these others that we'll just call the "Others." We called our group Team Jacob and their group Team Edward. And, we were split into districts by the Capitol and forced, like slaves, to provide all the different material goods the Capitol needed to maintain their lavish, superficial lifestyles. And Wilson Phillips, my volleyball, was drawn in a random lottery to fight to the death in this annual competition, hosted by the Capitol, President Voldemort, and his cabinet of Sith Lords where contestants from the 12 districts were forced to pair up with B-list celebrities and perform ballroom dance routines. And... it sounded dangerous, so I volunteered to dance in Wilson's place. And... if anyone made a mistake on the dance floor the Black Smoke would fly in with this unexplainable clicking sound and kill you, UNLESS, you could answer some basic trivia questions and prove you were smarter than a 5th grader. But my nerves got the better of me and when I was asked what the capitol of California was I accidentally said Los Angeles (which everybody knows is the capitol of Mexico). So I knew I was doomed. And... um... I was like... uuuhh...
Oh who am I kidding??!! I can't do this anymore!!! So many lies!!! And for what??!! To deny the real reason for my 4 year absence. It's true what Abraham Lincoln said. "Oh, what a tangled web we weave, bing bang skibbity bop cleave."
The truth is I had a bad case of writers block. And once I was done teaching high school, I found it extremely difficult to keep up with the demands of writing. And not just the regularity, but also the exceptionally high level of quality that my readers had come to enjoy. But as you can tell from the stellar example of word-smithery above, that is no longer a problem. Boom! In your face, writers block!
It all started when I found myself on, what was supposed to be, a 3 hour tour, on a small charter boat. While out, a storm came up and blew the ship off course and we shipwrecked on a deserted Island. And, everybody was killed. It was just me and my volleyball, Wilson Phillips, and a surprisingly varied and diverse bunch of people who had been trying to fly from Australia to Los Angeles. Oh, and there were these others that we'll just call the "Others." We called our group Team Jacob and their group Team Edward. And, we were split into districts by the Capitol and forced, like slaves, to provide all the different material goods the Capitol needed to maintain their lavish, superficial lifestyles. And Wilson Phillips, my volleyball, was drawn in a random lottery to fight to the death in this annual competition, hosted by the Capitol, President Voldemort, and his cabinet of Sith Lords where contestants from the 12 districts were forced to pair up with B-list celebrities and perform ballroom dance routines. And... it sounded dangerous, so I volunteered to dance in Wilson's place. And... if anyone made a mistake on the dance floor the Black Smoke would fly in with this unexplainable clicking sound and kill you, UNLESS, you could answer some basic trivia questions and prove you were smarter than a 5th grader. But my nerves got the better of me and when I was asked what the capitol of California was I accidentally said Los Angeles (which everybody knows is the capitol of Mexico). So I knew I was doomed. And... um... I was like... uuuhh...
Oh who am I kidding??!! I can't do this anymore!!! So many lies!!! And for what??!! To deny the real reason for my 4 year absence. It's true what Abraham Lincoln said. "Oh, what a tangled web we weave, bing bang skibbity bop cleave."
The truth is I had a bad case of writers block. And once I was done teaching high school, I found it extremely difficult to keep up with the demands of writing. And not just the regularity, but also the exceptionally high level of quality that my readers had come to enjoy. But as you can tell from the stellar example of word-smithery above, that is no longer a problem. Boom! In your face, writers block!
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Please enjoy you HORRORSCOPE
Aquarius
Your love knows no bounds. Till tomorrow, when she bounds, and gags, and tortures you.
Pisces
Get ready to play host this weekend... to a flesh-eating alien that will chew his way out when he’s good and ready.
Aries
Your true love is waiting to meet you later this week. And by "true love" we mean "Gary", the giant you made fun of, while standing in line for movie tickets.
Taurus
You knew head wounds bled a lot, but you're going to want to hold onto your socks, because tomorrow’s is going to be a gusher.
Gemini
Your astrological sign will seen ironic for the first time later this week when the doctor gets those tests back for the lump on your neck and identifies it as your twin that never developed but has been capable of thoughts and emotions your whole life.
Cancer
At first, the dog you hit with your car won't seem significant. That is, until the dog's ghost shows up to haunt you. And urinate on your pillow. Ghost-dog urine… the worst.
Leo
Luckily you're ambidextrous. But your chainsaw-juggling career is over. (Also, you won't be having any kids.)
Virgo
Before you sign that deal with the Devil, see if you can negotiate for more that just "mad banjo skillz." Your soul is worth it.
Libra
Just before you pass out, you'll wish you had paid better attention at the first aid class you took, as the neck tourniquet was not a good idea.
Scorpio
The heart-to-heart you have with your mother later this week is going to be really emotional. But it's not till you have to smash in her zombie brain with a Louisville Slugger, that the real tears start to flow.
Sagittarius
They say that when a person is attacked and eaten by a wild animal, that person feels very little pain due to the amount of adrenaline in their bloodstream. Too bad you won’t get a chance to tell all those stupid doctors how wrong they were. Oh, how very, very wrong they were.
Capricorn
You knew Montezuma's Revenge was bad, but it's not until you pass your own stomach that you learn that Montezuma really has it in for you.
Your love knows no bounds. Till tomorrow, when she bounds, and gags, and tortures you.
Pisces
Get ready to play host this weekend... to a flesh-eating alien that will chew his way out when he’s good and ready.
Aries
Your true love is waiting to meet you later this week. And by "true love" we mean "Gary", the giant you made fun of, while standing in line for movie tickets.
Taurus
You knew head wounds bled a lot, but you're going to want to hold onto your socks, because tomorrow’s is going to be a gusher.
Gemini
Your astrological sign will seen ironic for the first time later this week when the doctor gets those tests back for the lump on your neck and identifies it as your twin that never developed but has been capable of thoughts and emotions your whole life.
Cancer
At first, the dog you hit with your car won't seem significant. That is, until the dog's ghost shows up to haunt you. And urinate on your pillow. Ghost-dog urine… the worst.
Leo
Luckily you're ambidextrous. But your chainsaw-juggling career is over. (Also, you won't be having any kids.)
Virgo
Before you sign that deal with the Devil, see if you can negotiate for more that just "mad banjo skillz." Your soul is worth it.
Libra
Just before you pass out, you'll wish you had paid better attention at the first aid class you took, as the neck tourniquet was not a good idea.
Scorpio
The heart-to-heart you have with your mother later this week is going to be really emotional. But it's not till you have to smash in her zombie brain with a Louisville Slugger, that the real tears start to flow.
Sagittarius
They say that when a person is attacked and eaten by a wild animal, that person feels very little pain due to the amount of adrenaline in their bloodstream. Too bad you won’t get a chance to tell all those stupid doctors how wrong they were. Oh, how very, very wrong they were.
Capricorn
You knew Montezuma's Revenge was bad, but it's not until you pass your own stomach that you learn that Montezuma really has it in for you.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Question 3
Assume you are going out to lunch with some close friends. This group of friends meet every Friday at the same time as part of a weekly tradition. There are four people in the group and each week a different person gets to choose where you go. For the most part the variety and quality of the chosen eating establishments keeps things fresh and enjoyable. However, every fourth week one member of the group, Steve, insists on going to Subway. Unwilling to try anything new, Subway Steve is completely unbending on this issue. His love for the long sandwich is only matched by your hatred of it. And as much as you’d like to miss Steve’s Friday you can’t because the group is governed by a few strict and unbending rules. If you don’t join them on Subway day AND eat a sub you will be permanently excluded from the group and you will lose these friends forever. There is no explanation for the rigidity of the rules. That’s just the way it is.
On Steve’s next Friday, with dread in your heart, you meet your friends at the local Subway. But this day is different. As the Subway sandwich artist completes your order and hands you your twelve inch meal you turn around and see a lone women enter the establishment and at that moment you are endowed, from some unknown source, with the certain knowledge that if you will but unwrap your sandwich, approach the woman, and then deliver the most vicious sandwich beating that your muscles can muster, you will magically develop a sincere and lasting affinity for sandwiches. You will no longer dread, but rather, look forward with fondness to Subway day. She will collapse and shriek with terror as you deliver blow after fresh baked blow. In the end the physical damage done to the victim will be minimal as the weapon was only a sandwich. However, the emotional damage will be significant and acute as this woman has never been beaten with a foot long sub in her life and will never receive any explanation as to why she received one that day. And that is the catch. You can never tell a soul why you attacked that poor woman that day. If you attempt to explain yourself to anyone, especially the victim, your new found love for the sandwich will be replaced by a bitter hatred even more powerful than before. Your friends who were shocked by your behavior will have to settle for the explanation, “I just felt like beating someone with a sandwich.”
Question: Do you continue to suffer every fourth Friday, or do you beat an innocent stranger with a sandwich?
On Steve’s next Friday, with dread in your heart, you meet your friends at the local Subway. But this day is different. As the Subway sandwich artist completes your order and hands you your twelve inch meal you turn around and see a lone women enter the establishment and at that moment you are endowed, from some unknown source, with the certain knowledge that if you will but unwrap your sandwich, approach the woman, and then deliver the most vicious sandwich beating that your muscles can muster, you will magically develop a sincere and lasting affinity for sandwiches. You will no longer dread, but rather, look forward with fondness to Subway day. She will collapse and shriek with terror as you deliver blow after fresh baked blow. In the end the physical damage done to the victim will be minimal as the weapon was only a sandwich. However, the emotional damage will be significant and acute as this woman has never been beaten with a foot long sub in her life and will never receive any explanation as to why she received one that day. And that is the catch. You can never tell a soul why you attacked that poor woman that day. If you attempt to explain yourself to anyone, especially the victim, your new found love for the sandwich will be replaced by a bitter hatred even more powerful than before. Your friends who were shocked by your behavior will have to settle for the explanation, “I just felt like beating someone with a sandwich.”
Question: Do you continue to suffer every fourth Friday, or do you beat an innocent stranger with a sandwich?
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
I Got Fired
"I Got Fired." Possibly the most pride swallowing three-word combination in the English language. It ranks right up there with "she dumped me," and "I've got herpes." It must be one of the worst phrases to have to utter to friends, family, and acquaintances. But invariably, we, or someone we know, will have to say it sometime in our lives.
I've had to say it to friends and acquaintances since July and each time I do it feels as if a little bit of the light, that was my dignity, is snuffed out. Now, the circumstances are such that I am not really ashamed of my recent dismissal, but I know that even when I try to explain the circumstances to people, they are still judging me on some level. "Sure, your boss was wacko," they say out loud, without sarcasm. But in their minds they are saying, sure your boss was wacko... with sarcasm.
Now, most people would think that a sense of humor would be an asset to a high school teacher. At least, that's what my students and many of their parents told me. In fact, the only person who told me otherwise just happened to be the person who held my tenuous position at that school in her dry, bony hands. Let's call her Skeletor. Skeletor was the school director and ran the show with carte blanche authority. She was one of those people who compartmentalized human emotions into different sections of life. Sure, humor had its place. But a school full of teenagers certainly wasn't it. I mean, c’mon.
Skeletor was supposed to be my mentor. She told me, in not so many words, that under her guiding wing and strict tutelage I would someday make a fine teacher of youth. Ironically, she was the most uneducated person I'd ever met. (That's not true. I once knew a homeless guy named Polaris that used to bathe himself in the sink and eat his lunch on the toilet of a public restroom. What I meant was, she was the most uneducated person in the field of education.) It wasn't unusual for her to be confused by words used in everyday conversation, like "ironically".
Skeletor actually only came to my class and observed three times the whole year. (Where was the guiding wing of knowledge and power, I cried from within as I struggled through each class alone.) After the class ended and the students walked out she pulled a seat to my desk so we could go over her meticulous notes and the real training could begin. The only thing I remember from those enlightening conversations was that my humor made me both unapproachable, and un-relatable to the students. I think you've let your life as a stand-up comedian cross over too much in to your teaching career, she would say. I never was a stand-up comedian, I explained. Well, I understand you did comedy, she persisted. I didn't understand what she meant, but the idea conjured images of a man who had a physically intimate relationship with comedy. I laughed to myself and when I did, I realized she was right. My two lives had crossed over. I was laughing at school.
In one breath she would say, I know the kids are having fun in your class, but are they learning anything? And in the next breath she would tell me I'm requiring too much. I was stuck between a rock and a dumb place and wasn't sure how to proceed. In the end she decided that a personality like mine wasn't fit in the world of education. And maybe she was right. If anything can be said of the youth these days, it's that they're studying too hard and laughing too damn much.
I've had to say it to friends and acquaintances since July and each time I do it feels as if a little bit of the light, that was my dignity, is snuffed out. Now, the circumstances are such that I am not really ashamed of my recent dismissal, but I know that even when I try to explain the circumstances to people, they are still judging me on some level. "Sure, your boss was wacko," they say out loud, without sarcasm. But in their minds they are saying, sure your boss was wacko... with sarcasm.
Now, most people would think that a sense of humor would be an asset to a high school teacher. At least, that's what my students and many of their parents told me. In fact, the only person who told me otherwise just happened to be the person who held my tenuous position at that school in her dry, bony hands. Let's call her Skeletor. Skeletor was the school director and ran the show with carte blanche authority. She was one of those people who compartmentalized human emotions into different sections of life. Sure, humor had its place. But a school full of teenagers certainly wasn't it. I mean, c’mon.
Skeletor was supposed to be my mentor. She told me, in not so many words, that under her guiding wing and strict tutelage I would someday make a fine teacher of youth. Ironically, she was the most uneducated person I'd ever met. (That's not true. I once knew a homeless guy named Polaris that used to bathe himself in the sink and eat his lunch on the toilet of a public restroom. What I meant was, she was the most uneducated person in the field of education.) It wasn't unusual for her to be confused by words used in everyday conversation, like "ironically".
Skeletor actually only came to my class and observed three times the whole year. (Where was the guiding wing of knowledge and power, I cried from within as I struggled through each class alone.) After the class ended and the students walked out she pulled a seat to my desk so we could go over her meticulous notes and the real training could begin. The only thing I remember from those enlightening conversations was that my humor made me both unapproachable, and un-relatable to the students. I think you've let your life as a stand-up comedian cross over too much in to your teaching career, she would say. I never was a stand-up comedian, I explained. Well, I understand you did comedy, she persisted. I didn't understand what she meant, but the idea conjured images of a man who had a physically intimate relationship with comedy. I laughed to myself and when I did, I realized she was right. My two lives had crossed over. I was laughing at school.
In one breath she would say, I know the kids are having fun in your class, but are they learning anything? And in the next breath she would tell me I'm requiring too much. I was stuck between a rock and a dumb place and wasn't sure how to proceed. In the end she decided that a personality like mine wasn't fit in the world of education. And maybe she was right. If anything can be said of the youth these days, it's that they're studying too hard and laughing too damn much.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Question 2
Assume you've just met the perfect mate. You and this new person are compatible in every way and your personalities compliment each other better than any person you've ever been with. You find this person intellectually stimulating while maintaining a high level of physical attraction for them. This person is successful, happy, and generally well rounded. They also get along surprisingly well with all of your friends who have congratulated you on finally finding your other half. Best of all, this person brings out the best in you. Since meeting them you feel like you are actually a better person.
After a month of dating, this person invites you to meet their family at the monthly Sunday family dinner, which they rarely miss. You accept, and attend the dinner with high expectations. Once there you realize that their family has an interesting quirk. They are obsessed with slapstick comedy, particularly that of The Three Stooges. The obsession has elevated itself to the point that it has almost overtaken their lives. This person’s dad has even made himself to look like Curly, while their mom has taken on the persona of Larry. After the first hour of the first visit you have already been slapped, whacked, nose smacked, yoinked, and bonked on the head more times than you can count. None of it is malicious, but all in good fun, and while you try to be polite, you are blown away by the family’s level of dedication to the show, which seems to be never ending. Even your significant other becomes part of the show as they take on a persona that is nothing like the person that you have already fallen in love with. However, as soon as you leave the home, this person immediately stops with the slapstick routine and becomes their old self. Not only that, but they also never speak of or reference the unusual Sunday dinners. This part of their lives is reserved strictly for the once-a-month dinners.
Knowing that these Sunday dinners will be a regular occurrence, could you be with this person?
After a month of dating, this person invites you to meet their family at the monthly Sunday family dinner, which they rarely miss. You accept, and attend the dinner with high expectations. Once there you realize that their family has an interesting quirk. They are obsessed with slapstick comedy, particularly that of The Three Stooges. The obsession has elevated itself to the point that it has almost overtaken their lives. This person’s dad has even made himself to look like Curly, while their mom has taken on the persona of Larry. After the first hour of the first visit you have already been slapped, whacked, nose smacked, yoinked, and bonked on the head more times than you can count. None of it is malicious, but all in good fun, and while you try to be polite, you are blown away by the family’s level of dedication to the show, which seems to be never ending. Even your significant other becomes part of the show as they take on a persona that is nothing like the person that you have already fallen in love with. However, as soon as you leave the home, this person immediately stops with the slapstick routine and becomes their old self. Not only that, but they also never speak of or reference the unusual Sunday dinners. This part of their lives is reserved strictly for the once-a-month dinners.
Knowing that these Sunday dinners will be a regular occurrence, could you be with this person?
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Question 1
SCENARIO: You’ve just been in a major accident and are mortally wounded. In exactly 5 minutes you will be dead. The paramedics have already informed you of your certain demise and you have already gone through the Five Stages of Death; denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and have just arrived at acceptance. Your family will be well taken care of as you have recently taken out a large life insurance policy on yourself. 4 minutes before you pass a Chinese angel appears above you and informs you that you are not going to Heaven. To your relief, you are also not going to Hell. Rather, you will be reincarnated, born again, into one of two possible lives.
Possibility 1: You can be born into your run of the mill, middle income, American family. There is nothing extraordinary about this family. They are normal in every way. You will have a good relationship with your parents and all of your siblings. You will be, for the most part, happy. But you will remember absolutely nothing from your previous life. You will start life from square one as a newborn infant.
Possibility 2: You are born with every one of your memories intact. Even as a newborn infant, while breastfeeding, you will know who you are, where you came from, what your real age is, and you will be able to think and reason with the same depth you now enjoy. But, you will be born into the most backward, redneck, hillbilly family in the deep Appalachian Mountains. Everything about your family is dirty, weird, gross, and offensive, and there is a good chance your mother and father are blood relatives. Though your diet consists mostly of possum, raccoon, and corn, you are generally well fed and pretty well taken care of. However, you have nothing in common with your family and you will have little to no contact with mainstream civilization and will be completely unable to leave your parents until you are a legal adult.
QUESTION: Which possibility do you choose and why?
Possibility 1: You can be born into your run of the mill, middle income, American family. There is nothing extraordinary about this family. They are normal in every way. You will have a good relationship with your parents and all of your siblings. You will be, for the most part, happy. But you will remember absolutely nothing from your previous life. You will start life from square one as a newborn infant.
Possibility 2: You are born with every one of your memories intact. Even as a newborn infant, while breastfeeding, you will know who you are, where you came from, what your real age is, and you will be able to think and reason with the same depth you now enjoy. But, you will be born into the most backward, redneck, hillbilly family in the deep Appalachian Mountains. Everything about your family is dirty, weird, gross, and offensive, and there is a good chance your mother and father are blood relatives. Though your diet consists mostly of possum, raccoon, and corn, you are generally well fed and pretty well taken care of. However, you have nothing in common with your family and you will have little to no contact with mainstream civilization and will be completely unable to leave your parents until you are a legal adult.
QUESTION: Which possibility do you choose and why?
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