Shucksy McTurnbuckle's Original Awesome Machine

Profiles in Local Courage: A NewsNetwork 10 Exclusive.

2008-02-06T08:29:00.000-08:00

ARCHER STERLING: Good morning, and welcome to the Early Edition of NewsNetwork 10 News: Your first source for local news, from Napiersburg to Ditmer Lake and throughout the tri-county region. NewsNetwork 10: Where more people get the news that matters, first. Updates every hour, and traffic and weather on the 5s and 9s. Along with Kelly LaMonica, I’m Archer Sterling, of course. Good Morning, Kelly.

KELLY LAMONICA: Good Morning, Archer. Can you believe the weather out there this morning?

ARCHER: Ha ha, you’re not kidding! But on a much more serious note, we’re joined this morning by Kyle Baldridge, a man that many are calling…a hero. Good morning, Kyle.

KYLE: Good Morning.

ARCHER: First thing’s first, Kyle. I’ve just got to ask you: What do you think of our new digs here?

KYLE: Um, it’s nice.

ARCHER: The designers say that it’s supposed to feel residential, but if you ask me, I think it’s a little too Oprah-y.

KELLY: Now don’t you start on this again. (laughs)

ARCHER: All right, all right. Now, Kyle, My producer tells me that up until now, you’ve been very reluctant to talk to the media about your heroic role in the tragic Wilson Road Arby’s fire. What made you change your mind? Did you get caught up in the excitement of being on television? It can be quite a thrill – and obviously I would know.

KYLE: I wanted to honor the memories of those who lost their lives in the fire. I lost four of my coworkers that day, four of my friends. They were truly some of the greatest people I’ve ever known.

ARCHER: There’s no question that it’s a tragedy. No question. Now let me ask you: why did you choose NewsNetwork 10? Did you feel more comfortable talking with the news team voted “Most Trusted News Team” in the Tri-County Shopper’s annual Readers’ Poll?

KELLY: “Most Trusted” three years in a row, Arch.

ARCHER: Ha ha. You won’t hear me bragging, Kelly. But Kyle, people are asking: “Why NewsNetwork 10?” Were you confident that only the NewsNetwork 10 team could present your story with the compassion it deserves? Were you as shocked and saddened as the rest of us by the insensitive remarks ActionCenter NBC8 anchor Curt Custer made about the Arby’s tragedy on last Tuesday’s newscast?

KYLE: Uh, I don’t know. The fact is, some good people died that night, Archer. I don’t want the world to forget that.

ARCHER: Without a doubt. Some folks are calling you a hero, Kyle. Is that a word you’d use to describe yourself? A lot of people want to call me a hero for being first on the scene with late breaking news as it happens, in real time. But the way I see it, I’m just a simple newsman doing my job. How about you, though? Are you a hero?

KYLE: Well, I don’t know about “hero.” I just did what seemed right at the time. I knew that there were people in danger and I was really just acting on instinct.

ARCHER: Exactly. It’s like I said, I’m no hero either. Just a simple newsman. Doing my job.

KYLE: Am I supposed to…

ARCHER: Let me take you back to that night, Kyle. You step out of the walk-in cooler and the Arby’s is filled with clouds of thick black smoke. People are screaming; they’re panicking. Without thinking, you grab Theresa Duntz and race for the exit. Flames are licking at your dirty Arby’s shoes, burning embers are falling onto the shoulders of your threadbare Arby’s uniform, the heat is unimaginable. In the midst of all that chaos, did it ever cross your mind, even for a moment, that you’d be on TV talking to NewsNetwork 10’s Archer Sterling just six days later?

KYLE: Um, I didn’t…I wasn’t really thinking about any of that, I guess.

ARCHER: From the night shift at Arby’s to this. A simple guy like you. It’s an incredible story. And as a testament to your valiant bravery in the face of extreme peril without any regard for your own personal safety, we’d like to invite you to stick around and introduce the NewsNetwork 10 “Perfect 10” Pet Corner Pet Photo of the Week.

KYLE: Okay.

ARCHER: Thank you, Kyle. When we return, we’ll get a visit from the cat that many are calling…a hero. It’s a story you’ll only see on NewsNetwork 10: Where more people get the news that matters, first. Updates every hour, and traffic and weather on the…do you want to do it, Kyle?

KYLE: 5s and 9s.

ARCHER: Ha ha. We’ll be back with traffic and weather on the 5s and 9s.

Schools In Crisis: Are Our Children Learning Good?

2008-01-30T05:34:00.000-08:00

I was watching my local news scroll of school closings and delays and to my horror, I saw the following listing: NO AM KINDERGARTEN. I was outraged! Even a preschool teacher should know that it's NO IS KINDERGARTEN, or preferably NO, ISN'T KINDERGARTEN.

Schools, I'm watching you.

Confessions of a Book Lover

2008-01-28T13:01:00.000-08:00

I love books. Love 'em. Sometimes after I finish reading a book, I'll hold it in front of me, bury my head deep into it and just breathe in its essence (Fun Fact: Many books smell kind of like Fritos!) You know what else I'll do sometimes? I'll take off all my clothes and pile a bunch of books all around me. I'll sit very still and pretend that I'm a book too, just sitting on a shelf with all my brethren. We watch and we wait, hoping that the next passer-by will select one of us. "Pick me! Pick me!" I'll shout. "I'm the best one! I'm a Victorian-era coming of age novel! I've got gorgeous imagery!" Until then, we remained locked in the eternal brotherhood of bookdom. We sit, frozen in time in a place between being and unbeing. Existing in a state of otherworldliness - unbroken by human interference. We contain oceans! We contain mountains! We offer you bliss and misery! We bring you worlds of pain and pestilence! We bring you unbounded hate! Crack our spines! Taste our fetid meat! Enter us! Penetrate us! Feast on our black souls!

I guess what I'm saying is, in this crazy messed-up world of ours, books are about the only things that keep me sane.

This I Believe

2007-09-13T13:35:00.000-07:00

You know how every once in a while, out of nowhere, you’ll catch a strange scent in the air, or get a weird taste in your mouth, and it’s accompanied by an urgent, suddenly all-consuming thought like, “If I were to eat a spoonful of ranch dressing right now, it would give me super powers.” The only possible explanation for this is that’s it’s absolutely the truth. At that moment, while you believed it, ranch dressing would have given you the the superstrength and the ability to fly. And you blew it. Like usual.

A Letter From My Future Self

2007-08-07T12:29:00.001-07:00

At Monkey Bicycle.

Grad School Snaps

2007-06-26T09:21:00.000-07:00

The second in an ongoing series.
Sorted by discipline.

American History

"Your momma's so bald, she has more wigs than Congress during the Zachary Taylor administration!"

Grad School Snaps is a joint production of Blogger.com and McTurnbuckle Enterprises. Made possible thanks to a generous grant from the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, and the support of readers like you.

Whatshisname

2007-06-18T14:56:00.000-07:00

My grasp of foreign languages isn't perfect, but if I'm translating it correctly, I think "Shia Labeouf" would be a great name for a French pornstar.

Either way, he could have starred in Holes.

Customer Service Letter

2007-04-19T13:41:00.000-07:00

Dear Customer,

We have noticed that you haven’t used your Store credit card in a while. You didn’t think we would find out, did you? But we did. We always do. Because we’re always watching. The store is full of cameras, as you probably know. And there’s guys whose job it is to just watch those cameras all the time. And there’s cameras on those guys, too. And guys who watch those guys, and cameras on those guys. And so on. And in our offices, there's a wall that has over 100 monitors in it, so we see everything. We also get like a million cable channels. And free pay-per-view.

We’ve also got computers. Enormous computers. Computers that can talk. Computers the size of your house, and they’re always on: compiling data, crunching numbers, looking for patterns, getting warm, having their fans turn on.

Every time you make a purchase on your Store credit card, the register sends an electronic signal through the telephone wires. Your purchase is printed on a little punchcard that gets sent to a remote warehouse full of cages. In those cages are pigeons. Pigeons with bottles in their claws. Your punchcard goes into a bottle, the pigeon is released, it flies over the ocean and drops it in. The bottle rides the ocean currents until it reaches us. Then we know. And we smile.

But when you don’t make a purchase, your pigeon gets anxious. It gets nervous. It paces back and forth in its cage, wondering when his number will come up. When enough time passes without a purchase, the pigeon goes into a toxic rage, wildly thrashing against the walls of his cage until he literally tears off his own beak, wings and reproductive organs. It’s a mess.

We know you think that using your Store credit card too often is for pussies. We know you hate birds (obviously). But you haven’t used your Store credit card in like five months, and you only spent like 25 dollars. Come on! Just use the goddamn card. You could use some new pants or something, we bet. It just sucks that you're being like this, you know? You used to be cool. You've changed.

Quit being an asshole.

Shirts are on sale.

Hope to see you soon!
Your Store

Warning Label Copy That Would Benefit From Tighter Editing

2007-03-16T10:26:00.001-07:00

Forthcoming at Yankee Pot Roast.

Grad School Snaps

2007-03-12T08:15:00.000-07:00

The first in an ongoing series.
Sorted by discipline.

Geology
"Yo momma's so old, her previous address was in Pangea"

Grad School Snaps is a joint production of blogger.com and Shucky McTurbuckle Enterprises. Made possible thanks to a generous grant from the Archer Daniels Midland corporation. Archer Daniels: Supermarket to the world.

Wacky Improv Comedy Troupes With Meat-Related Names: Real or Made-Up?

2007-03-08T08:56:00.000-08:00

1. Rubber Chicken Factory

2. Chicken Chow Maine

3. Chicken Ranch

4. Hot Beef Infection

5. The Tenderloins

6. Beefquake

7. Bacon, Laughter and Tomato

8. Oscar Meyer Wieners, Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs, and Steve McKenna’s Penis

9. Fratelli Bologna

10. Bearded Lamb

11. Meatloaf 2000

12. Last Ham Standing

13. Hamateur Hour

14. The Hamazons

15. The Ham-O Sapiens

16. Ham Radio

17. Ham, Ham Thank You Ma’am

18. Lucky Ham

19. That’s Not A Bratwurst!

20. Saturday Night Liverwurst

21. Giggleburger ‘n’ Fries

22. Mama’s Pot Roast

23. Chicago Style Beef Curtains

24. Baloney Rodeo

25. The Beef Smugglers

26. Whistling Shrimp

27. Jurassic Pork

28. Here’s the Beef!

29. Veal American Heroes

30. Pork & Dreamz

31. Ground Chuckles

32. Salami, Myself, and I

33. The Bacon Stranglers

34. Scorned Beef

35. Beef Stupid

36. Who Farted On These Pork Chops?

Actual: 1, 3, 5, 9, 10, 12, 14, 18, 22, 24, 26 (Seriously, you can probably find them on the Internet or something. I did some work on this one.)
Made-up: The rest.

Funny, But Makes You Think

2007-03-05T10:43:00.000-08:00

There’s an old joke:
How do you make God laugh?
Make a plan.

And that got me thinking:
How do you make God laugh… at Himself?
Trick Him into drinking your piss.

Because He’d have to admit that you got Him pretty good.

A Nickel's Worth of Free Medical Advice

2007-03-05T10:34:00.000-08:00

If you spend your whole life eating well, exercising, and taking care of your health, it increases your chances of dying in a horrible accident.

It’s true.

Boner Patrol: The Saga

2007-03-02T12:13:00.000-08:00

Boner Patrol: The Motion Picture

Boner Patrol, Too

Boner Patrol 3D

Boner Patrol: Die Boner

Boner Patrols

Boner Patrol 6: Beyond Bonerdome

Boner Patrol, Part VII: The Final Boner

Boner Patrol, Episode VIII: Attack of the Boners

Boner Patrol 9: Red, White and Boner

Boner X

Boner Patrol 11: a.k.a. Battle for the Planet of the Boners

Boner Patrol 12: Bone Alone

The Next Boner Kid

Boner Patrol 14: Rise of the Silver Boner

Boner Patrol 15: The Legend of Curley’s Boner

Boner Patrol: First Contact

Boner Patrol 17: Boner Under Siege

Boner Patrol 18: The Boner Clause

Boner Patrol 19: The Beginning

Boner Patrol 20: Boners Go West!

Boner Patrol and a Little Lady

Boner Patrol 22: Still Bonin’ After All These Years

AVBP

Finally, A Computer That's Programmed (to make you laugh)

2007-03-01T13:10:00.000-08:00

I think that if they ever create a Mac keyboard shortcut for the Internet that removes people's underwear, it should be COMMAND+O.

Name of Post Too Long to Fit in Header

2007-02-22T11:47:00.000-08:00

Something You Might Say Out Loud To A Turkey Sandwich While Having Lunch At Your Desk At Work And You’re Really Hungry That Might Give The Guy In The Next Cubicle The Wrong Idea If He Thinks You’re On The Phone

“Oh God, I want you inside me.”

The Greatest Living Writer

2007-02-22T09:27:00.000-08:00

You know, I try not to expect too much out of life, but I do think that someday I’d like to be thought of as the world’s greatest living writer. Not that I have any pretension that my writing will be thought of as the “world’s greatest”, but maybe they’ll all think I was the writer who was the world’s best at living. Like maybe they’ll look at all the writers and decide that I ate pretty good and tried to exercise sort of often, that I was better at living than, say Jonathan Safran Foer, who in the future might start really letting himself go. Or maybe I’ll have this huge mansion with like a hundred rooms, tons of pinball machines, lots of marble surfaces, a really nice pool with hip-hop-video bitches (I’m normally loath to use this term, but in all honesty, it’s the most descriptive and appropriate for the sort of bitches I’m talking about (ya heard?)), and a modest but impressive topiary garden featuring renderings of the most beloved characters from my canon. And they’d all say, “Nathan Thornton knows how to live! He’s living better than Michael Chabon and Cormac McCarthy put together, and his house makes Sam Lipsyte’s beachfront villa look like a 1970s-era La Paz methadone clinic.” Or how about this – maybe in the future, there’s this crazy virus or something, a pandemic that only affects writers – they could call it “The Crichton Strain” or “The Book Worm”. Anyway, I’m the only one who’s strangely unaffected. Or even better – a serial killer who targets writers and I’m the last one or something. Wait, I’ve got it – zombies! All the world’s writers are mysteriously dying and then rising from their graves! So when the urban centers and shopping malls or the world are being terrorized by an undead brain-craving Joan Didion, and the flesh is dripping off Philip Roth’s fingers as he reaches under your front door to snatch your infant son from your quivering arms, maybe you’ll think something like, “Say what you will about him, but you can’t deny that Nathan Thornton is the world’s greatest living writer. His writing still sucks, though.”

The World's Shortest Pangram

2007-02-21T11:29:00.000-08:00

Odd name, Mr. Bcfghijklpqstuvwxyz.

Wouldn't it be funny if...?

2007-01-25T15:04:00.000-08:00

Wouldn't it be funny if you camped out all night in line to get Justin Timberlake tickets and then when you got home and opened the envelope you found out they were tickets to his execution?

Million Dollar Bathroom Idea

2007-01-05T09:17:00.000-08:00

Why doesn’t somebody create an “Express Men’s Room”? You know, a second men’s room that has just urinals and sinks. Nothing ruins a perfectly pleasant number one than someone blasting away in the stall, plopping away columns of stank. Or, just as bad, the lingering aftereffects of someone’s putrid colon flotsam. If you just need to pop in and out of the bathroom for something as innocent as a wee, you should be able to do it at a safe distance from the accumulated shame cloud of afterbeef generated by the y-chromosomed portion of the masses. The Express Men’s Room would be the privy-equivalent of the ATM at the bank or the 12-items-or fewer-line at the grocery store. You don’t have any serious business to conduct, or a huge load to bag up, you just want to get in and get out without having to stand behind someone conducting a complicated transaction or wheeling up with two carts full of junk and then paying for it with rolls of dimes. The Express Men’s Room. Pee in Pee-ace.

Possible downside: Somebody would definitely poop in one of the urinals.

How to Be Funny (Like Me)

2006-11-14T14:56:00.000-08:00

Here’s a great prank you can play on somebody in a parking lot. I do this all the time. Walk around the parking lot and check out all the registration stickers on people’s license plates. Find one that has the this month’s number listed on it (for example, January would be 1, February is 2, March corresponds to 3, April is represented by a 4, May has a 5 as its signifier, June is capably denoted with a 6, July is brought to glorious life with a simple 7, August finds its proud numeric face in the noble 8, September’s legacy will forever live on in the ominous loop and hanging thread of the 9, and as Nana Deedle used to say, “if the number is 10, it’s October you’re in,” the bitter dread of November pulls itself from the ether and reaches skyward in despair through the twin spires of the 11, and so on). If you see someone who’s registration is due this month, try playing this joke on them: Tell them “Happpy Birthday.” They’ll be completely surprised, floored and taken aback, because how could you - some stranger in a parking lot - know when their birthday is? (Remember? it's from looking at their registration sticker, but only you and I aware of that little secret ). They’ll say “thanks” and maybe their day will be brightened a little. Or possibly they’ll say, “My birthday was like three weeks ago” and you can say, “How the fuck am I supposed to know when your birthday is, asshole?”

Million Dollar Idea for Rabbit Breeders

2006-10-27T07:27:00.000-07:00

This one will make you a mint if you’re a rabbit breeder. If you aren’t a rabbit breeder, just bear with me on this, because maybe you know someone who breeds rabbits, and you can pass this idea along and then you and he can maybe split the money, and one of you could buy me a pinball machine or a dirt bike for my birthday or something because you made so much money from my idea, and you couldn’t think of another way to thank me for being such an amazing genius who gave you this amazing hook-up.

Okay, here it is:

All you have to do is create a new breed of rabbit. It doesn’t matter what kind of rabbit it is (unless it does, in which case you’ll have to work that out for yourself, because you’re the one who’s supposed to be this amazing rabbit expert or whatever). Step Two: go to the rabbit naming board and have this new kind of rabbit’s name registered as the “Dermatologist.” Then sell them to the cosmetics industry so they can test all their make-up and shampoo and stuff on them. The side of the package would have to say (by law): “Dermatologist tested.” Nobody would ever know that by "dermatologist" it really meant rabbits! They’d think it was Dermatologist like the skin doctor, not Dermatologist like the newly created breed of rabbit that you invented solely for animal testing and gave a seemingly cryptic name as a smokescreen for your diabolical animal-testing plot. This way no environmentalists or animal rights groups or anything would get mad at you, not even that vegan girlfriend you had most of spring quarter of your freshman year who wore those hemp shoes and was like way too into Ayn Rand (and pronounced it “aign”) and never forgave you for saying, “I’m pretty sure Altoids never had a face.”

You’re welcome, rabbit breeders.

Things My 2-Year-Old Son Would Say If He Actually Lived Up to The Impossibly High Expectations I Have for Him.

2006-10-16T05:46:00.000-07:00

“Of course I went poo-poo in the potty, although I don’t know why you insist on using such crass and infantile terminology.”

“So I was hitting the dog with a piece of plastic racecar track, and all of a sudden it occurred to me. I thought, ‘What am I doing? This is crazy. This isn’t me. This isn’t how I wanted my life to turn out.’”

“I see kids eating these sugar-, fat-, and salt-laden Happy Meals and I just feel sorry for them. There's nothing 'happy' about juvenile diabetes.”

“It’s bad enough that Thomas the Tank Engine shamelessly panders to parents with these paper-thin “moral lessons” (makes tiny air-quotes with his fingers) that most kids miss entirely, but it’s blatantly apparent, even to a toddler, that Thomas is little more than a pimp on rails, whoring out his image (if you’ll excuse my mixed metaphor) and his brand recognition in the service of foisting more Thomas-emblazoned merchandise on an unsuspecting preschool audience. Nice try, Thomas, but this is one ‘target customer’ who refuses to suckle at the corporate teat.”

“I suppose I don’t have to spend all my NEA grant money on crayons and paper. Here you go, Dad. Get yourself something nice.”

“Actually, I think your keys fell behind the sofa. Here, I’ll levitate it into the air with my mind.”

Dirty Haiku Hastily Rewritten To Make Them About Friendship

2006-10-03T13:38:00.000-07:00

Inside the soft warmth
Penetrating down the depths
My friendship is huge

Piercing, then panting
Then the ultimate release
A good friend feels great

Two friends are talking
Making plans and promises
One always comes first

A good friend never
Slams you behind your back, he
Gives it to you straight

Women crave friendship
The strong man gives it to her
Puts his trust in her

Words That Rhyme*

2006-09-25T08:54:00.000-07:00

goal

rule

towel

shore

dare

trope

flange

*not with each other

Sorry, No Update Today!

2006-09-08T11:17:00.000-07:00

Unless you count this.

Observational Sandwich-Related Humor

2006-08-22T06:42:00.000-07:00

Why is the BLT the only sandwich that features the condiments in the name of it? Isn’t it really a just a bacon sandwich that has the same sorts of things that you’d expect on pretty much any sandwich? If you ordered a hamburger and it came with lettuce and tomato on it, you wouldn’t think, “Wait a second, I ordered a hamburger, not an HLT!” you’d think something like, “Oh, my hamburger’s here. I am going to eat the holy living fuck out of this.” My point is, lettuce and tomato are expected. If you created a hamburger and it had a hamburger patty, lettuce, tomato, onions, pickles, cheese, ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise on it, you wouldn’t call it a HLTOPCRKMM for three reasons. 1. It’s already called a “cheeseburger.” 2. That’s a lot of goddamn letters, nobody will remember all those. 3. What does the “R” even stand for? There’s not even anything that starts with an R in there. Nice try, Burger Chef.

Million Dollar Fish-Out-of-Water Movie Ideas

2006-08-14T14:33:00.000-07:00

Fish Out Of Water - In Another Dimension

Matt Crowder is a cartoonist with dreams of making it big. One day, he finds a magic pen that gives him the ability to travel to another dimension. He ends up in a strange land where everything is exactly the same as it is on Earth, except the words “butterfly” and “haircut” have reversed meanings. Here’s a scene…

Dave (a resident of the alternate-dimension earth): Check out all those beautiful haircuts!
Matt: I don’t follow you.

Fish Out of Water - In Space

Fender Wilton is a jam band roadie with dreams of making it big. One day, he gets high and wanders into a top-secret NASA spaceship, falls asleep and wakes up on Planet Zqqqqqqqz-9. It’s exactly like Earth, except way more science-fictionlike. Let's watch...

Q’XXZ (the president of Planet Zqqqqqqqz-9): Looks like you win, Fender.
Fender: Now I’m the president! You guys totally suck at Scrabble!

Fist out of Water – (Super Shocking M. Night Shyamalan Ending)

Paul Spaldeen is a Pop-a-Shot repairman with dreams of making it big. One day, he falls over Niagara Falls or something and he ends up in the most magical, most peaceful water land you guys could ever think of. Towards the end of the movie, he leans down to take a calm, refreshing drink of the water and *****SPOILER ALERT***** a fist comes out and hits him.
The End.
Or is it????

Insults and Put-Downs of Limited Usefulness

2006-07-13T09:18:00.000-07:00

If the ability to draw a realistic-looking sailboat was sandwiches, you would have like zero sandwiches.

You add up your bowling score like a Thai orthodontist putting a salesclerk from Restoration Hardware in a half-nelson at the conclusion of an argument over the cultural authenticity of a Malaysian-styled bathroom towel rack design.

Hey, the ‘80s called, and they want their groundswell of public sympathy and goodwill in support of the brave paramedics who rescued Baby Jessica back.

When they were handing out jawbones, you thought they said “raw scones” and said “give me one with extra sharp edges.”

You’ve got a face like a Picasso: one eyeball on your forehead, one eyeball in your ear, and featuring the familiar minotaur motif so prevalent during his Surrealist period.

Is that your penis, or did your balls throw up?

Remember that time I was on Jeopardy?

2006-05-01T12:47:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven't blogged in the last five months or so, but I've been busy with Jeopardy and stuff. Incidentally, it's on tonight.

So, there's that.

Knock-Knock 2005

2005-11-30T06:57:00.000-08:00

Knock knock.
-Who’s there?
Nathan.
-Nathan who?
Nathan Thornton, from high school. Is this Jason Johnson?
-Yeah, it’s been forever, man! What have you been up to?
Oh, you know, a little of this, a little of that. Things are going pretty good for me, how about you? Are you still in the Merchant Marines?
-No, man. That’s actually quite an interesting story. I’ll have to tell you about it some time.
No, that’s OK. Listen, do you like knock-knock jokes?
-Not really.
Oh, never mind then. I’ll talk to you later.
-Take care.

Knock knock.
-Who’s there?
Bil.
-Bil who?
Bill.

Knock knock.
-Who’s there?
Banana.
-Banana who?
Knock knock.
(Growing suspicious) -Who’s there?
Banana.
(Quietly reaching under the table for the dagger in his boot) -Banana who?
Knock knock.
(Placing one hand quietly on the table, the other on the dagger, ready to strike, ready for anything. Just stay cool, man. Just keep smiling and act like everything’s just fine. It’s all as cool as a cool cool breeze. We're just two guys talking here. Two guys having a couple of laughs. Jesus Christ, your heart’s beating so hard, you swear that twisted psycho can hear it. Remember your training. Remember to breathe, man.) -Who’s there?
Banana.
(This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. God, is it really that fucking hot in here? I’m dying. OK. OK. Just keep it together, and let’s do this fucking thing. Draw your energy to the center. Moving, be like water. Still, be like a mirror. Respond like an echo.) -Banana who?
Knock knock.
(All right, it’s go time, asshole! Alert level: double crimson! Unseal Attack Formation Epsilon!) -Who’s there?
Orange.
(Stand down! Repeat: Stand down!) -Orange who?
Orange you glad I didn’t say “banana”?
-All right...you got me. That’s a pretty good one.

Knock knock.
-Who’s there?
You.
-Wow, that’s trippy. How did you do that?
You mean, “how did I do that”?
-That makes me think.

Knock knock.
-Who’s there?
…
(goes and sits back down on the couch)
Knock knock.
-Who’s there?
…
-Real funny. Grow up, guys.

Robot Personal Ads

2005-11-22T14:50:00.000-08:00

Key:
S – Single
H – Humanoid
Mt – Metallic
Pl – Plastic
MP – Mostly plastic
Rec – Post-consumer recycled parts
M – Roughly hewn into approximation of “male” form
F – Roughly hewn into approximation of “female” form
SO – Sex organs
DSO – Detachable sex organs
FSO – Flamethrower sex organs
W – Has wheels for feet
Tnk – Has tank track for feet
Rd – Has built-in radio
Bp – Speaks in beeps
Kl – Permanently set on ‘kill’
NoLo – Does not have the ability to feel love

This week, as always, there are no Robot Personal Ads, because robots do not have the ability to feel love.

How To Win A Nobel Prize And Then Act Like A Complete Dick

2005-11-22T06:52:00.000-08:00

Winning a Nobel Prize and then acting like a complete dick is much easier than it sounds. Once you’ve won your Nobel Prize, you’ll really be surprised how easy it is to be a dick to everybody. The first part, I admit, is the most challenging. First, you have to win a Nobel Prize. I would advise choosing one of the easier ones, like Peace, Literature, Handwriting, or Perfect Attendance.

Actually, you might want to go for Chemistry: the guys who won it last year got it for “the development of the metathesis method in organic synthesis.” My little sister could have done that! (My little sister has a PhD in organic chemistry, and has worked for the last 10 years as an associate to Nobel laureate Dr. Yves Chauvin at the Institut Francais du Petrole in Puell-Malmalson, France, but you see what I’m getting at.) Winning the prize doesn’t have to be the hardest part.

Once you’ve got your Nobel, then all you have to do is start acting like a complete dick to everyone. Some suggestions:

After you fart, don’t say, “Excuse me,” or “whoopsie.” Instead, say, “I don’t think the scientific community quite understands the full impact of what I’ve done here.”

When your boss asks you to change the oil in the fryer, tell him, “There’s no need for me to change this oil,” while pointing to your Nobel Prize with a look of smug self-satisfaction. (Bonus: also works if you’re a Jedi)

When your son gives you a coffee mug that says #1 Dad, tell him, “You’re goddamn right I’m the number one dad! Number one! Number one! Woot! And I don’t need some shitty cup to tell me, either! A little group of guys in Sweden seems to think I’m the number one dad in the field of Economics. Holla! When I say ‘No’ you say ‘Bel’ I say ‘No’ (pause or beatbox while waiting to hear ‘Bel’) All the ladies in the house say ‘Ho!’ N-O-B-E-L! I know science very well!” Then do a headspin and throw the coffee mug out the window.

Buy your kids shirts that say, “My Dad Won A Nobel Prize And All I Got Was this Lousy T-Shirt And The Creeping Realization That I Will Never Live Up to His Impossibly High Expectations.”

When your wife wins an Academy Award tell her, “That’s great, honey. The Oscars are pretty much the Nobel Prizes for people who can’t do shit.”

When people ask if they recognize you from something, say “NO, it doesn’t ring a BELL…” while absentmindedly tapping the Nobel Prize hanging from your neck and smiling ironically. And if they don’t get it say, “Get it? No-bel?” and if they still don’t get it, tell them that they probably recognize you from the Nobel awards ceremony, and if they don’t, tell them that you’ve got it taped.

On karaoke night, sing “She Blinded Me With Science,” but change the lyrics to “I Blinded You With Science (My Nobel Prize in the Science of Chemistry, That Is)” and go around the room hitting dudes in the nuts with it.

What I’ve Learned…

2005-10-26T13:33:00.000-07:00

Some people call them “problems,” but I call them “opportunities.” Some people call them “strangers,” but I call them “friends I haven’t met yet.” Some people call them “coffee cups,” but I call them “skyscrapers.” Words were never my strong suit.

Don’t be fooled into completing this sentence: “My father kisses like a…”

There’s a reason they don’t have an aisle in the grocery store for “Foods easily inserted into the anus.”

Take the money you would have spent on two expensive whores and get ten cheaper whores.

There are two kinds of people in the world.

When children are selling cookies for “a small donation,” they are actually giving cookies away for “free.”

A real genie wouldn’t ask for your credit card number.

Always hire people who are smarter than you are. Then when you fire them, say “Who’s the smart one now, Einstein?”

It took science over two thousand years to create the Watermelon Jolly Rancher. And it doesn’t taste a thing like a fucking watermelon.

Every time you have a bowel movement, measure it and write down the size and weight in a leather-bound journal. That way they’ll have to believe you.

If you complete surgery and there are two hearts sitting on the table, you fucked up.

If you think about it, blowjobs aren’t really that great. Unless you’re receiving one.

Some people look at what is and ask “why?” I look at what could be and ask “What were we talking about again?”

My Album Cover Shot

2005-10-26T07:16:00.000-07:00

Eyes askance.

Eyebrows tousseled.

Lip cast noseward.

Holding a scimitar.

Casual air of detached bemusement (if unavailable, use casual air of bemused detachment).

Hair flowing, blowing, billowing like a cascading Niagara Falls of rich chocolaty nightmares, careening around my body like an angry tornado of frightened bats flittering about as if they are tearing a 1997 East St. Louis and Vicinity phone book into tiny shredded snowflakes of no-longer-accurate contact information.

Basket of puppies.

Black Trans Am filled with limes.

Band members dressed as the cast of Head of The Class (pre-Robin Givens departure).

Twelve-foot party sub, extra mayonnaise.

What Not to Give Kids on Trick-or-Treat Night

2005-10-19T07:58:00.000-07:00

Cucumber/chevre/salmon roe canapés

“Fun Size” Salem Lights

Your band’s demo tape

The ol’ San Jose Shakedown

Photographs of themselves sleeping

Easter candy

Right-to-life pamphlets

Homemade coupons for a free back rub

Those peanut butter shit things in the black and orange wrappers

Kittens

Old Idea – New Packaging

2005-09-14T06:07:00.000-07:00

What ever happened to new ideas? It seems like just about everything nowadays, or “these days” or “anymore” is just an old idea in new packaging. Pretty much every movie made “in this day and age” is based on an older movie, a television show, a video game, a candy bar, or a brand of scissors or something. And plus, other stuff.

Vanilla Coke: This is pretty much like they took regular Coke and asked, “What if we put the word ‘vanilla’ on the can?”

Justin Timberlake: This is pretty much like they took Michael Jackson and asked, “What if he sucked?”

Arcade Frogger: Nice try. Frogger was like the first game I ever got for my Atari 2600.

Little League: Ah the sweet nostalgia of Little League. Supposedly created to give kids something to do in the summer while at the same time building morale and self-esteem, but in reality is just a cheap rip-off of baseball.

The President: George Bush was elected president of the United States in the year 2000. Let’s think; didn’t we already have one of these? Does the name James Buchanan ring a bell?

Dancing: Everybody thinks that dancing is this awesome new idea. Get real, guys. Dancing is nothing but a sped-up version of standing still.

China: Hmm, this is a real original idea. A country in Asia where mostly Chinese people live. Yeah, right. Hey Mao, ever heard of Japan?

Long Pants: Don’t be fooled. These are really just a bigger version of the short pants you wore as a kid.

Babies: Come on, this is hardly a new idea. Everybody was a baby once. Unless you were adopted.

Proposed Replacement Phrases for Overused Corporate Lingo

2005-08-12T14:32:00.000-07:00

Formerly: Gain alignment
Proposed: Achieve slippage

Formerly: On a go-forward basis
Proposed: Until Shilvaroth the Devourer of Worlds rises from the dark cavern of Ulthrea and fulfils the prophecy.

Formerly: Touchbase
Proposed: Dickwhittle

Formerly: Keep it on your radar
Proposed: I’m sick of you, Vanessa. I’m sick of you and I’m sick of your shit.

Formerly: Please advise…
Proposed: Slip the crack, make a snack, then send it back, Jack!

Formerly: I’ve got a lot on my plate right now
Proposed: Whatever happened to Mark Linn-Baker? He was so funny on Perfect Strangers.

Formerly: Let’s discuss that offline
Proposed: My eyes! My eyes!

Ways my office would be different if it were completely submerged underwater (And one way in which it would be the same).

2005-08-09T13:42:00.000-07:00

Less important to remember to put paper into the recycle bin rather than the garbage can.

Harder to blow the fuzz out of my mouse.

Playing field between me and Sea Monkeys on my desk leveled.

More pencil use; less pen use.

Less likely I’ll accidentally unplug my computer by tripping over the power cable.

Fewer trips to the restroom.

No more obsessively de-crisping the gel in my hair for the first hour of work.

Previously unused filing cabinet now used for kick-turns.

Probably more acceptable to take your shoes off.

Equal feeling of crippling suffocation.

Pizza Hospital

2005-08-08T08:04:00.000-07:00

Approximately 60% of all delivered pizzas arrive at their destination with a serious problem. How often have you had to deal with these common pizza-related traumas: cheese slide, over- or undersaucing, topping loss or “free-float”, crust instablility, unorthodox slicing, crumpling, topping distribution issues, cardboard/cheese adhesion (a.k.a. “box stick”), inaccurate topping-to-cheese ratio, improper calibration, and all the problems inherent in a multiple-meat matrix, including but not limited to clumping, crowding, piggybacking and Wampling’s Syndrome. Any number of things could go wrong, and there’s never been anything you could do about it. Until now. Now you can take that pizza to the Pizza Hospital.

Although it doesn’t exist, the Pizza Hospital is a theoretical solution to all your pizza-related ailments. Carefully trained board-certified Pizza Doctors will evaluate, treat, and cure your pizza in thirty minutes or less. Or more, depending on the severity of the problem. Something as simple as placement of a missing topping (or a “top and drop”) may take mere minutes, while a serious issue such as cheese slide with crust mangle, or an invasive anchovy sterilization may require more involved surgery. Sure, we lose a few patients every now and then, but I stand behind my staff. They’re the finest men and women in their profession, and I’d lay my life on the line for any one of them.

We will accept most major forms of Pizza Insurance, but if you are uninsured or can’t afford to pay your bill, we will still treat your pizza. Because of the Hippocratic Oath. We simply require that you let us eat one (1) piece of it. And a sip of your pop.

The Pizza Hospital:
Deliver us from evil…to delicious.

Dubious Claims

2005-08-05T06:37:00.000-07:00

“It was raining so hard this morning, I had to find my way to work by sense of smell.”

“You know why the chili here is so good, don’t you? They put orphan tears in it.”

“I wouldn’t get an Irish Setter if I were you. Aside from humans, they’re the only member of the animal kingdom that has sex for money.”

“I saw this thing on the History Channel last night, and it said that in the 1960s, the U.S. Treasury issued a $1.35 bill, $1.35 being the average cost of most consumer goods at the time. It was essentially a $1.00 bill with a quarter and a dime taped to it, and it was only in circulation for about three months before they realized how easy it was to counterfeit.”

“By the age of 14, the average American child has seen over 15,000 murders in person.”

“Yeah, I used to buy Snapple, too. Then I found out that in the factory, they let pedophiles swim in it.”

“The best cure for hiccups? Eat a bible.”

My Recent Speech on Fire Safety

2005-08-04T14:05:00.000-07:00

Hey, who here likes being burned alive? Ha, ha. You don’t have to answer that.

The answer is that of course you don’t because no one does due to the fact that it hurts and ruins your clothes and sometimes kills your family if they didn’t just listen to a very interesting and humorous speech about fire safety.

So now that we’ve talked about the importance of fire safety, and we all agree that fire safety is very very important; more important than flossing your teeth and looking both ways before you cross the street combined, let’s move on to my next topic: fire safety.

Here’s a little secret about fire safety that those fatcats in Washington D.C. don’t want you to know. For years they’ve handed down their judgement from on high, as if they were the ultimate authority on fire safety. They sit up there on Capital Hill and light their Cuban cigars with hundred-dollar bills and get hot-oil massages from Peruvian whores and eat macaroni and cheese as a side dish, not as a main course and pretend that they’re the end-all be-all authority on fire safety. Surely they’d know more than a person who not only read a pamplet on fire safety, but also looked it up on Wikipedia. Yeah, I didn’t think so.

Anyway, the secret is this: If you’re on fire, you don’t have to stop, drop, and roll. That’s right, I said it! The stopping part is completely unnecessary. You can drop and roll from a full sprint, if you like. It’ll do the exact same thing. In fact, it might even put the fire out a little faster. So if you’re on fire, just drop and roll, don’t stop. And don’t stop thinking about fire safety.

So, in conclusion, although fire smells nice, is eerily beautiful, and can make you feel powerful and angry, you should try to be careful with it.

Three Phrases That I Hope Don't Appear In My Obituary

2005-07-20T07:36:00.000-07:00

1. Execution-style
2. Auto-erotic
3. By the time his body was discovered, it had been partially eaten by his parrot.

Why Do Jokes Hate America?

2005-07-19T06:55:00.000-07:00

Knock knock.
-Who’s there?
A hackneyed, contrived, poorly constructed sequence of unlikely events culminating in a punning take on a sexual act or minority group.
-Nah, that’s okay. I would, but just like everybody in the world, I hate jokes.
Orange you glad I didn’t say banana?
-Seriously dude, stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself.

Why do people tell jokes? No one likes them. They aren’t funny. They are as poor a substitute for actual humor as they are for actual human interaction. And they are never based on any sort of reality. “So there’s this kid named Johnny Fuckerfaster…” No, there isn’t. There has never been and there never will be any human being with the surname “Fuckerfaster”. Come on. (And by the way, just by hearing the first line of the joke, you can pretty much figure out what the rest of it is. Are you laughing yet?)

Let’s take a look at a representative joke, found on a website reportedly devoted to “humor”. Here it is, possibly the most nonsensical, least believable joke ever devised.

Ding Dong

There was a lady who was in bed with her lover one day, when she hears a noise and realizes that her husband is home early from work. She has no idea what to do with her lover so she sticks him in the closet and successfully covers up every part of his body except his balls. Thinking quick, she paints his balls red with some spray paint.

Her husband comes up to the bedroom and opens the closet doors to get out some clothes and notices the red balls hanging there. "What are these?" he asks.

"Oh, those are just some Christmas Bells I picked up on sale this afternoon," she answers.

He toys with them for a second and realizes that they are not making noise, so he pulls them apart and clangs them together, but all he hears is "uuuggghhh".

He says, "Honey, these things aren't working right, let me try again." So he pulls them farther apart and bangs them together. Still the only noise made is "UUUGGGHHH".

He is beginning to get a little annoyed and he says, "I am gonna try once more and if these things do not chime, I am gonna throw them in the fireplace and burn them." So he stretches them as far apart as he can and slams them together.

At that moment, the guy sticks his head out of the closet and screams, "DING DONG, DING DONG, DING DONG!!!!

And of course the final, unwritten line, spoken by the husband, “Aha, these bells seem to be in fine working order after all. My faulty cognitive abilities have allowed me to hold a man’s scrotum in my hand and believe that it was a set of bells, so it’s completely conceivable to me that although I see a man screaming, that sound is most likely the gentle chiming of these new Christmas bells. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, honey.”

If the events depicted here were to actually occur, the earth would reverse polarity, the oceans would dry up, and the dead would rise from their graves.

First of all, it seems a little shortsighted to name the joke after the punchline. Typically, you would want to keep the punchline a secret until the end of the joke. By telecasting it at the beginning, it’s like (wait for it…) premature e-joke-ulation!!!!11!! (I am truly sorry. I realize that I am part of the disease, although I strive to be a part of the cure)

Secondly, the wife covers up “every part of his body except his balls”? What? What’s she covering him up with, a sheet with a ball-sack sized hole in it? And she apparently doesn’t have time to cover up his balls, but she has time to get a can of spray paint and paint his balls? That’s “thinking quick,” all right.

“I know what I’ll do, I’ll cover up every part of him except his balls which I’ll spray paint red, so that on the off chance my husband does open the closet, I’ll just tell him that they are Christmas bells.” And, you know what? It worked.

The safest bet here is to assume that the three participants of the joke are developmentally disabled. This is the only way the joke could possibly make sense. So it’s really sad more than anything else. It’s just as likely that the guy would poke his head out of the closet and say, “I like fried chicken!” or “Dinosaurs are mean! Dinosaurs go ‘rahr’!” There’s nothing funny about the quiet dignity of the retarded. They’re just trying to make sense out of this crazy world, just like the rest of us.

So let’s all agree to stop telling jokes. For the good of society. And our children. If we all band together to rid the world of the tyranny of joke telling, we will finally be free to laugh again. I envision a world where the only acceptable response to the query, “Want to hear a joke?” is “Only if you’ll let me jerk off in your hair.”

Hollywood's Most Hilarious Bleeps, Boners and Flub-Ups: Nicolas Cage Edition

2005-07-06T08:26:00.000-07:00

An Open Letter to Pepsi-Cola Regarding the Creation of Pepsi Lime

2005-06-30T07:25:00.000-07:00

Dear Pepsi,

It doesn’t taste like limes, you know.

It sort of tastes like hearing the song “Broken Wings” on the radio and not quite realizing why it makes you so sad but when you think about it, you realize that that song was playing when you were at the seventh-grade dance and you were just getting over the flu and you thought you had to fart, but actually you shit your pants so you threw your underwear away in the boys’ locker room but then some eighth graders found them and brought them into the auditorium where the dance was and asked whose they were and you said you didn’t know, but they weren’t yours, and they said well who else here has the initials “N.T.” and you saw that they were one of the pairs of underwear that your mother had written your initials into for 4-H camp and all the kids called you “Turdo” pretty much until graduation, as in “try not to get any turds on our Quarter Pounders, Turdo, or we’ll tell your manager to fire you.”

So you should probably change the name of it, because it’s kind of deceptive to name something after a pleasant-tasting flavor like limes, when in reality it tastes very very bad. Instead of Pepsi Lime, maybe you could call it Pepsi Soul-Wrenching Despair. That way, at least people would know what they were getting themselves into.

Sincerely,

(name withheld)

Dogs of War

2005-06-28T08:08:00.000-07:00

I can't believe that there's no such thing as a gun that shoots hot dogs at people.

I defy you to think of something more awesome (and if you're going to say a gun that shoots hammers at people or a gun that shoots little tiny guns at people, you're wrong, buddy. It's hot dogs. Hot dogs is better.)

Here's a couple of reasons why:
1. Hot dogs are awesome in every single way.
2. There's no way that getting shot with a hot dog could hurt you, unless possibly you get shot in the swimsuit area.
3. And even if it did hurt some, you'd probably be laughing so hard that you wouldn't mind. Because, come on! A gun that shoots hot dogs?
4. For protection, you could wear a vest made of hot dog buns.

Product Name, Possible Taglines and Supplemental Copy:

The Shot Dog(tm): The Gun That Shoots Hot Dogs At People.

- Launch a Meat Missile!
- Join the Hebrew National Rifle Association!
- First Came the Tommy Gun. Now, Introducing the Frank Gun.
- They Say An Army Fights On Its Stomach, So Why Not Fight With Something That A Person Would Normally Put In His Stomach? In This Case, A Hot Dog! Shot Out Of A Gun That Shoots Hot Dogs! Get It?
- This House Protected by Smith, Wesson, and Kahn's.
- Hot Dogs Are Made with Pork, Beef, Turkey and Chicken. And Now, Duck.
- And Remember, Never Shoot Someone In The Swimsuit Area. That Ain't Kosher!

So if anybody out there is good at making things, or building things, or putting things together, or constructing things, or taking two seemingly disparate items and combining them in hilarious and unexpected ways, please get to work on this idea. I've pretty much taken care of the hard part.

If You Could Have Any Superpower

2005-06-23T14:06:00.000-07:00

If you could have any superpower, I think that the ability to change the color of your urine at will would be a dumb choice. Because what could you do with it? You could show it off to your friends, if you don’t mind letting them see your penis. But if a buddy of mine said, “hey, check this out” and then took out his wiener and started peeing, I don’t know if I’d stick around long enough to see what color it was. I guess maybe you could tell your boss your weren’t feeling well and tell him you had blood in your urine and then show him your blood-red pee. But you could only do that once, maybe. And it’s just as likely you’d get fired as get the afternoon off. Really, the only practical use would be to trick people into drinking your pee. Which is kind of selfish, because how would you fight crime with that?

Way to blow it, dude. You could have been able to fly or something.

How To Tie A Bowline Hitch

2005-06-21T06:46:00.000-07:00

I've removed this piece because it's going to be published in the Fall Duck and Herring Pocket Field Guide. Buy a big stack of them.

Dirtiest-Sounding "Masters of the Universe" Character Names

2005-06-21T06:37:00.000-07:00

Extendar

Fisto

Clamp Champ

Tung Lashor

Snout Spout

Ram Man

Thunder Punch He-Man

Mantenna

High five me, you son of a bitch!

2005-06-17T08:13:00.000-07:00

I have done so many high-five-worthy things this week that if somebody doesn’t get over here and high five me, I’m going to start fucking people up.

1) I told a fat guy, “If it gets any colder in this office, I’m going to slice your belly open and get inside you, like Luke Skywalker in The Empire Strikes Back.” High five!

2) I took a leak, and then kept stepping farther and farther back from the urinal until my back was against the god damn wall, without spilling a drop. High five!

3) Upon hearing the Michael Jackson verdict, I said, “Looks like he got off’ like he was when he ‘beat it’ when he was with those little boys.” Or something like that. High five!

4) I went out to dinner with my wife and ran into one of my old buddies from high school. He was like, “Is that your wife?” and I was like, “Fuck no!” then I grabbed my wife, put her in a headlock and farted in her face. High five!

5) I spent like three days writing the letter to my father that I have been meaning to write ever since I was a child. I finally told him how I felt about him, and how I felt that he always unfairly compared me to my brother. That maybe I wasn’t an athlete, maybe I wasn’t a conservative Republican, maybe I wasn’t some big shot doctor or something, but I still loved him. And that if he couldn’t see what a great person I had become, that it was his loss. He called me and asked, “Did you write this faggy letter, faggot?” and although I was holding back the tears on the inside; on the outside, I was like, “Huh? I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” High five!

6) I went to Old Country Buffet and took one drink of their crappy coffee, spit it out onto the sneeze guard, then poured the rest into the macaroni and cheese. Fuck ‘em for not having better coffee, right? High five!

What’s up Chipotle’s ass?

2005-06-14T12:33:00.000-07:00

Chipotle (the burrito place) loves to promote itself as a “customer-friendly” sort of place where the customer can have whatever he wants. “You call the shots, my main man,” they say. “Why don’t you climb up on Chipotle’s lap and tell him all about what you want on your burrito. Have you been a good boy all year? Ho ho ho!”
What a crock of mierda. I have never once told the burrito-barista people, “Hey, make it so the first three or four bites are entirely rice,” or “I only want sour cream on the last mouthful,” or “Make it so I can barely tell that there’s cheese on my burrito, because its placement makes it indistinguishable from the tortilla.”

Come on, Chipotle. Would it kill you get off your high horse and just mix all the stuff together, for crying out loud? It’s not hard, you know. It’s not like you don’t have bowls. Because, I mean, get real! Man alive, you guys. Get over yourselves.

Gone.

2005-06-13T11:11:00.000-07:00

Baked Potato Toppings Awards Ceremony 2005 (check your local listings for showtimes)

2005-06-09T11:29:00.000-07:00

Sour Cream - Gold Medal
Butter - Silver Medal
Cheddar Cheese - Bronze Medal
Chili - Defensive Award
Salt - Team Spirit Award
Aunt Jane's Crazy Mixed Up Salt - Outstanding Freshman
Bacon - Good Hustle Award
Chives - Participation Pin

Thanks to everybody for making this another great year.

E-Mail Hoax Alert!

2005-06-07T13:42:00.000-07:00

Keep your eye on your inboxes, folks! There are some unscrupulous people out there who are just dying to play you for a fool. Here’s this week’s e-mail hoax alert:

The hoax:
The body of the e-mail reads, “Fierce Melon Gatorade is more fierce than you’d think. The USDA is issuing a warning that this new flavor, although delicious and thirst-quenching, can be deadly. Flavor agents in the drink have been linked to cancer, ringworm, and legionnaire’s disease. Also, many bottles of this beverage were found to contain the eggs of the brown recluse spider, one of nature’s deadliest assassins. Additionally, many depraved persons have been discovered placing HIV-infected needles on specially-marked caps in such a way that they stick you when you open them and you get AIDS and die. Plus this one kid that my cousin knows drank some of that new Gatorade after eating Cool Ranch Doritos and he vomited blood for like a week until he just died. They said his stomach literally exploded in his body. I swear to God. Also there is a recent report, I think I saw it on CNN about how a woman contracted this crazy bad disease because there was dried rat urine on the Gatorade bottle. And, Gatorade has tons of sodium.”

The truth:
Far from being “delicious”, Gatorade actually tastes like ass.

Screaming - A Fiction

2005-06-06T14:42:00.000-07:00

Once the screaming stopped, Ron noticed that it hadn’t. The screaming of the audience had dwindled away until the theater was completely silent with the exception of the crescendo continuing to issue from his own mouth. The remainder of the audience allowed him his horror for a moment or two longer, in empathy. After all, hadn’t they all screamed together? Hadn’t it felt good? Why stop sharing this feeling? Outrage, disgust, shock, what better reaction was there than a universe-challenging scream culled from the center of Ron’s better judgment? Scream, and scream louder in the face of all the uncomfortable stares. Stare on, audience. See how a scream is made. The scream of many is but a hollow echo of a scream of one. A shared scream brings lives together. A lone scream sets one apart. Stare on, audience. When all screams end, this one will continue. This scream has two parts: a beginning and a continuation. This scream screams. This scream says, "I am super allergic to bees." So you can sort of understand why it was such a big deal.

The National Spelling Bee Has Jumped the Shark

2005-06-03T06:39:00.000-07:00

Well, it’s that time of year again. It seems the whole nation’s got Spelling Bee fever. Can you feel that, baby? That’s what I’m talking about! Unh!

What is it that makes this annual event so popular? Is it the age-old spirit of competition, the emphasis on brains over brawn, or the chance to match one’s own wits against a seventh-grader? Nope. The reason people love the Spelling Bee is they love to see little kids break down and cry. And this year, it looks like the producers of the Bee have figured that out, and personally, I think they’ve gone too far. They’ve written the example sentences in such a way to wring maximum emotional impact from these fragile little intellects.

Take a look at these actual, genuine example sentences that appeared on this week’s National Spelling Bee. These are real, and I haven’t changed, altered, or made them up in any way whatsoever. These appeared verbatim, on national television. If you don’t believe me, why don’t you come over to my house? I have the whole thing on tape and I’ll show it to you. Then we’ll see who’s the liar, liar. Yeah, that’s what I thought.*

*not really, these are all made up

Key
K = Kid
P = Spelling Bee Word Pronouncer

P: “Bellipotent.”
K: “Could you use it in a sentence?”
P: “I wouldn’t want to miss an easy first-round word like 'bellipotent'; they’d never let me live that one down when I got back to school on Monday.”

P: “Scalar.”
K: “Could you use it in a sentence?”
P: “The girl who misspelled ‘bellipotent’ is much cuter than the girl who’s about to misspell ‘scalar’.”

P: “Noyau.”
K: “Could you use it in a sentence?”
P: “In a viewer survey following the nationally televised spelling bee, the most popular response to the question, ‘What was the highpoint of the broadcast?’ was ‘When the kid misspelled ‘noyau’ and totally spazzed out and lost it.'”

P: “Lixiviate.”
K: “Could you use it in a sentence?”
P: “If you misspell ‘lixiviate’, you’re pretty much ensuring yourself a one-way ticket to running down those stairs on the left side of the stage and spending the rest of the afternoon crying into your mom’s boobs.”

P: “Chechia.”
K: “Could you use it in a sentence?”
P: “I can’t tell if this kid’s about to spell 'chechia' or piss himself.”

P: “Phaechrous.”
K: “Could you use it in a sentence?”
P: “The old man said to his wife, ‘So help me God, Judith, if it ever gets to the point where I can’t spell a simple word like ‘phaechrous’, just go ahead and put me out of my misery.'”

P: “Epopt.”
K: “Could you use it in a sentence?”
P: “When asked to spell ‘epopt,’ the kid replied, ‘Could you use it in a sentence?’ in this totally gay voice.”

As Time Goes By

2005-05-31T14:21:00.001-07:00

When I was a child, I dreamed childish dreams, no one told me I couldn't. Believe in yourself, they said, you can do anything. I was a perpetually flowing chalice of unfulfilled potential. Sure a lot of those dreams were far-fetched, a little unrealistic, but they were mine.

Now I'm older, and I worry that I've lost that sense of childlike wonder at the world. I see that I probably won't live out those dreams of yesteryear. Only now do I see that I will never pistol-whip anyone.

Sick Jokes from the Future

2005-05-31T14:21:00.000-07:00

Mean-spirited, sick jokes have been around as long as I can remember. As soon as some sort of tragic event occurs, the market is flooded with them, like when the Challenger exploded, or we found out Rock Hudson died of AIDS, or most of the events of Michael Jackson’s life happened. Here are some examples, only you might not get them because they’re from the future. I can’t tell you how I got them, all I can say is one day, maybe not too far from now, these are going to be really offensive.

Q: Did you hear what Venus Williams' son said to her right after the Olympics?
A: Neither did she.

Q: Did you hear why John Ashcroft didn’t go to the latest White House dinner?
A: He said he had Mexican for lunch.

Q: Did you hear Mel Brooks is going to rerelease the movie Spaceballs? Except this time it’s going to just be called Spaceball.

Q: Did you hear about the new Benji movie?
A: Yeah, Elijah Wood is going to play the love interest.

Q: How many Armageddon survivors does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: Both of us, but there’s no electricity due to the complete destruction of civilization. Plus, most of the light bulbs are broken.

Q: What’s the name of Shari Lewis’ new puppet?
A: Limbchop.

Oh, I See How It Is

2005-05-27T08:46:00.000-07:00

Don't you hate people who use this expression? I know I do.

Tales of Inspiration

2005-05-27T08:07:00.000-07:00

About a week ago, I was trying to return something at a local convenience store (apparently, when a comb says 'unbreakable" in huge letters across its surface, that doesn't necessarily constitute a binding guarantee. we'll leave it for the courts to decide) and in front of me in the line there was an older gentleman, purchasing instant lottery tickets. These tickets were the variety in which you needed to scratch off three matching sums of money, and that's the amount you'd win. I watched this man do his scratching, and I noticed that after he revealed two matching sums, he would throw the ticket into the garbage with the third number unrevealed. How odd, I thought, so I stopped him.

"Oh Pap Pap," I said (I call all older gentlemen "Pap Pap", and older women "Mee Maw". They all seem to love it, it's endearing. Maybe it's because my own grandfather wouldn't allow me to call him Pap Pap, even though I begged him. He insisted that I call him Dr. Phillips, although he was an electrician, and his last name was Henry. Now that I'm older, I realize that he may not have actually been my grandfather.)

"Pap Pap, why is it that when there's a chance you might win, you throw the ticket away without finding out whether or not you've won a lot of money? That's seems very silly to me. Right silly indeed." I said the last part with a comical Cockney accent, just to keep his interest.

"Well my boy, when you get to be my age, you'll have seen a lot of disappointments. I use these tickets to give myself hope. When two numbers match, I don't uncover the last one, because I get to walk around all day thinking that I could be a winner. If I see all the numbers, I might find out that I lost. I'd rather have the possibility of winning than the reality of losing," said the old man.

"If you're not going to buy something, you have to leave," said the clerk.

"Thank you, my dear sweet old old man," I said.

I thought about what that man said, and it made a lot of sense. He'd really figured out the secret to happiness. He lives a life of infinite possibilities. He's always a winner, because he won't allow himself to lose. I decided right then and there I was going to live my life that way. As soon as I was done getting those tickets out of the trash. It turns out that guy wasn't going to win shit. What an asshole.

Some things aren't so good.

2005-05-26T14:31:00.000-07:00

This is a new feature at "the machine" where I'll point out that everything you like is actually complete shit. Hope you like it.

Isn't 11 the most retarded number of all time? If you think about it, all it is is two ones. What a bunch of bullshit.

Eleven. Some things aren't so good!(tm)

Million Dollar Idea

2005-05-26T13:03:00.000-07:00

Check it out. Are you ready for this?

A car made out of water.

Can you imagine how many problems this would solve?
First, the car would obviously run on water, so the industrial-petrochemical-military complex would be knocked on its ass and there would be no more wars.
Gas stations would have way more room for pop and chips and stuff.
If you got into an accident, just add more water.
And the best part of all...water is free.

The only possible problem I can foresee is there would be no place to put a radio, but if you had a car made out of water, you really wouldn't need one. All you would want to listen to is the sound of your own voice saying, "Holy fucking shit! I'm driving a car made out of fucking water! Yippie yahoo hooray! This is the best day ever! Lick my butthole, Mr. President of America!"

So how about it, Science? What's the hold-up?

Excerpt from my Screenplay II: The Legend of Curly's Gold

2005-05-26T12:47:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while, I'll be posting a snippet of dialogue for the forthcoming Shucksy McTurnbuckle's Original Awesome Machine: The Movie. This is the second in the series. Gotta catch 'em all!

"My dear, perhaps to you what we did was 'making love', but to me it was just an endless series of meaningless handjobs."

2005-05-26T10:12:00.000-07:00

Excerpt from my screenplay

2005-05-13T12:05:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while, I'll be posting a snippet of dialogue for the forthcoming Shucksy McTurnbuckle's Original Awesome Machine: The Motion Picture. This is the first in the series. Gotta catch 'em all!

"Brother Abraham, I'm just as Mennonite as you are! But if we don't destroy that nuclear submarine, there won't be any Pennsylvania to go home to!"

The Machine is On

2005-05-12T08:25:00.000-07:00

Well, I guess I should get this thing started. It’s sort of exciting in a hey-gang-let’s-put-on-a-show sort of way. Giddy with the unlimited potential that this sort of thing presents and liberated by the knowledge that no one will ever see it. In the beginning of any endeavor, it’s easy to fall under the spell of the magic that surrounds you, unaware that it’s just a matter of time before the power fails and the genetically modified dinosaurs start eating all the scientists.

First, I’ll field a few questions.

What is Shucksy McTurnbuckle’s Original Awesome Machine?
Well, I’ll tell you what it’s not. It isn’t a machine that is awesome, it’s a machine that creates awesome. Think of SMOAM as a perpetually running turbine that’s churning and spinning out the world’s ever-dwindling supply of awesomeness, and also pictures of dogs in costumes. Those are hilarious.

Who is Shucksy McTurnbuckle?
Well, I’ll tell you who it isn’t. It isn’t me. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s a very wise old man who lives in an old water-heater box in a Shoney’s parking lot near Great Smokey Mountain National Park. Maybe it’s a kid I went to high school with who died falling off a diving board. Maybe it’s the eternal spirit of mirth and merriment that lives within each of us. Maybe it’s just some random shit I made up because I thought it sounded funny. (it’s the last thing)

What can we expect to see on this blog?
I know it seems kind of sparse around here right now, but I’ve got big plans for this place. I’m going to try to write funny things for the nice people, and give them cool things to think about. And we’re planning to knock out that wall in the back and put in a tapas bar and a couple of air-hockey tables. Also, every Tuesday is Ladies’ Night, where women get in free and receive a coupon good for half off any Roasted Shucker® Pizza Pretzel Sandwich Dog. (coupon is non-transferable, sorry fellas)

Who can visit this blog?
What a retarded question. Anybody but you can visit it, retard.

What was the black Ghostbuster’s name?
Winston Zeddmore.
Oh yeah, I can always remember the other guys, but not him. Thanks.

How often will this blog be updated?
Probably every day, for the first couple of weeks. Then less and less often as I lose interest and eventually realize that this is pointless and a massive waste of time. Then never, as I forget that I even have a blog, until one day a friend of mine says to me, “Hey, remember that blog you used to have?” And I’ll just stare at him.

Check it out, I have a blog.

2005-05-11T13:50:00.000-07:00

Whoop de god damn do.