This post is AMAZING

Based on some of my recent social research, in addition to 98% of all conversations I've overheard in the last few weeks, it would appear that the government has disallowed the use of any adjective aside from "AMAZING". While unprecedented and seemingly arbitrary, this rule allows everyone to save time and be more boring. Not to be judgmental, but honestly, it's like a bunch of 7th-graders babbling incoherently after a Hannah Montana concert.

Don't get me wrong--I have my own collection of overused pet words whose expiration date has probably long since lapsed. Example: "Sick" or "The Sickness".

Usage: "I enjoyed the energetic performance, engaging stage presence, and homage paid to earlier albums. Make no mistake, that concert was the sickness."

Ok, there's really no excuse for a man of my age to use this word, although as you will see in the next sentence, that will not stop me from attempting to excuse it. That's right, I believe mine to be a different sort of problem, mainly because I don't make a specific effort to pause for a ridiculous length of time between my pet word and other surrounding words. Lovers of the word "amazing”, on the other hand, are apparently required to space out the time preceding usage of the word to a preposterous degree, and if possible, not say any other words for 10 seconds following usage.

Example: "Their pecan-crusted halibut is....[intentional 10 year pause]......AMAZING."

[additional 8-year pause]

Memo to lovers of the word "amazing": This is a very common word, I don't need extra time to try and figure out its meaning. Instead of attempting to make time stand still, I would rather you complement the word "amazing" with additional adjectives which could help to convey what you actually mean, aside from "really good".

For instance, you might think someone's halibut is "amazing" because it's extremely spicy, and I might prefer my halibut to be so bland that I fall asleep while eating it. But now I am up a creek because you've decided that "amazing" is a magic word which can be used whenever you feel like saying a single word and then standing idly by as everyone else scrambles to decode your inane ramblings.

For the record, I like my halibut on the flavorful side, but that's just pure coincidence. You would have no way of knowing that, so I still request that you use unambiguous and descriptive adjectives when discussing halibut or other types of fish in my presence.

I realize that I am opening myself up to amazing criticism by posting something this amazing, but so be it. I also realize it's possible I'm hanging out around the wrong people. When I find new people, I'm going to test them by asking if they've heard of the Amazing Spiderman. If they say, "What do you mean by 'Amazing'?, I'll know they are my kind of people.

Related: My uncle's thoughts from a few years ago on another overused word.

Submitted for your consideration

When we refer to certain electronic components as having a "universal" connector, do you think that sounds presumptuous to aliens in other galaxies?

My personal motto when referring to electronic components: Don't assume anything.

Doncha Wish Your Husband Was Ugly Like Mine-Doncha!

The American Journal of Medicine recently published a study which found that 86% of its studies were pointless. Just kidding, the study actually found that wives with repulsive-looking husbands were happier than wives with non-repulsive husbands. I'm not a scientist, but something tells me I can help everyone understand this study in a more complete way.

First, I need to be up front with the ladies: I expected better. Combined with your low math scores, this study doesn't make you guys look too great. I myself know the ladies are awesome, but maybe not everyone knows. You have to prove this like we do, by beating each other up, or yelling angrily! Your actions could potentially speak even louder than the “Women Are Awesome” campaign I organized last year. That campaign was extremely successful, true, but the essence of my point remains.

Here are some fact-based reasons for the study results, which cannot be disputed, unless you want to:

1. Women are at their happiest when being more attractive than others. This includes that woman across the street, your sister, her hamster, herself, and any imaginary women who don’t yet exist. But if they do exist, they better be less attractive. “And they better stay the $%^$ away from my man! Ooh girl, don’t you look at him like that!”

2. Women derive great joy from cats, celebrities, and sometimes even 4 cats. Dogs are in the mix as well. Basically, women enjoy pets, and love taking their pet rat-dog for a walk. Ergo, if they are married to the elephant man, they not only could take him for a walk, he could provide conversation, if his mouth was not deformed.

3. Women are not as visually stimulated as men are. I won't pass judgment on this quality other than to say it seems like an obvious brain defect.

4. Most women enjoy apologies. An ugly man’s very existence is in some sick way, a constant apology.

Acne-pitted Husband: "There is no excuse for my unseemly complexion, non-chiseled jawline and close-set eyes. It pains me deeply that you are occasionally forced to glance in my direction. And just so you know, this matter will continue to trouble me until I am dead. I also beg your forgiveness in advance for that, since a less attractive person will no longer be available for immediate comparison."

5. In general, women are nurturers. The result of the nurture quality is the desire in many women to nurse their husbands’ ugly visages back to health. Remember when your kindergarten teacher gave you special attention? Anyone who said yes, you know what that means.

Anyway, in the majority of ugly-husband scenarios, even consistent visage-nurturing is ultimately ineffective without cosmetic surgery. Thus, the opportunity to nurture never ends. Obvious result: Euphoric wife.

6. Though they may prefer to keep it hush-hush, many women have caveman fantasies that would embarrass the most seasoned of street walkers. And the more you look like a caveman, the more fertile this type of woman automatically becomes. Sub-result: An ugly husband AND several ugly children to nurture. Obvious result: Euphoric wife.

One potential flaw to this theory is that women seem to adore cute children, maybe even more than the cavemen fantasies. I need more time with #6. I’m definitely onto something, it simply needs to be fleshed out.

7. Finally, women like to feel special. Who doesn’t, right??? As former president John F. Kennedy said, “Ugly people are by nature less special than attractive people.” And then an ugly man shot him, out of spite.

Ugly husbands don’t even have to be romantic or thoughtful. The ugly husband's only true responsibility is walking by his wife 2 or 3 times per day, to remind her that she is a goddess by comparison. My advice to these men is to walk by briskly, so that she will know you have extra energy and want to go for a walk.

The County Fair

I went to the Imperial County Fair last weekend, and will now present my findings in written form.

As with any intellectual dissertation worth its salt, this one begins with a question: Which is more valuable, a million diamonds, or a ticket to the Imperial County Fair? Easy. The county fair is more valuable because it allows you to build memories that will last forever, even if you try electro-shock therapy to forget them. It won't work, this value is forever imprinted on your cortex.

Unfortunately, the Imperial Valley City Council does not seem to understand the distinction between heartwarming value and actual value. Let me explain the pricing structure for this event: Admittance alone was one testicle, with each subsequent ride costing an additional testicle. Anything for a good time, though. And like I said, I have the memories. Most of these memories consist of pre-castration nostalgia, but still.

It's not that I'm a cheapskate, it's just that there’s no way sitting in a big sailing ship that goes back and forth and then way up high for 65 seconds is worth 10 dollars. Per ride. But I could be alone on that. I don’t want to be negative, but I do want to be realistic. While we’re at it, here’s another piece of realism for you. When the sign at the pop-a-balloon booth says “3 dollars to play-Get a prize even if you don’t win!”, that actually means “25 cent Hello Kitty key chains: 3 dollars.” And while it’s comforting to finally understand carnival game profit margins, the downside is that the 6x6 Def Leppard mirror I won in jr. high might not be appreciating as rapidly as I thought.

However, if you think the only reason I went to the Imperial County Fair was to play simple parlor games, then you have no concept of my core value system. If my core value system were represented by a pie chart, simple parlor games would occupy no more than 65% of that chart. Necessarily then, the remaining 35% is dedicated to pig shows and fake tattoos. Bumper cars are also intrinsic to my core value system, but you would probably judge me for that, so I won't even get into it.

Let’s start with the pigs, because they’re fat and juicy. The essence of a pig show is the short-lived bond which develops between a child and his pig. The child displays the animal’s juicy flanks by leading it around the ring and beating it with a wooden cane. Think “Charlotte’s web” or “Babe” but less sentimental. And the show pigs are eventually slaughtered, which is another main difference.

So even though the pigs were ultimately doomed, I still enjoyed watching and learning what makes a Yorkshire ‘structurally sound’. Don’t worry about it if you don’t know. It’s very complicated and I will tell you later if I have time.

The final item of business was getting some ink done, like a rapper or basketball player. Kanji characters right on the forearm if you want to know the truth. I would’ve gone for a real one, but I remembered just in time that I don’t like them. My girlfriend got a fake tattoo on her wrist and was immediately regretful. You should've seen her, she was seriously stressed out about it. I wonder if she knows about REAL tattoos? That would really blow her mind.

So, despite the fact that buying the Disneyland theme park and the marketing rights to all Disney characters would’ve been cheaper, I had a good time. And that’s true value (heartwarming value, not actual value).

The main problem is this: I’ve dreamt about meeting Jerry Rice no less than 7 times, and it happened again quite recently. Sometimes in these dreams we talk about football, sometimes we talk about family life. There is never any kissing. Being the analytical sort, I ask myself, "What does it mean that I'm so concerned about meeting someone who doesn't know or care about me?

Indeed, these are the types of questions which may seem interesting, but that we ultimately do not have time for, as the most important thing is to meet Jerry Rice. Something of a Catch-22, I think you’ll agree. I think you’ll also agree that creating a geometry proof to resolve this issue is the only reasonable course of action available.

Assumptions:

1. I created a Jerry Rice scrap book when I was 15.
   
   
2. Jerry Rice does not care about my scrap book.
   
   
3. The scrap book was a rectangle shape.
   
   
4. Jerry Rice is also a rectangle, in that he is void of all human compassion.
   

As you can see, I still have the touch.

Perhaps some of you have already met Jerry Rice. Good for you. Perhaps some of you don’t care to. Again, congratulations--maybe you would like a medal of honor. Perhaps some of you don’t know who Jerry Rice is. In this case, you will likely pay for your ignorance with an extended bath in the lake of fire.

If you were my eldest brother, you would meet Jerry Rice at the Seattle airport, as if meeting Jerry Rice at the airport is something that people do in their free time. To give you an idea, this is the sort of brother who follows hockey—-to my knowledge, he’s not even technically an American citizen. And after my timely call to US Immigration Services, he’s not even technically in the United States. It's not that I'm still bitter about him meeting Jerry, it's that I was bitter then.

Before anyone accuses me of not taking the proper steps to make my dreams reality, I submit the following evidence, which would easily hold up in a trial setting, it’s that good. I once drove 2 hours to a football-celebrity golf tournament only to have my hero skip out on the meet and greet portion. Why he would have no interest in meeting hundreds of other sycophants like myself is confusing, but then many of the things he does to hurt me are confusing. I have been to training camp, I have been to 49ers games. In two hours from now, I will have been to the hardware store for the purposes of purchasing “materials” which can be helpful when “kidnapping” someone, for lack of a better term.

I don’t want to give the impression that I’m some weirdo. The abduction scenario is still in the development phase, and may or may not happen. Is the man who plots to poison his wife and take her money considered a weirdo? Most would say no, because all of the thoughts are still inside his brain. They have not resulted in anyone being poisoned, such as the picture below, which shows one possible scenario:

Whatever happens, show this post to the District Attorney so he will know that my mind is normal, and I mean no harm. Plus, remember that some people poison themselves. It’s very common. Thank you.

Have You Recently Been Impregnated Or Impregnated Someone Else? Read This.

Let me begin by saying I don't think there's anything wrong with being pregnant in the strictest sense of the word. The problem lies in the unsatisfactory way that some people choose to relay this news. By contrast, the way that people become pregnant is mostly the same, and I think it would be inappropriate for me to criticize any specific technique.

Let's get right to the heart of it. I'm not a big fan of the method where your friend calls you for the purpose of relaying the baby news, but first asks you 20 questions about this that and the other, apparently to emphasize that you haven’t accomplished anything meaningful recently. Because if you had, you would’ve made a baby during the time interval in question. Sometimes they make me go on and on, too, like, "That’s it? Nothing new?"

Backed against the wall without answers, I almost never come through. “Uh...I just went to Baja Fresh…I think I ordered the combo meal…I can't even remember what I ordered now!"

Pregnant friend: "Well I made a new human being, like in the Miracle Of Life. I think you’re probably familiar with that movie. Yeah, made our own miracle is what we did." And they know it's the ultimate trump card. You can't beat that.

My sister recently became pregnant, but she wasn't coy about it. This is to her credit. She does a lot of other things wrong, so I'm glad she got this right. If you’re reading this, no harm, no foul homegirl. Hang in there, and try not to puke all over everything.

Maybe my friends who choose to share their news this way are just making sure I didn't recently contract a terminal illness that could threaten to put a damper on the proceedings. I can almost understand that. And believe me, I'm truly happy for them. I just wish they would tell me at the beginning of the conversation, so I could hurry up and be happy for them. It's like they're ashamed—what, now I'm gonna know you have sex with your wife? In some cases I guess that could be embarrassing to admit, but I have attractive friends, so that's not a valid excuse either.

If I ever impregnate someone, here’s my plan for sharing the news. When they answer the phone, I’m not even going to identify myself. I'll say, “Here's the situation, we made a zygote. The zygote has been genetically enhanced as well, you can’t touch that. I plan to teach it my best basketball moves. Questions? Boom, I didn't think so. Father Abraham out!” Click.

This method will allow me to open and close the conversation with some flair, without drawing attention to the fact that my friend hasn't managed to spawn even one sentient being since last we talked, whereas I have.

As a side note, I can just hear my mom right now as she’s reading this. “Well at least your friends know how to HAVE babies. You sure have a lot to say about it for someone who hasn’t managed to produce any offspring. Maybe you should have a kid first and then talk about what you might talk about when it actually happens, which I doubt it will.”

She can be a sardonic old bird when she's inspired. She’s top-drawer though, let’s be clear. Quick shout-out to mama lion: Breast feeding! Poetry! (she likes that stuff)

In closing, I’m not nearly as petty as this writing might indicate and I realize that having babies is not a competition. Unless you're Mormon, then it's game on. Finally, I want to emphasize that I'm not blaming the babies themselves—they're mostly unwitting bystanders in this whole thing. Most of the time they can't even see what's going on, because it's so dark in there. So don't try to turn the blame on them. I'm not saying you are, just watch yourselves. Thanks!

Monday at work I kicked my shoe off into the wall, leaving a rather noticeable divot. Let me give you some background on this one, so it doesn't sound stupid. Deal is, I was attempting to kick a wadded up piece of paper off the wall and into the wastebasket, ricochet-style. The wall was at quite a distance, so I had to do my power kick. At this point my shoe separated from my foot at a speed that can safely be described as mach 3.

Spectacularly unsuccessful, yes. But I also learned something. I learned that a considerable amount of damage can be inflicted by someone with ostensibly full control of all motor functions, which led to Musing #1 below. What good is an experience if it does not give rise to new musings?

Musing #1 What if you had a disease where one of the symptoms was lack of muscle control? One of the immediate downsides I can see is that you probably wouldn't want to walk through Walmart or other low-income neighborhoods, as these areas are often associated with gang life and poorly-planned pregnancies. If your arms were spazzing out all the time, you might throw inadvertent gang signs, and they would likely be the wrong ones, odds are. If so, see you on the other side, because now you have bullet holes in your lungs. Worse still, when some gang member steps to you, you can't even take it back–you're just flailing around flashing signs that are making his blood boil. It would be like "no uggh...urgh..I'm not a Crip, I swear (throws perfect Crip sign) ow! stop shooting me!" and so on. If you think a hard core rider like that will go easy on you because you're disabled, think again. He didn't get to be a gang member by giving disabled people a free pass.

No, the only conceivable option is to join 5 or 6 gangs at once to avoid the possibility of getting shot. I think that would work.

After that thought, I got on a roll and started to muse without limits or regard for social constraints. For example:

Musing #2 What if you were an Iraqee with only a small transistor radio, and no dial-up internet. Then let's say your radio cuts out in the middle of the latest news report, so all you hear is the newsman saying "There are apparently going to be no... bombings and death from now on in Iraq", but really he was saying "There are apparently going to to be no-thing but bombings and death from now on in Iraq." Talk about getting your hopes up for no reason. I think there's a lesson there about not counting your chickens until they hatch. And verify all news reports.

Musing #3 What if you were a single mother and you were scheduled to have dinner with the Dalai Lama on a mild summer evening. That would be interesting in itself, but there's more. What if by coincidence, that night was also your baby sitter's prom night. No one cancels on the Lama, so you try to make the best of it. And that’s a good call because maybe chilling out in a state of Nirvana would help you with your muscle control problems, if applicable.

Anyway, then your baby starts to cry. What now? Well, I didn’t come up with a good solution. It would be a very uncomfortable situation, I can tell you that much.

#4 Now for my grand finale musing: What if the entire earth was just a speck of dust on some giant’s shoe? No one’s thought of that before, so boom–more inventive thinking. If you have any musings of your own that are helpful and productive, feel free to share them. On the other hand, if all you can think of are references to wars or gang life, you can keep those to yourself. Show some class. Thanks!