Not Totally Inept

Christmas Cookies

2010-12-25T02:55:00.000-08:00

My niece and I made christmas cookies tonight. Yes, she made most of them. However, I successfully added icing without breaking them, which most people could not do, because of their inferior homemaking skills. The bottom line is that some people are just good at one thing, such as lovemaking or crossword puzzles only, whereas I am good at multiple things. You get the gist of what I'm saying.

Not to mention you can see the cookies below for yourself if you don't believe we made them. Please notice the testosterone-themed cookies--guns for one thing, as well as other powerful tools such as tanks and mustaches.

We also made a set of cookies with more of a standard christmas motif, for people who can't handle guns all up in their face, or more to the point, for those who derive their happiness exclusively from traditional cookie shapes. You know who you are. Here are your cookies, I hope you're happy:

Lookin' Good Vic!

2009-08-10T23:25:00.000-07:00

Victoria Beckham, promoting her new diet book, Menstrual Cycles Are For Fat People

If looking like Skeletor and repelling heterosexual men are high on your list of requirements, this is the girl to emulate. Start purging ladies, that brownie isn't going to throw itself up!!

Europe--Maybe You've Heard Of It

2009-06-26T01:05:00.000-07:00

As I have just returned from a 2 week expedition to Europe, I thought I would jot down a few helpful notes on the topic since none of you have been there except me. No wait let me guess: You don't want to read something that might make you smarter. I don't know what to say about that, but it won't take you very long to read because as we know, all countries besides the United States of America can be summarized in one paragraph--probably less than that in reality. Larger countries such as China or Antarctica require as many as three paragraphs to properly summarize, but five or six paragraphs is too much.

Still, I feel obligated to mention that the Chinese invented fireworks, and Antarctica is not a country but deserves mention for its vast open spaces. Now before I say anything that might accidentally be true, let's move on.

Here are some countries I visited, and I won't apologize for how exotic one or two of them may be. How sick am I? Raise the roof!

Malta: This island was named after a famous spy movie called 'The Maltese Falcon'. Most of Malta's inhabitants are descendants from the production crew who worked on the original movie. If you want to know more about the origins of the name, you should Google it, because I may have ad-libbed that part about the Maltese Falcon. The island may actually be named after Malt liquor. It was a long time ago, and many records were destroyed in a fire. That I can almost guarantee.

Spain: There were so many beautiful women in Spain I think I'm going to kill myself in honor of them. I don't know if you can see the wisdom in that, but if you saw these women you would understand. If I decide to spare my own life, my alternative plan is to spend an indefinite period of time composing love songs about beautiful Spanish women. Then I will sell them to Enrique Iglesias for 5 million dollars each, because that's how moving these songs will be. And that's how how desperate Enrique Iglesias is.

Germany: What can be said about these people, that some of them aren't Nazis anymore? I guess I'm supposed to be impressed by that? Not really. Their trains run on time, but then so did their Death trains to Auschwitz. Maybe if their trains were less punctual, it would make everyone feel more relaxed.

Switzerland: Unfortunately, the Swiss think they're special because they're not part of the European Union. Indeed, despite my best efforts, this country is still politically "neutral", or perhaps a better term is "treasonous".

In an unsuccessful attempt to jolt the doe-eyed citizenry out of their catatonic apathy, I was forced to use my bullhorn at the Zurich train station and give them something to think about, high-volume style. The central theme of my call to action was that if they didn't stand for something, they'd fall for anything. Yet not one citizen thanked me for my sage words, post-speech. That's certainly the last time I try to help a country by remembering a bumper sticker and then repeating it over and over again. Make no mistake, I will not be expending that level of effort in the future.

In the future, I will send email messages in massive quantities to all of Switzerland. These messages will contain pictures of American troops holding a litter of kittens. At the bottom of every email message will be a reminder that our troops are coming soon to liberate all Swiss citizens from apathy. Preferably with deadly force.

So anyway, my trip was really fun. Check out my pics, coming soon!

2009-05-25T20:16:00.000-07:00

You know when people post those flyers on telephone poles that say, "Have you seen this dog?"

Well, I've never even ONCE seen that dog, and I'm beginning to think that people are just putting the flyers up for the fun of it. Please don't do this because sometimes I'll spend up to 3 days looking. I'm very soft-hearted that way. But don't take advantage of me.

2009-04-07T00:14:00.000-07:00

As a serious blogger, it is my responsibility to watch over mainstream news websites in order to advocate the responsible use of words, syllable-usage and sometimes even individual letters.

I haven't appointed myself Chief Journalistic Ethics Watchdog because it's an easy task, or because I thought it would attract women. Quite the contrary. The reality is that I didn't even feel like doing it, but then I realized I didn't have anything else going on, so it seemed like a good fit.

However, it wasn't long before I realized that the task was a daunting one, and quite larger in scope than I first imagined. So I focused all efforts on abcnews.com due to time constraints and its high standing in the alphabet.

Abcnews.com is interesting in that they specialize in what I like to call "soft news." It's a term I've coined myself and it means news with a low probability of being accurate. The other meaning of this term is news which has 5% informational value, and 95% entertainment value. Seriously, that place is basically TMZ with a splash of Obama thrown in every once in awhile to mix things up.

Yet this offense alone is not significant enough to warrant a response by my global watchdog organization. Even the hidden camera investigative reporting exposés are acceptable in my book--I think all of us deserve to know if auto mechanics are honest (no), or if we accidentally donated 25,000 dollars to Nigeria's non-existent sister country, Nigeria II.

The problem is, this reporting style wasn't exciting enough for abcnews.com. They felt they had to move things to Reporting DefCon Level 9. DefCon Level 9 is where you pay actors, set them loose on the public in various real-world situations and roll the tape. It's like Magic News! Except not so fast, because the watchdog (me) is on the case and he has a few things to say about it.

Two recent "stories" come to mind. The first was when abcnews sent two hired actors to Paris, France, and had them play over-the-top obnoxious Americans. Yes, apparently you have to pay people for that now. Are there currently not enough tools of all nationalities to start four separate global tool companies, or what? I highly doubt it's necessary buy them all Tommy Bahama shirts, fanny packs and plane tickets to Paris.

Not to mention, this reporting technique seems a lot like having your camera man break into someone's house, kill all occupants, and then film it. Big surprise, we got the exclusive!

The other story they ran recently was about hate crime, and the number of bystanders who were willing to intervene when three (actor) skinheads assault a Latino man (actor) on a public street. This is supposed to measure what, how many people were willing to die that day? That's like throwing a Latino man into molten lava and then booing any bystanders who don't immediately jump in to save him. I don't want to have to spell out the analogy for you guys here, but I think both scenarios are equally poor indicators of race relations in America.

Just remember, whenever abcnews tries to suck you in with a "late-breaking news story", that just means it was late in the day before they were able to hire enough actors to stage a realistic-looking forest fire or something. And yes, they will probably have the exclusive.

2009-03-31T01:30:00.001-07:00

Now that hype surrounding the vampire movie "Twilight" has diminished, I can safely file it under "decidedly unimportant", (one of the main qualifiers for Not Totally Inept subject material) and write about it. Let's get started.

Flaw #1: The asian guy was so effeminate he should've burst into flames, especially since this is supposed to be a vampire movie. But not only does he not burst into flames, he asks Bella (main character) to the prom and ends up dating a different girl, which was never explained to my satisfaction. I have to assume his homosexuality is dealt with in subsequent books. I will label it a semi-flaw at this point, and wait to see what exciting discoveries and social challenges lie ahead for this young man.

Flaw #2: Edward, the main vampire character is at least 100 years old, yet he's enchanted by a 17 year-old...Hello, road work ahead, *pLot*-hole warning! I've dated some younger women, and that's my bad--I'll be the first to take the blame for that. But an 80-year age gap is a little over-the-top, even for me. Whatever, I just hope they're happy.

On a related note, Wouldn't it be embarrassing to be a vampire, live for 500 years, practice piano all the time and then still be horrible at it? I could see that happening to me. That's why I will refuse to be turned, if a vampire ever offers. Inability to learn a musical instrument after practicing for 5 centuries would be hard to bounce back from.

Flaw #3: The special effects are so poorly executed, I would've rather the director just showed a black screen during the action sequences and explained what was happening--that would be a less jarring cinematic experience. As it was, I had to watch Edward the androgynous mime as he jumped to and fro, running around the forest with blurry legs. I couldn't tell if I was watching a road runner cartoon, or a vampire movie. Think "Guy in a rubber Godzilla suit knocking down buildings in an unrealistic and uncoordinated way", and then you will begin to grasp the magnitude of what I'm referring to.

Picture of action sequence from Twilight:

In a poor attempt to redeem itself, they play a good Radiohead song at the end of the movie. If you were stupid, you might think this to be a redeeming quality. However, not so, because it had the simultaneous effect of being totally meaningless to the entire target demographic of the film (7-9 year olds), and making me bitter that I'm now at the age where I'm concerned about the lack of musical taste evident in today's youth. This may sound complicated, and it is. It's a veritable rabbit hole of self-despair and introspection. Just take my word for it.

As I understand it, there are 3 more full-length Twilight films slated, which I will tentatively refer to as "3 steaming piles of excrement" until I know differently. Maybe for the second film, the director will watch a fight of two claymation dinosaurs for special effects inspiration. Or here's a suggestion: Watch "Interview with a Vampire", a film in which Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt's characters are obviously gayer than a french horn, no ambiguity. That's honest film-making right there.

Vampires with ambiguous sexual preferences--very distracting, to say the least. Let's hope Twilight "II", Return of the Hermaphroditic Roadrunner, handles this delicate subject matter with the same care that I've shown here.

Let's Go Extreme!

2008-09-19T18:51:00.001-07:00

Let's get right to it, so there can be no mistake about the topics at hand. Firstly, America is a country of extremes, please don't argue with me about that. We even have a deodorant called "Extreme", if I recall correctly. It's fine to make deodorant with that name, but the problem is, we don't know how to do anything in moderation. If an enormous meteor called moderation crashed into the earth at 97,000 mph, we would just go buy a 42-liter Pepsi or something.

One of the most obvious examples of our inability to do anything halfway can be found in our politics. It used to be that lying with impunity and creating policy based on special interests was awesome. Suddenly, it's not as cool. And that's not a bad thing. But in classic American fashion, we went overboard. Now, if you're a typical "Washington politician", or if you have a vague idea of where Washington might be located, or if you can find Washington without a homing pigeon and a map of Washington tattooed on your forehead, you risk banishment and scorn.

Even Obama should watch his back, now that we have new standards in place. In the New Order, I'm not sure you're even allowed to know the three branches of government.

Panel of American citizens: Senator Obama, can you name the three branches of government?

Obama: Easy. Legistlative, Judicial, Executive.

Panel of American citizens: Ooh, look at the smart guy. You're from Washington aren't you? --and we thought you were different. Let us guess, you probably know how to pass laws and understand how the electoral college works? The panel dismisses you.

But it's not just us, the campaign spokepeople must also share the blame. Example quote from Obama's camp regarding Palin's claim to be a political outsider: "...for someone who makes the point that she's not from Washington, she looked very much like she would fit in very well there."

Ok, but can we have someone that knows Washington? Even a teensy bit of knowledge would work for me. Don't get me wrong, I understand the value of promoting a new political dynamic, and I'm up for change as much as the next guy. So if the new President really wants to be a "political outsider", he can set up a tent out on the lawn at first, if that makes him feel better. Ultimately, though, we may need him or her to be *inside* the actual White House. There are phones and other telecommunciation devices inside the White House that may facilitate conversations with leaders from other countries, for example. But based on the campaign strategies used to date, I'm becoming less and less sure that the candidates will have any idea what to do should they actually make it inside city limits.

McCain scenario

Assuming he doesn't get lost on the way, I could see things going south in a hurry: "Where's the Maverick room? Is there place here where the Mavericks hang out? This place is extremely confusing. C'mon you guys, are you serious? We need less government, not more. I'm going to cut the Whitehouse in half, and let the poor people (5 million annual earnings or less) live in the other half.

Obama scenario:

Obama, to aides: People, I wasn't lying when I said I wasn't another Washington guy. I have no idea what's happening here. Does anyone have a CHANGE WE CAN BELIEVE IN sign? I'd feel more comfortable if there was a room I could go to where people had the CHANGE signs.

Erik scenario:

If I was running, the basis for my platform would be how utterly lost I am politically.

"Look, I'm barely a US citizen. I was born in Canada and my parents moved here when I was very young. I have no idea what the Oval Office even looks like. Anytime I saw the Oval Office on TV, like in that show The West Wing, I would turn away. Consequently, most of those storylines seemed very choppy, but so be it. It was worth it, to not know anything about how to accomplish any of the tasks you're electing me for.

American panel of citizens: Thank you for being ignorant, that's so refreshing. We haven't experienced leadership like this in a long time. Just kidding, we have.

2008-08-05T18:40:00.000-07:00

I haven't followed the 2008 presidential campaign as closely as say, the girl I followed around Balboa Park yesterday, but I'm definitely still interested. Not in the girl, because I got too close one time and she was verbally abusive in a way that I can't forgive. So that's over. But as far as the election process is concerned, I can only assume it's still happening. If it's not happening anymore, please email me.

In any event, the campaign has definitely succeeded in stimulating my thought centers. And when my thought centers go into overdrive, watch out. My first thought was simple, and revolved around the degree of hardness with which it would rock if Obama were elected.

The first and most obvious reason it would rock is that we would have a black man as president, which most of you have never seen before because of your sheltered lives. It gets even better than that, though. If Obama was elected I would then be able to accuse anyone of racism who says anything remotely negative about him. If they even say Obama's name without first saying "I would give my life for..." then it's open season on these people. I see conversations like the one below happening frequently, maybe every other minute or so, because of how many racists there are.

Ignorant Person: I don't agree with Obama's decision...

Me: ...that you shouldn't give your life for him? I know, he's a very selfless man. But you should do it. You should die so that he might live.

Ignorant Person: No, I was saying that I don't agree with Obama's idea that 10-year-olds should be allowed to enlist in the military.

Me: Well then you must be racist and I wouldn't be surprised if you committed a hate crime last night.

Ignorant Person: I'm not racist, it really angers me that you would say that.

Me: Oooh so you're angry? Why don't you just commit another hate crime?

Ignorant Person: Good idea. But when I kill you 10 seconds from now, it will technically just be homicide since we're both white.

However, death would not phase me. Death is the least of my problems. In fact, risking death is just one more way I will support Obama's presidency. That, and putting others on the defensive by making them prove they are not racist. By the time they're done listing all the black friends they've had, they will have forgotten what their original point was. Crafty but failsafe.

The other main advantage of Obama as president is that he's half white and half black. As history tells us, this chameleon-like status will enable him to infiltrate virtually all existing social circles. Think about the mixed-race citizens of the 50's and 60's--they were treated with an amazing amount of equality wherever they went. Sometimes this equality was in the form of being denied housing and any job except for school janitor, but you get the basic gist of what I'm saying.

The final advantage of an African-American president is the ability for me to accumulate new and exotic friends. Example: If I were to meet a comely African princess at the bus stop, or if she caught me following her around, I could say "I voted for Obama!" at the critical moment before she called 9-1-1. And that would be the end of it. Well, not really the end of it, because then the woman and I would go to coffee and have mixed-race babies.

There are likely additional advantages related to Obama's election, such as social progress and other boring stuff. But that's down the road some. For now, let's concentrate on being able to accuse others of racism. Because that's the only way we're going to find harmony. Think about it. Preferably while stoned, if you want it to make sense. Thank you.

Will Ferrell accepts ESPY for Best Male Athlete

2008-07-26T12:57:00.000-07:00

2008-07-16T23:10:00.000-07:00

I went to Prague, Czech Republic 4 weeks ago, but I waited til now to write about it. Out of respect. The kind of respect that exists only between between a person and a country, or a white person and J Crew. Sure, it made me angry to see Czech citizens defecating in the street and then wiping themselves with US dollars, but I don't hold that against them. There probably wasn't anything better around. I choose to overlook it.

It was originally intended that my trip be 85% business and 15% pleasure. That is, until I realized the Czechs are for the most part an insane people. They were born to party, regardless of whether or not an international business conference might currently be happening. After this epiphany, I changed my mindset and my ratios. New ratios: 3% business, 97% pleasure. Truly something to behold, the freedom with which these people embrace the corporate puppet show. Instead of being stodgy and annoying the entire time, the Czechs acted like they were in a perpetual state of gaining their independence from the Soviet Union. I soon found out they were only *pretending* to be politically and socially suppressed, so they could continue to celebrate their "impending" freedom. For all I know, they're gaining their independence even now--against all logic and reason.

I'm sure some of you think you know what freedom is. I submit that you have no idea, and that you are living in a matrix-like cloud of delusion. Here's what true freedom is:

Giving keynote speech in front of 20 countries with no less than six references to alcohol
Hosting a company dinner with business partners, and hiring Czech girls in traditional (but extremely short) dresses to twirl and dance about the restaurant
Displaying a poster in your office of a woman wearing only body paint

True, the woman was painted with our company colors, which made the poster work-oriented. But it was a little distracting, because she was posing so provocatively, it looked like she might spontaneously become pregnant at any moment. That's how fertile she looked. Not that I endorse such a poster, because I don't. I don't endorse it, but I *respect* it. Because she was painted in company colors.

American corporate culture has a somewhat different view on these posters. Here, you would be wise not to even think about a naked lady with body paint on her, because the HR people use black magic and they will know. In fact, I'm pretty sure you're not even allowed to ask how someone's weekend was in an American office, because that person might've been naked at some point during their weekend. This could be embarrassing for everyone, and you will also be fired. The general rule of thumb is, if you think there's a chance that the person you're talking to may have been naked within the last 24 hours, don't even talk to them. It's like the don't ask don't tell policy, but more confusing.

If you question the authority with which I speak on these matters, perhaps you would you like to see a resume of all countries I have visited. Or we could save time and you could drape a large towel over a mini-replica of the earth--if the towel is touching a country, then congratulations (to myself), I've been there. Point is, I've seen some things in my time. But I've never seen a corporate business culture like the Czech Republic. And that's why I'm moving there. Plus, you can go to the bathroom in public (see paragraph 1).

Dominance Comes in Many Forms. Sometimes It Comes in the Form of Table Tennis

2008-05-21T17:42:00.000-07:00

What have I been busying myself with lately? Interesting question. Mostly ping pong, or "table tennis", as it's referred to by those who play ping pong while crouching low and wearing serious facial expressions.

Yet, even as I begin to chronicle my impressive achievements inside the harsh, unforgiving and sometimes acidic underbelly of competitive table tennis, many of my detractors would like nothing more than to ridicule me:

"Ping pong is for little girls" they say.

Or, "ping pong is for tiny little babies."

Or, "ping pong is for people with a degenerative nerve disease."

You get the basic idea.

Side note to any detractors who would disparage my table tennis aspirations in this way: You are pitiful. By the time you're done figuring out who ping pong is for, I will probably be a national champion and you'll still be watching Grey's Anatomy on Tuesday nights, or whichever night it comes on. I don't know what night it comes on, because I'm too busy. I've heard it's a good show though, so if anyone knows which night it's on, email me and I might watch it at Best Buy if I'm accidentally there while it's on. However, as I've made very clear, I don't have time for it right now. Only my detractors would have time for something like that.

Another thing about my detractors: I wager they'd look at the sport quite differently if hot Russian tennis players were to play ping pong. However, since ping pong is mostly a sport which kills the sex drive of hot Russian tennis players, I am left to promote the sport in my own way: With dominance. With dominance, and by playing in a speedo emblazoned with all major ping pong brands. If anyone thinks this is a good idea, raise their hands. I'm going to assume those hands are up high. In that case, rest assured--your confidence in my promotional abilities is not misplaced.

My quest for ping pong dominance is not without other obstacles as well. First of all, I will be forced to take Asians to school more than they already like to go to school as is. That's a serious education! I know it's been said before, but they really do like school, so logging a complaint against me with the NAACP is not necessary.

It's not all uphill, though. There are positive aspects to my ping pong quest as well. One of these is that the better players are far more approachable. This is in stark contrast to basketball, where the spirit of camaraderie is represented by a distinct lack of anything resembling camaraderie.

Example of friendly basketball exchange with someone on own team:

"We could build a 10,000 sq. foot cottage with all those bricks you're laying. Are you just going to shoot it all day, or are you going to let the rest of your team play?"

Example of friendly basketball exchange with someone on opposite team:

"There is no possible way you can guard me. Whose idea was it to have this guy guard me? I'd like to punch you in the head after this game for even trying to guard me. I would punch you now, but first I need to emphasize your inferior status as a human by scoring on you in a variety of ways."

I can't be too jugdmental, though. I can remember looking at inferior players in much the same way that Godzilla looks upon fleeing urbanites: Lots of disdain, and a limited amount of empathy (I should mention that I emphasized the destruction of public property less than Godzilla).

By way of comparison, the last time I went to the table tennis club, a guy roughly one billion times my superior led me through different drills for an hour. He was heterosexual, too, so you can stow any potential comments and stand in line with my detractors from an earlier paragraph. They should be easy to find, I think they're still watching Grey's Anatomy.

I'm not saying table tennis is perfect. For instance, there aren't very many hot Russian tennis players involved, and I don't think Jessica Alba even knows what table tennis is. It's ok, though, because I'm in a relationship, so stuff like that is irrelevant.

Naughty Phone

2008-05-15T17:40:00.000-07:00

When I'm in the underground parking structure at work, my phone says

"Searching for Service..."

My phone is so naughty!!

This post is AMAZING

2008-04-17T01:10:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-14T10:08:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-04-03T17:13:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-06T21:31:00.000-08:00

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).

2008-02-23T16:27:00.001-08:00

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:

I created a Jerry Rice scrap book when I was 15.
Jerry Rice does not care about my scrap book.
The scrap book was a rectangle shape.
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.

2008-02-10T13:31:00.000-08:00

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!

2008-02-05T23:48:00.000-08:00

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!

2008-01-27T01:00:00.000-08:00

This is the ticket my sister left on my car last week, on an actual San Diego Parking Violation slip. I'm not sure where she got a hold of it, but I'm sure she thought it was impressive.

Ticket for: Sucking

Date: 1/19/08
Lic#: 4MBX988

Make: Volkswagen
Body: Needs Work

Additional Charges:

Expired: Coolness

Violation: Fashion Codes and Rules

Disabled: Yes

Street ~~Address:~~ Credibility-Negligible.

If she ever actually joins the police academy, she will have to work on her penmanship, but that can be improved with time. For now, I am forced to admire her handiwork. The only way I can think to one-up her is to spraypaint her car purple or just have it towed. I'm sure there are some middle-ground pranks in there somewhere but unfortunately for her I can't think of any. I guess what I'm trying to say to my sister in a nice way is I hope it was worth it to have a purple car you can't find.

2008-01-02T09:50:00.001-08:00

As 2007 is by now stale and crusty, I must focus all new efforts on 2008. The first step in my campaign will be to improve whatever surrounds me, i.e., my environment. Most often I improve things by letting other people who know how to improve them do that, i.e., improvement by non-involvement. Other times, I get right in the mix and start improving things on my own, because sometimes you have to step up and take responsibility. It's like when Britney Spears stopped loving her kids, it was simply the best thing to do at the time.

That last concept originally started out as a joke, but I think it might actually be good if she slowly phases herself out of her kids' lives. Which I guess is funny in a different, more depressing way.

The target of my latest improvement campaign is standard technical writing techniques. At the time of this writing, there is no limits hold 'em, no limits skateboarding, and no limits snowboarding. Which begs the question: Why not no limits technical writing? And now I play my trump card--There is no reason. Think of it like this. When snowboarding was first starting out a year or so ago, there were specific limits, but now it's fairly common knowledge that snowboarding is balls to the wall.

In my mind, technical writing is at the same point that snowboarding was one year ago: Balls only halfway across the room. In other words, on the cusp of greatness. Being on the cusp of greatness without actually being great is like beating a paraplegic in a speedwalking contest. Trust me, I've won several times, and it's just not very rewarding.

I haven't been in the game long, but I'm already beginning to shake things up. Yesterday, one of my co-workers came to me with an article I had supposedly written, complaining that every step in the procedure was mistakenly labeled #1.

Co-worker: Hey, can you fix this? It looks like every step was mistakenly labeled #1.

Erik: Oh really? Why don't you take another peek at that?

Co-worker: Ok...yes, they're still all #1.

Erik: No, I mean are you sure I didn't intentionally do that?

Co-worker: I have no idea, I was just trying to help you out, I don't...

Erik: Welcome to no-limits tech writing, fool!

Sure, it will be difficult to reference any particular step in a document where every step is #1, but so be it. The article is now dominant, causing all other articles with a conventional numbering structure to slink silently away in shame.

Aside from the new numbering scheme, my other main idea is to put a creative short story (true crime genre) in the middle of excessively boring articles. And no one will skip that story, because midway through a technical document, people can be frustrated and they will want to be touched by the magic of storytelling.

Another oft-followed rule which I will be obliterating is the one about not making the reader feel inadequate. Being polite has its place, but c'mon, how many times can you say 'please see section 9-1', before you start to sound like a desperate homeless person groveling for respect? The fact is, people are naturally drawn to dominance. Does the human desire to be dominated stop once one begins to read a technical document? Based on the success of the S&M industry, I'm guessing "no."

Finally, let's address one of the most popular myths in technical writing, "The simpler the better." Well, yes and no. If simple means using less than 9 arrows per figure, then no. The old technical writing rules are out the window, friends. This is a new dance, and in the new dance, there are lots of arrows. Example:

As you can see I used a combination of the multiple arrows and S&M rules, in order to make a dominant pictorial. Ultimately, it's not important if my methods are never widely adopted. Drawing multiple arrows and ordering people around is its own reward.

What to do now

#1. After you're finished commenting on this post and visiting your S&M sites, you can quickly close your browser window by pressing ALT + F4 on your keyboard.

#1. C'mon, it's a basic keyboard shortcut, it's not brain surgery.

Voluntary Emasculation

2007-12-10T11:48:00.000-08:00

Two weeks ago if someone walked up and asked me if I wanted a pedi, I would have physically assaulted them, because pedi is the kind of dirty language you usually hear from a girl who makes her living in a brothel, and she’s the only one willing to do “the pedi.” Whether she ends up doing it or not, just cross your fingers. All I know is I won't abide that kind of talk, and never have. Probably never will.

Fast forward to right now. I know exactly what a "pedi" is, and excuse me but I'll have another. I won’t even try to pin it on my girlfriend for asking me to go with her, because deep down I think I knew that me and a pedicure would be two peas in a pod. I’ve always been skilled at receiving massages, haircuts, chiropractic adjustments, root canals, you name it. I can even take a needle pretty good, which will be useful if I ever become depressed beyond the scope and function of prescription medication. But let’s not even go down that road, unless, like I said, the prescription stuff isn’t cutting it and I’m really bored.

The only downside to liking pedicures, if there is one, is that I’m not sure if I’m actually a guy anymore. Anatomically speaking, sure, I’m in the running—-but we all know there’s more to manhood than that. If there wasn’t, then Lance Bass would be male. Since we know that isn’t true, we know there must be more to being a man, such as not admitting that you like any romantic comedies, specifically clever, well-written ones like “Love Actually” with Hugh Grant, released in 2003. Another major aspect of being a man is not knowing more than three Madonna songs by heart. Well, that’s strike #2 and all of sudden I find myself one strike away from felony-womanhood.

At this point the only option is to admit that the pedi has won the day, and reorganize my belief structure accordingly, so that I can receive one pedicure per day for the next five decades. Since I consider myself an academic (i.e., completion of Bachelor’s degree in six years) part of the restructuring process will be research-oriented. I shall thoroughly investigate all other areas of female hygiene, aside from the cruel gynecological ones that resemble Chinese torture techniques, which seem to be all of them.

It is now my personal mission to sample every aspect of a woman’s basic regimen, up to and including childbirth. I’m not sure how that will go down exactly, but Arnold Schwarzenegger once got pregnant (in a movie), and now he’s the Governor of California, which shows that you might want to try new things. Was Governor Schwarzenegger's experience just coincidence? Maybe if you’re completely ignorant, yeah, you might see that as a coincidence.

Research example #1: How do I know that shaving my legs isn’t the best thing ever? I can’t take a stand on that until I know for sure. I could ask a male swimmer or cyclist, but what if I don’t see one of those before I go into the bathroom right now and shave my legs? Correct, so that means I have to shave them.

Example #2: How do I know that it’s not really great to dye my hair so often that it resembles little bits of straw? I have no concrete data on this. I will schedule a color appointment today, tomorrow I’ll be blonde, and the day after, I will be stereotyped as fun but unable to understand basic conversation in my native language.

And before anyone even offers, I will gladly accept the mantle of social trailblazer and human rights activist. I will bear that burden. However, keep in mind that I can only take the first few steps. It’s up to the rest of you to blur the gender lines to the point that no one even has any private parts anymore. Think of it. Men and women dying their eyebrows together and getting pedicures at the same time. Mostly pedicures, though, and "Love Actually" would be playing on the TV, the part where Hugh Grant picks up his secretary at her house and takes her to the christmas play.

Very touching. But until that day comes, I will not rest. The only resting I will do is while I'm getting the pedicures, and I'm not gonna lie, that could take up a significant percentage of my total time spent being a catalyst for social change. Just being honest.

I Got A Snake Tattoo Across My Entire Face

2007-11-01T09:02:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I decided to get a snake tattoo across my entire face. Just kidding, I would never do that. Tattoos do have their place, I suppose. Several of my friends have desecrated their bodies in this way and it’s not my place to judge them. That’s why we have a court system. The court system is designed to punish people with tattoos, and we have to trust in that.

Tattoos are not all bad--they can be like personal messages to the world. Unfortunately, all some people want you to know is, "NO FEAR!", and "Butterfly!". The point is, tattoos scare me and make me have uncertain feelings, so I am left with no option but to make fun of them.

Tattoo facts: Did you know there are entire TV shows where all that happens is people talk about the tattoos they're going to get and then they get them? I suppose this is not really saying a lot. TV show ideas are like domain names in that way--even the worst ones are taken. For example, what if there was a TV show where the object was for some people to live in a house and then film it? America would not put up with that!

Along those lines, here are some tattoo mainstays that won’t be winning any awards for creativity.

Barbed Wire Tattoo, or similar arm band on bicep: Not only do I want to be like everyone else, I want there to be NO DOUBT ABOUT IT. FOREVER.

Toe ring tattoo: I’m too scared to get a tattoo that anyone will ever actually see. Why not just get a tattoo on the inside of your lung? C'mon girls, you can do better than that. It's like driving across the country on your 18th birthday to live in New York City. With your Mom. Rebellious, but not really.

Black light tattoo: Let’s be honest, black light tattoos rule. Let the ink flow.

Swastika tattoo: I like conflict and will kill you for a tic-tac. Failing that, I want to make you feel uncomfortable.

Lower-back tattoo, a.k.a. Tramp Stamp: A seemingly innocuous phenomenon, designed primarily for every female alive in the late 90’s and early 00’s. However, I knew a straight guy once who got a lower-back tattoo done, before it was trendy. Never have you seen a man so bitter.

S/O tattoo (Name of Significant Other Tattoo): Not to be the bearer of bad news, but every person save one will be an ex. Which means the only logical time to get an S/O tat is when you are 92. If your girlfriend leaves you at that point, you will either forget about it in two hours or be dead in same.

The crux of the "tattoo problem" (as the pundits like to call it) is that the pendulum has swung too far to the fashionable/personal, and too far away from the pragmatic. 20 years ago, it was simple. If you had a tattoo, you were a member of the Hell's Angels, and you killed people in your spare time. Nowadays, we have these jokers attempting to escape easy categorization by way of fancy Chinese characters and confusing imagery. Now I have to learn mandarin just to accurately criticize someone? It almost makes me not want to criticize anyone. Lucky I’m resilient.

As many of you know, life is primarily about judging others and establishing roles for them. No one's going to deny that. If you ever had the brains to read the Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne, you know what I’m talking about. However, I get the feeling that some people didn't understand the point of that book, which was that branding people is the best way to keep everyone organized. I guess some tattoo wearers these days feel that anarchy is the optimal social structure. Did I miss something?

Politics aside, my parting advice to the not-yet-tattooed is as follows: If you must be tattooed, at least choose something that is not likely to change within the next year, as is the case with your current favorite spouse or brand of shoe. However, if you have a quality that is not likely to change, such as “never uses blinker” or “HIV positive”, let the ink flow. If that last tattoo idea rubs you the wrong way, I suggest re-reading the Scarlet Letter. Or maybe you are an anarchist? Oh, I see. Case closed.

I Am Going To Live To Be 200

2007-09-21T01:09:00.000-07:00

Ever since microwave ovens came out a few years back, I've been thinking about technology basically 24 hours a day. Did you know technology is taking over the world and the government is building secret robots to kill all humans? Ok, that's an exaggeration. The truth is, I love technology. There has been more technological progress in the last 2 months than in the last 100 years, combined in a row. Don't look that up.

True or not though, you have to admit it's more exciting than saying, "Lately, inventions have been occurring at roughly the same rate they have always occurred and by the way congratulations for having just read the most boring sentence in the world."

To orient ourselves, let’s take a quick look back at what was invented in each of the major eras.

Early era, circa 1805 - The top inventions, in order:

1. Steam engine
2. Lightning
3. Electricity

Or perhaps electricity came first, and was channeled into lightning bolts, I'm not certain. I’m not an electrical engineer so this information is unknown to me.

Modern era: (2005 and beyond)

1. Computers
2. Graph paper
3. Online poker

After reviewing my research on the two eras, it became clear to me that no matter which era you lived in, it would suck royal to die right before something cool is invented. Yet this is our primary burden as homosapiens. What of the man whose beloved cousin dies one day before the light bulb is invented, in a lantern fire—the cousin’s death is then pointless. Sorry you had to die cousin, oops, let me turn on the light with this LIGHT SWITCH.

What about the guy who died on the same day that toilet paper makes its debut? His last thought was likely one of bitterness: I love my family, but they get to use this stuff now, and I was jabbing away with sticks and leaves?

To carry this theme back further, one example too long, how about dying the night that fire is invented? I imagine the ailing cro-magnon senior on his death bed. No one would have been paying attention to him, because most cavemen were very insensitive. They would all be watching their tribe leader make a showy production out of the fire-lighting ceremony. Meanwhile Gramps is starting to fade, thinking, what the heck is that? So bright and shiny...I wish I could live even a few more minutes oops now I'm dead.

I'll tell you one thing, I'm not going out like that. I'm holding out for time travel at the very least. And I wouldn't just go back in time so I could pluck Jessica Alba off the street on her 18th birthday and then keep her in the basement, bathing and feeding her. That's something only a very sick person would think of. No, I'd use this technology to make lives better. For starters, I'd go back and start handing out toilet paper.

However, as a non-scientific man, there would be one major downside to time travel, and I'm not talking about the fact that the majority of women had a body mass index way off the charts. No, aside from the fact that I would be wholly unable to sire any children due to impotence, there would be an overload of difficult scientific questions to answer. It would be non-stop.

"There are jet planes? Explain how jet-technology works! There are satellites? Build us a satellite!" Talk about pressure. Sooner than later I would start lying so as not to feel like disappointing-stupid-man from the future.

"Nope, everything’s pretty much the same," I would say, remembering not to mention laser beams. I suppose I could bring a Blackberry with satellite-building documents or whatnot, but there’s no guarantee that the travel pod would function in a cargo-carrying capacity. It hasn’t even been invented yet, so I can’t say.

I’m going to focus on what I can control, which is my exercise and multi-vitamin regimen. And if invisibility comes out after I'm already bed-ridden and incontinent, I promise you I will not be pleased. In fact, I might intentionally leave a little something for the nurse to clean up, and it definitely won't be invisible.

2007-08-28T10:25:00.000-07:00

I was reading an article in the NY Times the other day about yet another case of corporate malfeasance, and other words which were equally impressive, trust me. But back to malfeasance. It sounds bad, but it's actually only breaking the law and violating the public trust, something we all like. Ironic, no?

Which begs the question: How do I proceed given a scenario where I might want to engage in some corporate malfeezing of my own? Well, first I would hint around that I'm not above that sort of thing, so people can't act all offended when it goes down. This is called creating an "ethical margin of error", and I plan to copyright it.

Think about the genius of it. If you walked up to a store and the sign said, "Maybe we will shoot you", that's really scary. You probably wouldn't even go in that store. But maybe you're feeling tough that day, so in you go.

If soon after you are inflicted with multiple bullet wounds to all internal organs, oh well I'm supposed to be sad for you? Not even. At that point, just say I love you to your mom and close your eyes in sweet repose because it's game over. All the reading I did one time in a People magazine Russian version indicates that the store is well within their legal rights there. Don't quote me, but it's true nonetheless.

More important even than visible signage regarding the impending murders you may commit, is an unambiguous corporate slogan that forces the public to face facts about life. Watch below to see how I've improved the marketing angles for several prominent companies, through simple honesty. Because honesty goes a long way. If you don't have honesty, what do you have? Non-useful slogans, that's what.

By the way, if I get multiple lucrative job offers as a result of my slogans, it was nice knowing you guys.

McDonald's -Our bad on the heart disease, everybody. You deserve a break today, or even for eternity, realistically.

Apple -Congratulations, America. You have successfully purchased a cell phone for $600. Our next product is a $12,000 home computer. No wait, we already did that.

Blockbuster -First we overcharged customers millions in phantom late fees, then we stole the Netflix business model. Now we're going to steal your girlfriend. Seriously, we're calling her right now.

YouTube -Don't blame us for the downfall of American culture. Just kidding, you can blame us. You have 3 seconds.

GAP-Hey, where is everybody?

Microsoft -The only thing we don't have is a good porn star name. That's it. However, rest assured that we will still **** you over.

Starbucks -Hey guess what coffee snobs, we hate you too. And sometimes we sell cool music, so kiss it.

Radio Shack -You've got questions, we've got answers. For example, did we recently fire 400 of our employees by email? Yes.

Bausch & Lomb -Stop playing around, you could lose an eye! We're serious, you could literally lose an eye if you use our product.

There. Once we have set the culture of honesty in this country, anything can be accomplished. First George Washington cut down a cherry tree, then he invented America, and now me with this post. Full circle. So don't ever say I'm not on the front lines improving America right and left. I will hunt anyone down who says that, most likely carrying visible signage stating my intent.

2007-08-06T23:24:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, my family and I enjoyed an extravagant 3-hour vacation in Tijuana. And why not, I have the money ($7.00) to do that sort of thing. For the unfamiliar, Tijuana is a secret exotic city with beautiful flowing waterfalls and similar. Hiding meekly in the back alleys are street vendors who have never seen Americans before. These individuals can be coerced into selling their valuable mexican jumping beans if you know what you're doing.

However, not all haggling scenarios on this adventure went as planned. One such scenario was a team-haggle effort with my eldest nephew. Let's call him Trevor, since that's his name. His goal was to buy some really crappy tiny carved forest animals, on purpose. Even so, he didn't want to spend a bundle, because he's not on my financial level. Understandably then, we couldn't be asked to pay whatever the original price was, even if that price was a cup full of crusty pigeon splatter. It's the principle of the thing. Without a moment's delay, I engaged the unnamed seller of trinkets with my time-tested negotiation techniques.

Me: How much? A dollar? That's ridiculous, how could I ever spend a dollar for something like that when I can spend a dollar for a bus ride to downtown San Diego. Ridiculous. At least with the bus ride, I'm somewhere else. If I buy this animal, I'm pretty sure I'm still going to be standing here. No, my price is 5 for 2 dollars.

Vendor: 1 dollar each.

Me: Frustrating! Honestly, these things are so crappy i'm shocked the mexican police don't confiscate them on a daily basis!

Ok, I didn't say that. Being the shrewd entrepreneurs that we are, my nephew and I just went next door and purchased the poorly-crafted animals for our asking price. Quite simple really, if you've taken a few business courses (Call Chico State and ask them for my transcripts if you want to play it that way).

After we left, I informed the original salesman of his great error, and our subsequent great gain. His response was "Ooh, lucky you!" That's attitude I don't need right there. I'm never going back to that particular cardboard table again, please believe me when I say that.

After the business lesson I gave my nephew, I was in the mood for some learning of my own, which is difficult due to the length and breadth of my knowledge stores. Nevertheless, my brothers speak pretty nice Spanish, yippee for them. By contrast, my Spanish sounds more as if someone threw a Spanish I text book at me and then the book flapped open for a second as it flew by, allowing me to see one or two of the Spanish words inside. Although this experience was key in my Spanish-speaking development, I still feel like I need more learning. My desire for knowledge is insatiable, as if that wasn't obvious.

Naturally then, I enjoy standing on the immediate periphery of my brothers' personal space as they converse with various mexican citizenry. In this way I attempt to interject random words that could possibly be Spanish, and may even be related to their conversation. Here, let me show you how it goes.

Rob: (in Spanish, to vendor) I don't really want to buy these mexican jumping beans, but since my younger brother is hovering over me like a huge human mosquito, i'm going to get this over with and buy some. He's 32, but he still hovers!

Erik: (in English) 32 dollars, what?? Or pesos, did you say pesos? How do I say "that's too much?" Amigo, my brother is "estupido", if you know what that means, and you should, because I saw it in a Spanish I text book. I will give you 25 dollars for 6 mexican jumping beans, final offer.

Vendor: (to Rob) Is this guy serious?

Rob: I think so.

Erik: No, I know so. Here, the deal is done and you can mark it down in your accounting logs, which I doubt you even have.

Vendor: Tonight I eat filet mignon off the bellies of prostitutes!

As we made our way home, I couldn't figure how this man's strange sexual appetite was connected to my pulling the wool over his eyes. Finally, I came to the conclusion that it was unrelated.

Ahh...Tijuana. You have my heart, and I have your mexican jumping beans.

Jobs! Advice! Face-Punching!

2007-07-12T13:11:00.000-07:00

Since its inception, the main purpose of this blog has been to inform, instruct,and mock anyone who isn't exactly like me. Also, even if I've never mentioned it outright, this website has always taught doing the right thing, if it's possible to do so at that particular time without being inconvenienced, or if someone pays you a lot of money to do that thing. Okay, that was confusing, but here's what I'm driving at: I never stop teaching. The day I stop teaching is the day I'm resting 6 feet down, my face skin stretched taut against my rotting skull, worms going this way and that. Not to be graphic, but as you can see I take teaching seriously. And I could not be more serious as I give the following advice.

If you have a friend, and he tells you he's going to take a year off from his perfectly reasonable software job and then "feel things out", punch him directly in the face, and then toss him into the middle of the Atlantic ocean. If he lives on the west coast, toss him in the Pacific, because obviously that's a shorter drive.

But enough negativity and punching. Nay, let us now rejoice, for I have secured a new position as technical writer at a rather prestigious software company! Maybe you've heard of a large public corporation known as Google, which specializes in search technology. I'm obviously unqualified to work for them, but Google is a big deal, you should probably know who they are. My job is with a different company which you've never heard of, but I don't need your pity. All I need is for at least one person to read this, and feel sorry for me. Okay, so I need your pity.

My initial plan, if it can be categorized as such, was to put my career on pause, and work in a relaxing non-cubical environment. That looks ok on paper, but there's putting your career on pause, and then there's drugging it, chopping it into little pieces, and dumping it in a remote, wooded area. Here are some ways to not do that.

1. Don't believe anyone who says you should work for Hollister because if they say this, that means they hate you. Do you want to listen to people that hate you? Hollister is like a high class prostitute who has determined that it's more profitable to continuing screwing people than it is to do something nice, like get a credential and teach kindergarten. Don't nitpick my analogy, you know what I'm trying to say.

2. If you happen to be stupid enough to take a job in retail clothing, at least work somewhere they sell cool clothes. I could find more interesting clothes at the 99-cent store. This is a fact.

3. If you decide it's time to get back to the software field, don't put Retail Store Manager at the top of your online resume. Doing this will garner you the same amount of call-backs you would receive if you put "Going to the bathroom a lot" in your list of accomplishments. There is no distinct difference between these two resume strategies. Indeed, some concepts I grasp instinctually, while others elude me for surprisingly long periods. This was a "elude for long periods" one.

4. It seems counter-intuitive, but don't be afraid to engage in negative self-talk. I'm a positive guy, but I've discovered that too much optimism will dupe you into thinking your life is really neato. I swear, sometimes I'm like an Abu Garib inmate who had a really good day because he was only partially drowned but didn't also have to participate in an all-male naked pyramid. I'm not saying you should try to hate yourself more, just maintain the ability to realistically evaluate your situation. You won't regret it.

5. You might think that watching funny YouTube clips and buying stuff on iTunes will get you a job faster, but think again my friends.

And there it is, what I like to call the Fantastic Five. There may be more useful career tips than the preceding gems, but they're probably in a book that costs money. Speaking of, I will need to update the ol' wardrobe with some business casual. If only I worked somewhere that sells clothes and offers an employee discount...now THAT would be awesome.

2007-06-22T13:10:00.000-07:00

Like many former miscreants, I am now a responsible adult. One of my primary responsibilities in this capacity is to be distraught at the current state of the youth today. Maybe the Hollister sample size is too small from which to make an accurate judgement, but obviously I won't let that stop me.

The main problem is most of my employees still live at home, and consequently don't understand life very well. It's like they're in the matrix or something, but they don't care, because it seems fun. As a consequence, their perception is very cloudy. For example: Brittany the cheerleader comes to me last week, indignant that she will no longer be allowed to attend cheer camp because she went to a gigantic party, tried to poison herself to death with tequila, and then passed out on the lawn. I know, Brittany. The heart-wrenching injustice of it all.

This twisted perception is not necessarily their fault--buying an endless supply of ham sandwhiches and Bud Light at the Shell station with your dad's gas card can sometimes distort your perspective. Granted, I bought the occasional gas station burrito myself, when the moment was right. But here's the difference: I knew that spending $20 on burritos and Slim Jims with the patriarch's gas card was both economically inefficient, and unsustainable in the long term. The obvious moral here is that if you know what you're doing is wrong, it's okay. That last sentence probably wouldn't hold up to stringent logic tests, so I hope you read it really fast without thinking.

To you post-boomer parents who have managed to successfully spawn additional humans: This essay is not an indictement on modern-day parenting. Honestly, I'm not implying that teenagers are easy to handle, or even human, really. It's just I'm going to have to make a few tweaks here and there to your overall parenting style. Based on conversations with my Hollister subordinates, my suspicion is that most recent child-rearing techniques in America have been limited to one or both of the following conversations:

Mom: Where are you going with that piece of crack rock?

Brittany: Not to smoke it, that's for sure.

Mom: Well I would hope not. Give it here. I need it for...safekeeping.

Brittany: Safekeeping means using it yourself, right?

Mom: Nevermind about that. After you keep it safe, bring the rest of it home so that I can keep it safe as well. In my room. And then don't bother me for an hour.

Brittany: That's not fair!

Mom: No, you being prettier than I ever was is not fair. Just try not to get pregnant too many times tonight.

Brittany: You know I can't promise that.

Mom: Fine, goodbye.

By the way, in the example above, Brittany got pregnant and gave birth two times at the same party and smoked all the crack herself. That's very sad, but it's true.

As if that's not bad enough, the dialogue below is taken from an actual exchange between a male teen and his father. In all likelihood.

Father: Will there be alcohol at the party?

Teen: What's alcohol?

Father: Broadly defined, the intoxicating agent in fermented and distilled liquors (ethanol).

Teen: Oh. No, I don't think there will be any of that. I would just dump it all out if I saw it anyway, like if it was in a massive keg.

Father: That's my boy.

At any rate, my payment for having made light of these topics will most likely be future offspring with a penchant for puppy-killing. In time, they will become serial murderers, and eventually they will kill me. So don't think I can't see that coming. Yet, I know that my calls for improved parenting will not go unheeded, and this makes the sacrifice worthwhile.

To recap today's lesson, don't use your kids' drugs. Buy them on the street, just like they did. This will keep you more in touch with what they're going through on a daily basis. Also, I understand that there are a lot of good kids out there, but now that I've written this post, I will never have them. Which is a shame, because I obviously have a knack for this stuff. Alright, I'll talk to you guys later.

More Stuff Gandhi Told Me Before He Died

2007-05-21T18:38:00.000-07:00

Hey everybody, what's the good word? By the way, it's still cool to say what's the good word. It's like, what's the haps, people? These phrases are pretty raw, yes, but it also explains why they're so appealing to the youth of today. Raw street language is basically what I'm speaking here. You can't sugarcoat me, because I'm from the streets. Yet, even criminals like myself who haven't had a formal education can experience life on a deep level. As evidence of this, I've recorded several genius-level observations. Only people who want to advance intellectually should read them. If this isn't your goal, then you should do something which requires less concentration, like buying a popsicle.

Number one, I've noticed that my soap and shampoo isn't running out nearly as quickly as it should. This isn't right, to feel intimidated by my soap dispenser. I think I may start pouring some of it down the drain to make myself feel more hygenic.

Speaking of great ideas, here's one of my latest. Read it and weep. The day before an interview, you should watch a horror movie. Then, no matter how poorly the interview goes, no one can describe it as "horrific." If someone tries to do this, you can say, "no, what was horrific was The Ring, which I watched last night. The interview was just something which went very badly and damaged my self-esteem. There's a difference."

It bugs me that I have to touch whatever has a WET PAINT sign attached to it. It doesn't matter if the object looks mostly dry, not very dry, or if live paint is actually being sprayed on the object as I walk by. I must touch it, just to MAKE SURE. Of what, I don't know, but if the recently painted object is left untouched, nothing is reconciled and I will be without peace until the time of my death. I'm not sure what the moral is here. I think the moral is that I have serious problems.

The other day, as I embarked upon my well-worn route to the mall food court, I saw a portly mother of four wearing a t-shirt with "I've got the 4-1-1" written on it. Instantly I thought, "you have slightly greasy, mentally unkempt offspring on the loose, but the 4-1-1? After taking a brief visual inventory of your situation, I feel confident this is something you do not have." Then I kept walking, hoping to find someone that actually did have the 4-1-1, so they could tell me why I still have a job in a mall. A mall which doesn't even have a Gap. I don't even like the Gap that much, by the way.

My friend is really into the Care Bears, which makes sense because she's 26. She gave me the Bedtime Care Bear for my birthday. You can think what you want, but the bear glows in the dark, so what's up now? It feels good to admit it, though--I like the little guy. Reading what I've just written, I'm not sure how either one of us has any friends, but I don't think that matters so much now that I have this Care Bear.

If anyone has a question about Care Bears or any of today's observations, feel free to think a little harder, and then ask. I don't want questions just right off the cuff, that shows disrespect for my time, and strains our relationship. Thank You.

Paris Hilton Cited For Being Extremely Annoying, Death Penalty Issued; Whole World Agrees With Decision

2007-05-12T02:13:00.000-07:00

After driving with a suspended license 9 times in a row, Paris Hilton may finally do hard time. But not in a dirty way, which is unfortunate. No, I'm talking about jail time, which I guess is what happens when you have pretty blonde hair and a Louis Vuitton bag, but no license. Paris does not agree with the prospect of jail time. Laying spikestrips down on the road to logic, she has described her predicament as "not fair." In spite of her eloquent assessment of the situation and celebrity status, I was able to form an objective viewpoint, which I have recorded on my blog site for posterity. My viewpoint continues below unheeded.

You may remember from the first paragraph recorded above that Paris has disputed the fairness of her plight. I think "fair" would be making her shop only at Mervyn's, for all eternity. Not that Mervyn's is necessarily bad, it's just that it reeks of poverty. Do not attempt to contest this point. If you do, everyone will learn of your excessively low income, and no one will pay attention to you ever again. Trust me, I'm a peasant, and no one even looks at me. I'm just trying to protect you guys.

Anyway, not only is the jail time fair, it is my expert opinion that the presiding judge is being a fruity little fruitbasket in his leniency. To be an effective judge in a court of law, you have to reach deep inside yourself, metaphorically, and pull meaningful punishments out of every available orifice. That's what I have the ability to do, and I've never even been to law school. I had one business law class, that's it. If a judge can't do what I have so easily done in earlier paragraphs, then he should be executed with no trial. I bet he doesn't even reference previous paragraphs he's already written, like I do. Pathetic, almost.

Whatever happens, prison will probably be the new vacation hotspot for Hollywood socialites. The obvious draw is that vacationers wouldn't have to puke up as much food in order to stay pretty--portion sizes are definitely smaller at San Quentin than Outback, there's no disputing that. Also, new inmates frequently get their food stolen before they have a chance to eat it, so it takes less willpower to stay at 85 pounds.

Another upside for these hollywood hotshots is that they could be stabbed while in prison, which is exciting! I think a good shanking can sometimes help a person's career, unless they lose too much blood, in which case they would die. But a solid shanking with moderate blood loss? That will improve one's google page rank without a doubt. I guess only time will tell how these laundry room stabbings will play out.

One thing's for sure: Paris is going to jail, and like everything else she does, it will somehow end up benefitting her. Am I jealous? Of course I am. If I bought a rat-dog and walked around Beverly Hills with my homemade sex tape, all my friends would stop talking to me. By way of contrast, if Paris Hilton started punching old people, it would be the coolest thing to do ever. But when I do it (and I have done it several times), it is rarely well received. It's not that I especially like punching old people, I just DON'T like the double standard.

Hopefully this blog post clears up any misconceptions about that.

V is for Victory

2007-02-14T00:28:00.000-08:00

Happy Valentine's Day, everybody. Ok, think of your favorite flower. There, that's your Valentine's present, I hope you like it. More specifically, if anyone out there thinks Valentine's Day is awesome, send me an email, and we can discuss topics like how an awesome holiday could trot right up and kick you in the nuts, and you might not know it. Checking inbox...ok, no new messages, I didn't think so.

It is essential that everyone understand the following: I'm not here to kill all the exciting buzz which surrounds this extraordinary holiday. Mainly, I couldn't find any extra buzz lying around. But it's certainly frustrating when I see so many recognize a holiday which has obviously run its course. Engaging in the Valentine ritual is like taking showers, or changing your underwear--no one really wants to do it, but people tell us we should, so that's that. Right? Who's with me on 5-day underwear, any takers? As for the women, most of them see the day as a new opportunity to watch the men in their life flail around for a day or two, and then flame out miserably. I'm not saying I've ever failed, because obviously that would make little to no sense. Yet I can see that for other men, the fear of failure might make for a stressful time, but not for me, like I said before.

You men out there can do what you want with Valentine's Day, but here's what I have planned, you might want to listen up: I'm dedicating Valentine's Day to myself. Talk about fail-safe. All that's really involved is shifting a few paradigms, and altering poorly-constructed world views which others (your wife or girlfriend) may have mistakenly had at one time. These world views are inconvenient as they relate to how much current enjoyment you are experiencing, and should be discarded post-haste. The details are unimportant. What's important is that you spend the entire day pondering dreamily the many gifts and treasures your significant other has yet to give you on this special day. Then, when your every fantasy has not been realized, be very silent until she asks you if anything is wrong. At this point, you say, "Oh, nothing. Let's just drop it."

Then, she will most likely drop you for acting like such a wuss, and she might have a point, but I'm not here to debate your girlfriend. Anyway, maybe you lose the love of your life as a result of following my advice. Who knows? Better yet, who cares? You will have made a stand against Valentine's Day, and I think you will always remember that. That memory, along with the flower from an earlier paragraph, is my gift...to the world. Thank You.

2007-01-26T13:50:00.001-08:00

The other weekend, I spent some time in a little town east of San Diego known as "Imperial". First off, and this isn't even my main point, I don't like it when towns give themselves important-sounding names in order to feel ok. You're still a town, you're still very small, and you need to watch your attitude. However, my girlfriend was raised there, so if she ever finds this blog, I would like to officially change my stance on the issue, starting at the time that she finds it. That's the sort of integrity I have, and I will spread spurious and damaging rumors about anyone who disagrees.

Now that the proper warnings have been issued, I will share a few observations from my road trip. After much soul-searching and extended use of my deep concentration techniques, I've decided that too many highway road signs use unclear or misleading punctuation, or should I say, punctuation so bad, the sign makers should go back to first grade...hold on, wait for it...to be taught by the first-graders. That was a good one. My point is, I understand the need to be concise, but for my money, the correct balance has not been struck between brevity and clarity.

Let's start off with a seemingly simple two-word warning sign:

I'm relatively confident this means "the presence of slow trucks is something you should be aware of", but I'm far from 100%. What if it means "slow DOWN, trucks?". Well, I don't drive a truck. So now I've wasted my time reading that, when I could've been forming the beginning of an unrelated, yet potentially revolutionary idea. Which means I now must form a different revolutionary idea later on. Let's be honest, how many of those do I have? Probably only 20, and I don't want to waste any.

Here's one that might be cute if you understood hieroglyphics.

As it stands though, I don't. So I'm not sure if this sign means that a slalom course for cars is coming up soon, or what. If there is a slalom course, where is it, and how do I register for competition? I'm a very capable driver, I need to know the details and requirements surrounding the registration process. I will almost certainly win if I am allowed to register.

This one is just plain insensitive:

Does this mean there are mentally slow kids in the area? Or did they make all the children in the neighborhood run timed 40-yard-dashes? I have no idea what's happening here, but it would appear that the self-esteem era is officially over. Maybe their next sign idea will be "fat children", or "children having acne nearby".

I think this next sign is one of those hippie liberal recycle warnings:

Calm down, hippies, I know I should recycle! Relax and smoke a doobie or something. I'll recycle later. Right now I'm driving, and I think there's a circular intersection somewhere nearby, I don't need to be distracted by your recycling sign. When you get all pushy like this, it makes me want to buy an SUV and park it at the gas station with the engine running. That's just how human nature works.

This one's easy:

Bon Jovi, 1986. The album contained competent contemporary pop/metal, from its Eddie Van Halen-inspired guitar solos to Jon Bon Jovi's enthusiastic, husky wail. If you were alive in 1986, you were listening to this. Don't lie to me.

In my next example, the Department of Transportation takes the slow kids to task once more, this time by posting median test scores for the area.

How do you score a 9% in good conscience, anyway? You have to try to score that low. Study up youngsters, or be publicly humiliated.

Here's the deal. I'm not saying I even read most road signs. This last trip was the first time I ever read one. But for people that do, it's probably a big waste of time. Long story short, these signs do nothing more than cause the sides of our nation's highways to be yellow. That's pretty much it. If I was in charge, I can guarantee you that the emphasis would be on relevant, to-the-point signage. Here's an example of a sign I would like to see:

I would definitely understand that sign, and I don't even have any practice at that. For you veteran sign-readers out there, it would be even easier to understand. Before this post, I briefly considered changing careers and becoming a sign-maker, because I know so much about it. But they're really annoying to make in Photoshop, so now the American public is stuck with signs that promote 80's rock albums and recycling. Depressing, but reality's like that sometimes.

2006-12-18T20:12:00.000-08:00

Can men and women be friends, and friends only? An age-old question, the answer to which is best left up to me. To give a little background, I was recently made aware of a situation where a man gained the friendship of an attractive female, under the obviously false pretense of wanting the friendship of an attractive female. No, the man I'm talking about is not me. Personally, I believe in honesty, or whatever that is when you say something you're fairly certain isn't directly false, in order to accomplish a mission. But again, I'm speaking in generalities.

Essentially, men have a biological imperative (or "noble quest" in Latin), which causes them to fake friendships with women. Now that is true honor, to fulfill one's purpose. If you disagree, then I'm left with no choice but to pull out the big guns, also known as incontrovertible truths. Years of research produces...

1. Men desire women
2. Women aren't always repulsed by men
3. Sometimes women ARE repulsed, though
4. Men understand that it's important to use deception
and tricks of the mind in order to combat this problem

If the above statements were made by elite scientists at some point in the past, and nick-named "The Big Four", that would not surprise me. If it were in the distant chauvinistic past, I would be even less surprised. However, if you need further evidence aside from the Big Four, then maybe a dose of evolutionary biology will set your ding-dong head right. Consider:

The man has been trained throughout multiple centuries to procreate by any means necessary. If this means spending several months undercover, discussing feelings and why it's OK or not OK that Gwyneth Paltrow named her baby Apple, then so be it. But at some point, action must be taken in the form of a romantic offensive, lest these discussions continue indefinitely. Indeed, if a man leaves the relationship stalled on "friend", it's the same as him saying, "ok, good enough, then. That egg can just sit there unfertilized, let's all just sit around and talk about chocolate until the sun flames out. I guess the hunt is over." Nay, I say!

"You're a pig!", say the women readers. Yet, ponder this, fair lasses: Isn't it sort of special to know that there's always a chance your good friend, who you've confided in for many years, might hit on you? Exciting! What could be better than that? Nothing, obviously. I'm sitting here trying to think of something better, and failing miserably.

As a counselor (of imaginary people) I hear multiple complaints per day about the lack of marriage-qualified men for you goddesses out there. Well, maybe one of your good friends is still in deep cover, and he simply hasn't shown his hand yet. So in reality, rather than a good man, all you need is some patience. Which is a virtue, if I didn't mention that before.

Though I realize some of my female friends may feel betrayed, please understand that it has simply fallen upon me to balance the scales of mating justice by explaining reality. Plus, I always remember to wink repeatedly at my female friends throughout the development of any friendship, so they can't act all surprised down the road when I try to make out with their elbow or something.

Female Friend: I can't believe you would try to make out with my elbow, I thought we were friends!

Me: How can that surprise you, after all those times we were together, and I had my hand over my right eye and my left eye was blinking flirtatiously?

Female Friend: I thought you had something in your eye!

Me: Well guess what, I didn't. So is it on, or what?

Female Friend: You are a sad, sad man. And stop blinking.

Me: Cool, maybe we'll hook up later. [returns to deep cover]

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all my friends out there! Especially the girls. [blink]

2006-12-04T00:54:00.000-08:00

Howdy-Doody citizens, and welcome to a new month. You're probably thinking, "great, it's a new month, I'm not impressed." If this is indeed your attitude, perhaps you should consider the international implications, as dozens of countries across the globe are now enjoying a different month. Even insignificant village people, in some cases. Here at home, it signifies a new 30-day period in which Britney Spears might pull her dress up over her head, take pictures of herself, and email them to People Magazine. More importantly, though, it signifies a new opportunity for me to complain about three parking tickets I got within a 4-hour time frame. I doubt you can beat that, but if you can, that seems strange to me, because logically it doesn't make any sense to intentionally best someone's record for consecutive parking tickets.

Anyway, the first was for parking on the street on the 9th Sunday of the ides of March, or something equally cryptic. I never really figured it out, which probably means I'll have about 8 more tickets by morning. The second ticket was for liking techno music (guilty as charged), and the third and final ticket was for something like not knowing the exact date of Charlegmagne's death. Ok, that's not actually what the ticket said. I don't know what it said, because I was sick of looking at tickets by the time I got done with the second one. I'm pretty sure the third ticket is just a polaroid of the officer giving me the bird.

Ah, but all is not lost, as the city recently sent me a notice about the tickets, and what to do in order to appeal them. Since I'm still a little unclear about when the ides are, or why anyone would care, I figure my best bet is to focus on the ticket about Charlemagne. Ok, I'm only being sardonic again. It is a virtual certainty that all three tickets are for the same basic offense, being too stupid to know where to park. Needless to say, I'm not too stoked about my chances at winning an appeal. I'm supposed to 'include a map or diagram of the street or parking structure, in order to more clearly state my case.' Since I don't really have a case, I'm not all that excited about expounding on that point and really driving it home. However, everyone knows that the best defense is a good offense. Thus, I think it prudent strategy to create a diagram which is a little more aggressive, in order to catch the imperialists off-guard. Here's what I'm thinking about sending in, roughly:

That's right, it's me brandishing a pirate's main weapon of choice, the cutlass. If that doesn't put the reader on full alert, I don't know what will. I still need a caption, though. My first option is something along these lines: "Expunge any record of these parking infractions or taste my unforgiving steel!" Somewhat sexually-charged, but still very effective.

My second option would be something like, "I'll cut you, dirty pig. No tickets!"

And then finally, I will say, it is my opinion that I don't want any of these parking tickets. Thank you.

p.s. I'll cut you.

If you think I should be a foreign diplomat too, just sit there at your computer and don't do anything for 1 straight second. Wow, thanks! Yeah, I think I'm pretty good, too. Talk to you guys later--from the American Embassy in North Korea that is! That I'll create!

The Shortcomings Of Others Is A Big Theme in My Life

2006-11-01T13:59:00.000-08:00

It's been too long kidlets, and I've missed you, as a matronly cheetah misses her tiny cublings, eaten perhaps only days previously by rabid hyenas. Since I'm confident the feeling is mutual, I'm going to share some of my recent adventures, gleaned mostly from a recent Snow Patrol concert I attended. Warning: These adventures may include several individuals who are (big surprise) not up to general standard.

I want to kick things off with a short memo to The Girl At The Snow Patrol Concert who thinks she's at a Jay-Z concert. Yeah, you. No one should be allowed to do any of the following things:

1. Sing "Big Pimpin" lyrics regardless of what song is being performed. To reiterate, Big Pimpin' is what you would sing at a Jay-Z concert, which you were clearly not at.

2. Flash 'West Side' symbol whenever you're really rocking out. Let's save that for when I'm posing for a picture with my cool guy buddies. Then it's okay, and is not lame.

3. Do the slow head bob combined with one-hand-overhead up-down motion. This did not sit well with me, as you are not at a free-style rap contest.

You must understand, this is not about me micro-managing your fun. This is about the fact that you are affiliated with neither the crips or bloods, nor are you a rapper. The lead singer for Snow Patrol is not a rapper, either. I am not a rapper, although the way many women respond to me often makes me wonder if I am. Maybe I actually am a rapper, now I'm not sure.

So, Me: Possible Rapper
You: Definitely Not Rapper

Other persons of low individual worth

Hey Guy At Concert with no ability to sense the presence of other objects or humans, even if they happen to be 1 inch away from you: If you could stash the texas tornado/whirling dirvish dance moves in the tool shed with your other epilepsy-inspired flailings, that would be optimal. Sure, I have some crappy, old-school dance moves too, but I sometimes make an effort to not bash into everything within a 15-foot radius. Thanks.

Hey Guy Making Out With Your Girlfriend for a solid 1.5 hour stretch, also known as the entire length of the concert: I get it, you really like your girlfriend. Or ecstacy. I hope the whirling dervish guy crashes into you.

Hey Guy writing this who is lashing out in frustration due to general inability to secure legitimate work: Nothing should stand in the way of great journalism. Superlative work, really top-notch. Keep it up. I mean that.

Hey Guy(s) who read my online application and resumes, and then delete them because you want to hire your friend: Your friend is meaningless in the grand scheme, and reeks of insignificance. On the flip-side, I am destined for greatness and will not soon forget your repeated snubbings. To summarize: If I see you on the street, there will be conflict.

I guess those are the main people recently who have not been as good as me. Next time I will try to bring a more positive attitude, and dedicate the entire post to raising awareness about homelessness and people having AIDS a lot. But I need to build up to that, and I need your support or I'll kill myself. No I'm kidding. See ya!

Dating, Relationships, And You. And That Other Girl. She Was Also Fairly Hot.

2006-09-25T20:20:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been thinking about dating and relationships. The reason I like to do this is it gives me a chance to reflect on how much I know about those topics, which is A LOT. And that's a great feeling, to know that much. I almost hope the girl I'm dating sees this post, because then she can understand her purpose, and praise me for my bold views. Or she will break up with me. In this way she is very wishy-washy.

I'll begin with an example scenario from my dating past, which informs some of my current beliefs, or should I say, facts, on the subject. I remember the picture quite clearly: Our relationship on the ropes, and me with no other options outside of dangling my ex-girlfriend's cat over the side of her fifth floor balcony. She said (in a very mean way), "Quit dangling my cat off of there! Why are you doing that??!" Women are supposedly very intuitive, yet she didn't understand that hurting her cat was my last, desperate method of hurting her? Please, that's psychology 101. Or at least I assume it is. I tested out of that course, due to my advanced skills.

Another classic blunder women commit on the dating scene is instinctively blurting out the first thing that comes to their minds, like, "Don't leave inappropriate messages on my phone, and then follow me in your car, driving slowly behind me as I walk through the alley." This is a turn off, because don't try to control me. Nobody likes to be controlled. Also, "Don't leave innapropriate messages" doesn't mean anything to me, it just sounds like a corporate memo to nobody in particular. If you can prove, in a legal setting, that I left such a message, and a court reporter is there to document it, then sure, we can discuss that. Until then, I would try to get a new phone number, although I'll probably find that new number without much difficulty.

Indeed, though I am quite resourceful, I will admit there are still a few remaining questions which the ladies have failed to answer to the satisfaction of this reporter. These are puzzles which have stymied experts like me for the better part of 5,000 years. Basically, no one will ever solve them. So they sit in museums, unsolved. Here they are, not that you could ever solve one.

--What kind of a world is it where cat-calls are not a compliment? A dual-reality world where sincere public recognition of something good about someone, is suddenly not a compliment any more. That's what kind.

--What kind of a world is it, where your cat wakes you up in the morning, and you like it? You like it so much you even tell your friends about it. Giving your cat away to someone else if he wakes you up, sure, but liking it?

--What kind of world is it where you disapprove of your boyfriend wearing your skirt and running around the house with a girdle on his head? Ok, that one is understandable. That was my bad.

--What kind of world is it where a football highlight is supposedly less interesting than:

-The conversation you and I were having just now (whatever that was about)
-Your hopes and dreams

Thankfully, this last one is no longer a mystery. As I understand it, a majority of the research [I've done] [in my mind] indicates that a slow-motion football highlight, complimented by tasteful narration and appropriate musical accompaniment, is significantly more interesting than either of the above items. Well, that's a relief to finally have an answer on that. However, some might say that the greatest mystery of all is how someone of my caliber could still technically be "on the market."

I agree, that is an amazing mystery.

2006-09-07T00:36:00.000-07:00

On any normal day, I might begin this post with a barely disguised insult implicating everyone who happens to not be me. But not today, because this post is about the concept of happiness, and I'd like to create the impression that I care. However, if you're curious about what I was going to say, it was that none of you will probably ever find true happiness--something along those lines. Sure, there may be scattered highlights, such as earning the love of a disfigured child, or not getting cancer right away, but that's about it.

Now let's look at the data, culled from a 45-second video clip on msn.com, automatically making it the most reliable source of data any of you have encountered in the last 6 months. Supposedly, there are several well-defined factors by which we measure and achieve happiness. Strangely enough, none of the factors have anything to do with Jessica Alba. Thinking about her holding me, and talking to a picture of her every morning is no guarantee of my long-term mental or emotional well-being. Yet, it is my destiny, so case closed.

Aside from that, here are some additional facts you should know about happiness, if you want to achieve even basic, introductory-levels of it.

1. According to the study, one of the best ways to be happy is to have more money than your friends. As my mom used to say, "It is not enough that I succeed. Others must fail." Seriously, your total wealth numbers could top out at around fifteen bucks, but as long as your friends only have ten bucks, you will experience feelings of accomplishment and satisfaction.
(According to the research, you will not feel petty, though I don't see how that's possible.)

2. Spend time with friends. Now, I know what you're thinking. Underneath it all, you're a bad person, and don't deserve friends. This is probably partly, or even mostly, true. But let's stay positive, and embrace the concepts of #1 above, which dictate that you build a social circle comprised solely of methed-out hobos, and everyone wins.

3. Buy experience, not possessions. The idea here is to travel, to see outside yourself, and gain an understanding of what it means to be a citizen of the earth, setting aside provincial attitudes and some other stuff which sounded logical when you were in college. Truly though, I do want to improve myself, but first I must improve myself at Madden 2007, and that's not going to happen until I buy my own xbox 360. Hey, did anyone hear that clacking sound? Oh yeah, it's the sound of a case. Closing.

4. Number four, don't have kids. The numbers alone are staggering, with 98% of all small children being somewhat annoying. True story though, happiness levels for prospective parents supposedly rise during the gestation period, then fall sharply during the 18 years following birth. Yet human births have for some time been a proven method of sustaining life. The more I think of it, number four is like some sick cosmic joke: We can either die off but be super happy, or keep up with the impregnating, and see our happiness levels plummet. That's like a catch-22 on steroids.

5. Number five is one I made up. It's a little pathetic, but it's called Hold Up A Picture Of Jessica Alba, and use baby talk on it, asking her rhetorical questions such as, "Oh, do you like that??" And so on. Remember, the research didn't specifically say not to do this.

Essentially, do everything in the above list, and you will be a different person. Capable of performing magnificent feats and wowing others with your sheer happiness. If you choose not to do everything in the list, you will fail and others will use you as their poor friend in order to feel adequate. Then you will be stupid and unhappy, a less-than-enviable position.

In closing, it's clear that this post is vastly different from anything I've previously inflicted upon the public, because it is both selfless and circumspect in the extreme. It reminds me of something Gandhi would've written, but less hypocritical. Sorry, Gandhi fans. The truth hurts.

2006-08-30T00:53:00.000-07:00

Hola Gringos-As you may've heard, Michael Noer of Forbes magazine recently called into question the wisdom of being married to a career woman. Not to be outdone, one of my friends recently called into question the wisdom of anyone being married to me. He probably thought we would joke around about that for a minute and then move on, but long story short, I performed a martial arts move on his spinal cord, killing him instantly. Over his corpse did I lay a solitary letter--a listing of my positive qualities, the ones the ladies can't seem to get enough of. That letter is shown below.

---Beginning of Letter---

Dear Dead Person Who Used To Be My Friend, this is a list of my positive qualities. These qualities are the main reason why some women, who don't care that much about being happy, want to be with me.

a) I will often talk about the weather in an alluring way. Example: "It is HOT today. I think you know what I'm saying. Or do you???"

b) I never fail to lay the mack down on a consistent basis. See weather example

c) Comprehensive, attraction-building knowledge of Jerry Rice's career statistics

d) Ovulation-inducing comic book collection

Here are my weaknesses:

None

Love, Erik

---End of Letter---

Next topic then?

Something that's not below average? Ok, that's fair. We'll do one of those next time.

p.s. Things are beginning to happen in the wild, mad-cap life of Erik T, but I can't say all of it right now because of legal entanglements. Suffice it to say, maybe you should start saving for a new metaphorical roof, cause I'm about to blow the current one straight off. Case closed.

Cell Phones Have A Long Way To Go

2006-08-03T00:17:00.000-07:00

Today's topic is about cell phones, and their role in modern society. My position is that in modern society, more than 100 people own cell phones worldwide. These stats represent rough estimates, and as such, should not be added to the Bible under a separate chapter. Regardless of your feeling on that, the crux of the matter, among at least three separate cruxes of equal importance, is that I have opinions about cell phones which are inventive and extremely insightful. Now we will go through them one by one until you wish you were at a different website.

Basic Cell Phone Facts, Known Even To Uneducated Rural People

It's widely known that some citizens enjoy the combination of playing the trombone while driving down the interstate and talking on their phone, while others prefer to give birth during cell phone conversations. Still others prefer to simultaneously cook Rice-A-Roni, do naked somersaults, and talk on the phone. Honestly, I have no idea what you people are doing out there on a daily basis, but I'm pretty sure most of it is immoral. Though as you can tell, I don't really care. Regarding your collective cell phone usage, I am mostly apathetic.

The Question I Am Far More Passionate About

The question I am far more passionate about, is why everyone needs to buy a new phone every 5 seconds, or after every new conversation, whichever comes first. It could be that I'm just jealous of those who have discretionary funding outside of the six dollars my mom gave me last week. But that's overly simplistic. Accurate, but simplistic.

Granted, my perspective on cell phone-purchasing habits is skewed--as you may know, I work in close proximity to intellectually nascent, financially disoriented 19-year olds, a demographic not famous for prudent technology purchases. That said, my perspective is the best and truest one to have, out of all other ones. While you think about whether or not that makes any sense (no), consider my next point:

Many of the most-recently available cell phone options, while quaint, are not nearly violent enough for my tastes. Mp3 capable? Ok I guess, but the ability to play a Nelly Furtado song with your mobile communication device is not intimidating anyone. Camera option? Nice, but in and of itself, somewhat non-violent. To get a better idea of why normal phones pale in comparison to phones I would invent, take a look at the one of the primary features a new cell phone would have to have before it would be acceptable to me.

That's right, it needs to have a machete attached to it. In a perfect world, the machete would even have flames coming out. If you can't see why the machete option is top priority, you probably have psychological issues.

Another possible phone I might consider is one that is an actual razor. Motorola currently offers a mobile device known as the "RAZR", but guess what, folks. It's so-named due to its exceptionally thin body carriage, not because it's an actual razor. I don't think I should have to explain why I need it to be an actual razor, but I'm feeling indulgent, so here we go. One, a razor is a weapon, and could potentially be used against everyday people you want to kill, or drug dealers, if need be. Two, you could shave with it if you were past puberty, which many of you are not. Anyway, here's a picture of this phone, currently sold only in remote Peruvian villages. It is unavailable to American consumers, because of people like me.

One non-violent cell phone feature which might actually be acceptable, is a ring tone which indicates mood and/or physical attributes of caller: If the caller was a Victoria Secret model, the phone would continue ringing until it explodes or someone answers it. If caller is unattractive, phone emits unseemly odor. As most cell phones are carried around the midsection, there could be unintended social ramifications, but the simple pragmatism is undeniable, so case closed.

As further proof that you don't really need a fancy new mobile communication device (unless it's one I suggest, obviously.), check this guy out:

Essentially, he's making this look work for him. He's making it happen, and I can almost guarantee you there's no 2-year contract involved. Inexpensive, yet still big enough to be used as a weapon, therefore making it violent.

So we've established that technological idolatry is healthy, if nothing else. Yet we as a society must always ask ourselves: Are we considering that new Treo simply because you can email somebody with it? Or because it doubles as a chainsaw? America is under attack, people, and when the chips are down, you may want to do more than send a strongly-worded memo to your agressor. Your instinct will probably be to try and buy a new phone, like you usually do, but it will be too late for that. Let's be wise, friends. Good night and good luck.

Who Wants to Know About My Summer Vacation? You? You Over There? How About You?

2006-07-10T02:27:00.000-07:00

Last week, I enjoyed a culturally rich, if shopping counts, vacation to Sacramento, San francisco, and my hometown of Chico. I took part in several adventures and was involved in daring exploits which normally occur only in exciting mysterious novels. Notice that I don't directly mention bestiality or cocaine. The reasoning is, my parents might read this, and I'd rather not chance it. And if you mock me for going to Sacramento as part of my vacation, I will put cyanide tablets in your food. Let me be clear on that point.

The Flight

On the whole, our flight from San Diego to Sacramento was without incident. However, upon my 45th perusal of the Southwest "Sky Mall" catalog, it occurred to me that the products were not improving with each subsequent read. Example of a typical Sky Mall product: The "UV Hawk" (TM), which promises to alert you when UV Light is dangerously high. Seriously Sky Mall, thanks for trying to help--but I think I'll know if the UV's were dangerously high by if I die of skin cancer or not. I'm a hands-on learner, always have been.

It's also possible to purchase the Thermo TempCheck-Hawk(TM), a device which allows you to "instantly and accurately check surface temperatures with the touch of a button." Please. If I think something might be hot, I'll put my entire hand on it for 10 straight seconds. After that, I'll judge for myself, in the emergency room if I have to.

The Wedding

Once the flight was over, and I'd called in my order for nine UV Hawks (TM) and three Thermo TempCheck-Hawks (TM), it was time to attend the weekend nuptials. Call me cynical, or call me a sad little shell of a man, but I think weddings are not any good, because that newly wedded friend is now making decisions based on some random person's happiness that is not yours. What could be worse? Weddings are also a thing which can elicit human emotion, if you are a) homosexual, or b) not man enough to squash these feelings into submission, or most optimally, oblivion. Thus, one must be vigilant. I believe the best method is to think about baseball throughout the entire ceremony. This is especially critical during the vows, as this tactic will prevent sensitivity to anything that might be taking place. Maybe instead of cynical, you should call me brilliant, for coming up with that loophole.

San Francisco/Wedding Aftermath

As is often the case, the betrothals of a day earlier left a caustic aftertaste. In order to cleanse the collective pallet, my roommate and I exited Sacramento in a huff, to indicate that we are bad at relationships and do not understand marriage.

Once in San Francisco, it was time for the procurement of unnecessary consumer goods, in vain pursuit of fleeting, unattainable happiness. That may sound depressing on paper, and it is. What's more, my income level is too low to even procure toilet paper, which is not only depressing, it's unsanitary. Anyway. We ran game on two Nordstrom sales girls with low intelligence quotients, earning an invite to their 4th of July barbeque. We didn't go, but I'm sure we would've had the best time ever. I was looking forward to learning more about barbies and tanning, but my roommate said no. He is boring and unmanageable.

The Promotion

Leaving San Francisco for Chico, my District Manager called. You must understand, it was never my intention that this space be used to trumpet my personal accomplishments, but now I think that's what it should be used for. My first (give or take) act of tactless braggadocio will be to make everyone aware that I have been promoted to Magestic Eminent Warlord Manager of Parkway Plaza Hollister, also known in some circles as "a deceptive and unfortunate career rut." Regardless, I believe I'm now in charge of all beheadings, so I would advise everyone to act right. Those cyanide tablets I was talking about before will seem like candy in comparison.

Chico

What can be said about one of the rockingest hometowns of the last 650 years? Well, this for starters: If you want your eyes to bleed out, and your faceskin stretched back grotesquely, as would a skydiver's, or an astronaut's face when he's blasting off in a rocket, then go to Chico. I guess that's the point I'm making. To all current and ex-Chico homies, I say this: You rock with a fury unseen in modern times. Never forget that.

Back to the Nest

On the flight back to San Diego, I read the SkyMall catalog again, and it still sucked. I've gotta stop doing that.

p.s. To all my married, unmarried, or soon-to-be married friends: This blog is pathetic and farcical. Unlike your weddings, which were, and hopefully will be, lovely. And if I ever get married, you can throw stuff at me while I'm up there.

2006-06-02T14:13:00.000-07:00

As usual, today's post is equal to the U.S. Constitution in terms of overall importance, so stow the attitude for once, and I'll let you in on some explosive new ideas. The most recent is the mathematical mind-bender that 40 is the new 30. By logistical extrapolation, and an ability to count using smaller numbers, 30 would be the new 20. That just makes sense, right? I have another idea. It is my contention that 30, instead of being the new 20, is actually the new flail-about-wildly until something sort of interesting happens.

Now in case anyone thinks these latest ruminations are related to me not having a new job yet, think again. In fact, here's a message to all who may be further along career-wise than I: I'm not impressed. Honestly, a homeless person could do better. I could too, but it's just not my focus right now. Since my career is now nearly at its apex (see: nadir), my focus is on giving back to the community, in the form of job-finding advice.

The first thing to remember about finding a job is that the task is infinitely less bothersome if your father is a billionaire and majority owner of a bunch of companies. If that's the case, walk into your dad's office, and spout off something about wanting a "job". It is absolutely vital that air-quotes are used when saying the job word. Your father needs to understand that you're mainly interested in the money aspect, and not in any of the parts that may involve working, or having to go to the bank in order to cash a paper paycheck. Direct deposit should be set up immediately, and there can be no negotiating on this point.

If your dad wishes to withhold what's rightfully yours, let him know gently but firmly that he is now (and for the remainder of human time) outside the family circle. There is a family circle of trust, which he has broken by refusing to nurture your free-spirited instincts. More than likely, though, your father is a Floor Supervisor at Circuit City, which means you don't have to worry about any of that. That's right. Life is hard, and I will not sugarcoat it for you. No, it shouldn't be so hard, but that's like saying there shouldn't be any death, or stabbing of people you don't like, or saying, "hey, no dying", after you stab a person. So obviously, there is death, many of those by stabbing. Everybody should get used to it. Secondly, the last time I tried to find a job, I ended up with the one I have now. With absolutely no reservations, I have classified this most recent job-finding endeavor under "abject failure." I guess that's not so much advice as it is straight biographical info, but there it is anyway.

Most vexing though, is that every time I turn around, someone offers me this little pearl of wisdom: You need to "sell yourself", they say. Well I've got news for everyone, the ladies in particular: This body is not for sale. Never has been, and likely never will, unless the woman is attractive and the price is right. Another reason I would never compromise my high moral standing is that of simple pragmatism. Most streetwalkers have little to no medical benefits. Couple that with the high probability of attaining an unseemly infection of the nether regions, and you can see why Pretty Woman was so difficult to edit. Once they cut out all the scenes with doctor visits in them, the movie was only 26 minutes long. You should see the director's cut though, it's gritty.

On the plus side, I had an interview at United Way about 2 weeks ago. They haven't called back yet, but this is likely due to the complex deliberations which arose when most of the higher-ups thought I should have a 1 square acre office, and some other stupid people thought it should only be one-half acre. Those people will certainly be fired upon my arrival. Although I probably won't be at the office all that much.

Used the air-quotes. Suckers.

2006-04-12T12:22:00.000-07:00

Here's a riddle for everyone: What sounds like a Greenpeace commercial, but is actually a Chevron commercial? You guessed it, a Chevron commercial. Has anybody seen these? For that matter, has the Chevron marketing team even seen them? Lately it appears as if all original members of Chevron's ad team were fired and replaced by Berkeley freshmen majoring in Earth Day. I can't tell if they're selling incense, really excellent karma, or what. The ads open with some cheesy narrative about Chevron's mystical spirit-quest to find alternative fuels. Then at the end, they ask, "Will you join us?"

Riiight. Earth is rapidly morphing into an oversized, unihabitable asteroid with no oxygen and apocalyptic floods, but no one else cares, just you guys. You're blazing new trails in conservation. That's like me making a commercial about how Family Circus is a funny comic strip, and how I don't want to kill the author of it, Bil Keane. I obviously do want to kill Bil Keane, so such a commercial wouldn't make any sense. Truly perplexing, somewhat like a Mentos commercial. Which reminds me, do not be misled, Mentos. Your ads were so lame, even Bil Keane hated them--but most Americans figured they were the result of an elementary school create-a-commercial day, put on by retarded 1st-graders and Jessica Simpson. So we gave them a pass. However, there are limits. I shall set them.

Back to Chevron, though. I understand the financial advantage in declaring your company environmentally conscious. But first you must prove you're even the regular kind of conscious. Like where you respond to physical stimuli and all that. I should add that smoking a bunch of weed before you write a television commerical does not make your organization "green". That sucks, I agree. It would be a sweet loophole.

It is my opinion that these ads out-annoy even the drug ones, where you're not sure whether they're selling rolling pastoral hills, a certain type of medication, or a coastal time-share. All I can think while I'm watching any drug commercial is, "I hope it's like Viagra, but more powerful." Anyway, that's a different problem which I will discuss privately with my physician.

One thing I'll say for the gasoline ads, they're effective at making me not want to buy any gasoline, ever. But I have to balance this against the fact that they are a gross insult to my intelligence. So I find myself torn. Granted, some oil companies such as BP actually contribute monetarily to U.S. alternative energy research. There are two possible explanations for this.

1. All crude oil supplies will be exhausted within 1 month, but nobody knows except BP.

Or,

2. All of BP's corporate strategies are now devised by UC Berkely Transgender Animal Protection Earth Day majors with a political alignment slightly left of Karl Marx, and no real business skills to speak of.

Sadly, I'm not sure which of these is less absurd. Now I will show you my timeline which further explains the possible...you know what? I'm not even going to lie on this one. It doesn't explain anything, but I used 4 different colors, if you count white and black. You probably remember this timeline from U.S. History Class, but were too busy learning a new juggling trick during a movie, which earned you a quick trip to the principal's office. Ok, that was me. Still, though, check it out.

Now that you understand the history of oil in America, maybe you could explain it to Chevron. I think they need serious help if they're asking the general public for assistance on the alternative fuel thing. At this late stage in the game, it almost seems like they would've hired one or two scientists to look into the matter. I haven't even taken a chemistry class since high school. I'm a little rusty, to say the least. Best of luck to them, I guess.

Alright, I'll talk to you guys later, I have to get in my car and drive 60 feet to my mailbox. They moved it to one of those all-in-one type deals. SO annoying.

I'm Like Zeus, But More Alpha-Male

2006-04-01T14:22:00.000-08:00

Some time ago, I publicly discussed my insubordinate pythons, and their general refusal to be gigantic and scare small children. It was must-see blogging then, and nothing's changed. Especially my pythons. With my back against the wall, I had 2 options. I could create the "Guiding Guns to Greatness" program, or end my life. So I created the program, because I'm still relatively young, and I want to see what happens with Ryan Seacrest's career. He seems to be on the verge of creating his own brand, and I'd like to be around for that.

If you're worried that my exercise history might not be an interesting topic, then I invite you to recall a thing somebody really smart said a long time ago, which may or may not have any direct bearing on what I'm talking about right now. However, keep in mind that everything we learn about isn't always exciting. Learning of my guns is an essential educational building block, similar to both Sesame Street and 21 Jump Street. Therefore, I will give a quick refresher.

Those who know me well, know me for two things. First, I am known for my great physical power. You can think of this as power in motion, if it's easier to remember that way. This power is not unlike a puma or a highly athletic koala bear, yet still very deadly.

The second item I should probably warn you about is the preposterously high levels of testosterone which have been coursing through my rigid body since the pre-natal years. Most days it's all I can do just to keep my fists from coming out like rabid, diseased gophers, smashing everything in sight. Do you know how hard it is to keep them in check? I'm quite certain you have no idea. Every day of my life is a new lesson in self-restraint. I don't even want to discuss it right now, for the gophers grow restless.

Now it is time for you to know the history behind the Guiding Guns program: One morning I woke up and asked myself, what if there was a world where peoples of all colors and national origins loved one another, and what if, in addition to that, there was a virtual, customizable personal exercise game called Yourself! Fitness available for the xbox platform? As fate would have it, there was. It's made for the xbox and it's called Yourself! Fitness. With this program shall my guns increase.

I realize I will probably endure my share of smirks and "good-natured ribbing" for using a virtual personal trainer. However, I suspect there will be significantly less smirking after I rip out the offender's trachea, turn it into a wind instrument, and force them to play me a tune on it with their last breath. At that point, I feel there will be less smirking, and more respect. If you feel that last comment was a little over the top, you might want to consider the current attached state of your trachea, and do you want it to stay that way? No, I'm kidding. Look at this screenshot from Yourself! Fitness:

"I love Erik. Erik, watch this, I'm sexily jumping onto this step."

Her name is Maya, and she has several different outfits. If she was a real person, she would likely burn for me with the desire of a thousand flames. But even if she was real, I wouldn't let her have me, because trust is first. Without trust, you have nothing. Less than nothing, really. You have a pile of excrement is what you have. Okay, I got a little side-tracked there, but surely you can see my point, Maya. Even as I perform your little warm-up exercises, I see where this is headed. You will draw me in with your knee-length spandex and empty promises, but ultimately, you will leave me broken and without viable alternatives.

So suffice it to say, the Guiding Guns to Greatness program, whatever that was, is being called off. I don't even care about it anymore. Not only that, I think you may still be attracted to me, which only complicates things. All my future time will be dedicated to giving you the slip. You will continue to be extremely proficient at aerobics, and I will be proficient at giving you the slip. Which reminds me, guess who is a virtual trainer in a fitness game and also has an appointment tomorrow to be sold on a prominent internet auction site?

Maya: Please don't do that, you are my dream. Look at this picture of me:

"If Erik was underneath me, everything would be perfect, just like I dreamed when I was a little girl."

Erik: Perhaps I've been hasty. If you promise to ignite my pythons, we may be together on a trial basis.

Maya: No, I don't think I like you anymore. But check this out. You want some?

Erik: I admit that I do.

Maya: Never gonna happen.

Erik: I'm depressed again, like I was before I invented the Guiding Guns program. I'm gonna play Halo and eat a bucket of lard.

Maya: Have fun, fat-boy.

Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal Finally Gay In Real Life, Too

2006-03-12T02:03:00.000-08:00

(AP) Hollywood, CA -- Over the past several months, as hype and controversy for the Ang Lee-directed Brokeback Mountain swirled furiously, inner circle hollywood gossip swirled with equal intensity. Everyone wanted to know: Had the co-stars really quit each other? Though it all ended last week with an Oscar snub, it seemed that another sort of journey had begun--a flamboyantly homosexual one.

When pressed on the topic, best actor nominee Heath Ledger seemed resigned to the fact.

"It's just too much trouble, not to be gay. Ever since the film wrapped, I've been hearing the whispers. So I thought, well, why am I not gay? Sure, I've been straight my whole life, and I still find the idea of sex with other men to be a repellant concept, but that's irrelevant. I'm going full steam ahead with this, and let the chips fall where they may. My wife's probably gonna be pissed, but whatever."

Gyllenhaal was more optimistic.

"I think it's gonna be great, personally. I've always liked SpongeBob anyway, and now I feel free to watch the show with a little more frequency. Cher, too. She's actually very talented, despite what you may have heard. Now that I'm gay, I can see myself getting into her stuff a little more. By the way, I've gotta go pretty soon, I think SpongeBob's on in a few minutes."

As the interview wound down, Gyllenhaal asked to go off the record. This reporter declined, which didn't seem to deter the actor.

"Ok, I'll just say it, then. Once I got into the role, the kissing parts were pretty much out of this world. I would do them again in a second, but with more tongue. Toward the end, I wasn't exactly 'acting', you know? I was just lost in the sweaty animalism of it all."

It remains unclear if the 'Brokeback' actors will be gay with each other, or with lots of other men. There is speculation that they will be gay with lots of other men, and each other, and then with other men some more, just for good measure. Regardless, both men expressed regret at having waited so long to be homos in real life.

Says Ledger, "Last week there was a 'Considering Civil Partnership' workshop put on by the total darlings at Over The Rainbow. I didn't really feel comfortable with it then, but when they have another one next month?"

"Oh, we'll be there", said Gyllenhaal. "We missed the last seminar, but you can bet your bottom dollar we'll be at this one. Pun intended, by the way. Now I can say 'bottom', and I'm not ashamed. Bottom, bottom, bottom. There. Who else out there wants to be gay? It's not even that difficult. If you wanna be, just kiss me, I think I've got the magic touch."

2006-02-21T01:42:00.000-08:00

Rest assured, I wouldn't write an entire post about my love of mall food courts if I didn't think it was absolutely vital to do so. At the same time, I freely admit this love is a touch strange, since I'm highly sophisticated in every other way. I have accomplished many things in this lifetime, and have received several major awards. Here is a brief synopsis of my achievements. Fourth place trophy soccer trophy when I was 12--accomplished. Knew someone who knew someone who joined the peace corps--accomplished. Wooed exotic foreign women. Who only wanted my money. Because I'm an American. Accomplished. I can't pretend I'm not impressed by all of it, because I am--what's problematic is attempting to reconcile my past successes with my current love of food courts. Since that likely can't be done, the only thing left is to tell the truth about why food courts rock so hard.

First, let's take a peek-see at the numbers. Most malls usually have about 12 restaurants in their FC (food court). Picture, in your mind's eye, 12 restaurants in a 30 yard radius. That's like winning a food lottery, but all you have to do is go to the mall. Granted, a vast majority of these restaurants may be Hot Dog On A Stick. There's a very real danger of that. Yet it's possible that 2 of the restaurants might not be Hot Dog On A Stick, so eat up. The second, and most important benefit to a typical food court, is that it represents the broad spectrum of emotion and experience that is the human condition. Just yesterday I was at "the court", and a man sits down 2 tables over, deeply engaged in conversation with himself. What terrible and wonderful things had this wandering soul been witness to? Where was he travelling from? Sears? Possibly, but I didn't see him until he sat down, so I couldn't be sure. Regardless, it was a Saturday, so Two-For-One Tuesdays at Cinnabon was still 3 days off. If that man really liked Cinnabon, then think of his torment, his anger. Can you even enter into that? It is inexplicably beautiful.

Across the way, a pale-faced adolescent female with jet-black hair speaks in hushed and solemn tones to her equally gothic teenage boyfriend, eyeliner hastily-applied. And now he is her ex-boyfriend, because she broke up with him. He probably deserved it. One table over, a baby laughs. Then it vomits all over everything. As you can see, the typical components are there. Sorrow, joy, disappoinment. Stomach discharge. It is inexplicably beautiful.

If what I'm saying doesn't make any sense to you, then you have not the proper regard for life's beauty. I liken you unto an enormous apathetic robot that only makes beeping sounds, and bumps into everything. Perhaps this food court drawing I made will appeal to the last pitiful remnants of humanity which remain within you. Down the road I will explain how this picture is similar to all of Michaelangelo's works put together multiplied by one thousand, but for now, you'll have to take my word for it.

If it makes you feel less sorry for me, that drawing only took me about 3 hours. So I definitely think it was worth it.

In closing, mall food courts teach us first about life. Then, they teach us how there are some seriously weird people out there. And that kind of entertainment can't be bought. Someday you will understand that what I've shared with you today sums up everything there is to learn about the nature of man, as well as human history. But if you can think of anything else, by all means. You can buy me some Hot Dog On A Stick, and we'll talk about it.

2006-01-31T02:23:00.000-08:00

I've gotta be honest, I don't usually give nerds too much thought. They cross my mind, but I don't dwell on them. I've heard it said that you're supposed to act nice to their face, so I make an effort, and that's as far as I normally take it. However, lately I've been having some fond memories of my system administrator job, nerdy as it was. It occurs to me that they would pay me actual money, on the 1st and the 15th of every month. At Hollister, you get to flirt with fine girls, but on the 1st and 15th, they just check to see if you're still projecting a pretentious image, and then throw pennies at your head. Flattering yes, but it's not good enough anymore.

So, to prepare for the next stage of my career, which will probably end up bearing an exact resemblance to the stage before this stage, I thought it might be helpful to work through some potential flirting scenarios in my head. It is imperative that my nerd-game is at full power when I re-enter the nerd zone, so I can hit the ground running.

Scene I: Cubicle farm at Dork-Tech, Inc. Mid-morning coffee break, two nerds of heterogeneous physiology emit respective pheromones, and conversation ensues. Here's how the exchange might play out.

Guy Nerd: Is it hot in here, or has the total amount of kinetic and potential energy increased? Or Is it you? I don't know, it seems kind of stuffy, if not downright hot.

Girl Nerd: I'm pretty sure it's not me. Let me check the mirror. Whoa, safe to say it's not me.

Guy Nerd: Maybe it's me?

Girl Nerd: Uh, I think you should borrow my mirror...

Scene II: Watercooler, Mid-Afternoon

Guy Nerd: Did it hurt?

Girl Nerd: What?

Guy Nerd: When you fell from heaven, reaching a terminal velocity of 200 km per hour, assuming a non-vacuum environment, and normal atmospheric drag.

Girl Nerd: When you were saying that just now, I was inventing a new form of mathematics in my head, and saw infinity. But I'm finished with that now, can you repeat your question?

Guy Nerd: I said, when you fell from heaven, reaching a terminal velocity of 200 km per hour, did it hurt? No, I've gone and mucked it up. Shoot! You should've been listening on the first one!

Girl Nerd: If by "heaven", you are referring to the mesosphere, then that's a highly illogical question. Think about it, if--

Guy Nerd: Just forget it...

Girl Nerd: I will do nothing of the sort. The point of your query, in so many words, was to determine if I fell to earth from heaven. Additionally, you wished to know whether or not I was injured in any way as a result. Do I understand your position? If so, the answer is no, I was not "born" in heaven, and then launched downward through earth's atmosphere. Physical laws of the universe dictate that I would burn up miles before reaching the earth's surface. My personal genesis came about by vaginal birth, the same as you. However, I perceive that the communication technique you are attempting to employ is one commonly referred to as "flirting". Hence, I will subvert my inclination to answer as an adult, and, against my better judgment, shall irrationally engage you in light-hearted and witty banter.

Guy Nerd: Wow, this should be a lot of fun.

Girl Nerd: I know, I agree. Now say something light-hearted. C'mon. Go.

Guy Nerd: I want to launch you through the atmosphere right now.

Girl Nerd: Ooh, sounds fun. What's your favorite angle?

Guy Nerd: Hey, that was actually a pretty good response. Are you faking it? No, I could tell if you were faking.

Girl Nerd: Yeah, right

Guy Nerd: What?

Girl Nerd: Nothing.

Scene III: 6 p.m. Parking Lot

Guy Nerd: You must be tired

Girl Nerd: Why?

Guy Nerd: Well, you've been running through my mind all day, specifically the right temporal lobe, because that's the area of the brain where daydreaming and memory are most prevalent.

Girl Nerd: I'd like to get some time alone with your temporal lobe, do you see what I'm saying? Am I turning you on?

Guy Nerd: Not too much, actually. You want to have intimate physical relations with my gray matter?

Girl Nerd: Yeah, I think that'd be hot.

Guy Nerd: What would be hot is if you were better-looking and not so weird.

Girl Nerd: What?

Guy Nerd: Nothing. [Gets on mo-ped. Tries to burn out, kills engine.]

Yeah, I'm in the groove now. Lock up your nerdlettes, moms and dads, because I'm back in the game! Anyone for some Dungeons & Dragons? Let's do this.

2006-01-03T23:01:00.000-08:00

A new year is upon us, my simple friends. That's right, it's a little something I like to call "2006", and it's all up in your grill. Looking back, 2005 was a year that changed all of us. And when it was all said and done, we discovered that we share one common trait. Exactly, you read my mind, we're all human. I'm fairly certain there is also a small cyborg population living among us, but their numbers are relatively few, and they mostly keep to themselves. Disclosing this information in any sort of public forum would most likely earn me a quick trip to Guantanamo, so keep a lid on it. The overall point is, most of us are humans. And not cyborgs.

Yet, even though we're not cyborgs, the old year is still over--and now we're at the point where many of us feel a strange and inexplicable obligation to reflect on the events of 2005, in a totally transparent attempt to convince ourselves that we 1) can even remember what in the H happened, 2) have a vague understanding of it, and 3) will do everything so much better this year because we're way smarter now, and we promise not to watch so much MTV.

Ok, not really, but onto the reflecting. We'll start with the current political administration. For the morbidly curious, this did not change. To their credit, this administration did announce they might consider possibly making a coherent foreign policy decision at some point in the very near future, which looks a little bit like actual change, if you squint your eyes, tilt your head, and then poke both of your eyes out. Nothing against the Republicans, I'm politically neutral. (Confidential to Dems: I want to have your baby). Hey, I'm only playing around. If the first letter of a country starts with a letter, I say invade.

There were other changes as well. Some of these were mundane (disappearance of an entire city), and some were ushered in with much fanfare and positive energy (my underwear change in early September). Some of you probably had a sex change, for all I know. This means there was something you have now which you didn't before, or you took some stuff away. Either one is cool, if you think about it for a long time. Even then, it's only cool in a bizarre and twisted way, but whatever, I think we're mostly on the same page with that one. Aside from those treasured moments where some of you went under the knife and changed your bits all around, there were additional events that made 2005 special, and now I will list every single one of them.

A Year of Scientific Progress

I remember seeing an article about researchers isolating cancer-causing genes, and on the adjacent page there was a different article about Jessica Alba's new movie, Into The Blue, so I read that instead. I haven't seen the movie yet, but my fear is there might be a part where Jessica Alba dives into the water, and her entire bikini doesn't fall off. (Cancer subnote: I think those scientists ended up curing most types of the major cancers. Which I think is very helpful.)

A Year of Multiple Celebrities Being Impregnated

You know the names by now. Jennifer Garner, Britney Spears, Denise Richards, and some other women who wanted at one time to be with me, but I would not commit. Anyway, the pregnancies were so awesome, because we learned that in addition to being famous, these women also have ovaries! And fallopian tubes! If people are so blown away by this, maybe I'll just get a sex change, too. Goodness knows, it seems to be working for most of you.

A Year of Cocaine Snorting, By Models

If there's one thing we learned this year, it's that lear jets and private islands are boring, so you have to spice things up by snorting a little of the white magic. Look at Kate Moss. She did it, and the only downside for her was that she lost a multi-million dollar modeling contract. So I ask you, is it really worth it not to spice things up? It's clearly not, which means that in her particular situation, you have one and only one option: Snort that coke like it's the last coke you'll ever see. I hope you see the moral lesson there, because honestly, I'm struggling...let me know.

Looking ahead, I'm definitely seeing some areas where I could improve. I'll be the first one to admit that. My Halo sniping skills are woeful, and my knowledge of the new maps is shaky at best. But those are some of the things I'm committed to learning about over time. If I play 3 hours a day, that's 1092 xbox hours over the course of a year. I know what you're thinking, that would be impressive. Yes, it would, and I challenge every one of you to join me, because I know you want to. C'mon, don't be a little baby about it, let's just play xbox all the time. If you were willing for this, I think we might have the best year ever.

p.s. I said might

2005-12-24T17:58:00.000-08:00

Before I even get started, I want to emphasize that I have nothing against black people. No, I'm kidding. I think I actually stole that line from one of Hitler's early interoffice memos. I bet you were pretty nervous about where that was headed, though. Personally, I think you should relax. Several studies have linked high stress levels to abdominal, or "belly" fat. Last I checked, belly fat was disgusting, and I don't think it's going to be any different when you get it.

Your nervous energy aside, it's high time to get back to basics at Not Totally Inept. To accomplish this, I will utilize one of my primary tenets, which states Maybe it's good to categorize others in negative ways. Always within reason, though. For instance, say someone you don't like is poor, or has a slightly asymmetrical face. That stuff is obviously fair game. Even if their standing in society is only 1 level below yours, let's be upfront about those shortcomings. Let's have an honest dialogue about that.

Later on, though. Right now it's time to concentrate on the business of today's topic, Why You Shouldn't work In A Mall During the Holidays, Unless You Were Already Going To Kill Yourself Anyway. I'm not playing around, things have reached a boiling point at Hollister Co., and can no longer be ignored like the time you french-kissed your cousin. You kissed him, don't lie to me.

Believe me, I've made every effort to prevent this site from turning into a brilliantly written anti-consumerist manifesto, but it's no use--the truth must be spoken. Actually, I still don't understand anything about the economy or politics, so it probably won't be spoken this time around. Plus, I buy frivolous crap like Hollister t-shirts and xbox headsets, which is tough to defend no matter where you're standing. I guess the point is, you can buy frivolous crap, and you can even buy it from Hollister Co., just try not to be so annoying while you're doing it. Below you will find a list of responses I created ahead of time for customers, so they can just read it, in lieu of having me stab them to death.

1. The music is this loud because I hate you. If the music were not so loud, then you would enjoy life more, which doesn't seem like something I'd be into.

2. Yes, I have something against light. Specifically, I knew you liked it, so I made sure that all Hollister stores in America didn't have any of it, in case you decided to shop at one. Now you are here, unwitting pawn, which means my plan has come full circle.

3. Our sizes run this small because you're gigantic.

4. The sleeves are too long because your arms are almost cartoonishly stubby, like Mr. Potato Head, or a T-Rex.

5. No, you can't buy that shirt off the mannequin. I don't know why, you just can't. Some stuff in life is like that, like you not being able to buy that shirt.

6. This is a clearance table, which is Spanish for, "we're desperately hoping you'll buy the last of our totally heinous, otherwise unsaleable crap. Even by our standards, this stuff is garbage. If there were another size, it would also be on this heaping pile of sartorial abominations."

7. No, we can't "open up" another register just because you've been waiting for 11 seconds. I'll tell you what, though. How about if I open up a can of whoop-you-know-what, right on your dome-piece? That seems like a good compromise.

8. Yeah, just sign there on the touch pad. How am I supposed to know where it is, it's almost pitch-black in here. Just take the pen and make short stabbing motions. No, over there. No, over there. No, over there. No, over there. Yeah, there.

Now, the above list may lead you to believe that the holiday season has made me a bitter man, or caused me to wonder why I'm 30 and working retail, or maybe sometimes I cry in the stockroom. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth. If you want me to be honest, I have a new appreciation for people, namely women. Think about it, how messed up would that be if men were constantly asking the same questions you've already heard, like, 7 million times, just so they could get with you? In my experience, the woman punches you in the face, making it slightly asymetrical. Am I right, or am I right, ladies? See, I truly understand you lovely creatures. I think one of you should come over later and we'll talk about it some more. If you don't want to, that's cool. Merry Christmas anyway, and relax. You look kind of stressed out, if you catch my drift.

Wal-mart To Introduce Negative Prices

2005-12-03T15:24:00.000-08:00

Executives Tire Of Only Being Low-Price Leader, Want To Be Negative-Price Leader Too

(AP) Bentonville, AR -- Since its inception, Wal-Mart has been known for cutting, reducing, and slashing prices. In recent years, the company has even been known to lacerate some of their prices. But many are of the opinion that the bargains come at the cost of the environment, workers' rights, and the annoying part where you have to say hi to Alzheimer's patients in blue vests.

In an apparent attempt to win back customer loyalty, it was announced Friday that nothing will be sold for more than negative 50 cents. While hailed by some analysts as a shrewd and innovative business strategy, and irresponsible by others, one thing is clear: Wal-Mart has a crap load of cash. And now they're just flaunting it. In an effort to convince the American public that sweat-shop like treatment of workers is good, and Dale Earnheardt t-shirts are acceptable as a form of clothing, Wal-Mart spokeswoman Patricia Stinkbody said Friday,

"Wal-Mart is good, seriously. And very powerful. So powerful that we may have to disappear you if you ask any more questions about our policies. It will be like, poof! Where'd you and your family go? No one knows."

A few minutes later, Stinkbody was feeling slightly more generous, and explained why Wal-Mart is not in any way similar to 1940's Nazi Germany.

"In many of our stores there are McDonald's restaurants. Not only that, we now have prices so low that they're all negative. Don't you think that's really great? Say yes, or we'll put you in a special labor camp."

Some Wall Street analysts are skeptical. Senior broker Clarence P. Waspman had a perplexed expression on his face and made this observation. "A product which sells for a negative dollar amount could potentially cause a corporation to accumulate negative profits over the long term, and...see? That's why it's confusing, right there. I can't see why they'd do that."

However, Wal-Mart CEO and President H. Lee Scott remained confident. "What's so hard to understand about a negative price, do you wanna start something with me? It's like a normal price, only negative. To be frank, merchandise which is sold for anything more than minus 1 dollar is boring. It bores me. Conversely, negative sale prices excite me. We already rule, but with the new model, we're totally untouchable. K-Mart? K-who?"

Immediately following his statements, Scott flashed several gang signs and warned others not to step to him.

Other industry-watchers say the latest price adjustments are simply the final masterstroke of founder Sam Walton's ultimate vision, 600,000 Wal-Marts per solar system. There are references to Wal-Earth and Wal-Moon in Walton's autobiography, but most people thought he was kidding. When one reporter questioned the economic viability of Wal-Mart's Neptune expansion project, Scott compared the reporter's genitals to those of a common fruit fly. Indeed, the continual distribution of jobs to the least skilled and most aesthetically offensive citizens in the entire country makes anything seem possible.

Matt Kingsley, paranoid schizophrenic author of Wal-Mart Stores Are Actually Alien Space Pods, said the super-store's latest move has even him dumb-founded. "Truth be told, I'm a complete nutter, but even I can tell that something's not right here. It's like Alice in Wonderland, but with not as much literary value. And more drugs."

In any case, Wal-Mart seems to be changing the minds of some consumers. Randall Schlitzlager of Springfield, Missouri said Thursday, "I heard some crap about the tree huggers not liking Wal-Mart, sure. I don't really give a #$% one way or the other, but when they came out with that deal where you get $200.00 just to drive through their parking lot, how could I say no? Well, initially I did say no because I was watching Judge Judy, but the wife said I was a moron and drove over there herself. Sure enough, they gave her 200 large."

Schlitzlager then pounded a Coors light, smashed it on his forehead, and injected 400 millileters of pure heroin into his left forearm.

2005-11-18T10:15:00.000-08:00

A couple days ago, some guy at work asked me if I kept a journal. That struck me funny, because I have this blog, which is like the gold standard for journals. The sheer irony of that blows my mind. Seriously, hold on a second, I'm still reeling.

So what's the secret formula for a good journal, i.e., what makes a journal rule? Well, any journal worth its salt will contain whole paragraphs that no reasonable person should be able to understand. This generates confusion and frustration on the part of the reader, which is better than nothing. In my personal experience, people will just email me outright and say, "What are you trying to pull?" Or in the comments section they'll put, "What are you trying to pull?" Others automatically assume that what I do is a made-up form of hieroglyphics. Which I take as a compliment. Think back to the last episode you saw of "Unsolved Mysteries". Pretty good stuff, right?

Now, only one final question must be answered: Over the last century or so, whose achievements were more impressive, mine or Albert Einstein's? Let's back away and let history decide. Let time and the opinion of thousands of my followers have the final word. I imagine the verdict will be in my favor, but let's pretend like there's some suspense about it.

Not everyone should keep a journal though, or even a blog. That's stupid, and I'll tell you why. What if a shepherd recorded his daily activities? That could get monotonous.

November 17th, 2005: The sheep refuse to exhibit any sort of individuality. I don't know how to explain it, but none of them seem willing to assume anything resembling a leadership position. Sure, they bumped into each other a lot today, as they do every day--and though I would like to think they were jostling for position, the grim truth is that they were probably just acting like sheep. What's more, in reviewing my previous 897 entries, I see that every one is identical. Indeed, this journal is beginning to take on a rather indistinct quality.

November 18, 2005: The sheep refuse to exhibit any sort of individuality. I don't know how to explain it, but alright, friggin' forget this, I hate this journal, I'm done, I'm leaving. Oh there's a surprise, the sheep are following me. Stop it!! Go that way!

Another example of a journal that should never be kept is a homeless person's, because here's all it would say:

November 17th, 2005- I ran out of gas, AGAIN! I just need 40 cents. Or a dollar. Does anyone have a dollar? Hey buddy--yeah, out of gas, just a couple miles back. My wife and kid are right down the road there, in the car. No change? That's cool man, God bless.

Hi, excuse me, sir? Sir, hi...

p.s. Excuse me, ma'am? My car's out of gas right down the road, just need enough money to get to L.A. Wife and kid are in the car, kid's got luekemia. Early stages, no big deal, just trying to get to L.A. No change? Ok, have a good one.

The next journal you'll probably want to skip is the one written by the hot girl at my gym, because it would be even more monotonous than the shepherd's.

November 17th, 2005: I look really good in these pants. That non-fat frappaccino this morning was amazing! I really do look so good in these pants. Justin Timberlake is hot. I wonder if anyone's looking at me yet. No...c'mon, somebody look. Is anybody looking? No...Now? Now? No...yes! No, he's gross, ew gross. That man. is so. gross. I look good in these pants. Frappaccinos are good. I'm extremely attractive. Bye for now journal!

See what I'm saying? It's eloquent, but it's not exactly Anne Frank II.

Another type of journal that would be really boring is one written by a jet pilot shot down over enemy territory, who had to fight his way back to friendly soil. His only weaponry is a small stick and he must eat only acorns, because the arid climate of his environment prohibits the growth of everything but acorns. If he doesn't get back across safely, nuclear war will break out, because the two warring nations are famous for miscommunicating. Actually, that could be quite gripping. You know what, I take that one back altogether. That would be a good read.

I guess the overall point is, unless you're a jet pilot, or me, I would check yourself before spewing reams of indecipherable drivel out onto the internet. Have a point to what you write, you know?

2005-11-01T12:03:00.000-08:00

This post is about dogs. Do you have one? If yes, big whoop, I got my first dog when I was about 4. Maybe some of you have a baby. Again, that doesn't impress me. As far as I know, dogs are essentially the same thing as babies, only more agile. Babies will just kind of lie there like human play-doh, unless you poke at their bodies--whereas dogs are more apt to take control and do things on their own. Another way the two organisms differ is that dogs can sense when it's going to rain before babies can. In many cases, a baby won't even know it's raining if you put him outside during a rainstorm. How pathetic is that? He'd probably be more confused than anything. And next comes the crying, something a dog would not do. I can almost guarantee you a dog's not going to cry in that same situation. Anyway, if anyone ever sees a baby sitting out there in the rain, don't worry because a meddlesome neighbor will often call Child Protective Services, who may or may not send a representative to your house. At this point, the whole scenario might get blown out of proportion. However, that's where the superiority of the dog comes to an end.

In fact, dogs have not been high on my list of things that are super-tight for quite some time now, and the reason is very simple: The majority of canines today have no respect for themselves. Used to be, dogs would only be rabid killers, or at the very least, duck hunters. In extreme situations, they would act as companions. But they would be companions to a lumberjack or steel worker only, because they understood basic dog principles. If an effiminate man or a retarded high school girl from Laguna Beach wanted to be a dog owner, the dog would just attack them. And rightly so. Or, if the dog was in a pleasant mood, it might just run away after everybody got home from the pet store. And then come back later and attack. The time frame in which the mauling occurs is irrelevant, the point is, dogs attack if the owner is not up to par. Or should I say, they used to.

Nowadays, many dogs will let anyone own them, and although it pains me to say, it makes logical sense. Imagine for a moment that you're a chihuahua. What have you got going for you? Exactly, nothing. For Halloween, I guess you could be a vampire bat, which would actually be a pretty good costume. But that's really it. Now consider that a blonde girl from Orange County with an IQ in the low-to-mid 60's suddenly wants to take you everywhere in a stupid oversized purse that costs 950 dollars. That's not too bad right there. Plus, she could have hot friends. You'd still only be a chihuahua, but now you're mobbin' in a Louis Vuitton bag. Which could be cool.

Some may argue that the dog is merely a victim of this recent trend, a preposterous fad which dictates that women carry their chitzus around the mall with them as they buy capri pants. However, to pin the blame for this on the woman is simply unfair, because if a fashion magazine says to puree live cockroaches in a plastic bowl, turn it upside down, and wear it as a hat, a woman will do it. So I'd appreciate it if we could dispense with the broad, sweeping generalizations about an entire gender. If someone walking by happened to believe in equal rights for women and they heard you, I don't think they'd be too happy. What would you do if you were a woman and couldn't think of any other ways to make your girlfriends jealous? You'd likely buy a dog and take him to the mall. Point made. At some point chihuahuas must learn to assume some responsibility for their individual actions, and bite themselves to death. No one wants them around anyway, except for bat-lovers and other deviants.

Let me leave you with this thought. White Fang tore out the trachea of more than one savage beast in his time. Ripped them right out, blood spewing this way and that. Yes, There was bloodshed, my friends. Noble and moral bloodshed, the way it should be. Now envision a rat-dog, carried down Rodeo Drive by Nicki Hilton. Presumably in search of some spare collagen or a cockroach hat. Somewhat uninspiring by contrast, is it not? Indeed, we must allow dogs to empower themselves and return to the roots of rustic dogs of yore.

Also, the scientific name for domestic dogs is canis familiaris, I looked it up. If anyone has a rebuttal for that last fact, I'd be interested in hearing it. But I don't think you do.

Next issue?

2005-10-16T00:05:00.000-07:00

Before I moved to San Diego, I set one major goal for myself, and one major goal only: To base all important life decisions on whatever was written in my horoscope. Here's my reasoning: Why leave things to chance, when there's a system already in place for me and other people who don't really get what's going on? Exactly. Yet, even though reading the newspaper to magically see into the future is a pretty fail-safe concept, I hear some of you whining about how astrology has no basis in science, and that it's used primarily by Nascar fans with no high school diploma. Let me tell you something, your complaints are essentially meaningless to me. They fall on deaf ears. It's almost as if we're in space, and there's no atmosphere to carry the ignorant sounds coming from your mouth.

Listen, the reason I had to be harsh with you just now, is that millions and millions of other great inventions were also initially scorned, including blue m&m's. Blue m&m's don't seem quite so trivial now, do they? You would probably eat one right now if it was in front of you. Go ahead, eat one. Now let us consider the light bulb. For about fifty years, people said, "Who needs this, not me", and they would just keep turning the lights off, because they didn't understand. Same goes with fire. To early homosapiens, indeed, even early homosexuals, small, controlled fires were regarded as a nuisance. Early man would just stamp them into ashes, sometimes in under a minute. Those were very simple people. I don't want to automatically lump you guys in with them, but believe me, you're walking a very fine line. If I had to make a decision on it right now, I would probably put you in with the simpletons group.

Here's a question you might ask yourself (preferably when you're high, so it seems less moronic): Is science a living art? I submit that yes, not only is science alive, but astrology is also alive. That is, they are identical, and they both have an "s". Let's see...yeah, I guess that's the only letter. Anyway, on the one hand you have science, and on the other, astrology. See? So rather than science being strictly defined as a department of systematized knowledge as an object of study, we could just as easily think of science as the highly questionable advice of a cracked-up wiccan sorceress.

(Sidenote to wiccans: I know all of you don't meddle in the dark arts, I'm just kidding around with you. You did have it coming though, godless pagans. That, and more.)

And now we're at the point, where, even though I've stated my topic sentence like you're supposed to, and subsequently delivered several thorough and compelling arguments, you dance about the outer fringes, unwilling to admit that you should use astrology every day. Let me explain how it looks from where I'm sitting--if I'm misreading the situation, by all means let me know. To me, it looks like I've given you all the tools necessary to live full and satisfying lives, rich with merry-making and general recreation. But if you're just going to sit there and not turn to section F5 to see if a Capricorn will soon play a key role in financial matters, I can't help you. My hands are tied. Tomorrow, you may very well need to lean on a Taurus to help guide you through recently choppy romantic waters. What's that you say? Your boyfriend died of throat cancer two years ago and you haven't been on a date since? Well those are some choppy romantic waters, if I've ever seen 'em.

That last point I made might just as easily be submitted in memorandum form and signed by the President, because that's how solid it is. In fact, this entire thing was solid. I'd be surprised if you didn't go online right now and buy a full-on zodiac natal birth chart so you could start building a life that's actually worth living. I've already done it, and look at me. I'm pretty much good to go.

p.s. I'm a Pisces, so if there's anything in your chart about making out with a Pisces, email me at the same address as always. No, wait. If there's something in there about making out with a Pisces with ice cubes in our mouths, email soon! And if it says you should be wearing one of those cute little sun dresses! Oh man, you know what to do!

Ok, I have to go check my inbox for no reason.

Lindsay Lohan's Skeleton Involved In Car Accident

2005-10-05T13:02:00.000-07:00

lohan_mercedes_1, originally uploaded by knotsewphast.

LOS ANGELES, CA-Recently upset at not having an epidermis anymore, Lindsay Lohan's skeletal system drove her 2005 Mercedes SL-65 into a Chevy Astro yesterday. Lindsay Lohan herself has apparently been dead for more than two months, say sources close to the Lohan family. People everywhere in the entire world shouted praises and jumped around euphorically when they heard she was dead.

No further information was available as of press-time.

2005-09-21T01:15:00.000-07:00

Hey everybody guess what happened to me I got killed in a terrorist bomb explosion and my car went down into this ravine and got stuck at the bottom--and then it exploded again and again, killing me so bad! After that, I fell into a deep coma and paralyzed all of my fingernails. However, I took several vitamin C tablets and feel much better. Wow, that was a close call, I am blessed.

Alright, I know I've been gone awhile. Now out of nowhere, I waltz back onto the scene like some kind of absentee father/abusive legal guardian. And I expect the results to be similarly disappointing, so we might as well just get on with it. Perhaps you're curious about the true nature of my activities these past weeks. Was I playing co-ed bathing suit twister every day with Jessica Alba? In a big vat of jello? Well, I've thought about it a lot and written several detailed entries in my journal regarding that, but no. It never really panned out. The point is, you likely pined for my musky scent, and occasionally thought of me in a romantic light. Which is fine. We all have dreams. Let me tell you about one of my most recent ones. When it starts out, Jessica Alba and I are in this big vat of jello, right? Ok, just messing with you.

So now what? After 3 weeks, I better have something to talk about aside from jello. I think jello's awesome, but even I can't see it as the actual topic for a blog post. And that's saying something. Since I've been away for so long, maybe it's best if we just slowly ease back into it, get back to basics. I'll start: Who around here believes in Thor, god of thunder? Can you support your position? Wait, that's a little heavy. One time I met a centaur...no...wow, I'm definitely rusty. All my topics seem really uninspired, and I think I know why. The truth is, I have a job now, and all my creative energy is dedicated to hating it. Maybe I should just talk about it, that’s what girls do. Talk and talk. Talky talk talk. Anyway, I think the only reasonable compromise is to dispense the information in quiz form, in order to maintain the mysterious air I have about me. Let's get rolling…

In the past 3 weeks, I:

a) definitely didn't become a manager at Hollister
b) became a manager at Hollister
c) publicly ridiculed Hollister, then became a manager there

A Hollister management position is lucrative if:

a) you're a starving Somalian
b) it was 1936
c) you don't understand how money works

Some of the 18-year-olds that work at Hollister are:

a) so annoying I want to drown them
b) well-read and socially conscious
c) dead, hopefully

Since taking this job, I feel:

a) like i should start a vicodin habit
b) good, but not as good as if I knew how to get lots of vicodin
c) sad that I don't know

I now own:

a) 1 pair of jeans with holes in them
b) 2 pairs of jeans with holes in them
c) someone please kill me

My boss, the store manager, is:

a) quirky
b) undiagnosed bipolar
c) mad as a hatter

True or False (I'll help you with this part)

1. I'm a failure. True
2. Someday, I will look back on all this and smile. False
3. Everything used to be one big joke, but now that I work at Hollister it's not so funny anymore, is it? No. I mean True, it's not funny

1-2 correct: You don't care at all about me, or my life. Your apathy is palpable.
3-7 correct: You don't care that much either, but you made it to the part where I gave you 3 of the answers. You tolerate me.
8-9 correct: You love everything about me. You would like to know more, but feel stymied by my mysterious nature.

Well, I hope everyone enjoyed this quiz. It was somewhat depressing to write, by the way, so thanks a lot. It's not enough that I have a dead-end job, you're not satisfied until you've totally undermined my confidence. That's just perfect.

Bush Vows To Stay The Course, Stay On Vacation

2005-08-24T01:07:00.000-07:00

Bush Defends Decision To Sort Of "Put War on Back Burner"

(AP) Donnelly, Idaho -- Yesterday, amid sagging public approval of this administration's stance on the Iraq war, President Bush held an impromptu media session from the bow of Gov. Dirk Kempthorne's fishing boat. Advisors apparently did not allow the President to re-enact Leonardo's "king of the world" scene from Titanic.

Some critics have suggested that Bush is trying to end the war in Iraq by pretending it doesn't exist, while others assert he's forgotten about the war altogether. The focus was on Bush's decision to continue his vacation in Donnelly, the small resort town where he spent a large percentage of his time thinking up new ways to execute anti-war demonstrators for treason.

"I think pulling out of the Idaho Rockies, where I'm currently catching fish the size of Rhode Island, would be a colossal mistake. These babies are biting like there's no tomorrow, and if I were to quit now, I think I might always regret it."

One reporter asked Bush for his thoughts on the rapidly decreasing support for the war, or if he knew that the war was still on.

"Yes, I realize some combat operations are happening here and there. You guys constantly remind me of that, so it's not like I all of a sudden forgot. It's this simple: Even if I wanted to skip this afternoon's mountain-biking adventure, which I don't, it would be an act of gross negligence to do so. Not only would it be bad for the safety of our citizens in the long-term, it would also be bad, and subtract from, the amount of fun I'm able to have in the short term. And I bet you didn't think I knew the word 'negligence', either. Well I do, and that's not going to change no matter how much you seem to hate America."

Bush then addressed the general fish populace as "squirrelly little devils" who hate the Iraqi people, freedom, and babies.

In the afternoon, Bush again spoke with reporters, this time from Tamarack lodge, where a biking tour was being organized. Without prompting, Bush extolled the virtues of the recreational equipment on hand.

"These mountain bikes are top-notch, I mean really unbelievable. Especially the Peugots, I wouldn't be surprised if they were built by American soldiers. May they rest in peace."

A short time later, the President could be heard arguing with a resort employee concerning the country in which the Peugots were manufactured.

"...no, my young friend--these bikes have American craftsmanship written all over them. Even the name sounds American if you pronounce it with a hard G. A navy seal probably built this one with a hunting knife, may he rest in peace."

Not everyone has been so quick to condemn Bush's choice to explore every single mountain biking trail in the state of Idaho. Francis Williams, political science professor at the University of California at Berkeley, notes that most of Bush's staff probably didn't even notice he was gone in the first place.

"Sure, if they realized he hadn't been in any morning briefings for the last 4 weeks straight, there might be a controversy here. But as it stands, I'm betting it hasn't even dawned on them yet. Let's not make this into something it isn't."

At one point, the President was asked about his seemingly laissez faire attitude toward both the Iraq occupation, and everyone in the entire universe who wasn't him.

"Look, I'm trying to lend a certain prioritization schedule to things. Right now, the war isn't something I'm particularly interested in. Who knows, in a couple hours, I might care again. But let's deal with that when, and if, it happens. In all likelihood, I'll still be biking a couple hours from now, and won't want to fuss with it.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I would like to honor some deceased troops by popping a wheelie. Watch out, son."

2005-08-15T14:28:00.000-07:00

My roommate advised me not to blog if I didn't have anything funny to say, but I've found that his brain is really very tiny. Thus, I present this week's findings.

For starters, it probably comes as no surprise to any of you that I have about 10 job offers on the table right now. And if you subtract 9 from 10, then what you have is 1, which happens to be the exact number of job offers I actually have. That's called simple math, people.

Yet before I reveal unto the salivating public the details of my imminent career, I must first make a public record of one of the more unsettling interviews I've had in my time. The interview was for a management position at a retail clothing store known as Hollister. For anyone who knows what that is, and finds me pathetic, fine. I've found myself pathetic for far longer than you can imagine, so it's not like you're breaking new ground. For anyone who doesn't know what Hollister is, it's pretty much the same as Abercrombie & Fitch, but with stupider clothes. Why would I ever shop there, then? Well, I stated very clearly not two sentences ago that I was pathetic. Don't make me say it again.

Anyway, the interview was sort of like a game show in a foreign language that takes bizarre and arbitrary twists, never to be satisfactorily explained. At one point, I was quite convinced that satan arranged this interview for his amusement. This is still my best theory. The conversation would be flowing naturally and then Steve (Hollister District Manager, aka, Guy With A Lot of Holes In His Jeans) would say something like, "We don't sell clothes at Hollister."

In all fairness, I think anyone would've been confused by this declaration. Because when I walked into the store for the interview, I definitely saw clothes in there. Some were neatly folded, and some were suspended by wooden hangers. Then there were the clothes at the register which were actively being sold. So I'm thinking, maybe he means, "We don't sell clothes at Hollister if the store is closed", or, "We don't sell clothes at Hollister, and also I'm insane."

I really have no idea. Wanting to stay on his wavelength, I added gravely, "It's more complicated than that..."

Not being remotely fooled by my bluff, he says, "We sell an image."

Now I knew where he was coming from. "Ah, the young, west coast beach lifestyle?" I said, not remembering I was still trapped deep within the bowels of the game show from hell.

"I wouldn't say that. It's more of an edgy, new-bohemian look we're going for."

Whatever you say, I think. New-bohemian, old-bohemian, relatively-recent-bohemian. I don't care what stupid look you're going for, your clothes are ugly. All I want is a job.

Soon, the main topic shifted to the specifics of the management position.

Steve: Essentially, we let the new managers develop their own style and prioritize tasks as they see fit.

Me: So it's a more relaxed training environment, you let the managers find their own way, see what works?

Steve: Well, no. When I said we let the new managers prioritize tasks as they see fit, I meant that Corporate faxes a detailed list of directives at the beginning of the work day, and every manager must adhere to these or he is eaten alive at the close of the business day by these hell beasts I keep under my chair here.

Me: Okay, that seems reasonable.

Steve: On the contrary, it most certainly doesn't. But that's how it is, and we like it that way.

Me: Well that's great then, unless it's not. I don't know. Would you call me if you have any inside information on whether my soul has already been possessed by evil spirits? That would be great, the best number to use is the one on my resumé...

Steve: Your resumé has already been consumed by the fire of redemption. You have failed us, and as an insignificant fly, your life shall be snuffed out.

Me: Okay Steve, or The Devil, that definitely sounds good. I'll catch you later, then.

So I'm pretty sure I nailed that one. My phone should be ringing any minute now. ANNNNYYY minute. Listen to the sweet sound of my phone ringing off the hook. Listen to it, and weep. Hey, now my head's spinning around and around. Looks like I got the job.

Even People With Dentures Can Be Taught New Things

2005-08-10T14:13:00.000-07:00

I'm not going to lie. When you read this story, you may find yourself questioning my decision to push an elderly man into a wicker laundry basket at Target yesterday. As if I need an excuse, am I right you guys?? Old people, I swear! I'm not even attracted to them!! It all started when he was walking in front of me going negative 1 miles per hour. Now, the last time I checked, most modern societies require that you should at least know how to walk before going out in public. One of the most basic rules for walking is that you need to actually LIFT each foot off the ground before you start trying to move it in front of the other one. You don't get to just slide your feet across the floor. If all you're doing is sliding, then you can slide both of those wrinkled things across the floor directly to the nearest nursing home, and walk like a brain-damaged penguin over there. Target is simply not the place for it. If you don't want to use any turn signals on the way to mall, I suppose that's your prerogative. But once you've arrived at your intended shopping destination (if you even remember where that is), it'd be nice if you could walk normally. Not too much to ask.

Another request which I find perfectly reasonable, is for old people not to set up an FBI roadblock with their cart on every single aisle. I've got candle-holders on my right, wicker baskets on my left, and directly in front of me, a nearly inanimate human with an ungodly number of prostate exams under his belt. Willfully flouting all known definitions of "walk". The way I saw it, I could either slide past him carefully and give him a little elbow, or slide past without giving an elbow. Let's just say it was elbow Tuesday.

What, I couldn't help it! Before you get all hot around the collar, perhaps you'll allow me the small courtesy of explaining where I'm coming from, so you can support my actions. What it comes down to is, I don't have any patience or self-control, and I lash out like a manic person when things aren't going my way. Just to give you an idea, I'll ram a cop car if the situation is right, and have done so several times in the past. You might see this as counter-productive to the general goal of not being arrested, but I don't see it that way. What I see are red anger blotches in my brain, which leave me no choice but to react. With swift violence. Now that I've shown what I'm capable of during extreme situations, can you see why I have no qualms about assaulting an elderly person? Oh really...well how can you call the police when you haven't even finished reading my story? C'mon, be serious.

What I hope you've learned from this is that someday you'll be old and ripe-smelling, too. You know that indefinable musty smell? That's the one I'm talking about. Anyway, you'll be absent-mindedly browsing for some stupid picture frame you don't need, and I'll come out of nowhere and just give you a mighty shove. So keep your head on a swivel. Mom, that goes for you, too. As you're aware, I'm quite fond of you and the sacrifices you've made for our family, but you haven't exactly been setting olympic records for walking speed lately. I've seen flashes of potential and some definite improvement since you started Pilates, but you're still coming up a little shy of the mark.

p.s. If it makes anyone feel better, the wrinkled man eventually pulled himself out of the wicker basket, and sprayed me with mace. Then I tasered him. Luckily, security stepped in before things got out of hand. He was a battler, I'll give him that.

p.p.s. For the rest of you: Just because you wasted a few minutes reading something of questionable literary and moral value that's tasteless and is in no way factual, remember this: Some guy for the New York Times fabricated sources, quotes, and sometimes entire stories, and he did it for several months on end. So quell your angry impulses. Without impulse-control, we are the same as the animals. Which is exactly what you're being right now.

2005-08-02T00:34:00.000-07:00

Please accept my apologies. I have become so enthralled with my rich, full life, I neglected to consider that many of you also have lives. Drab, gray-hued lives, which are probably not very important, true, but there you are anyway, plugging away. I don't want to belabor the point, but I feel I must be specific as far as the greatness of my daily existence, so that we can break down harmful communication barriers. Let me start with a classic example which demonstrates the great disparity in the quality of our lives, the quality of mine being significantly better.

Here's your life: You made some microwave popcorn Lite Butter style, and it came out just right. That's all you did. Yet this is the kind of thing that gets you really excited. Granted, this is better than if you were a malnourished Nigerian--at the same time, you have to admit it's extremely unimpressive. Still, I guess it explains your desperate, insatiable hunger to learn more about me and my personal experiences.

Speaking of, let's look at a quick snapshot from one of my typical days, so you can see why I encounter success with so much frequency: I'm at the beach, and for the sake of argument, we'll say I'm lying there on the sand. Maybe I'm using SPF 30, or maybe I went with 15 today, because I have a bold and fearless spirit which allows for on-the-fly adjustments. The point is, did I forget to transfer that one song to my iPod before I left home? It's like oh no I'm so worried, I still have about 5,000 other songs to choose from, maybe I'll listen to one of those. Literally, the 20 GB iPod is capable of storing around 5,000 songs. Do you see where I'm coming from? Seriously, tell me if I'm not making sense. I have something less than my full arsenal of music, yet my day is still about 20 times better than yours.

Some have inquired as to my ultimate plan, and I suppose that's a fair question. But they ask this as if there's no such thing as public assistance. It's like they're stuck in 1931, before Franklin Roosevelt signed into law various ways to have the government buy you food. What part of me being sent a welfare check is so complicated? The way I understand it, it's not complicated at all. It's called the U.S. Postal Service. After you get the welfare money, you buy cigarettes and other essentials. Then for your food budget, you ask people if they have 50 cents because you ran out of gas and you just want to make it back to LA. Do this 100 times. The rest of the day, you sort of look for a job, but you can't find one, because the temp agency is located on Clairemont Mesa Blvd, not in the ocean. It's not even on the beach, for that matter. And for this reason alone, there are companies out there who have lost a valuable employee. An extremely valuable employee, one who is not willing to compromise his personal honor code which requires 100% beach attendance at all times. What people need to understand is that this honor code I created just now while sitting at my computer shall not be broken for all eternity. It's that important.

I realize that much of what I've said above may seem a little fantastical. What I mean by that is I was basically telling lies left and right. In fact, this whole post is pretty obviously a transparent, pathetic cry for help. Let me be honest for a moment. I have no idea what's going on. All I've learned so far is that beach volleyball is an activity which is good, and should be engaged in whenever possible. Mortgage payments are bad, as are utility bills and not having a corporation available to pay for your cell phone minutes. Not working for that corporation is good, and not working at all is even better, except then the bank takes your house.

To my left lies the help wanted section of the newspaper. Hmm, apparently Bottle Inspector/Filler is a job that exists. There was a point in time when such a job description was good for a laugh, now it's good because they included an email address. Ok, now I will listen to my iPod some more.

San Diego Native signing out!

Quick Update! Not Fun To Read!

2005-07-19T13:28:00.000-07:00

Faithful servants-What can I say, I live in San Diego now. What it comes down to is, I've always been a San Diegan at heart. These are my people now, and we share an almost mystical connection. When I look at them (the girls), they know what I mean (let's make out). And that's only after being here for 72 hours. What will happen once I get past the stage where I just stare at people in a creepy, insecure way? I think the sky's the limit.

I live in a lovely, albeit diminutive, condo. I think it's about 43 square feet. My room is 6 X 6, so I can lie down in it diagonally. Okay, it's not that small. I've seen rooms that were smaller, but I can't think of any off the top. Oh yeah, I took an Alcatraz tour once, and there were these solitary confinement cells. I think those may have been bigger, though. Anyway, who cares, as long as it's really small.

I don't have a job yet, but don't take that to mean I want one. As it turns out, I don't really like jobs, necessarily. It's not who I am as a person, and I would ask that you be patient with me as I figure out that all I want to do is sit around. Thanks. *

More updates will follow, and they'll be way better than this one, I promise. This update was like an empty package of gum you see on the street. At first you think there might be gum inside, but really, it's an empty package that has simply maintained its original structure. Disappointing, to say the least.

San Diego Native signing out!

*I really need a job, I'm starting to freak out in a major way. Someone please give me a job.

2005-07-07T11:50:00.000-07:00

Greetings, my insufficient ones. I come bearing wisdom. The wisdom I present is intended to improve the rate and efficacy with which you score the ladies. Ladies, feel free to stick around. Maybe you'll learn something about yourselves. Yet, I highly doubt it.

Fellas-We all know dating can be tricky. If an excessive percentage of your body is covered in 3rd degree burns, or you're the elephant man, it's even more tricky. If you are either of the aforementioned individuals, I wouldn't even read the rest of this post. Because women are often very shallow and they will never accept an elephant man, even if you drive a nice Camry. Sad but true. They don't like it when we ask them if their thighs are more chubby lately, yet that's simply a health-related question which is related to the science of nutrition. Whereas their preoccupation with men who aren't horribly disfigured is basically just them being mean. Do you want to be with a gender who's mean? Neither do I. Let's be gay. Ok, just kidding. Enough with the gay jokes already.

Now if you're reading this blog, it's likely you have serious problems. So the tips that follow are geared toward the men who know even less than I do about women. That's pretty sad.

First, some basic terms. If you're at a restaurant with another person, and it's a girl, you may be involved in the disturbing predicament known as a date. Most dates suck, but that doesn't mean you should never go on any. The purpose for dates, mostly, is so you can write about them in some crappy blog that no one reads. Dates are also good for wasting money you could've used for online poker or a chewbacca lunchbox.

What's the point of all this? You need to be able to read a woman's body language if you're going to have any success whatever in the dating arena. Many dating gurus and relationship experts talk about body language, and how important it is to be able to interpret it correctly. If you made a ridiculous joke just now in your mind about how there's only one type of body language that's important, or something equally juvenile, that's why you never score. Don't get mad, how do you think I knew that?

Anyway, I've noticed that these so-called experts assign great significance to obscure concepts such as whether or not your date's feet are pointing towards the equator, or if they're pointed sort of towards Italy, or if her eyebrow is twitching in a manner that might indicate wantoness. This type of advice is useless to me, and other men who do well just to recognize that the woman across from them is both a) Still sitting at the table, and b) Not on fire. To their knowledge. Thus, I offer you a thoroughly utilitarian body language guide, complete with explanations.

The Sullen Scowl: This is indicative of her hate for you. Or her ex-boyfriend who kind of looks like you. This date is over.

The Sullen Scowl With Red Laser Beams Shooting Out of Eyes: This means she has superpowers and/or you are on hallucinogens. Either way, this date is over.

Doesn't Laugh At You In Cruel Way: If she isn't openly ridiculing your effeminate gestures or bolo tie, this means you're still in the game. Barely, but you are. If she's laughing at your clever jokes and witty banter, though, how do you do that? Email me later.

The Leave: This is where your date leaves. This can be subtle, but if you stay alert, you will realize she's no longer talking, or even at the restaurant. If this happens, she remembered why she didn't really want to go out with you in the first place, but it had been a couple months, and her girlfriends wouldn't shut up about why she's still single (The reason is her best option is you. Get my drift?). But I stray from my point, which is that your date just left. If this date isn't over, it definitely has limited potential.

The Leave with Different Man: This one's a doozy. Not only does your date leave, she leaves with a person that is not you. This one is painful but necessary, so that you can understand your position on the totem pole of life. (your position is the part that’s buried in the ground)

So there it is, basically. The five most common non-verbal cues women give. These cues indicate you're probably the elephant man after all, even after you pretended you weren't. Who were you trying to kid? It's either that, or your personality is really bad. Honestly, I don’t know what your problem is. Best of luck though, I have a feeling you're gonna need it.

Weakness and Surrender Cannot Be Taught, You Must Slowly Succumb To Them

2005-07-05T00:05:00.000-07:00

Tennessee Williams once said, "There is a time of departure even when there's no certain place to go." What this means is you should quit and run away if you encounter even small, unimposing obstacles. Focus on all that is cowardly within you, and run. Run like a scared fawn, off into the quiet of the forest and then be very still. Afterwards, you can just lie there, or starve to death, or whatever you want. The important part is quitting and running away from your problems.

Let's take my career for example, the one I no longer have because I quit it last week. Yeah, you heard me right. And If I somehow had a second job, I'd quit that one, too, like a bad habit. It's my new thing. If I had a time machine, I'd go into the future and quit all my jobs in advance, that's how committed I am. Please understand, there's no shame in giving up. There's also no money, but as we've learned, it's the giving up that's important. No, you won't be able to buy any food without a job, that's a given. Your immune system will eventually shut down, and soon people will mistake you for a skeleton. Then your heart will just sort of...stop. Ominous, yes, but also the inevitable consequence of not eating food for a long time. However, there's great freedom in this--the freedom of not having a pulse anymore, which is the greatest freedom of all.

You may ask, how can I just give up? It's so easy! Even as a child, it came naturally to me. I don't care if it was kickball or red rover, I would either call everyone else a cheater and quit, or simply sit down during the middle of the game and quit. A more recent example is when a college friend said to me, "Hey, let's both try to have successful lives." To this day, I have no idea what my friend was talking about. Did he completely forget that I had no real character, or follow-through? Yeah, I'll let you guess how the whole 'successful life' quest ended up. Actually, I'll just tell you, it ended with me quitting. I think the only reason I managed to graduate from college was because I was very naive and had not yet discovered the power that is available to us when we embrace ineffectiveness and futility. That, and I forged the majority of my transcripts. Changing all of my records to more closely resemble an academic history which didn't include failing out of every class certainly helped--I won't lie about that. Other things, sure, I will lie about them. But this one thing I'm talking about right now, I just don't feel like lying about it, so I won't. Anyway, I'd rather talk about failure, because that's my passion.

I think my position on quitting and failure can best be summed up like this: I'm in love with it, and now that I know how liberating it is, I will stay the course until I have absolutely nothing left. If I haven't lost everything by the time I'm 35, I shall count that as failure. Which is like a win-win, now that I think about it. However, I would prefer to be well below the poverty line, with no actual possessions. True, I still have this computer I'm typing on, but if I had anything to say about it, it would be smashed into tiny pieces. Hold on, let me smash the screen in with my fist. If I do that, it will be even better than having nothing, because glass will be everywhere, and I'll be on the ground, twitching grotesquely in the final throes of electrocution. I think you would agree, going out like that could safely be classified as unsuccessful. Which is
the whole point.

In closing, I'm impetuous, occasionally disorganized, and my grasp on reality is tenuous at best. Does anyone know of any companies who consistently engage in absurd, counter-productive hiring practices? Because I desperately need a job, any job. More importantly, though, I desperately need to quit that job--I'm starting to get the shakes over here.

2005-06-24T16:40:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been philosophizing about how some people are in comas and have irreversible brain damage. Then I compared this to a little thing I like to call "life". Seriously, stay with me here. Life is not always as simple as we'd like it to be, I think we can all agree. Except if you have massive brain damage--then it's pretty much just bodily functions and an ungodly hospital bill. You might think the medical bills would introduce an element of complexity, but not really. We're talking about an individual whose mental faculties have been severely compromised. He likely wouldn't understand the concept of a medical bill even if you rolled it up and jabbed him on the forehead with it. So again, pretty simple.

The point is this: Under normal cirmustances, life is not perfectly analagous to a brain-dead person. A non-brain-dead person at least likes to play Gin Rummy, go to the corner store, or do any number of other things. He wouldn't just lie there. With the brain-dead guy, there's just a feeding tube and 1 or 2 family members who have long since forgotten he's still in the hospital. They probably already think the guy died a long time ago. And sure enough, as the months go by, their visits become more and more infrequent, because they didn't remember that he was still in there. That's sad.

But did my ruminations lead to any useful conclusions? Yes, and my conclusions were three-fold. Well, technically four-fold--one of my thoughts was that brain injuries aren't an appropriate humor topic, but as you can see I disregarded that pretty quickly, and rightly so. Let's look at the other ones.

Conclusion 1: Simplicity in life is not worth having parietal and occipital lobes that have completely withered away. Simplicity is good, but c'mon. It's not that good.

Conclusion 2: If your life is too complicated, you should go for a walk or get a spa treatment to ease the tension, instead of trying to get brain damage.

Conclusion 3 (coup de gras conclusion): Being in a vegetative state for 15 years before finally kicking the bucket has its advantages, I won't pretend it doesn't. No getting up to go to the bathroom anymore, for one. You could sleep right through that, guilt-free. Two, if you used to have recurring nightmares, well that problem pretty much fixed itself. Zero neurological activity, remember? Yet ultimately, I would rather not have it. Dead brain tissue, I mean. Given the choice on that, I would say no.

You may call me a coward because I'm not willing for that kind of inconvenience, but I look at it like this: It would be a major lifestyle change. I've given a lot of thought to this, and I'll thank you not to question my conclusions. The fact that you're even questioning them leads me to believe that you yourself may be suffering from...actually, I'm not even gonna say it. I'm bigger than that. But you know what I'm thinking, right? I'm thinking one of us has a problem with our brains, I'm just too nice to say anything about it. Now I'd like you to go and think about some of these things for awhile, if that's even possible. I don't mean to be hard on you, but honestly. This stuff is gold, people. Let's start showing some respect around here.

America Has A Fever, And The Only Cure Is More Celebrity Nuptials

2005-06-21T11:15:00.000-07:00

Do you know what I think this country needs? Two celebrities to start dating each other. If we can't get that, I would settle for two celebrities to become engaged, in a mutual engagement, where both parties are engaged to each other, and they are magnificent. In the ideal scenario, they would each have personal trainers. This blessed coupling would act as much-needed salve for the collective emotional wounds which plague our great nation, uniting us together in unity. But less cliched and slightly more eloquent than that.

You might be saying, "what about recently-turned-raving-psychotic Tom Cruise and the girl from that substandard cable channel, Katie Holmes?" Yes, I know about that. I can see the tabloids at the checkout, ok? And then I can buy them at the checkout. And then I can take them home, and read them cover to cover, which I do. I've proven I can do this. However, one problem: I'm the father of Katie Holmes, and I forbid this union. Ok, I'm not. Nor will I make a "Daddy" joke rife with sexual innuendo, because that's immature. Katie Holmes, you cannot, in fact, call me Daddy whenever you want, because that wouldn't turn me on. There.

So why not Tom and Katie? Well, it's not that I'm jealous, I don't think that's the word. It's just that I want to pin Tom's body to the sea floor with a harpoon. During the subsequent mourning period, Katie shall know my comfort. Whatever the word is for that. Something I DO know, this marriage isn't happening on my watch. You'll probably want to know why, so I picked a random opinion out of the atmosphere and then made up reasons for it after the fact. To be fair, these are not so much reasons, as they are nonsensical ramblings of someone who's really mixed-up. Like you can afford to be picky.

--These two have not yet starred in any movies together, and they're supposed to know about love? How are they going to inspire a nation when they can't even manage to be in the same movie? The ideal candidates would be healing the country, whereas these two would prefer to spend all their time not being in movies together.

--Tom Cruise is 42, and Katie Holmes is 26, which is like adult pedophilia. That's not the issue, though. No, the real problem is he takes her out on his motorcycle, and then they both go flying in his private jet. I'm 30, 30 beats 26! Where is my jet and where is the wooing? I can say without equivocation, that no wooing of me, by anybody, had occurred when this issue went to press.

--When I'm 42, I'll probably be rotting away, married to that pesky lady who I've already had 1 or 2 children with. She is so annoying! If it's my luck, I'll be 42, returning home from my job as a homeless person and she will call me on "the cellie" and ask me to steal the latest People Magazine. The top story will be about Tom Cruise flying to the moon and marrying both of the Olsen twins in a special moon ceremony. Authorities will change the moon's orbit just for that day, causing more light to reflect off the Twins' cheekbones, so they poke out better. Then Tom will easily fit both twins into the luggage compartment of his motorcycle jet, and zoom around the craters. So let's recap. In 12 years, I will be emotionally alone (same as now), and Tom Cruise will be flying around with the Bulimia Duo stuffed into his rocket bike. Does this sound like the type of celebrity who's going to help America? I'm not seeing it.

Where does this leave us? As Britney Spears once said, "I'm rich, freakin' rich. It's crazy." I don't know how that quote is relevant, but perhaps you can find a parallel somewhere. Mostly, keep in mind that there exists no quick fix for what ails America, except high profile celebrities marrying each other. They have to be the exact right couple, though, as I've clearly shown. Also remember that real answers to real problems require actual thinking, which is why my ideas generally suck. Sorry about that.

Please Consult A Physician Before Using This Post

2005-06-12T23:33:00.000-07:00

My friend walks up to me the other day and says, "Hey, do you know if there's a vet clinic anywhere around here?" Then he flexes both his biceps, looks at them with mock concern and says, "Cuz these pythons are SICK!"

Yes, that joke's terrible. But not so terrible that I didn't try to re-tell it 30 seconds later. I learned 2 things as a result. a), if you re-tell that joke, it will still suck the 2nd time. And b), girls don't even understand what you're talking about.They'll be like, "You have snakes? That's gross. I don't care if they're not feeling well." Nevertheless, my friend's reptile problem got me thinking about my own rather prodigious pythons. See, I've never needed a personal trainer, as I was born with an almost obscene amount of muscle mass, obscene meaning, "Where the $%#@ did that guy's muscle mass go?"

I guess it's not so much that I have none at all, it's just I thought I'd have more by now. I see these magazine articles talking about massive gains in 3 weeks, and I have to wonder: Is that 3 earth weeks? Time travel weeks? I've been working out for 15 years--using Men's Fitness logic, I should be about as big as a motor home. However, if you think I'm gonna quit trying, you have no idea. You know nothing about me, because you never bothered to learn. You don't know what makes me love, what makes me laugh, what makes me cry. You need to spend time with a person to figure those things out. It's called caring about someone, maybe you've heard of it. Ok, I've been wanting to say that for awhile now, but it never seemed like the right time. As opposed to now. Anyway, we can talk about it later.

What I'm getting at is, when I do something, I go all the way with it. My 7 year old nephew likes to play basketball, but if he's going to step to me with his weak 7-year-old-nephew game, then so be it. May the best man win, even though he never does. If I'm having tea and crumpets? Same thing. I will have tea and crumpets in an extreme way. And if I can't punish myself Rocky-style each and every time I pump iron, what's the point? Trying to figure out that hot blonde's workout schedule so you can know when to go to the gym? That's important, but the manager said stop, and I can respect that.

No, I think the real point is to attain the eye of the tiger. The fact that I understand this is what enables me to continue flailing away in the weight room, despite muscle gains that would only be perceptible if you had an electron microscope. I'll tell you right now, I have no interest in an exercise regimen where the central theme is not attaining that eye of the tiger. Unless my prospective trainer can design a workout program specifically for that purpose, we have nothing to discuss. He'll sit there talking about stuff which has nothing to do with attaining the eye of the tiger, like how I'm doing the exercise completely wrong, and I'll barely be listening. Just staring off into space, basically. If he wants to take up all our time talking about how I'm sitting on the leg machine backwards, that's his prerogative. Each of us have our own fitness goals, apparently that's his.

I'll admit I'm not entirely sure what the next step will be, after I have acquired the eye of the tiger. All I know is it's what I need. I need it like I need oxygen. And I shall have it, even if anabolic steroids are required in massive doses. I'll shoot that stuff directly into my left ventricle if you want. Don't think I won't. As I've explained, I'm fairly motivated, and when it comes to significantly increasing my chances of liver failure, well, I'm in with both feet. Ok, I guess that's my plan then. Problem solved.

Note to kids and teens: Don't use anabolic steroids. The only reason I'm going to use them is because they make you more attractive and really strong, like superman.

2005-06-06T01:30:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I just have to close my eyes and shake my head in a condescending way that would make you want to punch me in the face if you saw me. But honestly, how would I ever stop posting? This will never happen even if you pray for it, so you may as well give that up. It's best to think of this blog like you would a degenerative nerve disease. As with all degenerative nerve diseases, there are amusing times, slow times, and then the times when you can't even clip your own toenails without stabbing yourself in the femoral artery. It is then you realize that MS, or whatever affliction God gave you because you're a bad person, is not a non-stop laugh track. So if at any point here you find yourself not being amused, and/or not seeing any new posts for weeks at a time, maybe instead you would like to be bleeding out alone on your bathroom floor? I didn't think so.

Anyway, I would never stop posting even if somebody showed me a suitcase with 45 million dollars in it, and said, "This is yours if you promise not to write anything else." I would take that suitcase, open it up, and urinate on the contents. Soon after, I would pour about a gallon of gasoline on it, light it up with a blow torch, and launch it into deep space. Then I'd say, "There's your 45 mil. Oh, and by the way? Here's a new blog entry all up in your mug." Because that's my integrity coming through. The integrity of the artist. For my voice shall never be silenced, not unless we can talk real numbers, like 47 million. If I was offered 47, I might only urinate on a small portion of the suitcase. But until that time, here are a few discoveries I've made within the last couple weeks. If they tickle your fancy, great. If not, maybe you should try to have muscular dystrophy and see if that tickles your fancy.

In the Bitterness Category:

There are people who receive luxury cars as whimsical gifts, but I haven't thought of any way to kill these people without getting caught. Let me explain. As I'm leaving work last week, there were two women in the parking lot, fawning over a brand new lexus.

Gold Miner #1: He totally surprised you with it?

Gold Miner #2: Yeah, he totally surprised me!

Me: I would like to put the two of you in a woodchipper, but I haven't thought of a way to do it without getting caught.

Gold Miners: ha ha!!

Me: Seriously, I want to kill you and hide your bodies under a big rock. Many different rocks, if I go the woodchipper route.

Optimism Category:

I was recently in the men's department at Macy's, which is below ground level. Yet I received a call loud and clear on my verizon phone. My only conclusion is that the "can you hear me now?" guy is finally getting something accomplished. Thanks, verizon guy. There's not really a joke with this one, but that man is a hard worker, and should be recognized for his efforts.

Bewilderment Category:

I was also in Abercrombie & Fitch, and it occurs to me they've basically been selling the same style of clothing for the last 10 years. As you might know, the basic purpose of this style is to project an aura of having a bunch of holes in your jeans. But you live on the beach, and were born with no fat cells, so that's okay.

Extreme Bewilderment Category:

I occasionally buy jeans there. Presumably so the clothing will absorb any excess fat cells from my physiology.

Category that makes me want to sell my iPod:

President Bush now has one, making it approximately as cool to own as a Commodore 64. Even if you like Dubya, you have to admit he's not the essence of cool. After that, go back to step 1, and change the part where you like him. Hey, I'm kidding. He can't read very well, but he's a straight shooter. Ok, that was uncalled for. I'm stupid, and down with suicide bombers as well. Because I'm against that, and if you're not, we're going to have a problem, you and I.

2005-05-23T10:46:00.000-07:00

Well, it looks like it's that time of year again, and I'm not referring to that time when I shave off all my body hair and run up and down the street in my underwear. Yes, that's exhilirating, and yes, I feel very primal and animalistic when I do that, but it's not the subject of this post, so stop hoping. I said no, so don't ask anymore. Ok, now you just look desperate. Plus, this is a family website, we're trying to limit the off-color topics. We also have limits here on ingenuity, interesting subjects, and things that look like they might at some point become a subject.

Alright, enough horseplay. The topic at hand is that today is the 6 year anniversary of my hire date at my job. My job is like a girlfriend who's really rich, so reality dictates that you can't break up with her, but you still hate her. Except my salary is really low--so I guess my job is more like a homeless girlfriend who has cancer. The hate is equal, though.

I'm sure there are other jobs out there in jobland, but to dwell on that sort of thing is unproductive, and could possibly lead to me finding another job, which is quite obviously out of the question. If I got a different job, what’s next? Being comfortable with who I am as a person? Not being clinically depressed? That's a slippery slope, my friends. My father, who has since passed on (just kidding--he's still alive. Hey Dad.), taught me to list the pros and cons of a situation, in order to figure out the next best step. Despite the fact that finding a new job is not something I want to be involved with, I'll do it out of respect for him. (R.I.P.) <---joke

Pros

affair with female boss going well

wall calendar has pretty nice pictures

relatively high ceiling sometimes gives illusion of job not sucking

wall calendar in the number 4 spot as well

Cons

Job is not Sports Illustrated swimsuit photographer

Open cubicle prohibits having a good cry now and again

All web surfing closely monitored

You know what I'm talking about

At this point, you probably have a question that you're really proud of yourself for thinking of, like, "Rather than make clever little blog posts about your current job, why don't you devote your energy to finding a different one?"

You might even think your query to be incisive and thoughtful, when in reality, it's simply a question that makes no sense. Let me give you an example: "Why does the journey of a destination take the very life abundant?" Can you even begin to decode that? Of course you can’t. As you can see, some questions in life have no answer, and that's the end of that. I think the problem is, you expect everything to be explained from a frame of reference where I have ambition, or a will to live.

In closing, I'd like to bring up autistic people. They don't like it when the furniture is re-arranged, and sometimes they will arbitrarily hate certain colors. Yet many of them have extraordinary mathematical minds. Given this new information, do you still hate autistic people? Would you still yell at them for not having very good social skills? Okay, you probably wouldn't, so I'd appreciate it if you could lay off me for a second. Think of me like you would an autistic person, except for I'm not as picky with colors, and I won't have a seizure if you move the coffee table. Hey, that reminds me of a good tag line for a resumé, if I had one:

Autism: I will do you one better.

Alright, that’s enough job searching for this year. Looking for new work has me totally drained, as usual.

2005-05-17T18:32:00.000-07:00

There's a lot of hullabaloo in the health and psychology magazines these days about how to engage in non-acrimonious relationships with other humans, a skill made obsolete by the invention of console video games. While it would be accurate to say I don't actually read those magazines, that's probably what they talk about. I guess the main reason I don't read more of them is that I'm already quite knowledgeable on the subject. Not to be cocky, but the amount of knowledge I possess would probably power the sun, if I could harness it properly.

So here's my concern: What if I my understanding of this topic is so great that decades of research and clinical trials are as tiny anthills compared to my towering mountains of knowledge? To account for this possibility, I'm going to publish some of my best stuff right now. You'll notice that much of what I talk about is standard-industry stuff, but with a few tweaks. The result of this was that most of my concepts are now indistinguishable from something a 5-year-old would come up with. Luckily, that's pretty much par for the course with my material, so there we go and no harm done.

Let's start with the mistaken but widely held belief that you shouldn't hate yourself if you want someone else to love and respect you. Many experts, or morons, I should say, agree with this. Unfortunately, there are more holes in this theory than swiss cheese. Maybe I'll just call it the swiss cheese theory. Who needs both love and respect? No one, really. No respect is fine, because the person would still have love, which is like going 1 for 2 on the basketball court. If I'm shooting 50% on the hardcourts, that's a percentage I can live with as a coach, any day of the week. It's like, oops, you missed the shot at gaining respect in this lifetime, kid. But if there's reincarnation, you could go out there in the game of life and give it another try. Maybe you'll come back as a powerful lion. Name me one person who doesn't respect a lion. I take it by your silence that you are unable to produce such a person. Point made.

Oh look, here's the latest issue of Psychology Today, and there's a section where crazy people write in and ask for advice. I wonder what it says.

Dear Dr. Spankenhauser,

I feel like my girlfriend and I are drifting apart. More accurately, it's like she's in a motor boat, speeding away. She says I don't have any interests of my own, I follow her around the house, and I have no long term goals. The truth is, I don't even have short-term goals. Should I mention this error of hers or let it go? I really want to save this relationship. I also like to call her when she's at work, over and over again. If it makes a difference, she has booty for days. What do you think?

Pathetic and Lonely in Minneapolis

Ok, this one is tricky, I don't think I can trust Dr. Spunkhowzer with it. I'll take over here.

P&L,

Definitely call her at work and explain that if she can't love you for who you are, then you will change everything about yourself in order for that to be possible. Tell her you're open to changing anything, including your rib cage structure, birth order, and personality, even if that was mostly determined by genetics. The core of who you are is simply a distraction which interferes with the larger purpose, which is to get her to love you. Finally, ask her to rescue you and make you feel safe, because women like to care for their boyfriends as they would helpless children.

This should work, but on the off chance she never speaks to you again, there will likely be a grieving process for both of you. For her grieving process, please direct her to my office. Notice my grieving hours of 11 pm to 4 am. This is gonna be hot, I mean, good luck.

So there it is. Yet one more mind and soul, healed. Why does no one pay me to be a counselor, you ask? Seriously, you're asking? Wow.

2005-05-09T16:48:00.000-07:00

It's time to change things up a little around here, and no, I don't mean make them funny. If you want to look at something funny, maybe you should look at your face!

See? Not funny at all. Seriously though, you look like you could stand to have a little work done. Just down around the chin area, maybe tighten things up a tad. Hey, I'm kidding! You actually seem like you would be a model. You're probably reading this a few minutes before your photo shoot, but directly after you made love to 5 other models, who were also quite stunning. They were no match for your beauty, but you get the idea. They were pretty hot. Which is a compliment to you, not that you need compliments. Compliments are primarly for ugly people.

Ok, that paragraph was dyslexic even by my standards. That's why I need to revamp things--because sometimes it seems like I can't stay on topic for more than 1 sentence, there's just letters going everywhere hey what's everybody's favorite color? No wait, don't close your browser. I've got it now. I've got the solution, and the solution has this name: The Magnetic Poetry Kit, Original Edition. That's right, the little magnets you put on your refrigerator to make beautiful poems. My guess is that with a random sampling of 8th grade vocab words arranged with no regard for syntax or meaning, I'll be able to express myself more efficiently in my posts. Or at least with equal efficiency. Ok, certainly, the results could be no worse. And I'd like to get started immediately. For example, I had a pretty wild experience the other day, but I won't trust myself with the telling. No, I will let the power of the magnetic poetry kit speak for me. I think you'll find it does a rather eloquent job. This is what happened, more or less:

the languid sky sleeps softly,
eternity and sausage.
death!

Crazy, huh? I can't believe that happened to me, it was truly a unique experience. Alright, I think this is going really well, did you understand the meaning of that last one? I know, it was pretty easy. Which reminds me, one of my friends just had a baby last week. I think my thoughts on that can best be described in the following way:

the puppy is an apparatus, rain falls
the sky is like a whisper. a chocolate garden?
death!

I know, I used 'sky' and 'death' again. But I think I'm really onto something there. Especially with sky. If you talk about the sky in any poem, success is virtually guaranteed. Like this:

sky. shadows fall.
the night sky

That's basically a pulitzer prize winner by default. By the way, the gist of this poem is that we are all very primal beings, yet we are forced to find happiness while imprisoned by the social and cultural mores of modern society. As if that wasn't obvious. I should give you guys more credit. Alright, since it's obvious I'm hitting on all cylinders here, we'll do one more:

a ship is incubated
madly through the sordid picture, a forest
the ing at on in ly
death?

Ok, I have to be honest--I don't know where I was going with that one. It basically looks like a spelling test study sheet from elementary school, with some prepositions thrown in toward the end. Indeed, not representative of my best work. But keep in mind that the main goal of this exercise was to show a sampling of what I'm capable of. If you like it, great. If you don't, well, that means you've read maybe 1 other poem in your entire life, and it happened to be better than all of mine put together. Not surprising.

However, I'm not about to give up. For poems can tell a beautiful story. Not any of mine, but take my word for it. I think the main problem is this dumb kit, it's probably defective or something...

Farewell, Ms. Spears

2005-05-06T16:25:00.000-07:00

Dear Britney,

It's taken me quite some time to gather the courage to write this, so I hope you read the whole thing. Because I remember when we were together, you would stop reading when you came across big words like "across". In this context, across means "encountered". Anyway, do you remember when it started? You were a minor in 32 states at the time, and yes, that's kind of creepy now that I think about it. But my love is controlled not by chronological sequences, or by how people have different ages--nay, it is controlled by how earnestly I wanted to get with you. But let's forget about that for a moment. Let's talk about how you promised me forever, and then went on and did other things. Many other things. "Things" means "guys" in this context.

First, there was Justin, which I accepted. But only because I knew you two had been friends on the Mickey Mouse Club, 2 pm weekdays on Nickolodeon. Then your relationship turned into something disgusting and base, like who could do the moonwalk better. Well, I guess we all know what happened with that. Justin is now clearly better at the moonwalk, while you can't even walk across the room without chafing your thighs. I'm not trying to be mean, but recently they have become quite pudgy. I know you’re preggers, but come on.

Now we have your precious Kevin Federline, or simply K-Fed, as I like to call him. I call him that because I harbor no ill will towards him. It is not he who now has porky pig thighs. It is not he who has betrayed my trust and gone a-whoring behind my back. It is not he who looked me straight in the eye and then did the metaphorical equivalent of a surgeon doing a heart transplant on someone, but then not actually finishing the transplant. So the end result is that the person is left with no heart. I agree, that metaphor could use a re-write. But my point remains valid—it’s not Kevin who is the problem here, he is merely a homeless person who's good at breakdancing. Which is why I assumed you were with him only to forget about me, or to drive me nearly out of my mind with jealousy. Well, mission accomplished, my fickle young flower. Mission accomplished.

Britney Spears-Ryan. The name that destiny gave you, and by coincidence, the same name you've rejected like last month's 'smoky eyes' mascara look. Just weeks ago, that look was very popular among promiscuous pop stars such as you, and it's still popular, but not as popular. That's how I feel. Popular, but not as popular as I might feel if you weren't sharing it all over town. The point is, you have destroyed me. And now you're carrying K-Fed's child, a man who looks like a ferris wheel operator with a stylish beanie.

So I'm through living a lie. I can't stick around while you marry, and then become impregnated by, each of your backup dancers in succession. Or maybe one more dancer after this one, but that would be my absolute limit. That’s right, I need to start taking care of me. Speaking of, I believe Hillary Duff is now legal, or close enough. And she may not know of my existence, but notice how I said "may". It's also possible that she does know, and loves me fiercely. More than you ever did. Plus, it becomes obvious that there's no room in your uterus for a second child (mine) at this late stage in the game, not to mention, such a scenario is probably medically impossible. I don't want my child in there competing with Kevin's anyway. It's unhealthy. So stop calling. I have moved on, and I won't let you back into my heart--which is still lying next to the operating table. Remember from earlier, I was talking about that?

New Research Indicates You Are Repulsive

2005-05-03T11:45:00.000-07:00

According to a new study, obesity is a problem among affluent Americans. Now that's mind-blowing. People are going to be talking about this one for a long time. In fact, I'm headed to the watercooler right now, to see what my flabby countrymen have to say about it. Yeah, right. Memo to scientists: We're all fat, ok? You don't have to keep doing these studies, we get it. We are gigantic, unrepentant, walking tubs of lard, I'm not sure what's so difficult to understand about that. Whether we make $12,000 a year, or $120,000, we all like cupcakes. Very much so. And if they come fried, we'll take that. In fact, I may have one right now. Yum, that was good, I'll have six. If they came with butter on top, it would be even better. Who gave me this fried hostess cupcake without butter on it? You? Bunch of commie health freaks around here.

Now, I've managed to go behind the scenes at the University of Iowa, where I was able to transcribe a conversation among the lead researchers there, as they tried to determine whether or not to conduct the latest study. Check it out:

Scientist #1: Ok, who are the test subjects?

Scientist #2: Americans.

Scientist #1: What kind?

Scientist #2: The fat kind, what else?

Scientist #1: Good point. We're all pretty disgusting, aren't we? I mean, look at me, I couldn't please a woman if my life depended on it. I need special tools just to find my gear, you know what I'm saying?

Scientist #2: I didn't really want to hear that, but thanks for keeping me up to speed. Anyway, I think it's important we know for sure that other wealthy Americans, aside from you and me, are also enormous human slugs.

Intern Scientist: Hey, you guys. I think it's safe to say none of us are going to be making the cover of Men's Fitness anytime soon. Do you really think we should be using the grant money for this?

Scientist #2: Let me tell you a little story, Junior. We once conducted a study on whether or not violent felons make good day care employees. Perhaps unsurprisingly, they do not. But we might not have known this, had those children not sacrificed their lives accidentally. Do you see now why we must do the work we do?

Intern Scientist: I guess...seems weird, though...

Scientist #2: Silence! We must conduct these tests, it is the only way. You are feeble of mind, and still a mere 10 percentage points over the standard obesity index. You have a long way to go before you will be able to eat 3 pot roasts in one sitting. I'm up to 3 pot roasts for breakfast alone, and I don't even eat breakfast. Or if I did, I already forgot, because I'm starving. Give me your cupcake.

Intern Scientist: Get away, it doesn't even have any butter on it!

I can't remember what happened next, but I made up the majority of that dialogue anyway. So don't worry about that, and concentrate on this next point, which is: Apparently, the results from every study are that something is too fat. If they studied the migratory patterns of Nordic Greylag Geese, they would probably discover the flight patterns to be obese. If they tested American rain, I bet that would be fat, too. How can rain be fat? I don't know, but McDonald's can make one french fry worth 87 fat grams, so anything's possible. I bet even our anorexics could stand to drop a few pounds. It's like the more research we do on this subject, the fatter we get.

Plus, all these studies are doing is hurting people's feelings. Maybe if the scientific community placed more emphasis on the positive things Americans are trying to do, we could build on those small victories, and turn this thing around. Just the other night I ordered a Wendy's salad along with my milkshake and two bacon doubles. Yet, If I told the researchers about my salad purchase, they would probably just do a study on praying mantis populations, and then tell me I was fat. If no one else is going to reward our healthy eating choices, we have no choice but to reward ourselves. And by reward, I'm talking about a big bowl of oreos dipped in warm crisco. Study that, suckers!

2005-04-29T00:14:00.000-07:00

What with the latest Star Wars installment on the way, I've been thinking some about what it would feel like to be Princess Leah. Yeah, I think you heard me. I'd like to explore my feminine side, and I don't see why that's such a threat to everyone. Ok, kidding. That probably turned you on, and I don't blame you. But I've actually been fantasizing more about delivering an intergalactic pre-battle call-to-arms. I'm talking a little bit about leading some rebels against Imperial forces, do you know what I'm saying? You call that weird, I call it standing tall in the face of great evil. Two different ways to describe one situation. And guess if the Council of Elders would appreciate you referring to the Alliance as "weird". Maybe if a light saber through your face means they would appreciate it, I guess there's your answer.

Anyway, check out my speech, this is what I have so far:

Good citizens of Ridelan 7: The quasar energy shields have been destroyed by the Equestrian warriors of Zanax-9, leaving our weapons systems, medical facilities, and TJ Max retail stores vulnerable to attack*. The Equestrian star fleet has regrouped and is less than one thousand spanktrometers away. I recommend just firing indiscriminately into space, as it's nearly impossible to tell what's happening in these frantic battles anyway. All I ever see are green and red lights flashing around. I can assure you, I won't be doing anything more than closing my eyes and shooting at random intervals. If I happen to phaser you in the back, that's my bad. Now let's go out there and not succumb to the Dark Side! [warriors cheer, strike battle staffs against ground in rhythmic manner. Ridellian virgins offer up selves]

Then I would close with a visually stunning powerpoint presentation. Here's one of the slides I've already prepared, which shows an example of a 5th generation Equestrian Quadfighter:

Equestrian QuadFighter 5

3 words: Untouchable Photoshop skills. And if you're wondering how I'm that good, it's called no understanding of how computers work, and a total absence of artistic pride. Aside from me ruling at photoshop, this speech I've been practicing got me thinking about a couple other things. Namely, why is it still entertaining to ridicule hardcore Star Wars fans? Please don't misunderstand me--I have engaged, or do currently engage, in several so-called nerdy endeavors myself. I've been known to collect comic books, and I spent a generous, personality-stunting portion of highschool thinking of, playing, and reading strategy books about, Street Fighter II.

However, my point is that the Star Wars infatuation is one of the most unhealthy hobbies ever in American culture, and I have facts at the ready to support this assertion.

1. Star Wars movies can be a fun diversion.
2. Buying an actual plane ticket in order to congregate with other socially-doomed Star Wars nerds is not a diversion. That's giving up on life. If the best vacation you can think of is a star wars convention, it's already over for you.

But you heard it here first: If the current rate of social and artistic erosion in this country is any indication, it will soon be cool to know everything there is to know about Star Wars. It's gonna be quirky-hip to go to the conventions and dress up like a complete tool. Please let me be dead when that time comes. Or at least let me go as Leah.

Hey, I'm still kidding, geez!

*Some nerds in the audience will undoubtedly want to point out that Ridelan 7 is part of the Crapadoro star system, and thus unreachable by Zanax-9 inhabitants. Or worse yet, that there are no TJ Maxes on Ridelan 7. I know that. But there should be, you can find some really solid bargains at that place.

2005-04-25T16:53:00.000-07:00

A year or so ago, before Georgia Tech played Connecticut for the NCAA basketball championship, I came across a photograph of the two coaches sharing a laugh. If you look in the background, you will see what is perhaps the most unflattering photograph ever taken of a human being since the invention of eyesight:

Ha ha! You think *I'm* homely? Look behind us!

Right, so that's either a woman with red hair, or a ferret with fetal alcohol syndrome. Or maybe a ferret with fetal alcohol syndrome and then someone poured hydrochloric acid on its chin. No no wait: An anorexic ferret, fetal alcohol syndrome, hydrochloric acid, and then someone stabbed half his face off with a car key.

Ok, I guess that's all I've got for the descriptions. I spent most of my time trying to find that picture again. Also, I had to write this FAQ, which should come in handy for any remaining questions you might have about today's topic. Let's read it.

1. Why would you save a picture like that for a whole year?

Hel-loh...cool blog post going on here. I think the payoff is pretty obvious.

2. After more than a week without posting anything, it seems like the next post would be at least mildly humorous--why is this not the case?

It's not that simple. Some things are less simple than what meets the eye. Some things are even more simple than meets the eye. And then we have blogs, which are the total opposite. Blogs are complex. The internet is complex. In-TRA-nets can be simple, but that's not the point. Yet, I think we both know what the point IS, you backstabbing jackal.

3. Isn't disparaging another's physical appearance for the sake of humor a little shallow? Do you just have no imagination, or what?

Well, that's two questions, let's take them one at a time. Implicit in your first question is an admission that this post is kind of funny, so you've made a tactical error right from the start--question disqualified. 2nd question: Nice try. If you divided the amount of imagination I have by 50 billion, then I would still have twice as much as the average person, which has less than 1 billion. ??

4. This post really sucks, can you comment on that?

Work's been really busy lately. Truthfully, I wrote something so hilarious you could sell it for money, but I decided to delete it, because it was almost too clever.

5. Yeah, that's a lie. This thing's terrible.

That's not really a question, c'mon.

6. Sorry. It's pretty bad, though.

Ok, I get it!

7. Do you think you'll ever post anything funny again, or is this pretty much the level we should expect from now on?

This is the pinnacle of human achievment in comedy. Embrace it. Plus, I heard of one site where the guy posts pictures of his bowel movements. NOW whose blog is better? Settle down.

8. I heard you were a little insecure about the way your toes curl into freakish little hooks at the end. Also, I understand that a girl you were dating jokingly referred to your peds as "claw feet". Is that accurate?

I think we're getting a little off-topic here, but yes, what you say is true. I'm going to start wearing Dr. Scholl's inserts, so I'm addressing the problem. It's not a problem, it's taken care of. It's being addressed.

9. Good. Because your feet look like human talons. It's disgusting.

Yes.

Leaders of Tomorrow? More Like Nerds of Tomorrow

2005-04-14T17:10:00.000-07:00

I read yesterday that teens now are having fewer babies, committing less crime, and doing fewer drugs than teens of the 70's. What's up, modern-day teens?! You're comfortable with the 70's teens being more physically attractive, tougher, and open-minded than you? I'm at something of a loss here. I'm a fairly quick study, but I'll admit that even I'm having trouble with this one. Maybe the goal of today's teen is to get a PhD in how to be a nerd, I don't know. Is there a special medal you get now for excelling in academics? I must've missed the memo.

Let me put it simply, in a way that even sexually repulsive teens with no criminal record can understand: Preparing for the future is fine, but not if it means not experimenting with heroin. Abstaining from controlled substances might seem sensible, but I'm going to let you teens in on a little secret--some things are just too good to pass up, heroin being one of them. What's that? No, say it again. It sounded a lot like a nerdy teen whining about the irrepairable destruction of family and personal relationships. In fact, it sounded exactly like that. C'mon, I don't see that happening. There's a possibility (albeit very remote) that your family and friends would continue to speak with you, even as you repeatedly pawn their personal belongings to get high. Plus, some of you are only 13, that's why they call it "experimenting". And some of you are 18, and that's why they call it "a habit". But I'm getting off track. Whatever you want to do is fine. Nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to be ashamed of at all, if you don't mind being a total loser who's too scared to do coke once in awhile.

Ok, I can see my message is not getting through, which leads me to one conclusion: In addition to being less violent and more conscious of your sexual health than the generation before you, you have almost no reading comprehension skills. So let me try a different tactic. Do you want me to tell all your friends you've never even vandalized anything before, is that it? Is it that you're too good to vandalize something? Trust me, it's not that difficult. I once fire-bombed 2 mobile home parks before breakfast, and I wasn't even trying. And I'm betting the typical 70's teen could do that and more. In the 70's, a typical teen would probably take a short lunch break and rob a 7-11 without even thinking about it, and then use a rocket launcher on another, reducing it to rubble. For fun. Because it was the right thing to do. Today's weak-minded teens (you) would probably stand in the candy aisle for 20 minutes trying to work up the courage to steal some Good N' Plenty's. Also, Good N' Plenty's are disgusting, so you would lose points there as well.

Indeed, the teens of yesteryear could pop out babies like the human race was at stake. By contrast, it seems that today's teens couldn't get pregnant if they went to school naked. In fact, I've seen more promiscuous behavior in an old persons' home, where a majority of the residents are completely dead. Newsflash, teens: Your efforts are pathetic.

To sum up, a lifetime of drug addiction leads to systematic mental and physical decay of the body. Then death, usually alone in an alley. But there’s a chance this might not happen. So I ask: Are you going to be a little baby about it, or are you going to show the 1970’s teens how to party? If current statistics are any indication, you're going to be sitting at home, filling out college applications. And not smoking weed. What am I supposed to say, good job? I don't think so, little nerdlings.

I Guess My Misfortune Amuses You

2005-04-10T21:58:00.000-07:00

The following story is about something that happened which was very traumatic for me. I guess that means you'll all love it. Great.

Last week at lunch I was getting some items from the store. Don't ask me what I was getting, they were just some items that were necessary to get. It might've been a mongoose or it might've been something as simple as a grapefruit. I refuse to say. Maybe it was a self-help book for bipolar people who have trouble forming meaningful relationships due to anger management problems. But that's not for you to say. And now I am enraged. Ok I'm better now. As I was exiting the store, I decided to look behind me to see what other stores were around the one I was just in. I've only lived in the same town for 107 years, so it's unclear why I would need to do that. Yet nothing I do is without a purpose, everything is calculated. I'm asking you to trust my instincts.

Now, if you're hanging off the edge of your seat, desperately wondering what will happen next, you're faking, and you know it. This story would get maybe one star in even the most lenient grading system. A paralyzed infant with no head and little stubby fingers could probably write a story that would make this one look like crap-on-a-stick. But you might as well finish it since you're here. I know, that's depressing. How do you think I feel? I have to sit here and act like this is top-notch stuff.

Anyway, I was walking forward but not looking forward, so the direction my torso was facing was in opposition to the direction my face was...facing. I'm fairly certain there was also a lady with desirable physical qualities somewhere nearby, who yearned for me romantically. If there wasn't, I would be a little surprised. You might want to know how that's relevant. Well, I can't think of even one possible explanation. You nailed me on that one. But I'm betting most of all, you just want this story to end so you can move on. Move on to what? Settle down. I was walking forward, and then I heard a sound that was eerily similar to what one would hear if they launched their head into a concrete pillar they didn't see. Then I saw something that was eerily similar to my glasses* twirling magestically off my head and into the parking lot.

At this point, there was no denying it--I had eerily launched my head into a concrete pillar. Almost immediately, I found myself wishing this were not the case. It also made me think of my brother, who sometimes does this thing where he's walking along and pretends he just walked into a pole by hitting it with his hand (for sound effect), and jerking his head back quickly to simulate contact. For the briefest of moments, I thought, "maybe I'm just doing that thing he does, and I'm only dizzy right now because I have a lot on my mind." Then there was blood and increased dizziness, and I knew better. Then I became angry at my brother for not teaching me how to bash my head the pretend way. Is my pain funny to you? Phil? That's right, I said your name.

The moral is that your siblings, if you have any, are probably trying to harm you in malicious and insidious ways. And then they will steal your birthright, and inheritance, if applicable. Hey, I never said this story wouldn't end with a solemn and depressing tone. I only promised it would be of below average quality, and I think I've kept my word on that.

*I often wear glasses, rather than contacts, during the work day. I do this as a show of support to the blind people. Like, "Hey you guys, we're a team. My vision is still way better than yours could ever be (let's not forget, you're blind) but these glasses I'm wearing are my way of honoring your life, which would be immeasurably better, if you could only see something. ANYthing. I'm SO glad I'm not totally blind. Although you wouldn't know it from this story, I'll give you that much."

You Want Advice? Well That's Lucky Because I Have Some Right Here

2005-04-07T12:20:00.000-07:00

Quite often various people in my life will come to me for advice. This seems weird to me, since I'm currently 0 for 439 on the helpful kind. But I'm not about to quit now. Recently, a co-worker presented to me a rather dicey ethical dilemma: A friend of his, Lisa, had just won an all-expense paid 1-week cruise to Jamaica for two. The question was, should he tell his current girlfriend that he was going on a business trip and then go on the cruise with Lisa, or should he not go at all? Well, lucky for him, I have a little technique I like to call "virtual honesty". This is where you say you're going on a business trip, and then you go on the cruise, but in your mind, you go on the business trip. Life is primarily about perception.

However, my co-worker failed to see the value in this, and proceeded to drone on about his current girlfriend, personal responsibility, trust, and a bunch of other new age terms I wasn't that into. I'm like, English please! I never did get what his whole point was, but I wasn't really listening. Plus, it was probably boring. I think I better just transcribe the conversation, so you can see how I handled things. When you see me saying cool stuff, that's really how it happened, but I probably also had a cool look on my face while I was saying it.

Him: [paraphrased] blah blah blah, I want to do the right thing blah, blah blah, my problems are dumb and boring.

Me: Are you asking me to go on the cruise with your friend, is that it? If she's a 6 or above, I'm in. I just don't have time for your little games, or this "turning point in your life" you're referring to.

Him: Why would I want you to go on the cruise? Are you serious?

Me: As a heart attack, my friend (I'm not sure how serious I was, but I like that phrase, and I had to stand by it).

Him [dumb look on face] : You're a freak, why do I even talk to you?

Me: I don't know, maybe because I'm awesome? Get real!

Him: [something dumb]

I can't really remember how the rest of it went, but I think he left my cubicle shortly thereafter. If you're going to talk in riddles about metaphysical ethology, or whatever, good riddance! Plus, I will thank you not to question my rulings in my own cubicle.

Nevertheless, there are a few lessons to be learned from this, which I'll share with you now. Number one, if you think someone wants your advice, but there's no chance of you even going on a cruise or anything, call them on it! Cruise or no cruise? You need to find out where you stand. Number two, just because you know an awesome phrase like "serious as a heart attack", you don't have to use it all the time. I guess that one's mostly for me. Lastly, if a co-worker starts talking to you about something non-work-related, it could be possible for you to have him or her fired, if you pull the right strings. I haven't really researched this one yet. I suppose you could also file a fraudulent sexual harassment claim if nothing else is working. Refer to your employee handbook.

Alright you guys, keep those questions coming. Odds are, I will one day dispense a piece of advice that is both useful and relevant, all at the same time. Although that chance is so small it might not even be a number anymore, I'm not sure how that works. But I will never give up, you have my word.

Seem Like You Could Just Use Your Own

2005-03-31T08:30:00.000-08:00

So this guy steals a bag of poop from a woman. I'm not sure what to think about that. That's kind of like stealing phlegm, or toenails. Supposedly, he didn't know it was poop, but I have my doubts, so I wrote the thief a little note.

Confidential to Poop Thief in San Diego: I bet you thought that would be funny, to steal poop. Maybe you were planning to build miniature poop castles or poop forts or something? I don't think that's funny, and I think you can find something else to build forts out of. You could at least wait a few hours for your own stuff. Anyway, this is gross, so I'm going to stop typing now. Please don't steal any more poop, this country is already extremely weird, if you haven't noticed. Also, please seek help, you're disgusting. Thanks for your attention to this matter.

I don't know if my letter will have any effect, but the only way to deal with the poop thieves is one at a time. One at a time...

2005-03-28T01:17:00.000-08:00

Maybe you're curious as to why I haven't hacked out any semi-coherent thoughts for a few days now. Or maybe you were hoping I'd finally given up, I don't know. I can't speak to your every last twisted motivation, nor do I know for certain that you don't have a debilitating mental condition which prevents you from even sounding out the words you're looking at right now, much less making any sense of them. From what I've seen so far, I'm inclined to believe the latter, but I could be way off base. Okay, that was over the line, you didn't deserve that. But news flash, people: I have feelings too, or maybe you forgot about the concept of people having feelings? And then other people disregarding those same feelings, which the first person originally had? It's as if you're a futuristic cyborg, but the emotional kind, where the cyborg just marches coldly over the person's emotions. Let me explain:

Most of the time, you'll come here (taking for granted that there is even a site as cool as this one), and you'll find I've once again provided illuminating and insightful commentary on current events that shape our world. Or maybe you'll come here, remember how badly it sucks, and then possibly go onto a different site for the current events thing. Whatever, I'm basically fine with that. Ok, I'm not. That's actually the problem here. At any given time, I may have as many as 4 to 6 pieces of insightful commentary going on in my head, but all you care about is if I have a joke to tell.

I also know a lot about superheroes and I've been wanting to discuss my comic book collection for some time, but I get the feeling you're not interested in that, either. Specifically, I've wanted to share my thoughts on Amazing Spiderman #223, but I guess you wouldn't have time to learn about it, since life is apparently one big joke. You've seen both Spiderman movies, and that's suddenly enough for you. I guess a vague understanding of the basic hollywood storyline is sufficient, and you're comfortable with an almost infantile understanding of Peter Parker's character. Being aware of a laughably tiny fraction of the adventures which have shaped Peter's life is somehow ok in your mind. Try as I might, I just can't understand apathy on that level, and I don't think I want to. I suspect yours to be a sickness for which there is no cure, but since I have this little thing I like to call "compassion", I'm going to give you a basic idea of what's going on in this issue.

In the opening panels, Peter is shown toiling away in a seemingly innocuous setting, the Midtown High School laboratory. Dr. Connors (no, not Dr. Octavius, or "Doctor Octupus". If you were more diligent in your readings, you might've known that Otto Octavius was locked in a psychiatric ward from issues #200 through #232) then enters the lab, to discuss an experiment on which the two scientists have been collaborating. If you weren't already aware, Peter Parker knows a thing or two about science, ok? But you will never understand this, or his inner demons--what drives him to be a hero every day, what it costs to wear the uniform. You have no concept. So I'm just going to summarize the rest of it, because this isn't fun for me anymore. Dr. Connors turns into a human lizard and kills some people, and then Peter feels guilty and beats up the lizard. There, I'm done.

Now can you see how maybe there's more to life than joking around? Sure, everything's real funny until you have lizards killing people. And stabbing them with claws, IN THEIR EYES. Yeah, that's really hilarious, isn't it? Well what if I said this entire post was about paying proper respect to the heroes in our own lives? I agree, it seems like a stretch. But it's really all I've got. So if you could just roll with it, that'd be cool...

Career Talk

2005-03-21T17:04:00.000-08:00

One of my main principles in this life, is that if I have something to say, everyone should listen with earnest ears and ready minds, until I'm done. Now you may disagree with what I have to say--to which I reply, I may disagree with what YOU have to say, as you are extremely ignorant. But I'll defend to the death your right to say it, as well as any laws that would make it permissible for me to beat you for your contrary attitude. Said another way, "I eventually will have you stoned for your insolence". *

With that in mind, let's move forward. Yesterday I saw one of those guys who gets paid to stand on the side of the road with a sign that shows where to go if you want to buy 50 pizzas for 38 cents or whatever. Sometimes it's couches, sometimes it's housewares, the nature of the product being advertised is only a sub-theme here. Ok, you know I don't do sub-themes, but this paragraph wasn't flowing right, and it needed some filler. What I'm saying is, you have to be dangerously short on life skills to take that job. Here's the thought process leading up to that career move, as I see it.

What would someone be dumb enough to pay me for...Sign maker? Good, but that may require knowing the whole alphabet. I know, sign holder. By coincidence, I have held various things in the past, and a sign is also a thing.

Please understand, I believe that any honest work is good work, except for the following, which are not generally recognized as legitimate occupations: Masonry, concrete workers, lawn-mower people (whatever you call that), steel workers, or the people who build things, like houses. Basically, any of the manual labor jobs are out. Aside from those, I say go for it. Sign-holding is totally base, though. It seems like I wouldn't even say hi to a sign holder if I saw him. Nevertheless, I have attempted to reproduce the possible thought chronology of a sign holder's first day on the job.

1st minute: This is not too bad. Not too bad at all. I've got my Journey Best Ballads in the discman, and oddly enough, I don't even feel that stupid holding this sign. Maybe two hot girls in a red convertible Boxster will pull over and give me their phone numbers. Nah, that probably won't happen. But this is still cool. The wheel in the sky keeps on tuurrrnin'...yeah!

Minute 5: Is that rain? That's kind of...interesting. I can see that making this less fun over the course of the next 7 hours and 55 minutes. This is still awesome, though.

15 minutes in: That's definitely rain. And I'm not sure how it's possible, but it felt like that last drop went directly into my underwear.

35 minutes: This better not be acid rain. I'm serious. If this is acid rain, I will have some choice words for that shrew of a woman at the temp agency.

41 minutes: Oh c'mon! Don't quit on me now! Would a water-resistant discman be too much to ask for? They can land robot tanks on Mars, and then drive them around collecting little mineral samples that are then probably converted into gold bullion or something. But they can't make a water-resistant discman. I have no words for that.

48 minutes: What? That kid just flipped me off, not cool. "Hey! Yeah, you with the tricycle! I will beat you with this sign until all of your intestines are outside your body. Ooh, now you're gonna run to mommy??" Typical. I hate 5 year-olds.

1 hour: Ok, This is becoming totally unmanageable. I want to know how it can be raining 1 minute, and as hot as the surface of the sun the next. Good thing I took off all my clothes.

2 hours: Yep, I would definitely rather contract leprosy than do this any longer. In fact, I think being all the way dead would beat this. Maybe if I just lie down on the road really quick here...There we go, that's better. Death, draw me now into your sweet embrace.

2 hours 12 seconds: "Okay, Okay, I'll get up! Geez, enough with the yelling!". Not exactly the most friendly drivers around here. Mentally unstable, to say the least. Hey, I wonder if I could turn this sign upside down and then impale myself on the wood part...that seems feasible.

For the next 6 or so hours, I imagine the sign holder would just weigh the relative merits of falling on his sign vs. lying down in the road. I don't often see the same sign holders, so I'm guessing they eventually just choose one.

Those are my basic thoughts on sign holders. If you disagree with any of my scenarios, or think you want to be a sign holder someday, that's really sad. But if you're going to be stubborn about it, at least wrap the discman in a plastic bag. Take it from me. I mean...I would never do that job, not even on the weekends when I was a sophomore in college, for Pizza Hut. For $6 per hour. There's no way.

*if you want to read a quote from someone who qualifies as a real person and/or you actually want to learn something, click here. Seriously. This time I'm not messing around.

2005-03-18T01:15:00.000-08:00

So I was in san francisco last weekend--and you can stop right there, because I already know what you're thinking. Swarming with gays, right? Well, this is not really a problem for me, because all I do is close my eyes very tightly and stay calm if one walks by. If you do this, you probably will not turn gay. Very simple, very effective. Remember, eye contact only encourages them in their ways.

Anyway, the homosexuals were not the focus of my trip to the big city. No, I was doing a little networking, making a few deals here and there. Not a huge issue. I turn deals faster than most people probably turn open a jar of peanut butter, but big deal. I'm not here to talk about my savvy business acumen, so I'll just allude to it in a passive-agressive tone. For example, I think the fact that I often will choose Target over Walmart tells you all you need to know about my yearly earnings. I can afford the top brands such as Cherokee and Arizona, so why not spoil myself? I play to win. Let's make our judgements from that information, shall we? Because I'm not comfortable discussing the specifics of my wealth, though I have nearly 50 thou in savings alone. Not to mention the $20,035.47 I'm holding in company stock, which I didn't intend to go into--but since you've forced my hand, there you go. And now you're asking me about the several acres of commercial property I own? That's pretty nervy, but I'll play your game. I own 10.5 acres, and you can write that down.

All I ask is that you not judge me solely on how much money I have, but rather on how my possession of that money is indicative of my inherent superiority over all others--others who would possess only a savings account of say, 35 to 40K. If this were Roman times, or even in the era of the Knights of Camelot, that 40K is not going to cut it. It would be off to the dungeons with that person, and without delay.

I guess what I'm really trying to say is that I paid my car off last month, and I think I'm starting to get a little more respect as a result. If this is not actually the case, I am not too proud to beg for this respect. Basically, if I could get even a sliver of recognition here, that would be nice for a change. What do I have to do, for crap's sake?? For once, I've done something good by paying off my car, and if you people could acknowledge that in some small way, I wouldn't have to make up all this stuff about having an actual balance in my savings account. Ok, I'm actually on food-stamps, are you happy now? I sure hope so.

But seriously, would a quick email be too much to ask? Something simple like, Hey Erik, I hear you paid your car off, good job. P.S. you're looking good in those jeans, have you been doing supersets on the squat machine? I can't help that I'm attracted to you.

There, just copy and paste that into an email, it won't take long. Thanks you guys.

Superior Lawn Care Tips (are not found in this post)

2005-03-11T01:25:00.000-08:00

Ok, a new low in home-ownership has been achieved, and it has been achieved by me alone. This is my victory and you are merely a hanger-on, a witness to my descension. If you thought the bacteria I was breeding in the kitchen sink last month was impressive, you are more naive than I thought. No my friends, this milestone is on an entirely different level--and if you're patient, we will go behind the scenes and take an inside look.

Like all my stories, this one has a beginning, then I get distracted, and pretty soon, it's hard to even tell what I'm talking about. Nevertheless, I will start from the beginning. Not the beginning of the xbox era (circa 2001), but the beginning of my time in this house. I've never kept my yard in top-notch condition, but that's okay, because I don't care about it. To me, more important things must be accomplished in this life than raking up some leaves, then watching them fall, then raking them up, and if you are even marginally competent at pattern recognition, you would understand that the leaves are very incessant, and I hate them. Anyway, if you think it's tedious to read this post, which is apparently about leaves, think about how I feel when I don't ever rake them, but society wants me to. Luckily, there is a larger and more compelling issue at hand here, my lawn.

My lawn, which isn't exactly what you'd call "alive", has been on the wrong track for some time now. The shame of the neighborhood? Sure. Repugnant to look upon? That seems about right. Yet, in remission for the winter months, it is now attempting a comeback, in its sad little way. The distasteful thing, is that it somehow expects sympathy from me in its struggle for survival. Doing this whole martyrdom thing, like poor me, poor me, but in reality, I just wish it would die. I already know my neighbors hate me because of my lawn, I don't need to hear the individual blades of grass talking out loud in that weird voice. You know the one? No? I take it back, then. My point is, even though my lawn is still an ugly brown color, it's all tall again, and has taken on something of an arrogant tone with me. If lawns could be cocky, mine would be Tom Cruise.

So last night I return home, (Sidenote to the Ladies: I was increasing the size of my various muscle structures at the gym. My body is now very much reminiscent of a hard steel slab. Of steel. With pheromones emanating from it. Call me.), and can you guess what I saw? A totally mowed lawn. One of my neighbors had evidently seen enough, and took matters into his own hands. You might think I'd be pleased, but mostly, I was ashamed. I mean, that's kind of like having to drive your wife to some other guy's house when it's time for the lovemaking, because you can't get the job done. How humiliating would that be? I don't know. To this point I've only had to do that with girlfriends. But when I have a wife, I'm sure it will happen with her, too, because I can't even keep a lawn satisfied. And if you've been around a girl for more than 1 second, you know that girls are like 10 simultaneous lawns. With those jumping bean mines in the soil that hop up to waist level and then blow your intestines out.

But let's get back on track. Or rather, let me lay down ON the track, so the train can run me over and end this already. My lawn was mowed by another, and now I must take sleeping pills and submit to the eternal slumber. Good-bye.

2005-03-09T18:06:00.000-08:00

Ah, my young and oft-unfaithful minions. What have you been doing that was so important you couldn't be bothered to check this page up until now? Your behavior repulses me. But let's move past that, and concentrate on the task at hand: Namely, the fact that I have in-depth philosophical conversations with leprechauns. That's right. The thing is, I'm not sure if they're really leprechauns or simply irish dwarves. Is the distinction imortant? I think it is. Or maybe in your mind, a Spaniard is the same as a Mexican? Nice try, Hitler. In fact, I was lying about the leprechaun/dwarf scenario just to test you, and now your blatant xenophobia has made an ugly cameo. Welcome the nazi to the stage, everyone. Sickening.

Anyway, since it's painfully obvious you could use some sensitivity training, I'm here to remind you that St. Patrick's Day is just around the corner. So let's bear a few things in mind as this zany little holiday approaches: a) This is a time when our Irish-American friends consume alcohol in impossible quantities, and b) All Irish people are drunks. I think the statistics back me on this, but if you are skeptical, then I suggest you check this little website I came across: www.imdumbanderikrules.com. Did that work for you? Oh my fault! Maybe you should try this one, www.arockissmarterthanme.net and then after that try this one!!: www.ilust4erikbutheis2hot4me.org!

Whew, that was awesome, thanks for riding that one out. Back to St. (cow)Paddy's Day. While you mull over my various tips on race relations, I'd like to share a few final thoughts. Number one, this holiday was practically invented for the sole purpose of punishing your liver. Take advantage of that, and enough with the moral grandstanding. Number 2, many claim that Thanksgiving, Office Parties, and Groundhog Day should be used as an excuse for knocking back ridiculous amounts of the good sauce; while that is definitely true, these holidays are pretenders at best. St. Patrick's Day is the undisputed champion of drinking holidays, and no one is going to pat you on the back for staying at home and mailing donations to Red Cross. This is a time for making jokes about personal responsibility and limits, and then totally obliterating them until you are dangerously intoxicated. Let me say it another way: Poor decision making and respect (loss of it, for you, by your family and peers) are the watchwords of the day. Death to all neurons and may the devil take the hindmost. For the youngsters out there not familiar with that last saying, you should probably look it up. And then tell me, because I never really got that. (actually, disregard, i just googled it)

In closing, I do more than talk the talk. If history is any indication, I will be lying facedown in my own vomit come the morning of the 18th. So...I won't be taking calls at that time, forward them on to my hot secretary. You lose, I win. Case closed.

Remember When We Were Kids? Well That Sucked

2005-03-07T01:01:00.000-08:00

Go back for a moment. Back to the beginning. Do you remember when you were but a little child, and the possibilities were endless? When the only real concerns in this life were an almost obsessive need for acceptance, the daily floggings administered by your step-dad, and the uncertainty of where your next meal would come from? Oh to be transported across time and memory, to bask in the blood-red glow of just one more thrashing. Let the sweet smell of my stepfather's studded leather belt permeate my senses and quicken my soul once more. Allow me but one more look into his wild, unforgiving eyes as the belt opens my flesh like a new flower in spring, my mangled epidermis flooded by crimson waves of retribution.

Wow, that was way more dreary than I thought it was going to be, I apologize. I'm not sure what the deal was there, I remember my childhood being significantly less nightmarish than that. Ok, I'm going to come clean here. I'm pumped full of enough Zoloft right now to sedate a small rhinocerous, which could be having an adverse effect on my current world view. But as long as we're on the subject, guess what amigos? Life is one long and miserable series of soul-rending disappointments, and then it's time to pack it in.

Disappointment #1, Spiderman Problem: Like many of my kindergarten classmates, I owned spiderman under-roos, and I had no problems running around fighting various crimes in them. However, I knew one thing was missing, and that was the ability to shoot webs at robbers and people in my grade who I didn't like. Well, the toy store in the mall had spiderman webs for sale, so you can bet I had this one woman who took care of me (let's call her "mom") make that purchase pretty quick. Imagine my chagrin when I discovered these weren't projectile webs, but merely a hair-thin glue-like substance you could string from one side of the door jam to the other. I don't think I need to tell you that this was a bit of a letdown.

Disappointment #2, The Puzzle of The Parrot: I knew that parrots could say words like people did. So obviously, if they had a patient and diligent trainer, a parrot would be able to hold entire conversations.

Yeah, that was a bummer. I think I was midway through 8th grade by the time I got that one straightened out. Actually, I'm still somewhat bitter. C'mon! How hard would it be to just have birds that talk to you? Not that hard!!

Soul-crushing realization #3, The Bird Conundrum: You know how adults are always asking little kids what they want to be when they grow up? After about the 75th time I was asked, I started to think there might be more to this question than I had originally surmised. I guess I figured the sky was the limit, as far as stuff you could be when you were older. So I decided I wanted to be a bird. Admittedly, that's exceptionally stupid. I mean, who thinks they will actually be able to transform themselves into a bird? There are several key synapses missing from that thought chain, there's no going around it.

As you can see, I didn't exactly get off to a running start in the hopes and dreams department, and I've basically been behind the 8 ball ever since. Don't try and cheer me up, either, because I'm not having any of it. If you can turn me into a bird, we might have something to talk about, but somehow, no wait, let me guess: You can't do that for me, can you? What a shock.

By The Looks Of It, Living To 125 Not All It's Cracked Up To Be

2005-03-03T16:48:00.000-08:00

"This is getting ridiculous, how am I not dead yet?"

2005-03-01T11:20:00.000-08:00

Warning, Idea-Tsunami!! I'm fairly confident my most recent musings will rock your socks off. However, before my latest revelations are unveiled, you should know that the quality control they've been subjected to is frivolous at best. Mainly, if a retarded squirrel could think of it, then that's the quality level we're talking about. But onward. I have assembled some of my more innovative ideas together, like a metaphorical idea squadron, or idea jet-fighter. No, not a jet-fighter. More like the squadron, I guess.

Have you heard of that Fear Factor reality show on NBC? Well don't worry if you haven't, because I thought of a new version which is about 50 times better than the original one. Easily 50 times. Perhaps more, but please don't press me on the exact number. I've clearly said 50, so when you say, "is it 51 maybe?", then that makes me frustrated, because I've already said what the number is.

The first part of the new show would be all of the contestants huddled around a video monitor, watching footage of gruesome freak accidents involving safety cable and harnesses. Then the video would show quadriplegics scooting around in motorized wheel chairs, with tongue-operated steering devices. This is a key component missing from the original show, because how high can the fear factor really be, if you don't even have to worry about being paralyzed afterwards? Maybe NBC should just rename their show "Slightly Disconcerting Factor" if they're going to sidestep the paralyzation thing. So that's my first and most basic improvement.

My next version is to allow only individuals with serious psychological disorders on the show. I'm talking total dysfunction here. Obsessive compulsives, manic depressives, multiple personality disorder, the full gambit. I bet the host doesn't even get past the first set of instructions before total chaos reigns. As far as the stunts, I guess the contestants would just eat each other’s faces off. I’m not saying that’s what all crazy people want to do, ok? But for the vast majority, this is what they like. Saying it's not true is not going to change things.

My final, and perhaps most ingenious brainstorm, is to have the entire show based on brain-altering childhood traumas. The host would bring out your third-grade crush, have her laugh in your face, and then spit on you. Then they'd find the guy who used to beat you up at recess everyday, and bring him out (Damien Rich). He would shove you to the ground and then stand on your head for the whole episode. Then the host says, "Get tough or die, suckers!" Then everyone leaves, and the challenge is to not hate yourself and want to die. I think this would appeal to American viewers, because at some point you have to stand on your own two feet and also support our troops. And I’m not fooling around about the troop support, so no hate mail please.

Those are my latest ideas. If you like them, fine. If not, you probably have some genetic deficiency, which is sad. But there's no free lunch in this life, so don't cry about it.
(see previous paragraph about self-sufficiency)

It's True That I'm Better Than Most People But I'm Willing To Explain Why

2005-02-25T18:36:00.000-08:00

For many years, I labored under the misconception that I was a unique and special person in this world. You can imagine my surprise when later on I discovered I actually WAS extraordinary, and it wasn't a misconception after all. No, I never take for granted that I'm one of the gifted ones. As I often said when I lived in the old lands, take nothing in this life for granted. And that goes for you plebian types out there as well. Because even though you are almost offensively inferior, you probably have something to be thankful for, though I have no earthly idea what that might be.

Now let's get back to the task at hand, which has to do with me being both unique and special. Early on in my life, these character traits resulted in me caring a lot that people spelled my name with a 'k', as in E-r-i-k. But since the entire population of earth have shown themselves to be spectacularly incapable of spelling this name with anything but a 'c', I thought it best to pick a different battle and move on. And I did, successfully. For instance, I no longer add, "and that's with a *K* ", after I introduce myself to someone. I've noticed I now have more friends, but I think that's probably coincidence. You might be saying to yourself right now, well Erik is a boring name no matter how it's spelled, why does he care so much about his sucky name, seeing as how it sucks so bad? My response to that is, your name is probably the dumbest thing of all time, and I probably couldn't even think of a more stupid name if I tried my hardest. But we will settle that score later on, make no mistake.

The thing I can't figure out, is how people I've worked with for 6 years can get my name wrong on such a consistent basis. When they send me an email, they have to spell it correctly at least once. Yet, it's as if they use up all their neurons for the "To:" field, and anything beyond that is asking too much. Perhaps k is a sacred letter, to be used only on special occasions. Maybe Armageddon? Whatever the case, business communication involving my name rarely seems to qualify as a special occasion. Example email from co-worker:

To: Erik
Subject: Hi Eric

Eric, Can you tell me how to work this unix computer? Just give me the main commands. It's a big computer and I'm too dumb to use it, not to mention it doesn't have a green start menu that I like to use on my Windows Millenium Edition at home. Okay Eric? Thank you Eric. Eric Eric Eric. I love Eric.

P.S. After I typed your name in the 'To:' field, my brain turned into a piece of PlayDoh. As a result, I can only execute low-level motor functions such as defecating and watching reality TV. Singing the alphabet song, for example, is strictly out of the question. Therefore, the letter K is like a distant memory. Thought you should now? no? know. Oh look, there it is.

Alright, they never say the part about loving me, but I know they're thinking it. And the rest of that example is practically word for word. Okay? Because truth be told, the K thing with my name is really all I've got going for me, and I don't understand why you want to take it away. You are petty, and spiteful.

2005-02-20T13:07:00.000-08:00

I'm going to recount a touching personal experience of mine right now. This story is about self-discovery. But not the sexual kind, so tough luck, perverts.

At the gym I belong to, there is a separate, smallish room with a speed bag and two heavy bags. When you are in this room, you can see a door to yet another room. No one knows what lies beyond this second door, because of the legend of the demon-child who will rip your face off and steal your soul if you enter. Actually, that's not true. I've been in there several times, and I didn't see anyone like that. Mostly I just wanted you to stay alert. So in this second room there is an area in which to stretch one's lithe muscles, or just flail about randomly on the floor. Last week I was in the second room stretching, when I heard two individuals enter the boxing room. Judging by the ear-splitting racket, the younger man's goal was to destroy all of the equipment in 25 seconds or less. I believe he succeeded. Nonetheless, the stuff he was saying was pretty funny.

"Bam-Bam-Bam-Bam! watch watch, I'm Box-O, the King Boxer and I will box your lights out and then I will box your eyes out!--Duh-Da-Dah!! No one can beat me, I will crush you like a tiny beetle! You are a tiny beetle and I'm crushing you! If the two things were a beetle and something larger, I would be the larger thing that is crushing you!!"

I had to smile, because I think everyone can identify with sacrificing every last shred of their dignity for the sake of a laugh. No? Just me? That's cool. Anyway, it was really great, because he was acting funny in much the same way that I myself might act funny. You know how that goes, even if your sense of humor is total crap, you can bond with others who are similarly defective. That's why this post isn't very funny to you. My sense of humor is very advanced, almost TOO advanced.

Meanwhile, Box-O/King Boxer continues to remark on his various positive attributes:

"Duh-Da-Dah--I'm a champion! No one can hit this puncher bag as fast as me, I am also a lightning bolt! Do you dare challenge me? Who is it that challenges me?"

2nd voice (softly, wearily): "No one's challenging you, Christopher".

This response, to what I thought was a fairly humorous (and potentially valid) question, struck me as odd. So I got up and went into the other room, to ascertain the identity of spunky adolescent's grumpy companion, and maybe congratulate the young man on his comedic talent. It was then I realized that not only was he afflicted with the same sense of humor I was, he was also afflicted with Down's syndrome. Yes, I'm being serious.

Now there are a few ways to deal with this type of realization. The first is to question yourself, and your IQ. I had always assumed it was above 40, but now my childhood nickname "little 40" started to make more sense. But then I thought, you know what? It doesn't matter if people think I'm mentally disabled, as long as they laugh. They don't even have to laugh with me, even pointing and jeering derisively is okay. Laughter is what's important, not whether or not I know how to wipe myself.

V-Day Does Not Mean Violent Day Unless You Shun Me

2005-02-14T00:28:00.000-08:00

Does anyone know what day it is? What? Did you say it's that one day where I rock the socks off all the single ladies within a 50-mile radius? Oh yeah, you're probably talking about Valentine's Day, or what the Spanish refer to as 'El Dia del Valentineroni'. I know that sounds a lot like 'pepperoni', but the two words are actually completely unrelated. Valentineroni is just a word I made up, and if you don't know what pepperoni is, that means you need to brush up on the reading skills, because seriously, 'pepperoni' is a ridiculously easy word. Now let's move on, this isn't a free English class for disabled people.

First, I apologize for the abundance of love-related posts lately. Do you want to read about hate and sorrow instead? Maybe since you have so much hate in your heart, you should just write a book about it and then sell it on the black hate market. Anyway, I'm very excited about this year, and I'm going to tell you why. I will start with the general reasons, and then I will begin to bring specifics to the table as well.

If you want me to be frank, Valentine's Day gives me the opportunity to show the ladies what I'm truly capable of. It might be a made-up corporation-driven holiday, but it's my time to shine, and I will buy the crap out of the local Hallmark if left alone for any length of time whatsoever. I mean it, I will go nutty in there. I will take a large rucksack and will not leave until I have enough chocolate to open a Hallmark kiosk directly outside of the original Hallmark. I will buy 16 giant teddy bears, cover them in pig's blood, and sneak them into my ex-girlfriend's bedroom, with a note that says "Could be you". Ok, just kidding. That's not cool.

The other main reason I like this special day is that it gives me a chance to let the ladies in my life know that we are meant to be together forever, until death. Even mysterious, accidental death. Along those lines, this one girl from the gym who I'm just getting to know, will probably be my main valentine this year. We haven't technically "spoken any words to each other" yet, but I will follow her out to the parking lot tonight and give her a surprise Valentine's hug. If that leads to something more, great. If not, she probably had a very satisfying life. Guys, I can't emphasize spontaneity enough. Keep it fresh! As in, don't wear the same thing every day you follow her to work. That's just plain stupid.

Ahh, El Dia del Valentinerondon. Watch for signs of beautiful cupid making his mark, and also for cops asking stupid questions that don't concern them.

Good Vibes Flow, Jihad Put On Hold

2005-02-10T15:10:00.000-08:00

Finally, some good news from the Middle East. Disarmament talks with Iran continue to go smoothly, as indicated by one of today's international headlines: Iran Vows 'Burning Hell' for Any Aggressor.

The article also discussed flag-burning and subsequent marching. Then in a surprising twist, huge crowds began chanting, "Death to America", and "Death to Israel".

So I'm feeling a little blind-sided here--why the sudden hostility?? I think if more Iranians would simply give Baja Fresh and other popular American eateries a chance, we could turn this thing around. If you've never had a Burrito Pollo, Ultimo-style, how can you judge? Simple answer, you can't. Just as I've never stoned a woman to death for changing her underwear, many Iranians are still without DirecTV. As I understand it, many of them don't even realize that you can get Tivo and DirecTV to work together. That seems painfully rudimentary, yes.
But as I always say, strap 60 pounds of plastic explosives to your own body before you judge another. Also, "school bus bombing", and "terrorist" are examples of what my therapist refers to as "negative-imagery" words, and they just don't have a place in civil discourse.

Anyway, on the surface, such a political climate would seem to indicate the upcoming death and suffering of thousands. Actually, it seems like that under the surface, too. But in a way, the cards are now on the table. Everyone knows where they stand. And coming to terms with the idea of smelling your own burning flesh as you die in an oil fire is certainly half the battle. Indeed, I am forced to respect Iranian President Mohammad Khatami for his candid statements. It would have been very duplicitous of him to imply there would be no rotting in the bowels of hell for the Americans, if that was in fact his ultimate plan.

Consider the following admonition:

"The holy fire of heaven shall be unleashed upon the infidel pigs, but it will likely be spotty, and without consistency. More of a drizzling hell-fire, really. We will defend with our very lives this sanctified land, unless you guys are really serious, in which case we could take it or leave it. In this scenario, I can only guarantee great discomfort for the imperialists. They will definitely taste a small percentage, if not the full fury of, Allah's vengeful sword. I must add that noogies and wet-willies are still well-within the realm of possibility."

See? If he said that, you would have to doubt his sincerity. As it stands, I know he's not playing around. Honesty and trust are the basic foundations of any functional relationship, even a baby knows that. I think the important part is to show that we care, and maybe give high-ranking clergy gift certificates to Best Buy. I think they would really like that, it might take the edge off their burning desire to blow up small children. But how can we know until we try?

Let's give peace a chance.

2005-02-07T17:13:00.000-08:00

If you don't want to read the whole 14-word article, this guy (Scott Rodgers) chucks an Egg McMuffin at the McDonald's manager.

Rodgers' attorney said he did not throw the sandwich, but "rather returned it quickly."

That's awesome. A similar thing happened to me over the weekend. This man made me very angry, so instead of shooting him, I just gave him a bullet really fast. There was an officer of the law in front of my car trying to prevent me from driving away. Instead of running him over and risking criminal charges, I kept a cool head and quickly gave him my hood and part of my right fender. So everything should be cool. It pays to think fast!

Life And Romance: Both Solved In One Post?

2005-02-06T23:48:00.000-08:00

What with all the turmoil and strife in other parts of the world, not to mention a fair share of problemos here in the homeland, I think it's time to just relax and ignore most of it. American Idol starts this week, and I don't know about you, but I can't afford to fall behind on that. I could give you some song and dance about how great it is to serve others, but I think I'll opt for the truth, instead--and the truth is I provide a pretty valuable public service just by scribbling crap down and posting it on this website.

Some people are involved in cancer research, or dedicate all their time to disabled children, so whoopee for them. I'm sure it gives them 'fulfillment', or something similarly boring. But when all is said and done, it's about scoring with the ladies, and I think you know that. I'm more than pulling my weight in that department, in case it wasn't obvious, but some of you fellas could probably use a little assistance. I will now decode some of the more common phrases you may encounter in your quest for romance, which should significantly increase your chances of landing fine tail.

If you hear a woman described as a 'party' girl, that can mean a variety of things, all of them good. Like, I-didn't-know-that-was-possible good. If a girl is 'fun-loving', that can mean a lot of things too, all of them boring. I'd say cut your losses early and switch targets if a woman describes herself like that. If a woman 'gets angry', that means she is on her period. But keep that last one under your hat, the truth is hard for some broads to take. Alright, those tips alone should keep you knee-deep in estrogen for the next six months, for better or worse. But it doesn't cost me anything to help you out, so I'll share yet another piece of relationship wisdom.

If during the course of conversation, a girl confesses to being 'mentally unstable', you'll probably want to stick around. Out of context, yes, that's a terrifying phrase. Yet some of the hottest, most insecure women are mentally unstable. Does that all of a sudden make them less attractive? Of course it doesn't. Lower self-esteem means less work for you, and the hotness level? That's right junior, it's the same. Now what sane person walks away from that?? Not you, if you ever want me to give you advice again.

Ok, as usual, my work is done. If you have any questions, re-read the third paragraph about never blaming a woman's menstrual cycle. I could not be more serious about that.

I Like Long Walks On The Beach

2005-01-30T23:13:00.000-08:00

By the way, to demonstrate my commitment to this post, I'm typing every letter with my tongue right now. I figure I owe you something, as the following commentary will likely be as pedestrian and mundane as ever. Indeed, my thoughts have been on the evermore-popular personal networking website, MySpace.com. It's a little bit like friendster, in the sense that they're exactly the same. These types of sites are all well and good, and I'm not here to tell you that you should or shouldn't use them. In the event that you don't use them, you can also find me on Match.com, AdultFriendFinder.com, and Yahoo personals. Ok, I'm only kidding. Close that other window you opened up, my lovelies.

As I was falling asleep last night thinking about MySpace and all the new friends I'm sure to make, I also thought about the way in which most members choose to describe themselves. Yes, it was a slow night. Granted, unless you happen to be the most boring individual in the history of the world, it's hard to sum up your life and personality in a 10 sentence blurb. But these people manage it. There's a box for the self-description called "About me", but it must look like it says "Describe every single person ever born. Please be as unoriginal as possible". Because a startlingly large quantity of folks say things like, "I enjoy having fun and hanging out with friends. Other times, I just like to relax and take it easy!!".

Ok. Have you ever met anyone who hated those things? Why not just say, "sometimes my eyes blink involuntarily, and my body is comprised of millions of living cells", then I would have the same amount of new information about you.

Then there are the guys, most of whom market themselves like this: "If you came over at a random time, you'd probably find me messing with my car, or watching DVD's/TV. I work out even when I'm sleeping. And oh yeah, don't bother, fellas. I dress well, but I'm not gay!!"

You're not gay, but you're as exciting as a stick. I want to meet the girl who goes out with that guy, so I can slap her. But just a playful slap, like, here, I want to give you a hug...(slap!!) Remember, though, playful!!

So, if anybody's interested, my hobbies are working on my car and going to the bathroom. DVD's? Good. Blood is generally pumped from my veins into my heart and lungs, where it is oxygenated, and transferred to other areas of my body. Ahh, now it's time to just kick back and let the ladies come a'knockin'...

Child Labor Laws: Good or Bad? Bad

2005-01-26T22:15:00.000-08:00

Initially, I was fine with these legistlative abominations, as I thought they designated the specific ways in which the ungrateful infants in this country must pull their weight. Well, we've been mislead and the truth is not pretty. Apparently, their purpose is to prevent the widespread exploitation and death of children. If you buy into the whole "human rights" agenda the politically correct crowd is pushing these days, sure. But what it boils down to is that the statutes currently in place to protect our nation's youth from wallowing in condemned, slave-like hell holes, are simply not practical for me. Most of these whining urchins died way back during the Industrial Revolution (1986-1988) in iron and coal mines. Do we even have mines anymore? Is there any mining going on? Good question, I'm actually not sure. I think there may be a few stainless steel or perhaps brass mines somewhere in Eurasia, but don't quote me on that. The point is, these labor laws are essentially "mining" laws, and their expiration date is past due, my friends.

Basically, it's time for big government to do a "big" back off. Every time they get involved, something happens where they make it harder for me to oppress the weak, and take their money. I guess the communists running Washington think I'm crapping greenbacks over here. Well I'm not, and unless I can hire some of those little runts to work 16 straight hours for virtually nothing (ok, nothing), then we've got a problem--a little problem I like to call "not being able to customize my Ferrari". Yes, it's time for a little pruning, Uncle Sam.

We already know that God likes America the best out of all the developed countries, and definitely more than crap-holes like Ecuador. But I ask you: How much more dominant could we be if threats of frivolous litigation weren't looming every single time a small child died in a gruesome and unnecessary factory accident? I think you know the answer to that. Stone Cold Steve Austin-dominant. The Guh-venator-dominant. That's the level I'm talking about.

I have one word. Or maybe multiple words strung together that are slightly less catchy, but allow me to more effectively express myself. Number one, pre-school should be more business-oriented. Any knucklehead can pull out a couple crayons and draw something crappy for mom. How will our toddlers become familiar with basic management principles, by locking them in the basement for 6 days with only the NY times business section? Not as effective as you might think, actually. I won't bore you with all the technical details of my proposal, but my ultimate vision includes untold thousands of 4-8 year-olds working for chicken broth. Make no mistake, there will be sorrow. There will be suffering. But in the end, I will be able to acquire far more in the way of material goods, than would otherwise be possible. And that is true freedom. (self-freedom)

That Cannot Be A Foul

2005-01-22T14:17:00.000-08:00

As you may or may not know, I'm a Sacramento Kings season ticket holder. While this is certainly one of the main reasons I'm great, it is not the only one. Obviously I don't have time to list them all. For now, just continue to admire me as you always have. Pretty babies, hit me up with an email if you get lonely. But let's get back on track, the lucky ladies can wait.

I'm a Kings fan, and I'm not sure if you know what that involves, but it's a position of immense responsibility. There's a wide range of duties a superfan must be willing for, up to and including meticulous evaluation of the Royal Court Dancers' new outfits, clapping loudly 2 inches away from a Laker fan's ear hole, or just making a general contribution to the 'Arco Thunder' [Usage: Let's hear some of that Arco Thunder, superfans!]. Now, there's no denying I'm a superfan, I think anyone will tell you that. However, this does not prevent me from understanding that it might actually be possible for a Kings player to commit a foul. A majority of the Sacramento faithful seem to believe that once inside Arco Arena, Kings players are exempt from all known physical laws of the universe.

Allow me to describe a common scenario. Kings center Brad Miller will gouge out the eyes of the opposing player, or perhaps waterboy, lifting him high into the air, before pile-driving him cartoon-style into the hardwood.

Referee: "Unnecessary pile-driver, causing player to die, on #52, Brad Miller".

Reaction from Kings fans: "What game are you watching, this is ridiculous! That's fake brain matter! Oh c'mon, he's just double-jointed!!"

Second most common scenario: Opponent breathes on Kings player, or perhaps just breathes, in disruptive manner.

Reaction from Kings fans: "He's killing him out there, this is ridiculous! Ref, are you gonna call a foul, or just let that guy draw air into his own lungs and then occasionally expel this air in the general direction of our players?? There, right there, he's exhaling directly ONTO him, are you blind?!"

Then there's the 'incompetent heckler'. This is the fan with zero imagination and no concept of the game of basketball, but with moderate ability to conjugate the verb 'suck' [Usage: "You suck!", "You suck ref!", or "Ref, you suck!"]. Where the incompetent heckler truly shines, though, is in branching out and experimenting with new taunts. My favorite from Thursday's Cavaliers game was "Hey ref! Go back to ref school!". It's slightly abstract, but really quite clever if you think about it for long periods of time. Because the implication is that the referee is currently not proficient and must return to an indeterminate basketball officiating school, where presumably, he will learn to not suck. That's just plain hilarious right there.

Yet I have taken the superfan pledge, I must echo the sentiments of my fellow Kings enthusiasts. "Hey, ref! Are those glasses, I mean, you should have new glasses or something and you suck so bad, too! And ref school, you totally need that!!" (Exchange high fives)

2005-01-20T23:55:00.000-08:00

My brother occasionally sends me random Guru.com postings from employers looking for help. For those of you not in the know, Guru.com is the world's largest online market place for freelance talent. Just navigate over there and check it out for yourself if you don't believe me. Very simple. Might I also add that your brazen, self-confident swagger seems out of place for someone who is not even aware of such basic information. Your insolence notwithstanding--he sends me these posts, which, generally speaking, appear to be written by dyslexic infants. But this is good, because we then allow ourselves a laugh, as we contemplate our intellectual superiority. As you know, the best way to build self-esteem quickly is to belittle others. Read this one below, you will feel like a super-genius by the end of it.

Project ID: 134554
Title: sy-life(bio) design programs
Category: Programming / Software / Database Development
Description: Develop genetic compter programs. That can in full ,but easy for humans to understand show how there inner workings works exactly, how they produce other products ,how those products work and can qalso do so with any other progam(gentic or not). Devolop genetic computer programs to design biologic lifeforms basic elements to complexityies high than human in a very short time period.Also can do so even faster with Dna and such as starting piont.Will also needed genetic programs to design the computers fror all this software.Also genetic software to do mass deta mining for these others. Magament gentic software will be need plus the same for software on when to best and safelly test the simulation agaist realty espically the biologcial lifeform ceated out of the programs. [end of description]

This person is probably just being funny, but what would be really funny is if somebody worked on that for 15 years, and presented their findings: "Fellow scientists and engineers: I have developed a genetic computer program to design biologic life forms basic elements to complexityies high. I don't know what that means, but I have done it nonetheless".

Ok, let's look at another one. This one is a little more straightforward, yet equally useless:

Project ID: 122563
Title: Web Database Developer
Category: Programming / Software / Database Development
Description: I need someone to develop an educational website that will allow students to learn online. [end of description]

I think they go into far too much unnecessary detail here. Why even mention that they need a website? Maybe they could just say, "I have a project. It will have a computer in it. Also maybe a mouse, but possibly not. Included in your quote, please submit random guesses as to what word I'm thinking of right now...Nope, it was zynklfaq. Ok, try again. Nope, it was kapessquaw! Email bid quotes to noreallyimactuallyretarded@hotmail.com. Thank you."

In closing, I can't believe how smart I am compared to everyone else. Could somebody email me a first-grader's book report? I will rip that to shreds.

Viva La Diference

2005-01-16T20:29:00.000-08:00

There's a song by John Mayer called "Daughters". It has some thought-provoking ideas in it, like daughters are good to have, women are people too, etc., etc. Really quite tiresome, but if it makes the girls randy, I am supportive. Only to a point, though, because part of a line in the song goes something like this:

"...she's just like a maze where all of the walls all continually change."

This is sung lovingly, wistfully, as if it were a good thing. Now. The concept of a maze where the walls are continually changing is a nightmare, ok? For any normal person, this is an extremely unpleasant concept. That's just basic human psychology. Yet, somehow, since it's in a John Mayer song, it's magically romantic. Well guess what, John, you're not fooling anybody. Last week, your girlfriend gave you a suggestive wink when you told her you were going to show her who was boss. Today, when you said the same thing, she walked off in a huff, and then made you ask what was wrong for 20 minutes. That was a barrel full of laughs, wasn't it? Alright, that was a blatant, cliched stereotype, and I apologize. I can envision absolutely no scenario in which this would ever occur, because that wouldn't make any sense. It's so absurd that I don't know even know why I typed it.

Now before you pretty ladies get all disgruntled, hear me out. If women were always exactly the same as men, or even exactly the same as themselves, life wouldn't be as fun. Sure, there would be co-ed xbox nights, and that seems nice in principle--but I'm fairly certain the divorce rate would triple. One good thing, no more tupperware parties. Actually, I could go either way on that one. The value of locking those leftovers down tightly and conveniently is not lost on me. If you pressed me on it, I would admit I'm in favor of most Rubbermaid products. But let's get back on track. Variety is the spice of life, and relationships might get stagnant, or even enjoyable, if the fairer sex were remotely predictable. Because if we want to make broad, sweeping characterizations, and we do, it could be said that women will use any and every possible tactic, if it means they get to change their minds. This has been scientifically verified, so I won't spend too much time on it.

All I will say is this, which is my main point, more or less. Many guys tend to be dangerously violent, immature and thoughtless, but no one would write lyrics which suggested these were super-great qualities. I can hear it now:

"...he's like a stupid brick wall that will punch your lights out and forget your birthday, I love him so..."

It might just be me, but I'm guessing that song doesn't break into the top 10. Are you getting all this John? If we could dispense with the lyrics which encourage non-productive female behavior, that would be great. We're a team here, let's stick together.

Let Freedom Ring And Also Gongs

2005-01-12T15:00:00.000-08:00

I'd like to take a few moments out to talk about my executive desk gong, if I could. Well, I got it for Christmas, and I bet you don't even know what an executive desk gong is. It's a percussion instrument consisting of a disk, 3 ft or more in diameter (in the modern orchestra), often made of bronze, and struck with a felt or leather-covered mallet or drumstick. But smaller.

It makes a flat, barely audible pinging sound--I'm guessing the R&D budget is not extravagant if your main product is a desk gong. Not to mention, a regular gong can be nearly deafening in close quarters, whereas a mini-gong is only mildly irritating. Fortunately for those around you, there are several reasons to sound the gong. Some of these ideas were in my gong manual, and some I thought up by myself.

1. Making co-workers feel welcome by way of a small musical announcement when they enter your cubicle. Test cases have shown that you don't want to do this every single time your boss stops by, because he might not find it as funny as it actually is (People in positions of power sometimes get too serious, so you have to slash their tires to remind them to take it easy).

2. Stopping someone in mid-sentence when they get too boring. If they don't understand this obvious signal, gong should be struck in feverish, rapid-fire manner, until they become confused and ask if it's a bad time. Continue rapid gonging until there is no confusion.

3. If you're anything like me, you'll be listening to music in your headphones and think to yourself: "Britney Spears is a brilliant artist of the highest caliber. Yet, even her songs could use something extra". (usually along the lines of a different song). In rare cases though, all that's missing is a little plunking sound at the end: "...and I love what you do, don't you know that you're toxic!" GONG! Yeah!

4. Impress hot asian receptionist with knowledge of the primary instrument of her forefathers. Try to be nonchalant here. The idea is to convey that you have much to offer, and that the gong is just a bonus possession that can be hers if she plays her cards right.

5. Announcement of bathroom breaks. 1 or 2 gongs.

6. As a weapon: When angry at co-workers, give warning gong, declare new decree or statute. New statute is up to you. Hurl instrument at heads of non-compliant.

7. It is time for co-workers to assist in the removal of your coat. Relieve me of my over-dressings, peasants! Gong!

Note: From time to time, fellow employees will come to believe they are above the desk gong. If you feel that the enthusiasm or respect level is not appropriate, let them know that every new gong means a new death in the office. This improves morale because they know it's shape up or ship out. In a coffin!