Friday, December 23, 2011

Where the Cheese At?

Dearest Readers of HXR,

As you may have already noticed, I have been spending less time writing for your beloved Super Happy Fun Blog, Highway 10 Revisited, and spending lots and lots of time writing for my Action Packed Full to the Max Blog, Zombie Hall.

I have still been writing comedy and Highway 10 material, albeit mostly in my mind, and will document some new stuff in the Newest Year of all recent New Years in memory, 2012.

Here are a few thoughts that will likely work their way into some upcoming material:

- Why I stopped going to Open Mics
- Alpaca sweaters are awesome but the worst too
- Where did my pants button go?
- Yankee Swaps are fucked up
- Who buys this shit?
- Who watches this shit?
- Newt Gingrich? More like Shit Sandwich (and similar remarks for all of those candidates)
- Real Adventures of Kev D. in Public Restrooms
- But I don't FEEL 30...
- Never juice an onion
- Don’t try the hot sauce
- I’ve never had an ‘AH-HA’ moment, and I don’t know what it feels like
- Where jokes go to die
- Grown men look stupid in sunglasses, especially indoors
- Warm sheets good, warm toilet seat bad

And so on and so forth.

Happy Holidays and all sorts of hugs and shit,
Kev D.

That's it.  I should probably start writing some of that stuff.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Expert Opinion.

People tend to have different passions in life.  What bakes one person’s beans might not, in fact, bake someone else’s beans to quite the same level of bakedness and/or bakeosity.  Some people don’t even like beans.  Some people eat beans and get all gassy and smelly.  The point is, beans are pretty awesome, especially if you put hot dogs in them.  Wait, no, that’s not the point.  

Allow me to start over.  

I see people obsessing over sports and don’t really understand what the big deal is (see: Color Commentator).  I see people loving cars, and think, what a waste of time and energy.  Just like some people may not understand why I know so much about obscure zombie films (see: Zombie Hall… no seriously… If you’ve been wondering where the hell I have been, I have been writing there lots…).  Some people try to keep up to date with all of the newest gadgets and iDildoes, learn about fine wine, or eat all sorts of soft cheeses.  I sort of get it, but who has the money for that?  

Some people go bird watching.  No comment.

The point is everyone wants to be a buff of some kind.  I fancy myself a music buff, and a bit of a film buff, but if you are looking to be a buff and have not yet chosen something to buff on, allow me to present you with a buff list (which I guess makes me a buff buff), of what I feel are underrepresented hobbies and passions that surely must exist in the world today, somewhere.  Be a buff like these, and you’ll really stand out as a one-of-a-kind buff.

The Urinal Buff

I would imagine life as a Urinal Buff would be exciting and full of non-stop action, especially if you’re a woman.  Imagine being able to stop at a random rest area somewhere like southern New Hampshire and come out cheering.

Honey, they have the new Falcon 4000!  Limited edition! What a swirl!  Get the camera!

Sure, people might look at you funny when you enthusiastically piss, but every public urinal pee would be an educational experience.  You’re probably thinking that there isn’t much to know about urinals.  Maybe the Urinal Buff could also have vast toilet seat knowledge.  You don’t know.  

You don’t know because you’re not a Urinal Buff.  By the way, the Urinal Buff prefers to be called Whiz Kid.  I bet the Urinal Buffs would have all sorts of inside jokes slagging guys that sit down to pee, or prefer the comfort and privacy of a stall.

Other types of buffs along these lines could be Toe Nail Clipper Buff (“I just got the new model Trim”), Shower Curtain Ring Buff (think John Candy in “Planes, Trains”), Ceiling Fan Buff (“It’s got eight speeds!”), or Late Eighties’ Microwave Oven Buff (“You can cook a whole turkey to the max”) just to name a few.

The Crayola Connoisseur

Outside of the weird kid who ate crayons in class, few people seem to have a real appreciation for crayons, and I think that’s a shame.  I think a true Crayola Connoisseur would be able to take a crayon that is missing its little rolling paper and still be able to name which color it is, likely based on its smell and texture. They’d probably get confused between Mahogany and Shit, though.  

Smells like Magenta, but has a bit of a Fuchsia aftertaste.

They’d actually understand the purpose of that built in sharpener on the box too.  Also, let it be known, that the Crayola Connoisseur wouldn't respect people who know a lot about markers, because, markers and marker experts are bullshit.  You ever smelled those smelly markers?  

Uh, yes well, the last time I checked, the color pink does not actually smell like bubble gum” said the Crayola Connoisseur, quite condescendingly.

The Firework Enthusiast

Fully grown humans enjoying fireworks have always, to me, seemed a little bit ridiculous.  I often like to blurt out things like “classic Pinsky formation” or “I wasn’t sure if they’d bring it home, but then BAM, double Fapperwheel!” because I’m so silly like that, and to me, that joke never gets old.  But imagine someone who actually knows the terminology of fireworks.  You’re probably thinking that there isn’t a terminology.  Well, probably not.  But I’d assume that the fireworks enthusiast would invent his own glossary of firework related terms and maneuvers.   I bet ‘bouquet’ and ‘finale’ would totally mean something.

I know you’re out there and I’m dying to meet you.  Probably you’re good friends with someone who knows all the techniques for making various styles of paper snowflakes.

Check this one out! I only used three scissor cuts.

Dental Hygiene Assistant Fanatic 

If you think that they would only know about the famous ones, you’d be wrong.  They’d know about the local up and comers too, and they’d have trading cards, like baseball cards, that have their stats printed on the back.  You know, like Cavity Assists, Cleaning Time Average, and Drool Handling?

I’ll trade you a ‘Melinda from Springfield’ for your ‘Peggy from Rochester’ rookie card.

Seriously, if we throw other healthcare professionals (nurses, pharmacists, the person that operates them fancy machines in the hospitals, etc…) into the mix, we could have whole talk radio channels centered on them.  I’d listen to that.

Welcome to ‘You Can’t Handle the Tooth’, I’m your host, Barry Jogbar, let’s go to the phones.

Yeah, hi Barry, long time listener first time caller, what do you think Portland Charlene’s chances are at being called up to big show this year?

After yesterday’s veneer performance, I think they are pretty strong.  Pretty strong indeed.

Honestly, they are already wearing colored uniforms. We might as well organize the color scheme a little more and make them form teams.  Besides, they’d certainly be better role models than people in ‘US Weekly’ (see: Keepin’ it Real).  Think of the children, people.

Cigar Aficionado Aficionado

I’ll leave it up to you the reader to decide what exactly this would be.  It’s kind of like a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure, minus the horrific cover art and the fact that I always die on purpose.  

To jump off the cliff and end your adventure, turn to page SET BOOK ON FIRE.

Most likely a Cigar Aficionado Aficionado involves some kind of parallel universe.  I believe that it has very little to do with cigars.

I wanted to add Muzak Lover to this list, but when I did a quick search on that there Google thing, sadly, it turns out that this type of buff exists already and will therefore not make this list.  In any case, don’t feel the need to follow something on this list necessarily.  I’m simply trying to get your brain motivated to get out there and be creative.  Go become the first SOMETHING Buff.  The world needs buffs of all kinds.  Except illegal stuff, or stuff that involves a lot of eating.  There are enough of those buffs as it is.  Also, don’t confuse Buff with Fetish.  You should like something, not like-like something.  Big difference.

That’s it.  My office building got the new Falcon installed and I need to go try it out.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Impulse Drive.

We've all seen the commercials and billboards for them.  And, sure enough, they are sprouting up everywhere you turn.  Otherwise desolate strip malls are now decorated with bright yellow signs promising you cash for all of your unwanted gold.  The ads all sort of start out the same, implying that most of us have extra sacks of pirate booty hiding in our attics and under our beds just waiting to be melted down and cashed in on.  Are you sick of carrying around dead stinky grandma’s stinky old dead jewelry?  She’s dead and you’re poor, so get rich!  Get rich now.

At an open mic’ once, a very funny guy was on before me, and did an entire bit about leprechauns and ‘cash for gold’ advertisements.  I don’t remember exactly what he said, or what his name was, but I figured that I should give him a cosmic nod of some kind, and telepathically thank him for warming up the audience for me that night.  There’s no way that my bit about inflatable mattresses was that funny.

So, anyways, we can all agree that the ads are already ridiculous enough.  But a few weeks back, I saw a closed down gas station that had recently been converted in to a ‘cash for gold’ temple, with a rather large sign obnoxiously advertising what they are all about.  In case you were wondering, they give cash for gold. Right underneath this sign, a poor sap standing in one hundred plus degree heat was holding a big arrow that read ‘CASH 4 GOLD’ and was pointing it to the store directly next to him.  To top it off, he was wearing a Mr. T sized gold medallion.  

Makes me think of the dudes standing outside of the strip club asking me if I like boobs and/or pussy, as if I am going to suddenly stop in my tracks, unaware of what lay beyond yonder walls.

“Wait, wait… you have the beaver to cure my fever?  Finally! Thank God you were out here to let me know what was available in your fine establishment.  It wasn’t clear from that naked woman on the neon sign.  Now, just so I’m clear, your establishment features both breasts and vaginae?  Honey, you go ahead, I’ll catch up with you later.”

Now, aside from the ridiculousness of holding the arrow (and playing air guitar on it) directly below a Buick sized billboard, one must wonder how many extra customers are coming in thanks to this roadside arrow.  Ordinarily this type of sidewalk luring is meant for drive-by impulse buys.  

“How will I ever make it up to Cindy for that pesky 'whoops wrong hole' incident? Oh, hey now, FLOWERS!”, thought Gerald, as he whizzed past the lonely clown holding a sign indicating where one might buy roses. 

And then there is always the classic ‘sexy girl car wash’, or something involving free hot dogs.  I mean, who wouldn’t pull over for that?  But how many people are actually driving around with treasure chests of doubloons in their trunk, just in case they have an impulse to sell?

“Cash for gold eh?  Why not!?!  Get the good gold out of the glove compartment, we’re going in.”

Is it often enough to warrant having him out there?  

“We were on our way to the grocery store and thought, well, since we have all this unwanted gold hidden in our seat cushions, we may as well pull over.  We just couldn’t resist the sweaty fat guy with the arrow.  Say, how much for my wedding ring?”

And why do these signs sometimes try for some cheap play on words?  It’s insulting to my intelligence.  Granted, we are a nation of people that need to be told to ‘click it or ticket’.  Yeah.

“I saw the sign, and didn’t want to miss my ‘golden opportunity’.  Now, do you guys have pliers?  I have some teeth to rip out.”

You think any alcoholics have ever brought in their peepee and poopoo after a night of binging on Gold Schlager? ... Too far?  I’m just thinking that that would certainly be unwanted gold.

Perhaps the sidewalk charmer is aimed at criminals fleeing the scene of a crime.  Although, unless their crime was a gold heist, I don’t see what good it would be.  Maybe if they robbed another ‘cash for gold’ place. 

“This way! Hurry! Follow the arrow!”

I think about these things when I should be more focused on the road.  Even as all of this raced through my head, I was still tempted to pull over, because I thought it would be a solid joke to go up to the guy holding the sign wearing that enormous medallion and say, “Hey man, that’s an awfully big medallion.  Is that gold?  I’m pretty sure there’s a place around here that would pay you good cash for that...  Not sure where though... Any ideas?”

Moving right along.

My realization in seeing Goldenboy McNecklace-Chest is that if the place needs to dress a guy up in a bunny suit or tutu or whatever to try and lure you into the store, it’s probably a store and product that you can do without.  This realization, in turn, got me thinking about what the worst impulse buy situations would be (other than cash for gold), and whether they could even employ a sidewalk goon or not.  

In general, you shouldn’t impulse buy at all.  The most tempting, and often easiest, impulse buy to give into is food, because after all, you definitely need to have that brand new sandwich.  But, if you see any of the following examples, or anything like them being advertised on the side of the road, or being dangled at you so seamlessly in front of the checkout, you really need to just move on.


Granted, if they had a sidewalk guy and his sign said 'ENTER IN REAR' or something of the like, I would still have to pull over just to give him a high five, you know, in the name of comedy.  As long as he’s not the one administering the procedures, because then maybe just a fist-bump, followed by a lot of hand sanitizer, might be better.  For the record, most medical procedures are not recommended to be purchased purely on impulse (unless the purchase is Emergency Medicine that you suddenly need due to bleeding from the head or something).

Foreign Babies

I know it seems like celebrities pick these up on a whim, but if a place is advertising with a guy on the street, you might be better off just calling the police.  I know you want to be like Brangie, but the babies here won’t be the quality foreign babies you’ve come to appreciate in such magazine photo shoots as ‘US Weekly’ or ‘In Touch’.  Not sure what that magazine is in touch with.  Definitely not reality, or ethics.

Cult Membership

Never pay money to join a cult, and certainly not on a whim.  I guess don’t join one for free either, even if they promise cookies.  Especially if they promise cookies.  The expression ‘Drink the Kool-Aid’ exists for a reason.  How do you think they got so many people?  Arrow signs.  I’m telling you, look it up.  No don’t.  Lifestyle changes should be discussed with your wife / husband / family / brain before you just proceed on an impulse.  Same for those Timeshare deals, which are rather cult-ish.   Just give me my free gift and take me back to the strip, and no, Steve, I don’t care how often you went skiing last year.

Christmas Tree

Especially if you already have one, or it’s not Christmas, or you don’t celebrate Christmas.  Seriously, it’s a tiny apartment, where the hell would we put it?  This goes for all holiday-related gear.  No, Halloween is not a holiday.  Nonetheless, avoid those Halloween superstores.  Forever.  

“But the bags of fake cob web are on special, buy eighteen get one free!!!” 

Yeah, exactly.  If you collected everyone’s unused Christmas and Halloween decorations, you could probably build a tower to the moon, or at the very least, you could probably bury a lot of really annoying people.

Drug Trial

This is a special one, since it’s not so much an impulse buy as an impulse sell (much like the 'cash for gold').  What you are selling, of course, is dignity and potentially your overall well-being.  A respected clinical trial place might not be so bad, and you might only end up with the more traditional diarrhea side-effect, but do you really want to even risk having a story that ends with “and that’s the story of my exploding left testicle”?  And you really don’t want to know what non-traditional diarrhea looks like.  

Anything at a Mall kiosk

Face it, if you really needed it, they would have an actual store.  They are hoping that you hate yourself enough that you just can’t resist their redundantly shitty product.  Excuse me sir, do you like [ face cream / toy helicopter / funny slippers / cheap sunglasses ]? No.  But not nearly as much as I dislike you.  I realize that this is getting away from the idea of sidewalk people, but then the mall will go and have a sidewalk sale, so they can pretend to have a sidewalk with which to lure you in, as well as sidewalk people who are all “50% off everything! Except what you might want to buy!”.   Seriously, that's not on sale?  Fuck you, mall.


The cheaper the place, the more likely they are to have a guy on the street, and the worse off your hair will be.  Well, unless you want to look five years old again.  Even a good haircut is the worst, because you have to go to work, and everyone is like, “hey, new haircut?”.  So imagine a bad one.

In conclusion, I’m sure there are some important impulse transactions that I am missing, but if you go directly after the more obviously bad impulse buys like PROSTITUTES, ANOTHER BOOK from THE BOOKSTORE, SKINNY JEANS, GAMBLING, NEW CAR, HOME OWNERSHIP or the Godfather of all impulse buys, PETS, you probably deserve whatever grief you are currently feeling.

In conclusion part two, never listen to people on streets holding signs, unless they are the police or one of those old lady crossing guards with the big lollipop stop sign.  In those cases, I will leave it up to you to decide if you want to buy what they are selling.

That’s it.  I’m going to go drive around and see where my impulses take me.

Friday, August 19, 2011

Writer's Block, Vol. V.

The end of a vacation is always so bitter sweet.  Sure, I’m glad that my cat’s not dead and seems to remember that I’m the guy that feeds him.  It’s also nice to be back in my own bed, where my pillow smells like my old gym socks and my wife and I know exactly how to angle the fan for a refreshingly pure and blissful sleep.  But that last day of vacation, when I’m back home and unpacking has that awful feeling that Sundays always had when I was a kid.

How can I enjoy today when there’s school tomorrow?

Whenever I get to work after a vacation everyone just seems so content in their office cocoon.  I feel like I’m missing out.  What do they know that I don’t?

It’s kind of like how growing up, all the other kids seemed to like ‘Winnie the Pooh’, but I found the entire ‘Pooh’ world to be thoroughly depressing.  Seriously, 'Eeyore' makes me want to kill myself.  I have vivid recollections of watching the cartoons and feeling sad inside.  James Taylor has the same effect on me.  Some people sit there finding his music toe-tappin’ and smooth, I find it pants-shittin’ and moldy.

And all the 'back-to-school' paraphernalia out there this time of year isn't helping.  On top of my current vacation withdrawal, my brain is flashing back to the dismal feeling of wonderful summers coming to a close and returning back to school, where I can get in trouble for speaking English in the halls.

Still, complaining about having a job definitely qualifies as complaining with my mouth full.  So I’ll shut up now, as it is rather impolite to talk with my mouth full, even if I’m still not sure whether or not I like the taste, or whether or not this particular mouthful will give me a heart-attack someday.  Or make me choke, right now.

I’m still hopeful that in the long run it makes me poop gold.

That’s it. My cubicle calls.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Survival Horror.

Because of my own personal obsession with the Zombie genre (see: Zombie Hall), and the fact that I have recently found a tick on me TWICE, and had a brush with poison ivy (like they say "Leaves of three, Kevin you SUCK"), I have come to the conclusion that in an apocalyptic survival scenario, I’m as good as dead.  You may be thinking the same thing yourself.  I’m no boy/girl scout, and probably, neither are you.  Well, I’m here to help.  Whether it’s Zombies, World War a Million, The Rapture, Alien Invasion or The Jersey Shore that come to get us, the following preparatory steps will help you out when civilization reaches its breaking point.  I won’t get into the obvious ones like 'FIGHTING', 'HUNTING', 'BEING IN SHAPE', 'AGRICULTURE', 'MAKING SHELTER', 'MAKING FIRE', or 'WHAT BERRIES CAN'T I EAT' because those are clearly the least important.

01) Eat Garbage.
It’s good for the immune system, and eventually, it’s all that will be left, so better get used to it.  To be fair, the average American already eats garbage, so this is no stretch.  Anyways, practice with actual garbage, not just Happy Meals.

02) Jogging Pants.
When the end of the world rolls around, you’ll want the comfort of elastic waistbands and cottony delightfulness, so better to start creating a stockpile.  Plus you don’t need underwear with jogging pants.  Matching hooded sweatshirts are a nice touch as well.  If you have enough for some friends you could be a gang, the Comfort Gang.  Whether or not you go with the elastic at the bottom of the legs is entirely up to you.

03) Poop Outside.
I don’t see there being toilets, so start practicing.  Although be careful when choosing a wiping leaf ( as they say "Leaves of three...", “Please tell me that’s not how you recently had a brush with poison Ivy, Kevin.”,  “No, it’s not.”).

04) MacGyver.
Watch episode after episode, because I’m sure most of his inventions are fundamentally sound and would work in real life.  If you can make a solar powered laser beam from a pistachio, a soiled prophylactic and your own eyeball, trust me, you’ll do fine in THUNDERDOME WORLD.

05) Learn Guitar.
You could totally be the next Bob Dylanesque folk hero in the Post-Apocalyptic uprising (assuming that you are uprising against some type of force, like Pod People, or Snooki).  Hmm… maybe learn the Ukelele or Harmonica though as they're more portable.  Or invent your own instrument with the skills you’ve learned watching MacGyver.

06) Hide and Seek.
Although, it’s mostly the hiding part that you will need after the end of the world, unless you’ve taken to cannibalism, at which point, maybe you’re a seeker.  Oh, also play with other adults, because kids are AWFUL at hide and seek.

07) Home Brew.
You know, because the MOONSHINE guy is always loved in the Post-Apocalyptic community.

08) Monologue.
Start being comfortable talking to yourself, because you might be the only one around for long stretches of time.  And be ok with it.  Don’t create yourself a lover named Wilson from a ball used in the sport Volleyball.  A volleyball, if you will. 

09) Nick Name.
Figure out what you want to be called after the apocalypse, because people named Kevin don’t last long.  People named SOLITAIRE or DESTRO or TRIXIE or DYNAMITE or NITRO or MALONE can survive a long time.  Do not use names like TARGET or GONER.

10) Catchphrase.
Have a catchphrase, like “thrill me”, or “I’d buy that for a dollar”, because if someone is shooting a documentary about the aftermath, you’ll totally get more screen time.  It might be good if you have a theme song too.  It’s even better if you wrote it (see: Step 5 - Learn Guitar).

11) Hoarding.
Have enough to be ready, but not enough to end up on 'A&E' with that psychiatrist with the huge forehead (Dr. Fivehead, as she is called in our household).  Or just rob an Extreme Couponer.  Have you seen those stockpiles?  That’s a lot of green beans.

12) Be Nice.
You know, to people, in general, because karma is a bitch.  Especially in a flesh eating scenario.

I know a lot of these steps seem drastic, but you really never know when the big change is a comin’, so you’re better off having these things ready.  What’s that saying? “The best preparation is awesome preparation”.  No wait, it’s “the best prepared people are prepared for the worst”.  Is that a saying?  If it is, it’s kind of a bummer.  Fuck that.

I’m probably missing some vital preparatory steps, but this is a good start.

That’s it.  MacGyver Season three… GO!

Friday, July 15, 2011

Judgement Day (a.k.a. Panel of Judges 2).

Often times they say that you should not judge a book by its cover.  I think more realistically it should be that you should not always judge a book by its cover, but that sometimes it is ok, especially when it has a buff pirate on it and you can see his nipples.  You know what that book is going to be about.  Who holds a sword like that?  Come on.  Anyways, this can also sometimes be true of people (see: Panel of Judges).  But the ridiculous clich├ęs like “You can tell a lot about a person by their shoes” as I previously discussed, or something equally absurd like “You can tell a lot about a person by the company that they keep”, you will find, are not accurate barometers of personality and character.  Like I discussed when I dissected the shoe argument, there are probably cases where the latter argument could still ring true.  

When someone hangs around a bunch of snobs, it can sometimes be safe to say they probably are themselves rather snobby.  However, just because someone lives within a society of mountain gorillas, it does not mean that they, in fact, are a mountain gorilla.  Maybe they don’t even like mountain gorillas, maybe they spend most of their time talking about the king and queen gorillas behind their backs to the plantains.  You don’t know.

Anyways, if 'shoes' and/or 'company kept' are off the table, but you still would like to effectively try and judge a book by its cover, then here are a few accurate ways to gauge someone’s personality, just by observing some random thing about them.

You can tell a lot about a person by…
the number of cats that they have.

I’m still working on the algorithm a little, as well as the graphs and flow chats and whatnot, but essentially depending on the number of cats, this is what you are saying to the world:

1 Cat: “I love my cat, cats are awesome.”
2 Cats: “I love ALL cats, I’m a cat person.”
3 Cats: “I love my cats, probably a little more than I like people.”
4 Cats: “Sparky and Mittens are my babies and they will never leave me, not like my lousy kids.”
5 Cats: “Last week I knit myself seventeen Christmas sweaters, all with cats on them. My cats.”
6 Cats: “The local kids say my house is haunted.  It is.”
7 Cats: “I speak cat… MEOoooooW Rehhhrr!”
8 Cats: “The urine that you smell is mostly feline, but also mine, mostly.”
9+ Cats: “SHMARGLE GLUB! Darrrrrr, Gabaraga WEE dee fwaaa? Hahahaaaaaaaa…

It also says a lot about a person if they claim that they are striving to become the crazy cat lady / man / hermit / wildebeest.  Mostly it says 'stay away' or 'keep away from children'.

Increase in cats, increase in crazy, which, if you have a cat, makes total sense.  

You can tell a lot about a person by…
the size of their pit stains.

You can tell if they are nervous, have recently exerted themselves, or whether or not they are wearing antiperspirant.  Depending on how far down and widespread the stain is, you can tell how long they have been feeling anxious, warm or physically strained.

There’s a scene in ‘Superman 3’ (or maybe it was number four, there’s no way for me to remember, really) where Superman is lifting an enormous ice block or person or something and has atrociously large pit stains all down the sides of his best blue tights.  I’m not sure that Superman actually would sweat, and especially not when he is somewhere in Antarctica like he was in this particular scene.  What this tells us is that this ‘actor’ is not actually Superman.  Now the fourth wall is broken and I’m back to reality.  Thanks a lot, Hollywood.  Next you’ll tell me that the mall Santa Claus is not the real Santa.  Well, then how did he know I wanted a pony? How did he know?

More importantly than all of that, if someone is wearing a light gray shirt on a hot humid day, so that it clearly accentuates and highlights the tremendous pit stains, you can tell that they do not have much in the way of foresight.

But seriously, how was I supposed to know the office would be this warm today?

You can tell a lot about a person by…
whether or not they plug their nose when they jump into a pool.

People that do this may as well be wearing one of those bathing cap bonnets like in those old synchronized swimming videos (with the rubbery flowers and the metal snap button strap across the chin).  No matter a person’s age, when you see them doing this, they immediately look about four years old.  For the record, at four, I already did not plug my nose.  I already knew that I did not want to look like a weenie (see: Weenie Roast). Get your shit together!  One thing you can tell about these people is that they clearly are not comfortable in the water, and they’ll be the first to go when the whole world floods.  

Hopefully when it does happen, it will be less like ‘Waterworld’, and more like ‘The Little Mermaid’, what with the musical numbers and magically delicious crabs.  Seriously, Sebastien would make a sweet crab roll.  Hot buttered soul.

Either way, the nose-pluggers are fish food.

Well, that, along with my previously stated guidelines (see: Panel of Judges), ought to get you started along a path of judging books by their covers, only when it is completely acceptable to do so.  Or not.  You be the judge.

That’s it.  I’m going home sick, these are gargantuan pit stains.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Keepin' It Real.

It’s no secret that the majority of young (and probably old too) people in America think that the surest way to success and happiness is by being famous, by being on a reality show or some kind of rock star, or actress, or whatever.  It’s everywhere.  Even a lot of people writing on the cyber spaces think that they’ll be plucked for their writing gift and sent on a whirlwind book tour with movie deals and celebrity encounters.  When did becoming famous become the end all solution to life?  

People are force fed extreme drivel twenty four hours a day with shows like the ‘Hill People from Jersey’, or the ‘Real McWives from Buttfuck County’.  These same people then idolize the insanely undereducated ‘funny’ and ‘quirky’ people that they see on television, mostly because they all seem to live a life where all they do is inject themselves with chemicals, spray themselves orange, drink martinis and own dogs.  I'm pretty sure children are accessories.  There are at least one million reality shows at this point, so who can blame kids growing up thinking that that is what life should be?  Do nothing, bitch about stuff and then talk about it live on ‘Bravo’ with that guy who looks stoned all of the time.

I wouldn’t mind peoples’ obsession with reality shows so much if the shows focused a little more on actual reality.  And don’t think that if shows were centered on ‘regular’ people that it wouldn’t be as entertaining, because that’s total crap.  Think about it, think about how many people you know that are one billion times more charismatic and hilarious than ANYONE on these reality shows.

Now if I could just get the attention of stupid people that own networks, we could work on getting all the ‘Following Around Rich and Wannabe Famous Assholes with Cameras’ shows cancelled and replace them with real flesh and blood people (I’m convinced that some of the ‘Housewives’ characters are refurbished animatronic robots from a closed down Chuck E. Cheese restaurant somewhere).  The thing is that, in order for it to stay authentic, the real people featured would have to not get paid for being on the show.  In fact, we would have to prevent them from making any kind of profit from being on the show.  Otherwise, we are right back to square one, following rich assholes around with cameras.  Also, the ‘I Wanna Be Famous’ instinct would kick in the minute that they know that the cameras are focused on them, so we would have to tape the shows secretly, without them knowing that they are even on television (this would only work for one season, so only one season is allowed), like they did with those special hidden cameras that they used to tape ‘Planet Earth’.  Also, the old dude from Jurassic Park could narrate.  

“Welcome… to Jurassic Park.”

Anyways, I’m pretty sure the animals didn’t see a dime from that program, and they stayed all animally and humble.

The people on the shows would all need to fit the following criteria:

a) Not famous
b) Not rich
c) Not crazy

Because we have reality shows about either rich people, or famous people, or crazy people, or people who are all three.  Shows with not rich, not famous, but completely crazy (often diagnosed as such) people seem to be all the rage nowadays, with shows like ‘Confessions of Intervention Hoarders’ or ‘Extreme Pouponing’ or those shows about people that bake gigantic wiener cakes.  And I don’t want to see ‘regular’ people put in intense competitive situations either, like ‘Top Loser Survivor All Stars’, or something completely removed from everyday life.  No, we need to capture ‘regular’ people in ‘regular’ places, doing ‘regular’ things, secretly, of course.

So who would we ninja-film to best encapsulate the possibly entertaining human condition, as narrated by crusty ol’ Jurassic Park guy?  Glad you asked.  Here is my list of top ten reality shows that need to happen.  The names of the people are purely fictional.  Should any of these shows actually come to be in the coming months, expect to hear from my lawyer.  Or at the very least expect to hear me shitting my pants from a distance.

1) Mascots.
Cameras follow around the people playing the different costumed characters at a small town amusement park.  At the heart of it all is Glen Speen, who has played Captain Space Squirrel for over 75 years.  
Tagline: If you can’t stand the heat, take off the space suit.

2) Test Drive.
Cameras film notoriously unsuccessful used car salesman Jeremy Fapperwheel from a distance, leading up to his eventual termination at the end of the season.
Tagline: He’ll take you for a spin.

3) The Circle.
A stationary camera records the events at an actual Wisconsin community sewing circle where Lynn Ogdenflur is being shunned for all of her juicy gossiping.
Tagline: She’s hanging on by a thread.

4) Hip Hop Hooray.
Career guidance counselor Sean Yonder teaches Hip Hop dancing to pregnant teens on the weekend.  This is his story, filmed in black and white from a van.
Tagline: Womb! There it is!

5) Meat Heads.
Helmet cams are placed on those annoying people that are always at the gym but never seem to be working out, except for randomly lifting a few crazy heavy weights here and there and grunting (they are told that the helmets are special workout hats).  They’re insanely built but no one knows why or how.  We’re about to find out.
Tagline: Hanging out with dumbbells.

6) Tax Season.
Hidden cameras are placed all over the IRS during tax season, because you know there are some wacky hijinks going down in there.  Amidst a sea of strangely obese people, Paul Doublestraps takes charge and gets shit done.  Hard.
Tagline: For once, they’re giving something back.

7) Do You Believe in Magic?
Filmed entirely on camera phones at children’s birthday parties, this show documents the legendary careers of a local group of birthday party magicians, led by Alfred Humpy (a.k.a. Lightning Hands), in this uplifting tale about following your dreams.
Tagline: You’ll be glad they didn’t get a clown.

8) Master Baiters.
Like the deadliest catch, except it follows a group of retired seniors that go fishing every week at a quiet lake in like, New Hampshire or something.   What happens on the lake stays on the lake.
Tagline: You’ll be hooked.

9) The Lounge.
Webcams capture the conversations in a teacher’s lounge at an elementary school.  Warning: This show contains vulgar language and makes fun of children, a lot.  Honestly, Principal McGraw, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?
Tagline: You’re going to want to stay after class…

10) Fresh Prince.
From selling door to door to hosting exotic Tupperware parties, Jean Papineau is passionate about keeping your food fresh, and talking to himself.  He regularly breaks into song and cries when doors are slammed in his face.  Filmed in HD.
Tagline: He lives in his car.

Well, alright so maybe those still sound insane (man, you should see the complete list).  

How about this? How about Hollywood starts fucking writing actual scripts and stories again, and uses actual actors and comedians?

Dare to dream.

That’s it.  There’s a show on about real estate tycoons opening a titty bar in Area 51, gotta go.

Friday, July 1, 2011

Don't Call It a Comeback.

Sometimes something needs to stay gone.

At times, some people like to fool themselves into thinking that certain things have comeback into fashion.  These were the idiots sporting mullets a few years back, and will likely come up with some sort of retired porn-star Burt Reynolds mustache to ride 'stylishly' into the future (probably while drinking PBR).  However, much like the mullet, or any form of rat-tail, these people were and are wrong.  That doesn’t mean that all comebacks are in the wrong.  I was all for the return of bell-bottoms.

Some comebacks involve words and slang, not all of which deserve a comeback (see: Bad Language for examples of slang that should go away NOW and stay gone).  Sometimes it can even be a person that makes a comeback, like Bill Murray or the Ninja Turtles.  And sometimes, people attempting a comeback should cease and desist, like that bizarre mixture of the New Kids and the Backstreet Boys, where I’m pretty sure they added in a few extra people from a random Sears catalogue photo shoot.  

So how can we tell the difference between a good comeback and a bad comeback, you ask, quite annoyingly?  Usually you can’t until it’s too late.  Something can seem like a good idea for a comeback on paper, like Indiana Jones, but end up being bad idea jeans, like Indiana Jones and the Crystal Wiener Schnitzel or whatever.  To be completely frank, it takes an innate sense of awesome to know what is the shit, and what is just shit, when it comes to comebacks.

Now, we all have fantasy island comebacks, in the back of our minds, you know, something that you desperately wish would come back into the now and be the norm again, like hearing good music on the radio, or there being television shows that aren’t centered on insane people with plastic boobies and/or questionable morals.  Hell, I’ve even argued about trying to make certain expressions make a comeback (see: Express Yourself).  But when a truly random nostalgia wave hits, and something like Pog starts coming back into popularity, you need to be able to declare whether or not you should jump on the bandwagon, or boycott it completely.  Incidentally if people start buying Pogs or Beany Babies again, take my advice, and do not jump on that particular bandwagon.  The same goes for those hideously frightening Troll dolls.

Anyways, in order to help you hone your skills, I will list a few examples that, should they try to make a comeback, you absolutely should not get on board with, and you can use that as a sort of blueprint for any kind of fashion / culture / food / expression / bullshit thing that may come up between now and forever as an attempted comeback.  Well hopefully not forever.  I assume in the afterlife, there isn’t really any use for this talent, and that there will no longer be any kind of cyclical trendy caca poopoo.  I’m kind of hoping that we’re all bald, wearing the same one piece robe or unitard, and speaking in rhyme.  All the time.  And I’ll finally stop hearing people say “Like us on Facebook”.

So, if you were to see any of the following examples actually attempting a comeback, you must do everything in your power to prevent it from happening.  Do not get on board.  Also, let me know about it, because it would mean that I am at least part psychic, and that would be pretty rad.  I would totally join the Psychic Friends Network (which also should not be allowed to make a comeback).

Hitchhiking across the land.
Because no story that starts with “He was holding a sign that said Headin' West” has ever had a happy ending.

Macauley Culkin and the like.
Trust me on this one, Neil Patrick Harris is the exception to the rule.  Child stars need to stay gone.  Yeah, I’m talking to you too, kid from Sixth Sense and those weird looking kids from Home Improvement.

Pot Pourri.
Honestly, you don’t much hear about Pot Pourri anymore, which is good, because it translates to rotten pot, and needs to stay gone.

Commercials about preventing static cling.
I don’t know if static cling still exists or not (or ever did) as a terrible day to day issue in the world, but the commercials need to stay gone.  I am so happy to not see commercials where a woman gets to work and has a sock stuck to her ass.  That would never happen.  I’m all for suspending my disbelief, but that’s just crazy.  I'm sure static cling would be awful, if it were real.  On the subject of advertising, I also didn’t care much for those ‘Head and Shoulders’ commercials either where there’s a dude who’s all: 
“… but you don’t have dandruff-” 
I would, however, like to see that same ad campaign applied to ‘Preparation H’.  Because the situation where one person has, not only the knowledge, but the nerve to say to the other:
“… but you don’t have hemhorroids-“
is just very absurd to me, and funny.  Shit, I’d buy it.

Incredibly pointy shoes.
I’m sure there are people out there still wearing them, but hopefully, their pointy tips are helping them trip and fall on a busy staircase somewhere, far far away from here.  Imagine getting kicked in the nuts by one of those things?  Jesus.

Saying something is ‘Money’.
I liked ‘Swingers’, but enough is enough.   Dear dudes out there, no, you are not actually Mikey and T, the sooner you recognize, the better we will all be.  It feels like it finally has mostly sunken in, and that you don’t hear this much anymore, and that’s good.  Do me a favor and keep it that way.

McDonald’s Pizza.
Can you believe that it even held on as long as it did the first time around?  I kind of wish Ronald and his entire dizzying array of emergency-diarrhea inducing food would pack it in for good, but I realize that isn’t happening ever.  The least that we can do is make sure they never try pizza again.

Chicken Soup books.
No explanation necessary. 

I could go one for a while, especially if I started listing people that shouldn’t make a comeback, but I think with these examples you get an idea of what to steer clear of.  I could even go on listing people and things that need to go away right now, and then subsequently never make a comeback, but again, then we would be here forever.

So, if you get anything from reading this, it should be that not all comebacks are created equal, and that you need to be careful out there.  Now, take what you have learned and apply it in all of life.  Remember, only YOU can prevent shitty things from making comebacks.  Or forest fires.

That’s it.  I need to go acid wash my jeans.

Friday, June 24, 2011

Get on the Mic.

Good morning or something! Rather than just admitting to the fact that I have been mostly lazy and uninspired for the past few weeks, I will list all of the things that got in my way recently and prevented me from writing new material.  Some are reasons, some are excuses, and some are just thoughts that passed through my head.  I will not list laziness, because that would be too honest.  I seem to have problems writing routines when my actual daily routine gets upset.  It's DEFINITELY not because I haven't had the time.  So here they are, in no particular order, my list of excuses.

- Packing.
- Moving.
- Doing taxes.
- Clipping toe nails.
- What's my wife watching?  Jersey Shore?  I should probably study it.
- Eating.
- Watching zombie movies.
- Writing on a Wednesday seems wrong.
- I'll write tomorrow.
- But I currently need to poop!
- The sun is still up.
- The sun just went down.
- Umm...


Wait a minute... I just realized that this shtick is pretty much lifted from David Cross's "I Drink For a Reason".  But that's ok.  The main reason for writing this was to get my head back into it, and to assure anyone out there in TV Land that I have not died, stopped making observations, or worse, decided that I had nothing left to say.  I promise not to take any long breaks ever again ever, even though I can't promise that, since, at anytime I could wind up dead, stop making observations or decide that I have nothing left to say.  Anyways, I've made that promise before (see: Unclogue), so I guess I'm all about empty promises.  But this will be a NEW new chapter.  Chapter three of Highway 10 Revisited starting... NOW. Ready? And... Break.

That’s it. Welcome home Kev.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

More Bad Language.

I've never really liked the expression ‘buzz word’.  And ‘buzz word’ is kind of a buzz word in itself.   Honestly, fuck any snooty word that works on multiple levels like that.  You may think that I would like that kind of thing, but, surprisingly, I don’t.  You know who likes buzz words, and saying “buzz word”?  The same people that say Happy Tuesday (see: Celebrate Good Times? Come On).  These can sometimes be the same people that say ‘[BLANK] is in the hoOOoouuuuse’.  Sometimes they may say ‘hizzle’ or ‘heezie’.    Sometimes they even go the extra mile and shorten it to ‘hiz’, as in “Douchebag in the hizzz.”

Honestly, if anyone follows any type of ‘shizzle’, ‘hizzle’ or ‘drizzle’ with ‘my nizzle’, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal not to kick them in the nuts and/or muff (unfortunately, even hermaphrodites are sometimes guilty of this) and then run over their foot with a motor scooter (for increased humiliation).  The same goes for ‘da bomb’, ‘dope’, ‘fresh’ or ‘tight’.

Yes, I do realize that often times these expressions are spoken in an attempt at ironic humor, like “check me out, I’m lame, it’s so lame that it’s funny”.  It’s not.  That angle is played.  So played.

These are the same people that do ‘air quotes’.

If you don’t stop them now, they will keep repeating these atrocities the way that modern restaurants repeat the word chipotle.

“The Chipotle Pizza is prepared with a blend of chipotled chiplote cheeses and generously topped with chipotlish chipotles of chipotley chipotle.  The chipotle sauce, is to chipotle for.”

I think you are starting to understand the type of people and expressions that I mean.  Almost everything that people like this will say, should not be said.  Watch an episode of 'Jersey Shore' and you'll get what I am saying.  Scratch that, please don't watch an episode of 'Jersey Shore'.  And anyways, I have discussed these types of expressions and people previously (see: Bad Language).  At that time, however, I really only scratched the surface.

The following is a continuation, an addendum if you will, of a couple more things to absolutely never say anymore, and to discourage everyone else in the universe from ever saying.  These tend to be said by anyone and everyone, not just people that look to Snooki as the voice of their generation.  So read carefully, take note, and prepare to make some changes.


I don’t understand why this has become so popular, and how it has managed to propagate and become so widely used.  The first time that I heard it, I assumed it was some kind of group of people with a weird sex fetish.  You know people that like to bang each other with strap on submarine sandwiches or make love to a pizza bagel or something?  But no, it’s people who just like food, and feel that they like it enough that, somehow, they need to distinguish themselves from the rest of us, who also like food.

Is this where we’re at?  Making up creative names to categorize us for qualities that come naturally to every human / animal / organism?  How shitty is the non-eating section of your life that you’re defining yourself by something that we all do, innately, for survival?

“I love eating, I’m a Foodie.”
“Oh well, I like food too, so, doesn’t that make me a Foodie too?”

I got news for you, we all like food.  You’re not special.  Honestly, what’s next?

“I’m an Airy.  I don’t know what I would do without breathing.  I mean, I just can’t live without my air.”
“Yeah… that sort of goes for all of us.”
“No, but I’m special, I know a lot about breathing.  More than you.  I know where the best air in the city is.  By the way, I’m a Watery too.”
“Yeah, so’s my cat.  He peepees and poopoos in a box.”

In the end, it kind of seems like a more friendly way to describe people with a food addiction.  Although, calling a fat person a Foodie sounds sort of mean, doesn't it?  Does this mean we should call a sex addict a Sexy?

“Roger needed to go get some help, he checked himself into a Sexy Facility.”

Sign me up.  Or maybe it is more about the level of knowledge that they have.

“Roger has the biggest porn collection I’ve ever seen!  What a Sexy!”

I like taking dumps.  And I could talk about poop for hours.  Maybe I should be a Dumpy, or a Poopy.  But alas, as fun as making up bullshit titles for ourselves clearly is, we need to put a stop to it now, before this gets out of hand.  Sorry Foodies, it’s time to find a new special talent, and to stop using that word.

While we’re at it, let’s completely stop trying to make random snappy expressions by adding ‘Y’ or ‘IE’ to words.  What are we, five fucking years old?!?!?!

“She’s my Besty!”
“Hey, guess what?  You’re the fucking Worsty.”

The most offensive ‘IE’ word out is when people deliciously call premature babies ‘PREEMIES’.  Is it supposed to make it sound cuter?  Well, it sounds gross, and frankly, I feel like it downplays the whole situation quite a bit.  No offense to all the Preemies out there.  Also, it rhymes with ‘creamy’, and somehow, that’s really fucked up to me.

I think the original hip and cool ‘IE’ word was ‘Hippies’, and seriously, don’t we all just hate hippies?  Not just for the smell, but because they’re awful?  So why follow that blueprint?

In conclusion, fuck you, self proclaimed Foodies.

But before I close the topic of these so-called food experts, for the love of God, everyone stop saying ‘Fast-Casual’.  It’s fast food.  Just because it costs more and looks nicer, doesn’t change what it is.  It is food, given to you fast, that you eat fast.  Afterwards, you feel shame (and a little bit of pre-diarrhea tummy rumbling).  That’s fast food.

It is what it is.

Of all of the ‘non statements’ out there, “it is what it is” is by far the most vague and useless.  It is applicable in virtually any situation, and yet, brings absolutely nothing to the table.  Why not say “it isn’t what it isn’t”? Or “it does what it does”? Or “it schnooblers what it schnooblers”?

The same people that over use “it is what it is” also seem to flock to the expression “that being said”, which is another choice ‘non statement’.  I call these ‘non statements’ because you could replace them in the conversation with complete silence or even with a mild, possibly nervous, fart, and pretty much have the same impact.

“I know it sucks, but, it is what it is.”
“I know it sucks, but… [squeeeeeeeeeeeeee]…”

No difference to the listener.  Except smell.  If anything, the nervous fart has more impact.

“They sure do use the word ‘chipotle’ a lot.  That being said, the Chipotle Pizza is delicious.”
“They sure do use the word ‘chipotle’ a lot… [squeeeeeeewawawawawpwent]…  The Chipotle Pizza is delicious.”

It actually feels more from the heart, with that big ol’ mild and nervous fart*.

So, join me in boycotting these expressions.  If we continue to work on ourselves, and avoid such annoying expressions, eventually, we may be able to all unite together as one gigantic happy family.  Someday, one day…  That being said, I don’t see it happening anytime soon.  It is what it is.

That’s it.  I'm late for my Foodie tour of the city!

*: from ‘Highway 10 Revisted: The Musical’

Monday, April 18, 2011

Time of the Signs.

"Hey everybody!  It’s Mindy’s birthday on Tuesday, so we will be passing around a card for all of you to sign!  Then we’ll have a mandatory lunch time party on Tuesday!  It’s not actually mandatory, but if you don’t go, people will just correctly assume that you’re an asshole!  And everyone will awkwardly sing Happy Birthday to someone that they don’t really know anything about!  Except that her name is Mindy!  It will ruin your usual lunch time routine of eating alone in the parking lot!  And there will be one random guy who’s really into it!"

Alright, so I’m exaggerating quite a bit.  And to be honest, I don’t mind the forced socialization and the free shitty cake.  I think what really pisses me off is the passed around group card.  You know the kind with the lame joke and the cheesy picture?

Depending on when you get the card, it can be annoying for different reasons.  If you’re the first to get the card, unfortunately, you know that you’re setting the bar for everyone else.  You’re declaring the emotional tone, the level of jokiness and the overall desired length of each individual message.  Suddenly you have become the blueprint for how everyone else is supposed to feel about Mindy.  You’re a Mindy barometer, and you don’t even know what she fucking does at the company.

You may even sign the card and then realize at the party that you were thinking of someone else.  Plus, no matter what you do, you know everyone who gets the card after you is going to read your message.

“Did you guys see what Johnson wrote?  What does that even mean?”

Getting it last isn’t much good either, because all of the good standard messages are used up, which doesn't really matter because there’s no space left to write an actual message anyways.  You end up writing “YAY” and signing a shortened version of your name, followed by a little smiley face, if space permits.  And now Mindy thinks that you don’t care.

Which you don’t, but you’d hate for her to find that out based on a group card.

If you get the card somewhere in between first and last, there is usually room to write something, but as I have said, all of the standard messages are used up.  You read through everyone else’s to get ideas, and end up judging them, like you feared you would be judged.  And like future signers of the card will do unto you.

“Adam wrote ‘loose’ instead of ‘lose’?  Who still does that?”

Alright, enough of that, you need to get back to figuring out what to write, Mr. Grammar Police.

“Let’s see, I’ll put Happy Birthday Sue… wait… shit no, that’s been done already, ok… how about Best Wishes?  … Damn!  Carl already wrote that, I fucking hate Carl.”

You contemplate scratching off Carl’s name and writing your own, but somehow, you feel like you would get found out. You would, and the consequences would be severe.  Well, maybe not severe, but you might not get cake, and that’s probably not a risk that you want to take.  So you rack your brains trying to figure out something short and sweet.  And it sucks. 

Let’s face it, eventually everyone just starts randomly slapping words together in a nonsensical way, just so that it doesn’t say exactly what the others say, but still conveys the same general message.

“All the best” – Steve
“Nothing but the best” – Jimbo
“Mostly I wanna say, hey, take some best” – Amanda
“Good luck with all things best forever wishing you the best ‘n shit” – Jennifer

Amidst the confusion it’s only a matter of time before someone forgets what the card is actually for, signs the wrong thing, crosses it off and then tries to make up for it.

Sorry for your loss Get ready for all my best wishes coming your way” – Shawn

Shawn should have stuck to his guns.  At least it would have been original. 

Rather than go through all of this torment, why not just think “Seriously, who gives a shit?” and just write the same thing as someone else.  Do you honestly think that the person is going to get the card and go C.S.I. on it?  Original Vegas, not Miami or whatever? Also, original cast?

“Well Jeremy and Cassandra both wrote the same thing, and, when I brought the card into the lab, clearly, Jeremy’s ink was fresher, wetter, guiltier, thus making him the plagiarizer.  Alert the press.”
“Great work, Grissom!”

Why write anything anyways?  The card already says what we all want to say.  Does anyone get the card and think “well Happy Birthday is clearly printed on the inside and the cover page, but I should probably wait and see what everyone wrote on the inside to gauge what the card is really all about”?

Someone should just write “from everyone” and be done with it, even if it’s one of those ‘BLANK INSIDE’ cards.  No, especially if it’s one of those ‘BLANK INSIDE’ cards.  Fuck it.  They know why we’re here.

“It’s your birthday, here’s a card.”
“It doesn't even say anything.”
“It’s from all of us.”

That would probably more accurately depict what we all think of each other in an office setting anyways.

I’d like to see someone get fired on their birthday, and be thrown a going away party disguised as a birthday, and they only find out when they start reading the card.

“Oh thanks everyone!  What a lovely birthday party!”
“It says… You’ll be missed… ??? …  good luck for the future… ???? What the-”
“The wrapped present box actually just contains all of the belongings from your desk.  Security will escort you out immediately.”
“Can I have some cake?”
“No, I’m sorry, it’s for employees only.”

Have you ever accidentally not signed a card that everyone else in the office has signed?  And when you see the person reading that card in front of everyone, their eyes slowly going through the signatures, you can somehow feel what they are thinking? 

“Bill… CHECK… Chris… CHECK[insert your name here]… Oddly absent from the card, and yet, there they are, eating cake, joining in.  Watching.  Laughing.”

At this point, you might even try some kind of covert operation to get the card back before they leave for the day.

“Say Mindy, do you mind if I see that card?”
“Why? The messages in it are meant for me.”
“Yeah but you know everyone reads them as it goes around the office anyways so-”
“I trust people not to do that.”
“Well that’s dumb, look, can I fucking see it now?”
“I already know that you didn’t sign it, and that’s why you’re holding that pen.  You’re too late.  The jig is up.”

Maybe it wasn’t that covert after all.  And as everyone’s suspicious whispers begin to grow louder, you jump out the window and throw your two weeks notice at the boss on your way out, written in chocolate frosting on a paper airplane napkin.

“It’s been real.  I’m out.  PEACE!”

In the end, I suggest just finding a really original way to sign your name, and leave it at that.  Just a signature.  It’s even better if you get it carved into a custom stamp and use an ink-pad to stamp your mark on future joint cards.  It will give you a mysterious edge at work, which will work to your advantage when there is only one donut left in the breakroom, and you are face to face with the overweight guy from sales. 

Behind him, the receptionist offers him a word of advice.

“Dude, I’d let him have it.  He doesn’t even write messages in cards, who can honestly tell what he’s capable of.”

Answer: no one.  But seriously, it had those toasty coconut sprinkles.  It was a big win for me.

That’s it.  There’s no more room left on the card.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Hairy Situations.

Hair is a complex entity. When it comes right down to it, there is really only one place that we consistently like to encounter hair: on our heads. Whether on the body, off the body, on the head, or wherever, hair is generally a tremendous pain in the ass. That being said, there are places that are, hands down, the worst places to find hair. Allow me to guide you through this hairy hall of shame. 

On the Body. 

You will have to forgive me, in advance, for my somewhat gender biased approach to body hair and the unfortunate places that one might come across said hair. I am coming from the point of view of a male humanoid, but, please know that, I do agree that women have it way worse when it comes to hair. Oh sure, the male species may, in general, have more of it, but for women, unfortunately, nearly everywhere that hair naturally grows is frowned upon and looked at as undesirable. 

We have brainwashed our entire civilization to assume that any hair found on women, other than on the head, should immediately be dealt with in an excruciatingly painful way. We have to train ourselves to see a hairy lady as a beautiful natural beast. Unfortunately, as it is, we see a hairy lady, and we assume troglodyte. Is that fair to the dirty stinky unhygienic she-ogre? 


Armpit hair, leg hair, bikini zone, arm hair… The amount of time and effort that women have to put into the hair on their body is ridiculous. Everything is judged with a fine tooth comb (no pun intended). That being said, allow me to navigate you through what I feel to be the worst places to find hair, on the body. If you are a woman, multiply any of these by a million, in terms of annoyance and grief factor, and burn your bra. 

3) Unibrow 

There’s a fine line between a regular human and a Neanderthal. That fine line is the line that connects two eyebrows together, forming one solid Unibrow. There is a small window of people that can pull off this look, people like Bert (of Bert and Ernie fame). Unless you are Bert, you will most likely need to take care of it. I suggest an awful routine of tear inducing plucking, followed by a healthy dose of cursing your hairy parents, and their furry brows. 

Try to stick to only plucking the connection between the two individual eyebrows. Once you start trying to play God and shape your eyebrows into something new and enticing, you run the risk of overdoing it and reducing your eyebrows down to a ghoulish penciled in line (even worse if it literally is penciled in with some kind of makeup marker and there actually is no hair left), causing a perpetual look of confusion and intrigue. This will look far worse than the initial Unibrow, and will likely send you to jail, should you ever be part of a police lineup. 

Definitely, Number 3, just look at those pencil-thin eyebrows and that permanently guilty expression.” 
“What about Number 2?” 
“What the guy with the solid line over his eyes? Unibrow? No way, he looks like he collects stamps.”
“Bert, you’re free to go.” 

2) Hobbit Feet 

If foot hair somehow miraculously made a person more desirable to the opposite sex, then maybe there would be some case to argue that hairy feet and toes could be a positive physical trait. Unfortunately, this is not the reality that we live in. And really, would you want to be with someone who was into foot hair? Sexually

You might think that hairy feet would stay warm. You would be dead wrong. My hairy feet are constantly freezing cold, and yet somehow, ridiculously moist and sweaty throughout most of the day. Some might want to blame bad circulation for my cold and smelly feet, but I know better. It’s that damn hair. 

After an entire day of wearing socks, the foot hair actually hurts, kind of like when you wear a baseball cap all day, and then it hurts to move your head hair. And forget about comfortably wearing sandals and flip flops. The hair gets pulled at, and, you have to survive mountains of clever and amusing insults, such as 

“Hey, what’s it like living in the Shire?” or 
“Don’t eat me, ogre!!!!”, 

rendering your confidence to an abnormally low level. I can’t even imagine what a hairy-footed lady must have to endure. And the skin on the top of the foot is so thin that trying any kind of hair removal would basically be torture. I don’t recommend torture, so, as a result, it is a constant struggle to decide which is indeed the lesser of two evils: being seen with socks and sandals, or showing off your hairy hooves. 

Since stupid science is not yet advanced enough to offer hairy feet people with the option to amputate and replace their feet with sexy smooth robot feet, I’m afraid my only advice is to keep them covered up, until science catches up. Once they do, though, I’m totally paying extra to have guns and rockets put on mine. Science and Mattel still haven’t delivered the Hover Boards that were promised to us by Back to the Future II, but I feel that my eventual jet-powered rocket feet (complete with guns and racing stripes) will more than make up for it. 

For the record, I am not talking about one or two cute little hairs sticking out of one toe-knuckle, or a couple of little strays on the top of the foot. I am talking about a thick concentrated jungle of hair completely connected to the leg hair, creating one uniform and continuous river of fur flowing all the way from crotch to toes. 

1) Nose Hair 

If nose hair would just stick to its primary function and remain hidden within the nostril, it wouldn’t find itself in the top spot. Alas, nose hair frequently ventures out of its home searching for dust and dirt with which to form the finest of snots. Often times, it brings a booger with it on its journey out of the nostril rim, indifferent to how poorly this will reflect on you, during your one-on-one meeting with your manager. 

After giving your two weeks’ notice, on your way home from the office, should you decide to pluck the stray nose hair, you will be rewarded with pain, watery eyes, and the high possibility of forming a dreaded inside-the-nose zit. Also, you’re holding a nose hair, which looks like some kind of mutant insect leg. 

Each of these painstaking battles with your nose hair is part of a lifelong war, and honestly, if you look at any elderly person, it is quite clear that it is a war that the nose hair will inevitably win. 

Eventually you will give up, and over time you will become nothing more than a filthy bouquet of nose hair, with a face around it. 

I say, embrace it now, and let them go hog wild. 

On the Body - Honorable Mentions: 

Back & Shoulder Hair – care for a banana? 
Ass Hair – wiping just got a whole lot harder! 
Ear Hair – what is that constant rustling sound! 
Knuckle Hair – I repeat, care for a banana? 
Facial Hair – let’s face it, shaving sucks! 
Genital Hair – no explanation necessary! 

Off the Body. 

Now, as offensive and repugnant as unwanted body hair may be, it pales in comparison to finding hair anywhere off of the body. In this case, man, woman, child, or Wookie, we are all in the same nasty hairy boat. 

3) Foreign Shower Stranger Danger 

When you step into a hotel shower, often times, it has been thoroughly cleaned and disinfected, so you likely will not encounter any wild hairs. I’m pretty sure if you find one, you can complain and get free breakfast out of it. Seems fair. 

The showers that contain the most offensive wild hairs are shared showers that, unlike hotels, are not washed in between visitors.  These are the showers at friends' or relatives' houses, public showers like in a gym, or, even your own shower, if you happen to share it with people that you do not also make sex on (in some cases, the stray hairs of your partner in sexy sex may still disgust you, especially when it is time to wipe that hair catcher drain thing clean - don’t worry, your secret is safe with me). 

When faced with this foreign shower stranger danger, there are few ways to help cope. Latex gloves will allow you to touch things such as the shower curtain or faucets without risk of making contact with a hair. Bring your own soap. Because, Lord knows, when a wild hair attaches itself to a soap bar, there is no way of removing it without getting on your skin. 

Because the walls may in fact be lined with nasty long or short hairs, you may want to consider wearing some kind of rubber footwear to protect yourself from runaway hairs that could potentially graze your feet on their wishy washy way down to the drain. Shower caps will do in a pinch. You can also wear a full body wetsuit, but it is harder to get that deep down clean you might be looking for, and I keep getting fucking shampoo in the snorkel! 

The only sure way to avoid all icky shower hairs is to simply not shower. 

I will leave it up to you to decide which is worse: have a bad smell day, or risk touching rabid, loose, possibly diseased, wild hairs. The choice is yours. 

2) Secret Ingredient 

I think we all can agree that food is a pretty bad place to find a hair. There are different levels of severity when it comes to food hair, and what we are talking about here is known as the Secret Ingredient. This is when the hair is mixed deep down into the food, like in the center of your mashed potato pile, or mixed right into your marinara sauce. 

Not to be confused with the Secret Garnish (a.k.a. The Parsley), which is when a hair is gingerly perched atop your salad, rice or steak, the Secret Ingredient is far worse because you can't even attempt to pick it out, as you only find out about it when it is halfway down your throat. 

There really is no advice I can give you, except, if it is a restaurant, the rule is, never go back to said restaurant. If you cause a big enough scene, you might get free breakfast out of it, in which case, feel free to break the rule and go back, because, shit, free breakfast! 

If it is the hair of someone you know, who has just cooked a meal for you, kill this person. Don't worry, they'll never convict you. 

“I plead guilty, but seriously, it was a six incher mixed right into my spaghetti!” 
“Bert, you’re free to go.” 

1) Special Seat Sprinkles - Hair to the Throne

You’re running towards the washroom, number one, number two, either / or, it doesn’t matter, but you need to get there and get things started, stat! You arrive ready to unleash the fury when something catches your eye and interrupts your mojo. 

There’s a pube sprinkled on the seat / bowl / urinal / place one does their business. 

So, a few observations here, how does a hair like this get there? Is there someone who ejects or explodes pubes from their pants as soon as they unzip, like some sort of pube based firework display? Is it actually a head hair, and if so, what is the person’s head doing so close to the pee and/or poo zone? Was there some furious wiping that caused some bum hair shedding? Who looks at the bowl on their way out, sees a bunch of their hairs and decides, “Hey, I’ll leave it for the next visitor”? 

An asshole, that’s who. 

The best way to deal with this problem is to always go to the washroom armed with matches, so that you can light fire to the suspect hairs. As an added bonus, it will warm up the seat on those frosty winter morns. Also, it could help with the smell factor, if needed. 

If you are looking to be inconspicuous, I would say use a regular matchbook, found in most restaurants and bars. If, like me, you are afraid that the short match size might allow the hair to touch you while burning, I suggest those really long wooden matches normally used to light fire to the logs in a fireplace. It is not recommended, however, to attempt to light any logs that you may have dropped in th bowl, they are not made of wood, and will not catch fire. 

If you are scared of burning yourself, I suggest you use a leaf blower. 

Off the body - Honorable Mentions: 

Your Cubicle – someone’s been sleeping in my bed! 
Treadmill – I bet it’s sweaty too! It is! 
Seat on the Bus – I wonder where it’s going! Answer, your face!
Stuck to the T.V. – I knew that wasn't part of the show! 
The Wall – seriously, how the fuck did that get there, and how is it staying there? 

I think these are just some of the many reasons why anytime you hear about futuristic alien societies coming to visit crazy rural folk, they are hairless, smooth and shiny. I think all intelligent beings will just eventually evolve themselves out of having hair. We, as a race, just aren’t there yet, which is probably why the aliens never stick around. They get off the Mothership and are like “ewww, there’s fucking hair everywhere here, lets bail.” 

That’s it. I need to go draw myself some eyebrows.