i dream of funny

Sometimes I'll dream of "jokes." I say "jokes," because that which I dream of is not funny in the "awake" world, but in dreamland my jokes are six sides of hilarity! In some higher level of consciousness I'll think, "I need to remember that! It's gold! Hello comedic fame and fortune!" And I'll think it's the good stuff. The stuff I keep on my ultra- secret and hilarious blog that you don't even know about. As opposed to the blog you are reading now. This blog is for all my crappy stuff or jokes that my team of writers craft that don't make the grade. I don't pay 87 cents per joke for nothing.

Anyway, the other night I had one of these unfunny dreams. And the dream joke does not disappoint. I don't remember the dream circumstances of the joke, nor do I remember any other part of the dream. It went something like this:

guy1: Let's hit the sack.
guy2: What are you talking about dude? Why would we go to bed at noon? Together?
guy1: Not that sack dude. Let's hit the HACKY sack.

Dream mind was all, "Roger, you are fucking brilliant! Even in your sleep you're thinking of hilarious stuff about hacky sacks and whatnot. Keep up the good work." Inexplicably, this dream stayed with me all throughout the night. I wake and think, "Wait. I had a dream last night with a funny joke. What was it again? . . . How stupid. It's too dull even for a "dialogue" post. Disappointment rushed over me. I should have stayed asleep.

blogging linked to cancer

What you want scientific evidence? Whatever. Like blogging is the ONLY thing that doesn't cause cancer.

Anyway, I'm working right now. Not "working it" like spontaneously inventing awesome dance moves like I normally am, but working for work like my job - the thing I do when I'm not blogging. Yah, I don't know what the deal is, but it happens from time to time. So, I've got nothing for you beyond this - my apologies. But let me draw your attention to . . .

The Life of Braleigh

Braleigh's blog is good, fun stuff, though she's thoroughly obsessed with Chaka Khan. I know. I think Chaka's sweet too, but enough is enough, right? And I know you're also thinking, "How is that name pronounced?" I have to be honest and say I don't remember. I think it's bray-lay. As in, bray-lay is cray-zay. Her sanity is unimportant as this is a handy mnemonic and that's what I stand by. (Braleigh if that's wrong - sorry!)

dialogue

girl1: Wow. She really put on a lot of weight.
girl2: Maybe she was bloated. Or pregnant.
girl1: I don't think so. She seemed to be carrying it everywhere.
(pause)
girl2: Well maybe she was stung by a thousand bees, evenly, over her whole body.

nuts!

When did everyone become allergic to peanuts (not the Snoopy kind, but the three-chambered kind)? Are they genetically engineering a bigger, more hyper-allergenic peanut? Maybe they're engineering it to taste like pie or smell like bananas or fight crime or something, but their experiments have gone incredibly wrong and instead we're left with a mutant peanut strain that can fell a child with its odor alone. I don't remember hearing about anyone being allergic to peanuts before a few years ago. I'm sure people were allergic, but at some point they started requiring them to wear hazmat suits when they entered a grade school cafeteria. Now there are warnings everywhere about peanut oil in products, "products may contain residue peanut juice," "WARNING: This cashew may have cavorted with a peanut at some point in its history and may have rubbed up against said peanut."

theMonica's nephews are both allergic to peanuts. They only have problems eating peanuts. Despite this, one of them asked me for some even though he knew I knew he can't eat them. I think it may have been a fathering test of some kind. "Will Roger give a small child something detrimental to his health? Let's watch." "The only way kids can be safe with guns is if you give them one to play with."

At any rate, test or not, I passed with flying colors (peanuts denied!) and I won further accolades when I created "Flatulence Man" an imaginary superhero inspired by one of the boys claiming he has special gastro-intestinal powers. I'm not one for a lot of potty humor, but man, guys - especially under 10 - love it.

Here's to peanuts - more dangerous than ragweed and pollen combined.

on second thought . . .

We are pleased with the comments regarding our name change.

And we recognize that referring to ourselves as we is so much more pompous and megalomaniacal than referring to ourselves in the first- OR third-person singular. But we soon realized that the ulimate in self-referential audacity is the third-person plural, they/their/them.

They hope your enjoy the rest of your stay at thier blog.

punny

I was at a baseball game with my buddy and we were enjoying some peanuts. (Don't even THINK of sending me the unsalted kind - that's right. Time to repack the care package.) My buddy grabbed a three-chambered peanut out of the bag and said, "Dude, look at this peanut!" All excited and amazed as if he had pulled a supermodel out of the bag. And I said, "What? Do you have peanut envy?"

. . . (just giving you time to wipe the tears away and refocus your eyes) . . .

You can't write this stuff people. Remember to tip your waitress.

thought . . .

I think I'm going to stop referring to myself as I and start referring to myself as "we." We think it makes us sound more important and special as if we're a committee of people writing these posts rather than a lone weirdo typing feverishly for hours on end. It inherently legitimizes us. Besides, it takes a lot of the guilt out of the weight gain.

We look forward to your comments.

blog update

Hey gang. I'm not going to lie to you. I got nothing for you. Nothing up my sleeze, see? And frankly, I don't care. I've got my fantasy football draft on Friday and for what it's worth I'm willing to quit my job in order to prepare for it. Or spend all my time at my job preparing for it, whichever is more convenient.

As you could probably guess, updating this crappy blog isn't exactly at the top of my priorities. Finding crappy football players who will surprise everyone with their sudden UN-crappiness in the coming year - is my top priority.

I will do my best. I refuse to feel guilty about this . . . a lot.

thought . . .

On walking downtown (any)

Respect the arrow! If you don’t have the little walking guy and your light’s red, someone will be turning from another direction straight into your knee. They’ve been waiting and have no qualms with a little bloodletting.

my face is the ultimate weapon

Thursday night theMonica, her two nephews and I went to Lake County Captains game in Eastlake. Lake County is the single-A affiliate of my beloved Cleveland Indians.

Prior to the game starting, a local radio station had a game of cornhole set-up. I'm all right at the cornhole and, displaying my skills, was able to deposit one of three throws through the board. If you're good at stuff, you get stuff for free. So, I was rewarded with a selection from the CD/DVD part of the prize table. Spider-Man 2 - sorry! Shrek 2 - first one was way better. But what's that I spy? I spy something from the 80s, something with a dynamic leading man and something that I adored as a youngster. No, it wasn't a Captain Kangaroo Retrospective . . . it was MACGYVER SEASON 2!!!



That's right folks. You know what I'll be doing for the next few weeks. What's that? Will I blog about it? Hmmmm, your ideas intrigue me. We'll see . . .

After that shining moment, we headed into the stadium. theMonica has social connections all over northeast Ohio. She got us the tickets for the Captains game. The guy she knows who works for the Captains is like their director of cool shit that you don’t even know about.

Director guy comes to our seats a few innings into the game and asks if we want to be filmed to possibly appear in a Captains’ promotional ad. (Incidentally, Indians’ GM Mark Shapiro was sitting a few rows behind us. I wanted to tell him he’s killing me with Casey Blake, but he was there with his young son and I didn’t want to cause a scene.) The director made the offer and since I’m a big, fat, smoked and honey-glazed ham, I was all for it . . . at first . . .

Four people went to the left-field corner and only one wasn't asked to be on film. Who was that? Folks, I'm here to tell you that it's not easy being ugly. Not to say I was egregiously shutout from TV stardom - they didn't have me stand next to theMonica and then crop me out of the shot unbeknownst to me. Nor did they have me keep backing up until I tumbled, head first over the railing. I'm not sure what the problem was. I mean, sure, maybe I'm not "physically attractive," and I don't "have a pleasing face," and maybe my voice sounds like "cats having sex," and "my head is too big to get in frame." I don't understand how these factors would preclude me from fame and fortune.

It bruised the ego. And the tears flowed my friends, whoah did they flow. I did not protest, but I did murmur to myself, "I'm not an animal!" They even had Monica say the players "weren't bad to look at". Well, they're totally too young, in shape and potentially rich to date honey, so sorry!

Sure theMonica is beautiful and her nephews are cute as buttons, but who speaks for the ugly people, huh? Don’t they enjoy going to Captains'games and other social activities as well? I mean, I sure saw a bunch of them wandering around the stadium. Whatever, not everybody can be TV worthy. I mean, if everyone were on TV, who would be there to watch it? That's right! Nobody! I'm actually doing all you future TV stars a favor . . . YOU'RE WELCOME!

an american legend

Patrick Swayze turns 53 today. That beautiful hunk of man won me over as soon as I laid eyes on him starring as Darry Curtis in The Outsiders.

Then he nearly single-handedly saved this country during a Red Dawn. Who protected us from the invading mongol-Cuban-Russian hordes? Patrick Swayze that's who. Where was Kurt Russell? I don't know. Don't see him. Where was Jeff Bridges and his chubby brother Beau? Hanging out with their dad, sitting around being famous undoubtedly. Where was C. Thomas Howell? Oh wait, he was there. He and Pat ready to lay it on the line for their country. Patrick Swayze, true American hero.

I never knew a man could move like "that" until I saw Dirty Dancing. You thought Elvis could "shake that thang". I scoff! Patrick Swayze is the finest dancer in the history of the world! Nobody puts Patty in a corner!

Who could forget his angelic stalking of Whoopi Goldberg in the otherworldly Ghost? Man, I never wished I was a hunk of clay more. Ditto to you Pats.

He taught Keanu Reeves everything he knows and a bunch of stuff he didn't understand in 1991's Point Break. Johnny Utah was nothing without Bohdi and you know it.

And who could forget that glorious mane as Pat kicked some serious po-dunk ass in the venerable rootin'-tootin' classic Road House. Is Road House the greatest film ever made? I think TBS thinks so.

Then Swayz was convincingly creepy as a child pornographer in the surrealist cult classic Donnie Darko. I don't have a lot to say about Pat in this one - other than that his hair was insufficiently mullety in this movie. Let's feather and poof Hollywood hairdressers. Feather and poof.

Through it all, Patrick Swayze has given his all in every performance and for that we owe our thanks. God Bless you Patrick Swayze. I had the time of my life.

peas de résistance

Allow me to direct you to a super-fun and mega-timewasting site.

In the classic cartoon series The Critic they did a spoof on the Orson Welles's audio you can find here. I didn't know the Critic bit was based on an actual happening, but man am I glad it was. In addition to the great insults Orson hurls at these TV commercial producers there's all kinds of great audio clips on the site. Enjoy.

As a bonus, a screencap from the "I Can't Believe It's a Clip Show" episode of the Critic:

addendum

I like the concept of hyperlinking punchlines. For instance, in my last post I made reference to D.A.R.Y.L. If you know D.A.R.Y.L., the joke stands on its own (giggle worthy); if you do not know about 80's robotic children such as D.A.R.Y.L. or Vicki then you can click the link and be amused, at least belatedly. It also saves me from saying, "You know, D.A.R.Y.L.? Data Analyzing Robotic Youth Lifeform? Well, it was this movie in the 80s and D.A.R.Y.L. is found by a regular human family and they love him and he's - or should I say it's - also really good at Pole Position." You see how tedious this becomes.

If only comedians could do this, I bet people would think Dennis Miller was way funnier.

blogging makes you fatter

(When I say "you," I mean me. And when I say "blogging," I mean "shoveling food in your piehole.")

Contrary to appearances, I take this blog seriously. Not so much that I have serious content, but I'm pretty diligent with trying to post regularly. It is my goal to post at least weekdaily and should I miss this expectation, I do feel the guilt. There are at least three people who I'm quite sure would stare harshly at the main page were I not to "deliver the goods" as it were. These people can go to hell. I mean, who am I D.A.R.Y.L?

Getting back on topic, I had the unfortunate happenstance of seeing myself in the mirror shirtless. While I quickly thought of two prize-winning Halloween costumes (Stay-Puft and Michelin Tire guy), on the whole I was kind of disgusted. Normally, I enjoy a vigorous jog after work, but as of late, the weather (oppressively hot) and the blogging (oppressively dull) have precluded me from partaking in this ritual. The results are unencouraging. For some reason, my body sees fit (get it?) to store fat for as long as possible and generally refrains from engaging in any uninitiated metabolic activity. Why? I'm not sure, but I've thought long and hard of a way to spin this to make me seem better than everyone else . . .

The best I can figure is that I'm actually from a slightly more evolved species than the rest of you. (I've dubbed this species homo sapiens awesomuss.) You see, back in the day food supplies were unsure. If you slaughtered an unsuspecting wildebeest, you had meals for a few days before you either ran out (grubby caveman associates) or the meat went rancid (grubby maggot associates). You had to eat what you could and hope you found some sticks to munch on before you starved. Because what if the wildebeest wise up? Your body is forever needlessly burning calories, killing off your chances of survival. My body is storing, always storing, the food as fat. Who will survive the next drought? Klorg McFatty, that's who.

Unfortunately for me and my fuzzy white gut, this trait is unnecessary for those of us living within three miles of a McDonald's. My mutation yields little advantage. (I guess it would come in handy on Survivor.) But don't let that fool you. So help me if you get between me and my heath blizzard I will roll you like a joint.

my eyes water at the hilarity of it all!

Did you ever notice when you say something is "really funny" that indubitably you're not laughing? Laughing is our most precise indication of humor intake; let's not going changing that. If someone tells you a story and instead of laughing you say, "that's really funny," you're probably lying and you're basically denying hundreds of thousands of years of human evolution. How are you so high and mighty to think you can short-circuit all the evolving and gamma rays and whatnot that has led the species to this very moment, here at my blog? You might think you're better than Charles Darwin, but I don't. Phil Hartman - now he was better than Charles Darwin.

By the same token, I want more LOLing in the comments people. I actually received an email once where the message started, "Ha ha ha or I guess I should say LOL." He was actually replying to something that I sent, not sending an unsolicited email message mocking me. Speaking of, it has to be hard to stalk someone via email:

TO: Stalked
FROM: Stalker
RE: let's get this party started

*loud, deep breathing*
(pause for effect)
*repeat breathing*
(pause)
------------------------------------

TO: Stalked
FROM: Stalker
RE: FWD: RE: let's get this party started [spam filtered]

I think my last message got filtered as spam, but I'm watching you!

*loud, deep breathing*

LOLM (LOL maniacally)
------------------------------------

TO: Stalked
FROM: Stalker2
RE: used to be "Stalker"

*loud, deep breathing*

I lost the password to my last account. I created a new email address just for you. I don't like to do this through work. Anyway, you looked hot last night.

*more breathing*
-------------------------------------

I don't know how dedicated you are in your stalking, but I would be exhausted an this point and would probably give it up. Who has the energy for all that work? I for one shun new obsessions and will instead rely on my old standby, cheese curls.

dork placated

Last week, I returned to CompUsa in search of the holy grail of receipts.

As you all know, I'm essentially a sissy, but I was ready for a fight. I went into CompUsa and kindly explained to the very young (8?) customer service girl the problem I had been having getting my rebate, she said (naturally), "Well, they should have taken this. It's all you need to send." Brilliant.

My philosophy when dealing with customer service folk is to always take the tack of "I'm a big dumb animal and can't possibly be expected to figure this tricky, tricky rebate." I find customer service reps respond a lot better to this than the "HULK MAD! HULK SMASH!" mentality that normally encounter. After acting more stupid for a little while, I kindly asked the young girl - if she was old enough to use the phone without her parents' permission - to call the rebate center to get confirmation that if I sent in documents X and Y they would definitely refund my money.

This kind of scared her as apparently the street lights had come on and it was time for her to head home. Her older co-worker offered to make the call for her. She too asked what the problem was and in my best "injured young fawn" I explained that, shucks, I didn't understand what the problem was as I had tried oh-so hard to get my rebate, but the big bad rebate man, Mel, wasn't having any of it.

She expressed dismay at my problem and dialed the rebate center. She got right through to a rep there and kindly explained the situation. After a total of about 30 seconds, she hangs up the phone and says, "They've released the rebate." Me: "Released it like - set it free in the wild and I'll have to track and kill it or released it like, I'm going to get the money?" "The check will be in the mail tonight."

I would like to think my charming email had something to do with this in some small way - even if that way was the rebate center flagging me as mentally unstable and fearing for their CompUsa brethren's well-being. Whatever the case. Mel, I take it all back. You're simply the best.

dispatches from hell

Damn it's hot!

truth in advertising

Read this article. It is perhaps the greatest article ever! I'll wait . . .

What kind of class-action-litigation-lobby shill wrote this line, "Movie-goers, upset at the scam, filed a class action lawsuit in a Los Angeles court."? Right. I'm sure there was no thought of getting something for nothing. As I understand it, the initial claimants of a class-action suit tend to do a little better than the subsequent class (who are scoring a whole 5 bucks out of the deal). And even the initial claimants don't make out as well as the lawyers. Besides, what kind of morons are these people depicting themselves to be? I assume they are not such drooling idiots that they were actually able to locate a law office to find a lawyer, so presumably they are savvy enough to resist the one-line persuasions of some movie advertisement.

How can you sue for this? If you were The Ridgefield Press, sure you should be able to sue for slander, but someone who went to the movie can sue Sony for a fake review? Isn't that what marketing is? Can I sue Coors Light for yielding me exactly ZERO sets of twins? Can I sue Prince for not partying with me like it's 1999? More importantly, can my readers sue me for failing to be "marginally clever"?

Admittedly, Sony is dumb for making up a reporter. Why they couldn't set-up some shell corporation subsidiary to Sony and employ it with exaclty one person - the guy who did the "reviewing" - is beyond me. Hell, they could even outsource it to me. Hey Sony, I will do your reviews. I'll create a website called Trustworthy Movie Reviews Weekly. I will pre-write, succinct, quality reviews that will fit nicely over a picture depicting your movie. I promise to ALWAYS make my reviews exclamations, so as to demonstrate the proper level of excitement for your film. Then, for a small, negotiable fee you can come to my website and select from the list of reviews; add them to the picture of your choice and viola! masses and masses of people will be flocking to the box office all because of my compelling, seemingly mind-controlling, review.

I've already started working on them. Here's a sampling:

• I laughed so hard I peed my pants! Twice!


• I will personally kill anyone who misses this movie!


• Only a surly, joyless cynic like Roger Ebert wouldn't enjoy this movie!


• The feel-good hit of the summer and it's January!


• I exhumed my dead great-uncle because I knew he would want to see this amazing movie!


• The plot was a little weak, but damn was there stuff blowing up!


• I haven't seen a film this riveting since The Adventures of Mary-Kate & Ashley: The Case of the Hotel Who-Done-It!


• This movie was so scary I had to move back into my parents' house and sleep in their bed!


• A shocking political thriller that will make you want to beat the crap out of your congressman!


• BEST. MOVIE. EVER!!!


• This movie wasn't very good, but hey, naked chicks!


• Have you tried heroin? Half as mind-blowing as this picture!


• Segway - don't walk - to a theater near you - immediately!


• Did Jesus write this movie? Because it is heavenly!

For a slighty higher fee, I could customize my "reviews" for your movie. Here are some more examples:



I look forward to hearing from you.

cool/notCool

Cool: Getting comments.
notCool: Getting spam comments.

WTF Batman? I do love attention, of any kind, but this is unwarranted and unwanted. I'm sure all seven of my readers love phone sex, but I have to wonder how I was so lucky. Was it all my posting about phone sex? Oh wait. Was it my post about telephone communications? Spam comments about Netflix or being overweight or psoriasis all would make sense, but phone sex? Or, should I say, "meeting singles"? Every other one of my posts is about or inspired by theMonica . . . I'm clearly NOT single. I'm gonna have to play it on the seven of you who should be blushing with embarrasment right about now. FOR SHAME!

thought . . .

I'm thinking about changing the blog name to Marginally Cleaver. And all my posts will be about how I'm almost like the Beave.

"Gee Beave. Mom and dad would be real sore if they saw how much you swore in your diary."

"Yah. Well, fuck off Wally. And stop reading my BLOG."

dialogue

girl1: How have you been?
guy1: I've been all right. You know, hanging in there.
girl1: I worry about you.
guy1: Why?
girl1: I don't think you understand why I left and I'm concerned you might do something rash.
guy1: What? Like stick my head in the oven because you left me?
girl1: Not exactly how I'd put it, but yes.
guy1: Don't flatter yourself. You're not that great.
girl1: Are you trying to be funny?
guy1: I'm not TRYING to be funny, I am being funny.
girl1: Right. Hilarious. Can't stop laughing.

Maybe not funny "ha ha", but funny "really makes you think." Anyway, it reads a lot more serious than the voices in my head sounded.

bobbing

My boss has had me sit in on a couple of interviews in order for me to ask "technical questions" of applicants. I don't think I'm ideally suited for this job as I'm not really that smart, I fear strangers (I mean, what if s/he offers me candy? I LIKE candy.) and I generally avoid confrontation. The best technical question I could think of was, "Are you stupid?", but that seemed overly aggressive. How hard is it really to fake being smart enough to do a job for 45 minutes? How am I supposed to exposed said hidden stupidity? I'm not sure, but I've muddled through thus far. I can't help but feel that I'M the one being interviewed.

dividing my attention

99% me
1% else

Sorry. That's how I roll.

some things are better left unsaid

Writing is hard. Sometimes I'll sit down to post on this blog and I'll think to myself, "Maybe I shouldn't drink so much. Surely if I had more brain cells, I would be done blogging for the day. I've often wondered when I'll get my next beer. No, wait, not that. What was I thinking about? Pizza. That’s right. Should I get pizza for dinner tonight?" At any rate, sometimes I'll start writing something and then, you know, I think, "Wow. That really sucks." So, in that spirit, more blogging! No, here are some of my most recent partial posts that I decided against finishing:

• I've killed 3 men in my life . . .
• Stealing from the poor is supposed to be bad, but hey, they'd do the same to me and besides most of them are malnourished and weak. It's like taking candy from a baby, which reminds me of a story . . .
• Ingredients for a crazy night: one midget, surly; canola oil, 2 bottles; slip-n-slide; alcohol - copious amounts recommended; a clown if you can find one . . .
• If loving a Vietnamese hooker named Fredo is wrong, then I don't wanna be right . . .
• April 15th today. Is anyone really stupid enough to pay their taxes? I'd like to see the IRS catch me . . .
• Today the doctor explained to me that VD wasn't only an acronym for "vapor density" . . .
• You know what's fucking irritating? Illegitimate children. Wasn't the fact that I left your mother when she was pregnant a strong enough hint that I'm not down with the kid thing?

thought . . .

Women being able to cry suddenly is the ultimate evolutionary tool of interrelational fighting. At least until men evolve Brawny paper towels for hands or something.

sick days

theMonica: I don't feel well.
me: Stay home.
theMonica: Shouldn't I save my sick days for when I really need them?
[I assume "really need them" didn't mean when she wants to go shopping.]
me: You are sick. That's why they give you sick days.
theMonica: I know, but I would feel guilty.
me: Sure, you'll feel guilty . . . at first, but that'll pass.

But theMonica, like some sort of modern day Elliot Ness-ess, is incorruptible and went to work despite my spot-on advice. Although, I did feel vindicated when later in the day she emailed to tell me that she was, "Bored at work," and she "wished she was home already." For serious, am I EVER wrong? (Understand this is a rhetorical question and I will entertain no responses.)

Brother can you spare a dime - or like 5 bucks?

I often write about the hoboes. Why? Well, because I have to interact with them every day (when interacting is often merely ignoring). This morning I pulled into my lot ready to endeavor on my longass walk into the office. What do I spy? I spy something smelly, dirty and wearing a backpack. That's right - a hobo. I thought, "Whither thy bindle hobo?" I'd never seen him before so I named him SirEdmondHillaryHobo due to the possible mountain climbing gear strapped to his back. SirEd parked himself maybe six feet from my car. And, we know what happened next. Due to his close proximity, the smell of liquor on his breath, the wild look in his eyes and the fact I wanted to avoid contracting rabies from a hobo, I gave him a dollar. You scoff? Whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers . . . He ALMOST protested, but thought better and went on his merry way.

Walking back to my lot from work, I was again accosted. As I was enjoying a magazine, I was approached by a scalper. Ok. "No thanks, I don't need tickets." I keep walking and he walks alongside me. Then he says, "You know, you're doing something most people aren't able to, reading and walking at the same time. I can't do that." Tickle me pink. He continued, "Listen my man, can you do me one small favor. Give me a dollar so I can go over and get a nice tall bottle of water. It's so hot out here." Ok, there are a number of problems here: 1. You see the sweat stain through my pants? I know it's hot. 2. MY man was wearing what looked like a brand new Kurt Warner jersey, fancy pants, and was carrying a cigar. 3. Exsqueeze me, wasn't I here a minute ago when he tried to sell me Indians' tickets?

WTF? I mean, this guy clearly had money. Was I supposed to be giving him a buck because he complimented my ability to read walk? Well, the guy down the street dishes out the sweet verbal treats a quarter per. What extra are you bringing to the table?

I didn't matter. I had reached my maximum panhandler donation limit, so I politely declined his offer to reallocate my funds saying, "Sorry. I don't have anything to give you. Gotta sell those tickets!" And he says, "But I don't have the tickets I work with another guy and the tickets aren't here yet." Ok, so not only were you asking me for money that you didn't really need, but you were also selling me tickets that you didn't have?

I walked away, head shaking. You, Kurt Warner, are a moron.

dialogue

girl1: I'm thinking about joining the Peace Corps again.
guy1: Wow. You were in the Peace Corps? That's amazing, very impressive.
girl1: Oh no. I wasn't in the Peace Corps, but I've thought about joining before.

Adventures in Spam Email Senders VII

Hello from the bowels of my yahoo email account! I'm here to explore actual sender names from the hundreds of spam email messages I (and I'm sure you) receive every week. I swear, these are actual spam email "senders". (Previous Editions here: i,ii,iii,iv,v,vi.)

Bureaucrat B. Grimaces	When you take his paperwork away.
Dwarf J. Newscaster	Hello! What station is he on? I bet it's Peter Jennings - that fuzzy little Canadian.
Monologging G. Egotist	Oh me. It is hard to be me, so fantastic all the time. Everyone expecting me to be the best at everything, which I am, and pretty effortlessly. But jeez, I'm only a man, albeit an incredible man with flaxon hair and broad shoulders and an incredible intellect . . . I thought I was going to demonstrate how tedious it was for an egoist to monolog, but I guess I'm just incapable of writing poorly.
Roger H. Rephrases	Roger rephrases insults to make them less caustic: "complete and utter idiot" becomes "I think maybe you're confused about what I'm saying here"; "Ass Monkey" becomes "lovable jokester"; "vacuous twat" becomes "maybe he's having a bad day."
Exuberantly I. Fork	Exuberantly I Fork delicious french fries and eat them all gone.

fresh links! fresh links!

That's right folks. Links packed fresh daily. Actually I was thinking of Shawshank Redemption when the guy's reelin' in the fresh links (aka fish). At any rate, more sites I enjoy (good, funny, etc.) and where you will often find me commenting.

Added:
New York Moments: Dispatches from NYC.
Cavalier Attitude: Cleveland Cavaliers Blog. Go Cavs!

woe is blog

My blog is a wholesale failure. I’ve been blogging for over a year now and so far returns have been minimal.

My expectation was that by now my blog would have:

• made me famous.
• made me rich.
• yielded me a cadre of sleazy sycophants forever looking to take advantage of my aforementioned fame and fortune.
• dated a Hollywood starlet and gotten involved in a heroin scandal of some kind.
• started a pizza night for us.
• gotten on board with the chore-sharing plan I devised.
• gotten a voicemail from Pat O’Brien.
• written a play that appeared off-off Broadway.
• gotten arrested.
• sold out to a major corporation requiring me to include in every post the phrase, "straighter than my spine lying on a Sealy Posturepedic Mattress. ®"
• won the World Series.
• cleared up my jaundice.
• married JLo.
• won an eating contest.
• learned to post on its own.
• appeared on Entertainment Tonight at least once.

It’s not that I’m mad at my blog, just disappointed.