Friday, December 28, 2007

community food cabinet update

Someone brought in . . . something. It’s a plastic bag filled with smaller, (papyrus?) bags tied at an end with green ribbon. It almost looks like elegantly-packaged weed.

I sincerely doubt that. Anyone with the kind of stones necessary to dump dope on the CFC is probably a ninja or a pimp. Pimps crazy.

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Friday, December 21, 2007

i will not rest until my old seat row is retroactively awarded DiGiorno pizzas

re: a previous trip to a Cavs game

So I went to last Thurday's game with Baby Daddy (not mine, his own) and they did the "Talk Like Tait" segment again. I was very happy to see that the 2 guys doing it looked approximately how I felt. Queasy. I would also like to go on record as saying that I did a better Joe Tait impression than either guy. And once again, the second guy won despite no discernible superiority to the first guy.

Later one they were air-cannon launching hot dogs into the stands. The in-game announcer people are like, "Who wants a hot dog?!!!!" (They say everything real excited-like, because they're paid to always be excited.) And then a jumbotron camera guy comes and stands about 2 feet in front of us.

We went nuts. I was like, "Hey Moondog! Give me a hot dog; they're so delicious! I want a hot dog right now!" Moondog is the Cavs mascot and he didn't have the fire power to get a hot dog up to us, nor were we in anyway audible to those outside our immediate radius but we were selling that shit hardcore. I've learned my lesson - when on camera, freak out as much as possible. That's what the people want - hysteria over the possibility of hot dog reception.

And the meaning of life is revealed.

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Thursday, December 20, 2007

papa smurf lives!!

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Wednesday, December 19, 2007


"The women around here aren't tough enough. I want my wife to be . . . gritty.

Yes, same guy.

As to alleviating curiosity of "Asian chicks" I can only assume extensive case studies must be conducted.

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Tuesday, December 18, 2007


"When I get married, I'm going to be ready. I'm not going to run around. I'm not going to be curious about Asian chicks."

I'm not sure what it meant, but it was hilarious.


Thursday, December 13, 2007

blogger needs to stop f-ing with my comedic GOLD.

The labels for the previous post should read:

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But blogger, in an effort to sabotage me, alphabetized some stuff and removed duplicates. Hello. I'm being hilarious here. If you can't make self-referential label jokes on this thing what good is it?

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the economy will flow amber with the grease of my vomit

"Guy who just had a baby and never goes out anymore" emailed me this interesting tidbit from some bs some-such he had to observe via interweb tubage and I paraphrase quote:

"7-14% of Americans drink over 50% of the alcohol consumed in this country."


"If every American drank only 2 alcoholic beverages per day (every day of the year), alcohol sales would drop by 40%."

I'm assuming we're talking 2 drinks per Americans over the legal drinking age or we'd have a bunch of disillusioned drunk babies on our hands . . . "She stopped giving me the nipple, so I started hittin' the bottle. I don't need to talk to you! I'm allowed!" Duh, I mean literal babies as opposed to cry babies. All literal babies are cry babies, but not all cry babies are literal ones. I'm like Descartes over here.

At any rate, by my calculations, 15% of you are enjoying this post of a snifter of brandy. Drink on, dear reader, drink on.

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kathleen turner was never hot

I was watching half of Prizzi's Honor the other night (you know, tired, sleepy, hey, maybe I can finish this off before I got to bed - oh wait another hour-twenty left) and Jack Nicholson was all about Kathleen Turner.

Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I remember in my younger years Kathleen Turner was considered a sex symbol. At this time in my life, I was easily influenced and severely under-loved, so I kind of just went along with it. "Sure, Kathleen Turner - hottie." As I've gotten older, I've realized that Kathleen Turner must have had employeed the most sophisticated group of ad whizzes ever to perpetuate the notion that she was even remotely awesome. I mean, she was very accurately cast as Chandler's dad on Friends.

Ok, at the time she might have been comparable to the hottest mom amongst your friends' moms, but this is back in the '80s when there wasn't such an emphasis (let alone an acronym) on hot-momness. Supposedly her deep, manish voice is especially sultry. Sure, men everywhere want to be seduced by Froggy.

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Monday, December 10, 2007

there's no crying in hockey!

So, my team, of which I'm the goalie, lost our game tonight 17-1. That is NOT a typo folks. That is the honest-to-goodness truth. And while hockey is a team sport and we theoretically share in the loss equally, everyone knows this is not true. For I am the goalie and despite what might be happening (or not happening) in front of me, I am the last line of defense. I'm the one ultimately in charge of keeping the puck out of the net. And tonight, despite my best efforts, I failed miserably.

Knowing I feel this way, you can appreciate how embarrassing it was. It was like getting dumped in front of friends and family - maybe stood-up at the altar. And then, wait, there she is. But she only showed to punch you in the face. PUH-POW! And she's back out the door. For the ladies, it was like walking around with toilet paper on your shoe all day. Wait - worse than that - like walking around with a toilet on your shoe all day. Convenient, yet cumbersome.

With all the scoring comes frustration. The frustration coupled with the fatigue associated with attempting to prevent so many goals, leads to flailing. Flailing away at the puck, trying to anticipate passes, losing form, getting sloppy. This fundamentally unsound play can only lead to more goals and Roger weeping bitterly in the back of the net. Ok, I didn't do that, but it probably would have been more effective.

The frustration and flailing kind of reminds me of RS4. She was always ultra-crazy/aggressive. But I had longer arms. Despite all her swinging, kicking, scratching, she couldn't really get me. And that only pissed her off more. But, still, even as pissed as she could get, she couldn't really hurt me (unless she tomahawked me in the head with a golf club - that smarts). Tonight, I was RS4. No matter how hard I tried or how much I flailed, it didn't really matter.

The worst part of the whole thing though is post-game when everyone tells you "good game." Not the hand-shaking, "good game," but the extra, later on "good game." Listen. 17 goals allowed is not a good game by any stretch of any LSD-enhanced imagination. Even if all the goals were "not my fault," it doesn't matter. 17 goals is not a good game. Hell, 10 goals is not a good game. Even, if you thought it was a good game, don't run the risk of making me feel even worse for sucking. It's like saying, "Nice legs, Heather Mills." Maybe it's true, but she'd probably take it the wrong way.

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Friday, December 07, 2007


This woman whom I see on a regular basis (she doesn't work in this office, but is at least a twice-weekly visitor) was walking by my cube and she said, "Do you have a lot more hair on your face?"

Now I've been rockin' the beard for over a month and have surely been in her presence with it at least a dozen times. So I was trying to figure out what she meant. I decided to say, "Probably a little more since the last time I saw you." She started laughing maniacally. Apparently, she hadn't noticed the beard at all prior to this morning. Then she said she was only "somewhat observant." I think she's more delayed observant? Not observant at all?

Bottom line, people - look at my beautiful face. It's good life fundamentals.

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Tuesday, December 04, 2007

the tyra banks show is the best on tv

I know - bold claim. But you're going to have to take my word for it until you watch it yourself.

The first episode I saw Tyra had created "Tyra Town" (basically a large, dark room) in which women were "honest" with other women about their (the other women's) bodies. This required flesh-colored body suits, which were hilarious in and of themselves. I mean, what percentage of the population looks good in a flesh-colored bodysuit? 1? .1?

Anyway, the catch was that Tyra had created as many placecards as their were women. Each card could only be used once. As the women discussed which card to present the judgee, she was standing behind a "wall" (an empty white frame hanging from the ceiling). Picture frames cannot stop sound though and this is where most of the hilarity stemmed from.

For the first 10 to 15 women, the descriptions were . . . generous. This was much to the chagrin of brutally-honest European lady. My favorite quote from her was, "We should really think about using the 'Fat Slob' card for her." Oh yah, she was gold. 99% evil, 1% looked ok in that flesh-colored bodysuit. And that was where her power lied. Of course, Tyra is mad smart. She made Euro go last. And guess what was the only card left. "Fat Slob." This did not sit well with Euro.

She expressed her displeasure to everyone when they would cut to in-studio discussion where Tyra would interrogate the women, "You think she's a fat slob?" And crazy Euro lady's all, "I'm afraid to say, cuz she might eat me." It's just something you have to watch.

Oh, also, catch the episode where they gussy-up the ugly sister and uglify the good-lookin' sister. Tyra was uglified as well. And then they hired a bunch of guys to say incredibly cruel things to them. Sadly, Euro lady was not there to lay down the law.

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