Monday, March 30, 2009

546 LARGE, melonfarmers!

So, I was at the Grog Shop to see Afternoon Naps, AC Newman and a couple of others that it's too late for me to find links for.

At any rate, Grog has a Galaga and it's my favoritest arcade game of all-time. I had previously achieved a high score of 468 medium-LARGE, which is pretty good for dudes that used to play Galaga as a kid and are too curmudgeonly to figure out the new video gaming systems. I'll take Galaga and NHL '94 on Sega Genesis as the 2 best games of all-time, thank you.

I have a sweet spot with being drunk and playing Galaga. I was probably one PBR past that spot as I lost a couple of ships being a dumbass, but otherwise I was in the zone. When all was said and done, I achieved the titular score - 546,000+.

Now, having recently watched The King of Kong (highly recommended) I knew that the all-time Galaga high-score had to be some astronomical and impossibly attainable number. You see, I don't get obsessed with things to the degree necessary to get even, oh, I don't know, 1/25th of the all-time high . . . 15,999,990. Yah, that's right. I can't even imagine the necessary time to get that good at that game.

Then I thought, "Hey, maybe this Krogman guy has a Galaga blog with tips and whatnot." I google and this is the first result. Needless to say I am not willing to go to those extremes to score 16 million. I should note that I couldn't find anything definitive saying this Krogman is the same as the Galaga Krogman, but here's a picture of the Galaga Krogman. Same guy? Looks like it might be . . .

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Thursday, March 26, 2009


You know, I may only have like 8 readers, but you are the best. Thanks for all the love. We are doing better and Monica is well physically.

I plan to get back to my regular whimsy and chicanery ASAP.

Thanks again and much love.

Monday, March 23, 2009

sad news

I am sorry to announce that Monica and I lost our baby. We are sad, but doing ok. We thank you for your thoughts and prayers - those that had been said and those that are to come.

Friday, March 20, 2009

first, this news . . .

Well, I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just throw it out there . . . my wife is knocked up. Yes, yes, this is good news, not an “oops” baby or anything (until it stats falling down when it’s trying to walk and stuff, stupid baby). AND, I’m like pretty sure it’s mine, so that’s cool. (OMG j/k!) So, theMonica is bearing the fruit of my looms. I don’t know what this says about you, humanity, but it should scare you a little.

People have been asking me what I’m hoping for and I say a monkey, but an old world, smaller monkey, not one that’s gonna rip your face off after a couple of beers. Talk about an angry drunk! I mean, what kind of a world is it where you can’t have some drinks with your monkey friends without them going apeshit? Not the kind of world I want to live in. But, short of a monkey, I’ll settle for a healthy baby and something that’s bouncy, right? Is that the vernacular? Or can only boys be bouncy? What is it for girls? Galloping? Gathering? Gorging? I don’t think so, but that would explain babies with eating disorders. I guess I just want 10 finger, 10 toes and a 48-inch vertical, but not right away because that would be totally freaky . . . and bouncy.

All right, how’s that for starting your day with me blowing your mind? I mean, I didn’t even need to fill out an application! Dang!

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Tuesday, March 17, 2009

when I die . . .

Expect even fewer posts. But it won't be your fault, even if you said something really mean the last time we talked.

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Friday, March 13, 2009


Well, today I hit the gym early. What did I forget to bring? you ask. Well, you know me too well. Let’s see, over the past couple of weeks I’ve forgotten dress socks and my laptop, both in the same day. Another time I forgot my gym socks. But today, I decided to switch it up a little bit and forget my undershirt. Now granted the undershirt is not a max severity forgotten item, but it’s important to me as 1. I have sensitive nipples and 2. (this is difficult to admit) I’m a recovering victim of Sweating Man’s Disease.

What is SMD? Sweating Man’s Disease (aka Swamp Ass) is a horrible affliction affecting teenage boys who grew up on the west side of Cleveland. It is characterized by, well, a whole lot of sweating. (I think we were pretty clear with the issues when we named it.) This isn’t like a lot of sweating when you’re running a marathon or playing 10 hours of basketball. No, this is hanging around, playing NHL ’94 and building massive pit sauce through multiple shirts. Yah, multiple shirts are necessary. SMD and one shirt looks like you were hosed down riot-style.

When you have SMD, you can’t wear regular deodorant. You have to wear special, super anti-perspirant (sp? Spellcheck’s all WTF?). You have to wear Mitchum. Mitchum is a mix of fragrance and caulking of some kind (Now with no asbestos!). It’s made out of nuclear waste. Do not taunt Mitchum deodorant. So, you wear Mitchum and then you notice it’s eating through your clothes. Yah, it leaves a yellow corrosive residue that should not be breathed by women who are pregnant, nursing, thinking of becoming pregnant, know somebody who’s pregnant or have ovaries. Quickly you realize you can’t allow your sweet OP t-shirts to rub directly against the biohazard underneath your arms. No, you need an undershirt to cushion the blow.

So you suffer with your Mitchum and your undershirt and you wait for the cure for SMD. What’s the cure? You have to give it to someone else. How do you accomplish that? I have no idea. It isn’t through direct contact (try as I might through seemingly innocuous headlocks of my friends), it’s transferred through some kind of telekinetic osmosis. As inexplicably as it came, it went. You’d be so happy and dry! And then you’d notice one of your buddies start to look a little misty, fanning himself – ZING – SMD got ‘em again!

So you can see that even though I no longer suffer from SMD, going sans undershirt makes me a little anxious . . . a little nervous . . . a little warm . . . is that a bead of sweat forming on my armpit . . . .NOOO!

(The plusses to no undershirt are that I’m only one undone button away from a spectacular chest hair display (just ask theMonica).

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Wednesday, March 11, 2009

annoying . . .

When somebody knows half of something and it leads them to draw wholly incorrect conclusions (aka a little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing).

Don't bother trying to correct those people. It only leads you to more annoyance, which is just south of murder, mass.


Saturday, March 07, 2009


I've made a life decision not to join Twitter. Isn't that the type of time-waster that gets one fired? I can't afford getting fired right now. Maybe next year.

Tuesday, March 03, 2009

cougar attack!

Let me just start off by saying . . . I still got it! Was there ever any doubt? (theMonica may refrain from commenting.)

We were at a "Coming to America " party. These are exceedingly fun because they rarely happen. The Eddie Murphy in this story is emigrating from Ireland so some American-self-hater wrote some "Paddy Mc O'Brien" Bill of Rights (the stereotyped name is for the sake of anonymity, rather than insensitivity/hilarity) about not becoming obsessed with "material possessions." I do not feel like I am obsessed with things. I do not feel most of the people I know are obsessed with "things." Is there a conception of Americans as consumer-rougers? I suppose. Is it well-founded? Well, maybe, if you base your entire concept of the US on the media generated out of Hollywood. If that's the case, may God have mercy on your soul. I think people everywhere want things and it's a natural conditions.

At any rate, Paddy is a good guy and I'm glad to have him - both as an American and a Clevelander. There is a popular misconception that I don't like the Irish. I like the Irish fine. They're good, upstanding people who like to get drunk. How would *I* have a problem with that? I do have a problem with the faux-Irish. They would call themselves Irish-American, but I contend once you/your family is in one place for more than one generation, you are whatever that place is. Ok, you are still of that heritage, but the hyphenation can cease. Anyway, the Cleveland faux-Irish can be kind of irritating. Couple that with the music and you end with me being cranky.

It was hot in in there so I had to wear my sweater 80's preppy-villian style, around my neck with the arms tied in front. Then I went to up to get some beers and RAAAAWWWRRRRR! Some lady old enough to be my mom older sister, said her friend (old enough to be my older sister's older friend) said I had the prettiest blue eyes - like ever - in the HISTORY OF THE WORLD. (But not as pretty as a husky's.) So that embarrassed me/made me laugh. Then she said her friend was "horny all the time." That made me scared. But the beer wasn't there yet. I lit a small torch to fend them off until the libations were secured.

I tried to send my single, more cougar-aged buddy into the fray, but by then they had dispersed.

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Monday, March 02, 2009

put that coffee (cake) down!

And go read this book which effectively refutes (using only already established science) the idea that all calories are created equal. Well, it appears they're not.

It's interesting on its face, but also on interesting study on how sometimes scientific consensus isn't controlled by actual science. It can instead be controlled by politics, egos and particularly charismatic advocates of a particular viewpoint. I don't know. I found it all fascinating.

So this was book 2 of 2009. I'm already like 50% behind. Ugh.

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apologies, i was in vegas last week . . .

It's almost like you're not supposed to win. Will investigate further.