Splonkered

Vatican in Hot Water as Neighbors Accuse it of Blocking Internet Access

2010-07-02T06:59:00.001-07:00

The Vatican is accused of blocking internet access for Italians bordering the tiny sovereign.

Hundreds of neighbors have complained that the Holy See is trying to control their online lives. Some of the websites reportedly blocked are protestantplanet, famousirishpopes, waferology (which has dozens of recipes for smuggled-home wafers), and Scientology.org, the official site of the Church of Scientology.

Why the Church of Scientology is blocked is not a mystery to Bernardo Respetti, a self-described conspiracy theorist and author who lives in nearby Rome. Respetti said someone hacked into the Vatican's main computer last year and nearly got away with all its secrets. He said the Church suspects it was Scientology. A few months after the incident, the Vatican reportedly hacked into Scientology's main website to see what it could learn, and managed to get all the way to "Level 47" before being discovered. Armed with each others' secret knowledge, the churches allegedly settled on a truce, wherein neither can acknowledge the other. That's why Scientology.org is blocked.

On the day of the truce, a memo was sent out to all priests by the Pope himself, said Respetti, declaring it verboten to discuss the Church of Scientology in any way. That memo was intercepted by Israeli agents and forwarded to Jerusalem, before working its way back to Rome.

In the meantime, a petition was filed by 50 neighbors with a list of blocked websites and stapled to the Vatican's main entryway. So far, the Vatican refuses comment.

YouTube Sued for Racism

2010-03-18T16:22:00.001-07:00

YouTube was sued yesterday by representatives from Yemen, Turkey and the Philippines, stating that the popular website discriminates against non-Westerners with deliberate slowdowns after 5pm E.S.T.

The lawsuit, filed in Geneva, says these slowdowns are meant to "increase the speed in which videos load for Americans, at the expense of non-Americans." The suit says U.S. customers typically barnstorm the internet after 5 p.m., which "causes a buildup in the tube stream."

"If videos are slow to load," the suit maintains, "U.S. customers react the angriest, flooding message boards with complaints, and sooner or later the FCC gets involved and eventually Congress."

The suit says non-Westerners are singled out for slowness, with the assumption that their countries are "less empowered" than Western ones, and slow video loading wouldn't lead to complaints or even be considered unusual.

"This is false assumption," says the suit. "We don't appreciate video slowness any more than people in Idaho or Alberta. We demand equal access to the Internet, and maintain that any democratic website should be impartial to where its eyeballs come from."

The suit seeks unspecified damages, but is thought to be in the billions of dollars.

Mrs. God

2009-11-14T13:44:00.000-08:00

Image by Caio Basilio via Flickr

I'm Sherri, the wife of God. You've probably never heard of me, but that's cool. I'm the one who makes sure God gets your prayers every day. In fact, I delivered one of your prayers yesterday. You said, and I quote: "If tomorrow's story is successful, I'll be forever grateful." I hope you don't mind me telling you that God put it in the stack with everyone else's, so I wouldn't get my hopes up.

What do you want to know about Him -- notice the capitalization? I'm sensing you want to know His first name. If I told you I would have to kill you. Do you have another question? The answer is: No. See? You didn't even have to ask.

Let me tell you one thing, He hates beards. All future prophets: enough with the beards. More questions? Yes, He is ambivalent about masturbation. Yes, He knows how to read, but prefers prayers be out loud. Yes, He personally will use lightning on someone. Boy, you can come up with them. Yes, hair loss will visit you. Yes, steeples are an extravagance. Yes, periods are necessary. Yes, Fanta is disgusting. Yes, worshiping over 30 minutes is a waste of time. Yes, foreskin removal is a relic of the past but looks a hell of a lot better.Yes, yes, yes.

Excuse me, God is calling. Nice chatting.

Rude Comment to YouTube "Taxman" Leads to Audit

2009-11-02T16:14:00.000-08:00

Mark Krowly didn't take kindly to IRS agent Gerald Fitts making a YouTube video warning potential tax dodgers to look out this season, so he told the agent to "f--k off" during a 197 character rant that may have led to his audit.

Krowly says he was angry the IRS would invade a "peaceful hamlet like YouTube with fussy, veiled threats," and was investigated by the IRS shortly after leaving his comment, a comment he admits crossed the line.

"I basically challenged the legitimacy of the tax, as well as the legitimacy of Mr. Fitts' birth," he said.

Before being audited he received dozens of emails from concerned YouTube citizens who warned him he might need to get his financial affairs in order. Krowly realized at that point he was "pretty much toast."

When he tried to erase his comment, a cryptic message on the web page said "Comments Disabled." Krowly's comment had gone into the void, as well as hundreds of others. The IRS would not comment on these comments, or if it is procedure to collect them.

A woman in Utah wishing to stay anonymous says she is particularly worried about Krowly's fate, because she "commented" directly underneath his comments in support of his opinion.

She has hired an attorney.

Never Mess With (My) God

2009-10-11T18:11:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

Especially if You're in a Different Religion

If I were God I would have a Commandment that says you can make fun of me three times a year. Do it four times, though, and you're going to hell. Two times is considered pushing it. Once is best.

I don't believe in God, but that doesn't make me a heretic. It makes me an non-believer. If you believe I'm a heretic, you probably believe in an anthropomorphic kind of God, one that avenges this type of behavior. I also think God would have more than two nostrils, given the choice, and He wouldn't need toes, which are there to keep balance. Also, God would not have ugly ears. He would have beautiful ears. Have you ever noticed our ears? The ugliest things on the planet.

I believe God would have a middle name, too. Make that three middle names. Make that eighty middle names. He would have the longest name in history. If you said it out loud, you would be required to put a "Sir" in front of it. Make that "Lord." Make that "The Lord."

I don't believe God would allow a snarky thing called science to disprove him, either. He would abolish science, or have his true believers try to abolish it. Wait ... maybe there is a God.

I believe consciousness permeates the universe, that God is everywhere, and everything, not just an entity who resides in a special place called Heaven. I don't believe in an anthropomorphic God, one with human characteristics, like anger, jealously and vengeance.

I've run out of time... I wasn't allowed to mock "God" more than a couple of times, and here I am overstaying my welcome. I believe I'm wanted in hell now?

Stoner Conversation

2009-09-27T11:51:00.000-07:00

Larry rolled a joint, a handmade joint. It looked "jointed," full of lumps. Amateurish.

"I can't wait for perfectly rolled joints," I said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"When pot becomes legal, we'll have factory-rolled joints, like cigarettes. Perfectly round."

"I can't wait, either. All kinds of special designs on the packaging."

"Yeah. Wow."

We thought of the future. Puffing in bars. Checking out each others' cigarette cases.

"As a society, we'll be much happier," I predicted. "And creative. Alcohol is such a depressant."

"Pot bars will replace alcohol bars."

"Not that there's anything wrong with alcohol."

"It's just that drunks ruin it for everybody else."

"True, plus being an alcoholic is a selfish undertaking. You don't like sharing the bottle."

"Pot is more social," Larry agreed.

He passed me the joint.

I took a puff.

"Ahhh," I exhaled.

"Your pot 'ahhh' is different than the average stiff drink 'ahhh.'"

"Ahhhhhhh."

"The stiff drink 'ahhh' is said with gusto after pain. The pot 'ahhh' is uttered because the pot relaxes you."

"How interesting," I said. "Pot tastes good too. It really does. I want to be a pot bartender."

"What do you mean?"

"I want to serve pot."

"A pot bartender?"

"You'd be handed a smoking pipe instead of a cold glass."

"A warm glass instead of a cold glass?"

"Exactly. Bartenders are lab assistants anyway. Technicians. The right amount of liquid mixed correctly with some other liquid. I want to mix pot varieties."

"Pot varieties. Mmmmm."

"Acapulco Gold mixed with Panama Red. Powerfully intoxicating."

"How about northwest Mexican mixed with southeastern Canadian?"

"Exotic. The possibilities are endless. So are the highs."

"OCB Kush melded with some Afghanistan bush weed."

"Hard core. After dinner, some nice Perrella mixed with some Calabrisella."

"My lungs are moist just thinking about it."

"Cheers." We clanked our lighters together.

My Trip to Hell

2009-09-24T18:28:00.000-07:00

Hell found me. Or should I say, I found hell.

I found hell because I wanted to go there--desperately.

TRIP TO HELL

I started my trip to hell by saying God's name in vain. Then I said Jesus's name in vain. To cover my bets I also said Allah's name in vain, Vishnu's name in vain, Buddha's name in vain, Zeus's name in vain, and Sun Myung Moon's name in vain.

Then I stole a pack of cigarettes, and smoked them, and littered them. I know littering is not a Commandment but it's illegal in most cities. To ensure my going to hell, I turned a teenager on to cigarettes. Then I tried quitting myself, which is an abbreviated form of hell.

I became a mortgage broker and specialized in loans with variable interest rates. There's a special place in hell for me.

I started playing Christian music backwards.

I got a special audience with the Pope and did nothing but fib to him.

Right before falling asleep I withheld prayer, but found time to masturbate.

I read "The Origins of Species." Twice.

I became a telemarketer.

ARRIVAL IN HELL

Who greeted me in hell? The creators of South Park, mosquitoes, Hitler, Hitler's chaplain, the inventor of the restroom hand dryer, a homeless guy named Steve, and a surprising number of televangelists. Oh, and Jeff Bezos, the founder of Amazon, for selling too many Satanic Bibles and Korans.

Hell is exactly how you'd expect it: hot. With too much humidity.

ESCAPE FROM HELL

After fifty thousand eternities I decided I had enough of hell. It was time to escape.

Leading the way out was Bon Scott, immortal singer of AC/DC, who later wrote a song about the experience, called "Highway Out of Hell." He suggested we take the quick route, the "Stairway to Heaven" road. I wasn't sure if there was still time to change the road we were on, but he assured me there was, so we headed north, all the while, the first verse of John Lennon's "Imagine" kept going through my mind (!). OJ Simpson tried to tag along but we made him go back. We passed Noel Gallagher on the way but he was heading south.

Finally, there was light up ahead -- soothing light, diffused light, not burning, raw light. Roy Orbison met us at the gate. I asked for Peter, and he said he hoped I didn't mean Frampton. I assured him it was Gabriel I was after.

We ate angelic sponge cake and apple sauce and drank champagne and no one burped. Heaven did away with all burping.

Peter Gabriel gave us a tour of The Place. It was BIG.

Gabriel said God loved the name of his original band, Genesis, and I asked him what his current band's name was, and he told me Genesis II.

I asked him who he was most surprised to see in Heaven and he said Yoko Ono. He said Paul McCartney was, as it turns out, the real reason for the Beatles break-up, and for that he's in hell.

Opera Lover

2009-09-21T18:14:00.000-07:00

Image by sachman75 via Flickr

The glass above my head shattered. An opera singer shattered it from across the room using her voice. She saw me drunkenly balancing a champagne glass on my head at a party and nudged her friend. Then she let loose a high "C" in my direction and blew it up, spraying glass everywhere. People around her covered their ears, dropping other glasses. Glass was everywhere.

I looked at her and mouthed "What the fark," but I think she mistook it for something naughty. She stared at me, then at my eyeglasses, and nudged her friend again. I dropped to the floor and covered my head with both hands: I was wearing $400 glasses!

She was suddenly slapped by a gentleman who was standing nearby. His voice was a heavenly roar.

"What in God's name are you doing, woman?"

She looked at him with disgust.

"Having a little fun, you little ... Iago."

The mere mention of that name enraged him.

I crawled away as fast as I could but the floor was covered in glass. I screamed something worthy of a Bellini tragedy but was drowned out by their voices: She was yelling diva-like at him, and he was using a counter-tenor against her. It sounded beautiful, so I stopped crawling and began listening. As did everyone else. Snacks were handed out.

In the end, they were so out of breath we had to applaud. Some more glasses were dropped, but this time no one cared.
---

My appreciation for opera expanded that day -- I began watching soap operas religiously. I even memorized which ones belonged to what TV networks, the ultimate in devotion.

Since there are so many soap operas on TV, I had no choice but to get a TiVo, so I could watch them in one chunk. It forced me to stay up til midnight most nights, but that is the price you pay for being a devotee of art. Now, if they would only introduce singing...

I had such an appetite for these shows that I even tapped into the Hispanic market. I recorded all the Telemundo soaps and paid for a service to have them translated. But that wasn't enough, so I had the Italian ones satellited in, which turned out to be the best.

Several out-of-work opera singers starred in these Italian soaps. It was the ultimate in opera fetishism.

One lady had been queen of the stage, but she took the role of a dowdy prison warden on the show. She was trampled to death by a crowd of rioters. She decided to retire after that, after the producers wouldn't let her come back from the dead in a dream. Actually, they agreed to one dream, but she demanded an unprecedented four dreams. They told her to hit the road.

One gentleman had a famous mustache that he was told to shave. Needless to say, he was distraught. The writers simply built it into the show, so he could shave it in front of a sympathetic audience.

Another well-known star never allowed his speaking voice to be heard in public, so he was afraid to use it on the show. The producers made him a deaf mute.

I watched these Italian soaps while eating popcorn but switched to pasta in tribute to that great nation, but it required too much attention so I switched back to popcorn. I now eat popcorn sprinkled with Parmesan cheese.

Speaking of cheese, American soaps are the "cheesiest," followed by: Italian soaps, then Hispanic soaps. I hear Iranian soaps are pretty cheesy too, but I haven't seen one -- yet.

Next week I plan on watching all the Canadian soaps. That should kill an hour.

Eventually, I will watch all the soaps of the world. I will let you know how things turn out.

Ode to my favorite color--Brown

2009-09-18T18:17:00.000-07:00

I like the color brown
It fits my frown
and my beverage
when it's upside-down

and the sand
when it's wet
and the coloring
of my pet

I like brown
a brown clown
would be renowned

Brown is beautiful
especially in the Fall
Cleveland browns, Chicago browns
no difference the city
Fall is a Ball

Brown isn't bright
It's subdued and subtle
I'm thinking of it as
having no rebuttal

Don't tempt me with Pink
I'm happy you're Yellow
I'm sticking with you, Brown
Quintessence of mellow

Man Strains So Hard He Craps Out His Soul

2009-09-18T17:10:00.000-07:00

Ray Charles via last.fm

From WBBL in Detroit:

Vatican officials have confirmed a man in East Lansing, Michigan crapped out his soul while straining too hard on a commode yesterday. Two priests and a plumber were brought in by the local diocese, but the whereabouts of the soul remains a mystery. Reportedly, after holy water was added to the toilet in an attempt to "cleanse the plumbing," persistent stains in the porcelain disappeared overnight which the priests call a "miracle." In the meantime, the plumber was taken to a local hospital after complaining of being hungry subsequent to the ordeal, which those in attendance call "crazy."

Meanwhile, the victim, a 56-year-old man, was diagnosed as being "1,000,000% caucasian" after losing his soul. He was ordered to go on a strict diet and eat nothing but country fried okra, butter beans with hambones, tongue espagnole, chitterlings, and Red Velvet Cake. And plenty of laxatives.

He is expected to recover completely if he follows this diet and listens to "Let's Stay Together" by Al Green, "Sincerely" by The Moonglows, and "Drown In My Own Tears" by Ray Charles, over and over again.

Trumped

2009-09-11T18:55:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

The Hiring

The Donald summoned me to his office. He didn't offer a seat so I stood by his desk. His chair was facing a window and I could see New York's skyline. I also saw the top of his skull, and memorized the pattern of his hair. He was on a speakerphone, so I had time to study his scalp. I knew then how I could "wow" him.

"I don't care what it takes, get it done," he barked into the phone.

The voice on the phone said, "It will be done by tomorrow."

"Make it tonight," countered The Donald. "Or you're fired."

The phone went dead. Donald swiveled around. His craggy face looked at me contemptuously.

"You've got ten seconds," he said.

I took a deep breath. "Eleven brush strokes in the morning, all flowing to the left. Followed by flopping your hair forward from the back to the front." I made a swooping motion with my hand.

"That's enough," said The Donald, glaring at me. His eyes were flints.

"Then you spray it with hairspray, most likely Aqua-Net, since it's the best."

"Enough!"

"Then you test it by walking by a pedestal fan."

"You're fired."

"But I'm not hired yet."

"You're hired," he said. "Now you're fired."

"If you fire me I'm writing a tell-all book. It's going to be a psychological profile of your hair."

"You're re-hired," he said. "Congratulations."

I shook his hand.

That was last year.

Yesterday, his number one-adviser retired but The Donald sent out a press release saying that he was "fired." Donald doesn't like people to leave his employ voluntarily -- he'd rather fire them.

I wanted the position because the office was closest to the bathroom. A bimbo named Bambie Carruthers was also in contention for that position. She used the men's room too, so it was to her advantage to get the job, especially since she had to use it more than anyone else. I followed her into the bathroom one day and saw that she used the urinal just like one of the guys. She was forced to learn to pee quickly in such a high-pressure environment, and while admiring her gutsiness, I couldn't help but notice that she didn't wash her hands when she was done. I knew The Donald was a neat freak, so I installed a hidden camera in the bathroom, and recorded her coming and going 16 times in one day, and not once did she wash her hands. She barely glanced at the mirror on her way out the door! Was she actually a woman? I knew the answer as soon as I used "zoom" on the video: she was definitely a woman.

The Pitch

"You've got ten seconds," said The Donald. Instantly, I brought out a DVD player and hit the "play" button, and in high definition it showed Bambie finishing up at the urinal and nonchalantly walking out the door without a second look at the sink.

The Donald's eyes were wide when I shut off the player. I saw fear.

"Enough," he said. "I can't believe I saw Bambie do that."

"You saw her," I confirmed. "And you might as well have seen her germs, too."

"My God," said The Donald, and began scratching himself everywhere. I got out a bottle of anti-bacterial spray and began spritzing him with it.

"Yessss," he moaned, reveling in the mist, and twisting around in his chair. He was still scratching, and nearly foaming at the mouth. In a hoarse voice he uttered, "That bitch."

I got out another bottle, this one labeled "Holy Water."

"NOOOO," screamed The Donald, when the first drops landed. His hair began to sizzle.

"May the power of Christmas compel you," I chanted.

The Aftermath

Bonus checks were mailed routinely after that, and everyone was delighted. I was promoted to top adviser, and Bambie Carruthers was fired. But The Donald didn't fire her in person -- which was a first for him. He did it via bathroom webcam.

"Bambie," he said in his inimitable voice as her hand reached the bathroom door one last time. "At least you flushed. But you're fired."

The Donald is bald now. That was my first advice to him.; so far, so good. The next thing I'm advising him to do is grow a goatee, and to hold a trident in his right hand, and to wear expensive cloven shoes, and to get a small "9 9 9" tattoo upside-down where his hair used to be. I think that will be a good look for him.

Travails of the Invisible Man

2009-09-09T12:23:00.000-07:00

Image by [auro] via Flickr

As the Invisible Man, I'm often going places not having to get dressed first. I like not having clothes -- either on me or in the closet. You could say I have an invisible closet too. The only downfall is I'm a hippie, go figure, and my hair is down to my waist, and it's very beautiful, and I like to take care of it, but you cannot see it. So why bother? As a matter of fact, I can't see it either. So really why bother? Thank God for touch. I can at least touch it. I can also touch myself in public, but I don't. It's nice having that luxury, though.

I don't have a lot of friends, because for some reason they need the assurance that I'm actually there. Since I refuse to wear clothes, they say it's like having a ghost around--a naked ghost--even though I'm a fantastic listener. I don't moan, or say "boo," I just listen. I'm the perfect cell phone friend as well, but I hate using them, because it confuses people when I'm using them in public ... like everyone else.

Being invisible does have an advantage: I can see what wind looks like. (Farts too.)

I can also stalk movie stars, but that gets old, so I decided to stalk bankers; that way I can be a superhero. I just eavesdrop on their shenanigans and file reports. I've already saved this country twenty times yet Batman gets all the cred. I'm the 'invisible hero,' the one that stays in the shadows, except I stand in direct sunlight. I'm thinking of a gimmick, though. Maybe a corncob pipe, but that sounds a little too Sherlocky Holmes. Maybe an obnoxious cologne. You'd be minding your own dirty business, and suddenly this foul odor would envelop you. Your eyes would water, and you would cough. By the time you were arraigned in court the next day it would look like you were suffering a cold. That should be my gimmick.

I'm thinking about getting a tattoo, too: a circle around my heart. That way, if I ever need open heart surgery, the doctors can find it.

My next-door neighbor has an invisible fence that keeps his dogs in. He doesn't realize I made a secret hole in it so his dogs can visit my yard. Sometimes for a laugh I'll go up to his front door and his dogs will bark at me and of course he'll answer the door and look around and then yell at his dogs. I do it all the time to the neighborhood dogs as a practical joke, but some of them get their feelings hurt if their owner is particularly upset.

I haven't painted my house in years and despite numerous visits by code enforcement, I haven't gotten a fine. I just assure them it's painted.

Next week I'm getting rid of my toothbrush to see if I can finally become visible by having the world's stinkiest breath.

Echo Effect

2009-09-08T03:24:00.000-07:00

Image by $ydney via Flickr

My friend is in a band
in Florida
A band-mate of his lives in England now
where he introduced their CD to a local station
who broadcast it to the natives, and simultaneously as a webcast
where my friend overheard his song
in Florida, streaming to his couch via the Internet, with no time delay
from a country that is five hours ahead!
Funny how things work in a technological age.

Dog-like

2009-09-06T13:35:00.001-07:00

Image by Getty Images via Daylife

I'm a dog in so many ways -- like eating really fast, and hating to shave. Also, I have sex on the brain constantly. I shed too if you look at my shower drain, and my eyes are always red in photographs.

I wouldn't mind eating canned dog food if there is no horse meat in it, because it seems so unbelievably delicious when my dog chows it down. My penis is bigger than my dog's, so I wouldn't trade that. But his hearing ability I wouldn't mind having. I would like to hear what he hears, especially when I have headphones on. I bet music would sound great. Dogs can only see in black and white. Does that mean they can only hear in mono? That would suck. My poor doggie, I want to hug him for not having stereo.

He started out with brown hair, and gradually took on gray hair, so we share that in common. I've used "Just For Men" hair dye on myself and I have also used it on him, and I can testify that he looks years younger. He has most of his hair, too, so he gets more compliments.

He doesn't know algebra and neither do I. I don't kick when a certain area is scratched, I punch. I have responded to a whistle before, so that makes me "obedient." I tend to shake hands whenever someone hands me a paw. I can stand on two legs for hours on end and he can't, but I think he is better balanced.

I am like him, and unlike him, in so many ways, but he has a better singing voice.

Nonet Poem

2009-09-05T03:19:00.000-07:00

Image by madaboutasia via Flickr

Nine lines. First line has nine syllables, second has eight, and so on.

My body cries out for a massage
Caring hands for my aches and pains
Firm but compassionate strokes
My breathing relaxed, ahhh
So memorable
My breathing stops
Near my groin
Will she?
No

My Secret

2009-09-03T16:51:00.000-07:00

My secret is that my dog saw me naked. It was an accident. I was coming out of the shower and heard a noise. I looked over and there he was. He may or may not have been panting. That is a secret I will carry to my grave.

Naturally, I was devastated, and afterward when we went on walks, I made him stay an extra yard ahead. I wouldn't look him in the eye when I pet him, either, which may have hurt his feelings. I only knew that every time he saw me his tail would start wagging and that made me sick. I locked my door when taking a shower from then on and put extra tags on his collar so that he would jangle when he was nearby.

I began calling him "Fifi" to see how he would react; he didn't. I took him to the groomer and had his hair shaved off so I could say I saw him naked, too, but there were no long-term effects.

Finally, I just accepted that he saw me naked. He was my best friend, after all; what did it matter? Soon, I began walking around nude in front of him, then I began parading around. I was finally free of the closet-like confines of the bathroom. Next week is the Big Test when Samantha spends the night and we have sex and we might even get to see glowing eyes.

Definition of conspiracy theorist

2009-09-03T15:56:00.000-07:00

Definition of a conspiracy theorist: One that automatically thinks you're crazy if you don't come to the same conclusions.

Adios from the Middle of the Table

2009-09-01T17:07:00.000-07:00

Hi, I'm mayonnaise, a condiment you're not supposed to leave out very long, but I don't care. Refrigerators cramp my style.

I just spent four months next to a jar of butter pickles and nobody noticed. Now, I'm outside and hanging with a real power couple, the salt and pepper shakers, who couldn't be more upright. I'm in great company here, even though my expiration date is coming up very soon, and I try not to think, or say, too much about it (I need to keep my lid on). But it's coming up, and I need to prepare. Salt already offered to dump a lot of himself in me, to preserve me, but I declined. I would rather die than be that salty. Pepper offered to help too, but reneged when I said I preferred paprika.

Truthfully, what I need now is a freezer. I hate to admit it, but it's true. I would miss all my friends, of course, but you can't have everything. I figure I'd get used to staring at ice cubes after awhile. I would even get to see a human face maybe once a night (for two seconds) and I'm okay with that. In my refrigerator days I saw a human roughly once an hour, and took it for granted. The freezer is like a no-man's land compared to the refrigerator.

My pal Mustard has it made because he can live forever. What dimwit made Mustard last a trillion times longer than Mayonnaise?

I have to say adios now because the temperature is starting to rise and I'm afraid I'm starting to spoil. I guess the rumors are true.

Adios, from the middle of the table, where I got to hang out for awhile.

Wheel of Misfortune

2009-08-30T16:12:00.000-07:00

Pat Sajak ripped the Bankrupt pie wedge off the wheel and hit his manager with it.

"I'm bankrupt," he said.

"I know," said the manager, who blocked it with his arm. "I helped get you there."

"Help me solve the puzzle then. It's your fault."

"You can spin it any way you like."

"You can't spin it backwards," Pat corrected him.

"A good attorney can," corrected his manager.

Pat walked to the edge of the set. He wanted to rip the curtain open, he was that mad. So he did.

Half the audience was still there, in their seats. They had heard the commotion and stayed behind. When they saw Pat they applauded.

"Did anyone say applaud?" Pat yelled. They stopped applauding.

"Thank you," he whispered.

An older man in the audience wearing a fancy Texas cowboy hat stood up.

"Mister Sajak, may I call you 'Partner?'" he said. "I have a proposition for you."

"You can call me Partner only if it helps me out," Pat said.

"Well, Partner, it just might. I couldn't help but overhear your financial woes. Let me put it this way: I'm rich, big rich, and I can get you out of this mess. Right now."

"How?" asked Pat.

"You like to gamble?"

"Not really."

"Well, I do. That wheel you got there is a big ol' crap wheel. Let's say we spin it and see where it lands."

The manager came up and tapped Pat on the shoulder. Pat hit him with the wedge.

"Good job," said the old man, approvingly. "He's not here to help you win."

"Win?"

"I have a million dollars saying you won't land on a primary color."

Pat studied the wheel.

"I'll take that bet," he said.

The old man came up to the stage and wrote out a check.

"You can verify everything's there if you'd like."

Pat stared at the check, then at the man. "I just might."

The manager tried to grab the check to "verify" it, but Pat held it out of his reach.

"Never mind," Sajak said, "I believe him."

"Thanky," said the old man.

Pat grabbed the wheel. He studied the layout. He had a roughly 1-in-2 chance of landing on a primary color. He was about to give it a whirl, when the old man said, "Now, what if you lose?"

"Lose?"

"What do I get?"

Pat thought hard, his hand on the wheel. "I don't know. I don't have much to give right now."

"You're one of the producers of the show, right?"

"Yes."

"Then you know what I want."

Pat spun the wheel. There was a gasp, then a groan from the audience.

Later, Vanna White was fixing one of the letters by standing on her toes and showing off her ageless legs when Pat approached and gave her the bad news.

She threw the letter in his face and stormed away.

...right into the arms of the Texan, waiting for his prize.

Food as Sex

2009-08-29T20:06:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

My friend made a delicious chicken dish and I marveled at how good the chicken tasted.

"I wouldn't mind eating one with size D breasts," I said.

"I've had one before," he boasted.

"Were they real?" I asked.

"Hardly," he said. "They were pumped full of hormones. But my stomach didn't care."

He was a true gourmet, my friend. He fondled his meat before putting it in the cart, and when he got home he seasoned it and battered it and occasionally smothered it.

"Did you ever want to eat a rooster?" I asked him.

"Never. You?"

"Once, on the farm ... in that environment you act differently sometimes."

"No excuse," he said. "You should never be attracted to a rooster."

"Why? It fries just the same."

"It's not an 'it,' it's a 'he,'" he reminded me.

"So you only eat females?"

"Yes."

"I find that hard to swallow."

"You would."

"What about cows? Steak-wise, you enjoy the males."

"I don't do red meat," he stated. "Just the mother's milk."

"Fish?" I asked.

"Fish doesn't matter. You can't tell the difference."

My freezer was full of various sexes, so I vowed to separate them by putting some in the freezer and the rest in the fridge. If that didn't work, I would avoid one sex entirely. If that didn't work, I would discriminate against all sex and simply do soy.

My friend called that "gay."

Blow Then Pop

2009-08-27T02:39:00.001-07:00

She licked the Blow Pop for so long the stem splintered. I wanted to meet her tongue.

I followed her down the street. Would she suck on another?

She dug into her purse. Another pop came out. She unraveled the wrapper and let it float to the sidewalk. I stepped on the wrapper and saw that it said "root beer."

So she liked beer.

She also liked roots.

I swallowed.

I watched her lick it. There was a slight bobbing as she sucked. That's all I needed to see.

"Pardon me, ma'am," I said, stepping in front of her.

She stopped. Her lips parted in surprise; I saw how they formed around the stick.

"Whaw?" she said.

"Pardon me," I repeated. "I saw you sucking that thing and knew I had to re-introduce myself. John Byrd, Tootsie Pop account executive. We met before at the Confectionery Convention. You won 'Best Face' during the Sour Apple Eating competition."

There was total non-recognition on her part. But I knew those lips, and especially that tongue.

"I don't recall meeting you there," she said. She had stopped licking and was now in the process of chewing.

"It's fine if you don't remember me," I said. I too was chewing.

"Fingernail chewing is why I switched to Blow Pops in the first place," she said, studying me. I stopped chewing.

"I needed a new habit," I protested, hiding my hands. "I was getting fat eating our product."

"Shame on you," she said.

"I paid for them all!" I lied.

"You forget I worked for Blow Pop, your main competitor, and we had spies everywhere, and we knew about your pilfering. We also know you are the one responsible for introducing 'Olive' flavor to the world, not to mention the Tootsie Roll Laxative."

"How--?"

"Now get out of my face and let me chew in peace."

--

Later that night I plotted my revenge (no one blows me off like that).

She would open her front door and be met by a huge bubble, made of gum, that I would pop in her face. She wouldn't know what hit her.

I did an internet search for the best bubble gum and found Ollie's, which promised huge bubbles, and had it shipped in. Ollie's tasted like regular gum and chewed like regular gum, but the bubble itself was fantastic, about the size of a basketball, and retained its shape for a good 30 seconds. When it popped, it popped outward, making a great mess.

I got binoculars and watched her door and took note of how long it took for her to answer her doorbell. She averaged 25 seconds per ring, so I knew I could ring it, then form a bubble, and would have a 5 second window of opportunity, plus-or-minus her motivation to get to the door.

Halfway to her door, though, I stepped on a jelly candy baking into her driveway and my plan was thwarted when my sneakers made an awful squeaking noise and her dog in the garage began to bark. I quickly got out of there and soaked my shoes in mineral spirits and plotted my next move.

Then my phone rang, and it was her on the line.

"I heard you at my place today," she said. "I recognized your pace. From the time you were following me."

"You heard me squeaking?"

"Yes. It was you."

"It was me. I came offering taffy."

"I only do toffee."

"What about root beer?" I inquired.

"My sweet spot," she confided. "Mmm."

"I have frothy one right now," I lied. "With clean ice cubes."

"A straw?"

"Made of candy, just the way you like it."

"I'll be right over," she said.

I took four sticks of gum and folded them in half and placed them in my mouth, then added four more, and made a bubble the size of a medicine ball. Then I kept adding gum until it became the size of a bean bag sofa.

I unlatched the door and turned off the lights.

I heard someone's hand on the knob.

The door opened.

The stick in her mouth caused a big explosion.

Roll Play

2009-08-25T20:17:00.000-07:00

Image by Stoichiometry via Flickr

"You will be the dog and I will be the master. Roll over."

She rolled over.

"Good, now play dead."

She whimpered a little and died.

"Now reawaken."

She scrambled right up.

"Now be happy."

She didn't have a tail, so she wagged her tongue.

"Perfect. Now find me your bone."

She sniffed his zipper.

"Fetch."

She soon had his bone in her mouth. It was a big bone, the kind she liked. She preferred it sideways, though. When she was done she left lots of drool.

"Finish it off," he commanded

She finished it off.

"You made a mess, didn't you?" he scolded.

She panted.

"Come." It wasn't over yet.

She eventually came.

Dear 37th President

2009-08-24T04:21:00.000-07:00

Image by gfoots via Flickr

Dear Nixon,

Oh Richard, you know I mean you. After all, what other Nixons are there?

I miss your nose and your deep voice. Your voice was pretty deep, did you know that? It was the opposite of Jimmy Carter's higher-pitched voice. Maybe Jimmy got elected because of his voice, which was completely the opposite of yours.

I miss your double "V" for victory sign as you left us, intent on boarding a military helicopter, going who knows where. San Clemente? The peaceniks around the country watched you do this on TV and didn't do a "V" in return.

I miss you going up against the hippie establishment, almost single-handedly. That's probably why you needed to compile a list, a so-called "enemies list," because your "enemies" had to be "compiled" before they could be eliminated because that's how a king operates.

I miss hearing your cronies on tape recordings. None of them were caught singing, or even humming once. I think that says a lot about your administration.

I want you back in office mainly because as soon as you get thrown out again, Disco will re-surface.

Love,

Modern Music Hater

Dead Computer/New Computer

2009-08-23T14:40:00.000-07:00

Image via

Something was wrong. My computer went black. It died halfway through a porn movie, so I never found out who the villain was. Its little red CPU light stayed off, meaning it was "dead."

I couldn't afford to have it buried, nor resurrected, so I was stuck with it. I thought about trading it in for a new one, but was told that doesn't happen.

So, it became a book holder, something to put my foot on, a temporary printer stand, and "Boxy," my cat's aluminum playground.

"Boxy" had hairs on it when I finally had the courage to dump it at a friend's uncle's toxic landfill. Before dumping "Boxy," I stripped her of her drive, just in case there were any hard-drive grave robbers around.

Once I got the hard-drive home, I crushed it beyond recognition with a 40lb sledge hammer, having said a few prayers first.

I took the remnants to the lake and took a boat to the middle of the lake and released the particles into the air. It was a spiritual but sickening experience.

Heading back to shore I thought of all the computer moments I shared with it. So many memories. So much "memory."

At the computer store I broke down when deciding whom to take with me. Did I go for "power" or "productivity"? Or both?

I compared price tags and countries of origin.

I decided an American processor with a possible South Korean motherboard and a Japanese hard-drive would work best. My sales lady assured me it would have Chinese parts too, and I said that was fine.

I took my baby home and gave it my complete attention for several nights. First, I taught it about me, then about "itself." I spent practically all my non-working hours on it. I hate to say it, but at one point I did masturbate in front of it.

Eventually, I forgot it was there, it was doing its "thing" so well. I could go off and do my "thing" without worrying about it. That means I'm a successful parent.

My computer, however, met another computer and got a virus from it.

I thought it was a shame that it happened -- I'd invested a lot time and money in it. I guess I expected more from it.

I was disappointed in the type of virus, too: a low-grade ESPN-reporter-is-nude virus. I'd responded to its come-on, sure, but I expected my computer would have eventually warned me out of it.

Anyway, the infection didn't last long, thank God, and there was no permanent damage, but psychologically, I look at things differently nowadays, with more suspicion.

I have a program watching my other programs now. It's called an "anti-virus" program. It runs in the background like a babysitter. I have no idea how it works; I'm just glad it does.

Before going to bed, I check my computer's "vitals" on various displays. I can see its pulse rate, and whether or not it's being overwhelmed. If for any reason it has an emergency, I can be awakened, too, thanks to ear-piercing squawks that go through my speakers. Just last night it awoke me at 2 a.m. to say it needed to reboot because it may have caught something. I watched it fight off an infection for a good 20 minutes. I was so relieved when it won.

We have a good time, my computer and I. Nothing of course can replace the "ones that went too soon" but this one's not bad. We are making our own "memories." I will clean it today with pure oxygen, and tonight I will defrag the hell out of it. I will also give it more RAM for Christmas if it behaves itself.

I try not to think about the time when it won't be here any longer. The day I will have to unplug it forever...

Tonight, I may give it a hug.

I'm God

2009-08-22T14:29:00.000-07:00

"If you were God what would you feel,
do, or think about the world today. "

I'm God, and I'm pretty happy with the way things are on Earth. Planet Urdy, on the other hand, 21 light years away, is another story. I'll use discretion by saying if you don't like locusts, or unhealable boils, or hail mixed with fire, I wouldn't go visiting there any time soon.

Earth used to be my problem child until I sent an ambassador there several years ago and cleaned up the place. Sure, you still cuss, and I still hear my name said in vain, but that bothers me only if I'm actually listening; otherwise, I couldn't care less. Sin is still around, but I've gotten used to it. I don't like it, but I've gotten used to it. Put it this way: there used to be a hell of a lot more lightning bolts when I was younger. Now, I've gotten more mellow as I've aged (agelessly).

I don't visit Earth like I used to. Used to be, I was there every week. Now it's just another orb on my radar screen. Thank God! (Yes, I am allowed to say that.) Used to be, I had the route memorized. Now I have to pay attention.

Earth? I'm trying to think of some recent highlights. Some islanders got together the other day and asked me to put a thumb in their volcano, but that's not how things work I told them. Some bigwig offered to buy me a church or two if I could get him out of jail early, but I said there would have to be a virgin-volcano sacrifice, and I never heard back. A kid wanted a bicycle for Christmas, so I re-directed him to you-know-who.

I don't get involved as much as I used to, but I still help out. For instance, a lady prayed last week that she would get to work on time, so I relented and made a red light turn green early. Things like that please me. Some guy prayed his computer was not fried--it was--but I undid the damage, using a complicated algorithm that I came up with on the spot. It was a lot of work but worth it.

Overall, I'm very pleased with Earth, and its humans and especially its animals. The insects I'm still not keen on.

My next Big Visit will be approximately December 2012, but that's only to say "Hi," and I'm not sure if it will cause any waves -- or tidal waves.

Rendezvous

2009-08-21T02:37:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

Writing challenge: A story that can be told backwards

She screamed. She moaned. He fired at her numerous times, with no ricochets. He was shaking quite a bit. Could he actually do it? Did she deserve it? She looked at him accusingly: When was he going to pull the trigger? He saw her open her eyes. She was very attractive. He was only wearing socks. She was completely naked. He was on top of her. They were in bed. She was his boss. It was ironic that their relationship ended up there. They were in the East Wing of the White House. He could hear a speaker going off down the hallway: "Mr. President, you are wanted in the Lincoln Sitting Room." He hoped he didn't get towed. Did they tow at the White House? He parked next to a Corvette but ended up blocking an official-looking limousine. He'd circled the House for twenty minutes looking for a parking spot.
He had clearance, so did she. They weren't worried about getting caught. They were going to rendezvous in the bedroom of the Lincoln Sitting Room. It was going to be a hot night. It was in the planning stages for days. He didn't dare back out. After all, she was counting on him. He doubled-up on his Viagra. He went doctor shopping. He had to be able to rely on 'ol Pete.' 'Ol Pete' is what he called his favorite gland (beneath his waist). His favorite gland above his waist was his salivary glands. He liked to eat. He wondered what she tasted like. She flirted with him ever since she found out he loved going on diets. He was into trends. She was trendy. He was starchily conservative even though he graduated Yale with a doctorate in Political Science and a mastery of frat partying. He was loyal to his Gators, and to his country. He was a redneck but with convictions. He was convicted of drunk driving but his GPA was so good he could have plowed into someone and still gone to an Ivy League school. He was a Gators fan even though he went to Yale.
He was definitely a Rebel. He came from a family of Rebels. His grandpa was Jezekiah Rebel, the famous Baptist minister. He didn't like ministers since they tended to "minister." He hated being talked down to. The only thing he didn't like about school, especially grade school, was being lectured to. He did very well in grade school in order to score with the hot chicks, but that got him nowhere, yet his GPA was high enough that middle schools across the country vied for his attendance. He was class clown in 4th grade, but got passed over in the 5th grade (for some reason), and mysteriously in the 6th grade too, but regained the title in the 7th grade, so he knew he could be a politician one day, because losing once in a while didn't seem to matter. He was going to be secretary of state, or screw the secretary of state.

Interview with 3 dead people

2009-08-17T04:48:00.000-07:00

Interview with John Wayne

PIGFOOT: Do you prefer being called The Duke, or John?

John Wayne: Neither. Marion Morrison is my real name, so I like being called Marion.

PF: Well, that is a surprise. Give me another.

JW: I was going to be Captain Quint in "Jaws," but I wanted to strangle Jaws at the end, instead of that weird ending. So, there you go.

PF: That is a surprise. I am thinking you would have gotten an Academy Award for strangling Jaws.

JW: Yeah. Probably. I'm not real comfortable playing second fiddle to an animal. That's probably why I never did any Disney movies. I told (Steven) Spielberg he needed to give the shark some dialog, and I would re-consider, because I'd missed out on a lot of Disney money. But he never got back to me.

PF: Did you ever think of yourself as another Spielberg movie icon, Indiana Jones, from "Raiders of the Lost Ark?"

JW: By 1981, when the movie was made, I was already dead, so no, I didn't.

PF: John Ford directed most of your classic westerns. Did he ever get to see you naked?

JW: Yes. Once. He walked into my trailer when he was considering me for his first "butt scene," from "She Wore a Yellow Ribbon," but he said my ass didn't live up to my image, whatever that means. Then he walked out, and never brought it up again.
As it turns out, in my long career, I never did a butt scene, but I certainly kicked a lot of it.

PF: What do you think about movie nudity in general?

JW: A lot of the actresses I worked with I wouldn't have minded seeing nude, but that wasn't allowed back then, so I had no choice but to sleep with them.

PF: One western you should have done was with Clint Eastwood. That would have been epic.

JW: We were almost going to do a movie together, a comedy about two nuns--us--but it was too similar to Clint's other nun comedy, "Two Mules for Sister Sara."

PF: Do you have any last words for us?

JW: I never said 'pilgrim.'

Interview with John Lennon

PF: Are you the Walrus?

JL: Yes, I am.

PF: Do you have whiskers?

JL: Not any more. Circa 1969-1975 were my whisker years. I have honorary whiskers now, as the Walrus.

PF: Were you attracted to whiskers?

JL: I was attracted to the Marahishi who had whiskers, and to George Harrison, who had enormous whiskers, and to Yoko, who had a lip moustache, but no whiskers. So I'm attracted to all kinds.

PF: Did you ever listen to any Rolling Stones music, or was there too much rivalry?

JL: Oh sure, they were great. I mean, I had all their albums and everything. By 1980, though, I made a conscious decision to stop listening to them, as did everyone else.

PF: Would there have been a Beatles reunion?

JL: Only if we could have had the 'Fifth Beatle,' Yoko, participate, instead of being smuggled in like always. As you can tell from her numerous solo albums she would have been a great Beatle.

PF: How so?

JL: Her falsetto was stunning, much higher than Paul's.

PF: It's nice that love persists between you two.

JL: Persists, resists, insists. It's quite the relationship.

PF: Do you have any last words?

JL: Free Mark Chapman, whoever he is, but never free Mark David Chapman. Ha!
Also, tell Paul and Ringo that Elvis wants to join us as soon as we're all dead.

Interview with Abraham Lincoln

PF: What were your last words exactly?

AL: I'm dying; I'll be on a penny soon.

PF: Do you ever get jealous that George is on the coin that gets flipped all the time?

AL: Yes, because if they don't have a quarter, people will still flip a Jefferson or Roosevelt before me. I got my revenge when they put me on the five-dollar bill. Now it takes 5 Georges to buy me.

PF: But it takes 25 of you (on the penny) to purchase one George.

AL: Please don't talk about the penny anymore, or George. I want to talk about the Five.

PF: Okay. There's a movement underway to get rid of the penny. What do you think that says about your image at large?

AL: I think it's only because I have a beard. Too costly. Too hard to etch.

PF: Do you appreciate that we've combined your birthday with what's-his-name's, into President Day?

AL: Bankers are upset because they used to get an extra day off, but I don't really mind, because I always hated the bankers.
Plus, February is a good month to have a holiday in, so I'm fortunate I was born then.

PF: Do you have any last words?

AL: Don't say, "Four Score and Seven Years Ago..." -- quote the whole damn thing. It took me all night to write that.
Also, the right side won. Don't be mad 150 years later. Oh, and thanks for naming so many cities after me. I was hoping for a state eventually, but cities are nice.
And the cars, thanks for naming those after me too. George never got any cars named after him. [hearty laugh]

Munchies Update

2009-08-15T18:26:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

I have candy corn left over from last Halloween and I'm threatening to eat some unless I can locate my wallet that I hid to prevent me from making any late night food runs. There's a 7-11 exactly 2.2 miles from here, and I know I can be in the Taquitos section within two minutes once the car is in 1st gear.

I had peanut butter on a spoon last night, and tonight I'm completely out of peanut butter, but I do have regular butter, and the thought crossed my mind to eat a spoonful of that and take my chances...

Tapioca. T-a-p-i-o-c-a. Doesn't that sound good? Tapioca! I must find a store that has that, all of a sudden.

...The hunt for the wallet continues...

I have exactly 8 cinnamon Tic Tacs left, and if I play it right, I won't chew them, I will savor them, and possibly stave off hunger, at least until tomorrow morning, which is when I'll likely find my wallet.

Butane Price Spike Coming?

2009-08-15T15:34:00.000-07:00

A "Rolling Stone" article a few weeks ago exposed an international banking house, Goldman Sachs, and how they engineered the last dozen financial bubbles in the U.S., such as the Internet Bubble in 2000, the Housing Bubble in 2007, and last summer's gas price bubble, which earned them a mint, by the way.

There was no gas shortage last summer, so how did prices get so high?

By speculation alone.

It is said that each barrel of oil before it became gasoline was traded 27 times, all perpetuated by Goldman Sachs.

This summer, there is a rumor that the company plans on cornering the market on butane, which will cause alarm in the stoner community, but hardly anywhere else. Goldman needs to corner another market to survive, so they intend on doing a "soft corner" (such as against butane), but because they are so high profile right now, they must be careful how they stage it.

They are hedging that there will be a spike in stoners as states decriminalize marijuana in the coming years, thus a higher demand for butane. They see all 50 states decriminalizing marijuana one day, so they are well aware of what the stakes are. They are betting demand for butane skyrockets as millions of new people, potentially, have the opportunity to light up.

The future? As butane levels get low in households across America, there will undoubtedly be a drive to get people back to the basics, like going back to match sticks, but too many people got their fingers burned last time. Any such efforts could backfire.

A Twittering Movie Star Tweets

2009-08-13T03:14:00.000-07:00

Image by delgaudm via Flickr

A Day in the Life of a Movie Star

I went to bed a movie star, and I awoke a movie star. For the rest of the day I will be a movie star, and into next week I will be a movie star. How great is my life? I'm a movie star!

This morning I checked to see if my name was in the news, and of course it was. I bookmarked all the websites that mentioned me for future reference. I'm a movie star, so I don't have the time to scroll through them right now. Maybe later, when I'm no longer a star, but not now.

I plan on visiting the Church of Scientology today. They are holding a gala in my honor. What a rush! I wonder what kind of church this is, this 'Scientology.' Maybe I'll ask them about it while I'm there.

My agent called. He told me not to ask Scientology any questions, to get my award and get the hell out. Too late: I've already written a bunch of questions for them as part of my acceptance speech.

UPDATE:

My date was another movie star, but she wasn't available, so I had to go with a TV star instead. She picked me up at a quarter to nine and we headed to Scientology headquarters. Scientology prefers all its celebrity fetes be at night, when it's dark, for some reason. The banquet hall was brilliantly lit; it felt like we were entering another galaxy. No flashbulbs, though, which is nice; they respected my eyesight. Most people don't realize that stars end up seeing other stars after so many flashbulbs get popped in their faces. Once, I got accused of groping a woman during a red carpet event after I stumbled into her hot ass after being blinded temporarily by a flashbulb. I was never charged, but my agent had to arrange for her to meet Ryan Seacrest ASAP.

I got approached by several famous Scientologists after my speech. One told me he loved my speech, but since Scientology has no rules regarding alcohol, he couldn't remember any of it.

Another told me he loved my speech, but if he answered any of my questions, he'd have to kill me. Just kidding, he said, but he wasn't smiling. I offered to write him a check for $100,000 on the spot for some quick answers, but he wouldn't budge. I realized that's when you know you've made it: you've attempted to bribe a prominent Scientologist with an ungodly sum of money about answers to the universe and you don't even sweat it. I had a smile on my face for the rest of the evening. I had "made" it.

Back at home, I ditched the TV bitch for a movie B-actress. In a card game, my movie B-actress would trump your television A-actress every time. The B-actress admitted to me that she would make love to an A-actor but not a B-actor. What about a "C" actor, I asked her. "Never," she said.

We made love, and I gently whispered my Oscar speech into her breasts. She moaned like crazy.

I showed her my tattoos. "Don't you worry about those showing up in your nudie scenes?" she asked. "Technology handles that now," I said, "where've you been?"

"In my movies, they still use paint," she sulked.

"It's nice being a major movie star today because you can get all the tattoos you want," I said.

"I hate you," she pouted.

"Don't write a song about me," I threatened.

"Keep it up and I might."

"I can introduce you to Simon Cowell, you know."

"Go to hell."

"Paula Abdul?"

"Keep talking."

So the Abdul meeting is scheduled for next week. In the meantime, I'm getting another tattoo made, this one of Prince Michael II, one of Michael Jackson's orphaned children.

I loved Michael Jackson, and got a tattoo of him on my arm in the early '80s when nobody else did, and I kept updating it through the years to correspond with his surgeries. By the time everything was said and done, I had updated it over ten times!

I showed the tattoo once to Michael, who loved it. It inspired him to get more things done to his face, he said, especially when I flexed.

He told me Vincent Price was a real hammy actor to work with, but a pretty cool guy off set. He said Price gave him one of his famous caskets which Michael turned into a pressurized oxygen chamber.

They say Michael was a Jehovah's Witness. Funny, because I have a banquet with them next week.

Putting Wrong Number Callers on the Spot

2009-08-12T16:37:00.000-07:00

Image by Getty Images via Daylife

The cellphone rang. It wasn't for me. It was a "wrong number." I'm not used to "wrong numbers" since I got rid of my landline a couple years ago. Now, when I get a wrong number, it's jarring.
"How did you get this number?" I demand, as if they were telemarketers.
"Huh?" is what I usually get.
I say, "Tell me."
(I know I've only got a second or two before it's over.)
There is a pause. "I don't know. Misdialed?" I've heard that excuse nearly every time so far.
Then I say: "I've got your number."
They say: "Okay?"
I say: "How do you like that? I may call you purposely."
At this point they can no longer hang up.
They say: "Go ahead and call me."
I say: "I am, as soon as you hang up."
They say: "Then I'm not hanging up."
I say: "Hang up."
They say: "No!"
I say, "Bye," and hang up.
Then they call me back immediately -- to keep me from calling them back.
"Hello," I say. This time I know who's calling.

Temporarily the Opposite Sex

2009-08-08T19:26:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

"If you could become the opposite sex
for six weeks how do you think you
would feel and what would you do?"
(contest entry)

If I could become the opposite sex for six weeks I would undoubtedly have to experience a menstrual period. Too bad.

I would experience the menstrual period and I'm sure bitch more than any man in history. It might last longer than normal because I wouldn't be able to shake it off like a woman can. Speaking of shaking it off, after you're finished going you-know-what, what do you do? Dab, I guess.

(I guess I will find out.)

I would try flirting even though I'm not attracted to men. I'd learn the ropes, so to speak, from a different angle. Bottom line: I'd be able to seduce women better.

I'm afraid I would stare at myself in the mirror too long if I were a female, especially if I were naked, so I'd have to shower with clothes on as not to distract myself.

I would take advantage of my new "female-ness" and clean my apartment from top to bottom. Then, reverting back later, I would be so proud of myself.

I would save money by finding dates who paid for dinner and didn't expect anything in return. Should someone try to take advantage of me, I would casually fart, which is part of my makeup. Then I'd be on my merry way.

I would seek out a cat in order to see what the attraction is.

I would visit a garage to see how I'd get ripped off.

I would drink a beer, then wash the glass.

I would spend $30 more on a haircut than I usually do in twice the amount of time.

The TV's remote battery would last longer.

I would try walking in high heels then put my male skills to use and saw them off.

I want to be the world's first Chauvinist Bitch.

Divorce Rentals

2009-08-08T16:24:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

He was in the rental business, specializing in party rentals, which included wedding-related stuff. Needless to say, he made a lot of money on weddings -- for awhile. But once divorces began to rise, he switched his attention to divorce rentals. Instead of wedding arches, people would rent a long table. Instead of punch bowls, they rented punching gloves. Usually, each divorcee was allowed one punch (according to glove rules). It was amazing how many punches landed on the genitalia (for women) and on the mouths (for men). He rented microwaves to the men, knowing they would be on their own for awhile, and specially-padded telephones to women, so they could make marathon phone calls.

Once, he rented out a metal detector so someone could make his alimony payment on time.

He doesn't do surveillance stuff, but has rented out a parrot to gather intelligence.

He rents out vibrators on occasion and party dolls so each side can re-orient themselves with sex.

He doesn't do refunds. All contracts are final.

The Anti-Christ (part one)

2009-08-08T03:22:00.000-07:00

"Hell found me! Yessir! Tarnation and damnation! And tribulation. The place YOU don't want to be!"

The preacher stepped back from the podium. "Then I found Jesus," he proclaimed, looking straight up. "He came from up there."

The audience looked up.

"Look straight up," the preacher said. "Not halfway up."

They looked straight up.

"He came from up there and saved me. He will come again One Day, and he will come fast, so make sure you're looking up. He will most likely see your nostrils first, so make sure they're clean. AND that goes for the rest of your bodies, too. I CANNOT BELIEVE how many of you congregate here without wearing anti-perspirant," said the fiery preacher, who was perspiring. "I got a deal with a deodorant company, who says if I wear this," he held up a white stick, "and mention it once each Sunday--Schick--they will pay for our new Pre-School."

Wails of joy from the audience.

"This is God's place," came a small voice from the back -- an old lady. "How dare you."

"How dare me?" said the pastor. "Was that a question or a statement?"

"God isn't a game show," said the old lady defiantly. The audience was hushed.

"Isn't there a final prize, ma'am?" asked the preacher. He leaned forward to see her better.

"NO," said the old lady. "Heaven is not a prize."

The preacher cleared his throat. "It most certainly is, madam, and I intend on getting there, one way or another, as does everyone here. I don't know about you, but I'm saved, i.e., born-again, i.e., 'locked in.' Hallelujah, I'm going to Heaven as soon as this show is OVAH!"

Wails from the audience.

"But that doesn't mean," continued the pastor in his normal voice, "that I can't mention what a jewel it is from time to time, this 'Heaven'...this 'place' I covet, this place where I KNOW I'm going in the end. So I bring it up each week because I want the people to KNOW I AM BLESSED BY THE PRIZE!"

The crowd went crazy.

The old lady scurried out during the excitement. She was followed by a church member, who reported, via transmitter, that she did a sign-of-the-cross before exiting.

"That old bird was a Catholic, eh? What do you expect?" said the preacher to the flock. "Might as well been a Scientologist."

Gales from the audience.

"Catholics insist on eating during the service, did you ever notice that?" said the preacher. "Primitive people."

More gales.

"Scientologists wouldn't know what to do with a bible if you handed it to them. Probably try to eat it."

Screams.

Jack McElroy was in the back of the audience. He wasn't laughing. He was holding a gun in his pocket. It wasn't loaded--yet. If the pastor began cracking on Lutherans, he might load it.

In the meantime, the old lady circled the parking lot in her Buick. She was kicking up dust, trying to find the correct way out. She didn't know how to navigate the many rows of parking and the dust she was kicking up was thick, and nasty, and threatened to enter the church's double doors.

A freckle-faced boy was in the front row of the congregation. He was wearing a bow tie. He was 9-years-old, shy, and needed to use the bathroom badly.

Ten-thousand feet overhead, in a jet plane, a stewardess told everyone to put away their trays. They landed in 10 minutes, she said. One passenger, however, was going to parachute from the plane in less than a minute. He was next to the emergency door. The only thing that could possibly hamper his descent was landing on a steeple.

The preacher's wife was part of the choir. She kept glaring at the preacher during the sermon, giving him the evil eye. She had pushed the TV remote's "last" button the night before and discovered it was on MTV. She suspected her husband secretly watched TV porn.

Across the world in a Berlin nightclub, a plot was hatched to assassinate a prominent gay black American rap star named "The Almighty" (sometimes called "Almighty" for short) and start a culture war. If they couldn't assassinate him they planned on seducing him. Either way, he would lose.

The preacher's transmitter crackled again. He touched his ear lightly to hear it.

"Gimp Guy, second row, I think he'll remain standing if you shove him," said a voice.

"Okay, let's heal someone!" yelled the preacher.

The crowd roared.

"Who needs a little healing?" he asked, rhetorically. A few hands went up. "You," he said, pointing at the gimp. "Come up here in the name of Jesus."

"I can't," said the gimp guy. He pointed to his knee. "I'm lame."

"Can't? We'll see about that."

The preacher swooped down and gently grabbed the gimp guy's arm, then yanked him up on stage.

"The devil got your leg, brother?"

"Yessir."

"Which one?"

"Left."

"Left side. Why is it always the left? I think the devil loves playing on the left, but that's just me being unscientific."

Laughter, and a couple of groans from the audience.

"Those aren't real groans I hope," said the preacher. "If so you'll be up here next."

More laughter.

The preacher put his hand on the man's left knee.

"Get out, Satan, you foul beast. Leave this man's leg alone ... be Healed!" He shoved the man for good measure. "Hallelujah!"

The man started to fall, but somehow regained his balance. He had a smile from ear to ear.

"Any better?" asked the preacher.

"I didn't fall. I'm blessed by God."

"Blessed by Jesus. Need to be more specific."

"Thank you, Jesus," said the former gimp. He was starting to lose his balance.

"Help this man to his seat. He's a little wobbly from all the excitement."

Then, a big plume of dust came up the aisle. Fits of coughing started everywhere.

The freckle-faced kid rushed to the bathroom.

The preacher's wife screamed when she saw the gimp fall and the preacher grabbed his ass to steady him.

Another scream was heard from the rooftop.

Jack McElroy loaded his pistol and fired at the rooftop, causing more screams (from the audience).

In Vegas, "The Almighty" was wrapping up his big show. He always did his best shows on Sunday mornings.

End of Pt. 1

Hair Club (For Men)

2009-08-06T19:22:00.000-07:00

Image by JonJon2k8 via Flickr

His phone was on vibrate. It spun around on his desk when it rang, and if it pointed at him when it was done, he answered.

"Hello," he answered (it landed on him).

"Mr. Greckoslovich?"

"No. Sorry, you must have the wrong number."

"Mr. Jones?"

"Yes?"

"That's what I meant to say, sorry. I'm with the Hair Club for Men."

"I have a full head of hair, thank you, and this is my cellphone you called. Bye."

"--wait! Mr. Jones?"

"What?"

"One of our members found one of your hairs on his suit last week, and figured he must have encountered you in an elevator or something, and that's how we identified you."

"From my follicle?"

"Yes. We have a lab that can narrow a person's hair down to his race, gender, sexual preference--even his address. We tracked you down to Elm Street based on the cobalt mine near where you live. You might want to let your doctor know that you have trace amounts of nickel and chromium in your system. The real reason I'm calling is because you're losing your hair, albeit slowly. Therefore, our president would like to make you a special offer of 30% off your first treatment, followed by a 25% discount on your second, followed by a 15%..."

"Whoa, whoa,"

"Yes?"

"Just last week I was complimented on my hair by someone."

"We understand. Over time, though, you'll notice the compliments getting less and less. That's why we're here to help."

"How much does it cost?"

"We base it on the popularity of the person when he receives his hair. Right now, you're popular, so it won't cost you as much as a loser who gets a 1500% boost in popularity. It will cost you more, though, the longer you let it go."

"I understand."

"So, we'll schedule you for an appointment next Thursday at 2:45 pm. Bring a sample from your shower drain and also one from your pillow."

"Will do."

"It was nice talking to you, Mr. Jones -- and remember, long hair is coming back for men, so be sure to tell all your friends."

I'm not a pervert after all

2009-07-28T16:48:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

New Year's Eve

She was on a webcam and so was I. We stared at each other, and flirted, even though we were time zones apart.

She was in Germany and I was in Florida; New Year's was only an hour away. I wanted to see what 2010 looked like, so I stayed tuned.

She asked me where to focus the cam once the time arrived, and I said to keep it aimed at her pretty face. She smiled. Really, she asked, where would I like the cam? I told her on her ass, since I hadn't seen it yet. She giggled and pointed the cam at her screen. I saw myself. Gosh, what a mood killer.

I straightened up in my seat; my shoulders became less slumped. I tilted my head as to not show my bald spot.

"Too late," she said. "I already saw your bald spot."

"You mean...?"

"That night when you had to rush to the bathroom. I saw it then."

"I was ducking."

"Not far enough."

She had a folder on her screen, I didn't notice it til then. It was titled "Hermaphrodites."

"What's in the folder," I inquired. I was alarmed.

"Study material," she explained.

"Uh huh."

I saw her mouse appear on the screen. She then double-clicked the folder. Inside the folder was an assortment of pictures of male and female hermaphrodites ... except how could you tell?

"That's enough," I said. Both my hands were covering the screen.

"How sweet," she said.

"What?"

"What you just did. That's just the reaction I was hoping for. A little test. A test to see if we can continue flirting into next year."

On and On

2009-07-27T10:35:00.001-07:00

The Westlake Church of God finally met a foe it didn't know how to handle: the Eastlake Church of Christ.

"We're the church of Christ!" the ECC screamed at the WCG. "You're not!"

"Are too," screamed back the WCG members. "What you got to say about that!"

"Are not!"

"Are too!"

"Are not!"

"B.S. I mean, B.P. -- bull pucky. Read your damn Bibles. God covers it all."

"What version do you use?"

"The ONLY version, the King James version."

"We use the NEW King James version. Hahahahaha."

"That version don't count. Blasphemers."

"Only blasphemers can say that God's word doesn't count."

"Who you calling blasphemers?"

"You, my friend."

"Did you just call me 'friend'?"

Webcam Nightmares

2009-07-26T15:33:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

The website was called "Webcam Nightmares," and it only captured people during crises.

The first cam captured a cigarette smoker at home who was out of smokes and too drunk to drive to the nearest convenience store. It was 2 am, so he couldn't call his friends, either. Watching his dilemma was heartrendering.

The second was a stoner who finished off five bowls and was too broke to go shopping for food. He brought his camera into the kitchen and showed us his empty pantries. It was heartbreaking. He opened the fridge and inside was only a small bottle of seltzer water. That's when I had to go to a different cam.

On this particular cam we got to see a person after his monitor died, yet he was still broadcasting, but couldn't see anything except a dark screen. He kept staring into the monitor with a worried look. It was 3 am. By 5 am he was staring directly into the webcam.

Finally, one cam had a girl stripping, but she had such a bad connection, it took 30 minutes for each article of clothing to peel off. Nobody has that kind of patience.

Chinese navels

2009-07-26T08:56:00.001-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

She had an "outtie," I had an "innie."

When we had sex it was like we were both grinding away. It was incredible.

When we broke up, it took me a long time to find another girl like her, with an "outtie." I finally found one on the internet, but she was in China. It took us three years and a lot of paperwork for our navels to meet. It was heaven, and when we split up six years later, I went to China to find another one. I was convinced the best navels came from China. Lo and behold, they certainly did, because after a lot of digging, I found another one in Hong Kong. She was at least an inch! It was a-m-a-z-i-n-g.

Sharing (a cold)

2009-07-25T03:16:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

I had a cold and thought I would share it with someone, specifically my dog Molly, because she gave me a cold last winter, and it was a nasty cold, with sneezing fits and a bad cough and, had I barked like her, I'm sure I would have sounded stuffed-up like she did. So Molly was definitely a candidate.

Another candidate was my co-worker Chris who phoned me at 2 a.m. to talk about a personal situation involving him and his girlfriend and I couldn't get back to sleep and my work suffered badly that day and it was like I was in a nightmare with only two hour's sleep. So he could use some payback.

Another candidate was whoever planned on stealing my Bic lighter -- again. So I breathed all over it and kissed it.

Another candidate was my ex-wife who occasionally got angrily in my face. Her saliva I was familiar with when married to her. I was intimately familiar to her spittle after she left. If she confronted me that week, I knew she had a shot.

Who else? My ex-brother-in-law, whom I sometimes saw at the gym, and who still owed me $500 from a lost bet. My only shot at him was in the steam room, where he couldn't see me, and I could sneak up beside him and start breathing heavily into his panting mouth. He would definitely get ill but I wasn't sure I could live with myself.

In the end, I decided against infecting anyone, since I wasn't positive I didn't get it spontaneously, on my own. I wore a dust mask that week and inhaled my own fumes and I ended up getting sick twice.

Similarities between Incredible Hulk transformation and famous scene from the movie "The Ninth Configuration"?

2009-07-24T18:47:00.000-07:00

Don't make me angry...

Talking head

2009-07-23T17:41:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

"A penny for your thoughts," I said.

"Heads," she said.

"We're still talking pennies?"

"Yes," she said. "When I toss a coin, I always flip a penny."

"You don't toss quarters?" I asked.

"A head is a head. Shiny or not."

"You toss a head with a beard on it, whereas I toss a non-beard head."

"Most Presidents didn't have beards," she said. "Did you know that?"

"I didn't know that."

"We went through a phase I think in the 1800s where every President had a beard."

"That's why Andrew Johnson always stood out," I said. "He had no beard in the midst of beards."

"Do you want tails?"

"I always choose tails then head."

Heads, she corrected.

"Do other countries flip their heads of states too?" I wondered. "Do they have coins with beards?"

"Presumably."

"Castro -- does he have a coin of himself in Cuba? Did Saddam Hussein--the bearded, later version--have a commemorative coin made? That's what I heard. I heard Hussein knew he would be going into hiding and ordered a coin made of himself with a beard."

Woody Allen script or real AP story?

2009-07-23T15:08:00.000-07:00

NEWARK, N.J. - (AP) An investigation into the sale of black-market kidneys and fake Gucci handbags evolved into a sweeping probe of political corruption in New Jersey, ensnaring more than 40 people Thursday, including three mayors, two state lawmakers and several rabbis.

link

CVS vs. WALGREEN'S

2009-07-21T05:47:00.000-07:00

Image by Getty Images via Daylife

I'm a Walgreen's fan, no doubt about it. I practically live at Walgreen's. My friend is a big CVS fan, Walgreen's main competitor. I can't fathom this.

HIM: They got better aisles. Lower shelves so you can see where you're going.

ME: Lower shelves, so if you're trying to hide looking at prophylactics, good luck.

HIM: It has carpet, Walgreen's doesn't.

ME: It has carpet, which allows you to build up static electricity so you can shock the person behind the counter.

HIM: It has more stores nationwide.

ME: Big deal. If you like it so much, what do the initials "CVS" stand for?

HIM:

HIM: It has better deals!

ME: Do you like being asked for your CVS card every transaction?

HIM: It has everything!

ME: Try looking for a computer mouse there at 10pm.

Walgreen's is where I do all my Christmas shopping <-- disclosure. They seem to have better looking pharmacy techs. They have my brand of Cuban coffee. They have the cleanest bathrooms. They don't wear silly frocks. Some even have liquor stores!

Plastic fork

2009-07-20T16:41:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

I served her a plate of my piping hot spaghetti, but I served it with a plastic fork (I ran out of clean forks). She twirled the spaghetti around and put it in her mouth. Then she screamed: "Fak melling!"

Fak melling?

Fork melting!

I slapped my hand on her back as she tried to get the fork from her mouth. It had melded to her tongue! Here I was, hitting her back like she had food stuck in her throat. Wrong technique.

I was about to force her to guzzle a glass of ice water when she was able to pry the fork out. I handed her a glass of wine, into which she stuck her tongue.

"Ahhhh, muth betteh."

I grabbed a real fork from the sink and washed it. Then I handed it to her.

"Thank you, neth time dry it."

Her tongue was improving.

Incident at Starbucks

2009-07-19T18:39:00.000-07:00

Image by cassettes via Flickr

I ordered my mocha extra minty, no marshmallows. It came with a straw, which I thought was weird, since it was so hot. I took a sip. "Holy shit!" I screamed. The barista in front of me put her finger on my straw. "That's enough for you," she said, and pointed at the door.

"I can't tip you if you make me leave," I responded.

"You haven't tipped me in ages," she said. "Plus, it's not required here."

"Please let me finish this," I pleaded, pointing at my cup. "My caffeine meter is still low."

"Get out now or I'll notify headquarters!"

"Notify them," I urged. I wasn't too scared.

"Starbucks Headquarters, Assistant-to-the-Assistant to the Director of Customers Who Won't Leave, Sara Roth speaking." (I heard this over the speakerphone.) "How may I double assist you?"

"This is store 12394. We have a customer who won't leave."

"Stand by for the Geek Squad."

"This is the Geek Squad speaking," came another voice on the line.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing! The Geek Squad double-dutied as Starbucks security!

"Geek Squad, please go to the store on Columbus and Vine."

"On our way."

"On their way, store 12394."

I looked at the door expecting to see black ties, white shirts and bad trousers walk in and that's exactly what I saw (about 50 minutes later). Two guys wearing glasses and "Geek Squad" pins on their ties showed up. In another setting they would be easily confused with Mormons.

Instead of guns, they had cameras by their sides. I knew if things got rough, they wouldn't hesitate using them.

"Boys, we ain't got no trouble here," I reassured them. "Just a misunderstanding between good folks having to do with my desire for caffeine."

These cops weren't the kind that didn't like to listen, though; they were natural listeners. "Please tell us what happened, sir," they said politely as they pulled up chairs. They were rapt as I described my slurp and yell. I described my "yell" as being a "passive yell," a Starbucks yell, somewhere between a Joni Mitchell and a Bob Dylan yell, not quite an Elvis Costello yell.

"Sorry," they said after I was done, "but we were told we must escort you out anyway. You must have been too loud."

I knew I had no choice. If I resisted, my picture would be on the web as a "Starbucks troublemaker" for the next six months. Even though Starbucks removed the picture eventually, we all know punishment lasts forever on the Net; it was bound to resurface.

"All right, I'm gone" I said, but I took one last quick slurp.

I heard a digital shutter go off.

BombayTV

2009-07-19T17:10:00.000-07:00

<a href="http://www.grapheine.com">agence communication Paris Lyon Graphéine</a>

Secret Stoner Language

2009-07-17T03:34:00.000-07:00

I don't look at my keys when I type. I use the QWERTY method, like most people. Stoned, I misplaced my hands on the keyboard in chat; my hands were one key over to the right!

I was shocked when I realized it, and even more shocked when someone responded!

"Og O esd pbrt yjrtr. o epi;f djpe upi s hppf yo,r" (If I were there, i would show you a good time)

Vpp;" (Cool)

It was a secret stoner language!

Stoner/Drunk elements of style

2009-07-16T17:24:00.001-07:00

Image by zappowbang via Flickr

I'm writing this stoned out of my mind. When I'm stoned, I'm concerned about punctuation, which is why I'm using a keyboard now, because it has all the symbols (at my fingertips). If I wrote this without a keyboard, I might forget a comma or a period, or God-forbid, a dash. Drunk I WRITE LIKE THIS and could CARE LESS about spelling or PUNCTUATION and forget where I am in a sentence and end up talking about Aunt Claurice, who raised me as a child, along with several puppies, most of whom grew up to be excellent companions. I'm actually DRINKING now and it FEELS GOOD!! Did I mention I love punctuation when I'm DRUNK?? What kind of symbol is this anyway ~ ? And what does it DO??
This is the stoner speaking, and I apologize for everything I've written so far, and I intend to wrap this up, but I have some re-editing to do, so I can figure out how.
In the meantime, THANK GOD for keyboards for MAKING ALL THIS POSSIBLE!!

Exercise

2009-07-15T15:46:00.001-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

I usually have a great time on pot, but this time I wanted a "bad trip" -- if that's possible.

Why? I needed the rapid heartbeat. Why's that? A doctor I'm following on Twitter recommends daily exercise and says that merely walking around is not good enough; your heart needs to move fast on a daily basis to stimulate the rest of your organs.

I took his advice "to heart," but without the exercise. I donned a pair of headphones and began listening to some scary music, hoping for a splash of paranoia, or even a dash of anxiety, which always gets my heart to race. I started with "A Night on Bald Mountain," a scary song in its own right, and since I'm losing my hair, even scarier. It started the process.

Then I moved on to Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh and their terror-filled gloomings about the world. It was really moving after that.

Then I back-masked some country music. My heart was really kicking.

Lastly, I took off the headphones and played some Russian Roulette on my computer with a program called "Beyond Repair" -- designed to crash (randomly) your computer--sometimes for good--after you pull a trigger on the program. My first pull caused the screen to go black and the red CPU light to go on (and on). I thought, "Shit, all my emails, and porn -- gone forever!" I broke out in a cold sweat.

Then, miraculously, the computer recovered. I read the program's EULA and it said it may, on occasion, cause a "near miss."

Tomorrow I'm going to smoke a fat bowl and watch a 9/11 conspiracy video and then spend hours typing something heartfelt on a forum and then close my eyes and either hit the "Submit" or "Cancel" button, depending on where my mouse randomly lands. That should make for some good heart spikes.

Cinnamon Life

2009-07-13T15:26:00.001-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

According to what I've read from Dr. Daniel Amen and his brain scan studies, cinnamon triggers lust in men and baby powder triggers lust in women. These are the real aphrodisiacs (apparently).

The cinnamon part he didn't get into, but the baby powder triggers an unconscious need in women to reproduce, which makes sense. When I wear baby powder, I always make sure I have plenty of condoms on hand, since I don't want the end result! While a woman is smelling my baby powder (a dab behind each ear), I get myself worked up by chewing on Wrigley's cinnamon gum. I smell like I have diaper rash and fresh breath. Are we all nuts?

I wish Dr. Amen had discussed the phenomenon of what makes cinnamon so attractive to men, because it really is a cool... spice? herb? I did a Wikipedia search and found out it's a bark from a tree. As a kid I ate mega loaves of toast with cinnamon sprinkled on top and never guessed I was eating tree bark! I guess I was eating trees as a child. You?

I eat trees and burn plants, that's my story. I'm trying to think ... is there another tree I've eaten?

I've eaten plenty of fruit from a tree but try to avoid eating the tree itself.

So far, I've eaten a tree, inhaled a tree (if you count being around a campfire), seen a tree, felt a tree, and once in a while I've heard a tree, but I actually don't think it counts when a limb cracks. You really aren't hearing the tree do its natural thing. So hearing trees is on my 'to do' list, if they ever get a technology for that. They say some Native Americans can hear trees. That's so cool! ... all five senses represented. Isn't that what life is all about?

Nostalgia Sunday ("Six Million Dollar Man")

2009-07-12T14:53:00.000-07:00

I was watching some old "Six Million Dollar Man" episodes on YouTube. One episode has Steve Austin battling Bigfoot. Bigfoot, played by Andre the Giant, was totally believable, and "the Giant" proved he was a better actor than even Lee Majors.
Watch at 5:37 when Bigfoot gets his arm torn off by Steve Austin. Look at his eyes, and see what good acting is.

Nostalgia Sunday ("The Flintstones")

2009-07-12T12:22:00.000-07:00

I always liked the original voice of "Fred" on "The Flintstones," Alan Reed, and couldn't stand the "fake-Fred" that I heard on commercials in the '70s and '80s (after Reed died). NO ONE can replace Alan Reed. It was like Fred himself was dead.

Reed died in 1977, and that same year, "Fred Flinstone and Friends" debuted on ABC and lasted until the early 80s as a weekday show. But that wasn't the real Fred and I refused to watch it.

I wonder how that series would have fared if Reed hadn't died. He would have been able to voice the 1970s' and '80s' Fred!

How great that would have been!

Real Fred

Fake Fred

Rules of the House

2009-07-12T08:31:00.000-07:00

Image by Nemo's great uncle via Flickr

I don't mind you coming over, but I resent you putting your ass on my stuff. Don't use my bathroom, because you'll likely be in there with your ass hanging out. Can I come to your house and put my ass on your furniture? I don't think so. What makes you think you can do it to me? A toilet is considered "furniture" by Wikipedia, by the way. No disrespecting my furniture with your habits.

As a guest, you must learn to make me, the host, coffee. Familiarize yourself with my coffee maker and I prefer it on the strong side, no sugar just cream. The guest always makes the best coffee, studies have shown.

You must not discriminate against me based on what you might find browsing my DVDs (by my computer).

You have the right to pet my dog at any time and also take her for a walk.

Any pot you find belongs to the owner.

Ozzy-Jacko connection

2009-07-11T15:24:00.000-07:00

Ozzy Osbourne is mourning the loss of his dog, Little Bit, a Pomeranian, who was eaten by a coyote while the Osbournes were watching the Michael Jackson tribute and couldn't hear the poor thing's cries for help. This is a true story.

You might have heard that Osbourne, a famous rocker, once ate a bat. Michael Jackson did not listen to heavy metal, except maybe "light" heavy metal, like Van Halen (Eddie played on "Beat It") and never ate any animals that weren't already traditionally eaten by the growing public. It's sad that Ozzy lost a Pomeranian and it's sad that Ozzy owned a Pomeranian.

Michael's former pet, Bubbles the Chimp, is said to be on a working ranch in Florida. Bubbles doesn't consider himself a "former pet" as much as a "non pet" due to Michael's abandonment. Bubbles has a Wikipedia page that's been getting a lot more hits since Michael has been in the news. If you look at the bottom of his Wikipedia page you will see that Bubbles belongs to the category of "Famous chimpanzees," and if you follow that link, and similar links near the bottom of pages, it will lead you straight to Ozzy Osbourne.

I think that Ozzy's dog was a sacrifice, in a way, to Michael. Michael is the new animal sacrificing god. I can't prove it, but it's typical of Ozzy to get things started.

stoned

2009-07-11T15:16:00.000-07:00

ʇɐɥɔ uı uʍop ǝpısdn ƃuıdʎʇ sɐʍ ı

ǝƃɐnƃuɐן uƃıǝɹoɟ ɐ uı ƃuıʞןɐʇ sɐʍ ı ʇɥƃnoɥʇ ʎǝɥʇ puɐ

"Goddammit, learn to speak English"

¿?

"You heard me. Speak English!"

¡ɯɐ ı

Traffic "school"

2009-07-10T17:34:00.001-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

The light was red so I had an opportunity to see who was next to me in traffic. The lady in the blue Corvette was picking her nose but she was sexy so I decided to skip over her and come back to her later. The gentleman in the red Subaru was talking to himself so I figured he must be on a speakerphone with someone, but his window was cracked and I could hear talk radio coming out so I knew he was talking back to the radio. A guy in a yellow T-bird was smoking a blunt two lanes over and I knew what he was up to. I blasted my horn twice and pointed my finger at him while simultaneously giving him a thumbs up, and I think he mistook it for a pantomime gun since I never saw the blunt again. There was an old lady in front of me in a Bonneville, so I made a mental note to change lanes as soon as the light turned green.

The only discrimination still being tolerated today is: avoiding like the plague old people in traffic. I know that is mean, and possibly "ageist," but it exists, and you and I both know it.

Telemarketing hangup

2009-07-09T14:50:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"You called me."

"Sorry," said the lady on the telephone. "It's my first day as a telemarketer and I keep messing up."

"Don't be sorry," I said. "I'm the one who answered the phone."

"Can I please get your Visa card number?"

"Way too early for that."

"What about your Mastercard?"

"Later in the script."

"Shit, I'm already on page 2."

"I used to be a telemarketer, and I can predict you will be hearing from Quality Assurance now."

"Crap."

"Find page 1 and start from scratch."

"Hello, may I speak to the owner of the house?"

"This is the lessee of the apartment speaking."

"My name is _____ ______ and I work for blah blah blah."

"Yes."

"Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah, blah. Blah?"

"Yes, I'll take one."

"Really? I mean blah blah blah."

"Yes."

"(giggles) Blah blah blah Will you be putting this on a Visa, Mastercard, or American Express?

"On all three."

"Can you give me that credit card number, please?"

"Sure, it's 4235233423430022546232907230024373239090323089."

"Thank you."

After I hung up, I placed the phone in the refrigerator. If it happened to ring in the future, so be it, I would hear it only if I was already up.

EYEBALLS POPPING OUT

2009-07-07T03:02:00.000-07:00

"Did you see the girl with the eyes that can pop out of her head?"

"Yes, and frankly I find it attractive."

"Why? It's so freaky!"

"I would love to be able to do that."

"?"

"If my eyes popped out you'd be always thinking I was paying close attention."

"I never thought of that..."

"I would be very focused, as far as you were concerned, even if my mind was elsewhere."

"Without a doubt. How would you blink, though? Could you get your eyelids over those things?"

"Probably not, but my peripheral vision would be vastly improved."

"Yeah, you could just swivel an eyeball..."

"Exactly. No more guesswork."

"How does she do it, with her eyes like that?"

"I think the trick is to hold your breath for a very long time."

"Ahhh."

"Something like this..." He inhaled, and held his breath. For five minutes.

"You did it!"

"On my very first try."

"You have bulging eyes now."

"I know, they can see each other."

"You seem very aware."

"Just focused."

"Can I try?"

"Go ahead."

He held his breath for a record 6 minutes...and nothing happened.

"Damn good try."

" tank youu now i go fr a nap"

Fireworks

2009-07-05T10:49:00.000-07:00

Cover of Dangerous

Last night at the beach there was a fireworks tribute to Michael Jackson and his face was in the air a long time and I talked to the events coordinator afterward who said there was a bit of controversy in the planning stages of what face to use, and they finally settled on an "intermediate face" from the "Dangerous" years. But, there was controversy on how many white flares to use in the production, and someone pointed out that black flares wouldn't be visible, so they settled on the "Invincible" years instead.

They played selections from his best album (in my opinion), "Off the Wall," which was genius.
Coincidentally, at the planetarium next week, there's going to be an "Off the Wall" vs. "The Wall" laser light show. It will feature the chorus of Pink Floyd vs. Michael, and will have songs like "Young Lust" and "Stop" and "The Trial" and "Run Like Hell" and "Waiting For The Worms."

Before the tribute to Michael, there was a similar, but smaller tribute to Farrah, and before that an even smaller one for Ed McMahon, and before that, an even smaller one for Gale Storm. (Karl Malden didn't make the budget in time.)
I hate to think of who's going to be "tributed" next year. Let's hope all our celebrities stay safe til then.

Evil Stoner Bastard

2009-07-04T22:44:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

There is a kid I knew in high school, I'll call him Evil Stoner Bastard.

He had an evil plan to do a live broadcast of the sun via webcam but had to wait until technology improved so that the pixels were sharp enough so that people's eyes would burn.

In the meantime, he came up with the idea of a 'secret wearable webcam,' wherein a person could move around in public with a webcam broadcasting live shots of his/her adventures. His first broadcast was titled "Paranoia" and it featured him going out to dinner live with his parents, stoned.

One day the snowman on Old Man Johnson's front lawn ended up with a joint in its mouth. Evil Stoner Bastard was seen later in town smoking from a corncob pipe. It became part of his "look."

On April 20th, Evil Stoner Bastard was in his laboratory bedroom, surrounded by bottles of bong water, some of which were percolating, when his microwave blew up, and the cook time left on the clock was 16:20, and Evil Stoner Bastard has a scar that he likes to show to people to this day, on his ass, and he has applied for disability because of it 42 times, and the government has to keep examining his ass and denying his claim.

4th

2009-07-04T19:39:00.000-07:00

I watched the official London Webcam today for ANY signs of fireworks, and nothing.

Happy 4th of July eve!

2009-07-03T13:12:00.001-07:00

We started celebrating Christmas Eve more than Christmas Day a while back so we looked at other holidays and figured some of them could be celebrated one day in advance, too, like the 3rd of July, when no one is at the beach, and the "Day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, the Saturday No One Ever Talks About" because it conveniently falls on a Saturday every year, when you can go crazy. And do go crazy celebrating Easter, because it means we've reached the halfway point to Santa Claus!

We drink eggnog more on Easter than Christmas because it is associated more with eggs. We have scrambled eggs in the morning, followed by boiled eggs (from the hunt) for lunch, then spiked eggnog for dinner with our eggrolls from Wok U down the street.

Another good eve is Memorial Day Eve because that's when the Indianapolis 500 and the Coca Cola 600 take place, and alcohol is consumed, and people, about 600,000 of them, stand up for the National Anthem, and we see flags, lots of flags, and they are yellow, and checkered, and sometimes red, depending on the situation.

Another good holiday eve is New Year's Eve Eve, because it's fun for drunks to say.

Pixel Envy

2009-07-02T19:01:00.001-07:00

Barbra Streisand via last.fm

I started with 15 inches, and that wasn't enough, so I worked my way up to 19. Soon, I had 22 inches, then 25. Now I'm at a whopping 40 inches.

Breasts on YouPorn are becoming lifesize.

My eyes feel twice as big.

I will be able to see up your nostrils one day (technology is getting that good!).

Imagine being able to look up certain celebrities' nostrils. Nostrils I want to look up right away: Barbara Streisand's, then Owen Wilson's.

I want a wall-sized screen in my house. In fact, all my walls should be screens. What do walls do now besides hold paint, and maybe a few pictures? Put them to use, I say!

The screen in Times Square, the one the size of a house? I want my screen to be that big. I want to project a liveshot of the sun as a webcam image, with pixels so good that people can go blind looking at it.

Stoner Cam

2009-06-28T04:43:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

She was the one who suggested we "cam" -- or go on webcam.

I agreed, and saw her for the first time, and how she smoked. It was beautiful, her technique. She would sit tantalizing close to the camera and take in gobs of smoke, crossing her eyes sexily in the process as she looked down the barrel, cheeks bulged, wiping her chin afterward. We had to meet.

She had me prove by holding my baggie up to the camera that I didn't have too many seeds and stems in my life, and we arranged for her to take the next train to my place.

I tidied up the place as best I could by throwing out my refrigerator and buying a new one. I have a pet cockatiel that I let hop around on the floor and he eats all my stray seeds. He calls me "Jason," which isn't my name.

I bought an expensive butane bottle and put a big red bow on it. For her, I bought a hemp candle.

I greeted her at the door in my robe and my favorite pipe in my mouth. It's the one with the little red dragons on it.

She took my pipe and held it briefly in her lips. Then she reinserted it in my mouth and that way we exchanged saliva. It's the new kiss.

We reminisced about being on cam together and I told her I fell in love with her the moment she unabashedly ate a watermelon in front of me. It was in the middle of a munchies tour-de-force that also saw her eat a large bowl of marshmallows.

"I switched from eating grapes to eating marshmallows, overnight," I told her.

But she wasn't listening. She was smiling coyly and holding her cam in her hand.

"Remember this?" she said.

"Yes," I said. "Your cam."

"I brought it along. Where's yours?"

I pointed to my computer desk.

She walked over and placed her cam gently next to mine. They seemed to stare at each other.

"They finally meet," I uttered.

Maple Debate

2009-06-22T04:47:00.000-07:00

Image by Sifu Renka via Flickr

Maple flavored anything.

Me and a friend are maple freaks. Maple bars, maple syrup, maple walnut ice cream. Absolutely love it.

I asked my friend, Would maple syrup work as a standalone? In other words, could he drink just a small glass of maple syrup, especially since he claimed to 'love it so much'?

No, he said.

"It's good as a garnish, not as a standalone."

Furthermore, he said, "Although gravy is good for mashed potatoes, you probably wouldn't want to drink it."

I disagreed. "If it's so great it should also be great as a standalone."

"It's not even tolerable as a standalone."

I wondered about honey.

"Same thing" he said.

I closed my eyes. "Honey being licked off the chest of a good looking lady. Mmm."

"Heaven in this case is still a garnish," he opined. "But it's likely the one time you wouldn't get sick of eating it."

"What about bears?" I asked. "Don't they get entire meals from honey?"

"Bears regard honey as a dangerous snack."

Maple syrup AND honey dripping down the breasts of a good looking woman...

I described my fantasy.

"Can't beat that," he said, clearly salivating. "Prolonged eating."

Stoner (Emerging from the Crisis)

2009-06-19T04:39:00.000-07:00

Image by Tau Zero via Flickr

I put down my pipe, and the phone rang. What perfect symmetry. Don't call when the pipe is in my hand (if you can help it). Wait til I'm done.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Cottonmouth?"

"I go by that name sometimes."

"This is a stoner buddy of yours you haven't thought of since we last toked together 12 years ago. Except the other night, when you suddenly thought of me during a bong session. How have you been? Ain't it funny how the unconscious mind works?"

"Yes."

"Would you mind putting emphasis on that?

"YES!"

"I'm a friend, so I have to reappear in your life now and again."

"A true friend ... one that can track down my unpublished cell phone number."

"There you have it."

"How have you been?" I was remembering now.

"Ben."

"Been."

"Name is Ben, you're close."

Oh, god, his name wasn't Frank.

"We toked...?" I asked.

"Yes, 12 years ago. Technically, 11 years ago and 311 days, but that's 12 to me."

"Right."

"I provided the pot. Remember?"

I remembered him. He was into some heavy stuff then.

"1997 right?"

"That's right. Hydroponics."

"I remember ... it was great ... had black curly hairs on it. It was nicknamed 'Pubes.'"

"Exactly. Someone crossbred it that way."

"I remember coughing, and not because it was harsh."

He laughed. "You were disgusted, but a connoisseur of a high."

"It's always the high that counts," I mused, "not what brings us there. What brings you into my world?"

No response. No response. No response.

He was toking?

"You," he finally answered. His voice was an octave higher; I could tell he was holding his breath.

"Me?"

"I wanted to see what you were smoking nowadays." When he exhaled I could sense the quality.

"The economy is causing me to smoke stems and seeds," I admitted.

A pause, then: "You can't be serious."

I rattled my jar. "I used to pick them out and throw them away but now ... they're gold."

"Crazy"

"I'm serious," I continued. "I don't even use a screen anymore. I inhale the ash."

"Jesus." I had his complete stoner attention somehow. "That is a tragic story."

"This is," I agreed.

"Let me send you my seeds and stems."

"You don't have to."

"I don't have many."

"Top grade stuff doesn't have the urge to reproduce, I understand. I'll take whatever you've got."

"I'll take good care of you."

"Thank you." I did my own kind of exhale.

2009-06-15T04:20:00.000-07:00

S\ince1 my1 keyboard is\1 mes\s\ed1 up, i1 will1 be1 talkinfg1 fgibberis\jh1 fgor tjhe1 next1 fgew1 days\.
Tjhan1 you11 made1 in1 cjhina1 keyjhbaord1 fgor1 reactinfg1 s\o1 bad1ly1 to1 s\pilt1 cola.

Overcoming Scary Sounds

2009-06-14T11:10:00.000-07:00

Tf2 has some terrifying sounds, no doubt about it. These can affect the player's concentration, heart rate and overall performance. It's great that these sounds can be combined into one audio file, so that the player can listen to them in his off-time...a sort of Gestalt therapy to overcome their negative influence. Scary Sounds

New Video!

2009-06-14T04:30:00.000-07:00

New Video!

2009-06-14T04:29:00.000-07:00

New Video!

2009-06-14T04:28:00.000-07:00

New Video!

2009-06-14T04:24:00.000-07:00

Neverending rocket blast

2009-06-13T17:25:00.001-07:00

I kindly asked the soldier to stand at the very edge of the map so we could track his rocket blast. I wanted to see if it would make it to the other side of the map. He obliged, and let one rip, and since I was on free cam, I was able to stay in the air as the rocket sped past me. I followed it as best I could, expecting to see the charred mark where it landed. Except it didn't land -- it kept on going into the distance. Bye bye, rocket. I wondered which map it landed on, since it wasn't ours.

There are lots of maps parked next to each other in TF2. For instance, the Egypt map has the Sudan map next to it but no one ever plays on it. Not enough gimmicks.

This map happened to be Badlands, so I knew Dustbowl was around the corner. I changed maps and there was no sign of the rocket on Dustbowl, either. Gravel Pit was on the other side, so I quickly hopped over there and there was still nothing.

We had a report of the rocket being on 2Fort but it was the wrong color, so I didn't have to investigate. Another reported it on Turbine, but that's an indoor map, silly.

I can assume it's still out there, circling the earth, or whatever planet TF2 is part of.

The Abortionist

2009-06-13T04:19:00.000-07:00

They called him 'The Abortionist' -- he killed ubers before they were born. My uber was about to be born, but didn't make it. I was 93% along the way. He was very versatile with his knife, and it was over just like that.
Every time I see an engineer with his arms stretched out, carrying around his soon-to-be-born sentry, I get sentimental. I want to ask him if it'll be a girl or a boy. (I doubt he knows, though.)
My uber didn't have a name. I would have called it Spike. I carried that uber a long time, over many miles. Maybe my next one will be less difficult. Who knows. It will bring joy to certain people, misery to others, but I know one thing: two of us will be very happy

UriNation

2009-06-13T04:16:00.002-07:00

"I knew he was a lame-o; I saw him have to squat before he threw his pee at me."

"He was accused of cheating so he had to provide a Jarate sample."

"There's going to be a urine mode server and the ones who stay high-and-dry the longest are the wieners."

"I examined his urine sample with my scope and it was cloudy so I knew I had a better shot at sniping him."

Overheard

2009-06-13T04:16:00.001-07:00

(TEAM) PIGFOOT: I want to release my uber on you
(TEAM) PIGFOOT : i've been following your stats forever...my goal was to finally release my uber on you
(TEAM) PIGFOOT : in you
Zefram : ewwww sexual
(TEAM) PIGFOOT: on you
batchuba -V- : LOL

Or, If your rig don't cost at least $1000, don't get near me

2009-06-13T04:14:00.002-07:00

The Stanford grad was upset to learn that a Texas Tech grad had been healing him. He claimed the healing had been jittery and inconsistent. On mic he said, "From now on no one can heal me until I check your credentials."

--

2009-06-13T04:14:00.001-07:00

Twenty-two minutes left on a good map with non-stop action and instant spawn time. Question: What's a bladder to do?

Overheard (planning his life as a spy)

2009-06-13T04:12:00.000-07:00

"i will try to be the first one who specializes in heavy spy...

"i want to be a spy engy and go through the motions of building a sentry...

(he realizes at that moment how to become a Master Spy)

"they'll think i'm one of them when i hog the teleporter entrance"

Etc.

2009-06-12T04:11:00.000-07:00

Pre-uber check

A wand needs to be invented that you can wave over your partner to see whether he has enough ammo.

Overheard in Dustbowl...

"He teased me with uber right up until the gate opened."

Definition of panic: Your uber mate dies unexpectedly and you are left alone and aglow.

Etc.

2009-06-11T04:08:00.000-07:00

Legendary Sniper

He would put his blue dot on your left shoulder. That was his trademark.
As soon as you noticed it, BAM!, you were dead.

--

He chuckled when he heard a joke in-game and immediately typed "lol." Later, he heard the same person say something mildly amusing, so he typed "lol" again, but it didn't feel right -- it was more deserving of a "lis" ("laughing inside"). Since no one knows what a "lis" is, he couldn't use it. So he stopped giving out "lols" altogether. No more fake "lols." However, he wasn't a total prick--he would just put quotes around it.

DONNELLY -V- : that's disgusting
Desperato: that's harsh
Coverkilla: that's amore'
Crazy Bill: "lol"
Desperato: ?

You want Superbowl you get Dustbowl

2009-06-10T04:08:00.000-07:00

The "You Won't Get a Successful Uber During my Lifetime" gang was vicious, and well known in TF2. But they met their match against the "Kill 'em While at Level 1" clan. It was a "defense vs. offense" classic. Defense won after an epic Overtime in which the offense kept using snipers.
Highlight: At the last second the offense tried to sneak a spy up the middle to gain more time, but it was too well defended, and the spy got burned.

Gaydar Achievement

2009-06-09T04:04:00.000-07:00

I got the "gaydar" achievement, and this is what I was able to pick up (real names withheld).

Joe -C-: I've never bonked any guys, but I've ubered a few
Tomato: I know you like bonking guys
Joe -C-: I like rubbing against your dispenser
Tomato: lol
Tomato: I like slapping my ball into your face
Tomato: as a scout
Tomato: I like coming behind you as a spy
Joe -C-: lol
Tomato: I like aiming right at your face as a sniper
Joe -C-: I love your dot in my mouth
Tomato: lol
Tomato: I like charging you up real good
Joe -C-: Let me turn my back to you so you can charge quicker
Tomato: haha
Joe -C-: He sapped me so much I'm exhausted right now
Joe -C-: I can barely build
Tomato: I like exploding you with my stickies
Joe -C-: I like exploding and leaving you sticky
(they were in the map Turbine)
Tomato: I like being at your bottom entrance

Nude Mod

2009-06-08T04:02:00.000-07:00

I just got off of Bryan's Nude Mod where I experienced TF2 in a whole new dimension. First of all, let me say that in Dustbowl, trying to get out of the blue spawn when two nude Heavies are blocking the door, it's difficult beyond belief. Also, after playing 10 minutes, you can't help but notice who's got the biggest d***. You just can't help noticing it. It becomes perhaps the new measuring stick.
Also, let me say that certain classes get "hard" for certain reasons. The Heavy with his mini gun out, not to mention his tongue sticking out -- did you not think he was getting hard? Tis true.
A few more things I found out:
The soldier gets hard when he gets kritz.
The medic starts getting hard the moment his uber begins to charge. By the time his uber is ready, he is fully aroused.
The demoman gets hard within fifteen meters of an enemy spawn door.
The scout stays hard.
The engineer gets only semi erect and that bothers him because he's an engineer.
The sniper I didn't play and I didn't get close enough to to notice.
The pyro? It had a fig leaf over its unit.
I would have taken some pictures but cameras are not allowed (screenshots are disabled somehow).

Etc.

2009-06-07T04:00:00.000-07:00

ray the spy was plaguing me and destroying my sentries again and again and I finally snapped. "ray, I hope you build some loved ones and lose them."

--

I have a microphone setting that makes me talk with a brogue.
Batchula (the Irishman) said "Got a reverse one I can borrow?"
I said it worked excellently. Furthermore...
"Some guys from Australia thought I was one of them."
I had a setting on yesterday that made it sound like I was from the Louisiana bayous AND New York City. It was a custom blend that I used to scare my mom.

Overheard

2009-06-06T03:57:00.000-07:00

"You call that an uber? That only lasted 3 seconds. Don't talk to me unless you have at least 7 seconds."

Tf2 Olymics

2009-06-05T03:56:00.000-07:00

Getting stoned thinking there is a need for an after hours Olympics in TF2. Who can build their sentry the fastest? was the first one I thought of. Picture two engineers -- one red, one blue -- facing each other, building sentries. The one whose sentry gets blown up first, loses.
• An actual speed-typing contest to see who can come up with the most taunts.
• A game of chicken held in Well CTF where two heavies square off on the train tracks and the last one to jump wins.
• You start on one side of the map, burning. Water is on the other side. Can you make it in time?

Overheard

2009-06-04T03:55:00.000-07:00

"You killed my sg then you killed me, my dispenser was next...then you had the audacity to destroy my teleporter.

"My whole family was wiped out."

Overheard

2009-06-03T03:54:00.000-07:00

"I will only heal a known thanker."

Slow Down...Take it Easy

2009-06-02T03:52:00.000-07:00

The slowest moving thing in TF2 is the Heavy with his chaingun lowered. I walked across the entire map of Badlands that way and it took 53 minutes. I had exasperated Medics along the way trying to heal me, with every one of them jumping off after a while. I was like a slow moving train, and no one wanted to go too far.
The second slowest thing (in this world too I believe) is a teleporter still at stage one infancy. A baby teleporter. Squatting on a slow teleporter allows you to see all your teammates, though, one by one, as they approach with the same look: get off and allow them on.
The third slowest thing is your reaction time when you realize you're standing in stickies. The fourth is lag. The fifth is the Overall Timer if you're losing. The sixth is any amount of spawn time. The seventh is the amount of urination time wasted during a critical part in map/server history.

2009-06-01T03:51:00.000-07:00

Turn up the volume on this... Heavy Stoner Haunted TF2.mp3

Could be nice for Halloween...

Hello

2009-04-12T16:43:00.000-07:00

This is going to be my "stoner TF2 blog." I searched high (HIGH) and low for a similar blog but didn't find one, so here we go.

I promise I'll blog as much as I can but can't promise you every day writings. I promise you I'll try, though.

My only goal is to make you laugh.

So, sit back and inhale and cough some nice exhales with me as we continue our TF2 (and non-TF2) adventures.

Also, if you are a stoner and want to contribute, feel free. I'll make you a co-stoner :)