Friday, September 30, 2005

Gasoline ... Match ... BRIDGE!

*** Like it says at the end of Law and Order, this work of fiction is just that. Names, events, and situations - though they may seem based on fact - are really just made up. Amazingly enough, some of the characters and names seem like they are people who will recognize their own name immediately but they should just shut up and keep believing that this is a work of fiction ... which it is ... fiction. Didn't you read the disclaimer? ***

Working Title: Office Space Redux

Setting: The Peoria, Arizona office of StupiterMedia - a conglomerate of acquired companies being slowly run into the ground by incompetent management. See, it is fiction because any company that would acquire others would know how to run them, right?

Cast of Characters in order of appearance:

Rasheed Longwang - The protagonist and main character in this comedy of errors.

Joe Quixote - The web manager of the Peoria, AZ office. Joe is perpetually fighting the windmills of stupidty at StupiterMedia the list of which is too long and too far-reaching to begin to spell out.

Darin Tunamelt - A programmer in Joe's group with comptetent skills looking to make a name for himself. If ass-kissing were an olympic event, this guy would be golden every 4 years.

Vegina Paris - A disgruntled IT worker longing for the days she and her cats can escape to Colorado. Fiery tempered and fond of the drink which makes her dangerous. How dangerous? Hell, she cusses and throws shit at people when she's SOBER!

Mick Shitzu - The Vice President of the IT Department. Spends most of his time correcting important things like Java script errors on websites or re-writing search engines. Wouldn't know talent or how to manage if they both soddomized him from behind. Darin himself knows this first hand.

Pat Accountingbook - Pat begins our play as the unofficial web c0-manager with Joe, but eventually leaves for Colorado where they can sell stronger prescriptions of Rogain. Possibly the best programmer StupiterMedia had working for them so his exit was imminent and many were surprised when he was not fired immediately for being "too good".

Condoleeza Katz - IT Director for the Peoria, AZ office. Spends her time wondering how many companies out there need are in need of an IT Director who does not understand the technology and has little to no IT experience.

Henry Winkler - Sales manager for a StupiterMedia product line. Faces the daily tasks of telling multiple account support people that they are, in fact, "incorrect-amundo".

Jessica Sweater-Puppies - Divorced, well endowed support speciliast working under the watchful eye of Henry. Jessica is known for her sweet and caring personality and for her breasts arriving 10 minutes before she does.

Assbag Ghengis - A good guy with an unfortunate first name. A terrible programmer who StupiterMedia IT Director was convinced he was as good if not better than those around him! Assbag's driving record was so bad, he was actually given a bonus for using public transportation.

Pepe Malmgren - Our token Mexican so we can attract the growing latino minority. Pepe is the system administrator for the Peoria, AZ office ... when he's not stealing things that is. Pepe longs to be a poker pro but his "2nd job" of stalking Vegina with his webcam gets in the way.

Brian Doorknob - Our token "special needs" role. Brian wears his plastic white helmet and rides the short bus every day - by himself! - to the Washington, DC office (which is somewhat by McLean, VA but not quite since this is fiction). What Brian lacks in intelligence and basic reasoning skills, he makes up for by being "thorough". In a twist of irony, Brian has his favorite bumper-sticker tattooed accross his forehead - "Helmet Laws Suck".

Tony "It Ain't White Boy Day" Drexel - A web designer who cut his teeth on the mean streets of Henry, IL. Tony now telecommutes from Chicago so he can both "represent" and "keep it real, yo". He WILL cut you.

Chad Lennon - Budding rock star turned web designer. Lives with his girlfriend Yoko who encourages Chad to leave the band and devote his time to his design career.

Bud Weizer - A graduate of Iowa University, Bud spends his College Football Saturday's crying into a Guiness pint. He came to the Peoria, AZ office straight out of college when he was greeted to the harsh, real-world fact that a 4-year degree from Iowa made you about a half-step more qualified than a guy who took 8 years to get a GED. Go Illini bia-tch!

Constance Paininourasso - Special Projects Coordinator - mainly because she looks over "special" people like Brian - in Washington DC. Despite an unnatural love of cats and ADHD, she somehow rises to manager mainly because employees like Brian make anyone look competent. Most notably remembered for the phrase "It doesn't work that way in my head!" when going over specs and an existing program with the protagonist. Now you know.

Roman Hammer - Better suited as a porn name, Roman works as a web developer in the Peoria, AZ office. Roman's main focus of work is to find new and innovative ways to avoid speaking to Constance.

Todd and Sam Wonder - The Wonder brothers are the lead Database Administrators for the Peoria, AZ team. Their last name is fitting because people often "wonder" how they make it to work every day without a short yellow bus, how they still have jobs, if they have jobs, etc.

Smaller bit roles include:
Michael Alme-GonnaNotWorkHereAnymore
Zandra GodDamnIsMyLastNameLong

Now that we have the cast of characters introduced, come follow along the adventures in upcoming posts ... Anonymous comments accepted!

Thursday, September 29, 2005

Porn and Pop Culture

My wife was given hundreds of movies some time back with the intent on selling all of them. Recently, she decided it would be a good idea to start listing them again so we could have some extra money for our new daughter who recently arrived. What's funny is she has a stack of probably 100 movies in the basement that is nothing but porn. Being a man, I had to make sure the majority of the movies were in working condition and suitable for selling over the internet. What got me, were the names of the different movies, always playing on references to movies, TV, events, etc. Not all of them but most of them.

So it got me to thinking. There's always some hack writer out there who needs some help, so I would like to throw in my 2 cents to help come up with some porno names that could make the cut. I have no idea if these names are taken - so don't fucking bitch if you seen it already, ok perverts?

Brown Eye for the Straight Guy
Sex WITH the City
Field of Reams
Six Inches Under
Free Willy - too easy
The Fantastic Fourth Hole?

Feel free to add your own ...

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

All My News I get from Farrakhan and Celebrities

“I heard from a very reliable source, who saw a 25-foot deep crater under the levee breach,” said Louis Farrakhan, spiritual leader of the Nation of Islam (NOI). “It may have been blown up to destroy the black part of town and keep the white part dry.” Minister Farrakhan made the charge Monday in Charlotte, North Carolina, where many of the hurricane’s evacuees had been taken (at federal expense).

Question 1: How do you see a 25 foot deep crater that would be filled with water and underneath 20 feet of black water?

Question 2: Scores of civil engineers who worked on the levee warned that a Category 3 or higher storm would cause it to burst. Were they told to say this to cover up it's eventual demolition by the government?

Question 3: What exactly would be the motivation for the Federal Government to make New Orleans more "white"?

Question 4: Does the Michigan Militia (who once "decoded" and "exposed" a government plot outlined on back of a Kix cereal box) thank God every day for a guy like Farrakhan who make them look like geniuses?

Question 5: Is the Nation of Islam and the Republican Party really that different? I mean both have chosen leaders who are functionally retarded and yet the followers believe everything the guys utter.

Of course, to really understand the world, you should turn to celebrities to get their take on it. Here is what some celebrities may or may not have said about Katrina, Farrakhan, and New Orleans ...

Brad Pitt: I left Jennifer Aniston for who? Man I have my head so far up my ass I don't know what's going on. Sorry, no comment.

Nick Nolte: You should envy these people. As I have said before standing in your own urine promotes health. They get to wade in it! Pity us not them.

Andy Dick: I am doing a benefit to help New Orleans. My one fan will be ecstatic!

Tori Spelling: My daddy got me my job! Are you from the Surreal Life?

Spike Lee: It's the white man trying to eradicate the black man. Fight the power! And don't forget to buy the collector's edition of "Do the Right Thing", wear Air Jordans, and eat a Snickers!

Ben Affleck\Matt Damon: (muffled - they couldn't stop blowing each other long enough)

There you have it. Celebrities ... is there anything they don't know?

Monday, September 26, 2005

Choose your Wingman Wisely!

"So buy her beer, that's the reason you're here ... My wingman ...Wing-maaaaaaaaaaaannn"

If I had a dollar for every great story that came from being Wingman to my buddies and vice versa, I would be a millionaire by now; hence, this is Wingman Volume 1. Much like Kill Bill, the sequence of these will be disjointed and out of order, but it will still be entertaining. This particular event happened one night at Kep's Place in Washington.

Greg (or G3 or GCubed) is one of my best friends from College. We've been through thick and thin together. We've partied, chased tail, and done some very crazy shit together. After College, I settled down and got married ... Greg perfected his "game". We still talk almost daily and play volleyball together in the summer. My kids call him Uncle Greg. If there is anything I say about Greg is, I call him Peter Pan - not in the sick Michael Jackson sense - because he is still having fun and partying. Not ready to settle down yet and who could blame him. To each his own!

The reason for the introduction is I am very sure there will be future posts about stupid, scary, and even outright illegal things Greg and I have done. Good friends help you move; Best friends help you move bodies. So Greg comes in town one night when I have my daughter for the weekend. After a couple hours of wrestling with the kids - they love him to death - and giving my wife neck rubs - she loves him too because I won't fall for the "my neck hurts can you rub it" bit - we get the kids down for bed. Pam - my wife - throws in an old movie and tells us "have fun boys! If Reed pukes, I'm blaming you Greg!"

Off we go to Kep's Place, a nice bar here in Washington where I know most of the staff and the managers. On the way, there - all of a 2-minute drive - Greg tells me a "friend" of his (read "booty-call") will be joining him up at Kep's after 9:30. Cool by me. I have my drinking shoes on and a hankering for some pool. So we get there, he orders a pitcher of Miller Lite and now I know there is a problem. You see, Greg is the best guy in the world, but he hates Miller Lite. Despite all my efforts to change him, he loves that no taste, panther-piss we all know as Bud Light. So when Greg volunteers to buy a pitcher of Miller Lite, he's buying me off and I know it.

"So what's up?" I asked him smilling a shit-eating grin because I know what's coming.
"Well. She has a friend." He's pouring, won't even look at me. Oh god, this is going to be bad.
"So I'm wingman for the night. Do you realize I come here often? People know me?" I asked. "So she had at least be good looking because Pam is going to hear about it!"

We laughed. Pam has no problem with me running interference for Greg, she's very trusting of me and deservedly so. Plus, for god's sake, I am at Kep's. People know us both on a first name basis and - even if I was a player (still) which I am not - you don't SHIT WHERE YOU EAT. This is a lesson gentleman as I am spinning gold here. In a later post, I will give you some hard-learned lessons from my "playing" days about why you don't date 3 women at once and take them all to the same place you frequent ... but that story is for another day.

So Greg is like, "Well she said her friend might be bi."
"You have my complete attention." I am a big fan of the Lesbian culture. Love their work. From ex- girlfreinds who were bi, to the movie Wild Things, to several movies I cannot begin to name for fear the FCC will eventually use my blog as yet another place where they limit free speech.

"Well,” Greg continued, “that's the problem. She also said she's kinda butch. She just got out of the Air Force."
"Oh god bro, what are you getting me into?"

Cue the cell phone and they are just pulling up. In comes our first arrival, a "serviceable" girl with sandy blonde hair. I say "servicable" because I was already a pitcher into the night and she wasn't doing it for me. On scale of 1 to 12, she's definitely a 10-beer hookup. But oh, don't go away yet folks because not 2 mintues later in walks ... PAT!

Now, the girls name - and I really am throwing about that word ... GIRL - was both irrelevant and for this story IT was Pat. If you don't know who "Pat" is from the SNL skits, then you need to watch more god damn TV so get to work! She lumbers her way across the bar with a hitch more John Wayne than even KD Lang. Soon we are all talking and that is when the hilarity ensues. I am wingman, so I cannot ruin Greg's shot at getting hooked up. However, there isn't enough beer on God's green earth to get me to live up on this one. If people I know are going to see me with a woman who is more of a man than I am, it's not going to be at my favorite bar - it will be in a volleyball game or a co-ed, doubles kickboxing match.

We begin to make small talk but that is proving completely useless. The more Pat and her friend talk the more smart-ass things I have to say. I am trying not to turn into a dick because Greg is trying to get laid. All I can do though is just keep hearing the conversation and every little thing I have a comeback for because it was too funny. Take every lesbian stereotype you ever heard, roll it into one, and that is the woman sitting across from me. On top of that, her friend, Greg’s hookup we will refer to as (I don’t know) … StinkBait. She is not SURE if Pat is a lesbian. You know, death, taxes, and this broad is a lesbian are about the only things I am sure of.

With each passing syllable I become more giddy. Greg is trying to keep a straight face as we talk amongst each other because he knows that eventually something is going to slip out of my mouth. Much like my blogs, I have many opinions and don’t mind sharing them … especially after a few drinks.

Finally, Stinkbait and Pat need to use the restroom together. If they had waited any longer I would have pissed myself or exploded so much to say about topics like: Pat’s new full-size truck, why she doesn’t date, Stinkbait’s ex-boyfriend who did not like Pat, etc. Now all of this seems extremely mundane and even boring, but mix a little alcohol and some well timed jokes and it could have been a stellar night … had I wanted to ruin Greg’s chances of getting laid. The two run off or more like lumber in Pat’s case and I am left with Greg.

“Dude let’s just play some pool,” Greg half-asks me.
“No way, no how, no time.” I am laughing thankful for the break in the action. “Now Stinkbait thinks her friend MIGHT be bi?!? She MIGHT be??? That he-bitch could whoop both of our asses” – more laughter as people from the bar are now taking notice - “If I saw her in a dark alley I would throw my wallet and run. RUN FOR MY LIFE!”
Greg and I are now laughing pretty good, some of it the beer, a lot of it the night.
“Now be nice when they get back,” he implores.
“Dude, I have no choice. I cannot embarrass myself by taking a beating from a woman, seriously? There is no way you are not going to get laid. I mean, if Stinkbait is that stupid to not realize her best friends a carpet-munching, femi-nazi you have no excuse. Really, I will disown you.” More laughter to the left and right of us. I turn to see a couple of women who are MUCH better looking than Pat and Stinkbait. I believe they had … faces?

I turn to them. “Do you believe what he’s putting me through? Wingman to that!”
They are laughing now, Face #1 says, “You should really come join us.”
Turning to Greg “I agree whole-heartedly. I feel safe enough in my manhood to join them.” More laughter but Greg can’t. He’s stuck because he’s in the age-old predicament. A bush in hand is worth more than two at the bar you haven’t met yet.
“No bro. C’mon we’ll all go play pool when they get back.”
“Not me but don’t worry.” Turning to Face 1 & 2, “Can you all pretend like you’ve known me for awhile. I have to get out of this.”
Face #2 smiles and nods, “No problem, we get it.”

I sit and make small talk as we wait for the gruesome twosome to return.

Greg’s turn to talk as he addresses the two and says “Let’s go play some pool.”

The two quickly agree and he begins the chore of packing up the stuff we have sitting at the bar: cell phones, glasses, pitcher, coats, etc. It was Greg who takes the blame for the calamity that ensued. He had to say something to me. If he had merely left it alone, I would have sat peacefully by and made small talk with my two new friends.

“You want to play pool bro?” he asked knowing DAMN WELL I most certainly did not.
“No thanks man I am just going to get caught up with these two.” I try to dismiss it.
“Suit yourself man.,” he replies as he turns to the twosome. “Do you guys got everything? Beers, purses?”
And that’s when it happened. There are moments of greatness that you dream about when you are a smart ass, and the time was nearly upon me.
“No, I don’t carry a purse,” shot back Pat … Warning! Warning! Vintage Reed in 3-2-1 …
“Why? Because it bangs into your balls everywhere you walk?”

Stunned silence. I don’t think I could have gotten a more shocking reaction if I had dropped my pants and shat myself in the middle of the dance floor (which I understand is not uncommon for some Canadians – howdy Gina!). Greg looked at me as if I had just run over his puppy. Pat and Stinkbait shared a look of shock and disbelief … and then the bar – those within ear shot including my new friends – erupted in laughter. Greg fought back a smile and Pat and Stinkbait stormed off to the pool tables luckily for Greg.

Choking back tears of laughter, Greg couldn’t help but lament. “Thanks dick, now it’s gonna be real fun trying to do damage control.”

“Fuck it! Just tell’em I’m drunk. It’s not like your lying.”

The rest of the night I chatted with the girls at the bar and a couple of buddies who came in later. It was a good night all-in-all. Greg got laid and – more importantly – I retained my dignity and my special little place in hell …

The end.

Chances are ... YOU are a Loser!

In this great state of Illinois where minority rules, poker is outlawed as “gambling”, and lotto is a way of life … There is something inherently wrong with that. This blog contains basic mathematic reasoning so you need at least a GED to follow along. Odds are, you’re a loser and don’t know it yet.

I want to introduce you to a couple of different terms to make things eaiser:
Short Term: A short amount of time or trials when gambling.
Long Term: The course of years and thousand of gambling trials.
House Advantage: The edge any gambling institution holds over a player.
Skill Game: Blackjack, Sports Betting, Poker
Luck Game: Anything not a skill game

Let’s first look at the easiest of all luck games – Slots.
Push a button or pull a lever. A drunken monkey on acid can play slots. The truth is that anyone can win in the short term but most do not. Play slots long enough and you will lose. Most machines pay out at a rate of 97%. This is very confusing to most people. A pay out rate is how much a machine is expected to return to you over the course of THOUSANDS (see Long Term) of trials. There will be fluctuations in the short term, but over the course of years and thousands of trials you will lose $3 for every $100 you put in the machine. $100 – $3 = 97% pay out. For those of you already asleep, I’ll type softer.

38 numbers on the board with the payoff of 35-1 on any number you hit. This gives the house an advantage of 5.26% meaning you are better off playing the slots than roullette. James Bond be damned!

Play the pass line for a house advantage or 1.41%. This is as low of a house advantage you will find in a casino for a game that is not a skill game. Sure betting the pass line isn't anywhere near as fun as hitting a big 35-1 roullette number, but it is less risky and will allow you to play much longer without going broke.

OK, so now let's see what the great state of Illinois offers us in it's "non-gambling" lottery. Keep in mind, the worst house edge the casino has in the above games is 5.26% ...

Pick 3 and Pick 4
Here's an "easy" game. Simply pick 3 numbers or 4 numbers and win a big-time payday. It only costs as little as 50 cents to play and it's got to be a good deal otherwise the state wouldn't sponsor it right? Try on a 40-42.6% house advantage PLUS you get taxed on winnings. Thanks you Illinois for saving me from the casinos ... so you can turn around and RAPE ME!

I sat down one day and did the math for winning the lotto. I'll show part of my work so you can understand exactly what conclusion I came to. Over 100 million possible outcomes of the numbers, so buying - for instance - 170 tickets would give you roughly a million-to-one shot at winning. Conclusion: you have a better chance of getting struck by lightning while having a 3-way with the Olson twins. Thank you Illinois!

Also, Illinois does not condone "gambling" but they do allow raffles which are often even better ways to screw people. Here is my favorite ...

50/50 Drawings
What is amazing to me to this day is the house advantage is actually spelled out in THE FUCKING NAME OF THE DRAWING. There is a 50% house advantage! Aside from Lotto, this is the worst house advantage of any of the games listed above. Instead of 50/50 you might as well wipe your ass with a dollar bill and flush it down the drain.

So in saving us from ourselves, the state of Illinois has actually helped themselves to our wallets while making sure we don't do anything has illicit as gambling - where maybe our bankrolls would have a chance. It amazes me the billions of dollars funded to the state under the guise of "Lottery" while we are subjected to countless messages from the Illinois Gambling council about problem gambling.

The "problem" is the Illinois Gambling council and any moron who plays lotto as a way of life. For both, I offer you can all munch on my white ass.

Don't play lotto but chances are - even if you don't - you're still a loser ...

Saturday, September 24, 2005

Random Musings Part DUH

Received an error from one of our support people the other day and printed it out. After trying several times to re-create the problem, I gave up and wrote "CANNOT REPRODUCE" on top of the paper. Laughing, I turned to my manager Joe and said "This is Eileen's error. On top I have written 'Cannot Reproduce'. Most any other AE that reports an error I will follow up with the note 'Should Not Reproduce'" ....

OPEC makes my ass hurt ...

Cost Analysis Scenario: Keep a programmer who knows the system, platform, languages, business logic, and has a proven track record of success by paying him 10-12k more per year (even with that it would still be below industry average for experience) ... OR spend money trying to find a competent programmer to take his place knowing the new programmer: will have less experience, does not know the business, and has an unverifiable track record (also called a resume). Knowing this, know also that you will have to pay the new person MORE starting out than the programmer you have now? And people wonder why I found a new job ...

According to my wife, Rocky Road ice cream is imperative to her lactation diet so that our little Kenzy can have plenty of breast milk. According to my ex-girlfriend, it's equally important in her Cottage Cheese\Dunlop diet ... that when you have cottage cheese ass and your belly has "Dunlop"-ed over your belt.

Note to Zach: Mexican's with knives tend to scare white people ...

Why does it seem that only assholes "find Jesus"? Plastering your car with Pro-Life and dumbass "WWJD?" bumper stickers is about as thought-provoking as when I read "Don't throw toothpicks in the urinals ... the crabs have learned to pole vault." And by the way, just because "Jesus is (your) co-pilot" doesn't mean you can cut people off in heavy traffic or drive 10 mph under the speed limit in the left lane ...

Speaking of religious zealots, do you ever find it ironic that the people protesting outside abortion clinics are poster-children for the "Pro-Choice" movement?

Speaking of more dumbasses, Louis Farakhan - don't know if that's how you spell it and more importantly I don't give a shit - said that Hurricane Katrina and the devastation caused to New Orleans was God's punishment to the U.S. for being in Iraq. Shortly after the remarks, he was over heard saying "What? It's 70% black? Well ... then God's a racist!"

Reality television is the norm in this day and age and I will say I am a fan of SOME shows. But here are a couple of points I'd like to make:
1) Should Donald Trump's hair really be part of "reality" tv?
2) Aside from two weeks in 1988 when was "Being Bobby Brown" even remotely interesting?
3) Hey Onarosa, the clock says 0:14:55 and it's ticking ...
4) I'd rather get a hand job from Edward Scissorhands than watch the Bachelor or the Bachelorette ...
5) Let me get this straight about "The Bachelorette". Me and 19 other guys all bang the same chick and then if I'm the "winner" I get to marry her? Change the name of the show to "Sloppy Seconds" or "My Fiancee the Whore" ...
6) I was really interested to see Tommy Lee go back to school just because I wanted to see how many women he would give "Hepatitis D-Minus".

There's a new movie about Martha Stewart's life in prison. Unfortunately the party where she brings the "tossed salad" was cut so it could be shown on TV ...

Screw you guys, I'm goin' home.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005


So the other day I was thinking about starting a new cult. Think of the possibilities: build a belief system that is pure bullshit, find some rich dumbasses to give you money, make them all eunuchs while you screw the women, and basically command people to do your bidding. Now THAT is the life. The problem I came accross was there are just too many cults already started so I would have to come up with something new - and far more ignorant - than what is already out there. That's won't be easy.

Scientology - Space ships, volcanos, hydrogen bombs, L. Ron Hubbard, Tom Cruise, and a whole list of dumbasses. This may be one of the dumbest fucking cults ever invented. It would be like taking the theory of creation by Stephen King ... only a shittier sci-fi writer. If you are a Scientologist, you are a dumbass. You might as well worship George Lucas as a creator.

Any Doomsday Cult - This would be a really shitty deal. First, you have to get a big group of pessimists who look forward to the world ending. That could be done in about 5 minutes walking through DG but I digress. Now, you have to spend the rest of your life repenting "just in case" you're right that the sun will explode in April 2016. And - what happens when you are right? You sit on a hill for a couple years, here comes death, ya turn around to gloat and - oh yeah, everyone's fucking dead already. And when it doesn't come, you turn into a glowering Cub fan ... shaking your head and muttering "Yeah? ... Well, wait 'til next year!"

Any Cult that includes an armed compound - I have the King James version of the bible so the chapter on AK-47's and pipe bombs was completely left out. Better yet, if your religion\cult\club\etc. includes assault weapon and munitions training chances are you are in a dumbass cult ... or one of those - even dumber ass - "Pro-Life Activists" (which is a joke in itself).

So what to do. I need a concept even more dumbass than what is out there so that I only attract people so mentally challenged that none of these other cults appeal to them. So here goes, my new cult name and doctrine:

The Killing, Bible-Thumping, Patriots with Tanks
Here's the jist of it. You see, I make up tales about how God watches over all of us but we have a whole lot of people who want to harm us who have "divine" weapons. We will then take our tanks and guns and kill these people and call everyone who objects "blasphemers" or "non-patriots". Our cult will predict that the world will end on a date to be named later which is when we will have enough power to blow it up ourselves - thus we can gloat and even have a countdown.

... shit, already taken. It was a great idea, but I found out the cult already exists under the name "Bush Administration" ... I like my name better don't you?

BTW, before I am confused with some bleeding heart, anti-war hippy who feels the need to lay down in the road out of protest ... get fucked. I hate hippies more than I hate cults and the Bush administration.

Friday, September 09, 2005

The only person on Earth who can't piss me off!

OK, time to take a short time out from pissing and moaning and pass along a couple stories about my son. "BooBoo" is my little guy. The life and soul of our family with his antics, humor, and charm. Want to see me smile? Bring him up in conversation. I brag about him but with good reason. Just a couple short stories to show you why I look forward to every day with my little guy.

When Connor was a little guy just coming into his own, we used to make him do the "Bubba Dance". Every since he was a little guy he has loved to dance even sitting in his bouncy at home. So when he began to walk, he also began to dance. We used to setup gates throughout the house in targeted areas that he should not go including the kitchen. He used to come to the gate because he knows daddy is a soft-touch and would give him a treat; the only stipulation ... do the "Bubba Dance". It was a sort of "Cabbage Patch" mixed with the "Truffle Shuffle" ... sure, it's not funny to explain but that's not the point of this. I am laughing right now.

The other day I just got out of the shower. Connor comes streaking by the bathroom in his birthday suit - stops - comes back - turns his back to me and announces, "Hey daddy! Look at my nudy booty!" while he smacks himself on his bare cheeks. He starts giggling then takes off running through the house on his (henceforth named) "nudy booty marathon" which entails us chasing after him with clothes while he giggles and tries to get away ...

One day a couple months back, Connor REALLY wanted to go outside and play soccer (don't laugh the kid is too young for football!). It was late and he started fussing. He walked over to the couch, bent at the waist to lay down face first in the cushions and started sobbing. First it was crying followed by "Sooc-cccer Baaaall" in the most pathetic voice you can imagine. My heart sunk and I felt horrible, I mean it wasn't THAT late and the poor guy had been really good when we were out earlier. So I lean down next to him to put my arm around him and ... that is when I see his face is covered but he has a smile ... the little bastard was COMPLETELY playing me! How many times did I fall for that one??? The rest of the night, we played around with him doing his little act on command and even ad-libbing some lines into it where he would cry for whatever we told him too (mommy, soccer ball, the global ramifications of electing half-a-retard to the most powerful office in the world). That's my million dollar baby right there.

OK, so I just wanted to write about my little guy; I could fill up about a thousand pages a day but it would only interest me. Then again, that's why I write a blog. People read it, some even enjoy it, but mainly I want to get things down that either 1) piss me off (read THERAPEUTIC value) or 2) are important to me. My son is important to me; more important than anything I have ever done or will ever do in my life. He's my guy. My little BooBoo. And every night he greets me at the door with a variation on the same message "I missed you today daddy. Can we play until it's bed time?"

Always, pal ... always. I love being a dad.

Friday, September 02, 2005

Sports and Ignorance

The dumbest fucking thing I have ever heard by any man: protesting the Indian mascots in the NCAA on Friday night's Arizona-Utah game, one analyst said "NCAA should not allow people to be mascots " ... This was a black gentleman who apparently loves playing the race card and comparing civil rights strife and the like to his bullshit opinions. Let's take a look at other causes he passed up to take up this one:

Purdue Boilermakers - nothing but drunks hence the drink
USC Trojans - probably thought they made condoms
MSU Spartans - thought they were a product of that Russel Crowe movie
Nebraskas Cornhuskers - not sure what a cornhusker is since it has nothing to do with cotton
Mississippi & UNLV Rebels - disparages rednecks so that is OK
Tennessee Volunteers - they "volunteered" to be disparaged so that is cool
New England Patriots - not his country any way
Pittsburgh Steelers - they "steal" so it's ok to disparage them
New Orleans Saints - it's ok because guys thank god after every win
New York Giants - giants and midgets are both here for our amusement
Tampa Bay Buccaneers - a bunch of butt pirates so it's cool
East Carolina Pirates - see above
Minnesota Vikings - white guys with blonde hair so perfectably acceptable to disparage without ramification
Notre Dame Fighting Irish - bunch of drunk white guys so that falls well within the bounds of acceptable
Navy Midshipmen - Just look at the Village People ... in the navy???
Syracuse Orangemen - it's OK because they're ORANGE and everyone knows ORANGE ain't shit

Here are some new names he - may or may not have - suggested for other teams:
Tulsa Golden Hurricanes - we all saw the devastation of a hurricane in New Orleans so we need to change this to something less horrific. A shower is a small rain so we will call them the Tulsa Golden Showers.

Blackburn Battlin' Beavers - Everyone knows a beaver is a docile animal who spends their day building damns allowing Bears to catch fish much easier in streams. From here forth, they shall be known as the Blackburn Bear Beavers.

Arizona Wildcats - A wildcat emphasizes a horrnedous stereotype that cats are wild and untamed. In the best interest of fairness, we will now refer to them as the Arizona Pussies.

Let's not forget that the Utes NATION voted to allow the Utah Utes nickname to stay. Same with the Seminoles and Florida State. However, in this country where MINORITY rules this becomes another hot issue that should not be! People - completely unrelated to the issue - are pissed off because in these tribal nations DEMOCRACY - read majority rules - actually WORKS! Seriously, in this situation there is only one thing that is obvious; the most racist act of all is these groups who are basically telling Indian nations that they know what is best for them. That the Indian nations are too stupid to know what's best for them. What would you rather have, a nickname that serves to honor your heritage, or a special interest group telling you that you are too stupid to make decisions about your heritage?