Archive for June, 2008

I've been putting this off

Friday, June 20th, 2008

This week has been named by some random blogger to be Blog Reader Appreciation Week. I've seen several bloggers do some pretty cool stunts and posts about their readers, so I wanted to come up with something a little different.

I'd like to hear from each of you about what makes you feel appreciated as a reader. Is it a reply comment? Is it acknowledgment? A return comment on your own blog? Oral sex?

What actions, elements, aspects, and characteristics of a blog make you feel appreciated as a reader and a commenter? What do bloggers do that make you feel unappreciated? Do you have any suggestions for me personally that would help you feel more appreciated as a reader and commenter?

And to show my appreciation for all of my readers, I'll pick a random commenter today who answers one of those questions by midnight PST tonight and they will win their choice of a $50 Amazon.com gift certificate or a $50 AdamandEve.com gift certificate! I'll announce the winner on Sunday.

Hot wax attack

Thursday, June 19th, 2008

No, this is not a story about me getting my balls waxed. Someday, I promise.

This is a story of two naive fools – I'll call them Shmritt and Shmadam. They decided to go out to lunch one fine day, but before reaching the restaurant, Shmritt decided that she needed to get gas. Shmadam waited patiently in the car – a Ford Mustang convertible with a vinyl cloth top – while Shmritt pumped gas next to his open window. "Should I get a car wash?" Shmritt asked.

"Sure," said Shmadam. So Shmritt paid the extra money for a car wash, finished pumping her gas, and proceeded to drive her convertible over to the automated car wash. She pulled in and stopped when the light flashed "Stop", and Shmritt and Shmadam waited for the wash to begin.

At this point, Shmritt and Shmadam learned something very valuable. They learned that even though the top of a convertible appears to be sealed when it is closed, it is not. They learned this the hard way, when the suds and water, backed by PSI the strength of a fire hose, sprayed through the space where the convertible top and the window met, thoroughly soaking both occupants on their respective window sides.

"Oh fuck me up the street!" Shmritt exclaimed, as the automated apparatus slid back and the water ceased flowing.

"I don't think we're done yet," Shmadam replied, pointing to the electronic sign indicating the progress of the car wash.

"Hot Wax! Warning!" the sign read. And the apparatus began to move back towards the car.

"AAHHHHHHHH!" the two fools screamed in unison and simultaneously huddled in the middle of the car, where the gear shift stuck uncomfortably into Shmadam's thigh.

"Oh God we're going to die." Shmadam said. "I'm sorry I told you that you were cherubic."

"I'm sorry I tried to burn you with my lighter, " Shmritt sobbed.

"YOU'RE MY BEST FRIEND AND I LOVE YOUUUU!" the two fools yelled at each other as they hugged in the middle of the car and watched the hot wax began to spray.

At this point, the two fools learned that the hot wax does not spray with the same pressure as the water and suds, and, in reality, just kind of drizzles.

"Ahem," said Shmadam as they drove out of the car wash of death.

"You're still a fucker," replied Shmritt.

The End.

Where's the hate and negativity?

Wednesday, June 18th, 2008

Yesterday, Wayne showed off a creative use of a tag cloud-type java program called Wordle. The concept is awesome – paste in a group of words and see a graphical representation of the frequency of usage of said words.

Wayne had some ideas of ways to use Wordle with regards to himself, and I decided to steal that. Rather than bore you with the details of how I did it, suffice it to say that I dumped my entire blog's contents – all four years of posts, titles, tags, categories, and comments – into Wordle and received a pretty little picture showing which words I use more than others. Click for a larger version:

I seem to get a subliminal message that there are good people out there and I should make time. And I love Poppy and Britt. And, clearly, I'm not nearly profane, rude, or angry enough. I'll have to step it up a notch!

My Dear John Letter

Tuesday, June 17th, 2008

Dear Happy Madison Productions,

This will be the hardest letter I've ever written. I have wrestled with this for a long time, but recent events have finally given me the strength to move on with my life. I may have loved you at some point, or maybe I just let my love of "Happy Gilmore" and "Billy Madison" blind me to who you really were, but I just know that I don't love you anymore. Our relationship is over.

I know the first thing you'll be thinking is that it's because of your friends. And that's true to a small degree. I mean, I do like David Spade and Chris Rock, most of the time. But it's your insistence on bringing Rob Schneider everywhere with you that really soured me. I mean, just because I loved you, I was willing to suffer through "Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo". I even tried to watch "The Animal" and "The Hot Chick", although I'll admit that I couldn't even gather up the strength to sit through "Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo". In the earlier stages of our relationship, it was cute when Rob would pop up and make a short, funny joke – I'll admit that I laughed. But I grew up, and he hasn't. And by continuing to thrust him into the spotlight, you've shown that you haven't either.

Rob's just one small part of our issues, though. The main reason is you. You started out full of promise and hopes and dreams and you've just slowly gotten lazy and sloppy and the way you've let yourself go is getting to me. I don't even want to be seen with you! Sure, "Little Nicky" had some shortfalls, but it was a good effort, and I still loved it even though it wasn't perfect. And when you followed that up with "Joe Dirt", which I loved, I was impressed and believed in your dreams. "Mr. Deeds" was solid, but mediocre. I still supported you, though – remember when I told everyone I loved it and couldn't wait until your next one? But then that bit me in the ass. I mean, "Anger Management"? How did you manage to fuck up anything with Jack Nicholson in it?

It was at that point that I thought I might be falling out of love with you. I was considering taking a break – you could go do some serious films and I would check out what Woody Allen was doing, but then you semi-redeemed yourself by being romantic (like you used to be with "The Wedding Singer"), and "50 First Dates" was enough of a reason to erase my doubts. For a little while, though.

Since then, though, it's just been a downward spiral. I'll admit that I'm somewhat at fault, here. I listened to my head instead of my heart and lied to you when I said that I liked "The Benchwarmers", "Click", and "I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry." But I didn't. I didn't even watch them!

The last straw, however, was today's embarrassment. I walked in on "You Don't Mess With the Zohan" and saw you with *sob* a horrible premise! And bad acting! And not a single joke for two whole hours! And I sat there and didn't laugh and wanted to cry and realized that I couldn't even tap into my deepest emotions to wring out one drop of love for you anymore.

I'm sorry to do this by letter, but last time I talked to you on the phone you roped me into a thirty-minute conversation about whether or not shampoo or conditioner was better. I just can't play these games with you anymore. We're through.

Love,

Me

P.S. There's someone new in my life – Apatow Productions – so please be happy for me.

Tareagahg2g2jlkfrk

Monday, June 16th, 2008

That's what my forehead hitting the keyboard looks like. I just tried it. I have a big fucking head – not sure how it got the "k" and "l" and the "2" and "a" on the opposite side of the keyboard!

It's 8 PM on Sunday night, and I'm struggling to keep my eyes open. Saturday night was a late night out at Universal CityWalk, and I didn't really have a chance to recuperate today, so I think I'll just go to bed, dream sweet dreams of unicorns and butterflies, and wake up refreshed 11 hours later.

Hopefully I'll have a big announcement this week about the Halloween Party, so stay tuned!

Lazy Sunday??

Sunday, June 15th, 2008

First, happy Father's Day to all the dads, sugar daddies, pimp daddies, who's your daddies and you're not my daddies out there.

Second, go wish Sarcastica a happy birthday! She's a bit down, so getting some blogger love would cheer her up.

Finally, the contest:

This week, I'm changing things up a bit! I'm taking today off, but we're still having our normal Lazy Sunday contest. Just head on over to my friend Shiny's blog Shiny's Takeout (Get it? Say it aloud!) and he has been gracious enough to come up with a prize and 15 references for you to guess. I don't even know what they are, and I'll be playing right alongside you!

If you're looking for the answers and winner from last week, you can find them in an extended entry.
(more…)

Deadline

Saturday, June 14th, 2008

I have 13 minutes to write a post before I need to leave the house to pick up my wife at the airport. I could make her take a cab home, but I thought I'd surprise her. And maybe she won't be quite as annoyed at the state of the house.

12 minutes. I wish I had something to say that was profound or reflective on the recent drama, but I don't. I hope everybody can get on with their lives and get healed, emotionally, physically, and mentally.

11 minutes. So I picked up kids who weren't mine, took them to a house that wasn't mine, burned off my arm hair cooking burgers and hot dogs on a grill that wasn't mine, and then watched cartoons on a plasma TV that wasn't mine. It was a pretty decent Friday.

10 minutes. This whole writing one thought a minute is harder than I thought it would be.

9 minutes. Phew. I'm caught up now. Tonight I think I'm going out with Britt and her friend Erin from Iowa and Jared and others. We might try to go to the awesome karaoke place at Universal Studios. The place with a back-up band and back-up singers.

8 minutes. Of course, this means that I'll get to be designated driver, but I'm okay with that. I just go through the girls' purses when they're passed out and steal their money.

7 minutes. I still haven't watched the Top Chef finale because I was waiting to watch it with my wife, but I already know who won. And woohoo! Although fuck you RW for spoiling it!

6 minutes. Shit. The time it took to put that link in the last one made me behind on my time.

5 minutes. Last time I tried to surprise my wife at the airport, it was at 5 in the morning and I got up and drove to the airport, then called her cell a few minutes after her flight was supposed to land. She answered and told me she was in a cab halfway home because her flight was 20 minutes early! I almost cried.

4 minutes. I think the BK Double Stacker sandwich might be a perfect food.

3 minutes. For Father's Day, we are apparently going over to my parents' house to eat a dinner that my sister is going to cook. I subscribed my dad to a cigar of the month club and he gets 4-5 cigars every month and has for the last four years, so I don't have to get him a gift.

2 minutes. I tried Plurk and hated it. I'm sticking with Twitter. It's easy and simple. If you don't follow me, you should.

1 minute. Okay – have to go get dressed and head off. Everyone have a good weekend!

Daycare and Avitable

Friday, June 13th, 2008

Here's what a nice guy and great boss I am.

Not only am I letting Britt take the day off so that she can go to Universal Studios with one of her best friends from Iowa, I'm also going to pick up her kids at daycare in the afternoon so that she doesn't have to try to make it back by six.

Britt has informed me that the daycare place has my name and is expecting me tomorrow afternoon, but I wouldn't put it past her to lie about it just so I get arrested for kidnapping when I try to walk out of the daycare center with her two kids.

But, on the off chance that they do let me take the kids, I'd like to try to think of something to do that will freak out the people who work there. Here are some of my ideas:

1. Wear nothing but a trenchcoat, dark glasses, and black socks and work shoes.
2. Tell every kid I see, "Why, don't you look sexy?"
3. Bring a roll of dollar bills and ask where sniffer's row is.
4. Offer Devin a beer. From a cooler that I bring in with me.
5. Start yelling out, "There is no Santa Claus! It's your parents! Dumbledore's gay!"
6. Ask Emma, "Who's your favorite motherfuckin' person?"
7. Ask the daycare people if I can take a few spare kids with me just in case.
8. Dump barbecue sauce on the kids' heads and say, "Mmmm,mmm. I'm eating good tonight!"
9. Bring in a pair of Grillz for Devin to wear.
10. Pass out Avitable condoms to everyone!

Anybody have any other good ideas? Hope you all have a good Friday the Thirteenth!

To boob or not to boob

Thursday, June 12th, 2008

Forget abortion.
Fuck the war in Iraq.
Who cares about the 2nd Amendment?

I want to vote for the candidate who decides to get rid of this Puritanical notion that Americans have that topless women are somehow indecent.

Will McCain lead the oppressed chest concealers into tit-revealing victory? Or will it be Obama who will inspire a generation to let their puppies breathe?

I dream of an America where I can walk down the street and see an advertisement like this:

I dream of a time when women can go topless without feeling ashamed. When close-minded fundamentalist groups like the AFA are told to suck it up or move out of the country. When the FCC has someone from Hooters on their board. When nipples dot the landscape like multi-colored Hershey's Kisses.

Who's with me?

Bowleris Moronicus

Wednesday, June 11th, 2008

Best.  Bowler. Ever.

I went bowling last night with Britt, Jared, my friend James and his girlfriend, Carolina. Lucky us, we got placed in a lane next to highly-skilled bowlers who had their own balls and cool wrist braces and truck nuts on their cars and somehow moved very smoothly as they whipped the ball down the lane with precision. Because nothing is more fun than doing something you're not very good at when you can compare yourself with experts.

As we bowled, though, I realized that each of us is probably the archetype for five different types of amateur bowler:

1. The Fred Flintstone. With the exception of the twinkletoes, Jared's style is quite similar to that of our favorite cartoon caveman. He approaches the lane with gusto and launches the ball in the air, almost flying down the lane in pursuit, just from the momentum alone. The ball lands halfway down the lane with a sickening crunch and then plows into the pins with a force sufficient to break them in half. If he's lucky, it's a strike, because the delicate touch required to complete a spare isn't quite there. This is brute instrument bowling at its finest.

2. The Wii Bowler. This is all me. I have bowled so much in Wii Bowling that it's the only way I know how to bowl. I line my feet up, stand straight up with my ball up against my chest, and try to angle the ball so that it will go in a straight line down the lane. When it works, it works well, but a 15 lb bowling ball is much heavier than the Wii remote! Most of the time, I slip and the ball goes directly into the gutter or, if I'm lucky, stays straight and knocks out the 7 or 10 pin.

3. The Whirling Dervish. Carolina picks up her ball and charges towards the lane. The ball is whipped towards the pins at an unbelievable speed and either flies off into the gutter or charges right into the center pin and knocks down a majority of them. If a good bowler is like a sharpshooter, this is like taking an Uzi and just closing your eyes and riddling the entire area with bullets. You never know if you'll hit someone, but you've got a good chance of it.

4. The Girl. Not to be a sexist chauvinistic bastard or anything, but Britt bowls like a girl. The ball glides down the lane instead of rolling like it's supposed to. Since it's only a 6 lb ball, the slow speed and the light weight form a totally non-lethal combination to the pins. In fact, it feels like the pins that do fall over do so out of pity rather than out of actual physics.

5. The WTF? My friend James walks stiffly up to the lane, ball at his side, and then, rather than cupping the ball and rolling it like a normal person, draws back his hand and releases the ball overhand, usually putting a weird spin on it. There's usually some good speed and occasionally some decent control, but usually you're just trying to figure out how the fuck the ball is going straight at all and how that approach is something that feels normal to him.

We played two full games, and I won one, Jared won the other, and neither of us broke 150, which is pretty sad. Next Thursday is the day that the Orlando Home for Special Children will be bowling there, so I think I'll go rent a lane next to the retarded kids and give my self esteem a much-needed boost.


On a completely unrelated note, thanks for the input yesterday. I'm trying to get an idea of about how many people might be coming from out of town so that I can talk to a hotel about getting a group discount. All bloggers who read my blog are invited to attend, except for Donna, who's a stupid troll, and Annie, who has the personality of a pile of dog shit. Also, I will be announcing the theme for the party next week sometime so that anyone who wants to do a costume in the theme can. I'll also be announcing a special contest that might mean that a lucky blogger who doesn't think they can afford to attend might be able to, after all. So stay tuned!