If you're a fan of Joss Whedon. If you're a fan of musicals. If you like Neil Patrick Harris. If you enjoy comedy. If you're not a retard.

You'll want to go watch the three episodes of Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog while they're free.

 

Female bloggers make up the majority of personal bloggers online. They control more advertising dollars and they dominate the blogosphere.

Having a conference and a community dedicated to the strength of the majority just doesn't seem right. It's like if there was a BlogWhite if Caucasians made up the majority of personal bloggers. Plenty of people would have a problem with that, but nobody sees the irony here.

Couples with no children have more disposable income than parents, yet there's no site for them to explore revenue generation or opportunities to try new products. Single men are more likely to be the early adopters of new, expensive technology, yet they're completely ignored. It's just stupid.

I'd like to change that. I want to come up with a site that actually represents the minority of bloggers out there - the childless couples, the single men, and even the single women. This site would try to attract advertisers who are looking for high disposable income, early adoption of technology, and a market that has the potential to be more lucrative than the mommyblogging set.

In sales, a childless couple (or an older couple with adult children) is called a DINK. Dual Income No Kids. The site I'm thinking of starting would be called DINKBloggers.com. Right now it just points to my site, but eventually, I'd like to create a community that could result in revenue generation for all of its members.

I'd be interested to hear everyone's thoughts on this concept, good or bad. All I ask is that they be constructive.

 

I bought an electric staple gun this past weekend.

It was with no small amount of trepidation that I did so. The last time I handled any equipment that fired sharp projectiles at high speeds was when I was 14, in 1991. I was visiting my grandparents in Braintree, and my parents had foolishly let me and my siblings explore unfettered.

The basement was a pirate's cave filled with bounty as far as the eye could see. Every tool you could imagine, old toys, electronics, nails, bolts, screws, blades, knives - everything an adolescent boy could hope for. The buzzing of the electric tools, all plugged in, of course, resonated through my head, in tune with my excitement.

I picked up the tool closest to me, a hefty nail gun that was probably made in the sixties. I raised it to eye level and aimed it at a part of the wall that was ten or so feet in front of me. The trigger felt awkward in my hand, but my finger squeezed around it until it fired.

The nail didn't hit the wall in front of me. There was one main reason for this, and that was because I was holding the gun backwards. The barrel was actually pointed directly at my head. At a speed that felt supersonic, the nail whipped past my ear, lightly scratching it, and buried itself in the wall behind me with a cartoony "THWONGGGGGKK" sound that is usually associated with an arrow hitting its target.

My knees felt weak, and the realization that I almost spent the rest of my life eating out of a straw and wearing a special helmet overwhelmed me. I slowly made my way upstairs and decided to lay down for a bit.

As I unpacked my new electric staple gun this weekend, I was very careful. I clearly identified the front and back of the gun and made sure to keep the front pointed away from me at all times.

I loaded it with staples and plugged it in.

"Do you have the staple gun ready?" My friend Clown asked.

"Yup. It's plugged in, but I don't know if it's turned on. It's not humming or anything, so I can't even tell how to–" I pulled the trigger in mid-sentence.

"THUNK." The staple flew across the room and hit the wall a few scant inches from his body.

I think I'll just stick to a hammer and nails from now on.

---

Don't forget! Tonight at 9 PM EST, Britt and I will have angry word sex on air during our Episode Two of "Clearly, you're retarded!" We'll be discussing the different between being open and being guarded in all walks of life. You can listen live online at Talkshoe.com, or download the Talkshoe application and you can chat and even call in!

Go vote for me on Humor-Blogs.com.

 

I'm sitting here at 11:00 on Sunday night, trying to write a post. Every time I type a key, I wince - every movement sends pain throughout my body. My body is black and blue, and it hurts to breathe.

Did I get into a car accident? Nope.
Did I get thrown from a bull? Nope.
Did I jump from a plane and land without the parachute opening? Nope.

I watched Britt's kids.

Being the amazingly wonderful and nice person that I am, I agreed to watch the kids over at our house while Britt and my wife went shopping. Last time I watched them, they were great and I could almost see how cool it would be to have children.

This time was different.

Oh so different.

Devin and Emma, or, using the codenames I assigned to them, Ignoratron and Lil' Ninja Punchalot, respectively, decided that this Sunday was going to be a day of boundaries. Pushing them. Testing them. Outright destroying them.

While I'd love to recap the minute-by-minute detail of the five longest hours in my life, every time I try, I just break down and sob inconsolably. Instead, here are some of the highlights, if they can be called that:

1:00 - Britt drops the kids off and runs out the door laughing maniacally.
1:02 - They're bored.
1:15 - Ignoratron decides that he'd rather hammer nails into the table than the wood I provided.
1:18 - Lil' Ninja Punchalot decides to take her shoes off and see if she can hit me in the forehead with them. She can.
1:30 - Ignoratron has concluded that "Stop doing that" means "Please do that with more enthusiasm".
1:48 - Lil' Ninja Punchalot likes to sit on the ottoman and slam her head backwards into the person sitting in the chair behind her. My crotch may never recover.
2:00 - I fall asleep in the chair while the kids are actually quietly watching TV.
2:30 - I wake up wrapped in duct tape, with a nail sticking out of my knee, unicorn temporary tattoos covering the right side of my face, and Lil' Ninja Punchalot using me as her own personal trampoline. Ignoratron is nowhere to be seen.
3:15 - Ignoratron pulls into the driveway. Apparently, he decided to borrow the car and go to the liquor store. Now his breath smells like tequila.
3:44 - I finally extricate myself from the duct tape. Lil' Ninja Punchalot karate chops my nuts and Ignoratron does a flying kick to my head.
3:52 - I catch both of them at last. Ignoratron goes into the hamper and Lil' Ninja Punchalot gets put into a pillowcase. I tape the openings up and throw both of them into the laundry room.
3:53 - Shit. They've escaped. Someone gnawed a hole in the wall.
4:12 - Lil' Ninja Punchalot ambushes me from her perch on top of the refrigerator while Ignoratron uses a taser on me.
5:00 - I wake up as they are dragging me to the pool with a giant stone tied to my waist. I manage to stay my execution by promising them both large sums of money.
5:15 - I convince them that Monopoly money is actually Euros and worth more than the dollar.
5:48 - Lil' Ninja Punchalot whips out her butterfly knife and cuts my toe off. Ignoratron helpfully puts it back on my foot with a hammer, nail, and duct tape.
6:00 - Britt tries to drop Amy off and leave without the kids, but I throw myself onto the hood of her car and hang on until she agrees to take them back.
6:01 - I call and schedule my vasectomy.

---

Humor-Blogs.com hates kids, too.

 

I read an article about a guy who faked heart attacks to get out of paying for goods and services.

Quoted from the article:

"[The] man took a cab to a mall Monday and pretended to have a heart attack. The cab driver left unpaid.

Authorities say the man then ran up a $23 bill when he had a steak dinner at Applebee's. He again pretended to have a heart attack."

Umm, does anyone else see the flaw in this guy's logic? I mean, he got caught, so his scams didn't last too long, but how exactly did that work?

CABBIE: Okay, pal, that will be $18.

PASSENGER: (clutches chest) AGGGGHHHH! I can't feel my arm! I'm having a heart attack!

CABBIE: Oh Jesus! I'll drive you to the hospital!

PASSENGER: Nah, NNGGNNNNNN, that's okay. AARAGHHHHHHH. I'll just go take some aspirin. MWWARGGHHHH. Let me pay you–OH GOD THE PAIN IN MY CHEST IT'S LIKE A BOA CONSTRICTOR SQUEEZING EVERY DROP OF LIFE OUT OF MY HEART!

CABBIE: Are you sure that you don't want me to take you to the hospital?

PASSENGER: No, it's okay MMMMARRGGNNN. I think I'll be fine, NNGGGAAYYYYNNN but I don't think I can pay you. It's too painful WHHHHARRGGGGIINNNN.

CABBIE: No problem! Hope your heart attack feels better. (drives away, whistling happily)

I just can't see how he got away with it. Next time, instead of faking a heart attack, just shit your pants. They'll be eager to get rid of you, and they won't want your stinky, shitty money. It's foolproof.

---

Attention minions, sycophants, fans, readers, commenters, lurkers, haters, posers, and midnight tokers:

Don't forget! Tonight at 9 PM EST, Britt and I will butt heads on air during our first episode of "Clearly, you're retarded!" You can listen live online at Talkshoe.com, or download the Talkshoe application and you can chat and even call in!

This post has nothing to do with Humor-Blogs.com.

 

You'd probably think, with my lazy-ass posts on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, that I have some amazing and interesting stories to tell about an action-packed weekend. And maybe I do, but today I'm just going to share the boring ones:

Friday. Amy declared that she was going to lay on the couch, watch TV, and didn't plan on getting up or doing anything for at least 12 hours. I called my friend Clown, and we decided to do some work on the Halloween decorations. And yes, I know I promised you an announcement about Halloween, but I'm waiting on one straggler who has to give me something first before I can do so.

I know that July seems early to be working on decorations, but we've actually been working on them since June. We have a lot to build, and four months isn't that much time! This is especially true because Clown and I are not the world's best handymen. When it comes to anything like building or construction, we're each half-retarded. While for most people, this would mean that by working together, you'd get one competent worker, that's not true in our case. In our situation, it means that we operate as one full retard. As a result, we have to build in plenty of time for fuck-ups, mis-measurements, injuries, and multiple trips to Home Depot.

We worked through the afternoon with very few problems or injuries, except for when I accidentally stuck my hand into the ceiling fan while declaring my awesomeness as a carpenter. I was very proud of myself because I managed to use that saw that you use to cut through wood on sawhorses with the guide and the circular blade - whatever it's called - and I cut a pretty straight line with only a few problems! I'm like Bob fucking Vila!

Since Amy was still enjoying the comfort of the couch on Friday night, I headed over to Britt's to play Guitar Hero III wish Jared a happy birthday. Britt cooked dinner and offered me steak that she bought at Wal-mart. I tried to politely decline but was overridden, told to "sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up" and so I ate my delicious steak, mashed potatoes, and broccoli covered in a cheese-like substance. The homemade cake was really good, although I did have to apologize to the whole family for eating most of it and rubbing it on my nipples.

Then we played Guitar Hero III for the Wii. I'd never seen the game played before, and it's a pretty cool game. Britt and Jared improved rapidly, although Jared's friend Tom kicked everyone's ass with his mad guitar skillz. I do have video of Britt playing that I will post if I have a chance. There's nothing funnier than seeing a little blonde firecracker yelling at the screen and jumping up and down while trying to jam on a plastic guitar. I played two songs - just enough to realize that I was horrible at it and that I wanted to get the game for myself so I could practice in the privacy of my own house. I can type 100 words a minute and can read 1000 words a minute, but I cannot press a button and strum at the same time. Yet.

Then, a little after 1 AM, I drove home.

Saturday. I don't really remember what I did on Saturday. I think we went out to lunch, and took a long afternoon nap, and we watched "No Country for Old Men". That was a very good movie, and while I understand why the film ended the way it did, I wanted more. That's all I remember about Saturday, though.

Sunday. We got up around 7 and went to breakfast. I love taking waffles or pancakes, smothering them in syrup, and then putting sausage links around the border of the plate to soak up the extra syrup.

After breakfast, we went over to the movies and saw an early show of "Hancock". I had already seen it on Thursday and really enjoyed it and wanted Amy to see it as well. For a Sunday morning show, the theater was surprisingly busy, and we had a couple of old fucking busybodies behind us who would not shut up throughout the entire movie. I have no problem telling obnoxious people to shut up in the movies, but I was feeling generous and decided to let these wastes of flesh live for once.

Amy enjoyed "Hancock" as much as I did, and I cannot understand the hate that it's getting from the critics. The critics of all people should know that it was directed by Peter Berg, who makes movies that merge humor and drama ("Very Bad Things" and "The Kingdom" come to mind), and why they would expect a typical superhero beats up the bad guy flick is beyond me. It's a hard film to market, though, and I wish they had just gone with an "R" rating and told the full story that needed to be told. All in all, it was a thousand times better than "Wanted" and a movie that I'll be getting on DVD, when it will hopefully be released replete with extras.

After the movie, we jumped in the pool for a bit and I got to play with my brand new video camera, which has underwater capabilities:

Then we ordered lunch, took a 3-4 hour nap, and relaxed for the rest of the evening. All in all, it was a great weekend. No stupid fireworks, no stupid cookouts, no stupid travel, just stupid relaxing.

What did you do this weekend?

 

I was going to draw a picture for Becky's birthday, but it's almost midnight and I'm still at Britt's house playing Guitar Hero on her husband's new Wii that he got for his birthday.

So, anyways, go wish Hellohahanarf a happy birthday! Tell her you can't believe she's already 50!

(Becky, mwah!)

 

It all started with the shorts.

A few years ago, I went to the bathroom in my house immediately after someone else had been in there. I sat down on the toilet, with my shorts down around my ankles, and proceeded to read a few books, do a jigsaw puzzle, and solve Fermat's last theorem while ensconced on my throne.

When I got up and pulled my shorts back on, I realized that the back of my shorts was wet. Upon further inspection, it was PEE! From the front of the toilet! That's when I figured out that it's not bad enough that men who go to the bathroom spray everywhere when they pee, but even men and women sitting down on the toilet may occasionally shoot pee out of the space between the seat and the toilet, which will drip down the front of the bowl and collect at the front of the toilet. The toilet is a nasty, nasty place, and I was forced to burn my shorts and bathe my hands in bleach and scalding water.

It was just about that point that I decided to start taking my shorts off when sitting on the toilet. I'll strip down from the waist down and hang them on the hook on the door or put them on the floor close to the door, away from the peeing, and enjoy my 45-60 minutes of solitude bottomless.

This has lasted for a few years now and has worked very nicely. On the very rare occasion that I have to use a bathroom at someone else's house, I just hang my shorts and underwear up and do my business. If, on the even rarer occasion, I have to use a public bathroom, I just use the handicap stall and do the same thing.

Then, one hot summer day, I was sweaty and feeling sticky and nasty, so I took off my shirt, too. And the undershirt. And you know what? It was awesome! It was like some type of regression - I flashed back to being a baby again. Sitting there, bare-ass naked - it's liberating and everyone should do it!

This has developed into a routine. My bathroom routine. If I'm going to be in there for the long haul, I'll go in, strip down, and enjoy my throne room in all of my naked splendor.

And, in typical Avitable fashion, the too-much-information does not end there with a happy ending. Today, after my weekly order of comics arrived, I walked into the bathroom, comics in hand. Put them on the counter. Dropped my shorts and underwear. Pulled my shirt and undershirt off simultaneously over my head.

And watched dumbfounded as my iPhone flew out of my shirt pocket and arced, in slow motion, directly for the bowl. The dirty, nasty, germy bowl.

"Noooooooooo," my voice echoed with deep resonance. I tried to dive for the phone, but my feet got caught in my shorts and underwear. My left hand managed to knock the phone over to the bathroom counter, but the result was that I lost my balance completely.

And by lose my balance completely, I mean that I landed, hard, on all fours, face down in the toilet bowl with my beautiful visage less than an inch away from that horrible, horrible toilet water.

And that's how I almost gave myself a swirly.

 

I've been slacking on replying to comments over the last few days because of a new TV show I've found, called Life on Mars. It's a UK show about a cop named Sam Tyler who gets hit by a car and wakes up in 1973.

He can't figure out if he's in a coma and imagining it or if somehow he's actually been sent to the past or why he's there. Watching him try to adapt to the less ethical yet still effective methods of a more brutal police force without losing his own sense of morals and his need for procedure and evidence is fascinating. The main character and his captain, Gene Hunt, have a great dynamic, and I can't stop watching!

If you can find it on Bit Torrent, I highly suggest that you download it and watch it. If you don't like it, you're probably one of those types who watches Deal or No Deal or the Bill Engvall show, so there's no hope for you anyways.

 

Have you tried these yet?

The Snickers Adventure Bar is a limited edition candy bar that came out for the new Indiana Jones flick. It's got a hint of coconut flavor along with some other spices and is pretty delicious! I had one and liked it so much that I went to my usual excesses and ordered a few cases of it online. And just like with the Strawberry Whoppers, I need to divest myself of some of these delicious magical candy bars.

So, here's the deal:

Let's see how well you know me! Here are five questions about me. Answer them in the comments, and if you get all five correct, your name will be entered in a drawing. I'll pick two, maybe three names out of those and send all of the winners one of these limited edition Snickers Adventure Bars!

1. How tall am I?

2. What's my dog's name?

3. What was my undergraduate degree in?

4. How long have I been blogging?

5. What's my favorite drink?

Have a good weekend!