Next time you’re with friends (in bed)

Well, I have nothing to blog about today. Not only did nothing interesting happen, but nothing funny happened either, not even remotely. I kind of don’t want to lose my momentum though – I’ve already blogged more this week than I did in the last eighteen months.

All I can think of is this: Have you ever played that stupid, childish game where you end everything with the words “in bed.” I say stupid and childish in an effort to inflate your perspective of me and distance myself from the intellectually bankrupt, but I really love this game! Especially when your friends are t-totally sick of it and want you to stop. That’s when it truly becomes funny!

<Try it if you haven’t. Yes, it’s childish and silly and yes, your (sober) friends will get annoyed. But watch what happens if you keep it up. Don’t cave. Keep doing it (in bed). Within a short time from their annoyed looks, it will become funny again and they WILL be forced to crack up. Suddenly it becomes hysterical. I swear to God, try this.

That is all.


Recently, I asked my friend Jaime what the secret of his success was with women. He said the secret was having an immaculate apartment. After laughing hysterically for a few moments and noticing he was still dead serious, I asked him to explain.

He told me that my apartment not only had to be clean and well kept, but it had to be decorated properly; no tapestries of dogs playing cards, no duct tape repairs, and definitely no sports equipment. He said the key was silk-flowers that matched the décor, valance panels over the windows, and doilies. Continue reading “Doilies”

Universal News

In a semi-surprise move by the International Astronomical Union, the planet Pluto has been downgraded to dwarf planet after years of criticism and suspicion by the Bush Administration. Bush has been hinting for sometime that Pluto is not spherical or large enough to maintain it’s planetary status with Earth and it’s neighbors.

In 2003, Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld and then NSA chief Condelezza Rice sent a communicade to Pluto requesting immediate inspections. As of this date, no reply has been forthcoming.

The downgrading action is seen by many as just a forebearer to military intentions of the Bush administration. It is yet to be seen whether planetary aid will continue to be sent to the ex-planet.

There Are Horses In The Hippo Moat

Oh brother, here we go again. I was doing some work on my Dad’s office building. Specifically, I was removing mildew from the stucco siding with a pool brush on a long pole. As I rounded the corner to the back side of the building, I couldn’t help but be distracted by the hippo pool.

The hippo pool is a moat really, a winding one about ten feet wide, maybe fifteen feet deep and there are several hippos in it. I’m serious. It has something to do with the business being conducted in the building I was cleaning. Anyway, I can’t help but be awestruck watching these creatures swim through the moat. So majestic. I tried to find a picture for y’all, but all I could find was this:

It’s a good picture of the moat, but I don’t know how those giraffes got in there. There are no giraffes in the hippo moat at my Dad’s office building. But anyway, back to my story. I was standing there half watching the hippos, half scrubbing the mildew off the stucco when I heard this noise in the distance. Thundering. About a half mile away, across the field next to the hippo moat was a rising cloud of dust and emerging from the dust were horses. Wild horses. No really. Why are you looking at me like that?

These horses were being herded by several cowboys. I’m not talking about several horses either, I’m talking hundreds and hundreds of them! And they are heading right towards the hippo moat. Fast.

Well I must have looked like a deer in the headlights because my dad started hollering at me and you can guess what he was hollering — “Pay attention to what you’re doing idiot! You’re here to clean the stucco, not be gazin’ at the neighbors”!

By then, the horses were within maybe one hundred yards of us and I continued to watch as most of the herd took a hard right turn and started heading to the parking lot. Lots of them though were not turning and ran smack into the hippo moat! I kid you not; there must have been a dozen horses frantically swimming in the moat while hippos snapped at their heels, or hooves or whatever. I could see some of them being pulled under and I could see blood in the water when I realized my dad was still talking to me. “Well, are you just going to stand there or are you going to get back to that mildew”!

“Dad, there are horses in the hippo moat”, I said.

“Oh”, he replied. “Well I guess you better go tell Mr. Johnson then”. So off I went to find Mr. Johnson.

It wasn’t until I had run out into the street that I realized I didn’t know who Mr. Johnson was. About that time, the Stampede had made it into the street and was headed right toward me. I jumped back onto the curb and watched them pass for what seemed like thirty minutes. As the dust settled behind the last horse, I saw several men standing on the other side of the street. One of them yelled over to me. “Did any of those horses end up in the moat”? “Yes! Are you Mr. Johnson?” I called back.

The men ran across the street toward the stucco office building, but instead of going to the back where the hippo moat was, they all went into the building. I ran in after them and asked Mr. Johnson where they were going. He said they were going to have lunch and then get the horses out of the moat.

It was at this point that I got really upset and woke up.

Again I have to ask. What do it all mean?

Conversations From The Back Seat

As I drive the SUV down the highway, loaded with ten and eleven-year-olds sugared up on birthday cake, I couldn’t help but smile as they began chanting a rhyme, obviously familiar to them but new to me. It included a reference to Jimmy Buffett which prompted me to query:

Me: Do you guys even know who Jimmy Buffett is?

Young Brett: I do! He’s that guy that turned up missing in the seventies that they think is buried in concrete in Giant’s Stadium.

Young Andrew: Dude, that’s Jimmy Hoffa.

Young Brett: Oh yeah.

Welcome To Foam Lake, Safe Haven For Morons

I’m a moron, this I do not dispute. If I wasn’t a moron, I wouldn’t have neat stuff to blog about, so I’m okay with that. So here is this week’s moron-moment.

I decided to wash the car today, not myself mind you, I have broken ribs from the moron moment of two weeks ago, remember? So I took my car to one of those self-service car washes. Not the gas station kind, but the ones with the sprayer and the brush.

While I was in the queue, I sorted through the ashtray for quarters and found that I had enough for about seven minutes of car washin’ goodness. I also had enough time to plan out my minutes. One minute for pre-wash, two minutes for soap, one minute for tire cleaner, one minute for rinse, one minute for rainbow colored, clear-coat protecting, carcinogenic reindeer wax, one minute for rinse.

Hey! Did I just see the word anal cross your mind? Bastard. Anyway, everything went fine until I got to wax time. There just wasn’t much coming out of the brush and what WAS coming out didn’t look like the rainbow whale sperm advertised on the little coin box thing. I figured they were running out of it so I scurried like a one armed paper hanger getting as much of it on the car as possible. The Hispanic dude who was patiently waiting for me pointed over to the wall on the other side of my car. There was another spray gun I hadn’t noticed labeled WAX FOR MORONS and it was flowing out nicer than I had ever seen before. I dropped the brush and ran over there to find a lake of foam. And you talk about beautiful? Man, this lake my car seemed to be floating in contained all sorts of beautiful colors. I grabbed the gun and was still able to cover the whole car in the stuff (It’s a Mini Cooper after all). I also had just enough rinse time left to do the top and some of the windshield.

I did not want to hold up Pedro while I tried to beg for quarters, so I just got in and drove off. Homeward bound. In my foamy Mini Cooper. Leaving a trail of foam like I was expecting a jumbo jet to crash on this very road.

Some People Have A Way With Words. Others No Have Way

My two favorite shows are Forensic Files and The Investigators. The DVR grabs all of them so it seems like that’s all I watch. One of the things I really get a kick out of is watching law enforcement people try to make themselves sound more edjewmakated than they really are. They either use big words in ways that don’t work or they make up new words.

The new word tonight was directionality. “Based on the bullet holes in the skull and their directionality, it was indicative that he was shot while sleeping”. The word indicative must have sounded much more edjewmakated than indicated because he used it a lot.

In the very next episode I watched, I heard a detective say that “the stupidest thing he did was leave the wash cloth in the sink”. Nothing wrong with that statement; until he added that “the other stupidest thing was that he took one of his gloves off”. Who knew that there would be another stupidest thing?

Even the show hosts are not without sensational faux pas. The host of The Investigators was interviewing one of the jurors and asked if any of them had knowledge of a previous murder by the defendant. “No, we never heard a thing about that.” replied the juror. “Not even a peep?” asked the host. What answer was he looking for? “Well yes, there was a peep. But not all of us heard it”.

I swear, watching these shows for their wordsmith innovations take them in a whole new directionality.

Conversations From The Back Seat

Young Andrew: “No, I don’t want to spend it on that. I only need two more dollars for Nye’s Fake Blood”.

Young Brett: “How much is it”?

Young Andrew: “Fifteen dollars for sixteen ounces”.

Young Brett: “Dude, you can get fake blood at Party City a lot cheaper than that”.

Young Andrew: “Nye’s Fake Blood”?

Young Brett: “No, but it’s just as good”.

Young Andrew: “No it’s not”.

Young Brett: “Well it’s almost as good. At least it is when it drys. It doesn’t flake or get darker”.

Young Andrew: “Nothing is as good as Nye’s Fake Blood, especially not the gel”.

Young Brett: “Well yeah, the gel rocks. But still, it doesn’t cost fifteen dollars. Besides, you can make your own fake blood with food coloring and salt crystals even cheaper”.

Young Andrew: “I’m not using home-made fake blood”!

Young Brett: “Me neither, but I’m just saying I could make it myself if I wanted”.