Monday, October 31, 2005

34. McCleanup on Aisle 230

I just realized that Walmart and McDonalds are responsible for the most intelligent move ever. I know I am a little behind on this one, but Walmart has been putting McDonaldses in their stores for a number of years.

What is intelligent is not the merger of two of the most popular businesses we love to hate, it’s this:

It is now possible to work at both McDonalds AND Walmart at the same time. Congruently, it is possible to be IN both McDonalds and Walmart at the same time.

Would it be safe to assume that the problems that plague both organizations would be compounded in the square footage occupied by both organizations?

Would it be safe to assume that the workers behind the counter could be both goth and hick at the same time?

Could we surmise that the manager of the McDonalds inside the Walmart would be twice as bitter, autocratic and stickler-ish?

My brother chewy once had a job at Mickey D’s. They spent about 2 months “training” him, and then they only gave him 2-3 shifts per month. So they invested all that time in ‘learnin’ him the ropes and then they forced him out by not giving him any reasons to stay. Smart.

I do have to say that I benefited from my brother Chewy’s brief job there. At the Christmas party they held for the employees, my brother won a tin of gummy dinosaurs—which I promptly stole. He had put them in his drawer, but he didn’t hide the fact that they were there. I stole them—almost ALL of them—one at a time and sneakily, like me sneaking to the fridge at 4:00 am to cheat on my diet. He confronted me, and I denied any involvement. Yeah, genius.

That’s when I developed a keen liking for gummy candies. I had never before tasted them. Mmmmmm…the fruity goodness of gummy candy. It’s like a first kiss every time I taste one—squishy, a little awkward and you can’t wait ten seconds before you want to try another.

(Don't miss my other post from today; I posted it a little late because I was traveling.)

33. Stupid’s Movies

The weekend before Halloween, my life Limpy and I decided to totally relax and watch a bunch of movies that were on TV. Being Halloween weekend, the movies were exactly—very bad.

Anaconda was one of the treats we were privileged to experience. This pile of trash was full of star power—including stars like: Jennifer Lopez (or J-Lo for you hipsters,) Ice Cube (or Rap Hack for you kids,) John Voight (or Angelina Jolie’s pa for you ‘Star’ readers,) and Owen Wilson (or crooked nose guy for my wife Limpy.) Anaconda is a ‘C’ rate non-thriller about a great big snake that looks more fake than Jennifer Garner’s disguises in Alias. Anaconda is a D+ at best and it was surprising that they ever made a sequel.

I watched about 10 minutes of Scream while my wife Limpy was out of the house. The Wayans brothers were responsible for Scream— the worst comedy ever (with the notable exception of every film starring an ex-SNL hack.) I was unable to endure a second more than 10 minutes of the film. It was so bad that I realize I may have been watching Scary Movie instead. D- for this one.

We saw Relic also. Relic was the best of this weekend’s fare at a solid C-. It’s about a DNA something that messes up an entire museum and then kills about three billion (3,000,000,000) people. Somehow, somebody decides to save the day, but not before everyone imminently more qualified dies. I left the theatre room too early to see the end, but I know Relic ends that way.

Right now, I’m watching Dream Catcher starring Morgan Freeman, Jason Lee and some other people I’ve never heard of. The movie isn’t over, so I can’t give it a grade yet. I’m sure it’ll end well since it’s got Morgan Freeman and was written by Steven King (who has a pretty fun amateur band with Dave Barry if you didn’t know.) Right now it’s running about a B+ and I’ll let you know if the movie takes a turn for the stupid.

[Later that day] OK, Dream Catcher was good, but I have to downgrade its status to B-. It flopped because Morgan Freeman didn’t have any lines like, “Get busy livin’, or get busy dying,” or “Andy Dufrain stuck one to the man that day.” Etc.

Friday, October 28, 2005

32. Nancy’s A-Maize-N Sandwiches

If you ever found yourself in Maize, Kansas just outside of Wichita, may I suggest you stop into Nancy’s A-Maize-N Sandwiches?

Despite the kitschy name and 70’s grimy-country-diner atmosphere and the server in her Daisy-Dukes, the sandwiches are A-Maize-N.

And I mean that seriously.

Other places I want to eat at for the name alone: Muthers’ [sic] Old Timey Bar-B-Que, Joe’s Gas-N-Eats and Jim’s Chinese Buffet.

Any other good eatin' holes you can think of?

Thursday, October 27, 2005

31. Be All That You Can Be—All By Yourself.

The ads you see for the army are alarming. This is due in part to my being a colossal pansy—as I believe I have already mentioned. Part of the reason they are alarming however, is that they really are alarming.

Army marketing campaign #1: Be all that you can be.

I realize they were going for the ‘realize-your-potential’ crowd, but I always thought to myself, “I guess they think soldiering is all I am good for.” Then they used to show people climbing ropes and doing pushups—frightening concepts for an impressionable nellie-boy. Fortunately they distanced themselves from that line of reasoning.

Army marketing campaign #2: An army of one.

An army of one? No thanks, I think I’d be more comfortable with an army of two million (2,000,000) backing me up. Maybe even some technology-based weaponry or some strong intelligence would be nice. The point is to go in with a strategy and my acute military senses tell me that going in alone would be a very bad idea.

Campaign #3: About four (4) years ago I started noticing ads that show a group of multiracial smiling people in civilian clothes. Then the ad shows the same people in military uniform, but they are standing at attention with very serious faces. I imagine the campaign behind this poster is: “Army—we’ll suck the fun right out of it for you so you don’t have to play ‘Dungeons and Dragons’ anymore.”

This brings me to the latest commercial that tugs on my pansy-strings.

Campaign #4: There is a recent TV spot produced by the army that shows a man in uniform reuniting with old friends. First, this would never happen, because people don’t wear their uniforms to get back together with old friends. Anyway, the friends seem eager to hear army stories (another thing that is unlikely to happen) and find out what transpired in “the field.”

“So, what did you do out there? Shoot guns? Save children from burning orphanages? Crowd control during the Great Maggot Migration of ‘65?”

“No, I worked on computers.”

“Well couldn’t you have done that here?”

[The camera shows flashback of the military man using computers in a combat situation.]

“No.”

Then you see him and his friends have an awkward moment of silence. I imagine the campaign slogan to be something like, “The U.S. Army—ostracize your friends.”

Don’t get me wrong, I love our service men and women. I love what they do. I wish them and their families the best, but I never have been a fan of the Army ads and commercials. They always seem just a couple degrees away from good. In other words, they give pansies like me too much to feel apprehension over. I don’t need any more reasons to feel awkward with my friends or in any other setting. And I certainly don’t want the joy sucked out of me.

Stay tuned for the next round of Army commercials: “The U. S. Army—get access to your very own stockpile of ammo,” “The U.S. Army—not as bad as you’ve heard,” and “The U.S. army—something to put in your scrapbook…”

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

30. Happy-Lucky-est Word-O-Wisdoms

Quote of the year from a pastor and school principal at a private religious school a few weeks ago. The quote came as I was entering the office area and the principal/pastor was opening some new office chairs that had just arrived via UPS. The Quote:

“These are the cheap-a**-est chairs I have ever seen.”

Why is this funny? For me, when someone adds the a** word to the end of an adjective, it makes me giggle. I think it’s more than just a liking—I love to hear it. It gives me the creeps in a fun, junkyard sort of way. But I have never, EVER heard anyone make a superlative out of it. Cheap-a**-est? Crazy.

Other words that make me giggle include irregardless and ‘ickspecially.’ I can usually hold the laughter in when I am supposed to be reverent or if it has to do with my job, but when the pressure is off—HOO BOY!—I love to hear people use those words.

I also have taken a fondness to a phrase a business associate used to describe the children of another business associate. This happened about ten (10) years ago, for those of you who know where I may have been employed at the time. The workmate, describing the other workmate’s children, said that “they are little piece-o-craps.”

I asked, “don’t you mean pieces of crap?”

“No, piece-o-craps. It’s one word so the ‘s’ goes at the end.”

Precious. As for me, I didn’t think the children were piece-o-craps. I thought they were more like ickspecially-precious-est bundle-o-joys...

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

29. Youth of the Noble Birthright

I witnessed the height of laziness the other day as I watched a bunch of young folks picking leaves from trees in the park. I think they were on a Biology assignment or something. The laziness came from two (2) ‘Hair and Makeup’ girls who couldn’t reach the leaves from the bottom branches of a relatively young oak. The taller of the two (2) girls was a mere 3” away from reaching the lowest leaves.

They reached. They strained. They stood on two textbooks that brought their be-ringed fingers within 2” of the leaves, but never once did either of them even TRY to jump up OR EVEN STAND ON TIPPY-TOES to reach the leaves that were just nanometers from their grasp. Let’s make sure you realize these students were in the sixteen-seventeen (16-17) year-old range

Lazy.

Didn’t these children’s parents ever hold candy or something breakable just out of reach so the child would have to work for it?

What is this world coming to?...

Monday, October 24, 2005

28. New Feature

Don't forget to scroll to the bottom of my page to read funny jokes from Emo Phillips...

27. The Great Maggot Migration of '65

(This story is not gross. I promise.)

Today I am eating the way my forefathers used to. And by that I mean that I’ve reverted back to caveman ways.

It all happened when I decided to take my leftovers from last night’s dinner to work with me. Such an action signifies my concession to my wife Limpy, who has been trying to force me to quit buying my lunch and take leftovers like traditional Americans do. Since she is a recent naturalized citizen of these here U-S-of-A, I wonder if she really knows about average traditional American lunching habits. I mean, She just barely joined the club. She doesn’t even have seniority or tenure or whatever it is we Americans obtain by consistent dues-paying.

Back before I had a wife Limpy, I used to be so carefree with the finances. I would go to work and eat out EVERY DAY and everything was fine. I knew I was working hard for the cash because I was in control; I was master; I was NOT FRUGAL! OOGAL! Oogal. oogal. oogaloogaloogal… [echoes to oblivion…]

But recently, we both had a talk and decided we wanted to save money. So we both thought of ways we could cut a little here, snip a little there, and put some money away for when we decide to have critters. So I told her I could probably cut my personal spending down to $xx.00 per month. She agreed to stop paying 50 cents per page and $6 per stamp for scrapbooking supplies. We made other concessions that have no relevance to the story, but those are the main ones.

Little did I know however, she understood that $xx.00 per month was supposed to be for ALL of my spending including lunch, snacks, toys, video games—EVERYTHING. So now I am going to be carrying my lunch to work with me. LIKE A DUFUS! (No offense to those who do carry your lunch to work with you like a desert-busting camel; it’s just that I don’t carry my food with me—I buy it.)

“You mean I have to take leftovers to work every day?”

“Yeah that’s right.”

“Are you aware that eating the same meal over and over results in a nutritional imbalance?”

“How?”

“If you eat the same thing over and over, your body might overload on some nutrients and become deficient in others.”

“Huh?”

“What if you had carrots and potatoes for dinner one day and got a load of the nutrients that carrots and potatoes offer. But the next day your body doesn’t need carrot and potato nutrients—it needs Quizno’s toasted subs nutrients?”

“Huh?”

“You can’t just take the same thing into your body repeatedly, because you need balance.”

“Like, [checking receipts] ice cream and cheese curds and bear claws with strawberry milk?”

“Exactly.”

“We both have to sacrifice…”

So today I am shoving leftover rice into my mouth using the blade of a plastic knife. Why? Because I am committed; I am a team player; I AM MIGHTY! MIGHTY! Mighty. mighty. ightyightyighty… [what’s with the echo?]

No, really it’s because I forgot to bring a spoon and had to borrow one from a workmate. Well, except I didn’t borrow—I stole. And said workmate who always, ALWAYS has plastic utensils in a desk drawer had about 10,000 knives in there, but no spoons. (Isn’t it ironic?)

I tried using the knives like chopsticks, but that didn’t work so now I’m just a shoveling away. The best part is there are hundreds of rice grains on the floor and in the pocket of my shirt because…well…yeah. It looks like the great maggot migration of ’65.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

26. Funny Photos From My Travels


This is the eerie glow from around my house during a particularly good sunset.
I ran into the Oscar Meier Wiener-mobile one day.

Then I passed the most awful display of home repair ever. This was outside a school WHERE CHILDREN ARE. Looks like an explosion waiting to happen.



Pet Milk?

(Sorry for this post's organization, it's my first shot at photos.)

25. Best. Day. Ever.

I love my wife Limpy. I love football. I love America.

That’s why today was the BEST. DAY. EVER.

This morning in Salt Lake, my wife Limpy got sworn in as an citizen of the United States of America. Then I flew out to Indianapolis to watch my first, in-person pro-football game. My Colts beat the Rams soundly, and in the process put my fantasy football team on top for my first fantasy football win this season.

Yes today is the best day ever.

Top 10 things Limpy can do now that she’s an American:

1. Travel the world and expect the native-born people in any given country to speak her language.
2. Wear tank tops.
3. Get Obese and wear tank tops (preferably white with mustard stains.)
4. Pay taxes on money earned while working in foreign countries.
5. Complain, complain, complain.
6. Say “like” every other word.
7. Think everyone around her is a hater.
8. Go on welfare.
9. Be the Governor of California.
10. Look coldly down her nose at Canadians.

PS for those who were depending on ME for a humor fix in the last few days: I had stuff to do. I will not lag so much in the future.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

24. Bigger and More Stupid!

Please note:

The sidebar on my blog has changed to reflect my interests. You will find MORE links, MORE hilarity and MORE STUPIDITY!

Blog,

stupidramblings...

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

23. Cat Fight

I witnessed a cat fight today in a school. Or more aptly, I saw the aftermath of a cat fight. The two girls were being put into cuffs in the side of the hall. One was a small girl who was crying and giving no struggle; the other was a big girl who was fighting against two police officers who proceeded to slam her face-first against the lockers in order to subdue her. (In my opinion this was not excessive force based on her violence in struggling.)

This all happened at lunchtime, so there were many, many witnesses AND therefore, there were many, many people left there to gossip about what happened.

My question is this: In a young girl’s life, what cause could possibly be important enough for fighting?

The Prom?
Whiny 17-year-old boy?
A dirty look?
A haircut, perm, style?
A long dispute stemming from a childhood rivalry?

Guys don’t have these problems. Sure, guys fight, but it’s not the same.

I think it stems from the fact that boys don’t know each other. Literally. Let me explain:

Girls, from the earliest of ages, get to know each other. They talk and they talk and they share and they open up and the tell secrets and they poor their whole souls out to each other and then they talk some more.

Boys hang out. They do stuff together. They hardly ever talk and if you ask a boy what his BEST FRIEND’S favorite color is, he can’t tell you. He can’t tell you if his friends have their hair parted on the left or the right, whether they wear glasses, or what color of backpack or skateboard they have. They can’t tell you because they don’t know. All they know about their friends is that they share similar interests in ‘doing stuff.’

So, when a boy gets angry at a friend, they fight it out and it is over.

When GIRLS have a fight, it is eternal. This happens because girls know each other. They also have an infinite amount of dirt on each other. So when there is a fight, girls make it mean on a very personal level. They spread dirt, they gossip, and they make sure they hurt the other girl to the very CORE. They make the other person hurt for a LONG time.

Boys just fight. The hurts heal rather rapidly. Often times they can’t even tell you what the fight was about—they don’t care. The friendship is usually maintained because the premise of the friendship is not personal, it’s circumstantial.

So I imagine the aforementioned girls will carry this fight to the grave. At the ten year reunion they will be renting convertibles and trying to impress people FOR THE SOLE PURPOSE OF GETTING THE LAST WORD on a ten-year-old fight.

Not that I’m biased…

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

22. For The Complete Story

For This and Other Stories…

Lately I have made a complete paradigm shift. Why? Because I am a blogger.

Bloggers are people who write insane amounts of material that will never be read by the masses. Nevertheless, we press on. In the end, we bloggers will end up owning McDonaldses and other cool crap like that.

Basically I’m saying the Strongbad better come up with more emails—and quick—so we bloggers don’t steal his audience.

Despite my new love of posting my whole entire life in this blog, I’m starting to feel like CNN. You know: the responsibility, the ethics, the scrolling stock quotes. I’ve even started to insert teaser advertisements into normal, everyday situations.

For example: the other day I was talking to my brother Chewy. To that point, he was not aware I was a blogger because he just had jaw surgery and I hadn’t told him yet. So I was telling him about the blog I had written about his son, and started to tell him what happened that day and how it reminded me of dog barf and everything.

Then I realized I had already written the story about his son and the dog barf, why should I tell him about it and waste my cell minutes?

This is how the conversation went:

Me: “The other day I recalled having been puked on by a dog.

Chewy: “That happened last week?”

Me: “No it happened when I was 11. Didn’t I ever tell you about it.”

Chewy: “No, how’d that happen?”

Me: “For this and other stories tune to rambli.blogspot.com.”

Chewy: “What?”

Me: “For the latest in weird happenings, strange people, and mad hilarity in general, please see rambli.blogspot.com.”

Chewy: “Huh, I don’t even get it. What happened with the dog barf?”

Me: “For the complete story, don’t forget to check rambli.blogspot.com.”

So, that’s how I tell people about my blog. I feel almost dirty doing it to them, but I also feel that as an internet news organization, I have a responsibility to get my subscribers to log on to my website. It’s kinda creepy, but I’ve only lost three (3) out of the four (4) friends who I have told about my bloggery.

Yes, things are working out just fine.

21. Google

Following Nemesis's news of being googled, I googled 'stupidramblings.' I got 6-8 returns on the search, all of them being for blogs including Nemesis, Cicada, etc.

At the bottom, I saw a more curious link: http://dog-food.great-pets.info/. So I went there. I couldn't find anything. Then I went to the link by clicking on the "cached" button. There down at the bottom, inside a submenu was my Dog Barf article. Somebody at dog-food.great-pets thought my article was postworthy. It's not there anymore, but it was. Below is the link to the cached search.

http://66.102.9.104/search?q=cache:YHMQqPCsV9cJ:dog-food.great-pets.info/+stupidramblings&hl=en

20. Dog Days of the School Year

As an animal disliker, I was extremely offended today when I walked into a public school building that had a sticker on the front door that read:

Latex Free School
The following items may not enter these school grounds:
Latex balloons
Condoms
Surgical gloves
Backpacks containing Latex
Latex paint
Or any other item containing latex.

Okay, I guess I messed up my timeline a bit—I was not offended when I saw the sticker; I was offended later. The sticker was just one of the catalysts for my future anger. Which I will tell you about. In the following paragraphs. Right now.

Usually when you see a sign posted on the front door of a school declaring it a latex-free school, it is because a child attending that school has a death-inducing phobia of latex. OR, more likely, they have an allergy to it. Latex-free environments are a concept I can get behind.

So, I enter the school thinking how wonderful it would be to declare my world ‘FREE’ of the many allergens that plague my life. That’s when I saw it—the hound dog. When I entered the front office, there was a grey-brown hound dog wandering in the front office area. I quickly looked around to see if I could determine what the school mascot was, hoping to find the mascot to be the South High Grey-Brown Hound Dogs. I was dismayed to learn they are the panthers.

So one of these “people”—and I use the term loosely—thought it would be a good idea to bring a dog INTO the school. As one who is both A) allergic and B) phobic of our canine friends, I was incensed that they would be so sensitive to someone with a rare allergy yet so insensitive to me who has a completely sensible, normal allergy.

And phobia.

I will never understand you “pet” lover types. Moreover, I will never be one of you pet-lover types. I will be a run-over-your-pet-if-it-is-too-slow-to-get-off-the-road-in-time types, but not the swerve-on-purpose-to-intentionally-kill-your-pet type. In short, I don’t swerve or brake for animals. I just drive. If one of our four-legged friends is in the way, so be it. Chances are it was either A) weak or B) stupid anyway.

Anyway, my point is that I don’t like your mangy animals “duke-ing” all over my yard. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy owning a pet, because I wouldn’t, but to bring an animal into a school?

I remember once while I was in college, I had a class with someone who was training a seeing eye dog. This person always showed up to class late—probably had to take the mutt outside or something—and I could never guess where to sit so I could avoid the dog. One day, the dog trainer person brought the dog in late and meandered my direction looking for a seat. This was during a quiz, so I got up and moved across the room so as to avoid talking during the test.

The teacher asked, “Mr. Ramblings, is there a problem?”

I said, “No.”

“Then why did you move?”

“Because I am allergic to dogs.”

The professor then turned to the other guy, “Mr. Muttly, do you have a permit to bring this dog into the classroom?”

“It’s a seeing eye dog.”

“Not yet, it’s not.”

“But there are many students here at [this college] that train seeing eye dogs.”

“But do you have a permit or any other permissions to bring the dog into my classroom?”

“No, Sir.”

“Then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

OH SWEET VINDICATION! I have never gotten more done with less complaint in my life. Now I have a pattern for running my life: Run from problems and someone else will take care of them. And quit taking your dirty pets into my world.

Monday, October 10, 2005

19. Most Curious Gentleman

We all hate cell phone drivers.

Readers: “BOO. HISSSSS. This joke has been done to death by funny comedians like John Leguizamo and Roseanne Barr. Find a creative thing to tell.”

Yeah, I know. My sense of responsibility to my audience (both of you) runs deeper than telling you run-of-the-mill stories that have been rehashed ad nauseum by funny men and women like Martin Lawrence and everybody with a sitcom on the WB. This story is different—trust me.

Today while I was driving around in suburban Wichita talking on my cell phone to my wife Limpy, I encountered a Most Curious Gentleman (MCG.) MCG was about 55-62 years old with clown-pattern baldness. Clown-pattern baldness is where the center of your head is shiny and hairless, but the sides of your head have long hair that ends up looking unkempt. Also, clown-pattern baldness shows the wearer has at least a LITTLE self-awareness because it lacks the thin strip of knee-length comb-over hair.

OK. So, MCG was crossing the street—jaywalking more like—and as I approached him in my car, I thought he might be hurt. It was a seedy-looking part of the neighborhood and he was staggering, all hunched over and holding his chest. I was approaching from his 4:00 position so I couldn’t actually see if he was holding his chest, but he had that freshly-stabbed stance to him.

Anyway, staggering, he stopped in the middle of the road right in front of me. Mind you, (and you will,) he was crossing mid-block and jaywalking. Also, this man who had just stopped in front of me was wearing a purple jogging suit and sneakers—but not cool sneakers, more like sneakers the way old people wear them.

I stopped the car literally 10 feet from him. I was worried a bit and started running through all the scenarios this could play out to be. I hung up on my wife Limpy in order to free my phone for an impending 911 call. I even started looking to see if blood was falling from his person onto the pavement. Then I observed for a moment so I could better ascertain the reason MCG was hunched over like that.

I gave the slightest honk of my horn so he would know I was there. He turned around with a start and a look of stark terror on his face. I think he thought I almost hit him even though I had been parked for roughly 30 seconds by that point. His terror-filled eyes made me imagine even more things that could have happened to him.

But then he straightened up and looked at me calmly. He gave me that ‘I’m so very sorry’ wave of the hand and finished crossing the road. I still hadn’t figured out why he had been all hunched over.

Then I saw it: Cell Phone.

MCG in his purple jogging suit had stopped IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD because he was fiddling with his cell phone. His CELL PHONE.

I’m assuming soon we will read about this guy in the paper: “Man Impales Self With Manhole Cover, Blames Cell Phone” or “Man Falls Into Tiger Pit At Zoo, Doesn’t Notice Tiger Munching On His Leg.”

Anyway, I continued to watch the man cross the street—fiddling with the cell phone—as I drove away. He staggered on, and then ALL MY WILDEST DREAMS WERE FULFILLED when I saw the man trip over the curb and fall down on the grass. I was simply giddy with excitement having witnessed the most impressive display of cell-phone stupidity ever invented by man. The moment was practically Cingular. Pun intended.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

18. Additional Evil Smells

I have forgotton to mention others of the smells that have plague my life:

My wife Limpy has a laptop that smells like B.O.--as in B2O of the periodic table. We're talking eye-wateringly, nose-bleedingly, cab-driving, living, breathing body odor. Hers is not the only one, many other laptops built by Apple smell bad too. No amount of febreeze will fix it. The odor bleeds from the very PLASTIC the casing is made from.

When I was a freshman at SUU, I lived in the dorms. In the lobby of the dorm, where they sell food from vending machines, there is a stark, bilious puke smell. I didn't buy a lot of snack-food that year.

At the funeral of a B-list friend, (meaning we don't hang, but we end up seeing each other a lot--well until he died suddenly; it was very sad. A-list friends are your core friends.) some of the grandkids were singing a happy-sad song called "Grandpa's Garden." About halfway through the song, one of the rosy-cheeked cherub-children turned around and yacked all over the place--which would have made me B-list friend laugh endlessly if he weren't the one in the casket. When the stomach-emptying smell finally circulated to the back row, I was forced to leave. The strong compelling force that contributed to me leaving was the combined smell of the second-hand happy meal along with the laughter I was holding back. I truly feel bad about my lack of reverence for the situation--but not at the expense of me laughing giddily.

Yeah, that's about all I want to share on this topic.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

17. Fish Bowl Hotel

So last night it was toasty and humid in my hotel room, so I turned on the air conditioner—which proceeded to fill my room with a fishy smell.

Mmmm…fish smell…

I called the front desk to let them know, and they said they can’t do anything about it. So because I’m a giver I’m going to fix it myself. I’d share how I do it, but I intend on selling my idea to 3M one day so I can pay for my habits. Let’s just say that as a former mechanic, I have de-smelled many vehicles that had fish smells in the air conditioning.

If your car has a fish smell in the air conditioning, I will tell you how to fix it, but I am not going to publish it on the internet because I want to sell it one day. Sorry.

So now my room has a flowery, after-the-rain smell to it and I only paid about 3 cents for it.

Monday, October 03, 2005

16. Dost Thine Ear Offend Thee?

You know how we joke about people yelling at foreigners in hopes that somehow the words might become more clear? Well, I witnessed it today.

There was an elderly Asian couple in the front of the line to board the airplane today. To set the scene, the gentleman was wearing a ‘Members Only’ jacket and powder-blue denim pants—too short—with geriatric-ish white sneakers and black/blue socks. The kindly-looking woman was sporting a conical, ‘rice-patty’ straw hat and other various articles of clothing that had the ‘I’m retired’ flavor to them—only more Asian looking.

OK, so now envision these poor folks at the front of the boarding gate without their boarding passes.

“YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO SHOW ME A BOARDING PASS!”

[vacant expression]

“A BOARDING PASS, IT’S A PIECE OF PAPER—LOOKS LIKE THIS! [makes rectangle shapes with her thumbs and fore-fingers] I NEED TO SEE IT BEFORE YOU CAN GET ON THE PLANE!”

[vacant expression]

“OK! I’M GOING TO NEED TO HAVE YOU STAND TO THE RIGHT WHILE YOU LOOK FOR THEM SO THE OTHER PASSENGERS CAN BOARD THE PLANE!”

[frantic pocket checking, vacant expressions]

“I’M FROM TEXAS! YOU CAN TELL BECAUSE OF MY HIDEOUS ACCENT AND SPANGLED COLLARS! YES! THAT’S HIS BOARDING PASS, I NEED TO SEE YOURS TOO!”

[more pocket checking, an expression of comprehension, a look back to the other passengers as if to say ‘I’m so sorry’]

“YEE-HAW! GIT A LOAD O’ THIS—I CAN TOUCH MY NOSE TO MY TONGUE! I CAN ALSO SQUARE DANCE! PLEASE SHOW ME YOUR BOARDING PASS!”

And so on and so forth for FIVE MINUTES. NO KIDDING.

I would have thought after a couple of phrases I would have stopped trying to yell, but this woman got louder, and louder, and….

15. A Better Mouse Trap

Last night as we were relaxing at my parents’ house, we heard a noise.

My mom said, “Sounds like we got another one.”

My wife Limpy said, “Another what?”

Mom sheepishly said, “Well we’ve had a mouse problem, and now that it’s getting colder…”

Limpy: “A MOUSE! I wanna see!” [runs off to see the mousetrap.]

[Limpy returns a few minutes later.]

Mom: “Was it a mouse.”

Limpy: “Well, it WAS a mouse.”

Mom: “What do you mean—WAS?”

Limpy: [making a grinding motion on the floor with her heel] “I squashed it.”**

Mom and Sister [making disgusted, twisting faces] “EWWW!”

**Let it be known that my wife Limpy grew up in a different houselhold. Obviously. Because all families have their own backward, ill-conceived culture; Limpy is just different enough that in the mind of my mom (and possibly my sister—although I couldn’t tell if she believed Limpy or was disgusted simply by the thought,) squashing a mouse with your heel would potentially be normal for Limpy. I am positive that mom believed she actually did it.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

14. You are a deranged child

At a friends house last night.

What was said:

Friend #1 "Do like my halloween decorations?"

Friend #2 "It looks like kids did it."

The way it sounded.

Friend #1 "Do like my halloween decorations?"

Friend #2 "It looks like some unstable children stopped by. You know, the ones with helmets. The decorations could have been placed by them, being deranged, in a haphazard fashion; but I'm guessing it was done by the schizophrenic inmate who escaped from the maximum security prison last night. The one whose mother beat him from infancy. I pity his poor soul."

I just thought I'd share.