Be Aware in the Concrete Jungle

I have made it a habit to pick up my kid from school as close to the dismissal time as possible. Not because I don’t like waiting but because I pretty much hate people. One of the parents of a kid in my son’s class is one of those sea-donkeys that can’t keep her fat piehole shut. She is of the species Cantshutyourmouthapus, which is a mix of a large flapping yap and a hippopotamus. This species tends to live in and around schools, grocery store lines, the mall, and if you are cursed, next to your cubicle at work. Beware of them; they can’t look quite tame until you come within earshot. Then they emit a sound-wave that impairs the victim long enough for the Cantshutyourmouthapus to feast on the soul of the victim.

This particular Cantshutyourmouthapus picks off victims at random as they walk past the classroom door. One day I was outside of her lethal zone, and observing her in her natural habitat. An unsuspecting victim walked by with a 3 year old in tow. Unfortunately the child placed the victim within striking distance when he yelled “Mommy, I have to go pee-pee.” The mom responded with “Were going now.” With which he replied “No we’re not”. Like a crocodile lunging at a deer drinking from a river, Cantshutyourmouthapus struck. “They can be so defiant at that age.” This was like a lure used by a Venus Fly Trap. The mom took the bait and glanced at her. WHAM! Due to FCC regulations, I cannot describe the carnage that ensued. Let’s just say that the mom will have to learn how to stand up and pee if she wants to avoid the lifelong use of a catheter.

So please people, if you see the Cantshutyourmouthapus in the wild, do not approach it. Your best cause of defense is to always keep a chocolate bar in you pocket or a DVD of the latest Oprah Show. When spotted, throw either towards the Cantshutyourmouthapus and run in the opposite direction.

Mooooo

We are so evolved as a society. We always put ourselves on a pedestal high above those lower than us on the food chain. However, as we devolve back towards the protozoan from whence we spawned so many years ago, we begin to take on the characteristics of the beasts we feel superiority over. I recently went on a short flight of approximately 80 minutes on the nefarious cattle drive airline based in the bastion of ignorance (That’s Texas for ya’ll). I’m sure you’re aware of the boarding procedure where you are assigned a letter and boarding is based on that letter. What blows me away is that the lemmings not only put up with this shit but embrace it. They log in 24 hours before departure to get the coveted “A” boarding pass. They get to the airport 2 hours early and start waiting in line. Wait! Let me put on my big boy pants cause that doesn’t make sense. You stand in a line for 2 hours in order to score a coveted seat on an 80 minute flight? What an asshat.

Not only do they check in their luggage, they check their courtesy as well. The first group runs into the plane like a crowd of nerds at a Leanord Nimoy appearance. They have to make sure and take every aisle seat. Then the next group goes in and has to squeeze past each of those monkeys to get to the second most coveted window seat. All the while the original asshats get disgruntled because they have to get up to let them by. So now we have every window and aisle seat full in the plane. Then come the lepers of group “C”. They look at each middle seat with utter disgust and have to ask the original asshat if they can get up so they can then take every last inch of room that was once in the row. Of course the original asshat is ticked off again because he had to get up. So now we have everyone pissed off, the original asshat because he had to get up twice, the monkey for having to squeeze past the asshat and feel the asshat’s wrath, and finally the leper for ruining what was left of a frat house sausage-fest.

Of course the leper, having to run to get to his flight, wait in line in order to not get the last seat left out on the wing, and being in middle, now has to show ass to the monkey and groin to the asshat in order to use the lavatory before he pisses himself. He should just stay in the bathroom, there’s much more room in there anyhow.

Hello Again, Naturally

It's been a while. I haven't posted in a week or so for good reason. Reasons you don't need to know and I won't be telling you. Well, I'll tell you one reason. I am writing a book based on this blog along with some crazy Canuck I met online at a gay porn website. We are putting the finishing touches on it (The book, not our twizzlers) and it should be available by mid December. Complete with Chapters, pages and even some pictures for the illiterate. So I expect all my readers to buy at least 3 copies. This will lead to record sales of 3 copies and making me rich in the lessons of failure. I'll keep you updated but the blog may be silent for the next week or so due to fleshy mammals being plucked from other fleshy mammals. Bust out the decoder ring and figure that one out.

"We're living in a society, people"

I was in the super sized handi stall this morning, enjoying some quality time with the porcelain La-Z-Boy, and the tranquil peace of an empty bathroom when some douche-nipple saddles up to the stall right next to mine. READ THE FUCKING RULES ASSHAT!

http://thisnamenotavailable.blogspot.com/2006_02_13_thisnamenotavailable_archive.html

Holi-Daze

It’s that time of year again. No, not the time to choke down some dry nasty turkey and some funky ass cranberry dessert shit, it’s christmas shopping season. (I have not capitalized it on purpose, the last thing we need right now is more Christ….get it, “Mas Christ”?). I love the holiday seasons, if only for the shopping experience. You see, while celebrating the coming together of families and friends, we make our annual pilgrimage to the mall to knee some blue hair in the tit, while attempting to rip a “Stick your finger up my ass” Elmo out of her crusty, arthritic hands. It’s fantastic. Taking up two parking spots with my beater car so that Jennifer the soccer mom has to park her super extended Suburban out in the asphalt desert. Getting to the toy store and hiding all the Power Rangers in the men’s bathroom stall. Purposely not holding the door open for the bitch with her arms full of crap and stealthily slipping ice cubes into the Salvation Army bucket. I love forcing my kid to the front of the Santa line so that he can blow ass all over Santa’s lap. But I do have one thing that I am very torn about.

How great is it to get a gift card to your favorite store for christmas? You get to go out when everything is on sale, and buy what you want. No one goes and buys an ugly ass sweater or a bundle of socks (Thanks Grammy), they get something cool. Here’s the kicker. Remember when you could spend $45 of a $50 gift card and they gave you $5 back? You could hit up BK on the way home for a little christmas pick me up? Or for you pervs, you could get that $5 in singles and go to the titty bar? What happened to that? Now you either have to spend over the amount on the card or simply throw away the card with $3.78 left on it. What a crock of nacho cheese! Why hasn’t anyone petitioned Congress to force the retailers to give me my fucking change? Why hasn’t there been a class action lawsuit in regards to this. I have heard statistics that over $100 million a year gets made by retailers due to unspent gift card change (Ok, I made that up, but it has to be close.).

MY HR PR MO.....

One of the crappiest things to ever come out of the political correctness phase that our country has slipped into, like a fat chick in a thong bikini, is the fact that employers cannot hire people based on their qualifications or personalities. They must be hired based on how stupid they are or what color their skin is. Therefore, since we can’t ask the important questions like; “Why were you fired from your last job” or “How many dogs have you sexually molested”, we only need to make a quick visit to the applicant’s house.

Think about the co-worker you hate. Usually they are the same person who steals other people’s bagels out of the fridge or have the funky smelling cubicle. I propose the interviewer be allowed to visit the applicant’s abode for ten minutes and have a 3 day window after they are hired, to see how they use the company’s communal property. For example: The guy who refuses to replace the paper towel roll that he just used or has his lasagna explode in the microwave and doesn’t clean it up, is the same guy who procrastinates on his projects and wreaks of fish. The problem could be solved by heading to his house and seeing the plates stacked in the sink because his dishwasher is broken (In reality he just doesn’t know the door has to be closed to start it) or has a nacho cheese stain on his plywood and cinder block coffee table.

The middle aged lady who is about 75 pounds overweight and spends most of her day chugging venti caramel macchiato frappucinos and taking sixteen smoke breaks is the same person who at home has six cats and a permanent ass imprint in their couch. Of course cat lady does nothing but complain about how inconsiderate her co-workers are, all the while forcing you to see the six thousand pictures of her cat in her cubicle and the constant smacking of her eating bags of M&M’s. Once again, a preemptive home visit would prevent her from ever setting her cloven hoofs into the office.

Of course we cannot forget the nagging bitch. She’s the one who writes notes on everything from the refrigerator to every square inch of her office. A quick pop in would show you that she actually is a domineering child abuser who’s husband is afraid of her and her kids have CPS on speed dial. Of course she gets promoted over you because no one wants her in their group for more than six months. All you can hope is that her husband goes Jet Li on her ass and buries her in the backyard before she becomes the next CEO.

The New Coke

I am a self-proclaimed energy drink junkee. I have tried just about every one of them and feel I am informed enough to have an opinion about them. Not that I don’t have an opinion on everything and my opinion is actually more of a fact but I digress. Here is what I don’t understand about them; why are they so expensive? Red Bull is the quintessential drink and the leader in pricing. It is at least 2 bucks at any convenience store (Yes I know you can get it at Costco for less but I don’t need 24 of them right now) for an 8 ounce can. That’s $32 for a gallon. I can fill up my fucking car full of premium gas for less than that. Must be the shortage of taurine in the world.

Why is there such a discrepancy in size? You can get 8 ounces all the way up to 24 ounces in a can. Yet they all seem to have the same amount of energy crap in them. If I want 24 ounces of fluid in my body, it better be jagermeister or kool-aid (The most underappreciated drink of all time). Plus they have the dumbest names. NOS, Monster, Pimp Juice, Red Bull, Rockstar, Power Trip, Go-Girl, Wired, Green Dragon, and so on. What the fuck is Pimp Juice? Reminds me of a gene shower, from a velvet stick man, with some high top stilettos, and feather boa. NOS? I would rather have some real nitrous and it’s probably cheaper. Go-Girl? Is that what guys drink before going to the Blue Oyster for some cosmos? Rockstar is probably the only aptly named one. When you crash from that 24 ounce Rockstar you downed at lunch, you feel just like a coked out rocker who found himself curled up on the bathroom marble, with his finger in some groupies ass.

Here I Sit Broken Hearted......

Why do public bathrooms have those funky screws? You know the ones that can only be tightened and not removed. When did that start? Was there a rash of bathroom stall door thefts back in the sixties that led to people losing their pissing privacy?

Too Many Questions

Who the hell invented the webcam? This is something I have never understood, this webcam concept. First off, as far as men are concerned, the only thing the computer is good for is porn (Not me but other men, you reading this honey?). So why would you want anyone to have the opportunity to see your before and after face? Second, nothing good has ever come from a woman (Actually, I think it’s mostly teenage girls) using a webcam with a man on the receiving end. It either ends up getting the guy in trouble with the local or Federal authorities or the girl on YouTube. Has there ever in the history of webcams, been a decent picture of someone? People always look like a sleep deprived fish.

The Pregnancy Rebuttal

I love hearing women talk about how if men had to be the ones to get pregnant and deliver a baby, there would be no babies. Let’s expound a bit. Their first and foremost reason is that we couldn’t handle the pain. Then they infer that the baby is going to somehow be brought into this world through a man’s snake eye. Really? You’re telling me that this would be your hypothesis? Obviously the thing isn’t going to come out of my nose, or ear, or mouth, it’s coming out the brown eye. Just like a chicken. Now to top that off men would need to be able to dilate their bay door. It certainly wouldn’t be fair for women to dilate 10cm and not let a man, right? So now we are talking about a more even playing field. If you saw some of the big dogs that have come out of my back door, you would definitely see that with an additional 10 centimeters, I could deliver Shaq (But only up until he left Orlando).

So the delivery part is solved. Let’s talk sustenance. Obviously my moobs are not going to engorge to deliver the needed nutrition. But I do own a double beer helmet with two straws. I also know how to put water in a bottle with some formula. Sometimes I even wash out that white boogery stuff that gets stuck inside.

Now we have brought the ankle biter into the world and provided it with nutrition. Here comes the hard part. Motherly love. As much as I love kids, I love other things more; picking my nose, watching re-runs of Matlock, sleeping. So I am going to have to concede this part, which is why women give birth and take care of the baby. Men like shiny things and are drawn to them like a wino to a buzzing beer light, it would take very little to distract a man long enough to lose track of time. So much so that before the commercial is over, the baby is eighteen and stealing your money, your car, and your 20’s and 30’s.

Selfish Hypocrites

Sometimes when you are married, you have to do things you don’t want to. Not peeing on the toilet seat, going to weddings, and watching TV shows that you can’t stand. So I find myself watching Extreme Makeover Home Edition. I despise Ty Pennington the way I loathe Carrot Top and watching him prance around on television like a prepubescent gay troll, makes me want to slip in a puddle of AIDS.

Of course they have this heart wrenching story of a family of 8 and all the crap that they, and the rest of the world, have had to endure. Regardless of the show or the annoying family, I start wondering, who in the hell has six kids? Who in the hell has 8 people in their family and one bathroom? Why hasn’t CPS been called? I have some friends who sort of fit this model. They can’t afford to buy toilet paper to wipe their ass but they want to have more kids. Of course our society has some sort of annoying respect for them, like they are doing God’s work. These same people look down their nose at the Welfare mom in the same position. Why don’t we have disdain for these people? After all they are the ones causing Global Warming with their giant Suburbans. They are the people that shop at the devils lair known as Wal-Mart. This isn’t the 1950’s where you need an entire baseball team worth of kids to tend the farm.

Then to top it off, we cheer when these people get a hand out like on Extreme Makeover. We are told how unselfish they are, how giving they are, and yada yada. If these people are so giving, why don’t they give the house to a posse of homeless people? Aren’t we all giving? Don’t we all love our kids? However we have brains. We know that we can’t afford to support 6 kids, so we don’t have them. We don’t go and buy a Ferrari when we can only afford a Ford Escort. What’s the difference in selfishness?

Death By Bloody Mary

There are 2 types of people in this world; assholes and douche-nozzles. Assholes are just that. They walk through life trying to make everyone miserable because their drunk stepfather used to berate them about their lack of self-esteem whilst removing a broom handle from their nether regions. Basically making sure that you realize they will never amount to anything more than the top of the custodial arts career ladder. Douche-nozzles are a little different. They are basically the blank stare on the face of life. The things they do tend to confound anyone with an ounce of intelligence. They don’t necessarily mean to be rude, they just don’t possess the brain power to fathom complex situations like opening a can of soda or putting their underwear on their ass instead of their head.

As I am walking into the local deli (One which I don’t usually frequent) with a couple co-workers, I notice a somewhat intelligent girl behind the counter making the sandwiches. Thank God. So my compatriot orders his sandwich from her and like Warren Buffet making a deal, she makes him a money sandwich. Sweet, I’m next. Then, like the cold squirt from a frozen garden hose, I hear the voice of disappointment. Some guy is making my sandwich now. I order a BBQ Beef with pepper jack cheese. After a few minutes, Sir Nozzle informs me that there is no pepper jack. So I order provolone. All the while I am very polite as not to end up with a nose goblin or some of his genetics on my sandwich. Next up, would you like lettuce and tomato. I must take a detour off the highway here for a second. I HATE tomatoes! I would rather stick my face in a jar of moldy mayonnaise that has been in the sun for a week than eat tomatoes (And I hate mayo). I clearly state to this asshat that I didn’t want tomatoes. PERIOD.

Fast forward to my office; where I commence to complain about the lack of copious amounts of BBQ Beef on my sandwich. For seven bucks, I demand at least the bread be covered. No bare spots. This was not the case. Then I saw it. Something red peaking out from under the lettuce. No, No, NOOOO! What part of no tomatoes didn’t you understand? Was it the “No” or the “Tomatoes”? Maybe your stepdad beat the hearing out of you or the meth lab fumes killed off what was left of your brain. Either way, you will join “Bagel Boy” in hell when my wrath comes to fruition. Prepare to choke on 50 pounds of tomato stuffed in every orifice you have and a couple I will create.

The Mystery Pit

We are a race of habits. Every human has habits that we do all the time (Which is why they’re called habits). Lately I have developed a new one. Every night after work I change from my monkey suit into my cat suit and I take a good whiff of the work my armpits have done for the day. This is a good measure of how much work I have done. The weird thing is that my left armpit always stinks but my right smells like a mountain meadow of rose petals after a light rainfall. Why? Now every day I have to check the pits to make sure the status quo is met. I may have to start douching the left pit.

Sherlock Has Nothing on J-Ro

One of my most disdainful things in the corporate world is the company kitchen. First off, most offices don’t have a place to eat but they frown on you eating at your desk. Of course they also frown on you being gone for an hour whilst you gnaw on a crusty sandwich from the deli down the street. I, being the frugal guy I am, always bring in my lunch. Not so much because I am cheap but because I am too lazy to think of somewhere to go for lunch. Takes too much effort to round up the troops and actually agree on a place to go. Another habit I have is bringing something for breakfast. I get in way too early to have time to eat at home so I bring in the occasional bag of bagels or breakfast bar.

Thus brings the mystery of “Who ate my motherfucking bagels?”. When my lovely wife or I hit the grocery store, I always grab a bag of bagels. Preferably Lender’s pre-sliced plain bagels (Blueberry if I am feeling spunky). I take the whole bag to work and keep it in the fridge for the week. Being a normal, common sense type person, I assume I can trust people to not eat my food. And in the past that has always been the case. Then the unthinkable happens, someone ate 3 of my bagels in one day. I can understand an occasional grabbing of the wrong lunch but there were no other bagels in the fridge at the time. I proceeded to eat the last bagel and put a note on the empty bag saying “Thank you for eating my bagels, I was on a diet and didn’t need the extra calories” and put it back in the fridge. A couple hours later I notice the bag in the trash. Obviously Sir “Eat My Bagels” had read it and wanted to hide the evidence of his horrid crime. Like a mass murderer bleaching his house, this person wanted to bury the crime.

Fast forward to today. I don’t have my beloved bagels and thusly decide to eat an early lunch. When I get to the kitchen, a fellow employee is doing the same. This individual is, to say the least, skating on thin ice as far as his employment is concerned. He mentions he didn’t eat breakfast either and was starving. So we started talking about eating lunch out of vending machines and my college lunches that consisted of a box of Thin Mints. He then mentioned he once was starving in the morning and ate someone’s bagels out of the fridge. My ears pin back immediately and like the proverbial tea kettle, my blood begins to boil. However, I remain calm until he blurts out, “The person left me a mean note on the bag”. So I asked him how many he ate. He responded with “About three, I was starving.” I have yet to determine the end to this debauchery but I do like my revenge lightly seared with some Salmonella on the inside. I’ll keep you posted.

Spank the Monkeys

My office just instituted a revised dress code. Seems that the monkeys were having a hard time interpreting the old one, and continued to push the envelope of “Business Casual”. Luckily I work in California, which has one of the looser dress codes in the country, so khakis and a nice shirt are acceptable as business casual. As opposed to New York where a full suit and tie are considered casual; It’s only “Business Dress” if you put the stick in your ass for the day. This change in policy was instituted 2 weeks ago. It should be as fresh in their minds as the dookie they just heaved across their cubicle. Alas, you can’t teach monkeys to type or how to dress.

So imagine my surprise when I cross paths with Curious George, fully decked out in his wrinkled khakis, un-tucked and wrinkled beach bum shirt, and a pair of crisp clean Keds. I thought a college degree was a pre-requisite to working here, obviously common sense is not. Of course his manager won’t say anything to him. It might hurt his feelings and whooping monkey sounds would reverberate out of the conference room and break the other monkeys concentration. So instead, we will just look at this and all the other monkeys the way you look at an invalid trying to reach their piss bucket or a baby sticking a paperclip in a wall socket, with sadness and remorse.

Back to Basics

I’ve been slacking a little on the blog front in the past couple weeks. However, you are in luck, I am off the meds and about to drop some venom on you, oh gentle reader. This is the first in what will be a week long tirade. So sit back, grab some popcorn, and try not to get your feelings hurt.

Quadruple Standards

At what point did the religious right decide that the corner of an areola is much more grotesque than watching an obese half naked man bob for pig balls in a pool of monkey blood? Who decided that Janet Jackson’s nipple is more disgusting than watching sixteen different angles of Anthony Munoz‘s broken leg in the Super Bowl?

What happened to our common sense? It went right out the window next to Dennis Franz's bare elephant ass on NYPD Blue. Why do I get to watch some millionaire doctor pummel a poor woman’s interior organs while giving her a breast implant but the half falling off nipple is digitally hidden from view? Why am I able to see a breast augmentation of a man trying to be a woman and the nipple isn’t blurred out until the first saline fun bag is implanted and according to the FCC he is now a woman?

Why am I forced to listen to someone on Fear Factor yak a lung on the ground but the actual bile that is spewed is pixilated? How come the words ass and bitch can be said in almost any context on Primetime but the word tit cannot unless referring to a small rodent? How come I can hear the word shit on basic cable but I can’t see the shit? Which one is more natural? The most useful word in the English language, one that can be used as an adverb, pronoun, adjective, verb and noun cannot be said but I can just about see the act on an episode of Nip Tuck?

How come any decent radio show host can literally give you the play by play on a porn with insightful adjectives, analogies and colloquials, but porn is looked down upon by 50% of America while the other 50% have a collection that numbers more than Netflix’s pre-order of Pirates of the Caribbean II? Why? Because America is nothing but hypocrisy and double standards. Much like the ranting politician who tells us that weed is a gateway drug to heroin and homosexuality yet when he gets to his apartment, calls up his underage homosexual lover to bring over a sack, a bong and a 12” vibrator.

Playing the Percentages

I love my office building. As I am walking out the front door, a rather large woman was talking on her cell phone and managed to walk into the glass window next to the door. Besides the obvious reaction of laughing jovially in front of her, I also had a thought that how can we expect people to drive a car while talking on a phone when real life evidence says they can’t even talk and walk at the same time.

This spawned a new theory. There are two types of bad cell phone people. The first and most obvious group is women, all of them. Women literally use their entire brain while talking. They pick up on everything from words to intonation to the person’s breath, all while noticing the shoes they’re wearing. Which means that women have zero capacity left in their brains to do anything but listen.

The second group is men, all of them. You see, men only use about 1/18th of their brain when having a conversation. This leaves them with a lot of excess capacity while on the phone. However there are a few other essential functions that a man’s brain must also do at the same time. 1/5th is used to continually process how their sports team is going to make the playoffs. 1/8th is used to think about what food he ate is causing his funky gastrol issues. 1/10th is used by his finger which is currently in either his nose or ear. 1/12th is used by his eyes that are staring at what looks to be a nice piece of ass down the street, but in actuality is a 200lb trannie. 1/6th is used to replay each mind-blowing twist and turn on My Name Is Earl last night. The remaining 3/4ths are used to think about porn or their last failed sexual encounter.

You may notice that those numbers don’t quite add up. You’re wrong. At least that’s what I am told by women who swear men aren’t as smart as they think.

Random Rhetoricals II

I am so glad my tax dollars go towards putting annoying, chirping speakers on every street corner so that the blind can cross the street. Blind people, getting hit by cars at intersections was at an all time high.

Thank God that the FAA lifted the ban on liquids. My hands were bruised and bloody from constantly having to go palm one out in the lavatory sans Jergens.

Kurt Cobain was the greatest American Singer to ever stick a shotgun in his mouth.

Why do people call it a “Short Bus”? From all the ones I have seen, they are about the same height as a normal bus. Maybe we should call them the “Not-So-Long Bus”.

Life in a Bag

Continuing on my recent theme of food and it's quirky tendencies; I have noticed a new phenomonon regarding Chex Mix. Upon opening a bag, notice that there is a pecular secular tendency.

For example, the actual Chex, whether white, yellow or brown tend to group together. They are the peace-knicks of the bag with their fake tolerance and their smug little attitude.

However the large snack crackers tend to always be by themselves. I think they are most likely the Goth kids of the bag, always depressed and alone.

Next up we have the Rye Chips. They are definitely the stoners of the mix. First they are always in pairs, second they like to hide in the darkest reaches of the bag and they are always laying down for naps.

The garlic sticks seem to chill with everyone and they have interesting markings that appear to be the same for all of them but are just slightly different. I call them the sluts of the bag because they have been next to every other shape and the markings remind me of how every slut has the same tattoo on their lower back.

The pretzels are a little trickier. The circle ones are of the "Alternative" lifestyle. They are supposed to hang out only with the square pretzels but instead they choose to "Party" with the garlic sticks (Note how easily one gets stuck in the other). The square ones, noticing that the round ones don't want to do the natural thing, live a lonely life filled with jergens lotion and National Geographics.