Thirtysomething Angst

Post-snipping humor

2012-02-01T12:01:00.000-06:00

I can laugh about it now.

I would rather undergo a vasectomy via weed whacker than attend an opera.
--Dave Barry

jbr

Creepy crawly

2012-02-01T09:06:00.000-06:00

I have had, for as long as I can remember, bad eyes. When I was born into a family of people that wear glasses, contacts and monocles, I was destined to walk along the same path. Like the majority of people in my family, particularly on my father's side, without some sort of visual crutch, I am blind. And, as I have gotten older, I have taken to wearing my glasses more than my contacts because, well, contacts often feel like sandpaper in my eyes and who the hell wants sandpaper in their eyes?

Because I wear my glasses the majority of the time, there are certain times of the day when I subject myself to blindness. When I first wake up. After a nap. In the shower. These are times of the day when my eyes are nothing more than brown globes in my head and offer little to no assistance. And, as a consequence, when I am sans spectacles, there are times when the lack of detail in my vision becomes a burden.

This morning I was in the shower. While washing my hair (or what's left anyway), something on the ceiling caught my blurry vision. It was black, and since I don't often look at the ceiling, I had no idea if it was just a spot on the ceiling, or something else. So, I watched it for a bit (I used the word "watched" very, very loosely). After a couple of seconds, I noticed that the aforementioned black spot was moving. The best I could tell it was moving slowly, but moving nonetheless.

My first, and probably accurate assumption, is that the thing on the ceiling is a spider. I mean, it's January in Kansas, what the hell else could it be? Now, let me mention that I have no real problem with spiders. Live and let live, that's my philosophy. What I do have a problem with, however, is a spider rappelling down on me from the ceiling when I am not looking. As such, I decided I needed to figure out what to do with the creature making its way to a spot right above my head, thus positioning itself for a free-fall onto my dome. I had no idea if it would decide to drop down on me while I'm showering, but because I look so good in the shower, I figured the chances were probably pretty high.

My brain started clicking on all cylinders thinking of a way to get the creature down. Reaching it with my bare hands isn't an option because, well, I have shampoo in my hair, I'm wet and I'm not eight feet tall. Waiting wasn't really an option because I wanted to enjoy my shower without fear of being accosted by a creepy crawly. Once I eliminated those two options, I decided there was only one thing left to do: spray it.

I am fortunate enough to have one of those detachable shower heads and it has this unused setting that shoots out this jet of water like fire hose. Using the power of my awesome brain, I deduced that I could give it a quick spray, it would fall to the ground and I would take care of it when I am done. That is, of course, if I could hit it with the spray given the fact that A. I'm blind and B. it's moving.

I rinsed my hair quickly because nobody like shampoo in the eyes. After my rinse, I detached the shower head and prepped it for my assault. Once ready, I knew I would have to move quick; not only to hit it, but to limit the amount of water on the ceiling. I grabbed the handle and quickly lifted it and aimed the spray at the creature on the ceiling. WHOOSH!!! I was immediately elated to see that I hit it on the first shot.

But then it went on the move again. Through the air.

All of this is happening quickly and my first assumption is that it used it's spidey powers and shot a web against the wall and attempted to not to hit the ground with a big thud. So, without thinking, I continued to aim for the creature as it moved from the ceiling, to the wall, to the air. Water, at this point, is everywhere. The walls. The mirror. The lights. And God knows where else that I couldn't make out because, at this point, I am still kicking it Stevie Wonder style with my sight.

After the creature's acrobatic moves, it disappeared. I spend a good three minutes trying to mark it with my poor vision to no avail. I can't see it on the floor. It's not on the vanity. And, it's not on the wall. Perhaps it is in my pajamas crumpled up on the floor. Perhaps it went down the sink drain. Perhaps it found a hole in the space-time continuum and went off to another dimension. I have no idea. But, it is no longer of an immediate danger to me, so I continue on with my shower.

I finish up, dry off and immediately put on my glasses and do a more thorough, non-blind scan of the room. There is no sign of the creature anywhere. And of course, as I surmised, there really is water everywhere. But, it's only a spray, so I don't figure it's much of a problem. I don't want to get out the ladder to clean up the walls, and I certainly don't want to clean my bathroom right now, so I figure I'll just leave it. I mean, it's only water and it will dry, right? However, because it is water, and it will dry, and because it is all over the mirror, I figured I should at least wipe it down so as to avoid a mirror that looks like it has chicken pox.

I grab my towel (after throwing my pajamas out of the bathroom just in case the whatever-the-hell-it-was landed on them) and begin to clean off the mirror. About halfway through the wipe down (it's a big mirror), I found what was on the ceiling now hanging out on the mirror. It was...

I guess I overreacted a little bit. I really need to get laser surgery on my eyes.

Nervous people tend to overreact.
--Toba Beta

jbr

If a hippo pees in the woods...

2012-01-27T09:19:00.000-06:00

Cute, huh?

I watched a show on hippopotamuses last night. I know, exhilirating. I was bored, and there was nothing else on, and even though it was from 2001 and NOT in HD (what gives, DirecTV?), I was enthralled by the preview that showed hippos fighting, so I thought, why the hell not?

First of all, let me say, hippos are really, really mean. Imagine if you encountered a gathering of really fat people and one of them got pissed off because you decided to come to their party and then that angry fat person decided to chase you then sit on you. And that fat person was freakishly fast. That's how mean hippos are. Like, super mean. They are so mean that next time I go to the zoo, I don't even want to look at them for fear they will get into my dreams then bite me in half and go back to the other hippos and brag about it. Okay, let me reel it back in here...

While watching it, I got to think about something not necessarily related to just hippos, but to all large animals. Before I get to my point, let me ask this? Have you ever seen a hippo, or any other large land mammal pee (and yes, I know hippos live in the water too so spare me the lesson)? It's a lot of pee. Not only is it a lot, but it is really reminiscent of a fire hose. WHOOOOOOSHH. That's how hippos pee, in case you were wondering. And while I'm thinking about this (and don't ask why I was because there really is no reason), I went off on another tangent. If large animals pee like that, I wonder if large people do as well? And I'm not talking necessarily large people like, say, Shaquille O'Neal, but rather, the morbidly obese; the kind where you have to bust down a wall and get them out with a crane. When they pee, is it hippoesque?

I don't know the answer to this question. Every show I have watched on the morbidly obese (which admittedly is very few) conveniently fails to mention their pee habits, nor does Wikipedia have any articles relating to this phenomenon. This is, without a doubt, highly disappointing. I am very inquisitive by nature and I like to know everything about everything. Because this is a gap in my repertoire of knowledge, I must say I am a bit sad on this Friday morning.

Perhaps I should write a letter to TLC, or Discovery, or National Geographic, or any other station that chooses to make show exploiting the perils of a person that must be extracted from his or her abode by dynamite, a crane and a flatbed truck (one with pictures of naked ladies on the mudflaps). Perhaps it would go a little something like...

Dear Exploiters of the Morbidly Obese,

I have a question. When a moribidly obese person urinates, is it much like a hippopatumus, elephant, and/or rhinocerous? Your show fails to explain this and I am full of curiosity on the subject matter.

Yours truly,

jbr

P.S.-If I could get a video to post to YouTube that would be great.

Notice how I used the word "urinate" instead of pee above. I figure by using the medical term, it would increase the likelihood of getting a response, and the video I requested. When sending such a request, every little bit helps.

In lieu of sending the aforementioned email, I ask you, do you know anyone morbidly obese? Are you able to satisfy my curiosity? If you do, send me an email and I'll post it to Wikipedia.

I gotta pee.
--Forrest Gump

jbr

Letters

2012-01-26T11:53:00.001-06:00

Often time, people react to the word "change" as if it is a four-letter word. As if there is something inherently dirty about engaging in change. Whether it is changing a job, or changing something amiss in your personal life, change is often greeted with the same kind of contempt reserved for people being asked to jump off a cliff in to a pool of dead octopuses (octopi? Whatever).

Think about it for a second. Surely you, the person reading this, have a job. And surely at the job, at some point in time, somebody from the glass tower comes down and suggests that something be done in a different way. And surely, at that same job, people around you (hell, maybe even you yourself) scoff at the notion of change and threaten to quit, or shoot the place up, or just say, "nuh huh, I ain't doin' dat sheet." So, given that, you must know what I am talking about when I say people think change is a four-letter word.

I've thought a lot about change lately. And the inherent risk that goes into change. Weighing the pros and cons of the status quo. Weighing the pros and cons of change. Deciding if making a change is worth it. And after all the thought that goes into it, I realize, it is almost always worth it. It is almost always worth taking the leap to change something in your life in hopes of getting something better...in hopes of getting a better result.

So, I implore you, right here and right now, if you're itching for change, make it. If you see a risk, take it. And while the grass may not always be greener on the other side, as is so often the case, I can assure you that it is always worth a look. And if you don't find it on first glance, just keep going. Greener pastures are there...you just have to look for them.

Change is a six-letter word after all. Nothing more, nothing less.

Change alone is eternal, perpetual, immortal.
--Arthur Schopenhauer

jbr

Freedom of Speech?

2011-10-06T14:07:00.005-05:00

The real problem is the Redskins jersey

I'm not really a fan of Hank Williams, Jr. Let's just get that out upfront. (For those of you that know me, I'm not a fan of any country music, but that's really beside the point). My lack of caring for Hank Williams (I'm dropping the "Jr." for the sake of writing) does not really influence my thoughts on the recent flap regarding his comments comparing Obama to Hitler. As an American, he has the right to say, of course, whatever the hell he wants to say. If he wants to compare my mom to Satan, I don't really care. It's his right to say it, so say it. I may think he is incredibly misguided (re: ignorant), but who am I to moan and groan about the fact that he said it. I might not agree with it, but I agree with his right to let it flow from his weirdly bearded mouth. (by the way, on that note, what the hell is up with his beard anyway? It looks like he went down to a pubic grooming shop, took all the scraps, and glued them to his face. Not to mention, of course, I never trust a man that won't take off his sunglasses.)

What I do have a problem with, however, is all of the ignorant souls that have come out of the woodwork to defend him. "Why did he get fired? Haven't you heard of free speech?" Blah. Blah. Fucking blah. I'm not going to get started on the comments all over the web about Obama being a dictator (remember the Patriot Act?), or how the "liberals" are the one responsible for Hank Williams (still dropping the "Jr.") getting fired (I'm not sure how that has anything to do with the price of tea in China). What I will get into, though, is a quick lesson on how the First Amendment works.

From the Constitution of the United States:

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."

Let's ignore the part about religion (but wait, let's not just for one second. Aren't the same people jumping to defend Hank Williams' rights to free speech the same people that would like to see Islam abolished from this country? Just sayin'.), and focus instead on the "freedom of speech" part. Notice the first word of the Amendment, "Congress." That doesn't say "ESPN," unless my English is just horrible. It says, "Congress shall make no law...abridging the freedom of speech." It doesn't say, "you can say whatever you want to say and expect no repercussions."

The common interpretation of the First Amendment as it pertains to free speech is that your speech will protect you from prosecution (i.e.-you won't be arrested for saying something), but it does not protect you from non-incarceratory consequences. In the instance that we are referring to, the First Amendment absolutely does not protect you from professional consequences if your employer believes your comments or actions cause damage to said employer.

Think I'm wrong? Think they are just picking on Hank Williams? Think this is just part of the liberal agenda? Well, let's try this then. When you go to work tomorrow, answer the phone like, "Hi, this is _____, I think Obama is a real ni___." Try that a couple of times and see what happens to your employment status. Then, after you are fired, visit an attorney and tell him or her that you would like to sue your now former employer for unlawful termination of employment. Be sure to tell this attorney that you believe your now former employer violated your First Amendment rights and unjustly terminated your employment because you said something your now former employer didn't agree with or care for. Tell the attorney this, then count how many minutes this attorney spends laughing at you before he or she shows you the door.

The impetus for this post is less about what Hank Williams said, but more about the wildly ignorant reaction (hello, Yahoo!) all over the Internet to his firing. And this leads to my underlying concern. We are an ignorant nation. We are so ignorant, that we don't even know our Constitutional Amendments. The problem isn't Obama, or Hank Williams. The problem is that the majority of Americans have absolutely no idea about how the world really works. The majority of Americans hide blindly behind things like Amendments that they don't understand and expect them to solve all of our problems. Want to make this a better nation? Educate yourself. Become a bastion of knowledge. Right wing. Left wing. Conservative. Liberal. It doesn't matter. If you want to make a difference, become a better citizen by removing your veil of ignorance. Take off your blinders and see the entire picture, not just what's in your backyard; not just what you were raised with.

Am I saying we should all agree on all issues? Absolutely not. But we can all become more knowledgeable about the issues and form more educated opinions about them. Educated debate breeds progress. Ignorant debate breeds more ignorance.

As for Hank Williams? ESPN has the right to protect their business. They are not in the business of taking political sides. They are in the business of giving all of us the sports and sports talk that we crave. You, Hank, crossed that line. You muddied the waters. You put their brand and their profits in jeopardy. You deserve what you got. Maybe you can move your song over to FOX now for their soccer coverage. Are you ready for some futbol?

Mind your speech a little lest you should mar your fortunes.
--William Shakespeare

jbr

Today's Headlines

2011-04-08T14:15:00.001-05:00

Here are a collection of headlines from around the Interwebs (with my commentary, of course)...

CNN:

'Idol' May Have Lady Problems (http://www.cnn.com/2011/SHOWBIZ/TV/04/08/pia.eliminated.american.idol/index.html?hpt=T2)
Okay, first, Billy Idol is still alive? Second, why do we care about his lady problems.

Are cavities really contagious? (http://healthland.time.com/2011/04/07/are-cavities-really-contagious/?hpt=T2)
No, but this damn case of the clap I got in Thailand is.

MSNBC:

Pink used by Libya rebels to alert NATO jets (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/42496271/ns/world_news-mideastn_africa/)
She seems to be everywhere these days. I'm curious how exactly they are using her. I'm sure Bin Laden is distressed to hear about his brothers in Islam giving it to the American infidel.

Salmonella in water frogs sickens 217, mostly kids (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/42495445/ns/health-infectious_diseases/)
I guess Applebees will have to take frog legs off the kids menu now.

'Housewives of D.C.' canceled (http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/42493374/ns/today-entertainment/)
:'-( Where's my gun?

'Jersey Shore' cast signs on for season 4 (http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/42497110/ns/today-entertainment/)
Why can't Al-Qaeda have do us a favor for once?

What if you get sucked out of a plane? (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/42496499/ns/technology_and_science-science/)
You die.

Fox News:

Carrie Underwood: My faith is the reason for my success (http://www.foxnews.com/entertainment/2011/04/08/carrie-underwood-faith-reason-success/)
Or...it's the fact that you're really hot. Whichever.

Hackers attack websites of Russian newspaper (http://www.foxnews.com/world/2011/04/08/hackers-attack-websites-russian-paper-blog/)
Did they run out of midget porn?

Texans may soon be able to drive 85 MPH (http://www.foxnews.com/us/2011/04/07/texans-need-speed/?test=latestnews)
...legally.

Maine's Marijuana State University unveiled (http://www.foxnews.com/us/2011/04/07/marijuana-state-university-unveiled-maine/?test=latestnews)
Perhaps this is why they were named the most peaceful state.

Have a delightful weekend.

jbr

Forever and a day

2011-02-07T08:01:00.000-06:00

To refresh your memory, in case you have forgotten, I have three dogs. My four-legged children are all fairly large in size, and almost all exactly one year apart. One of the unpleasantries of dog ownership is, of course, the potty break. Two of the three animals (Austin & Molly) have no problem with this task. Outside, stop, poop, done. The third (Bella), on the other hand, is another story all together...

Bella seems to have an issue finding a place to poop. I know that this an issue for some dogs, but it doesn't make it any easier to understand. Why does finding a place to dump have to turn into a scientific expedition? Sniff. Turn. Nope. Sniff. Turn. Nope. Sniff. Turn. Nope. Sniff. Turn. Turn. Maybe. Nope. On and on it goes for what seems like three eternities held together by pieces of string.

I am quite sure there is some sort of scientific explanation for why they do this. Frankly, however, I don't care about that. Unless, of course, there is something I can do to speed her up (though admittedly I am curious what she is smelling that is turning her "off" to a particular location, especially since its her own backyard and, you know, she poops there everyday). I'd say I could put some laxative in her food but I'd rather not on my hands and knees covered in my own vomit from cleaning up dog poo. So, the only thing I am left to do is wait while Bella turns a simple task into an algebraic formula of epic proportions. Maybe she does it because she knows it irritates me. Or maybe she is a mad scientist attempting to perfect some process that she will later share with the AKC. Your guess is as good as mine.

I guess, in the end, as a dog owner, I just have to put up with this shit...every pun intended.

From a dog's point of view, his master is an elongated and an abnormally cunning dog.
--Mabel Robinson

jbr

Where have you been?

2011-02-06T12:13:00.000-06:00

Gosh, I didn't realize it had been so long. Lately, I have been poked and prodded to write something, anything. In the past, this was not a difficult order to follow. My angst-ridden self always had something to bitch and moan about; something to make fun of. These days, my angst seems to have subsided. Or, at a minimum, it has buried itself deep within my organs and only rears its (beautifully) ugly head when I've been drinking. And, since typing whilst drinking is quite challenging, well, you get the idea.

What have I done worth noting lately? Well, truth be told, nothing. I've been to both Wilkes-Barre, PA and Indianapolis, IN, both of which have some of the ugliest people I have ever seen. Indy rivals KC in its ghettoness, and Wilkes-Barre feels...well, it feels like a dying town. Nothing fun to write about there. Why, you may ask, did I feel compelled to visit both of these beautiful cities? It was a forced compulsion you could say. Because, you know, I'd like to keep my job (that I hate).

But, I digress. No sense talking about the displeasure feels in one's job, if for nothing more than to improve the chances of remaining gainfully employed. I'm sure my two-and four-legged pups would all prefer that I continue to bring home the bacon, both literally and figuratively. And since I enjoy my Camels and New Belgium, probably best if I refrain from bearing my (miserable) employment soul. Maybe later...

I do sound bitter, don't I? Well, I'm not. Don't let the perception of such ruin the reality of it. I'm just...boring. School, kid, day job, oil-wrestling and part-time janitorial work at the local sperm bank does not make for an exciting, literature-worthy existence (did you see how many times I used dashes there?). Perhaps I have stopped looking at everyone through a cock(hehe)eye. Or perhaps I've just grown soft. Or perhaps...

Who the fuck am I kidding? People suck. A person is okay but people are, as a collective, annoying and disgusting and they give me gas. So, no more softness. No more looking the other way. No more refraining from pointing out the bad in everyone else. No more refraining from talking about monkey poo, or how Sarah Palin would look better in Hustler than in the White House. And finally, no more letting the idiocy of life pass by unnoticed.

I'm back.

Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe.
--Albert Einstein

jbr

For appearance's sake

2010-10-15T10:00:00.000-05:00

Using the restroom in public is an inevitability. Unless you are one of the lucky ones to be born with out bowels and/or a bladder, or one of the lucky ones that has had the Publisher's Clearinghouse Prize Patrol visit you, thus eliminating the need for work, you will have to visit a public restroom at some point. For most of us, the majority of our public restroom experiences are at work. Because of this, there are some rules that a person should be guided by, if for nothing more than to keep up appearances.

The first rule when using the public restroom at work is to wash your hands. Nobody gives a shit if you don't wash your hands at home, or even at the mall, but when you are at work, you are touching things that could touch me and as such should make an effort to wash your weiner germs off your hands before exiting the restroom. Besides spreading your disgusting pube juice around the office, you know what else happens when you don't wash your hands at work? We talk about you. And by "we", of course, I mean me. Hell, even if you don't want to lather up with soap, at least turn on the water so we think you are doing the right thing and ridding your paws of your pee residue. And, don't give me the "I use hand sanitizer" shit either. I didn't see you use it, therefore you are still sporting the germs of last night's Taiwanese transvestite hooker on your finger tips. Oh, and if you are a big fat guy, it is even more important to wash your hands after whippin' out the pee stick. Why? Because you look greasy and gross already and that just adds to your overall nastiness.

The second rule that should be applied to work restroom experiences is also just as simple: FLUSH THE FUCKING TOILET! After you are done tucking Mr. Winky away, it takes absolutely zero effort to reach up and push that little metal bar and evacuate the urinal of your tinkle. Once again, when you don't, we talk about you. Furthermore, if you are an executive in a company and fail to flush to urine box, we lose a little (a lot) of respect for you. "Oh, I thought it was automatic." Spare me your deception and lies. You are either A. lazy, or B. don't want to get cock germs on your fingers. If it is option A, you should be provided with a catheter and bag. If it is option B, I have an easy solution: WASH YOUR HANDS!

The third rule for any public restroom outing is one I have mentioned before. Much like the two previous rules, this one is as equally as simple. When you are in the potty, do us all a favor and shut the hell up. When you talk to me, you make my stream cut off or my turtle crawl back in its shell. Then I have to spend another five minutes trying to get the hose goin' again or coaxing the turtle out with some dead crickets. So, do us all a favor and keep your eyes and words to yourself and save the stimulating convo about your daughter's first period for the hallway.

Rule number four for public restroom usage is closely related to number three as violating number four often leads to a violation of number three. If the restroom you are in is not full, meaning there are other open stalls/urinals, when picking a place to drop your deuce or spray your pee pee, pick a place that is not right next to me. For example, if there are five open stalls/urinals and I am using one, you needn't choose the one right next to me. This is wrong for many reasons. First, we are not girls and we do not need to socialize while engaging in such a bodily function. Second, I don't want to see your weiner and you don't need to see mine. Third, and this applied to stalls only, I'm not going to reach my hand under the stall and beat you off (I'm not Senator Larry Craig). Unless all the other stalls are in use, just move along little doggy and do your bidness in peace.

The fifth and final rule for public restroom usage is one that should especially be applied at work, but can also be applied to any public restroom scenario. When in a public restroom specifically to drop off the Cosbys, it is important to remain quiet during this experience. While we all may understand what it's like to have a rough go at it, grunting like a 15-year old Russian tennis player named Svetlana is not only unnecessary, it is down right nauseating. If you are having that much trouble pushing out that chocolate soft serve, might I recommend a high fiber diet or a colostomy bag. I think we would all rather hear Lamaze-style breathing instead of grunts of fecal desperation. Perhaps that is an option if the diet or bag aren't your thing. Oh, and another thing, I know that fart just felt good, but a sigh of relief is also not necessary.

We can all coexist on this subject matter if anyone and everyone would have the respect to follow the above rules when embarking upon a journey to the porcelain gods. Public restrooms are not your personal playground and it is bad enough that we have to smell last night's refried beans and tacos; please don't make it worse by violating the rules of etiquette outlined above. The sanity of tinklers and poopers everywhere depends on it.

Etiquette means behaving yourself a little better than is absolutely essential.
--Will Cuppy

jbr

The fact of the matter is...

2010-10-14T07:54:00.000-05:00

Okay, we all know I have liberal-leaning tendencies, so there is no real need to get into the details about that. However, as election season is upon us, and as we are inundated with TV and radio ads for political parties and individuals, I can't help but voice a little irritation with the right-leaning side of the fence. Ready? Let's go.

(Oh, and this guy right here is Roy Blunt and he is running for Senate in Missouri. Although I may find his last name to be bitchin', doesn't he look like a greasy snake-oil salesman? Or the Joker. His eyebrows are always like that. I can't tell if he's pissed or just really, really surprised.)

Guns
Look conservatives, including all your teabaggers out there, ain't nobody gunna take yer guns. At no time during the last fifty years has anyone ever come close to repealing the Second Amendment. Every election year ads show up on TV accusing the "liberals" of a burning desire to take all your guns and drop them at the bottom of the ocean. This is, for lack of a better word, complete bullshit. Admittedly, many liberals (myself included) desire to find a way to better control the way guns are distributed. If you've ever lived near a large urban area, you'll know why (sidebar: yes, I know guns don't kill people, people kill people. I get it. But, what do those people killing people have in their hands? Guns. So, really, the statement should be, "Guns don't kill people, people carrying guns kill people). Repealing the Second Amendment, or storming your house and taking all your precious boom sticks are not on the liberal agenda. But, because many conservatives fail to understand what the word "compromise" means, they will spin it that the crazy liberals want to steal your guns so the big bad government can take over. And, unfortunately, many people believe this.

Gays
You're not going to get rid of gays...period. It's not going to happen, so just stop trying. Even though this is not part of any political ad that I am aware of, the fact of the matter is most die-hard conservatives don't care for the gays (save for the Log Cabin Republicans, of course). Like it or not, they deserve the same rights as everyone else. Get over it and get used to it.

Taxes
This is a big one. I am personally all for saving a little out of my paycheck. I mean, really, aren't we all? Who doesn't want a little extra coin? If you listen to conservatives, you would think that they could make sure you have a lot more coin in your pocket by "cutting taxes." Let's be honest, though, who are they really cutting taxes for? Me? You? Probably not. And what exactly happens when they cut taxes? Where does the government get the money from? Selling crack? Hookin'? The illegal slave trade? Has our society become so individualistic that people feel they don't have to chip in for the collective good of the nation? I am horrible at math and I am not going to pretend that I understand the tax system. However, even the most basic intelligence would ask the same questions I would if he or she stopped for one second to think about the notion of "lower taxes." Your taxes pay for roads, schools, hospitals, the wars you love to fight and basically any situation where the government as to provide federal assistance (9/11, Katrina, etc. etc.). I wonder if anyone ever takes a moment to ponder that. What would happen if a massive earthquake struck in this country and the government didn't have any money to help with the efforts? Would we borrow money from China? Would we just rope off the area and let everyone die? Think about that.

Abortion
It will never be made illegal. Give it up. Accept it as one of those moral decisions that the majority of the country is not okay with you making for them and focus your efforts elsewhere.

Freedom
Yeah, nobody is coming to take our freedom. The country is not going to turn to socialism, nor is the government going to control every facet of our lives. Before you go preaching about how the liberal agenda is going to destroy our American liberties, perhaps we should discuss all the liberties that you would like to control (drugs, abortion, religion, the Patriot Act).

******************

Unfortunately, the majority of Americans are ignorant and have very little understanding about, well, basically everything. They are easily swayed by fear and paranoia (from both sides, though more from the right than the left) and they want "change", but when someone attempts to bring "change," they fight it tooth and nail. They only see what is being fed to them and have little desire to seek out the truth and make a decision based on facts. Instead, they make a decision based on what someone else is telling them with little regard for the whole story.

We, as a nation, have made this mess ourselves. You can pick a side and point the finger at the other side and hope something gets done. Or, and here's a novel concept, you can arm yourself with knowledge and help make decisions that will actually improve the American way of life. Our nation's ignorance has led us down this path of uncertainty. Our politicians' tendencies to focus on "hot button" issues while ignoring the real issues of this country in order to garner votes does nothing to bring forth any real social or political change in this country. Want real change? Provide a solution to the problems. Work together as Americans to make this country stronger. Put aside ignorant political ideologies and develop personal bonds that will help to stoke the flames of change.

Be the change you want to see in the world.
--Mahatma Gandhi

jbr

What not to wear

2010-08-16T12:18:00.001-05:00

First, my apologies for the picture that you see to the left. As gruesome as it is, I felt it necessary to post this picture with this post for illustrative purposes. I can complain about the fashion choices of others until the cows come home (moo), but unless you actually see what is now burned into my skull, my words are empty and hollow…like the Tin Man’s penis. I digress…

Before we get to dissect the aforementioned picture, let me first give you the set-up. I took this photo at an outdoor concert in Council Bluffs, IA. It was, as one can imagine for August, a bit warm, though it was not as sweltering has it has been around these (Midwest) parts over the last couple of weeks. Because the temperature was above 80-degrees, much of the whiskey tango present at this show decided it would be a good idea to wear as little clothing as possible, regardless of what one looks like in said clothing (or lack thereof). Furthermore, the heat apparently clouded the judgment of many a person at the show, and thus we are discussing the nauseating fashion choices of those that attended this event.

I call the photo to the left, “Baking the Bread.” In this photographic masterpiece, I ask you to notice a couple of things. First, the obvious loaf of bread wrapped around this poor soul’s waist. Now, before you crucify me here, let me add one thing. I know that nobody is perfect and I by no means believe every person on the planet is built like a super model. However, with that being said, if your body is in a condition that is questionable at best, it is my opinion that you should leave the shirt on…more on that in a minute. Back on point we go…

The next think I would ask you to notice about this photo is her shorts. These shorts, which look to be an abomination of anything decent, appear to have given up on attempting to contain the loaf of bread spilling forth from this gal’s gut. Not only are the shorts unbuttoned, presumably because the button flew off and killed a small child, but they are folded down. Not discretely folded down either. Oh no. Full blown, laundry-style folding. Classy is the word that comes to mind when I see these shorts.

The last thing I’d like you to notice about “Baking the Bread” is the tattoo, just below what I assume are boobs. It looks like it is some sort of writing, and while I do not know what it says, my guess is that it is the recipe to the loaf of bread we will all be enjoying here shortly. DING! Bread’s ready!

As I just mentioned, I know we are not perfect. We all have our physical flaws and some of us are just a bit more conscious about covering up said flaws. With that in mind, I just have one question for the bread lady: who the holy fuck told you it was a good idea to leave the house wearing that outfit? I know it’s summer. I know it’s hot. I get that. But, really, come the fuck on. There is nothing about that outfit that screams sexy. The only thing I see when I look at that picture, besides a loaf of bread, is vomit—in my future and all over my keyboard. What makes this even worse is that this young lady was with a guy (not pictured) who was, based on their, um, behavior, apparently her love interest in some way. How did this guy keep his mouth shut and enable this chick?

If I were with someone and they wanted to bust out that particular brand of whiskey tango at a concert, let me tell you how that conversation would go:

Girl: How does this look?

Me: Are you fucking kidding? Where’s my butter?

Girl: *cry*

Me: Here is some tissue. And a hoodie. And a mirror for next time.

Guys, sometimes you have to speak up and tell your chick that if she wears that out in public, otherwise people like me are going to have a field day making fun of her. Sure, I might burn in hell for doing so, but I’ll be laughing all the way there. And girls, the same thing applies to you too. If your guy looks like Jabba the Hutt, do us all a favor and tell him to put his shirt on. Or a poncho. Or something to cover up sweaty bacon back.

Outdoor events always bring out the worst in people. Although I may be utterly disgusted by this, I can’t help but be thankful because, well, it gives me something to muse about.

Oh I feel so delightfully white trash. Mommy, I want a mullet.

--Stewie Griffin

jbr

I now prounounce you...

2010-08-05T09:03:00.001-05:00

Gay "marriage" is a hot topic these days and has been for quite some time. Recently, a judge in California overturned a resolution by the voters that banned gay "marriage." While it is certainly not the end of the fight, it is definitely an interesting development in a long and contentious battle between the two sides.

As you all know, I am a liberal and, frankly, I make no bones about it. However, as many of you may also know, I was raised as a conservative and spent a great deal of my life clinging to conservative values that I thought were "right." With those facts in mind (especially the "liberal" part), I have to state my opinion on gay "marriage."

Many of us, regardless of political affiliation or ideology, have no problem with two people getting together and giving a long-term commitment to one another, regardless of their genders. What seems to ruffle everyone's feathers, however, is use of the word "marriage" when it comes to the ceremonious (and legal) union of two people of the same gender. It would appear to me, through the art of keen observation, that the word "marriage" is the thorny issue that gets dug into everyone's side. You don't see people getting up in arms about states allowing same-sex couples to qualify for benefits or other perks that married people are privy to. It is only when the word "marriage" is introduced that conservatives (mainly) get on their soapboxes and begin to preach about blah blah blah.

In an effort to put this issue to bed once and for all and let everyone move on with their lives, let's examine the word marriage. According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, "marriage" is defined as, "the state of being united to a person of the opposite sex as husband or wife in a consensual and contractual relationship recognized by law." This word has been around since the 14th century and has had, one would assume, the exact same meaning through the duration of its existence, until recently of course. Going with the original definition, we see that "marriage" is, simply put, a ceremony between members of the opposite sex. Sounds easy enough, right? People tend to go off the pure definition of things and when someone tries to change that definition in order to match their view of the subject, it has a tendency to alienate others. Not to mention the fact that most religions out there don't support gay "marriage", which in turn taints the religious aspect of a wedding in some regard. Understanding this fact, and before your panties in a bunch thinking I'm going to rail against why gays should be allowed to walk down the path of divorce like everyone else, I have a simple solution for the issue: don't use the term "gay marriage."

I know, that sounds totally crazy, right? Well, I personally don't think it is too crazy. As we discussed previously, the human species tends to get a bit lazy when it comes to linguistics and/or coining new phrases (unless are for the Internet, LOL ROFL LMAO). Much like turkey bacon is not really bacon, gay marriage isn't really marriage in the truest sense of the word. Therefore, it only stands to reason that, like turkey bacon, perhaps we should call gay marriage something else.

I know what you (gay) guys are thinking, "Civil union is just so b-o-r-i-n-g." I couldn't agree more, my fashionista friends. That is why I propose we change the term "gay marriage" to "rainbowfication." It combines "rainbows," which us straight people know you like, and "unification" which is legally what you are doing. Additionally, not only do you get a cool new word and ceremony that is all your own, it may actually find put to rest the constant bickering over stupid laws that, given the need for equality, should just be common sense.

If two people want to commit to spending their lives with one another, far be it from me to argue with it, even if that lifestyle isn't for me. I have no moral opinions on the issue and I say if it makes people happy, let them do it. What I do take exception to, however, is using the word "marriage" to describe something that really isn't a marriage at all, but rather a legally binding commitment ceremony. Let straight people have their "marriage" and gay people have their "rainbowfication." Many gays pride themselves on being unique and outside the fold of mainstream society. By having their own ceremony, one that cannot be copied by the straighties, they are further cementing themselves as a unique part of our society. Finally, this means that straight folks can stop pitching a God-awful fit every time something like this comes up on the ballot and we can hopefully move on with breaking down more important barriers between hetero and homosexuals.

In reality, I know this will never happen. The gay rights movement will still insist on calling it marriage and the conservative movement will still insist on fighting this tooth and nail. This will, as a consequence, continue to eat up our tax dollars and dig an even deeper divide between the two parties. I guess this is just the way we do things in America.

Whenever the people are for gay marriage or medical marijuana or assisted suicide, suddenly the "will of the people" goes out the window.

--Bill Maher

jbr

Shortie swing my way

2010-07-02T07:56:00.002-05:00

Anyone that knows me knows that I am a huge fan of sports. Well, most sports. I think soccer is stupid and boring, and hockey will be forever dead to me due to Sarah's constantly labeling herself as a "hockey mom." Tennis, golf, baseball, football, basketball (not the NBA)...I will watch all of the above and not only enjoy doing so, but actually understand what is going on.

Given my love for sports, it only stands to reason that I be on the look out for the next big thing (except UFC...now that shit is REALLY stupid). Now, also bear in mind that I am not much of an inventor, so when an idea comes to me that I feel is marketable, well, I run with it.

I got to thinking the other day, while being subjected to soccer on my beloved ESPN, "What would make this sport more entertaining?" Then, taking it a step further, "What would make sports more enjoyable, period?" After mulling this over for a spell over a couple of beers and a jay, the little light bulb above my head went off. You know what would make soccer, and indeed all sports, better? Midgets.

That's right. Midgets. Not little people, or the vertically challenged. Good ol' fashioned, creepy looking, sausagey midgets. Picture it. Hundreds, if not thousands, of midgets running around each day playing the sports we love. How much more fun would soccer be if you saw these little bundles of joy trucking around the field trying to kick a ball that is bigger than their heads? Or, even better, seeing a bunch of big-headed kielbasas packed into pads and helmets and beating the ever-loving shit out of one another for a ball, once again, that is probably bigger than most parts of their bodies (speaking of the helmets, I bet you would have to get custom jobs for those freaky shaped heads they have).

I think, with this idea, there is even room for the invention of some new sports, or at a minimum, bringing back some of the classics. One such sport that could be brought back from the dead is jousting. I know what you're thinking, "aren't the horses too big?" You would be right, my friend. That is why I have come up with a solution for that problem. Instead of riding full-sized ponies, our midget jousters could instead ride those freaky little miniature horses. You know the ones I'm talking about. Small, retarded looking, basically just an anomaly of nature. What better way than to engage in a jousting match than having two of God's funniest creations pair up together. That is what I call some serious entertainment.

This is really just the tip of the iceberg. The possibilities for entertainment are limitless, provided that we can find a slew of midgets willing to abuse their bodies for our entertainment. However, I don't think that should be too hard. If there are midgets out there willing to do porn and get impaled by a wiener that is the size of her (or his) torso, there should be midgets willing to saddle up and poke another midget off a (miniature) horse.

Let the games begin!

If you hit a midget over the head with a stick, he turns into 40 gold coins.
--Patton Oswalt

jbr

It's almost over

2010-05-27T08:44:00.002-05:00

The month of May that is.

I needed to get something in here before the month was up, even if it was for nothing more than my own self-indulgence. As seems to be the case lately, I don't really have much to say, so I'll keep it brief.

This weekend two months of planning will be coming to fruition. I love parties. More specifically, I love throwing parties. And even more specifically, I love throwing parties for myself. Yours truly is entering mid-30s territory. Goodbye early 30s, hello gray hair. Speaking of gray hair, why is it so unmanageable? I don't get it. It's normal hair, but yet it flies around mercilessly. Whatever.

Anyway, short and sweet. I told you I didn't have anything of a substantial nature to say, and I wasn't lying. But hey, at least I didn't miss the month of May. That rhymes.

A balloon tied to the mailbox is the international symbol for PARTY OVER HERE!
--Cleveland Brown

jbr

Because I want to

2010-04-15T20:30:00.005-05:00

It seems that everyone is a fan of the blog these days. Not "the" blog as in my blog, but rather, of composing one's thoughts in a manner that is shareable with the rest of the world. And really, why not? It is a self-gratifying activity and allows a person to easily hide behind the act of sharing when it is really just an act of egotism. I, of course, lump myself into this, and any of you that may know me know that I have quite a large ego, despite the fact that I have short legs and crow's feet.

What I have also realized is that the blogs of the majority of people I know are kinda sappy (no offense family and friends). Sure, a lot of them are about family life and avoid many of the topics that yours truly likes to broach (Sarah Palin, monkeys, and vagina, to name just a few). So that got me to thinking, why is my blog seemingly so jaded, occasionally vile, and routinely sarcastic, when everyone else seems to be so reflective and nauseating happy? The answer to me was simple...

Because I want to.

Happiness, to me, is a boring proposition. Nobody gives a shit if I like someone, or like something (other than bacon, of course). No, to me, the most exciting things in life are the ones that make people cringe just a bit, or make them talk about you behind your back. To me, that's how you know you are really making an impact on someone and digging your spurs deep into their ribs. Knowing this, one must then wonder, why are other people afraid to walk the scandalous line? And once again, the answer to me is simple...

Because they are scared.

Scared? Yep. Scared. Scared to discuss the issues. Scared that other people will think ill of them. Scared to dig deep down into the pits of their souls and expose a little bit of themselves that others might find different. Fear can lead to a lot of things, or in this case, prevent a lot of things. Fear leads to assimilation and to walking the straightest line possible. There isn't necessarily anything wrong with that, but...

I believe you have to take chances in life. Much like we are expected to adapt throughout the course of our existences (children, losing hair, breaking a hip), we are expected to take chances in order to keep moving forward through the jungle (unless you carry around a machete). That aside, some people just aren't born to take chances and, ultimately, I guess that is okay. That is their existence and it would be wrong of me to be too judgmental (beyond the compulsion to quickly muse about it). They can continue to coat the world with sugar while I will continue to scrape it off and take a bite out of the lemon.

I guess that's just my existence.

You have to risk going too far to discover just how far you can really go.
--T.S. Eliot

jbr

A meat by any other name

2010-04-13T07:35:00.017-05:00

It is no secret that I love bacon...really, really love bacon (as illustrated, here: http://www.thelongstar.com/2009/04/its-never-too-early.htm). I saw Stir of Echoes and Hollow Man just because Kevin Bacon was in it; that's how much I love bacon. It's salty, and greasy, and low-fat, and delicious. It's good on a sandwich, or on a burger, or in ice cream, or in a vagina. To me, bacon is the perfect, on-the-go snack if you have about 20 minutes to cook it up and package it correctly so it doesn't leave your pockets looking like you just finished an oil wrestling match. Hell, even if you have grease stains on your pants, who cares? It's bacon for Christ's sake (by the way, seriously, how effing rad is that picture above?)

Bacon is not only delicious, it is made of pig. And pigs, as we all know, are fucking awesome. They are cute as babies and tasty as adults and, of course, they make terrifyingly cool sounds that make your ears ring and your stomach growl. My love for bacon aside, I have to take exception to a phenomenon that attempts to minimize the role of traditional bacon in the American culture. I'm talking about turkey bacon.

Turkey bacon. Let that rattle around in your skull for a moment. Turkey. Bacon. Sounds like something is wrong, doesn't it? If you think something is wrong with "turkey bacon," you would be right. Gold stars for everyone. The words "turkey" and "bacon" do not belong in the same sentence, unless of course you are referring to a turkey club with bacon, or perhaps a turkey leg wrapped in bacon and deep fried to orgasmic perfection.

Turkey bacon is a fraud, plain and simple. According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, bacon is defined as, "the side of a pig cured and smoked." See that turkey? A PIG! Nowhere in this definition does it say anything about a turkey. Or a cow. Or a bunch of vegetables mixed together and presented as some viable alternative to the almighty, meat, greasy bacon (take that, vegetarians!). Bacon is pig and pig is bacon. Turkey does not equal bacon and bacon does not equal turkey. Got it?

Look, I have no problem with providing an alternative to bacon. Most great things in life are imitated, and I understand the health-conscious' desire to try and find something to be happy about while they are starving themselves of the finer things in life. I get it. It's admirable. It's foolish, but admirable nonetheless. What I take exception with is the fact that people are trying to reinvent the greatest meat known to man. There is no real substitute for bacon. There is no competition. There is no equal. Period. So, stop trying to flood the market with your lies.

I don't care what you call it, to be quite honest, so long as you stop calling it bacon. Maybe just call it greasy turkey fat. Or maybe you can call it like tacon, or tucon, or something like that. Whatever you want to call it, stop trying to fool everyone into believing that what you're peddling is even a tiny bit as tasty as the side of a pig cured and smoked.

Porkchops and bacon, my two favorite animals.
--Homer Simpson

jbr

AMENDMENT: MSNBC must have been reading my mind. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/36441336/ns/health-diet_and_nutrition/

Thug life

2010-04-12T20:02:00.002-05:00

Now, before we get started, let me first admit that I am a bit detached from the, shall we say, hip hop scene. Sure, I like Outkast and Jay-Z as much as the next 5'8" white guy from the suburbs, but I am definitely not plugged into the whole slangin' yayo lifestyle. I mean, I tried coke once, but it was with other white people and we were in Mexico and I was already drunk, but that's besides the point.

Bearing in mind that I am not part of the chocolate (or caramel) underground, please take my confusion with a grain of salt (or coke...whatever). What I am confused about is quite simple. If you are a criminal, and you know you're a criminal, AND, you get mad whenever you get arrested, AND, the whole being-a-criminal thing hinges squarely on you NOT going to the clink, then why must you dress, drive, and behave like a criminal in public? Even if you aren't a criminal, why must you dress, drive, and behave like a criminal in public?

Take driving for instance. Not a day goes by where I am behind, beside, or in front of a vehicle that seems to have a phantom driver. I mean, it's not bad enough that the vehicles pretty much all look the same. You know...the 1992 Ford Festiva with a spoiler and rims that probably cost more than a semester at Harvard. No. In addition to driving a vehicle that looks like someone saw Fast and Furious 1,456 times, we have a driver that appears to be absent from the front seat. Oh, but where could he be? Wait. I see him. He's leaning so far back that I think he might actually be driving from the trunk. And why lean to the side? Is this in case you have to do a tuck and roll when you car speeds unexpectedly and uncontrollably towards Dead Man's Curve and the cliff at the top of the ravine?

How about the license plate cover? You know the one I'm talking about. The tinted one. The one that says one of two things. It either says, "I don't want my license plate to get sunburned," or it says, "I bet the cops won't be able to read my license plate at night." Well, chief, I have news for you. First, license plates are made of a material we call metal and they are not subjected to the perils of the sun. Second, we can all read your license plate. In fact, not only can we read it, we also make fun of you (like now) because you think you're so clever. And you know what that says to the fuzz? Pull me over, because, well, I have something illegal in my vehicle. I wonder if that constitutes, "probable cause."

Personally, if I were a thug, and chose to engage in a profession that relied on performing tasks that may be viewed as less-than-legal, I would want to hide it a little better. You know. Drive a normal car, sans tinted license plate cover. Or walk, sans limp. Or wear clothing that, you know, fits (unless you were really chubs before, because then I understand not wanting to be a whole new wardrobe, just in case you gain it all back after you tear up a gallon of mint chocolate chip). I think it is just common sense to give the appearance of a law-abiding citizen, even if your day job consists of street corners, Ziplock bags, and the occasional dismantling of a wheel wheel.

I guess it is this lack of common sense that lands 'em in jail in the first place. Or in the ground. Or both. Maybe this needs to be added to school curriculum in the future.

It's a hard knock life, for us.
--Jay-Z

jbr

Did I miss it?

2010-03-06T14:24:00.002-06:00

Apparently, I missed the entire month of February when it comes to this here blog. Is it possible that I have completely run out of things to say? Not likely.

It's been a long winter. So long, in fact, that I think my brain was frozen into a big block of ice that only one thing can thaw out. What, you may ask, will thaw my brain out? Great question and I like where your head is at. Midgets in bikinis. That's right. Midgets in bikinis. Sound interesting, right? It is and here's why...

Just kidding. Midgets in bikinis would not thaw my brain out, but it might induce vomiting. And, since we all know I am not a big fan of barfing under any circumstances (and I mean any), I should probably avoid viewing any type of midget in any type of bikini, or rather, any type of bathing suit whatsoever. Yes, even a one piece with ruffles might cause me to puke all over my keyboard. This is a new computer so that wouldn't work.

Short and sweet for a Saturday afternoon. Maybe now that spring is right around the corner I can start to come up with better ideas for posts and deliver some of the entertaining goodies that you, the masses, had become accustomed to.

We represent the Lollipop guild.
--A bunch of costumed midgets

jbr

The Corner

2010-01-28T07:46:00.002-06:00

Hey homeless guy on the corner! Hey! Yeah you! I couldn't help but notice you standing on the corner every morning when I drive into work and thought I'd say hi. How are you doing? That's a rhetorical question, really. You're standing on the corner in the bitter cold, so I'll assume you aren't doing very well. Pretty cold, isn't it? Yeah, I know, it sucks, but when Old Man Winter comes, you can't really do anything about that. I've heard it's cold around these parts this time of the year. Every year. I notice you're dressed for the occasion, so that's good.

So, Mr. Homeless Guy, what are you doing on the corner every morning? Looking for a little change to help fund that next bottle of Boone's? That's cool. You see Mr. Homeless Guy, I appreciate your plight, but I am a bit concerned about your methods. Oh, I know the homeless like the street corner at busy intersections; I mean, I am from Austin after all, so that's not what I'm really concerned about. After all, everyone has to earn a little cheese, right? No, what I am concerned about is where you're standing with your sign and look of complete defeat.

Mr. Homeless Guy, I just wanted to tell you that, while standing on the corner is a good strategy, it's probably best if you stand at an intersection where the cars, you know, stop. Standing on the corner at an intersection with no light or stop sign make it very difficult for me and my fellow drivers to throw you a little money, not to mention that it is difficult to read your sign, in the dark, going 45 mph. And even if we did throw money out our windows at that speed, it will most likely cause you physical harm, which could then land us in the slammer.

But wait, perhaps that's what you want. Perhaps you are waiting for a driver to chuck a dime out his window and hit you, only for you to sue to the driver for several cases of Boone's. Is that what you're doing? You sneaky bastard! Why didn't you just tell me. That seems like a pretty good plan to me. Maybe I'll join you sometime and see if we can both bathe in the generosity of that BMW driver's insurance policy.

Seriously though, Mr. Homeless Guy, I suggest you move to a corner at an intersection with stoplights. I know, I know, that crazy Vietnam Vet from Sacramento is working the busy intersection. But, I think you might be able to talk him into working with you, especially if you pretend to be Col. Newman from the 52nd Airborne. Maybe you could each take shifts. Since you seem to be so fond of the predawn hours, it only makes sense that you take the 5 a.m.-1 p.m. shift and he can take the 1 p.m.-8 p.m. shift. I know he has the more premium shift, what with having some daylight and warmth from the sun, but maybe after a bit of hard work, or when he dies of cirrhosis of the liver, you can take over that shift and bring on someone to fill the early morning shift.

See, Mr. Homeless Guy, it's all about establishing goals in life. So, get out there and be the best you can be!

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
--Lord Byron

jbr

Yours truly in the news.

2010-01-22T12:56:00.003-06:00

Check out yours truly on the local news. Pretty cool if you ask me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L2qnu-E6XDU

You've been Roadhoused!

Nobody puts baby in the corner.
--Johnny

jbr

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

2010-01-13T07:44:00.002-06:00

I am going to try to walk the fine line of not sounding like a complete bigot here, but what is it with "minorities" and "respect?" Why is the act of perceived disrespect always the excuse for killing someone, hurting someone, or...acting like a complete fucking nut job, as illustrated by this video and article: http://www.kmbc.com/news/22219932/detail.html.

Seriously. This wacko thought it was acceptable to trash a McDonald's because she felt disrespected? Oh, okay. That makes it all better. Let's just drop the charges and throw her a fucking parade for standing up for disrespected people everywhere.

Look dildo, you just set your people (yes, I said it) back like 100 years with that behavior. Not only do you like like a complete and utter idiot on the video, but you back that up in your interview. Black people get a bad enough rap for shit like this anyway; you're just making it worse. Maybe Al Sharpton needs to step in and slap you silly. Seriously though, I think you need to be a little less worried about the perception of respect and a little more worried about that hairdo. Really. Purple? Are you a Minnesota Viking? Barney? Grimace?

Truth of the matter is, these people work at McDonald's. Let me say it again. These. People. Work. At. McDonald's. You say you worked at McDonald's, and while I am not surprised, you of all people should understand that the gene pool floor is routinely scraped in order to fill vacant slots. Think back to the days when you were scraped off the gene pool floor and given a chance to do something better with yourself. Learn the values of flipping burgers and adding too much salt to fries. Those are invaluable life lessons. Are you so far removed from your time there that you have forgotten that they aren't disrespecting you, but rather are just trying to give you something that they spit on since you were quite obviously being a complete twat right out of the gates.

Also, I have news for you sista, you need to get that "customer is always right" shit out of your head right now. The customer is never right. Ever. Period. The customer is catered to for fear of retribution, but the customer is never right. About anything. At any time. At any place. Your life will be much more pleasant, retail establishments will be much safer, and your rap sheet will be much smaller if you just realize this, embrace it, and move on with your violent, albeit comical, existence.

I think out of principle the DA should refuse to plea bargain for this dimwit so she is stuck working at McDonald's the rest of her life.

Treat others as you want them to treat you because what goes around comes around.
--Unknown

jbr

Something

2010-01-12T14:38:00.003-06:00

Happy belated New Year to you all. Not that I really care to be perfectly honest. Because, well, if i really cared, I would've said something sooner.

You may be wondering what has happened to me. Okay, probably not, but I'm going to tell you anyway. Nothing has happened to me. My absence has been nothing more than a lack of anything good to write about. Even as I write this, I'm wondering where this is going. Probably nowhere, but hey, at least I'm posting something.

I'm finally glad that everyone is done bitching about 2009. Seriously. Get over it already. Yes, we know it sucked. But the way I look at it is if you lived to see 2010, hey, 2009 wasn't that bad after all. Unless you got chlamydia from a Taiwanese hooker; that would ruin anyone's year.

Another reason for my absence has not only been the lack ideas, but also the fact that school writing has completely and utterly sucked the joy out of something I dig so much. It's hard to be witty and funny when I'm writing one or two papers a week about subjects that I could give two (not one) flying fucks about. You might ask, why am I still going then? Simple: Commitment. I set forth to do something and I aim to complete it. Otherwise, if I don't finish it, I would just hate myself. Plus, I would have to start paying back my student loans again. No thanks. I mean, I'll never get them paid off anyway, but I really don't want to start paying on them in 2010.

Dear offspring,

Here's some debt.

Yours truly,

Dad

This is very stream-of-consciousness, don't ya think? Yeah, neither do I. It's really just a bunch of self-fulfilling, egotistical, literary bullshit. It's okay. I can call a spade a spade. I wish spades weren't black, but because they are, that statement could be deemed as racist. Try saying that to a black person and see what happens. Report back when you do.

I guess that's it friends. Until next time...

It's always gonna be sour grapes with you boy, until you get a ride with Jesus.
--Puscifer

jbr

Oh, and P.S.--GO COWBOYS!

Cut Out

2009-12-07T07:50:00.003-06:00

Happy Monday to everyone. Yes, I am still on the non-smoking wagon, and while I do not fully enjoy the experience, I am doing much better than I was previously and feel I will fully turn the corner here shortly. Thank you for asking. Or not asking. Whatever. Shut up I'm trying to talk here.

As I arrived at work on Monday morning and caught up with things that may have happened over the weekend, I had a bit of a thought that I'd like to share with you. It seems that a lot of people work over the weekends and/or well into the evening during the week. And not just people who are doomed to work weekends and have days off during the week. No, I am referring to the people that, more often than not, work 70, 80, 90 hours a week. I'm sure you all know the kind, and certainly there is nothing wrong with it per se (strong work ethic, etc.), but it occurred to me that perhaps I am not cut from the same cloth as these folks; that perhaps I have learned to see the value of life beyond that of work.

Does it make me lazy or a bad employee if I take issue with working until 8 p.m. at night, or if I take issue working over the entire weekend? I don't think it does, though some people may argue that it does, or that it makes me less driven. But, before you get so judgmental, hear me out.

I am, and always have been, a firm believer in working smart; of making the most of the 40 hour weeks so that I can enjoy myself on the days that I have off, regardless of what day that might be. Of course, I understand that there will be times that I am "required" for one reason or another to put in extra time. I get that. It's the "I like my job and wish to keep it" sort of thing. However, when a person routinely, and without second thought, forsakes sleep, and family, and friends, and pleasure in non-work life, I have to shake my head in confusion. I guess I just don't get it. (Let me take a step back here, parenthetically of course, and qualify this a bit more. There are some jobs that are naturally prone to long days and long weeks. Doctors, police officers, firefighters, nurses, the president--all of these folks make a real difference in life and thus work harder to make that difference.)

My life personal life has never been so rough and tumble that I would rather be at work than at home, so perhaps I don't understand where these folks are coming from. Or, perhaps I do not understand the draw of power and money. Whatever it is, I guess I'm just not cut out to give up my personal life in favor of pleasing other people, people I probably don't really like anyway, or in favor of moving up the ladder just so I can work more, work harder, and die younger. (Another sidebar here, and I don't know about you, but I don't want my "escape" to be to work. I'd rather my "escape" have to do with something that brings a smile to my face, not one that gives me wrinkles and indigestion.)

What good is life if you can't take a step back and routinely enjoy it? What good is life without the three day weekend, or the beer on the deck, or the joint at a concert? What good is life if you can't watch your kids grow up, or watch your dogs wrestle, or laugh mercilessly at Rick Astley parodies by yours truly. I would charge that life is no good without any of the above (and any other little pleasantries you can think of). Life would become that of a robot--predictable, repetitive, lonely, and in many cases, melancholy.

Maybe it is just the stoner in me. Maybe my view of my personal and professional life is too fanciful, too aloof. Maybe. But then again, maybe I don't care. Maybe I believe that work is meant to be skipped from time to time. Maybe I believe work should be left at work (I mean, if you're supposed to check your personal business at the door, it should go both ways). Maybe I believe that sunrises and sunsets are best spent with people you like, not people you wish would die an awful death. Maybe I believe that this, this life, is the only one we have and I'll be damned if I'm going to let a paycheck define how I live it.

Can I get an amen?

Work is the refuge of people who have nothing better to do.
--Oscar Wilde

jbr

Remember this time

2009-12-04T11:41:00.003-06:00

It's quite apparent that I did not learn my lessons from four years go. Or, at least, I don't remember such lessons. How quickly one forgets what one subjects oneself to, and how quickly we are reminded when we hop back on a path that will lead to the same place.

Four days ago, I began my adventure to quit smoking. Minus my seven month hiatus in 2005, I have been a smoker (and I mean smoker, not this, "I just smoke when I drink" shit...a real Joe Camel) for about 18 years. I have been smoking as long as a person generally waits to vote. I have been smoking, technically speaking, for an entire generation. So, this past Tuesday, for a litany of reasons, I decided to give it up. And give it up I have.

Now, mind you, I'm not quitting cold turkey. I have my nicotine gum, my fancy toothpicks, my bud, and most of all, my Wellbutrin. For those of you not in the know, Wellbutrin is a mild antidepressant that helps to take the edge off your homicidal feelings towards your fellow man (or cats, or dogs, or pigs, whom/whatever gets in your way). It has some less-than-desirable side effects though, like my sweaty palms, and this dull throb in my skull and shitty taste in my mouth. But, hey, other than that, it's just fucking peachy.

All of these aides (aids? whatever. shut up.) aside, I am still not in the best of moods. Okay, that's putting it mildly. All of these aides (aids? whatever. shut up.) aside, I still want to rip off someone's head, poke out his (or her) eyes, and use her(or his) skull at a bowling alley. Then of course I think to myself, "why would I want to go to a smokey bowling alley," and I get mad all over again. This murderous feeling has lead me to this, the need, the idea to write down how I feel (dear diary).

Just in case I ever decide to torture myself again, let this serve as a reminder to how quitting smoking makes me feel:

Anxious-Like, I can't sit still. Ever. I find myself just standing at home just for the sake of standing. It's creepy. And my dogs don't like it. And my legs get tired. And then I just get pissed. And then I just want to smoke.
Angry-At you, at me, at the old man trying to cross the street on his Segway. At...EVERYONE.
Moody-It's not the same as angry, though anger is certainly one of the moods. My mood swings have been so extreme that you would think I'm a monkey.
Insomnia-This one I don't remember. But, no need to forget it this time. I haven't had a solid night's sleep all week. And thanks to Wellbutrin, any sleep I do get is racked with fucked up dreams that I can't remember because I'm a stoner.
Lethargic-Which is weird, because, well, I'm anxious, but yet I don't really want to do anything. Except beat someone up. And since I'm not very big, this is probably not a good idea. Though I am quick. Like a lemur.
Hungry-For what you might ask? Anything (except seafood...I still don't like seafood so stop fucking asking me if, and then why, I don't like it). Everything (see previous comment). If I can digest it, I want to eat it (see the comment one more time). But then, after I eat, what do I want to do? Smoke.
Tense-One takes the relaxing quality of a cigarette for granted. Until one quits. Then one remembers. And then one's shoulders become a giant knot of muscles. Which, of course, makes me want to smoke.
Hacky-This is actually probably pretty good. My lungs have been hacking up some shit from God knows how long ago. I think I saw a piece of the Titanic in one of my loogies. I'll take a picture next time.
Sad-I miss you Camel. But I hate you. Leave me the eff alone.

I know this probably isn't the funniest post, but I really don't give a shit what you think about it. So if it's not funny, suck my balls and keep it to yourself. If it is funny, suck my balls and keep it to yourself. Please.

At least I haven't forgotten my manners.

It's easy to quit smoking. I've done it hundreds of times.
--Mark Twain

jbr

Archaeological Find

2009-11-23T20:10:00.007-06:00

It has been quite some time since I have had a stroke of creative genius. My brain, for lack of a better explanation, has been on hiatus (or rather, consumed with other things). However, the other day I had a bit of a creative epiphany, and after a couple of days of crock-potting my ideas, I think it is finally ready for consumption.

Several days back I was at lunch with a friend of mine. We stopped at a light downtown and I decided to dispose of my ABC gum. I threw the gum out the window, right onto the sidewalk, as is customary. I remarked to my friend that I enjoy throwing my gum where other people might step on it so that I may transport my DNA across the globe. My thought is that millions of years from now, perhaps some future species will find my DNA somewhere far, far away.

That little joke got me to thinking about another joke. Okay, people...you ready? Follow.

**********************************************************

Five million years from now, the Earth is a barren wasteland; a shell of its former self. Long gone is man. Long gone are millions upon millions of species that once inhabited the Earth. The planet had become nothing more than a temporary way station for travelers, its history's secrets buried deep in the layers of sediment covering the once bustling landscape.

A team of other-wordly scientists had taken samples of the planet's previous species and worked carefully to extract the DNA of what was believed to be the human race. Little did they know that the DNA they extracted was special.

Several months after the extraction, the first cloning operation commenced. Initially the human male cloned proved to be unremarkable. Average height; average looks; average IQ. As the clone grew at an accelerated rate, it became apparent that the clone was above average in one area.

One of the scientists had a vision. A vision so grandiose, so outlandish, that it was brilliant. With the success of the first clone, he went forth with additional clones. Batch after batch of clones was produced, each one as special as the next. Quickly his plan came to fruition; he quickly realized his dream: A master race of porn stars.

Coming Summer 2010. From the director of V for Vagina and The Devil Wears Panties, comes a tale of science, space travel, and rock hard cock.

Sam Feel
Jeff Goldbum
Laura Dong
And Samuel L. Whackson

In

Jurassic Pork

An adventure 65 million cocks in the making.

********************************************************************

As always, thanks for indulging me.

Hold onto your butts.
--Ray Arnold

jbr

If this ever happens to me

2009-11-04T19:54:00.002-06:00

Dear Family and Friends,

Death is not a pleasant thing to discuss. However, after revisiting an old story, I decided it would be best to lay the appropriate foundation, should I ever kick the bucket. Now, I know what you're thinking--how could I tell my family what to do with me in the event of my death through my blog? Well, I'm not exactly going to discuss that, but something quite similiar.

Family, if I am ever mauled by a chimpanzee, and have my lips and eyelids and nose and hands ripped off by a primate, just let me die. Never mind the fact that I would then have to live with those injuries, but considering how much I love monkeys (and their cousins), and how much I love to fantasize about being a monkey, flinging poop at my enemies (and friends), it would be a shame to live the rest of my life fearing them. Let us call this a DNR, except the DNR only really applies to some sort of primate attack.

Oh, and something else you can do for me. If I am ever attacked by a chimp or some other primate, I would like you to kill said primate and cremate him with me and keep him in the same colored sand container that I'm in. I believe in forgiveness and what better way to say "I forgive you, Mr. Monkey" than to spend eternity mixed together in a clear glass container on someone's mantle.

Please and thank you.

You don't know if chimps are going to kiss you or kill you.
--Tim Burton

jbr

C-l-a-s-s-i-c

2009-10-14T20:55:00.002-05:00

Okay my friends, this next story is utterly fucking classic with a capital C. I am sure that some you may get tired of me posting stories of human idiocy, but it's my blog and I shall do whatever the fudge I please.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/33319472/ns/us_news-weird_news/

Now, if you're done laughing, all I have to say is this....REALLY? I would agree with the author of the story; this lady is in dyer need of a mental health evaluation. I can think of at least 113 different ways I can spend a Tuesday afternoon and none of them involve renting a limo and heading down the good ol' Burlington Coat Factory and telling everyone that you just won the lottery. Don't you realize that might get you cut? Or, in this case, thrown into the looney bin.

Have you ever been to a Burlington Coat Factory? Bottom...of...the...gene...pool. Seriously. Telling the people in there they get free stuff is like stepping into an elevator full of fat guys at a chili convention-it's just going to end badly. I think it might've been more ironic, and perhaps even a bit more satisfying, if this nutjob pulled this trick at, say, Nordstrom's. It might be interesting to see the well-to-do gloves come off when you start making it rain (merchandise).

Where the lady really went wrong with all this was not paying the limo driver. She should've viewed the limo driver fee as in investment into the scheme. But, of course, she didn't think about that. And that is, of course, why she is a criminal.

There is no sin except stupidity.
--Oscar Wilde

jbr

Again?

2009-10-12T09:09:00.002-05:00

http://www.kmbc.com/news/21267790/detail.html

Seriously people...where the holy fuck are you going to go with an ambulance? It's a fucking ambulance! Fucktard.

All morons hate it when you call them a moron.
--J.D. Salinger

I can't wait!

2009-09-29T09:18:00.003-05:00

I just saw the news today, and I have to tell you (someone, anyone), how excited I am. On November 17th, the Sarah Palin memoir is coming out! Gosh, I think I need new shorts I'm so excited. The title of the book is aptly called, Going Rogue. Wow. What a fitting title.

I'm hoping that as part of the Going Rogue experience, Sarah will tell us what it was like to be a beauty queen. Perhaps she can enlighten us on what it is like to be an elitist. I bet she talks about what it was like to ruin one man's bid for the presidency, and what it's like to quit your job and leave a bunch of unfinished business. Or maybe she can regale us with stories about what it's like to be a "hockey mom," which for those of you that don't know, is just like a soccer mom except 50 times more lame. But what I am really, REALLY hoping she talks about is what it is like to spit out lots of babies, have a cavernous vagina, and what it was like to fake an entire pregnancy in order to protect her busty daughter that can't seem to keep her legs closed (truth be told, with boobies like that, I'd let 'em line up too).

I wonder when I can get in line to buy what is sure to be the most compelling piece of literature of any century ever? Is it too soon to get in line now? I wonder if she'll do a book signing tour? If she does, I'm going to have her sign my balls.

As for that VP talk all the time, I'll tell you, I still can't answer that question until somebody answers for me what is it exactly that the VP does every day?
--Sarah Palin

jbr

The Cause

2009-09-16T12:22:00.004-05:00

So as many of you may know, I am, shall we say, sympathetic to the cause of marijuana reform. I believe that it is a good idea to stop the prohibition and all that good stuff, but we won't get into that (see previous posts).

The other day I was skulking around the Internet, read an article on the subject, and decided to check out the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws (NORML) website and see what I could see. Throughout the course of this clicking and reading, I came across my local chapter http://www.kcnorml.org/news.php. I was a bit disappointed to see the effort they had put into the site, but I was severely disappointed to see that it looked like a 12-year old had written the copy for the site.

Considering that I am all for what they are peddling, I thought it would be a good idea to send them an email and let them know that...well, why spoil the fun...read and enjoy (by the way, I never received a response. Either they were offended or just too high to get back to me)....

Hi,

In order to be taken seriously as an organization (and believe me, I want you to), you really have to put your message out in a, for lack of a better word, professional manner. The demographic that you need to sway the most are educated individuals that appreciate proper spelling, capitalization, and grammar. You've already got the less-than-educated demographic (not to stereotype, but we all know it's true), but it's the ones with jobs and financial resources that will help you out the most. You need not only a quantity of supporters, you need quality.

Someone should really take a look at the copy throughout the site. For example, it is "gets," not "get's." And "we" doesn't need to be capitalized unless it is either, A. At the beginning of a sentence or, B. It is a proper noun, like the name of a band or person. A small investment in an experienced copywriter can not only help to smooth out these issues, but may also help to draw in the audience with copy that is a bit more persuasive and a little less fear-inducing. You can easily persuade your audience through the facts and fear is not necessary; the case for legalization of marijuana is compelling in and of itself. By concentrating on the fear aspect, you are really just pushing propaganda (much like the Bush administration).

Just thought you would like a perspective from a concerned citizen sympathetic to the cause.

Thanks!

Even if one takes every reefer madness allegation of the prohibitionists at face value, marijuana prohibition has done far more harm to far more people than marijuana ever could.

--William F. Buckley, Jr.

jbr

Idiot

2009-09-10T21:20:00.004-05:00

Idiots and lunatics see only their own wit
--Francois de la Rochefoucauld

jbr

Stand up

2009-09-09T21:15:00.005-05:00

There comes a time in one's life when one must stand up for what he or she believes in. Sometimes digging your toes in the sand is hard, and sometimes it can have repercussions. But, if it is something you feel passionately about, if it is something you truly believe in, such repercussions are expected, and more often than not, welcome.

Today I stood up to a bully. Today I stood up to hate and intolerance and ignorance. Today I said "enough" and pushed back. Today I used the power of my words to combat what I found to be gregarious and outlandish idiocy. Today I alienated myself from family. And today, I could not feel better about it.

By now, I am quite sure you have realized that you brought a knife to a gunfight. You probably didn't expect me to fight back. You probably expected me to fall in line like the rest of the sheep; to fall in line with your beliefs; to agree with the values that I was not raised with; to agree with your hollow view of what is right and wrong. You assumed that just because I have the same last name, because I come from the same bloodline, that I would subscribe to your petty notions of hatred. Look who's the ass now--you, not me. You've forced your thoughts, your views, your opinions down our throats for way too long.

It.
Ends.
Today.

I struck the match and set the bridge alight. Burn baby, burn.

If you want to get into a battle of wits, you better come armed.
--Dad

jbr

Bitch session

2009-09-08T09:16:00.002-05:00

More things that are bothering me on this Tuesday (Monday) morning....

The Beatles suck. Seriously. They suck. How can you make an entire video game that revolves around such awesome lyrics as "Love, love me do" and "I wanna hold your haaaaand."
The Kansas City Chiefs suck as well. Why you ask? Do you mean besides the fact that they do indeed suck? Well, here's why...because they are playing at noon this Sunday, the competing station (Fox) has decided to go with a sucky alternative, such as the Vikings vs. the Browns. Really? I mean, I guess if your goal is to have absolutely nobody watch your station from 12-3 on Sunday, then you are making the wise move. Jackasses. And fuck you Chiefs for having the noon game.
Jon Gosselin, know this: NOBODY FUCKING CARES. What you need is to stop being such a public douchebag and concentrate on getting some Rogaine or something. Or shave that shit off.
I'm sorely disappointed that Sam Bradford doesn't need surgery.
How many people can get together and do the Thriller dance? I know he's dead and all, and I know you all want to dress up like zombies and do the dance of the dead, but it's getting old. Isn't it time for you people to go to the Renaissance Fair or something?
Speaking of the Renaissance Fair, it is indeed that time of the year again. It's that time where geeks and dorks and every other segment of the population that can't get laid gets together, stops showering, and pretends that it is days of yore, all while playing with their Sidekicks. I wonder if the participation has gone down since World of Warcraft became so popular? For those that do attend, maybe they could dress up like dead knights and wenches and whatever else they can think of and do the Thriller dance at the Renaissance Fair.
Finally, people...I don't like seafood. I know I've said this before, and I'll say it again. I hate it. It stinks. It tastes gross. I don't like it. I don't want it. I don't want to try it. I don't care if you think it tastes like chicken. Hell, I don't care if it tastes like vagina, I AM NOT GOING TO EAT IT. Jesus H. Christ. Take the hint.

Fah-q.
--The Paddle

jbr

Speedy Gonzales

2009-09-08T08:28:00.002-05:00

Is it Jeff Gordon, or your grandmother? You be the judge...

http://www.kmbc.com/news/20789773/detail.html

I think it's funny that the story mentions a psychological evaluation. I personally don't think that's necessary. I say just give her a fire proof suit, drop her off at the nearest track, and wish her luck. I guess we should rethink what it means to "drive like a grandma."

I drive fastly call me Jeff Gordon, in the black SS with the navigation.
--Nelly

jbr

Perhaps some Kleenex are in order

2009-09-08T07:15:00.004-05:00

Okay folks...seriously here. I don't even really know where to begin, so I'll just jump in.

What is the big fucking deal about Obama giving a speech to children? Seriously? Are you just looking for reasons to not like him? Are you just looking for reasons to bitch? Are you just looking for reasons to act racist without seeming racist? I think it is probably all of the above. The man, the leader of our country and, as some would argue, the leader of the free world, has two school-aged children. He is a doting father first, politician second. So, because of this, it is understandable that he would enjoy giving a pep talk to our nation's youth. If you were in the same position, wouldn't you?

Sometimes people in politics aren't always out to push a political agenda. I know it is hard to believe but it is true. This is, my friends, one of those instances. And while I will admit that he is pushing an agenda, I can assure you it is not a political one, especially health care. But let's say for one second he was. If your child wanted to talk to you about health care reform, or your grandchild, would you yell at your child too, just like you yell at everyone else to try and make your point? I digress...

This is a man that is concerned with the educational gaps that are present in our country. Not just among the classes of course, but among countries. Do you really want China to take over the world because you were too paranoid to let your child hear a simple pep talk from the president? I know that seems a bit fatalistic, but it could happen. Educationally our nation is struggling, and considering how kids are impressionable, and further considering the obstacles that Obama had to overcome to get where he is today, it is only natural for this leader of men to reach out to the men and women of tomorrow and attempt to burn a lasting message into their brains.

Just for the record, and so you are no longer ignorant, consider this--two Republican presidents have done this in the past: Reagan and Bush I. I'm sure Clinton would've done it too but he was too busy playing hide the cigar with chubby girls, and I'm sure Bush II would've done it as well but he was too busy invading countries and looking for phantom weapons. So this is not a matter of partisan policy pushing. Oh no. It is a matter of a father reaching out to children and being exactly that, a father.

Get your head out of your ass and concentrate your moaning and groaning on more important things, perhaps like where you are going to retire, or which country club to sign up for. And, finally, remember this: It's not about who yells the loudest, it's about who listens to your whispers.

To hear complaints is tiresome to the miserable and the happy.
--Samuel Johnson

jbr

Seriously

2009-08-21T11:41:00.001-05:00

How many people does it take to run a register at Walmart? Apparently three....and now a fourth. This is why you work at Walmart in your 30s.

jbr
http://www.thelongstar.com

Realize

2009-08-09T20:25:00.004-05:00

Okay, so I have bit my tongue for quite awhile on this subject matter, but I figure now is about time for me to put my two-cents in (quickly).

Lots of right-wing initiated "protests" (I use this word very lightly here because while they are protests, they are staged to not look like protests at all, which to me, is a cop out) have been in the news lately regarding the proposed health care bill. Hell, even Sarah "I'm a hockey mom beauty princess" Palin (gag, unless you're gonna show us your boobs) has gotten into the act of fear mongering lately (surprise!). Much of the fear mongering going around is that you, the employed American with health care through your provider, are going to be forced to go with the government plan. Well, ignorant fear mongers (who are all old people, have you noticed that? Why are you complaining? You're about to die anyway), let's set the record straight.

The proposed bill, while not perfect, aims to give health insurance, or the opportunity of health insurance, to everyone. So if you work part time at Mickey D's, and they don't offer a health insurance plan for you, you'll have something to fall back on. In my mind, everyone deserves the opportunity for health care, but, as we know, not everyone gets it. The bill isn't mean to take away your insurance, but rather, give the chance for the poorest of the poor to have health insurance, a service they typically do not enjoy now. Further, the bill seeks to provide options to those that have very few options financially. And, if your employer decides to go with this health care plan, sounds to me like it's your employer's choice to me and not the government's.

Now, I understand that this is just a high level view, and I understand that there are costs associated with it but, consider this: These same people who don't have health insurance still get sick. They still get maimed and injured and need medical assistance. And where do they go when they need medical assistance? The ER. And what happens to the bill? You pay for it. One way or another we, the citizens of the United States of America, are expected to help support the less fortunate. It is a fact of our existence. It is a fact of our principles. It is a fact that helps make us the best country in the world.

If you don't like the bill, suggest a solution; find a compromise, don't just yell and complain that your taxes have to, heaven forbid, help someone else. However, and think about this - don't you think the less fortunate are owed a little something after we have spent the last eight years of the Bush presidency mired in a war that has helped to drain our economy and alienate our country on the world stage? Isn't it about time that we give something back to the people of this country after we have endured a tremendous loss of life and an economic meltdown? Isn't it time that we put our trust in someone else's ideas and principles for a change, knowing full well that the ideas and principles of the most recent predecessor crippled our country to depths that we have never felt before?

Get over it. Don't be afraid of change. Just know that, like all changes, if something doesn't work, we change it again. I think the American people (you know, the normal middle to lower class ones, not the ones living in a gated community playing golf six days out of the week) and by extension this administration deserve a chance to try something new. What we are doing right now isn't working.

The key to change is to let go of fear.
--Rosanne Cash

jbr

Are they that smart?

2009-08-09T19:55:00.004-05:00

As a consequence of owning three dogs, and subsequently three dogs that drop deuces outside, I have an abundance of flies buzzing around my backyard. These flies, like all flies, like to weasel their ways into my house and serve as a general annoyance in my life. And, as you all know, I smoke, and since I smoke outside, I get double the annoyance.

Because of this problem, I decided to get a flyswatter and keep it around my smoking lounge. While I am quite skilled with using my hands to kill flies, it can be quite messy and my hands get dry from all the hand washing. The first couple of times I had the flyswatter out with me, I was quite successful. But, over time, I have noticed that, no matter how many flies are doing fly-bys on my head (and legs and hands and feet and arms), as soon as I pick up the flyswatter, they magically disappear.

Today, I had a chance to catch up with one of the flies that routinely annoys me. We cover a wide range of topics, including flyswatter avoidance.

Me: Why is it that you always have to land on me while I’m outside?

Fly: You smell good

Me: I smell good? What do I smell like?

Fly: Good.

Me: Define good.

Fly: Good.

Me: It has been said that smoke helps to keep flies away. If that’s the case, why are you always buzzing around while I’m grilling?

Fly: Beef.

Me: What if I’m cooking chicken?

Fly: Beef.

Me: I have a flyswatter that I sometimes carry around outside. I notice that you and your friends leave me alone when I’m carrying my flyswatter. Why is that?

Fly: You kill me.

Me: You know I’m going to try and kill you when I’m carrying my flyswatter?

Fly: Yes.

Me: How do you know that?

Fly: You kill my brother.

Me: I killed your brother?

Fly: Yes.

Me: So because of this, you think I might try to kill you with my flyswatter?

Fly: Ye-[SMACK]

I guess they aren’t as smart as I thought they were.

Time's fun when you're having flies.

--Kermit the Frog

jbr

Word to the wise

2009-07-29T10:55:00.002-05:00

Last weekend I bought some fresh blueberries from the store. They were on sale and frankly blueberries are quite tasty. I enjoy a good blueberry almost as much as I enjoy a good banana, so last night I decided to chow down on the blueberries like it was my last meal. Big mistake.

In case you didn't know, blueberries are not only tasty, they are quite fibrous. I, however, did not know this. So I ate my blueberries with shear abandon last night, just enjoying the flavor and the way they get stuck in the crevices of my teeth. But oday, and after several trips to the bathroom this morning, I now understand that eating a whole mess of blueberries is a bad idea, unless you want to shit your brains out like you just ate a box of Ex-Lax.

If there is a silver lining it is this: at least my dung smells like blueberries.

Have a Coke and a smile and shut the fuck up.
--Eddie Murphy

jbr

Ribbit

2009-07-21T16:40:00.001-05:00

I love coming across random, strange stories. This one I think takes the cake:

http://www.kltv.com/global/story.asp?s=10758038

Check out the picture of the frog. Now, this might not be that funny, but this quote is what sealed it as being wacky (as if having a frog in your veggies isn't enough). Apparently this is from a member of the public health district:

"When you're washing field vegetables, you're going to get certain little pieces and parts, but we certainly don't want something so large you can identify what it is."

Piece and parts of what? Frogs? Are you serious? Pieces and parts of live animals are okay in your frozen veggies, so long as it isn't enough to identify? That seems a bit fishy to me. Or shall I say, froggy.

The lady that found the bonus in her peas summed it up perfectly, "They didn't even give me the frog legs with it." Amen to that, sista.

It's not easy being green.
--Kermit the Frog

jbr

Goodbye, old friend

2009-07-16T07:30:00.002-05:00

Yesterday, I lost one of my closest friends. Him and I had been very close over the last couple of years, and while I am devastated that he is out of my life, I will admit that his death had been expected. Nevertheless, I wanted to give my buddy one final shout out.

Ray-Ban sunglasses, you and I went through a lot over the last three years. Despite your scratches, and despite the fact that I sat on you that one time, you continued to keep my eyes safe from harmful UV rays, while ensuring that I always looked stylish. You've seen the world with me and stuck by my side through thick and thin. You forgave me for the time I left you in Arkansas and had to have you shipped home. Remember that? I knew you were so scared to be trapped in that box for a couple of days, but you pulled through it and earned my respect because of it.

I'm going to miss you, Ray-Ban. I know, I know, I can get another pair, but they will never be as good as you. It has been said that your first is always the one you remember the most, and Ray-Ban, I will always remember you and cherish my moments with you the most. Thanks for being such a good friend. Thanks for conforming to my face so splendidly. But most of all, thanks for keeping the sun out of my eyes. It takes a special friend to do that and you, Ray-Ban, were indeed a special friend. Next time I crack open a cold one after a long day in the sun, I'll be sure to tip one out to you, homey.

I'm sorry, I have to go regain my composure.

My sunglasses are like my guitar.
--Patti Smith

jbr

What sense does it make?

2009-06-27T10:00:00.002-05:00

As anyone that knows me can tell you, I have been known to, from time to time, enjoy a little herbal remedy. I have a good job. I am responsible. I don't get into tussles. I don't beat my dogs. The long and short of it is this: I live a good, responsible, functional life despite the fact that I enjoy dancing with Mary Jane every so often. In fact, I would even go so far as to say that my life is further enhanced by the presence of the bud in my life.

We all know that Michael Jackson died on Thursday. Now, I'm not going to get into some gigantic tribute aimed at the deceased King of Creep as I think he was overrated (much like Elvis and The Beatles). But his death, and the subsequent discussion regarding his possible dependence on prescription drugs, got me to thinking about something and I hope that it will spur your own thoughts as well, regardless of your personal stance on marijuana use.

Let me set the stage here. Prescription drugs are legal, am I correct? Sure you need to be given a prescription from your doctor (joke), but ultimately they are legal substances in some regard. Now, think back about all the celebrities that you can recall that have died because of some sort of deadly prescription drug cocktail. Elvis. Heath Ledger. Anna Nicole Smith. Michael Jackson. These are just the ones that immediately come to mind. Now, think about how many people die from the same combination of prescription drugs. Valium. Oxycotin. Vicodin. Xanex. Drugs that are prescribed with the best intentions but that have, when mixed, undesired consequences. Mix this with any type of alcohol consumption and you are clicking the stopwatch on your impending doom. While I don't have any firm numbers, one can assume that if so many high-profile people are kicking the bucket because of prescription drug overdose, there are surely a significant amount of ordinary citizens doing the same thing.

Then of course there is alcohol. We all know alcohol is legal. How many times do you hear about someone dying due to an accident involving a drunken driver? Too many to count. How many times have you been out and seen people tussling because they are inebriated? Quite a few. How many times has alcohol made you do something stupid, embarassing, and often times, regretabble? I don't know about you, but if I had a dollar for everytime this happened I could retire. How many people's lives are spiraling out of control because of excessive alcohol consumption? I mean, just watch "Intervention" on A&E some time. Think about those things for a second. Alcohol is legal, despite the fact that it destroys lives and families and property. It is LEGAL.

Now, let's talk about marijuana. How many times do you hear about someone dying because someone had smoked some bud and drove? None. How many times have you seen people tussling because they just smoked a joint? None. How many times has pot made you do something stupid, embarassing, and often times, regrettable? For me personally, never. And finally, how many people's lives are spiraling out of control because they smoke pot? I don't know any; do you? Marijuana is illegal despite the fact that it is, by all accounts, safer than alcohol. People do not overdose on marijuana. It does not make make you vomit. It does not give you a hangover. What it does do though is give you the munchies. It can make you giggle. It can give you a fantastic night's sleep. It can spur creativity. It can bond a group of people as everyone passes to the left (to the left, to the left).

Considering what I just told you, what sense does it make that marijuana remains illegal? Never mind the fact that it could be a huge economic coup for many parts of the country. Never mind the fact that it could save millions, if not billions, of dollars on policing and the "War on Drugs." Never mind the fact that it could save lives as the Mexican drug cartels would lose a valuable, and often deadly, product for export. Never mind these things, even though each point above adds more fuel to the legalization fire. Focus instead on the safety of marijuana vs. prescription drugs and alcohol. Marijuana by itself is not going to kill you. Marijuana mixed with alcohol is not going to kill you. With that in mind, do you think that people would, instead of relying on prescription drugs for recreational use, enjoy a joint or rip off the bong if marijuana were legal? Do you think instead of trying to get high via deadly combination of drugs that these people might visit a hash bar instead and finish the night with a piece of chocolate cake, instead of finishing the night in a body bag? There is no way of knowing for certain, but I contend (and I suspect you may agree on some level) that legalizing marijuana may prevent such tragic events in many cases.

Like all substances, the key is education and moderation. Regardless of the substance, someone somewhere is going to abuse it. It is, unfortunately, part of the human condition for addicts. But much like we educate on alcohol abuse and drinking and driving, our society could easily do the same for marijuana. Further, many of the same laws that apply to alcohol would apply to marijuana, thus encouraging moderation. If the problems of addicts, who are the minority by the way, dictated what is legal and not legal, shouldn't alcohol be illegal?

So, to me, it doesn't make any sense as to why it remains illegal. I suspect part of it is societal fear perpetuated by the ultra-Christian right wingers that have been in control of this country for so long. I also suspect that the people that rail against ganja are people that have never touched it a day in their lives. This, of course, further adds to the culture of fear. And, like all substances, if you don't want to do it, then don't do it. Period. People choose not to drink all the time; people can choose not to smoke bud if they wish. But just because you choose not to do it doesn't mean that the rest of us should be subjected to your narrow-minded views about something that ultimately doesn't hurt anyone.

If you know someone that has died of a marijuana overdose, I'd like to hear it. If you know someone whose life has been destroyed by smoking pot, and just smoking pot, I'd like to hear it (and I don't want to hear about it being a "gateway" drug unless you are of the opinion that alcohol should be made illegal as well). Marijuana is, in and of itself, safe, effective, and a whole lot of fun. If you can prove otherwise as a whole, and not as an exception, I would listen with open ears, but let me smoke a few bowls first.

A bag of weed, a bag of weed. Everything's better with a bag of weed.
--Brian and Stewie

jbr

As the saying goes...

2009-06-23T19:32:00.003-05:00

Let me see if I can say this in the nicest way possible: Good God almighty it is fucking hot. I feel like I'm back home with this shit, and I've had to carry around a towel because my skin is melting (okay, that's not my skin, it's my sweat; I sweat like a fat kid. Thanks dad). When it gets this hot outside, or bone-chillingly cold, it causes people to say stupid things. Stupid, pointless things that make me clinch up my ass so as to not take a dump on their heads. In honor of this, I thought I would take a moment to share some of my favorite sayings, with commentary of course.

Hot enough for ya--No, it is not hot enough. In fact, I wish you would wrap me in a wool blanket and shower me with the warm air of a blow dryer.
Cold enough for ya--See above
Monkey on your back--I don't get this one. When is having a monkey on your back a bad idea? Unless it is that chimp that ate that dude's wiener and sack. I don't think I'd want him on my back. Otherwise, I think have a monkey on one's back would be delightful.
Turn that frown upside down--Fuck off.
Penny for your thoughts--Thanks for devaluing my thoughts. Who carries pennies around these days? Personally I like to flick them out my car at a high rate of speed when someone is on my ass like white on rice.
White on rice--Isn't white the total absence of color? So how does something that doesn't exist affix itself to something that does exist?
Every dog has his day--In my house, all my dogs have their day, everyday.
An apple a day keeps the doctor away--This is a crock of shit. I eat several apples a day and I still have to go to the doctor.
In terms of--I think this is 2009's 'like.' Everything is not in terms of something else. Everything is not interconnected. It is physically impossible for this to be true. When you say it every once in a while, you sound brilliant. When you say it 23 times in half an hour, you sound short bus.
A coon's age--I can't tell if this is racist or just stupid.
It is what it is--This is by far the most annoying of all the little phrases and sayings. What exactly is IT? I surmise that if you knew what IT really was, you wouldn't resort to such a stupid statement. It isn't profound, or deep; it's idiotic. It's even more idiotic when you use it ad nauseam and describe every fallacy in your life with this moronic collection of words.

For the record folks I am trying to find my literary groove again. I seem to have lost a bit of my verbal and written mojo as of late, and I assure you I am working dilligently to find it. I put up posters across town and an ad in the paper, so if you see my mojo, drop me a line.

Who that man in the black sedan with two cheap hookers and a Mexi-can?
--Mickey Ave.

jbr

Paying homage

2009-06-20T06:49:00.004-05:00

I finally got Rock Band 2. I know, I know, I'm a little behind but hey, better late than never. For those of you that don't have it, it is pretty awesome. Of course, it is quite a bit like the first installment of Rock Band, but with new songs. As I vegged out in my basement last night and enjoyed two out of the three Bs (if you don't know what that means, drop me a line and I shall enlighten thee), my mind began thinking about some home improvement (this train of thought sabotaged a perfect score of "Float On" by Modest Mouse...thanks brain).

My basement is, in terms of lighting, all or nothing. Normally this isn't a big deal, except when I'm playing video games. I don't like watching TV in the dark as it makes me want to dance with the sheep, so some light is preferred, if not just downright necessary. And, of course, too much light is a hinderance on my game play. In order to remedy this and find a reasonable compromise of lighting, I thought I could replace the standard light switches with the dimmer switches. This would give me more control over the light in the basement, and save me a few slices of cheese in the process. While this idea sounds good on the surface, there is one problem: I don't know how to do it.

How do I remedy this issue with lack of knowledge? The library? The Interweb? Those are all well and good, but I have a resource that is more reliable than both: my dad. Long before the Internet took over our lives and made locating information as easy as a slutty monkey on Viagra, there was your dad. Dads know everything, and even if they didn't really know it, when they told it to you, it became the gospel. My father is particularly knowledgeable, and a million times more handy than I could ever hope to be. Because of this, I can't think of a better resource for information gathering than my pops.

As I have gotten older, his advice and presence in my life has remained constant. I can't think of a singular time that my father steered me down the wrong path, intentionally or unintentionally. It may not be what I want to hear, but it was always what I needed to hear. When something broke as a young man, he was there to fix it. When money was tight and I need a life preserver, he threw it to me. When I was crushed and need a shoulder to cry on, he was there. There were never any preconditions or questions about my sanity, just my dad being my dad.

I am not a father, but should I ever been blessed enough to have children of my own, I can only hope that I am half the man my father has been over the years, and that my influence on my children is as strong as his influence has been on me. On this Father's Day weekend my friends, take a moment to thank your dad for all he has done. Fathers often go unrewarded for the lifetime of sacrifice they provide us as children; as teenagers; as adults. A simple 'thank you' will go a long way to letting them know that they are appreciated as parents, as men, and perhaps most importantly, as friends. If your father isn't in your life, find a father to thank; it will be appreciated more than you will ever know.

Thank you dad for being the single biggest influence on my life. Thank for being patient and understanding. Through the tattoos and piercings and schools and women and car accidents, you were always there for me. I know I've been a pain in the ass throughout the years, but just think...what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and you aren't dead yet.

One father is more than a hundred schoolmasters.
--George Herbert

jbr

If...

2009-06-16T08:20:00.003-05:00

...you steal an ambulance, pray tell, what are you going to do with said ambulance? This is, of course, provided you somehow, some way, make a miraculous escape from those that are searching for the ambulance in question. Are you going to open up your own hospital? How about a niche limousine service, perhaps one that caters to the morbidly curious? Or, ORRRRR, are you going to pimp around town in the ambulance, after repainting it, dropping it, and throwing some 12's in the back?

Sigh. Idiot.

I don't wanna be an american idiot.
--Billy Joe Armstrong

jbr

Mysterious disappearance

2009-06-10T12:57:00.005-05:00

As you all know, I am currently in the midst of a little road trip for work today. This afternoon I had a little down time and decided to peruse an online version of a newspaper out of the Midwest. While I was browsing the Kansas City Star, I happened upon a quick little story that I would like to share with you. It reads:

Missing man turns up in Washington State

A 19-year-old man who was reported missing about a week ago has been located in Olympia, Wash., Kansas City police said today.

Evan Carslake, last seen in the Kansas City area on June 2, was unharmed, police said.

Local authorities do not yet know how Carslake ended up in Washington.

Pray tell, how exactly is this news? Let's read it line by line and find the discrepancies:

"A 19-year old man"-Well, there's your first problem. Sounds like this dude had it right. If I were 19 and had the means, I'd probably cruise out of town myself. Unless, of course, it has since become illegal for 19-year old men to travel outside of the state. In that case, I totally understand the need for the story.
"...police said"-Why were police involved? Remember: 19-year old dude
"...how Carslake ended up in Washington"-Really? I have a few ideas. My first inclination is to say that he got there by car. How did I come to this conclusion? Let me break you off some Nancy Drew...He was last seen on June 2nd. Today is June 10th. If he walked, rode a bicycle or tricycle or unicycle, or got there via crab-walk, I don't think he'd be there yet. If he went by plane, he would've probably gotten there sooner. That leaves us with a leisurely stroll in an automobile. And, considering, again, that we are talking about a 19-year old guy, sounds a bit like a drug-fueled, alcohol-laden roadie.

Someone's family and/or friends apparently don't know Evan very well or they might have suspected that he flew the coop and took up arms in Washington State. I wonder who feels like the bigger idiot: him, his family, the police for chasing him, or the reporter that got stuck writing about this.

Wandering re-establishes the original harmony which once existed between man and the universe.
--Anatole France

jbr

By the way...

2009-05-30T18:09:00.001-05:00

....I can blog from my phone. Take that twitter!
jbr
http://www.thelongstar.com
You've been Blackberried!

Singing

2009-05-30T18:07:00.002-05:00

I love this country as much as the next person. Nowhere else could I blog like I do and not get arrested (well, nowhere else as cool). That being said, even though I love this country so much, there is one thing that I do not feel compelled to do: sing the National Anthem at a ballgame.

Lady behind me at the baseball game, here's a tip: you can't sing. We don't want to hear you sing. In fact, you probably don't even want to hear you sing. I know, I know. You love this country and just can't help but sing loudly and off key when that tune is being played; I get it. But, there is good news....there is medication you can take for it. Maybe, say valium, mixed with a vodka tonic. Or, say, cyanide. Whatever. Just stop making my ears bleed. Please and thank you.
jbr
http://www.thelongstar.com
You've been Blackberried!

Advice

2009-05-28T11:52:00.002-05:00

Here's a bit of wisdom for your Thursday: If you are going to be in a small room with a bunch of people for an extended period of time, wear deodorant. You are not in Europe. We are not French. You are not Matthew McConaughey. You are not Brad Pitt. You are a normal person working a normal job and quite frankly, I don't care what your nationality is. When you work in an office, in this country, you should wear something to control the smell of decaying skin under your arms.

The rest of us, and by rest of us I mean people wearing deodorant, will appreciate your efforts. For the record, I am currently immersed in the pungent smell of human onion. I might need to go take a shower just to watch off the stink. I have never wished I had a cold so much in my life.

I love the smell of a woman's armpit when she's not wearing deodorant.
--Scott Caan

jbr

You almost had me

2009-05-25T19:18:00.003-05:00

Over the last several weeks I have had dreams about Twitter. I don't know how they have pried themselves into my subconscious, but they have. I don't have specific details about these dreams, but when I awake I feel a mild compulsion to start "tweeting" (or twittering, depending on who you talk to).

So today, I gave into my dreams and decided to scope out Twitter a bit more. Admittedly this was probably due more to the sweet and chewy haze that surrounds me due to my constant ingestion of RKT, and less to do with my dreams, but that is beside the point. Considering I am fairly tech-savvy, I decided to sniff around a bit before I signed up.

Let me get straight to the point here (after all, that IS why you are here after, isn't it?). What a colossal waste of fucking time. Seriously. I can think of at least 63 more worthwhile activities than Twitter, including pulling stuck dog shit out of my dog's ass with a paper ctowel (this does happen my friends). If I wanted to send a text to a bunch of people, I would make a bunch of friends to send out mass texts to. Oh, and while we're on the subject, here's a tip: We don't like your mass text messages. We all think you are an idiot and every time you send one we contemplate removing you from our address book. You aren't twelve. And by 'we' I mean everyone.

Back on point...Twitter, to me, seems like mass text messaging...or am I missing the point? What's more is that people can respond to your "updates." Really? Why is that? Why do I need, or for that matter, want, to have a conversation with a friend that is permanently in the public domain? If we started talking about vagina, would my mom really want to read that? Would your mom? Also, it seems like it is a bit like the scourge that is Facebook, only less Facebookey. Finally, it would appear that Twitter is another excuse for people to butcher the English language and use the dreaded shorthand. Here's a tip: it's 'be' not 'b.' Is it that hard to type one extra letter? If it is, I say we revoke your texting privileges. And again, by 'we' I mean everyone. And 'tho' makes you sound like a leotard. I like to abbreviate inappropriate words. I fnd that it ofen confs the peple rding my mesgs.

To play devil's advocate here, I can see some value in this service for celebrities, and for the psychos that stalk them. No need to go follow Scarlett Johansen around; just log on and read about which direction she wiped at some posh L.A. restaurant. And, of course, who wants to miss a drunken celebrity tweeting at 3:34 a.m. There is something very amusing about someone chewing on the sole of his or her feet.

I guess the end result is that I will join Twitter when I become famous. By that time I'll need another outlet for my ego, or a place to tell my fans something like, "I jst banged 2 hookers @ da Motel 6. Talk about some stank!" Until then, I will just have to stick to writing out full, well thought out sentences and paragraphs. And let's be honest with ourselves, does anyone really want to read my angst-ridden 'fuck you world' anymore than necessary?

When angry, count to four. When very angry, swear.
--Mark Twain

jbr

Addiction

2009-05-24T19:17:00.003-05:00

I need to come clean. Recently, I have discovered that I have a rather nasty addiction. This addiction has, on a number of occasions, permeated my weekends and filled the holes of boredom more often than not. It has been said that a person that acknowledges his problem is on the road to recovery. Frankly, I am tired of being in denial, so it is time to throw it all out on the table. So, here it goes...

My name is jbr, and I am a Rice Krispie Treat addict.

Whew, there, I said it...I already feel a ton better already. See, the problem is, I am a vacuum cleaner around Rice Krispie Treats. If they are made in my household, I will eat the whole batch in a day. If they are made in your household, I will eat as many as I can then stuff the rest in my pockets (I will then blame the missing treats on your stupid cat that climbs all over the counter. Sure I left the plastic wrap off, but it was your cat that ate them. If you don't have a cat, I'll blame it on the dog). Never mind the fact that the next day my mouth is full of loose skin and sores. Never mind the fact that I am ingesting enough butter to kill a small village. No, all of these things are collateral damage to my addiction.

When I get RKT on the brain, all I can think about is slaving over the stove for 10, maybe even 15 minutes to whip up a batch of RKT. Double the marshmallows. Double the butter. Double the decliciousness. I will even contort my tongue in ways that are illegal in 17 states as I try to get the quickly drying treats off the spoon. Then, of course, I leave all the dirty dishes (which of course dry and must be discarded) so that I may make love to my batch of chewy goodness. Can you hear the snap, crackle, and pop through my moans? I bet you can.

It is quite obvious I have a problem and I need an intervention. I hope this make it to those that can help me battle my obsession with RKT. Maybe Jenny Craig or Oprah can save me from the quick, and surely fattening, downward spiral of my addiction.

Scatter!

2009-05-18T14:30:00.003-05:00

I really have no words for the following story. Read it, close your eyes, and just imagine what this would've looked like. This would've been a YouTube sensation within seconds.

http://sports.espn.go.com/oly/news/story?id=4175375

Beefcake! BEEFCAKE!
--Eric Cartman

jbr

Constipation

2009-05-13T08:01:00.002-05:00

I seem to be creatively constipated as of late, and beyond the fact that I am bud-free, I'm not sure why. And today, after losing power at about 2:30 am and losing the soft, soothing sounds of my multiple fans, I am not only stopped up mentally, I'm crabby to boot. So until I get some laxative for my mind, and in an effort to not render myself useless in the eyes of the world, some random thoughts...

I think they should call cranberry-apple juice "crapple"; it's much catchier
I wonder if dogs got pleasure out of licking their genitals if they would be so free and easy about it
With all the shootings in the Midwest, I think we should call it the Wild, Wild West
Today I remember why I try to leave the house by 6:30 am...7 am is the witching hour for morons on the road
I'm going to grow a mullet and adorn it with beads
I feel like Cougar from Top Gun this morning...I've lost my edge
I need a drink (or a bong hit...where's Michael Phelps when you need him)
Sometimes it is tough being smarter than everyone else
I've realized why gay folks are so adament on wanting to get married: without the yin (marriage), they cannot have the yang (divorce)
I don't like Cheetos and every time I see those creepily disturbing commercials I vomit a little
Is it a prerequiste to discount all rules of grammar when making a local television commercial?
Listen up fellas (last one I promise): It is okay to flush the urinal when you are done. It is bad enough that we have to deal with backsplash, the rest of us don't need your whiz mixed with ours. I suspect that these men are the same ones that don't get laid, or have miserable wives, or are pedophiles.
Okay, I lied, one more: Monkeys

I'm hoping I will have plenty of fodder in the near future as I am about to spend four weeks cruising the 9th circle of hell (Arkansas). If, and just if, I could combine this adventure with a little bit of ganj, surely I will be able to express thoughts that will induce a good chuckle. Until then, I will continue to float around the clouds in search of something funny, or at the very least, something substantial, to write about.

Wanna get high?
--Towelie

jbr

One of the reasons

2009-05-04T21:25:00.003-05:00

I have always considered myself a fairly well-read and savvy individual. I keep up with current events, and have long had an understanding of the political system. For as long as I can remember, I held onto conservative political values. This was due, in large part, to being raised in a Republican household. Even looking back, I see no harm in that. My parents were raised with the same values, and it is only natural to pass them down to your children.

About a year, year and a half ago, I found myself in a political conundrum. I noticed that much of my political philosophy was shifting. Part of this was due to the situations we have found ourselves, as a nation, mired in. Flailing economy; two Unwinnable Wars (Iraq and the War on Drugs); environmental irresponsibility. I noticed that I no longer held the political values I was raised with, and as a product of this, I began discovering that much of the left-leaning political philosophies fit my personal values more than the right-leaning political philosophies.

All of this, of course, came to head this past November when I cast my vote for Obama and helped to usher in a new and exciting era in this country. Since that day, I have rarely thought about my "switch" again (minus that one time I decided to berate Cheney, Spawn of the Devil), until today.

Perusing my online newspapers today, I came across a story on CNN about gun owners, which you may find here http://www.cnn.com/2009/US/05/04/ammo.shortage/index.html. After reading this article, there is another reason I switched teams: paranoia.

How ridiculous is it that gun owners have decided to hoard ammunition? Are you really so afraid that one man is going to take away your precious, and wholly unnecessary, automatic weapons? Are you really so afraid that one man (who, by the way, does not have absolute authority...there are three branches of government for a reason) is going to swiftly and without warning enact a law that makes all of your guns illegal? Really? Give me a break. That is about as likely as my spontaneously combusting right now.

The fear of change drives people to do crazy things, and this is one of them. Why does one person need 10,000 rounds of ammunition stored up? What exactly is this for? Invasion? Gun prohibition? The apocalypse? We live in the most free, most tolerant society in the world. We have the greatest democracy this planet has ever seen. We have the biggest and strongest military on the globe. Just because we have a black president doesn't mean your guns are going to be taken away. Just because we have decided to move away from the cycle of political fear doesn't mean that China is going to invade our country and make us all work in sweatshops. Just because the ultra-conservative Christian right has had their voice equalized by the voice of the rest of the country doesn't mean that Satan is going to rain hell down upon this great nation of ours.

God gave each of you a brain, try to use it some time. Get over your fears of societal evolution and put a little faith into the others around you. The cycle of paranoia starts and ends with each of you. Don't let our children live in a society afraid of its own shadow.

As long as there are guns, the individual that wants a gun for a crime is going to have one and going to get it.

--Ronald Reagan

jbr

Dear Employer

2009-04-28T08:10:00.003-05:00

Dear my loving employer,

As you know, we are all anxious for summer to set in here in the Midwest. I am sure that you, my wise and financially beneficial employer, are anxious for the same. However, as anxious as we all are, it is 43 degrees this morning. With that in mind, it is okay to turn off the AC in the building. My nipples will surely thank you.

Sincerely,

Your dutiful employee

P.S.--We need more donuts. And none of that gas station, day-old shit...fresh Krispy Kremes. And chocolate milk.

Excuse me sir, would you like to buy some rubber nipples?
--Stimpy

jbr

Scheduling

2009-04-27T09:14:00.003-05:00

Over the last couple of weeks, I have noticed a scheduling trend here at work. I don't think most people would notice this trend but, due to my mild OCD, I can't help but draw attention to it.

For those of you out of the know, I work in an office; just a normal office. There is a variety of other people that work here: old and young; black and white; tall and short. And like all offices with a variety of people, there are restrooms. Our restrooms have the standard urinals, but with the nice divider between the urinals (thank you!). At this point, you may be asking why am I telling you this? Here's why...

For the past two weeks, I seem to be on the same pee schedule as someone else that I work with. Nice guy; older. Beyond the fact that it is strange that you can get on such a schedule with someone with no pre-arrangements, there isn't really anything wrong with this set up, with the exception of one thing: He's a pee-talker.

What is a pee-talker, you might ask? Well, for guys, a pee talker is someone that sidles up into the stall next to you and proceeds to have a conversation with you while you are trying to drain the main vein. I, as you can probably guess, am not a pee-talker. Going to take a leak is not social hour for me, nor is going to drop off a dinky load for that matter. Going to the restroom is a thing of necessity, nothing more.

How does one broach the subject of not pee-talking? Do you wait until you both exit the restroom and then say, "Hey man, I appreciate what you are saying, but I like to pee in peace." Or do you call it out right in the middle, "Look, I'm trying to evacuate my system of unnecessary fluids, can we talk about this later?" I'm perplexed on how to bring it up, but I can't let this continue to happen if me and this dude are going to be pee-pals. I wonder if this is how parents feel talking to their kids about drugs?

Come on in please, I'm trying to get your son to explain why he would drop a duke in the urinal!
--Mr. Mackey

jbr

Four Twenty

2009-04-20T10:20:00.003-05:00

In honor of the day, I thought I would repost a song that I composed to a song that I know. While imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, this should not be flattering to The Beatles, considering that I hate The Beatles and find them wildly overrated...but I digress.

You know the drill...pull up the song, come back, and sing along.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=poUoCggQZd0

Ode to Bumming From Your Friends

What would you do if I rolled up a doob
Would you sit down and smoke it with me
Give me some weed and I’ll break out the bong
And we’ll spark it up and smoke some weed

Oh I’ll get high with a little help from my friends
Mm I’ll get fried with a little help from my friends
Oh gonna fly with a little help from my friends

What do I do when I’m all out of smoke
Does it not suck to be so unhigh
How do I feel when I’m scrapin the bowl
Are you sad because you can’t get kind?

No I’ll get high with a little help from my friends
Mm I’ll get fried with a little help with my friends
Mm gonna fly with a little help from my friends

Do you need any chronic
I need some sticky fresh bud
Could it be really chronic
I want some sticky fresh bud
Would you believe that I have lots of ganj
Yes, I was certain you would bring me a lot
What will we do if we can’t smoke it all
I’m not sure, but we can mix brownies with pot

Oh I’ll get high with a little help from my friends
Mm I’ll get fried with a little help from my friends
Oh gonna fly with a little help from my friends

Do you need any chronicI just need some sticky fresh bud
Could it be really chronicI want some sticky fresh bud
Oh I’ll get high with a little help from my friends
Mm I’ll get fried with a little help from my friends
Oh gonna fly with a little help from my friends
Yes I’ll get high with a little help from my friends
With a little help from my friiiiieeeennnndssss

Why is marijuana against the law? It grows naturally upon our planet. Doesn't the idea of making nature against the law seem to you a bit . . . unnatural
--Bill Hicks

jbr

I was gonna do it

2009-04-16T12:50:00.003-05:00

I know, I know, three posts in one day. Let's just say I have a lot of time on my hands on this Thursday afternoon. "Idle hands are the devil's..." something or another. I just like to hear myself talk. Sue me.

I was looking at ways to spice up my blog and I came across a new tab called "Monetize." Sounds fancy, huh? Being that I am so brutally intelligent, I figured out that "monetize" meant, "make money with your blog." I could see the dollar signs right before my eyes and hear the "cha-ching" of cash registers. I thought it was my excitement over this prospect; turns out it was just an acid flashback, but I digress.

So "monetizing" is, in a nutshell, allowing Google to place ads on your blog for people to click. People click, you get cheese; pretty simple. As I continued to explore this possibility (again, time on my hands), I saw a link that advised me to check out the eligibility criteria. While I don't normally let the Interweb boss me around like that, I decided to give it a further looksie.

On the next page I was magically taken to by the Interweb, there was yet another link telling me to read their policies. *Sigh* Bossy little fucker, aren't we? I put my ego aside and decided to, yet again, do as the Interweb told me to do (do you ever feel like a sheep?). Upon arrival, the "policies" page gave me a list of disqualifiers for "monetizing." Even better, it gave me said list in bulleted form (I love lists as you well know). Let's check them out shall we?

From the Google website:

Violent content, racial intolerance, or advocacy against any individual, group, or organization Hmmm...does my dislike of cajuns count in this regard? I think it might, so I think I might already be disqualified. But let's pretend that it doesn't and move on.
Pornography, adult, or mature content Again, so ambiguous. Be a little more specific here. Some of my content is decidedly adult, or "mature," if you will. I also talk about porn from time to time (or in some cases make up movie reviews). I'll assume they are talking about pictures of boobies and vag and we can move on.
Hacking/cracking content Crack is whack. Next.
Illicit drugs and drug paraphernalia Talking about them or doing them? I've done my fair share over the years. I think. I can't remember. What were we doing? Oh yeah that. Next.
Excessive profanity Annnnndddddd here's the kicker. What fucking bullshit is that? Excessive profanity? Everybody cusses. Seems to me that you are missing out on a very large segment of the human species. You can kiss my ass and gobble my cock for all I care. I don't want your greasy, dirty fucking money anyway. And to think I was going to pimp my blog out like some cheap Vietnamese hooker! Blow me, shitface.

The rest of the list was pretty innocuous, considering I don't have anything to do with gambling or casinos or prescription drugs. However, disqualified is disqualified. I guess I'll have to find another way to make some side cash. Maybe I could start Twittering like all of those other dumbfucks that don't have the time, the brains, or the desire to put full, intelligble thoughts together in strings of sentences and paragraphs. Oh, and by the way, you can visit my Twitter page at...just kidding.

Living in an age of advertisement, we are perpetually disillusioned
--J.B. Priestley

jbr

Snakes on a plane!!!

2009-04-16T09:50:00.002-05:00

Once again, life imitates art. Or does art imitate life? You be the judge.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/30244279/

Enough is enough! I have had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane!
--Samuel L. Jackson

jbr

I have some ideas

2009-04-16T07:38:00.003-05:00

Unless you live in cave, you know that yesterday was tax day, the unofficial holiday of the American government celebrating yet another year cashing in the IOU from the taxpayer (or vice versa). Being that yesterday was a slow day, minus the pirates (argh!) of course, media outlets everywhere decided to cover a phenonmenon known as the "teabag party." When I first heard this, I had to do a double-take. Considering that I am so far removed from high school, and considering that I have been living in the world of gutters and potty mouths for so long, my first instinct was to think, "Now why would anyone have a party for teabagging? Seems like you could do that one-on-one in your own home."

For those of you not in the know (sorry, Mom), to teabag, according to the Wikitionary, is as follows:

to teabag (third-person singular simple present teabags, present participle teabagging, simple past and past participle teabagged)

1. (transitive, slang) To lower one’s testicles into the mouth of another person, or onto the face or head of another person.

Now, understanding the definition above, one can understand my confusion. I thought people were getting together, stripping down, and slapping each other in the face with balls. Hairy balls. Sweaty balls. Singular ball. Old balls. Young balls. Basically any set of testicles you could think of. Thankfully though, after hearing the story (and after cleaning up my vomit), I learned that the "teabag party" they were talking about was not about playing peek-a-boo with a ballsack, but rather something else just as funny.

It would appear that every tax year, the ultra-righties decide to get together and protest having to pay taxes, in the spirit of the Boston Tea Party (notice that it does not say the Boston TeaBAG party). "Teabaggers," (snicker) as they are known, attempt to work everyone up into a frenzy about having to do something that everyone, everywhere has to do: pay taxes.

Now, beyond having a name that is ripe for the parody (I was going to post a picture but my mother reads this for fuck's sake), teabaggers (snicker) feel that it is unfair that they have to pay taxes; taxes that are used to fund some of the most basic of necessities. I wondered for a spell why I haven't heard of teabaggers (snicker) before this year, except when someone talks about a homosexual club, or the latest porn starring Ron Jeremy, then it occurred to me: Obama.

The ultra-righties, or teabaggers (snicker) as we will now call them, had enjoyed eight years of tax-cutting, no-spending (except for the Unwinnable War), conservatively paranoid Nazism prior to this year. But, now that rug has been unceremoniously ripped from under their feet and now they need to find something to moan and groan about. Never mind the fact that our country is starting to come out of the recession. Never mind the fact that our troops are starting to come home. Never mind the fact that the rest of the world is quelling their feelings of dread about our foreign policy. Never mind all of those things, instead, focus on not paying taxes, and fight yet another unwinnable war.

I say that if the teabaggers (snicker) don't want to pay taxes, we shouldn't make them. Now, now, before you get all up in arms about this, I have some ideas. In exchange for not paying taxes, the teabaggers (snicker) can no longer enjoy the following "privileges" of living in the United States:

If you have children, pull them out of school. From now on you have to home-school them as your taxes helps pay for public school.
If you get injured, do not call 911. If you get robbed, do not call 911. Taxpayer dollars fund these programs and help pay for EMTs and police officers.
Don't drive on the highway, or any other road for that matter. Tax dollars help pay for the creation and maintenance of new roads. If you aren't paying taxes, I don't want you mooching off me.
Pay for all your medical care upfront. This means if you are uninsured and go to the hospital, they will have to kick you out. Taxes help pay for hospital visits for the uninsured.
You can't go enjoy any professional sporting events because it is likely my tax dollars helped pay for that seat you are trying to sit in, and that bathroom you will most likely want to use.
Build an outhouse because the pipes and sewers that are used to transfer your waste are funded by tax dollars.
While we're at it, don't use your shower, sink, or any other water emitting device in your house. Better stock up on that bottled water because unless you pay the taxman for those services, they are now off-limits to you.
Make your own landfill. Where do you think your trash goes? Mexico? Nope, it goes to a landfill that was, guess what, created with tax dollars.
Last, but certainly not least, food. If you don't want to pay taxes, then buying food could be an issue. And cigarettes. And alcohol. And diapers. And clothes. And porn. And a car. And a house. Oh, and that war you've been wanting to fight, and those countries you've been wanting to invade? Tax dollars.

So you see teabaggers (snicker), your cause holds little to no weight in my eyes. While I agree that sometimes we are taxed too much, it is part of being an American. Taxation is an ebb and flow based on the needs of the collective; of the American people. The things that you and I want, the things that you and I use, are all paid for with tax dollars. Nobody should get to pick and choose what they do or don't get taxed for, unless they plan on giving it up for good.

Taxes, after all, are dues that we pay for the privileges of membership in an organized society.
--Franklin D. Roosevelt

jbr

I probably shouldn't laugh...

2009-04-09T14:17:00.003-05:00

...but:

http://www.theindychannel.com/news/19137991/detail.html (be sure and check out the comments below the story. They are worth a laugh in and of themselves.)

I don't know about you, but if I see two people getting together for a good ol' fashioned sword fight (and not the kind that involves weiners either), I'm stepping out of the way. If I did for some inexplicable reason feel compelled to intervene, I would most likely do so with a firehose. What I don't get about this, minus the fact that an elderly lady tried to break up a swordfight, is that not only did these guys have one sword, but TWO. How often can you say that if someone pulls a sword on you that you could pull one as well, and then have a duel? I wonder what they were fighting about. Cattle? Land? The Queen? Nudie mags? Maybe they were fighting about this dude's hippy hair. The "Whitesnake" look went out with the 80's buddy.

Somebody had seen Kill Bill one too many times.

Bring back dueling, I say. Drive-by sword fights.
--Tim Roth

jbr

Cover your ears

2009-04-09T11:53:00.005-05:00

Dear green Acura MO license plate C87-2DL,

There are two turn lanes for a reason, dipshit. The reason for two turn lanes is so that I, in the inside turn lane, may turn left so that I may be in the inside lane when finishing my turn, and so that you, on the outside turn lane, may turn left and be on the outside lane when finishing your turn. There are NOT two turn lanes so that you can be a total cuntlicker and decide you want to turn into my lane whilst making the aforementioned left turn.

I am driving a large, American pickup. You are driving a foreign piece of shit. You are lucky that I was watching you because otherwise you would most likely be cleaning the crap from your drawers right about now. I am, on the otherhand, equally as lucky that I could feel what you were about to do because, judging by the state of your douchemobile, the handicap permit hanging from your mirror, and your weave, you are most likely not insured. Then, I would've had to shove my Texas plates so far down your throat that you would be pissing aluminum for the next six week because you ruined my lien-free vehicle. And then, I would've gone to jail, and while in jail you would've probably had your sliceys come find me and unleash 300 years of unjustice on the poor white boy who was just trying to get to work until your twattiness came along.

In the future, stay in your fucking lane. Furthermore, don't flip me off when I honk at you and tell you what a Cuntasaurus Rex you are. I can sincerely say that I hope that whatever handicap that scored you that permit is eating you from the inside out, soon to render you a ward of the state.

Thank you have and have a pleasant day.

Yours truly,

The-dude-in-the-truck-that-you-cut-off-with-your-piece-of-shit-this-morning

P.S.--We can all tell it's a weave

How to survive on America's roads: obey all the traffic laws and assume no one else does.
--Gary Hassler

jbr

It's never too early

2009-04-02T10:00:00.004-05:00

With only 272 shopping days until Christmas, it is never too early to start thinking about gifts for your resident goofball. What better way to say "I think you're swell" than a squeeze bottle of bacon?

As a self-professed bacon lover, stumbling across this gem brought tears to my eyes (and a rumbly in my tumbly). I personally can't think of a better way to enjoy a meal than spreading bottled up bacon all over it. The possibilities really are endless: pizzas, hamburgers, eggs, ice cream, vag, mix it with milk, or just eat it straight out of the bottle for a midnight snack.

The ingenuity of the Swedes never ceases to amaze me. I am so elated that I found this product that I am bordering on being speechless. So, this Christmas, if you need the gift that keeps on giving (for at least 16 servings), give your loved ones (or me) some Squeez Bacon. Our arteries will thank you. You can find this God-send for bacon lovers here: http://www.thinkgeek.com/stuff/41/squeez-bacon.html?cpg=93H.

Life expectancy would grow by leaps and bounds if green vegetables smelled as good as bacon.
--Doug Larson

jbr

Life lessons

2009-03-26T14:25:00.003-05:00

Read this, then come back:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/29892972/

Somebody's parents failed him as a child. I reckon that the discussion relating to the birds and bees may have been missed during this dude's upbringing. However, even if this lesson was omitted, or even just ignored, there are other lessons in life that he must have missed.

Lesson #1-Women do not have plastic in their vagina nor in their mouths. Therefore, using a vacuum cleaner to simulate the sexual experience seems a bit off-base.

Lesson #2-It's called a "blow" job. While this can be slightly misleading as there is some sucking going on, I have never experienced industrial strength sucking. I enjoy having skin on my penis, so I think I might skip the vacuum cleaner.

Lesson #3-People can see you. You know, if one wants to experiment with a vacuum cleaner in one's own home, then that is one's own business. Besides my recommendation of a good lubricant (in this case, Crisco), I also recommend discretion. This is not, nor will it ever be, socially acceptable behavior.

Lesson #4-Get a hooker. There are ladies that you can pay for an actual sex act, and not just a simulated one. And, being that you are in Michigan, my guess is you could find one for about the same amount of money as that car wash vacuum cleaner.

Poor guy. I, in some way, feel sorry for him. On the other hand, I can't help but think that he's missing a few quarters in that roll and that makes me laugh (and gives me fodder of course). My only hope through all of this is that he was at least circumsized. Foreskin anyone?

Find your penis! Find your penis for a dollar! Find your penis!
--Stewie Griffin

jbr

You don't work for us anymore

2009-03-15T09:50:00.003-05:00

It has been almost two months since you have been relieved of your duties as Public Fear Mongerer #1, and yet, you won't go away. Mr. Cheney, when are you going to understand that you don't work for us anymore? Perhaps the ultra-conservatives in this country still care what you say and think, but the rest of us do not.

In my opinion, the Pope could've been elected into office and you would still be spewing your agenda of fear upon the American people. With the economy in the tank and millions of people losing jobs and homes, don't you think we all have something better to be scared of? Your antiquated and fear-based notions about how the world really works makes me nauseous.

I think all of us can agree that we learned our lessons from September 11th. I think we can also all agree that we learned how to not invade a country, thanks to you buddy. Your administration did nothing for the American people, unless of course you want to count the hand your brilliance had in the current economic situation and the fact that our name is shit on the world stage. You invaded a country based on fear, with no proof and no leg to stand on. Go away. Take your fear somewhere else. We don't need you to spin the justification for invading Iraq. We don't need you to spin the justification for spreading our military so thin that we can't afford to take care of business where it really needs to be taken care of. We don't need you to remind us that there are terrorists. And, thanks to you, they REALLY don't like us these days.

You are a bad, bad man Dickhead Cheney. Pack up your dog and pony show, get on a barge, and float it out to the middle of the Pacific.

There is no doubt that Saddam Hussein now has weapons of mass destruction.
--Dick Cheney

jbr

Go away already!

2009-03-12T08:22:00.002-05:00

Today is March 12. Today, when I woke up, it was 12 degrees. And today, when I stepped outside for a morning smoke and it was 12 degrees, it pissed me off. Like, really pissed me off. You know, the kind of angry that causes people to smash chairs on the heads of KKK members on an episode of Geraldo.

I have written in the past about my love affair with Winter. And while it is true that I do enjoy the seasonal changes, enough is enough. Winter, why won't you go away already? We don't like you anymore. We don't want you here. Let your buddy Spring take your place and shower us with sunshine and green grass. I'm tired of wearing winter clothes. I'm tired of wearing shoes. And I'm tired of covering up my guns. I've been working out all winter and it is high time to take the people around me to the gun show.

You might be asking, "JBR, why don't you just move back to Texas?" And I would tell you mind your own fucking business. I don't want to move back to Texas. I like it here. I like Winter in doses, but certainly not when it gets warm, then cold, then warm, then cold again. And now, with the time change starting so early, it just fucks with my head. So, an easy solution to the problem would be this: Winter, pack up your bags. Give us a kiss on the cheek. Say your goodbyes. And get on the fucking road. Sayonara. Adios. See you later alligator (after while crocodile).

I don't think it is too much to ask. Not to mention, if you stay much longer, Winter, nobody is going to be nice to you next year, and that will just ruin our holiday season.

I like these cold, gray winter days. Days like these let you savor a bad mood.
--Bill Watterson

jbr

MY 25 Things (The Answers)

2009-03-12T07:45:00.003-05:00

Thank you to everyone for playing. Unfortunately, nobody was able to guess the 11 true statements out of the 25, therefore nobody gets a cookie. It's sad really; they are delicious cookies. Anyway, just so you know, here are my comments on my "things":

I was born into a family of Gypsies and spent most of my youth traveling from city to city. By age seven I had learned how to pick-pocket and had already lost my virginity. Nobody guessed this as being true. I actually gleaned it from an episode of Criminal Minds.
I am able to write with both my left and right hands. False. My left hand just sits there and does nothing. Slacker.
The first CD I ever owned was Warrant's "Cherry Pie." True. This CD was purchased for me by my parents when I was ill. I had a little boombox with the flip up CD player. It was pretty tits. And, for the record, the only song I liked on this CD was "Uncle Tom's Cabin."
I am a sci-fi geek and can fluently speak Klingon. False. While I am a slight sci-fi geek (mainly Star Wars and the Star Trek movies), I can't speak any foreign language. It's like playing an musical instrument, I just can't do it, Scotty. False.
My father's name is Biff. True. Sort of a trick question though. While my father goes by 'Biff,' and has since a very young age, his real name is Bryan.
When I was in high school, I was voted "Most likely to commit suicide by age 25." I am proud to say that, since I am in my 30s, that prophecy was unfulfilled. Now where is that razor again... False. Sadly enough, several people thought this was true. I don't seem that antisocial, do I? Also, what high school anywhere at anytime would allow this to be something student vote on? Really people, use your gray matter.
I have a rare genetic "defect" that gives me the ability stare without blinking for about three hours consecutively. False. But that would be freakin' cool. Very Clockwork Orangey.
My favorite cartoon growing up was "My Little Pony." False. Again, several people thought this was true. C'mon!
In college, I wrote a thesis statement on what effect copious amounts of sex, as is in the case of porn stars, has on the vagina. False. Just false.
I often drink about a full pot of coffee all day, throughout the day. And yet, I have never had kidney problems. True. And I do not have kidney problems....yet.
My favorite singer is Celine Dion. False. I threw up all over my keyboard when I wrote this.
I secretly love to chew tobacco. True. But, again, sort of a trick question. If you know me well enough, you know it is not a secret that I love to throw some tobaccy in my mouth during sporting season.
Because I was supposed to be a girl, my middle name is Bernice. My parents never changed it. False. My parents are very nice people and would never subject one of their children to such torture.
When I die I want to be creamated and my ashes mixed in with that colored sand in one of those fancy vases. I would then like the container passed down through my family so that I may haunt them for eternity. True. Take note family members.
I hate all forms of cheese. False, false, FALSE! Cheese is delicioso! Except for goat cheese, that's just nasty.
I used to have a pet cockroach named "Tim," but then my cat ate him. There are two things wrong with this. First of all, cockroaches make me gag. Second, cats, in my mind, are only good for the punting. Using our Nancy Drew skills here, we can then deduce that I would never own a cockroach voluntarily, nor would I ever own a cat voluntarily.
I am able to type faster than I talk. False. Unless you have a speech impediment, I do not think this is possible.
I am terrified of ladders. True. My toes curl because I just know I am going to fall of it and become a parallelogram as karmatic payback.
Once, in my early 20s, I was sprayed by a skunk that I tried to help on the side of the road. False. I have a little common sense.
The only habit I have ever given up for good is chewing my nails. True. I think it is a worse habit than smoking. Nobody wants to touch the hand that has been jackin' around in your filthy fucking mouth.
I used to watch soap operas religiously as a child. True. Days of Our Lives and Santa Barbara baby!
I have a tattoo of an 8-ball on my back. False. Gay.
I love black licorice. True. I love black licorice but I don't like black licorice flavored products, such as Zambuca. That, my friends, is black licorice overload.
I collect Barbie Dolls and I have a room full of them still in their boxes. False. Creepola.
The most notable "Good Samaritan" thing I ever did was this: A girl I was dating had a debilitating fear of worms; any worm. One time when we were in a back yard a catepillar/bag worm had slunk down from the tree we were under and ended up in her hair. I pulled the worm out and disposed of it before she could notice. True story. Happened about six years ago and I am still proud of myself.

And bonus the bonus cookie question:

What is my biggest pet peave?
A. People who ask if they can ask me a question
B. Interrupters
C. Sentence finishers
D. Slow drivers
These are all pet peaves of mine, but the correct answer is C, sentence finishers. You aren't psychic. You can't predict what I am going to say. Stop trying to finish my sentences or I am going to shove a sock in your mouth and run around your head with duct tape.

She's my cherry pie. Cool drink of water such a sweet surprise.
--Warrant

jbr

It's a scam

2009-03-04T08:40:00.002-06:00

On this Wednesday morning, I have decided that exercise is a scam. What kind of scam might you ask? Well, this kind of scam...

Over the last several months I have gotten myself back into good shape. Weights, running, eating healthy; the works. And, of course, to accompany my new found lifestyle I have discovered something else: pain. Lots and lots of pain. Whether it is my elbows or my knee or my back, different parts of my body seem to take turns with making me feel old.

With my irritation mounting, I got to thinking about exercise. Who encourages people to exercise the most? Doctors. Who benefits the most when you are in pain? Doctors. Putting two and two together I came to the realization that doctors encourage you to exercise so that you can hurt yourself and end up in their office. When you end up in their office you give them money. Then they write you a prescription and you give the pharmacutical companies some money. And after all is said in done, who gets bent over for your exercise: the insurance companies.

It seems to me that there is this grand collusion going on as it relates to the well-being of the human race. Doctors and pharmacutical companies want you to exercise more and more so they can get the money from the insurance companies. Not only is it sneaky, it is absolutely brilliant. I wish I would've thought of it first. Talk about a deluxe example of some slickery.

I get my exercise acting as a pallbearer to my friends who exercise.
--Chauncey Depew

jbr

MY 25 Things

2009-03-03T06:59:00.002-06:00

A cookie to anyone that can guess how many, out of 25, are actually true. Sorry family members, you are excluded from the competition. If you wish to guess, send me an email and tell me which of the following are not complete bullshit.

I was born into a family of Gypsies and spent most of my youth traveling from city to city. By age seven I had learned how to pick-pocket and had already lost my virginity.
I am able to write with both my left and right hands.
The first CD I ever owned was Warrant's "Cherry Pie."
I am a sci-fi geek and can fluently speak Klingon.
My father's name is Biff.
When I was in high school, I was voted "Most likely to commit suicide by age 25." I am proud to say that, since I am in my 30s, that prophecy was unfulfilled. Now where is that razor again...
I have a rare genetic "defect" that gives me the ability stare without blinking for about three hours consecutively.
My favorite cartoon growing up was "My Little Pony."
In college, I wrote a thesis statement on what effect copious amounts of sex, as is in the case of porn stars, has on the vagina.
I often drink about a full pot of coffee all day, throughout the day. And yet, I have never had kidney problems.
My favorite singer is Celine Dion.
I secretly love to chew tobacco.
Because I was supposed to be a girl, my middle name is Bernice. My parents never changed it.
When I die I want to be creamated and my ashes mixed in with that colored sand in one of those fancy vases. I would then like the container passed down through my family so that I may haunt them for eternity.
I hate all forms of cheese.
I used to have a pet cockroach named "Tim," but then my cat ate him.
I am able to type faster than I talk.
I am terrified of ladders.
Once, in my early 20s, I was sprayed by a skunk that I tried to help on the side of the road.
The only habit I have ever given up for good is chewing my nails.
I used to watch soap operas religiously as a child.
I have a tattoo of an 8-ball on my back.
I love black licorice.
I collect Barbie Dolls and I have a room full of them still in their boxes.
The most notable "Good Samaritan" thing I ever did was this: A girl I was dating had a debilitating fear of worms; any worm. One time when we were in a back yard a catepillar/bag worm had slunk down from the tree we were under and ended up in her hair. I pulled the worm out and disposed of it before she could notice.

And bonus the bonus cookie question:

What is my biggest pet peave?

People who ask if they can ask me a question
Interrupters
Sentence finishers
Slow drivers

H to the izz-O, V to the izz-A, fo' shizzle my nizzle used to dribble down in VA.
--Jay-Z

jbr

25 Things

2009-03-02T14:09:00.003-06:00

As everyone knows, I am not a Facebooker. I need not get into why I avoid such things, it is just my preference. Apparently, there is this Facebook thing going around where people list 25 things about themselves, or something to that effect. Sounds good in concept. It's even better when you leave the door open to make fun of the person.

A coworker sent me the list below that was written by another coworker that we have an equal disdain for. I took it upon myself to add some retorts to her pretentiousness. Enjoy.

I firmly believe that hunting can not be considered a sport unless the animals are given guns too and allowed to play some defense. Animals don't have opposable thumbs, idiot.
My college thesis was on Intellectual property rights in the digital space – this was before Limewire, iTunes, etc. Right, and I have a big black cock.
I never leave the house without a book in my purse. Address book doesn't count.
Sometimes I try to be an amateur sommelier, but I’m not a wine snob. I’ll really drink about anything made with fermented grapes like a true wino; but I can tell the difference. Let's see how you feel about wine out of a jug. Ernest & Julio Gallo in a styrofoam cup anyone?
I graduated summa cum laude from the University of Nebraska – Lincoln in three and half years, with a major in Advertising and minors in communication studies, English and military history. Ha. She said cum. I'd like to see those transcripts. And just because you took a military history class, doesn't mean you minored in it.
I call my mom everyday on my way home from work. Send her our apologies.
When I lived in DC, I worked for CBS News Washington Bureau, where I worked in the Capitol with Bob Schieffer and was able to cover the Bush/Gore election and write stories and collect soundbites from politicians to musicians (even Metallica). And you are a lower level employee here because...?
I will not tolerate incorrect grammar. Ain't dat the troof girl.
My dream job is to do marketing and special events coordination at a winery in Northern California. My dream job is to wrap the heads of braggers in duct tape.
When I was in college, I had a gig as a Barbie (as in the doll), but before you judge, I got paid $50 an hour. I did have to talk in the first person and say stuff like “I cost $26”, though. I still have a fascination with Barbie – she keeps breaking the glass ceiling and has become everything from a paleontologist to an astronaut. She ran for President in 1992 and 2000 (see item 7: she should have won). Hence your dyed blonde hair I assume.
I was born in San Francisco but grew up in a cute town called Friend, Nebraska. Hippy and a farmer. That explains it.
Cooking is one of my favorite activities, but I can never follow a recipe to the letter. I always have to make my own modifications to it. Look at Martha Stewart go.
I was a graphic designer for several years and still occasionally do graphic design and print layout work on a freelance basis. Anybody can use PhotoShop and Publisher.
My first job out of college was for the Smart Computing and Computer Power User family of magazines. My first job out of college was male escort. Beat that shit.
I can type 85 words per minute...no joke. Sounds like you are building quite a resume for a career in the Administrative Assistant field.
Every plant I’ve ever tried to grow I end up killing. I’ve killed house plants, basil and other herbs ,and most recently a thriving orchid. Not buying my pot from you.
I bat left-handed but write right-handed. You+bat=me running away
Until this past year I had never been scuba diving or skiing, and now I can hardly fathom life without these activities. I wonder if I would feel the same about golf if I would just give it a chance. Barf
I still hold cross country records at my high school. O-face, and now I need a new pair of shorts
I hate hugs. I hate cake. But I do love birthdays. So basically you just like presents?
I spend months out of the year the wrong temperature with my hair a mess and windblown, but I simply care not. Yes, I drive a convertible. What was that you were saying about grammar, Yoda?
I have never mowed a yard in my entire life. I have no plans to break that streak. Lazy.
No one has ever accused me of being a morning person. Nobody cares
I love everything about Kansas City from the season changes to the entertainment and lifestyle, to the people and the low cost of living. It’s just metropolitan enough to have everything without the inconveniences of a huge city. Interestingly enough, both my husband and I have professions that enable us to impact the tourism and commerce brought to Kansas City. Kansas City does not need your ass kissing.
My pug Molly is my whole life. This is how animals get killed by angry spouses.

He who is humble is confident and wise. He who brags is insecure and lacking.
--Lisa Edmonson

jbr

More Pfriday Pfun

2009-02-27T08:59:00.002-06:00

As we reach the end of yet another week, let us all scream "It's Friday, hallelujah!" On a not-so-serious note, I thought I would share with each of you something fun to do on your Friday. Or your Monday. Or really any other day of the week that involves professional correspondence with a coworker or superior.

I'm a huge fan (if you can't tell) of freakin' people out. I enjoy making their eyes roll at my stupidity. I personally think everyone should be this way, but perhaps they don't know how. Here's a sure fire way to ellicit weird looks...

Next time you have to write a work email, or anything else serious, purposely misspell words. The trick is, though, you have to leverage homophones. For the unknowing, homophones are words that sound the same, but are spelled differently. Additionally, you can add a little Latin flare to the letter to spice it up. Here's an example:

Deer Mr. Johnson,

Eye am writing ewe this letter twoday two inform ewe that wee are knot going two bee renewing your lease at the end of the month. Are only weesh is that ewe our satisfied by the serveece we have provided over the last ate months.

The caws for this deceesion is based on the fore violations that came two lite over the last too weaks:
The unauthorized feesh bowl
The caged monkee
Yore malodorous feat
The offal dependents on potato cheaps

Wee ask that ewe vacate the premises within fourteen daze from the date of this letter. Thank ewe for your understanding and wee weesh you well in your apartment search.

Sincerely,

The Owners

Try it out. It will be fun. And it will make someone else strain their eyes.

Weed is from the earth. God put this here for me and you. Take advantage man, take advantage.
--Smokey

jbr

Thou shall not steal

2009-02-25T09:58:00.007-06:00

Ladies and gentlemen, meet James Harris. This shining example of brilliance and common sense was recently arrested for stealing an Xbox from a couple and keeping said Xbox in the trunk of his car. Upon discovery of the stolen goods, Mr. Harris decided it would be wise to knife both the man and woman from whom he stole.

This story sounds reasonable enough from a crime perspective, but Mr. Harris failed to remember one thing. If you are going to steal from somebody, and subsequently stab them, you should probably do it outside the eyeshot of the victim's friends.

When the police arrived to the scene of the crime, they found Mr. Harris, the stabber, lying face down in the victim's yard. It appears that, after witnessing the stabbing of their friends, a group of people decided to give Mr. Harris a good ol' fashioned ass-whooping, as illustrated above. So now, due to Mr. Harris' infinite wisdom, he is not only going to jail, he is going to jail looking like a hooker roughed by her pimp.

If I could talk to Mr. Harris right now, I might be inclined to ask if he can see the error of his ways, but I suspect he can't see much of anything right now. I just hope that he stole an Xbox 360 and not just an Xbox. I wonder if this is what God had in mind with "thou shall not steal?"

Criminals do not die by the hands of the law; they die by the hands of other men.

--George Bernard Shaw

jbr

And this is why...

2009-02-24T07:38:00.006-06:00

...I am the leader of the pack. Thank you thumbs.

Rambunctious, rumbustious, delinquent dogs become angelic when sitting.
--Dr. Ian Dunbar

jbr

Another Open Letter

2009-02-20T21:11:00.002-06:00

Dear pet owners in my neighborhood,

I am writing you this letter today in hopes of finding a cure for what ails me. Before I get started, let me express my appreciation for your pet owner status. I too am a proud pet owner and treat my pets like they are my children. While I do not have any children of the two-legged variety, I firmly believe that many four-legged children are probably, in many ways, better than the two-legged type. I am hoping that this fact will drive my point home to you and we can all find a peaceful resolution to this problem.

Since I do not own a cat, and since I will never own one of those vile, disgusting creatures, we will start with them first. If you own a cat, keep the cat in your house. Please do not let your little spawn of Satan wander the streets and terrorize the neighborhood. From darting out in front of my car to making all the dogs in the neighborhood go apeshit, wandering cats are an annoyance for us all. Of course, I would probably not have a problem with your uncontrollable beast wandering the neighborhood if it stayed out of my yard. Unfortunately, it does not.

Every morning I have the pleasure of hassling with my dogs as they run around the yard smelling where your cat peed. My dogs are not very fluent in the language of the cat, so when they are attempting to read this peemail each morning, it takes longer than I care to describe. Couple this with the fact that it is so cold that my nipples could cut diamonds, and it makes for one crappy way to start the day. As if that wasn't bad enough, this invasion of my territory seems to have taken a new turn today; a turn that has left me both nauseous and irritated.

Today, I had the wonderful pleasure of cleaning up bird carcass in my backyard. Since there are no other wild animals in the neighborhood capable of scaling my fence and tearing apart a bird in the middle of my grass, I will have to assume it is your stupid orange cat. As you can imagine, a pile of feathers and various other pieces of bird in the middle of a yard tends to draw the attention of dogs. So, in addition to cleaning it up, I have had to extract pieces of bird from my dogs' mouths. It is most unpleasant. I can only hope that the bird is not from China because I would hate to die of the bird flu.

Enough is enough. I can handle the wandering, and I can handle the peemail, but this is the last straw. Despite the fact that I am, above all else, an animal lover, I am going to go buy a pellet gun, and if I see your shitty little cat again, I'm going to put a hole in its tail.

For the rest of my neighbors, those that own dogs, know this: we don't like to hear your dog bark ALL NIGHT LONG. Nobody in the neighborhood likes this. In fact, we despise it so much that we want to knock on your door in the middle of the night and kick you in the shins for keeping us up. Unless you live on a farm, your dog should be an indoor dog (much like cats). In case you did not know, a dog barking indoors does not bother your neighbors, but an outdoor barking dog drives us mad. And another lesson, when it is cold outside, sound travels farther. In fact, it echoes. And echoes. And echoes. And when you dog barks, guess what, all the other dogs bark. This is not a dog kennel, it's a neighborhood.

If you are not prepared to have an indoor dog, perhaps you should not own a dog. Perhaps you should own the much quieter alpaca. The alpaca will not bark and will not send my dogs into a tissy every time I try to let them out to do their doggy business. Plus, you can harvest the alpaca fur and make elegant coats out of it. Not only will you be sparing us the drama of your annoying dog, you'll make a little extra income in the process.

I guess what I am ultimately trying to say is that if you own a pet, treat it like a pet. While it is true that we are all fellow pet owners, we can only take so much abuse at the hands of your mistreated animals. Whether you know it or not, they are pissed off at you for leaving them outside and they are going to act out any way possible.

Thank you for you prompt attention to this matter. I am quite certain you will resolve this issue expeditiously, before you end up with a holy cat and bruised shins.

Yours truly,

A pet owner

P.S.-Stop letting your dog shit in my yard.

Cats are intended to teach us that not everything in nature has a function.
--Garrison Keillor

jbr

Don't try this at home

2009-02-20T08:19:00.006-06:00

Some things in life have always made me curious. From time to time you will see something on TV and you'll think, "Wow, I'd like to try that." Other times people will talk about occurrences that may be thought of as 'urban legends' and you still think to yourself, "Wow, I'd like to try that." Last night, this happened to me.

I was watching Family Guy (best show ever, by the way) last night and the episode where the Griffins acquire super powers via nuclear waste was on. My first thought was about a movie from the early 80s called Superfuzz. Cheesily classic film along the same lines, and I swear I am the only person that has seen it. My second thought was, as Chris is lighting Peter's fart with his newly acquired flame-throwing power, can you really light farts on fire? I have pondered this question for quite some time but never really had to urge to try it. Until last night.

I had eaten a bowl of Stagg chili that evening (best over-the-counter chili ever) and I was feeling a little gassy. This should come as no suprise to anyone as it is common knowledge that bean products+stomach=gas (another side note, beans cause excessive gas because they contain a sugar that the body cannot break down. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.) Combine my chili-eating adventure with my rekindled curiousity about lighting a fart on fire and we have a recipe for some fun times.

I waited for a good one before I tried my experiment. I had my lighter in hand and waited patiently for the right moment to arrive. As I felt the familiar bubble of the gas making its way to the exit, I lit my lighter by my bum and giggled in nervous anticipation. As the byproduct of the beans exited my behind, I saw the flame for the lighter expand with the explusion of the gas.

For about 1.5 seconds I was excited beyond belief because the experiment worked. But after that excitement passed, I had a near instantaneous revelation. I realized that I did not take into consideration that my thumb was holding the lighter too close to the flame. As a result of this oversight, I acquired a 3rd-degree burn from the combustion of this experiment on the tip of my thumb. It hurts and it stings. It is swollen and bruised. And I will sure lose about two layers of skin on the tip of my thumb, as illustrated here:

In the end, the question still remains: was the experiment worth it? Was mimicking something I saw on television worth losing two layers of thumb skin? You bet your sweet ass it was. At least I can say now that I really did light a fart on fire.

Come on baby light my fire.
--Jim Morrison

jbr

Lesson Learned

2009-02-17T12:29:00.002-06:00

I know, three in one day might be a little much, but after what just happened to me, I couldn't let it pass.

I don't often drop a load at work. I prefer the private and quiet confines of home whilst loaf pinching. However, today, I felt compelled to drop the Cosbys off at the pool at work. I call this event an "emergency poopendectomy," or EP for short.

The EP procedure went fine and as expected. Upon finishing up the procedure, I pulled my trousers back up and left the stall. About two steps out of the stall, I got a sensation of wetness on my tushy. I didn't think anything of it originally because, well, it was a helping of soft serve and sometimes there is splashing involved. After a few more steps, I realized something was amiss. I reached back around and touched my jeans. They were a little moist. Uh-oh, I thought and proceeded quickly to the mirror.

Upon inspection in the mirror, I realized that not only were my jeans moist, they were SOAKED! Through the jeans and to the boxers. From my tailbone and over my cheeks. So soaked in fact that most people might think that I forgot my "Oops, I crapped my pants!" undies today and had to go do some cleaning of the now soiled jeans.

I walked back over to the stall and saw that the floor was covered in water; water that I had previously failed to see due to the urgent nature of the EP procedure. And, as luck would have it, and to further complicate the situation, this particular bathroom has one of those new fancy hand dryers that you stick your hands into; as opposed to, of course, the dryer that might actually point down and help me dry my soaking wet ass.

So now, my friends, I can feel my ass pruning up as we speak. I guess the lesson learned in all this is that one should not be so blinded by the urgency to drop a deuce that one misses the splashing water underfoot upon arrival into the stall. I sure hope this isn't an omen of things to come.

Some people are so fond of bad luck the run halfway to meet it.
--Douglass William Jerrold

jbr

Extras

2009-02-17T08:26:00.004-06:00

A couple of days ago I was wandering around through downtown, enjoying a nice early spring day and taking in the sights and sounds of winter's temporary backseat. One of the things that I enjoy about walking around outside is the fact that I can smoke cigarettes at will. I don't have to step outside to have a smoke because, well, I'm already outside. I also enjoy flicking my cigarette and watching it twirl end-over-end like one of those paper "footballs" that you used to make in middle school. And honestly, I kind of dig the dirty looks from non-smokers because I know that if they had some booze in-hand, they would be asking me for a cigarette.

Smoking and walking around in a public place is not without its perils though. Sometimes you can catch an old lady's coat on fire because she doesn't say excuse me. Sometimes you can flick your cigarette and it lands on some mulch and catches it ablaze. And sometimes you have to deal with the bummer. What is a 'bummer' you might ask? Well, simply put, a bummer is someone who asks anyone that has a cigarette for a cigarette because they are either too cheap or poor to buy smokes themselves, or are still a closet smoker and don't want others to find out his or her nasty little secret.

On occasion, and particularly when you are moseying around an urban area, you run across a bum (homeless person, whatever) who is also a bummer. This person will ask you for a cigarette and may even offer you money (a quarter) for a cigarette. Normally I will provide this downtrodden soul with a smoke and will do so free of charge because, after all, I don't have a license to sell cigarettes and I don't need the fuzz breathing down my neck and tapping my phone lines and what not (and I'm a smoker and I know what it's like to be jonesin' for a little Joe Camel action).

When you ask a person for a cigarette, there is some etiquette to doing so, even if you are going to offer up some of your hard-earned lettuce in the process. When asking for a smoke, as this gentleman found out, you do not do it as such:

"Hey, man, do you have an extra cigarette?" the homeless guy asked me.

I stopped my stride, looked at the ol' fellow, and pulled out my freshly opened pack of Camels to inspect the goods. "Let's see here," I said. "I have 18 cigarettes left in this pack. I have smoked two of them. I'm sorry man, it doesn't look like they gave me."

His previously vacant eyes quickly filled with bewilderment. I could almost see the rusty wheels turning, attempting to make sense of what I just said.

"What do you mean?" he replied

"Well, my friend," I answered. "There are are only 20 cigarettes in a pack. My trusty math skills tell me that if there are 18 left, and I have smoked two of the 20 leaving 18 in the pack, that this pack of cigarettes did not come with an extra this time."

With a confused look on his face he stared at me a bit longer. After a moment he turned and walked away, scratching his head and surely attempting to figure out the riddle that was just laid before him.

I felt bad for about two seconds after this exchange. After that two seconds passed, my feelings of guilt morphed into a feeling of victory. I stood my ground, and in the process, taught a valuable lesson about cigarette-bumming etiquette. For those of you that are wondering, if you wish to bum a smoke from me, or any other smoker, the proper terminology is not "extra." To this day, I have not found a pack of Camels, or any other brand for that matter, that has 21 cigarettes. The proper way to ask for a cigarette could be:

"Hey, can I bum a smoke?" (you may substitute 'cigarette' for 'smoke' here)
"Hey, can I have a cigarette?" (you may substitute 'smoke' for 'cigarette here)

Both of those phrases will surely earn you a free nicotine fix and keep the smoker you are bumming from sane and happy.

What I lack in decorum, I make up for in absence of tact.
--Don Williams, Jr.

jbr

Irony

2009-02-17T08:14:00.002-06:00

I find it incredibly ironic that, as a smoker, I cannot be in a smoky room without getting a sinus infection. Is this a part of getting older or a warning shot over the fenceline by the dude upstairs?

The supreme irony of life is that hardly anyone gets out alive.
--Robert Heinleinn

jbr

My how times have changed

2009-02-08T09:40:00.006-06:00

On this lovely Sunday morning, I was cruisin' around the ol' Interweb and I stumbled across this lovely ad to the left. It reminded me how much has changed over the years, and I found it too priceless to resist a little commentary.

First of all, this woman looks quite relieved to have found Tampax. And after reading the ad, who could blame her? I don't know what women have to endure, and I don't pretend to, but good lord what did they have to endure many decades ago? I cringed at the thought of "belts" and "pins" and I have to wonder what that has to do with a woman's vagina. Prior to the advent of Tampax, did women have to strap a pad on via a belt, and then pin that sucker in place? Where did they belt it to? Moreover, where the hell did they pin it? Or, do I really want to know? My morbid curiosity says I would like to hear how that works, but I'm not sure I could keep from fainting.

Also, you will notice that these Tampax have been designed for every "normal" woman. What, pray tell, classifies a woman as "normal" in that regard? And if a woman is not "normal," does she still have to resort to strapping and pinning in her lady parts in order to keep her white pants from looking like a scene from Carrie?

It is interesting to see the evolution of man through such outdated advertisements. Next time a woman complains about having to deal with Aunt Flo, I should show her this ad and remind her how much worse it could be. I could remind her that Tampax has to be much more preferable than changing your own diaper for 3-5 days every month of the year. I am so glad I am a dude.

Advertising: the science of arresting the human intelligence long enough to get money from it.

--Stephen Leacock

jbr

Gouged

2009-01-30T07:34:00.003-06:00

If we need anymore proof that the oil industry is bending us over, here it is:
http://money.cnn.com/2009/01/30/news/companies/exxon_earnings/index.htm?cnn=yes.

It's funny...in a time when our economy is totally in the tank, and when people are being laid off by the thousands, the oil companies still seem to make obscene amounts of money. I can't help but think that they are part of the reason we are in this position. By raising our gas prices and gouging everyone at the tank, they have negatively impacted the profits of hundreds upon hundreds of companies, not to mention everyday citizens like you and me. So instead of spending money on other things, we are spending our money on gas.

They (the oil companies) know we depend on gas to get around, so they figure they can stick it to us. I would have no problem with this if oil companies were struggling for profits but, as you can see by the story, they are not. I'm sure that it is more complicated than that, but to the average citizen, perception is reality. I can guarantee you I won't be the only one today to perceive the oil companies as uncaring machines of greed.

Further, I find it funny that the oil companies have been complaining for the past year that they will have to freeze oil exploration because they don't have the money. Really? Well, it sure looks like you have the money to me. Why don't you just say that you don't want to find any more oil because then you really couldn't blame the high prices on demand. Now that GW is out of office, how long do you think it will take for Obama to get wise to this little charade? I wonder if oil execs are worried because they no longer have an "oil man" in the White House.

Sigh. I hope I am alive 50 years from now to see the downfall of the oil industry. Because, my friends, it will be coming; we can't keep pumping oil forever.

The use of solar energy has not opened up because the oil industry does not own the sun.
--Ralph Nader

jbr

I'll say it again...

2009-01-29T13:11:00.003-06:00

...that is exactly why they are criminals. If they were smarter than illustrated below, they would do something with themselves. Oh, and again, why try to escape prison? They are just going to catch you, especially if you help them out like these gents.

Quick set-up: These two morons just finished escaping from jail in New Zealand. I guess there really are idiots the world over.

We don't give our criminals much punishment, but we sure give 'em plenty of publicity.
--Will Rogers

jbr

This Week in American Idiocy

2009-01-29T08:45:00.006-06:00

Really, the title of this post could be "Any Week in American Idiocy." I am quite sure that just about every other country across this great globe of ours is littered with idiots, but since I am American, and I live in America, I thought I would keep it contained to our borders. Here are some idiotic tales.

Credit Motors Kansas City-I saw a commercial this morning, and I'll be damned if I could find a screenshot to show everyone, so my set up will have to do. At the end of the commercial, in big, bold letters, Credit Motors states that "YOUR APPROVED." Come again? My approved? Who's approved are we talking about? Last time I checked I don't think I have an approved. Oh, wait, do you mean "YOU'RE APPROVED?" I decided to do the right thing and send them a note on their website: "FYI...your local commercial says "YOUR APPROVED." You should probably check your grammar because it is really "YOU'RE APPROVED." "Your approved" would imply that I have an approved, which I don't think I do. In fact, I don't even know how one acquires an approved. " Idiots.
People who run from the cops-You know, idiot, they are going to catch you. Especially if you steal a U-Haul and attempt to flee the po-po as this lady did: http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,484764,00.html. Also, if you do decide to flee in your vehicle, when they do catch you, don't try to run; unless, of course, you are an Olympic sprinter. And judging by the class of people that decide to run from the boys in blue, I don't think that's the case. People that break out of jail and are not in the cast of Prison Break also fall into this category.
People with vibarating chair thingies at work-Okay, so, I know you want us to ask you about your back problems, and I appreciate the play for attention, but do you really need to bring in an electronic masseuse to work? It is highly distracting. In fact, it really just sounds like a vibrator going in and out of a vag.
Rush Limbaugh-No real explanation here, he is just an idiot. He must have a penchant for shoe because he really loves to insert foot in mouth. He's pretty damn flexible for a fattie.
Drive-thru customers-I think we have all experienced this idiocy (and laziness). The person right in front of you in the drive-thru, with four people in the car, that orders as such: "I'll take a quarter pounder with no cheese. A quarter pounder with half cheese, no onions, and flakes of gold. I'll take a chicken sandwich..fried...no grilled...no fried, with no bun but with pickles. I'll take a quarter pounder with no onions, lettuces, tomatoes, no pickles, medium-rare, with three buns. I need four orders of tater tots. What do you mean you don't have tater tots? Okay, well, then I'll take two small fries and a medium fry and another small fry. I'll take a small coke, a large coke, a medium coke, and another medium coke. And four apple pies." This is the same person that then tries to move ahead in line but has stuck her car in reverse. This is also the same person that gets the bird and a few nasty words.
People that forget everyone can see your Facebook/MySpace-How many times do we have to hear about this? Some unfortunate twit is stupid enough to post pictures of his or her debauchery on his or her Facebook/MySpace, only to realize that, SHIT, EVERYONE CAN SEE IT! I have very little (none) sympathy for these models of intelligence. Nor do I have any sympathy for those that make comments/status updates on these social networking sites without telling the people it may be involved. For example, Jenny changes her status to "Single" without telling Johnny, who then finds out from a friend, who heard from a cousin, who saw it on her Facebook. Passive aggressive? Maybe. Absent-minded? Maybe. Idiotic? Definitely.

I'm sure I could continue to ramble, but I'll save some more tales of idiocy for a little later. Besides, my brain hurts from recalling these morons.

Cluelessnes-There are no stupid questions, but there are a lot of inquisitive idiots.
--Larry Kersten

jbr

It's not their fault

2009-01-26T12:18:00.005-06:00

As some of you know, there are a few things about me that I consider to be constants. The first thing is, of course, that I am under 6' tall. The next, as you can imagine, is that I tend to get a little, shall we say, riled up. Beyond both of those facets of my being, there is one thing about me that has been so deeply ingrained into my essence as a human being that it supersedes many other parts of my personality. I am, my friends, a dog lover.

I have owned dogs, or been around dogs, for nearly all of my thirtysomething years. I was born into this world with a dog at my side and I will most likely die with a pack of dogs surrounding me. Dogs, to me, are not only pets but they are members of my family. If I had a choice between eating and feeding my four-legged children, I would most likely feed the children (I could, after all, barbecue them later...I kid!). They are the only creatures on this planet that will love you unconditionally and will forgive you immediately.

Yesterday, I was disturbed to read a story that said, in a nutshell, that many states were considering banning pit bulls. Now, I don't own a pit bull, nor have I ever owned a pit bull. I know plenty of people that have owned them and much like every other dog, I found them to be sweet and docile and lovable. But also like every other dog, they will only be as sweet as their owner allows them to be. Their bond with man is so strong that they will listen and learn exactly what man tells and teaches them, nearly without exception.

What does a ban on pit bulls mean exactly? Does that mean that they will round up all the pit bulls across the land, much like Hitler did with the Jews and euthanize them? I have a hard time thinking that would not be the case. After all, a ban means that X is not allowed in Y any longer and considering the irrational nature of a lot of people, the most likely means certain doom for these pups.

Because of the irresponsibility of a few, it seems that everyone has to pay. As you have heard me say before, minority rules in this country. While we do live in a democratic society for the most part, the needs of the few will always outweigh the needs of the many. And when that is not the case, the few will lawyer-up and make the many pay.

Instead of banning pit bulls, I have a better solution, and a truly novel one at that. How about, get this, we keep certain people from owning dogs? Sounds trite, right? How about, instead of rounding them up and killing them, you round them up and place them in loving, responsible homes? How about we take the pit bulls from all the ghetto birds that have seen one too many Snoop Doggy Dogg videos and give them to people who will actually love the dog? It should be pretty easy to accomplish. Drive around. Find the chain link fences. Find the dogs tied up, outside, behind said chain link fences and save them.

If you think about it, what kind of life is that anyway? Hell, if I were a dog chained up outside all day I would certainly escape too and take out my anger on the humans that chained me up. So in essence, the anger and outbursts of these beautiful animals is not their fault. It is, quite simply, the fault of the people that allow or even encourage these dogs to exhibit aggressive behavior. We have begun blaming parents for the activities of their juvenile delinquents, isn't it about time we hold the same standard to pet "owners?"

The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven, not man's.
--Mark Twain

jbr

God, that's annoying

2009-01-22T07:47:00.004-06:00

I will admit, I like to jump on bandwagons. I'm not one of those uber-cool people that like to think they are better than everyone else by not jumping on the bandwagon of something cool. Like, for example, people who say they don't watch TV. "Oh, I don't watch TV because I am just too deep for anything television offers." You know what I have to say to that? Liar. You watch TV. You watch more TV than the rest of us. Just admit it so the rest of us can stop calling you a dildo behind your back.

Anyway, bandwagons. I jump on them all the time (except maybe the Spice Girls bandwagon). I like to connect with my friends and the rest of society and be part of the water cooler conversation. There is, however, a bandwagon that I have never jumped on (besides Spice Girls), never will jump on, and want to kill people that do jump on it. That bandwagon is the song ringtone.

Every time someone's mobile phone (yes, it is a mobile phone, not a cell phone) rings and it plays a snippet of his or her favorite song, I die a little inside. First of all, ringing mobile phones are annoying as it is. Nobody wants to hear your baby daddy calling you to tell you that he can't take your seed for the weekend because his stomach hurts (when in actuality he's tappin' the chick running the register at Burger King). Phones come with a "vibrate" setting for a reason. Such audio annoyances become even more irritating when those around you have to hear "Shortie got low, low, low, low" repeat over and over when said baby daddy is blowing up your phone at 3pm on a Tuesday afternoon in the middle of the mall (and frankly I don't give a shit how low she got).

These ringtones aren't cute, they suck. Nobody gives a flying fuck what kind of music you like. Nobody gives a flying fuck that you feel it necessary to give every single person in your phonebook a different song. And certainly nobody gives a flying fuck that you figured out how to give a text, picture message, and phone call all different songs. I speak for just about everyone over the age of 25 when I say we hate you and we want to jam that phone so far up your ass that your small intestine starts bouncing to the beats of "Womanizer." Unless you are under the age of 18 and still in high school and still learning how to take off a condom without making a royal mess, you have no business making the rest of us listen to Cowboy Troy rap about something that only white people understand.

Your phone comes with many less annoying (and free!) ringtones. How about you save a buck, and save our ears, and use those instead?

The road to truth is long, and lined the entire way with annoying bastards.
--Alexander Jablokov

jbr

Thoughts of a Football Junkie

2009-01-11T12:11:00.004-06:00

On this, the next to next to last Sunday of football for the year, I thought I would share a couple of thoughts with my loyal and knowledgeable readers. I know, I know, not all of you like football. I don't care. You should like football and maybe these thoughts will push you in that direction.

Thought #1--Adam "Pacman" Jones
Is there any bigger moron in the NFL than this douchebag? As a blue-blooded Cowboys fan, I was forced to root for this twit all year. But, now that he has been released, I can jump on the dogpile of Pacman haters. First and foremost this guy is a fucking idiot. Those two words, fucking and idiot, are probably the most relevant, most descriptive, and least offensive ways to describe this model of intelligence. His constant infaution with strip clubs and thug life have left him sans job...again. Dude, if you make so much money, why not just hire a couple of escorts to meet you at your hotel for a private show? I mean, it seems to make a lot of sense. First, you don't put yourself in a position of feeling compelled to shoot people, or rather, have other people shoot people for you. Second, with escorts and the aforementioned private show, you'd at least get to tap dat ass. And in the privacy of your hotel room you can make it rain, or hail, or snow, or any other weather event you wish to bring forth from the heavens. Good riddance idiot; I'm sure the Raiders will come calling soon.

Thought #2--Running back tandems
Why do sports shows feel compelled to assign names to running back tandems? For example, with the New York Giants, we have Brandon Jacobs, Derrick Ward, and Ahmad Bradshaw referred to as "Earth, Wind, & Fire." Or with the Carolina Panthers we have Jonathan Stewart and DeAngelo Williams referred to as "Smash & Dash." Come on guys, it's not cute; it's stupid. I wish I were a big time running back. I wish I were a big time running back on a team with another big time running back, except he would be black. Maybe we could be called "Salt & Pepper," or "Ebony & Ivory." Now those would be some fun names.

Thought #3--University of Oklahoma
Fuck OU; you got what you deserved. And while we are at it, fuck USC. Neither one of you could beat the University of Texas so just stop running your mouths. Maybe Obama can finally help all of us rabid football fans find some peace and get a playoff system in place. Pipe dream I'm sure, but a dream nonetheless. Oh, and have I mentioned fuck OU?

Thought #4--Ray Lewis
Just a quick question Ray, do you praise God so much on camera because you got away with murder in 2000? Just curious.

**************************

So those are my thoughts. I'm left watching the playoff with no viable team to root for, so I have been relegated to the role of mere spectator as opposed to psychotically excitable fan. Better luck next year.

Football players, like prostitutes, are in the business of ruining their bodies for the pleasure of strangers.
--Merle Kessler

jbr

Ch-ch-chia

2009-01-06T10:50:00.004-06:00

Sometimes, aging is not a graceful process. I think that it differs greatly between genders, and probably differs greatly between individuals. Being only a 30-something, I haven't had much of a chance to age gracefully. Of course things change, and one must adjust as he ages, but as a 30-something, you don't really have to worry about having too much grace as the days click by.

I'm curious though, particularly for men, at what point should you really start worrying about the aging process? I am also curious at what point does a man feel that his ear hair is a socially acceptable feature? Does there come a point in time where you, as a man, just give up and say, "Fuck it, let it grow?" What baffles me further is the men I see, with said ear hair, and a wedding ring. What kind of woman in her right mind would allow her man to leave the house with chia-ear? Does she eventually give up too and decide it's okay for her husband to enter the world of senility?

I want to avoid this little marker in life. Part of God's sick sense of humor is to give people hair follicles in their ears, and I understand that I may not be able to avoid hair in the ear. What I can avoid, however, is letting the world see pubes sprouting from my ear canal. I want to avoid the point when I look in the mirror, see my ear hair, and just shrug it off and move on.

Ear hair, it would appear, is only a part of the chiaing that the body does as it ages. Nose hair, eyebrows, and random long hairs growing out of moles all seem to work together with the ear hair in order to transform a person from a human to some sort of hamster. Even when I am 70, I never want to be the guy that has nose hairs tickling his upper lip, ear hair caked with wax, and a four-foot long hair growing from the mole on my face. If I ever become that guy, just pull the plug and dump my body in the ocean. If I ever give up on trying to age gracefully, then I have given up on my integration into society and therefore am no longer fit for visual human consumption.

Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional.

--Chili Davis

jbr

Dear Santa

2008-12-23T07:26:00.002-06:00

All I want for Christmas this year, Santa my friend, is a GPS. I don't want a bike or world peace or even for my hair to stop its slow recession into oblivion. No, I want a GPS. Sounds easy enough, right? Well, I don't just want any GPS, I want a GPS that you can imbed into my brain so it doesn't get stolen out my vehicle, but more on that later.

You may ask yourself why I so desperately want a GPS this Christmas. Well let me tell you Santa, my sense of direction is not only suspect, it is non-existant. A retarded monkey on morphine has a better sense of direction than I do. I would get lost going to the bathroom at work if there weren't signs posted everywhere. I especially tend to get lost driving when I really have to pee. I figure it is high-time that I put my days of bladder cramps due to my direction ineptitude behind me.

As for the whole imbedded in my brain thing, well, it seems that everyone wants what you have these days. Instead of people going out and, you know, working for a living, they would rather break into your home and/or car and steal what's yours. Instead of having to buy a piece and gunning down lil' ghettorats, I just figured I could avoid such an occurrence by having the system lodged between the wrinkles in my brain. It would also be cool if I was the only one hearing the directions, preferably in say, Sean Connery's voice. Or maybe Kathleen Turner's voice before she turned into Jabba the Hut.

Thanks for reading my letter Santa. Oh, and just so you know, if I don't get what I want this Christmas, I'm going to hunt you down and cut off one of your toes. Please and thank you.

Yours Truly,

jbr

Breakfast at Burger King

2008-12-22T10:45:00.005-06:00

This song was originally done by a band named Deep Blue Something. I would call that name Deep Blue Lame if you ask me, and perhaps this is why they were a one-hit-wonder. Also, their song, "Breakfast at Tiffany's" is pretty lame too, and if that's all you have in common with a chick, then perhaps you should move on anyway.

Song is ripe for the parody, and I've had the premise rolling around in my sick little skull for about three years. Considering that my brain is not doing anything work related today, what better time than to sit down with pen and paper and finish off the parody. Bring up the song, come back, and sing along.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BcmH1LdPNKA

Breakfast at Burger King

You say that we are both kinda hungry
We both could use some breakfast
And we’re getting cranky
You’ll say there’s lots of food to choose from
There’s lots of stops to eat at
Still I know you just don’t care

And I said what about breakfast at Burger King
She said “I think I remember their food
And as I recall, I think, we both had crosandwiches”
And I said, “Well that’s, the one thing we’ll get”

I see it-the drive thru’s not that busy
And now I’ve got to go pee
I guess I’ll just wait
So what now? Can we go into the counter?
And order from the counter?
And I can hit the john

And I said what about breakfast at Burger King
She said “I think I remember their food
And as I recall, I think, we both had crosandwiches”
And I said, “Well that’s, the one thing we’ll get”

You say that we are both kinda hungry
We both could use some breakfast
And we’re getting cranky
You’ll say there’s lots of food to choose from
There’s lots of stops to eat at
Still I know you just don’t care

And I said what about breakfast at Burger King
She said “I think I remember their food
And as I recall, I think, we both had crosandwiches”
And I said, “Well that’s, the one thing we’ll get”

Satire is a lesson, parody is a game.
--Vladimir Nabokov

jbr

Checked Out

2008-12-22T07:58:00.004-06:00

It would appear, ladies and gentlemen, that I am already gone for the holidays...checked out if you will. I work for one of the few companies that gives its employees the week after Christmas, through New Year's, off. Because of this, I have found it difficult to focus on anything other than not being at work for 10 days.

Every year, like a child, I wonder what I am getting from Santa. As I have gotten older however, my interrogation skills have become more refined and more often than not I am able to guess what is going to be under my tree. This year though, I am utterly clueless. I know what I asked for, but of course, that doesn't always mean I'm going to get it. Have I earned presents this year? Probably not. Do I deserve them? Fuckin' a I do. Everyone deserves presents. Unless you are a serial killer; I don't think they deserve much of anything.

I could get all cheesed out and talk about what I am thankful for this year, but that's just too boring. What I am thankful for though is Gov. Rod Blagojevich's hair (see above). Is this not a gem of a hairstyle? Writers and comedians everywhere must be thanking this dude for giving them material. As you can imagine, I am no exception.

I didn't realize that the classic hair-helmet style was back in for 2008. If this guy's hair was blonde, he would look like Johnny from The Karate Kid. Nevermind him trying to sell an Illinois Senate set, this guy should be impeached on his hairstyle alone. And what does this say about the people of Illinois. Are they all blind? Did they not see his hair-helmet while he was campaigning? Or, is the hair-helmet all the rage in Illinois? I don't know anyone from Illinois otherwise I ask 'em. Further, what respectable hairstylist would let him get away with the hair-helmet? Even the people at SuperCuts should refuse to cut anyone's hair that is requesting the helmet. If for nothing more than out of good taste. Of course, I guess he might be a bad tipper and this is his stylist's passive aggressive way of making him look like a complete tool.

It baffles me that anyone in 2008 would elect someone to a public office with hair like that. Not to mention that the guy just looks like a weasel. Notice the weasely eyes. Also, notice his lip, which looks like it might be concealing little beaver teeth. If I met him on the campaign trail I'd be afraid that he might not just kiss my baby, but bite its face off as well. Or, at a minimum, try to gnaw my baby's nose off.

The people of Illinois got what was coming to them in this regard. If you can't judge a book by its cover, how in the hell are you supposed to judge anything?

I want a hippopotamus for Christmas.
--John Rox

jbr

Sick Sense of Humor

2008-12-18T15:55:00.003-06:00

We all know that I am not a particularly religious fellow. I believe in God and that's about as far as it goes. Now, I'm not to about to get into a discussion about religion; you have your opinions and I have mine. But I think that anyone that believes in God must all agree that God, on occasion, seems to have a really sick sense of humor.

Take dogs for example; man's best friend. We love them and squeeze them and feed them and pet them and basically give up our lives for them. We allow them to crawl all over our furniture, partake of our people food, and jump on our friends and family. We make sure they are comfortable and happy and in good spirits.

We also snuggle with them. Couch, floor, chair, bed; wherever. And to repay us for all of these benefits, they rip off the most disgusting farts. Silent, but oh so deadly. They are never innocuous. They always make your eyes water and make you think that an old man just farted cancer right out of his body. And every time you snuggle with your pup (or pups) and they let one loose without any shame, God laughs a little.

I think I need to keep a Michael Jackson mask handy in the future.

If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die, I want to go where they went.
--Unknown

jbr

100

2008-12-15T10:11:00.003-06:00

It's hard to believe that I have made it up to 100 rants in the past year. Actually, there were quite a few more, but I decided to delete them as they weren't fit for human consumption.

In honor of rant #100, I decided to dip into my mailbag and answer various questions from my loyal Readers. So without further ado, your questions...

What is your real name?
What's in a name really? Why do you want to know my real name?

You say you aren't very tall, so how tall are you exactly?
I'm 4'8". Luckily I have a 15" penis so that makes up for it.

What is your biggest pet peave?
Anyone behind the wheel that is not me.

Will you marry me?
No.

What do you have against Cajuns?
Have you ever heard a Cajun speak in that bastardized French accent? Have a conversation with a Cajun and ask again.

Do you have a MySpace or Facebook?
No, I do not subscribe to such stalking tools. I have pissed a lot of people off in my time and I don't need to answer anymore hate mail than I already get. Also, do you really think I need an army of Cajuns coming after me?

Where were you born?
In a car, under the sea. What kind of question was that? I was born in a hospital moron.

Tell me how you really feel about Oklahoma?
Not really a question, but more of a smart ass statement. First, fuck OU. Second, I don't know why I have to repeat myself.

What did you want to be when you grow up?
An idiot that asks stupid questions to strangers, but it seems that you have that market cornered.

Is there a reason you feel the need to use such bad language?
Fuckin' a there is, and this is it: because I want to.

Where do you get your ideas for your posts? Are you really that unhappy?
That looks like two questions, but I'll let it slide. I get my ideas for my posts from the world around me. The human race is full of idiots, I just happen to feel compelled to write about it. As for being unhappy, don't take my sarcasm and cynicism for unhappiness; take it as sarcasm and cynicism, delta.

What can we expect for 2009?
Armageddon. How the fuck should I know? I'm not a psychic.

I think that is a fine way to round out my 100th post. I look forward to another hundred over the next year. And, of course, I look forward to swimming in the idiocy of the human condition.

Half of the world is composed of idiots, the other half of people clever enough to take indecent advantage of them.
--Walter Kerr

jbr

High School Dropout

2008-12-13T14:27:00.004-06:00

On this fine Saturday afternoon, I thought I would take a moment to rail against a fast food establishment, in this case, Wendy's. Over the past five years, Wendy's has really begun to decline in terms of quality of their food. I know, I know, it is fast food, but Wendy's used to be tasty back in the day. In today's climate, however, they suck donkey balls. You always get cold, unsaltened fries. You always get the ass-end of the lettuce. You always get onions when you ask for none. You know what you don't get though? Ketchup.

Today, I acquired Wendy's for two. Let me preface the rest of the story by telling you I am an admitted fast food junkie. Yes I know it is not good for me, but look into my eyes and tell me if I care. It's delicious...but I digress. As a fast food junkie, I normally have a good supply of ketchup on hand. But, unfortunately, on this Saturday, I have run out. So as I made my fast food run to Wendy's, for two, I asked for ketchup from the idiot hanging out the window. She obliged and I went about my merry way.

When I got home and pull out the burgers and fries, I discovered that tampon face only gave me three ketchups. Two Biggie fries, two burgers, and three fucking ketchups. Really? I mean....REALLY? Three fucking ketchups? What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? After I calmed down from this travesty, I came to four possible conclusions...

#1--She was abused with ketchup as a child
#2--Her deduction skills are so suspect that she didn't realize three ketchups wouldn't be enough
#3--She has midget hands and that's all she could fit in her hand
#4--All of the above

Needless to say, the fries didn't get eaten. Of course, if I were still in London, I would've most likely eaten them with mayo just to fit in. As it happens though, I'm back in the Midwest and we don't eat our fries with mayo. I'm sure my arteries appreciate dildo's lack of ketchup disbursement.

We think fast food is equivalent to pornography, nutritionally speaking.
--Steve Elbert

jbr

Final Thoughts

2008-12-09T18:18:00.002-06:00

Ahhh...my final night (for now) in London. On this eve of my departure, I have a few more thoughts to share. I will caution you, my lovely Reader, that my intoxication level is most likely well above legal limits so this might not make too much sense. That aside, I figured that, while I await for my room service club sandwich to soak up the booze, it might be might nice to give you some parting thoughts. Of course, I may have more thoughts tomorrow night after I spend the morning at Heathrow, but for now, this is it.

I finally found Patron, and I know you are relieved. It was, in all places, at my hotel.
British ketchup is delicious. It's a little sweet and a lot yummy.
It is damn near impossible to find a nice, thick steak here.
After watching many "Cops" style shows here, I have determined that Brits get off easy when it comes to illegalities. Just watched a dude get busted red handed trying to break into a car, with a quarter of bud, and he got let off with a "street warning." Which, apparently, means absolutely shit.
Some French people really don't wear deodorant. Hot or not, it's gross.
I feel like a lazy American when I say this, but I am so fucking sick of walking. I can't wait to get into my car tomorrow, drive 90 mph, and get where I wanna go on MY schedule.
I had absinthe for the first time today. Interesting concoction. Tasted like black licorice and gave my eyes the wiggles. No wonder it is illegal in the U.S.
Somebody asked me today what was the first thing I was going to do when I got home? Well, Burger King. Yes, fucking Burger King. Double Whopper with good ol', antibiotic fed, steroid injected beef. With the biggest, iciest Dr. Pepper I can find. a

Well, thank you for keeping up with my travels. I'm not sure I have said anything interesting over the last ten days, but it has been nice to vent a bit. I would recommend London to anyone, and I think it is a great experience for anybody that wishes to experience another culture...the culture that America was derived from. Once again, in the event of my demise...toys...casket...you know the drill.

There is only one absinthe drinker, and that's the man who painted this idiotic picture.
--Thomas Couture

jbr

Here's a Tip

2008-12-09T02:30:00.002-06:00

Next time you travel, even if you think you won't need it, pack more undies than you could ever possibly use. And guys, even if it means you need to pack your bunchy, flannel boxers, you'll thank me in the end.

This morning, I realized that I was one pair short. So, as I have watched a lot of movies, I had to pull the ol' "hand wash your undies in the bathtub with shampoo" trick. They now hang drying in the shower, and I can only hope that the cleaning staff doesn't decide to take off with them and place them in a shrine dedicated to me. I tried to put a Post-It note on them, asking them to be kind and not steal them, but it seems that the sticky on Post-It notes does not stick to wet fabric that well.

Normally I wouldn't care so much about underwear, but it's cold and my boys might get a little chilly if I ventured out sans undies. Plus, I have to fly tomorrow, and I plan on sleeping on this flight. How embarassing would it be if I awoke with mile-high morning wood?

I'm superstitious...but not like wear the same underwear for two weeks superstitious.
--Kate Hudson

jbr

More Observations

2008-12-07T11:03:00.002-06:00

Let me tell you, I'm sure ready to go home. While I think this experience has been delightful, sleeping until noon just isn't my thing. Not to mention I'm going to miss the Cowboys game tonight (oh I get NFL, but the fucking Saints game, ugh). Bitching aside, here are a few more observations for today:

The Tube, i.e. the subway, has the steepest escalators I have ever seen. Being slightly acrophobic and incredibly clumsy, everytime I hop on one I think this could be the last time.
Brits love their coin money. I have a pocketful of change that I have no idea what to do with.
I'm longing for a fountain soda. Everything is room temperature here.
Cabbies here are just like cabbies everywhere else: they will take you the long route just to gouge you.
You don't have to tip here. How fucking sweet is that? Probably because they don't want to carry around a shitload of change either.
I wonder why everyone here is in such a hurry all the time. This appears to be a country full of Olympic-caliber speedwalkers.
Everyone bitches about it being cold. This isn't cold. Spend a winter in the Midwest, then we'll talk.
Everybody smokes but you can't smoke inside anywhere. Nice to see that minority rules here too.

I think that's it for now. Just a few random tidbits. I'm sure I could find more stuff to say, but then you wouldn't come back and read more tomorrow. Oh, and on an unrelated note, fuck the Sooners. Although, if running up the score is the way to get your QB a Heisman, or to get to the National Championship, Mack Brown should take note and stop being a gentleman (look at the stats for the Longhorns and realize that they have only played their starters for three quarters in 2/3 of their games).

It has always been my rule never to smoke when asleep, and never to refrain when awake.
--Mark Twain

jbr

Lagging

2008-12-05T19:40:00.004-06:00

I still can't seem to get used to this fucking time difference. Here I am, at 1:30 in the morning, writing. Of course, it is 7:30 back home, and I just don't think my brain can wrap its wrinkles around this. I conked out earlier, after some pub beers and a room service steak, but wouldn't you know that I woke up and BING! here I am.

This has been an...experience thus far. Here are my thoughts at the end of day five (or beginning of day six if you like that better):

British TV sucks. Or, rather, British TV at your hotel sucks. I just watched Sylvester Stallone in Lock Up from start to finish.
Apparently they swear freely on British TV. Take note FCC.
They also show boobs on British TV. Once again, take note FCC.
I find myself weaving in and out with a British accent. I don't know how many times I've said "right-o" over the last two days.
I had a nice, heated discussion about the Patriot Act with a drunk, very British, baldheaded lesbian dressed in a three piece suit.
After the aforementioned discussion, and an undetermined number of pints, I passed out in the cab and missed the cabbie getting out of the cab, walking over to another cab, and screaming profanities and racial epithets at another cabbie. Damn my drunkeness!
Like all big cities, people in London are in too big of a hurry to smile.
There are two types of hairstyles for British men: bald and bedhead.
It is damn near impossible to find Patron in this town but Corona is huge.
Brits are amazed that we (Americans) can live in a country so huge.
Brits really do hate GW.
I can't get over black people with British accents.
This really is an alcohol based culture and to be quite honest, I fucking love it.

And that is it for now. Between my lack of sleep and consumption of alcohol, and the fact that that it gets dark here at 4pm, I haven't really had a chance to see anything too touristy. I suspect though that, when I do, I will have plenty more fodder to share.

Alcohol may be man's worst enemy, but the bible says love your enemy
--Frank Sinatra

jbr

On the Ground

2008-12-02T01:48:00.003-06:00

Whew....I made it. Of course, "making it" finally occurred at about 1:30 am, Greenwich Mean Time of course. So much for my grand plan of landing and taking a Tylenol PM and waking up refreshed and ready to roll. Thanks to Mother Nature, however, I didn't land until midnight and here I am at 7:30 am on a Tuesday morning.

Holy roly poly fuck I am tired. I'm so tired that I think I might be privy to some hallucinations a little bit later. As for work, well, I think I am going to be about as worthless as a training bra on a pornstar. But, I'll push along. I'll trudge through the day and hope that I can make it until at least 9 pm before I pass out and cross my fingers and hope tomorrow things are a bit more...normal.

Blech...that's it. Don't ask me about London yet because, quite frankly, I have no fucking clue (other than I have instant coffee in my room, no alarm clock, and no ESPN).

One may go a long way after one is tired
--French Proverb

jbr

The Day Before

2008-11-30T09:16:00.002-06:00

You know, I have traveled quite a bit over the last three years. Big cities and small cities; warm and cold weather. I have been to the Caribbean and East Coast and West Coast and all points in between. I have not, however, been to the other side of the pond. And by pond I mean Atlantic Ocean. And by otherside I mean Eurpoe. As I prepare for a 10-day work related adventure to London tomorrow, I find that I am incredibly nervous about it, and I'm not sure why, but let me see if I can figure it out.

I don't think I'm nervous about the people over there. They (as in Londoners) all speak English, even if they do spell things wrong. I don't have to drive so driving on the wrong side of the road isn't a concern. I have a friend over there so I won't be lacking for anyone to hang out with. I can handle the cold weather and rain so, nope, that's not it either.

I might be a little nervous about the food as I have heard it is, um, a little suspect. That is, of course, unless you like to eat kidneys which I do not. But I think what I am most nervous about is spending 7+ hours on a plane, sans cigarettes. I might be a little concerned that I'll want to beat someone up by the time the flight is over. To combat this, I have loaded up with nicotine gum and things to keep me busy. Hopefully I can get through it without some incident showing up on the evening news.

So that's my little confessional for this morning. Should I make it over there in one piece, I'll be sure to make regular updates, if for nothing more than to make fun of the Brits. In the event of my demise, however, please bury all my toys with me. If this means that you have to get a box that is much to big for my 5'8" frame, then so be it. It's taken a lot of time to collect them and I'll be damned if I want some little kids to get their grubby little paws on them.

You lose sight of things...when you travel, everything balances out.
--Daranna Gidel

jbr

Here's something fun for ya'

2008-11-11T07:18:00.002-06:00

Just a quick story for you on this Tuesday morning. Try this sometime...

I was driving down I-70 on my way to work this morning, cruising at my customary 85 mph, on wet roads. For those of you that don't know, I-70 is an incredibly busy stretch of highway that runs east to west (or west to east if you prefer) and is much like I-35 in that it has a lot of interstate travel (hence the I in I-70 I suppose). While it was not raining, the mistiness of other cars made my windshield a little dirty, so I decided to give her a spray and cleaner her off. So I sprayed...the juice came out and coated the windshield, and as my driver's side windshield wiper blade came up to do it's duty...WEEEEEE....there it goes. Right off my truck and into the middle of a busy stretch of highway.

My friends, if you need a morning boost of adrenaline, I suggest you try this. I thought for a moment that my truck was going to pull a Space Shuttle Columbia and just disentegrate right on the spot. As it happens though, the windshield wiper was the only part of my truck that was lost in the debacle. Needless to say my windshield is still dirty.

The only good luck many great men ever had was being born with the ability and determination to overcome bad luck.
--Channing Pollock

jbr

Ghettolicious

2008-11-10T09:01:00.002-06:00

For some strange reason, I have multiple pairs of flannel boxers. This is made even more strange by the fact that I am from Texas, and up until about 2 years ago, I had no need for flannel boxers. Oddly enough, I have had said boxers since my time in Texas, which still perplexes me to this day. As usual, however, I digress...

Today is is buttfucking cold outside. It's not chilly. It's not cool. It is nipple-popping, hair-growing cold outside. A little windy, a lot gray, and cold. With that in mind, I thought I would give these flannel boxers a whirl this morning. You know, the boys get a little chilly and considering that I am a smoker, it seemed to make sense. So on they went, under my jeans, and out the door I go.

My review: my boys are warm. They are insulated and happy. The rest of my lower half, however, is not so happy. I am not a very big dude. I'm not chunky monkey and I have a tiny butt. Today, thanks to the flannel boxers, I seem to have grown a ghetto booty. Not only that, it looks like I have soccer thighs to go along with this badonkadonk. I feel like I should be going low in the latest Flo Rida video or something. Not to mention that they are just uncomfortable...bunchy and what not. I guess you could say I now have my panties in a wad.

Since going commando is not much of an option today, I guess I'm just going to have to ride out the wave of rap videoesque bootiness. If you see me in the hall try not to stare too much...you might give me a complex.

I like big butts and I cannot lie.
--Sir Mixalot

jbr